Beneath the Apple Leaves(57)
During the journey, silence hovered between the men, alleviated only by the constant grind of the engine and clattering fan belt below the hood. “I shouldn’t have said what I did to you the other day. Wasn’t right and I didn’t mean it. Not a word of it,” Wilhelm finally confessed. “I’m sorry.”
Andrew faced the window, cracked at the top, the wind whipping at his hair and leaving him chilled. “Don’t have to apologize.”
“Yes, I do. Had no right speaking to you the way I did.” Wilhelm gripped the steering wheel, bit the inside of his cheek. “You’re working just as hard as the rest of us. Probably harder. Saved my family by finding that snakeroot when you did.”
But not in time to save the twins. Andrew pressed his feet into the floor of the car.
“That’s why I’m bringing you to the city.” Wilhelm glanced at his nephew sheepishly. “Call it a thank-you.”
Wilhelm and Andrew headed into the streets of Pittsburgh, the roads crowded with cars, the city thick with gray soot—a world shifting from color to black-and-white. His uncle turned into a side street lined with stone houses and topped with slate roofs. Large sycamores hovered on both sides, their leaves nearly eclipsing the iron streetlights planted between them. He parked the car in front of a tall house with a wide porch. Climbing roses, the flowers now browning, dotted the stiff, thorny stems.
Wilhelm got out of the car and Andrew followed, climbed up the flat steps, avoiding the ones with the broken and peeling slate. The door opened before they needed to knock and a woman in a green and yellow dress stepped out to the porch.
“Willy!” Her hands found her hips and she looked him over in dismay. “My word, it’s been too long!”
“Hey, Francine.” Wilhelm smiled, bashful. “Looking lovely as always.”
The woman squeezed his shoulder with affection. “Heard you moved out to the country with that pretty wife of yours. How’s farm life treating you?”
“Not as good as the railroad.” He shrugged, immediately sullen with the mention. “But Eveline’s happy. I think, anyway.” He seemed confused by his own thoughts, awkward with the description.
Just then, both faces turned to Andrew. The woman pressed her hands together. “My word! Is this Andrew?”
Wilhelm nodded and she smacked him coyly. “Could have at least told me what a handsome man he is! My word, boy, about the best-looking fella I ever laid eyes on.”
Andrew blushed, not sure how to respond to the compliment or the open sentiment. The woman wasn’t unattractive, must have been pretty at one time, but her face wrinkled with tired lines. She wore too much makeup, which gave her a caked, powdery look. She was older than he, maybe in the mid-twenties, but carried a whole life in the circles under her eyes. Her dress appeared a size too small and her bosom and hips bulged from the fabric in mounds.
Wilhelm put his hat back on and turned to go. “Take good care of him, all right?”
She rested her hand on Andrew’s shoulder, the touch light and gentle and too friendly. “Don’t have to worry about that, Willy. Leave it to me.”
He winked at Andrew. “You can thank me later.” And went to the car.
Andrew’s heart raced, felt part of a story with a hidden plot. The woman put her arm around him and her voice softened, cooed in his ear. “My name’s Francine, but you can call me Frannie. Hell, you can call me anything you like, Blue Eyes.”
They walked into the house. She moved to the edge of the steps. The top buttons of her dress were undone and the crease of her bosom curved like a black moon. The low hall light tinged her blond hair green. “Come on in, son,” she said gently. “You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll take good care of you.”
She took his hand and led him through the door and he did not protest as she drew him up the carpeted stairs, threadbare in the center from traffic. Different scents of heavy toilet water—lilac, rose, jasmine—mingled and grew and his head dizzied in their garden. She brought him into a room that had little more than a giant bed covered in dark green velvet. She closed the door and came up from behind, her warm breath against his neck before her arms wrapped around his waist and reached to undo his belt.
Clarity broke and he jumped from her touch. He put up his hand. “Hold on,” he called out. His hand flew to his hair, grated through the strands as he tried to compose his thoughts. “I think there’s been some sort of mistake.”
She covered her mouth and looked at him like a charming puppy. “Wilhelm didn’t tell you then?”
“Tell me what?”
She stopped laughing and approached seductively, nearly crawling toward him. “He didn’t tell you why you are here or what I do?”
Andrew stepped back, but she followed, etched the shape of his chin in her soft fingers. “I take care of a man’s needs, Andrew.” Her fingers touched his neck, played with the collar of his shirt. “I touch a man where he likes it best,” she whispered, playing with the top button of his shirt. She leaned to his ear and touched her tongue to his lobe. “I’m going to take you between my legs, Andrew.” She reached down to his pants and cupped his groin.
Everything caught fire, ignited all at once. He hardened in her hand and couldn’t think. Only one working organ pulsed in his whole body. She kissed his neck, her dry curly hair rubbing against his cheek, and lucidity entered again. He stepped back, but she followed. “Just stop for a minute,” he ordered. “Just stop. All right.” His voice waffled, shifted disorientedly. She pouted a bottom lip with the scolding.