Her mother knew trouble when she saw it, walking into her parlor in his grease-stained Hushpuppies and saggy sweater.
The words were flying from under Bill's tapping two fingers. He vaguely heard a knock at the door. He shook the sound off. He just had to get through this sentence—
The rapping increased. Pushing up from the chair, he headed for the door. Only his friends and family knew to knock, not ring the doorbell. He needed to tell Laura that for the next time she dropped by— he smiled at the memory of her visit.
His grin disappeared when he opened the door to reveal his visitor.
"Ellen, what are you doing here?"
"Well hello to you to." Ellen pushed past him in a cloud of heavy perfume and sashayed down the hall, her short, tight skirt clinging to her hips.
He followed. She made her way to his office, invading his sanctum, and flopped down in a chair.
"What can I help you with, Ellen?" he asked blandly, hiding his impatience. He remained standing, his hands clasped at his waist.
"Seen my husband?" She looked around as though she expected to find Saul hiding under the coffee table.
Bill could tell she was in one of her dangerous moods. "I spoke to him a couple of days ago," he said cautiously.
"That bastard has disappeared on me," she growled, looking around the room again. "Got somethin' to drink?"
"Did you drive here?" Bill asked.
"Don't be such a cop," she said, her mood swinging around to coy. She rose from the chair and approached him.
"You wanna handcuff me?" she breathed as she came closer.
Bill knew this mood was more dangerous than when she was angry. He remained silent, waiting.
Ellen stopped a step too close, well into his personal space. "He told me you've hooked up with a nun, Bill." She smirked. "So you gotta be horny."
"I think you should go," he said, steely. "Before you say or do something I'll regret."
She cackled. "Oh come on, Bill— " She traced the buttons on his shirt, her hand heading south. "I know just what you want— "
He took a step back out of her reach, fighting to mask his disgust. Even though it had been years since Bill had been on the streets, he could sense danger. If he offended her with his rejection, she'd find a way to turn Saul against him as revenge.
"What I want is for you and Saul to be happy, and this isn't the way, Ellen," he said with his gentle strength. "Somethin' like you've got in mind would kill Saul. Is that what you want? I'd never hurt him like that; you know I wouldn't. So why are you here?"
Bill could do emotional blackmail too, and the flash of loathing in the woman's eyes showed she'd gotten the threat.
She flapped her hand in his face. "You're just no fun! No fun at all," she whined.
He started to herd her toward the hall. "I'll call you as soon as I hear from Saul."
Her heels clacked on his wood floor, gouging at the finish. "You do that, limp dick," she growled with that fury she could wield like a knife.
Relief washing over him, Bill nodded. "Yeah, Ellen. Couldn't keep up with you."
At the door, she swung back around, her nipples sharp under her thin, tight tank top. "When you talk to that old pisser, you tell him that I'm off somewhere being fucked by a real man." Her contemptuous gazed raked Bill, but he stood straight and tall, giving her nothing but a bland half-smile.
He closed his door gently in her twisted face.
Leaning over the student's desk, Laura tapped the screen of his tablet. "Your assignment should have been in this folder."
"It's not, Ms. Roslin," whined the young man.
But he wasn't looking at the screen.
She straightened so he could no longer ogle down her blouse. Yet another new experience compared to teaching at the Catholic school as a religious sister, and it was particularly distasteful.
She glanced over to her student teacher bent over his work. "Billy, could you access Sean's folder and assure he has the assignment?"
"Yes, Ms. Roslin," Billy called back, beginning to tap on his screen.
The bell rang, ending another school day. Grateful, Laura headed back to her desk to collect her bookbag and began filling it.
"I'll walk with you as far as the bus stop," suggested Billy after all the students had filed out. "See if we can figure out where these assignments keep disappearing to."
They were still chatting when he pulled up short on Piedmont Avenue. "Let's get a coffee," he suggested. "I can catch the next bus."
She peered through the Gaylord's window and spotted Bill. He hadn't called her yet to set a time for their drive on the weekend. Perhaps he'd forgotten—
Billy was holding the door open for her. Laura strode in, her head up— and she stopped so abruptly that her friend ran into her.
A young woman sat at the table with Bill— she was the reason Bill hadn't looked up and seen Laura enter. She was a beautiful girl, with cocoa skin and milky green eyes smiling at the older man gazing back at her, obviously besotted.
With Billy grappling with her book bag and his backpack, wavering on his long legs, Laura could hardly beat a retreat.
