26/6 Rebecka Marley

Chapter 5

Rebecka Marley

I can take care of that with my clothes on

I was taking the bus home from my job of bussing dishes at Manitou's Supper Club. The weather is turning from cold winter to wet, cold early spring. I'm tired. We turned the place over about five times that Sunday.

I couldn't help but notice a young lady struggling to get on the bus with many bags of groceries. I got up and moved to the front to help her. While she paid her fare, I moved some of the bags to an empty seat across the aisle from me.

"Thank you, I don't know what I was thinking about buying all of this stuff in one trip," she said.

"Your welcome."

She extended her hand. 

"I'm Rebecka, and you are…"

"Richard, don't call me Dick."

She chuckled. 

"I don't suppose Rick isn't good either?"

"I prefer not."

"Listen, I don't know where you're getting off, but I'm leaving the bus on 18th street. Would you consider helping me carry this stuff home?"

"Sure. I could do that."

She settled in her seat. The 18th street stop was still a long way to go. She was of some indiscernible racial background. Rebecka could have been Hispanic, Native American, South Sea Islander, or Inuit. What she was, was exotic and sensual to a white kid like me. She was bundled in a long winter coat, so it was impossible to see her figure, but her face was angular with big brown eyes and full lips. Her nose was bridged, and her cheeks were flared just a bit. Her smile was luminous. 

When we got near her stop, I began gathering as many bags as I could. She nodded and picked up the two that were left. When we got to 18th St, she let me off first. Then she dismounted the bus, and I followed her. 

We didn't have far to go. Rebecka lived in a four flat in a mostly residential district about a half block from the bus stop. She set down the bags and began going through her backpack for her key.

"You don't have to haul this stuff up to my apartment, you know."

"It's okay I've got it this far I might as well take the stuff upstairs unless you don't want me to."

"No, I appreciate your help. I've got to get one of those carts. The baskets with wheels like a roller bag you travel with only they have room for groceries." 

At this point, she found her keys. We made our way up a rather narrow stairwell to her apartment door. She stopped and stared at me for a moment.

"Oh, I guess you'd rather I just put everything down and left. I get it. Security. Don't blame you," I said. 

I started to put the bags on the floor.

"No, no, no. I trust you. My question is, `how old are you?'

"Sixteen."

"Oh, my God! Your jailbait."

I laughed with her. 

"Yes, mam, I am. If you want to look at it that way."

She continued laughing with me as she opened the door.

"Come on in. I just wasn't sure if I should offer you a drink or soda."

"Wait a moment. How old are you?"

I was standing on the edge of her galley kitchen. The kitchen was too small for both of us. She started putting some things in the refrigerator and freezer.

"Old enough to be your older sister, smartass."

She pulled a can of coke out of the refrigerator and held it out for me.

"If you drink more than two, I'll have to ask for your keys."

"If I had a car?"

Gesturing me toward a couch in the living room area, Rebecka sat in a chair arranged in a conversation setting across from the sofa. We began with small talk. It was when I asked what she did for a living that the conversation became more intellectual rather than a stream of small talk.

"I teach Art at The Community College."

"How cool. I love looking at art, but I'm never sure what I'm looking at."

"What do you mean by that?"

"For instance, I'm looking at a painting that other people tell me is so great, and I think I don't see what is so fantastic about it."

She got up, walked to a large bookshelf arrangement she had on one wall. Taking some time to find and select a couple of books. She handed the books to me and then sat down next to me on the couch.

"Page through these and show me what you like."

It took a few minutes, but finally, I turned the book toward her.

"I like this one by Degas. I have seen some of his pictures in other books. I kind of like most of his stuff."

"Okay. First, his name is French. It's pronounced day gah not De gas. He's one of an influential group of painters that are called The Impressionists."

She turned the pages and offered me the book again.

"What about this one?"

"Yes, I like that one too."

"Why?"

It's a picture of people having a party. I can imagine myself in this situation."

"Okay, how about this one?"

"It looks like a house painter's drop cloth. It doesn't mean anything to me. It's just spilled paint."

"It's an American painter, Jackson Pollock. We class his work as abstract art. Generally, I think if the work doesn't move you, you don't understand it, it's not your fault. Maybe if you were to take a course in art appreciation, you might understand it better, but you may continue not to like it."

"Okay."

Do you have any talent for the arts?"

"Hell no. I can't draw a straight line."

She smiled at me. I can't lie. I liked it when she smiled, particularly when I made her do it.

