23 comments/ 24993 views/ 36 favorites Amy's Smile: A Conclusion By: Oldlockguy As many readers can testify, "Amy's Smile," by jfinn, is one of the best-written and most gripping Romance series on this site. Readers hung on every word, waiting anxiously for each new chapter until November 28, 2003, when lovestruck Charlie caught the late night plane to begin a tortuous journey home to newly-gorgeous Amy. Charlie's been on the plane ever since, stuck in a seat next to a six year old who has just sicked up a jelly donut. He's the man who never returned. Good old Charlie. (Isn't there a song about that?) Neither has the author, Jayne Finn. A Google search turns up a note from her on another site, dated 2006, stating that she had been fighting an illness that keeps her from the computer and, even worse, a massive case of writer's block. Apparently, she can't or perhaps couldn't figure out a way to write that one last chapter that would end the story. After nearly eight years, my guess is that she may never finish the series. Well, fools rush in and I don't write well enough to have a problem with writer's block. I began to speculate about how the story might come to a happy ending. (I refuse to contemplate the possibility of an unhappy ending.)This is the result. At least it gets Charlie off that plane. You'll probably have to go back to read the earlier series for this story to make much sense. But don't worry, you'll love it. And there's even great sex in a couple of the chapters. * As I was telling you earlier, much earlier, I made the plane with at least twenty seconds to spare. An no, the kid with the donut problem didn't throw up on me. That turned out OK... about the only thing that did, as I recall. Forty minutes into the flight to Bloomington-Normal, the captain's voice came over the speaker. Captain, hell, on a plane this size the pilot is probably a corporal at most. "I've got good news and bad news. The good news is that the runways are nice and clear at Bloomington. The bad news is that it's Bloomington, Indiana. Go Hoosiers!" Funny guy. Most of Illinois was snowed in tonight and that was the best the airline could do. It turns out warm, moist air from the Gulf of Mexico was moving up the Mississippi Valley and colliding with cold air masses from Canada. Why can't the Pentagon do something about the true threat to Middle America, cold air masses from Canada? Who did that routine? Steve Martin? George Carlin? Henny Youngman? I don't know and don't much care. Well it turned out that in Bloomington, there was a plane to West Lafayette, Indiana, with a continuation to Ann Arbor and East Lansing Michigan. Now West Lafayette is not far from Chicago but they were pretty sure West Lafayette would be closed down soon. So the ticket agent thought I would be better off going all the way to Lansing. The storm might pass south of Lansing since it was expected to track up the Ohio Valley, hit Pittsburgh and then dump two feet of snow on, wait for it, Buffalo. At Lansing Airport, they said, I could change to a plane to Madison, Wisconsin. The snow might have passed through Madison by then. Well, Madison is less than two hours from Milwaukee and somehow I would get myself down to Chicago from Milwaukee, hitchhiking if I had to. At least I would be moving, not camping in some miserable Midwest airport. I remembered an issue of Playboy, "Girls of the Big Ten." This was "Airports of the Big Ten" and not nearly as sexy. Either that or I was starring in a remake of Planes, Trains and Automobiles. I could hardly wait to meet John Candy. Well, as it turned out, the flight planned for the Indiana basketball team had been cancelled and the team was rerouted via the flight to Ann Arbor. No, I wasn't bumped. They put me in the window seat next to a 6'10" power forward who had John Candy's waistline. "A guy my size has to have the aisle, man," he announced, and I wasn't going to argue. Go Hoosiers! Late Friday morning I phoned Mom from the Lansing airport. After all, it was my birthday and birthdays mean a lot to Mom. She told me she was in the kitchen and judging from the echoes, I was pretty sure she had the phone on speaker phone setting. For sure, I could hear her move about the kitchen and I could picture her measuring and pouring ingredients. What? She can only open bags of Chips Ahoy? -- you remember that? That was just a joke to make Amy laugh. Mom is more of a first course person than a baker but you seriously imagine that the loving and caring mother of five children and nine grandchildren can't cook, Catholic or not? Never happen! Mom wasn't a near gourmet chef like Amy but no one can rustle up solid, nutritious comfort food like my mom. If you look up "home cooking" in an illustrated dictionary, there's a photograph of my mother. "Son, we are so glad you can come home for your birthday party this evening. Frank's coming down from Green Bay and the twins are bringing the grandkids..." Home??? Milwaukee? I was on my way home to Chicago! What the hell had happened here? A moment's thought dialled in the frequency. Liam had asked whether I would be home for my birthday and had passed on the word to Mom that yes, I would indeed be home. I think of Chicago as home but that's not the way the mother of an unmarried son under thirty sees it. Until thirty, home is where Mom lives, in his old bedroom with the posters on the bedroom wall and the model airplanes hanging from the ceiling. Mom was expecting me in Milwaukee and I needed to be in Chicago, to rescue Amy. Shit! Liam was messing me up even when he didn't intend to! "Mom, I'm sorry. I don't think I can make the party." I could feel the frost coming over the phone. Mothers whose sons tell them they can't get home for a family birthday party