In Your Dreams Bobby Anderson (9 page)

Susan
sighed, urging him on. He wanted to kiss her again, deeper and harder this time, but using all his will power, he restrained himself. Instead he let his lips only tease hers.

“Kiss me
, Bobby,” she whispered.

Bobby caressed her cheek
with his hand again and looked into her eyes. He didn’t usually make this much eye contact with the women he went out with, but this was different. He didn’t know when or even if he would ever see her again.

“Bobby.” She almost pleaded. Her body ached for him.

Cupping her face in both of his hands, he bro
ught his lips to hers. This time he kissed her with a passion he’d reserved his whole life for her alone. It might have looked like any other kiss he’d ever acted out in any one of his movies, including Devil Take You with Samantha, but there was no comparing how it felt. Somewhere inside of him, somewhere deep in the pit of his being, a fire was lit. It burned him inside and out. His skinned crawled with his desire for her. He wanted her, to possess her, to consume her. His body shook with the need.

How could a kiss
—a single kiss!—feel so good? Bobby didn’t want to think about the word “love” but this was definitely what love should feel like, he reasoned. He’d always imagined that love was a fancy wedding, a man risking his life, expensive jewelry.  Never before had he contemplated that love might just be a kiss. This
had
to be love.

Bobby let his hands
drift down her bare arms, her chest, and to her small tender breasts underneath her T-shirt. Her skin was like silk. Like some kind of dreamy soft silken material designed especially for him. And the best part was that she didn’t seem to want to stop any of it. Without a single hint of play-acting, manipulation, or faking, she responded to him. She touched him back. Her fingers were all over his chest, his arms; she squeezed his hips and pulled them to her. She was as much in the moment as he was. They were dancers who had practiced together for years.

“Oh, Bobby
.”

“Susan.”

“Bobby.”

Wow! Bobby couldn’t
imagine waking up now. He would stay here forever.

Their
passion became such that they both slipped off the coconut trunk and found themselves on the sand, bodies intertwined, clothes peeling off as precious moments slipped by.

T
hey made love on the sand, on the island. Bobby felt giddy. He had never lost himself in a kiss, a caress; never been carried away to a place he now realized existed. A place of crazy mad love. It wasn’t made up after all. It was real. He couldn’t describe where it was exactly, but it wasn’t in him. It was between them both, or around them.

At last it was over, and they lay there in the warm sand, two sweaty bodies contently collapsed together. Bobby rubbed his cheek against Susan’s naked arm and smelled a pleasant mixture of warm body and vanilla soap.

There
had been many sexual experiences that made up Bobby’s total experience of women since he lost his virginity to Helen Green at the age of thirteen.

She had been his girlfriend
at the time―his first girlfriend—so it had seemed all right. She had wanted to have sex as well. She even encouraged it. They did it in her room while her mother was out buying milk to make a cake for them. Helen’s mom had always liked Bobby, with his good looks and hard working nursing mother. She hadn’t minded leaving the two alone. They were only thirteen, after all.

Bobby hadn’t been sure what he was su
pposed to do with Helen Green once he got her naked. He hoped that natural instinct would take over and he’d figure it out. And it had. His body seemed to know where to go all on its own.

The act was over quickly, and so was his r
elationship with Helen, who decided she didn’t want to have a boyfriend anymore and wanted to play Barbie dolls with her friends instead. What had started so promising ended so abruptly, and for months after Bobby wondered what he had done wrong.

He
almost turned away from girls completely, but at fifteen he was older and wiser. Books, commercials, magazines, stories at school, they all prepared him for the next step up, which came in the form of Amy Longfinger.

Am
y was fifteen, like him, but she seemed much older and wiser. She wasn’t beautiful, but she sure was sexy with her bouncy dark curls and curvy hips, and most importantly, she wanted Bobby. In their poor neighborhood where nothing much happened, sex with a cute boy was something happening.

