Forever Autumn

by Christopher Scott Wagoner

  Autumn’s eyes narrowed, and her mouth twisted up in a pout. “I hate that fucking magazine. It’s cartoon tits. Do people really get off on cartoon tits?”

  Steve laughed. He realized his cheeks were hurting, he was doing so much laughing and smiling. It felt good, made him remember his younger days.

  “I’m asking you a serious question, Sasquatch.” Autumn yanked on his arm until he stopped laughing and met her eyes. “I can tell you right now, that I don’t get off on cartoons. I’m sitting on my couch with Magic Mike playing on the TV saying PEACE, and LOVE, and—”

  Steve was overcome with mirth once more, as much because Autumn was using enthusiastic pantomime to enhance her authentic-seeming facial tics and moans.

  “You’re terrible! Someone’s going to call the cops on us.”

  “Pffft. Faking an orgasm ain’t a crime. It ought to be, but it ain’t.”

  They walked toward the city for a time, until they were at the edge of the subdivision. Her hand felt good in his own, as if he were being charged like a battery. Reluctantly, they turned and headed toward Rex’s house, putting the city out of their view.

  They walked in silence back to the garage, holding hands the entire way. Steve found himself feeling relaxed and excited all at once, as if he were a child standing in line for a roller coaster ride. At times he would glance over at Autumn and find her soft brown eyes gazing at him. She would look away nervously after a moment, but inevitably the eye contact would resume.

  He felt a tinge of regret as Rex’s house came back into view. They could hear music playing from within, a melody they both recognized.

  “Damn,” said Steve, “that little chick can play.”

  “And she’s cute as hell.” Autumn gave his hand a squeeze.

  “I hadn’t really noticed,” he said nervously.

  “Liar!” Autumn pecked him on the cheek. He was startled by the contact, grateful that she kept talking so he would not have to. “Stevie Wonder would notice that she’s hot as hell. It’s only natural to take an interest, even if you never intend to do anything about it.”

  “The irony is that I was supposed to be here to be a buffer between her and Phil. I guess that went out the window when she wound up being cute.”

  She arched her pierced brows at him. “He seems younger than you and Rex. Not that you’re old, or anything, but—”

  Steve smiled, giving her hand a squeeze back. “We used to run with his big brother, Tyler, and he would just kind of follow us around, you know? Then Tyler…well, he stepped on an IED in Iraq, and that was that. We kind of adopted Phil after that.” His lips drew into a thin tight line, his eyes downcast.

  “You miss him, don’t you?”

  “A lot. I try to think back on the good times, try to keep his memory alive, but…I don’t know. Over time, I’m not sure if I’m even recalling his face right, or how his voice sounded when he laughed. Death sucks.”

  “Yeah,” said Autumn, pulling her hand out of his grip. “Yeah, it does at that. C’mon, I need another beer.”

  They re-entered the party, Steve struggling to catch up.

  Chapter 6

  “I DON’T SUPPOSE,” said Steve as the taxi pulled up outside his building,“that you’d want to come up for coffee?”

  Autumn looked over at him, blinking. She had spent most of the ride staring out the window silently, resisting his attempts at conversation.

  “Don’t you have to work early?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll sleep when I’m dead. I’ll call you another cab.”

  “I don’t think…” She turned her face toward his, and her eyes met his for a long moment. “All right.”

  Steve paid the fare, the driver sneering over the meager tip.

  “Sorry!” Steve was left in a cloud of exhaust that made him choke.

  “He’d just use it to make a bomb or take flying lessons or something,” said Autumn, causing him to burst out in laughter.

  “Oh,” he said, wiping his eyes while willing his ribs to stop aching, “that’s terrible. I mean, I think he was a Hindu or something…”

  “Eh, Vietnamese, Siamese, dirty knees—” she opened up her coat and thrust her chest, breasts straining against the thin fabric “—look at these, Japanese! They’re all foreigners who hate America! Fox News told me so!”

  Again he was overcome with laughter, while she rubbed her hands together as if she were cold, though the evening was fairly warm for the season.

