404A.  Molly was finally home.  After what had just happened, she half expected not to make it.

Struggling with the load on her right arm, she dug out her keys and opened the door.  "We’re home," she breathed.  "But my heart’s still going a thousand miles an hour."

"Are you sure you’re okay?"

"I’m fine, really," Molly assured her companion.  "It’s you I’m worried about.  Here, lie down on the couch."

He disentangled his arm from her shoulders and eased down, wincing.  "Ow, watch my neck…"

Molly positioned and repositioned a cushion until he was comfortable.  Closing his eyes, he let out a long sigh.  Molly brushed his hair off his forehead, concern in her wide, green eyes.  Then she hurried back to the door, clicked the deadbolt in place, and secured the chain.  Then she hurried into the kitchen.

A minute later she was back, with a bowl of water and a washcloth.  She wiped the blood from his forehead, but it was immediately replaced.  "This is still bleeding," she told him.  "And I don’t think I have any iodine."

"It’s okay.  The forehead always bleeds a lot for some reason.  Just hold the cloth there."

She did as he asked, examining his black eye.  Both of them were still closed.  After a few minutes Molly said, "Hey, I never did thank you for what you did back there."

He nodded fractionally.  "What were you doing walking the streets at four in the morning?"

"I was coming home from work," Molly explained.  "I wasn’t really paying much attention, because I walk home every night and I’ve never had any trouble.  But when I cut behind the drugstore he just came out of nowhere and attacked me."

"Rapist?  Mugger?"

Molly laughed a little.  "Well you’re the one who beat him off me- couldn’t you tell?"

Half of his mouth turned up in a grin.  "I didn’t stop to get his business card."  He paused and fingered his black eye.  "I think the forehead’s okay now- how about some ice for the eye?"

"Oh, of course," she said, and hurried into the kitchen again.  "I think he was just a mugger," she called out.  "Lucky I didn’t have a purse.  All my tips were stuck in my pants."

"Oh, so you’re a waitress?"

"No," Molly said as she returned with an icepack- the washcloth wrapped around some ice cubes.  "Best I could do.  By the way, what were you doing there at four in the morning?"

"Couldn’t you tell?  Oh wait- you were being attacked."  Molly laughed and slapped his arm.  He winced.

"Oh, I’m so sorry!"  She covered her mouth with her hand.

He half smiled again.  "That’s actually the one place that doesn’t hurt.  But to answer your question, I was on my paper route."
A look of understanding came into her eyes.  Then she looked puzzled.  "You must have just recently started, because I’ve never seen you before.  I come home that way every night."

"No, I haven’t been doing it very long."

He seemed embarrassed.  Molly picked up on it.  "Aren’t you kind of old for a paper route?" she teased.

He smiled wearily and looked away.  Then Molly stuck out her hand.  "We haven’t been introduced.  I’m Molly.  Molly May McDougall."  She laughed and rolled her eyes.  "It’s the stupidest name you’ve ever heard, but I’m stuck with it."  She winked.  "Until I get married, that is."

His half smile became warmer despite his pain.  He took her hand gently and held it.  "Don’t say that- it’s a cute name.  With that name, I picture you as a 40s gal, dancing the jitterbug and serving up chocolate malteds.  Oh, and by the way, Molly May, I’m Jack."

"Jack what?"

"McGuire."

She tried on the name.  "Molly McGuire… hmm, better!"  Then she smiled ingratiatingly.  "So nice to meet you, Jack McGuire."  She started to pull her hand away, but he held on.  She got a better grip, and their hands settled onto his chest.  "You gonna be okay, Jack?" she asked softly.

He nodded, staring absently into her green eyes.  They were easily Molly’s best feature, although her mouth wasn’t far behind.  With her thick, chestnut, chin-length hair, she looked like an eager little puppy most of the time.  But she could mix that innocence with seduction in a heartbeat.

She studied Jack more closely.  Behind the bruise, his eyes were hazel, and his light brown hair was long on top and wavy.  His face was long and thin, but he had a boyish smile.  He was short for a man and skinny, and Molly guessed he was in his mid-thirties.  It seemed to her that Jack was a boy scout who had wandered away from the campsite and gotten lost.  How he had fought off a man twice his size, she didn’t know.

Abruptly Jack blinked as if coming out of a dream.  "Well I better get going," he said, raising his head.  A jolt of pain went through his neck, and he dropped back down.

"Are you crazy, Jack?" Molly said, keeping her hand on his chest.  "You’re not going anywhere tonight, except maybe to the hospital."

"Nah, I’ll be fine," he said quickly.

Molly hesitated.  "Well if you’re sure, then stay right here on this couch and get some sleep."

Jack blinked slowly.  "Thanks, Molly.  You’re a sweetheart."

"My pleasure."  She smiled down at him like she had just gotten a new puppy.  Then she covered him with a blanket and kissed his forehead.

His eyes closed again, Jack said thoughtfully, "You know Molly, we rushed away from the drugstore without checking on that guy.  He went down pretty hard, and he didn’t seem to be moving."

"He was just unconscious," Molly assured him.  "I sure wasn’t going to wait around for him to come to."

Jack began to sound sleepy.  "But maybe we should have called the police…"

Molly shook her head.  "No, too many questions.  Just forget about it, and get some sleep.  I’ll fix you breakfast- or lunch, depending on when we get up."

