Nick dropped the rolled up air mattress he had been carrying and pulled her into his embrace. "I told you, sweetie. It's okay now. Everything's been redeemed. You've got a clean slate with me. So you need to learn from it and let it go. Once the bad things we do are acknowledged and paid for, they're forgiven and forgotten. Can you live with that?"
"Oh, yes," she said with a happy snuggle. "I think I can. It's just that it's a new idea for me."
"Well, it wore me out to wear you out, so let's wrap up this Monday. I'm going to get a bed made and then we'll turn out the lights, take care of your drops, and call it a day. I'm going to leave at six in the morning and do some chores at home, but I'll be back by nine. So be ready for another busy day."
"I will. I promise. I'll do two days' work on Tuesday, Mr. Benjamin. You'll see. I'm going to make you so proud of me."
"That's exactly what I'm expecting. Now, could you fix me a big glass of ice water while I air up the mattress and get out the sheets?"
She turned toward the kitchen, nursing a little girl's pride that he thought her capable of managing something that would contribute to his comfort. Being waited on could get wearying after a while, she admitted to herself. It was good to be taking care of someone else.
"I could fix you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, too," she called from the kitchen. "I know it's not your first choice for a bedtime snack, but—"
"You know, I think it might be just what I need tonight," he said. "But I won't ask you to cut off the crusts. Just keep in mind that I prefer the peanut butter spread on one piece of bread and the jelly on the other and then smushed together. For some reason, it just tastes different than swirling them around together on one side of the sandwich."
"Hey, that's exactly the way my mom taught me to make PB&J, so you're dealing with a pro here."
By the time she delivered the sandwich and glass of water, he was tucking the fitted sheet around the last corner of the mattress and then swinging it out of the way so she could reach the futon unimpeded. He took the plate and glass and deposited them on the table.
"Here. Have a seat in the chair. I've got the drops and fresh gauze. I'll turn the lights out."
"Leila always leaves one on in the bathroom and cracks the door so she can tell what she's doing."
"Good plan. Yes, that's it. Now, tilt your head back and rest it against the back of the chair."
"But that's not the way Leila does it," she protested.
"I imagine she just lets you sit upright and angle your head a little, doesn't she?"
"Well, yeah. It works."
"No drips down your face?"
"Oh, sure. A little."
"Which means you're not getting the full dose of medicine. Let's try it my way, okay?"
"Fine. Why not," she said, willing to agree to anything that would hasten her first look at his face, even if it was in a dim and shadowed room.
She settled gingerly into the chair, sliding down onto her spine and resting her neck where her tummy had been less than an hour before. The thought made her blush.
She heard him move around the apartment, flicking off lights and then turning on one in the bathroom, washing his hands, and adjusting the door that squeaked just a bit in protest as he came out. His voice sounded above her then, and she realized he was standing behind the chair.
"Let's get the patches off and we'll do the right eye first. I'm going to keep the left one covered with gauze until we're ready for it, though. Do you think Leila would approve of the plan?" he asked, playfully.
"Yes, I'm sure she would," she sighed. "She's always careful about exposing me to the light, too."
"Well, that's another advantage of this position. I can shield your eyes even better from here."
His hands were gentle and fragrant with his unique rain smell as he removed the band of double patches that resembled a small sleep mask with a narrow connecting strip across her nose. Andee breathed in his scent happily and tried to calm the excited beating of her heart as he lifted off the gauze. But when she opened her eye, she could see only the ceiling above her, barely revealed in dark gray shadows. Then she felt careful fingers, easing back her lid and she looked around frantically, trying desperately to find his face in her range of vision before cool liquid bathed her eye. He released the lid and she blinked rapidly several times.
"Drips?" he asked, from somewhere above her.
"No, not at all, but I thought I would be able to see—"
"I believe your doctor's orders were very specific. You aren't to try to see at all until he gives you the go ahead. Now, close your right eye and let me put the gauze back on so we can do the left."
He repeated the procedure deftly, without a trace of healing liquid escaping, but, again, he kept his mysterious face concealed from her gaze.
"Good girl. Now, here are the patches and you'll be all ready to let me tuck you in."
She sighed, disappointment almost overwhelming her, except that he offset it by doing precisely what he had described: picking her up out of the chair, settling her on the futon with her lumpy pillow handed into her keeping and her bare toes and legs covered by her sheet and lightweight quilt. Once she had squirmed into place, he unfurled the covers even more and molded them around her back and shoulders, reaching down to pat her bottom gently and kiss her forehead.
"Night, night. Sleep tight. And wake to peaceful light, little one."
She never even heard him turn off the bathroom light or strip off his shoes and sports shirt, much less munch on her perfect peanut butter and jelly sandwich or drain the glass of water before adjusting the mattress to lie parallel to her once more. Then he drifted into peaceful sleep himself.
She did wake once in the night. She lay for long minutes, listening to him breathe, realizing after a moment that she had slipped into rhythm with him, and then drifting off into restful sleep again with a smile on her lips.
