1 comments/ 11328 views/ 0 favorites Fred's Boxing Day By: Frogsoup "Oh I'm in so much trouble!" I feel my eyes trying not to open, trying to keep me in the warm soft blankets of sleep. "Oh, man, now Jerry must think I'm a..." I know Emma's voice, and I know she's my girl, and I figure I might as well get up because no dream could be this nice. My eyes open, and I see Emma-in-the-morning. Now, I've always believed that you never really know a girl until you see her naked first thing in the morning. There she was, in all her glory: Emma the Bowling Wonder. And even with runny eyeshadow and the splendor of her curly copper-gold hair spun up in twists and tendrils, she was the most beautiful woman alive, except for the unhappy look. I sit up. "What's wrong, baby?" "What's wrong?" Emma stops and stares at me. "Jerry? The pool table? Augh!" She clutches her red-gold hair in her fists and stares heavenward. And I understand why. Emma's boss Jerry had held the annual employee Christmas party last night, we showed up to wish him Merry Christmas and he'd left the two of us alone in the place for a minute. Long enough to get in trouble right on the pool table. I mean real trouble as well as the sex kind. Jerry had come back in to find both of us looking hard-rode and Emma covered with cue chalk. "Yeah, I remember. Fuck us." I think back to the reaming he gave us last night. "Oh you fuckin' kids, what did you do on my pool table?" he'd asked, and I can see in his eyes he knows damn well what we were doing on there. "Eh, swimming?" Emma'd said in a tiny voice. "You guys was fuckin' on my table." He'd pointed a gnarly finger at Emma. "I haven't even fucked nobody on that table yet! I bought the fuckin' thing, how come I get sloppy seconds?" He'd walked over to the table and inspected it, ran a hand across the surface. "Oh, see? The felt's damp, I gotta replace it now, gonna cost a ton." I chuckled at this, stupid me, but I had to. He swivels to face me. "Think that's funny?" "Well, do you have to replace that felt every time a drink gets spilled on there?" "Fred--" Emma'd begun, but Jerry'd waved a hand at her to shut her up. "Kid's a thinker. I might have a job for you someday after all. Thing is," he'd backed away to face us both, "I left my place in your hands and by doin' this you disrespect it, and you disrespect me." I'd felt like a sleazeball when he said it that way and had looked at my shoes. "You, Miss Grossberger, come see me before your shift tomorrow. And you," he'd turned to face me, "you clear outta here, Fred. I don't wanna see you again." I was real hurt by this. I've known Jerry longer that I've known Emma; Jerry was my bartender for two years before Emma became my barmaid two years ago. So I wasn't really sure he'd meant it. But it's his place. I'd turned and limped toward the door on a busted-up ankle that I'd whacked with a bowling ball maybe an hour before. "G'nite, Jerry, um...Merry Christmas!" She sounds sad and it hurts me to hear sadness in her voice. "Yeah, whatever, bye," he'd yelled at her, and we'd limped the two doors to Emma's-- and my--house. Emma was upset and cried herself to sleep, and had apparently awakened just as upset. I struggle out of bed and gather her into my arms. Her head lays against my shoulder and I feel a teardrop coursing down my chest. It itches. "He might fire me," Emma says, and I can barely understand her. "There's no way he's gonna fire you, Emma, not for a little not-so-family-style fun on his pool table. You bring people in there, he said so himself. I know there's people that go into Jerry's just to see you." Emma nods; she's made friends that might otherwise be drinking at home. "And don't forget the Christmas money," I reminded her. Jerry is not well-off, he runs a bar and his wife is very sick, but he still gave Emma about six hundred bucks for Christmas. Emma felt bad about taking his money, but he wouldn't take it back, so she stuck it in an envelope addressed to him, with a note from Santa. If he didn't get it last night, he will today. Emma finally smiles a little. "Hey, yeah, that ought to make him smile--" Her face fell. "No, he'll feel rotten he chewed us out so bad last night. I don't want him to feel bad, it's my fault--all mine, not even yours. I don't want him mad at me either...How much does a pool table cost?" Emma's pretty tomboyish about some things, her sports being one of them, and I'm surprised she doesn't already know this. "For a seven-footer, maybe two thousand, but for a model like Jerry's..." I whistle; I don't even want to think about this. "We can't just buy him a new one then." Emma sits down on the bed and pulls me down beside her. "Fred, this is serious. What if he fires me? How will I make my bills?" "Well, if he fires you, you could go work at Gennies--" "I'm not gonna titty-dance, Fred." She sounds angry. "I mean tending bar," I clarify, and her fur smoothes out. "I'm friends with one of the wait staff there, and they say it's not a fun place to work," she tells me, and leans her back against my side. I put an arm around her chest and hold her close. "The customers think you're part of the show, and when they find out you're not, they aren't inclined to tip you." "How about Stellar?" Stellar Lanes is the old local bowling alley, with antique pinsetters and scoring tables with the projectors built in. "That's out. I don't work in bowling alleys unless I'm in competition." I consider. "Well, how much are your bills?" "About a thousand dollars a month, give or take." "Emma...I could pay that out of what I'm not paying for my apartment rent." She stares at me and her eyes cross. "Oh, shit, that's right, you live here too, huh?" I shake my head at her and she giggles. "Those bills are really low, baby." "I'd never be able to afford to live here if the house wasn't paid off," Emma replies. "I bought it off my uncle when he went to Arizona, basically just took over payments, and paid it off on a tourney." She's a showoff, a well-justified one. She used to bowl professionally and she can bowl better than anyone I've ever seen. "So, I have my own house and no food. And no money for bills, and maybe no job." Emma's smile is a bit wilted today, but her deep sky-blue eyes still draw me in. "Bowl for a living?" I venture. Emma sighs. "That would pay the bills for sure, but then you get to keep house here by yourself because I'm driving all over hell six months out of the year. I'd be better off selling the house and buying a tour bus. No thanks, I live here for good. My little house, Emma's house." Her blue eyes roamed around the room, picking up details--the clothes we'd dropped to the floor while I had tried to comfort her, the wastebasket overflowing with tissue paper. "I really like my job, Derf." She'd spelled my name backward on a score sheet at the lanes yesterday and I guess the name is sticking. "I like the people I work with, the people that know me that come in for a drink, I like the drunks that want to buy me a drink and chat me up, I let them buy me a soda water and I watch them get dumber with each drink. I like serving you at the bar, Fred, I like it there!" "He's not going to fire you, Em." I squeeze her. "Go over there and talk to him, tell him we're sorry, and we'll make it up to him." Emma dresses herself in a pink bra and panties, a pink jumpsuit kind of thing which fits her in all the right ways, white high-tops and a baby blue jacket. She spends fifteen minutes in the bathroom just off the master bedroom (it's be vanity to call it a master bath); when she comes out, her face is clean, skin glowing, and her hair is damp and falls over her shoulders in tight shiny ringlets. I use the bathroom off the hall and dress in jeans and a T-shirt. Emma brushes past me, lipsticking on her way to the door, then turns back to face me. "Coming?" "He said he doesn't want to see me, but he wants to see you. Maybe I should stay here." Emma looks frustrated. "Oh bullshit, you tell me I have to go and then tell--" I kiss her passionately and she quiets. "Of course I'm coming," I tell her, and she gives me her signature smile, wide and fun and shiny like a dime in God's hand, as I wipe pink lipstick off my lips. "Good boy." She sounds touched. "That's 'good man', Em," I tell her, looking down into her blue eyes. "You are a good man, Fred. And I hate to admit it, but you're a pretty good bowler too." This is real praise coming from Emma, who would have bowled a perfect 300-point game yesterday if she hadn't deliberately put her last roll right into the gutter. The perfect game would have gotten her noticed at Stellar, but I realize now that notoriety can be better than fame. People might not look at scores, but everyone who was there on Christmas afternoon remembers "The Amazing and Spectacular Emma Duncan the Bowling Nurse", so named on account of her spotless white bowling shoes. I looked in her bowling bag and yes, she has a can of white shoe polish in there. I'm parked at Jerry's Bar, two doors down, so we walk. It snowed during the night and then froze; everything is white covered with a sheet of glass. It's cold and our breath puffs out in front of us. We walk in silence and I take her hand, warming her cold fingers. Emma's right foot suddenly slips out from under her on the ice; I raise my arm and she dangles from my hand for an instant before setting her feet down. "Thanks, Fred, I'm distracted." "No problem, Em." We walk along, my bad ankle slowing us up. "You didn't call me 'Derf'." "Huh?" "I called you 'Em' and you didn't call me 'Derf'." "I called you Derf in front of a whole alley full of people. You can call me 'Em' if you want. It... sounds kinda nice coming from you." She's grinning at me, that grin that always breaks my heart and makes me think of sunshine breaking through storm clouds in rays. I pause outside the door. "Emma, if the guy doesn't want to see me, I don't want to make him. Should I go in?" "If he doesn't want to see you he'll tell you to leave," she answered. 