The phone refused to ring. Lucy had been staring at it for an hour, both hoping and dreading that it would ring. She wanted to talk to Frederick about Neva's accusations, she really did. She wanted to keep seeing him, to stay happy a while longer. Avoiding the inevitable shame, if Neva's accusations were true, was high on her wish-list, too. But she was also terrified that she'd gotten everything all wrong, that she was just a local piece of tail, something that Frederick collected along his travels like someone else might collect postcards.
Lucy got up from the chair beside the phone and went to the kitchen, intending to start making dinner, but forgot her intended task and ended up pacing the apartment for several minutes before making her way back to the chair again.
She realized that she was gnawing on the nail of her pinky finger, a habit she had gotten rid of long ago. Lucy wiped her damp finger on the hem of her shirt, then pulled a sock in progress out of her knitting basket. She nearly stuffed it back in when she realized what she held.
It was the patterned sock that she was making for Frederick. She didn't know if he would hold her to her promise to make him a pair to match the ones she had worn on their first dinner date, but she'd decided to start a pair anyways. She'd peeked at his shoe size one morning when he was shaving to figure out what size to make. Knitting something for Frederick was like being close to him even when he wasn't there. But she'd been so busy lately, she hadn't made much progress.
Lucy pulled out the sock pattern she'd drawn and started knitting. Holding the soft, colorful yarn in her hands and making small repetitive motions with her tiny wooden needles, she soon felt, if not better, at least less awful.
She worked three rows and scowled at the sock, trying to find the mistake she was sure was hiding somewhere since the current row didn't match up to the previous one. The sudden jangleof the phone ringing startled Lucy so badly that she nearly stabbed herself with a knitting needle.
Lucy gasped, dropped her knitting and answered the phone.
"Lucy! How's my beautiful girl?" asked Frederick, happiness suffusing every word.
"Fine, thanks. Are you finished for the day? Can we see each other soon?" Lucy asked.
"What's wrong? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. But..." The phrase 'we need to talk' was on the tip of Lucy's tongue, but she realized that sounded too much like a segue into a breakup speech. "I have some questions. Everything is moving so fast, I was hoping to sit and talk for a while tonight."
"Sure! Of course. But you should know that I'm a better listener when you're wearing nothing... at... all," said Frederick, the last words deep and sonorous.
Despite her anxiety, Lucy chuckled. "Would you come to my place when you're done?"
"I might not be finished for a couple more hours. You sure you don't want to meet me here?"
Lucy was sure. If things went badly, she didn't want to have to drive home. The winding rural roads were a challenge on a good day. After dark and with tears streaming down her face, Lucy would be in real danger. "Here, please."
Frederick agreed and said his goodbyes.
Lucy sat down with her sock again. She'd only done a few stitches when the silence in the apartment threatened to deafen her as she waited for Frederick to arrive. She put some music on the stereo, then sat down to wait.
Two inches of sock, one and a half cups of tea, and four cookies later, Lucy heard tires crunching in her gravel driveway. Her heart rate increased by several dozen beats per minute and she felt panic threatening to swamp her. Lucy closed her eyes and exhaled through pursed lips a couple of times. By the time Frederick knocked on the door, she had composed herself.
When Lucy answered the door, Frederick stood on the landing with one hand behind his back and the other resting casually on her railing.
"Hello, beautiful," he said, producing a small bouquet of wildflowers with a flourish.
"Aw, for me?" Lucy said despite her trepidation. "Come on in." Lucy hurried ahead of Frederick and into the kitchen. The flowers needed to be put in water, and she did not intend to touch Frederick until after they had talked.
"I'm having tea and cookies. Would you like some? Or I could open some wine," Lucy called from the kitchen. She had one eye on the small vase she was filling with water and the other on Frederick as he took off his shoes. She loved watching him move, loved soaking up his rare combination of strength and grace. She wondered if tonight would be the last time she'd get to see it in person.
"I'm fine, thanks," Frederick said as he sat on the couch, one arm resting along its back.
When she had run out of excuses to stay in the kitchen, Lucy took one final deep breath and walked into the living room. She sat on the couch, facing Frederick, but put her feet on the couch and wrapped her arms loosely around her lower legs. She wanted a much sturdier barrier to get through this conversation. Shins for a shield would have to do.
