Proclivities - Pt. 12: A Perfect Day

Proclivities XII: A Perfect Day

6:17 AM, the coffeemaker taunted me as the last of the water gurgled in its death throws. I blankly stared at the glowing red numbers. Why am I up so fucking early? Because you woke up and couldn't fall back to sleep despite the adventurous drive home from your parents and the deeply satisfying coupling once we'd made it upstairs. Nope, you should still be asleep, reaping the benefits of the Monday holiday. Tomorrow, you'll be back at work, you fool.

My mind had other plans. So here I am making coffee. Most other days, George would do it, but after an hour of staring at the ceiling while a headache germinated, I slipped out of bed and into my robe, doing my best not to disturb him. I kind of wish I'd woken him up so we could talk, but that wouldn't be fair.

A final puff of steam announced that I could steal a mugful. After returning the carafe, I stirred in some sugar. A sip later, I froze. Where to sit? I'd rather contemplate that than listen to the discomforting thoughts clamoring for attention.

"You're up early."

George's words startled me, and I recoiled as his words penetrated the silence.

"Ow! Shit!" I exclaimed, hot coffee spilling over my hand.

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine, just get me some paper towels."

Tossing his phone on the counter, George sprang into action, not only granting my request, but taking the mug from my hand and turning on the cold water in the sink.

"Run your hand under this. It should help."

I took his advice, smiling at my knight in white terrycloth. "Thanks."

He tenderly dried my hands then the outside of the mug, setting it on the counter. "Let's try that again," he said, embracing me. "You're up early."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Duh, but why? Didn't I wear you out last night?"

"You did. No complaints there. I woke up to pee around five and my mind wouldn't turn off."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Yes, but can we have some coffee first?"

"Definitely," he concurred, handing over my cup and fixing one for himself. "As long as you're over your drinking problem."

"Very funny."

"Not a goodtime for humor, I take it."

"Sorry. Too much on my mind."

"Alright then," he soothed. "Let's have a seat."

After a few slugs of coffee, George arranged two of the stools at the breakfast bar to face one another. Once situated, he took my hands in his, resting on my lap and gifting one of his reassuring smiles.

"You know," he assured, "you should have woken me up."

"Why? So you could listen to me gripe about my problems?"

"They're not your problems. They're mine too. Ours. We're in this together. The good, the bad and hopefully, not the ugly."

"I know, but I..."

George silenced me with a finger to my lips, and said, "I'm all ears."

"Alright. First...do you remember how I told you about the chat I had with my mom while you were on the deck with dad?"

"Of course, but I thought you couldn't tell me about it."

"I still can't," I confirmed. "At least the details, but there's one thing that bothers me..."

"And that is?"

"Well, you also remember the blow up call I had with her Saturday?"

"That would be hard to forget."

"Got that right, but, as a result, she thought that I was suddenly some kind of expert..."

"You mean you're not?"

"George! Please...anyway, in a very, very roundabout way, she asked me for advice."

"Where'd that come from?"

"I know. It was the last thing I expected, and believe me, it was awkward...for both of us."

"I'm sure. So what did you tell her?"

"That I wasn't the one she should be asking, but she was persistent. The trouble is, I can't go into details."

"Umm," George pondered, "So then, what's your point?"

"I'm worried that I might have given her bad advice. I tried to tell her that my experience was what worked for me but might not work for her."

"Ah, okay, now I get it. If it blows up, somehow it'll be your fault."

"Exactly. I'd hate to be the cause of anything between my parents."

"You won't be."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Looking at it from a male perspective, why would any guy complain if his partner wanted a more, umm...robust...sex life."

"I suppose so. I just hope you're right."

"I don't want to sound too cocky, but I am."

"Okay, but I thought you were the cock-er and I'm the cock-ee," I joked, embracing the sense of normalcy it delivered.

George snorted. "So, you feeling better?"

"Somewhat, but those god damned Rizzo brothers still haunt me too."

"Why? Chuck took care of them."

"I know, but that's not the problem."

"Then what is?" he asked.

"Me. I feel guilty about causing everything. If I'd just backed away from the window, none of it would have happened."

"We can't change that and besides, in my eyes, you did nothing wrong."

"I know. Maybe guilt is the wrong word. More like I'm pissed off that Tony would think I owed him something. Or worse, that he still believes it."