"When I mean the arts, I'm talking about performance, music, sculpture, not just painting. Do you take photographs?"

"Not really. I've always wished I could draw, but I'm no good at it."

She thought for a moment.

"Would you like to learn?"

"Ya, sure."

"Okay, tell you what we could do. I owe you for being such a gentleman. What evening next week would you be available for dinner? After which, I will get you started on learning to sketch."

I thought for a moment. What was my work schedule?

"I could do it on Tuesday?"

"Tuesday, it is."

We chatted a little more. I think we both realized that it was already late. So Rebecka saw me at the door to begin my trip home. Just as I started out the door, she stopped me with a light hand on my shoulder and kissed me on the cheek.

"My knight in shining armor." 

Then the hand to my shoulder guided me out the door.

I went home and went to bed. I suppose drinking the cola with all of its caffeine may have made it difficult for me to fall asleep. However, I believe it was the feeling I got from being with an attractive, intelligent woman and the fact that she treated me like an adult. Besides, as we catholic's often say, I was having bad thoughts."

When the next Tuesday came, I made some lame excuse to my mother about an afterschool activity. She had her bridge club that evening. My Dad wouldn't worry if I didn't stay out too late. I killed time between the end of classes and my dinner date with Rebecka by doing the homework I needed to do for my classes the next day at the library. I was at the door of her apartment, building promptly at six o'clock. She buzzed me in.

When she opened the door, she was smiling.

"There you are. Come on in. I'll have dinner ready in a few minutes."

As I entered, the smell of cooking food prevailed over my first scent of her perfume. She was wearing some red pants that looked like they were from a two-piece pajama suit. The blouse was ivory colored and billowed. I looked down at her bare feet.

"Do you want me to take off my shoes?" I said.

"If it makes you feel more comfortable."

I took them off.

"Do you need any help?" I said.

"No, thank you. Do you cook?"

"I picked up some stuff working at the restaurant. I've helped with food prep from time to time."

"I'll bet your mother appreciates that."

"Mom, no. Nobody gets in her kitchen but her. Dad and I can warm up leftovers if she's not home. But other than that, I wouldn't dare touch anything in there."

There was a small drop leaf table that was pulled away from the wall. It was set with a complete service setting as I would do at the restaurant, including a wine glass.

I sat down at the dining table because I could watch and converse with her as she finished her cooking and plated our dinner.

She put the plate in front of me, sat down at her place, and nonchalantly poured us both a glass of red wine. The dish had a portion of chicken and pasta with a marinara sauce. On the side, she had fixed a mixed green salad with a creamy dressing.

"This looks delicious. Thank you."

"My pleasure. I'm so glad you got home okay the other night. It was so late. I'm sure you were tired."

I smiled.

"What's so funny?" she said.

"It's just that I was tired the other night. We had quite a crowd at the restaurant that evening. But I did have trouble sleeping right away."

"Really. Why is that do you think that?"

"I don't have to guess. Let's just say you made quite an impression on me."

She laughed so hard she had to put her fork full of food down the plate lest it spills.

"Oh my, am I going to be safe from your amorous feelings?"

"Yes, mam. My inexperience in matters of love provides me with enough fear that appears I'm paralyzed into a state of permanent gallantry. You are safe with me and from me, my lady."

If this sounds ridiculous coming from the mouth of a sixteen-year-old, you're right. I anticipated this conversation and concocted that response. Rebecka gave me the opening, so I let her have it.

She just stared at me for an uncomfortable moment. Then her expression brightened.

"That was brilliant. I'm impressed and flattered."

We turned to our food, which was fabulous.

We cleared the table. Fortunately, she never refilled my glass of wine, and I did not drink all of the wine she poured for me. Still, I was a little bit fuzzy-headed when I sat down on the couch after we finished doing the dishes. Rebecka went down the hall for a moment. When she returned, she had a paper bag. She pulled out a sketchbook, a box set of pencils, an eraser, and a pen-like object she called a smudging tool.

"Let's start with a few practice and hand training exercises."

She instructed me on how to hold the pencil, depending on the line I was trying to draw. I practiced drawing some shapes, circles, and lines of different thicknesses, both light and dark, depending on the pressure I put on the point. I learned when to sharpen the pencil and how to do it.

"You're doing pretty well."

"I'm doing better than I thought I would." 

"Okay, let's have you do something simple. Try sketching the magazine lying on the table."

