Breathing in Life

Every Breath She Takes

If we assume that the last breath of, say, Julius Caesar, has by now
scattered through the atmosphere, then the chances are that each of us
inhales one molecule of it with every breath we take.
- James Jeans, An Introduction to the Kinetic Theory of Gases

1. Breathing in Life
Great Aunt Eugenia lingered for weeks between the living and the dead,
refusing, in her typical obstinate manner, to succumb to the harbingers
of old age, infirmity, or disease. Her lucid moments, filled with
unsolicited wisdom and unwanted advice, grew shorter in duration and
less frequent. And though she welcomed the respite from such bitter,
biting commentary, Grace all but teetered on the edge of exhaustion as
she cared for her aunt, hoping every day the old woman would just die.
But Eugenia clung to the threads of life with more determination than a
spider to its web. She was too stubborn to pass graciously, too cruel
to release the hold on her niece, too wretched to relinquish the
earthly realm and tempt fate. It was enough to drive a person beyond
the brink of madness.

With only minutes of sleep over the course of several days, Grace's
thoughts naturally inclined towards a way to end her own suffering and
get on with the habit of living instead of wallowing in the filth of
dying. She had taken care of Aunt Gen for years, running errands, doing
chores, performing duties as required - full time indemnification
without relief. Grace had volunteered not out of love or respect or
regard. She did it for money and security. She did it for the future.
Eugenia promised bountiful rewards from the hereafter, designating
Grace her sole beneficiary. And though Eugenia treated her as little
more than an indentured servant, Grace believed in her forthcoming
bounty because Eugenia had no other living relative.

Yet despite her seemingly limitless forbearance, Grace grew more and
more frustrated as her rest steadily diminished. Eugenia seemed as
reluctant as ever to cross over and the longer she prevailed in a
perpetual state of living death, Grace was denied. It made her wonder
if all her efforts had been predicated on a lie, at the very least a
twisting of words. Eugenia was a master at manipulation, Grace had seen
it enough times, had learned the art of it at Eugenia's knee, and now
with sleep deprivation overwhelming her sensibility Grace began to
suspect that she was the one being manipulated. For all she knew
Eugenia could bounce up from that bed at any moment and extend her
servitude by another ten years. The hell with that, Grace thought, even
another ten days cleaning the smell of death and filth off this old
crone would be too much to bear. It was time to help Eugenia embrace
the light.

Floating somewhere between wakefulness and slumber, Grace plotted.
Within the drowsy framework of inconsistent dreams, she played out
everything from the great demise to the final pellets of dirt thrown
upon the casket, a motion picture trailer projected inside her brain.
Her own portrayal as the grieving niece was particularly stunning,
worthy of an award, though she did not appreciate the severity of her
black garb. She tried to envision herself dressed provocatively in red,
but it seemed tacky, even to Grace, and she had to admit that she had
never done anything that could be construed as provocative, until now.
And that made her smile.

Though weary, Grace realized she had to protect herself and take
precautions. She certainly didn't want to end up in prison. All that
money wouldn't do her any good in there. It had to look natural, the
inevitable result of a long life and a sickly end. Poisoning could be
discovered. All those crime dramas never did reveal the name of the
truly untraceable poison. Whacking her over the head was just way too
obvious, besides blood would be difficult to clean up or hide from
snoopy police officers whose eyes tended to focus on the most miniscule
simply from force of habit. A criminal who was that brutal on
television always got caught by the end of the hour. It was practically
a certainty. There had to be a better way, a perfect way. Now a drug
overdose would be perfect, but Grace didn't think there was enough
extra medication around the house to do the deed and as the primary
caretaker, suspicion would naturally fall on her. She could imagine all
the questions, the bright lights of the interrogation room, the
cigarette smoke blasted into her face by some sweaty, overworked
detective. No, she thought, it has to look natural. It can not cause
one eyebrow to raise in wonder.

