Rapture

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was nearly eleven in the morning when Jeff awoke. Saturday, the middle of June. He wasn't going to the office, not even for a few minutes. A change. But then, he'd been out drinking with Callie and Ted and a couple of other people after work the previous night, and that too was something of a change. While he showered, he wondered if he was beginning to drink too much. In the past, he had never been much of a socializer, and hardly ever drank. Never when he was alone.

The trip east had done it, he knew. He had downed a lot of beers and no small amount of spirits in Connecticut. Not out of any determination to do so; it had just happened that way. He had brought this renewed taste for alcohol back to California with him. The change was undeniable, and while he sometimes had his doubts, he was, in general, pleased with it. One of the first things he had done after his return was to stop at a package store and buy a supply of whiskey to have around the house. Some Scotch, which he enjoyed with ice and a little cold bottled water, some bourbon for when he wanted more of a kick, and some rye, which was a mistake, he discovered the first time he tried it. He continued to drink beer, but as little as possible, since it made him feel bloated, smelly, and leaky if he had much of it. Now-after his journey to Connecticut-he was no longer averse to having a drink with his colleagues after work. Nor did he feel bad about a large solo nightcap back in his condo.

Jeff dried himself, put on a black robe, and went into the kitchen, where he poured a glass of orange juice. Next he put the kettle on and spooned instant coffee into a cup. He had become a bit more sociable, that was all there was to it. And it was a good thing, he believed. Ted and Callie approved, and he could tell that others at Lisker-Benedictus had noticed the change.

The kettle whistled. Jeff filled the stoneware mug with boiling water and stirred it thoroughly, until it looked almost like real coffee, which he was too lazy to make today. Then he went out onto the small balcony off the living room and sat in a plastic deck chair. Every condominium in Ravenswood Estate was designed to afford a good view of the canyon and to provide maximum privacy. It hadn't been cheap, but to Jeff it was worth the cost.

He lit his first cigarette of the day. It had been five, maybe even six, weeks now since he'd seen Georgianne. No cards, letters, or telephone calls. But that was as he thought it should be. He would have been delighted if Georgianne had phoned him, but that was perhaps too much to hope for, and he had made no attempt to communicate with her. Only a week before, he had debated whether to send Bonnie a graduation card, but once again he had decided that it would be a mistake to force himself into their lives at this distance. A plan was taking shape in his head, and although he knew only the rough outline of it so far, he didn't want to ruin it by any precipitous action.

Georgianne was in his mind all the time now. After twenty years of being little more than a ghost, the object of vague and submerged yearnings, she had become the focal point of his conscious thought. At work he had to make an effort to concentrate, not to daydream about her. He had a whole new library of mental pictures to summon up and browse through lovingly whenever he liked. They went well with the lode of images of Georgianne in high school that came rushing back to him now. And then there was Bonnie, another person but somehow almost an alternate version of Georgianne. It wasn't hard for Jeff to see himself with both mother and daughter. That was the perfect picture.

He stubbed out the cigarette and finished the cup of coffee. Inside, he picked up the telephone and began to dial a familiar number.

"Hello."

"Diane? Hi, it's Jeff."

"Oh, hi, Jeffie," she said, her voice changing instantly. "Where've you been? I've really missed you. It's been ages, absolute ages since you came by...."

"That's what I was thinking," he said. "And I've got that book to return to you. How about this afternoon?"

"Uh ... just a sec." Then, "Jeffie, that'll be fine if you can come early. My mom and dad are going to be out, but they'll be back later."

"So ... two o'clock?"

"Yeah, or one-thirty would be even better."

"Okay, one-thirty."

After they'd talked a little longer, Jeff hung up, made a second cup of coffee, and went back out to the balcony. He had known Diane for about a year, and he regarded her as a friend. Of course, it was a bizarre relationship-he had to admit that. But it wasn't something new in his life. There had been others before Diane. Not one of them had been as good as Diane, and none had lasted this long. But even with Diane it was the same kind of thing, a facet of his needs and his behavior that he didn't really like but had come to accept. He could only hope that his plans for Georgianne came to fruition, in which case Diane would be redundant.

It was a shame about Georgianne. A woman falling for the wrong guy was an old, old story, Jeff knew, but he still found it hard to fathom. First Mike Rollins, then Sean Corcoran. It was up to Jeff to turn her around, to save her, in a sense, from herself. When she told him in Danbury that she would have dated him if he had ever asked, the dream had started to become real. In 'the weeks since, he had analyzed her words, her expressions, the sound of her voice. He replayed in his mind every second of his time with her, and he subjected everything she had said, every gesture she had made, to an intense and objective scrutiny. It all added up to the same thing: Yes, she could love him; yes, she wanted to love him; yes, only he could help her out of her present situation. Georgianne didn't understand this yet, but she would in time. Meanwhile, the more Jeff studied it, the more obvious and irrefutable the truth became.

He made a tomato-and-cucumber sandwich and ate it in the living room. He smiled at the sight of Georgianne's pen-and-ink sketch of the old barn. The brushed-metal frame he'd bought was perhaps too modem for the picture, and it looked rather lonely because he'd never bothered to put anything else on his walls, but he loved it. Anyhow, he told himself, someday dozens of Georgianne's drawings would be hung here.

Diane rented a two-story so-called maisonette in Universal City. Jeff parked his Camaro around the corner. When he rang the bell, as usual he couldn't bring himself to look directly at the eyehole in the door. He was tense, but excited. The door opened, he walked right in, and it locked behind him.

"Hi, Jeffie."

She had longish, streaked blond hair and wore a boy's white shirt, open to the fifth button. She had a way of holding her head slightly down and looking up from behind a fall of hair, like Veronica Lake. Her smile was shy but knowing.