'Jerry's not really a mean guy, Fred. Come on." We walk in. Jerry's tending bar for three people, midnight shifters who'd been drinking since nine and it was now eleven. Danny, the daytime barkeep, runs a mop over the tiny dance floor. "Emma! You brought Fred. Good." He walks out from behind the bar and toward his office door. "I'm glad you came back, Fred, I woulda had to have Emma here run you a message." He unlocks the door and holds it open. "C'mon in." As Emma and I walk into Jerry's office, we carefully step over a sealed envelope on the floor, that we had put there: Emma's Christmas bonus money, returned to Jerry because with his wife sick he needs it more. Jerry makes a 'hmph' sound, picks the envelope up and throws it on his desk, unopened. Jerry closes the door. Emma looks at me, solemn, eyes wide. Her long, red eyelashes fluttered and she drew a breath. "Jerry, are you gonna fire me?" Jerry looks at her with a funny smile. "Fire you? Why?" "The...pool table thing." "Heheh. When your car gets dented, do you pull the motor? No, I just wanted you guys to come in here so's I could apologize to ya, I shouldn'ta raked you over the coals. Fred, you're welcome here anytime; Emma, you're not in trouble. It just struck me bad, is all." His crusty old gaze softens. "It was dumb, and reckless, and disrespectful, yeah, but it was Christmas and it was exactly the same thing Holly and I would have done, and can't do anymore. It hurts. Jealous, y'know?" My respect for Jerry skyrockets that he would tell us this as his apology and his story brings a tear to my eye. I opened my mouth to speak, but Emma stepped behind his desk and put her arms around him. "I'm so sorry, Jerry," she told him, soft. "If I'd known it would hurt you..." "How could you know it'd hurt me?" Jerry laughed. "It shouldn't hurt me, it should make me laugh, you guys forgettin' that pool tables tend to get covered with chalk. Next time you wanna fuck on my pool table, keep your hair and clothes off the felt." He picked up the envelope and looked at it. "On second thought, next time you wanna fuck on my pool table, just don't. If you're just a bit too rough on 'em they can tilt, and it's a pain in the ass to get 'em level again." I don't mention just how rough we were. "Thanks, Jerry," I told him. "I don't want you mad at me, and since you're the closest place to drink now as well as the best--" "Closest? Don't you live off Maple?" "He lives with me," Emma says. "He moved out of his apartment." "Left it to the wife," I say. Jerry looks back and forth between us. "You guys are serious, aren't you?" This is our second day as a couple, and already I'm serious; I know I intend to marry this woman, the only woman I've ever had a successful bowling date with, the only woman I've ever even heard of who admitted that she liked anal sex and was 'up for it anytime, practically', the only woman who knew about my affair with my mom's brother's widow. It's just too early to tell her yet. I nod. "She's perfect." Emma looked at me with melting eyes. "Thank you, Fred!" she told me, with just a touch of her wry, good-natured sarcasm. "You'd be perfect too, if you'd rolled strikes instead of spares last night." This interests Jerry. "You bowled against her again? Are you one of those pain guys, uh, masochist?" "He did good last night, bowled a 238." Jerry nods. "So you beat him. What was your score?" "290." "Only because you threw that last roll into the gutter on purpose." Jerry is on his feet. "You threw a perfect game away? Why?" "Because it doesn't mean anything to me, Jerry. It's...a game. For fun, right? Besides, I don't want to bowl a perfect game against Fred--" I'm actually a bit ticked about this. "Shit, Em, I don't care if you kick fuck out of me!" I tell her. "Bowl to your level, you won't hurt my feelings." She looks at me. "Fred, I'm doing this for FUN. I'm not trying to compete, I'm having fun bowling with my guy." "You can have more fun tryin' to do what you ain't sure you can do, especially when you got someone who don't resent you for it cheerin' you on." Jerry offers a hand and I shake; I've gotten to know this guy better in five minutes than I have in the four years I've known him. I see Jerry as a wise man, and a kind one under his crusty shell. "Sorry about the table, Jerry. It won't happen again." "I know, Fred." He gives me a smile. "We'll fuck right on the bar." "Get outta here!" Jerry yells, and I see him pull a letter opener out of his desk drawer and attack one corner of the envelope. Trading a glance, Emma and I hurry out the door and cross the bar at a run. We slip out the front door as Jerry's yell follows us. "EMMA! Goddamnit, get back here!" But we're gone. I start limping toward the house, but Emma pulls me back around the corner, out of sight of the doorway, and sweeps our footprints out of the snow. Sure enough we hear the door open, and Jerry's voice. "What the fuck?" We hear him sigh. "What a great fuckin' kid." We hear pride in his voice and Emma's eyes fill with tears as he closes the door. "I agree with that," I tell her, and we kiss. "That's why I love Jerry," Em tells me. "He is so nice, and no-one knows except me, Danny, Sam, and Holly." Sam cooks for Jerry and makes an awesome slim jim; Jerry's wife Holly was the daytime barmaid for the first two years I drank at Jerry's until she contracted Hepatitis C from a blood transfusion two years ago, and Jerry had hired Em. "That's why I want to keep working for him. Thanks for coming, Derf," she says. "Jerry can be a scary guy." "I'm not scared of him, I just don't want to piss him off. I like Jerry." Emma takes my hand and we slowly walk to her...we walk home. I notice Emma walking a bit stiffly, and I'm limping; what a pair we make. "Are you okay?" I ask her. "Aw, Fred, you beat me up over the last couple days," Emma replies. "Hurts to sit, hurts to...well, use the potty...and I feel like I had a cue ball in my mouth for an hour last night." My mind races back to yesterday's activities. In the morning, we'd made love in her bed--our bed. At midday, she decided she wanted me in her ass, and I'd taken her that way and learned she likes anal in a big way. And then the pool table, where she'd wanted to be taken by force, and I'd stepped outside my normal envelope to fuck her almost brutally on the table and force her to suck me off, both obviously very exciting for Emma. She's a kinky girl and she likes making love. Lots of love. But now those memories cause other things to pop up, and while I really want Emma I don't want to hurt her. "I'm so sore but it felt so good, and it still does. We did some hot stuff yesterday, Derfster." She giggles. "Now I'm horny again just thinking about it." I look at her as we near our front door. "Really? How horny?" She gives me a sort of frightened look. "Oh no, Daddy, please don't use that big stick of wood on me no more," she says in a trembling voice. "I'll be good--" I laugh and Emma lets us in. I take her hand and lead her to the bedroom, throw her down on the bed and lay next to her. She looks at me and kisses me. "Fred, I...please don't hurt me," she tells me, with no smile. "Not today, not now, I need--" But I kiss her, I know what she needs. I take off her clothes without bothering with my own, and I kiss the inside of her ankle. "Oh, Fred," she says, a little breathless as I kiss my way up her leg, running my tongue over the back of her knee. Her thighs part, and I lick my way up her thigh to her sweet sex, kissing her lips and sliding my tongue directly between them. She hisses. "Ah, easy Fred, I--whoa, ohh--" as I blow gently on her fun button. She reaches down to open herself to me, and I lick her inner labia, knowing that if I touch her clitoris directly now she'll squash my head between her thighs. I touch her opening with one fingertip and slide it a little way inside. She stiffens. "Oh, owowow--" and I stop my exploring, leaving my finger still a moment before I pull it back. Emma relaxes, and I feel her start to welcome me as I press forward again. I just barely enter her with each thrust of my finger and I start to taste her excitement. I pull my finger away and hear a whimper of protest, but I'm not finished down there. My tongue slips down to her now-wet love tunnel and I slip it inside her. She draws a ragged breath. "Ow, oh yeah, I...I like..." Her hands tangle in my hair and my tongue enters her to its entire length, then out again, then in, tasting her salty sweetness, and I feel her straining to take more. I drop my pants and lift myself, Emma's hands tug at my hair until she realizes what I'm up to. "Oh, no Fred, don't hurt me..." She is far removed from the Emma of last night, begging for it harder and harder on the pool table while we enacted her rape fantasy, but that would be why she's sore now. "I will never hurt you, Em," I respond, and I touch her with my maleness and slowly, so slowly, press inside. Her pussy is already wet from my tongue and from her excitement, so I slide easily, but her hands at my shoulders tighten into painful claws. "Ow ow OW!" I ease back from her, and her claws retract, and I feel her hands grip