Summary: If you think seeing a movie can be tough, try making one. Xavier's Pictures is about to gamble on a big picture production. Will the drama off screen destroy the film before they can even start filming? Familiar faces run around like chickens with no heads sreaming for attention. Help me out with this folks! This is our story =) By the way, are you hungry? Common, lets go to the Goddess.
Categories: General Characters: None
Genres: Romance, Comedy, Angst
Warnings: None
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 16
Completed: No
Word count: 67878
Read: 22440
Published: 08-04-06
Updated: 11-21-06
1. Sweet and Savory by Goddessreiko
2. A Change of Plan by OriginalCeenote
3. A Spoonful of Sugar by Goddessreiko
4. You Got Served by OriginalCeenote
5. Just Add Honey when the Fruit Isn't Ripe Enough by Goddessreiko
6. That’s the Joint, That’s the Jam by OriginalCeenote
7. Cutting the Fat is Harder than it Looks by Goddessreiko
8. Bad Taste in My Mouth by OriginalCeenote
9. Holding Your Nose Doesn't Make it Taste Good by Goddessreiko
10. Get It While It’s Hot! by OriginalCeenote
11. Chill and Serve by OriginalCeenote
12. Chicken Soup for the Unlucky Soul by Goddessreiko
13. Queasy and Uneasy by OriginalCeenote
14. Distilled Spirits by Goddessreiko
15. Reheat on High by OriginalCeenote
16. Chapter 16 Epilogue Part One Alternate Ending One by Goddessreiko
Sweet and Savory by Goddessreiko
Ain’t No Business
Chapter One
http://www.rockspringsranch.com/sept05images/torte.jpg
Ororo put the last chair on the table and took a deep well deserved sigh. The night had gone spectacularly. They sold every seat in the restaurant tonight, had seven parties of ten and more from eleven when they opened to closing. It was exhausting. But, thanks to her unbelievable waiting staff, talented chefs (including those sent from heaven sous chefs) the day went on flawlessly.
She thanked her lucky stars for the luck of the rumor bush that grew under neath the host podium. Someone had mentioned to someone else’s dentist who knew someone from a magazine who was looking for a restaurant to review. When the review was out it was glowing. Unfortunately it was a small sub culture magazine that had a small readership to it. As it turned out, one of those readers just happened to be a huge East Coast food critic.
Christine Kane could be an evil bitch. She had recently put three high profile restaurant into the ground. Every restauranteur absolutely dreaded a visit from her. She was known to have the most acute taste buds and she did not discriminate from a simple mom and pop diner to a five star black tie establishment.
Two things made Christine very dangerous. One was that she did not work for a particular magazine. She was a freelance critic. Her reports made it into Vogue and Elle, and the ranged to local newspapers and ethnic magazines. So, people all over new her or had heard about her. When the success got her to be noticed she tried to keep her profile low. Everyone seemed to always know when she would “randomly” show up. So, she took to using disguises. This generally worked, except that people still managed to know she was coming, but she took it for what its worth and loved the fact that it kept everybody on their toes. One of her favorite disguises was a combination of Chuck Norris and Tom Brokoff.
Ororo and her crew knew that Chuck Norris nor Tom Brokoff visited mid-town Manhattan restaurants so that was a big red alert when they took a good look at this particular party of one. One of the hostesses noticed that despite the side burns and beard “Chuck Tom” had no adam’s apple. Not that there was anything wrong with being a drag king, but it just seemed a little off.
The restaurant, By the Goddess, was known to be one of the mos flexible places for a meal. Patrons could order on and off the menu on the fly. At first it was just to accommodate special diets, but now it was a signature of the Goddess. Ororo was able to quickly find out that the critic was a huge fan of curried beef pies. Her cooks were able to take the prime rib that was there and grind it up with a sweet yogurt curry mix topped with fennel seeds seared in a sherry sauce. Served along side the beef pies was a mango green apple and corn spicy salsa.
When she was in the kitchen dictated the appetizer to the cooking staff, they stopped in their tracks and stared at her with open mouths, but they pulled it off. When the critic left with a complete three course meal and a huge sated grin the whole spontaneous meal was forever added to the menu.
