“Slow and sweet,” Rosie said.
The night was almost over, one of the slowest they’d had in forever. This was because it was just after Christmas and people were home, not doing much but finishing out their year and making plans for the new year’s celebration. At least that was the way Bill reasoned it.
The night was so slow he could have done the service all by himself. In effect, he pretty much did do it this way since Jimmy G did what Jimmy G did. He spent some time with his aunt, talking, sitting in the chair there napping. He spent some time with Bill, sitting on the make-shift chair he kept near the kitchen, which was really a milk crate. Sometimes when Jimmy sat on that crate Bill remembered sitting out in the hall at Suburban with Bea and Mary and Henry Lee. Jimmy G also took his trips to the main kitchen to hang out with Jimmy Banquet Chef and Victor.
Bill did not mind working alone. Bill did not mind being by himself. Slow as it was and with the drinking they’d all done earlier, it was a long, long day, boring and refusing to end. So he drank espresso from time to time and diet coke when he was thirsty and wanted something cold to drink. He did not eat much although at one point Kalista made him a big Greek salad which he munched on over on Jimmy’s side of the kitchen where the customers could not see him eating. Both Rosie and Edelgarde helped themselves to some of that salad. At this point there was no reason to worry about sharing silverware or food.
They met in the distant staff bathroom. Rosie had already eaten, Jo Ann was already gone and Bill had fed Caesar his usual steak. Jimmy G, because he’d been away most of the night, most of the service, had come in and told Bill to take a nice, long break until they started to clean up. Rosie, with nothing to do, had been hanging by the open serving window/hearth and heard this. She winked at Bill and Bill knew to head out where they would meet.
As always, they’d locked the door behind them. Neither one of them seemed in a hurry, and really neither one of them was. Only trouble was a comfortable space, but both of them were familiar with where they were and made do.
“How slow and how sweet?” Bill asked.
“I get ready just thinking about you and this,” Rosie said. “I’d say do with me what you will, but here’s what I want.”
Standing there, between the stalls and the sinks, right in the middle of the bathroom’s floor, Rosie leaned in and whispered into Bill’s ear. What she said did not shock or surprise him. Her breath caressing his ear was soft and sensual and as she continued whispering, he held her close to him and ran his hands along her back and then down to her backside where, because of the uniform, he could easily reach up under the maid’s skirt.
They kissed standing there, and while he fondled her, she reached between them and caressed him. He was already roused. Good to be young, just a pup he thought sometimes. Feeling him roused roused her more and Rosie closed her eyes and let a soft moan escape.
“And you can cook too,” she said. Then, “Think we’ll be missed?”
“Not really.” Bill reached behind him as they kissed and untied his apron. Then with both hands he took it from him and moved away from her toward the sink counter. He spread the apron out on the counter and made it soft and as comfortable as he could for her.
“Come,” he said. “Slow and sweet.”
By Peter Weiss
Rosie and Edelgarde were both in when Jimmy G, Bill and Kalista returned to The Falstaff Room. The girls, still in their street clothes, were standing by Kalista’s station drinking coffee and eating Greek pastries.
“Good?” Kalista asked. She smiled at them, visibly pleased that they were helping themselves.
“The best,” Edelgarde said. “No one makes these better than you.”
“That’s for shit sure,” Rosie said. She put what she still had in her hands into her mouth and finished it off happily. “How we doing?” she asked Bill and Jimmy G even before she’d swallowed. She sipped her coffee and wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.
“We’re all good,” Bill said. He was already unloading Kalista’s items from the truck. Those things he knew where to put, he put away for her. Anything he wasn’t sure of he put on her counter.
Jimmy G didn’t do anything at first. He went to sit down but just as he was about to plant himself in the chair his aunt, Bill saw, gave him eyes, the evil/critical eyes, and she said something to him in Greek that caused him not to sit. Instead, he got steady on his feet and started helping Bill unload the truck. Bill could see that he clearly did not want to be doing this, but he didn’t say anything.
When they’d unloaded all of Kalista’s items, they pulled the truck closer to the double doors. As Bill passed Rosie, she stuck her tongue out at him and wiggled it a bit. Then she smiled at him and did a little curtsy.
“Nice sweet tongue at the moment,” she said. “A very happy one and a happy tummy too.”