Before she had finished talking, Jack was asleep.  Molly watched him for a moment, then stood up.  With his presence, her small, dark apartment seemed lighter.  The furniture less shabby, the wallpaper less faded.  A steady stream of men came and went from this apartment, all faceless and nameless.  But now she had a face, and a name, and she was going to hold onto Jack McGuire.

Molly went into the tiny kitchen, retrieved a bottle and a glass, then went into the equally tiny bedroom.  She undressed, put on her pyjamas, and sat on the bed with the bottle and her cassette player in the darkness.  Inside the player was an old, worn out recording of "I’ll Be Seeing You."  Molly played the tape, filling her glass with vodka.  She downed it, singing along.  She coughed and sputtered and made a face afterwards.  But she refilled the glass, over and over until her singing was badly slurred.  Finally, the glass and empty bottle slid out of her hand onto the rug, and she descended into the world of 100 proof darkness.

Jack opened his eyes to see the morning sun on his feet.  Bringing himself fully awake, he could hear a clock ticking.  He looked around- 9:30.  Tentatively, he tried to get up.  Pain seemed to flare from every muscle in his body.  Grimacing, he forced himself to stand.  Then he realized his right eye was swollen shut, and also that moving his neck was a bad idea.
He hobbled over to Molly’s bedroom door, which was closed.  He knocked very softly and murmured "Molly?"  There was no response, so he shuffled into the kitchen.  It was fitted with the smallest, oldest oven he had ever seen, complete with 2 gas burners on the cooktop.  The fridge looked even older; it had a single door with a rusted chrome handle, and all the corners were rounded.  He began to think that Molly really was a 40s gal, and that he had somehow traveled back to a time when no one had heard of Pearl Harbor.
 
 

He was vaguely hungry, so he opened the antique fridge.  A bottle of mustard, orange juice, and a loaf of bread.  The cabinets held even less of interest.  He wondered where the breakfast that Molly had promised would come from.
One of the cabinets held Molly’s liquor stash.  It was running low, and now it contained only a half full bottle of Johnny Walker.  When Jack saw it, his instinct was to run out of the apartment and not stop until he reached another town.
Forcing down his automatic reactions, Jack sighed heavily and closed the cabinet.  Then he found a fresh washcloth, filled it with ice, and returned to the couch.  Eventually, Jack settled back into a sleep filled with unpleasant dreams.

When he woke again, it was dark outside.  The first thing he noticed this time was that his shirt was wet.  Then his hand brushed against a piece of paper on his chest.  It was a note from Molly.  It read:
"Dear Prince Charming- your ‘icepack’ melted during the night.  I cleaned you up as best I could.  I was gonna fix you breakfast but you just didn’t want to wake up, so I left you some goodies in the fridge.  I had to go to work (there was a sad face drawn here) but I’ll be home early tonight.  Please be here when I get back.  Love, Molly."

Jack sighed and put the note aside.  If he had any sense, he wouldn’t be here when she got back.
He looked around the living room, now bathed in the dim light of a dirty lamp in the corner.  The wallpaper was peeling in places, and the color of the walls behind it was that of an onion skin.  There was a movie poster of Charlie Chaplin’s "The Kid" tacked on one of the walls.  In another corner was an antique phonograph, circa 1930.  The only thing that confirmed Jack hadn’t gone back in time was the TV set, definitely a 1990s model.

Jack didn’t feel like getting up to eat.  He drifted in and out of sleep, dreaming that he had been injured in the War and sent home, and Molly was out working in the Lockheed factory amidst the pounding of rivets and the flashes of welding sparks.
 
 

When Molly opened the door, Jack snapped awake.  "It’s just me," she assured him.  Even though it had been a short night for her, she still stank of sweat, cigarettes and alcohol.  Her hangover was gone, for the most part, leaving behind only a dull headache.  But there was something far worse weighing on her mind.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, forcing some cheer into her voice.

Jack carefully sat up on the couch.  "Better, thanks," he said, massaging his neck.  "I think I can open my eye again, although I’m not sure."

Molly set down her bag, but held onto the newspaper.  She sat next to Jack.  "So, did you find your breakfast/lunch?"
"I wasn’t hungry, but thank you, though."  He glanced at Molly’s face, saw the lines of tension in it.  "What’s wrong?" he asked.  "You didn’t run into that guy again, did you?"

She shook her head quickly, looking down.  "No… I’m afraid we’ve got trouble, Jack.  That guy… well, he’s dead."
"Dead?" Jack asked, incredulous.  Molly nodded slowly.  Jack sat in stunned silence for a moment.  "How do you know?"
Molly held up the newspaper.  "It’s in here.  And there’s worse, Jack.  They found your sack of newspapers, and the police asked who was on that route, and… they found out it was you.  They went to your apartment, but of course you weren’t there.  And it turns out the guy had all these drugs on him, and the police think it was a deal gone bad.  And… you’re wanted for questioning."

Jack stared at her, wild-eyed.  "Give me that," he said, snatching the paper from her.  He read through the article, his breathing getting heavier.  Then he abruptly compressed the paper into a ball.  Turning toward Molly, he slammed it down at her feet.  "God damn it!" he swore violently.

