Expectations

“Do you want kids?”

“ I suppose so.” It was a lie. He had never wanted children. There was simply no place for them in the life he had planned. Ordinary people had children, the kind of folk who held humdrum jobs and settled for a house with a neatly manicured lawn and a white picket fence. He was not ordinary. He was destined for greatness. Someday he would be the next great American author. Children would just get in the way. But he wanted to please her.

“How many do you want?” she asked.

“I don’t know. How many do you want?” He took a sip from the bottle of bourbon cradled in his hand. It was Four Roses--his favorite brand.

They were parked on a secluded hillside above the city overlooking the river. During the last few weeks this had became their favorite spot as the intimacy of their relationship increased.

She was sprawled across the front seat of his flashy convertible, legs curled under her; dark hair and alabaster skin a contrast of black and white in the moonlight.

She was prettiest girl he had ever dated--big eyes, heart-shaped lips and a slim figure.

Just looking at her made his tongue hard.

Her breasts were awesome.

She let him touch them sometimes when they sitting in his car listening to romantic songs on the radio, their bodies locked in a tight embrace as they exchanged wet kisses and soulful vows. But she always stopped him before it went too far.

Because she was a nice girl.

He was attracted to nice girls. For some reason the kind of girls who were always hot to trot did not appeal to him. It was OK to grab a quickie once in a while but a fellow didn’t want to get stuck with a girl who was easy. Who wants to marry a tramp?

Still, he thought about sex a lot. He had an exceptionally strong sex drive and if it weren’t for mother fist and her five daughters he would be nearly celibate.

The truth was his love life was a disaster. Even the flashy convertible he had purchased hadn’t helped. He had thought it would be a chick magnet but it had been a disappointment

He just wasn’t very good with women. Too shy, he guessed. Until he had a few drinks. Then he probably talked too much. Girls were not impressed with his prospects as a writer, either. But it would be different when he actually did become famous.

In the meantime, he had been pretty lonely until he met Mary.

He had met her in the restaurant where she worked as a waitress. He was smitten the moment he saw her but he hadn’t expected her to be interested in him. She was too pretty; out of his class.

Surprisingly, when he worked up the courage to ask her out, she accepted.

Their first date was memorable. He took her ice-skating and she kicked over his bottle of vodka when she was putting on her skates in the back seat of the convertible. Part of it spilled into her shoe and he had made a joke about drinking from her slipper.

It had gone on from there. They had been dating for several weeks before he met her family.

They were a little weird. The father was a fiery little Irishman who sharecropped a forty-acre farm and her mother was a huge woman with a vacant gaze who seemed a little simple. Neither of them was much to look at. It was a mystery how they could have produced such a beautiful daughter.

There were five younger siblings, too. The eight of them lived in an ancient, two-bedroom house without plumbing. A dilapidated out-house that smelled of decaying human excrement and was filled with buzzing flies satisfied their calls of nature.

They were definitely not the sophisticated folk appropriate for a budding writer who was on his way to fame and fortune.

But there was something about Mary.

He had thought about her a lot since they started dating. Last night he had decided it was time to make a decision. He had drunk nearly a fifth of whiskey while he considered his options.

He always got drunk before making an important decision. It helped him focus.

While he drank, he balanced the pros and the cons. Actually there weren’t a lot of cons. He was dying to make love to her. There were no other girls in the picture either and might never be unless he did actually become a famous writer.

Sometimes that possibility seemed kind of remote. After all, he had only sold one story and that hadn’t paid much. He hadn’t written anything for months, either.

And he was lonely. It was a drag eating out of greasy spoons and frequenting sleazy bars. It would be a relief to get off the treadmill.

It bothered him that she was only seventeen but the eight-year age difference could be an advantage when there were decisions to be made. Plus, he had been to college while she had never finished high school. Obviously he was a lot smarter than her. He would definitely wear the pants in the family.

The fact that she came from a poor family was in his favor, too. He could provide her with a lot of comforts she wasn’t accustomed to.

Finally, there was the sex angle.

He really liked sex.

If they were married, she would give him sex whenever he wanted.

All he would have to do is ask.

The booze had finally got to him and he couldn’t remember exactly what he had thought. But the next morning he decided to ask her to marry him.

He took a long swig from the bottle. The whiskey warmed the back of his throat and then exploded into fiery heat when it reached the pit of his stomach, filling him with a delightful sensation of optimistic expectation.