Bill thought to grab his crotch in that male gesture, but then he thought better of it. He knew she’d have an answer for him and it wouldn’t be something he would want everyone to hear, not that he thought for one moment Rosie would be foolish enough to let everyone hear what she had to say. To the contrary, he knew she would wait until she could get close to him and whisper something in his ear.
Which is precisely what she did as soon as she could when Jimmy G and Bill were finished setting up. Jimmy had gone to his aunt’s station and was sitting off to the side fast asleep. Bill was alone in the small kitchen. He wasn’t really doing much other than making sure all was set for the dinner service.
Every so often, alone, Bill would stir the sauces, make sure all the spoons, knives and ladles (all serving utensils) were in place and set the way he liked them. He made sure the plate warmers were filled, the garnish was in place and extras of everything were set into the coolers. He went back and forth over the small kitchen, checked everything.
Rosie, now in her sexy uniform, stepped just inside the kitchen.
“My tongue is still sweet,” she said. Then she looked up. She was standing under the mistletoe which still hung in the doorway. She pointed up to it.
Bill was close to her, about ready to get himself a soda when she stepped in. Without responding, he leaned in and kissed her. As he did so, since Rosie was facing him and no one could actually see, he reached between them, between her legs and helped himself to a feel. As he pushed her panties to the side, she moved slightly to make it easier for him. He heard her moan when his touch got really real.
Then the moment was over, all too soon for both of them, but the way it had to be for where they were standing.
“Later?” Rosie said.
“Definitely,” Bill said.
By Peter Weiss
Much as he didn’t want to, he sat. They sat. Kalista had homemade sweets and she set out a plate from which the boys, her boys, could help themselves.
Jimmy G ate. First time he leaned in to get something from the plate, his aunt slapped him upside the head, not hard, just firm and surprising. Jimmy said something to his aunt in Greek but she responded in English to the effect of saying she’d hit him any time she pleased, hard as she pleased. She thanked Bill, as she did often, for not complaining about Jimmy’s laziness.
“I only know you a little while,” Bill said, “but I hope you know I think the world of you. Anything for you, love.”
Kalista smiled. As she did so, she went over to the espresso machine and made espresso for them all. They sat. They drank. Bill smoked a cigarette.
Jo Ann came by first. She was still in her civvies. Seeing them sitting, she looked at the clock on the wall. “You all set up or not even started yet?” she asked.
“Not started,” Bill said.
“Gonna be ready?”
“Why not? We have time.”
“Don’t want to hear his mouth,” Jo Ann said.
“I take care of him,” Kalista said. “I make sure he no bother my boys.”
Jo Ann helped herself to a piece of the pastry. “Keep him off our backs too,” she said.
“I hold the keys,” Kalista said.
And she did. Everyone knew she did. Everyone there associated with The Falstaff Room knew she had the goods on Caesar and knew it had to do with that waitress he’d caused to quit. That waitress had confided in Kalista, mother figure that Kalista was.
Jo Ann looked great, Bill thought. She had on tight jeans and a low-cut top that hugged her enough to reveal some but not too much of her bosom. She wore heels and she moved about comfortably in who she was. She presented herself much younger than her age and was definitely attractive.
Jo Ann always liked Kalista’s pastries and did not generally miss an opportunity to have some. She stood by everyone and she would have stayed longer if Caesar had not come by. He was on his way in for the day, ever himself in that he did not bother to stop or say hello. He had his tux on but he carried his jacket over his shoulder. His shirt collar was open, no bow tie yet.
“We need to get started,” Bill said.
“Ya,” Jimmy G said.
Kalista shook her head. She didn’t say anything.
Jo Ann made a face, shrugged her shoulders, quickly walked through the double doors into The Falstaff Room after Caesar.
Kalista went to the main kitchen with her boys. She needed some things brought out to her pantry station and told the boys she was using their truck. Bill and Jimmy G didn’t care. Even if it meant making an extra trip they wouldn’t have cared.
Kalista was happy to see Victor and Jimmy Banquet Chef. She spent a lot of time talking with them in Greek. They were working on the potatoes for the breakfast in the morning. Bill noted that she would say something and then look over toward Jimmy G. That, he thought, did not bode well for his partner.
By three-thirty Jimmy G and Bill were just about all set up. They had carried out all supplies and set up everything that needed to be set. The only things they had left to carry out were some hot items. They also had to pick up the prime rib which was still cooking. Because nothing much was going on in the main kitchen, the rotary oven was not fired up and the rib was set in one of the conventional ovens. It still had a bit more to go.
