Crushing (The Southern California Wine Country Series) (10 page)

Benjamin growled as his tip slid back, down, and dipped into her, a roller coaster pausing before the screaming plunge. He thrust deep and strong. Haley’s body tugged on him.

He exclaimed, “What are you doing? Shit! How are you gripping me like that? Like molded hands squeezing and massaging me. You feel –”

“Go deeper. Faster!”

Benjamin struck deep, and then pulled out. Haley squealed when he repeated. A heavy freight locomotive trundling into a tunnel only then yanked back by massive rigs. The wheels spun, sparks shot from the undercarriage, the pistons pumped and the engines roared as the locomotive sped furiously back into the darkness, rail straight and hard.

He pulled out and dropped his body back so his tongue lapped at her heat.

Haley’s hands came down between her legs and twined in his hair, pulling his head toward her, “What are you doing? I want you in me.”

“I won’t last with what you’re doing.”

“And I won’t come with that ridiculousness.” She urged his body forward and wrapped her fingers around his penis. She massaged and squeezed him and then yanked him toward her pelvis and jammed him in herself like a wedge meant to burst the dam. Her legs wrapped around his hips and her heals dug into his back. Haley shrieked and her body exploded in waves, every muscle tight against every other as her hips bucked uncontrolled.

Haley pushed Benjamin’s shoulder and rolled him over onto his back. She cinched her knee over and pulled herself on top. She guided him into her. Her hips moved up and down; swiveling, twisting, and grinding against him like a maniacally devious belly dancer. Her breasts dangled before Benjamin’s face as she supported herself forward on her arms. She whispered in his ear as he licked and sucked on a breast, “Tell me when you are getting close.” Benjamin could only moan. She felt his body inching closer to that point. His hands held her bottom and rubbed it. He spanked her hard. The burn striking though her, she moaned “Again!” He spanked her with a welt-inducing strike and her body coiled explosively. Benjamin cried out, “Close!” She forced her body to move as the passion and reflexes still controlled her being. She slid down and engulfed all of his cock in her mouth. She moved up and down, feeling it slide along the back of her tongue against her throat. She tickled the tip with her tongue until she felt his body warp and the taste of his hot fluid filled her mouth. She sucked on him as if drawing snakebite poison out of his system until his body relaxed on the bed. She moved up and lay next to him.

“You are amazing, Haley,” Benjamin’s fingers stroked along her shoulder and her back, following the contour of her body. Smooth and lovely. His fingers trolled across her waist, along her hip, and down her thigh, tracing around her tattoos.

“You kept up; for an old guy.”

“I’m probably the oldest guy you’ve been with?”

“No, but a close second or third. It’s a trade since age gives experience and skill. You know how to push a hot button until the bell rings.” She smiled. “I might keep you on my list.”

“You have a list?”

“Of course – all the guys I like to bang. I figure I have about ten or twelve years of play before I have to get a serious list and invest in some dude on a permanent basis before this body starts coming apart.” Haley squeezed up her breasts with her hands and fondled her nipples in front of Benjamin’s gaze. “These are my 401k savings plans – guaranteed tax free returns for … years to come.” She giggled.

“Practical, I guess.” Benjamin nodded, somewhat uncomfortable. “You never told me who you wanted to see at the hospital.”

“This guy Kyle I know. He had a roofing job, the ladder slid under him, and he rode it down to the ground only to get shingles dropped on top of him. He must be doing better since they discharged him already.” Haley mumbled, “I bet that girl Amanda is pining after him.”

An old memory, that Benjamin had forcefully hidden and mostly forgotten, bobbed uncontrolled to the surface. He squinted at the window.

“You look like you remembered something old. What is it?”

“Oh, it’s a popular name.” He waved his hand.

“Amanda?”

“Yes.” His head spun with the approximate dates with what he guessed Haley’s age. “The age might be right.” Benjamin stood up. That still left a lot of people and the Amanda he knew was a dozen states back there, where he left. “What does this Amanda look like?”

