“You’re tired. You’ve had a long day. Perhaps I
could draw you a bath?”
It completely went over his head.
Draw
me a bath?
Never mind the obscene parody of the mental
picture of someone sketching a tub full of suds and water for the eyes of a
blind man—what, was she blind too? What? What?
And why wouldn’t she leave.
He could accept someone helping him home with the
groceries, maybe even coming upstairs for a moment, but this. This.
It was like she was never going.
“Miss. I—”
She was in the other room. The taps were turned on,
with a squeak and a thud from just inside the wall just as it always did, and
then came the sound of running water.
Scott became very fearful.
She was obviously nuts, or bucking for sainthood…?
Or what? What?
He heard footsteps, and craned his head to try and
get some sort of a clue. Her shoes scraped on the old boards, tapped across the
intervening linoleum, and then she was right beside him. Her aroma enveloped
him.
“Ah, listen. Ah—Miss.”
“It’s all right, Scott. I don’t mind.” Her hands
were on his shoulders. “Everything will be fine, Scott. I’m a friend. And
please call me Betty. A little bath is not going to hurt you.”
His guts withered inside. She was serious, and he
didn’t know how to stop her.
She could drown him in the bathtub. Something
cracked inside of Scott and he was inclined to let her.
For fuck’s sakes, why not, eh? Not after all these
years.
It’s not like he hadn’t prayed for death, or at
least release, a time or two.
He shoved the chair back a little, putting his hands
on the edge of the table, preparing to rise.
“No.” Her voice was gentle and soft, up beside his
right ear.
She must be slightly bent at the waist to do it, a
simple deduction, one based on old memories. For some reason his eyes watered
but he blinked it back and watched his breathing for a moment.
Nary a hint of the longing inside escaped, he was almost
sure.
Goose bumps and shivers were beyond his control. It
was a kind of electrical shock—what pure fear did to a man. Her hands were on
him, up close to his throat.
She began to knead and massage Scott’s shoulders. At
first he resisted, and then with a recognition that nothing like this had ever
happened in his life, not in his entire stinking life, Scott gave in again.
He sat there and let it happen.
Psychotic or something, he decided. She could have
gutted me first thing if that’s what she really wanted to do.
Yeah,
but who in the hell is she?
And
why.
The realization that she could have done anything
she wanted with him was no comfort. Thank all the psycho-slasher melodramas on
TV for that. He’d listened to one too many.
He slumped in his chair.
“That’s better. I promise, a nice hot bath will make
you feel a whole lot better.”
“Betty.”
“Yes, Scott?”
“Why are you doing all of this? Please don’t think
that I’m not grateful—” He left the part about not being a charity case unsaid,
hoping that she would get it.
He left out all the stuff about a man’s dignity.
She had done enough for him. He understood and
accepted her need to do this, and yes; he needed someone to do something nice
for him once in a while. As well. And that should have been that.
“I don’t know why, Scott.”
It seemed like a pretty good answer, all things
considered.
Scott hadn’t done the laundry in three or four
weeks. He hadn’t actually showered this morning, having slept in a bit and then
he was feeling very tired for some reason. Then the cheque came in the mail,
and if he was going to the bank he might as well get it over with. His breath
was bad after ten smokes and a coffee. His feet stank. Blind as he was he had
no illusions of his looks and certainly no unrealistic expectations of the
crummy Salvation Army and thrift store attire. The kitchen garbage was
beginning to smell. He’d been cramming as much as possible into the bag, which
cost six cents each, before taking it out. It was probably the can of grease in
there, and his place was often quite warm.
He hadn’t shaved in four or five days, when last it
was, he couldn’t quite recall. While he still had a stick of deodorant in the
bathroom, it was like he hardly used it anymore. He was trying to make it last
a while.
Scott became very aware of all shortcomings in that
exact moment. He really had let himself go—and to hell with it.
What in the hell was wrong with this woman?
The one thing he dare not ask was, why me?
Please don’t say it. Please don’t tell me.
