In The Eyes of the Beholder

She was impressed with the fact that he'd brought three; she had gotten him something too, but had thought that it might be too early in their relationship for presents. Now she felt foolish; obviously it wasn't. Fortunately she'd wrapped it before she'd changed her mind, it was in the closet ready to go.

"Great minds must think alike," she said as she went to retrieve it. "I got something for you, too. Merry Christmas."

She returned and handed him a small package. "Here you go. It isn't much, but I hope you like it."

"Thanks, I'm sure I will. Now, we're not going to open these now, are we?"

"That would be up to you, I prefer to wait until Christmas morning."

"That's what we'll do then."

Her hair wasn't in the usual pony tail. Hanging down, slightly wavy, it framed her face attractively. It was longer than he'd thought. Combine that with her smile and he couldn't take his eyes off her.

"I've never seen you with your hair down before. It looks nice that way."

"Thanks, I like to keep it pulled back mostly, but on special occasions I wear it down."

Then something occurred to her, "I don't mean last week's concert wasn't special, but we had decided on going casual."

"Oh, don't apologize, you looked great. It's not an either or kind of thing, you look good both ways."

She had to admit, he had a way of saying the right thing. When the time came to leave for church, they started out walking side by side, commenting on the decorations they encountered on the way. About half way there he reached down and took her hand, surprised she gave his a quick squeeze. Much like the kiss the other night, there seemed to be something more to it than met the eye. She wondered if it was just wishful thinking on her part, but it did seem like he honestly cared about her. The problem was she had been fooled before and didn't want it to happen again. Still, it was a pleasant feeling, walking hand in hand. For the first time in a long while, she wasn't alone.

At the church he realized it had been so long a time since he'd been to mass, he no longer remembered the parts of the ritual; when to sit stand or kneel. This would not be a big problem, he would just follow the crowd and do what they did. But it also meant that once the mass started he had reason to keep looking over at Gail to be sure he was doing things right. He was struck by two things. First her apparent devoutness, she didn't seem to be just going through the motions like so many others. The other thing was the change in her expression. No longer the somber look he had seen in the store for years or the gorgeous smile that had seized his heart. It was replaced with one of beatific serenity. It was beguiling; the term Christmas angel ran through his mind.

After the mass ended, the organist and the choir gave a short program of Christmas carols, mostly with a religious theme; "Oh Holy Night", "Little Town of Bethlehem", "Silent Night", etc. It was simple but it helped put one in the spirit of the holidays. When they left the church, Gail took his arm as they walked back to her place.

"Thanks for coming, for once I didn't feel like an old maid."

"You're far from an old maid, besides, I kind of liked it."

"Coming back into the fold?"

"No, I don't think so. Don't let's get carried away."

The thought that he might feel that she was pushing it ran through her mind. It hadn't been her intention to be preachy. Good men were hard to find, and she felt she was with one now. The last thing she wanted was to drive him away with a perceived fit of religious fervor. Then she felt him pat her hand that was holding his arm and she knew he hadn't been insulted. They walked quietly the rest of the way, each not sure what the other was thinking. Finally they reached her door and went in.

"I know I said I'd make something special, but I got really busy the last few days so all I made was a fondue. I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all. In fact it is a little late to have a big meal, bread and cheese works for me."

"It's been warming up in a small crock pot, so it should be ready now. Put your coat anywhere and go sit on the sofa, I'll bring it in."

"You sure I can't help with something? I mean, I'd be glad to."

"Yeah, OK, you're in charge of the drinks." She started cutting some rye bread into cubes, "There's some wine and beer in the 'fridge. Wine for me, take what you want. There are glasses in the top cabinet."

Looking in the refrigerator he saw a six pack of Bud and a bottle of Manischewitz. He poured her a glass of the sweet wine and took a beer for himself. Taking them into the living room, he set them down on the coffee table and returned to the kitchen. She handed him the plate of bread cubes, then followed him into the living room with the crock of melted cheese. She had decided on the fondue deliberately, in order to eat it they had to sit close together.

