Public Relations IV

“Can you come get me at lunch today?”

The question came from the shower as he stood at the sink, shaving. He glanced at Laura’s reflection in the mirror as she washed her hair. He let his eyes drift over her head to toe. She looked good, sexy, beautiful, her body glistening with water.

Bill smiled. Usually they showered at night, but they’d been entirely unmotivated to leave the bed after making love. He hadn’t wanted to let go of her and she’d been pretty much the same. They hadn’t even picked up the Boxing Weekly, which had ended up scattered in several sections across the floor on her side of the bed. He would pick it up later, after she was off to work.

“Yeah,” he replied, rinsing the blade in the sink. “Want to grab something to eat?”

“That, and I need to pick up a dress for tomorrow night,” she replied, turned then lifted her face into the spray for a few moments then backed out of it, reached for a bottle of something to use on her face. She worked it into her skin, continued talking. “I had planned to wear something I have but I’ve decided I want something new,” she told him, smiled at him through the glass. “If I’m going to show up on the arm of a dashing battlestar commander, I want a new dress.”

Bill chuckled at the “dashing” description. He was a lot of things, dashing wasn’t one of them — more like puttering, old guys puttered — but he didn’t argue with her. And, as far as what she wore was concerned, she could put on a sack and she’d still be the most beautiful woman in the universe to him.

“What time should I be there?” he asked then drew the razor along his cheek, swiping away another swath of stubble.

“One, or a little after,” she replied. “I have to take care of everything this morning so I can take the afternoon.” There was a pause then, “You don’t mind taking me, do you?”

He glanced at her again in the mirror, found her eyes on him. He smiled at her. “I don’t mind.” And he didn’t. Shopping wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed. He usually only went if he needed something, but he’d take her wherever she wanted to go just for the joy of taking her, and if she wanted to show him the things she tried on … well, he wasn’t going to complain.

Bill knew how to answer the pitfall questions like “Does this make me look fat?” and he would enjoy seeing her in different things. There was, or could be, something very sexy in that prospect if a man put his mind to it. Hell, just knowing she was behind some thin door or curtain, dressing and undressing repeatedly was a rather inspiring thought to him.

At his answer, though, she looked at him skeptically. “Be honest,” she commanded.

He chuckled. “I don’t mind, Laura,” he reiterated and went back to shaving.

She didn’t say anything more, just finished her shower then shut off the water. After wrapping herself in a towel, she joined him at the vanity where he was rinsing the remains of shaving cream from his face, fingers feeling to make sure he’d gotten all the stubble.

Righting himself, he picked up the hand towel beside him and dried his face and hands, looked at her as leaned against the counter, toward the mirror as she applied her makeup — a little eye shadow, a light dusting of powder. When she reached for the petrojelly jar, he grinned, licentious thoughts definitely coming to mind, but her use of it was entirely innocuous. She put a little dab on her lips and smoothed it across them.

“Wondered what you used that for,” he commented.

She smiled, her responding, “I know,” definitely knowing, and amused. “There are other uses for it than what you’re thinking,” she told him as she used her little finger to rub the jelly into her lips.

Feeling mischievous, Bill moved up behind her, put his hands on her waist and watched her in the mirror. “And what exactly am I thinking?” he prodded, eyes meeting hers in the reflection.

She let out an amused hum, but let him step closer, bringing a certain part of his anatomy into contact with her behind. “I think you just answered your own question,” she teased, closing up the jelly jar and reaching for her lipstick.

Bill chuckled, realizing that he had, but he didn’t move away as he watched her apply the color, which was only a shade or two darker than her own color. He liked that. She didn’t look all made up, like her face was from a series of bottles. She looked natural.

When she was done, she dropped the lipstick back into the drawer of makeup then put her hands atop his. He met her gaze again in the mirror, found her smiling. “We’ll talk about it,” she told him then said, “But I’ve got to get ready now.”

He let her go, not quite sure what to say in the face of that. Yeah, he’d thought about taking her that way. Any man who claimed the thought never crossed his mind when he was with a woman was lying through his teeth. It was a primal thought, fueled by an innate need to claim, something written in the DNA in men. They just thought about it and, sometimes, they got up the courage to ask their partner.

Bill had experienced it a couple times over the years — well, when he was younger — but frankly, he’d never had a woman ask for it, as a result, he’d always been somewhat hesitant to ask. The one time he had tried to talk to Carolanne about it had ended in a verbal tirade about how disgusting he was. Needless to say, he hadn’t brought the subject up again with her. Now, here was Laura, and she was saying they’d talk about it, actually discuss it like adults.

Bill shook his head in amazement, picked up his glasses from the counter and put them on. He headed out to the bedroom then to get dressed. He selected a pair of tan pants and a blue button-down shirt, which he shrugged on over a white tank. As he draped his dogtags around his neck, he glanced over at her. She was sitting on the foot of the bed, pulling on a pair of hose.

“Want me to drive you in?” he asked while he buttoned his shirt and tucked in his shirttails.

“You can if you’d like,” she replied, throwing him a smile.

“I’d like,” he replied, fastening his trousers. “I’ll just find something to amuse me until lunch.”

“That’s a lot of time to kill,” she said, rising, pulling the hose the rest of the way up.

Bill watched her step into her skirt next then picked up his shoes, a pair of black loafers, and set them on the floor in front of the cushioned armchair. He sank down into it then slipped his feet into the shoes.

