International Exchange Concert

"So I sat down. Without further ado he looked over my topic and my notes, had me re-evaluate the points I wanted to make, made me take a broader view of my topic, and told me he expected to see a first draft by Friday and no excuses. On Monday he handed me back a marked up draft, with notes where and how it could be improved. He told me he wanted the rewrite by Wednesday. Thursday he gave me back the edited second draft and made me an offer: if Duke and I would come to his house Saturday afternoon with the final draft, he'd give it a final edit, proofread it, style it for me in Quark, insert the pictures into the text, and print it on his father's professional color printer for me to hand in on Monday.

"Somewhere along the way on Saturday, when he said he was pleased at how my paper was turning out, I asked him why he wasn't smiling if it was so good."

"What did he say?"

"He looked at me and Duke and said, 'I was in an accident when I was a kid. A lot of nerves in my face were severed. The muscles between my eyes and my mouth don't work very well. I'm lucky I can talk, never mind smile. It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I can't.' I wanted to sink through the floor, I was so embarrassed."

"I've seen him lift his eyebrows and turn up the corners of his mouth when he looks at me -"

"Then you've seen him come as close to smiling as he can. And as for laughing - well, Inga, try and laugh without smiling. Go on, try it!"

Inga did. It took a great deal of effort to keep her face straight and then laugh. What emerged from her throat wasn't laughter. It was a cross between a croak and a cough that hurt her ears. Carissa nodded agreement.

"And that's why he doesn't laugh, even when he thinks something's funny. He knows how grotesque and painful his laughter sounds, so he applauds instead. He's trying to be considerate."

Inga shook her head. "Wow. And I bet the number of people who know that are in this car and the one ahead of us."

"Pretty much. Plus his father, of course."

"Debbie's told me a little about him. An important doctor, she said. Has an important job and a big career. A real quality-timer with his son."

"If Robby is his son," Carissa said softly.

Inga looked at her. "What do you mean?"

Carissa sighed, turning the wheel as they took a curve. "While Robby and Duke and I were printing the final version of my paper, his father came home. He's tall, craggy, salt-and-pepper hair; just what you'd expect a distinguished surgeon to look like. He insisted we stay for dinner. We ate in the dining room. Miss Phoebe, their housekeeper, fed us.

"It was very stiff compared to what I'm used to, to what Duke is used to. To us Italians, dinner is when we catch up on each other's days, tell our little triumphs and tragedies; you know, family time. Robby and his father asked and answered questions, but it was like a board meeting in a movie, you know what I mean? Formal. His father seemed interested in my paper, and Robby seemed fascinated by his father's account of the cut and thrust of a grant proposal meeting, but there wasn't a lot of warmth showing.

"I had a chance to study both of them while we ate. Dr. Winston Jabez has black hair and hazel eyes. Robby's blond and blue-eyed. His father has a chin you could shave with. Robby's is rounder and cleft. His father's face is shield-shaped. Robby's is more oval. But it's the eyes and the hair that are the real clues. His mother was a blue-eyed blonde, but I know from biology class that if you mate a blue-eyed blonde female with a brown-eyed, black-haired male, you usually end up with a brown-eyed child with black hair.

"There's something else. The photos on the wall of the Doctor's study that I presume are Doctor Jabez's parents all have black hair. The conclusion is obvious: Winston Jabez is not Robby's biological father."

"Does Robby know?"

"I don't know. I've never asked him. And please, don't you bring it up. Let's keep this just between us, okay? Robby's been hurt enough; he doesn't need any more."

The car was silent for a couple of minutes as Inga digested this new information. As the Jaguar turned into the restaurant's parking lot, she said, "Carissa, could our going out for a late dinner be taken as a date? You and Duke, me and Robby?"

Carissa nosed into a parking space and shut off the engine. "I think that would be up to you. But I'll offer one piece of advice, and one warning.

"First, the advice. If you're interested in him, you're going to have to make the moves. He won't. I don't think he knows how. You'll have to take the lead in anything romantic.

"Now, the warning. Don't set him up and then humiliate him the way Sally Slut did. He wouldn't do anything if you did that, he's too nice a guy - but I'll see to it your body is never found. When it comes to romance, he's completely clueless. He's never had a girlfriend. He doesn't know the rules. If you try to hook up and you don't click, that's one thing. But using him and then dumping him is something else. He doesn't deserve that, and I won't have it. Do we understand each other?"