me on my return stroke but no fingernails. I go a little deeper and I hear her whimper, but I keep sliding, more slowly than before, and soon I am buried in her. Emma gasps abruptly. "Oh no Fred, condom!" Oh, damnit. The ones in Emma's drawer are expired (it's obvious she hasn't been a slut), but there's one in the pocket of Emma's jeans from the bar vending machine. I pull from her and scramble in her clothes for it. Once I have the raincoat on, I slide slowly back into her gentle shower, the rubber's lubricant helping matters somewhat. Emma relaxes with me inside her and I feel her palms flat on my shoulderblades. Fred's Boxing Day I lay between her spread legs and press in, and she watches me with her big blue eyes and a little smile. I pull from her and back in for another stroke, and my touch is gentle upon her, my penetration smooth and slow, and she gasps a little but pushes forward instead of drawing away. Another cycle in and out and she lets out a pleasured whimper. I find rhythm with her, slow and rocking, and she responds, her breath quickening as I move into her and out of her. "Fred...oh Fred, I'm gonna come, please hold me--" and she wraps her arms around me, holding me still inside her, and I feel her squeeze and then strain suddenly up against me. "Oh, ohh, ow ow, oh God...unhyes, oh...oh man, Derf..." She lays beneath me, limp. "Oh please, no more, I..." She trails off, staring vacantly at the ceiling, and I pull from her slowly and lay beside her. After a few moments, I feel hands on me, removing the rubber from my softening tool, but those hands stay on me even after I hear it hit the wastebasket. Her fingers tease me into full wakefulness and she strokes with one hand, her other dropping to play with my bag of tricks. "It's really beautiful," she says in a wondering kind of voice, and I throb. "And it's mine." "All yours, Em." I rock my hips in time with her stroking and I feel her hand pull away and watch it move between her legs, then dip under me, her fingertip right where a man doesn't expect fingertips to be, rotating in a circle. I stiffen. "Hey--" "After what you just did to me, it's only fair," she told me, and pressed her fingertip until it popped into me. "Now you get to be my bitch, so lie back--" and she wiggles her finger around in a circle, widening me, "--and enjoy." She stops stroking me long enough to push me back on the bed and I realize my kinky girl is going to have her way with me. I find my own submission kind of exciting and raise my knees a little to offer her access. She strokes me, but her fingertip doesn't go any further, just in and out a little bit, with a wiggle when she is inside me. I watch her face and see her grin that incredible sunshine grin, and I start to enjoy what she is doing to me. I see her trying to open her mouth wide to suck me, but she can't without wincing in pain, so she sticks out her tongue and licks me all over before putting her lips to me and planting suctioning kisses all along my length. I feel my stiff cock jump in her hand and I gasp as she slides her finger deep into me, and forward, to some incredible place way up in me that almost immediately causes a pearl of come to appear on the tip of my dagger. Her tongue mops that up and her finger starts to press and rub, and I feel tingles all around where she's entered me and bolts of pleasure shooting up from where she touches me. Emma leans over me with her sweet smile. "Like that, Fred?" she asks, and my only possible response is to explode. I feel my ass squeezing her finger and I feel her give me a tap inside as my first shot takes her along the cheek. Immediately she drops her head, her lips touching just the tip of my little man and sucking, tapping me gently up inside and taking every drop of me in her mouth. Her swallow is audible. I feel her pull her finger from me and the sensation is both satisfying and disappointing. "You're incredible, Fred," she tells me. "Incredible Fredible." I chuckle and take her into my arms. "I'm anything you need me to be," I tell her. "I'm your Fredible." "You fucking massacred me last night...just what I needed...and today you still made me come." She wriggles. "I'm still sore as hell, but you're...so good to me. You know," she says slowly, "when you were in me, with no rubber, I didn't want to say anything, I just wanted to...feel you, inside me, filling me with your cock, I wanted to feel you come...in me." She sighs. I think about this. If there was a woman alive I'd give a baby to, it's Emma. But we've been together two days and it's way too early to consider that. "You could go on birth control," I tell her. "Yeah, and you could get a vasectomy..." Her sardonic smile is beautiful and I smile in return. "Birth control pills are bad for you, Fred. My mom was on the pill until she died of ovarian cancer." "Oh, man, I'm sorry, Em." "It's okay, Derf, I never said anything about it. But no pills for Em." "Well, if I get a vasectomy, it'll probably shoot our chances of kids later." I realize too late that this might scare Emma off, if she doesn't want a commitment with me. But she doesn't mention it. "They freeze it," she tells me. A beat. "Chip off the ole block," we both say, and hug and laugh like crazy. "You know, I could get an IUD put in...but can't afford that. No medical benefits at Jerry's." "I think they put 'em in cheap at the board of health, but..." I pause. "My whole marriage, I was faithful to Carol, but I don't know how many men she fucked while she was with me. She was on the pill, so we didn't use any protection, and she probably didn't with anyone else; I might be carrying something." Emma looked sad. "She's creepy, Fred. I'm sorry your marriage has ended...but I'm not, I'm better for you." She hugs me and lays her ear over my heart. "And you're perfect for me." It makes me happy to hear it. "Em, I need to tell you something..." She raises her head and looks at me. "...I don't feel like bowling today." "WHAT?!" she yells. "Don't feel like bowling?! Are you some kinda SICKO?! IT'S OVER!" I must look totally confused because she starts laughing. She hugs me. "Fred, it's a game. Don't take it so seriously. I'm too sore to roll anyway, and I gotta tend bar tonight." "Mm." I'm reassured. "I need to take care of things today, too--" "Carol?" "No, but I need to call the landlord and let 'em know I'm not renewing the lease." I grab my cell phone, then drop it. "Let's shower." "Emma's butt rule," she says brightly. Lube, and shower after. "Kinseck Valley Apartments, this is Sue." "Hi, this is Fred Duncan, number 217." "Hi Mr Duncan, how can I help you?" "My lease is up February 1st, and I won't be renewing." "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Was it something we did, or didn't do?" "No, nothing like that. I've separated from the wife." "Oh, no! I'm sorry, Mr Duncan." "No worries, it's for the best. I don't know if she intends to continue the lease or not." "I see. When would you like to arrange a walkthrough for your security deposit?" "That's like three hundred bucks, huh?" "Yes sir." "She's changed the locks, I can't get in." "That's in violation of the lease." "...Really?" "Yes sir. We'll drill the locks out if needed." "Can we do it today?" "Correction: I may have to deal with Carol again." Emma looks tense; she's still waiting for the other shoe to drop on my abrupt breakup with Carol. "Do you want me to go?" "I'd love you to. I have to do a walkthrough of the place at four for the security deposit." "Oh no!" Emma's dressed now, she put on the same pink outfit and she looks both childlike and sexual in it. "I have to tend bar at four!" "Can you go in late?" She shakes her head. "I won't do that to Danny, it's Friday and he's Catholic." Danny's gay, and I ponder the concept of a gay Catholic but I don't even wanna fly that plane. I'm pretty sure I'll need a stiff drink after dealing with Carol again... "I'll stop in Jerry's when it's done, if you like," I say. "You better, you live here and I work there." She points out the window; she doesn't look happy. "Fred--" I take her in my arms. "Yes, baby?" There's a long pause. "Nothing...just..." "Carol is no threat to you in any sense of the word," I tell Emma. Just yesterday, Carol had met Emma, and picked a fight with her. Now, Carol's a tall woman at five-ten, long arms and legs. Emma's about six inches shorter than that, in perfect proportion, so shorter in the arm and probably forty pounds lighter. And she'd beaten Carol silly. "I'm faithful to a fault," I continue. "I never cheated on Carol, not even after I caught her cheating the first time. I went home...er, back to the apartment, asked her how Cleveland was, and she lied to me so smooth, it was easy for her. I knew right then we were done. And then I was available, and I called you first. Immediately, in fact." I held her at arms' length and looked into her blue eyes and solemn face. "You've got Fred around. Get used to that. And you better not regret it, even when I blow stuff up and spill shit." She begins to smile. "Even when I throw gutters all night." Now she giggles, a tinkly little giggle like a music box and signature Emma. "I know, Fred, but it's way too sudden and I'm way too happy--" "Too happy? You thought you were gonna get fired this morning." "That's my fault, I forgot that Jerry's solid." She looks a bit ashamed at that. I look at my cellphone, it's not even ten. I look out the window and see kids starting to play in the snow. My ankle feels better if still sore. "C'mon," I tell her. I hold Emma's hand as we walk through the