Harold Stoneman was finishing a week of emotional turmoil. The high he'd gotten from those last few minutes on Saturday night with Margaret masked his fear of their relationship, any relationship. By Sunday morning he was already going over and over in his mind what their next night together would bring. Simply, Harold was absolutely terrified of intimacy, sex with a woman. Having never done it, he was somewhat unclear of just what was so frightening. Fear of failure to be sure, but he was convinced even if he "did it right" it would still be wrong. At certain points during the week he'd calm himself down with the notion that he would stay in control Saturday night, that she wouldn't come on so strong as to give him only two unacceptable options. But at other times, most times, he was sure she'd force him to be a man or show that he wasn't.
Harold did find that he was, in the pristine atmosphere of his store, confident around Margaret and happy, very happy. She made him feel good, special, manly. If only, he thought, their relationship could be just the way it was during these past few days, no more no less. But if he considered it for more than a moment, he would literally shudder, his hands would sweat, and his body would tighten.
"Jesus Christ," Harold said to himself. "What was I thinking?"
As it got closer to Saturday, Margaret noticed a change in Harold. He was starting to revert to her old boss, not her new... Margaret wasn't sure what she would have called him a few days ago, but whatever it was then, it was something else now. She searched her memory, but couldn't come up with anyone like Harold. Maybe I'm just making too much out of this she decided. He's a guy who's only gone out with a few women in his life and none in a long time, plus he's shy. What's important is I like him, I like being with him and I've been with enough men to be able to eventually put him at ease. It would be stupid to worry about this she concluded. She was so satisfied with her new found understanding of the situation that she wished it was Saturday evening instead of Friday afternoon.
Harold spent his Saturday at the store thinking about anything except Saturday night. He found himself reminiscing about his childhood, his time in the service and his parents. He finally focused on times he'd spent alone with his mother, recent times. He could see her sweet face in his mind's eye as clearly as if she were standing in front of him now. The most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, a mouth that uttered only the sweetest kindest words anyone had ever said to him. The ache he felt when she died hadn't even begun to subside; he couldn't even imagine it diminishing. Maybe didn't want it to. It had been less than a year since her sudden death from a heart attack and her passing had affected him far more than his father's death several years before. He wondered whether it was just the fact that he was much closer to his mother or that he had no one close to him left. Probably a little of both he decided. A thoughtful man, he wondered if his unusual attitude toward women had something to do with the mother/son relationship. He'd thought about that many times before, without any strong conclusions other than the fact that he'd often heard his mother make disparaging remarks about sex. Not about his father particularly, not to Harold specifically, and not much different than he'd heard from some of the gray panthers who worked at the store. Wouldn't it take more than that to make me this way? Hadn't millions of young boys heard far worse from their mothers without serious consequences? Maybe I'm turning around on this, he thought. I've got a date Saturday with a good-looking woman, he declared. He felt ready. Maybe.
At seven o'clock sharp Harold was at Margaret's door. In a moment she was standing in front of him, dressed in a fairly tight, rather short dark green dress and high heels. Based on Harold's rather formal attire for their dinner last week, she was going to make sure they were dressed compatibly. Sure enough, Harold had on a jacket and tie, although it was a sport jacket not a suit. Margaret took that as a sign Harold was more at ease. Truth was, Harold only had one suit.
They took the ferry and got to the Greenport Movie Theater in plenty of time for the seven-forty showing of "High Anxiety." The theater was filled, the movie was funny and Margaret alternately held on to Harold's arm or rested her head on his shoulder throughout the showing of the film. And for the most part Harold enjoyed the contact, as much for it's limited nature as for its romantic quality. At the completion of their time in the theater Harold was doing better than he had expected and Margaret was very hopeful. And the first words out of Harold's mouth didn't do anything to shake her faith.
"How 'bout a bite to eat?"
"Sounds great, Harold. Do you want to go somewhere where we can get a drink? I really don't care either way."
Harold mulled that over for a moment, trying to decide what impact alcohol would have on the situation. He first thought a drink or two would further relax him, but ultimately decided he liked just the way he felt now. They settled on a diner a few miles out of town.
Pie and coffee lasted a few less minutes than Harold had hoped. His plan was very basic; don't go inside Margaret's house If she kissed him last week, who knows what she would do this week, what he would be expected to do. Harold figured the magic hour was eleven. Get to eleven o'clock and he could beg off, long day and all that. It was now just after ten o'clock and they were in his car heading towards the ferry.
"I hope you're not going to make me beg you to stop in for a while like you did that first night," Margaret said with a smile.
Damn, I knew it, Harold thought! It was too early to do anything but acquiesce which caused his body temperature to rise.
"Sure, that'd be great," he lied. They were still in his car on the ferry and now Harold turned away and stared out at the ocean. Margaret was speaking, saying something about some new wine she'd bought for them, but he only heard a few words. He found himself thinking of the day that he was promoted to store manager. How warm he felt inside, how he came home that night and took both of his parents on the south ferry to a restaurant he'd heard about. It was in the little town of Water Mill, set smack in the middle of the Hamptons. It was a Friday night and the place was filled with people, all of whom Harold presumed had done very well in life. But on that night Harold remembered feeling that he fit in, that he was a success too. He'd never had that feeling before and seemed to have lost it somewhere along the line since then. But he got that warm feeling again right there on his way to Margaret's. It was short lived. In a second he was remembering that his store was closing, he'd almost certainly never have as important a position again and he would soon be in a very uncomfortable position, very uncomfortable.
"Harold, hello in there," Margaret said as she tapped him ever so gently on his shoulder. "Did you hear my question?"
"Ah, no, I'm sorry. I was thinking of my mother. What was it you asked?"
