Baumgartner Generations: Henry (15 page)

“Did you
know Thomas Edison was dyslexic?” No, he hadn’t known. Every time he put
himself down, she always managed to find a way to build him back up. “So was Albert
Einstein.”

“Really? Mr.
E Equals M.C. Squared?”

She’d
laughed. “Your memory is amazing sometimes.”

“Yeah, and
then I can’t tell the difference between a volcano and a tornado,” he’d
grumbled.

“You know
the difference,” she’d insisted. “You just have a hard time with the symbols
that represent the things.”

He’d beamed
at her. “Hey, maybe someday, some tutor will tell another guy like me, ‘You
know Henry Baumgartner, the famous hockey player? He was dyslexic.’”

“Anything’s
possible,” Toni had agreed, turning his focus back to the work at hand.

She was a
slave driver sometimes, but she claimed he’d gone from a third-grade reading
level to a sixth-grade one in just the short time they’d been working together.
He’d even managed to write his own paper for her class, and she’d been willing
to give him an oral exam separately from the rest, which he’d passed with a
ninety-six percent. He understood theme and symbolism in
The Great Gatsby
perfectly well if he didn’t have to spell it.

Now Henry
sat enjoying the fruits of his labor, his first goal of the year showing on the
scoreboard above, the woman who was responsible for his progress sitting
proudly in the stands, and now there was Libby, too, sharing the moment. He wished
he could go talk to her, ask her why she hadn’t called. It was probably a
roommate thing, he’d long ago decided. Elaine wouldn’t talk to him—was probably
mad he’d gone after Libby. And Libby probably just felt a normal loyalty toward
her roommate in the whole thing. It put him in an impossible position.

Libby’s
not here just to see you,
he reminded himself, secretly hoping she was.

Her presence
buoyed him so much he scored again on the very next shift, carrying the
momentum of the goal he’d made just five minutes earlier. He felt the pass coming
to him long before it was on his stick. He had sensed it coming moments before,
when they were all tussling in front of their own net on the other end of the
ice. He didn’t know how he knew, couldn’t explain the incredible body awareness
he experienced on the ice, but he could anticipate, not only his own teammates’
moves, but the opposing team’s as well, with eerie accuracy.

That’s how
he knew to put a rush of speed on toward the net, sensing a defenseman in red
moving in behind him but he would be unable to check or block Henry—he was too
fast. There was a pass coming from the right, unseen but coming anyway, and he
put his stick out for it, stopping the puck’s trajectory without another
thought and not even looking at the net before pulling back to take the shot.

The puck
went in over the shoulder, the goalie twisting to get it, upended, staying
there on his ass, winded and cursing himself for missing the shot, as Henry howled
and pumped his fist in the air. The four of his teammates who were on the ice
surrounded him, cheering and jostling and there was more of that again at shift
change, guys slapping him on the back, the coach giving him an approving wink.

They won the
game two to one, and both his team’s goals belonged to him.

He was
flying by the time they headed off the ice toward the showers, and then Libby
was waiting for him. How she’d managed it, he didn’t know, but she was standing
outside the locker room, hugging herself against the cold and smiling. He
wanted to put his arms around her to warm her up. Hell, he just wanted to put
his arms around her.

“Hi Henry.”

His
teammates trudged by him, admiring the girl he stopped to talk to. “Hey.”

Just be
casual,
he told himself, taking off his helmet and tucking it under his
arm. His heart was thumping like a rabbit’s.

“I just
wanted to say great game.” She had to crane her neck way up at him because his
skates gave him several inches in height.

“Thanks.” He
couldn’t help smiling, even though the expression felt too big and goofy on his
face. “How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you
know.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Busy.”

“Yeah, me
too.” They just stood there. Smiling. It was kind of awkward, but then again,
it wasn’t. Henry said the first thing he could think of. “How’s the library?”

She laughed.
“Still standing.”

“Well that’s
always a plus.” Henry couldn’t keep his eyes off her and tried to make
conversation so his staring wouldn’t seem so obvious. “Seen any good vampire
movies lately?”