  “Let’s get inside before we get mugged,” she said.

  “Right.” Steve extracted his key card out of his wallet and slid it in the reader. The door popped open and he held it for her.

  “God,” she said with a sheepish grin, “you’re such a gentleman!”

  “Thanks.” He was momentarily distracted by the mound of mail awaiting him in his box.

  “It wasn’t a compliment, and it’s wasted on a mean bitch like me.”

  “What’s wrong with being a gentleman?” They walked up the short flight of stairs to the second floor. “Other than the fact that women like jerks, of course.”

  “Women do not like jerks!” She punched him in the arm.

  “Sure seems like it. Look how those bimbos were swooning over Rich at the party. He’s the biggest jerk I know.”

  “Women don’t like jerks. We like guys who kind of look dangerous, but don’t act like it.”

  “Really?” Steve fumbled with his door latch. “I always thought you wanted a bad boy you could reform as proof of your feminine wiles.”

  “You have some strange ideas about women.”

  He turned toward her with a bit of shame in his eyes as the door swung open. “Uh…it’s not much. I always figured I was gonna move when I got married. That was six years ago and counting. But it’s clean. No roaches or mice, and rent controlled to boot.”

  “I’m hardly a snob.” She followed him into the apartment. He flipped on the lights and she whistled as she took in the environs. “Of course, I wasn’t expecting it to be this bad…”

  “Ouch,” said Steve, lips pouty and trembling in an exaggerated way.

  “Oh, I’m fucking with you again. Honestly, how do you do your job? Seems like those kids would eat you alive, you’re so easy to mess with.”

  “It helps that I have a really deep, stern-sounding voice.”

  “Shut up! Is that really all it takes?”

  “Not all. At the end of the day, being a good teacher isn’t about how knowledgeable you are about the subject, or how many degrees you have. It’s about empathy, understanding what’s going on inside their little brains. I guess I’m a bit childish, because I can usually figure out their line of reasoning.”

  He invited her to sit on the battered sofa while he prepared the coffee. She idly thumbed through the magazines on his ragged coffee table, an amused smile on her face.

  “At least you don’t keep porn out in the open,” she called over her shoulder. “Although this black chick in your National Geographic has a nice rack.”

  He laughed, coming around the couch bearing two steaming cups in his hands, dropping sugar packets and creamer in a line behind him.

  “Here. I don’t know how you take it, so…”

  “I take it black. I’m not a pussy like you who has to drown it in cream.”

  “I can drink it black.”

  They sipped their drinks in silence for a time, enjoying each other’s company without being overt about it. After a while, Autumn dug her phone out of her purse and stared at it, her eyes going wide.

  “Uh, what time do you have to be at work?”

  “Eight. Have to be up by six thirty if I want to catch the train on time.”

  “Well, it’s one o’clock, sugar. I think you better get to bed.”

  “All right. I’ll call you a cab.”

  “Don’t waste your money. I could crash here, on your couch, if you don’t mind. I can just walk to work in the morning, it’s not like it’s far.”

  “Oh
,” he said, closing his mouth and feeling more than a little nervous. “Well, if you want, I’ll sleep on the couch and you can have the bed.”

  “Like you’d fit! You’re so freakishly tall, we’d have to cut off your feet!”

  They laughed once more as Steve rose to his feet and rummaged around in his bedroom. He returned shortly with a flat pillow and a worn electric blanket in his arms, as well as a large Garfield T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants.

  “Here. You can, uh, change in the bathroom.”

  “Not necessary.” Autumn pulled the blanket over her lap. His eyes went wide as she reached down to the hemline of her shirt and pulled it up and over, revealing a black lace bra. With a grin on her face that said she knew exactly the effect the gesture was having, she slipped on the shirt he had given her. It fit her like a tunic, the neck so large her bra strap was visible.

  “It’s like putting on a parachute,” she said, causing them both to giggle. She squirmed in her seat, and he heard first one boot and then the other thump onto the floor. Soon she was wriggling out of her pants, piling them up on the floor atop her boots. He watched, mesmerized, as she wormed one hand into the sleeve and removed her bra while keeping the shirt on.

