Carry Me Home (37 page)

“Oh Bobby, I’m so proud of you.” Red knelt coyly on the corner of the mattress where Bobby sat. The mattress lay on the floor. They used it as bed, couch and study/work/reading area. “I know you’re going to be a great salesman. Peter’s really impressed. They all are. But I told Victoria we’d come. Can we go to dinner tomorrow?”

“Ah, sure.”

“Please-ee.” Red moved closer, swayed her shoulders.

“Yeah. I said it’s cool. It’s—it’s—you know, only ... If we go to their place, we can’t really invite them here. We don’t even have a kitchen set.”

“We don’t have to. They’ll understand.”

“Well, you know. It’s nice to reciprocate.”

“We will. When we can. When we have a sofa and end tables and ... I saw the grooviest lamps at the mall. They had a tarnished brass sculpture as the base ...”

“We should buy a house first.”

“Oh Bobby, that’ll take ... well, even with both of us getting commissions ... the down payment would take ...”

“I could use my VA entitlement.”

“Really?”

“That’s what it’s for.” Red nuzzled her face into Wapinski’s neck, kissed him there, worked her lips up to his ear. He wriggled, backed away a few inches, put his arm around her, pulled her onto his lap.

She resisted, backed off. “Maybe later.” She winked. “Let’s go to Victoria’s. She said Gino had a hot tub installed.”

For two and a half months, with the exception of the one small fishing excursion, Bobby Wapinski had immersed himself in the business of real estate. And his efforts were paying off. By July 3, 1970, he had listed two homes, sold and closed on a third, had a $39,000 counteroffer out to clients of a Golden Hills Realty agent on his $41,500 Martinwood listing, and had another sale in escrow. His conversation with Julie, Presnell, and Baba was all but forgotten.

“So you’re the new man who’s doing all the business at Great Homes?” Bobby and Victoria were in the kitchen of Gino’s home, an isolated custom-built structure way out on South Peak Road. They were there ostensibly to get more crackers and another bottle of chardonnay. Red was on the deck with Gino and Brandon. Dawn was already in the hot tub.

Bobby laughed uneasily. He felt out of his element. Gino was wealthy, his home beautifully appointed. “Not all,” he said. He did not look at Victoria but pretended to read the wine label. “I’ve been pretty lucky. Especially for this market.”

Victoria moved closer to him. She had on a white lace camisole and long denim skirt. She raised a hand to his face, pushed back a blond lock. “Let your hair grow,” Victoria said. “It’s too short.”

They had eaten dinner, Mexican, had consumed five bottles of California chenin blanc and chardonnay, had smoked a few joints. Red was giddy, flirtatious. Dawn had withdrawn, become serious. Victoria had removed her vest letting Bobby and Brandon behold her bosom through the lace camisole while Gino shifted his attention to Red. After another joint and another bottle of wine Dawn had stepped up to the elevated deck about the redwood tank, had unabashedly stripped and dropped into the dark steaming water.

Bobby looked up, pushed a hand through his hair. “This is about the longest I’ve ever worn it,” he said.

“Are you always so quiet?” Victoria asked.

“No,” he said. She grabbed his hand, squeezed, then pulled him toward the deck.

“Far out, Man,” Brandon teased.

“Well I think I could.” Red’s tone was intoxicated, slightly defensive yet buoyant.

“Then why don’t you?” Gino laughed.

“Why don’t you what?” Bobby and Victoria joined them.

“I think I could run that office better than that
dildo
who’s running it!”

“Than Peter Wilcox!?” Bobby blurted. Red flashed him a hurt glance. “I mean, you just started and ...”

“Not that office.” Red turned from him. “I mean,” she continued to Gino and Brandon, “Myra had Pauline and me completely convinced we were totally inadequate.”

“Oh! Before ...” Bobby tapered off. Victoria was by his side. She leaned into him, put an arm about his waist. He responded putting his arm about hers, feeling her long straight blond hair on his arm, looking momentarily into her upturned face. Her face was lovely, her eyes deep blue, her mouth sensual, her chin and cheekbones sculptured. Only her nose, he thought, was too large. In all he felt her enticing. Then he looked away, shook his head as if to shake off the spell.

“Idealist-ti-cul-ly,” Red stuttered. “That’s a hard word to say.” Gino and Brandon chuckled with her. Gino’s hand made a small, light circle on her back. “I-deal-is-took-ca-ly.”

“Ideally,” Bobby said from behind her.

“Whatever!” Red giggled.

