Spider Legs

  If only he could have the ability to make the kind of impression he wanted to, instead of losing altitude and crashing every time he got near a woman he might like. He had been gratifyingly fortunate in being approached by Natalie, but once she won free of this disaster she would have only a bad memory of the occasion. Fortune always canceled out in the course of time, as with the flips of a coin. How fitting that it happen in a place called Come By Chance!

  He turned off the shower, shook himself, reached out, found his towel, and rubbed himself dry. He donned the other bathrobe, drew it closed, then looked for his comb. It was beside the sink along with his wallet and other items of his pockets. He realized that his clothing was gone. Natalie had taken it for cleaning. Now he saw that her rock and other items were sitting on the other side of the sink. She had emptied her pockets similarly. Indeed, there was an accumulation of what must be the contents of the belt-packet she had used in lieu of a purse; she must be cleaning that too. It all seemed so intimate, so homey. His side, her side. Of the sink.

  Then he saw the gun. It had to be her police pistol. Where had she carried that? He had never suspected. There it was, clean and dry, lying on the counter beside the other things. He realized that its holster would have gotten soaked too, so she had to fix that before being able to carry the gun on her person again. So she had left it with him for safekeeping, perhaps.

  An emotion passed through him that he couldn't define immediately. He focused, and managed to get an approximate registration: it was the peculiar pleasure of being trusted. That gun wasn't for any protection from him; it couldn't be, if she had left it with him. She knew that he was the last person she had to fear.

  He went out into the room. She wasn't back yet. She would be taking care of the laundry, his clothes and hers. It seemed best simply to wait for her return.

  He turned on the television set. In a moment he found a mixed news/weather station, and verified what the landlady had said: they were caught in a huge mass of rain that would take hours to pass. He realized that he should have had the common sense to check the weather before making an excursion like this. But he had been so intrigued by the prospect of a day alone with Natalie that it had never entered his mind.

  Or hers either, evidently. That pleased him, despite the consequence. Actually, now that he was warm and dry, the consequence did not seem bad at all. It was merely extending his date with Natalie, and giving it the semblance of greater intimacy than was warranted, but pleasant for all that. However sterile this night with her might be in reality, he would remember it with fondness for its might-have-been quality.

  She returned. “I have them in the dryer,” she reported. “It seemed pointless to take the time for a full washing cycle, when it was only water that was the problem. So I just did a quick rinse.”

  “I should have done my own,” he protested.

  “Do you know how to operate a dryer?”

  “Yes. I'm a bachelor, remember?”

  “Then if we ever have to go through this again, you can dry the clothes. But you know, it will be a while before those trousers are dry enough. We might as well see about supper.”

  “In bathrobes?”

  “The landlady knows the situation. They're her robes.”

  He shrugged. “I'm game if you are. Though I admit I would feel a bit easier if I had something on under the robe.”

  She made a quick smile. “Yes. The underwear will dry soonest. But let's live dangerously.”

  “What about your gun?” he asked.

  She grimaced. “That's not a gun. It’s my Llamma .32 automatic. But you're right; I shouldn't leave it behind.” She stopped into the bathroom, and returned in a moment.

  “But I don't see it,” he said.

  “Of course you don't; I don't want to advertise it. What would the landlady think?”

  What, indeed! He had no idea where or how she was wearing it; nothing showed. That impressed him more than the fact of the gun itself.

  She led the way to the front room of the house. He followed, bemused.

  It turned out that the landlady had fixed them platters of peas, potatoes, and roast that could be taken back to the room. There was also a bottle of inexpensive wine. Nathan pushed it back on the table, not taking it.

  “No, it's paid for,” Natalie demurred. “Might as well have it.”

  “But alcohol—”

  “I'm not a teetotaler. I just don't like the strong stuff. Especially in a man. Anyway, I'm trying to discipline my aversion, so as not to be ruled by it. This is as good a time to start as any.”

  “You're sure?”

  “No. But take the wine.”

  He shrugged and took the bottle. They returned to the room. They pulled out the small table there and sat on opposite sides, their knees almost touching.

  The meal was good. The landlady was right: there would be no complaints from this quarter. Nathan hesitated to pour out any wine, but Natalie went ahead and did it. She lifted her glass in a defiant little toast and drank. He followed, reluctantly. He feared that this was treacherous territory.

  But they got through the meal without untoward event. Nathan really enjoyed it, despite the awkwardness of having to avert his gaze when her robe started to fall open. Fortunately she realized what was happening and drew it closed before anything showed. Then their knees touched again, and he was off on another flight of guilty fancy.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I was just wishing this were real.”

  “Things seem real enough to me. It's hard to forget that rain.” Indeed, it was still beating against the windowpane.

  “I mean that our relationship would be—I don't know.”

  “You would like to have an affair with a woman.”

  “No. Well, yes, I suppose. But not a casual one. I'd like to—to love and be loved.”