Molly raised her hands, an involuntary reaction of self defense.  Still wild-eyed, Jack stared at her for a second.  Then the anger left him and he took her upraised hands, tenderly.  "Oh, Molly, I’m sorry," he murmured.  "I’m so sorry.  You didn’t think…"
Molly regained some of her composure, managed a smile.  Giving him the puppy dog eyes, she said, "No, I know you wouldn’t hurt me, Jack.  You would never, ever hurt me.  It’s just what I’m used to."

Jack wished she hadn’t said it.  His soft spot was battered women, but they were difficult, and there were so many.  The thought of handling another one now, on top of everything else…

Somehow he would.

"I’m sorry," he repeated, gently massaging her hands.

She pulled one of them away and draped it around his neck.  The unspoken desire filled her eyes as she drew closer.  But Jack wasn’t ready yet; he embraced her tightly instead.

"It’s gonna be okay, Molly," he promised.

"I know," came her soft reply.  They released each other, and she looked him in the eye.  "Now listen to me, Jack.  You’ve got to trust me.  You can’t give yourself up to the police."

"But what other choice do I have?"

"To stay here with me, Jack.  I’ll protect you."  Her expression was fervent.  "You and I know it was an accident, but the police will never believe that.  Especially with drugs involved."

"But you were there- you were a witness.  You can tell them it was self defense."

She looked at him sideways.  "But was it, Jack?" she said slowly.

He looked surprised.  "What do you mean?  Of course it was."

She shook her head emphatically.  "The police would never believe that.  They already think it was a deal gone sour.  And I don’t have a scratch on me.  If I’m the one he attacked, where are my cuts and bruises?  Besides, if you were just fighting off an attacker, there would be no need to kill him, would there?"

Jack pulled away.  "You sound like you think I killed him on purpose."

"No, no, no!"  She grabbed his hands again, an almost fanatical light in her wide green eyes.  "Jack, you saved my life!  I’m only telling you what the police would say.  Please, Jack- I couldn’t stand it if you were punished because of me.  You have to let me protect you.  You’ll be safe here with me."

"For the rest of my life?" he countered.  But Molly didn’t waver.  "My head is spinning," Jack said wearily.  "I don’t know what to think."

"Here, lay down," she cooed.  He obeyed, and she cradled his head in her lap.  The light in her eyes now was soft, maternal.  "You know, the Chinese have a saying: If someone saves your life, you’re responsible for that person forever."  She twinkled.  "So you’re stuck with me."

Jack smiled as she ran her fingers through his hair.  He was easily controlled, and already the battle was over.  Molly had won.
At length he said, "Well, I guess I better eat something."

"Oh that’s right, Jack!  How long has been since you ate?  Twenty-four hours?"

"Something like that."  She eased his head off her lap and went into the kitchen.  She busied herself at the tiny stove, and fifteen minutes later returned with a steaming plate of sausage and eggs.

"Smells heavenly," Jack commented.  "Thank you, Molly," he added, meeting her eyes.

She bent down and kissed his forehead.  "You know what?  I stink," she observed, straightening up.  "I’m gonna grab a shower while you eat.  Then we can talk."

She went into the bedroom; Jack’s eyes followed her.  To his surprise, she started undressing in plain view.  Quickly, he turned away and concentrated on his food.  "So Molly," he said conversationally.  "You’re not a waitress- what is it that you do?"

"I’m an exotic dancer," she said theatrically.

Jack stopped in mid-chew.  "Really?"

"Yeah!" she giggled.  "Surprised?"

"Well, uh, I guess so," Jack fumbled.  "I mean, you don’t look the type… Not that you’re not attractive-"

Molly laughed at his embarrassment.  She was undressed now, and she emerged from the bedroom naked.  But instead of going into the bathroom, she leaned against the door frame, striking a pose.

Jack saw her out of the corner of his eye and shifted uncomfortably.  "Uh, Molly, um… would you mind putting on your robe or something?"

She laughed again.  "Don’t tell me you’re shy, Jack."

"No, I uh… it’s just that… well, if you keep standing there like that you’ll put other things on my mind besides this food."
"Good answer," she said with a wink.  Instead of donning the robe, she went into the bathroom and closed the door.  "Back in a flash," she said over her shoulder.
 
 

When she emerged from the bathroom, she was wearing the robe.  Jack had finished his meal, so she sat down next to him on the couch.  "That was delicious, Molly," he said as she dropped her legs into his lap.  The robe parted, up to her mid-thigh.  "You do wonders in that tiny little kitchen."

She smiled knowingly at him.  He examined her toes, painted bright red.  He began massaging her feet to keep his attention from her shapely legs.  Molly leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

"I would never have guess you were a dancer," Jack ventured.

Her smile widened.  "You usually don’t equate a size 32-B bra with a stripper, do you?"

Jack shook his head.  "How tall are you?"

"5’3".  Without my platform heels."

There was a moment of silence.  "So, how did you get into that line of work?"

"I was recruited in the bathroom of a bar."  She paused.  "You have magic hands, Jack.  I think I’m in heaven."

Jack smiled.  "Glad to be of service."

Molly went on, "I didn’t think girls like me became dancers.  But I’ve found that every strip club you go to, there are one or two floating around.  My boss has a theory about it."

"And what might that be?" Jack prompted.

"It’s the ‘pedophile theory’.  See, my boss says that when I’m naked I look like a twelve year old.  Especially after shaving.  So girls like me appeal to those sick bastards that can’t lay their hands on any child porn."

Jack didn’t know how to respond.  "Interesting theory," he said finally.