Smothering seemed the logical choice, but she had watched those
detective programs and knew that tiny fibers from a pillowcase might do
her in, so she wrapped a sturdy pillow with plastic and wiped it down
with isopropyl alcohol. She made sure she had latex gloves to wear so
her hands could not leave behind any trace evidence and made a mental
note to light a fire in the fireplace downstairs to burn those gloves
and the pillow, plastic wrap and all. The nights had been cool for
weeks, smoke billowing from the chimney would not seem out of place,
especially in a house with an elderly resident. The elderly were always
cold. Eugenia had several blankets on her bed and still complained that
the room held a chill. The cold made Grace think about hypothermia,
just pull all those covers away and dump buckets of ice cubes on her
and watch her shiver into eternity. But the ice would melt and it would
get messy and then those smart forensic guys would figure it out fast.
Grace laughed once more at the image of Eugenia entombed via the deep
freeze then resumed her plans for smothering the bitch.

Grace didn't want the old woman to struggle and Eugenia could get
feisty. She'd swung at Grace more than once, gave her a black eye. The
old woman could inflict some wounds if she fought to survive. She could
scratch Grace, make her bleed, cause an infection to fester, and those
kinds of wounds would be hard to explain away. So Grace scrounged up
three Valium - not enough to indicate an overdose - ground them up and
placed them in a serving of Auntie's favorite applesauce. Eugenia would
sleep through her journey to the other side.

During her final preparations, Grace remembered seeing a forensics
program that reported something called petechial hemorrhage in the eyes
as an indicator of suffocation. It took her nearly an hour to find the
term in the dictionary and even then Grace wasn't quite sure how this
was different from simple bloodshot eyes. It was all so stupid, but
those experts on the program were quite adamant about this particular
clue, in fact they called it a very important clue, and Grace saw all
of her plans crumbling around her because tiny little blood vessels
were going to rupture in Eugenia's soulless eyes. Then brilliance
struck. Grace would buy some Visine and place drops into Gen's fixed
and dilated orbs. Even if those hemorrhages occurred, Grace figured the
drops would mask them enough so that no one would notice. She would
dump the remainder of the drops in the sink and then burn the bottle
along with the pillow and the gloves. No evidence, no proof.

Perhaps with more sleep and some remnant of her patience in evidence,
Grace might have thought twice about what she was about to do, maybe
not. In her mind the plan seemed flawless and necessary. The old woman
was sick, had been sick for quite awhile now, people expected her to
pass in due time. Her death now instead of later wouldn't be much of a
shock. The fact that Grace accelerated the process would be a secret
only she would know. She wondered if she might feel guilty or regret
her actions at a later time, but she dismissed those worries as
collateral consequences. She certainly didn't feel anything holding her
back from the planning, the plotting. Perhaps later she might be
capable of feeling something that might affect her, but for now, she
figured the money would take care of any subsequent remorse. She
imagined any guilt washing away as she stepped into a luxurious spa,
sinking her small frame down into the bubbling, hot water, and sipping
champagne with some incredibly expensive gigolo. After all, nothing
beat back the doldrums like lavish decadence.

That night, Grace spoon fed Eugenia, gently wiping away her drool,
scooping up any dribble of food with a plastic-coated utensil as if the
old woman was an infant. Eugenia liked the applesauce and she took in
each spoonful greedily, rolling it around in her mouth like an
aficionado, commenting on its coarse texture, praising Grace for
purchasing a better brand. Grace smiled and dabbed at Eugenia's chin
with a napkin.

After dinner, they watched Auntie's favorite game show and Grace
watched out of the corner of her eye as the old woman grew increasingly
drowsy. She fell into a deep sleep well before the finale. Grace
tiptoed into the hall and grabbed the pillow, still securely encased in
plastic, and returned to the bedside. She reached into her pocket and
pulled out a small bottle of Visine and set it on the nightstand.
Pulling on the latex gloves she had hidden underneath the cushion of
her chair, Grace sat down and watched another game show, slowly
increasing the volume to see if Eugenia would stir. She did not.

Taking two deep breaths in quick succession, Grace jumped from her
chair, grabbed the plastic-wrapped pillow firmly with both hands, and
shoved it hard against her aunt's face. She pressed as hard as she
could, climbing onto the bed and straddling Eugenia's small frame.
There was no struggle but Grace grew unsure about how long to hold the
pillow against Eugenia's face to be sure she was dead. She let go of
the pillow with her left hand, pressing her right arm against it so she
could slide her hand underneath to feel for a pulse in her aunt's neck.
She found the carotid artery easily with her fingers and pressed them
against it with a gentle, firm touch. There was still a pulse, but it
was weak. She held her fingers there for a long time as she used the
weight of her body to anchor the pillow. After several minutes, which
for Grace seemed like hours, Eugenia's pulse ceased. Relieved, it never
seemed to take so long on those detective programs, Grace lifted the
pillow away from Eugenia's face. Still atop her, she leaned forward and
placed her face directly above her aunt's lifeless features and checked
for breathing. There was none. She studied the old woman. She appeared
peaceful and serene. Grace started to cry, but she could not tell if
they were from some sort of guilty grief or just a coming down from the
adrenaline that surged through her body as she murdered her benefactor.
Her mind raced, paranoia descended upon her with what she supposed was
regret and remorse. She stared at that sweet, still face and thought
she should question what she had done.

