Like a Fox on the Run, стр. 126
The ball was in his court.
“I think that was one of the problems between me and Chris.” She moved against him, but kept her eyes cast downward. “I don’t think he could ever understand where I came from. He never tasted the excitement of it all. He just never got it. Whenever we would talk about it, I could see it in his eyes. He would just get this faraway look and nod … ‘uh-huh … yeah … oh yeah … sounds awesome, hon!’ But he never understood. How could he? I was wrong to hold it against him for all those years … simply because he couldn’t.”
Her eyes came up to meet his, an undeniable hunger in them now. It was so powerful, so wanting, it almost scared him. “Nobody will ever understand us, but us, Tiger.”
He reached and touched her face. Her beautiful, womanly face. His desire for her was raging now. He tried to smile and be all Bogart frosty, but when he spoke, his voice was all wrong, cracking and a little high-pitched. “Is that such a bad thing?”
She looked at him now, hungrily, a wide-eyed sultry temptress. “Y’know, flyboy, there’s nothing more I’d like to do right now than rip your clothes off and have my way with you …”
“What’s stoppin’ ya?” A wicked, sideways leer spread across his face, more than fueled by the liquor, as he reached his arms around her and pulled her close.
“That’s not what I brought you up here for.” She reached behind her with both hands and took hold of his. Moving them away from her hips, she playfully slipped out of his grasp. She then turned, and keeping ahold of his right hand, began leading him toward the small bedroom, “C’mon. You’re gonna like this.”
“I was liking this just fine.” He allowed her to lead, trying to hide his disappointment at the interruption of his amorous intent.
The inside of the bedroom looked like something off the cover of one of those country-living webzines. The queen-size bed was covered with a thick down comforter, hand-sewn by her great aunt back in Kentucky. It was a patchwork of purples, magenta, fuchsia, lavender and mauve. An assortment of matching throw pillows of all shapes and sizes besieged the antique oaken headboard. Frilly, matching curtains covered the one widow, which faced out over the driveway in front of the garage. A small dresser stood along one wall. An attached mirror was flanked on one side by a centuries-old heirloom perfume tray and atomizer, and on the other by her grandmother’s mirror and brush. Old dolls and stuffed animals sat in chairs and on an old cedar chest positioned at the foot of the bed. On the wall was a framed souvenir picture they had taken one year while on a weekend getaway to Gatlinburg, at one of those places that specialized in period piece photos. They’d posed as a pair of rockers from the 1980’s. In it, he was wearing a shaggy wig, bandanna and low-waisted leather pants. She was dressed like that chick who wanted to be ‘like a virgin’ but had a real hard time achieving her goal.
He hated to be the one to break the uncomfortable silence. “So, what am I seeing here? Besides a model bedroom for Southern House and Home magazine?”
She laughed. “No, asshole.” She nodded toward the corner of the room shielded by the way the door opened into it. “Look there.”
It was hidden partially behind the door, but it took only a second to recognize it. He gasped in delight. “My old footlocker!”
He walked over and fell to his knees in front of it as if kneeling before an altar or shrine. Later footlockers would be injection-molded, hard plastic models, but in the first few years of the Great Rush, the original government-issued NASA models, due to high demand and immediate need, were made of primitive plywood, riveted together with metal corner strips. For the first spacers, it would become a status symbol. It was a distinctive piece of proof that you were there when it all began.
“You left it in my apartment when we broke it off. I figured you’d come for it one day, but you never did. Several times I wanted to call you and tell you to come and get it, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to part with it. It was like the most personal thing I had left from us … from you. I guess I thought I needed it more than you did.”
He froze in the middle of punching in the code on the old lock. He turned slowly back to her. “I’m glad you never made that call. We might not be here today if you had.”
She nodded, shuddering inside at the thought that he might be right. “Look inside,” she simply replied.
He turned and finished punching in the combination. There was an audible click and the footlocker lid popped open slightly. Tiger enthusiastically helped it the rest of the way.
“Holy shit!” was all he could say as he reached inside and pulled out the lone item inside.
“Think you can still wear it?” Lulah asked, as he held up the old, gray, canvas-like coat.
“I dunno,” he replied, still in awe as he studied it, turning it over in his hands.
It had been his first spacefarer’s coat, awarded to him by NASA and the Pilot’s Guild upon his completion of the trainee program. His journeyman’s rockets were still on the left chest, where they’d been since the day Captain James had pinned them on during his class’ graduation ceremony. Once more, he felt the pride surge through him as he ran his thumb lovingly over them. He then held