Chapter 23: Sally and Glen

Cold Truths on a Warm Night

The humidity in his room hits her like a wave.

"Jesus, Bishop, it's like a sauna in here." She nods at the silent window air conditioner. "That thing broken?"

"No, just off. I like to sweat."

"You're insane," she tells him, walking over to the unit and cranking it to High.

And I've got better ways to make you sweat.

The thought sends a shiver through her, and her nipples go hard under her dress.

She turns to survey his quarters, and Glen wonders at the sudden flush on her cheeks.

"Nice," she says, taking in the small kitchenette, the large living area with a regular bed, a dresser, a desk, and a color TV on a stand. On the nightstand next to his bed, an alarm clock and a radio.

"What were you expecting?"

She shrugs. "A cot, a toilet, and maybe a hot plate. Shittier carpeting."

He watches Sally pad to his open closet, where she pulls off her dress and carefully hangs it, then – naked save for her red silk panties – slips into one of his blue dress shirts and ties it off just below her breasts.

Only then does she turn her full attention to Glen, who is himself wearing only camouflage boxers.

Flat belly, muscles in all the right places, broader shoulders than she remembers.

But, oh God, his poor legs.

The right one has some sort of protective cup strapped over his stump, the left one is whole but withered from lack of use.

"Those goddamn bastards," she whispers, hoping with all her heart that he'd wasted a few of them.

And fuck Jane Fonda if she doesn't like it.

Glen sees the emotions on her face, the unshed tears in her eyes, and her compassion angers him.

"Not a pretty sight, is it?" he says, his voice harsh.

"No it isn't," she answers, her eyes widening just a bit at his tone. "And being mad at me won't make it any prettier."

"Sorry," he mutters.

"You sure are," she agrees, looking around. "Got any booze?"

He gestures toward the kitchenette. "Vodka in the fridge. OJ too."

"That'll work." She goes to the fridge, gets out the vodka and the juice, then grabs two red plastic cups off the counter.

While she's doing that, Glen awkwardly shifts himself from the chair onto his bed, bumping his stump in the process.

And even with the protective cup, that hurts.

"Oh, son of a fuckin' bitch!" he cries out, and Sally hurries over, dumping everything on his now-empty chair.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

"I bumped my leg, but I'm fine."

"Like hell," she says, pouring vodka into each cup and ignoring the OJ. Then she joins him on the bed, sitting with one foot tucked under her and the other one pressed comfortably against his thigh.

"Your shirt came undone," he informs her, accepting his drink and staring at her half-exposed tits.

"Not my shirt, and unless you want me to fix it, I'd say shut up and enjoy the view."

Who is this wanton girl, she wonders, sitting here on Glen's bed half-nude? And why is her drink still full?

She downs her vodka and shudders.

"Your turn," she says, refilling her cup even as Glen takes just a small sip from his.

He starts playing with her toes.

"Nice bichiya," he says.

"Watch what you call me," she murmurs huskily, closing her eyes as he starts kissing her.

His hand slides slowly up her leg to her inner thigh, and she feels her breath quicken.

Then he stops, and her eyes open.

"Don't stop there," she says, as her own hand covers his and moves it between her legs.

"Sally, stop that!" he snaps, jerking his hand away as if touching her repulses him.

She looks hurt. "Why should I stop? I thought you liked touching me."

"I do. I'm just not in the mood now."

"Coulda fooled me," Sally says, flicking a finger against the bulge in his shorts.

Even that brief touch makes him shudder, and in a crueler voice than he intended he says, "That has nothing to do with you."

Stung by his sudden rejection, she lashes out bitterly.

"It never does, 'cause you'd rather stick it in Betty than in me."

He reacts without thinking, backhanding her so hard she almost falls off the bed.

She stares at him, hurt turning swiftly to anger, and slaps him back.

He looks stunned. "You'd slap a cripple?"

Her words are blunt. "You're missing a leg. Your hand seems to work just fine."

His slap has caused her hair to fall partially across her face like a veil, and the one eye he can see glitters coldly as she continues.

"You are my oldest friend, damn you, and like Bobby said to me once, one of my only ones. I've let you kiss me, I've let you touch me in places no other boy ever has, and I even sucked your stupid little dick for you that time in the rain."

He starts to reply, but she puts a finger to his lips and shushes him.

"No, don't talk now, just listen. We've shared a lot, but you don't get to hit me again. Not ever."

And with that, she jumps up, grabs her purse, and heads for the bathroom.

"My dick may be stupid, but it's not little," he calls out, trying to be funny, but she just flashes a middle finger at him over her shoulder and doesn't look back.

The bathroom door slams.

Chapter 24: Sally

Coming Clean

I stand at his bathroom sink, shaking mad, hardly recognizing the wide-eyed girl staring back at me from the mirror.

I shouldn't be here. Not like this, and not with him the way he is now.

"I didn't ask for this," I tell my reflection, but there's this little voice in my head saying Yeah, you sort of did.

I hate that little voice, I really do.

I strip naked – not hard to do since I'm halfway there already – and take a hot shower.

A long hot shower, perched on the special chair they installed for him, not so mad anymore but still horny.

And yeah, curing that is partly why it's such a long shower.

Time to Cut This Short

Back out in his room a bit later I slip back into my dress and hang his shirt where I'd found it. Then I pad over to where Glen lies snoring on his bed.

I look down at him, part of me wanting to strangle him, another part wanting to stretch out next to him and ravish him in his sleep.

The sane part of me gets the hell out of there and calls a cab from the pay phone in the hall.

The Other Cheek

Betty's meds must not be working, because when I let myself in at 3 a.m. and enter the kitchen she's there at the table.

Smoking.

"Hey, Mom."

"Hey."

She watches me pour a cup of coffee and stir in my usual overdose of powdered cream and sugar.

"Sally, I wish you wouldn't drink so much coffee," she says, puffing her Marlboro.

"Be glad it's not booze," I tell her. "And you're still smoking, so whatever."

She ignores that and looks down at my bare feet. "What happened to your shoes?"

"They got lost."

"How?"

"It's a long story, Mom."

She puffs her cigarette again and blows the smoke at me. "We've got time."

I sigh heavily. "When I first saw Glen, some kids were hassling him. I ditched the shoes so I could get there quicker. When I went back for them they were gone."

Betty eyes the gaping front of my dress, but doesn't say anything. Then she notices my face.

"Who slapped you? Glen?"

I shrug and say nothing.

"Damnit, Sally, answer me!"

"Yeah, it was him. It's why I came home early."

"But why'd he strike you?" Her eyes narrow. "Was he forcing himself on you?"

"Actually, Mom, it was quite the opposite."

"Meaning?"

I am so bored with this conversation.

"Meaning I wanted to fuck and he didn't."

"Maybe," Betty mutters, "you're just too forward for him."

"Or maybe he just didn't want what I was offering," I say, my temper making me reckless. "He's always preferred the older, more broken-in version of me."

Betty's eyes widen, and then all of a sudden my other cheek hurts, too.

And no, I don't need that little voice to tell me I'd asked for that one.