Chapter Eleven
Andee was alone when she awoke. She could tell immediately, and she was filled with longing for Mr. Benjamin to return. Somehow, he had managed to get up, dress again, fold the sheets and stack them, with the pillow, on the chair, remove the mattress, and make his exit, all without disturbing her sleep. She determined that much by exploring her surroundings with tentative fingers and careful steps, but it took her a few minutes to find the mattress, still inflated, but upright and balanced against the wall next to the bathroom door. She smiled to think of him wrestling it to a new location to prevent her tripping over it and wondered if the fact that he had left it behind meant he was amenable to spending another night with her.
Not that she had anything to show for her sleepover. But then, a woman with patches over her eyes probably wasn't very appealing, especially not when she had been reduced to the level of a very bad little girl just an hour or so before lights out. And just because being spanked—even spanked very, very hard—made her eventually feel all tingly in her girl places, there was no reason to assume doing the spanking made Mr. Benjamin feel the same way in his boy places. So it probably was not a big deal at all for him to simply go to sleep and never give her a single erotic thought.
It was a painful realization and a confusing one, since what she had responded to in him yesterday was a no-nonsense authority figure with a gentle heart when it was called for. In fact, that image was still a powerful one for her, so she chose to concentrate on being cuddled in the same lap she had been bent over instead of focusing on regrets about being deprived of any amorous activity. The upshot was that she was sporting a very self-satisfied smile when Leila let herself in to begin their usual morning routine.
"What's going on with you?" the visiting nurse demanded. "Where'd the big grin come from? Did your slave driver tutor give you the day off?"
"Nope. He'll be here at nine, as usual. I just had a good dream, sort of. One of those that leaves you really happy and feeling like maybe, I don't know, something wonderful is going to happen in real life."
"Well, i
t's about time. You've been in a funk ever since you went to the doctor. Everybody's asking about you, you know. They're ready to party."
"Then they'll have to do it without me. I wouldn't be much fun, unless they're up for turning all the lights off and gettin' down on my playing field. Besides, I don't have time for socializing. I've got to finish Hamlet."
"Okay, but your time's coming. Make sure your party dress is pressed for a week from tonight. We're gonna celebrate dumping your tutor and shedding those patches. It'll all be history at that point."
In an instant, Andee's mood evaporated and she grimaced and put her right hand over her heart, pressing where it actually felt as though a little arrow had pierced it. Only seven days left. Seven days until she would know if she would be living in dark or light. Seven days until she would know if Mr. Benjamin would belong to her future or her past.
"Hey, what's wrong? Lose your dream?" Leila asked as she prepared to remove the patches and gauze.
"I don't know," Andee said. "That's the trouble. I really don't know."
She sighed and decided not to tell Leila she was going about the drops routine all wrong. The last thing in the world she wanted to discuss with anyone else was Mr. Benjamin. She wasn't sure she could pull it off without grinning like a middle schooler with a crush on a rock star or crying as though her heart were already broken. Instead, she blinked rapidly as the medicine bathed her eyes and wiped away the drips with a fingertip that trembled just a bit. But she did remember to offer Leila a break, one that would keep her nursemaid from returning and interrupting even a moment of her time with her tutor.
"Oh, by the way, you don't have to worry about lunch for me today. I can make my own sandwich, I think, from now on. And I'll fix toast for my breakfast."
Leila professed herself to be delighted with this evidence of progress and made short work of laying out clothes for the day.
*****
Tuesday turned out to be a memorable day for one reason only. Andee was more than ready for everything Mr. Benjamin threw at her, since she had boned up with her recorder as soon as Leila left her alone.
He praised her and promised another surprise if Wednesday were a repeat performance. But he also deflated the mattress, rolled it back up, and stored it in the trunk of his car. Then he took her for a leisurely walk in the neighborhood park and used the entire time to discuss Hamlet, as if nothing had happened between them less than twenty-four hours before.
Although to be honest, she thought, once he had closed the door in mid-afternoon and returned to his other life, maybe nothing really had. Maybe it was all just firmly imbedded in her imagination, or on her backside, with no more significance than that.
She wanted to pout but forced herself to prepare for the next day instead, and she finally drifted off to sleep after nibbling on the fish and chips Leila brought when it was time for another round of drops.
*****
On Wednesday, Mr. Benjamin made her work hard for her surprise. But it was worth it. They pushed on straight through the lunch hour at the kitchen table. When he finally closed the book and shut off the recorder, she knew he was pleased with her progress. So was she.
"We're going to take a little trip now," he said with that smile she loved in his voice, almost as much as she adored his contrasting stern tone. "First, though, you need some sunscreen and some jeans and tennis shoes with socks."
"You're kidding, right? It's hot outside."
"Don't argue with me, young lady."
"Oh, right. Father knows best," she smirked, and then could have bitten her tongue.
"Well, at least Robert Young always did. Of course, he had some high-priced script writers, so he should have gotten it right ninety-nine point nine percent of the time. Lacking experience or someone to write my dialogue, I don't know that I can aspire to his high standards."
"So, you don't have children?" she asked while she rummaged in a drawer for socks.
