Thirst Satyrday for Eros (in fiction)

"Angel," photo by Bob Boldt

The Baby Sitter (a short story)

By W.M. Dean

At last the Beamers’ three kids were in bed! Jan Hilbert let herself fall face-first and full-length on the Beamers’ ratty old hide-a-bed couch.
    “Ugh.” She shouldn’t have gone face-first – the heavy smell of ancient dirt, stale popcorn, and a hundred other crumbly family television snacks permeated the man-made fabric.
    Jan got up and left the family den, which was in one big room that included kitchen, breakfast nook, service bar and stools, television, aquarium, fireplace, and the couch. Whenever she baby-sat for the Beamers, she always stayed in this room, not only while the kids were still up (they mostly watched TV and ate snacks), but also after they went to bed (she herself mostly watched TV or had snacks – or did her homework on the breakfast table).
    But tonight she was exhausted. It wasn’t just the three Beamer children, although tonight they had been less cooperative than usual. Never before tonight had Jan ever felt she needed to spank one of them. But tonight the oldest, Rodney – after conning Jan into letting them watch TV a half-hour beyond their bedtime – had refused to go to bed when The Snoopy Special ended. Out of patience, Jan turned Rodney over her knee and broke up the rebellion; she had them all in bed in fifteen minutes.
    Jan had already been tired when she arrived at the Beamers for their Saturday night at the theater, and the children must have sensed that they could take advantage of her. Jan’s reserves were low from a miserable experience earlier in the day – a lunch with her boyfriend, Robert. (Everyone else called him Bob, but she called him Robert because doing so seemed to confer a privileged status on her.)
    At lunch, Robert had failed utterly to comment on her new hairdo or her new dress, which she had hoped would revive his interest in her. But not only did he fail to comment, he didn’t even seem to notice. He seemed to be wrapped up entirely in himself. He even smoked. It was disgusting. Anyway, it had ruined her day, and she arrived at the Beamers at six o’clock already feeling as though it was midnight, when the Beamers were supposed to return from the theater.
    Jan went into the living room and sat down on the Beamers’ nice and expensive tuxedo sofa, which they hardly ever used because this room was only “for occasions.”
    If she were baby-sitting for a new family, she would probably have enough energy left to stay in the kitchen and sample what they had. Our of curiosity, but with no particular hunger, she would go through the cupboards in an unfamiliar kitchen, looking at the cans and jars and boxes and bottles and bags, reading labels, and tasting whatever had been opened, carefully reclosing each container and returning it to the spot she’d found it in. She would take one or two potato chips, a couple of crackers, a cookie, a few flakes of cereal.
    Once she’d got carried away with cereal sampling. The cupboard had contained a large box of recently opened raisin bran. Her idea was to eat a few of the raisins. She poured some of the raisin bran into a bowl and picked out a few raisins. They were delicious! She poured the raisin bran back into the box and shook it to redistribute the raisins, then she poured another bowl and picked the raisins out of it too. There were lots of raisins in this brand, so the people she was baby-sitting for would never notice a few missing.
    Unfortunately, Jan carried this reasoning too far, so that after the tenth or twelfth shaking she was startled to pour a bowl that had not a single raisin in it. Those people still asked her to baby-sit, though – maybe they just stopped buying that brand of raisin bran.
    The living room was pleasant, and Jan felt better just being there, in the soft light, in the quiet after putting the kids to bed. She wondered why people spent so much money on rooms like this, then seldom used them. Her parents had a beautiful dining room set, but they rarely got out the china and the silver and the crystal to have an elegant dinner beneath their gold-leaf chandelier.
    Jan’s hand was sore from spanking Rodney. Undoubtedly she had hurt herself more than she had hurt him. Was it the physical pain of bruised hands that parents meant when they said to the child they were about to punish: “This is going to hurt me worse than you”?
    She was sure the spanking didn’t hurt Rodney, although he and his brother and sister all straightened up quickly afterwards. Maybe they were startled – they had never expected her to do anything like that. She didn’t think it was something the Beamers would approve of.