are the world's second leading producers of cold air masses... after Canada. "Mom, I'll tell you the truth and I know you'll understand." I was so desperate I was going to do something unheard of; I was going to tell my mother the truth about my love life, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me Oprah. "This had better be good." "Mom, is Dad there?" "No, but..." "Or Frank, or the twins or anyone else in the family?" "No, but..." "Or any of the neighbors, or your bridge friends?" "No, but I really should tell you..." "Mom, they may call my plane any minute and my cell is almost out of power. I need to tell you why I can't come home and I need to do it right now!" "OK, son, but" I drew a deep breath. They'll kick me out of the sons' union for this but here goes: "Mom, I'm in love." That worked. I heard only a faint "eek," like the sound of a stricken mouse emoting, over the speaker phone. Long pause... "Is she, is she by any chance that sweet Amy girl I talked to on the phone the other day?" "Of course she is!" Mom likes Amy! Big sigh of relief, whether mine or hers, or both, I can't tell . This was working but still, time for the sales job. There's nothing that sells as well as the truth so I decided to go for it. "Mom, she's the sweetest and kindest girl I've met in my life." My mother is big on kindness, probably because if you check out kindness in that illustrated dictionary while you have it out, there's a photo of Mom on that page too. "You probably could tell she is sweet and kind, even over the phone." "Yes, Charlie, I could." I could hear gentle sniffling over the phone. Either mom had a bad cold or she was getting really emotional. Probably a good sign. "And I desperately need to see her as soon as possible, to tell her I love her." "But why does that mean you can't come to the party?" "Because there's this ass..., this nasty, self-centered person named Liam, and Amy's been hoping for years that he would notice her. "Liam, your roommate? The one who looks like Brad Pitt?" I ground my teeth. "Yeah, Mom, but he never realized how wonderful Amy is because she used to dress a little funny and her hair wasn't so fashionable. But now she looks as beautiful on the outside as she always has been on the inside. Liam has noticed her. Mom, he told me she's doable and I'm afraid..." Normally, I wouldn't even speak the word "doable" in hearing distance of my mother, just in case, but this was sudden death overtime in the Stanley Cup finals and I had to end this. "Charlie, are you telling me that you fell in love with this sweet young woman once she had a makeover and now are afraid someone else might want her? I always hoped that none of my children would be so shallow!" "No, Mom, I swear that I loved her all along. I love her because she has the capacity to care for other people like nobody else I've ever met and I hope with all my heart that she will care for me." I decided to go for broke, "and for my children." More sniffling from the phone, even maybe some crying. "I love the way she smiles at me. Mom, she smiles at me the way you smile at Dad when you think we aren't looking." And it wasn't a line, it was true. I suddenly realized didn't love Amy because she reminded me of a cat. I loved her because she reminded me of my mother. Every heterosexual male raised by a loving mother, wants a wife who reminds him of his mother. I wanted someone who could love with all her heart, like Mom can, like Amy. Go smoke a cigar, Dr. Freud. I don't give a shit about your opinion. Though I am still going to call Amy "Peanut." "Mom" would be too weird. "If Liam gets her into bed, Mom, I would have to really work not to go postal. Do you remember when I caught the teenager next door torturing Peanut and went for him? He had a knife out and was cutting at me to make me let go? And you had to pull me away from him, all cut and bleeding? That's the way I feel when I think of Amy in bed with Liam. I just get sick to my stomach." "Oh Charlie..." "I just need to find Amy as soon as possible and tell her I love her. The moment I have any hope that she loves me back, I'll ask her to marry me and keep on asking until she says yes." By this time the sniffling stage was long past. It was outright weeping over the phone, in fact, it sounded like weeping in stereo. "Charlie, you don't know if you can even get back to Chicago tonight or even if Amy is in the city. Tomorrow you can go looking for her. I promise you there will be somebody here who can drive you back into the city whenever you want." "But Mom..." "If this Amy smiles at you the way I smile at your Dad, you don't have to worry. Nothing in heaven or earth or hell besides would get her into bed with anybody but you. " "Mom, how do you know that?" "Woman's intuition." "Not good enough." "Secret knowledge of the Sisterhood of women who adore their man. Charlie, believe me on this one. I absolutely know." "But..." "Charles McKee! Do you think I would cheat on your father?!" "Of course not." What did that have to do with anything? "Well then, trust me on this. Amy won't go to bed with Liam. Now promise me you will show up for the party. Promise!" I know when I've been beaten. "I promise." "And besides, it's your birthday. Tthere'll be a present waiting for you." Dear God! Mom always went overboard in the present department. She believed in quality but that quantity never hurt. The chance of me being able to fit whatever she gave me into carryon were in the Bambi vs Godzilla range. "Nothing big, Mom!" "Nothing very big, I promise." After I hung up, I decided that Mom was right. Amy probably did belong to the Sisterhood of women who adore their man. It's just that I was afraid that Liam was her man. Of course, she had gone to bed with me, now