“Your typical good girl with long pretty blond hair, brown eyes, and perky boobs. Scientists track them out here like cockroaches to the square mile.” She laughed at her play on the words. “Fucking cock roaches.” She laughed again, helped by the post sex nervous energy still coursing through her body like a bundle of bees. She touched Benjamin’s arm. “She is probably saving herself for some young knight to forge her a magical ring and whisk her away to dreamy castles in the air.”

“What is her last name?”

“I have no fucking clue.” Haley pushed herself back in the bed until she leaned against the headboard, the sheet pulled up covering her breasts and clamped by her arms hard to flatten them. She wanted a cigarette now for being pissed and needing that drag and the taste of tar across her tongue. She rubbed the roof of her mouth with her tongue and drew in air. She still tasted the remnants of this man’s salty curd, now bitter with this discussion.

“I want to meet her. How can we do that?”

“That Amber Mountain bar wench is not mine to track down. In fact, she likely hates me.”

“Why is that?”

“We were at a party and I forced her into body shots with friends of mine. Then that is how she met Kyle. It was fun until I saw she liked him rescuing her. Like a fucking prince chasing a cock roach.”

-:-:-:- -:-:-:-

Ophelia said, “It’s nice you offered to take care of me, Benjamin.”

“What else could I do? You cannot get around very well in casts on both legs, metal pins and rods holding your leg bones together, and one arm in a sling with its own rivets. You get some rest.” Benjamin flipped the light switch. “Good night.”

“What’s this?” Ophelia said.

Benjamin turned around and flipped the light back on, “What, honey?”

“What
is this
?” Ophelia shouted, squirming in the bed to sit up, the stack of pillows moved behind her like sand and gave her less purchase to sit higher. She held up a pair of black lace underwear. “Did you have a woman in this bed while I was out? Jesus! I was in the hospital for three days and you needed a woman in here?”

“Now settle down. You need your rest to heal.”

“I’m not settling down. We were discussing children and here you have this other woman.” Ophelia threw the panties at Benjamin. The lace caused them to slow in the air and drop to the foot of the bed.

“It’s not like that.”

“You got scared I wanted more so you wanted to sabotage what we had?” She rocked in bed trying to get her legs over the edge of the mattress and onto the floor. “A hooker? Someone you picked up at the bar? Then you don’t even wash the sheets?”

“She seduced me at the hospital.”

“At the hospital? One of the nurses? What kind of man are you?”

“No, not a nurse. I’m, I’m sorry.” Benjamin dropped his head. He snatched the panties from the bed and dropped them into the wastebasket. His sensitive nose picked up Haley’s lingering scent. Was it the smell awakening some primitive vestige of prehistoric instinct or just picturing the curves of Haley’s body or the trace of sensation from being inside her? He was not sure. His groin swirled with emotion looking for feeling, “I know it’s inexcusable.”

“Take me to my apartment.”

“Sure.”

“Then we are done. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

Benjamin nodded.

-:-:-:- -:-:-:-

Benjamin drove home from Ophelia’s apartment. His vehicle was quiet and the night remained clear. He passed a billboard that advertised a movie about a zombie apocalypse due out in six months, a corporation run sideways producing bio-engineered tattoo inks. A big glowing biohazard logo adorned the far end of the billboard. The image of Haley’s shoulder suddenly superimposed itself across the billboard just as he sped past. Haley had that same tattoo. The same tattoo that he saw on the naked girl’s shoulder fleeing from the car accident.

“Shit!” Benjamin nearly swerved off the highway at eighty miles an hour. His rage boiled. “The police at the accident told me the driver of that car had stolen it from a party. Wanted for breaking and entering, auto theft, arson, and serving alcohol to possible minors.” Though everyone they had caught up to that point were college age they guessed a few must have slipped in there. Benjamin asked the empty vehicle. “What are you Haley? You seduce me after you nearly killed my girlfriend, which caused me to lose that girlfriend. I should turn you in to the police.” He hit his fist on the steering wheel. “Shit. I don’t even know where you live.” His body needed her again. “I’ll find you, fuck your brains out, and then call the cops. That would do it. Maybe Ophelia would take me back after I turn you in, too.”