After the last of the customers left for the night, the entire crew celebrated how for the first time since opening four months ago, nothing went wrong. Costumers didn’t whine, complain, or barf, meals weren’t sent back, wine wasn’t stolen, no dine and dashers, and no broken dishes. Ororo had ok’d a celebratory bottle of champagne to be opened and shared.
Now that everything was over, she took a well deserved break. Life just couldn’t get any better. Just as she had taken of her heels, which made her tall frame obnoxiously taller, she heard someone knocking on the door with the closed sign on it.
Grumbling and not bothering for her shoes she stumbled to the door in a slight hurry to tell them verbally what the sign said.
There at the door was a very smart looking short but slightly portly blond in a sandy trench coat. Even through liquored up hazy eyes, Ororo thought that she recognized the woman. Her eyes widened and the woman smiled and waved. She opened up the door.
“Hello Ms. Monroe. My name is Christine Kane. I came in here earlier.”
“Omigod. I know who you are. Good gracious, I don’t know what to say.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure of course.” Ororo moved to the side to let the woman in. She offered her guest a glass of red wine, and she looked eternally grateful.
“So, Ms. Kane...”
“Please call me Christine.”
Ororo couldn’t help but to smile as a lot of the tension eased up. “How can I help you?”
“When I came in today I was astounded by your staff and the dishes that were prepared, just for me. And, yes, I know that you knew that I was coming today.”
“Well, uhm...ok.” Ororo response sounded just as confused as she looked.
“I had just happened to take some take home dishes home to my husband and he loved them just as much as I did. He wouldn’t shut up about the deep fried mahi mahi.”
“Fantastic I hope to see the two of you in here again then.”
“Oh, you definitely will. Looks like I’ll be in here often because you have a completely different menu every night. Hold on, let me get to the point before I get off track. My husband is about to start work on a newly greenlit project.”
“What does your husband do?”
“He works in score editing in film. As it turns out the crew is looking for a caterer.” She gave Ororo a non to subtle raised eyebrow.
“What are you kidding me? I don’t cater. Seriously, I can barely handle this joint. We just opened up four months ago.”
“If this is such a hassle, why are you looking to expand?”
Ororo’s eyes darted back and forth, very much like a deer in the headlights. “How did you know that?”
“Your not the only one with access to the rumor mill. Personally I think it’s genius. You’ve built up a spicy reputation in such a short time, and with your popularity and prices, the new Goddess just can’t fail. So, is it also true your opening up in Philadelphia next year?”
“Is anything sacred anymore?”
Christine nearly snorted out the last of her wine.
“So, about this new job. Is the movie filming here in New York?”
“No. Once filming commences it’ll start in a studio in L.A. Afterwards it might go to wherever the script says to go and the budget allows.”
“Oooooh. Is it one of those big blockbuster movies ”
“Well, that would depend on the studio executives. I never really understood anything about the politics behind movies.”
“Do you know what it’s going to be about?”
“Can you keep a secret?”
“Not in the least.” Both women outright laughed at this.
“It’s about feudal Japan, ninjas, and the Dutch East India trading company. Blah, blah, blah.”
“Interesting. I’m going to have to think about it, ok.”
“I knew it This is fantastic. Well I will have my husband’s friend call you with the details sometime tonight He knows a lot about what’s going on. He’s in cinematography.” Christine gathered up her things in a flurry and sprinted towards the door.
“Wait Hold on a second. Don’t you need my number?”
“I got it from the hostess when I left earlier. You are an angel ” With that the critic disappeared in a taxi.
If Ororo was wearing shoes she would have kicked the table. She had been wondering why Karen had been giving her all those sly looks.
She didn’t want to think about how this could be a wonderful opportunity for her business. A chance to get high profile clientele on the west coast. This was genius She absolutely refused to think that on the taxi ride home. Well, she tried to think that, and she failed miserably.
The moment she stepped into her studio loft she heard her phone ringing. Oh yeah, Karen was dead tomorrow. She kicked her shoes across the room and leapt on the comfy love seat next to the cordless phone.
It was now or never.
She cleared her throat, “Hello?”
A deep and gravelly voice that made her toes curl and the hair *everywhere* rise, answered. “Is this Mrs. Monroe; my name is James Howlett? CK told me to call you tonight.”
