Best of Neighbors

The following week, I found David had dropped his team's home-game schedule in my mailbox. Although I was no youth basketball fan, how could I ignore his invitation? I dialed up Madisons' number; his oldest sister, Clarissa, answered. A moment later I heard Janie pick up an extension somewhere, and the little girl silliness started up all over again. You'd have sworn I was a boy their age, not a man old enough to ask their mother out.

"Okay," I said in my effort to quell this silliness. "Let me talk to David, please?"

"Don't you like girls, Mr. Simmons? We like you." The giggles continued.

"Please. Let me speak to David."

"Oh, he likes little boys better! Our baby brother better watch out!"

"Hush up, you two! Let me talk to David."

"Silly man, isn't he? He'd rather talk to a ten year old boy than girls old enough to know what's what."

"I should tell you what's what by turning you over my knee and paddling your fannies."

"Oh, BDSM! That sounds like fun. How old we gotta be to play that?"

"Stop it now! Let me talk to David!"

"I just love a man who takes charge, don't you Clari?"

"I love this one!"

"Oh, stop it!"

"There he goes again. Wow!"

"Maybe I should call back later."

"Oh. Sounds like he's serious, don't you think, Janie?'

"Yeah, we better get David. Otherwise he may get pissed off and not think about us. That wouldn't be good." I heard one or the other yell David! so it echoed throughout their house.

"Hi, Mr Simmons," David said a minute later.

"Hi, David. I just been looking at your YBC schedule, here. When you think your mother might be going to one of your games?"

"Most of the home games, and some of the not-too-far-away others."

That figured.

"Which one pretty soon?

"How about Saturday a week away? I know she already has some kind of a meeting this coming Saturday—unless you want to go with her for that instead"

"What time a week from Saturday for your game?"

"Right after noon. I gotta be there by twelve-thirty to get ready."

"Good. So is your mother home?"

"No, she left for groceries, but I'll have her call you when she gets home. Shouldn't be longer than an hour or two."

"Fine. Got my number?"

"Right here by the phone."

***

"Hi. Yes. DJ here."

"David said you called." CoraBea's voice had a nervous hint to it.

"I'd like to watch him play Basketball, maybe a week from Saturday? Afternoon? You going?"

"Yes. I finally arranged my schedule at the Quickie-Mart so I get Saturday afternoons off. Was like pulling teeth, but I finally got it."

"So could I sit with you? You could show me the ropes?"

"I think so." Her voice had softened; it hinted to say, I'd like to show you a lot more than the ropes.

"And maybe afterwards, I could take you and David out for burgers. If Clarissa and Janie want to come, that would be great, too."

"Oh, they'll want to come, never you worry!" she said with a sarcastic chuckle.

I supposed not, but how could I do otherwise?

After the game, I did my substitute daddy duties for David, complementing him on the great shot he made for one of the two baskets he made. Being a first year player, he only got four minutes total play—and then only after the score was unsalvageable—but his points kept the margin from getting worse. Enthusiasm shown in his eyes, just as I hoped.

Clarissa and Janie held enthusiasm in their eyes, too, but it wasn't for basketball, or David's performance. More than once Mrs. Madison had to shush them, reminding them David was the star of the day, not them. But they never let up.

"I'm sure Mr. Simmons will want to see you cheerlead at a JHV game one of these days."

They were all over me asking when. When? WHEN?

"You let me know next game. I'll see if I'm available."

"Next Friday night."

I looked into two smirking faces, then nodded.

"Okay, its next Friday night, then. You'll come? Yes? We'll put on a real good show for you." Janie said.

I nodded again. To do otherwise would be suicide, at least toward winning this battle.

"You going, Mrs. Madison?" I said.

"Oh, yes. And you can sit with me." Her eyes held a sparkle I was coming to understand applied only to me.

Well, I must say this about David's sisters: They looked good there on the floor with their skimpy outfits, just like their mother would have. And just like her, every so often they flashed one of those don't you just love me smiles in my direction. Each time I was a goner. Watch-out, that's jail bait, I kept thinking.

"Park you car over here Friday night," CoraBea said when she accepted my invite to sit together at the following JHV game. "We'll take my Blazer. After we drop the kids off at home afterwards, you can take me out."