  “Oh. As if we were a married couple, doing this routinely.”

  “Yes. To have a woman in my life, without stress. A woman like you.” Then he feared he had said too much. “I mean no offense. It's just an idle fancy.”

  “Offense? It's a compliment.”

  “A dream.”

  “A good dream. Finish your drink.”

  He realized that he had hardly touched his wine. “I really haven't much taste for this, tonight.”

  “Because of what I said this afternoon?”

  “Yes. I wouldn't want you to think I would ever be that way.”

  “Then drink it and show me you aren't that way.”

  Surprised, he saw her logic. Her husband might have been a nice man, until he drank. So she wanted to be sure that Nathan's character didn't change for the worse when he did drink. It was the kind of calculated risk a woman might take if she were considering getting serious about a man. Better one bad night, than a bad relationship.

  He lifted the glass and drank, hoping that he had read the situation correctly.

  Natalie stood and collected the platters. “I'll return these to the proprietor.”

  “I can do that.”

  “The landlady thinks we're on the verge of married. If we were, I'd be doing this sort of thing. Let's not disabuse her.”

  “I really don't believe in relegating women to the kitchen,” he said. “I don't care what the landlady thinks.”

  She smiled. “Peace. You can take the breakfast dishes back.” She left the room.

  Out of sorts, Nathan turned on the TV again. The evening programs were starting. He seldom watched them, normally having better things to do with his time, but didn't care for the awkward silence that might otherwise come.

  Natalie returned. She glanced at the TV. “I don't think there's anything worthwhile at this hour.”

  “I wouldn't know,” he said. “I haven't watched much TV in years. I can turn it off.”

  “No, let it be. It will make us resemble normal idiots. I'll go fetch the clothing; it should be dry by now.”

  “I can do that
.”

  She shook her head. “Try to act like a normal man, Nathan, painful as that may be.” She flashed a smile, making sure he didn't misunderstand.

  He returned the smile. “One who would rather watch a rerun of a brain dead comedy than read a new text on invertebrate paleontology.”

  “Exactly.” She disappeared.

  Soon she returned with an armful of clothing. “All dry, except for your pants in the crotch.”

  “That figures.” He accepted his pants, finding just a trace of dampness in the pockets as well.

  She looked at the bed. “You can have that. I'll make a place on the floor.”

  “No, the bed is yours. I never meant to deprive you of comfort for the night.”

  “No, all I'll need is a pillow and a blanket. I've roughed it outside; this will be no problem at all.”

  “Natalie, I couldn't let you do it. The idea of you being relegated to the floor—”

  “Because I'm a delicate violet?” she asked sharply.

  “I didn't say that.” But something of the kind had been in his mind. He had never questioned her right as a woman to have the softest place to sleep.

  “I'm a policewoman. I’ve got a Llama automatic pistol. I'm not going to faint at the sight of a mouse. Give me the extra blanket on the bed.” She went to the bed and took hold of the blanket folded at its foot.

  He intercepted her, catching the other end of the blanket. “No, I can't allow this!”

  “Since when is it your prerogative to allow me anything? Is this sexism in action?” She pulled on her end, making it a small tug-of-war. In the process her robe fell open, and not to any token degree this time.

  “No! It's just that—” He paused, bemused by the distraction of her shadowed breasts. “Well, maybe it is. I do see you as a woman, a most appealing one, and it's just not in me to dump you on the floor while I take the best place to sleep. Call it sexist if you will; I confess to it. Please, Natalie—”

  She let go of the blanket. “Oh, God, I think we're having a lovers’ quarrel.”

  “And we're not even lovers,” he agreed ruefully, trying not to look where he shouldn't.

  She paused, cocking her head as if making a decision. “Well . . .”

  He stared at her. “I meant that as a joke.”

  “I know you did. I didn't.” Now she seemed to become aware of the state of her bathrobe, but didn't touch it.

  “What are you saying?” he asked, knowing very well what it was, but afraid to believe it.

  “Nathan, I do know what it's all about. I was married, remember. I had a good deal of experience. Bad experience, mostly, but nevertheless enough to dispel a number of illusions.

  There's a sexual tension between us, and maybe more. Maybe it's time to tackle it head-on.”

  He hardly knew how to proceed. This was new territory for him. “I won't deny I'd like to—that I find you attractive—very much so—but that's just the glands. I have no intention of taking advantage—”

  “As if I'm an innocent creature to be protected from being dirtied by any man's lustful glance. As if I have no will of my own, no power of decision.”

  He nodded. “I think you have me dead to rights. All those courtly archaic male attitudes—I've got them. I'm guilty. At least close up your décolletage and stop teasing me.” He finally got his eyes clear, for a moment.

  “Do you know something, Nathan? I think I like those attitudes. I wasn't exposed to them in marriage.”

  “You had a bad marriage,” he agreed. “As did I, though in a quite different way.”