“I wish.”
“Excuse me?”
Ororo giggled just a little. Wait...a giggle. Aw damn. “It’s just Ms.”
The voice on the other end just let out a low sigh. Almost a like a grumble. “Oh really?” There was a pause. “I think I’m calling for a reason.”
And so the conversation went along the lines of business. Ororo truly felt a passion stir from this man, who obviously loved what he did for a living. She couldn’t help but to be inspired. It was also more than nice to hear a man that was interested in her cooking skills. Most men were interested in what she could do for them.
“So, Ms Monroe, does the offer sound good? Or does the pot need to be sweetened?”
A Change of Plan by OriginalCeenote
”So, Ms. Munroe, does that offer sound good? Or does the pot need to be sweetened?” She was still mulling that question over in her head as she stood over the stove that night, whisking a scratch barbecue sauce that she tossed together from odds and ends in her pantry. She tasted it from her wooden spoon, made a face, then added a few more lumps of brown sugar from the bag.
Just think of it, she told herself on the ride home through rush hour traffic on the parkway that jumpstarted one of her usual migraines. Catering a FILM! Her name would show up in the credits, for crying out loud! Okay, it still wasn’t like her name was going to roll across the screen during the opening music, but still, this was nothing to sneeze at. It was a pretty sweet pot.
The Spanish tile beneath her aching, bare feet felt blessedly cool as she stirred more teriyaki into the sauce and peered into the oven to check her corn bread. She stepped outside onto the cedar deck, fanning away the flies hovering near her patio door impatiently as she poked the coals on her outdoor grill with a turning fork. They were nearly ready. After taking the reins of the night’s special herself, coconut shrimp and dirty rice with grilled okra, followed by the dessert of passion fruit mousse with a cinnamon glaze, her feet ached clear up to her waist, and she spent the first few minutes of her evening at home collapsed and groaning like a beached whale, flipping between the nightly news and Seinfeld reruns. She gave up on it and plugged in her iPod instead, letting the sounds of Coldplay, John Mayer and India.Irie fill her tiny little condo and sooth her jangled nerves.
This was the kind of news that should have had her hopping for joy, but she didn’t have anyone to share it with; Betsy was out of town on a modeling shoot, and promised her she’d send her some shots of the Eiffel Tower from her Blackberry before she took the flight back into LAX. Remy had a hair show in San Diego and was exhibiting his latest collection of upsweeps and cellophane hair colors, using six different models, each one more underfed and pouty than the last. She smiled when she remembered the delighted look on his face when he opened up her gift last week, promising her that the Versace silk shirt was gonna be “da bomb” at the show when he coupled it with the boots she’d talked him into buying when they browsed Nordstrom’s on her lunch break. He’d playfully swatted her when she dubbed him “L.A.’s only openly metrosexual hairstylist that doesn’t work at Supercuts.” She only made her escape once she promised that she’d stop into his salon for a trim to remedy the split ends he’d been haranguing her about for a month.
That left her social calendar and living room despairingly empty.
She’d just laid the chicken thighs and breasts over the grill and doused them with her own piquant rub when her cell phone called her back into the kitchen, playing her a surprisingly clear rendition of Missy Elliot’s “One-Two Step.”
“Someone loves me after all,” she muttered out loud. She yanked it from her tiny Prada clutch and chirped “S’up?”
“Been keepin’ it warm for me, ya hot and sexy bee-otch!!!!” crowed a smug contralto from the other end of a phone that was breaking up slightly from noise in the background, or a lousy connection, she couldn’t tell. Friggin’ Cingular, she grumped.
“ALI! Where the hell are you? How long has it been? I’ve been dying to hear from you, you never even told me you were already back on the road. How’s the tour?”
“Remind me never again to come to Des Moines. Talk about a dead crowd; we almost got shut down when a guy jumped onstage and licked my fishnets. The boys in blue were gonna blame ME for “indecent public conduct.” Ororo laughed and could hear Ali rolling her eyes.
“I’ll take a memo. When are you headed back?”
“Already here.”
“WHAT?!? You’re shitting me! You’re back already?”