“No, I
haven’t been out to a movie since…” It was the first time her gaze shifted away
from his. “Well, I’ve been busy.”

Impulsively,
he took a chance. “Want to go?” When she didn’t answer, he pushed ahead,
ignoring the vibe she was putting off, hoping it was just nervousness. “To a
movie?”

A movie.
That reminded him that Toni was taking him to a movie after the game and he had
to get into the shower. For some reason, the thought made him feel guilty, as
if he was betraying someone. Going out with Toni, even just to some artsy
education movie, excited him. He couldn’t even say why, and wouldn’t have
admitted it out loud to anyone, especially Libby. But it was the truth.

“What’s
playing?” Libby asked.

He shrugged,
his grin widening. “I don’t have a clue.”

“I don’t
know, Henry. I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” Libby sighed when she saw
him frown. “Maybe…maybe after we get back? I’m going home for break. My parents
live in North Carolina.”

“That’s
far.” Henry was already ridiculously planning the road trip in his head.

“Anyway,
I’ve gotta run.” She reached out and touched his arm. He couldn’t feel much
through all the padding and she must have known it because she found his wrist,
bare skin between his glove and his jersey, squeezing there. “I just wanted to
tell you…great game.”

He tried to
think of something to make her stay, watching her retreating form, and called
out, “So I’ll see you January?”

“I’ll be
here.” She waved back at him and then disappeared around the corner.

*
* * *

The Michigan
Theater was hardly crowded, even on a weekend. Art movies, especially foreign,
were popular in a college town, but this was an old one. “An oldie but a
goodie” as Toni had said. Henry had vaguely heard of it, but had never seen it.

Toni picked
their seats, somewhere in the middle, and there was only one other couple in
the place besides them.

“I don’t
know if I’ll be able to follow this,” Henry admitted in a low voice. The screen
was black—no previews or pre-show garbage to clutter it up. It was eerily
quiet.

“You’ll do
fine. It has a real story.” She shrugged out of her coat and he admired the way
her skirt rode up when she crossed her legs and turned toward him, revealing
the tight hug of her brown suede boots around her slender calves. “It doesn’t
jump around like a video game.”

“You’ve seen
it?”

She laughed,
a sound that was as familiar to Henry now as breathing. Although at one point,
he never would have thought the dragon-lady was capable of laughing. “I think
it was required viewing when I was in college.”

“So what did
you think of the game?” He tried to sound casual, but he really wanted to hear
her opinion. He’d asked her to come to the game for a reason. He’d wanted her
to see, wanted her to understand how important it was to him.

“I was
impressed.” Her face changed and he could see she really meant it. “I can see
why you got a scholarship.”

He felt his
chest swell with pride, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he pretended to be
watching the couple sitting near the front of the theater. The next words she
spoke made him actually flush and he was glad the lights were dim.

“You’re
quite an amazing young man.”

He didn’t
have any idea what to say. For some reason, he didn’t want her to know how much
it pleased him. “You sound like my mother.”

“Well, we
can’t have that.” Toni chuckled. “So tell me something…” She sat back in the
red plush seat and he noticed her skirt riding up higher. The woman almost
always wore skirts and it just accentuated her most astounding features. It was
maddening. Henry knew damned well he shouldn’t be looking, or even thinking
about it. But he did. He was. “Who was the girl?”

The question
got him to stop focusing on her knees. “What girl?”

She raised
her eyebrows. “The pretty redhead who waved to you.”

“You saw
that?” He flushed with the memory.

She glanced
sideways at him. “The whole stadium saw that.”

“She’s just
a friend,” he insisted, sounding more defensive than he wanted to.

She didn’t
respond verbally but he saw that press of her lips and knew for some reason she
wasn’t happy with his answer. It made no sense at all, but he felt guilty on
two counts—as if he was somehow betraying Libby by being here. Back when he was
with Libby, he’d felt as if he was betraying Toni, and he wasn’t actually
involved with either woman! It made his head hurt.

