Strings

Chapter 7 - Visitor #4

“Is that it? Then you’re a real natural.

But right from our first day, when our conversation gets anywhere near your personal life, you slam the door.

I’ve got a feeling you slam that door harder at me than anyone else.

I bet Margie, and probably Jim by this time, know more about you than I do.

I like a challenge as much as anybody, but I can’t figure out how to make any progress with you.

And I’m usually good with women.” He sipped his wine.

Grace sat up. “Well, talk about dicey conversations — male egos and sex — but you brought it up.”

“Wait a minute. I didn’t bring that up. I did not bring up sex. I was referring to talking to women.”

“Ohhhh, and sex is not the point of that in the majority of cases involving males, including this one?”

“Wow. Cut to the chase. I’ll bookmark this conversation and review it later to see where it went off the rails.” Robby took a sip of wine.

“Settle down. The point I was trying to make is, you may not be as good with women as you think you are. Can we agree you haven’t exactly had to work at attracting women for a long while?”

“Yes . . . But I have tried to make relationships last.”

“That’s a different subject.”

“Maybe you should switch careers. Go to law school. You really should talk to Bella. Maybe she’ll give you a summer job.”

Grace took a breath. “To get back to the point, I think you’re confusing being good at getting women in bed, with being good at getting to know them. You haven’t exactly had to hone your skills at talking to women, so those skills may not be as good as you think.”

“Damn, Grace. First, we come down here, and I open up to you that I’m having a hard time dealing with my career being snatched away from me. Then we come back, and you tell me I’m no good with women. I’m beginning to think this firepit was a bad idea.”

Grace leaned back with her wine glass and looked at Robby.

“We both know you’ll be fine. But you’re at a disadvantage with me.

First, getting people to talk is my job.

Second, it’s easy with men. And third, I was raised in the South, where women still know the age-old art of stroking male egos.

It comes in handy from time to time. And .

. . I admit, I don’t like talking about myself. ”

“Why? People usually like doing that.”

“Come on, Robby. You’re the hit songwriter. The sensitive artist. What happens when people start sharing secrets? Revealing themselves to each other?”

“Ohhh. Got it. We’re back to our earliest conversations. Back to staying focused and my being a distraction.”

“Bingo.”

“Okay. But are you ever going to be able to handle a career and a ‘distraction’?”

“I hope so. You going to give me some advice on that?” She widened her eyes and half smiled.

“I already told you I think it’s hard, and I can only speak to relationships where one person is constantly traveling.

Any girl who can come with me usually doesn’t have much going on in her own life, and once the lust burns off, I lose interest. I’ve tried polyamorous and open arrangements.

I can’t make either one work. An open relationship might work if both parties were traveling, separately, in their own careers.

Then outside sex might stay casual for both.

But what happens with me is it works from my side because I’m constantly on the move, but the women aren’t.

They live and work in one place, and they always get attached to someone there and a relationship develops.

I don’t like knowing that’s going on, which eliminates a polyamorous arrangement.

Or the women think they can handle my sleeping with other women on the road, but they can’t.

I get that, but there’s no way I can remain celibate for months when I’m on tour, especially when it’s in my face night after night.

But touring isn’t a nonstop party. Maybe it used to be, but not now.

With the number of diseases out there, sex is risky.

I know people have paperwork, but nothing’s a guarantee.

I’m careful. And now there’s Covid. Anyway, that’s as much advice as I’m comfortable giving. ”

“Well, that’s honest . . . and sad. I’m glad I don’t live your life.” She swatted a mosquito. “We need to douse these fires and go inside. The mosquitoes are out.”

“I’ll do it.”

*************

Grace was at the sink when Robby came in and stood by her.

“Okay if I wash my hands? They’re sooty, and if I do it in the bathroom, I’m bound to get stuff dirty.

I could just take over here? I was raised in an equal opportunity household — we all did dishes — even our dad, still does.

He and I did the pots and pans last night. I washed; he dried.”

“Great. So, no rock star exemptions?” Robby shook his head. “You did most of the meal. I’ll do these.” She moved over, and Robby squeezed Dawn on his hands

“We sure get into some unusual situations, you and I. I can’t remember standing at a kitchen sink with any other female besides a sister.” He looked down at her. “You scared of me now?”

“I’ve never been scared of you.”

“You know, I’ve thought about that. It was a risky thing you did — getting into a truck with a man you didn’t know.