"Yeah, I don’t know if I believe it though."  Molly’s tone was matter-of-fact.  "My boss is quite a bullshitter.  Makes you think though, doesn’t it?"

Jack nodded.  "How old are you?" he asked.

"Twenty-one.  Mmm, do my legs now," Molly said dreamily, sliding down and parting the robe further.

Jack reached up and covered her.  "I’ll do your calves- how’s that?"

"Deal," Molly agreed with her dreamy smile.  "So now it’s your turn, Jack.  Come on, give me the dish."

"Well," he began reluctantly.  "There’s not much to tell, really.  I’m thirty-three, divorced… no kids."

"And a paperboy," Molly added helpfully.

Jack chuckled.  "Yeah, and a paperboy.  I took that job about a month ago because I couldn’t sleep through the night anymore."

"Why not?"

Jack hesitated.  "Haunted," he said quietly.  His thoughts drifted to the bottle of Johnny Walker in Molly’s liquor cabinet.  He felt his eyes on her, questioning, but he didn’t go into detail.  "Anyway, that’s enough about me.  Much more and I’ll put you to sleep."

"I think I’m headed there anyway," Molly murmured.  She had gone back to her relaxed pose.  Jack went on massaging her legs, wondering quietly if he should put up more of a fight.

The next morning they were awakened by a brisk knocking.  Jack shot bolt upright on the couch, and Molly came stumbling out of her bedroom, looking like hell.  Squinting in the morning sun, she looked through the peephole.

"Holy shit, it’s a cop!" she said in a terribly hoarse voice.  She gestured frantically to Jack.  "Get in the bedroom and close the door!"

Jack tiptoed in, taking his blanket with him, and left the door open a crack.

"Good morning, ma’am," he heard a deep male voice say.  "A man was killed nearby two nights ago.  This man is wanted for questioning in connection.  Have you seen him?"  Presumably, the cop was showing her a sketch or a photo.

"No- I- no…. no, I’ve never s-seen him."  Molly’s reply was shaky.

"Are you all right?  You don’t look so good."

She pulled herself together a bit.  "Yeah, it’s just that you woke me up.  I work third."

"Oh, okay.  Sorry to have disturbed you.  If you do see this man, please call the number here.  Have a good day."

Molly closed the door, and Jack emerged from his hiding place.  "This is serious, Jack," she murmured, gazing at the photo the cop had given her.

"Molly, what am I going to do?" Jack said helplessly, waving his arms.  "I can’t stay in your apartment forever.  I’m already starting to go stir crazy."

"Stay calm, Jack," Molly urged, putting her hands on his shoulders.  Then she looked his face over.  "I know what we can do," she murmured.  "We’ll disguise you."

Close up, Jack could smell the alcohol on her breath.  And there were dark circles under her eyes.  Ignoring this, he said, "Disguise me?  How?"

"Easy.  We cut your hair, give you a goatee and some glasses- and you’re a completely different person."
Jack looked doubtful, but Molly was already steering him to the bathroom.  She sat him in front of the mirror, draped a towel around his shoulders, and set to work.

Jack’s long hair dropped to the floor in clumps.  When Molly was done, he had a vaguely recognizable Caesar cut.  It came out much better than he’d hoped, given her condition.  "I took two semesters at cosmetology school," Molly explained.  Then Jack borrowed her razor and shaved his four-day beard, leaving behind a goatee as Molly suggested.

"See, I told you!" Molly said, a big grin on her face.  She held the police photo next to Jack’s face.  He had to admit that he did look dramatically different.  "And while I’m out today," Molly went on, "I’ll get you some low strength reading glasses.  And a baseball cap."

"Molly May, you’re a genius," Jack said as he stood up.  He looked happier than he had been since he’d arrived in Molly’s apartment.  "Now I can at least get out and get some fresh air."

"You’re not going to go far, are you?" Molly said guardedly.  "I mean, you look different, but there’s no sense in taking chances."

"No, I won’t go far," Jack promised.  "I’ll stick to the back porch for the time being.  Deal?"

Molly looked much happier.  "Deal," she agreed.

"But what about the long term?" Jack asked, more serious.

Molly grinned and kissed his cheek.  "Don’t worry about that.  I’ve got a plan.  Just give me some time to work on it."

The back porch was merely a small stoop that faced out into a courtyard.  Directly across was another apartment building.  Looking out, Jack was reminded of the set of "Rear Window."  With all the activity going on out there, he decided it would be better to wait until nightfall before venturing out.  No sense in taking chances, after all.

He puttered around the little apartment, trying to keep his mind off the liquor cabinet.  Molly wouldn’t be home until late, which left him with far too much time on his hands.  His restraint gave way, and he opened the cabinet.

To his dismay, it had been restocked.  He stared at it a long time, fidgeting nervously.  Finally, he took out a bottle of Smirnoff and emptied it into the sink.  Probably a futile gesture, but the deed was done.  He then hid the bottle under Molly’s bed, where several just like it had already made a home.

It was 4:15 a.m. by the time Molly got home.  As she unlocked the door, Jack could tell she was tipsy, but not stinking drunk.  "Hi Molly, how was work?" Jack said.

Molly blinked a few times.  "Not entirely pleasant.  Which is why I’m slightly in…toxicated."  She set her bag down, then added, "How was your day?  Did you make it out to the porch?"

"Eventually.  After it got dark."