“You guys all set?” the banquet chef asked.
“The Pope Catholic?” Bill replied.
“Got time to see your girlfriend,” Victor said to Bill.
By Peter Weiss
Jimmy G stretched as he stepped out of the chef’s office. Actually he yawned first, a big wide yawn that he covered with the back of his hand just before he reached both arms out wide to his sides above shoulder height. Once both arms were out there he raised them up to a parallel position overhead and reached up high.
Victor, Jimmy Banquet Chef and Bill, surprise, surprise, were finished with the sauté work. They had panned-up the last breasts, shut off their stoves and left the pans to cool down before carrying them off to the pot washer station. They stood not far from the chef’s office and smoked a cigarette.
“Ya,” Jimmy G said as he walked up to them.
“Good morning,” Jimmy Banquet Chef said.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Victor said.
“Ya.” Jimmy G stood there with them. He yawned again, covered his mouth as he did so, stretched his arms out again then dropped them to his sides, bent them at the elbows and moved his elbows back to stretch his shoulders and back.
“We did all the chicken breasts,” the banquet chef said.
Jimmy G didn’t say anything. He shrugged his shoulders, didn’t look the slightest bit concerned about his not having done any work.
“Want to crack some eggs for tomorrow breakfast?” Victor asked him. Victor looked at the banquet chef and made a face as if to say “yeah right.”
Jimmy G didn’t answer. He didn’t do anything except turn and walk away. When he came back several minutes later he carried three mugs of espresso which he made himself over by the room service kitchen. They all stood together, drank the coffee and smoked.
“About thirty dozen,” Victor said.
“I’ll do it,” Bill said.
“We’ll all do it,” the banquet chef said. “Your partner can start the set up for the room for tonight.”
“Ya, ya,” Jimmy G said.
“We should pan up the bacon and sausage too,” Victor said.
“And the ham steaks,” Bill said. “All I want to do in the morning is the cooking.”
“We can make the potatoes too while we’re at it.”
“Not me,” Bill said. “By then, I’ll be setting up.”
“Well, let’s get started,” the banquet chef said.
They did ten dozen eggs apiece kind of as if it were a race. They each had a large china cap set into a pot and they each cracked two eggs at a time, one in each hand. The shells went directly into trash cans.
This part of the prep work did not take long and when they’d finished, they put all the cracked eggs together into one area in the walk-in. Each of their pans was wrapped tight.
Bacon, sausage links and ham were placed on sheet trays. This was a tedious chore, especially the bacon which had to be separated and laid out carefully strip by strip. The ham and sausages were easy because they could be handled in quantity and quickly set into place. The hardest part of this work was gathering the sheet pans, wrapping them in film and then carrying them off to the walk-in.
When this was done it was just about time for Bill to start work with Jimmy G gathering the needed things for The Falstaff Room. Jimmy was supposed to have started the work, but he didn’t. He went out and sat by his aunt. Kalista wasn’t working yet, but she was in her uniform and checking her pantry to see what she would need.
That’s how Bill found them, found him. Jimmy was just about back to sleep. Bill had gone to find him, to see what he’d done so far.
“Sit awhile,” Jimmy G said. “We’ll get it done fast and then you can go change if you want to.”
Bill did want to put on a clean uniform. He didn’t want to sit yet. He wanted to finish setting up before he took a break.
By Peter Weiss
After Bill, Victor and the banquet chef breaded all the chicken breasts for all the parties and wrapped and put away what they weren’t going to sauté now, they washed and cleaned up their station then went to smoke a cigarette.
Bill was already mostly sober as they stood smoking. They’d stopped by room service to get themselves double espressos which they carried in coffee mugs. Then they stood there away from the prep part of the kitchen. They smoked. They sipped the black, somewhat-thick coffee. Victor and the banquet chef talked some in Greek and then they both spoke to Bill in English.
“Nothing much will change for you when your probation is over,” the banquet chef said.
“Kalista thinks of you as one of her own babies,” Victor said. “That’s the best you can do in this place.”
“I think she’s great,” Bill said. “She’s been great to me.”
“She likes how you cover for your lazy partner.”
“She likes how you stand up to Caesar,” Victor said.
“When we slow down in banquets,” the banquet chef said, “the chef’s gonna make sure you keep most of your extra hours. That’s good for us, good for him and good for you.”