“Went on a bender on the way back through Texas. The roadies tore up the hotel room after we all got good and pissed on the local tequila. The paparazzi got a shot of me leaving hungover, and they ran it in the Enquirer claiming that I was on my way to Betty Ford to be treated for ‘exhaustion.’ Fuckers,” she growled. “I miss my freak. Come out with me tonight.”
“You just got back, are you insane?”
“Nope. I wanna paint the town. Bring a brush. Doll that ass up, let’s hit the strip. You’re singing karaoke with me,” she threatened, her voice slightly garbled as she took a bite of something and chewed it desperately. Ali was always ravenous when she came home from a tour.
“Could’ve been a little more patient, I would have fed you,” Ororo griped.
“You can take care of the dessert. Put on your face! Move that ass! Meet me at nine,” she trilled, and Ororo heard a click on the other end that allowed no excuses. She pulled her cornbread from the oven and sighed.
Looked like she was going out.
Two hours later, in a suburban neighborhood, Corona, California:
“You and Marie can keep each other company when I go on my trip,” Raven told him, seemingly directing it to her reflection as she painted her mouth expertly with mocha brown lipstick. She twisted the tube shut and deftly flicked it into her makeup case on the vanity. The cosmetics cost more than most people’s weekly grocery bill, but they were the tools of her trade. She enjoyed the laugh she got from the women at her tennis club who actually thought their “makeovers” that they came away from a Mary Kay party with was comparable to what she did to her own face, and a whole stable of celebrities every day.
“Where ya goin’ this time?” He didn’t really want to know. He just figured it was polite.
“Cancun,” she murmured, her voice low and spoken through a short upper lip as she dropped her lower one in the weird little “dead fish face” that women made when they put on mascara or curled their eyelashes. He had to admit, she was still beautiful. The only evidence of Raven Darkholme’s real age was a slight hint of turkey neck that the surgeon’s scalpel could do nothing about. Even the most clever of facelifts and eye jobs fell victim to the cruelties of turkey neck. Her veins stood out in prominent relief on her throat as she turned to face him. “Did you put a check into Anna Marie’s account this week like you promised?”
“Yeah. Sure.” He was on his way to take care of it, but she didn’t need to know that. He planned on giving Marie a little cash on the side, too, just for kicks. She’d met his question about her weekend plans with “Dunno. Might do a little something. Kick back. Call a few friends.” That meant a kegger, loud and clear. She’d need some cash and cab fare. He didn’t trust those ditzy roommates of hers to be the designated driver, no matter how much they assured him otherwise. That little Laura Logan wasn’t too bad, he’d decided; she at least made a point of offering him a cold drink the first time he’d visited Anna’s little hovel of a student apartment in West Hollywood. A menacing poster of Eminem staring sullenly and reminding James of the old posters his sister had of Billy Idol back in the eighties, decorating every wall of her room came back to him whenever he stopped by and saw it hanging by the bathroom door on his way to take a whiz.
“We’re going to be gone for a week altogether,” she announced, “just in case anything comes up, or you were wondering.”
“Eh.” He wasn’t. She still treated him like he didn’t know how to separate his colors from his whites or fold his own underwear, even though they had been divorced five years already. Anna’s hair was finally starting to grow back, dyed in colors that actually occurred in nature again after a few sessions with the family therapist when she was fourteen; she’d told them that she hated herself, and just couldn’t stand to let anyone get close to her anymore. The platinum blonde streak in her hair was the only remainder of the last nightmare of a hairstyle that she’d had during her “Goth phase,” whatever the fuck that was. And her mother successfully managed to steer her toward more sensible cosmetics, even though he didn’t think it was necessary to tell her “I don’t want you looking like someone’s derelict crack addict that frequents pool halls when my Pink Hat club stops by to visit.” Raven threw out her daughter’s drawer full of liquid black eyeliner and the matching lipstick and gave her a tour of the Clinique counter on Mother’s Day last year, ignoring the painting and raffia-tied scroll of poetry that Marie had done herself. She made an empty promise that she’d find somewhere to hang them both. They never materialized again that James knew.
“Victor got a great bonus last month. That’s how we managed to swing this trip so soon. We originally weren’t going to go until Christmas.”
“Be nice if ya saved the holiday fer Marie, fer once,” he grumbled under his breath.