He slid across the seat of the convertible and put his arm around her shoulder. Her skin was soft and a delicate aroma radiated from her hair

“I have something to ask you,” he said. “Something important.”

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She snuggled against him and smiled expectantly. Was he going to ask the question?

She had tried hard to please him.

She had even gone ice-skating with him although she had never done it before and found it impossible to stand up on the ice. She wouldn’t have done that if she hadn’t liked him, would she? It was too bad about the vodka but it was an accident. He had laughed and made a joke about drinking from her shoe.

There were lots of reasons she liked him. He was eight years older and had a good job that gave him a steady income. Plus he was experienced. He had served a hitch in the army and he had been to college. He had been around.

And he was going to be successful.

She knew he would be successful because he had told her so. He had told her more than once.

He was kind of funny some of the time, talking about stuff she had absolutely no interest in, like books and authors and what a great writer he was going to be. She always pretended to be interested, even when she wasn’t.

She had read some of the stories he had written. They must have been pretty deep because she hadn’t understood them. He talked about himself a lot, too--his plans and how important he was going to be. His sense of humor was a little weird and he laughed at lots of stuff she either didn’t understand or think was funny. But it was fun to be with him. Especially after he had a few drinks.

She liked the way he looked, too--kind of intellectual with his big nose and black horn-rimmed glasses.

Another thing she liked was his convertible. It was definitely a chick magnet. She was sure the other girls envied her. He liked to drive fast and it was fun to feel the sun on her face and the wind in her hair.

Her family liked him, too. They considered him a catch. The fact that he had a steady job and had been to college impressed them

No one in her family had even finished high school. She had quit during her junior year because school was hard for her. Her brain just wasn’t good with that kind of stuff.

The job as a waitress was a welcome relief. No one expected her to be smart there. A lot of the men who came in flirted with her and that was exciting. She had dated a few but soon discovered they just wanted to have sex with her. Most of them were married, too. She was too smart for that kind of malarkey. She understood how men felt about women who were easy.

Dating was just hard for a girl. It was kind of a delicate balancing act that was like walking a tight rope, letting a guy go just so far and no farther, giving him enough leeway to keep his interest but not so much he would think you were a tramp.

Not that she was a virgin. There had been quite a few boys when she was younger. She had thought letting guys screw her was a way to be popular but soon discovered all it gave you was a bad reputation.

Actually, she didn’t like sex much. It was uncomfortable and messy. But guys sure liked it and if a girl played her cards right she could use it to get the things she wanted. The smart thing was to dangle sex in front of a guy but not give it to him until he met your terms.

He was the most aggressive boy she had dated. The first time he kissed her he tried to feel her up. He had Roman Hands and Russian Fingers for sure. After she told him she was a virgin, he had been more respectful. He honestly believed a nice girl should save herself for marriage.

Whatever happened she could never admit she was not a virgin.

In the meantime she let him kiss her and sometimes she let him touch her breasts. Why was so obsessed with her breasts. He couldn’t keep his hands off them and he got real excited when she let him touch them. Was that normal? He seemed to think about sex an awful lot, too.

Well, she knew how to make that work for her.

One thing that bothered her was his drinking. She had never known anyone who drank as much. It seemed like he couldn’t do anything without a drink in his hands. She was glad he could handle it so well. She had never seen him really drunk. It seemed the more he drank the happier he got.

How much happiness could one guy stand?

There were lots of things she would change if they were married. He spent way too much time and money in bars for one thing. That would come to a screeching halt.

Provided, of course, he asked her to marry him.

She had no illusions about him becoming a famous writer. He wasn’t half as smart as he thought he was. But he had a good job and earned lots more than anyone in her family. She would see to it that he quit wasting time on foolish fantasies.

Provided, of course, he asked her to marry him.

She really hoped he would ask her. She could admit to herself, the real reason she wanted to marry was so she could get away from her family. She was sick and tired of the cramped quarters and the lack of privacy, tired of her three brothers and two sisters who were always making demands on her, and especially she was tired of the stinking outhouse. Every one else had inside plumbing. Why not her? It was simply too much to endure. Whatever it took, she just had to escape.

She leaned against his shoulder, looked yearningly into his eyes and smiled sweetly. “What did you want to ask me, honey?”

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Each of them was blissfully unaware of the others expectations. If they had known would the question have been asked? Or answered?