"So Neva came to talk to me at the end of the day yesterday," Lucy began.
"Ah," said Frederick. "And...?"
"And she said some things about us. About our relationship. I realized that we never really talked about what we were doing. And I had some questions."
"What do you want to know?"
"Are you screwing anyone else?" Lucy blurted, instantly ashamed. She put her hands over her face. "Sorry, that's not quite what I meant."
"No," said Frederick firmly. "I'm not screwing anyone else. I'm not seeing anyone, or flirting. Nothing." He put his hands over hers and gently eased them away from Lucy's face. "There's only you," he said softly.
Lucy searched his eyes, trying to suss out if he was telling her the truth.
"Only you," he repeated.
She believed him. "Thank you. I'm sorry, it's just that we never said anything one way or the other, and then Neva said all this junk, and I can't think clearly around you," Lucy babbled.
"Are we good?" he asked. Lucy flashed to the last time he'd asked her that. Hands on bodies, mouths on mouths, clothes flying. Focus, Lucy.
"There's more. Worse." Lucy rested her chin on her knees and wrapped her arms tighter around her legs.
"If you try to make yourself any smaller, you'll disappear. Whatever it is, Lucy, I want to at least try to sort it out. But I can't unless you tell me."
Lucy stared hard at her ankles, speaking in a slow, flat voice. "Neva said that I was nothing special. That you make a point of having a girl like me, or a couple of them, on every movie set. That you think of it as good publicity to spread yourself around."
From the corner of her eye, Lucy saw Frederick stiffen. She risked a glance at his face. His jaw was tight and his eyes were blazing, but not in a good way.
Lucy scrunched her eyes tight. She'd exposed his secret. She'd shamed him. He was furious at her. He was going to get up and storm away any second.
"Goddamn woman," Frederick muttered. Lucy cringed, wondering if he meant her or Neva.
"Lies," he said so sharply that Lucy jumped. "Lucy, look at me." He put two fingers under her chin, lifting her face to his. Lucy, hope flickering within her, looked.
"Every word that Neva told you, every fucking word, was a lie."
Lucy blinked.
"I have had girlfriends before. I've even had the odd one night stand," he said, abashed. "But not many. Almost none when I was on location. And you, Lucy, are not publicity. You are not part of the job, and you are certainly not 'nothing special'," he said.
With every word he spoke, Lucy grew. She released her death grip on her ankles, straightened her back, and felt a terrible weight leave her chest, leaving only lightness behind.
"There's no-one like you, Lucy. Never has been and never will be." Frederick put his hands on her cheeks and kissed her forehead so hard she wondered if he'd left a dent. Lucy's eyes welled.
"You're sure?" Lucy asked. She looked up at Frederick, his face blurry through fresh tears.
"Positive. Things are so easy with you, I forget that we don't know each other that well yet." Frederick wrapped his arms around her and rested his forehead against hers. Lucy gave a small nod of agreement, not yet trusting herself to speak.
"We'll spend more time talking, starting tonight."
Lucy nodded again. The motion made the tears on her cheeks wobble. She wiped them away with the cuff of her long-sleeved tee-shirt, then grimaced at the mess.
"You need a clean shirt before we talk," said Frederick.
"I think I do," Lucy replied, finding her voice again. "You should help me take it off. Then we'll talk."
Frederick's hands eased under the hem of her shirt and slid it up inch by inch. Lucy raised her arms and he pulled the garment over her head. Frederick's face went soft as his eyes fell to Lucy's lacy white bra.
"My clean shirts are in the bedroom."
"We should go there."
* * * * *
Lucy took both Frederick's hands and, locking her gaze to his, followed as he walked down the hall backwards towards her bedroom. She stood with him at the side of the bed for a moment, basking in her relief. He didn't have a girl in every port. She wasn't some perverse public relations stunt. He said there was no-one like her.
With that thought, she kissed him, his lips soft and warm against hers. The kiss was gentle and unhurried, echoes of the fragile moment they had just passed through rebounding in Lucy's mind. After a long moment, Frederick pulled Lucy down to the bed, but kept them sitting upright. He kissed her ear, her neck, her bare shoulder, taking his time and landing each kiss like he meant it. Lucy ran her hands through Frederick's thick curls, taking the time to feel its texture and bounce, and its softness behind his ears and at the nape of his neck.
