Tomcat

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Ann could keep her damned lipstick. There was no way in hell, Tommy was going to press one-hundred and eighty pounds. It started out ok, but then her arms started quivering so badly, Jilly and Taz had to step in and rescue her; lifting the bar from her hands before she dropped the weights and busted a couple of ribs.

Ann shrugged. “Always next time,” she said, without prejudice.

Tommy sat up and wiped a towel over her face. “Bitch.”

Tomas would be disappointed. He would love a crack at Ann; use Tommy's hands to hold Ann's face to the task.

Tomas was in the back of Tommy's head. Years ago, they called it a “split personality” but now they got some fancy name for it: Dissociative Identity Disorder. No matter! Like it or not, Tommy lived with a guy, and like most guys, he could be a pain in the ass. Only difference was, she couldn't dump him simply by changing the locks!

“Shower-up, girls,” Ann said, “time for a cold drink!”

“Hey, Billy! Our usual!” Ann unabashedly shouted it across the busy room.

The rotund little blonde man behind the counter looked up with frazzled eyes. It was just ahead of the lunch hour and the restaurant was already filling up. He wore a tight apron that made him look like a bag of white flour. Ann held up a hand, fingers spread wide to indicate five cocktail classes. Billy nodded, smiled and picked up a glass pitcher from the shelf behind. He raised it; toasted them. Ann bobbed her head in agreement.

They bulldozed into the crowded restaurant, sidestepping men who turned to gawk at the sinewy legs, strappy high heels and body-clinging short skirts. The girls always attracted attention whenever the five of them were together, and there wasn’t one of them who didn’t get a buzz in a herd of interested men.

The “usual” was a jug of tangy margaritas served up in iced cocktail glasses. Ann hurried past, out to the street-side patio, to see if their favorite table was available, while the rest paused to hang up jackets and stop by the bar. Tommy spotted her favorite waitress and placed an order for a vegetable tray: nibbles while they sipped their margaritas. The food preparations and drinks confirmed, the girls weaved their way out between the tables and stepped down onto the inter-locking brick. Ann was shuffling her chair under the table, dropping her bag to the floor; the sunlight slanting across her raven-hair, so black that Tommy could see purple highlights and had an immediate pang of lonesome.

It didn't happen often anymore; but once in a while, a gesture from Ann, an expression, a turn of phrase; and unexpectedly something would shift inside Tommy's head. She had long ago given up trying to decipher her feelings toward Ann, just put it down to Tomas, reacting.

Ann Layton had been the boss for many years, plus a close friend. When Tommy was younger, and more impressionable, she wanted to be just like Ann: stridently beautiful, elegant, and equally at home at the Opera House or swapping colorful jokes with the garbage men on Wednesday mornings when they emptied her cans. Tommy humped a shoulder: Her and Ann... more like Bozo the Clown and the First Lady!

Tommy slipped in beside Ann, her back to the street. Taz and Sharon took the opposite side, and Jilly moved in at the end.

This was their weekly get-together. It was a warm day, late spring. The sun felt good on Tommy's bare limbs and her body was energized from the workout. She was anxious for a salty margarita and to share a pleasant hour with her friends.

Jilly leaned forward to slide out her chair. “What’s this?” she sounded off, her usually melodic voice, brittle as glass. “Someone’s left their trash.” Her auburn hair swept forward, covering a freckled complexion as she reached down to lift a magazine from beneath the table.

“Tempo Magazine,” Sharon read over Jilly’s shoulder. “What's Tempo Magazine? Something about music?”

“I’ve seen it around town,” Tommy said. “But never read it. It’s for teens, I think.”

“No, not really.” This was from Ann: “Tempo is what they call an alternative lifestyles newspaper.”

“Is it pornogra...?” Tommy cut herself short. Billy had arrived with the sweaty jug of Mexican libation plus a tray of celery sticks, mushroom caps, broccoli and carrots with a spicy, no-cal dip. He set down his tray and Jilly helped pass the glasses as he filled them with frothy lime-green. Jilly set one in front of Taz who eyed it like it was a lab specimen. Taz wasn't much of a drinker, not even coffee. She would leave her drink untouched for the next hour, until everyone was readying themselves to leave, and then, reaching down for the glass, would upend it, swallowing the tequila in one gulp.

Taz was young, just twenty-three, unmarried, and likely to stay that way.

Sharon was divorced, with a young daughter.

Jilly and Tommy were both struggling.