that I thought about it. Did that help? Or just make the prospect of losing her to the asshole that much more painful. Sitting in the waiting room in Lansing, I recalled a poem from Bonehead English for Math and Science Geeks at Notre Dame. For some reason, I could recall the entire poem. Jenny kissed me when we met, Jumping from the chair she sat in; Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in: Say I'm weary, say I'm sad, Say that health and wealth have missed me, Say I'm growing old, but add Jenny kissed me. The poem worked just as will with "Amy" as with "Jenny." I hoped Amy wasn't jumping for Liam. And that Liam wasn't jumping Amy's bones. The rest of the day would be interesting only to someone who actually would lust over the Airports of the Big Ten foldout, but by late afternoon, with the Midwest winter darkness already drawing on, I arrived in Madison. Madison is easy driving distance from Milwaukee, even in the snow... if you can rent a car. It took me an hour to find Rent a Lemon, only a mile and a half walk from the airport. I didn't know until then that you could rent a Yugo, or a Skoda or a Lada in the United States. Where did these people get their stock? From Berlin Wall Motors? Only a rusted orange Yugo was left. One wiper worked but the heater didn't. Oh and the one wiper was on the passenger side, which made for a very peculiar driving position. I couldn't care less about heaters or wipers or driving position, as long as the wreck took me towards my Amy. Or at least, I hoped she might be my Amy Three frozen hours later, I pulled the Yugo across the mouth of the driveway of my parents' home, blocking the three cars already in the drive, but poised and ready to take off for Chicago the moment I could do so without suffering a mother's curse. Oh, and thawing my fingers would be a good idea too. I could see the curtain on the living room window part slightly as someone checked out my arrival. Good thing this wasn't a surprise party. The McKee family party discipline was slipping and the gaff, as they say, would have been blown. (What's a gaff and why would anybody want to give it a blow job?) I could even hear bodies scurrying about as I mounted the steps and rang the doorbell. My mother opened the door before I could even ring. By Mom standards, the hug she gave me definitely qualified as perfunctory. Normally, a famished python releases you more quickly than Mom. She took my coat, folded it once lengthwise and threw it on a pile of outerwear stacked on the couch in the den. Obviously, there was a full house. Tugging me gently by the elbow, Mom led me to the entrance to the living room. OK, just as expected, there was the whole family, brothers, sister,s, grandkids, strangers off the street. But no "Happy Birthday!" Nothing. Not a word. My three year old niece, Pammy, ran towards me with her arms out, "Uncle Charlie, Uncle Charlie, there's a..." But my sister in law Meg scooped her up and hauled her, protesting loudly, into the kitchen. Mom didn't say a thing and usually the fundamental rule of the McKee household is, "Grandchildren get to do whatever they want, provided it won't cause serious injury." Weird. "Good to see you, son." My dad was seated on the couch with an older couple. I could swear I had never seen them before. The husband was just about round and could have been hired as a stand in for the Michelin Man. His wife, if that's who she was, wore what looked like a collection of burlap sacks, but not quite so fashionable. They must be the new neighbors Mom had told me about on the phone. Just like when I was a teen; everybody and his neighbor, had been invited to my birthday party. "Charlie," Dad continued. "Your Mom has told us why you're in a rush and we don't want to delay you." Told everybody why I was in a rush? Thanks, Mom, for keeping a confidence. I would never live this down with my sisters. "Your birthday surprise is waiting for you downstairs. Pick it up and then you can go about your business. Don't let us keep you." "Downstairs?" "Downstairs," Mom replied and pointed, one hand on hip the other directing me to the back stairs. Her pose reminded me of Mrs Meyers, my kindergarten teacher, about to break into song ,"Here is my handle, here is my spout," but a good deal more determined to have her way. Though, when I think about it, Mrs Meyers usually got her way too. Never mess with a woman with her pointer out. Just do what she wants. I pivoted smartly, followed the direction of Mom's index finger and headed for the stairs. I negotiated the left hand turn at the back door, managing, even in my state of airline induced exhaustion, not to trip over the party guests' winter boots stashed there for the evening. Jesus, if Napoleon's army had that many boots, they would have made it safely back from Moscow. I descended past my favourite life sized poster of Michael Jordan in his red number 23 Bulls jersey. Dad had wanted Kareem Abdul Jabbar in his Bucks uniform from the championship year, but he was in LA long before I got interested in basketball, so Dad gave in. Besides, the ceiling was too low. I turned right into the TV room at the foot of the stairs. The room was dim, lit only be the angle poise reading lamp by Dad's Lazyboy in the corner. Vince Lombardi gazed out of the autographed photo that hung over her left shoulder. He looked disapproving. "Hello Charlie." "Whaaa... Amy!" Amy was perched on the edge of the seat. I could understand that. If she had sat back, in the Dad sized Lazyboy, her tiny feet would have been swinging in the air. Her hands were folded in her lap, the left anxiously stroking the fingers on her right. She was wearing the pink sweater and tight blue jeans from our day at the mall. Her dainty feet were encased