“Idle hands,” Victor said. “How’s your little banquet waitress?”
Bill hadn’t seen Beverly in a little while and this, altogether, was not a bad thing from his point of view. Not that it mattered – in the scope of things it was just another thing that didn’t mean much in the world. It’s biggest significance was the implication in his marriage, but she was already one of many. In and of herself, she was neither here nor there.
Thinking of her, feeling as he was, Bill wished – just for a moment – she was there today. He knew, and he had felt this before at different times in his short life, he was on the edge, dangerous of sorts. Not dangerous dangerous. He knew he wouldn’t do anything dangerous, not hurt himself or anyone or even anything. But as he thought about it and he saw things, he was starting to think that Millie, who was there today, and Edelgarde and Rosie from The Falstaff Room needed to be careful. No telling what he might do. No telling who he might do it to. Whatever he was gonna do, and he didn’t know what yet himself, he might do it to all of them.
Maybe I should be careful, he thought.
“Cat got your tongue?” Victor said.
“I was thinking,” Bill said.
“Both of you better start thinking about those chicken breasts, Jimmy Banquet Chef said. “The chef won’t want to come in tomorrow and see us all backed up.”
“Where’s my partner?” Bill asked.
The banquet chef and Victor looked at each other. “Should we tell him?” Victor asked.
“Might as well.”
“Sleeping in the chef’s office,” Victor said. “That’s why it’s dark.”
“Why you hesitate to tell me?” Bill asked.
Victor and the banquet chef looked at each other again. Neither one said anything.
“I know the score,” Bill said. “I’m cool with it. Last time I’m gonna say it, but I’m just as happy working alone, so it’s all good. Besides, I truly like Kalista and I’d do most anything for her.”
“See,” Jimmy Banquet Chef said to Victor, “that’s why our sister likes him so much.”
Finished their cigarettes and the espresso, the banquet chef served them each a double shot of whiskey. Then they went about doing the sauté. Since they were alone together, they each set up their stations. This meant gathering the big, big-ass sauté pans and the tools with which to do the sauté.
Each of them ready, each of them watching and helping the two others also, they stood waiting for the oil to heat up.
By Peter Weiss
Bill remembered the aftermath of the breading that day with Mary. He remembered how he was not out of it but strangely focused on strange things. One of them was an uncontrollable sexual urge and a devil-may-care, what-the-hell attitude. Bottom line of that attitude was that he just plain didn’t give a shit.
He knew that no matter what he did they weren’t gonna fire him. He knew he could do just about anything, actually truly just about anything, and they would tolerate it. They would tolerate it because he was attached to Robert at the hip and he could do his job better than almost anyone.
First devil’s chore he chose was walking in on Marie while she was in the ladies room changing. He did it on purpose having waited what he thought was long enough for her to have shucked her civvies. He and Henry Lee were cutting meat now, it being just a touch after four in the afternoon. He told Henry Lee he was gonna go do Marie. Henry said “Bless you brother, take her off my hands for a bit.”
To his content, Bill found Marie in her bra and panties.
“What the fuck,” she said. “Get out of here before I tell Mary what you doing.”
“Tell her,” Bill said.
“I will.”
“Give me a kiss.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Give me a kiss. You always wanted to anyway.”
“That part is true.”
It was true. Marie had tried to get with Bill lots of times and Bill had stayed away out of courtesy for Henry Lee. Marie was his squeeze.
“So give me a kiss.”
Marie stepped toward Bill, reluctantly at first, but the moment their lips met and he put a hand on her shoulder she melted into him. She not only melted into him, but she kissed him passionately.
Bill pressed into her, wrapped her skinny body in his arms. He was a horny, excited twenty year old male under the influence and not in his right head.
“Goddamn,” Marie said.
Bill didn’t know if it was from her feeling him against her, she in just her panties down there, or if it was from the kiss. Either way, he reasoned best as he could reason, it didn’t matter.
What he did do was lock the door behind him so no one else could walk in on them. If it were Bea, she’d laugh. If it was Henry Lee, he might join in. If it was Mary, she’d be pissed. Not only were they an item, her and Bill, but it had been tough enough for her to get him to finish the breading. He’d wasted a lot of time and she’d had to work around him.