"Hi, Georgianne." Jeff felt the goose bumps on his arms. It was the first time he'd ever actually called her that! "Are your parents still here?"

"No, they're out fora while."

"Oh, here's the book I wanted to return."

He took an envelope out of his pants pocket and handed it to the girl.

"Thanks ... So, what've you been doing?"

"Nothing much."

"I'm just playing records. Come on."

"Okay..

He followed her up the stairs, appreciating the way her thighs moved and her shirttail rode her fanny. They went into a large bedroom with a deep shag carpet and a wall of mirrors. Jeff stepped out of his loafers.

"Want a drink? I've got some of my father's whiskey. He never even notices it's gone."

"Okay, sure."

Jeff watched her get the drinks at the vanity table, where she had a tray with a Scotch bottle, some ice and mixers, and a couple of glasses. He enjoyed the way she bent over, the way she walked back to him and bent over as she served his drink. They sat cross-legged on the floor. Music played softly on the stereo system.

"Your parents would kill us if they found us like this," he said, smiling.

"They're in Disneyland. I told you they won't be home until later."

"How come you didn't go with them?"

"I'm too old for that, Jeffie. Or haven't you noticed?"

"Yeah, I guess you are."

"Seventeen."

"I know. I've been watching you, Georgianne."

"You have not." She pouted. You never notice me. You hardly even look at me in school or in the library."

"But I do, really," he insisted. "I saw you at the library the other day. You were in the reading room, and I sat and watched you for nearly an hour."

"You did? How come?"

"You were wearing a miniskirt and black tights with some kind of pattern in them."

"You were looking at my legs?"

"Mm-L .■

"Oh. Well, you were at that party last weekend, and you didn't ask me to dance. Why not?"

"I ... don't know... I wanted to, but ..."

"That's all right," she said sweetly. "Would you like to dance with me now?"

"Sure, yeah."

They clung to each other, moving only minimally to a slow song. She held one of his hands against her chest, in the open shirt, close to but not touching either breast. He put his face in her hair and dreamed, and it seemed as if locks and knots were dissolving throughout his body. He felt lighter, happy and free. He stroked the small of her back, occasionally daring to reach a little lower. She wore no panties, and the curve of her flesh beneath the soft cotton shirttail felt wonderful.

"I like being treated like a grownup," she whispered. "Daddy still thinks I'm his little girl."

"You're a young woman now, Georgianne."

"Mmm, you dance so nice, Jeffie."

When the song ended, they sat down to their drinks again, but this time she leaned back against the foot of the bed, her legs stretched out. She flapped the front of her shirt.

"It's so hot. . . ." Her face brightened. "Hey, would you do me a favor, Jeffie? Would you put some rubbing alcohol on me? It's so-o-o fantastic the way it cools your skin. It's refreshing and relaxing at the same time."

"Sure, if you want."

"Oh, I do." She went to the vanity table and returned with a plastic bottle, which she gave to Jeff. "Don't get up. I'll stand here and you can rub it on my legs."

She turned her back, but stood almost on top of him, her legs spread, her hands clasped behind her neck, and arched her back slightly. Jeff splashed some alcohol into his hands. He did the calves quickly, then the backs of her knees, one of his favorite parts of the female body. He took his time with her thighs, slowly enjoying every inch of them, until his hands were up under the shirttail, brushing, caressing her bottom. His fingers glided around her hips, flirting with that exquisite hollow in front before retreating to the back again.

"Oh, Jeffie, that feels so good ... don't stop, please don't stop ... this is how I wanted you to touch me ... my belly, between my legs ... oh, Jeffie, Jeffie ..."

With one hand she pulled her shirt up a little more, and he began to kiss her skin with his cheek and lips.

"Ooooh ... Jeffie ..." A few minutes later she knelt down, keeping her back to him. She slid her shirt off her shoulders and spoke in that little-girl voice. 'Would you do my neck now?"

Jeff rubbed more alcohol on her. Then he came closer, so that she could lean her head back against him and he could do her front. She had a lovely, slender throat and neck. She seemed to let her body melt on him, and she made soft moaning sounds that intensified when he reached lower. The shirt fell around her waist, and he massaged her breasts. It thrilled him to see how the combination of cooling alcohol and his warm fingers could bring her nipples to life.

When he felt he had done enough, he sat back on his heels, and then she did something he adored. She turned around on her knees to face him, and as she did so she held the collar of the shirt up to her mouth, only partially covering her breasts. She held her head down, hair falling across one side of her face, and peeked up at him. She was a perfect picture, and Jeff was transfixed.

"Georgianne ... Georgianne ...'

"Can I do you now?"

How could she manage it, he wondered dimly. How could she sound so shy, but breathless and eager too?

"Georgianne ..." -

"Please, Jeffie. I want to. Please let me."

"Georgianne . . ." He was helpless.

"Don't you want me to?"

"Yes." His voice very quiet; his eyes avoided hers.

"Here, give me the bottle of alcohol. Now stand up. You have to let me take off your shirt and pants. I want to do everything, Jeffie. Everything. You can close your eyes if you feel shy about it. It's okay, it's okay. Isn't that so nice and cool and silky? It's okay, Jeffie, it's really really okay...."

"Georgianne ..."

"I'm so glad you came today," she went on soothingly. "I thought about this so many times, I wanted to do this with you and have you do it with me. I never touched anyone else or let them touch me like this. I wanted it to be you, Jeffie, only you...."

"I was afraid ..."

"Both of us, like this."

"You'd say no."

"It's okay now, Jeffie, it's all right now. ..."

"Georgianne ..."

OceanofPDF.com