Once I got the perspective lines drawn, and she pointed out the direction of the light. I began moving from the rough sketch to a more representative image by filling in the details and tried to shade in the subtle gradations of light.

"My goodness, it's ten o'clock," she said.

I looked at my work in the sketchbook.

"Ya, I should be going." 

I put the tools and the sketchbook in the bag.

"I should buy my own sketchbook and stuff, so I can work at home."

"No need that is my gift to you. Carry it with you at all times. To begin with, I suggest if you see something you want to sketch, take some photos of your subject from different angles. Then pick out the one you like and sketch from that. It freezes the direction of the light and eliminates the chance of the subject from moving and changing the angle."

"Thank you for getting me started. I really enjoyed this. I hope I can bring you what I do, so you can help me get better."

"No need to worry, my knight in shining armor. Do you want to come next Tuesday and we can work some more?"

I could have only dreamed that last part, but she was serious. When I got home, my mother wasn't back from her card game yet, and Dad had fallen asleep in his chair watching television.

The next morning my mother was scurrying about the kitchen fixing breakfast for my Dad and me.

"So, how did it go with your school club last night?" she said.

"It was great. I'm learning how to sketch."

I pulled the sketchbook out of my backpack and showed her my sketch of the magazine lying on the table. She glanced at it as she continued to work on the breakfast. 

"Why does it smell like perfume?" she said.

Okay, ah, I guess the girl sitting next to me might have been wearing too much."

So there we have it. I belong to this factitious Art Club at the school. I have an excuse to visit Rebecka as much as she'll tolerate me. I'm feeling good.

For the next few weeks, I have dinner with Rebecka every Tuesday night. After dinner and enjoyable conversation, she continues to teach me to draw. She looks at whatever I've done during the week, then I work on something while I'm there. Rather than be constantly looking over my shoulder while I draw, she often grades assignments or other work for her teaching position. 

I was getting ready to go home.

"How about I cook for you next week?" I said.

Her smile beamed.

"How nice. Do you want me to shop for the food, and you fix it?"

"No, I'll pick it up before I come over. Is there any way I can get in here earlier so I can have dinner ready when you come home ?"

She stared at me for a moment. Then she left the room and came back with a small ring with two keys on it."

"Don't lose em."

I smiled and took them.

"By the way, what do your parents think of your work?"

"My Dad doesn't say much, but my mom thinks it's cute that I'm learning something artsy."

"I'm sure your parents will be proud of your talent. You really do have a talent, you know. I'd like to meet them someday."

I paused and looked at the floor.

I looked up, and she had a confused look on her face.

"Richard, Your parents, know where you are spending your time on Tuesday evenings, don't they?"

"If this is the location for the High School Art Club, yes."

I sighed. Her face caved in with worry and fear

"Oh shit!"

"Look, I'm sorry…"

"Richard. I don't think you realize how bad this could look."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Whoa. Okay, can you tell them…"

"That's not going to work. How about if I tell them that you volunteered to help me because you saw my work and it showed promise. Otherwise, I have to admit I deceived them. It's going to look worse than it is."

"Okay, but they have to know that you're coming here. Enough with the High School Art Club. Does your high school even have an afterschool art club?"

"Yeah, but I'll be damned if I know when or where they meet."

I went home with the story that I was being tutored by a teacher who thinks I have promise. I deliberately told my folks this while they were trying to watch their favorite television program. They both appeared to listen, but I know they weren't. They both nodded when I asked if it was okay with them. I didn't feel it necessary to tell them I was doing this with a single woman in her apartment.

The next week I got to Rebecka's apartment a little after 4:30. I knew where everything was because I had helped with the dishes. I had a piece of salmon. I applied a rub of salt, pepper, and dry mustard. Then I put the fish in a dish with honey turning it every 15 minutes. I went to work on getting the asparagus ready for roasting in the oven. I painted the spears with olive oil and lightly sprinkled garlic salt on them. The rice I made with vegetable stock.  

I will admit to her that I bought the cherry tarts with buttercream frosting glaze on them. The head bartender helped me select the wine. He was kind enough, no make that brave enough, to give me a bottle.

"Is this that beautiful girl you brought to the club that night?"

"No. No, she went back to California."

"Too bad. She was a looker."

"Yes, she was."

I was setting the table when Rebecka got home. She marveled at what was going on.

"Tell me your folks know where you are?"

"Yes, they do, and they are fine with it." 

I might have overdone the enthusiasm, but she bought it. 