in light brown leather calf height boots with a heel that could pierce the heart of any heterosexual male under eighty. The Lazyboy was covered with a green and yellow throw rug decorated with a giant embroidered Green Bay Packers helmet. The color scheme clashed. "Charlie, I missed you." She missed me? Who gives a damn about the color scheme and to hell with you, Vince! I crossed the entire room faster than Michael Jordan on a breakaway dunk, fell onto both knees in front of her, seized her hands and stared into her eyes. With me kneeling before her they were just about level with mine. "Amy! I lo..." No, careful, I didn't want to scare her off. It was a promising sign that she was here but what if she still loved Liam? I had better take it slowly and carefully. I paused. Amy's shoulders had lifted when I began to speak but now they dropped the tiniest fraction of any inch. "This is a wonderful surprise! But , but, what are you doing here?" "It's your birthday. I wanted to drop off a present for you and your mother invited me to stay." I blessed my mom. "But how did you know it was my birthday? How did you find out where my parents..." "The bank where I work...it's your bank. An auditor can access just about any file in the database. Your file includes contact information for next of kin, in case of emergency, you know. And date of birth, of course." Amy folded her hands primly but with the faintest tinge of nervousness. "I violated company policy and your privacy by accessing your file for personal reasons. You can report me, if you want." "You can violate my privacy every day for the rest of my life, sweetheart." I thought. Aloud, I said, "Peanut, I'm just so glad to see you. Best birthday present I ever had!" "Charlie," she hesitated. "Your mom thinks I need to tell you something important." "I'm starting to realize she's probably right about these things. Go right ahead, I'm listening." I shifted my weight to relieve a cramp in my left hamstring. This kneeling business may be romantic but it's hell on the joints. "I, I can't just come out with it. Charlie. It's hard for me. I think the man should say it first. I'm a traditionalist." I had spent enough time up in the air the last two days that my plane was three rows short of a full passenger manifest. What did this have to do with what my mother thinks? Amy's Smile: A Conclusion Ch. 02 Lots of folks here will agree that one of the very finest series on this site is "Amy's Smile," by jfinn. It is a superb mixture of deep feeling, humor, character development and really good sex. Sadly, it appears that the author was unable, for reasons we do not know, to finish the work. For almost eight years, Charlie, the protagonist of the stories, was left, stuck in a plane seat, desperately in love with Amy and on his way home to tell her of his love. A few months ago I worked up the nerve to write my own ending to the series, "Amy's Smile: A Conclusion." A number of readers seemed to like my attempt and I am grateful for their kind comments, not to mention their votes. But there were a number of ideas for the story left bumping around in my brain that didn't make it into that submission. Mostly for my own pleasure, I decided to thread them into a more or less parallel story, this time narrated by Amy. I hope it gives some of you pleasure also. I think it may work as a standalone story but, believe me, you'll enjoy the whole series. This is the positively final time I will borrow (or steal) jfinn's wonderful characters for my own storytelling purposes. But remember the old saying, "theft is the sincerest form of flattery" ... or something like that. So, be sure to read jfinn's original. ****** Driving up I-94 from Chicago isn't so bad when you are moving against the flow of traffic. Normally I put the Volvo on cruise control and stick a tape in the player. Today it was Mary Chapin Carpenter. "Sometimes you're the windshield. Sometimes you're the bug." Ouch! That was too close to home because today, I was pretty sure I was the bug. So I turned off the audio - no music, just thoughts on this journey. Charlie's Mom had told me I was welcome to stop by their home in Milwaukee on my way to Green Bay in order to drop off a birthday present for Charlie. In fact, she sounded downright eager to see me. I hope that's a good thing. This whole "birthday present for Charlie" business is my friend Miriam's idea, really. It was Miriam who figured out that Charlie was a customer at our bank and she nagged me until I checked his records. There it was, address of customer -- knew that already - , address and contact information for next of kin -father in Milwaukee - birthday... Whoa! the following Friday, as it turned out. Miriam just wouldn't let the subject go. She kept telling me I had to go out and get him. "Amy, the man loves you." "Well, why didn't he tell me so when I handed him the chance on a silver platter?" "I don't know. Lots of men are dumb bricks when it comes to talking about love." "Miriam, whatever Charlie is, he isn't a dumb brick." "No, it sounds as if he isn't. But for sure he's jealous of Liam and you don't get jealousy unless there's some love there too." "Agreed, he doesn't think much of Liam, but why would he be jealous?" "Oh, I don't know. For months you go over every other day or so to their house to fold Liam's shorts, buy his beer or cook meals for him and his bimbo, what's her face. Maybe he thinks that means you're in love with Liam. " "But I was as clear as I could be. I told Charlie I loved Liam because you have to hold on to some kind of dream. Loved - past tense! I couldn't have been clearer with a bottle of Windex." "Amy, sweetheart, you can't expect a man to take in fine points of grammar at a time like that!" "But I