CHAPTER 13 TRYSTS

Oliver saw a new side of her. He saw how she glowed after giving her lectures, how she was giddy at seeing his car waiting. She had opened up to him and

was able to let her guard down, but only with him. She would light up to see him standing there, waiting for her, her face conveying pure love and joy at the

sight of him. They would say greet each other respectfully and formally in public, very tongue-in-cheek, with: "Good evening, Miss Farrell.", and "Hello, Mr.

Warbucks, good evening."

He would kiss her cheek, holding the door and his hand out for her as she climbed up and into the Dusenberg. He admired the view from his angle. "My good

God." He thought to himself, staring at her curves. "She is so sexy, and has no idea." After climbing in beside her, he would ask: "I trust your day went well?"

and he would smirk at her, trying to contain his mirth at his attempt at formality, teasing her. She would answer him, equally filled with mischief: "My day was

splendid, Mr. Warbucks. I had something to look forward to all day long." He said: "Oh, what was that, Miss Farrell?" He would turn toward her with his arm

up over the back of her seat, the car in PARK. She would say: "I was looking forward to getting kissed by a certain young man all day." she smirked at him,

trying hard to keep up the ruse. He said: "A young man, you say? Wanting him to kiss you? Very interesting, Miss Farrell. I must say, that sounds delightful.

I wish that man the very best of luck. Hmmmm." He would stare at her with a straight face, but laughter in his eyes. She would play along for a minute,

staring back, trying her best to appear unmoved and playing it straight. He would finally ask her: "Shall I start the car?", grinning at her. She would answer

him, with pure mischief in her eyes: "You should not start the car..." putting her hand over his on the ignition..."...until such time that you decide to end this

tease and kiss the girl who has been waiting all day...and soon." She would follow this exchange with a smirk of her own, and a tilt of her head while staring

him down. He could no longer keep his joke, or mirth or decorum to any standard: he would immediately pull her toward him and kiss her madly, both of

them laughing at their failure to maintain decorum. He would say to her: "My love…. my Grace, how I've missed you." He got so good at kissing her, making

her so aroused by his loving and sensual way with her, she knew she was powerless. He was her lifeline, her heart, her true love. Being in his presence made

her feel that a piece of her puzzle just got snapped back into place. They would find themselves back at her place to reunite, talk about their week, talk about

their world, talk about each other. They would make dinner together, he would surprise her by rolling up his shirtsleeves and turning out a nice but simple

meal, some chicken, some pasta. After a late night out, he would make them omelets. She would pour them juice and make toast. She would lean into his

back as he stood at her countertop, her head snuggling against his back, hugging him from behind as he cooked. He would turn around to her and kiss her

hands, her face, her lips. They would giggle at themselves, loving the playfulness. She loved to watch him work like this, his forearms so lovely. His brown

and blonde hair on them made her distracted, and at times, she saw a little whisp of his chest hair if he was wearing a tank top under his shirt with a couple

of buttons undone. Her imagination was very in tune with just how sexy he was to her. She had not known he was good in the kitchen. Aside from that night

long ago when they had raided the estate kitchen, she had never seen him cook or get his own meals before or after that. He explained to her: "Grace, I was

a cabin boy. I learned a lot aboard a ship. Once I was charged with manning the galley when our cook fell ill. I was a boy of about seventeen. I fed twenty-

three mates and our captain, and nobody died." He laughed. She asked him, because she had to know: "What did you make for everyone?" He looked up

from his work, turned to her with a slight grimmace and said: "We had not a lot of stuff on board that was perishable, by that I mean that we had rice, we

had dried legumes, we had some vegetables - like onions and potatoes. I made rice and a very basic green pea soup with vegetables. Everyone ate it and

nobody complained. When on a ship, you eat what is put in front of you." he chuckled about this notion and how it compared to his life now. "I just tried to

cook what I had seen our regular cook make." She listened intently, at times laughed at his candor and watched him cook for her in her tiny kitchenette. He

was a completely different man to her, now. He was Oliver Havens. A sweet and loving, adorable and funny, magnetic and loveable man. He was intelligent.