"Oh, sure, I understand. It must be a horrible thing to go through, losing a parent. I'm so fortunate at my age to still have them both. I asked you if you were free tomorrow. I thought we could take advantage of this beautiful weather we've been having and maybe go for a picnic somewhere."
Tomorrow's years away, Harold thought.
"Sounds good," he replied.
They were on Ferry Road now, a couple of minutes from Margaret's home. Harold's palms were sweaty and his heart rate was up. He tried responding to her endless stream of conversation, but wasn't faring very well.
"Pull in the driveway behind my car, Harold."
Harold didn't miss the message. Vehicles were not permitted on Shelter Island's streets between 1:00 AM and 6:00 A.M., a regulation meant to prevent overnight parking, with the intent of making it difficult to rent out parts of homes. The contradiction was that Shelter Island in the summer was awash with renters, often causing cars to be parked in makeshift parking areas, not quite the driveway, not quite the front lawn.
He followed her instructions. It was as if the governor had turned down his final plea for clemency and he was doomed. What sense would it make to fight the guard trying to strap his hands to the electric chair?
"Sit down, Harold, let me get us that wine I was telling you about."
Harold sat down as he was told and found a certain calm came over him. He wasn't sweating, he couldn't hear his heart beat anymore and he really wasn't thinking about anything in particular. The end was near and it was inevitable. He didn't notice that it was taking Margaret an inordinate amount of time to get them two glasses of wine, but he did hear her words from another room.
"Take off that damn coat and tie, Harold, and relax."
He followed her first instruction and almost laughed out loud about the second.
"Here you go, Mr. Stoneman," Margaret said with a little curtsy as she handed him his glass. He took it and barely noticed she was in a bright red silk nightgown, her high heels still on her feet.
"To us," she toasted.
"To us," Harold mimicked.
She drank most of her glass with one long drink, put it down and faced Harold as they sat together on her sofa.
"I've waited patiently for this, Harold, but I'm done waiting."
Harold still had his glass in his hands when she put her arms around him and put her mouth on his. He tried to accept her kiss with his mouth closed, but her tongue made that impossible. She took the glass from his hand without moving her mouth from his and placed it on the coffee table. She gently pushed him down on the couch. He didn't resist, but he didn't fully cooperate either. He wound up with his head and back lying flat, his lower torso twisted and two feet on the floor. She continued to kiss him as she opened her nightgown. She was naked underneath. Harold had his eyes closed but knew from the feel of her breasts moving against his shirt. Without losing contact, Margaret was unbuckling Harold's pants and in a second they were below his knees. She was still kissing him when she began rubbing his genitals. She rubbed slowly, gently, firmly. She moved her hand slowly again, then faster, than slowly. Harold wasn't responding. What started small and soft became smaller and softer. Sweat was pouring out of his body and his heartbeat was pounding in his head. Not one to give up easily, Margaret slid down until she was on the floor facing his unwilling member.
"Relax, sweetheart, you're gonna' love this," she murmured ever the optimist.
When Harold felt her mouth on his unwilling dick he finally moved. But it was his whole body, not the organ in question. Up and off the couch, pulling up his pants as he did.
"I can't do it. I don't know why. I'm sorry," he said. He began to walk towards the door.
"Hey, it's okay. Things like that happen. Believe me, it's not the first time I've seen that. Don't go. Let's have a cup of coffee and just talk."
Margaret was saying all the right words and meant them. She later came to believe it wasn't because she rushed him. No matter how long she would have waited, the results would have been the same. Of course, it became very important that she believed that.
"I'm sorry," Harold said several times as he walked out the door. He got into his car and started the engine. He felt very calm now, at peace. In fact, he felt more at peace than any day since he was told his store was closing. No, that's not true he thought as he pulled into his garage and pressed the little button inside his car that closed the garage door. This is the most peaceful I've felt since my mother died. He put on the radio and tried to get his favorite station. It played what they called "music for your life," pre-rock'n'roll music, Harold Stoneman music. But he was in an enclosed area, and it wouldn't come in. He switched to F.M., but couldn't find anything he considered music. He settled on two people speaking. They were talking about money, something about IRAs. Harold decided to try the other stations again but couldn't lift his arm. He thought about his office and the wooden aisles in his store.
Margaret waited a few minutes and called Harold on the phone. When he didn't pick up she figured he knew it must be her and was too embarrassed to talk to her. She decided she'd wait until the morning and call him as if nothing had happened and remind him about their picnic. She called several times on Sunday right up until ten o'clock that night. She almost drove to his home twice, each time deciding only at the last second it might make him too uncomfortable to face her before she'd had an opportunity to convince him she didn't think any less of him. She finally decided that he'd feel more confident in the surroundings of the store and she'd get him alone there and they'd talk.
It was ten-fifteen Monday morning. Margaret was an hour from leaving for the store but was dressed and ready to go. She was practicing what she was going to say to Harold when the phone rang. It was Millie Lestor, a woman who had quietly run the notions department at the store for many years.
"Margaret, I don't know how to tell you this, but Mr. Stoneman is dead. When he didn't come to open the store this morning and he didn't answer the phone, Carlos drove over to his house. He looked through the garage door window and thought he saw Harold in his car. He got the police and they broke into the garage and found him dead. Carbon monoxide poisoning they figure. They said the radio was in an on position, so he was probably just listening to something and forgot to turn off the engine. You must feel terrible, dear, especially considering how friendly you two had become."
"Thanks, Millie," Margaret said and started to hang up the
phone. As she did she heard Millie still talking but hung up
anyway. If she hadn't, she would have heard Millie tell her not
to come in today, that the store was closed and that the girls
figured it would probably never open again.
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Material Copyright © 1998-2003 by Jim Bearden