Harry and Amy: Chapter 3

Posted: August 08, 2005 - 12:01:29 am



She almost didn't recognize the man who stepped through the door of her office.

It wasn't that he had physically changed, but he was a changed man. Gone was the

arrogance and contempt with which he had normally addressed people. Amy wondered

what Richard's month with Harry had been like to change him so. Concerned, she

said, "Hello, Mr. Montclair."

"Hello, Amy. Call me Richard from now on," he replied. He paused and looked

around the room. The picture that Harry had drawn was still hanging on the wall.

Next to it was a framed picture of Amy and Harry running in the three-legged

race. The expression on her face in that picture was one of pure joy. Nodding in

the direction of the picture, he said, "That's a good picture of you. You really

look happy in it."

Amy looked over at the picture for a moment with a large smile as she remembered

the moment it captured. She said, "I didn't even know it had been taken until

the picture, complete with frame, showed up on my desk."

"The plants look good. They give the office a softer feel to it," commented

Richard as he took a seat across from her. That he had taken a seat signaled

another change in the man. In the past, he stood forcing the seated person to

either stand or look up at him. Everyone knew that it was an intentional power

play, but that knowledge didn't help the poor victim of his games.

Surprised by the direction of the conversation, Amy said, "The secretary said we

could rent the plants from a service and that they would take care of them. All

I had to do was ask to be put on the route."

"I should have told you about that before. I guess I just didn't bother to think

about it. Rather inconsiderate of me," admitted Richard. He wondered how many

other little things he hadn't bothered to think about.

After a minute of silence, Richard said, "Mike was waiting for me outside the

building when Harry dropped me off last night. After talking with Harry for a

little bit, he talked with me. I've been promoted to Vice-President of Business

Development."

Amy leaned forward with a smile and said, "Congratulations."

"Thank you," replied Richard. The promotion had come out of the blue. He had

been fighting for it, but after the last month it seemed that his priorities had

changed. He had learned so much that month. He'd met a man who had a position

identical to his about five years earlier. The man had lost it after his wife

died of cancer and he'd gone on a drinking binge that hadn't ended yet. A

half-day conversation with the man had made him wonder what he had been working

for in his life.

"When are they going to announce it?" asked Amy. She hadn't seen anything about

him getting promoted in her e-mail.

"After I inform my successor that she has my position," answered Richard

watching Amy for her reaction. A small smile curled up as he wondered how long

it would take her to figure out the identity of his successor.

She wanted to ask who her future boss would be, but she knew he wouldn't tell

her until he told that person first. One of the major requirements in this

business was being able to keep one's mouth shut. She said, "Whoever she is,

she's in for a lot of work. I wish her a lot of luck. When are you going to

inform her?"

"I'm working on it right now," answered Richard with a smile.

A puzzled expression crossed her face as she considered the implications of his

answer. Could it be that he meant her? Cautious, she asked, "Do you mean me?"

"Yes, I do," answered Richard. A month ago he had been willing to get her thrown

out of the company after Mike had turned him over to the Druid. After that

month, he respected her more than himself.

"No?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes."

The desire to jump up and down, hug someone, and generally express her joy with

physical activity remained. Her ruined knees didn't diminish her desire, but

they did slow down her ability to pursue it. Amy grabbed her arm crutches and

stood up. She didn't have to walk to him. He met her before she had taken a

single step and embraced her with a good solid hug. Stepping back, he said,

"Congratulations, Amy. You deserve it."

"Thank you, Richard," answered Amy. Unbidden, tears started to well up in her

eyes.

"Normally, if I promote a married person I send them home early so they can tell

their spouse and celebrate. In your case, I'm going to send you to the Homeless

Hotel so you can share the news with Harry before he leaves town."

Amy was excited and didn't know what to do next. She said, "Thank you."

"You'll need to get someone to help you negotiate your contract. We'll take care

of that over the next week or so," commented Richard. He was going to be doing

the same thing as a result of his promotion.

"Thanks," gushed Amy. She'd never thought of what was involved in getting

promoted into the executive ranks of a company.

Richard walked over to the door and paused. Turning to look back at Amy, he

said, "I discovered something about the invisible ones that Harry talks about.