"You really think I'd do that to Robby?" Inga huffed indignantly.

"Inga, you're an old friend I just haven't known very long. Robby likes you. That speaks volumes. He doesn't like many people and seldom lets his guard down. I just wanted to get everything out front. Okay?"

"Okay. Shall we join the boys?" said Inga, jerking her head toward the two boys waiting by Robby's Jaguar. The two girls walked to join them. The Duchess slipped her arm into Duke's. Inga took Robby's hand and gave him a quick but unhurried kiss. Robby blushed, scars springing out on his face.

Anthony's Trattoria was a restaurant in the Neapolitan style; stucco, wrought iron, white tablecloths and napkins, big wine barrels behind the well stocked bar, comfortable chairs and square tables in the middle, banquettes around the edges with worn leather that molded itself to the body, and lighting low enough to encourage intimacy without requiring a flashlight to read the menu. Although the house specialty was seafood there was a wood-fired grille that could do steaks and chops if that was your pleasure. The air inside was heavy with the odor of well-prepared food. As they came out of the foyer, they were intercepted by an older version of Duke in a tuxedo, who hugged his relative and planted a kiss on Carissa's cheek.

"So nice to see you both again! I haven't seen you since my son's christening. But who are your friends?" Introductions were performed and Anthony, Duke's cousin and the proprietor, showed them to a banquette. He distributed menus and left them to it. Carissa and Duke didn't open their menus; they already knew what they wanted. Robby and Inga studied theirs.

"What do you recommend?" she asked.

Duke started to open his mouth but closed it again at a warning look from Carissa. Robby answered, "This time of night, I'd avoid the lobsters. They'll have been picked over by those who got here before us. Personally, I think the crab cakes in lemon butter sauce can't be beat. That's what I'm ordering, maybe with Anthony's special bacon-wrapped oysters in puff pastry as an appetizer. I could make a meal just of those, they're so good."

Inga shut her menu. "That suits. Tell you what: let's order the tray of mixed appetizers and we'll split them among the four of us, eh?" The Duke and the Duchess nodded agreement.

"Only if you let me pay for it," Robby said.

"Done!" The waitress in white dress with black hostess apron came and took their orders.

When the appetizer tray arrived, Inga took the initiative. After eating a couple of the treats herself, she dipped a bacon-wrapped oyster without the pastry into the cocktail sauce and held it out to Robby. Sensing that he was expected to eat it off her fork, he leaned forward and took it. Following her lead, he selected a lobster puff and held it out to her. She guided his hand and ate it, her fingers lingering on his.

Until the appetizers were gone, neither ate one unless the other selected it. Carissa and the Duke, their eventual marriage an understanding between them long since, watched the courtship behavior with quiet amusement. Dinner arrived, and all four devoted their attention to the very good seafood, eating every last bite. When coffee was served, Inga excused herself to powder her nose and motioned Carissa to follow with her eyes.

In the ladies' room, she asked her, "I really don't want to end this evening by simply driving back to town. Is there some place where we could, you know, have some privacy?"

"How much privacy are you talking about?"

"Someplace where we could be alone. But not so alone that we might get - into trouble."

"Parking, not hooking up, in so many words." Carissa pondered the problem.

"There's a place a quarter mile down the road that used to be a restaurant before it burned down a couple of years back. The parking lot is still there. Duke and I have gone there a time or two when we wanted to be private where nobody would think to look for us. Turn left off the road at the whitewashed boulder and go in about a hundred yards and you'll come to it. Park in the right rear corner and no one will see you."

Duke and Robby were at the cash register paying for dinner. Robby paid the tab with a credit card and Duke handed him his and Carissa's share of it in cash. Popping a complimentary mint into his mouth, Robby said, "Duke, I need your advice, please."

"What about?" he asked as they walked toward the entrance to wait for the girls.

"Well, this is rather awkward. I'd like to take Inga someplace where there's some, shall we say, privacy. I can't take her to my house for the obvious reason -"

"- So you want to know if there's somewhere the two of you could go to watch the midnight submarine races. A place where you won't be disturbed at the wrong moment, where no one can see how things turn out." He thought for a minute.