"I'm sure he doesn't. Nothing like the threat of financial ruin to sharpen one's focus," he assured, "but I tell you what. I've already got the surveillance cams on the dock. How about if I add some around the house. Nothing too crazy, just the entry points."

"That would help."

"And I'll get alarms for the doors and first floor windows."

"That's even better, thank you."

"I want you to feel safe in your own home."

"I love you, George Richter!"

I leapt to my feet and gave him a big hug, 'your own home' playing to me deepest emotions.

"I love you too," he replied and kissed me deeply with its usual effect - good thing my arms were wrapped around him.

"Okay," he continued after a deep breath. "One other thing. Have you given any thought to Chuck's offer?"

"You mean the self-defense classes?"

"Yes."

"I'm not sure, but I'm leaning towards yes."

"Tell you what. Why don't you try a few times and see how it goes. It's not like you're signing a contract or anything. It's still too early to call Chuck, but I'll try him later."

"I trust your judgement."

"Thanks, so anything else troubling you?"

"No, other than feeling silly for worrying so much."

"That's natural," he said. "What would be odd is if none of this affected you. However, I've got just the thing you need."

"And that is?" I asked expectantly.

"You need to beat the crap out of something."

"What? That's hardly what I expected to hear."

"I was talking about right now...We've still got the whole day ahead of us..."

"That's more like it. What do you have in mind?"

"You'll see. I don't want to spoil the surprise," he remarked with a devilish grin. "Do you have a sports bra?"

I hesitated, as George once again proved cryptic, but I remained confident I'd enjoy the unveiling. "I do. The real question is whether I packed it. Per your instructions, I hadn't anticipated needing much underwear, particularly something so confining."

"Well then that's on me, so let's go have a look."

We left our empty mugs on the counter and went up to the bedroom. I rummaged through my clothes in the closet. My packing to move in with George had proved haphazard at best. Constantly distracted by Judy's inquisition, I'd obviously chosen a random selection to put in my suitcase.

"Found one!" I shouted in triumph.

"Excellent. Put it on. Some shorts too."

All I had were some clingy stretch shorts. He joined me in the closet, grabbing a tee shirt and shorts as well.

"Damn, this feels like a chastity belt for my boobs," I complained once we'd both dressed and put on sneakers.

"Trust me, it won't be forever. Let's go."

My hand in his, I followed him to the garage where he opened a wide door that led to the basement. He flipped on the lights and I followed him down the staircase along the wall.

"Damn, it's bright down here and I didn't know you had a basement."

"Yeah, we skipped it on the house tour. I did install LED lights as there aren't any windows, and there's really not much down here."

To say the least. Just concrete block walls, painted white; the concrete floor a medium grey and above, the raw floor joists with insulation nested between them. On the right, a work bench and shelves with power tools and painting supplies all neatly stowed. Yeah, he's kind of a Felix, but I'll take that over Oscar any day. Along the back wall, nothing but the HVAC system, water heater and sump pump. A white fridge/freezer stood in solitary confinement on the left.

"Looks like a typical basement to me," I said flatly, "So why are we here?"

George just pointed under the landing at the top of the stairs. Suspended beneath, big punching bag with interlocking black rubber mats on the floor, about ten feet on each side. A small tan plastic cabinet stood off to the side.

"Oh," I said in surprise. "So, this is where you practice smashing people in the face."

"Ouch," he smiled.

"I was only teasing. I'll never regret what you did. So, what now?"

"You're going to get rid of the demons," he advised.

He fetched some padded fingerless gloves from the cabinet. We both put them on and he gave me some basic instruction - fist tight, wrist straight and locked; step into it - followed by his demonstrating the technique.

I was hesitant at first, timidly hitting the bag as if it might hit back, but with his constant encouragement, I gained confidence and started striking firmly. It felt good- sweat forming, grunting with each blow, followed by a satisfying thud.

After a few minutes, my arms grew weary and dangled at my sides. Enough for now. Breathing heavily, I couldn't hold back a grin as I leaned forward, head hanging, hands resting on my knees.

"You did great. Now it's my turn," he said.

Lifting my head, I watched in wonder as George pounded the bag, his face locked in deep concentration while I was relieved not to be on the receiving end of the blows but also reassured by the protection they offered. I wasn't sure how to process the contradiction.

We each went another round that rendered both of us panting and our clothes clinging with perspiration.