Then, without warning Eugenia's body released its final gasp of air and
Grace inhaled it. Actually she gulped it in as she tried to catch her
own breath.

Grace leaped off the bed, falling into the chair with such force it
nearly tipped over backward. Her mouth carried the taste of rancid
applesauce but instead of a sense of nausea, she felt a wave of
something shoot through her body. There was such force, Grace thought
she had been struck by lightning. She felt giddy and lightheaded. It
made her laugh. Tears fell from her eyes, this time from joyful
sensation. She felt wonderful, revived, restored. It was as if her
aunt's final breath had transferred all of the old woman's indomitable
spirit into her. She was reborn, reconstituted. Grace kept laughing, a
loud, boisterous laugh, and wondered why the hell she hadn't thought of
doing this years before.

She wasn't thinking about the money, she was thinking about the
sensation. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before but then
again Grace's knowledge of exceptional experiences was pretty thin. It
was certainly better than sex with Billy Toomber, but just about
anything was. He was, after all, the king of the premature ejaculation
And she was pretty sure it was better than having an orgasm, though
Grace couldn't exactly swear to ever having one of those. Billy wasn't
exactly what you'd call a considerate lover. He was a
get-it-over-with-quick-hope-he-gets-inside-in-time kind of lover. Made
Grace wonder if she was still technically a virgin. She just didn't
possess enough firsthand knowledge and other than some really good sex
and what had just happened, Grace didn't know what else there was in
life to appreciate. One thing was certain, at least in Grace's mind,
she had just experienced a most sensational phenomenon, and all because
of a premeditated accident.

She looked at Eugenia's remains and wished she could kill her all over
again.

2.) Breathless
It was nearly an hour before the vibrancy of the experience faded.
Grace glanced at her aunt's body. Eugenia looked shriveled and pale,
like a California grape left out in the hot Sahara heat. Grace turned
away absentmindedly, the sight of her murdered aunt inconsequential,
and looked towards the nightstand. She noticed the bottle of Visine she
had placed there earlier. She let out a heavy sigh. In her ecstasy, she
had forgotten all about it and looking over at her aunt, she didn't
want to think about it now. She didn't want to lift those lids and come
eyeball to eyeball with what she had done. It would be like tempting
fate. She opened the drawer in the nightstand and swept the Visine into
it. It was too late anyway. Grace's mind worked quickly. Cremation,
yes, cremate her fast before anyone has time to ask questions. She
picked up the phone and dialed the first mortuary she could find in the
yellow pages.

Enrico Anzar, owner and operator of Anzar's Memorial Chapel &;
Crematorium, said he'd take care of everything. He sounded like an
incredibly happy man and Grace wondered if his delight came from
helping people through their grief or being so near death so much of
the time. When Grace mentioned notifying the authorities she sounded
casual, but her heart fluttered and tiny beads of sweat broke out
across her forehead. Enrico said he'd take care of that, a simple
matter, nothing more than a phone call. Grace tried to believe him as
she hung up the phone, but paranoia hovered around her like a swarm of
angry bees. She kept waiting for the police to pound on the door and
demand her surrender. When Enrico's employee came to remove Eugenia's
body, Grace had to force herself to answer the door.