When Frederick's kisses reached Lucy's cleavage, he reached behind her and undid her bra. He eased it off her as if it was made of spun sugar and laid it on the bed beside her. His kisses worked their way down her breast. He tasted her nipple like it was a rare exotic fruit meant to be savored. Lucy's nipple went hard inside his warm mouth, pleasure rippling from it as he moved his tongue against it.
Lucy put her hand on Frederick's thigh. His quadriceps were hard as granite under her hand, bunching and flattening as he moved his head in his attentions to first one breast, then the other. Lucy decided that Frederick had worn his navy-blue button-up long enough. She ran her fingertips over the bare chest exposed after opening each button.
Once all the buttons were open, Frederick sat up. He waited until he saw that Lucy was watching him, then rolled his shoulders back and eased the fabric away from his body inch by aching inch. He lay his shirt on top of Lucy's bra, then put his arms around her and kissed her, this time with some heat.
Lucy shifted her weight, indicating that she was ready to lie down. Frederick followed. They lay side-by-side on top of Lucy's lightweight summer blanket, hands roaming each others bodies as thoroughly as cartographers trying to memorize the landscape.
A sense of rightness washed over Lucy. She was enjoying this tender side of Frederick. She'd enjoyed the passionate side, too, but today's sentimental, lazy make-out session was exactly what she needed just now.
Frederick opened the button of Lucy's jeans and slid his hand just below the elastic of her panties. Lucy decided that she could stand it if things got a bit less tender soon. She wordlessly told Frederick of this by squeezing the hard heat at the front of his khakis. He rolled her onto her back and undid her jeans the rest of the way, kissing her just below her navel. Lucy lifted her hips and Frederick pulled her jeans down, kissing and nipping the freshly exposed skin as he went. With a dramatic flourish, he yanked her jeans and panties off completely, then added them to the growing pile of discarded clothing.
Frederick climbed back onto the bed between Lucy's bare legs. She shivered in anticipation as Frederick's kisses drew lower and lower on her belly. He nudged her legs apart and Lucy gasped as he made contact right between them. His tongue and lips moved slowly, so slowly, between her folds. Everywhere he touched felt hot and swollen when he moved on. The slight rasp of his five-o'clock shadow made her feel even more sensitive. When he pressed a fingertip into her opening, she cried out. Lucy arched her back as a miniature orgasm rippled through her.
"Already?" said Frederick, resting his chin on her pubic bone. He looked up at her, his brow wrinkling, making him look somehow boyish, if one didn't count his still-moving hand between her thighs. "I was hoping to take a very, very long time about this."
"It was little. Maybe there's more."
"I will look long and hard," Frederick promised. Lucy felt herself heating up again already just at his words.
Frederick stood up and pushed his pants down, then stepped out of them and left them carelessly on the floor. Lucy rolled to the edge of her bed and pulled open the drawer of her nightstand. She took a condom from her copious collection. She still had plenty, but it no longer looked like a lifetime supply. Frederick stayed standing and waited as Lucy dressed him for the occasion. She bit her lip, still in wonder over the size of him.
Lucy looked up at Frederick, who was standing with his feet apart. She took in his broad shoulders, his perky pecks, his six-pack abs, and the V of muscles pointing to the evidence of his arousal. He was wonderful to look at. She thought maybe she'd be happy to just gaze at him for ages. Then he gathered her in his arms and lay on top of her, the tip him teasing its way to her opening. Nope, this was better.
He slid barely inside her, then eased back. He did it again. She ached for more, but he kept tormenting her with just a little. She pushed against him, asking him with her body to go further. He went a bit deeper, but maintained his frustrating pace. This was the first time he'd purposely held himself out of sync with her.
"Please," she moaned when she could take it no longer, her hands pressed against the small of his back.