"That was thirsty work," he declared. "How about we cool of in the gazebo with some water?"

I merely nodded, exhaustion rendering me mute.

"You were right. I really needed that," I declared breathlessly as I sat at the table, my arm quivering from the exertion. Water spilled over my chest as I sipped between heavy breaths. "Oops,." The cold water was absorbed by my sports bra, tightening my nipples.

"Nice," he commented, staring at my breasts and the nubs outlined by the tight fabric.

"Down boy, at least let me catch my breath"

"Just enjoying the view, but, yeah, I could use a breather too."

After a few minutes, I started, "There is one thing, but it's kind of awkward..."

"We're past awkward, don't you think?"

"This is different."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, when we were in the basement, I saw a ferocity in you I've never seen before and it was...unnerving."

"I certainly wasn't trying to scare you...but as I've been taught, Assess your enemy. Spot a weakness and when the opportunity appears, strike. Quickly and without remorse."

"That explains a lot...but isn't that sort of the technique you used the night we met?" I teased.

"I suppose, but for one big difference," he replied solemnly. "You're not the enemy, my love...you're actually my greatest weakness. One I'd never surrender without a fight."

Deeply touched, I felt a lump in my throat and a tears rising, "That's so swee..."

Our heads both swiveled towards the driveway as a red Mercedes convertible, top down, raced along the driveway, screeching to a halt behind George's car, between the gazebo's obstruction and the car's speed, we couldn't tell who was driving.

"Who the hell is that?" I asked, alarmed by the aggressive entrance.

"Haven't a clue, but I'm sure going find out."

George rushed down the steps with me at his heels as we observed a slight, well-tanned woman with shoulder length dark hair exit the car, slamming the door in the process. She would have been lucky to top five feet in heels. Large designer sunglasses hid her eyes. A clinging pink tennis dress revealed she was essentially shapeless - a forty-ish face on a eleven year old's body. White sandals. Dripping gold from her earrings and necklace to her gaudy engagement ring and multiple bangles on her wrists - her outfit a fashion statement, not indicating any avocation. She strode aggressively at George.

"Hold it right there!" George commanded, towering over her and bringing her up short. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"I'm Annette Rizzo and..."

"You shouldn't be here," George interrupted flatly, turning to me and adding, "Let me handle this."

I was perfectly content to watch the unfolding drama, although I realized my hands had suddenly balled into fists. I did my best to relax them.

"Maybe not, but I'm telling you to leave my Tony the fuck alone."

"We don't want a goddamned thing to do with him."

"Then why'd you have to beat him up so bad?"

"I only hit him once," he informed her, "Well maybe twice, if you count the knee."

I savored the shock that hit her as she eyed George up and down, realizing that although he isn't heavily muscled, the sweaty tee shirt clinging to his torso revealed George was in very good shape. The aggression melted from her face, as she realized what I already knew - there's more to this man than meets the eye.

"That's not what he told me," she meekly replied.

"I'm not surprised. But regardless of what he told you, I just advised him to leave and that'd be the end of it. However, if you'd like to look at the tape, I can show you. But then I'd have to get the cops involved."

"You've got a video?" With that line of attack repelled, she changed tactics and pointed at me, blurting out, "Then you shouldn't go around the house showing off your tits!"

"At least I have a pair!" I shot back. Annette flushed with anger as she glared my chest and erect nipples. "Holy shit! I don't believe it. You're fucking jealous."

"I am not!" she protested, but the damage had been done.

"Now Linda, don't get riled up because she's envious of perfection," George said with an evil grin, winking at me so that Annette couldn't see it.

"Perfection," I slowly repeated, savoring the word. "You never said that before."

"I know, but totally accurate," he replied, grinning and intentionally ignoring Annette.

"That's so sweet," I said, following his lead.

"You know, I promised to speak the truth, always."

"Indeed you did. Thank you." Out the corner of my eye, Annette seethed.

"Oh no," George countered, "Thank you!"

"Cut the shit!" Annette shouted, then pointed at me once more. "It's all her fault!"

"So, you admit Tony's a peeping Tom because you're flat chested," I shouted back.

"That," she stammered, "That's not why it happened! Tony just don't take no for an answer."