It turned out to be a lot of unnecessary concern because no one asked
any questions. Enrico was correct. The authorities released Eugenia's
body with the formality of a phone call. They were not interested in
investigating an elderly person's death by apparent natural causes.
Grace relaxed and got some sleep. In the morning, Enrico would burn
Eugenia's body and any murderous evidence locked inside it. In three
days the whole ordeal would be over. Grace thought Friday would be a
good day for services and phoned the minister of Eugenia's church. A
simple service, something brief and to the point. Grace found churches
unsettling and she worried that mourners would crowd around her with
their platitudes and false sincerity. That would force her to respond
in kind and it seemed like such a waste of energy to charm a bunch of
strangers. But it was all part of the game and Grace buoyed herself
with the possibility that the funeral might introduce her to someone
new to take care of. She imagined an old man this time, tottering down
the center aisle, offering his tremor-ridden hand to her, chivalrous
and proud. He would be strong this one and would only confess later,
over some well-aged sherry, that he needed someone to care for him in
his final years as Eugenia had and if her grief wasn't too pressing,
might Grace be so inclined? It made Grace shiver inside with
anticipation. Suddenly she couldn't wait for the funeral to
begin.

With Eugenia reduced to nothing more than pieces of charcoal and soot
packed inside an expensive urn, Grace stood alone. No one showed up for
the services. No old friends, no former co-workers, not even a stranger
bothered to attend. There wasn't an elderly man in sight. The minister
offered to postpone the service, but Grace declined. She wanted this
thing over with and asked if they could proceed directly to the
graveside. The minister reluctantly agreed and Grace, her simple
presence overwhelmed by black attire listened as the standard prayers
echoed across the tombstones.

The only other people present were cemetery workers busy digging
another grave. They paused in deference to the proceedings and had a
smoke. They watched Grace place Eugenia's cremains into the ground,
then returned to their duties. Grace thanked the minister for his words
then strolled back leisurely to the limousine, reading the myriad of
names and dates on so many granite monoliths. So many dead. She
wondered if anyone had taken their final breaths. She smiled at the
outrageousness of her thoughts as she slipped into the backseat of the
limousine. She didn't open the bottle of French champagne she had
brought with her to celebrate her new found freedom and fortune. The
memory of Eugenia's final breath kept souring the taste of new
extravagances. Even the luxury of the limousine seemed tainted. The
memory of the sensation consumed her. Grace craved more such
experiences with the fervor of a drug addict. And she knew that all the
money in the world couldn't provide her with what was now her greatest
desire.

She needed to find someone else, someone else to smother, to murder, to
terminate without raising suspicions, and the prospect excited her. But
finding a likely candidate seemed daunting, possibly futile. Grace
wasn't exactly overflowing with aging relatives awaiting their demise.
She cursed the fates for leaving her so alone in the world and then
laughed out loud because she wanted all those annoying aunts and uncles
and cousins for nothing more than their final breath. It certainly
would have been convenient if highly suspect, what with the family
dropping one by one with the dutiful Grace by their side. "Enough with
such daydreams!" Grace exclaimed. The limousine driver's eyes opened
wide with surprise as he looked at her through the rearview mirror.
Grace smiled slyly and raised the barrier between them.

Since taking on Eugenia's care, her social life, what little had
existed, had all but disappeared, except for the occasional romp with
Billy. And as much as she would like to suck the life out of him, his
death wasn't something she was ready to consider. He was useful in
other ways, for the moment, and she regarded his demise a last resort.
She thought about him for another moment, then pulled out her cell
phone - a convenience Eugenia had demanded she carry - and dialed. He
could assist her with other sensations.

"Yea?" Billy was a man of little words.
"Hey, it's me."
"Babe, where are you? You rich yet?"
"No." She did not want to tell him she was in a limo. "Busy?"
"Just watching the tube, drinking a brew. Why?"
"Funeral's over. No one came. Come to the house. I'll show you the
bedrooms."
"How many?"
"How many what?"
"Bedrooms."
"Four."
"Oh, Babe, I'm going to fu. . ."
"Tell me when you get here, OK?" Grace hated dirty talk and with Billy,
it wasn't good he get too excited too soon. "And Bill?"
"Yea?"
"Bring more beer with you. You're better when you've had a few."
"On my way."

The limousine pulled up in front of the house just as she got off the
phone. Grace exited the vehicle without so much as a thank you to the
driver and hurried into the house. Billy arrived 15 minutes later and
for about an hour they drank beer and had some reasonably quick and
dull sex. But Grace was not discouraged. She felt empowered,
invincible. Ever since she had taken Eugenia's breath inside her, she
felt as if she could overcome anything and she was determined to rid
Billy of his prematurity.