They kissed more. They kissed a lot more. Without any hesitation Bill reached down behind her and into Marie’s panties. She spread her legs some and let his hand and fingers go where they pleased, where she’d been wanting them to be for a good while.
“I’m embarrassed,” she said when Bill’s fingers slid into her. “Look what you do to me, white boy.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” Bill said. “I’m not the least bit embarrassed.”
“I hate you,” Marie said.
“I hate you too,” Bill said.
That said from both of them, Bill went to work first. He told her he wasn’t going into her yet but it could happen some other time if she wanted it. She told him it was definitely in her plans.
Down on his knees, Bill took down her panties, looked happily at her completely bald coochie.
Marie leaned back against the sink and closed her eyes.
It would have been hard for anyone to tell who was tripping more.
By Peter Weiss
Bill remembered the time with Mary, that one afternoon at Suburban when they were going about breading shrimp, pickerel and onion rings.
Wasn’t the only time he was high. Wasn’t the only time he was tripping. Wasn’t the only time he was high and drunk and tripping. But it was the time he and Mary had put aside to do the breading for the rest of the week.
Actually Mary hadn’t put away her time. She had put away his time. She had planned it so Bill had time to do the breading while all she had to do was help set him up, watch him and help him tray everything the way she wanted it for them for the line.
Bill already knew everything anyway. Bill was a quick study, smart and very organized. Mary knew this about Bill. She also knew he was meticulous, not just in his cooking but in his other activities too. That was one thing she liked about him and her together. He was painstakingly thorough.
Bill and Henry Lee had been drinking and smoking pot all morning straight up to the lunch service. They had beer stashed in the hall for when there were lulls during the service so they could go to the hall and drink. Bill had brought some acid to work with him and thinking they would have a slow afternoon, not much to do but the breading and some meat cutting, he popped a tab right at the start of the lunch service.
He’d figured it would take awhile to come on, probably hit him right about when he was standing with Mary doing the setup for the breading. But it didn’t quite work that way.
Henry Lee happened to see him pop the tab.
“Goddamn,” he said.
“Fuck it,” Bill said. “Sometimes I just fucking hate life.”
“Yeah, well, ain’t that a bitch,” Henry Lee said.
“Like I said,” Bill said.
The acid came on much sooner than he’d thought and right in the middle of the lunch rush he found he was tripping. It wasn’t a lot at first and he functioned. But toward the end of the service it took all the concentration he could muster just to do the slightest work well.
Henry Lee helped much as he could. He didn’t want Mary to find out and he certainly didn’t want Bea to find out. Bea was a wild card. She would be livid and no telling what she would do.
He knew Tommy was hip to it because Tommy, the assistant manager, was shaking his head as he watched Bill fumble around. Tommy was expediting. Twice he asked Bill if he was okay. Twice Bill said he was fine, that he felt sick, a little dizzy. Tommy asked if he had to cover Bill for the night. Bill said he’d be okay.
He was okay. He made it through the service. He was messed up at lunch for the staff and he was fully tripping as he and Mary set up for the breading. Several times he reached up under Mary’s skirt and several other times he just plain felt her up up there. Twice he kissed her right in front of Bea. Part of that on some subconscious level was spite, not to make Bea jealous but to piss her off.
They watched Bill, Mary and Bea did, while he stood over the breading station for about an hour just staring into the egg wash and not breading anything. Several times Mary went out the side doors into the side dining room to get coffee for her and Bill. Bill drank the coffee she brought him, but it wasn’t changing anything.
Finally she said what she said, which was “Boy how long you plan to be staring into them eggs? You plan to do any breading?”
Breading was a mindless chore, why Bill could, fairly drunk at the moment, not only bread the chicken breasts with Victor and the banquet chef but be lost in his thoughts too. His hands, experienced hands, moved without need for his head.
By Peter Weiss
“Jesus Christ,” Millie said.
“Happy?”
“God yes.”
“Feeling better?”
“I am now. All good. Gonna get some black coffee and go back to work happy and cheery.”
“You owe me big time.” Bill leaned in over Millie who was still not naked but fully exposed in the chair. He kissed her on the mouth long and hard.
“Jesus Christ,” Millie said again when they were done kissing. She made no attempt to cover up. Instead she showed herself proudly.
“You really think I’m gorgeous?” she asked.
“Definitely,” Bill said.
“Can you come back later?”
“Don’t think so. I’ve already been gone too long and they’re gonna razz me pretty good.”