snow to my car, remembering the treacherous ice lurking beneath the snow. There's a field across the road from Jerry's with a swamp in it, and I see a bunch of kids with hockey sticks choosing up sides. We watch. "Did you play hockey when you were a kid?" Emma asks me. I nod. "Sure, it was cheap." Emma laughs. "I never played it, and I know nothing about it," she confides in me. "What? A sport you don't excel at?" I tease her. "Let's play, so I can win!" Emma laughs. "I'm a quick learner, not a quick loser." "That kid," I point at the biggest kid on the ice, "whatever team he's on is gonna win as long as he's playing." "Um, bash him in the head with your stick?" I stare for a second. "You're either Tonya fuckin' Harding," I say, "or you're cut out for hockey." Her musical laughter seems to glitter like ice crystals in the freezing-cold air. "That was a joke, Fred," she responds. "No it wasn't," I answer. "It's a real option." We watch the kids begin to play, and she sees I'm right, the other kids make way for the giant one. We can't see the puck from here but it's obvious to me he has it by the way his teammates all follow him down the ice, and as he's raising his stick to shoot, a player from the opposing team barrels into him. The kid gets up holding his head and a couple other kids lead him away. One of the opposing team's kids sits down in the snow and another kid--the one who nailed the big one--starts walking away, head down. Emma looks horrified. "What the hell do you call that? Isn't that against the law?" "That's called a match penalty for trying to injure," I tell her. "It's not against the law in hockey, just the rules. If you go to the mall and beat someone over the head with a stick til they bleed, you get four years for assault, but do it on the ice, you get four minutes for high-sticking." "I thought you were fuckin' with me! What happens for four minutes?" "You can't play," I say. "That's it?" "Well, no," I tell her. "During that four minutes, your team is short one man, and they have to bust ass to keep the other team from scoring. And believe me, four minutes is a long-ass time in hockey." "That is fucking brutal," Emma tells me in a wondering voice. She looks up at me, and I see interest glitter in her starry blue eyes. "Show me." "I will," I promise. We check that the big kid is okay and back on the ice, and we turn and walk toward the car. "Oh, no! Shopping?" Emma looks at the grocery and then back at me; she's pouting and it's so damn cute it hurts to look at. I stare at her. "You don't like shopping? You sure you're female?" "You're not sure yet?" She grins at me. "I just...don't like doing that stuff, that's all." "We'll have fun," I tell her, and remember our first meal together--pasta I could barely scrounge out of her empty kitchen. "I'll show you how to BUY FOOD. You need to know that." "Aw, fuck you," she teases, and when I open my mouth to reply, she shakes her head. "Oh no, Fred Duncan, you leave that thing put away. Trying to kill me?" "Just make you happy," I reply. She caresses my cheek. "You do that just fine, you don't have to prove yourself." "I know I don't. But you...just make me hot. Just you, being you." She grabs me and holds tight. "Thanks, Fred," she whispers in my ear, then pulls away. "Try to contain yourself til I can walk, okay?" She grins again. "Hey, I can't walk either," I remind her. We link arms and I walk her slowly into the store, favoring my ankle just a little. Emma grabs a shopping cart with a runner wheel; I shake my head. "Don't we need one of those?" she asks, confused. I demonstrate the bad wheel. "Watch the wheels," I tell her. "People run these things over all the time, remember that half of 'em don't run right anymore." I wink at her and get another cart with working wheels. Produce first, and I get some bananas, oranges, two heads of lettuce and some carrots. Emma approves, until I get two loaves of bread and a big bag of pasta. "We need more pasta," I told her, our private joke about how she'd said I'd have to work Christmas Eve's pasta off her. "Fred, I'm gonna get so fat!" Emma was actually dismayed and I held her. "Don't worry, baby, I'll eat it all." "No you won't, that's the trouble, if you cook anything like you did on Christmas Eve I'll eat like a pig!" Emma did the supercute pout again. "I'll save you, I'll feed you carrots until you're not hungry anymore." "Can you make them taste like those noodles?" She sighed. "Fine, get what you think we need, Derf." So I get a six-pack of beer, some bottled water, cans of soup and vegetables, some razors and a toothbrush for me, a tube of pretty lipstick for her, paper towels, bar soap, trash bags, and enough other crap to fill the cart. We roll to the checkout and manage to get a cashier with no wait. I'm already swiping my card while she fumbles in her purse for cash and I see her driver's license drop to the floor. I drop and pick it up before she sees. "Emma L.," I say. She sees me looking at her license and makes to snatch it but I pull it away. "Oh c'mon, Fred, I hate that picture!" It's really not a bad picture, as driver's license pictures go; she looks sort of baffled in it. "I look unhappy in it." "Everyone looks unhappy in 'em, they do it on purpose." "Why would they do that?" she asks, skeptical. I grin at her. "When you got a cop shining a flashlight in your face through your car window to compare it to the photo, you aren't happy. So your face matches the picture." Emma is silent for a moment. "You know, Fred, that makes a perverse kind of sense." I hold out her license and she takes it gently from my hand. I take the receipt from the checker and wheel the cart toward the door. "What's the L. for?" She smiles a little. "Lynn. Two N's, no E. Emma Lynn Grossberger. That could be a real pretty name if only..." "If only it wasn't Grossberger?" She nods. "Like, Emma Lynn Duncan?" "Emma Lynn Duncan is a beautiful name. I've known it was beautiful since I met you, in '06. I told you, if I could see myself with a guy, I tried his name on. Yours fits best." She smiles, and she's blushing a little. "I'm sorry, I don't want to be forward, or anything, it's just I used your name at the lanes and they're going to remember it--" "Nah, they'll just remember the "Bowling Nurse" part. But you can use my name for publicity purposes, Miss Duncan." "Mrs," she says immediately, then hides her face. "Oh shit, I blew it didn't I?" I have to smile at her, she's a little girl sometimes. Sometimes she's an athlete. Always she's all woman. And she's all mine, my Emma Lynn Grossberger. Duncan. "You're in such a hurry, babe. You've had that name for a long time, you can wait a little longer." "I'm sick of waiting to be Mrs Prince Charming," she tells me. "Well, what if you get a nice name and decide you don't like the guy it's attached to?" Emma looks at me like I'm crazy. "There is only one, get it? one? guy I would even think of taking a name from now. YOU. And I don't get tired of Frederick C. Duncan, the name or the man." We're at the car now, and she helps load bags. "I know, sweetie, I understand, your last marriage just ended and you probably don't want to get into another one. Maybe ever. I love you, Derf, and if I can be with you, I don't mind being Grossberger forever." She grins that awesome grin. "No pressure." "A rose by any other name would still be great in bed," I told her, "and I'd love her just as much." Something she'd said this morning was deeply affecting me, I realized; she'd worried that Jerry would find the money she'd left him and feel bad that he'd chewed us out. It revealed a lot about Emma, that she was really kind and thoughtful. I hadn't thought selfless people really exist, but she didn't seem to do much for herself. She loves me in a non-creepy kind of way, and even though we've done some weird things in bed (and on a pool table) we're still comfortable with each other. And yes, I decide, I'll marry her. But not yet. We embrace, and her lips meet mine and they're warm in the cold air, and our faces steam up with our breath and our tongues twist and my head spins and she's warm against me in her little pink outfit and her blue coat and we kiss until I pull away, rocking on my heels a bit. And a shopping cart runs hard into my ankle, my bad ankle. For a moment I can't see; I can only hear a voice--Carol's--and feel waves of nauseous pain rolling through me from the point of impact. "Whoops, look out, real people comin' through!" I can finally find breath to scream, and I do so, collapsing against the car and sliding to the parking lot. When I can see again, Emma is standing over me. "Are you okay, Fred? Can you walk?" "No, no way," I croak. I can't even feel that foot through the wall of ankle agony. "Then you wait right here for me." I watch her take off at a sprint toward the rapidly receding figure pushing the empty shopping weapon. "What the FUCK is wrong with you?!" I hear Emma scream; I can see she is right in the person's face...it is Carol. "You just FUCKED up his HURT ANKLE!" Carol evidently asks her what's wrong with it; Emma keeps yelling, and this time she has a finger pointed in her face. "None of your FUCKING BUSINESS! But even if it was fine, you just slammed his ankle with a cart for NO REASON! That's FUCKING MEAN!" Carol spoke again, and Emma started spearing her in the chest with her finger. "NO! MINE (stab) now, he's DONE (stab) with you, and I (stab) will help him with his ankle, I (stab) will help him with ANYTHING (stab) HE (stab) NEEDS (stab)!" Carol is backing away, and I see Emma's face