told Charlie that he was the nicest man I had ever met and asked him to take my virginity." "And told him it was a one off and that you knew the difference between making love and having sex. That was nuts, Amy, I gotta tell you. That's almost as bad as suggesting he has a small dick." "Uh Oh!" I said. "Amy, please, sweetie, pleeeease say you didn't tell him he has a small dick." "Well, I didn't, not really. I just said it was not as big as I expected, and not as big as the cucumbers you suggested I practise with." Miriam rolled her eyes. "But I told him it was bigger than the zucchinis." Miriam lifted her eyes to heaven, or at least the ceiling, and whispered. "God give me strength!" She has a carrying whisper. I thought about it for a minute and realized she was right. I was a complete idiot. What little hope I had that Charlie loved me was circling around the drain with a flushing sound. "I guess I blew it. I fucked it up completely." "An appropriate choice of words, considering your weekend." At least she was smiling. "Listen, Amy, when you were in bed with Charlie, were you making love or having sex?" "Making love, definitely." "Well, who knows, maybe he was too." "That's what Charlie said." Miriam nodded. "And whether it was love or just sex, it was damn good, wasn't it?" I nodded. "How many orgasms did he give you?" "I don't know. Maybe ten, counting the times in the night and the next morning." "Only ten?" she said and rolled her eyes again. That irked me because I thought ten was pretty good for a virgin's first time. But perhaps my guess was too low. "Maybe it was a dozen or even fifteen." "Fifteen! God give me stre... Listen, Amy, if this doesn't work out for you, please, please, please, introduce me to Charlie!" Charlie says Miriam has a voice like a Banshee. I never realized before that he was right. Her voice really is irritating. Maybe Miriam could tell this wasn't the most welcome turn in the conversation. "Oh Amy, I was just kidding you. I think the man is crazy about you." You know, her voice isn't as grating as I thought a minute ago. "Why?" I said. "Well, he volunteered to spend all day in a mall, shopping with you and waiting while you had your hair done." "True." "Amy, sweetie, men don't normally do that. They're mostly allergic to malls unless there is a special on power tools. And then he showed up at your door the same evening in the middle of an ice storm." I nodded. "As if he couldn't get enough of you." "I don't know about that." Miriam shook her head in disbelief. "And he told you that story about the way that Johanna bitch treated him. I bet he doesn't tell that to everybody he meets on the street corner, but he shared it with you, just because he thought you needed help." "Charlie is very kind. But that's the point. He's just kind to me. He doesn't love me." I don't know how Miriam can sound disgusted just by drawing in her breath but she manages it somehow. "After you 'had sex' "- fingers making quotation marks in the air - "Did Charlie bugger off in the middle of the night or make an excuse to slip away first thing in the morning?" "No, he wanted to have another go with me.... and, and in the morning he told me I looked good, even in my pink dressing gown." I smiled at the memory. "And he invited me to a John Wayne film festival for that evening." Miriam lifted her palms and raised one eyebrow as if to say, "Well, there you go." "Amy, the man is nuts about you!" You know, Miriam actually has quite a lovely voice when you think about. But she's way too optimistic about Charlie. It sounds good when you put it all together the say she did. But, after all, I was there and she wasn't. I told her that. "Amy, Charlie even told you he loved you." "Well sure, but it was when he was cumming. That explains it." "Nobody has ever said anything like that to me in the throes. And I've never heard of it happening to anyone else, either. " "Really?" "Really. Mostly men just grunt. Maybe they call on Jesus. But mostly they grunt." Miriam paused, for a moment and suddenly looked both thoughtful and a little bit sad. "Amy, I think a good man is in love with you. That's never happened to me and I'm, well, kind of jealous." "You? Jealous of me?" "Yep, I sure am. The truth is, I'm out of my depth here. No one has ever loved me the way I think Charlie, loves you. I don't know what to say to you except one thing." "What's that?" "Just say 'Yes.' Whatever he asks, say 'Yes.'" said Miriam. I must have looked puzzled. "If he asks you for a date, say 'Yes.' If he asks you for sex, say 'Yes.' And, above all, if he asks you to marry him, say 'Yes!' Oh, and if he asks whether he has a big dick...." "Yes," I said. "You're getting it." "Well, really, I ought to be able to do that." Miriam raised her eyes heavenward and I could see she mouthed the words, "Give me strength!" "Give me Charlie," I thought and it was probably the most sincere prayer of my life. So here I was on the I-94 on the way to Milwaukee, hoping to be invited to stay long enough in the McKee house, to see Charlie that evening. I decided to wear the pink sweater and tight blue jeans from the night Charlie came to my house. I doubt men remember these things, but if he did, I wanted to remind him that I was available. That was my idea, not Miriam's, by the way. But I wasn't optimistic. After all, I'm the kind of woman who compares her lover's thing to a zucchini rather than a cucumber. I knew I didn't stand a chance. I began humming to myself and then recognized the song, "Sometimes you're the windshield. Sometimes you're the bug... Sometimes you're a fool in love." ***** I found the house with no trouble. It was a big old place with a maple tree in the front yard. I bet there used to be a tire swing hanging from that