"Out?"

"Really out." Her voice held a hint of the mischievous.

"Like what?"

"Anything or anywhere! Anything to get away from my kids!"

Yes, I was discovering trying to make time with a woman with three kids posed problems, and I really did want to. Not only because she looked so good, either. Her kids hadn't turned out as they seemed likely to without getting brains and good sense from somewhere.

"You dance?" I said as we sat in the bleachers waiting for the game. "I don't mean stand, shake, and make weird gestures. I mean something with some class."

"Like ballroom? You know how?"

"Got a passing grade in Social Dance for college Phys Ed. Hope I haven't forgotten all of it."

"Really?"

"Sure, Why not?"

"Oh, Mr. Simmons, I love that kind of dance. You know the Cha Cha?"

I nodded

"The Rhumba?"

Yes, she'd look good wiggling her hips making the Cuban Motion required for that! I nodded.

"Waltz?"

I nodded again.

"Samba?"

"Not so good. We only worked on that for one class."

"Tango?"

"Another one-class dance, but if you lead me, I'll try my best to follow."

"Oh."

"What?"

"I just ..."

"Huh?"

"I'm so glad."

What was she getting at? Sure, lots of guys couldn't dance much, but why the reluctance?

"Where would we go?" She looked into my eyes; there was something in her eyes that hinted at fear.

"A club somewhere, maybe? I could check around and see if one has a dance band."

"A place that serves alcohol?"

"Maybe? That a problem?"

She didn't nod, but the way she moved her head might as well have.

"Well, then, I'll find some place that doesn't. Maybe one of this town's dance schools will know. Or maybe one of them has an open-to-the-public dance night. "

The fear shed from her face; I put on a look that asked 'why?'

She looked away for a moment, then back.

"I'm sorry, DJ. I'm sort of afraid of alcohol. Dee started drinking too much his last few years. He had troubles with his family—about me and the kids—and it really ate on him. That's why he spent so much time fishing lately—to get away. My mistake: I tried to nag and bully him out of it, but I should have loved him out of it instead." She looked away a moment, then back. "The coroner's examiner said he still had enough alcohol in him for two men his size when they found his body. Oohh!" she said, then shuddered.

"I see. Well then, it's no alcohol for us if it bothers you. But I warn you, I do drink a beer or a glass of wine some days. But one a day is my self-set limit. You can count on that."

"Please? None to start?"

"None to start, and none ever if you wish."

She nodded. Fear slipped from her face.

"So we'll go dance if we can find a place, or maybe see a movie, a play, or something artie if not, or maybe just go get acquainted at home."

"I'd like that. Your home will be best," she said with a smirk coming onto her face.

"Good."

Chapter 2

Instead of dancing, we went to a new movie, one of those in which the smash-'em-up violence and flashy special effects are supposed to make up for lack of good screen-writing and acting. But I didn't mind. Corabea's hand held mine the whole time, her shoulder occasionally bumped against mine and reminded me—as if I needed reminding at all—that she was with me and I was with her. Each time our shoulders nudged, she looked over at me to reinforce the who-was-with-who fact of our evening.

This changed little during our drive home, and even less once we got there. Of course I afforded her all the courtesies due a date, and a few more. As we walked through my garage toward the house, she slipped her arm around my waist and snugged it around me. I looked down to see a confident, comfortable expression on her face.

"So this is where David spends so much time. Looks like a real he-man place."

I nodded.

"A boy needs a father," she said, looking into my eyes again. "So do girls ... maybe even more-so."

Of course they did. I said nothing but just kept herding her toward the house.

At the back door, she stepped aside allowing me space to unlock the door. When I pushed the door open for her ahead of me, she turned to me, stretched on her toes, and kissed me. It was no quick peck on the cheek. And I'll admit, I wasn't ready for that—at least not yet! I mean, really, this was a first date, not something a lot further down the relationship trail.

She led me through the kitchen as if it were her house, and into the living room and toward the sofa. Once there, she turned toward me and pulled me down for another kiss. You see this faked-up in lots of current movies, but this was happening to me. I kept thinking this woman wants me! She's not playing prove-you're-worthy-of-me and hard-to-get like most of the girls of my past experience.