“Toni…” he
started. She turned to him, her dark eyes even darker in the dim light. He
didn’t know what he wanted to say. Something to bridge the sudden gap between
them. He finally said something he hoped would convey to her what it meant to
him, everything she had done and continued to do. “Thanks for coming.”

“You’re
welcome.” She touched his hand, briefly. As the lights began to go down, she
leaned over, murmuring, “Are you ready for this?”

He shrugged,
sinking down into his seat. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He was
afraid it was all going to go too fast for him to keep up, but Toni was
right—it had a linear storyline that didn’t jump all over the place. It started
out with some girl wanting to rent the same apartment as some guy in Paris—but all
of a sudden they were having sex in it. That, he figured, had to be the “tango”
part of
The Last Tango in Paris.

He’d seen
Marlon Brando in
Streetcar Named Desire
in high school. This Marlon
Brando was older, meatier. But the girl? He didn’t know who she was, but she
reminded him a great deal of a young version of Toni—big dark eyes and long
dark hair and legs that went on for-fucking-ever.

It was
making him think things. Things he definitely shouldn’t be thinking. He watched
Brando and the girl rolling around on the floor, feeling his cock starting to
get hard. Although, he didn’t know if he was actually reacting to the movie or
to the heat of Toni’s thigh against his in the dark.

Brando was
mauling the girl on screen, pressing her into a wall in the empty apartment. The
guy was old enough to be her father, for god’s sake. And that just made him consider
Toni more, how she had been a neighbor all along, living right around the
block, someone who had spent evenings hanging out playing cards with his
parents. She was his mom’s age.

Henry
gulped, watching the screen, trying to concentrate. There weren’t any words,
just grunts and moans. Next to him, Toni uncrossed her legs, her thigh brushing
his jean-clad one. He could see her knees, exposed, the shape of her body in
the seat, lean but curvy. Sexy.

Stop it,
he told himself. It was seeing Libby, he reasoned, after the amazing game he’d
played, that had him feeling so excited. He was just still flying high, and the
presence of the woman beside him was nothing but a physical reminder.

Henry tore
his eyes away from his professor’s legs, back to the movie. Christ, they were
going at it! The girl on screen moaned, arching, and he didn’t need subtitles
to figure out what was going on. It made him squirm in his seat, feeling Toni
shift beside him.

When she
leaned in to ask, “Does this make you uncomfortable?” he actually jumped.

He glanced
at her, then back at the screen. “Sort of.”

“Why?” She
was close enough he could feel her breath against his cheek

“Because
you’re here,” he admitted.

“Why does
that make a difference?” Her words were soft, whispered, hot against his skin.

“I don’t
know.” He wanted to say what he was really thinking, how much the girl on the
screen reminded him of a younger version of her, but he didn’t dare. He
couldn’t tell her the truth—that watching two people having sex on-screen made
him think about her, imagining…well…

“I think you
do,” she insisted and he stiffened when he felt her hand on his knee, squeezing
gently. This wasn’t happening. That’s what he told himself, seeing the sex
scene was over. He still couldn’t breathe.

Instead of
saying anything, he mirrored her, putting his own hand on her knee, squeezing. He
felt her tense and glanced up to see her looking not at the screen, but at his
hand on her leg.

“Henry.” Her
voice was barely a whisper as she met his eyes in the darkness.

“Sorry,” he
said. But his hand moved on its own, nudging her skirt up to mid-thigh.

“Don’t
apologize.”

Her thigh
was bare. He was touching skin and could feel the heat of her. Crazy. That was
all that registered in his brain. This was crazy. Not happening. A dream.

But it
wasn’t. Her skin was like silk. And the hand on his was massaging gently. “What
are we doing?” he breathed.

He heard her
swallow, saw her throat work when she did, before she whispered, “That’s a good
question.”

“Toni…” He
turned toward her, seeing her lick her lips, watching her mouth glistening in
the light and shadow.

“You’re not
paying attention to the movie,” she said, gazing up at the screen as if she was
actually focused there.

She wasn’t wearing
stockings. He couldn’t think about anything else. “What movie?”

“You should
pay attention,” she admonished him, but her hand was inching upward. It was
nearing his crotch.