He was sensitive and he was compassionate. She wanted him every moment. Sometimes, they would just not talk. They would just love and stare and

touch and kiss. She was so in love with him, he was in her dreams – waking and sleeping. She felt like she walked around in a daze most of the time. She

would get lost in thoughts of him, just like before. There were times when they would talk on the phone late into the night, during the weeknights when they

were apart. The letters and notes did not stop. They wrote to each other. He would sometimes get a stack from her on Friday night – things she had written

him during the week. Sometimes it was just a line or two, sometimes a whole paragraph, sometimes some sketches, sometimes a funny anecdote or a joke,

always just for him, and always from her loving soul. For him. He would take her notes back to the office with him for the next week. As he went through

them, he would laugh, or little sounds would escape him as he read her words: "Aw….oh…that is so sweet...ha!..." He would write her back, as if they were

overseas lovers. They both treasured the letters and they both kept them like that: treasure. Their love continued to grow; their attachment seemed to only

enhance by their time apart. Her teaching was a thing to behold. He had sneaked into her lecture hall once. Dean Kenworthy had shot him a look, elbowing

one of the other college officials there, 'observing her lecture' - more like observing Grace giving her lecture. She commanded every person's attention just by

her presence, her energy and her excitement and love for her subject matter. She brought with her an expectation of respect and interest, engagement from

and to her students. They interacted, they had answers, she had moments of "Yes! Exactly! Now, can you tell us why we would calculate that lower boundary

that way? What would this be in this confidence interval in the lower boundary if we wanted to calculate for, say, 97.5%? Remember, we are subtracting from

one..." She would explain the concept, drawing detailed and beautiful illustrations of the curves and intervals, all the while her entire lecture hall would be

quietly taking notes and watching every move she made. She had not seen him seated in the rear of her lecture hall until she was packing up her papers and

notebooks into her briefcase. He walked up quietly to her podium. The Dean watched as this stranger, some big bald guy in an expensive suit walked down to

Miss Farrell's podium. She absolutely lit up when she saw him. Kenworthy shook his head. "Oh, so she has a boyfriend….hmmmm. . . . he looks familiar." He

thought. As Oliver approached her at her podium, he saw that she was dressed in a light blue business suit, the skirt was accentuating every nice thing about

Grace Farrell's figure. Her hair was up, but she had a few strands out of place, framing her face in a way that looked almost deliberately seductive. Oliver

thought it was the most unintentionally erotic look he had ever seen on her, she was doing something she loved, she had a look about her that he could not

explain. She just looked lovely. He didn't realize that her 'look' was love. He was the reason she had that 'look'. Her Dean had seen it from across the room

as he watched Oliver walk up to her. Oliver said: "Hello, Miss Farrell." She was alight with excitement that he was there in front of her, and that he had seen

her work, she was proud of her academic domain. Breathlessly, she said with a broad smile: "Hello Mr. Warbucks. I am so happy that you have attended this

afternoon's lecture. Do you have any questions?" She stared at him with her bright blue eyes. Taking a moment to look into them, he grinned at her and said:

"I should like to know if I could take you to dinner?" She leaned on the podium, her hands laced in front on top of it. He lightly put his hands over hers. She

said: "If you give me two minutes to pack up my materials, Sir, I should like to answer your inquiry in a more detailed and personal way." She gleamed at

him. He looked left and right, and quickly behind him, then back to her: he said: "You are so sexy, do you know that?" She stopped and stared back at him,

she said: "Thank you. I will let you explain more to me later. Ahem." She cleared her throat because Dean Kenworthy was coming up behind Oliver. Oliver saw

that her eyes were directing him to look behind him. Oliver turned to see Dean Kenworthy walking toward them. As he got within about ten feet of them, the

Dean said: "Another excellent lecture, Miss Farrell. Yes." He hesitated when he looked at Oliver, he said: "I don't believe I have had the pleasure of meeting

your friend, Miss Farrell. How do you do, sir?" and he extended a hand to Oliver, who accepted it and shook it. Oliver said simply: "How do you do, sir? My

name is Oliver Warbucks." He looked at Grace, and then back to Dean Kenworthy and said: "I am Grace Farrell's boyfriend." He said it confidently and with a

true smile. Dean Kenworthy looked up at Oliver, and said: " Well, it is a pleasure to meet you...Mr...War...?" He hesitated. Oliver helped him: "Warbucks, sir."