“I can take care of you real quick.”
“I like you owing me.”
“You know you can have whatever you want, whenever you want.”
“I know,” Bill said.
“What are you gonna tell them?”
“Who? The boys? That Chloe gave you whiskey for us and we had a few drinks.”
“That it?”
“You bet.” Bill leaned in again kissed her again. This time when they were done kissing, Bill helped her up from the chair. He wanted to make sure she was steady on her feet.
Standing with her, he kissed her some more and as he did, he helped himself to a generous and prolonged feel of her all over.”
“They gonna believe you?” Millie asked. She did not move from his touch. She moved herself into it, helped him with her movements to find what he was looking for, what she wanted.
“Not for a second,” Bill said.
“And…?”
“And what?”
“And don’t stop.”
Millie, while they stood there, took Bill’s hand and led it to her, to where she wanted. She reached up and kissed him all the while they stood there, all they while he touched her.
“Maybe I will stop by later,” Bill said.
“Three-thirty,” Millie said. “You’ll be set up and will have some time before the room opens. I’ll be happy to pay off.”
“You have no idea what I might ask.”
“No matter what, be okay with me. Whatever it is.”
Bill kissed her one last time, watched as she put herself together and then led him out making sure the coast was clear.
“Three-thirty,” she said.
“If I can,” Bill said.
They were waiting for him in the main kitchen. Jimmy Banquet Chef and Victor were setting up to sauté chicken breasts. Jimmy G was sitting by the chef’s office smoking a cigarette and reading the Greek newspaper.
“Don’t mind the lazy one,” Jimmy Banquet Chef said. “He’s always gonna be lazy.”
“I’m not saying anything,” Bill said. He went first to read the banquet board, to see what they had for the rest of the week. When he had read it, studied it, he turned to the banquet chef and Victor and said, “Easy week.”
“Breakfast, lunch and one dinner tomorrow,” the banquet chef said. “None of them big. Then a quick lunch and two dinners the next day. Nothing the day before New Year’s Eve, but New Year’s Eve day is gonna be a bit crazy.”
“You can help us with the breakfasts and lunches. Dinner in your room is gonna be very busy.”
“Too bad for us,” the banquet chef said. “No New Year’s celebration for us.”
“Double time,” Victor said. “I’d rather make money anyway.”
“Me too,” Bill said.
“All right,” the banquet chef said, “let’s get this show on the road.”
Because it was quiet, because they were drinking, because there was no real hurry to do the work, the three men did everything themselves. First they stood and breaded the chicken breasts. They did this together in a line, each one dipping and handling one part of the breading, first man taking the chicken breasts from the trays, last man, which was Bill, traying them up again.
Tray after tray, they breaded all the breasts that needed to be done. Before they started to sauté, they smoked a cigarette and had another drink.
By Peter Weiss
Her being drunk was not a bad thing, Bill thought. His getting more high – he was used to drinking and so he was high, not drunk – was a good thing too. Owing her wasn’t bad either.
Wrong-think was bad and he was steeped in it. Self-pity was bad and he was steeped in that too. He didn’t quite know it or feel it as self-pity at the moment, but sometimes he did. Today he just felt crappy and he didn’t know why. All he knew was that he had no reason to be feeling crappy and that by any ordinary circumstances he should be feeling absolutely super.
On some level away from everything, if he looked at everything somewhat clearly, he had it made in the shade. Here was this gorgeous girl before him ready, willing and able, and she was not his wife either. That was the big dream of seven in ten married men. He was working, had money in the bank, had a good wife and…
He could go on.
“I am drunk,” Millie said, the third drink down. “See what you’ve done to me?”
“I haven’t done anything yet,” Bill said.
“And you’re not gonna,” Millie said. “I have to puke.”
“Ah, you’re fine,” Bill said.
“No. I really have to throw up.”
That said, she took off for the small closet-size bathroom there in the back.
And that was that.
Millie came back a moment later, disheveled and unsteady on her bare feet. She plopped herself into the arm chair and sat there, hair mussed, legs spread wide, dress partially opened bottom to top.
“You can do anything you want to me if you still want to,” she said.
“You look like shit,” Bill said. “You’re gorgeous, but you look like shit.”
“I feel like shit,” Millie said.
“Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker,” Bill said. He laughed.
“I mean it,” Millie said. “Just use me. I brushed my teeth and rinsed out my mouth with Listerine.”