“Don’t start.”
“Whaddever.” Never mind that he had a point. Fine, then; all the more of Anna Marie’s time for him to monopolize while her mom went on a toot. He never abandoned his stepdaughter when he divorced his wife. They were still like two peas in a pod.
The familiar engine of Vic’s Escalade rumbled outside, and James shot the door a disgusted look when he heard him honking the horn.
“He ain’t even gonna come in?”
“We’re running late already. Anna Marie’s due back any minute now.”
“Hope so.” His stomach growled angrily as he waited for Marie to honor their impromptu dinner date. “Safe trip, Ray.” She hated when he called her that. She didn’t rise to the bait.
“Good night, Jamie.” Although she did give as good as she got. He hated it when she called him Jamie. She left the house in a cloud of Liz Claiborne “Bora Bora.”
“Lock up for me, would you?”
“Sure.” The door slammed shut, and James stood there, once again feeling too much like a bull in a china shop as he stood in Raven’s frou-frou living room. Too many damned sculptures and knockoffs of famous statues graced every available space. She had the prerequisite Van Gogh print in a pretentious wrought iron frame, opposite an Ansel Adams waterfall on the other side. Her couches were white, a hallmark of every middle-aged trophy wife whose kids were grown and burning up tuition payments on useless majors at any of the CalPoly’s or UC’s. Raven scoffed at Marie when she voiced a desire to go to film school. James reminded her that when she had her finished B.A. and a job of her own, she could study whatever she damned well pleased.
His pocket started ringing, vibrating against his thigh. He freed his cellular from his slightly wrinkled chinos and barked “This is Jim.”
“Hey, Daddy! Do ya mind if Ah go ahead and take a raincheck?” He smothered a sigh of frustration. Dinner with her was the only bright spot of his night that he’d looked forward to.
“Something came up?”
“Carol’s parents offered ta take us ta Chi-Chi’s,” she explained. “Then Ah was gonna stay over with ‘em tonight, ‘cause they have an extra ticket ta see ‘Wicked’ in San Francisco tomorrow. Ah’ve been dyin’ ta see it.” That didn’t surprise him. Anna Marie was a dyed-in-the-wool theater buff since they went together to see “The Lion King” in Sacramento four years ago.
“Fine. Wish ya’d have called me earlier,” he pointed out.
“Sorreeeee,” she drawled. “Ah’ll make it up ta ya one of these days.”
“I’ll put a check into your account for your books,” he promised. “It’ll credit on Monday morning.”
“Oooh! Thank you, Daddy! Ah’m fine fer now, Ah’ve got a little something left fer the trip tomorrow.”
“Naw. I’ll leave some money in your mailbox, too, but make sure you check your mail before you leave, ‘kay?”
“You’re the best!”
“Yer biased,” he grinned. “Love ya, kiddo.”
“Love you, too, Daddy.”
Logan locked Raven’s deadbolts and gate on his way out; she’d left him the spare key in the interest of retaining a house sitter, in what was one of the most amiable post-divorce arrangements in southern Cali. He clicked the button on his keychain remote, popping the locks on his three-year-old black Honda Accord. He missed his Jeep Cherokee, but he couldn’t afford the second car once he started funneling Anna Marie’s child support payments into her college trust fund, along with a huge chunk of cash that it took to keep Raven comfortable in alimony. He’d loved to hear the rumble of the engine whenever he’d shifted gears in that car and took her off-road in the mountains. It had been a while since he’d gone anywhere off the Grapevine for a little R&R.
He let himself into the car and loaded his Eric Clapton disc into the tray, turning up the volume as he headed first to Anna Marie’s little apartment, then to the nearby Pollo Loco. No sense in spending more money on a fancy meal that Anna would appreciate more than he would.
After that, who knew? A Blue Cadillac margarita was calling his name. He felt like hitting that funny karaoke bar that Anna had taken him to once to watch the beautiful people make fools of themselves.
A Spoonful of Sugar by Goddessreiko
Aint No Business
Chapter Three: A Spoonful of Sugar
“Shoot. I ain’t mad. So what, Marie’s got her own damn life.” James threw the car door open and nearly tripped over his car rug. “I should probably do something about that. Somebody could hurt themselves.” He wanted to laugh because the only possible somebody would most like trip on to their face over that rug, would be him.