"There," she said, standing back down onto her moderate heels. "Now, like in the movie we just watched, I'm a horny widow and you're a sexy as hell younger man. What you gonna do about it?"

"Offer you a drink, just like in that movie. I have lemonade, Pepsi, or something more if you prefer."

"Lemonade."

I turned and had barely taken a full step toward the kitchen before I realized she was right alongside me. I paused to let her through the kitchen door first. As I fished two glasses from the cupboard, retrieved the lemonade pitcher and poured them full, she turned around surveying the room.

"I like your kitchen," she said. "With that breakfast nook, you could feed a whole family in here."

I nodded. Was that a hint? Obviously they'd designed it to feed a large family or the long-ago farmstead's help.

She held the glass up and took a swallow. "Thanks. I was getting a little dry."

My mouth was getting dry, too, but from awkwardness, not elapsed time since my last drink of water. She took my hand and led me back toward the living room.

"Why don't you give me the grand tour?"

Sure. Why not?

Each room we opened, she liked: The guest bedroom and its bathroom, the two secondary bedrooms between which I'd added a bathroom, the main bathroom. Last came my master bedroom. She just looked around it without comment. Instead, she put on an expression that asked, What next?

I answered that by saying, "Well, you've seen it all. Let's go out in the livingroom and get better acquainted."

Her answer was another kiss and a tug on my arm in that direction. We ended up sitting on my sofa.

Now, how do you begin conversation in a situation like this? Could I simply say, "Tell me about CoraBea Madison?" For lack of something better, I tried that.

"Most of it you already know. I'm thirty-two, widowed after sixteen years, with three kids, whom you know. Never completed high school—which is why I'm night clerking in a Quickie-Mart—I'm one hundred and thirty-two pounds, and I think, not bad to look at."

"You summed that up pretty quickly."

"Oh—and I like to dance!"

I nodded.

"I got no relatives I'm speaking to—or I should say, that are speaking to me. I love my kids, and I loved my husband, in spite of what you might have read into what I said about his drinking."

I nodded again. We all make mistakes.

"Now, turnabout's fair play," she said, poking that look into my eyes again.

"Well, DJ is short for Delano, believe it or not, a name I hate because of that 1940s US President who, in spite of what you may have heard, got just about everything wrong.

"I'm almost twenty-seven and a graduate engineer. I work for Snyder International Products Co.—have for four years, doing UL approval testing and documentation. Never married, no kids, but maybe I will someday when I've grown up enough. I like doing mechanical and electrical things, playing with my little boat and car, and do a little shooting to keep my eye sharp for hunting each fall. Only child and no family since three years ago when my mother died. Not much else to tell."

"Where'd you go to college?" CoraBea looked impressed.

"Graduated from State."

"Ooh! Good basketball team."

"I guess so, though I never figured that counted for much as far as quality of its students' educations goes."

She chuckled. "Say. I been meaning to ask: How important you think it is these days that kids go to college?"

"Depends on what they study. Lots of college is just a useless way to spend lots of Mommie and Daddy's money—or run up a huge student loan debt."

"Wasn't State expensive?"

"Could have been, but I went to junior college first. I mostly earned my way through there doing minimum wage jobs. But by the time I got to State, I had worked enough places so I managed to get summer jobs that paid better. No student loans, no government scholarships, and most of my first couple years I lived with Mom, splitting the groceries."

The look she gave me, I figured, equated to: He's like Dee in many ways.

I wanted to take her hand, let her know how much I liked Dee. No matter what had driven them apart, I knew he wouldn't have hurt CoraBea for all the world, and that was just how I felt now. She beat me to it, took my hand, and looked down.

"I'm kind of nervous, she whispered.

"Me, too."

"You? Why you? You're young, good looking, tall, and with no warts growing out of your forehead. You're the kind of guy most girls would die for."

I snorted a chuckle.

"Well?"

"Only a guy with an excessive impression of himself wouldn't be a little intimidated being with a woman like you."

"Why?"

"Good god, CoraBea! You're beautiful, you're sexy as hell, you got a body any man with good sense would want in his bed, you're old enough to know what's up, and I see your kids love you so you've proven yourself a good mother. How can an ordinary guy like me hope to be worthy of that?"