The young woman glanced up to see what was making a commotion and her eyes were now laughing at Billy, who flushed furiously.
"Laura!" Bill hopped up from his chair. "I've been wondering where you got to."
"Just passing by," she said coolly, looking around for an empty table. Of course they were all filled.
Bill held out a chair and managed to disentangle her bag from Billy's to drape it over the back. "Take a seat. I bet you've been on your feet all day."
"Really— " Laura kept looking around— perhaps they could share with another party— but Billy was staring down at the girl, instantly infatuated.
"Laura, this is Dee. She's the daughter of one of my oldest friends," Bill said.
"Uncle Bill, don't have Dad hear you call him old," Dee said, smiling prettily. "He'll challenge you to ten rounds at the gym."
"First, Bulldog needs to accept the reality. We're old men," Bill said comfortably. "Second, I could still kick his ass."
Dee rolled her eyes. "Have a seat, Laura. Let Uncle Bill get your coffee."
"Tea, please," Laura called after Bill as he headed to the counter.
"I know, I know," he tossed over his shoulder.
Billy slid into a chair between Laura and Dee. "Hi, I'm Billy," he said, holding out his hand for Dee to shake.
Leaning on the counter waiting for the barista to heat Laura's water with the espresso machine's steamer, Bill raised his thick brows at her when he heard the name. Laura made a quick silly face in reply. His wide grin was back, making her heart turn over in her chest. iCougar indeed/i, she mouthed at him.
Oblivious, Billy chatted up Dee, skillfully finding out she was a dispatcher with the police department and lived nearby. Before Bill could return with her tea, the young man had Dee's number stored in his cell phone and made sure she had his.
Laura signed to herself. Even a shy young man was more skilled at these social interactions.
"What time am I picking you up on Saturday?" Bill asked as he set Laura's mug before her.
Dee, her interest peaked, watched Laura fretfully pleat her skirt.
Laura realized she couldn't possibly get out of it now. "How about ten?" she said.
"I'll be out front of your building," Bill said.
"Good luck, Laura," Dee said.
"What do you mean?" Bill challenged her.
"That car, Uncle Bill!" The young woman rolled her eyes again.
"My car is a classic," he protested.
"Don't we know that's just code for 'hang on for dear life,'" Dee said in a confiding manner, and Laura knew that she should nod knowingly. She was supposed to know everything about the things men said to women. Sipping her tea, she watched the other three start a spirited discussion about the battle of the sexes, feeling like an anthropologist observing a lost tribe's behavior.
On Saturday, when a vehicle pulled up to the curb outside her building, Laura saw what Dee had meant.
It was a hulk of a car, steel gray, with chrome trim glistening. She read the name on sloped back as she approached it: Citroen. It had a long license plate like a European vehicle would. The roof was black canvas, rolled back to leave the front seat open to the sky. Gingerly, she opened the door.
Bill patted the leather bench seat. "Hop in," he invited.
"Thank you," she murmured, lowering herself to the warm cushion and pulling the door closed.
"You've gotta really slam it," he said, then offered, "Let me get it."
Jumping out, Bill went around and gave her door an authoritative shove, clicking the latch.
"Thank you," she called up through the roof.
"I know this old girl," he rumbled, sliding back into this seat.
Laura didn't know much about cars, but the gear shift, a knob build into the dashboard, was particularly curious to her as he engaged it and pulled away from the curb.
Still, she was surprised when he drove up onto the freeway that the stout vehicle accelerated quickly and joined the flow of traffic.
"Modified!" he bellowed over the engine noise and wind. "Swapped out the motor! No worries!"
Laura realized he must have read her expression. Holding back her whirling curls, she smiled to herself. She's somehow imagined him arriving in some low-slung phallus of a sportscar. She wasn't sure at all what this thundering box would symbolize. Her giggle somehow caught his attention and he grinned over at her.
She smiled back and relaxed.
They swooped over a long bridge, across the wetlands separating the eastern part of the San Francisco Bay from the its northern reaches. Her joy at the ride began to lapse. She'd missed her fellow sisters terribly, but now she wondered if it would have been best to cut the cord entirely. She wasn't sure if they'd think she was coming back to gloat at her freedoms, and with Bill in tow...glancing over at him, all she could see was a pure, utter man. Would they know what she'd been doing with him?
She blushed at the memories.
Bill interrupted her fretful thoughts. "What exit?" he hollered.
