Crash Diet

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

In her whole life, Irene had never been attracted to another woman. Except maybe at Lou-Anne’s sleep over when the girls gleefully compared their bare breasts. And hadn’t it been enthralling when, after the lights were extinguished, someone had searched her out and sucked her n*****s in the darkness. Irene had leaned back against her pillow, wide-eyed, marveling at the sensations, not even knowing who her playmate was. But they were just kids.

Pamela wasn’t a kid, nor a woman. She was a young girl and Irene wondered if her feelings had more to do with a maternal instinct. But Lord, hadn’t they’d had s*x? So that couldn’t be right.

It had something to do with youth, for sure, but there was a freshness about Pamela, an unbridled spirit and innocent loveliness that Irene found compelling. Like holding a child’s doll, Irene wanted to feel those same feelings of comfort and security. And if Pamela wanted something more than that, something physical, well Irene wanted to provide for her. It wasn’t lusting as much as satisfying. Irene couldn’t explain it to herself any better than that. And it was unsettling to realize she’d never felt that way about a man.

Later, they sat at the kitchen table, sipping Irish coffees. After the s*x, they had dried off, got dressed and cleared away the pizza box and dirty dishes. “What’s it like to fly?” Pamela asked. “I would think it must be the most wonderful sensation.”

“Mmm. It’s the best. Really. When I fly my small plane, there’s this feeling of freedom. I leave all my problems behind on the ground.”

“Wait. You own your own plane?”

“Sure. A Piper Cherokee 140. Great little four-seater. I keep it at the flying club.”

“Gosh. That’s so cool.” Pamela reached across and trickled her fingers along Irene’s forearm, playing in the hairs.

“I’ll take you up sometime; give you a lesson.”

Pamela’s face beamed. “I could fly your plane? I’d love to try.”

“Once my dad started me off, I was hooked. If you find you love flying, building up your hours and qualifying on larger aircraft is challenging, but fun.”

“What’s it like with the big planes?”

“More complicated. A DC10-10 is one-hundred and seventy feet long and weighs in at two-hundred and fifteen tons. The raw energy needed to get something that big off the ground is intoxicating. The engine thrust is equivalent to eighty-thousand horsepower. When you hear those jet turbines unwinding against the earth’s inertia; when you’re rolling, really rolling with your body jammed into the seat and you’re coaxing all that power under the palms of your hands. And you pull back on the yoke and feel the nose come up, feel the force of the lift. God, it’s intense. I never tire of the adrenaline-charge. I guess I’m addicted.”

Pamela sat back. “I really want to try it. Could we...”

Her words were cut off by the sound of Irene’s side-door being thrown open. “What the Christ are you doing here?” Adam marched across to where Pamela sat blinking in fear and amazement. He had his fists balled.

“Adam?” Irene was already on her feet, startled by the intrusion. “We’re having coffee.”

Pamela scrambled back at the sight of his fists. Her chair went over. “Adam! What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“I called my friend at the University. You, you cheap lesbo bitch.”

Irene saw Adam raise his hand and quickly stepped in front of him. “Adam! Don’t!” Irene got a grip on his arm and deflected the hit but he still managed to reach around and he landed a glancing blow off the side of Pamela’s face. Pamela screamed and was sent sprawling back, her head cracking the table leg on the way down. Adam tried to sidestep Irene to land a kick but as soon as he lifted his right foot, Irene threw her shoulder into him and, off balance, he landed hard against the fridge.

“Jesus Christ, Irene,” he swore. “Get off me. She’s a fuckin’ lesbo. Get outta my way.”

But Irene had smothered him with the weight of her body and had no intentions of letting him go. “Pamela,” she shouted, looking back to where the girl was pushing herself up. “Run. Get outta here. Now!”

Pamela didn’t need any encouragement. Holding the side of her face with one hand and plucking her bag up with the other, she darted out the door. “Good thing I found out what you’re really like...” she spat back over a shoulder.

Adam heaved, but he wasn’t about to free himself from Irene’s bear hug. “b***h!” he shouted after her. And as Irene wrestled with his writhing body she heard the sound of the car door and the engine turning over. It was only then that Adam deflated. He sank back, the tears streaming down his cheeks. “You shouldn’t have stopped me,” he moaned.

“For god-sake, Adam. What the hell has gotten into you?” Irene passed tissues down to where he sat blubbering, his back against the refrigerator door.

Adam, suddenly realizing how ridiculous he looked, struggled up. “She’s a lesbo, Irene. And she’s been whoring around on me with some dyke at the University. She’s made a friggin’ fool outta me. When my friends hear, they’ll never stop laughing. I’ll have to leave town. Find another school.”

Irene went to the cupboard and poured out a healthy shot of vodka. “Adam? You’re a complete horse’s ass, you know that?” she said, handing him the drink. “If I didn’t like you so much, I’d help you pack.”

“What’s this?” Adam asked, eyeing the glass.

“It’s vodka, i***t. Swallow it down and I’ll get you a beer.”

Adam did as he was told. And after he had drained the glass, he picked the chair from the floor and slumped down. Irene set a bottle of Dos Equis in front of him. “Feel like talking?”