  “And you don't want to make love to a woman unless you are prepared to marry her.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Then with the clear understanding that this kind of thing can happen, let's end this quarrel and share this bed.”

  Nathan froze. Suddenly a phenomenally new course was opening out before him, almost too good to be true. “If you're sure.”

  “No, I'm still not sure at all. But I do like you, Nathan, more than is wise at this stage. I think perhaps I won't freeze up with you. It's time to find out.”

  He remembered her warning: that she could have an adverse reaction to sex, because of the abusive nature of her prior sexual experience. While he had lacked the gumption to force the issue when his wife had denied him closeness. Closeness—what Natalie had said she needed a lot of. “Then perhaps you should lead the way,” he suggested.

  She glanced at the TV. “Maybe leave that on. We don't know whether the walls have ears.”

  “Point made.” He hadn't thought of that. If they weren't supposed to play it too loud, that suggested that the sound did carry to other rooms. “But the light out?”

  “Yes.” Then she paused. “Unless you'd like to look at me first?”

  “Oh, I would, but not if it embarrasses you. I—”

  She opened her robe, flashing him. It was only for about one and a half seconds, but the startling image seemed photographic. She was tall and slender, but definitely female throughout. And—she had just given him more in that respect than he had ever had before. She had not only shown him her body, she had shown him her attitude, and that counted for an incalculable amount.

  She turned out the light as he stood, stunned. “Last one to the bed's a rotten egg!” she exclaimed.

  Oops. He hadn't thought of the problem of making his way through the darkness. He turned toward the bed and took a step—and banged into it immediately. It was closer than he had judged. Overbalanced, he put his hands down to catch himself—and they encountered her body. He jerked them back, but that left him unbalanced, and he fell half onto her.

  “I—I'm sorry,” he said awkwardly, trying to get clear. But one hand got tangled in her robe, and brushed what surely was interesting flesh. “I fell.” He managed to haul himself somewhat off her.

  “I think I beat you, because I'm below,” she said, hauling him down again.

  “Yes. I didn't mean to—to handle you like that.”

  She laughed. “Nathan, what do you think we're here for?”

  That set him back again. “True. But I mean, shouldn't there be some—some discretion? This is so awkward.”

  “You are delightfully awkward,” she agreed. “You really don't know what to do.”

  “Yes. I'm not at all good at this.”

  “In fact you may be worse than I am.”

  “Oh, no! That is, you're not bad, you're terrific. So much more than I ever deserved.”

  “Here, let me get us clear for action.” She ran her hand across his side and shoulder, to the neckline of his robe. “Um, no, I can't just take it off you. We'll have to stand again. You take yours off and I'll take mine off, and we'll meet again here in a moment. Is it a date?”

  It was his turn to laugh. “A wonderful date,” he agreed.

  They distangled, and got to their feet beside the bed. He drew off his robe and let it drop to the floor, as he wasn't about to try to cross the room to find a chair.

  Then she stepped into him, her naked body addressing the length of his. “How do you like me now?” she murmured.

  “Oh, Natalie! This is a dream.”

  “Then kiss me, Nathan.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and found her lifted face. He kissed her, transported by the sweetness of the act. Yet in a moment he became aware of her tenseness. He drew his head back and dropped his arms. “I think I shouldn't have taken you literally,” he said.

  “Yes you should have. Kiss me again.”

  “But you're not ready for—”

  “I'll be the judge of that. Kiss me.”

  He embraced her again, much more gently, and lowered his lips to hers. This time her body slowly relaxed, melting into him. Her arms came around him, tightening. The kiss lasted longer than the first, and was correspondingly sweeter.

  Then she broke it, moving her face to the side. “Move your hands,” she murmured. He immediately released her. “No,” she said, smiling against his
cheek. “Like this.” She slid her hands down across his back and to his bare buttocks.

  “But I couldn't—” He broke off, for she had firmly squeezed one of his nether cheeks. Realizing his foolishness, he slid his own hands down and did the same to her. He felt delightfully naughty, and his desire for her intensified.

  “Perhaps you can appreciate the appeal of such interaction,” she said, tickling him where it counted.

  “I—” He stalled out for a moment. “I think you're teasing me, Natalie. Am I really that stuffy in my language?”

  “Not really.” She moved her face back into place for another kiss. “I never realized what fun it could be to seduce an innocent man.”

  “Do what you will with me,” he agreed sincerely.

  “It's time for the bed.”

  “Yes. But will you tell me one thing first?”

  “Perhaps. What's your question?”

  “Where the hell are you wearing that gun?”

  She burst out laughing. “And here I thought you were interested in my flesh! You were looking for my service revolver all the time?”

  “No. But I thought it should have been evident when you stripped.”

  “I set it down under the bed a while back.”

  “Oh.” He felt foolish.

  “But I suppose I could put it on again, if that's really the way you prefer to—”

  “No need,” he said quickly.

  “I understand that some folk consider firearms to be quite erotic. Masculine symbols, and all that.”