Molly suddenly held up a finger.  "Aha, I’ve got something for you."  She reached down and rooted in her bag, then came up with a pair of glasses and a cap.  "As promised," she said.  She tried to slide the glasses into Jack’s shirt pocket, but missed.  The cap came down on his head, and Molly yanked it over his eyes.

He adjusted the cap and put on the glasses, then looked up at her.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my apartment?" Molly said with mock indignation.

Jack smiled, and then Molly stretched luxuriously.  When she had leaned over him, the pungent aroma of sweat, smoke, and alcohol had stung Jack’s nose.  "I’ve got to have a shower," Molly murmured, then without further comment began undressing right there.

Jack watched her with interest rather than embarrassment this time.  To his surprise, under her tight sweater was an innocent looking, baby blue bra.  Off came her flared jeans, revealing matching panties that covered her behind.

"Not conventional undergarments for a dancer," Jack commented.

Molly smiled down at him.  "This isn’t what I wear onstage, silly.  I hate that butt floss- I’m certainly not going to wear it home.  No, at the end of the night, we dancers always put on comfortable underwear.  Unless we have an appointment to keep," she added with a wink.

Then she turned away from Jack and started for the bathroom, but tripped on his foot.  "Oh, Molly!" Jack said, jumping up.  She had fallen to her knees.  "Are you okay, honey?" he asked as he helped her up.

Unsteady, she fell into Jack’s arms, and they both went down on the couch.  Suddenly, Jack’s hands were where Molly ached for them to be- on her bare skin.  She felt a rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins as she scrambled onto Jack’s lap.  Then, straddling him, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him.

Aggressively.  Hungrily.  Desperately.  Jack returned the kiss with equal feeling.  He drank in the taste of orange juice and vodka that lingered inside her mouth.  Although Jack himself didn’t drink, it was an old, comfortable taste.  Eventually he moved down to her neck; the taste embedded there was of smoke and sweat.

Molly took his hands and planted them on her breasts.  Through the thin material of her bra Jack felt her nipples harden.  In turn, Molly felt the press of Jack’s erection between her legs.

As she reached down to stroke him, suddenly he jerked, and their lips broke contact.  "What is it?" Molly breathed, nearly panting with arousal.  "What’s wrong, baby?"

Gently but firmly, he moved her off his lap and threw the blanket across her.  His face was red and sweaty.

"Jack, what did I do?" Molly pleaded, her eyes wide.  "Jack, look at me!  Why don’t you want me, Jack?"

Jack blinked rapidly, but continued to stare straight ahead.

Abruptly, Molly stood up and started to storm away.  But Jack grabbed the blanket and said, "Molly, wait."

Something in his voice stopped her.  She turned slowly around, the anger leaving her eyes.  She found herself staring down at the lost boy scout.  "Just let me hold you, Molly," Jack said plaintively, pulling the blanket toward him.

In another rush of emotion, Molly curled up in his lap and draped the blanket around him.  He cradled her, pressing the side of her head to his chest and stroking her hair.

Molly slowly raised her head up to look at him.  A tear slid down Jack’s chin and dropped silently onto her cheek.

Molly settled him down fairly quickly, her maternal instincts once again surfacing.  She stayed in his lap, sitting there the way a child would sit with Santa Claus.  She was still in her underwear, although the blanket was wrapped snugly around them.  Molly draped her arms around Jack’s neck and leaned her cheek against his, comfortingly.

"It feels so good just to hold you, Molly," Jack murmured.  "Can you understand that?"

"Of course I can," she admonished gently.  "Jack, you’re the only man who’s ever treated me decent, not like an animal."

Jack nodded in silent acknowledgment.  At length he said, "Molly, I want you to know that kissing you was the most pleasurable thing I’ve ever done.  I mean that.  And… there’s nothing in the world I want more than to make love to you."

"Do you think I’m a whore, Jack?" Molly said quietly.  "Is that why you can’t make love to me?"

"No," he said quickly.  "No."

"Are you sure?" Molly persisted.  "Because I’m not a whore, Jack.  I’m just a dancer.  And although I give lap dances, and men fondle me and sweat all over me, I don’t let them fuck me, Jack.  Not for money."

"I believe you," Jack assured her.  He wondered whether she was telling the truth, but he realized it didn’t matter.  Either way, he believed her.  "The reason I couldn’t make love to you has nothing to do with you personally, Molly."  He sighed.  "You see, even though I wanted to, I wouldn’t have been able to."

"Yes you could have, baby," Molly said, grinning.  "I felt what was going on down there.  You were primed and ready."
Jack managed a half-smile.  "I know, but I’m impotent, Molly.  I have been for the last ten years.  I only ever had intercourse once.  Once, with my ex-wife."  His tone began to bitter.  "Do you want to know about my ex-wife, Molly?"

She nodded slowly.  "You can trust me, Jack."