“There must be a bookstore down there somewhere and I know there’s a library,” he said, then pushed to his feet, went over to the dresser and put his wallet in his hip pocket. “I’ll go fix some coffee. Want toast?” he asked as he headed out of the bedroom.

“Yes, please,” was her answer.

Smiling, Bill put on their breakfast, readying the cups and plate, as well as a knife and the butter. Laura emerged from the bedroom, set her purse on the bar, as he was prepping the second piece of toast. She looked great, her long, red hair, falling in a wildly elegant tumble of curls against the blue of her suit jacket. Her glasses hung from the v-shaped neckline of her blouse.

“Mmmm, thank you,” she hummed, kissing his cheek as she picked up a piece of toast then her coffee.

Bill joined her at the bar and they ate, then rinsed the dishes. After, they ducked into the bathroom to brush their teeth, picked up their coats off the bed, then headed to the car, Bill grabbing the keys from the little bowl on the bar on the way out.

The drive in was hectic, making Bill immensely thankful for his years as a viper pilot. He guided Laura’s black sedan through the traffic and more than one or two narrow misses.

“Is traffic always like this?” he asked as they neared the government building that held her office.

“Pretty much,” was her reply.

“You could fly a viper,” he told her with due seriousness as he dodged another incoming vehicle.

“Gods, your voice just changed,” she said, her tone astonished. He glanced over at her, saw her smiling. “Now I know why they called you ‘Husker’.”

It was his turn to be astonished. He didn’t recall ever telling her what his call sign had been, not even in his letters. “How did you know that?”

“A few months ago, I went to a state dinner commemorating the end of the war. They had a display of pictures and other information from the war. Your name was a list of pilots who’d shot down a cylon on their first combat mission,” she explained.

Bill shook his head, chuckling. It was amazing the things that happened sometime. “Yeah, that’s my call sign,” he said, moving into the outer lane so he could make their turn.

“Pull into the garage,” she told him, “I’ll introduce you to the security officers so you can park here when you come back. My car has the badge, but they always check who’s driving.”

Bill pulled in where she pointed, stopped at the gate and lowered the window. Laura leaned across him and introduced him to the guard, then asked to have Bill’s name added to the list of authorized drivers for her car. They said they’d have to do a security check — that it was a requirement even though Bill was a commander in the Fleet — before that was allowed on a regular basis, but they’d give him a temporary pass for the day. She thanked them and Bill steered into the garage, parked on the second level at her instruction.

Bill held her hand as he walked her to her office. When he’d slipped his hand into hers, she’d looked at him, eyes bright, smile dazzling. She’d returned his hold immediately and that had made him delightfully happy.

She was the first to arrive so she unlocked her office with the key she kept in her purse. He followed her inside, and into the inner office that held her desk. It was a fairly big room, an indicator of her rank and position, and ornately furnished. The two other times he’d been in the room, he’d been distracted and hadn’t really looked around. He took the time to do so now, though, while she went down the hall to get another cup of coffee.

Overall, he’d have to say most of the things in her office were provided by the government. The furniture didn’t seem her style, but the artwork was. The piece on the wall just inside the office was by the same artist as the one that hung in her dining room — Chapin Harris. The other smaller ones, on the side walls, looked like they might be as well.

“I love that piece.”

Bill looked over to see Laura standing in the doorway arms folded across her chest, one hand holding a cup of coffee, her glasses folded in the other. She pushed away from the door, came over to stand beside him. He watched her as she stared up at the painting. After a few minutes, she spoke, her voice soft, tinged with emotion.

“I bought it after…,” she confessed and he saw tears well. His heart skipped a beat that she spoke of it at all. “I had two states of being initially,” she continued, “I either cried or I was numb. I held on to the numbness for so long that it was all I felt by then.”

She set her coffee and glasses on the little table beneath the painting, wiped at her eyes, then refolded her arms, never looking away from the painting. Bill wanted to reach out to her but didn’t, let her do what she needed to do, afraid any interference would cause her to withdraw or break her hold on her emotions, and this was not the place for that to happen.

After a few moments, in which she took short, shallow breaths, she spoke again, her voice softer than before. “I went to a showing for one of my former students at a gallery downtown, and this painting was hanging there. When I looked at it,” her voice hitched and she took a shaky breath, confessing, “…I felt.”

When she said no more, just continued to stare at the painting, eyes watery, Bill murmured, wanting to know, “What did you feel?”

The hint of curled the corner of her mouth, then she looked at him. “Happy,” she breathed.

Happiness flooding him, Bill smiled and extended his arm to her, inviting her to come to him if she wanted, not entirely sure if she would considering the emotions welling in her and the venue. But she did come, slipping her arms around him and hugging him as he embraced her.

With a kiss to her brow, he whispered, “I’m glad you felt that.” He tilted his head and sought her mouth with his. “You deserve to be happy, Laura,” he breathed then kissed softly. When her eyes opened, so close to his, longing evident, he kissed her again, slow and tender, lips moving over hers, with hers, their breaths mingling. She hummed softly and he slipped a hand up into her hair, stroked it gently as their kiss tapered then ended when the commotion of her staff entering the outer office reached their ears.

Her hands came up then, slipped into his hair while her eyes searched his. She smiled at him and he at her, their breaths coming a little labored. “I’m glad I’m only working a half day,” she whispered and he chuckled. Her gaze turned earnest then and she whispered words that made his heart soar.

“I’m happy, Bill.”

“Good,” he breathed, then kissed her again, whispering of his love.

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