"No kids. No wife. No dog."
Andee buried her face in the closet to hide her smile while she searched for a pair of jeans.
*****
By the time they hit the highway, she was feeling much more confident. Making the necessary turns and frequent stops on city streets to get them to the edge of town had helped her learn to read his body language and adjust her own.
Now she sat behind him, her legs parted and squeezing the warm throbbing metal of the machine while she clung to security with arms stretched around his waist and her chin pressed into his back.
"She's practically an antique, but she's been worth every penny I paid for her," he had said as he led her outside an hour earlier, dressed according to his specifications and smeared with sunscreen wherever flesh was bare.
"What is she?" Andee asked.
"You tell me. Two steps forward and keep your hands out."
"Oh, my gosh!" she squealed, moments later. "It's a pig."
He had laughed, so uproariously and so long she had begun to feel a little put out. Finally he chuckled himself into a cough and regained enough control to fit something hard with the smell of hot plastic over her head.
"Hog, honey. I think that's the term you're looking for. And, yes, it is. My very own and for a very long time. Now, give me your sunglasses. Your helmet's got a visor and it won't fit over your eyewear."
"Where are we going?" she demanded with excitement that inched her voice into a higher register.
"Nowhere special. We're just ridin' the wind. But I promise we'll end up some place with a lunch you'll like. Ever been on a motorcycle before?" he asked as he helped her climb aboard and then swung on himself.
"Only in my dreams," she said.
"Well, it's your lucky day. This one's coming true."
More than you can possibly imagine, she mused, but she simply smiled as she tucked the quiet thought deep into her heart, and she treasured every moment.
*****
He could no longer regard her as a client. That charade was long past. The trouble was, he could find no other acceptable way to think of Miss Andee Carlisle. Miss Carlisle, who was young enough to be his daughter. Miss Carlisle, who increasingly filled his hours, mind, and heart with ideas that were a convoluted mix of something paternal and something at the other end of the affection spectrum altogether. Miss Carlisle, who already had a father and who professed to have a boyfriend, as well.
He prepared for their Thursday session with the image of her as a committed student of Shakespeare firmly in mind, although his brain was entertaining a veritable kaleidoscope of alternative visions. Among them were Andee with nothing but a mile-wide grin visible below the shield of her motorcycle helmet; Andee squinching her nose and pursing her lips over the plate of grilled salmon and fresh asparagus he insisted she taste when he had pushed her to such a point of starvation she agreed to stop for lunch at a beachside restaurant on the coast highway; Andee pondering word play and laughing with delight when Shakespeare's facility with language registered in her lightning-quick mind; Andee with face sweetly relaxed in untroubled sleep in the first light of dawn; Andee cuddled into his lap as though there was no proximity close enough to satisfy her need; Andee bare, bent and blistered a brilliant pink and yearning toward him still.
If only he could erase twenty years from his own life, he thought ruefully. But, no. He would not have been ready for Andee Carlisle twenty years ago. He was still trying to come to terms with himself and his own needs at that point. Still fighting the direction he could feel his life moving and the eyebrow-quirking label society affixed to men like him.
It had taken a large chunk of those twenty years to find his own comfort level and embrace the lifestyle and the career he was peculiarly gifted for. And now he faced the biggest challenge to his skills he had ever encountered. Not just because of Miss Andee Carlisle's claims on his time and talent, but because, for the first time in all the experiences that had lead him to this point, he was in serious jeopardy of having his own heartfelt needs draw him into
dangerous territory.
If there was one hard lesson he had absorbed in his half a century-plus of living, it was that it never paid to count chickens before they hatched. So much, he realized, could change in Andee's world come Monday. It was foolish in the extreme to allow himself to imagine life beyond that point at all.
With that thought in mind, he began yet another day with a firm commitment only to what would help Andee Carlisle be the best she could be. It got them through Thursday and Friday, as well, although he felt a certain tension building in his student as that prelude to the weekend moved along.
When he prepared to leave Andee's apartment late in the afternoon and she followed him to the door, her mood suddenly a little downcast, he thought of it as his obligation to lift her spirits by suggesting they work through the weekend, just to be sure she was as ready as she could possibly be for her Monday exam.
His proposal won him, first, the hint of a smile while she appeared to consider the idea, and then a full grin and arms suddenly wrapped around his neck. Afterwards, she justified her reaction—a trifle shamefaced—by claiming nervousness about her level of preparedness.
He warned himself to accept her explanation at face value and nothing more. He was not so successful at defending his own motivation in suggesting the extended tutoring sessions. He could not begin to imagine how he would legitimize the time spent when Mrs. Coatsworth reviewed his billable hours. The woman had a mind like a steel trap, and she would be certain to recall he always turned down jobs that involved weekend work.
He dealt with his unease by upping the ante on Saturday morning, just to prove to himself and Andee how well she really could do. He had read the final scene in the play Friday, so they began the day with their usual general review. Then he took her back to the beginning and demanded answers about characterization and motivation and imagery.
Reading Her Heart Page 11