Bloodstone by Nate Kenyon Page A

he ever say what he was thinking? He put the soda down and began to set up the ladder, feeling the blood in his face and knowinghe had turned beet red, hating himself for it and her for doing this to him.
    She stood under the ladder as he climbed, and when she handed up the box of bulbs her hand brushed his and it seemed to him she let it linger there a few seconds longer than necessary. He remembered the glimpse of her standing in the window that morning. He hadn’t had much experience with women, and he didn’t know what to do with this one now. Mrs. Friedman was older than he was, but she was still attractive in a rich-bitch sort of way. She had a few wrinkles around her mouth (laugh wrinkles, Ruth used to call them), and her hair had a few streaks of gray, but she knew how to hold herself all right.
    He took the box and turned to the chandelier, flustered, and as he did she kept talking below him, going on about something to do with the party and how nice the grounds looked. He screwed the dead bulbs out and replaced them with the new ones. When he glanced down he saw with a shock that Mrs. Friedman had slipped out of her button-down shirt and now wore only a white tank top. She wore no bra now. Her nipples showed through the fabric. “It’s so hot in here.” She sighed. “Don’t you think it’s hot? I just took a bath and now I feel like I need another.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Is that all you can say?” The smile had turned playful, and she made no move to cover herself, even though she was almost naked.
    “I don’t—” He stopped himself before he said it again. The blood had begun to thump in his ears (and somewhere else), so loud he thought for sure she could hear it too.
    “Why don’t you come down here before you fall.” He climbed down the ladder, and she stood dizzyingly close. He could smell the shampoo again, and another smell underneath, too light for him to make out. He stared down at her breasts under the tank top, unable to help himself. “Do you like working for me, Jeb?” she said softly. Her voice waslow and steady, soothing. “I love it that you’re here. I get so lonely during the day, Pat’s at work until all hours of the night. I never know when he’ll come home. Sometimes it’s not until ten or eleven o’clock.” She reached out with her finger, tracing a line down his arm, across the inside of his elbow. She took his hand and placed it against her breast. “Here,” she breathed softly. “That’s it.”
    He squeezed, feeling her nipple harden against his palm. Blood thundered in his ears. She sighed again, her eyes drifting closed. A smile played about the corners of her mouth.
    Throw her down Jeb, rip her clothes off, that’s what she wants you to do, put your mouth on her breasts and her stomach and let her touch you what’s wrong are you gay, that’s what they’ll say, what she’ll say they’ll all laugh at you in town everybody will know you’ll be the joke of the year the little stupid Taylor boy who never even had a woman can’t get it up —
    Her hand had slipped to the top of his pants, it was moving lower, lower…
    “I have to go,” he managed to sputter, and then he was stumbling out of the house and into the sunshine, and the thing he felt was not sexual at all, he felt rage , more anger than he had ever felt in his life. She had been teasing and making fun of him like all the rest. He clenched his hands into fists and felt the nails cutting into his palms again like they had before, and this time he didn’t stop until he felt blood running across his wrist.
    As he was stumbling into his car she came out. “Jeb, wait.” Her voice had changed. “Are you all right? I didn’t mean—” Then she saw the blood on his hands, and she covered her mouth. “Oh my God.”
    And that was somehow worse than anything else. The look in her eyes.
    He started the car and spun out of the driveway, leavingher standing there, knowing she would be back inside