Amy
made Bobby her boyfriend by kissing him after school behind the old dumpster. It had smelled of fish that day, but Bobby didn’t care. The rejection of Helen still burnt his ego, and he had high hopes that Amy would rub that away. Fish smells were a small price to pay for hope.

Amy
’s lips were quivery, not what he had expected from an expert, but it made him more confident, and in no time he became an experienced kisser. As a reward, Amy let him go to second base on their second date, and all the way to show time on their fourth. They had sex a total of eight times before Amy’s older sister, Georgette, who was six months pregnant and barely seventeen at the time, caught them red handed on Amy’s bed in the middle of the afternoon.

Boy, di
d Amy get it from her father. Bobby never dared talk to her again after he saw the bruises on her face the next day. He was scared. Scared of fathers, and scared of Georgette’s enormous belly as it jumped and bumped up and down while Georgette ranted and raved and pulled Amy off the bed by her hair.

That belly stayed with Bobby longer than Am
y’s smooth lips and curvy hips did. It became engrained in his memory. “This could happen to you,” it seemed to say. He would never forget how lucky he had been. And just like that, it was the end of girlfriend number two.

Bobby
thought that having his first two relationships end so abruptly might not be a good start, but at least it was a start. A lot of boys his age hadn’t even had a kiss yet. Encouraged by his new found experience, both in women and condom application, Bobby went on to enamor Raquel in ninth grade, Brenda, also in ninth, Julia for a short while in tenth, Raquel again, Pauline and Madeline, also in tenth, Josephine in eleventh, and Brenda again that same year.

Emma
Cooper, however, was his first love. She had entered his school in twelfth grade, and every single boy fell for her. She had green eyes, a head full of tight blonde curls, and a silky olive skin that could be credited to her West Indian father. Emma was ready to take on anyone who thought they had something to say about it, but she needn’t have worried—no one would have dared. Her father looked liked a defense football player, and he probably was. Bald head and bulging biceps, Emma’s dad was a force no one in their sensible minds wanted to recon with.

Emma’s mother, on the other hand, was
a dainty and fussy white Southern Bell who only wore pastel summer dresses with equally bright high heels. And unlike the other moms, Emma’s mother only ever wore a hint of green eye shadow and pink lip-gloss. She never covered herself in foundation or blush, and was fond of wearing hats to protect her skin from the sun. If Bobby hadn’t fallen in love with Emma first, he would have probably fallen in love with Emma’s mother.

Bobby longed to touch Emma’s silky skin
. He felt himself quite an expert by now and almost entitled to touch her. But she made him work for it. For months she teased him, let him carry her books, open doors, pick up her soda tab at the corner cafe. He was crazy. Crazy in love. He didn’t even have to have sex; he just needed her to let him touch her.

And she did, one miraculous night. They agreed to meet at the movie
s. Bobby had splurged on the popcorn and drinks and was feeling quite hopeful for the evening. They settled down to watch Scream, chosen especially by Bobby with the sole purpose of getting Emma to make contact with him.

H
is plan worked. Emma had groped for his hand the second the first scene started, and had held tightly throughout the entire movie. During some of the more intense scenes she had even buried her face against his chest, allowing him clear wafts of the vanilla soap she had used hours earlier.

Even though Bobby was an experienced lover by now and had had several girlfriends, he would remember Emma most. Not for what he never got—after all, girls like Emma don’t just give it away—but because of what he managed to squeeze out. Holding her hand during the movie, the feel of her skin on his finger tips, the tickling of her curls against his bare arm. Magic.

Emma moved around a lot and was gone by the following semester. He had never asked
her why, never known what her parents did, or why she didn’t love him more.

CHAPTER 19

W
hen
Bobby awoke, the sun had shifted. He felt it must after three o’clock. He smacked his lips and felt their dryness. Yes, he had been with Susan for hours. It had been a life changing experience. Even her smell seemed to still be with him. Was that possible?

