"Nice job, Daddy," Brenda said, up in Zander's hotel room.
"You were pretty good," said Zander. "How did you get experience with kids?"
"I hung around my friend Lois when she had her baby."
"Does your sister have kids?"
"No, she's a career woman on every level."
"Maybe you'll have one someday."
"I only need to find a good stud. Oh! I have one."
"So funny," he said.
"I think about that," she said. "Don't worry, not yet. We women only have so much time, though. If I don't find Prince Charming by, say 33, I might go for it. It's not healthy to have your first child when you're over 35."
"So you are going to look for the smartest guy you can find?"
Brenda laughed. She sat back on the couch. "At least a 2.3 average. Come here," she purred.
He went and stood over her, placing his legs to either side of hers. Then he pushed his knees down on the couch, so his bent legs were on either side of her. He tipped her head back and put his mouth over hers, then pushed his tongue into it.
She pushed her tongue back up into his. He felt her hands on his bare back as she pulled his T-shirt out of his jeans. He put his hands on either side of her face and kissed her more, twisting his head to the opposite side. He felt her hands go back to his stomach and feel his stomach muscles. She undid his belt so slowly, he thought she might be trying to torture him.
He started to do the same thing to her, stopping to let her pull his T-shirt off. "You haven't done any of my massages," he said.
"There's time." He moaned, feeling her tongue, very warm, play across his chest.
He lifted her top off and unhooked her bra. He did the same thing with his tongue between her breasts, that she had just done to him. He traveled up her breastbone to her neck.
She pushed him back off the couch so she could unzipper his jeans and pulled them down. This positioned her so perfectly to touch the end of his penis with her mouth that she couldn't resist.
At first she just flicked her tongue around the tip of it, but then she took in the very front only and sucked hard once.
"You're going to flip me out," he said. She giggled. Her hands massaged the backs of his thighs just under the curve up of his buttocks. She passed her hands over the cheeks next. "Mmm," she said. "Nice. Very nice."
He had to grab the top of the couch to remain steady. Then she took in a good bit of him, and sucked, loosened up, played around with her tongue, sucked down again, and kept doing things he thought she couldn't really possibly be doing. He breathed hard and ragged. His knuckles were turning white, he gripped the top of the couch so hard. Her hands were firmly on his hips, and she seemed totally into what she was doing, as if she were really interested in it. Like it was some damned science project, he thought.
Finally, he crumpled in a heap over her.
His ankles were still trapped in his jeans. She pushed them off, carefully.
"Lay down," she said. "Face down, right here."
"Huh?" he asked. But he did as she said.
She went into the other room, then came back. She had some sort of oil or lotion, and she used that to massage his back.
It was very relaxing. All of his worries faded away. They were as nothing. His upper back, and his shoulders. His middle, then lower back. He leaned up and looked back.
She pushed gently, "Back down," she said.
"Take those blue jeans off," he said. He had seen her belt, undone, but still hanging.
She complied. He watched as her fantastic legs emerged.
She massaged his upper back and his shoulders and the back of his neck.
Then he felt her hair against his back, and her tongue flickering between his shoulder blades. He went from relaxed to hard and taught. He flipped over in a second, grabbed her and positioned her over him so he could find her opening. When he did, he slammed it up into her as hard as he could.
Taken almost in surprise, she yelped out. She crouched over him almost by reflex, then pushed down, up and down, screeching in short gasps all the while, inspiring him to redouble his speed. He could see her contorted face and was proud of how much insane pleasure she was getting out of it.
He gasped and pushed up harder and she pushed down harder. She was gripping his shoulders probably as hard as he had gripped the couch earlier.
Finally they both came to the climax. He was breathing really hard, and yelled as he felt himself flip out; she let out a shuddering screech.
She was sitting on the floor beside the couch. "You really are something else," she said.
"You're something else yet yourself."
"That was great."
"No argument here."
He pulled her back onto the couch next to him, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. Her arms went around his neck as she kissed him back.
They lay thus entwined, enjoying the contact.
There was a knocking at the door. "We never get to be alone for long, anywhere," he said to her, grinning.
They collected their clothes. He gave her a shirt, and he found his black robe. "I can hide in the bathroom," she said. His suite didn't have but one room.
"OK, but if it's Carly, come out just like that, you hear?"
"Of course!"
He opened the door. All of his joy in life dropped away. His father stood there.
"Well, Alexander," he said in his cold way, that had not changed at all in four years. Having had four years without it, now it hit Zander like a barrel full of ice water, cubes and all.
"How did you find me?" Zander asked, in a state of shock.
"Your brother is in a rehab clinic in Switzerland. Certain statements of a young lady who is also there led me to believe you might be here." He walked into the room.
"What? Pete! How is he?"
"Doing quite well. Walking."
"Walking! But he wasn't supposed to be able to! But that's great! He's not going to be stuck in a wheelchair after all?"