    Jan slipped off her shoes and started to prop her feet on the coffee table – as she did in the family den, even with her shoes on – but she realized you just didn’t do that on a highly waxed French provincial table. She compromised and curled her legs underneath her on the sofa. You probably didn’t do that either on plush velvet upholstery.
    Jan was puzzled by Robert’s actions lately. He had taken her to only one movie in over a month. The lunch had been her suggestion, although Robert had insisted on paying.
    She feared he might be dating some other girl. Jan knew that Cynthia Bellock was trying to attract his attention. That girl! – she was so obvious: the exaggerated compliments, the pleas for help where it wasn’t really needed, the suggestive teasing. Unfortunately, boys fell for that sort of thing.
    But so far as Jan and her girlfriends could find out, Robert wasn’t having dates with anybody else. He just wasn’t having dates – a real switch for him because he already had his own car and, in the previous six months, had given two parties while his parents were out of town.
    Robert shouldn’t take up smoking, Jan thought. They had discussed it once, and they agreed it was dumb to smoke.
    The telephone rang and Jan hurried to pick up the kitchen extension before it woke the children. (At least, she hoped they were asleep.)
    “Hello,” she said.
    “Hi – Jan? It’s Mrs. Beamer. Any trouble?”
    Jan wondered why the Beamers were checking – they never had before.
    “Everything’s fine,” Jan said, then added, feeling a bit guilty: “I finally got them to bed.”
    Jan was glad that Mrs. Beamer didn’t ask about the implied irregularity, because she didn’t really want to mention the spanking.
    “Did you give Jamie her medicine?” asked Mrs. Beamer.
    “Oh, no! I’m sorry, I completely forgot it.”
    Jamie was five – the middle child. She had strep throat, and the other children would probably get it too.
    “Maybe she’s still awake,” said Jan.
    “After nine o’clock?” said Mrs. Beamer, who sounded displeased. “If she’s not awake, then wake her. It’s important.”
    “All right…How’s the play?” asked Jan. She felt stupid and wanted to sound casual, everything under control.
    “It’s very disappointing,” said Mrs. Beamer. “And it’s longer than we expected. There’ll be a second intermission, and we may be late.”
    Jan put down the phone and started to go back to see whether Jamie was awake. She had her own room, while the two boys shared a room with bunk beds.
    This was the second first for Jan – the first time she’d ever, as far as she could remember, forgot to give medicine. Add that to the spanking. And weren’t they related, after all? She had been tired, preoccupied with her troubles with Robert.
    Halfway to Jamie’s room, Jan realized it didn’t matter whether Jamie was awake or not. If she was asleep, she’d have to be wakened. The thing to do was pour the medicine and bring it to Jamie in her bed.
    Jan was in the middle of wondering whether she could do anything right tonight when the doorbell rang. She groaned theatrically and went to the front door. “Who is it?”
    “Is Jan Hilbert there?” The male voice sounded familiar.
    “This is Jan. Who is it?”
    “It’s Robert.”
    Jan’s first reaction was pleasure that he called himself Robert. To anybody else he have said Bobby, or Bob. Calling himself Robert showed something – Jan wasn’t exactly sure what.
    Her second reaction was a thrill of excitement at his unexpected arrival. She delayed opening the door so she could savor the feeling and experience the anticipation of opening it.
    “Hey, be an angel and let me in,” he said.
    She opened the door and there he stood – bright smile over a strong chin, beautiful eyes with eyelashes too long almost for a boy. And how her third reaction set in: alarm at his being here, at the Beamers.
    “What do you want?” She was sure she sounded suspicious, but she couldn’t help it.
    “Can’t I come in?”
    “You really shouldn’t, Robert. The Beamers would be very upset. One very strict rule they have is no visitors. I think they especially mean boys.”
    “I won’t stay long. Nobody’ll know.” Robert was as persuasive as ever. He always did have the ability to speak positively, without any hint of being in the wrong, or on the defensive. Jan admired him for that, perhaps most of all. He made her feel as if it were completely all right to do whatever it was he was talking about at the time.
    Jan looked out the door at the neighboring yards and lighted windows. No one was about. “Well, come on in. It won’t hurt, for a little while.”
    She started to take him into the family den, but it adjoined the boys’ bedroom, so she took him into the living room instead. She had the feeling there was something she was forgetting, but everything today was so topsy-turvy, she dismissed the feeling.
    “Don’t talk loud now,” she told Robert, “the children might wake up.”

Copyright © 2015 by Morris Dean