tree in the old days. It looked like a great place to grow up. Charlie's Mom must have been looking out for me because she opened the front door and ushered me in, even before I could ring the doorbell. She wasn't fat, just spread out a bit after bearing and raising so many children. She looked like, well, she looked like a mother. "Call me Shirley," she said, "and, no, I don't even know a Laverne." But she didn't look like a Shirley. She looked like a Mom. She offered me a cup of coffee and a plate of brownies that didn't come from a bag, I swear. We made small talk for few minutes. Then Charlie's Mom sat back in her chair looked me in my eyes and said, "So, you know my Charlie." She looked so kind and almost hopeful. It was an obvious thing for her to say, nothing more than a conversation starter. The most innocent, non-descript remark imaginable but I couldn't seem to answer. Anyone with kindergarten level social skill ought to be able to answer without a thought. Not me. I looked at her and choked a bit with the dryness in the back of my throat and I could feel my eyes grow big. I just couldn't answer and I was embarrassed about my awkwardness in front of this kind woman. And I thought about how much I love Charlie... And then, damn it, I started to cry... the very last thing in the world I want to do... God, I hate doing that. Charlie's Mom just enveloped me in her arms. There is nothing more comforting to cry into than a large maternal bosom. Very soon, I started to feel better. "I'll take that as a yes," she said. After a moment of silence, she took my hand and patted it. She handed me a tissue and very gently asked, "Did Charlie hurt you?" "Sorry, I'm just so silly, I can't believe I did that," I said, dabbing at my eyes. She didn't respond, but just continued to pat my hand. "No, not at all. He would never deliberately hurt me. It's all my fault. He's been the kindest, most generous, loveliest man in the world, and I..." I couldn't continued. A sympathetic squeeze of the hand and I squeezed back. Then, "You must think I'm a complete idiot." I held up the present and extended it towards her. "But I truly am grateful for everything he has done for me. I wonder if you would pass this on to him for me." "No, I don't think you're an idiot, just a young woman in love." I didn't need to answer. "And I'm not going to pass the gift on to him for you. You're going to stay until he arrives and you're going to give it to him yourself." "But..." She raised one eyebrow, dropped her face to look at me over her reading glasses. Have you ever noticed how hard it is to say "No" to a veteran mother with a forty inch bust? "So, no need to ask if you're in love with Charlie. But is he in love with you?" A pause. That really was the question, for sure. "My girlfriend says he is, but I don't think so... He hasn't said so and I think I've given him lots of opportunities." "Sweetheart," - somehow it felt completely natural for Charlie's Mom to call me that - "When Charlie was little his report cards all used to say, "This student has great potential but is not putting it into practice.' I think Charlie has very high love potential but..." A shrug of her shoulders. I smiled. Her face brightened. I am pretty sure Charlie likes my smile. Maybe his Mom does too. "Charlie was badly hurt when he was a teenager. There was this horrible girl..." "Johanna," I said. She looked astounded. "Charlie told you about Johanna?" I nodded. "He thought the story would help me. He's so kind!" "Did it work?" "Yes, it rescued me from my version of Johanna. The only trouble is..," "Then you fell in love with Charlie. You're not sure he loves you and you think your heart is about to break." "Pretty much." But then something in me flared up. I lifted my eyes and stared directly at her. "But I don't want to be loved out of pity!" "Just loved for you. In fact, you wouldn't accept his love, if it's just pity," She said. I nodded again, with determination. Charlie's Mom looked pleased, as if I had passed some kind of test. "Sweetheart, Charlie doesn't talk about Johanna with anybody. We tried to get him to go to a counsellor to talk about it when he was in high school but he always refused. Maybe he did that at Notre Dame, but I don't know for sure. I am absolutely positive of one thing. He wouldn't talk about Johanna to a girl - a woman - who didn't matter deeply to him." Charlie's Mom seemed to gather her thoughts together. More briskly she said, "I think it's the best thing in the world that he talked about her to you. Maybe it's a sign that he's over her... And perhaps...." She looked at me with speculation in her eyes. Just then the clock on the mantelpiece chimed."My goodness, look at that time. I can't sit talking all day. Come on into the kitchen and we'll talk while I get things ready for the party." Charlie's Mom tells me she doesn't much like doing desserts -- you would never believe that from her brownies - so we divvied up the kitchen responsibilities. She was working on a lasagna - Charlie's favourite, she claimed - I filed that for future reference. Meanwhile, I was prepping for my cheesecake speciality and just at the busiest point for both of us, the phone rang. Charlie's Mom answered the phone. "It's Charlie," she mouthed to me. I signed as if to leave the room to give her privacy. She shook her head and signalled for me to stay put "Son, we are so glad you can come home for your birthday party this evening. Frank's coming down from Green Bay and the twins are bringing the grandkids..." I'm pretty sure she was going to tell Charlie about me, but she paused as she struggled to keep the cooking going while trying to talk. With one hand she stirred the tomato sauce and with the other, she switched to speaker