Somehow this comforted her. Of course, she needed to give directions. Slipping free from her seat belt, she leaned across the seat, clinging to his solid shoulder for support. She yelled the directions into his ear, and he nodded that he had them. When finished, she didn't return to her side of the car, but remained with her arm draped along the back of his seat, watching all the familiar landmarks slide by.
His soft mouth grazed her cheekbone even as he kept his eyes on the road.
When he pulled into the grounds of the convent attached to the large school campus, Laura settled back onto her side of the car. "Here," she said, pointing to a space in front of the Mother's House.
"I'll be out here with my laptop when you're ready," he said before she could ask.
She smiled gratefully and managed to wrestle the car's door open.
Smoothing her skirt down, Laura took a deep breath. She'd worn one of her old suits today— she didn't want to reveal too much of her new life quite yet. It was a dark navy heavy polyester suit with a white blouse beneath the sensible blazer.
She checked her watch. The sisters took lunch early; they would be gathered for prayer now. She strolled into the chapel, sinking down on a kneeler at the back row. All the heads were already bowed in the other rows. The familiar words washed over her. When the final amen was sounded, her old friends rose, and spotting her one by one, clustered around, joyous in their greeting. It was easy to cry, and just as comforting as their welcomes.
As she joined them for the simple stew and crackers, she wondered about Bill. Her eyes kept straying to the high windows in the meal hall. Her Mother Superior's knowing gaze watched her.
"Please, Laura. Join me in my office for tea after lunch," Elosha announced.
But when they strolled across the gardens, the older sister stopped her. "Let's fetch your friend as well."
"He— I don't know if he'll want to come in," said Laura, completely at a loss. Would Bill be one of those people to engage in religious debate? Not that Elosha wasn't up to the challenge, but Laura would think less of her companion if he turned out to be anything but polite to her beloved mentor.
"He's working in his car," she said lamely.
Elosha made a tsking sound in her throat. "How awful. Working on a beautiful Saturday afternoon."
"He's a writer," said Laura, then quickly, "He's just a friend."
"Did I ask?" her old mentor said with feigned nonchalance.
Cringing like a schoolgirl, Laura sidled up to the car and rapped on the window. Bill, his glasses down on his nose as he focused on the laptop screen, looked up through the open roof and blinked at her.
"Bill, would you like to join us for tea?" Laura said with a stilted voice.
He raised his eyebrows, trying to signal her. iDid she want him to come?/i
Behind her, a short woman with a warm face and steely eyes waited patiently.
Laura gave him a quick nod. He closed his laptop and opened the door.
"Bill Adama, this is Sister Elosha, my Mother Superior."
"Former Mother Superior," Elosha corrected, holding out her small hand. She watched it disappear into Bill's big paw.
When he released her hand, she tucked it under Bill's elbow. "This way," she said crisply.
Laura trailed behind them like a nervous novice.
As she feared, Elosha was taking the measure of the man. She ruthlessly worked her way through Bill's life and laid all the pieces out on the table between them holding their tea cups.
Divorced
Laura sank down in her chair when that word cropped up, but the Mother Superior's face stayed impassive. Bill's was stoic, giving nothing away.
"I'm happy to see Laura making such interesting friends," Elosha said, in effect ending the cross-examination.
Bill relaxed measurably.
Elosha's bright gaze moved to Laura. "Dear, why don't you go visit with the sisters some more? They're dying to hear all about your adventures."
Laura started to protest, but then stood, her old obedience back in place. "Of course, Sister Elosha. I'll be back in half an hour," she said in a way of a warning.
Elosha smiled and checked the clock. "Perfect," she said smoothly.
Bill half-stood. "Why don't I come with you— "
"Oh no. Stay and keep me company," Elosha said invitingly.
After one more anguished look from Laura, she left. When the door closed behind her, Bill's back hunched up. The dissection of his life had just been a warm-up. He wouldn't have been worked over this hard if some belligerent father had been doing the inquiry. Well, he wasn't asking Laura to the prom and she wasn't some teenage virgin— he frowned and squared his shoulders, ready for the next round.
"Would you like some whiskey?" Elosha stood and moved to a cabinet.
"Uh...Sure." Bill gaped behind the tiny woman's back as she retrieved a decanter and two glasses. "Just one, though. I've got to drive us back to Oakland."
The Mother Superior poured two shots with a practiced hand. "Laura is very dear to me," she said with no preamble, sitting back down and tucking her small feet under her long dark purple skirt.