***
“Would you…would you please step out of the room, if only for a moment, Betty? Please?”
“Don’t be silly. I’ve seen plenty of men’s bodies.”
Scott gave a funny, high-pitched little moan as her
strong fingers took his upper arms and spun him twenty degrees to the left or
so and then she was unbuttoning his shirt.
“Betty, I mean really…”
“”It’s okay Scott. Don’t worry about it. I’m very
glad to help.” He lifted and moved his arms and she got his shirt off.
“At least you’re calling me Betty now.” There was a
brightness of expression in there.
He still couldn’t really read her emotional state.
She was too new.
He sensed her kneeling, and very fluid and graceful
a move it was. This was the brightest room in the place, facing south over the
alley and towards a gap in the tall buildings to the southwest. The last of the
sunset was coming right in. It was all he could do to keep up with her.
“Lift your left foot.”
“Ah...”
“Come on, Scott. You can do it. Don’t be a
fraidy-cat.”
She was chiding him like a little kid or something.
His face was suddenly wreathed in a smile.
Just the tone in her voice was what did it.
Unbelievable. You really had to admire her gall.
“Oh, God.” He shook his head in despair and
submission.
He was a little kid again. Holy, Jesus, who is this
girl.
He lifted his left foot and she steadied him with
one hand clamped on his other leg while she peeled it expertly off.
They repeated the process with the other foot.
This is where he baulked.
“No, seriously.”
“What, are you shy? But why?”
“Yes!”
“That’s okay, I’m not.” He could almost sense her
impatience. “Come on, Scott.”
He could feel the heat of her body, barely a foot in
front of him.
Scott hastily backed up and she had to grab him and
steady him because he hadn’t been standing exactly where he thought, and he hit
the laundry hamper by the door.
“Come to mama.”
“Oh, Lord.” He protested again.
She held him up, steadying him.
She dragged him two steps forward.
Finally he gave up. She was tugging at the top
button of his jeans.
“Aw. No. Let me do it, for Christ’s sakes.” He
wasn’t helpless.
What had started off as fear had suddenly
transformed itself into anger, something he hadn’t felt in a very long while—perhaps
too long. His jaw worked back and forth uncontrollably.
So
you want to be like that, eh?
You
have no idea, baby? No clue? Really?
Face hot and red, although he was completely
unconscious of that, he pulled off his jeans, a bit tight but they still fit. He
stumbled and hopped for a moment but he did it alone and without help. The
exertion and the anger had him gasping for air. There were going to be some
consequences.
Little
lady.
When what was coming along very well in terms of
erections un-snagged from the top of his underwear, and popped up as if to take
a long deep breath of fresh air, he stuck his jaw out and kept his mouth
stubbornly clamped shut. He threw the underwear aside angrily, but she just
ignored it all as far as he could determine by sound.
Fine.
Be that way.
He didn’t say it.
What
did you expect, anyways?
He wasn’t trying to impress her. He was damned
angry, right about then. And yet…he supposed he didn’t want it to end, either.
She smelled so good, and what in the hell was she doing here?
“All right, let’s get you into the bath then.”
That was all she said, curiously deflating it was,
for which he was grateful in some ways. His boner subsided, only slightly. The
edge of the tub was up against the side of the calf of his right leg and he
stepped into nearly-scalding water with her hand on his lower back and his
lower bicep hard in her other hand.
He found the usual places to put his hands and cautiously
lowered himself down into the water.
“There. See.”
“Ah…” The water stung in a ring around him as it
rose up on his flesh.
The air was steamy and the room nice and warm. The
sound of light jazz came from the radio on the hall table. He hardly ever
turned it on anymore.
He heard her moving beside him.
The colour of the water, barely visible to him, and
the feel of it, told Scott that she had found some kind of bath foam under the
sink. There was some stuff there from a previous tenant, which he had ignored
until today. He couldn’t actually read the labels and yet there was stuff in
it—he’d opened one and sniffed one, he recalled, a few weeks after moving in.
There was a curiously feminine scent coming up off
the water.
