A GIRL'S BEST FRIEND
(Something Addictive: Part 5)
*****************************
Reba and George traveled east out of San Francisco toward Oakland to pick-up 1-80 to Incline Village. It started out simple, but because of bad weather in the Rocky Mountains and a long confusing detour, what should have been a four-hour trip, turned into eight.
The snow helped them to see better in the darkness but they weren't confident they were on the right road. Their anxiety escalated and combined with the realities of life. Babe was whimpering and George was hungry. Reba needed a bathroom and the van needed gas. If a convenience store didn't show up soon, they'd have to rely on their energy bars, bottled water and trees up ahead for a pit-stop.
About half-an-hour out from Donner's Pass, they saw a man along side of the road with a gas can and a sign that said, "Help! I've run out of gas."
"Hop in," George told him, "You're in luck. We're looking for gas too."
Reaching for his wallet before getting in, the man showed it to him through the window and pointed to his driver's license.
"Thanks. As you can see, my name's Ned Fisher. I'm a caretaker for a cabin up the road a spell--sprained my ankle so I can't walk that far."
"Not a problem Ned. I'm George and this here is Reba--that wolfdog in the back is Babe. We're returning her to the wildlife sanctuary on Lake Tahoe."
"Glad to meet you all . . . I sure do appreciate this . . . I'd be happy to pay you for your trouble . . ."
"Like I said, not a problem. Betcha done more than your share of helping people along the way."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
When they got to the station, it was closed. The sign on the door said that they'd be open at 10 A.M. Thinking maybe he could find the owner, George checked out back and found no car or other signs of life. Heaving a big sigh, he looked around and asked, "Anybody got any ideas what to do now?"
"Look, if you got enough gas to get us to my place, I got a pump full of gas sitting' next to the barn. You'll be more than welcome to fill up."
Making it to his place, Ned introduced them to his wife Nellie who made them all sit down around the big old round oak table. Within minutes she'd brewed up a pot of coffee and put out a loaf of hot bread with her own homemade butter to help stave off everyone's hunger.
"Don't eat too much of that," she warned, "or it'll ruin your appetite."
As Ned talked to Reba and George, his wife bustled around in between them, slipping in plates and silverware and napkins along with a three bean salad and more coffee.
Pulling a roaster pan of venison stew out of the oven, she ladled it on to each plate along with her homemade tomato relish. The whole time she kept apologizing for it all not being fancier. "This time of the year, we don't get much fresh produce up here--have to rely on what I got canned last fall."
"Nellie, It couldn't be better. I wish I could cook like this."
"If I knew you were coming missy, I would have baked you a pretty cake and Babe some doggie treats."
"Believe me," George said, "It couldn't be better." Slipping his hand under the table and squeezing Reba's knee, he added, "Nellie, it's fit for a king and queen . . . "
"Thanks. But it's a good thing you two showed up. There's no way the old man and I could of finished this much off all by ourselves."
Halfway through dinner Nellie insisted they spend the night.
"Ned's truck can stay put for the night and you two can get your rest. From what you've said, it sounds like your long overdue."
Ned agreed. "Sure enough! And we got the perfect stall for Babe in the barn. She'll have fresh hay, food and water. Then you folks can rest right peaceful like for the night."
Nellie showed Reba to the spare bedroom and Ned showed George out back to the empty bunkhouse. Tired but grateful for a place to stay and a hot meal, they hugged Ned and Nellie goodnight and reluctantly, each other.
Winking, George said, "We gotta stop meeting like this Reba."
"Yeah, any more of this, and I'll be spoiled--not fit material for that blacktop jungle of ours."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
They left early the next morning after Nellie fixing them a hearty breakfast. The short ride to Incline Village was scenic and quiet. Uneventful, except for Babe whining when wild mustangs ran along side of them just before they reached the animal sanctuary.
After touring the facility and completing Babe's paper work, they worked out a deal that got rid of the van by negotiating a sale between the Redwood County Animal Control and the Lake Tahoe Animal Shelter. It couldn't have worked out better. Both parties were happy and it would save Reba and George having to back track to San Francisco.
The hard part was saying goodbye to Babe, but it had to be done. There was no way either Reba or George could keep her without harming themselves or her.
Still it was a tearful goodbye with Reba promising Babe she'd be back to visit her and make certain she had whatever she needed in the future. Whether Babe understood or not, the owners of the facility did. They promised her and George they'd give their wolfdog friend the best of care. Reba in turn, pledged her support by writing another check and promising them monthly donations.
A visiting salesman who'd been waiting out the snowstorm, gave Reba and George a ride from the sanctuary to the Denver Airport. They had lunch and toured the mint, and arrived back just in time to catch their flight to Boston.
Exhausted, they did not object to having seats far apart that afforded them some uninterrupted sleep. They didn't wake until they felt the bump of the plane land and the pilot thanking them for flying United.
Vice-President Tim Thompson met them at the gate as he'd promised and took George to the Charles Hotel in Harvard Square, and then drove Reba to her home a few blocks away on Tory Row.
