He smiles. “Should I call you Joan Jett?"
"That's before your time,” I accuse. “You can't quote it."
"A lot of people say I was born in the wrong decade."
"People say your father was born in the wrong century."
"What should he have been? A pirate?"
"Something like that."
"About your reputation,” he finishes my thought. “It's safe with me. I respect my dad and you. No one will ever know."
"What exactly is it you think you know, anyway?"
"I didn't know anything for sure until you freaked out on me back in the cafeteria."
I shake my head. “I guess I made a jackass of myself, huh?"
"No. I was the jackass. It was a dickhead move bringing the whole thing up. I'm sorry, Caroline."
"It's okay.” I sip my soda. The apology means a lot. “We're both not at our best."
"I don't know what to feel,” he says. “The man is my father, I never got to know him like I should, people hear who I am they make all these assumptions, what it's supposed to be for me. I'm just empty. Does that make me a bad person?"
"It makes you human. You think I know what to feel? I'm so busy covering everything up I can't even begin to deal with my own grief."
"You shouldn't have to do that. I'm sorry."
I have a lump in my throat.
"What? Did I say the wrong thing?"
"No … it's just … it's just that Thomas says stuff like that. He's always trying to take on the responsibilities for the sum total of people's life experiences. At least it seems that way to me."
"Some people need to do that."
"Some people jump off cliffs and drink themselves to death."
"My dad almost did."
"So did I."
The burgers come juicy, medium well, stacked high with onions and ketchup and pickles. I cut mine in half. It's as much as I'll eat. Brian picks his up, takes a huge bite like it is the whole fucking world in his hands.
The waitress lingers a moment to watch him enjoy. She's entranced. It's like that with Thomas. Every woman is fascinated. He teases me frequently about being jealous.
"Need anything, Sir?” she flips her hair.
I know what she needs-a good spanking.
"We're fine.” I ward off the blonde with a stare.
"If you don't stop that…” I turn on Brian.
"What, Caroline?"
"Doing things the same way as him."
"You'll have to give me a list,” he says sardonically. “Gestures, expressions."
"It's no use. You look too much like him."
"Yea, it kind of freaked my mother out as I was growing up. She was pretty sure I was going to turn into him one day. She was waiting with a wooden stake to drive through the heart."
"Personally I think you could do worse."
"I know … big shoes to fill and all that."
I can feel a little pain back of his blase statement. I react out instinctively. “No,” I say firmly. “I don't want to hear that. You're not filling anyone's shoes. For one thing, Thomas isn't going anywhere; second of all, he wants you to be your own man. He'd never forgive himself if you felt you had to be him."
Brian studies me. “You're it, you know."
"I'm what?"
"You're his true love."
A part of me wants this to be true, believe me, more than life itself. “Monica is his true love,” I correct. “Every month, on their anniversary date, he sends roses."
"I know; he hasn't missed a month in eight years. But that is duty, Caroline, there's a difference."
"Brian,” I try and stop him before it's too late. “I don't want to get mad again; I know it's me, I'm brittle and all, but you have this way of pushing my buttons. With all due respect, I know the man, I know his marriage."
"I know he's a dominant, Caroline."
I set down my burger, ketchup and onion, my culinary diversion forgotten. “What did you say?"
"I know my father is only aroused by submissive women. For a long time it confused the hell out of me when he told me-I thought he was some kind of pervert, wanting to take control of a woman, push her hard into ecstasy, but we talked more and it made sense. I can see what it's about now."
I go from exposure to flat out paranoia. “You take a good look around, Brian.” The blood is pounding in my head. “There are witnesses. You lay a finger on me, I'll scream and you'll be in jail faster than you can whip that jacket on and off. That said, I will now get up, walk to the door and leave in my car. Alone. Follow me, try to contact me ever again and I will call the police."
"Caroline, you don't need to be scared of me. I'm just telling you what I know because I think we can help each other. We're the only two people in the world that can talk about this part of my father's life. Without each other we are both stuck, trying to figure it out alone."
"I'm not stuck. And you know what? I'm not running off this time. I want to eat my fucking hamburger and I'm going to do it in peace. All by myself."
"That's your choice.” He stands up, pulls a twenty from the pocket of his jeans. I see the outline of his cock.
I am overcome by something primal. Deeper than our names, deeper than today, tomorrow or yesterday.
My mind splits, the night stretches before me, two roads, two possible outcomes, instantly playing themselves out, start to finish:
In the first version he reads my mind and seizes control.
"Yes.” He extends his hand, giving me permission to go with him. I take it; everything makes sense as he becomes the perfect safe place in substitution for Thomas. We go to the car, I sit in the passenger seat, he opens the door, he closes it, and he tells me to get ready. I wait for him to go to the driver's seat, to push it all the way back.
"This means a lot to me, Caroline. You'll swallow, won't you?"
"Every drop, Brian,” I promise.
"Take it out, Caroline, and tell me what you see."
My fingers are so weak that I can barely work his zipper. He's so hard underneath his jeans. I feel like I'm going to faint. I pull it out; I free the erection through the opening in his boxer shorts. He's so large; he's circumcised in my imagination, not like his father.
"I see … a beautiful cock."
"What do you want to do with it, Caroline?"
"I want … to worship it."
"Do you think you're worthy?"
"No,” I readily admit. “But I'd like to try."
"Are you going to pretend I'm my father?"
"No. But I do want to give him this gift,” I admit. “Honoring his son."
"You will swallow?” he checks again.
"It will be my honor,” I salivate in anticipation.
"Very well,” he guides my head into place.
I take his cock between my lips; I feel it harden even further. I center on his pleasure, nicotine to my veins, his hand stroking my head, letting me bob up and down, wet and slavishly attentive.
His breathing gets shallower, his body gets tenser, and his hand tightens its grasp, fist in my hair. “Yes, yes, Caroline."
I feel the spasms in my crotch; I come, clenching on empty air, a helpless, needy cunt.
He comes quickly, letting me swallow.
I put my head on his chest afterwards, bawling my eyes out. He understands; it's nothing personal. He's a good man, a smart man; he just strokes me, holding me.
I lean on his shoulder as he drives me home. Thomas’ jacket, Thomas’ smell…
The second possible outcome is more cut and dried.
It is a hell of a lot less exciting but I'm not sure I can handle excitement.
I choose it over the first.
"Wait,” I tell him before he can leave. “Don't go. I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."
"It's okay."
We finish our hamburgers and he drives me home.
I smell Thomas on the jacket across the seat but I don't lean on his shoulder, I don't cry and I most certainly do not unzip his pants.