They are people, too."

"Yeah. They get to you, right here," she replied pointing to her heart.

Feeling as if he had been made privy to a great secret, Richard said, "I'll put

out the announcement now. By the time you get packed up to leave, the rumor mill

will know about our promotions."

Amy smiled as the door closed behind Richard. She decided that she was going to

enjoy working for him from now on. He hadn't been a bad boss, but she suspected

he would now become a great boss. Upon returning to her chair, she shutdown the

computer and packed her stuff to leave. It took her less than ten minutes.

Stepping out of her office, the secretary said, "Congratulations, Amy. We're all

so happy for you."

"Thank you, Karen. It was totally unexpected," she replied.

The Saturday following her promotion had been a rather surreal experience. An

executive consultant had arrived on her doorstep at ten in the morning. She had

been expecting the executive consultant, but not what happened after she had

arrived. The woman had gone through her closet separating her clothes into two

piles, one containing clothes she could keep and one containing clothes that she

was to get throw away. After a vigorous argument, the second pile had been

separated into clothes to wear only to the Homeless Hotel and clothes to throw

away. After that, they had gone shopping for the next six hours. After spending

nearly forty thousand dollars, they returned to the house where she was lectured

on how to dress for success.

Alone for the first time since ten that morning, Amy settled into her comfort

chair with a cup of hot tea. She was wearing her fuzzy pink bathrobe, one of the

few items the executive consultant had not commented upon other than to say it

looked comfortable. She sighed and said, "What a strange day."

While she was sipping the last of her tea, there was a loud knock on her door.

Wondering whom it might be, she set the teacup down on the table and struggled

out of her chair. Using the arm crutches, she made her way to the door grumbling

as she moved. It was after eleven at night, much too late for visitors.

Looking through the peephole, she saw that it was Harry. Concerned, she opened

the door and said, "Hi Harry. What's up?"

A figure in an expensive looking suit was on the ground at Harry's feet. He

knelt down and picked the man up. He grunted from the effort and said, "Let me

in."

Amy backed away from the door and watched as Harry carried the man into her

house. With the same demonstration of strength that he had shown when he had

picked her up, Harry set the man down on the couch. She didn't recognize the

man. Curious, she asked, "Who's he?"

"I'm not sure. He's a good man, but I don't know much more about him than that,"

answered Harry with a crooked grin. He looked down at the man for a moment and

then said, "It seems that he was rolled. Some horrible person took his wallet."

Frowning, Amy looked at the man with the kind of eye that came from dealing with

the homeless. His clothes were definitely expensive. He was still wearing his

watch and it was a designer watch that spoke of money. She asked, "Did you call

the police?"

Uncharacteristically, Harry fidgeted for a second and wouldn't look at her.

Finally, he answered, "I'm sure the person who took his wallet got away. Calling

the police wouldn't do any good. It would be a waste of everyone's time."

"If you say so," she replied, not quite believing his story. She looked down at

the man as she pulled her robe tighter. She had more questions than answers. She

turned to look at Harry and was surprised to see him standing by the door.

With an apologetic shrug and then a wave, he said, "Well, take care of him. I'll

see you around."

"What!" She was too late to catch him. He had already slipped out the door and

closed it behind him. She screamed, "Harry! Get back here!"

The man on the couch groaned, but didn't wake up. It was clear to her that he

was down for the night. Looking down at him, she tried to figure out what to do.

There was no way she could move him from the couch. He'd have to sleep there for

the night.

She used her crutch to pull her footstool over to the side of the sofa. She sat

down and examined the man smelling the alcohol on his breath. It wouldn't do for

him to sleep wearing his tie. All she needed was for him to strangle himself on

it in his sleep. Nervously, she reached out and touched his tie. The smooth silk

felt cool to her fingers. Her fingers trembled as she worked it off his neck.

She unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

His suit coat was tangled beneath him. She decided that had to be removed as

well. Shaking her head, she struggled to get the coat off him. She flinched when

his head bounced off her brace. With a grimace on her face, she said, "That's

going to hurt in the morning."