is pale except for her cheekbones, which are rosy. Emma presses toward her, keeping her finger on Carol's chest. I slide up the car to see better, and I can hear better too. "You wrecked his LIFE (stab), you wrecked his ANKLE (stab) AGAIN (stab), and you will wreck him NO (stab) MORE (stab) you WRETCHED LITTLE TINY PERSON!" I see a grocery clerk poke his head out the door. "I'm sorry, do you think you can take that language somewhere else?" he asks, and Emma rounds on him. "I'm terribly sorry, sir," Emma tells him in a sweet voice. "I was trying to talk to her in her native tongue." "FUCK YOU CUNT!" Carol yells. "HEY! I said enough!" the grocery guy yells at Carol. Emma walks toward the car, waving to him, and the clerk waves back with a wan, resigned smile. Emma has that effect on people; they generally like her. Carol has the opposite effect: they sense The Enemy and try to burn her at the stake. "I'm sorry, I lost control of myself," she tells me apologetically as she gets back to the car. But I know there was nothing selfish in what she'd done; she was defending her man. And she had not called Carol a dirty word once in the whole tirade. Fred's Boxing Day "I think you oughta drive," I tell her as I fight to free my foot from its shoe. My ankle's purple-grey, the color of storm clouds ready to spill, and it's swelling again. "Oh no," Emma said with deep sympathy. "Do you need to go get x-rays or something?" "I wouldn't give her the satisfaction," I reply. "I'll be okay." Emma takes me home, helps me limp to the couch. She brings bags in, takes our shoes off, and starts putting things away; I see that there are things she's never put up before and she has to find homes for them--things like canned soup and and bagels. I manage to get up and limp the few steps to the kitchen. "Siddown! Sit, invalid!" She points at a chair and looks formidable; smiling, I sit. She pours a beer and sets it in front of me; she opens a 2-liter bottle of club soda and pours herself a glass. She sits across the table from me and sips. "Mm, my favorite pop. The only kind I drink, actually." "No Coke, no 7-Up?" "No, even diet pop is too sweet. I just like my soda water, sometimes--" her voice drops, sneaky, "--I put LIME in it." Her eyes widen dramatically and I laugh. "I'm not kidding," she says. "I do all kinds of stuff with soda water at work. One guy insisted on buying me a martini so I put soda water in a martini glass with an olive and drank with him." She arches one eyebrow at me. "'Cause I'm smart." She beams and bats her eyelashes. She knows the effect she has on me with her little cutenesses; she's used them against me at the bowling alley, making me so dazed I blow my next roll. "Yeah, you are," I say. "You managed to land me." I take a pull of beer and get up to go through the groceries Emma'd just put away, learning where everything is. "Em?" "Yes baby?" "Do we have a home phone?" Emma shakes her head. "Why? I have a cell." "Ah, damn, she has my cell phone charger. I have to go out there anyway..." "Fred, you should go to the hospital." "It's just an ankle bang--" "Yeah, the worst one I ever saw, and I've seen a few, plus it got pulverized by the shopping cart bag lady from hell." "I can still move it," I point out. "But can you walk on it, Mr Real Man? You can't drive on it, and you need to go do the apartment thing tonight." "I--oh shit." I reached for the phone. "I'll take you," she tells me. "You gotta work, baby," I say, but she insists. I relent. "Danny, hi, it's Em." "" "Emma, you know, the other barmaid that gets hit on there?" "" "Hi yourself, Danny. Hey, are you really busy tonight?" "" "Well, Fred's ankle is really messed up, I need to take him to the hospital." "" "I know, I'm sorry, Danny, it's really kind of an emergency." "..." "If you work tonight for me, I'll work Wednesday night for you." "" "Okay, Thursday night, sure. You'll work tonight for me?" "..." "Thanks, Danny, you're a sweetheart, I owe you big. Mwah." "'Kay, baby, all set," she tells me, and I set about making lunch. "Danny gets a long weekend next week. I knew he'd want Thursday off, he wants to go to Chicago with his guy. Oh--this is for you." She presses a key into my hand. "Emma's house is Fred's house too," she says in a girlish voice. I smile and kiss her; she's warm in my arms and her breasts press against me through her jumpsuit and my shirt. I make soup and a grilled cheese for each of us and hobble back to the table. She stares at the meal, then looks up at me. "I haven't had tomato soup and grilled cheese since I was a little girl," she says, and she looks charmed. I give her a spoon and she sips soup, and looks up at me with wide eyes. "Fred, this is...really good." "Salt and lemon," I reply, and she noisily sips soup out of her spoon. I think it's great because I'm a soup-sipper too and we won't bother each other. I watch her crunch into her grilled cheese, and her eyes widen. "Oh jeezhe thish izh great," she says, mouth full and eyes rolled back in her head. She swallows. "Okay, Derf, I can think about sex again." I laugh and watch her take a giant bite of her sandwich; cheese is stuck to her cheek and her eyes are closed. This is a girl who really loves grilled cheese. I smile at her, refill her soda water and sit down next to her to eat. I'm not a bad cook. Carol wouldn't cook if she was forced to at gunpoint, and that's probably a good thing; on our honeymoon she'd made dinner once and it wasn't even food anymore when it was done. I'd never thought you could use a pork chop as a weapon; she could have stabbed me with it, or I could have eaten it, I'd die either way. Em finished demolishing her lunch and I cleaned the cheese off the side of her face. She giggled and looked embarrassed. "You must think I'm a total pig." "I think you're a hungry girl because you never eat anything. And when you have rough sex, you've gotta eat." "I do feel a lot better. Thanks!" She is chipper again, typical Emma. "Still ready to think about sex?" "Think about it, sure." She grins. "Well, my jaws feel better...think I could make you forget about that ankle?" "If you shot me," I tell her. "How about if YOU shoot ME?" She tugs at my belt buckle and I lift myself to let her get my pants off as she gracefully drops to her knees. She rubs her cheek on the growing hill in my boxers. "Mm." I hold her face gently as she rubs, now she's kissing me through the boxers and I can feel her breathing through the warm softness through the fabric. "I see you approve," she says with a laugh in her voice, slipping her fingers through the leg hole of my shorts. "Oh, wow, Fred, I think you like me." Her fingers wrap soft around me and stroke, and I can't stop my hips from pitching forward to meet her. "I really like you, Em," I tell her. She I make room for her to shuck my boxers and she drops them around my ankles. "Fred, I really, really like you too." Her breath is warm on me, but not as warm as her mouth as it slides over me. I lean back in the kitchen chair, remains of my soup and sandwich forgotten, and Em starts doing her incredible thing on me. I feel her tongue circling, rubbing me beneath, and her lips sliding on me all the way to the head, and she takes me in her throat. She can't take all of me but she does wonders with what she can and she has me gasping with each stroke. She looks up at me and I can see dedication as well as a deep enjoyment of what she was doing, I can tell she loves to give head and I'm happy to help. I feel her scrape just a little with her teeth and I throb. I feel just a little come trickle through me and Emma stops to look up. "You taste better than any man I've ever done this to." I don't ask her how many men she's done this to, I don't want to know as long as she keeps doing it to me. She grins at me and I throb out another drop. She holds my gaze as she licks, then closes her eyes slowly and takes me into her mouth again, sliding her lips over me, rubbing with lips over teeth. She fondles my sack again and I tense, not ready for an invasion like this morning. She pulls away. "Don't worry, big man, I won't touch you there." I relax and she runs her hands over my thighs as she swallows me, faster, and her mouth is hot on me and her tongue is all over me and I can't take my eyes off my Emma with my cock in her mouth and I see her move her socked foot under her and rock in time to her movements and she's working even faster now and I know she's tasting me all the time, I'm getting closer and she's getting closer--and she gives me a little whimper of pleasure-- And I win, I'm coming and she slows and takes me as deep as she can and squeezes around the base with her lips and I'm coming so hard it feels like I'm being turned inside out. Emma coughs a little and pulls back, swallowing me, pulling every drop from me with the pressure of her lips and letting me spurt into her again, and repeat forever please. She backs away slowly and I hear a suction pop as I pull from her mouth. "Thank you," she says, very low, and she looks intensely happy. "God, Fred, it's so hot the way you groan like that when you come." Huh? I groan? Well, whatever; I just smile. I get up and lay her back on the kitchen floor. Laying next to her, I slip my hand into her pink suit and down, to her furry mons, and cup her vulva, with no attempt to penetrate her. Instead I press her upward toward her navel, and I rub in a circle with the palm of my hand, moving her against herself. Her arms fly out from her sides and try to claw the tile. Her little whimper comes again and she spreads her legs