After their initial encounter, she led him from bedroom to bedroom,
insisting he pleasure her again and again and again. She guided his
hands and his mouth across her body, teaching him how to touch her and
caress her. In every room, she enticed him to take her. She ran her
fingers over him, touching him, pinching him. She used her mouth to
fondle him, stopping for a moment if such excitement threatened to
overwhelm him. They continued like this for hours, experimenting with
different positions, different techniques, the pleasure increased as
each skirmish lasted longer.

By the time they got to Eugenia's room, Grace's excitement was at a
fever pitch. She threw Billy onto the bed, still covered with the
sheets on which Eugenia died, and ran her tongue along the length of
his frame, nibbling and biting as she went. She could barely contain
herself, the physical arousal nearly more than her flesh could bear.
Every sensation turbulent, intoxicating. Grace straddled his body and
took him inside her. She closed her eyes and waited, enjoying every
nuance, then together they began to move, slowly at first. Billy gently
gripped her behind and thrust himself deeper into her. Grace's body
rippled, she felt as if a thousand needles were piercing her skin. It
felt wonderful. She closed her eyes again and this time imagined the
pillow smashed over Eugenia's face. More needles, she moved Billy's
hands up to her breasts. He pinched her nipples hard and Grace's back
arched. She remembered the breath going into her, the memory of that
sensation shooting through her like a bullet. Her body shuddered and
she moved her hips faster. She opened her eyes, a pillow was crushed
against Billy's face, held there by her own hand. She removed it and he
gasped for breath. Grace planted her mouth firmly over his and began to
suck. Spasms ripped through her body as he exhaled into her mouth. As
she took it in, Grace's knowledge of exceptional sensations increased
exponentially.

Billy gulped for breath as he pulled Grace's face away from his. She
smiled at him, then threw her head back and moaned. Her hips moved
furiously as wave after wave of ecstasy poured over her like water in a
maelstrom. She wanted more, to come again and again, to drown in an
orgasmic tidal wave of carnal desire. She grabbed his hand and thrust
it between her legs, forcing his fingers to fondle her as she rode him.
His eyes widened as Grace climaxed again, her body pulsing, throbbing
against him until he was so swept up by her lust that he responded with
the same intense ferocity she displayed and climaxed as well.

"What the hell was that?" Billy, out of breath, rolled away from her.
He reached for his beer on the nightstand and took a long, deep
drink.
"What do you mean?" Grace was panting as well. She rolled herself in
the top sheet and propped her back against some pillows. Her legs were
trembling.
"We've never had sex like that before."
"Of course we haven't. You always finished before we got started." She
spoke matter-of-factly, with little emotion. "I was tired of getting
ripped off, if you know what I mean."
Billy was quiet for a moment. "Yea, maybe . . . but what was the deal
with the pillow? You trying to kill me or something?"
"I got carried away, I guess. Sorry." Grace smiled at the lie.
"Hungry?"
"Thirsty."
"There's more beer in the fridge. Come on, I'm starving." She jumped
up, threw off the sheet, walked out of the room, and down the
stairs.

3.) Breathing Easy
Grace stood naked in front of the refrigerator and ate cold Chinese
food with her fingers. When Billy walked into the kitchen, she handed
him a cold beer, the bottle sticky with teriyaki sauce. She smiled and
though her mouth was full of noodles, indicated her intent to take a
shower. She did not invite him to join her. Billy sat at the table and
waited. He drank his beer and wiped his hands on his pants.

Twenty minutes later, Grace descended the stairs in a fluffy white
robe, her shoulder-length hair combed back severely away from her face.
"Can I get you another beer? My hands are clean this time." She shoved
her hands in front of Billy's face and flipped them over and back
again.
"No thanks. I think I've had enough. I'm a little whipped, you know."
He looked at her, smiled, and then yawned. "So, . . . when do you get
rich?"
Grace bristled at his inquiry. "Don't know. Will's in probate. Can't
touch a dime until that's done."
"What the hell's probate?"
"Got me. Some sort of legal mumbo jumbo. All I know is I'm broke."
Grace found it easy to lie. She didn't want Billy to know she had funds
available. She didn't want him to know anything. He served a purpose,
nothing more.
"Guess you'll need a job then. Least for a while." His words sounded
drowsy. "Course all you know how to do is take care of old people." He
started to laugh. "And fuck like a bunny."
"Shut up." There was irritation in her voice.
"Hey, I got it. You could work in a nursing home. There's tons of old
people in them places." Billy stood up and stretched. "Hey, mind if I
go and crash on the sofa for about an hour? I'm beat."