Dean Kenworthy smiled, and said: "Yes, Warbucks...Warbucks...yes..." Grace watched this unfold and waited for the name recognition to kick in to the Dean's

brain. She thought to herself: "Three – two- one…" Dean Kenworthy suddenly realized who it was in front of him, seemingly in love with one of his professors.

"Oh! You are THE Oliver Warbucks? Miss Farrell? He is your 'boyfriend'? Oh My. I would have never thought I would see the day...well, it is a pleasure to have

met you, Mr. Warbucks!" Oliver smiled politely at the Dean and said: "Likewise, sir. The pleasure is all mine." Dean Kenworthy said: "Well then, I should be on

my way. Oliver Warbucks. Well. Oh my. Yes." Kenworthy was sputtering. The Dean turned and said to her as he was leaving: "Well done, Miss Farrell.

Another excellent lecture." He paused and looked at the two of them. He said:"Mr. Warbucks, I hope you know who you're dealing with..she is quite a

genius." She smiled at this from Dean Kenworthy, Oliver was leaning on her podium looking at her. When the Dean was out of the lecture hall, Oliver said

"She is quite the genius in math and other things, my good man. She is the sexiest woman to have ever taught in these halls amongst these academic

cavemen..." He looked at her from head to toe, sighed, and said: "Oh, Miss Farrell. Oh my." She leaned over from her side and kissed him. She would invite

Oliver up to her tiny studio when he would drop her off at night. He would park at the curb, taking the elevator up to her place. The doorman greeting them

as they got into the elevator. There were some nights that they would get in, they would fall asleep on her sofa, wake up to find that it was 2 a.m. He would

gently wake her with a kiss, let her know he was leaving. He would lead her to her bed, kiss her good night. He called her his 'sleepy girl' - Grace

loved and needed her sleep. He would let himself out after kissing her goodbye. He absolutely hated that part. Saying good bye. Having her sleeping next to

him, hearing her breathing and his heart beating next to her was how he knew he was alive and well and grounded. His suit would get a little mussed, his

shirt showing some wrinkles from having his girlfriend fall asleep on him. He would most certainly have her lippie on him – his shirt or collar, somewhere. He

didn't care. He loved it and he loved her. He hated leaving her in the middle of the night. Sometimes he would check his look in the mirror and be shocked at

how naughty and slightly out of place his clothing and entire look cast about him. The same doorman would very discreetly open the building door, tipping his

hat as Oliver left.

The next day would be all theirs – he would be gone from the estate the entire day, spending every spare moment with Grace. They would walk hand in hand

in a museum, he would take her to any place she wanted. She had taken him to art exhibits and the ballet. Always holding hands, always lost in each other.

They were in a hazy bubble the entire time they were together. They loved to dance, especially slowly – holding onto each other, dreamily. Dancing gave them

the chance to gaze at each other, their bodies closely held. He was so in love with his 'girlfriend' that he forgot who he was every now and then. He was

transported to being a younger man, he was feeling like a younger man. When he was near her, or felt her in his arms, saw her eyes shift and take him in as

she spoke to him, or listened to him – he felt so heard and human and loved. That was really it. He was loved. By her. He knew it was real, and he was so

very much in love with everything about her, and he realized – he probably always had been, from that first night at the gala. They were in the throes of

those early days, when one cannot get enough of the other, they want nothing but that lover every moment. They had many, lovely and late evenings just like