She removed his shoes so they wouldn't get the couch dirty. Then came the socks

although they were a little more difficult to justify. She wondered about his

belt and if it would rip the fabric of her couch. By the time she was done, his

pants and shirt had joined the rest of his clothes on the coffee table. She

found herself staring at his boxers, tempted for a minute, but only a minute, to

remove them as well.

Levering herself up from the footstool, she went into her linen closet and

grabbed a sheet with which to cover him. She stopped by her bed and picked up a

pillow. It was hard to carry all of those items, but she managed. She always

managed. It wasn't as if she had any choice in the matter.

After placing the pillow under his head and covering him with the sheet, she

stood next to the couch and said, "Harry, I'm going to kill you."

Looking down at him, her curiosity got the better of her. She leaned down and

ran her hand over the sheet as if straightening it. Knowing that it was wrong,

she couldn't help herself. She told herself that it wasn't her fault that her

hand happened to cross his crotch. She paused with her hand directly over his

cock trying to guess its size. When it stirred, she snatched her hand back.

Flustered, she moved away from the couch. After drinking her tea, she headed off

to the bedroom. Locking the door, she sat down on the bed and removed her

braces. It felt good to have them off. She ran her hands over her legs, rubbing

the soreness out of them. When she realized that her hands had moved a little

too far north, she stopped. She looked in the mirror on the dresser and said,

"Get a grip. It's just a man."

The words echoed in her mind. It's just a man. The only men who had touched her

over the past ten years were her doctors. Not a single man had been interested

in her since her accident. Her body was ready for it, though. Just the idea that

a nearly naked man was just on the other side of the door was enough for her to

get wet between the legs. Once again, she said, "I'm going to kill you, Harry."

Morning came and Amy found that she had gotten very little sleep through the

night. Groggy and still tired, she forced herself to put on the braces so that

she could go into the bathroom. Even as she put them on, she thought that they

were the last things she touched before going to bed and the first things she

touched when she woke.

After performing her morning business in the bathroom, Amy made her way into the

kitchen. It wasn't long before her coffee was brewing. Looking around for her

pushcart, she remembered that she had left it in the living room. The cart was

necessary since she couldn't carry a cup and move at the same time. Disgusted at

herself for having left it there, she headed to the living room.

She stared at the pile of clothes on the coffee table for a minute trying to

remember how they got there. A male head slowly rose up from the couch

surprising her. She screamed. He moaned as his hands flew to his head and he

dropped to a fetal position on the couch. It was only then when she remembered

the events of the previous evening. It took her another second to realize that

she should probably stop screaming.

Clutching her robe tightly to her chest, Amy waited to see what he would do.

After a minute, the man's head slowly rose up from the couch. He paused in fear

of evoking another scream and looked around. Even moving hurt his head.

Confused, he wondered where he was and how he had gotten there. He turned his

head by turning most of his body until he saw her standing at the entrance of

the living room. He started to speak, but the first noise that came from his

throat was more of a croak than a word. It was loud enough to drive nails into

his head.

"Good morning," she said. He winced and she dropped the volume of her voice.

"Morning," replied the man although it hurt to say it. He looked down at his

body and realized that he was undressed. In a move that was too fast for his

comfort, he looked back at her wondering if he had taken advantage of her the

previous evening. She didn't look familiar to him.

The pair stared at each other for a full minute. Neither one knew what to say to

the other. Finally, the man grunted, "Bathroom."

Pointing down the hall, Amy said, "That way. There are fresh towels if you need

to shower."

He stood up to head to the bathroom. She stared at his boxers. He looked down at

his boxers and turned red. She stared at his boxers some more. He looked up at

her. His erection slipped the confines of his boxers. She stared at his erection

with wide eyes and open mouth. He looked down at his erection. A second later he

was scrambling for the sheet to cover his body once his barely functioning brain

processed what had happened. Flustered, she fled to the kitchen while he ran off

towards the bathroom.

She laughed once she reached the kitchen as the humor of the situation finally

came to her. As she poured a cup of coffee, she said, "I imagine there have been

worse first encounters, but I've never heard of one."