"Then he might have learned something, but have it your way," George said flatly, trying to calm the situation. "Just wait here while I call the cops. I'm sure they can sort it out, perhaps adding attempted sexual assault to the charges, of course Tony will then have to register as a sex offender. Even though we'd prefer to let it go, but if that's what you want..."

"Let it go? Then, why did those two big fucking feds come to my house?"

"Can't say I know them," he told her. Technically true, but he did know of them. Then it dawned on me - the less she knew, the better.

"They showed up after Tony got home. Flashing their badges with their whole Men in Black routine. Telling Tony that they'd sic the IRS on us and if we didn't leave you alone, we'd be bankrupt and Tony would go to jail!" she replied frantically, panic setting in.

"Then I'd suggest you take their advice. It's better than visiting Tony in the big house telling him how they auctioned off your car, your house and your jewelry."

"Don't forget the boat," I added, twisting the knife as best as I could.

"Right," he confirmed with a smile, "I'd forgotten about the boat."

Annette was speechless, her bottom lip quivering, adding meekly, "I can't go back to being poor."

"Or..." George prolonged, "You can get in your fine automobile, go home and mind your own fucking business."

Defeated, Annette shuffled off to her car, slowly getting inside and softly closing the door.

Before she could turn the key, I walked up to her and said, "You want to hold on to your money? Maybe spend some on a boob job, then put that fat perv husband of yours on a leash and teach him the meaning of no."

I felt her eyes burning into me as I sashayed over to George, hooked his arm in mine, never turning back as we alighted the steps, savoring the sounds of chirping tires as Annette turned around and roared down the driveway. Once back on the patio, I gave him a big hug.

Leaning back and grinning I said, "Oh that was fun!"

"Indeed it was."

"Even a better catharsis than the punching bag."

"I'd say you never stopped. That last jab was almost too cruel."

"Almost," I countered, grinning mischievously. "But didn't you say something about spotting weaknesses and striking without mercy."

"Proving once again that you're a fast learner."

"So where were we?" I asked as we sat back down at the table. Picking up my water bottle, I toasted, "To boob jobs."

Our laughter erupted and for the next ten minutes we giggled over toasts to boob jobs, big fucking feds and the big house, dissipating our nervous energy. Thank you, Annette. And, of course, perfect tits. Thank you, George.

"I don't know about you," George grinned, "but all that excitement worked up an appetite. I'm starving."

My stomach grumbled at the thought. "Me too."

"How about we go to a diner? There's one about ten minutes from here. After we get cleaned up, of course."

"That would be lovely," I readily agreed, as my mind relived the many times we'd showered together.

On the way through the kitchen, George picked up his phone. "Hmm, a message from Chuck, 'Give me a call. We caught a case'...I did want to talk to him anyway."

"Do you mind if I give him a call?" George continued as we entered the bedroom.

"Go ahead. Probably best to deal with it now. Like you said, you wanted to speak with him...and don't leave out our visit from Annette."

"Believe me. I won't."

He dialed and sat in his desk chair. I heard Chuck answer, "Good morning, George. Thanks for getting back to me."

"Hi, Chuck. No problem. I need to talk to you too. Linda's here and I've got you on speaker. I hope that's okay, now that she knows what we really do to earn our money."

"Indeed," Chuck concurred. "You never can tell, having an intelligent woman on our side could be beneficial."

"Flatterer" I blurted out.

"So, what's the new case?" asked George.

"Jack Thompson, an old friend of mine called. He's done a few of start-up businesses, then sold them. Made a piss pot of money in the process. It seems one of his partners in the latest venture made off with about four mil. He just doesn't know which one and asked if I, or should I say, we, could help."

"Sure, but even if he's an old friend, I wouldn't want to make any guarantees..."

"He understands. We get one mil, just for the effort and the whole four if we're successful. To him, it's chump change. Jack takes betrayal very personally. I know why but can't tell you. Suffice to say, I don't blame him."

"Wow! That's great. The money, I mean, not the other stuff." George said excitedly.

"Yeah, I know what you meant. I thought that would get your attention. He's locked down their systems since Saturday and set up a special administrator account for you. All the details are in a secure email and link I sent you just a while ago. Just one thing. I agreed we'd go down to see him in DC and meet first thing on Friday morning with a progress report. We can take an Acela down on Thursday evening. Trust me, the train's actually easier and more relaxed than the hassle of flying. I hope Linda can spare you for the night."