I'm not sure if Rebecka was trying to establish borders, but during dinner, I suddenly started hearing references to a guy named Rod. She wished Rod could cook and how lucky my girlfriend is because I do. I wasn't going to lie to her. So I told her my girlfriend loves my cooking. Since I considered Rebecka my girlfriend and she had just told me how good the dinner was, I wasn't lying.

That evening, I asked her if I could sketch her. She had consumed two glasses of the wine, so that and the relief that we weren't hiding what we were doing from my folks might have made her more inclined to submit.

"How do you want me to pose?"

I wasn't stupid enough to tell her the truth that my preference was for her to pose naked reclining on the couch.

"Why don't you sit on the chair and give me a three quarter look to work with."

While I worked to get the perspective sketched in, we talked. I wanted to know more about my competition.

"Tell me what Rod does?" I saw her eyes squint.

"He's a drama teacher at the college."

"Wow, he must be interesting." 

"He is a nice guy."

"Are you thinking about marriage?"

"God, I hope so. We've been dating for over a year. He's very protective of me."

"I'm going to ask this, but it's really none of my business. Are you open to living with him before you get married?"

"It's funny you'd ask that. He and I talked about it last weekend. He stayed overnight on Saturday."

She was looking at something in the kitchen, so she didn't see me flinch.

"He brought it up. I wasn't surprised. He had been staying over more and more. We go to the same place to work every day. And then, there would be someone to help carry groceries, so I wouldn't have to depend on the kindness of strangers."

She glanced at me. I was smiling, and I nodded.

"While I believe I can't be replaced. I understand the convenience it would afford," I said.

"I told him I would think it over."

"So, where are you right now?"

I could tell she was mulling it over.

"What do you think?"

"I think my girl and I are too young to make that decision."

"Richard!"

"Okay, I don't know the guy, but this much I do know. It's great if it makes the relationship better, but if it makes it worse, it makes it harder to separate. You'll still be working at the same place. I know I'm young, but I have been in love. Believe it or not. I've been hurt. So I know the risk."

She didn't look at me.

"Tell me about your...the girl hurt you."

I told her the story about Dedra. Before I could stop it from happening, I was crying. She got up from the chair, came to me, wrapped her arms around me, and hugged me to her breasts.

"

Quit. I can tell it's too painful."

"No, I've never told anyone how I really feel about that situation. It will do me good."

When I got more control, I finished the story.

"God, that is so sad. Does your present girlfriend know about this girl?"

Well, if it was true twenty minutes ago, It's still true. If only in my mind. 

"She thinks it's sad."

It was three weeks later. It was Rebecca's turn to cook. When I let myself into the apartment. I noticed at once several boxes were being loaded. There was no smell of cooking. The garnish in this cocktail was Rebecka had been drinking.

In the last couple of weeks, we had been on good terms. She didn't talk about Rod, nor did she ask me about my girlfriend. We talked about everything but our other relationships. My sketching was improving. She was encouraging me. She framed the sketch I did of her. Then she surprised me with a framed drawing she did of me.

"Fair is fair, My knight in shining armor."

But that night, there was a palatable pall in the room. She mumbled an unintelligible greeting through her wine-soaked consciousness.

I stood outside the kitchen area. She was uncorking another bottle. I saw an empty bottle in the recyclable barrel.

"Good evening, teacher?"

"I didn't cook. I ordered a Pizza from Lockland's." She was noticeably slurring her words.

"Shit, I didn't know that was fair. I would have done that weeks ago."

"God damn if you don't want it…" She was yelling at me

"Hey, you're upset. What's going on?"

"It's none of your business."

"Okay, would you prefer I leave."

She looked at me for a long time.

"No, don't leave. I need to be with someone. I guess I'm lucky you're here. I'm sorry I snapped at you."

She looked at me. Her body was weaving back and forth like she was having trouble keeping her balance.

"I'm moving," she said.

"I guessed." 

I turned to the open boxes and opened my arms.

"Yeah, I'm moving."

The buzzer for the entrance door raged in the background. 

"I'll get it."

"Wait." 

I turned. She waved a twenty-dollar bill at me. I took it down to the front door.

"Nineteen fifty," he said.

I got five bucks out of my wallet and gave it to him with her twenty.

I ran upstairs with our dinner.

She was slumped in the chair. The glass of wine was dangling in her hand at a dangerous angle.

"Honey," I said. 