“Isn’t anyone else coming in?” Dawn called. “Brandon, come in here with me.”

“Are you embarrassed?” Victoria whispered in Bobby’s ear.

“No,” he said softly. “I just wasn’t expecting ...”

“You don’t have to feel self-conscious,” she said leading him toward the elevated deck. “Even if you get a hard-on. I’d feel hurt if you didn’t get a little excited.”

“I’m already a little excited.” Bobby stifled his laugh.

Dawn turned as they approached. She was very tan except for the points of her breasts which were white and barely submerged. “Did you hear KFRC this morning? The DJ was telling jokes about that state supreme court ruling. I think he’s indecent.”

“Me?!” Brandon was a step behind Bobby and Victoria. He smiled broadly. “Me? Indecent? I think”—he said as he removed his shirt, dropped his pants, tossed his clothes to the side—“I’m very decent. Don’t you think so, Vikki?”

Victoria patted his chest. “Yes,” she said. “Kinda decent.” Facing Brandon she unsnapped and dropped her skirt. Her panties were of matching lace to the camisole: her legs were smooth and muscular. Again she patted Brandon’s chest but now slid her hand to his abdomen. “A bit of a gut, though.” She pushed Brandon toward the hot tub. He stumbled back, caught himself, climbed in, and stood next to Dawn, smiling up at Victoria.

“Not like you, eh, Vikki?” He teased. “What legs! Whooo-wee!” He turned to Wapinski, said, “She gets those legs from running that Cataract Trail.”

“I was talking about that ruling,” Dawn said, “that killing an unborn fetus doesn’t constitute murder.”

“Come on, Hon.” Brandon shook his head, sat beside her. “Let’s not get into that. Nobody wants to talk about that stuff.”

Victoria gracefully removed her lingerie, stepped into the tub, moved to the far side. Red and Gino stripped and slid in next to each other on the near side, and Bobby, feeling lost, removed his clothes quickly and dropped into the only space left—between Red and Victoria. For a moment everyone ooohed and aaahed as the air jets blasted the 101-degree water onto knees and backs and shoulders.

“You know,” Dawn began, seriously again, “they were also talking about that crazy guy in Burlingame who the police shot.”

“Give it a break,” Brandon said lowly. To the others he said, “She gets a little distant on grass.”

“He was a former army captain who went nuts because his wife didn’t come home one night and—”

“God!” Brandon snapped. “If you’re going to talk about it at least get it straight. It wasn’t Burlingame. It was Burlington. Burlington, Connecticut.”

“Hey, did you hear the one about the newlyweds”—Gino overpowered the tiff—“who didn’t know the difference between Vaseline and putty?” Red put her hands to her face covering a shriek. In the water Bobby could feel Victoria’s calf and foot caressing his. Gino finished, “All their windows fell out!”

Red laughed, coughed. Brandon handed her the bottle. She took a short swig, passed it back.

“How come no one wants to talk about real stuff?” Dawn did not look at them but kept her eyes on the bubbling water. Unseen, beneath the dark roils, Victoria’s fingers lightly brushed Bobby’s left thigh.

“Do you really run Cataract Trail?” Bobby asked Victoria, trying to control himself.

“We could talk—” Red began, blushed, finished, “about women’s orgasms.” Brandon’s foot stretched across the middle of the tub, brushed by Bobby’s and Victoria’s knees on its way to Red’s legs. Suddenly Red shot up with a loud, “Ooooo!” Then she laughed and settled back in.

“I try to do at least a race a month,” Victoria said to Bobby. Her hand found his cock and began stroking it. “I’m getting ready for the Dipsea at the end of August. Do you run?”

“We could talk about Charles Manson and that new crucifixion stance of his....”

“Dawn, Honey, we’re naked. We’re not going to talk about those things.”

“A little,” Bobby said. Her hand felt wonderful. Careful not to show the slightest movement of his left shoulder, he moved his left hand between Victoria’s legs and slowly allowed his middle finger to nestle between her labia. “I did a lot of hiking but lately I’ve done nothing but sit. Either in the office or in my car.”

“We need more wine,” Gino said. “I’ll be right back.” He got up and left, and Red stood, her small breasts red from the hot water. “I’ve got to sit out for a minute,” she said. “I’m getting light-headed.” She raised one foot to the seat to step out, swayed. Brandon popped up, grabbed her shoulders. “I’ve got you,” he said gallantly as he pressed the front of his body to her back. “Just lay down right there.” He indicated the deck. “Sometimes the heat gets to me, too.”