that. He also loved taking her to operas and classical concerts. Their being seen together was something they had planned to avoid if possible, but it wasn't a

huge concern. That was a good thing, because they were getting noticed and seen. Oliver Warbucks wasn't exactly a low-profile person. He was a billionaire

during the Great Depression. His only concern was her, but there were times when their strictness about decorum wasn't always their first concern as they

melted into each other. However, discretion also had a lot of fun and daring opportunities for trysts. When they went to concerts or the opera, Oliver

would arrange it so that their box seat was left opened and unlit so they could slip into it unseen. He would hold her hand, and put a gentle hand on her

waist, holding her back, guiding her to the very back of the box seat, well out of sight. He would always kiss her there, sometimes his hands cupping her face,

pressing his body into hers., sometimes his hands on the small of her back, his arms around her waist. Wherever they went, she was sure that he would find

a romantic hideaway to kiss her and make her wet with desire. She automatically squeezed him, putting her arms around his waist, or around his neck. She

could usually feel his erection when he stood close enough. He made her blush, and he always held back, always stopped short of them getting into trouble,

and always treated her like a veritable princess. Once he kissed her in the shroud of darkness in their box seat at Carnegie Hall. He told her he "wanted to

make sure their eyes had a chance to adjust to the darkness…", as he kissed her neck, her arms around his shoulders, she melted into him, in his arms. The

sounds she made were erotic and demanded his attention. His entire body reacted to her. When they finally decided to find their seats, they had to straighten

up. Back at the estate, Mrs. Greer had noticed that his handkerchiefs and some of his shirts lately had the same lip color on it. She had heard the familiar roar

of his car rumble up to the estate at all hours of the night. Mrs. Greer thought to herself: "Mr. Warbucks is definitely canoodling with a woman. Hmm. Better

not let Miss Farrell find out." She was actually a bit sad about the prospect of her employer with anyone but Grace.

Punjab and the Asp did their best to protect their privacy, Oliver having sat them both down in his office, he told them, behind his closed door: "I am well

aware that you both know about my, er, relationship with Miss Farrell." He looked at them both, and both silently acknowledged his statement with affirmative

nods. They listened to Oliver as he continued: "I want your word that our, situation, outside or inside of this house should be guarded closely, shall not be

discussed by anyone except Miss Farrell or myself. I want her protected and respected at all costs." They both understood the expectations, and both

considered Grace Farrell their friend. They were truly happy for them both, and Punjab honestly regarded their love as written in the stars. He felt that a love

so powerful, that had been taken toward each other in increments, was true, magical, and meant to be. The Asp was happy to run cover for them, and to be a

part of a very exclusive secret. He was often seen with a small smile or knowing smirk as he walked to the carriage house to get the car. Oliver had been

thoroughly enjoying this 'boyfriend' role and he was even more enthralled with her since she was out of the office three days a week. He would call her when

he knew she was in her office to grade papers. He would close his office door, usually. One day his door was open a couple of inches, and Mrs. Greer popped

in to check his office for one of her hall boys, and she overheard his conversation ending on his phone: "God, I miss you. I cannot wait till tomorrow evening.

I love you. …" It suddenly occurred to Mrs. Greer that perhaps his seeing someone was the reason Miss Farrell had cut her hours at the estate. "That poor

girl!" she thought. Mrs. Greer was secretly in turmoil about this knowledge. Mrs. Greer had seen the lip color on his things, and now this! "Poor Miss Farrell!"

When Grace was in the office and therefore the estate, she found that Mrs. Greer was very solicitous to her, wanting to make sure that she "had everything

she needed" or that she was "comfortable". Grace started to wonder why Mrs. Greer had an aura of sympathy toward her….it was like she was apologetic all

the time. "What had changed?" Grace wondered. When Oliver had come into the office one Tuesday morning, he found one of Grace's pearl earrings on his

desk. He picked it up. It was missing its back piece. "Hmm." He thought. Purely out of impulse and thinking nothing of it, he took a short walk to see Grace.