Deciding that he would be busy in the bathroom for a while, she returned to the

living room and fetched the cart. Pushing it back to the kitchen, she wondered

what she should do now that he was awake. It had been years since she had a

hangover, but she remembered that some coffee and a couple of aspirin would

help.

She waited in her comfort chair for the stranger to exit the bathroom. The sound

of the shower running gave her minimal clues as to what her guest was doing. He

was taking a long time. She wondered if there was going to be any hot water left

by the time he was done. His coffee was getting cold.

The water turned off suggesting that his shower was over. The noises of a person

moving around in the bathroom made her wonder what he was doing. It was ten

minutes before he entered the living room with a towel wrapped around his waist.

Not able to look her in the eye, he said, "Sorry. I hope that I didn't do

anything unpleasant last night."

"What happened?" asked Amy curious how he had become so inebriated the previous

evening.

"I don't know. I was at a fund raiser drinking orange juice and the world got

dizzy on me," answered the man. It was a rare occasion when he drank and then

never in public. His condition was puzzling, since he had ordered orange juice

rather than club soda. He avoided club soda because the bubbles bothered him.

"Screwdrivers," commented Amy with a knowing nod.

"What?"

"Vodka and orange juice."

"That explains it," commented the man. He looked around the living room trying

to find something that would give him a clue about the identity of his hostess.

This was the first time he had woken in a strange woman's house with no memory

of meeting her and he didn't know how to act.

"It does. How?"

"I can't taste Vodka," he answered. It was true. Vodka tasted just like water to

him and if the drink had contained vodka he would never had known it.

"Really?" she asked unable to believe it. She'd never heard of such a thing, but

there were a lot of things that she didn't know. That a fruit drink could cause

such devastation she knew full well. There had been one episode in her past

where a rum concoction had left her totally wasted.

"Yeah, I hope I didn't drive here," said the man hoping she would answer with

something that would let him piece together the events of the previous night.

An uneasy silence settled over the room. He didn't know how to go about asking

her name. Glancing over at her, he took in her appearance. Seated in the chair

wearing a pink bathrobe, she looked very much like the girl next door. Soft

brown hair that came down to her shoulders framed an attractive face. Despite

the fact that she wasn't wearing makeup, he liked her face. He didn't mind the

braces, but the plain solid looking shoes contrasted sharply with the rest of

her outfit. The contrast was jarring to his hung over brain.

Gesturing to the cart, Amy said, "There's some coffee and aspirin for you. I'm

afraid the coffee has gotten cold."

He picked up the aspirin and swallowed them using the cold coffee to chase them

down. The cold coffee brought a grimace to his face and a tinkle of laughter

from Amy. After a shiver went through his body, he said, "Thanks."

"If you would like to warm up your coffee, the pot is in the kitchen," she said

as she pointed in the direction of the kitchen. It was too much of a hassle for

her to push the cart back to the kitchen, fix another cup of coffee, and then

push the cart back.

Rising from his seat, he said, "Thanks. Could I refill yours while I'm up?"

Smiling, she handed him her cup. He took it and wandered off in the direction

she had pointed. He was gone a lot longer than it should have taken for him to

refill the cups. He returned and handed her a cup of hot coffee. Sitting down,

he took a sip of his coffee and sighed in pleasure. When he set the cup down,

she noticed that he had added milk to it. Mentally, she chastised herself for

not thinking to offer him cream or sugar. She said, "Sorry, I didn't think to

ask you if you needed cream or sugar."

"No problem," he replied. He took another sip of the coffee trying to figure out

what to say. His trip to the kitchen had not yielded any clues as to her

identity. He felt like a cad by not knowing her name. Had he slept with her last

night? Why couldn't he remember anything about her? The last thing he remembered

was talking to the Druid.

Looking around the room, he could tell she made good money. The furniture was

expensive, the artwork on the wall was original, and the room itself was large.

Taking a deep breath, he took the plunge. "I really hate to sound like a cad,

but I don't remember your name."

Amy laughed as she realized what had been going through his mind. With a grin,

she said, "I suppose I should be hurt by that."

"Please don't be hurt. I'm really truly sorry, but I just don't remember

anything about last night." The anguish in his voice suggested that he really

did feel horrible.