They both groaned with relief when he buried himself completely inside her. All tenderness and restraint gone, he moved furiously and she blessed him for it. Lucy eagerly matched his wild movements as she let her desire take the lead. Starting slow made the highs seem even higher, Lucy thought, as she let herself be pushed towards her peak. A little more, a little more and she was crying out again, much longer and louder than she had the first time. Frederick's grunt of satisfaction started before Lucy had finished hers. He pressed himself as far into Lucy as he could go, which was just fine with her. At last, he dropped his head to the pillow beside Lucy's and lay panting beside her ear.
"No one," he said. "There's no one like you."
* * * * *
After streaking to the kitchen for two glasses of ice water, Lucy was tucked stark naked into bed beside Frederick, feeling more content than she could ever remember.
"That was a good talk," she joked.
"I told you we don't talk enough. We need to talk until you're sick of me, remember?" he said, kissing her on the nose.
"But seriously," said Lucy, "I hardly know anything about you. I know more about your movie characters than I do about you."
"And I don't even have any movies to go on with you," he replied.
"Where should we start?"
"At the beginning, of course. Where did you grow up?"
Lucy and Frederick talked late into the night. Lucy told Frederic about growing up in a big city in Canada. Frederick surprised her by telling her that his childhood in a big city in England was not that different, except that Frederick had gone to a fancy private school. Lucy told Frederick about her awkward first kiss and he responded with a silly story about his first—fake—kiss during a play at his all-male school.
"How exactly do you fake a kiss?" Lucy asked. Frederick responded by putting his arm so far around Lucy that his hand reached around her head and covered her mouth. Lucy laughed into his fingers as he gave the back of his knuckles a dramatic smooch.
"You have to stand sideways, of course, so that the audience can't see your hand."
"At least you got to play the boy."
"Who says I did?" he teased.
They talked about their families and found a few more similarities: they were both only children and had both lost a parent in the last few years.
"I lost my dad to a heart attack two years ago last spring," Lucy said. "He knew he had heart trouble, he knew that he'd already outlived his own dad, but he didn't do a damned thing to take care of himself," Lucy fumed. "It's a big part of why I'm a runner. I'm determined to take care of myself." Except for the days she had cookies for dinner because her heart was torn in two.
Frederick murmured his condolences. "My Dad drank himself to death four—no, five—years ago, now," he said, making Lucy gasp with sympathy. "He was a high-functioning alcoholic for decades. Held down a job, raised me, made my Mum laugh, all that. But he did it all completely sloshed."
Lucy took Frederick's hand in her own, pressing it to her collarbone.
"He sobered up at the end, but not until after he was in liver failure. He was trying to get approved for a liver transplant when he took a turn for the worse and never recovered."
"I"m so sorry," Lucy murmured, kissing his fingers.
"He was a good man. A good man," Frederick insisted. "He just had a problem he couldn't get hold of, and refused to ask for help."
"I understand," said Lucy. She'd seen enough patients who had injured themselves while drunk or high that she'd wanted to learn more about addictions, and had done some research. "It's a disease," she said.
"Yes, exactly," he said, relief in his eyes. "Of course, that doesn't stop me from refusing to get drunk, ever."
"I've noticed that I've never seen you drink so much that I was worried about you driving," said Lucy, her memories suddenly arranging themselves around this new piece of information.
"It's part of what drove me, though, to push myself as hard as I could, in whatever I pursued."
"How so?"
Frederick was silent for a while. "I loved my father, but I didn't want to be anything like him. I thought that if I followed my passion instead of a paycheck, if I could make a living doing what I love, I would be happy enough that I wouldn't want to drink."
"I get that," she replied. "And you don't want to just be happy, you want to be the best you can be because..."
"You don't want to disappoint him," Frederick finished.
"Exactly!"
"I should have known you'd understand. You're amazing, Lucy," Frederick said, swinging himself over top of her, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.
"You're pretty incredible yourself, Frederick." She lifted her chin for a kiss. He gave her one. And another. And then they were done talking for a long while, banishing the heaviness of their exchange with the raw communication of their bodies.
* * * * *
Despite her drowsiness, Lucy insisted on staying awake despite being tucked into to bed. She wanted to talk to Frederick at least a little longer. She pulled on a big t-shirt—the same one Frederick had borrowed after spilling wine on himself, which he had returned smelling better than ever. She hoped that wearing a nightie of sorts would help her protect herself against temptation. There was one more topic that she wanted to cover tonight.
