Chapter 11 - Lacy
Things began to change after I left Riker’s house that afternoon. It was as though a new period of my life had begun. I felt beautiful and desirable and full of confidence. The sales calls I made were no longer so dreaded, and I actually began to enjoy meeting new people and explaining what I wanted to do with their houses. Whenever an opportunity for a Riker referral came up, I jumped on it. I was handing him off nearly as much work as I was getting for myself.
Riker came less often to work on the cottage. He’d gotten the most important things done and had wrapped up everything on the outside. The weather was beginning to turn cold, and I knew my play room upstairs would have to wait a bit longer. We’d gotten the contract for Mrs. Roberts’s house, and Riker’s work on it had to precede my own. Although neither one of us needed supervision, we somehow seemed to show up at the same times for work anyway. We didn’t talk about what had happened that afternoon. It almost felt like a secret pact between us. The draw was strong, and we already knew we were compatible, but I don’t think either one of us knew what to do with it from there.
There would be obstacles, no doubt. For one thing, we were both trying to build businesses. Riker was remodeling his own house, and then came his responsibility to Jonas and the other boys he was planning to take in once he’d finished. How he could fit a relationship into all that remained undiscussed.
Then there was the matter of Melanie. She and I had grown even more distant, if such a thing was possible. Her sarcasm and petty criticisms of both Riker and myself were getting harder to ignore. I knew there was some sort of confrontation ahead of us, but I was still working on the referral list Mrs. Pettibone had given me and I didn’t need Melanie’s drama to interfere with that.
I had tea with Mrs. Pettibone on another couple of occasions. She had summoned me, coming up to me after church on Sunday. I didn’t dare refuse, although her brusque, condescending attitude was beginning to get under my skin. I had to look at it as a necessary evil until my business was off the ground. Each time she reminded me how critical it was that my reputation live up to her standards. I began to wonder whether Melanie was talking in the community, spreading rumors or even lies. Although we each had our own personal reasons for tolerating one another, it was obvious she didn’t like me.
“I understand your business is doing well,” Mrs. Pettibone remarked while handing me my cup of tea.
“Yes, it’s definitely picking up, and I have you to thank for that,” I told her, throwing a bone to the dog. She may not have totally deserved it, but who was I to be ungracious? She wasn’t asking for a cut of my profits, merely the acknowledgment that I couldn’t have done it without her. It was little enough to give to a woman who had little to look forward to for the rest of her life. She seemed to grow in girth each time I saw her, and now her breathing was labored and she’d begun coughing something into her handkerchief, which she promptly shoved into her pocket. It was obvious that she was ill, but I didn’t push the issue by asking what she obviously didn’t want to tell.
The Roberts project ended well. Riker finished up his part and then I was free to do my thing. She’d agreed to allow me to order two new loveseats and get rid of the lumbering dinosaur that was her old sofa. Riker did me the service of hauling it to the dump, and for the first time, I walked into her living room and felt as though I could breathe. The holidays were coming, so I included a few conservative and tasteful decorations in with the layers of mementos she insisted on keeping on display.
I satisfied her hoarding tendencies by picking up an old dining room china hutch that I covered with a soft blue chalk paint before stenciling a bouquet of soft pink flowers on each of the doors and painting the trim pieces the same shade as the flowers. It was a truly delicate, feminine piece when it was completed. I set it into the corner at an angle and convinced her to move her collectibles into it, explaining that they wouldn’t need to be dusted as often and made a more powerful presentation when grouped together. Even I was surprised at my own bullshit. But you do what you have to do.
When it was all done, she paid us for the job and assured me that while she had been afraid she was making a mistake at the beginning, she was very glad that she had followed through by hiring me and would be sure to recommend me to others. That alone made it a successful project from my point of view.
Indeed, the word of mouth was bringing in clients faster than any of the advertising I’d expected to place. I think Riker had a little to do with this, and I was floating on cloud nine.