“No. A lesbian. Can you believe that? I spent a whole year dating a fuckin’ lesbian. Christ,” he looked up. “You’re damned lucky she didn’t come-on to you.”

Irene looked nonplussed. “Nothing to worry about there. I’m not lesbian material.”

“So why was she over here?”

“Same as you. She needed to talk. She’s very fond of you, you know? At least she was fond of you ‘till you came charging in here like a bull rhinoceros.”

“God, I’m sorry, okay? I came over to talk things out, looked through the window and saw her sitting at your table, bold as hell. I just lost it. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. You didn’t break anything. Drink your beer.”

Adam’s eyes froze. “Geez, I hit her. I can’t believe I actually hit her. You think she’s okay?”

“I think you’re lucky she didn’t hit back. So what’s this thing about University?”

“Oh Christ,” he looked at the far wall, “I called a friend who goes there and he was straight with me. Pamela is sleeping with some older woman. Apparently they are quite open about the relationship; are seen in public together, being affectionate.” A shudder rolled his shoulders up. “I can’t believe she led me along. A whole year. Everyone has planned on a wedding, after we graduate. What a farce that would have been.”

Irene stood up. “You want another beer? I’m having one.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Good.” Irene opened two beers and set one in front of him. “Look, Adam, I know you feel all busted up inside. But you will survive this. Sure, you went a little nuts but it’s no big deal, no one figures you to be a wife beater because of it.” Irene ruffled his hair affectionately. “You’re a good kid, Adam, and you’ll find someone else. Trust me.”

“Thank you, Miss Ross.”

Irene cupped his face. “You’re welcome. Now, Adam. I want you to take me to bed.”

His eyes darted. “Miss Ross?”

“Bring your beer and let’s go into the bedroom.”

“But Miss Ross– my parents...”

Irene checked her watch. “Your parents are asleep, Adam. No one will miss you until tomorrow morning.

“But...”

Irene pressed fingertips to her eyes and fought the exasperation. She knew she was being totally irrational, particularly after the conversation she had had earlier with Pamela, but suddenly, that didn’t matter. She was horny. “How old are you, Adam?”

“Nineteen, ma’am.”

“And how many of your nineteen-year-old university buddies would like the opportunity of sleeping with a fifty-two year old woman?”

“A woman like you?”

“No. Not a woman like me, but me. How many would want to sleep with me.”

Adam looked down at the kitchen tile. “All of them, Miss Ross. They’d be lining up for the chance.”

“So why the problem?”

“I guess because I’ve known you ever since I was little. We’re close, but in a different kind of way.”

“Well Adam, you’re all I got. So I am going into my bedroom and get undressed. I’d like you to come with me and watch. I’m going to take a quick shower. Then I want you to take care of me. You think you can handle that Adam? Or maybe you should call up some of your university buddies. They could come over and each have a go at me while you watch. That would really give them something to laugh about. What’dya say, Adam? f**k me or I’ll take it somewhere else.”

“Oh gosh,” Adam said under his breath, but he allowed Irene to pull him to his feet. He felt completely bewildered as she led him down the hall and into the bedroom.

Adam sat on the edge of the bed rolling his beer bottle in the palms of his hands while watching Irene undress. Despite his misgivings, she was a remarkably nice woman to look at, even considering she was older than his own mother. Irene had the classic lines he associated with old time movie stars: curvy hips and thighs, a pinched waist and a healthy chest.

She unclasped her bra exposing pale mounds that swayed softly as she reached for the zipper at her hip. The cookies were a deep chocolate and both proudly boasted a sturdy n****e. Irene pried off her heels and shimmied the dark blue skirt down her legs. She lay it across the arm of a chair and, turning to face him, she pulled her lacy underpants off.

She presented her body to him. “See anything you like?” Irene asked.

Adam returned his gaze to the bottle he held in sweaty palms. “I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know, Miss Ross. Last week, in your hot tub? That was amazing. I’ve never had anything like that before. And now tonight? The guys would never believe me if I told them.”

“I won’t be long.” Irene closed the door to the bathroom and Adam heard the shower sputter.

He took a sip of beer and wondered if he should take his clothes off and slip between the bed sheets. But somehow that seemed too presumptuous, too planned. So he sat waiting for her, nervously picking at the label on his bottle. God, what am I doing here, he thought. What would Pamela say? What would mom say; me sleeping with the lady next-door?

Every husband in the neighborhood had secretly wanted to catch Irene alone when his wife was away. Had dreamed of Irene dropping by to borrow a stepladder and showing her appreciation in some meaningful way. And every wife was well aware of the smart looking, unattached woman who flew for a living and never appeared to sag, gain weight, never needed glasses and whose hair was silky smooth. They had watched as their husbands glanced up, just in time to see Irene swing her sleek legs from the driver’s seat or bend to reach for the newspaper on her step.

And here he was, sitting on the edge of her bed listening to the sounds of her in her bathroom. The thought of his mother’s accusing look, stoney and unforgiving, hardened in his mind and he felt the hairs on the backs of his arms lift and his vision darkened. And abruptly, the shower stopped.