He stumbled along to his front door, and promised himself no more binge drinking. The hangover hadn’t even set in and it was already starting to suck. After a lot of grumbling and more complaining, he unlocked his door and smacked his light switch. The lights flared on immediately reminding him that he was domestically challenged. It used to bother him when his shit would pile up, but now that he made himself sparse in his own home, it just gave him something to walk over.
Hearing his stomach beg for something, James opened up his fridge and popped out a cold one. Beer was the best thing to drink after a big night, or so his father always told him. He pushed a pile of dirty clothes on the floor, threw his legs up, and settled down on his couch. Just as he was comfortable, his phone rang.
The clock next to the phone just changed to 2:15 am. Shit and double shit. It was either Summers or his wife. He looked at his ceiling with a smile, both were probably looking for him to work tonight. Although each wanted him to do completely different things. Sometimes he almost felt bad about screwing Scott over, by well, screwing his wife. That was until Scott did the really dumb thing of opening his mouth. But still, it didn’t matter how much of a bitch Scott could be, he deserved far better than what Jeannie was doing.
She did always profess her undying love for her husband, constantly, everywhere. On the news, in the papers, on magazines, press conferences. Jean had the face one could recognize blindfolded, and she was in huge demand as an actress. She was one of those untouchable beautiful people. James was shocked the first time, she went out of her way to talk to him. At the time he had just finished with the panoramic shots of a mountain for a historic biopic she was starring in and her husband was directing.
Ever since then it was like watching himself in a slow moving Nascar wreck. He had the feeling that Jeannie had genuinely liked him. But, she had made it painfully obvious that her husband came first, unless it came to monogamy.
If he had just been stronger when Mariko died, he may have not fallen into the hamster wheel of Jean. Coming of a divorce, then another significant relationship, it was like she had seen him coming. That night they had sat in her trailer talking about what had lured them into the business, and how they had changed. They talked about how they missed the past and how others changed all around them. He worried about her during these times when her guard was down because he saw something in her the public just didn’t see. Her manic depression.
For many people with bi-polar tendencies they can function on a regular basis without medication. The cycle of depression is wide and they have space in between the highs and lows. Jean was not one of them. During their long talk he could see her mood swing from deliriously happy to near suicidal in one complete sentence. At first it was a excuse to see her and make sure that she was taking all of her medicines. Then it turned into a need for them both.
Eventually it became more than platonic. It was kind of sad, as soon as they had sex something died. The friendship had ended. He often would think that the sick sweet smell of death would wait for him when he emerged from her trailer. That was never a good sign.
Whenever Jean couldn’t get anything out of Scott, she would turn to him. He would find himself there ready and waiting. Of all the words set to describe himself, James never thought that doormat would be one of them.
James opened up his fly and felt around, yep, everything was there. He was still a man. Why was he still putting up with this? That had yet to be answered.
*Ring, ring, ring.* Apparently the phone still needed to be answered too.
“Hello?”
“Jeeze, what took you so long?”
“Nothin’. Just thinkin’, Summers. Why are ya callin’ me two o clock in the mornin’?”
“I need to give a presentation first thing tomorrow morning about where we need to start filming. The studio needs to secure the locations, get the permits, and the permission, as well as local extras, and all that good stuff. The only problem is the head of cinematography hasn’t told me jack-shit as of yesterday, LOGAN!”
Uh-oh. He pulled out the middle name, somebody meant business. As much as he wanted to screw with Scott’s head just a little longer, he knew that he couldn’t. Any more delays, and it would start costing them money. The Lord knows how nobody would ever hear the end of it then.
“For the wider outside shot during the winter, we can start in Hokkaido. We can move south when needed. There are beautiful wide open plains near Sapporo.”
“Alright, we can send out a crew in a few days to check it out. Did you want to go with them?” There was a pause, and James could here Scott curse. “Aw man, I’m sorry about that. Was that were Mariko was from, or was that Itsu?”
“Nope, Mariko was from Sapporo. Remember all that beer that no one ever paid for, Summers. No wait, I don’t think ya’d remembered it.”
