Chapter 53
A few days later John was feeling better. He had been through the worst of his cold, the constant blowing of his nose and aches and restlessness. Billie was there through it all and got a full understanding of how men, at any age, became reduced to boyhood with the onset of any ailment. Even though her own brothers acted this way, she couldn't say they were as thoroughly needy as John- although, she hadn't been sharing a bed with her brothers. John required rather unnecessary treatment: affection. He would ask for a massage when his body ached, but also when he blew his nose too rough or changed positions in bed. Still, Billie obliged. They both had a silent understanding; she would do just about anything for him if it wasn't too outlandish, and he would do the same for her.
Really, John hadn't had someone, a woman, to take care of him for years. It was like the perfect cup of coffee; a hot bath on a cold day; Christmas morning. In a way he was taking advantage of Billie, knowing she would dote upon him, but when affection was payment there was no such thing as foul play. One day, whether she needed it or not, John would reimburse her and they both knew this.
Billie liked how strong and capable she felt. She felt like a real asset to the relationship, cleaning and taking care of the apartment, running errands, and tending to John. There would be moments when Billie looked tired or claimed of having some small aches herself, and it was John's turn to tease that she was getting sick from him. So far she had not gotten anywhere near as ill as he. Though John was well enough to get on with regular tasks he opted to lay in Billie's lap as she sat on the couch. A radio played music lightly in the background. He settled his head in her lap, her fingers stroking his hairline and brushing through his dark locks.
"Tell me my bedtime story, doll," he smiled.
Billie thought before starting. They had created a kind of routine, she sharing Native American stories much to his amusement. She began, telling about a warrior named Manabush who tried to trap some birds. He told the birds he would sing and they had to close their eyes and dance. He tricked them, killing some of the birds while they were unsuspecting. Later, at a small camp he made, he buried the birds so only their head or their feet stuck out of the ground and while Manabush slept a canoe filled with other Indians came. They dug up and stole the bodies of the birds, leaving the head and feet how Manabush had first buried them. The next morning, when he dug up his kill, he found nothing but heads and feet.
"...and then he looked down and angrily slapped his thigh, saying 'You were supposed to keep watch!'"
"Now hold on just a minute," John held up a hand lightly, his tone amused. "His thigh was supposed to keep watch?"
"Yes."
He started laughing, a quiet but infectious giggle that was all the more humorous thanks to his sickly voice. Billie tried not to laugh along, it being a difficult fight. "That's doesn't make any sense..."
"No, Johnnie. It's not literal. It's...metaphorical..." He continued to giggle and tease, she frowning slightly. "All this medicine has got you loopy. If all you're going to do is make fun I won't tell you any more."
"Okay, sweetheart," he sighed. A smile was still on his face as he settled down again, her hands still in his hair.
Her next story was about how a porcupine received his quills. Great Spirit had given the animal a beautiful fur coat. Soon, all the creatures in the forest told him how beautiful he was, and every day the porcupine would stop by a stream and admire himself. This angered the Great Spirit who punished the porcupine by replacing his fur with quills. "...and that's why the animal only comes out at night."
"He's embarrassed?"
"Well, yes. Wouldn't you be?" She gazed down at his face from her angle, pleased by the straightness of his nose, the curve of his cheek and form of his lips. He was beautiful. "Such is the punishment for vanity."
A smirk appeared across John's face. "You think I'm vain?"
John's most powerful trait was his overconfidence, but that was somewhat different from vanity. "I don't know, are you?"
"Oh, doll, let's not get started on my sins..."
Billie frowned and her hands stopped combing through his hair. Feeling her stall John moved himself to a sitting position, groaning lightly for effect. He sat far on the opposite side of the sofa, stretching our his feet so they were almost in Billie's lap. She looked down at his toes and then to his face, her frown deepening as she imagined he wanted a foot massage. Seeing her look John burst out in another fit of laughter, then motioning for her to rest her feet up as well, he taking them in his lap. Lightly he began to massage her own foot, the air going silent and comfortable for some moments.
"I think I got your birthday planned."
Billie looked hesitant if not displeased, giving an audible sigh. "Johnnie, I don't want a fuss."
"It won't be a fuss sweetheart, it'll be fun. They gang'll come and we'll all have a nice dinner at a nice club, we'll dance..."
"That sounds like a fuss!" She imagined the entire group of them crowding into an already crowded place, expensive table cloths, glittering lights everywhere the eye could see and a full orchestra. It would be exciting, sure, but Billie would have preferred an easy, romantic dinner for two. To her, her own birthday really wasn't all that special.
"Don't you wanna dance with me?" John tried, tugging on a soft spot and giving her puppy dog eyes. Billie sighed again, but this time with a smile for she knew what he was doing, and it was working.
"You don't know how to dance," she teased him back, her arms crossed.
"That never stopped you before."
She grinned, loving and hating how irresistible he was. She met his dark eyes then, the two communicating through silent happiness. "You know I'll always dance with you," she gave in. "Even if you don't know how...even if you didn't have legs..."
"Didn't have legs?" John repeated. "That's startin' to sound like one of your bedtime stories, doll."
She lunged forward to give him a playful smack, the sound of both of their laughter filling the apartment.