Why I chose to be so familiar, I'm not sure. But she looked so sad and vulnerable

"Yes." She silly drunk grinned. 

"It looks like you might spill that wine."

"Oh." She looked like she just woke up. 

She put the glass on the table and gave me her drunken grin again. 

"Okay." 

"Are you going to take care of me?" she said.

"What do you say we eat while the pizza is hot."

"Great idea."

Evidently, she was hungry because she ate over half of the pizza, and some apple pie I found in the kitchen.

"We broke up," she said. 

"It was Rod's idea to move in together, and when I told him, I decided it wouldn't be a good idea. He got upset. We started to argue, and all of this crap came out about what he resented in our relationship and how I didn't appreciate him. And then I really cut the cord. I told him I enjoyed the company of one of my students a hell of a lot more than him."

She sighed. 

"It was the last thing I said to him."

I hesitated but then blurted out my juvenile thoughts

" So who is…"

"You, my knight in shining armor. You are the student I enjoy being with more than him. And you know what's really fucking sad? The separation over these last few days has convinced me that he wasn't a boyfriend as much as a bad habit. And that is my fault, not his."

She pointed at me with her arm extended. Crocking her finger, she summoned me to her side on the couch. I sat next to her. Putting her arm around me, she pulled me close to her. Her face was inches from mine.

"You know something. I am so close to just tearing off your clothes and fucking you. And I know you want that. I can see it in your eyes when we're together. But I can't do it. It's just so wrong for so many reasons."

Besides the embarrassment of an erection, I was shaking uncontrollably. The thought that this beautiful woman would take my virginity was undeniably exciting. And there we were. I could feel the warmth of her body. Her right breast was crushed against my chest. Her leg pressed next to mine. Her voice was breathy and her words were slurred

"Besides, I can't let you fuck me because it's my time of the month, you know. I'm a mess down there. But there is something I can do for you."

After pulled me down on the couch, she opened her blouse to expose her breasts, offered them to my lips. while I eagerly enjoyed my access to her, she zipped open my trousers and took my genitals in her hand."

When the desired result of all of this happened. She got up, rebuttoned her blouse, took my hand, and led me to the bedroom. Laying down in bed, she pulled me in next to her, spooned me, and either fell asleep or passed out. I couldn't tell the difference.

After a half-hour or so, I couldn't rouse her from her sleep, and I couldn't stay with her. So I slipped out of bed, made myself presentable, and went home. 

It was two days before I got the nerve to call her. She sounded cheerful enough, and she invited me over. 

When I got to Rebecka's, I found that she was definitely in the final stages of leaving. Initially, I thought she was just moving to another apartment in town. In fact, she was going to move out of state. I would later harbor the belief that women didn't break up with me; they just left the state to get away from me.

There was fresh coffee in the pot. We sat on the dining chairs and rested our cups on the floor. The table was being used as a packing station for boxes.

She told me about her new position at some school in the midwest I had never heard of, but it was more than one day's travel to get to it. Then she got uncomfortable.

"Listen, the other evening? I apologize for my condition. It isn't how I want you to remember me."

I thought to myself that apology or not, it would be hard for me to forget.

"To be honest, I don't remember much about it, but I was a lush. I might have said some things that were hurtful or embarrassing?"

That surprised me. The possibility of her blacking out never occurred to me.

"What's the last thing you remember?" I said.

She sighed. 

"Oh, I don't know."

"Look after you ate most of the pizza and some apple pie I found in the refrigerator, I helped you to your bed and..well, it appears you passed out. You didn't say anything to hurt my feelings or insult me. Mostly you just went on and on about you and Rod."

"Hum, I'm sorry."

"Look, you were hurt and angry. I get it. You don't have to be sorry for me."

We talked some more. Rebecka didn't promise to stay in touch. I wouldn't find out her phone number or address unless she gave it to me, and she didn't offer it. It was goodbye forever. It wasn't as bad as Dedra maybe because I never saw anything in the future with Rebecka. Or maybe, I was getting used to the pain of breaking up with someone who I liked. One unanswered question? Was she really that drunk? Or did she know what she was doing all along?

As time went on, I realized that I thought about Rebecka a lot. I got passed the almost having sex with a woman, not entirely mind you. My thoughts became more about the time we spent together. I valued what she taught me. It wasn't just that she opened my mind to talent I didn't know I had and the possibilities that presented. It wasn't just that she treated me like the adult I wanted to be. We had good times together. I missed that