While they sat dipping the forks full of bread into the cheese and sipping their drinks, they talked about their childhood Christmases. They made comparisons, saw the similarities and the differences. From there they talked about their exes; each concluded the other had foolishly married a jerk. As the cheese ran out, so did their energy. It had been a long day and now it was two in the morning. Gail wasn't sure what she'd expected to happen, but whatever it had been, it hadn't happened. It had been an enjoyable night and she was glad he'd come, but that was all.

However, when she leaned forward to deposit her fork in the crock she felt his hand on her back. Straightening up, she turned and faced him. He leaned over and kissed her. Not the same type of kiss as he'd given her the other night, this one was hard and passionate. Feeling his warm firm lips pressed against hers, she kissed back eagerly. Again, she felt the first pleasurable sensations of arousal, but again it ended as quickly as it started. The kiss ended, he cradled her head against his shoulder.

"It's late, Gail, it's time for me to leave."

She nodded her head in agreement, but felt a wave of disappointment sweep through her. Had this guy gone this far just to dump her? What kind of strange game was he playing with her? What she didn't know, couldn't know actually, was that he was haunted by the image of her in the church; the simple piety and the serene countenance. To think of sex with her on this night seemed like some bizarre sacrilegious desecration. How do you contemplate intercourse with a Christmas angel?

"I want to remember tonight like this, no other way," he said cryptically. "What time do you think you'll get home tomorrow?"

"By five at the latest."

"How about I come over about seven, then? We can have our own little holiday get together. Would that be all right with you?"

"Sure, fine, I'll be looking forward to it."

"OK then, I'll be here. Can I help you clean up or anything before I leave?"

"No, I'll get it in the morning."

With that they got up off the sofa and went into the kitchen. Gail filled the crock with hot water while he put on his coat.

"Tomorrow," he said simply and kissed her cheek.

"Tomorrow," she agreed.

With that he walked out the door, leaving her to her thoughts. She went into the living room and sat on the sofa, staring at her tree. She was trying to sort things out. He seemed hold out promise, then withdraw. On the other hand, he had a point, it was late and she did have to get up early in the morning. He hadn't run out, he was coming back tomorrow night. She had the feeling tomorrow she was either getting laid or dumped, she wasn't sure which. Furthermore, she wasn't sure which she wanted; if she only knew if he was serious or not.

She began weighing the facts. The last couple of weeks he'd shown a lot of interest in her, but it could be he was just horny and she was there. He'd not only brought her a Christmas present, he'd brought three, that should prove something, but what. Either he cared about her or he was willing to spend a few dollars to get her between the sheets; she didn't know which. He didn't seem like the type who would knock off a quickie and run, but that type seldom show their true colors until it was too late. All she was sure of was tomorrow night something was going to happen. All she could do was hope for the best.

In the morning, the first thing she did was open the three presents he'd left. They were a pleasant surprise. The first was a sweater, nothing too expensive, but nice. Heavy and warm looking, it was black on the top and shoulders and red on the lower body. She knew it was a good match for her natural coloring. The second was a gift box of perfume, her favorite scent. She wondered if it was a coincidence or if he'd known which to buy. The last was a bottle of Sherry, quite a contrast from the kosher wine she'd been drinking last night. She smiled to herself thinking that maybe that was his plan; get her looking good, smelling good, and drunk, then screw the hell out of her. Strangely, it was a pleasing thought.

Then she thought of her present to him; a hard cover copy of Hemingway's "A Movable Feast", in a way it seemed trite next to what he'd given her. But then she remembered they'd never agreed to exchange gifts, so it really was the thought that counted. She hoped he would understand that.

All through the day at her sister's Bob was all that was on her mind. Her thoughts vacillated; one minute she thought of him as just a horny prick who she shouldn't give the time of day to, the next he seemed like the best thing that ever came her way. It did, however, give her a thrill to have this little secret that something important was going to happen.

As they ate and praised the meal, she would have loved to announced, "Yes the roast is great, love the gravy, the bread pudding is to die for, and tonight I'm going home and have my ass pounded into the mattress."