  “That’s a talent.”

  “Avert your eyes, you perv!” She sent the bra flying across the room. It landed across the arm of one of the kitchen chairs, dangling by the strap.

  She stretched out, arranging the pillow so it was under her head. She laid her bare feet across his lap. He fought to keep his arousal in check, but in a moment she was sitting up and glaring with a half-smile on her face.

  “Go to bed, Steve,” she said, withdrawing her feet and using them to push against his thigh.

  “Okay, okay. It is pretty late.”

  He made his way to the bedroom door, stopping to look over his shoulder.

  “I had a good time tonight.”

  “Yeah, me too.” She rolled over on her side and closed her eyes, pulling the bands out of her pigtails as she did so.

  He stood staring at her for a moment, then went into the bedroom. He slipped out of his clothes and into a pair of boxer shorts and slid into bed. As soon as his head touched the pillow his eyes opened wide. Heaving an exasperated sigh, he attempted to relax, but sleep was difficult to find.

  He tossed and turned for almost an hour, seemingly unable to turn off his mind. He was considering getting up and drinking a shot of whiskey when he heard the door to his room open slightly. Autumn stood in the doorway, his shirt reaching nearly to her knees.

  “Hey, your electric blanket doesn’t work, and I’m kind of cold. Can I just…?”

  Steve blinked at her in silence for a moment, before pulling the covers open for her. “Yeah. Sure.”

  She slid into bed next to him, snuggling close. Her bare legs felt good against his own skin. One of her hands idly played with his chest hair as her breath came warm against his neck.

  “Good night,” she said softly.

  “Good night.” Shortly, both slumbered easily, still wrapped in each other’s arms.

  “Bro, make a move already,” said Rich, smacking Phil hard in his arm.

  “Leave me alone! It’s none of your business.”

  They were sitting at the table, watching as Crawley spoke with Rex’s wife. Occasionally she would glance over at Phil and smile shyly, then giggle to herself and go back to her conversation.

  “This ain’t one of your stupid Dragons and Dungeons books,” said Rich. “She’s not just going to swoon and fall into your arms. You need to give her a little push.”

  “This is the first time we’ve seen each other since high school.” Phil stared darkly at him. “It’d be weird if I hit on her tonight.”

  “It’d be weird if you didn’t! If you don’t go over there and ask her out, right this minute, I’m going to.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” said Phil menacingly.

  “Then you better go. Because I’m giving you to the count of ten before I go talk to her.”

  “You’re an asshole.” Phil pushed up his spectacles and glared at him.

  “One,” said Rich with exaggerated slowness, “two, three…”

  Phil rose to his feet, giving a last withering glare to Rich. He composed himself as best he could, but on the short walk to her side his heart hammered in his chest, and his tongue felt like lead. He managed a weak smile as Crawley looked up at his approach, grinning.

  “Hey,” she said. “Well, what did you think?”

  “You were awesome. I mean, our last guitarist couldn’t even play the intro to ‘Rock Me Like a Hurricane.’ You killed it!”

  “Thanks!” Her cheeks turned a shade darker, and she gazed at her feet.

  “Uh, listen, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to, I don’t know, hang out someti—”

  “I’d love to!” she said, beaming at him. The lush, smooth surface of her face stood out to him at that moment, and he longed to run his hand across her perfect cheek. She dug around in her jacket pocket and withdrew her phone. “It’s a new phone, and I still don’t have the number memorized…”

  He produced his own phone.

  “Why don’t you call mine?”

  “Sure!”

  He gave her the digits, and soon his phone was ringing. He carefully typed in her name as a new contact, willing his fingers without success to stop shaking.

  “Oh my god,” she said, glancing at her phone. “It’s after midnight! I really need to go home!”

  “I should probably head home too. Got to be in the office by eight tomorrow.”

  Crawley’s eyes lit up eagerly. “Do you want a ride?”