Both men had to laugh at that. When the conversation was over Scott had managed to convince James to scout out the best places in Japan to buy out for filming. He also told him to start on extra casting.
What the fuck! That wasn’t his job. Wasn’t Cassandra Nova the casting director. Why did that woman always get away with murder. So what her brother owned the studio. That didn’t mean that he was going to do her god damn job.
Since he was going to have an ass load of things to do in the morning, he made a list of his crew he would need, as well as what he would need on camera to be accurate for the film.
Before he called it a night, he took a long hard look at the last name on his list. Ororo Monroe. Lots of ‘o’s and ‘r’s in that name. It sounded sexy before and now it looks sexy. Hmm. If the rumors were true, her food would be hot, too. They said that she learned to cook all over the world. If they were any gods in the world, that would be true as well. She had several cook books on how to have cheap-ass meals. (Wasn’t the name of the cook book Cheap-ass Meals?)
If she could cater for the cast and crew, as well as the food on screen... They would save a fortune on not having to pay for a second cook for the days they had on screen food.
He looked at the copy of the menu he was sent. Her taste ranged from expensive rarities, to everyday in new and unusual ways. Well, at least she would make the trip interesting.
He turned his computer on, and started her email.
You Got Served by OriginalCeenote
James pondered his dinky fifteen-inch flatscreen monitor, clueless as to how to approach this Miss Munroe about catering an entire film now, instead of just the production crew’s meals behind the scenes. He opened up his Web mail browser and hit ‘Compose,’ and stared for another baffled handful of seconds before coming up with a subject that wouldn’t look like spam:
Subject: Our phone call regarding the catering for Xavier Pictures
To: ororo.munroe@thegoddess.com
From: howling_wolf@aohell.com
That was as far ahead as he’d thought so far. Even on the best of days, he was never much for writing shit. He was more visual by nature and by trade. He sipped his beer, musing that it wasn’t “the hair of the dog that bit him” if he kept on drinking enough to cover his hangover with a fresh buzz.
Should he just say “Hello?” Or “Dear Miss Munroe?”
Maybe “Hi, Ororo?”
Ehhh…
His fingers eventually began typing of their own volition; the best way to deal with it was to just get it over with. Wasn’t like he was leavin’ a note in her locker, for cripe’s sake:
“Good morning, Ororo. Just following up on our call from last night. Wanted to know when we could meet to go over some more details. Scott Summers is the guy you want to talk to, whenever I can arrange a meeting.” Then it struck him how dumb that sounded; Scott’s schedule was like wading through the hedge of thorns around Sleeping Beauty’s castle. Scott’s “people” would be the ones tiptoeing through his docket to flex it enough to meet with the caterer. He wouldn’t really have anything to do with it. But he wanted to at least be there for the initial meeting.
Her voice intrigued him. Warm, sweet and deep, and it seemed to stroke him and wrap itself around him like a blanket.
James shook himself. Where the hell did that come from? He spared his tiny framed photo of Mariko sitting in its customary spot on his cluttered desk a lingering glance before he went back to his letter.
“Come prepared to discuss details such as the size of events that you’ve catered, menus, cost-effectiveness, etc. Blow your own horn. Christine had glowing things to say about you.” Sure. Throw in some flattery. Then, he decided to tack on “Look forward to meeting you.” A phone call wasn’t really meeting her. Neither was an email. He wasn’t into that whole “online friends” thing where you couldn’t see who you were talking to. For all he knew, she could be Barry White after a sex change.
He added his autosignature and hit “Send.” There. Time for a shower.
Back at Ororo’s condo:
“Ohhhhhh…why did you let me drink so damned much, girl?” Ororo moaned, gritting her teeth against the throbbing in her forehead. The sunlight streamed in way too brightly through her patio doors, a grim reminder that she’d slept in til noon. Benders with Ali were always an all-night affair, complete with “war stories” the next day that she’d kill anyone to ever repeat. Her vocal cords were hoarse and strained, and her words were a scratchy little rasp when she could manage to do more than groan and dangle over the arm of the couch.