“You can’t be healed up already?” Bob said. He wore wide silver and turquoise bracelets, and a flannel shirt with arms and pockets ripped away at the seams. His scuffed up orange safety hat indicated his rank.

Kyle pleaded, “I need the money. I don’t care what I do.”

“I can’t risk having you fall off the ladder again. Can you even carry a bundle of shingles?”

Kyle’s arm cradled his side. The tight wrap around his torso kept him together like a broken eggshell. He played at the winery the previous weekend and the weight of the guitar he built nearly became unbearable by the end of each night. He needed money to continue replacing their band equipment and something extra to eat. Amanda had created the need in his soul to get a stable job, so he could offer her something more than his broken body. “I need the money.”

“Show me you can pick up that tool box. It’s about as heavy as a bundle.”

Kyle reached down and gripped the handle. The bundles were much more awkward, not having an easy handle as this toolbox. He pulled it up slowly, one end of the toolbox hovered over the dusty dirt at their feet. He tried getting the other end off the ground. Pain shot through his side. The toolbox clattered back to the dirt. Kyle nearly pitched forward to his knees but caught himself.

“Like I thought. You’d never be able to move shingles around.” Bob looked around. He reached into the back of his battered pickup truck and slid out a nailer. “Here, pick this nailer up and show me you can punch it down on the tailgate. Don’t worry; the gun needs air pressure to work. My sixteen-penny stud nailer is nearly as heavy as that toolbox but these roofing tools are a lot lighter. You might be able to work this.”

Kyle slid his fingers around the grip. He ground the tip along the tailgate until it was to his left about half the width of a shingle. He pressed the trigger. Then he lifted and dragged the nailer to another point and pressed the trigger. He pretended to nail three more nails in a row.

“Good. A shingle only gets four nails, but Henry can show you the technique. You might be able to place and nail shingles. You can see straight to line up shingles? The bottom edge must be horizontal and the slits must match every other row from the drip edge all the way to the peak.”

“Yes. I can keep a straight line.”

“You’re not on any special medication?”

“Just aspirin,” Kyle did not say that he could only afford aspirin that came in the economy size bottle even though he had a prescription for more powerful stuff.

“We’ll try you out on the back side of the house first, see how you do.” Bob looked around then spied the rooftop supervisor. “Henry!” He waved him over.

“Yes boss?” Henry fidgeted from foot to foot and wiped his sun-darkened fingers through his slick black hair. Kyle watched his teeth when the man talked wondering how they looked worn half down as if the man chewed on concrete every evening – which might explain his poor nutrition inspired gauntness.

“Show Kyle how to lay shingles. Start him in the back over the rear porch.”

“Yeah, a good spot. Low pitch so he doesn’t roll off and harder to see any wavy shingle lines.”

“We don’t want to have to pull up new shingles and lay them a second time.” Bob looked at Kyle.

“I know,” Kyle nodded.

“Show Kyle the good tricks so he can put shingles down at our regular crew speed by this afternoon.”

“Boss, that’s skill.”

“Henry, I know you’re the best in the business at laying shingles. You’ll get him there, easy.”

Henry lifted his calloused hand and gave Kyle the signal to follow him.

Bob said, “Good luck. Don’t nail your pants to the roof. That happened to me my first day with a nailer. The crew let me stew there until after lunch.” He laughed.

“You got to be able to climb faster if we are doing this,” Henry said from the roof deck.

Kyle had the nailer draped over his neck, balanced by the long airline. He needed both hands to hold the ladder and twist his body up one rung at a time. He stepped from the ladder out onto the decking. The crew had already rolled out the black tar paper and nailed it in place.