way out, bending her knees and putting the soles of her feet together. I keep this up until she starts to press up hard toward me, then I change my technique, pressing her mons downward toward her lips and pulling back up, fast. "Huh--uh, Fred, you're incredible! Where'd you learn to do this?" "PBA tour," I tell her with a smile, using Emma's stock answer whenever I ask her where she learned to do something like fight or fuck. Except in her case, it might well be true. "Uh, that's it, baby, we're buyin' a tour bus. Huh--ohh..." I feel wetness wash my hand and Emma's hand is down her panties and lacing fingers with mine; she holds my hand still and I feel her entire body tremble for a long moment. Then with a cry she bucks hard against me, holding my hand hard against her with hers, circling her hips to keep up the motion I'd started but on her terms. "Oh GOD! Oh, sweet Derf--" I feel her hand let go, then she takes my finger and runs it over her clit. "Hunh...uh...ahh...oh my...oh, push, right there baby--yeah--" and another spasm runs through her body. She lowers her hips to the floor and lays back; I keep touching her but I lessen the pressure; she rocks from side to side against my movements and another shudder passes through her. She stops moving and grabs my wrist to stop me. She breathes in heavy, shaky gasps and when I pull me hand free and up out of her jumpsuit, she watches me lick her girl juice from my palm. I grin and hold my hand out to her and her tongue zips out and starts to lick with no hesitation, her blue eyes on mine. I lick with her, our tongues touching, and our lips meet; I lay on top of her and we kiss passionately for minutes. I feel desire for her but it is distant, I'm sated. This is pure love of a type I'd known with no-one else, not Carol, nobody. When I pull back, I feel a spray of spittle on my face from Emma's laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says, and starts rubbing my face. "What's funny?" "I just...finally found a man who can get me off better than I can." I laugh with her at this and painfully climb up from the floor. I offer her a hand; she lays her index finger in my palm and springs to her feet in one smooth movement. "God, Fred, I really needed that." She shakes her head, looking dazed. "I wanna go dancing now," she says with a delighted grin. I grimace and point to my foot. "No worries," she says, and walks over to a little radio on the kitchen counter. An old Van Morrison tune fills the room and she slides gracefully into my arms. We sway gently. "You know," I whisper in her ear under Into the Mystic, "you called yourself 'Em'." "What? When?" "When you were talking to Danny on the phone, you said, hi, it's Em. And this morning you said 'no pills for Em'." She's quiet for a moment. "I'm your girl, Derf. If you want to call me that, I better get used to being Em." She holds close to me, and I feel her beautiful hips against mine, swaying. "And it sounds so pretty coming from you that I kinda like it now." I sway with her, trying to follow her steps, and my ankle is killing me but I'm not going to stop this. At least not until the music changes and she starts to boogie to Rush's Lakeside Park, swinging her hips and snapping her fingers. I sit down and look at the table, bummed. "Aw, poor Derf," she says, and drops to her knees to rub my sore ankle lightly. I hiss and tense up but what she's doing feels good; I relax and let her work. "You can't play a sport for long and not know a little about massage," she says. "Argh."My head lolls around on my neck. "I used to get shoulder cramps so bad after tourneys, the only one who could fix 'em was Gen. I learned a bit reciprocating." "Argh," I say, looking at her rubbing with her thumbs in tiny circles, working up the leg. "Not bad for an adulteress, huh?" I stare. "What do you mean?" "You're technically still married, you know," she says. "That's what Ms Carol called me today, an adulteress." "Pot and kettle," I say, and surprisingly, Emma understands this reference. No-one gets that one. "Well, I wasn't about to argue it with her. She's right. And I don't care a bit." Emma shrugs and lets go of my ankle. "I can't be your girl on the side, but I can be your only girl, no matter who you're married to." "You are my only girl, Em, and I never want another," I tell her; it's true. I open my mouth to say more... and my cellphone ringer goes off, playing 'Who Can It Be Now?'. "Ugh, timing," Emma mutters. I don't know who this could be; I never get calls except from work or Carol. So I'm expecting it to be her even though the number's not recognized. "Hello?" "Hi, Fred?" "Yuh?" "Hey, this is Casey Ullman. With Interloper Security?" "Oh, Casey! How's the golf?" "Not bad, you decide to take it up yet?" "Naw, I'm a bowler. You know that." "Yeah, I guess I do. Listen, man..." "What's wrong?" "Well, I got some hard news for you bud. It's your wife." "What's she done now?" "It's what she's done for six months, Fred. She's cheatin' on you." "Oh, really." "Yeah, I'm checking parking lot surveillance for one of our clients, a motel, and I see your car in the lot and your wife going into rooms with a guy that ain't you." "Huh. How often?" "About two days, once a week, for three weeks, then she misses a week, and it starts over. A few times they didn't show, a few times they showed up on different days. Two months ago they laid in for a week and never left except to go to the restaurant. And they were in there for a while Christmas Eve. I, uh...felt I should tell you." "I'm glad you did. Listen, Casey, can you...get me a copy of those?" "You know that's not ethical, right?" "Yeah, I know..." "Drop by the office. I'll have it for you. But you did NOT get it from me. And Fred?" "Yes?" "I'm sorry to give you the bad news." "Casey, it's fantastic news." I keep the smile off my face as I hang up. "Who was that?" Emma asked. I decide to keep the surprise for a bit longer. "It was Casey, a competitor. He has something he wants to consult me about, we need to stop by the Interloper Security office on Main and Vellvett." "Mm. Okay, then." My cellphone rings again, and I see it's the landlord at the apartment. "Hello? "Fred Duncan?" "Speaking?" "This is Tangie at Kinseck Valley Apartments, you made an appointment with Sue to do your walkthrough at four tonight?" "Right." "We can't do it then, I'm sorry, we have only one person in the office after three today. Is two okay?" "That's cutting it close..." "I know, sir, I'm really sorry." "Two is okay, I'll see you in...eh, forty minutes?" "Sure, Mr Duncan, I apologize again for the mixup..." "Tangie, was it?" "Yes sir." "Is that your full first name?" "No sir...it's Tangerine." "Tangerine, I like that! See you at two, Tangie." "Bye, sir!" "C'mon, we gotta go." Emma is still sitting on the kitchen floor, looking up at me curiously. "Go? Where?" "The apartment can't do the walkthrough at four, they want to do it at two." "Fred, I gotta change out of these wet things..." "Wet things?" I'm confused for two seconds. "Oh, wet, right." Involuntarily I bring my hand to my face, smelling Em. "Gawd, your a pervert, Fred. That's why I like ya. What's the hurry, anyway? It's five minutes from here." "Right, but I want to stop by Interloper--" "Oh right. Okay, hang on." She rolls her feet under her, and then rocks her feet up over her toes and straightens her knees, rising to her feet without using her hands. She does it absent-mindedly, like it's just something she's always done, but it's so graceful and beautiful that I can only stare. "What?" "Can you do that again?" "What?" I look at her; she really doesn't know. "Get up off the floor like that." She stares at me for a minute and then does this little whatever-I'm-easy kind of shrug, and she crosses her ankles and sinks fluidly to the floor. Then she repeats the process of getting up to stand before me, looking up into my eyes with a look of wanting to please me. "Wow, that's...incredible to watch!" I hold her close and she smiles and lays her cheek against my chest. "Do that around me more." "I can promise that, I sit on the floor a lot. Scuse me..." She trots into the bedroom; I just stand there like an idiot watching that gorgeous butt wiggle away. "Mm-mm," I hum to myself, I'm licking my lips and I need to see more of this. I limp down the hall and peek into the bedroom. She has her jumpsuit off and in the clothes hamper and she's just in her bra and panties, and as she drops them I can see they're soaked. No wonder she wanted to change. They fall around her ankles, and she pulls her feet out, grabs them with her toes and flings them in my direction, toward the hamper. I catch them in midair but she doesn't turn to see if she made the basket or not. I can't stop myself from bringing her panties to my face to smell her scent, like salt air at the beach, sweet, tangy and all woman. She rummages in her dresser drawer for another pair of panties and I watch her ass, rounder than Carol's, wider in the hip, and absolutely perfect, as she wraps them in deep-blue satin. I feel weird and kind of creepy watching her do her private things, but I can't stop myself from adoring everything she does. When she scratches her nose with the back of her hand, I fall in love with her again. When she digs in her ear and then inspects her finger before wiping it on a tissue, it's the cutest thing I've ever seen. She scratches her butt, yawns and smiles and swings her hips a bit in this after-sex kind of way. She dips a finger down her panties and then smells her finger, maybe testing whether