"Doesn't matter," he mumbled.
She rolled him over and snuggled his head into her lap. "I'm going to give it to you for a change," she said. "Here." She leaned over and placed a breast in his mouth. She stroked him. "Jacky's got you. Suck me, Baby." She pushed her breast deeper into his mouth and brought him steadily along with her hand. "I've got you. It's all right." He opened his mouth wide and drew her in. Love came in with her breast—a strange new feeling that scared him—but she continued, and he accepted and then couldn't get enough. She brought him to the top and cried out with him, "Ohhhh! Yes. More. Oh . . ." His head fell back and he reached for her hip, clutching, clinging to her as if she were a life raft. She put the palm of her hand on his forehead. "Baby," she said, rocking him with her body. "It's all right. I've got you. I've got you." He sighed and pushed deeper against her.
Oliver awoke in the morning with Jacky leaning over him. She was dressed and glowing. "Hey, there," he said.
"No need to get up," she said. "The room is paid for. Just leave when you're ready." She kissed him.
"Mmm, toothpaste," Oliver said. "Where you going?"
"Breakfast at Becky's with my friend, Francesca, and then catch a bird to Baltimore." Oliver sat up straight in the bed. "No, no," she said and pushed him down. "I left a card in your pants pocket. Call me tonight."
"Uh . . . O.K."
"Sweet Oliver," she said and left. The door clicked shut, and Oliver stared at the ceiling. Francesca? Crap! He imagined Jacky describing their evening in full detail. She wouldn't. But she might well mention his name. How many short Olivers were there in Portland? He got out of bed and took a quick shower. Aside from a manageable headache, he felt loose and relaxed. Jacky had seen to that, for sure. He left the hotel by a side door and walked home.
"Verdi? There you are. Good old Verdi. I was bad last night. Very bad. Here you go." He spooned out a whole can of salmon Friskies. "Full breakfast, this morning. None of those little snackies, no." It was important to stay on the right side of Verdi.
He considered shaving. To hell with it. He let Verdi out and walked down to the Victory Deli for a cranberry-blueberry pancake. Jacky. She knew just which buttons to push. He couldn't help himself. He had been feeling helpless enough lately without this demonstration of it. She reveled in his helplessness, rolled in it like Verdi in catnip. I like it, too, he admitted. I do. I do and I don't. He was so independent most of the time that it was a relief, a sweet relief, to give in, to trust her and be controlled by her. But there was also a whiff of something forbidden about the relationship, something to do with his mother again. Jacky was a little like her. It was a powerful mix.