"You could start by kissing me! I've kissed you three times already, and you haven't kissed me back once, yet. What am I doing wrong?"

We got that answered within the following few seconds—well, started at least. Finished was another matter all together and took lots longer.

***

I don't know how she did it, but she did—and how! I think I heard her get up, dress and leave, but I was buried so deep in my lover's slumber I didn't even wake up enough to say goodbye.

The next day at work I found a text on my phone: hi want to see another movie tonight cora-b

Of course I did—or anything and everything else she might have in mind.

After I picked her up, we drove nowhere, pretending we had a destination. She flirted with me across my car's console.

"I felt so good all day today," she said.

"Me, too." What I didn't say—or ask would have been a better term—was how did you do what you did to me last night? My head still swam from the effect, and every time I looked at her now, I relived some of the just passed evening.

"Maybe we should find a motel somewhere."

"Your choice. Your money. But I like your house just fine."

"We could do that? This time of day?"

"Should wait at least until dark for that. That way, if the kids wander by, it won't be embarrassing."

"For them? Or You?"

"All of us."

I nodded. I sure wouldn't put her in a situation like that.

So, we went to one of the city's nicer parks, and like a couple teenagers, made out as if we cared little what other park-goers might think. This park, the cornerstone of this fancy part of town, received far better care—and much more of the Park Department's budget—than the park closest to where Corabea and I lived. Luckily, none of the White, liberal, middle-income-and-better, West-Hill snobs who lived around there came by to harass us. But if they had, my retort would have been: You should be so lucky!

We strolled completely around the small lake three times, each time walking slower and enjoying our proximity to each other more. By end of the third circuit, we barely walked at all. I suppose we both thought mostly that it was getting dark, and what that meant for a few minutes from then.

"Dark enough?" I said as we reached the decision point. "Around again? Or head for my bedroom?"

Corabea only pulled me down to her kiss. That was as good an answer as I needed. I must have interpreted that correctly because without a word, she enthusiastically followed my hand's lead to where my car sat alongside the park's winding, main road.

Once I'd seated her and gotten myself in and seated, her hand found its way across the console to my lap. When I looked up, the expression on her face said, Don't get a speeding ticket, but don't drive too slow, either. I sure never went under the speed limit, but I didn't get a ticket, either.

Once in my garage and its automatic door closed, we more or less fell out of my car in our rush to get into the house. Funny how the back door lock never before seemed reluctant to open, but tonight it did. She practically wrenched the keys from my hand before I finally got the door unlocked. She dragged me through the kitchen, dining end of the living room, and into my bedroom where she kicked off her shoes, then came over to me, threw her arms around me, and planted one of her kisses-to-out-do-all-kisses on my lips.

When she eased up and pulled back a little, I said, "Is this where I ask permission to unbutton your blouse?"

She nodded, but I'm not sure who unbuttoned what. What I did see was more of her beautiful skin and the promise again of those beautiful breasts

"DJ? Please? My bra?"

I grasped the catch between her breasts and unhooked it. Her breasts pushed her blouse open, exposing her entire chest. Damn!

"Sit," she said, nodding toward the edge of my bed.

I did. She stepped between my knees, grasped my face, and pressed it against the cleavage between her two prizes. Damn again! No wonder those kids of hers loved her so much! How could you not love a mother with breasts like those?

As I sat there with my face buried, she squirmed around until her bra and blouse disappeared and became non-factors.

"Slip my panties down, please, DJ?"

Of course I did. She wriggled out of them, all the time rubbing those beautiful breasts against my face.

Then she pushed me back onto the bed and kneeled her way up my body until most of what I saw was breasts above, and below, the coal black patch above her pussy. Looked great from this perspective, also.

She bent and kissed my forehead, pulling back with a great smile on her face.

"Tonight I'm boss. You were boss last night; tonight it's my turn."

I'm sure the look on my face said, So?

"I hope you liked what I did last night," she said.

I nodded. I sure as hell did, and a lot more than just merely liked.

She smiled a coy smile—or was that naughty?

"Tonight we really get to know each other." Her voice emphasized really.

I think I mumbled something about last night.

"Last night was sort of a quickie. Tonight we learn to make a full night of it."