Grace barely heard him. Bells and whistles blasted in her head. A
nursing home - a place filled with an overwhelming potential for
sensation. "What? Sure, go ahead. In fact go upstairs and use my bed.
Second door on the right." She wanted him out of the house, but out of
the room would have to do. She watched as he disappeared up the stairs
and smiled. Billy wasn't the brightest apple in the bunch, but
sometimes he seemed like a scholar. It was brilliant, a nursing home.
All the sick, the abandoned, the dying, the ignored - all in one place.
It was better than a candy store. Why families stick their elderly in
those places to die anyway, Grace thought, her mind giddy with
possibilities. She could experience the sensation a hundred times and
never raise an eyebrow. What would be so strange about old people
passing away in a place like that? It was perfect.

She scurried into the front parlor and grabbed the newspaper and
telephone book. Back in the kitchen with coffee brewing, there was no
way Grace could sleep now, she scoured the want ads and counted the
number of adult retirement homes listed in the yellow pages. It was
like hitting the mother lode, seventeen ads for nurse's aides and
assistants in geriatric settings and 53 private and state-subsidized
chronic care facilities. Grace wanted to squeal like a child, she was
so excited.

Billy slept through the night in Grace's bed and the next morning, she
made him coffee, hot and strong, then pushed him out the door with as
much courtesy as she displayed with the limousine driver. He turned
back as he stepped outside to ask her when they'd hook up again, the
images of their decadent encounters fresh in his mind, but Grace
slammed the door shut before he could speak and Billy heard the
deadbolt lock snap sharply into place.

Grace ran up the stairs and dressed quickly in her only
business-appropriate outfit, a rather dowdy brown knee-length pleated
skirt with a short-waisted jacket. She pulled her hair back into a
ponytail and decided to forego any makeup. She wanted to look plain.
She wanted to project an image that would sing to any prospective
employer that here was a young woman eager to please and filled with
compassion and concern for her elderly charges.

Down in the study, she put the finishing touches on her r?sum? before
ripping it from Eugenia's ancient typewriter. Grace made a mental note
to purchase a computer. It would have looked more professional had she
been able to utilize one of those new printers, but, looking it over,
Grace thought the r?sum? appropriate. It said here was a woman more
concerned with personalized care than sterile professionalism. Grace
closed her eyes and saw herself in an interview, sparring playfully
with some middle-aged underling, someone passed over for promotion, a
frustrated employee, sick of her job, who discovered a delightful woman
on the other side of her desk. A young girl capable of so much care,
whose saucy banter was a welcome respite from her mundane career. She
opened her eyes, picked up the phone, and dialed the first number on a
list she had prepared in the early morning hours. As the phone rang,
Grace wondered how many job offers she would turn down by the end of
the day. After all, she'd only need one.

4.) Bad Breath
Seven interviews, three applications, and four trips to employment
agencies yielded nothing more than don't call us, we'll call you. Grace
grew angrier and more frustrated as the day wound down. Mrs.
Biddlesworth at the Loving Acres Retirement Hostel refused to see her
without a letter of recommendation from her aunt. Mr. Tomlinson, a
short man whose face looked like it was permanently pinched, informed
her that all nurse's aides at his facility, Bremer's Elderly Care Home,
had to be state certified. Ms. Jackson, please call me Nora, said that
while it was indeed admirable that Grace had cared so selflessly for
her aunt, without proper documentation and evidence she had
participated successfully in a training program, she was unemployable.
Every one else recited the same litany in one way or another, which
made for a long day. Grace was no closer to repeating the sensation
then she had been moments after Eugenia's final curtain. She wanted to
scream and throw things and pound all their puny, little heads against
their desks until they were breathing their final breath.

She stopped at the liquor store on the drive home and picked up a
liter bottle of vodka, then to the grocery next door for orange juice
and a twelve pack of beer. Grace didn't normally drink anything
stronger than beer, but today was one of those days, at least in her
mind. She bought the beer for Billy and rang him up as soon as she
walked through the front door. He was ringing the front bell before she
had finished her first screwdriver.

When she opened the door, Billy grabbed her roughly and kissed her with
a passion she had never seen him muster, ever. She pushed him away and
tried to return to the kitchen for more vodka, but he pulled her back
and kissed her again. She pushed him away again, this time much
harder.