Sadly, this seemed to infuriate Melanie. I realized she was one of those people who love it when others are miserable. As they say, misery loves company. That described her to a T. I tried to stay optimistic; after all, the holidays were just around the corner and it wouldn’t be long before my business was strong enough that I could afford to hire someone who was better qualified. At the same time, I thought Melanie had probably earned enough money by that point that she could return to design school. Either way, she’d be out of my hair and I wouldn’t have to listen to her nasty, condescending comments.
Melanie had left early for the day, tasked with stopping by the office furniture warehouse to pick out a wood desk for one of my clients. She was an artist and wanted something very unconventional. I’d offered to convert a wood desk into a shabby chic creation with hand-painted embellishments and ball feet added beneath the legs. The client was thrilled with the idea, and I was looking forward to working on the project. That was what I wasn’t going to give Melanie. I’d learned that keeping her occupied with errand running and furniture conversion was far safer than letting her loose among my customers.
That afternoon, Riker unexpectedly came to the door, a bottle of wine in one hand and a box of pizza in the other.
“Hi there, I’m glad you’re here. Looks like you’re ready for some sort of celebration?”
“You read me well, my sweet.” He came into the kitchen, removing his boots so as not to track mud from the wet sand that was my front yard.
“So, what are we celebrating?”
“Why don’t you grab us a couple of goblets and I’ll tell you?” Riker said as he strode into the room and sat down on the sofa.
I did as he asked and brought a couple of plates and napkins as well. He opened the wine and poured two glasses as I separated the pizza slices and put one on each of our plates. “You’re acting kind of excited.”
“Sure am. Today,” he lifted his glass to clink against mine, “the inspector passed my work on the house and I’m ready for my decorator. If she’s available, as I hope you are, I might be able to start taking in more boys right after the first of the year. Isn’t that great?”
I hadn’t realized until that moment how very important his mission was to him. I wondered why. “You know, Riker, you never fully explained what prompted you to take on troubled boys. I’d really like to hear about it.”
He leaned back on the sofa, putting his arm around me so that I was leaning against his chest. It made it a little harder to eat, but food was not nearly as important as having his touch.
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know, Lacy. Don’t panic on me, there’s nothing really bad, it’s just that I probably grew up a little rougher than you did. The neighborhood was very working class, and there were lots of opportunities to be in trouble. Over the years, the jobs began to disappear and the gangs took their place. Several of my friends were killed in drive-bys, and I saw the senselessness of it. I was lucky enough to get to go to college and get my psychology degree, and I felt like I owed something back, you know? If I can help a few of these boys make it to adulthood and go on to become solid citizens, is that really so bad?”
“No, not at all. I guess I thought there was more personal campaign involved.”
“Not really. It’s just that simple. That, and they wouldn’t take me into the priesthood,” he joked, and I laughed. We sat quietly side-by-side, munching our pizza and contemplating our own inner thoughts. It felt good to have someone with whom I could do that. Companionship didn’t always require talking or touching; sometimes it just meant being there.
We finished our pizza and I flipped on the television. I purposefully chose a show that I knew he would find boring. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before his fingers were unbuttoning my blouse—and not long after that that his mouth was sucking my nipples. We both became pretty heated at that point, and I undid his belt and lowered his zipper, taking his penis into my mouth for dessert. He laid his head back on the sofa, closed his eyes and reveled in the sensations. I’d already begun to discover the sensitive points, and I knew where to kiss slightly, suck hard, or rub lightly. There was a certain power that came with that kind of knowledge, and I wasn’t going to let it go to waste. My mouth was around him when he finally came, but before I could swallow he quickly lifted my chin and tongue-kissed me, tasting his own semen. If I’d read that in a book somewhere, it would’ve really turned me off, but somehow, between the two of us, it was like exchanging blood vows. It seemed that everything we did together brought us closer.
I knew this heightened state of bliss couldn’t last forever; I just didn’t realize how soon it was going to end.