  “Yeah,” he said, pushing his glasses up on his sweaty nose, “that would be great.”

  After saying his good-byes to Rex and the dwindling guests, they headed for the door. Phil gave one last truly black sneer at Rich, who was smiling with what seemed genuine pleasure. The blond man mouthed a silent you’re welcome just before the door shut.

  The night was cool, but not chilly as they stood below the overcast sky. Crawley dug in her pocket and produced her keys, jangling them merrily.

  “So where do you work again?” Phil asked as they walked the brief distance to her car. “I know you work for your dad, but—”

  “Oh, we work out of our home. I really could afford to move out, but what’s the point? I’d like to save money for my own house, but of course, that’s hard to justify when you’re living on your own.”

  They entered the Eclipse, sliding atop the leather bucket seats. Phil was impressed by the numerous lights and displays on the dashboard.

  “Nice car. I feel like I’m in a starship.”

  She giggled sweetly, turning on the radio with her thick finger. “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” thumped out of the swank stereo system.

  “You like eighties music?” he asked.

  “Is the Pope Catholic? They’ve been playing this song a lot lately.”

  “It’s a good song.”

  “Yes, it is. Have you ever listened to the lyrics? They’re kind of beautiful and sad.”

  “Yeah. Kind of like, even though it’s Armageddon and the whole world is screwed, at least we’re still together.”

  She beamed at him, briefly turning her attention from the road.

  “You get it!”

  Phil struggled to come up with small talk, but the fact of the matter was he didn’t need to. Crawley kept up a near constant stream of comments and rhetorical questions, jumping from subject to subject as crazily as a bee zigzags through the air in search of pollen. It almost seemed that she was afraid if she stopped talking, he would decide that he didn’t like her. Before he knew it, they were pulling up outside his apartment in Queens.

  “Nice place,” she said, staring at the modern structure looming over them.

  “Yeah, but it’s kind of pricey.”

  “You have a good job, though.”

  “It’s not bad. A lot of people find it boring
, being an accountant, but I kind of find it soothing. And when I find a mistake and solve it, I don’t know, I kind of feel like I’m fulfilling a purpose, I guess.”

  “That’s really deep, hon.” She patted his hand.

  “I guess I should go in…” He opened the door and got halfway out.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  He paused halfway out of the vehicle, and fixed her with a blank stare. Remembering what Rich had told him, he slid back into the seat and gave her a quick, light kiss on the lips.

  Crawley’s astonished gasp and wide-eyed stare made him cringe on the inside, thinking he had gone too far. Then she giggled again, hiding her mouth behind her hand.

  “I mean, aren’t you forgetting to tell me when we’re going out?”

  “Oh,” he said, cheeks reddening. “I-I guess, I, uh, how does Friday night sound?”

  “It’s a date!” Suddenly she put her hands on his cheeks and kissed him, her tongue slipping into his mouth for just a moment. Then she pushed him away gently and put her hands back on the steering wheel, cheeks flushing red. “Sorry. I’ll see you Friday, okay?”

  “Okay.” Phil stood watching her taillights until they were out of sight.

  Steve woke in the pre-dawn hours, lying on his back. Autumn had rolled over onto her stomach but still had an arm flung across his belly. The beer he had drank earlier demanded to be recycled, and he gingerly moved her arm off of himself before heading to the bathroom.

  When he came out a few moments later, the toilet still flushing, he noticed her eyes were open. He slid back into bed and their hands clasped.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  She glanced at his cell phone, sitting on the nightstand.

  “Almost five.”

  “Shit. I hate waking up an hour before you have to anyway. Not enough time to go back to sleep.”

  “Sure there is,” she said, snuggling up to his side and laying her head on his chest. “Just relax.”

  “I’ll try.” Her head rose a few inches as he inhaled deeply, the precursor to a satisfied sigh. They lay like that for several minutes, his hand stroking her hair.

  Autumn lifted her head to look him in the eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment, then their lips met, very gently. He put a hand on her cheek, her eyes glistening in the feeble light bleeding through the window.