Unable to continue teasing him, she said, "Harry brought you here last night and

you were already unconscious. The reason you can't remember my name is that you

never knew it."

"Harry? The funny little Druid?" asked the man. The events of the previous

evening were starting to come back to him. Dimly, he remembered telling the

Druid about not feeling well last night. The Druid had promised to take care of

him.

"Yes, Happy Harry brought you here," answered Amy. She was busy putting the

pieces about the previous night together as well. With a suddenness that

startled her guest, she grabbed her crutches and launched herself out of her

chair. She went over to the front door and opened it. On the doorknob was a

small bag. She swore, "Harry, I'm going to kill you!"

Grabbing the bag, she closed the door and returned to her chair. Sitting down,

she opened the bag, peeked inside, and then tossed it to her guest. With a

scowl, she said, "Harry said that some little creep had rolled you and that you

had no id on you. He said he brought you here because he didn't know where you

really lived."

Puzzled, the man opened his wallet and examined the contents. He said,

"Everything is here."

Shaking her head, she said, "Harry is playing a little game with us."

"Oh. Why would he do that?"

Amy glanced down at her braces believing she knew the answer. She sighed and

then answered, "He has an odd sense of humor. By the way, my name is Amy."

"I'm Bill," replied the man relieved to have a name for his hostess. He looked

down at himself and realized he was still wearing nothing more than a towel.

He'd have to get dressed. The last thing that he wanted was for little Bill to

rear his ugly head. Reaching over for his clothes, he said, "I better get

dressed. I feel a little uncomfortable sitting here dressed like this. I feel a

little naked wearing nothing more than a towel."

Amy was about to say that she was enjoying the view or that she was wearing

nothing more than a robe but realized it wouldn't be exactly appropriate. She

levered herself out of the chair and said, "Stay here. I'll go in my room and

dress as well. We can go out to breakfast after we're dressed."

Amy slowly made her way to her bedroom. Almost upon reaching it, she realized he

was going to have to wear his suit. That was a little fancy for a simple

breakfast at the local diner. She turned to ask him if she should get dressed

up. She had just about entered the living room when she saw him. He had just

dropped his towel and was reaching for his boxers. His back was to her, but what

she could see looked very nice indeed. Not wanting to get caught, she backed up

and then moved to her bedroom as fast as she could.

Inside her room, she took a minute to get her emotions under control. She

slipped a hand between her legs amazed at the wetness she found. She snatched

back her hand as though it had encountered acid rather than her natural

secretions. Shaking her head, she said, "Amy, you've got to get control."

At the closet, she picked out one of the new outfits she had purchased the day

before. The consultant had suggested she start wearing longer skirts. They would

hide her braces and give her a greater sense of presence. The outfit she

selected to wear for breakfast had cost more than the combined cost of the

clothes they had thrown away the previous day.

Nervous at the reaction she would get, she stepped into the living room. Bill

turned and looked at her. His expression of pained hangover turned to one of

pleasant surprise. He whistled and said, "Wow. You dress up nice."

She smiled and said, "I'm glad you like it. I figured with you wearing a suit

that we should probably go to a nice place to eat. I have a place I would like

to try. I hope you don't mind."

Bill was about to suggest a place, but decided to let her choose. She had been

kind enough to take him in and he didn't want to impose. Shrugging his

shoulders, he said, "Lead the way."

She led him to the garage and got into the car. He entered the passenger side,

uncomfortable at not being in the driver's seat. Amy turned to him and said,

"Sorry, but I have to drive. It took me forever to learn how to operate this car

and I'm sure the controls are pretty unfamiliar to you."

Looking at the controls of the car, he realized he didn't know how to operate

it. The brake and accelerator pedals were missing. A hand control was mounted

next to her chair. She was right, he'd never figure out how to use the car in

time to drive her to the restaurant.

For him, it was a strange sensation not to be in charge and he found that he was

trying to decide if he liked the feeling. She pulled out of the garage and

headed towards the place she had in mind. When she pulled onto the highway, he

stared at the sign in confusion. He asked, "Where are we?"