He stood in her doorway and said: "Good morning, Miss Farrell." He was smiling at her. She looked up at him and smiled: "Good morning, Mr. Warbucks. Can I

help you?" He took a couple of steps into her office and stood in front of her desk. "I have something I believe is yours….hold out your hand, please." She did

and he put his cupped hand containing her earring over her palm. Holding her hand under his, he placed her earring in her hand. She realized that it was her

lost pearl earring. She said: "Oh, Oliver…thank you…You've found it!" She had called him 'Oliver' in the office, and everyone heard it. They all tried to be

casual and act busy. Miss Farrell had called him 'Oliver' – as he had given her the earring that Mrs. Greer had found in his jacket pocket. Things were starting

to click. There were looks exchanged, smiles and raised eyebrows between others in the office. When Grace was walking in the main hall on her way to get

lunch, Mrs. Greer had to ask her a question about something that was getting repaired in the house. As she was speaking to Grace, Mrs. Greer suddenly

realized that she recognized Miss Farrell's lip color as being the same exact shade as what she had seen on his shirts and handkerchiefs. Mrs. Greer could

hardly hear a word she was told. She was involuntarily smiling like a fool at Grace. She thought to herself: "So, he has been seeing her all along!" She almost

skipped her way to the kitchen to grab Mrs. Pugh.

Their work at the estate forged onward, but the continuity was always broken. When she came into the office, she had to put the pieces together as to what

the other two secretaries had accomplished and where situations stood, where were letters and documents, contracts? Oliver was able to shed light on most

concerns, but she felt the disconnect from her work there, and it bothered her. It was not being done to her standards. When she got back to school on

Wednesdays, she felt like she had to do the same thing, only at school, she had students – lots and lots of students, with lots of needs from her as their

professor. Grace felt a little out of the loop at both of her jobs. She was struggling to keep up. By the end of the summer session, she was exhausted. The

workload, the heat of the city, the running back and forth. Oliver is why she was doing this. This was supposed to open up their relationship and give them

opportunities to explore their love in more privacy. While they did enjoy their personal experiment, Grace truly knew that she had been enjoying the best case

scenario of having a boyfriend in Oliver. She knew he had also burned the candle at both ends – his own work had increased at the estate and he had stepped

up to get it done, without complaint or resentment – for her. He had asked for this, he was going to meet her in the middle at the very least, if not

accommodate her more than that. For now, he accepted the dating, the whirlwind, the stolen evenings and moments they shared. He wanted more than

stolen hours with her, though. She was the reason he breathed. He wanted to take every breath with her. Beside her. This was his thinking at every solitary

moment. Even in this arrangement – especially in this arrangement, he missed her more than ever. He wanted her next to him as he slept, he wanted to wake

up next to her, he wanted to share very moment with Grace Farrell. This dating and boyfriend/girlfriend thing was fine – for young people and teenagers. He

wanted to progress this love affair. He wanted her all the time and was thinking about how he was going to scoop her up. His heart was way ahead of his

brain.

She had made a decision about their arrangement, and she was determined to talk to him about it. There was a reason they were both falling asleep on her

sofa at 2 a.m. They were not teenagers. They were grown adults – he in his forties, she in her early thirties – both were old enough to appreciate that they

neither had the time or energy they had in earlier days of their existences to keep this up for much longer. One day, right before her summer session at the

university was ending they had been sitting in his limo at the curb during a pouring rain storm. The limo was a loud echo chamber of the rain pelting the roof

and doors. She looked at him, seeing that he had a few scattered rain drops on his jacket from their dash to the car. They had hastily gotten in, giggling and

being silly. She smiled and brushed a rain drop off of his lapel. She put her hand on his chest and leaned into him, kissing a raindrop off of his cheek. He

kissed her back. When they pulled back to look at each other, they each said, at the same time, almost at once:

Oliver: "I want you to come back to the estate full time."

Grace: "I want to come back to the estate full time."