“These lines printed on the tar paper are used to line up your rows going across the roof.” Henry yanked a shingle off the top of the bundle, “Peel it like this so you don’t tear the shingle nor get the bundle to slide down the tar paper. If it falls off the roof they are ruined and someone has to carry another bundle up – I don’t have to tell you that part of the work. Place it on the roof like this. Then use the gun like this.” Henry swept across the shingle as if a magician waved his wand over a black hat. Four shiny roofing nail heads glittered in the sunlight. “That’s how you put the nails down. Not too close to any edge and not farther down than the notch in the tabs, otherwise the next row won’t cover them.” He nailed down two more shingles at the end. “Always keep the shingles straight.” Henry took out a shiny new utility knife, flipping the blade out and slicing across a shingle. “This is how you start the second row, cut off a tab, and put it down like this. See how they overlap?”

Kyle nodded.

Henry put another shingle down. “The next row you start like this. Some cut the tab so they start with a single one here, but that can rotate out under heavy winds. We like to use a full one. Then you run three or four rows in a block across the roof. When done, hit the typewriter carriage return, come back to this edge, and start again. Got it?” Henry held out the nailer for Kyle. “The starter row was done already; I can show you how to do that when we get on the next side and then more tricks for valley flashing and caps but that will come later. You work on these big wide open areas and learn fast.”

Kyle took the gun; he felt the shift in weight travel across his shoulders. He gritted his teeth against the pain surge, but managed, “Yes.” He pulled out a shingle as Henry did and laid it down. He positioned the gun and touched the trigger. The gun cycled with a burst of air and a shiny nail head appeared in the shingle.

“Good nail placement. Show me a few more.”

Kyle touched the gun down and added more nails into the shingles.

“Feel that rebound after it fires a nail?”

“Yes.”

“Use that to move the gun to the next point. You get that into a rhythm and you’ll be doing as good as any here. Bob might bump your pay grade if you can keep up with the others and put down straight lines. A valuable new skill for you.”

“Thanks, Henry.”

“I’ll check on you soon. I have to get the others set up and make sure they are not screwing around. When I don’t hear enough pops – someone is slacking off or stuck on a problem. Remember, we make money by the shingles we lay and nails we push into the decking.” Henry moved down the ladder and was gone like a nervous ghost.

Kyle looked at the first nails he put down and how they sparkled in the sun like pretty little stones in a river of blackness.
This is going to get so hot up here again.

Kyle rubbed his forehead with the back of his arm. His glove’s wristband already soaked from wiping the sweat off his nose. It beaded up and ran down his face and dripped onto the nailer or left wet puddles on the black shingles. He timed his rhythm against other workers. Although injured and inexperienced, he saw rapid improvement approaching three quarters the speed of the others, people that had done this job for years. Kyle slid another shingle in place and popped the nails down. He soon felt like a gangster taking out his grit-covered cross-town gang bangers. Pop-pop pop-pop – you’re dead. Pop-pop pop-pop – you’re dead too.

Kyle looked to the roofline on the main house and saw the person everyone called Blue, because he only ever wore a bright blue t-shirt. The others laughed that he must only have one shirt while some speculated that the person bought a container of t-shirts from a China company intending to sell them and no store wanted just a container of blue shirts. So he filled up his garage and wore one of them every day. Kyle thought,
I should get a themed t-shirt to fit in with these people.
He guessed they originally relied on shirt colors since everyone was always half a house away. Blue could lay shingles as fast as any two of the other workers. Kyle watched his pace and tried to pick out the tricks, but he moved too fast.

Kyle slid another shingle into place and fastened it down. The next. He wiped his forehead. The heat was getting unbearable. He felt thirsty. The water wagon was out front. Kyle looked down his row and decided he would finish to the edge before climbing down for a drink of water and another aspirin. Pop-pop pop-pop. Scrape a shingle into place. Pop-pop – Kyle felt pain surging through his left hand. The same reflecting nail top that lay in a crisp dotted line from the edge of the roof to him ended with a dot in the back of his hand. His fingers quivered in the pain. Blood oozed up from the wound. He put down the nailer and accidentally fired six nails in a burst that looked like a bouquet of metal flowers sticking in the wood. He pushed the gun away. It slid down the roof and then balanced on the drip edge. Its nail hole surveying him like the eye of a black lizard with an orange tail that snaked down to the ground and the compressor hookups. His voice rattled, “Help!!!”