Jack sighed again.  "I met her when I was twenty.  I was shy and awkward as a teenager, and didn’t have many girlfriends.  But Lita and I met in college, and we clicked right away.  One night she got me drunk and seduced me.  The whole thing was just a blur- the act itself, and all the sensations that go with it.  I wouldn’t have known I lost my virginity if Lita hadn’t told me.
"It turned out Lita got pregnant.  We decided to get married, which was a mistake.  Then Lita miscarried, which started everything falling apart.  I had dropped out of college so I could work full time, and it turns out I never went back.  Lita and I realized there was nothing between us.  She refused to sleep with me after that first time, and slowly our marriage twisted into something cruel and parasitic.  Lita stayed with me because she was a control freak, and I was pathetic.  She used me like a puppet.  And she started drinking.  I mean really drinking.  She hit the sauce pretty hard in college, but that’s nothing unusual.  A lot of kids do."  Jack paused in his narrative, shifting uncomfortably.  He was coming to the hard part- the part that made him wary of becoming involved with Molly.

"So, while Lita turned into an alcoholic, I crawled into my own private trap.  And I’ve been stuck there ever since."  He swallowed.  "I told you before that I was divorced, Molly, but that’s a lie.  Truth is, Lita was killed in a car accident two years ago.  She was drunk of course, and by some twist of fate, or justice, she was the only one killed.  You always hear those stories about someone ‘innocent’ being killed by a drunk driver, but never the other way around."

There was a long pause.  Then Jack continued, "I did nothing to help her, Molly.  She was sick; she had a disease- and she needed help.  But I ignored it, and I let her die."

"No Jack, you can’t think that way," Molly soothed, stroking his hair.  "People like that have to want to help themselves."  Something in her voice told Jack that she was speaking from experience.

"Well, I’ve always blamed myself, and I probably always will."  He sighed.  "After Lita died, I made an effort to date, but whenever it got to the point of making love, I couldn’t.  I was aroused, and I was… ready, like tonight, but once we took our clothes off I wilted.  And no matter what we did, I stayed that way.  And this happened lots of times, Molly, with more than one woman."

Once again Molly had an explanation.  "You didn’t love those women, Jack.  That’s why you couldn’t make love to them.  I know you, inside and out.  You’re sensitive, compassionate, caring…"  Suddenly there was a lump in her throat.  "My God, Jack, you’re the only real man I’ve ever known.  Ninety-nine out of a hundred men don’t think twice about who they bed.  When you’re lying there on your back, you’re not real, not flesh and blood.  When they take you, their faces are empty, emotionless, like animals…  And when they’re done they roll off of you and disappear.  After awhile, you don’t even see their faces anymore…"

She trailed off, and Jack studied her.  The pain in her expression was almost tangible.  "You really think I’m a man, Molly?" he asked.  She nodded.  "It’s funny, I’ve always thought that my impotence was the one thing keeping me from being a man."

"No."  Molly shook her head wearily.  Abruptly she said, "I’m tired, Jack… I’m so tired.  I can’t sleep alone tonight.  Will you just… sleep with me, and hold me?"

"Of course," he replied softly.  Carefully, he stood up and carried her limp body to the bedroom.  They slept through the morning in Molly’s shabby apartment, both dreaming they were thousands of miles away.

The next night, Jack was getting restless.  He had ventured out at dusk to the drugstore, specifically to the newspaper vending machine.  To his dismay, there was a small column about him.  It vaguely suggested that the search was intensifying.

Before Molly had gone to work, he asked about her plan.  She wanted to keep Jack under cover for a few weeks, save up some money, then quietly slip out of town.  Since there was no official warrant for Jack’s arrest, he could "start over".  Jack had his doubts, but he made no commitment to Molly’s plan either way.

At 4:12 a.m., Jack was watching the Late, Late Movie, "His Girl Friday", when he heard Molly fumbling with her door key.  He thought he heard voices, too.  Then the door finally opened, and Molly stumbled in-

Followed by a man.

Startled, Jack said nothing.  Molly’s companion was a tough looking man, probably in his mid-twenties.  He sported a shaved head, a nose ring, and two well-muscled arms covered with tattoos.  Molly was obviously drunk, babbling incoherently at him.  She seemed to have forgotten Jack’s presence for the time being.  But the man had locked eyes with him, clearly displeased.
"What the fuck?" he said, glaring down at Molly and gesturing with his forefinger and pinky.  "You said you were alone here."

"Oh-" Molly stammered, twisting around to look at Jack.  He stood up, alert for trouble.  Then she turned back to her companion.  "Uh, l-listen baby, why don’ we try tomorrow night, a-at your place?"  Her speech was slurred, and she leaned on him for support.

"Bitch, you promised me," he said warningly.  Jack took a step toward them, but froze as the man’s eyes flicked back to him.  "Give me back my fuckin’ money," the man demanded.

Molly dug in her bag and stuffed a few bills in his hand.  "I’m sorry baby, I-I’ll make it up to you-" she began, but was abruptly cut off by a backhanded slap across her face.

She screamed and fell backwards, but Jack caught her.  Simultaneously the door slammed shut.  Molly wrapped her arms around Jack and buried her head in his chest, sobbing.

But Jack wouldn’t comfort her.  After a few seconds he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away to arm’s length.  "God damn you," he spat contemptuously.  "You stupid little- what is wrong with you?"

Molly wrung her hands together, staring at him wild-eyed through the tears.  "I can’t believe you," Jack went on, getting angrier by the second.  "Why did you bring that piece of shit back here?  Huh?  He gave you money- what were you going to do?  What were you going to do?" he shouted, shaking her hard.