“What the hell is that?”
“Pardon me?”
“Sorry. What’s that smell?”
“Oh.” She went over to the waste basket and pulled
something out. “It’s called Ginseng.”
He snorted.
“Yeah, right.”
So she said she needed somebody. Or no. She said she
didn’t know why…the lady didn’t know why.
He wondered just exactly what the lady meant by
that.
She seemed awfully intense, and painfully naive or
something. She must be insane.
It was just his luck.
***
Scott bent his knees and eased himself a little
deeper into the water. He was a terribly shy man, and what the hell were you
supposed to do about it?
Normally he would take a shower, and this was an
unaccustomed luxury.
He was just trying to think of what to say when she
turned abruptly, opened the door and left.
Betty was in the kitchen. He heard glass clink out
there.
She came right back.
“Here.”
“What is it?”
Rather than answer, she lifted his wrist and then
something hard and cold brushed his fingertips.
His hand closed on a glass. Bringing it up to his
face he recognized it. It was the last of the London Dry Gin of all things. He
was sort of keeping it in reserve, as he didn’t usually drink gin.
Gin had to have the proper mixers and he usually
just bought a six-pack and drank two or three at a time.
“Thank you. Betty—”
He didn’t get to finish as the sound of her zipper
going downwards along the lithe curve of her spine caused his brain to
completely lock up on him for ten or fifteen seconds or so.
His ears weren’t fooling him.
He took a quick slug of the gin. It definitely
helped.
A bare leg came over the side and her foot probed
the foamy blue waters to find where his legs were under the surface.
He sat up and pulled in his feet as best he could
and wished he could see what the hell was going on. Betty settled into the
water, he thought facing him from the sound of her voice.
“It’s okay, Scott. I just needed somebody.”
His jaw went back and forth in deliberation and his
penis went up like a periscope.
“Oh, my God.”
What she did next seemed almost inevitable, judging
by the last ten minutes or so, but even then it still came as something of a
shock.
There was still that hint of terror, deep down
inside, but some other part of his mind retained enough objectivity to realize
that what he really ought to do was to try and relax and enjoy himself.
While it was true the building superintendent, Mrs.
Jarvis, who lived down below, was a bit hard of hearing, the one thing he must
promise himself was not to scream or moan or thrash about too much if he could
possibly help it.
It had been so long since he had touched another
person, or felt their warmth up close.
***
The first morning was the best, the worst, and in
every way terrifying. It was also elevating, exalting even.
She had transformed
his life, if only it turned out to be real. Hell, if only for a moment.
This new love in his life—Scott wasn’t sure if he
was entirely justified in calling it that, but he was sure as hell enamored of
Betty. He could learn to love her if he wasn’t so damned scared of what was
happening to him.
If he could only relax a little.
Who was she?
It couldn’t last. There had to be some kind of a
catch. It was all a big mystery.
But to wake up, have your eyes pop open, with a bit
of a woodie in your pants, and to see that it was real.
To realize that last
night had not been a dream or a hallucination. There was someone in the bed
beside him.
Someone soft, and warm, and beautiful.
Kill
me now while I’m still happy.
Come
on, God, you’ve never let me down before—you bastard.
Scott had been afraid to let on that he was awake
for fear of ruining the illusion. There came a time when you had to pee and
there was no more delaying.
He didn’t know what to make of it.
Betty had the place all cleaned up, not that Scott
really cared one way or another, but she seemed to think it was important.
Scott had been alone for far too long. At some point
one had to ask some serious questions.
She was in the bedroom airing his clothes, folding
laundry and putting his winter clothes away. They’d been heaped up there for a while, but
of course it was a tedious job, one requiring pure feel.
He had the TV on, listening to the on-air
personalities talking on the Weather Channel. It was his routine, and routine
was the one thing that had saved him from going mad. One of the things, anyway.
So what if she was crazy—she was nice, and he knew how close he had been a time
or two. Going mad was just one of those things. It could happen to anybody.
There was a rap of knuckles at the door.