Bill started to make some protest, then he started again. "She's pretty dear to me too," he admitted quietly. "I know it's only been a couple of weeks— "
Elosha sipped her drink and gazed out the window. "In a convent, time moves slowly. One of my worries was that Laura would have trouble adapting to the secular world's pace." Her sparkling eyes turned to him. "But I see she's catching on quickly," she said knowingly.
He actually found himself blushing. "I want you to know, Sister, I won't hurt her— "
"Of course not." The steel was in her tone now.
He smiled back and quickly drained his glass.
The return to Oakland was nearly silent, both Bill and Laura wrapped up in their own thoughts.
Bill pulled up the curb outside Laura's apartment building. "Here you go," he said, not looking at her.
"Would you like to come up for something to eat?" Laura asked, the relief that the visit was over leaving her feeling daring. "You didn't get any lunch. I have cookies."
"Homemade?" he said hopefully.
"Well, no," she admitted.
He looked around for a parking spot. "Damn, I don't see anything— "
"The parking spots are out back. My spot is free."
Once the car was parked, he followed her up three flights of stairs to her apartment, puffing a bit at the end. His days of chasing perps were long gone.
She let him into her apartment. She'd forgotten to open the windows, and another warm Indian summer day had left the rooms hot and stuffy.
Shedding her blazer and dropping it on a chair, she went to open the windows. Bill naturally gravitated to her sole bookcase.
"I have hardly any books yet," she told him quickly. "I've been haunting the used bookstores for my favorites."
"You didn't read in the convent?" He sounded shocked.
She moved to stand beside him. "I did, but we weren't encouraged to acquire material possessions," she explained. Then she traced the paper covers on a row of hardback first editions. "But I had a few favorites I purchased."
He grinned when he said the block letters of the author's name: William Adama. "I'll have to give you some more," he said, touching the empty spaces on her shelves, his smile turning to a frown as though the lack of books offended him.
"Oh no," she protested. "I'll borrow a few of your recommendations. If I like them, I can buy my own editions."
"I don't lend books," he said definitely.
"But to give away your books— "
He waved his hand. "You said something about cookies."
She hurried to her small kitchen and when she returned, found him sprawled comfortably on her couch.
He took a cookie from the offered plate and sprayed crumbs down the front of his denim shirt. Laughing, she brushed them off, but her hand stayed on his chest when she finished. He leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss of thanks on her cheek. Her hand moved up to hold his face to hers.
For a few moments, they just breathed in unison, the only sound in the silent room.
Then he kissed her mouth and her lips eased open, welcoming his invasion. Sinking back into the saggy cushions, their arms wrapped tightly around each other until Bill's hands began to wander.
Even through the now familiar fog that his kisses placed her in, Laura was acutely aware of his wide palm as his hand swept across the band of her bra strap spanning her back and roamed to her rib cage. His thumb began to stroke in time with his tongue's caresses along the side of her breast.
She inhaled sharply and he instantly stopped. Easing back, he cradled her flushed face. "It's okay," he assured her.
He shifted back. "I better go." His heart was thundering, sending blood rushing below his belt, bright and red like a siren's strobe.
"No," she said and then kissed his palm. Taking his hand, she returned it to its previous position on her chest.
Taking a deep breath, she told him, "I've done some of this with my high school boyfriend. It's just been a really long time."
"And let's hope I'm better at it than some teenage boy," he said with a gentle smile. "Age does have its benefits."
Giggling, her head flopped over on his shoulder. "You make me laugh," she said so softly that his heart ached nearly as much as that other part of his body.
Speaking just as quietly, he said: "Just tell me when we get to the part where you don't know what happens next, and we'll stop."
She gave a tiny nod and he took that as all the encouragement he needed. Cupping her breast, he smoothed his thumb gently over the nipple, but couldn't feel anything through her blouse and sensible bra. Emboldened, he swept her hair back and began suckling at her neck. He felt as well as heard the whimper at the back of her throat. Mapping her jaw, her throat, around her ear, he recorded the places that got a reaction— it seems to be everywhere. She was like a flickering firework in his grip.
Sitting back, he carefully watched for her response as he undid the top two buttons of her blouse. Her eyes were alight with excitement, but she waited for him. He found his hand shaking like he was the inexperienced one. Forcing himself on, he slipped his fingers inside her bra cup to find warm, incredibly tender skin and the pebbled surface of her areola, before honing in on the peak of her nipple.
He felt humbled. He couldn't have her heart in his hand, but this felt pretty damn close.