"Yes. He overcame all the obstacles, always aiming to do more than anyone expected. That's his way. But it's hardly reason for you to feel any triumph, Alexander."
"What the hell do you mean! Of course I'm glad he can walk after all!"
"I'm sure you are."
"Well then what the hell were you talking about? Get the hell out, Dad. Oh, wait. First, tell me how Mom is."
"Much the same, except your running away upsets her."
"Oh, and the only reason you found me is she made you, I'm sure."
"I'll ignore that. Naturally I want to know where you are. Your great uncle Carl died. He left you a lot of money. I hope you don't squander it."
"Put it with the rest of the inheritances and give it to Pete for his treatments."
"That won't be necessary. I don't suppose you have any plan for your life, as usual? Living in a hotel room isn't promising."
"I have a job. This is temporary."
"A job doing what?"
"Tennis pro at the country club here."
"Is that what you plan to do with your life?"
"I'm going to college, too." Unthinking, he picked up the transcript, which was lying on a side table.
Zander's father took the transcript out of Zander's hand. He perused it a moment, then said, "Naturally it is still in the intent stage. But I suppose there are some colleges that will accept you with grades like this."
"Yeah," Zander said, grabbing it back angrily. "There are."
"I hope there are."
His father walked around the room, having noticed a crack in the door to the bathroom. He opened it, pushing its occupant back.
"Why am I not surprised?" he asked, when he saw her.
Brenda was standing there. She had gotten dressed. Zander could have kissed her for that alone.
"You're father of the year, aren't you?" Brenda said. "You are so much like mine!"
"Who are you?"
"Brenda Barrett," she said, coming back into the room. "Who are you?"
"Dr. Cameron Lewis."
"You are awfully cold, Dr. Cameron Lewis, for someone who found his own son missing after four years."
"Don't bother, Brenda," Zander said.
"I see you know him well," Dr. Lewis sneered. "So young lady, you can do no better? Alexander is impetuous, without any plan or direction, negligent to the point of being dangerous, flighty, thoughtless and reactive, yet here you are. How long ago did you meet?"
"You're talking about your own son!"
"I know his bad points!"
"I'll say. So what are his good points?"
"Good points?"
"Don't you know what they are? Well, that sure makes you father of the year."
Cameron was too smart not to catch her meaning. "Good points don't need correcting," he said.
"So that means there is nothing to do but to ignore them! I get it. No wonder you drive people crazy!"
"I'll ignore that."
"You ignore a lot, it seems."
He went to the door. "Good Day," he said, leaving a piece of paper on the table. "That's Peter's number. He insists he wants to talk to you, Alexander."
"What a jerk," Brenda declared, just as he closed the door, hoping he heard.
"I agree."
"What does he mean, 'insists'? Of course Peter wants to talk to you."
"He means he thinks it's a bad thing for Peter, naturally."
"I'm sorry," she said. "He is your father."
"No, it's all right. You can understand. I know your father was similar."
"Not that bad."
"You were wonderful." He went over to her. "No one has ever talked to him like that. That I've seen. You were brilliant. Magnificent." He started to massage her shoulders. "Anything you want me to do to you," he grinned mischievously, "and it's all yours."
"Later," she said. She put her arms around him and hugged him, laying her head against his shoulder.
He put his arms around her, and buried his face in her hair. They stood there only hugging for awhile.
"I wonder who is the young lady in the rehab clinic?" Brenda asked later. She had sat on the couch with Zander, and had pulled his head to her shoulder and was stroking his arm. He sat there like that with his feet up on the coffee table. It felt funny being coddled like that. Especially with his father's voice still resounding in his ears.
"He had such a deep damn voice," Zander said, amazed at himself as he said it. He was saying his thoughts out loud. "If only he'd been born with narrower vocal cords, then he'd be a different human being."
"So would you," she observed.
"Why would that be bad?"
"That's him talking," she said.
Zander took her other hand. He traced the lines in her palm. "Switzerland," he said. "What girl could be there in a rehab clinic that would lead Dad here? Dad's smart. It's hard to tell."
"Not when you have me around," Brenda said. "You may have two-tenths higher a grade point average, but I have a friend Ned. He told me awhile back that Emily was in a rehab clinic in Switzerland."
Zander thought for a moment. "And she was paralyzed the same way, too," he observed. "I mean, not the same way, but she was in the same condition. That's what I found so terrifying. Like I really had this propensity to paralyze people."
"Propensity," Brenda repeated. "Admirable. Propensity. Your father has a propensity to scapegoat you. Mine did that too. Watch out. You get taught to take it and you keep taking it and you feel guilty and it drives you crazy. Meanwhile they do as much or worse and don't have to feel guilty about it."
"Feeling guilty is awful," he said. "I think that feels worse than anything. Like now I feel guilty about not talking to Pete, though part of why I left was I felt guilty for being around Pete."
"There's a sign right there that I'm right."
He smiled, tilted his head back to look at her. "You didn't get your 2.2 for nothing," he said.