Chapter 5

Roberto

When they were done eating Roberto helped clear the table and wash the dishes – not that there were many dishes, since Toni had washed dishes earlier. She washed, and he dried. When he'd dried the last fork, and set it in the rack, and hung the towel on the oven door where he'd found it, he leaned his hip on the counter and looked at Toni, who was drying her hands with another towel. "You know, I don't know when I've enjoyed an evening so much. Thank you very much." He thought about reaching out for her, and then thought otherwise. "I suppose I'd better get on home now."

"Actually," she said, not looking at him, "I was going to have you take a shower. I'll put your clothes in with a load of my own, and run them this evening, and they'll be clean for you in the morning. I've got some clothes you can wear tonight – they ought to fit you."

Roberto didn't say anything at first – he couldn't. He couldn't recall when he'd had an invitation so clear, which yet sounded so ... innocent. He decided to take it as an innocent invitation. "I appreciate it, Toni, but you'd probably be uncomfortable with me sleeping on your sofa."

Now she did look at him, and her face was definitely darker. "I wasn't thinking of putting you on the sofa."

Innocent? Perhaps. But there was no question now what she was saying, and no way to avoid it either. And he found himself suddenly shy. It was strange. He'd been in dozens of bedrooms. And now the mere thought of being in the same house with this woman all night – never mind what she was inviting him to – left him so hot that he knew his face was red. He didn't have Toni's Hispanic brownness to mask the blush; she surely saw it climb out of his collar.

Neither of them was a stranger to the way of a man with a maid, but he suddenly felt as though he were, as though he were younger even than he really was, and about to kiss a girl for the first time. And he had to answer, for she was looking him right in the eye, and waiting. "Toni, I..." He cleared his throat. "Okay." He decided to pretend nothing beyond the shower had come up. "I hate to use your soap and toothbrush and all, but..."

"I don't mind, Roberto." She stepped closer and put a hand on his chest, looking up at him. "I thought of that before I offered."

"Yeah, I guess you did. Okay. Um, let me get my shoes off..."

Toni took him by the hand and led him into the living room. "You can put your shoes over in the corner," she said, pointing to where a pair of running shoes sat. No doubt she kept her other shoes in the bedroom closet, but these were, apparently, all purpose shoes, which she put on whenever she had to just run out for whatever reason.

"Okay." He sat down and began untying his shoes.

"I'll get out a shirt and some pants, or maybe a t-shirt and some sweat pants. I'll have to check what I have – it's been a while since I looked at those clothes. I'll leave them in the bathroom. Just put your clothes on the floor in there, and I'll pick them up when you're done."

"Okay." He untied his other shoe and loosened the laces. He was more embarrassed, he realized, by the thought of being behind a closed door with his clothes off than he'd ever been during his times with other women. It wasn't the situation – this situation was, in fact, less inherently embarrassing than those he'd sought so diligently. It was, he realized, this particular woman – it had to be her, for the situation couldn't be it.

So what is it about this woman? he wondered. What's so special about Toni? What does she have – or not have? Where is she different from... And he realized that of all the women he'd slept with over the past few months, he couldn't guarantee his memory of even one name. The faces were a blur, they all merged together – all he could be sure of was that some were blonde and some were brunette, and there'd been a redhead or two, and more than once he'd noticed that the roots of her hair were not the same color as the ends. But they all blurred together. Whether because of the alcoholic fog he'd in, or because there were just so many women, he couldn't keep them straight in his mind. But Toni, he realized, would remain forever distinct. She was somehow different – not just in appearance, though she looked distinctly like herself, but in some more fundamental way that he couldn't grasp.

By now his shoes were off, and he set them in the corner beside hers. He started down the hall, and met her coming out of the bathroom. "I've put a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt in there for you. I also found a clean pair of underwear. I know they're not yours, and maybe you won't want to wear them, but they are clean – I washed them myself. I'll be in the living room when you're done."

"Okay, Toni – and thanks." He leaned down quickly and kissed her hair, and then just as abruptly went into the bathroom and closed the door.

Toni

Toni sat down on the sofa and drew a deep breath. Well, Antonia Leticia, you've gone beyond the point of no return. She'd made her decision almost as soon as Roberto walked in the door, though it had taken her a while to realize it, and now she'd implemented it – all but the last act, anyway. And at this point, could she reasonably refuse to go through with that last act? You've got him this far. You've come this far. To refuse the last would be like going almost all the way to the store, and then stopping on the sidewalk and refusing to go inside. I can't do that. I can't do it to him, for sure.

The thought came to her that she was about to do wrong. Yes, it's wrong. But I forfeited morality seven years ago. I'm ruined now. I've been ruined, and there's no point in pretending otherwise. A tear fell from her eye, and splashed on her left hand. Her right hand reached and found the moisture, rubbing it into the softness of her skin. She felt that softness, and knew that Roberto would like it. He wouldn't be the first—

And again she refused to go into the past. I'm no good, and I know it, and now I'll look forward. What I have now is Roberto. I have no morality, and I have no right to stand before anyone, but I have Roberto. And while the thought of her wretchedness was a sore that would not heal, the thought that Roberto was there, in the bathroom, just a few feet away, was a great comfort. The thought that they would be together tonight wasn't entirely shameful, she found. He's a better person than I am, I think. She wasn't sure how that was so. If Angelina knows him, and if he came here smelling like liquor, then he must drink at the Corner Bar. And something in Angelina's manner told me that she was ... saving ... Roberto. But somehow, I think he's better than I am.

It didn't make sense to her, but then there was a lot in her life that didn't make sense. Why God let me fall so far, and so hard, and into such a pit, I don't understand at all. Why, once I was there, He took away all the happiness I had in that pit I don't know. But here I am at the bottom, and even if I don't understand everything about Roberto, he's a chance to be happy again – at least, as happy as I can be given what I am.

With that thought, she got up and went into her bedroom. The shower was still going strong, so she knew she had a few minutes to change. She closed the door – Why, when I'm about to bring him in here, I don't know – and took off her t-shirt. She opened a dresser drawer and took out a nightgown. It had sleeves that, she knew, would fall to the middle of her forearms, and a square yoke around a high collar. It was a soft pink, and the cloth was as soft as the color. She laid it on the bed and unfastened her pants, letting them fall with the t-shirt. She slipped the nightgown over her head, and fastened the three buttons that held the collar closed. She gathered up the discarded clothes, and took them back through the kitchen into the little utility room that someone had built onto the back of the house years ago. She put them into the washing machine, and then dumped in the hamper as well. There would be plenty of room, she saw, for Roberto's clothes.