But she didn't, she kept her thoughts to herself. The funny thing was as the day wore on a strange feeling began to grow in her. It took a while before she realized it was the early stages of arousal. The expectation of what might happen later was actually turning her on. When the time came to go home she was a nervous wreck; she felt as if she were leaving a world of safety and comfort to walk alone into a strange and dangerous place.

Arriving home she had two hours to kill, two hours alone with her thoughts. She thought about her ex-husband and the two men she had brief affairs with after her divorce, all had ended in heartbreak. She didn't need any more sorrow in her life. The problem was she wanted physical contact with a man again; to love and be loved. But she still didn't know what Bob's intentions were. Was he looking for love too, or simply a quick "slam, bam, thank you mam" and out the door? Hope for the best she thought to herself, and expect the worst, that way you won't be disappointed.

When the doorbell finally rang she answered it with a feeling of nervous excitement. When she opened the door and saw him all doubts disappeared. It was funny, she only had these qualms when he wasn't with her. He came in holding a plate covered with tin foil.

"Christmas cookies and a hunk of fruitcake," he explained. "I know that a lot of people don't like fruitcake, but this one is particularly good."

"I'm sure I'll love it." She took the plate from him and set it on the table. "Thanks for the presents, the sweater is great. I wore it to dinner today. By the way, how did you know what perfume to get?"

"I asked Marion."

"I'm surprised she kept her mouth shut, but she never said a word to me. I've never had Sherry before, I thought we could sample it tonight."

"Sounds good, it would probably go good with the fruitcake. Oh, thanks for the book, by the way."

"I wasn't sure, but you said you liked Hemingway, and then your statement about the mulled wine stand being a movable feast, it seemed like a natural."

"I did wonder if that was the tie-in. But, I've always thought "A Movable Feast" and "The Sun Also Rises" were his two best works. Actually I have it in the car, I kind of thought you might like to gift inscribe it."

"Of course, why not go get it?"

It occurred to her that if he wanted her to put her name in it, he must have liked it. It may not have been a big present, but it was a good one and she felt some satisfaction. While Bob went to his car to retrieve the book, Gail took the plate of cookies and fruitcake into the living room and set them on the coffee table. Then she got the bottle of Sherry and two glasses and put them on the table next to them. By then he was back with the book and handed to her.

"What should I write in it?" she asked. "I've never done this before."

"I guess just Merry Christmas, your name, and the date. That way every time I look at it, I'll remember tonight."

She got a pen and inscribed it the way he'd suggested. "I've never been immortalized in a book before, it's a kind of unique feeling."

"Thanks", he said simply. Then he kissed her cheek. Looking around, he set it on an end table, out of the way.

They sat on the sofa together. Gail picked up a corkscrew to open the Sherry.

"No, no corkscrew needed." He pulled a penknife out of his pocket. "All you have to do is cut the plastic capsule and pull the cork out by hand. It's done that way so you can stopper it back up, Sherry is something people usually only have a couple of glasses at a time."

"Learn something new every day," she remarked, watching him open the bottle and fill the two glasses. They each took a slice of the fruitcake and began to eat it, sipping on the wine to wash it down. "You're right, this is a good cake and the Sherry goes well with it. Is it me or does Sherry taste like raisins?"

"I think the proper term is reminiscent, but yeah, it does a little. My aunt makes the fruitcakes months ahead, and keeps spritzing them with rum or brandy, not sure which. I always liked them."

She nodded her head in agreement as she finished her piece. Then leaning forward to pick up a cookie, she felt his hand on her back. It rubbed her twice in a circular motion and then moved up to the crook of her neck. The moment she'd been waiting for was at hand. Setting her glass down, she slowly sat upright and faced him. He stretched out to set his own glass down, then shifted himself closer to her while his hand moved from her neck to her shoulder, pulling her tight against him. His free hand brushed across her cheek as if he were smoothing it out, then followed the line of her jaw until it was under her chin where he softly nudged it upwards to face him. Then he leaned down and kissed her.