Red lay on her stomach, her legs together, her hands under her chin.

“Take a few deep breaths.” Brandon continued to help her. He sat beside her, gently rubbed the small of her back.

“Oh.” Red sighed. “That feels much better.” She arched her head back then pushed up with her arms, raising her torso from the deck. She inhaled deeply, held it, slowly let the air escape and lowered herself to the deck—seemingly oblivious to Victoria and Bobby though cognizant of Brandon, and of Gino who now knelt by her with the chilled bottle and let her hold it to her forehead before she took a swig.

“I’m too hot, too,” Dawn said. She stood exposing her large breasts. “Did you hear about the hippie protestors up by The Res?”

“Ah, no.” Gino eyed her, expecting a joke.

“They busted their asses—” Dawn giggled, “for smoking grass.”

After the hot tub party Bobby and Red had returned to their trailer, in silence; had made love without talk, Bobby, so stimulated, ejaculating only seconds after penetration, and Red, still intoxicated, in no mood to give him a chance to recharge before falling asleep. In the morning they had had their first full-blown argument.

“You didn’t tell me Gino and Victoria were so classy.”

“What’d you expect?” Red snapped. She jammed an orange juice carton back into the refrigerator, slammed the door.

“Well ...” Bobby paused. He was not ready for her anger. “You know, I thought they’d be like Tim and Suzie.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“C’mon, Red. You know.”

“What?”

“Suzie was a slob. That house was filthy, and like, you know, half the stuff she had in the refrigerator was covered with gray fuzz.” He opened the refrigerator, removed the O.J., poured himself a coffee cupful. “I couldn’t wait to get out....”

“Well, you could have cleaned it up.” She turned her shoulder to him.

“Aw ... that’s not the point.” He stood over her, sounding like a father lecturing a thirteen-year-old. “I just wasn’t expecting, you know, last night.... Such a nice place. I thought they’d be more like ... hippieish.”

“You certainly seemed to be getting along with Victoria. She was hanging all over you.”

“Me! I didn’t even know we were going to take our clothes off!”

“What do you think you do in a hot tub?”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t think ... For one thing I didn’t think you’d let those guys rub your ass.”

“Like you and Victoria weren’t playing footsie in the hot tub!”

“I didn’t start—Geez, you went up there to get naked with those two guys. I don’t think we should go—”

“I didn’t do anything but have a good time. And I don’t have to justify that to you!”

His voice rose. “I’m not saying you’ve got to justify it. Just tell me first.”

“Why?! Do you own me?”

“Oh geez!” His hands flew in the air. Orange juice splashed from the cup. “Wouldn’t it be common courtesy—”

“You just want to piss on my fire. If I break out, even a little....”

“Aw hell”—he flicked the back of a hand at her—“break out all you want.” Wapinski stalked off toward the bedroom, grabbed a towel, stomped to the bathroom, snarled, “I’ve got the Pierces coming in today at one. I’m showering.”

“On July Fourth?!”

“Yeah. On July Fourth! He doesn’t get a lot of days off.”

For the next six hours Wapinski had again concentrated on the needs and capabilities of “his” buyer, on the availability and suitability of MLS homes. By seven he’d shown John and Joan Pierce a dozen homes—four the Pierces could afford but didn’t like, four that would be a stretch, three they could afford only if John’s father gave them the down payment, and one in Golden Vista which was out of the question. Joan Pierce wanted the home in Golden Vista.

Bobby had returned to the trailer exasperated and drained. He’d met Red returning from North Bay Mall with a new kitchenette set tied to the roof of her pistachio-colored Pinto. The incident at Gino’s was sidestepped, repressed.

He sat there, not actually surveying the conference room table but feeling the presence of each individual, feeling the positive charge of their interaction, sensing them as a team, a platoon, almost as a family. At the head of the table was Peter Wilcox, Great Homes Realty’s dynamic, nearly manic, office manager. Then eleven salespeople including Bobby and petite, bubbly Bea Hollands.

Bobby listened as various conversations went on around the table, caught bits and pieces, lost most because his damaged hearing could not sort out single voices amid cacophony.

Alfred Bartecchi and Dan Coleman were evidently against it but Ernest Schnell argued, “I hope they do legalize gambling here. Why not? Why should all the money go to Nevada? Imagine how much this building’d be worth if it were a casino.”

“Yeah, but imagine what would happen to the properties if every place along The Strip had one-armed bandits.”

“Value is determined by the amount of income the property produces—” Ronald Colson chimed in.