"I'm heading towards Lakeshore Drive," answered Amy as she changed lanes.

"Uh, what city?"

"Chicago, of course," answered Amy taking her eyes off the road long enough to

see his reaction.

"We're not in Milwaukee?" asked Bill, shocked to learn that he was in Chicago.

Last night, he had been at a fundraiser in a suburb of Milwaukee. It had been

some sort of effort to help the homeless. It had been an unusual event for him

since he usually supported medical charities.

Amy burst out laughing at the news. She couldn't believe that Harry had driven

him all the way from Milwaukee just to deposit him in her lap. It made her

wonder on whom Harry had pulled the joke, her or Bill. She said, "I guess I'm

not going to get a chance to kill Harry after all."

"Why?"

"I think you are going to beat me to it," she said with a laugh.

Bill chuckled as he realized the humor of the situation. He was curious why

Harry had taken him so far from home, but there was no telling. He didn't know

the Druid that well, but Amy seemed to know him quite well. He replied, "You may

be right."

"I don't know why Harry kidnapped you like that, but I'm sure he had a reason,"

said Amy echoing his thoughts.

"Where are we going?"

Amy smiled and said, "We're going to the North Pond."

The North Pond lived up to its reputation. After they had been led to a table

next to a window, Amy gazed out upon the skyline of Chicago. Bill examined the

view and said, "This is nice."

"Yes it is," replied Amy as she turned to look at her dining companion. She

smiled to herself at the idea she was having breakfast with a man who had spent

the night with her. She hadn't ever done that before. She didn't particularly

care that they hadn't done anything. It was just the idea of it that struck her

as amusing.

"What are you thinking?"

Amy blushed at the thoughts she was having. Rather than answer, she said, "I was

wondering why you haven't commented on my braces yet."

"They aren't a big deal," replied Bill with a shrug.

"They aren't?"

"No. My dad had polio when he was a kid. I never knew him without braces," he

replied. Talking about his dad reminded him how much he missed him.

"Wow. Your mother must have been a saint to marry a cripple," commented Amy.

Far angrier than was reasonable, Bill leaned forward and, shaking a finger at

her, said, "Don't call my father a cripple. He was a great guy who lived life to

its fullest. He was a great guy."

Surprised by the vehemence in his voice, Amy apologized, "I'm sorry. I didn't

mean it like that."

Embarrassed by his outburst, Bill leaned back in his seat. Years of getting

teased about his father's condition had made him overly sensitive to comments.

He would have expected such a comment from someone else, but not her. Wanting to

make a point, he asked, "Do you think of yourself as a cripple?"

Amy sat back in her chair and looked out over the skyline of Chicago. His

question struck a nerve deep within her. Did she think of herself as a cripple?

Most of the time, she did. That one day at the picnic she had forgotten about

her knees, but that had been an exception. Harry was there and anything went

when Harry was around. When it came to dealing with men, she didn't feel like a

complete person. She was a cripple and she knew it from the looks they gave her

when they looked at her. She didn't like the answer, but it was the truth. In a

very soft voice, she answered, "Yes."

For a moment, Bill thought that he hadn't heard her correctly. She had answered

yes? What kind of person answers yes to a question like that in this day and

age? Incredulous, he asked, "Are you serious?"

As tears welled up in her eyes, she turned to look at him. Lips trembling, she

nodded her head. She couldn't trust her voice to convey her answer without

cracking. She saw a look on his face that defied description. The only phrase

that came to mind was that he looked like his favorite dog had just died.

"That's so sad," he commented in a soft voice. He looked her in the eye

wondering what could have left her feeling that way. It wasn't right for a

woman, particularly one who was her age and so mobile, to feel that way about

her condition. Sighing, he said, "You aren't a cripple."

Amy was on the verge of crying. She felt as if she had been lying to herself in

getting so worked up over the few glances she had of his body. Bill would have

laughed at her if he had known the kinds of thoughts she had about him. Feeling

defeated, she looked up at him and said, "Tell that to the men who only see

braces when they look at me."

Bill leaned forward and took her hand within his. He asked, "How can you say

that to a man who sees nothing except the woman?"

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Posted: 2005-08-06

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