she smells like sex. I could have told her she smells perfect, but she doesn't seem to find anything wrong. I drop her pink panties into the hamper and watch as she puts a little perfume behind her knees and ears and under her arms and starts messing with her hair. I can see her face in the mirror as she plays with it, looking dissatisfied, but she shrugs and leaves it the way it is. She turns from the mirror-- "YAH!" Her arms are crossed in front of her chest and one leg lifted to scissor her girl bits out of sight. She looks terrified. "Fred--don't DO that! You scared me to death!" "I'm sorry," I tell her, feeling bad. "You're just...so beautiful when you're doing little stuff like you were..." Emma catches her breath. "Derf, you gotta remember something: I have lived here for two years by myself. I am NOT used to having someone in the house at all when I'm not dressed, and I am NOT used to having people watch me while I get ready." She pauses a beat. "Except maybe Mrs Fendle next door." "Sorry," I say again. "If you want to watch me get ready, just tell me, and I can make it more fun than peeking in the doorway." She embraces me, turns me around, and swats my ass as I limp back down the hall. She comes skipping--literally skipping down the hall a few minutes later in jeans and shoes. She's carrying my Mighty Ducks jersey in one hand. "Can I wear this, Derf?" By way of an answer, I take it from her and dress her in it. "You look great as a hockey fan," I told her. Fred's Boxing Day "Oh, is this a hockey jersey?" She looks down at the logo. "Oh, hey, yeah! I just wanted to wear it 'cause it's yours." She bats her eyes at me. "It feels like you in here," she tells me, and wriggles around inside my jersey. "Em..." "Hmm?" She looks up at me with those deep sky blues and smiles that award-winning Emma smile. "I love you so much it hurts." Her smile drops just a notch, now it's tender. "Derf, it makes me feel real good when you say mushy stuff like that to me." I chuckle at this and take her in my arms. She grins and puts her chin on my chest, smiling up at me. "Are we ready to go, Mr Real Man?" "I'm ready to take Emma to bed," I tell her, and her eyes widen in mock fear. "You are trying to ruin me, I know it." "I'm trying to ruin you for anyone else." She laughs. "Don't worry, Fredster. If I was that kinda girl, would I have an expired box of rubbers in my drawer?" We laugh together for a minute and I hug her inside the way-too-big-for-her jersey that looks spectacular on her. "Let's go, my love," I tell her, and she hugs me again, hard. "Let's go, my wonderful man." "I'll go in here alone," I tell Em. "Are you sure, Fred?" She sounds kind of dubious. "You can't really walk." "I'll just be a minute..." She looks at me a moment, then nods. "Okay..." I limp through the snow to the door of the mobile home that is the Interloper headquarters. I knock twice and open, and there is Casey. I limp up and shake his hand. "Here you go," he tells me, and slides a DVD across the counter to me. I pick it up and put it in my pocket. "I put an index on there of when she was there, how long, what was visible...Fred, that woman is shameless. Back in August she parked her car in the back of the lot and fucked this guy right on the hood of her car." "I wondered how that dent got in there..." I expected to feel nothing, but Carol's reckless betrayal still hurt. "You sure you're okay with this?" "I saw her car at the Shady Rest Christmas Eve--" "Oh, that was you? I saw you on camera." "Yes sir, and I confronted her about it then, and our marriage has been over ever since." "Hey, whoa. You are NOT gonna take that into court, are ya?" I shake my head at Casey. "Don't worry, I don't expect it to get that far, and if it does I'll find a way to have gotten them other than through you." Casey smiles. "Good enough." "That didn't take long at all," Emma says as I get in the car. "Was that a drug deal or something you better tell me about now?" I pull the DVD from my pocket and stick it in Emma's glove box. "What's that?" "I'll tell you later," I promise her. "No way, man, you tell me now. I don't drive around with clandestine shit in my car." "It's a movie..." "Like a porno kind of movie?" Her voice darkens. "Or like a snuff-movie kind of movie?" I laugh. "Neither. It's actually pretty boring. But it's important that you don't know what that is right now. I'll tell you when we leave the apartment." Emma doesn't like it but she agrees, and we are there by five minutes to two. I get out and so does Emma; she walks quickly over to me to take my arm so I don't hurt myself on the ice. "Hey, look!" Emma points. "It's Frank. Hi Frank!" she calls out to him, and waves. Frank looks panicked at first. He throws his boxes in the trunk and slams it but he soon recognizes that I don't mean him any harm. I walk slowly up to him and offer him my hand; he shakes it limply. "How goes, Frank?" I ask amiably. He shakes his head and I see he is loading his car. "That...woman is..." "A psycho bitch?" Emma asks him, her pale eyebrows arched. "Yes, a psycho bitch! That is--" He breaks off, looking warily at me. "Frank, I am NOT GOING TO HURT YOU," I tell him, with some emphasis. "For the record, no-one agrees with you more than me. But yesterday I saw you moving stuff in, now you're moving it out? What happened?" He's really angry, I see; his face is red and he's shaking a little. "That...Carol...got a call from her apartment manager today, that she had til February to sign the lease or move out, and she told me she was moving out." He frowned and looked mighty pissed. "After I left my wife, moved out of my house and into here. And I ask her, why did you have me move in here with you if you didn't want to live here, and she said she wanted me here just to piss you off." He shook his head. "You left your wife for her?" Emma sounded disapproving and unbelieving. "Yeah. Stupid, huh?" "I tried to warn you," I told him. "Remember that anyone who does anything to anyone is capable of doing that to anyone else. Carol...I don't think she's all there, Frank." "She's a manipulative little cunt with designs on the fucking world," Frank replied, his face tight with anger. "Frank?" Emma asked. She put on her supercute look, with the batting eyelashes and and 50000-watt smile. "do you think you could...maybe...sign an affidavit to that effect?" "Heh, right," Frank replied, impervious to Emma's charm. "I still have to work with that fucking cooze. But good luck with the next guy she runs roughshod over." He gets in his car and starts the motor. "What a nice man," Emma says, her voice sweet. "So eloquent." I laugh, and she smiles at me before narrowing her eyes and trying to look mean. "I still have to work with that fucking cunt. Even though I was the one fucking that cunt two days ago." She sticks her tongue out at his car as it pulls away. We walk into the apartment manager's office to find a tall willowy brunette and a short heavyset redhead with glasses. I see that the office work is being done by the short woman and the tall woman is looking at a Myspace page. Hmm, who is most likely to have dropped the ball, and who would be the one to make it right? I approach the redhead. "Hi, Tangie?" "That's me! Mr Duncan?" "Fred, please. This is my partner in crime Emma." We shake hands all around. "Fred, Emma, I'm really sorry about the problem with the time--" "It's okay," I say. "It gives me an excuse to spend more time with the love of my life." "Mrs Duncan?" "No, Miss Grossberger here," I tell her definitely. "Oh. I see," Tangie says uncertainly. "Well, if you're ready--" And she gestured toward the door. "Please," I tell her, "my ankle was pulverized yesterday and I can't walk fast." I demonstrate. "No trouble at all, Mr...Fred," she tells me as Emma stands beside me to let me put my arm over her shoulder, and we make our leisurely way to the elevator. "I told you to GO and DON'T COME BACK!" we hear through the door when I knock. I wait, then knock again. "You stupid no-listening motherfucker!" Her voice gets louder as her stamping feet get closer. The door opens on one of Carol's best kill-you faces. "Oh, it's you, Fred," she says when she sees my face. She sounds actually happy to see me. I get an opportunity to survey Emma's work--Carol has a black eye and a blue bruise on her chin. "Listen, if you bring that fucked up bitch around me again I'm gonna mess her up, okay?" Emma, who was beyond the edge of the door supporting half my body, snaked her neck over. "Hi, Carol, so nice to see you again," she said sweetly, and pulled back again. Carol's eyes widen and she steps back. "Sorry, Carol, but she's helping me get around since you crippled me this morning." She doesn't look sorry; she looks emotionless. "What do you want, Fred?" Her voice is cooler. "We're here to do the walkthrough we talked about, Mrs Duncan," Tangie tells her. Emma looks resentful. Carol opens the door, but points at Emma. "She is not coming in here." Emma's jaw dropped in outrage. "She has to, I can't get around if I don't lean on her." There's an impasse for a moment, then Carol relents. "Fine, whatever. Don't let her touch my stuff." "You're really not a nice person, Mrs Duncan," Emma tells her mildly but with a little emphasis on the name, and I realize she's deeply jealous of Carol for having it. Carol glares at her, but just lets it go. Probably wisest to. Emma and I had the same idea at the same time: we pull out our cellphones and start snapping pictures of everything. We take pictures of Tangie and Carol together; we take pictures