“It’s okay, I’ll get it.” His heart thudded in guilt
for some reason.
It was probably Mrs. Jarvis, and yet here he was a
grown man—he paid rent. She had always been somewhat solicitous, although
royally ineffective at it…it’s just that he had so few visitors.
She was governmentally
ineffectual.
He pulled the chain and undid the bolt. Turning the
little knob on the lockset, he opened the door. He couldn’t quite see who it
was, but there appeared to be two of them.
“Yes?”
“I’m Officer Bruce Nyall and this is my partner,
Officer Diana Wilson. We’ve been canvassing the neighbourhood.”
“Oh?”
Scott wondered if it was for a subscription to
something, raising money for some local charity.
The cops were known to do that from time to time.
Then again they could be creeps trying to fake out a blind man, gain his
cooperation and then get him in trouble. He’d seen one or two bogus ploys over
the years, as often as not someone who had befriended you right out of the
blue.
“So, what can I do you for?” Scott played it cool.
All he saw were two vertical blobs, elongated but
nothing more. They could be real cops.
“Ah, yes, sir. You are Scott Nettles, and do you
reside here?”
“Ah, yes.”
“Okay, sir. We are trying to locate a missing robot.
She was last seen a few blocks from here. The robot is described as a
blue-skinned female, about five-foot eight, with thick blonde hair and big dark
eyes.”
“Ah. Well.”
“Anyway sir, have you seen anyone or anything like
that in the neighbourhood?”
“No, but—”
Officer Wilson nudged Officer Nyall with her elbow.
She pointed, and following her glance, he noted the long white cane standing
just inside the door. It was leaning up against a corner of the small front
hall. It helped to explain the man’s odd demeanor, blankly looking off over to
one side above their heads and with his left ear lowered to catch the nuances,
eyes wide and unfocused.
“That’s okay sir, we’re just checking around. Is
there anyone else in the apartment with you?”
“Ah, no—just me and my, ah, girlfriend.”
Officer Wilson’s eyes lit up a little in empathy. It
was sort of romantic for the poor guy to have someone.
She’d never really
thought about it. It made her shock at his blindness fade somehow. It wasn’t
that bad for the man. Hopefully, maybe. Her heart went out to the more
unfortunate of the city’s residents. For her, this in her third full year of
being a cop, the duty really meant to
serve and protect. It’s why she signed up. She hoped she would never become
cynical. Some of her brother and sister officers sounded fairly cynical at
times, but she often wondered if that was just some kind of emotional shield.
“All right, sir, we won’t take up too much of your
time. Do you have a phone?”
Scott’s mouth was open in a half-witted grin.
“So you guys are looking for a robot?” His belly
muscles, shirtless as he was, convulsed at the notion. “Heh-heh-heh.”
“Ah, yes, sir.” Diana spoke up now, with a smile
evident in her voice. “Yes, sir. Please call us if you notice anything. Someone
might mention something, you know?”
She pressed a business card into his hand, mentally
cursing herself as she did so, but he took it readily enough. Maybe he’d be
able to read it with his fingertips, she thought, the names and numbers were
pretty heavily embossed.
“Officers Nyall and Wilson. Okay, sir?”
He could always get a neighbour or the landlady to
read it for him.
“Ah. Yes. Of course.” Scott still had the ludicrous
grin on his face.
Realizing a nod, or a tug at the cap brim wouldn’t
be of much use, Officer Nyall spoke up.
“Okay. Good night sir. We’re leaving now, and we’ll
let you get back at it.”
“Oh. Thank you, officers. Good night.”
Scott closed the door and locked and latched it all
up again. Dimly he heard them move on to the next unit, number six, and rap on
the door. It was just down to the left and across the hall.
“Hmn. Don’t that beat all.”
Scott turned and headed back to the couch, still
shaking his head.
“Betty!”
“Yes, dear?”
“You are not going to believe what just happened.”
She came out of his dingy little bedroom with a
white sock in one hand and a black one in the other, and an inquiring look on
her face.
“What?”
...to be continued...
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