"Relationships," she said. "I'm not asking for a complete list or anything, just an idea of, I dunno, how long they tend to last, or how you meet women, maybe."
Frederick put a hand behind his head, showing off his strong arm and chest in a most distracting manner. She suspected he'd done it on purpose.
"Early days were boring. All boy's school and all," he said, stifling a yawn. "Art school, though, I had some fun," he said with a grin so naughty that Lucy felt a pang of jealousy.
"Art school?"
"All kinds of arts. I was a theater major."
"Oh, right. Anyone serious?"
"Not really. Six months was my longest, but she was offended that I was planning to pursue a career in film. It was less pure, she thought, than stage acting. So that fell apart." He yawned widely, then pulled Lucy a little closer.
"And after you graduated?"
"I bounced around, following the work. Went on a lot of first dates and a few seconds."
Lucy looked expectantly at him.
"Four months, that time. Then we both left to work on other projects."
"Surely you've had something last more than a few months?"
"Twice. Three years with one woman. We might have made it if my father hadn't died. It was like my entire life went into a cocktail shaker, and when I came out, I wasn't the same man anymore, so that relationship fizzled. And the other one lasted a year and a half. Ended a year ago, just about."
"What happened with her?"
"We got along well, we wanted the same things, everyone said we were perfect for each other, but we bored each other to tears. Everything was just so serious." He turned to look at her and ran his thumb across her lower lip. "But you, sweet Lucy, are never, ever boring."
Her heart swelled. Handsome face, killer body, and a romantic, too? She must have been really, really good in a past life.
"Which one was the angry motorcycle crash?" she asked, thinking of the scar she'd seen on his knee the day they met.
"The four-month. After art school."
Lucy was relieved. Practically ancient history. She snuggled lower into the bed.
"What about you?" he asked.
"Me? Oh, there's not too much to tell." Lucy considered her romantic hits and misses. Mostly misses. "I dated a little in high school. Mine was co-ed, of course. But nothing serious until university. One lasted half a year, the next a couple of years. It was like you said, we got along well enough, but we grew apart. We kind of stayed together out of habit for a while, then finally pulled off the bandage and ended it. We're still friendly, though."
Frederick narrowed his eyes a little. "How friendly?"
"We see each other at conferences and re-certification stuff once in a while. We sit together during lectures. Last time I saw him, his wife had just had their second baby."
"That's more like colleague-acquaintances. Not friends," said Frederick emphatically. "Okay, so you're just experienced enough that I know you're desirable, but not so experienced that you've become jaded. Perfect," he announced.
"Well, only a little bit jaded," Lucy admitted. "There was one more. Kind of recent. Short, but an absolute disaster."
"Where did you meet him?"
"Work. Stupid, stupid thing to do, I know. But he worked in the clinic that specialized in post-joint replacement people, and I worked in the general clinic, so we worked at opposite ends of the building. It was good for a while. I thought we could get serious down the road."
Lucy pulled the covers up until they covered her to her collarbone.
"But?" Frederick prompted.
"I thought everything was fine. Then one morning, I decided to surprise him with a cup of good coffee that I'd bought on my way into work. I walked into his office and literally found him with his pants down. Not only was he cheating on me, but the woman bent over his exam table was his boss, and mine."
"Oh, Lucy,"
"Tell me about it! And then she pulls her skirt back down and chases me out into the hallway. She started shrieking at me like it was my fault, like I was the one who was the cheating hussy."
"Ouch."
"The worst part though?" Lucy said, tears threatening to spill down her face yet again. "She was right. They'd been a thing for months before he took up with me. Everyone in the whole place knew about him and the boss except me. I was a laughingstock for ages. It's a big part of why I left and came here."
Being away from the scene of the crime had helped Lucy to ignore the memory of the scandal she'd inadvertently caused. She thought she was getting past it all. But telling Frederick the story instantly brought back the familiar feelings of losing the respect of people she liked and attracting attention because of it, of losing control of her own life, and of all the shame and vulnerability that came along with it.
"My poor Lucy," Frederick said, gathering her in his arms. He kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry he hurt you." He smoothed her hair and brushed away her tears with gentle hands. "But I'm not sorry, too. If it hadn't been for him, I wouldn't have met you."