"Anything," he whispered into her hair.
"How did Miss Gati get along here before she had me?"
"A lady from town used to come in to clean and cook, but she never stayed over. You're the first live-in who's lasted more than a week since I've been working here. The old lady's been real choosy about finding someone after the last live-in… left."
Jerry decided that now was not the time to bring up the last maid's suicide. Steph was from the farmlands on the other side of the ridge and wouldn't know about her. Constance Granger had been her name, a quiet girl who went crazy wild. She had come from a decent, church-going family, but all of a sudden she became a regular at the roadside taverns, taking up with a different man every night. Then one night she became hysterical in a motel room — with two men, if the whispers could be believed — and began screaming at the top of her lungs. She ran out of the room jaybird naked and got hit by a truck.
Jerry didn't want to frighten Steph with that kind of story, not now while they were snug and close like this. He steered the talk elsewhere.
"Now you tell me something. What do you think of working for old lady Gati?"
"She's sweet. She's not a slave driver and the pay is good. This is my first job since leaving home and I guess I'm kinda lucky it's working out so well."
"You miss home?"
He felt her tense beside him. She never talked about her home. "No. I… didn't get along with my father. But I get along just fine with Miss Gati. The only bad thing about the job is the house. It gives me the creeps. I get nightmares every night."
"What about?"
She snuggled closer, as if chilled despite the warmth of the night. "I don't remember much by morning, all I know is that they're no fun. I don't know how Miss Gati lived here alone after the last maid left. Especially her without any legs. I'd be frightened to death!"
"She's not. She tried out girl after girl. No one satisfied her till you came along. She's a tough one."
"But she's not. She's nice. A real lady. You know, I make her hot chocolate every night, and she insists I sit down and have a cup with her while she tells me about her family and how they lived in the 'Old Country.' Isn't that nice?"
"Just super," Jerry said.
He lifted her chin and kissed her. He felt her respond, felt her catch some of the fervor running through him like fire. He let his hand slip off her shoulder and come to rest over her right breast. She made no move to push him away as his fingers began caressing her.
"Want to come inside?" he said, glancing toward the door of the gatehouse.
Steph sighed. "Yes." She kissed him again, then pulled away. "But no. I don't think that would be such a good idea, Jerry. Not just yet. I mean, I just met you six weeks ago."
"You know all there is to know. I'm not hiding anything. Come on."
"I want to… you know I do, but not tonight. It's time for Miss Gati's hot chocolate. And if I want to keep this job, I'd better get up to the house and fix it for her." Her eyes searched his face in the light of the rising moon. "You're not mad at me, are you?"
"Nah!" he said with what he hoped was a reassuring grin. How could he look into those eyes and be mad? But he sure as hell ached. "Crushed and heartbroken, maybe. But not mad."
She laughed. "Good."
There's plenty of time, he told the ache deep down inside. And we'll be seeing a lot of each other.
"C'mon. I'll walk you up to the house."
On the front porch, he kissed her again and didn't want to let go. Finally, she pushed him away, gently. "She's calling me. Gotta go. See you tomorrow."
Reluctantly, Jerry released her. He hadn't heard anything but knew she had to go. He wondered if her insides were as churned up as his own.
"Hurry and drink your chocolate before it gets cold," Marta Gati said as Stephie returned from down the hall where Marta had sent her on a trivial errand.
Stephie smiled and picked up her cup from the bedside table. A lovely child, Marta thought. Simply lovely.
Her own cup was cradled in her hands. It was a little too sweet for her taste, but she made no comment. She was propped up on her bed pillows. Stephie sat in a chair pulled up to the side of the bed.
"And what did you and young Pritchard do tonight?" Marta said. "Anything special?" She watched Stephie blush as she sipped her chocolate.
Marta took a sip of her own to hide the excitement that swept through her. They're in love! This was perfect. "How was the movie?" she managed to say in a calm voice.
Stephie shrugged. "It was okay, I guess. Jerry likes all those cars racing around and crashing."
"Don't you?"
She shrugged. "Not really."
"But you go because young Pritchard likes them. And you like him, don't you?"
She shrugged shyly. "Yes."
"Of course you do. And he likes you. I can tell. I just hope he hasn't taken any liberties with you."
Stephie's color deepened. Marta guessed she wanted to tell her it was none of her damn business but didn't have the nerve.
"No," Stephie said. "No liberties."
"Good!" Marta said. "I don't want you two running off and getting married. I need the both of you here. Now, finish your chocolate and get yourself to bed. Never let it be said I kept you up too late."
Stephie smiled and drained her cup.
Yes, Marta thought. A lovely girl.
The gatehouse was one room and a bathroom, furnished with a small desk, a chair, a bureau, and a hide-a-bed that folded up into a couch during the day. A sort of unattached motel room. But since he took his meals up at the house, it was all that Jerry needed.
The lights had been off for nearly an hour but he was still awake, lying in bed in his jockey shorts, rerunning his favorite fantasy, starring the voracious Steph and the inexhaustible Jerry. Then the door opened without warning and Steph stood there with the moonlight faintly outlining her body through the light cotton nightgown she wore. She lifted it over her head and dropped it on the floor.
Jerry's mouth was so dry, his voice sounded like a croak.
"Steph?"
She said nothing as she came forward and knelt beside him on the mattress. He let her ease off his shorts and felt her fingers slither and flutter all over his body, from chest to ankles, like a blind woman reading Braille.
"Steph, what —?"
She clamped her lips to his and thrust her tongue into his mouth.
After that, no words were necessary.
Dawnlight sneaking through the spaces between the Venetian blinds on the gatehouse window woke Jerry. He was alone. After she had worn him out, Steph had left him. He sat on the edge of the hide-a-bed and cradled his head in his hands. In the thousand times he had mentally bedded Steph since her arrival, he had always been the initiator, the aggressor. Last night had been nothing at all like the fantasies. Steph had been in complete control — demanding, voracious, insatiable, a wild woman who had left him drained and exhausted. And hardly a word had passed between them. Throughout their lovemaking she had cooed, she had whimpered, she had moaned, but she had barely spoken to him. It left him feeling sort of… used.
Still trying to figure out this new, unexpected side to Steph, he walked up to the house for breakfast. The sun was barely up and already the air was starting to cook. It was going to be another hot one.
He saw Steph heading out of the kitchen toward the dining room with old lady Gati's tray as he came in the back door.
"Be with you in a minute," she called over her shoulder.
He waited by the swinging door and caught her as she came through. He slipped his arms around her waist and kissed her.