of the spotless walls and cabinet doors, the lack of holes in the walls behind doorknobs, the absence of nail-holes where pictures might once have hung. Carol looks upset about this, and I think she planned on doing something destructive in there I would have to foot the bill for. We're there maybe ten minutes before we start filing out. As I turn to Emma to take her arm, I feel a hand on my elbow. "Fred, we need to talk." Carol tugs my elbow. I don't move. "We do?" "Yes." She sounds impatient. I smile. "About what?" "Yeah, about what?" Emma's voice has a hard ring to it. Carol takes a deep breath. "Fred, may I please talk to you..." and she turns to face Emma. "...alone?" "What do you need to talk to him about that you can't say in front of me, huh?" Emma crosses her arms and I realize she's really really pissed. "I just want to talk to my husband alone." Carol's voice is slick and kind of greasy. "He's not yours anymore, he's mine. I told you that." Her words come faster and I realize I have to stop this or she'll murder Carol. Hopefully figuratively. "Em, can you give us a minute?" I ask. "Fuck that, Fred, don't you see what she's doing? She wants you back--" "Excuse us," I say to Carol, and I step outside with Emma. "Em," I tell her, "There are some things I need to discuss with her. Let's get it over with and we never have to do this again." "Fred, she's trying to get her claws in you, I see it, I know her type, please don't go back in there--" "Em, I need you to do something for me I've never asked you to do before." "What?" "Trust me?" She looks at her feet for a moment, then raises her eyes to mine. She chews her lip, then nods once. "Yes. Okay." I kiss her, and I hear Carol clear her throat. Emma pulls back a bit. "Shut up. We're busy." She kisses me again, even longer. "Go, Derf," she tells me, and closes her eyes. I limp into the apartment and Carol slams the door hard. She rushes over to me and puts her arms around me. I stay stiff and unresponsive. "I've missed you, honey," she tells me. "Please come back to me." "What about Frank?" I ask her, and she makes a dismissive kind of waving motion with her hand. "He was just here to make you jealous, so you'd want me." "Why?" I was confused. "When you were married to me--" "We're still married, Fred," she interrupts. "Let's fix that. When you were married to me, you were fucking this guy--" "It was only the one time, Fred, God!" I just stare at her. "What?" "Once, only once! I've been faithful to you, you...shit!" "You fuck him once and get him to leave his wife? Right, okay." "It was just a change of pace, is all--" "God damn it, Carol, have you forgotten how to be honest?" "I am being--" "You're a fuckin' liar!" I explode. "You were a fuckin' liar last time I caught you cheating, you're a fuckin' liar this time. You lied when you told me you were going to Cleveland, you lied when I asked you how it was." "I...you're right, Fred, I'm sorry, but I'll change, I'll never lie to you again." "You threw your marriage away for a one-night-stand?" "Yes, a one-night-stand, that's all, it won't happen again." She held up a hand and looked pathetic. "I promise. I didn't even fuck him last night when he was here." I don't care one way or the other. "What do you want, Carol?" "I just want us to be a family again," she tells me, and her lip trembles but her eyes are as dry as tombs. "Okay, then let me tell you what I want." "Anything, baby," Carol tells me, and she manages to manufacture a tear to roll down her cheek. I think of crocodiles. "I want a divorce." "No way! Fred, please don't--I know you want me, you want to be here--" "With a compulsive liar who can't be faithful?" "I told you, I'll never lie to you again!" "You lied to me right after you told me that." "What? How?" "You've been fucking Frank Caswell for months," I tell her. "One-night-stand, huh?" She's silent for a minute. "You can't prove that. You want to divorce me, you're gonna pay." "I am?" "Yeah. You abandoned me, leaving me without support--" "Oh please, you make twice what I do." "Your girlfriend beat me up--" "You started it, Carol. We got film, remember?" "And no-one's as good for you as I am." I laugh in Carol's face. "Carol, let me tell you something. You and Frank have been real regular customers at the ole Shady Rest, haven't you? Don't answer that, I know you have. But what you don't know is that I have the surveillance tapes from the Shady Rest parking lot cameras." Carol slowly takes this in, and her jaw drops. "Now, if we go to divorce court, that footage is gonna make it pretty clear that you are not the model wife and won't ever be, not when you've been FUCKING some guy for SIX MONTHS--" My voice is rising and I don't stop it. "--and LYING to your husband that it's BUSINESS TRIPS." Carol looks desperate. "There's no proof, Fred, no receipts. I paid for everything on my company account." She gives me a snide look. "I'm sure. I'm also sure that I can get copies of those tapes to your work by tomorrow, and they'll be real interested to know how much they're paying you to fuck your co-worker." Carol's gone pale and she's not steady on her feet. "That won't work." "No? Why not? They're all date and time stamped and your face shows up clear enough. So does Frank's." I pause. "Especially that time you did it right on the hood of the car. Where did that dent come from? Basketball, didn't you say?" But she's beyond answering. She's shaking. "Okay, Frank, what do you want?" "I want an uncontested divorce. I want my computer and my cell phone charger. And..." I take a deep breath. "I want the wedding set back. It was my mother's." She stares at me, then looks down at the rings on her finger for a long moment. "Fine, here," she says with a spiteful tone, and throws them at my feet. I pick them up and put the engagement ring in one front pocket and the wedding band in the other. "I need Emma's help with the computer," I tell Carol, but she is sitting at the kitchen table and she doesn't answer. I walk to the door. Emma's standing outside the door with her head down. I can see her hair and the tip of her nose, and that's all. She lifts her head; her eyes are dry. "What's keepin' you in there?" "I'm done, I just need to get something and I need your help." Emma brightens immediately. "I'm all yours," Emma says brightly. We pack my stuff up in a box and Emma carries it out to the car for me. I hold her for a long time before we get in and I see Carol staring out the window at us from the second floor. I wave, and she closes the drapes. Emma holds my hand as she drives, and I rest my hand on her knee. She sighs, contented. "Fred..." "Em?" "I was worried when you were in there. I thought you'd come to the door and tell me that you were reconciling and that I should fuck off." "Huh?" I shake my head. "Emma, You. Are. My girl. I told you you have nothing to worry about." "Well, you were in there a while..." "I had to tell Carol some things that she didn't want to hear." "Like what?" She looks way too eager to hear what Carol didn't want to. "I told her I want an uncontested divorce, and my computer and cell phone charger." "And she just gave 'em to you?" "Hell no." Emma was quiet for a bit. "I was right, though, huh? She wanted you back?" I nod. "Yeah, she tried to tell me how she was best for me. I had to present courtroom proof that that wasn't the case." "Courtroom proof? What proof?" I open the glove box and bring out the DVD. "This. This is the surveillance records from the parking lot cameras at the Shady Rest." Emma takes her eyes off the road to look at the DVD with new respect. "Yay Shady Rest," she says in a childlike voice of wonder. "Yay Shady Rest," I echo, the name of our future bowling team. "So we're free of her?" "Well, it's a little town, Em, I'm sure we'll see her from time to time. So keep rocks in your purse." She giggles. I notice she drives past our house. "Where are we headed, hon?" I ask her. "Hospital," she answers. "Oh, no, Emma--" "I told Danny I was gonna take you to the hospital," she tells me kind of severely, "and I'm no liar. I'm worried about that ankle, and we're going to the hospital if I have to drag you there by your hairy satchel." As irritating as this is, her concern touches me; I realize she really cares for me, and I decide. "Okay, Em. But pull over here a minute." She pulls off the road. We get out and I limp to the railing with her help. Below us are the hockey kids we saw this morning, either still playing or playing again. We watch in silence, listening to the kids play. "Did he say 'outside'?" "No, offside." "What does that mean?" I show her the rocks placed on the ice, to mark where the blue lines would be, and I explain that the puck must be first across the line or the attacking team can't touch it without the play being whistled down. "Wow," she says. "That changes the whole game." "Yes it does." I look at her a long time, and when she notices me staring, she gives me that sunny Emma smile full of fun and daring. And I'm sure. "Em..." "Yes, Derf?" I smile. Derf. It sounds kind of nice coming from her. "We're invited to this event thing on Halloween. I really want to go, and I hope you do, too." "Halloween, huh? What's the event?" "Your wedding," I tell her, and I hold out my mother's engagement ring. "Would you be Mrs Duncan?" Her hand trembles as she offers her ring finger and I slip the ring on. I see tears dropping to the ice beneath our feet. The ring fits her; she admires it in the light and when she speaks her voice is choked with emotion. "Like you ever had to ask me."