"Back down the road a little ways there's a white boulder on the left next to a driveway. Turn onto that road and drive slow and careful, there aren't any lights. There used to be a barbecue joint there years ago. A fire in the kitchen got out of control and it burned to the ground. The owner couldn't afford to rebuild and just abandoned the place. As far as I can tell, almost everyone's forgotten it's there. Carissa and I go there sometimes when we want to be alone, if you get my drift."

"Thanks." There was no time to say more as the girls rejoined them. They walked to their respective cars and with a wave at them, Duke and the Duchess drove off.

Inga slipped her arm around Robby's waist and leaned against him. "Is there any reason we have to go straight home, Robby?"

"Not if you don't need to get back right away," he said, tentatively reaching to stroke her hair. "Do you?"

By way of reply, she took out her cellphone, scanned down the directory, selected a contact and texted for a minute before closing up the phone. "All set. Shall we go?"

A couple of minutes later the Jag turned left onto a blacktop road crumbling at the edges, leaves old and new drifted across it. Inga looked at Robby with wise eyes as he guided the car slowly through the gloom.

"It seems great minds think alike."

His eyebrows quirked up. "Let's just say I was... hopeful."

The driveway emptied into a parking lot in a poor state of repair with windblown piles of leaves and deadwood from twigs to large tree limbs scattered about, and a ruin that by day might have inspired horror-movie dread but by starlight was somewhat romantic. The Jaguar parked on the far side of an uprooted tree whose bare branches broke up the car's outline and camouflaged it from curious eyes. He shut off the engine and turned to Inga.

Before he could say a word, she leaned forward and caressed his face. He closed his eyes and her hand behind his head pulled his lips to hers. She kissed him softly, taking her time as she felt him relax. His arm found her shoulder and drew her toward him as her lips opened on his and the very tip of her tongue flickered along them. She touched her tonguetip to his as his lips parted and he sighed. Opening her lips still more, she pressed deeper into his mouth. Inga pulled as closely against him as the bucket seats of the Jaguar allowed, which wasn't very. She broke the kiss but didn't release him.

"Let's get into the back," she whispered throatily. "We can be closer there."

Getting out of the car, they rearranged themselves, ending with Robby sprawled along the back seat and Inga sort of lying on top of him. She snuggled close and stroked his face as his hands shipped up under her jacket to explore her back. Taking his face in both hands, she lightly kissed his eyes and the tip of his nose before settling onto his lips and kissing him again, sighing as his tonguetip found her open mouth and he tentatively initiated a kiss of his own. Their tongues began to duel, an oral bout of lunge, parry, riposte and counter. As she expected, Robby was clumsy but very sincere in his intentions. She twined fingers into his hair and pressed against him. His hands slid to her buttocks and squeezed gently through her skirt in response to her pressure, and she wriggled against the lump in his pants. A soft moan escaped her lips and she began to rock over him. One hand moved up to her boobs but could not find its way inside her costume. His tongue thrust hard into her mouth and she groaned softly as a tiny orgasm fluttered her insides.

Breaking the kiss, she looked at Robby. His scars were visible in the low light, and he was breathing hard, but he made no move to try and get her clothes off, though one hand still squeezed her derriere.

"That was nice," she said. "Thank you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You just gave me a little orgasm, Robby. It felt good."

"I did?"

"Yes, you did. I'd like to do more with you, but this car is so cramped! If I'd thought we'd end up here, I would've changed out of this corset into something more... accessible." She twisted and settled against his chest. "A burlesque corset is so not the thing if you are going to make out. Almost makes me wish Paula Chomsky got the part."

"Who's she?" he asked as his hands wandered lightly over her body, exploring what he could.

"You know the girl who plays the sax in the cabaret band?"

His mind flashed back to the rehearsal, recalling a doughy, thick-legged girl in a middy blouse, unflattering shorts, pasty white skin and Liza Minelli hair. He had noticed her glare hatefully at Inga more than once as the blocking had been modified because of Buckthorn's stage lighting setup. "Yes. She doesn't seem to like you very much."

