Jeanne heard Colette on the phone.
“My pal Hal. Hiya Hal. Mommy’s resting.”
“No, I’m not. I’m right here, honey. Is the phone for me?”
“It’s Hal.” “Hey, Jeanne,” he said.
“Did you know an average person can survive eleven days without water? No, that’s not why I called.”
He cleared his throat. “I want to invite you to the Lied Center Sunday evening.”
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“Um, I don’t know, Hal…”
“Kevin gave me the tickets. He’s curious about your reaction to the dance.”
“Really.”
“Sunday’s your day off. So can I pick you up at seven-thirty?”
“I’d like that, Hal.”
Jeanne’s “big date” delighted Colette. She suspected her daughter must have seen something on TV to get such ideas.
At first, Jeanne put on a simple black skirt and a white blouse.
But Colette said, “Don’t wear that, Mommy.”
She lifted Colette into her arms. “Why not? Don’t I look nice?”
Colette wriggled down and opened Jeanne’s closet. She tugged at a new dress Jeanne had bought on impulse, thinking vaguely of Thanksgiving although it was much too fancy for that. “Wear this one.” Colette pulled it off the hanger. Fitted, dark blue silk, the dress featured an inset slash of deep pink that started low on one hip and wrapped sinuously to encircle her waist.
Inside the dress, which Colette zipped, Jeanne felt light and supple because of the graceful way the garment moved. She slipped on high heels and practiced walking in them until Hal showed up. Giselle, Colette’s babysitter, was right behind him.
In Hal’s car, Jeanne started to ask him more about the program. But he said, “Maine is the toothpick capital of the world.” She asked if his car played CDs.
“I’ve got Eric Clapton’s Greatest Hits.” He set the volume for listening, not talking.
They hurried into KU’s Lied Center. The Japanese Warriors wore red and gold costumes that swirled with every calculated gesture. In big black wigs and opaque white make-up, they executed thrilling sword-work on shadowy figures. The rhythm and spectacle brought Jeanne to tears.
Women warriors entered the stage and intensified Jeanne’s every sensation. On stilts, the women manipulated brilliant ribbons that arced and twined together. Light and energy coursed through Jeanne’s body as if Kevin had kissed her.
So that afterwards, when Hal suggested coffee or drinks, she asked, “Would we disturb your mother, if you showed me your house?”
The dancing, spiraling momentum still surged inside her. A porch light welcomed them to a saltbox house. Inside, a voice raged from upstairs. “Hal, is that you? Hal! Hal, come here!”
He turned on the living room lights, put on Eric Clapton, volume high, and excused himself.
Five minutes later he sat beside her on a worn orange couch and took her hand. “I hire big male nurses to control her. And I just asked Bill to keep her locked up awhile.”
“How awful for you.”
“For now, Jeanne, let’s be quiet.”
Being quiet was just what Jeanne wanted. Or, more correctly, one of several things. Anxious but determined, she touched his shoulder. She had waited too long for this. After Jeanne exaggerated every visual cue she knew, Hal finally, tentatively kissed her. When she responded enthusiastically, almost aggressively, he said, “Hey, wait a minute.”
He stood and walked away. And not for the first time she worried if this might be new to him. But soon he returned, lifted her in the air, unzipped her dress and slipped it off.
Jeanne sat naked on her heels watching him prepare, protection and everything. He patted the space next to him on the couch. But she was beyond preliminaries and lowered herself directly on top of him—nearly laughing at the intense pleasure.
She grabbed his head. “Sit still, Hal. Let me do it.” All the while, Hal’s mother screamed his name. Jeanne didn’t care. Eric Clapton played and Hal moaned. Jeanne clamped tight around him and plunged.
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