It was a serious kiss; there could be no mistaking its purpose. Gently at first, then growing more passionate, their lips worked against each other. Any nervousness she'd felt earlier, any doubts, were washed away by feelings of pure lust. Almost involuntarily, like a reflex action her tongue pushed past his lips into his mouth where his own tongue made love to it. His hand dropped from below her chin down to her hip holding her firmly. When their lips parted Bob began nibbling on her earlobe, eventually kissing her neck, working down to the hollow of her throat. Gail tipped her head back giving him easy access. The only sounds in the room were her soft sighs and an occasional groan of pleasure. She was no longer thinking but merely reacting. He returned to her lips, kissing them firmly, mouth slightly opened, waiting to accept her probing tongue.

The hand on her hip moved to her leg and began rubbing her inner thigh. Even through the denim fabric of her jeans, this sent shivers of pleasure through her. She felt the dampness in her vagina and a tingling itch; she was fully aroused. But then she felt his hand move from her thigh across her stomach and under her sweatshirt. When it reached her ribs, it was as if she'd suddenly awoke from a dream with a start. She jerked away from him and her arm swept downward, half pushing, half knocking his hand out from under her shirt. Bob pulled back in confusion.

"Aw, Jesus. Gail, I'm sorry. I didn't, I mean I..." He was searching for words, "I'm sorry, I thought it was all right, I'm sorry" Looking at him, she saw the concern and confusion on his face. Grabbing his arm above the elbow with both hands she rested her forehead on the point of his shoulder.

"No, it is all right, it's my fault." Now it was her turn to search for words, "I should have told you, God damn it, I should have. I'm sorry for all this. The time never seemed right, and then tonight I got swept up in the moment. Forgive me."

"Tell me what? Please, honey, you can tell me now. What is it?" His hand was on her back again. She didn't even notice it was the first time he'd used a term of endearment when talking to her.

Straightening up, she took one hand off his arm and pressed it against her forehead for a moment. The she looked straight ahead, took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"Six years ago I had a mastectomy, I only have one breast." She spoke slowly and deliberately. "When you reached under my shirt, I panicked. I know I should have told you sooner, but it's not something I like to go around talking about. Then tonight, like I said, I got caught up in things. I should have told you ahead of time. For that I'm truly sorry."

"Don't be, I understand. I assume it was cancer?" She nodded. "That concerns me more than the breast. What's the prognosis, I mean are you still fighting with it?"

"I get checked on a regular basis, so far so good. They think I'm in the clear."

"That's good, but you scared the hell out of me young lady, let's not have a repeat of this. Then when you started all that you 'should have told me' stuff, I thought you were going to tell me you were a guy or something like that. You can tell me anything, you don't have to be shy."

"Thanks, but you have to understand, it was the final step in my marriage. Guess he didn't want to stay with half a woman."

"Half a woman," he repeated slowly, then his voice took on a lighter tone. "That's not right: it'd be three quarters of a woman. And, if you were with a guy with a lot of fetishes, the proportions get higher in your favor. Unfortunately, you're with me, and I'm a traditionalist. So you're stuck with three quarters for now."

It was a bad joke, a horrible joke actually, but it was the right one for this moment; it broke the tension. Looking at him, seeing the sympathetic eyes and the warm smile, Gail knew this crisis was not only over, but had never existed in the first place. His hand was on her back again.

"I was just afraid you wouldn't want to be with a one titted freak, a touch of paranoia I guess."

"A one titted freak" ,he repeated softly. "Gail, do you think all I see in you is a collection of assorted girlie parts? I fell in love with you, the person, not your rack or ass or any other goodies. And as far as your ex-husband; please judge me by me, not by something he did. Blame me for what I do, not for someone else's behavior."

Again he'd said the right thing, there was no doubt left in her mind that this was the right man, the one that she wanted. She kissed him lightly on the lips, and then leaned against him, her head resting on one shoulder, and her hand on the other. She rested there for a minute, then suddenly raised her head up and looked at him quizzically.

"Hey, did you just say you loved me?"

Surprised, he looked at her, "I don't know, did I?" She nodded.

"Out loud?" Again she nodded.

"Damn!" There was a pause, Gail thought he was about to take it back. Instead, he merely shrugged his shoulders.

"OK, so I said out loud what I've been thinking for the past couple weeks. This time I'm the one who could have picked a better time to say something. I guess we're both prone to blurting things out at inappropriate times."