I mean, it’d’ve been one thing if you’d recognized me, even if we’d never met, but to you I was just some guy.

I hope my sisters wouldn’t’ve done that.

Another case of things working out for you. ”

“I was tired and pretty desperate. And something about the way you said you weren’t going to hurt me . . . I believed you.” She shrugged.

“Well, it’s a pretty wild story.” He shook his hands and got a towel. “I thought about turning in when I got to my driveway — just to show you the house . . . and maybe offer you another option for a place to stay — but I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t freak out. I didn’t want to scare you.”

Grace looked at him, her eyes big. “I’m glad you didn’t do that. I don’t know how I would’ve reacted if I’d woken up and we weren’t on 61 anymore, but it wouldn’t have been good.”

“I figured. I’m a patient man.”

The next thing Grace heard was a guitar.

She looked over her shoulder. Robby had pulled a chair away from the table and was sitting there playing, looking down at his guitar.

She went on washing the dishes, listening.

Then she put wood in the stove and brought in more for the night.

The clock on her phone read almost 9:30.

She stretched out in a recliner, listening to Robby.

He stopped. “I hope you don’t mind I brought this. I rarely go anywhere without a guitar. I have electric ones, but they’re too loud for the woods. This is the one I had on the plane.” It’s nothing special but I like it.”

“I don’t mind. It’s probably like my having a laptop or a tablet. I don’t go anywhere without those either.”

“Hmmm, I hadn’t thought of that . . . It’s just like that . . . Surprising to realize we have something in common. You mind if I play a little longer?” He began to smile. “Then, are you gonna chase me out? I could stay. I guarantee you’d be glad.”

Grace smiled back. “I guess I can’t blame you for trying.”

“I know ways to get you so relaxed. You’d forget all your stress. Just be in the moment . . . I can promise several unforgettable moments.”

Grace laughed. “Back off, Romeo. It ain’t happening.”

“Never?”

“You know what they say: ‘Never say never.’”

“I’ll take that as ‘eventually’ and try to live that long.”

“Play your guitar. I’ll fix my morning coffee.” She stood up.

“About tomorrow. It’s Saturday, not a workday for you.

I was wondering if you’d be interested in taking a canoe out.

Remember, I came up here, partly, to get on the water, and this is the place.

Jim said they’d pack a lunch. But I have to get out early, so I don’t cause a ruckus down at the dock.

What do you think?” Grace hesitated. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go. I’m still going.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m just telling you upfront I haven’t been in a canoe in years. I may not be much help.”

“I don’t do it often anymore — rarely, in fact — but I don’t need help. I just want you along in case ‘eventually’ happens.”

“God. I’ll go. Should I make extra coffee? We’ll eat breakfast here?”

Robby smiled. “Are you asking me for a date? ‘Cause the answer’s yes.”

“Whatever you want to call it.”

Robby started playing again. He seemed to be trying to work out a song. In a few minutes, he sang lines to the music he’d been playing:

It takes a patient man to wait this long

A patient man with a feeling so strong

Just like Juliet from long ago

You're the one for me, and I'm your Romeo

Grace looked at Robby. “Keep singing, patient Romeo.”

When she finished, she went back to the recliner.

After a while Robby stopped and walked behind her.

She heard him zip up the guitar case, walk to the door, and lift his coat off the hook.

She got up and walked over. The guitar case was leaning against the door.

He reached for it with his left hand, then drew back and reached for Grace.

Putting his right hand behind her back, he pulled her to him.

She started to speak. He put his finger on her lips.

“Hush. I know you only promised me a hug, but I’m going to kiss you unless you stop me, and you’ll have to deal with it, strings and all.

” He took his finger away. Grace looked at him steadily and seriously.

He smiled slightly and raised his left hand to her chin.

He lifted it and kissed her, softly at first, his tongue tracing her lips before it entered her mouth, then, when she didn’t resist, his hand moved down her neck until Grace brought her hand up to his chest and pushed him back.

She looked at him and shook her head, but she was smiling.

He stopped with a sigh and looked down at her.

“‘Patient Romeo.’ I like that.” Then, he let her go and reached for his guitar.

“I’ll go up to the lodge first thing to let them know, then I’ll come here.

It’ll be early . . . about 6:30. You okay with everything? ”

“So far.”

“You can always cut strings.”