"Jesus Christ, Bill, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Grace
wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her blouse.
Billy looked confused. "Hey, I thought that's what you wanted, Babe. I
mean, after last night and all." He reached out to touch her, but Grace
backed away.
"Well, last night was different. That ain't gonna happen again." She
walked into the kitchen and Billy followed.
"Why the hell not?" He reached into the fridge and grabbed a beer
without asking. It seemed like a comfortable action, something that did
not go unnoticed. "I thought it was great. I mean we finally connected,
you know. Shit you must of come thirty or forty times."
"Help yourself, Bill. Think you live here?" Grace poured a half a glass
of vodka over ice, ignored the orange juice and took a swig.
"What's the hell's up your ass?" Billy just stared at her, more with a
look of amazement than anger. He had never seen her angry. "And when
the hell did you start drinking the hard stuff?"
"Christ, it's only vodka, asshole. And there's nothing up my ass." Her
words snapped with anger.
"Bullshit. You're pissed about something and I don't think it's me. But
if you don't want to talk about it, fine. I'm out of here." He slammed
his beer down on the table and turned to leave.
"Wait." Grace took a deep breath and exhaled. "I'm sorry. I had a
really bad day. I shouldn't be taking it out on you." She moved towards
him and touched his back. "Please stay."
Billy turned and looked at her for a long time before wrapping his arms
around her. "Tell me what happened."
"I didn't get a job." Her voice was muffled. She held her head tightly
against his chest.
"Is that all? It's only your first day of trying."
"No. You don't understand. Nobody would hire me because they say I'm
not qualified. I need to be certified or take a course or something. I
can't get a job in a nursing home."
"Man, that's bullshit. You've got the experience." Billy guided her
into the kitchen as they spoke. "What'd you try to get a job as?" The
question seemed like an afterthought, as if Billy was just trying to
keep the conversation going.
"Nurse's aide. They're the ones who really do the work, get close to
the patients." Grace's voice sounded pathetic, but in her mind there
were frenzied images of pillows and lifeless faces.
"Well," Billy reached for another beer. "Mind?"
Grace shook her head no.
"Seems to me that you only need a job until this will thing is settled,
right?" He took a long, slow drink.
"But I want to work in a nursing home. I mean when you suggested it the
last night it was like a light went off in my head." Grace smiled. "Why
I might want to continue working even after I have get all her money -
if I can work in a nursing home."
"Maybe you are going about this the way then." Billy sat down and
tapped his fingers against his half empty bottle of beer.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, when I wanted to work in a garage, I didn't apply for the lead
mechanic position. I signed up to be an apprentice, to learn on the
job. Pay wasn't as good and I already knew a ton about fixing cars, but
it got me in the door and now I got a full time gig with benefits. Hell
I even got some customers that don't want no one touching their cars
but me."
"So I should apply for a crummier position?" Grace sounded frustrated,
impatient. Billy didn't realize she had to get close, she concluded, he
just thinks I need a job.
"No, not a crummy job. Just one that gets you in the door. Doesn't one
of these places have a training program for what you want to do?" Billy
moved to the fridge and helped himself to another beer without asking
permission. This time it did not set Grace off.
Grace thought a moment, letting Billy's words sink in. What did that
one woman say - Miss Dabner? "Sunny Meadows has a year-long program,
but it doesn't start for three months. I can't wait that long."
"So get a job in one of their kitchens. You can deliver meals until the
program starts."
Grace looked at Billy in amazement. He always seemed to have the answer
she needed. It was the main reason she kept him around. He saw
everything so simply. He wasn't clouded by little details or potential
consequences or conflicts. He considered the problem and came up with
the simplest solution. It was great. Too bad he didn't know the real
problem he was solving for her. Grace walked over behind Billy and
hugged him. "You always come up with what I need. Thank you."
"Well now, I can think of a couple positions, I mean ways, you can
thank me properly." Billy leaned back and pulled Grace's face to
his.
She did not pull away. Instead she kissed him and asked, "Right here on
this cold, hard table or upstairs in a soft, comfortable bed?"
"Both." He stood to face her. He helped her out of her clothes and ran
his hands along her back and buttocks. "It may take me a few times to
get it right, you know."
Grace laughed and undid his pants.