phone. Now I could hear Charlie too. "Mom, I'm sorry. I don't think I can make the party." My heart stopped. Charlie's Mom frowned, paused again, and looked at me with concern. Then she turned into the phone and even I could feel the ice radiating over the phone lines to wherever Charlie was calling from. Obviously, it got through to Charlie. "Mom, I'll tell you the truth and I know you'll understand." "This had better be good." "Mom, is Dad there?" She looked over at me. "No, but..." "Or Frank, or the twins or anyone else in the family?" Charlie's Mom frowned in my general direction, as if I could stop Charlie from talking long enough to get a word in. "No, but..." "Or any of the neighbors, or your bridge friends?" "No, but I really should tell you..." "Mom, they may call my plane any minute and my cell is almost out of power. I need to tell you why I can't come home and I need to do it right now!" "OK, son, but" "Mom, I'm in love." My heart stopped. No, wait a second. It had stopped thirty seconds ago. It must have started without me noticing because for sure and certain it stopped again now. I didn't know Charlie was even dating and now he was in love with some bimbo before I even had the chance to tell him what he means to me. Life is freakin' unfair! It all came out as a faint "eek." I hate it when I do that. There was no way in the world I could draw enough breath to say a word. But then, I wasn't the one who was supposed to be talking. Charlie's Mom was. She glanced over at me with concern, gulped, and the words came. "Is she, is she by any chance that sweet Amy girl I talked to on the phone the other day?" "Of course she is! Mom, she's the sweetest and kindest girl I've met in my life." My heart started beating again. And my eyes began to run. Maybe it was the onions. "You probably could tell she is sweet and kind, even over the phone." "Yes, Charlie, I could." Her eyes began to water too. By now, I was sniffling. Maybe Charlie could hear me over the phone but I swear I couldn't help it. "And I desperately need to see her as soon as possible, to tell her I love her." "But why does that mean you can't come to the party?" "Because there's this ass..., this nasty, self-centered person named Liam, and Amy's been hoping for years that he would notice her. Charlie never could stand Liam. Miriam always said it was jealousy. I didn't believe her. Maybe I was wrong. "Liam, your roommate? The one who looks like Brad Pitt?" I grimaced and shook my head. "Yeah, Mom, but he never realized how wonderful Amy is because she used to dress a little funny and her hair wasn't so fashionable. But now she looks as beautiful on the outside as she always has been on the inside. Liam has noticed her. Mom, he told me she's doable and I'm afraid..." Dress a little funny? I didn't think that was true, though the makeover helped a lot. Wait a sec... I'm doable??? "Charlie, are you telling me that you fell in love with this sweet young woman once she had a makeover and now are afraid someone else might want her? I always hoped that none of my children would be so shallow!" "No, Mom, I swear that I loved her all along. I love her because she has the capacity to care for other people like nobody else I've ever met and I hope with all my heart that she will care for me... and for my children." Charlie's Mom, reached out one arm and drew me in to her bosom. By now my eyes were streaming and I wasn't anywhere near the onions. Charlie's Mom could see that. What she couldn't see, was that my pussy was just as wet. Actually, knowing her as I do now, I realize she probably could have guessed that too. "I love the way she smiles at me. Mom, she smiles at me the way you smile at Dad when you think we aren't looking." Both arms around me now. "If Liam gets her into bed, Mom, I would have to really work not to go postal. Do you remember when I caught the teenager next door torturing Peanut and went for him? He had a knife out and was cutting at me to make me let go? And you had to pull me away from him, all cut and bleeding? That's the way I feel when I think of Amy in bed with Liam. I just get sick to my stomach." I shook my head in as emphatic a negative as I could. No way! "Oh Charlie..." "I just need to find Amy as soon as possible and tell her I love her. The moment I have any hope that she loves me back, I'll ask her to marry me and keep on asking until she says yes." Charlie's Mom was weeping too by now. Damn onions! "Charlie, you don't know if you can even get back to Chicago tonight or even if Amy is in the city. Tomorrow you can go looking for her. I promise you there will be somebody here who can drive you back into the city whenever you want." Amy's Smile: A Conclusion Oh thhhattt! Rising from my knees -- thank God for that -- I slipped into the Lazyboy, planted my butt squarely on the Packer helmet -- forgive me, Vince Lombardi - and pulled her dainty form onto my knee. She folded into my chest. "Amy, I love you with my whole heart. I love what's inside you and I loved you long before Guido helped you look just as beautiful on the outside." Amy snuffled and buried her face into my neck. She was crying hard enough that I expected I would have to blow dry my collar before I could appear in public again. Then she looked up at me. Her eyes were dark pools large enough to drown Milwaukee, maybe even Chicago. "I love you, Charlie!" "Me? Not Liam?" "You." And she burrowed deeper into my chest. "But Peanut, I thought you wanted Liam for years and would give anything for him to notice you!" "Charlie McKee!" Amazingly enough, she managed the same tone of voice as my fourth grade teacher when she caught Johnny Sample and me trying to smoke our first cigarette behind the school portable. "You have to stop