Better with Age

(continued)

By John Woodington

I slept on the couch that night, which isn't so bad if you're expecting it to happen once in a while. But my mind was preoccupied with the cascade of images I'd seen only a few hours earlier, so it took forever to fall asleep. I still couldn't help thinking that each photo had been taken just for me, that Nicole Sullivan wanted me to see them. Hell, she was a good-looking girl, not that I'd ever do anything about it at my age. It was just nice to finally feel something inside my body other than a fear of turning sixty.

And I really did feel something, like I'd been running dry for the past few years and had suddenly gotten a free tank of fuel. I felt full, or, more exactly, I felt not empty, to which I'd sadly grown accustomed. I got the impression that Janette never felt a physical drive for me anymore, which in turn gave me the impression that I shouldn't feel it for her either. And so I shut it away in some inner vault, never to be indulged. Then again, maybe I hadn't shut it away. I don't recall any exact moment where I said to myself, "You're not going to feel this way anymore." If anything, it'd left without permission, slowly seeping out of me like water through loosely cupped fingers. No reason not to be honest about it. The only reason I was able to kick the Internet habit was because the desire for it had diminished. I thought it was gone forever, or at least I had until Nicole walked into the office.

Now that lost drive raged through my body anew and kept me awake; I didn't fall asleep until after Conan O'Brien was over, though I first lay down during the nine o'clock news. I felt powerful, energetic, everything that I hadn't felt since youth. I liked it, really liked it, and didn't care that the source of that energy was coming from a girl whose dirty pictures had once fascinated me. At least I had something in me again. At least I hadn't lost that part of life. I don't even want to think about how dull things had been without it.

 

The weekend passed quietly back home, very slowly, which only made sense to me after I realized how much I was both anticipating and dreading Monday. I parked in the side lot, checked the Chevelle, and got into the office around nine. Nancy was already working with Nicole, training her in all the things she'd need to know as my secretary. Nicole wore an off-the-shoulder number with a neckline that tied together in the middle, and I was suddenly glad we didn't have an official dress code, because the strings weren't tied. Both women smiled at me when I walked in.

"Good morning, ladies," I said.

"Good morning, Harry," they said in unison, but I only paid attention to Nicole's voice. My name still sounded invigorating on her lips.

"How's progress?"

"She'll be fully trained by Wednesday," Nancy said.

"You'll stay 'till Friday, right?" I asked. "We're going to have a little party to celebrate you finally leaving us in peace."

Nicole smiled.

Nancy nodded. "I will, but I'm taking Thursday off."

"Sounds like something I'd do," I said, and went into my office.

Once the door closed behind me, I knew that I wouldn't fire Nicole. She'd fit in perfectly, and I didn't want to find anyone else, not on such short notice. And there was a little pride involved; I wasn't about to let my wife start making my decisions for me. Not at work at least.

After calling distributors in Michigan and Minnesota for an hour and a half, I buzzed out to Nancy. "Can you send Nicole in here, please?"

"Sure thing, Harry," Nancy said.

Nicole walked in a few seconds later. I stood up but remained behind my desk.

"Since it's your first day, I thought I'd take you out to lunch."

Nicole smiled and tossed her hair. "Thank you, Harry," she said.

I shrugged. "I do it for all my new employees."

The intercom crackled. "I don't recall you doing that for me on my first day, Harry," Nancy said.

I leaned down to the speaker. "I don't think they had lunch back then, Nancy." I flicked the switch off.

Nicole laughed, and I led her out to my car. Nancy smirked at us as we passed.