Although h
e couldn’t say with complete certainty whether he was sane or a raging lunatic, his house and bed felt as real to him now as his time with Susan had. In fact, Bobby decided that reality was a state much overrated. Reality meant no Susan, and no Susan meant this empty undesirable state of being that was not being with Susan. Susan. Susan.

He willed himself to go back. But it didn’t work. It never worked like that. He decided to get up and see if
Rosa had a newspaper for him.

Who he found first was Lester.

“Do you have the paper, Lester?”

“Today’s paper, sir?”

Was that really necessary? Was Lester testing him to see if he knew what day it was? His mother was in France and everyone had turned into his parent.

“Lester.”

“I’ll just fetch it for you, Mr. Anderson.”

Bobby waited in the hall until Lester came back with an assortment of newspapers and magazines
that were delivered to the house on a daily basis. Bobby didn’t often read the newspaper, and usually only glimpsed at the magazines, and only if they were about him, but today he felt like reading something about the world. In fact, he didn’t even look at the magazines, which he knew were about his drinking episode last night. Susan had told him enough already.

Settling down on his favorite lounge chair,
Bobby opened the paper. Although he hadn’t read a newspaper in a while, he was sincerely shocked to discover that nothing had changed in the world at all. Of course, some things must be different, but actually… no, they weren’t. Some terrorist group was still posing a threat to national security. Some uppity uppity guy in government was being a scoundrel. A law had passed and another hadn’t. People were angry. People were hopeful. People wanted answers. A new play had opened up in Manhattan with Tom Hanks taking the lead role. A well known theatre company had sadly closed. A factory was closing too. People were out of work. Jobs were being created.

Bobby sighed.
The players had changed, but the stories were still the same. Disappointed, he let the paper fall and reluctantly grabbed the stack of glamour magazines. There were the terrible shots of him being escorted from the club. No wonder Rosa was being so nice. He looked like a train crash.

But Bobby wasn’t upset. This, after all, had been his plan, and it had worked. It had worked better than he even imagined
it would. He had actually had sex with Susan.

Remembering the
moment now made him smile and catch his breath. This girl was the one. The only one. Now he knew what all those people were talking about when they said, “You know when you know”. He knew he was in love with Susan because he didn’t have to ask anyone. He would go to New York City and find her. It didn’t matter if she didn’t want to see him or if she didn’t look the same as in the dream. If she was some sort of a scam, he would deal with it when the time came.
And if she’s a figment of your imagination?
Well, he would deal with that too.

***

“So, Mr. Judge, is it?” Bobby reached out to shake the man’s hand.

“That’s right,
” Judge said, not accepting the offer of a handshake. “Please don’t be offended, but I only shake a man’s hand after I get to know him.”

“Um, no.
That makes sense.” Bobby quickly withdrew his hand and tucked it safely back into his pocket where it came from. “No problem at all. So… you find people?”

“That’s right.
Why don’t you sit down and tell me what this is all about?”

Bobby
sat down on a rather uncomfortable battered office chair and felt as though he were in a rundown shrink’s office trying to get in touch with his inner needs―in this case, his need to find Susan.

Why couldn’t this person just make it easy for him? It had been hard enough finding a d
etective. Well, actually not that hard; there are millions of them in L.A it turns out—well, not
millions
, if we’re going to be honest, but plenty in the online yellow pages. However, it hadn’t been easy for Bobby to choose. Probably the hardest part, though, was getting up the nerve to make the call. In retrospect, probably the hardest part was getting into the car and driving to the detective’s office, which was in an eyebrow-raising part of town.

To top it off, his GPS kept telling him to tur
n left where there was a clear “No Entry” sign staring him straight in the face. Challenged by a woman’s voice that kept telling him to turn! turn! turn! and navigating streets he wasn’t familiar with, Bobby arrived in a state of simmering distress.

But that should
have been all right, shouldn’t it? Surely this was the equivalent to walking over hot coals for the one you love. He just wished he knew more about the one he loved: hence the detective, and we are back to where we started with the detective story.

“What’s her name?”