Ann had married well: Big money, and plenty of it. Jack Layton had been a career-minded civil servant, was well liked at City Hall, and on the way up. Many of his colleagues were surprised when he just up and quit. He went into hock to buy a small trucking company, then he landed a snow removal contract with the City. Next had been a truck repair depot... to service his trucks? Nope! Once again, he contracted to service the City's fleet of buses. The whole thing smacked of favoritism but everyone liked Jack. He was a winner and everything he touched turned to green.

Jack founded the Business and Convention Bureau and was turning the City's convention center into a money-maker. Shortly after, he met Tommy's boss and the story was, Ann swept him off his feet. They married, bought an apartment overlooking the Park and now entertained at their ski lodge in New England. Ann took great delight in telling how, after the marriage ceremony, she had straddled Jack in the back of the limousine. She had been surprised to find she had married a prude, but in her words, “screwed him anyway!” That was Ann!

Prudish or not, Jack Layton didn't let love and commitment get in the way of success. Barely two years after saying “I do,” Jack won a seat on city council and now rumors were rampant: At the end of the current term, he had his sights set on the mayor's chair. And not many were betting against him.

Billy's eyes fell on the magazine.

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry,” he spluttered as he reached for it. “Let me take that away.”

“Leave it, buster!” Ann slammed a fist on the magazine, hard, and Billy withdrew as if touched by a hot wire.

“Ann?” Tommy asked, after Billy had slunk to his bar. “What’s up with the magazine?”

There was a spark in Ann's eye and her lips were skewed in a tight, wry smile. “You mean to tell me you’ve... never... read... Tempo?” she said in a measured beat that sounded like a busted blender. Then she nodded in the direction of Billy’s retreat. “Probably belongs to that little queer. Bet he was leafing through it on his break.” She stretched for the magazine, pulling it across and, after taking a sip of margarita, said: “Gather ‘round... your education is about to begin. Today’s lesson will be found in the classified section.” And she flipped to the back pages and read aloud, “BUSINESS PERSONALS – AVAILABLE FOR ADULT WOMEN.”

There was a collective giggle, except Taz; she looked away, bored. Tommy glanced about to see if anyone at a neighboring table could overhear.

“YOUNG MEDICAL STUDENT WILL PERFORM PELVIC EXAMINATIONS.” Sharon started choking on her margarita and that got the rest of them snorting like a bunch of hooty-owls. The girls recharged their glasses and nudged closer to hear Ann read... IN OR OUT CALLS. LATEX GLOVE OPTIONAL. $80 CALL BARRY @ 368-4582.”

“What?” Tommy squawked. “Is this guy for real?” But everyone was chattering away and her question was ignored.

“Sh. Sh-h-h-h!” It was Ann trying to quell the din. She reached under the table and squeezed Tommy's bare knee, sending her to a special place. “Keep your voices down,” Ann scolded. “Ok. Now listen, Jilly?” Ann looked along the table. “This one’s for you.”

“HUSBAND NOT UP TO SPEED? SUPER-MANNY TO THE RESCUE. READY, WILLING AND AMPLE. CALL 325-6691.”

“Crap, Annie,” Jilly swore haughtily, throwing her arms about her head, elbows crossed. “Are you suggesting I’m not getting enough at home?”

“No!” Tommy jeered. “She’s implying you’re not getting anything at home!” This brought a convulsion of embarrassed laughter and Jilly reached across and bonked the bill of Tommy's ball cap with her spoon. But it really wasn’t such an idle quip: Tommy wasn't getting any at home either. And she doubted very much if any of them were.

“Ok. Loosen up.” It was Ann again. “Here’s another gem: FUN LOVING GUY WANTS TO PAMPER YOU. JACUZZI, MASSAGE, HOT OIL. BRING YOUR OWN WINE. EARLY TWENTIES, NICE BUILD AND FEATURES. $160 PER SESSION. CALL CORY 656-1547.” And Ann squeezed Tommy's leg again. Tommy went a little light-headed. Her son’s name was Cory and the age would be right; Cory was twenty-one.

For a very brief second, Tommy envisioned her son rubbing oil into the hide of some indecent fat woman and fibbing about how pretty she looked. Tommy squirmed in her seat, the heat rising in her thighs. But then, she forced herself to think; Cory was enrolled in college, 700 miles to the south-west. Tommy berated herself for being so stupid. Ann’s voice broke through her thoughts:

“And here’s one for the adventurous: DILDO-DEMO. LARGE SELECTION OF APPLIANCES. TRY BEFORE YOU BUY. MOTHER-DAUGHTER DISCOUNT. BONNIE 326-9578.”

“Mother, daughter discount? Oh, God. That's it! That's too sick!” Sharon retreated, disgusted.

“Now, now,” Ann consoled her, reaching out to pat her hand. “Somebody has to teach the little darlings the fine art of self-gratification. You can’t expect us moms to do everything.”