"Get some rest Reba," he told her, "and meet George and me in the lobby at noon and we'll decide where to have lunch."
"Sounds good Tim, but you know it will be crowded there . . . "
"I know, but it's the only time I can make it. Besides, we have a new client meeting us in the lobby at two. I especially wanted you and George to meet him, but I needed to brief you before you do. "
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Home had never looked better. Reba had no idea where her husband was, but wherever it was, she hoped, it was far away. She was whipped and hadn't energy left to resume their same old arguments. Collapsing into bed she fell into a deep sleep that lasted through the night.
Rita walked into the Charles at noon, looking refreshed and revived.
"You clean up real good Reba," George chided her kicking her under the table.
"Yeah, George, you do too, it's amazing what a good night's rest and a little soap and water can do."
Letting out a big sigh and shaking his head, Tim said, "Are you two still at it!"
Taking on a sober expression George said, "Tim, I was just joshing. Reba and I . . . well let's just say we've gotten to know each other better--we're okay now."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Before the meeting was over, Tim was ready to fire them. After three hours of getting nowhere, the potential client excused himself and left mumbling he'd get back to them next week.
Reba left shortly afterwards and walked home stopping at the market in Harvard Square to pick up her favorite quick-fix comfort food.
Heating up the lasagna and spreading out the white cardboard deli cartons on her coffee table, she popped the cork on a bottle of pinot and found a chic-flick on television. Despite her determination not to cry, tears kept mixing with her food. It helped release some of the pressure she was feeling, but not enough.
She picked up a legal pad and began to write. It was an old trick she learned to rid herself of frustration. She'd write and let whatever she was feeling, pour onto the paper. Later, she'd set it on fire in her "Unity Burning Bowl" and watch all her troubles go up in smoke. Whether it was her imagination or not, it always helped.
Dear George,
How I long for you, and wish I could talk to you right now. Why we fought today like we did, I have no idea. What in heck is wrong with you? Or is it all me? I can't ask you this in person. I learned long ago, if you fear the answer, don't ask the question. And the wrong answer from you right now is more than I could stand. God only knows, I need to salvage what little hope remains to get myself through this night.
None of it really matters though, does it? I only know as I lie here right now and caress my own body, my hands are your hands. And, If I could, I'd be with you in an instant. I'd hold you and cherish you and keep you close. I'd ask you to forgive me, and then submit myself to you with no regrets.
I don't know how to fix what went wrong today--or if I'm right, or if I'm wrong. I only know I ask myself why it is I cling to what doesn't work in my personal life and only half-way works, in my business life.
Do you want me as badly as I want you? Come to me, right now, and make my fantasy come true. Convince me, be gentle and sweet to me, just like you were when we searched for Babe and rescued her.
Did you think I didn't know how much you wanted me then? Did you feel, I felt the same way too? Why does the harmony end when we're at work? Why do you turn from Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde? What is it that I do that infuriates you so and makes you close me out? I'm a nice person. Or did landing in Boston make you forget that?
What am I going do about you? I can't sleep and I can't talk to you. So I've come to you as only I can--on paper as a pen pal--one you'll probably never get to know; a traveler in time; a woman hungry for you and needing relief. I want to feel my arms around you and my body bare beneath you--you trying to enter me--you wanting to come with me so badly it feels unbearable not to.
Hold me. Just hold me. Love me in your imagination in this moment shared between us. Let me find relief, if not physically, mentally. Let it be so real and vivid, that just the thought of it, makes us both come without so much as a touch.
My heart aches and my thighs throb as I anticipate the sweetness of your tender touch. Take this feeling, transfer it into something I can touch and feel--the tenseness of your body, the hardness of your manhood--every sexy inch of you from the top of your head down to your toes and back up again. Over and over, all night long.
Yeah, I'm being a driveling idiot. I can't help it, and if you showed up at my door tonight, I couldn't refuse you. No choice would remain but to fall into your arms and surrender myself completely to all you ever wanted your sweet baby to be . . . your lusty woman, gift wrapped just for you . . . designed to tease and pleasure . . . satisfy your fantasy . . . give you pleasure . . . love you as long as you want.
Yours,
Reba
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Putting her pen down, she poured herself another glass of wine, and made her way to the bathroom. Stopping on the way back at the hall closet, she grabbed a blanket and pillow.
Sitting back down on the sofa, she piled the remains of her dinner on a nearby tray, and put her feet up on the coffee table and the blanket around her to try and sleep. Just as she was about to reach up and turn off the sofa lamp, the door bell rang.
"Who the heck would be paying me a visit this time of night," she growled as she walked towards the door.
Opening the intercom she asked, "Who's there?"
"It's me. George. Your worst enemy."
"What do you want?"
"I've got a present for you. Open the door."
"George. I'm in no shape to answer the door. Save it for the office."
"Reba, if you don't answer the door, I'll huff and puff and blow the door down."
Opening the door, she stood in shock as he placed a little black and white puppy in her arms.
"Meet Fluffy. A girl's best friend."
******************************
To Be Continued: Something Addictive: Part 6
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Submitted by:
Madison
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