underestimating me! Do you think I'm too stupid to know the difference between a self-centered, egotistical jock who treats me like his personal slave and the sweetest, kindest man in the whole world who makes me feel I'm wonderful? My friend, Miriam says any man who will sit and wait while a woman is in the hairdresser is a keeper. Not to mention that you gave me sex so good, that if I have any better I'll probably die and go to heaven on the spot!" Wow! She was right about the sex though. Sex any better should definitely carry a health warning, "Better orgasms may cause sudden, ecstatic death!" "But he's a good looking jock." I had always wondered what the sound is when someone gnashes her teeth. Now I knew. "Amy, you dropped maybe a couple of grand at the mall for that makeover, just so Liam would notice you!" Amy bobbed her head like an enraged Chickadee. God, she was cute! "Charlie, I swear you're five receipts short of a clean audit. Whose idea was the whole makeover business? Who said he would take me, so I changed my mind about even going? Who did I want to notice I looked so good in the new clothes?" "Whom," I said. "Excuuuse me, Mr. English Major! I didn't do it for Liam, I did it for you. Idiot!" "But a loveable idiot." Amy smiled. "True." "Forget Liam?" I asked. "Forget Liam." Amy folded her hands again and waited. I kept her occupied while she waited but then I remembered there was a party upstairs. "Peanut, I couldn't possibly be happier than I am here with you, but maybe we ought to head back upstairs to see the family... and those other people. Who are all those folks upstairs, by the way? There's a couple of people there I swear I've never met, like a little old lady dressed in the rejects from the Salvation Army Thrift Store." Amy frowned thoughtfully, "I really should make her come with me next time I go to the mall when Guido trims my hair." "She's your Mom???" So the round man was... Well that explained those tent sized sweat pants Amy had lent me that night in her house. Her father had left them behind because they were getting a little snug. "Amy, I'll be glad to see them and all but what are they doing here, and on a night like this?" "My father makes balloon animals for birthday parties?" "Nahhh," I shook my head. Amy looked a little anxious, like a wren caught pecking at the wrong birdfeeder. "Your mother wanted to meet them and she was absolutely sure they would want to meet you." "Meet me?" I echoed. Amy paused, flushed slightly and hesitantly continued, "Charlie, I ought to tell you that I was... already here when you called your mother. I was in the kitchen and she had you on speaker phone. Your Mom did try to tell you." "Tried to tell me? "I heard everything you said." "Everything I said?" My echo problem was getting really tiresome. "Charlie," Amy paused. "Did you mean it? What you said? Everything? I won't hold it against you if you got carried away and now you want time to think about it." What did I say in the phone call? Ahhh, yes, that's what she was talking about. I grasped both her delicate hands, looked deep into her eyes which were dark pools, each the size of Lake Michigan. "Every word, I swear it." A long, exhaling sigh of contentment, like the sound of a happy teakettle, escaped Amy. "Then I can tell you the real reason. He's here so you can ask him a question." "A question?" Enough with the echo, I told myself. Who do you think you are? The chorus in a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta? "Not really a question, more asking permission, really. My dad's a traditionalist. I got the tendency from him." My brain still hadn't been returned from wherever airlines send lost luggage but at least I didn't do the echo bit this time. Though I have to admit I goggled at Amy. Amy leaned towards me, took my face in both hands and kissed me, her little tongue momentarily pressing between my lips. "You just might have some reason to hope that I love you back," Amy said briskly. Then she sat back in the chair, folded her hands and waited. I couldn't seem to take in enough air for speech. "Charlie, the truth is, I'm waiting for a question too." Her eyes were dark pools, large enough to swallow all the oceans of the world. My elevator might have been stuck on the ground floor with the power off most of this evening but OK, now I got it. Amy was a traditionalist, was she? I slipped from the chair and knelt once again before her, this time on one knee only. I reached for her hands to take them in mine. "Just a second!" she said. She arched her delectable little butt, shimmied her hips and reached into the wonderfully tight front pocket of her jeans. Watching her wiggle to release the tension in her jeans enough to open the pocket dramatically increased the tension in mine. She pulled a ring from her pocket. It was the deep yellow of old gold, with a central diamond and two flanking rubies. "This was your grandmother's. Your mother thought you might need it. She's a traditionalist too." I took the ring, reached for her left hand and held the ring to the tip of the fourth finger. Grandma had also belonged to the Sisterhood of women who adored their man, and she had wasted away almost to nothing after Grandpa passed. She must have had the ring re-sized because it slipped over the knuckles and sat snugly in place on Amy's delicate finger. "Amy, I love you with my whole heart. I admire you and respect you as well as love you. I know that you are the woman for me and hope that I am the man for you. Will you marry me? "Yes, Ohh yes!" she shouted. She jumped from the chair, throwing herself into my arms. I staggered to my feet, embraced her delicious form and she kissed me. Then, looking into the eyes of the man I knew she adored, my eyes, Amy smiled.