“Susan.” Yes. They were back on track. Mr. Judge knew what he was doing. It would be fine. Susan would soon be his.

“Last name?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve asked, but she didn’t say.”

“
California?”

“New York
City.”

“Address?”

“Excuse me?”

“
Okay, area?”

“Maybe a hospital.”

“Student?”

“I think patient, but I’m really not sure. She could be fine.”

Funny look now. “Picture?”

Bobby
smiled; this was easy, “Red hair, green eyes, slim, round face, little feet, maybe twenty years old.”

“I mean
do you have a picture?”

“Oh, no.”

“It doesn’t matter about the feet.”

“
Okay.”

“
So, no picture?”

“No.”

“Let’s see, Susan, New York City, red hair, pretty, twenty.”

“Exactly! Can you find her? How long will it take?”

The detective stared down at his pad of scribbles and frowned.

Bobby did not want to see frowns. He was already thinking about all the other names
he’d missed on the Yellow Pages detective listings. He’d skipped through A to I and settled on Judge because it sounded tough. Now he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t want skepticism. He needed this Judge guy to be upbeat and positive about finding Susan, just in case he wasn’t.

“It’s not much.”

“If I had more I guess I could find her myself.”

“I guess so.”

There was a pause while Judge looked at his pad again, checking to see if he’d missed something. Bobby saw the doubt on the detectives face and worried that he would have to go back to his own list and find another detective in another weird part of town. The thought caused sweat to form on his palms.

“All right,
I’ll start with the hospitals like you said. Do you know what her illness is? That would help.”

“Umm, I don’t even know if she is, you know,
‘ill’, but, umm, maybe mental?”

The detective studied Bobby for a short whi
le. He knew the actor, of course. The last he’d heard, Bobby Anderson had been found heavily drunk after having shaved off all of his hair. That kind of behavior usually signaled the beginning of bigger problems. Was this the bigger problem, or just a symptom of it?

“You know, I’m obliged to ask you what you
want from this person, just in case you want to harm her or stalk her.”

“Really? They
oblige you?”

“Well, it’s sort of my own thing. I don’t want to end up regretting my work, if you
get my drift.”

“Yeah, sure.
I get your drift. Well, Mr. Judge…” Bobby paused, hoping the detective would give him a first name to use. None came. “Well,” cough, “like I said, no, I’m not stalking her.”

“Actually you didn’t say that.”

“Right. Well, I’m definitely not stalking her. I met her once and I really want to meet her again, that’s all.”

“I’m sure she
follows your tweets. Why don’t you just put a tweet out for her and let her contact you?”

“Good point.” Pause.
“I guess I don’t think she’s looking at twitter.”

“It’s going to take time.”

“I can pay you.”

“I know.”

“About, time…”

“P
roblem?”

“I don’t mind paying you double to put
all your efforts into this case…because I don’t think I have that much time.”

“Because she’s sick?”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t have any other cases at the m
oment. I can give it all my attention.”

“Why
don’t y—”

“Slow month. But I’m good.”

Of course he was good. He could read Bobby’s mind like a pro.

“
Okay, when can you start?”

“I’ll fly
over there tomorrow—morning flight. I’ll call you each evening at seven, even if I don’t have news. If I find her or if I have a lead I’ll call you right away.”

“
Sounds like a plan. How much do I pay you upfront?”

“Two thousand should cover immediate e
xpenses. Plus an extra three thousand in case.”

“In case of what?”

“Just in case. You get it back if I don’t need it.”

Oh,
all right.”

“You sure you’re no
t into any funny business?”

“
I’m sure. Look, I just like her. I’m not some sort of nut.”

The detective didn’t look so sure, but he a
lso didn’t look like he cared all that much either. He’d judge the situation if and when he found the girl. That’s why he was called Judge: he didn’t jump to conclusions until he’d seen all the evidence. “Good bye,” he said, taking Bobby’s check with one hand while offering the other.

“Yeah
, man. Good luck.” Bobby shook Judge’s hand and gratefully left the building.