Molly stammered, sobbing uncontrollably, making choking sounds.  Finally she managed, "I- I wu-was gonna suck his cock, s-so we could ge-get more money, to l-leave town, Jack.  Pl-please, Jack-"

"You were gonna suck his cock?" Jack shouted, shaking her again.  "For what- twenty dollars?  God damn you.  How much have you had to drink tonight?  How many other cocks did you suck?  Huh?  Huh?"  He had been oblivious to the sobs that racked her body, but suddenly he realized he was on the verge of losing control.  He released her and turned quickly away.  Molly collapsed onto the couch, curling up into a tight ball.  Pain and despair filled the room.

Jack stood with his back to her for five minutes, struggling with himself.  Twice he almost walked out the door for good.  But in the end he knelt beside Molly, who was now crying softly.

"I’m sorry, honey," he said gently, touching her shoulder.  "I’m sorry I yelled at you, sweetheart."  She made no movement or reply.  "It’s going to be okay," Jack went on.  "It’s gonna be okay, Molly May.  Come on, honey, let’s get some sleep."  In response, Molly uncurled herself and went limp.  Jack carried her into the bedroom, undressed her, and put her pyjamas on.  Molly avoided his eyes the whole time, looking miserable.

They climbed in bed and lay facing each other.  Molly still hadn’t looked at him.  "Molly, look at me," Jack commanded softly.
Slowly, she brought her eyes to meet his.  She was no longer the eager little puppy, but Jack was no longer the lost boy scout.  "Molly, I love you," Jack said.

She stared at him, unbelieving.  Then suddenly she kissed him, tenderly.  It was a brief but meaningful encounter.  Molly said nothing, but the message in her eyes was plain.  She then snuggled her head between Jack’s neck and shoulder, and very soon she was asleep.
 
 

Jack lay awake in the semi-darkness, listening to Molly’s deep, even breathing.  Slowly, he was becoming aware of a new desire- a desire to consummate his love for her.  He felt he had reached a turning point, and that Molly could lift the dark shroud of his impotence.

She had rolled over on her back.  Jack turned on his side and studied her.  The fullness of her lips, parted slightly in sleep.  Her left hand, lying next to her face with the fingers curled slightly.

Her right hand lay on her chest.  Jack took her wrist and gently moved it to the side.  Then he unbuttoned the first two buttons of her pyjamas, revealing the space between her breasts.  Watching her face, he ran his finger down her chest.  She stirred, and a gentle sound escaped her lips.  Jack opened two more buttons, exposing her belly button.  The touch of his fingers was no more than a breath of air.

Moving further down, he freed the last buttons and slipped his hand down Molly’s pants.  Under her panties, which he had left on when he undressed her.  Down the smooth, shaved skin to her lips.  Molly gave a sudden gasp, and her eyelids fluttered open.

"Jack," she breathed as his finger parted her lips.  She arched her back and closed her eyes again as he stroked her.  Jack’s finger was soon wet; he did know at least how to touch a woman.  "Oh, Jack," Molly moaned.  "Oh, Jack, that feels so good."
In response, Jack began kissing her chest, making his way to her breast.  When it was uncovered he kissed and sucked her nipple, dividing his attention equally between her erogenous zones.

Molly wrapped her arms around Jack’s head, raking her fingers through his short hair as her arousal grew.  "Oh, Jack, I want you so bad," she whispered in between moans.  "I need you inside of me, baby."

Abruptly Jack took his hand away from her clit and climbed on top of her.  "I want you, too, Molly May," he said softly.  "And I think I can make love to you… if you let me be in control."

"Of course, baby," Molly consented warmly.  "I’m yours, Jack.  All yours."  She laid her hands on either side of her head, palms up.  Jack stared down at her, lost in her perfect green eyes.  He kissed her hungrily, releasing years of pent up lust.  Moving down her slender neck, he pulled her shirt open and gave special attention to each of her little breasts.  Molly tugged gently at Jack’s own shirt, and he slid it off.  Then down he went, pulling off Molly’s pants, then her panties.

She lay naked before him now.  Her petite body, pale skin, and long legs made Jack ache.  Quickly he stripped off his pants and his boxers.  Molly reached down and stroked his cock, her breathing becoming faster.  Jack was ready, and more confident than he’d ever been in his life.

Gently, he pushed Molly’s legs open with his knees.  He planted his hands on either side of her and eased down.  Molly resumed her submissive pose, breathing hard in anticipation.  Jack put his weight on her, positioning himself between her legs.  The tip of his hard cock teased her, and she pushed her head back into the pillow.

"Oh, Molly," Jack moaned.  "Oh God, Molly."

For a moment she was afraid he would falter, but then he reached for her hands and clasped them.  He pulled them up over her head, and in the same movement pushed inside her.

Molly’s world narrowed.  With an involuntary cry she shut everything else out, aware only of Jack inside her.  Sudden tears welled up in her eyes.  This was Jack’s first time- his first real time, and his tenderness touched her soul.
He squeezed her hands so hard that his knuckles turned white.  He began a slow, rhythmic thrusting that sent Molly into ecstasy.  In that moment she forgot all the times she had laid under a man like a lifeless slab of meat.  She and Jack moved in time like dancers.  With each powerful thrust, he elicited a cry of passion from her, building to an inevitable climax like none they had ever known.

Molly knew he was close now; she savored each millisecond of their perfect dance.  Each moan was louder than the last, sounding in time with Jack’s.  Finally, he released his pent up energy.  His last thrust went deeper into Molly than she thought possible.  She screamed as Jack’s muscles went taut…
 
 

Afterglow.  The two lovers were no longer aware of the passage of time.  They lay in Molly’s bed, arms and legs intertwined.  Dimly, they were aware of the sun rising, shadows creeping across their bodies.