Tommy laughed at Ann’s off-color humor. She could have them howling, once she got started. But Sharon wasn't about to be placated. She pushed her chair out with the backs of her knees and stood. “I have to get back to the office,” she announced firmly, but without malice. There was a noticeable shift as the men were drawn to the sight of her moving toward the door, the folds of her silk skirt swaying about her legs like a bell; Sharon's calves knotted and bunched as she mounted the steps.

The girls took her desertion with good humor and, as Ann read another ad, Tommy's mind began to drift: Cold wine, hot oil and a long, sensual massage. God, she would love that; especially after a brutal workout.

The girls were cackling outrageously again and Tommy tried to hide the fact that she’d missed the joke. She had been dreaming of strong hands plying her neck and shoulders. Of muscles being stretched and kneaded. And wondering what her son’s namesake might look like.

Tommy had always liked the name, Cory. On one hand it seemed to impart strength and yet, on the other, it implied intelligence and understanding. Tommy wondered about this new Cory. Did he share those same traits with her son? Then she was scolding herself, mentally. She would never have the nerve to call to find out. But all the same, Tommy caught herself scanning up the page. God, where was it. There were so many ads. Then her eyes finally focused in: “Call Cory, 656-1547.” Six, fifty-six, fifteen, forty-seven, Tommy repeated the number to herself, memorizing it. I'm an i***t, she thought!

It took a couple of days before Tommy finally worked up the courage to dial the damned number. She struggled between guilt and her feelings of self-respect, telling herself over and over that she was an attractive middle aged woman who shouldn’t be entertaining thoughts of a younger man, particularly one who was expecting to be paid for the privilege of rubbing her body down with baby oil.

But images kept barging in: How would the kid look? The color of his hair? The sound of his voice? The touch of his hand? What will he do to me? Will he expect something in return... besides the money? Was this anxiety worth one hundred and sixty bucks? Christ no!

Tommy found herself sitting in front of the telephone, struggling. Again. For the tenth time. She picked up the receiver and stalled, put it back down; what will I say to him? Her hand floated above the phone. “Damn!” she swore. Just don’t think about it anymore. Dial the stupid number and if it goes badly, I can hang up! Simple! Tommy had convinced herself, and with a rush, snatched up the receiver and held the cool plastic to her forehead as she punched in the number. Tommy put the receiver to her ear just as the line connected and was already reaching out with her other hand to disconnect. He beat her to it, picking up on the first ring.

“Hello? This is Cory.” His youthful voice floated into Tommy's overly-steamed brain. She hesitated and he called out again, “Hello?”

“Cory?” She heard her voice, sounding hollow in her head, like she was listening to a recording of herself. “My name is Tomasina, but call me Tommy, it's easier.” It was a phrase she had spoken all her adult life and she was pleased, now, that it rolled off her tongue without getting hung up on uncooperative lips. And just saying it, steadied her nerves. Tommy pushed on: “Cory. I saw your ad. I was just curious.”

“Tommy. I love that.” He tested her name on his tongue and sounded genuine with his complement. “Thanks so much for calling, Tommy. Yes, I have a condo downtown, with a Jacuzzi. Nice view of the River. It’s a place where women can come and have a little private time, for themselves. I’m a trained masseuse. I’m very fit and I promise, you won’t be disappointed. Am I helping any?”

Tommy giggled nervously, sounding half her age, she thought. He had immediately identified her as a first-timer and was doing his best to belay her fears. “Yes,” Tommy answered, “you really are.” His polite tone and pleasant manner worked their magic and her heart-rate tracked back down into the normal zone.

“That's good,” he continued. “Very good. Just remember: This is all about you, Tommy, and what you’re comfortable with. You have complete control during the session. Now I don’t make appointments. When you want to visit me, just call. If I’m not available, I won’t pick up. It’s really very simple. How far away are you from the River?”

“About thirty minutes,” Tommy answered tentatively.

“Well Tommy, I would really like to meet you. I'm in the Davis Apartments, 55 Shores Boulevard. Do you know it?”

“Sure.” she replied and wondered if he could sense the noncommittal tone in her voice.

“Ok. When you get here, buzz Apartment 1508. Oh, and there’s guest parking. I’ll hold for you for the next hour. Please come, Tommy, I would love to see you.” And Tommy heard his phone rattle as he hung up.

She sat stupidly looking into the telephone receiver. Have I just made an appointment with a male prostitute? Married women don’t do this. Damn, I don’t have one hundred-sixty dollars. I can’t go traipsing off downtown to meet a strange man. God, Tommy thought... What the f**k am I going to wear? Her heart really started to pound.