Blue was the first one to Kyle, “Keep your hand flat and press down.” Blue looked at the nail head tight to Kyle’s hand. “There’s no space under the nail head to wedge a pry bar under there.”

Kyle wanted to yank his hand away from the trap like an animal in a hunter’s snare.

Two more roofers clomped over. Henry made it up the ladder, “Bob’s going to be pissed at us.” Arty nodded but held the ladder, already too many people on the roof; someone could trip off the edge.

“I don’t care,” Kyle moaned. “Get the nail out. I hope I can still play guitar.”

Blue said, “Tommy, get the reciprocating saw that’s sitting in the valley over there.”

Blue took the weapon from Tommy, “This sawing is going to hurt like hell. I’ll try keeping the vibrations down but it needs to be quick. See my hand? I know what this is about.”

Kyle looked at the back of Blue’s left hand. A mangled mass of twisted bones and a scar in his skin that glowed like the crater from a pistol shot. Two of Blue’s fingers stuck out as if welded inside that mass of bones in his hand – too unusable and stiff for anything other than hooking shingles into place. Kyle could only think through the pain,
I will never play guitar again!

-:-:-:- -:-:-:-

Amanda found her way through the hospital and to the edge of Kyle’s room. He lay there, looking out the corner of a window where the slatted shade cocked up on one side. The rest of the room remained in darkness.

“You’ll be out fast this time.” Kyle’s nurse said as she busied around measuring his vital signs and recording the numbers on the roll-around computer cart. “A little more recovery from your surgery and you’ll be free to go.” She turned and smiled at Amanda, showing a couple of gold capped teeth in the side of her mouth and a scar that dug across her cheek. Amanda saw gang-style tattoos on her weathered hands that poked out of long sleeves rolled down against the cold air conditioning.

Amanda said, “Hi, Kyle.”

“Amanda.” Kyle sat up.

The nurse said, “Whoa, handsome. I need you staying calm for this measurement. You just lay back and wait until I’m finished.” She winked at Amanda, “I don’t like to share.” The computer system whistled and she ripped off the pressure cuff. Then she typed a few numbers and said, “He’s all yours, girl.” She sighed. “All yours.” Then she put her hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “The doctor will be here soon, he’s like three rooms down the hall right now, to sign you off so you can get out.” She looked at him from toe to head and shook her head, “Since this will be my last time to ask you these measurements I wanted to give you some words. You’ve been here way too much. I don’t want to see you again unless you are visiting friends – or,” she laughed, “bringing me flowers.” She wheeled her cart out of the room, a wave of her hand in the air behind her.

Amanda came close to Kyle’s bed. Three other recovery tables filled the room, thankfully empty now. “Kyle. What happened?”

“Short story is I nailed my hand to the roof, they had to cut the chip board out and bring me in. Then surgery.”

Amanda touched his shoulder and looked down Kyle’s arm. His strong muscular bicep disappeared into an immobilizing bandage that ran down to his fingertips. She could see the ends of three fingers and his thumb sticking on the far end of the wrapping – purple and bloated thick. “Can you move your fingers?”

“No. They have my arm all numbed up. Plus gave me a box of stuff for the pain – so I’m lucky I can even remember who you are.” His eyes stayed riveted on the slit under the window shade.

Amanda wanted to hug him. “Sardis called the winery and said you’d be out for more time. Otherwise I wouldn’t have known.”

“Fine if you did not.”

“I care about you, Kyle.” Her body ached for his pain.

“All I can think of is this guy called Blue that cut the roof boards off so they could bring me to the Emergency Room. A crippled hand – Blue nailed his hand to a roof years ago.” Kyle hefted his numb hand at the end of his arm like a dead slab of steak. “I’ll never play guitar again.”