Wordlessly, they rose from the bed, shared a glass of orange juice, then went into the bathroom.  Like a pair of wild lions, Molly and Jack washed each other with infinite care in the shower.  Then they sat down and filled the tub.  Still without a word, except those spoken by their eyes, they eased down into the warm water.  Molly sank down in one end while Jack massaged her long legs.  Jack put her foot on his shoulder, took Molly’s razor, and meticulously shaved her legs.  There was no trace of a nick anywhere on them; neither was there when Jack finished.

Hours later, when they emerged from the tub thoroughly pruned, the two lovers groomed each other in front of the mirror.  Molly put a drop of gel in Jack’s short hair and smoothed it back.  Jack then sat behind her and brushed out her dark, thick locks, his eyes fixed on hers in the mirror.

They dressed.  Jack donned the new outfit Molly had bought for him earlier that day- plain pants and a short sleeve, button-down shirt with a French collar.  Grinning slyly, Molly pulled a pair of real silk stockings- complete with back seams- from her dresser.  Jack slid them carefully onto her legs, then fastened them to the matching, old-fashioned garter belt.  Molly stood with her arms raised while Jack slipped her dress on.  It was knee length, cinched at the waist, with buttons in the front and a delicate, pale green and yellow floral pattern.

Into the living room.  By the light of the single, dirty lamp in the corner, Molly went to her old phonograph.  Carefully, she slid an old record from its sleeve and showed Jack the label:  "Alice Faye- You’ll Never Know."  Then she set it in place, cranked the antique handle, and put the stylus on the edge.

Molly, in her stocking feet, looked up at Jack.  Their eyes locked, bound together by the same forces that control the stars.  Jack slid one arm around Molly’s waist, and with the other clasped Molly’s outstretched hand.  As their fingers interlaced, Alice’s tinny voice struggled out of the phonograph’s horn to fill the room.  One of the songs was Molly’s favorite- "I’ll Be Seeing You."  The two lovers, their eyes never parting, slow danced to each song, no matter the tempo.  In their mind’s eye, they could see Alice’s hopeful face, eyes turned to the sky…

"I’ve got my fingers crossed,
this thrill is so delicious,
I’m afraid it’s too good to be true…

Haven’t you heard what happens,
Give you my word, it happens,
Like a thunderbolt, it came
out of nowhere…"

And on that Wednesday morning, time stopped.

Molly had another late night at work.  But that night she came home sober, for the first time since… she couldn’t remember.  Her feet ached, and she was looking forward to another of Jack’s wonderful massages.  When she unlocked the door and stepped inside, he was not in his usual place on the couch.  Smiling, she called, "Jack, I’m home!"

No answer came.  Looking puzzled, Molly poked her head into the bedroom.  Then the kitchen, then the bathroom.  Empty.  Her expression changed, to worry.

She opened the back door and scanned the stoop, then the courtyard beyond.  "Jack?" she called tentatively, reluctant to shout his name outside of the safety of her apartment.  Still no answer.

She came back inside and stood in the living room, hands on hips.  She looked around, and her eyes settled on a piece of paper on the couch.  A sudden wave of dread passed through her body, and she stood rooted in place.  Finally, she sank slowly down beside the note, staring at it as if her death waited inside.

Five minutes passed, and Molly’s nerve broke.  She picked up the folded note, which said "Molly May" on the outside in fancy, curled letters.  Tears welled up in her eyes as she opened it.  On the inside it read:

"My dearest Molly, I know that when you read this, you’ll be sober like you promised me.  Writing this note is the second hardest thing I’ve ever done.  Doing what I did today was the hardest.
"I’ve turned myself in to the police."

Molly put a hand to her mouth in shock and horror.  "Oh no, Jack, no…" she whispered, the tears coming in full force.

"I know you won’t like it, Molly, but we both know that it had to be done.  I couldn’t spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, wondering when I would be spotted and turned in as a fugitive.  There is nothing more I want than to stay with you, in the safety of your loving arms.  I know you would do anything to protect me, but I couldn’t let you.  I couldn’t let you degrade yourself with the scum of the earth for my benefit.  And I don’t want you ever to do that again, Molly.  Not for me, not for anyone.

"I’ll tell the police what really happened.  I’ll tell them the truth, that I was injured and that you took care of me.  We never realized that the man was dead until today, because we hadn’t seen the papers.  When you come forward and confirm my story, maybe they’ll believe us.  But you’ve gotta be strong, Molly.  Promise me you’ll stay away from the bottle, at least until this is all over.  I don’t want to lose you the way I lost Lita.

"That first night we were together, you misquoted the Chinese proverb.  The real version goes: ‘If you save someone’s life, you are responsible for it forever.’  I want that responsibility, Molly.  I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted.  Don’t cheat me out of this chance."

Molly stopped reading and hung her head.  The tears were rolling off her cheeks in a mass migration, but they couldn’t carry away the pain.  She swiped away the tears and brushed her hair out of her eyes.  Jack had one final instruction for her in his note.

"Don’t cry, Molly May.  Look up, and smile.  I’ll be seeing you…"

Molly looked up.  Despite the tears, and the ache in her heart, she smiled.