David Gates - A Hand Reached Down to Guide Me

“Can’t have both,” I said. “Can’t have either.”

“Come on, your life doesn’t look so bad.” She took a good gulp. “You’re a man with a pole lamp. There must be scads of women just dying to get their hands on that.”

“If I didn’t know you,” I said, “I’d think you were getting bawdy.” Her hair had strayed down to her cheek again, and I reached out and smoothed it back.

“You must be out of options.” She took my hand and placed it on my thigh. “An old biddy like me? Or was that just a reflex?” She drained the rest of the glass and sank back on the cushion. Her phone went off in her purse; she got up and checked the number. “I knew it.” She touched a finger to her lips. “Really?” she said into the phone. “No, she hasn’t been here . No, Seth is up in his room. Listen, I’m in the middle of something. If we hear anything I’ll be sure to call you.” She put the phone back in her purse and sat down on the couch again. “There. I guess I’m officially on the team. I could use just one more little one.”

“Hell,” I said. “What’s another bad idea at this point?” I brought our glasses out to the kitchen.

“ Little ,” she called.

When I sat down next to her again, I thought she’d undone a button, but I could have been wrong. She tasted her drink and said, “I didn’t mean wimpy. You know, this is all very strange.”

“For me too.”

“Oh,” she said, “the sincere look. Your little TA girl didn’t even have a fighting chance. So what all did you do with her?”

“I don’t suppose you want to talk about something else.”

“Not ever,” she said. “Did you make her get the butter?” I took her glass out of her hand. “ I ’m not drunk,” she said. “I’m showing interest in what interests you . It’s one of those how-to-talk-to-a-man things.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I said. “Would it make you feel better if you just hit me?”

“Well I don’t know ,” she said. “Nothing else seems to be working.”

I turned my head, pointed to my cheek. Of course she wouldn’t. But her hand came up, I winced my eyes shut and the slap rocked my head. I put my hand to my cheek and she slapped the other side. “One to grow on,” she said.

“That fucking hurt,” I said.

“Good,” she said. “To tell you the truth, it really didn’t do that much for me.”

“Can we try something else?” I brushed the back of my hand down her breast and hit nipple.

“Don’t,” she said. “You’re not funny.”

“I wouldn’t say either of us is keeping this light.”

“You made those things too strong,” she said. “I just hit you.”

“Babe,” I said. She closed her eyes and shook her head. I smoothed her hair again, and her cheek was wet. I put my hand around the back of her head and drew it into my shoulder.

“No.” She sat up and rubbed into her eye socket with the heel of her hand. “He’s going to call any second.”

“So?” I said. “We’re here.”

“This must just be idle curiosity,” she said. “See if she’s picked up any new tricks.”

“Have you?”

“Surely you can’t be jealous,” she said. “Don’t tell me that was the key to your heart. The things we learn. Well, good. I like a level playing field.” She got up and went in her purse. “I was not going to do this.” I got up and pressed into her as she bent over. “Put out your hand.”

I opened my palm: a silver-wrapped condom. “Really,” I said. “Boy Scouts’ motto. So who was in your plans this weekend?”

“New rules,” she said. “Did you think this was the good old days?”

—

Whenever my father worked late, my mother and I had movie night. She was the one who explained to me why the man in Notorious got upset when he saw the wine bottle and pointed out when the lady in The Maltese Falcon was lying. We didn’t let my father know that she’d always give me a glass of wine, at first with water, later without. Once, when I was ten or eleven, we watched The Awful Truth , and she said the ending, where the little mechanical boy in lederhosen finally follows the little mechanical girl into the clock, was the filthiest scene ever shot. I understood the principle even then—and went on believing that less was more until I saw actual pornography—so I’m honoring it now.

Sarah sat up, pulled the sheet over her breasts and picked up her watch from the nightstand. I was still on my back. “It’s been three hours,” she said.

“Sure, we could talk about that,” I said. “The silence was getting loud.”

“Meaning you’re not concerned.”

“Not much to say about it, until we know something. Whereas.”

She set the watch back down. “Who are the ladies?”

“My aunt,” I said. “And that’s Wayne’s new flame.”

“Ah,” she said. “The other family tradition.”

“I told you the situation.”

She felt around on the floor and came up with her shirt. “I’m chilly,” she said. “Can we shut that window? Yes, you told me. Your aunt’s the one he’s got in storage?”

I got up, naked, and walked to the window. Daylight was still coming in under the shade, and I knew how I must look from behind; when I reached up, I saw the flesh of my arm swinging. “I’m not much of a trophy these days,” I said. “Just so you know, you’re the only one who’s been here.”

“Aren’t you sweet,” she said. “I feel like a bride again. Listen, can we agree that we’re not telling Seth about this? It’s just going to play into all his fantasies.”

“So it’s like nothing happened?”

“Nothing did happen.”

“Oh, then it’s like Waiting for Godot . Nothing happened twice?”

“Okay,” she said, “that was an indulgence.”

“I finally got a smile out of you,” I said.

“I just hope you’re not entertaining any fantasies. Is your phone still on?”

“We would’ve heard it,” I said. “I think .”

“Could you check?”

I picked my phone up from the floor. “Zip,” I said. “You want the bathroom first?”

“I can’t believe I let this happen,” she said. “This was your shirt, by the way. I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”

“No, you look good in it.” I put my hand under the shirt and touched her belly. “It’s going to be okay,” I said. “We just have to hang on until he calls. I’m glad we’re doing this together.”

She wormed away, sat up and mimicked playing a violin. “Do you ever listen to yourself?”

“Ceaselessly,” I said. “Are you always going to hate me?”

“I’ll have to think about that one. Right now you’re not my favorite person. Right now I’m not my favorite person.”

When I got out of the shower, Sarah was on the couch with my phone to her ear. “Just as soon as we can get there,” she said. She closed the phone and said, “Clinton Crossing. Main entrance. Apparently the aunt actually showed up and took the girl. He must be the luckiest little shit alive.”

“Let me get some clothes on,” I said. “I’ll drive Wayne’s car back here. What do we do with him ?”

“How about grounded till he goes to college?”

“No, I mean do you want to take him home to Guilford?”

“It’s still your weekend,” she said. “I’ve had my fill of miracles for today.”

—

But this is a story God alone could finish. Our guy must think he’s in The Awful Truth , where they get back together after their escapades, no damage done. Our gal doesn’t seem to want to be in that movie, except there she was with her knees on his shoulders and coming back for seconds. I emailed her that night to ask if we could talk. It took her two days to write back: Not just now . And if an unseen hand had reached down just as I was about to humble myself and pray, what was the big miracle? A kid got away with driving for a few miles, and a couple with unfinished business wound up in bed.