Some fifteen years later Bill would be with a waitress who would say the same thing. Of course he couldn’t know this yet and he didn’t know that he would hear the words and remember Millie. He would remember then what he did now and so then in retrospect he would know what the feelings were.
What Bill did with Millie was about his father more than anything else, about that what-he-would-come-to-learn-as irrational and misguided notion that you had to give in order to get, or worse, that you just had to give. Bill would not rationalize it, would not think it out. Maybe if he could have done that he would have acted differently, not just now but through his whole life.
Millie was sprawled out in the chair just about maybe almost fully conscious.
“You know you really are gorgeous.” Bill stood a few feet from her, before her. He reached down and opened the last few buttons of her house-dress, spread it apart, stood looking at her skinny, Marie-like body. For his own pleasure, he reached behind her, unhooked her purple bra and pushed it to the side so he could see her bare breasts. Then he reached under her and pulled down her panties, let them settle down at her ankles and on her bare feet.
“Am I gorgeous?” Millie asked.
“You bet your sweet ass,” Bill said.
He stood looking at her as if he were an artist getting ready to start working on her portrait. In effect, it was somewhat the same. He was indeed an artist getting ready to go to work on his canvas.
By Peter Weiss
They had a second drink.
When Millie brought that second drink she sat next to him on the sofa. “I’m not used to this,” she said, “to the drinking early in the day. I’m getting light-headed.”
“Feel good?” Bill asked.
“Not complaining,” Millie said. “Not complaining about anything.”
“I do have to get up to the kitchen, you know.”
“I know,” Millie said, “and I know we’ve already spent some of your time.”
“I’d say your time too.”
“Our time,” Millie said. “I’m hoping we’ll have lots of our time over time. If you want that, of course.”
Bill thought a moment. The thought was if he had what he wanted he wouldn’t be here in the first place. The thought was that if he knew what he wanted he might have it. But it was so much more than that.
It is much more than that, Bill thought. Bill knew it went all the way back to his father who taught him that love was fulfilling the other person, that it was selfish to go after what you yourself wanted.
At other times, in another place, at this particular spot in that thought Bill would ask himself what he wanted. Not now. Not here. Not sitting on the sofa next to Millie who was waiting for him to do something. In effect, he thought, his not doing something was doing something.
Much, much later in his life Bill would discover something he would consider a major discovery. It wasn’t that women and the sex were just another drug, which they were. He would discover that much sooner.
He would discover that Robert’s saying “what’s good to you is good for you” wasn’t as simple as it seemed. How could you know what was good for you? What was good to you? What seemed good to you one day sometimes ended up being crappy in the end, crappy overall. It was hard to figure. Then, what about what felt good? Was what felt good good for you? Good to you? Sex felt good at the time. But then… Drugs felt good, but then…
Helping that kid at that demonstration felt good – at the moment. It felt right, was, regardless of the consequences, right. It felt good right up to the moment he got grabbed by the undercover FBI agents who happily knocked him out from behind and handed him over to the Columbus police.
And now here he was. Millie in purple was sitting next to him. Skinny Marie-like-except-in-cinnamon-skin Millie, prepared and willing to do anything he wanted, anything he said, sat next to him on the sofa, her bony, sexy self with magnificent hands and feet all just for him. In her barely closed housedress under which was more purple, bra and panties, she was positively delectable. And she was light-headed too.
But he was thinking about his father. He was thinking about what his father impressed upon him, specifically about not taking what you wanted, about fulfilling others, about love being putting the other person before yourself and caring for them more than for yourself.
What bullshit, he would come to learn.
That big, major discovery that would come some maybe forty years later was that so much of what his father taught him/impressed upon him was survivor mentality. How simple. Survivor mentality. Survivor stuff.
He would be teaching a book called Maus. The father, a survivor, was exercising. He asked his son to get him his medicine, which the son did. When the father opened the bottle of pills he spilled them all over. “Look what you did,” the father screams at the son and he goes on to berate him, to beat him up mentally.
“Let’s have another drink,” Bill said.
“I was hoping for something else,” Millie said.
“I know,” said Bill. “That too.”
“You owe me,” Millie said. “And you’re building up a big debt.”
Millie, clearly showing disappointment in her demeanor, stood. She took Bill’s glass and hers and got them another drink.
“This will make me drunk,” she said.