Grasping his neck, she pulled him back into a kiss and he welcomed the heat of her body wiggling closer to him, half crawling into his lap and pressed into his hand's caress on her breast.
The phone rang.
Frustrated, he growled as she fumbled for the receiver on the table next to the couch.
"Hello?" she gasped. "Laura Roslin."
When the caller spoke, her whole body went stiff and cold in his hands. His eyebrows arched in surprise.
"Hello, Father." Her voice was high and strained. She scrambled off his lap and half turned away. "Yes, yes, I was at the convent today."
She nervously pushed her hair back behind her ear. "I thought you'd be writing your sermon, Father. I didn't want to disturb you."
Bill crossed his arms, a storm rising before his vision.
"All right. Yes, I'll be sure to visit next time I come." Now she was twirling a lock of hair around her finger.
She shot Bill a quick, apologetic look. "I'm well, thank you. How are you?"
Bill shook his head. This woman was going to kill him—
"I don't want to keep you, Father Richard. Thank you for calling," she finally said.
When she replaced the receiver, she remained turned away for a long moment.
"Well?" Bill finally said.
She shot him an embarrassed smile. "An old friend."
"Yeah, I could tell."
She looked down to her nose at him. "What do you mean?"
"Another one," he growled.
"Father Richard?" Her face turned red.
"You gonna say there was nothing between you?" he asked.
Her nostrils flared. "No, there was not! He was true to his vows and so was I."
"If you have to say that, it crossed your mind," he said self-righteously.
She squinted at him in that way that was become familiar and infuriating. Sure in his indignation, he just glared back.
Twining her hands, she stared at the twisting fingers. "It wasn't like that," she murmured. "We couldn't..."
Bill hauled himself out of the deep couch to glower down at her. "What a prick!"
She blinked up at him, horrified.
"He had it all," he ranted.
"What do you mean?"
"You giving him goo-goo eyes, but he never had to do the work of being a proper man. He had his vows," he sneered.
"You don't know anything about it. Anything about me," she sputtered, tears sparkling on her eyelashes.
"I'll go," he announced quickly before she could toss him out.
He thumped down the stairs, her door's slam still ringing in his ears. But he was cursing himself with every step. His writer's habit of searching out characters' motives just bit him in the ass. When he slid behind the wheel of his car, he thought about going right back up and apologizing, but decided to give both them some time to cool down. Marriage had taught him a thing or two, after all.
Laura flung back the shower curtain and cranked on the water. Hot and sticky from her fury and the still air in her apartment, she'd decided a shower was just what she needed to clear her head.
Stripping her clothes off, she tossed them on the floor. Who did Bill Adama think he was anyway? Taking a dear, precious relationship that had been years of her life and reducing it to one word: prick.
As she stepped under the water, she hung her head in shame. The truth was, she hadn't thought of Father Richard beyond fleeting thoughts since leaving the convent. Somehow, he'd slipped from her memory once she'd passed through the gates.
And her anger was rooted in the way she'd instantly recognized her relationship with the priest in Bill's brutal expose. How she'd sit entranced while Richard had read through his sermons aloud for her. He'd pace slowly, coming so close to her chair, close enough to touch, but they never had. He'd told her in low tones how important she was to him, how pure their friendship was, how two souls could be together solely on a spiritual plane—
"Screw that," she said aloud, rubbing the soaped washcloth over her prickly skin.
Her hand slid down to the junction of her thighs. Her uncertainty and shame from the other day was gone. Her eyes closed. Bill's hand was back on her breast— her own hand was a poor substitute. She'd sworn she could feel the prints on his fingers; his touch sinking into her skin. She lay back on the couch, bringing him with her, her fingers gripping his head tightly to hers as they kissed, nipping at his lip, teasing his tongue. His heavy weight bucked over her, pushing between her legs, blocking out her fears and second thoughts—
She came shockingly hard and fast. Gasping, she turned the tap off and managed to squeeze the water from her hair. She staggered over to snag her robe and sank onto the toilet. She propped her head in her hands.
What had just happened? Gone were her trepidation and lofty self-standards. Anger had wiped away all her reservations. Her orgasms had always been nice, a languidness passing through her limbs, bring her peace. This had been...a literal shock, electricity shooting through her body, leaving her exhausted and shaking. Yet it had felt much too easy and natural.
Balling her fists on her thighs, she stared straight ahead. This wasn't going anywhere. She had to admit that, and deal with it.
And she suddenly laughed, a loud, joyous sound echoing off the tiles. The laughter was an even better release than the orgasm.