"That's because I stole her thunder. Paula's a better singer than I am and she knows it. She's been taking singing lessons since she was six. She's going to the conservatory at McGill next year. She spent last summer interning with the opera company in Toronto, filled in with the chorus a few times onstage and even sang a minor role in rehearsal when they were doing La Boheme. This was supposed to be her year in the theater arts program, eh? But when the school hired a new teacher after her mentor retired it kind of put a crimp in her plans for stardom.

"Mrs. Snowden had tailored this year's schedule to play to Paula's strength, her voice. Everything she scheduled was a costume show: Jesus Christ Superstar, 1776 and Les Miserables. They all have leads Paula could play in loose costumes or hoopskirts. Ms. Norton dumped all three in favor of staging Cabaret, Cats and The Producers, shows which absolutely require female leads with gobs of sex appeal who can dance without looking like the hippos from Fantasia. Paula may have a Broadway-caliber voice, but she comes up way short in the sex-appeal department.

"She didn't or couldn't see what the changed schedule implied when it was announced on the KSS website over the summer. Paula was so sure she'd be playing Sally Bowles that she got her hair cut in a 1920s bob before she came back to school, you know? I could have told her she wouldn't get it. I heard her audition. Paula couldn't sing in a corset."

"I don't get it."

"You've seen the movie, eh? In all of Sally's big numbers, she's wearing a corset," Inga said, tapping hers for emphasis. "But they constrict your diaphragm if you aren't used to them and you don't get used to one overnight. Ms. Norton made all the girls try out in a tight-cinched corset.

"Aside from the fact Paula would look like a caricature of a 1930s society matron, even assuming Wardrobe could find something that might fit her, she couldn't suck in enough air to project properly in the cincher she auditioned in. I was the only girl who could belt out a number while wearing a corset, so I got the lead. Paula was livid when she found she'd been bumped back to the chorus."

"So how is it you can sing wearing one?"

She snuggled closer and laid her head on his chest. "Robby my dear, I've been tightlacing since I was fourteen. I wear cinchers and bustiers most of the time, though I prefer an underbust corset to this burlesque style. I think they are the sexiest piece of women's clothing ever invented. Surely you noticed I have a small waist and erect posture?"

"I thought that was just you."

She kissed him lightly, batting her eyes. "Flatterer. They make me feel feminine and sexy as hell. If I were wearing one of my own instead of this body armor, I'd show you just how sexy they make me feel. But since I'm not, let me coach you in the kind of things girls like when they are in this situation. If that's all right with you, that is."

"I place myself in your very capable hands."

Inga had an enjoyable time writing a guide to sexual relations and sensual pleasure on the tabula rasa that was Robby. Carefully, knowing how delicate his ego was in interpersonal matters between males and females, she coached him in how to please a girl. She taught him how to use his lips on hers, where and how to kiss her skin, when to use his tongue when kissing, and the importance of not drooling no matter how excited the girl made the boy. She explained about the importance of touch, not just the where and the when, but the how, and allowed him to experiment on her to learn the 'butterfly touch' that done properly at the right time can drive a girl wild. She gave a quick lecture on the difference between caressing and getting grabby, pointing out that grabbiness will not only turn a girl off but earn the guy a bad rep, with a sidebar on female locker room and powder room conversations that made Robby blush. When she'd done all this, the two of them engaged in a game of tonsil-hockey and mixed wrestling that, when they broke apart, had both of them panting hot and heavy for more that they knew they could not have there and then.

"We'd better head back," Robby said at last.

The drive back to Buckthorn was quiet, but a comfortable quiet. Their relationship might not exactly be that of boyfriend and girlfriend, but it was much more than platonic. At Debbie's house, Robby walked Inga to the door. They kissed goodnight, an extended kiss that Inga had to restrain from turning rugged. She unlocked the door and went inside.

She took off her shoes and tiptoed up the stairs to the guest room, but before she could undress there was a soft tap at the door and Debbie slipped in. She looked at Inga and Inga instantly knew that Debbie could tell there was more to her getting home this late than a post-rehearsal dinner.

"And what have you been up to? A romp though Cupid's grove with great agility, perhaps?" she teased.

"No. But we did go parking for awhile."

"You're kidding! You and Mister Spock? Last time I checked, he wasn't in pon farr. I wouldn't have thought he knew what to do with a girl!"