“You were enjoying yourself, which you so richly deserve. Besides, it beat having you be the sober and sensible one to spoil my buzz,” she pointed out. “Don’t be such a poop!” she said, pulling Ororo’s favorite line from “Sixteen Candles.” Ororo shot Ali an evil look, attempting to peel her face off with it, but only succeeding in making her snort with laughter from the loveseat across the living room.
“Sure. Get us both arrested, so neither one of us can post bail.”
“If you’re my prison bitch, then the big mean girls who killed their boyfriends or held up a bank won’t try to make a move on me, I’ll already be taken.”
“And here I thought you just liked me for my cooking. Ulterior motive,” Ororo grumbled.
“Speaking of which, let’s hit Denny’s or IHOP, I’m starved!”
“Blasphemy,” Ororo declared. “I’m not laying my lips on that slop. Find me some Advil. I’m making French toast.” She was surprisingly nimble as she hopped up from the couch and flitted into the kitchen.
“Freedom toast,” Ali quipped.
“What the fuck ever.” Ororo’s ears rang as she bent down to rummage through her cabinets for her metal mixing bowl, making all of the baking dishes clang together.
“So what’s the plan today?”
“We eat.”
“’Kay.”
“We get cleaned up.”
“’Kay. You scrub my back first.”
“Shut UP!” Ororo cackled. “We shop.”
“Too right.”
“Then…I dunno. Haven’t planned that far ahead yet. I’ve gotta check in at the restaurant at some point today. No big events, thank God, but I told Kurt I’d be on hand to help with the special.”
“What is it this time?”
“Fontina and gorgonzola ravioli with lobster and parma rosa sauce, endive salad with raspberry and balsamic vinaigrette, and bruschetta with fresh basil.”
“Damn.”
“I know. Kurt can handle it, but he likes an extra set of hands.”
“Is he still dating that Amanda chick?”
“Nope. They’re past tense.”
“Can’t blame him. She was high-maintenance.”
“You hardly even knew her.”
“The one time that you convinced me to have dinner with you two, she sent back her whole order just because the garlic bread was the slightest shade too pale; I quote, ‘if the rest of the meal is this underdone, I’m sending the manager the bill when I’m treated for salmonella.’ I knew all I needed to know if her, ‘Ro.”
“Picky, picky, picky,” Ororo accused.
“She was,” Ali chirped, holding up her hands defensively. She adopted a dreamy expression that looked out of place on her gamine features. “Kurt’s just so nice.”
“Yup.”
“I like those short, wiry guys for some reason.”
“Yup.”
“Think he likes me?”
“Yup.”
“Nuh-UH. You’re shittin’ me.”
“Nope. The last time you stopped in to visit me back in my office, he almost burned the sauce when you walked by in those tiny little shorts and clogs. Burnt sauce and drool…won’t keep my restaurant open, girlfriend.”
“He likes me.” She still looked uncertain.
“Yup.” Ororo whisked the eggs in solid strokes, throwing in a hefty pinch of cinnamon and lemon zest. “Can’t blame him.”
“Wow.”
“Yup.”
“Is that all you’re gonna say?”
“Ask the boy out and put him out of his misery.” Ororo made short work of their breakfast, sliding a steaming plate of toast, sausage patties and strawberries with fresh orange juice in front of Ali before she headed back to her room to fetch her day planner. She came out holding something small and making a face.
“Whose boxers are these?”
“Got me?”
“They were in my purse.” Ali squinted at the ceiling in an attempt to recollect what happened after their third round of lemon drops.
“Ah. I remember now. The guys by the speakers pulled a ‘Tom Jones’ in reverse and threw those up onstage when you sang ‘Lady Marmalade.’”
“Chee maneez,” Ororo winced, “why didn’t you stop me?”
“The guys with the boxers wouldn’t let me. Especially not in that tiny little red nothing of a dress. It was a hoot. You were on fire, baby!”
“Gads,” she groaned under her breath. She flipped through her day planner, chewing thoughtfully on a sausage pattie. “Crap.”
“What?”
“I need to get back in touch with that Howlett guy about the movie set job he was gonna line up.”
“Today?”
“No. Just soon.” At least she didn’t THINK it was today. Ororo dove back into her bag and produced her Blackberry. She skimmed through her contacts and found two phone numbers of men she didn’t remember talking to and deleted them, figuring one of them had to be Boxer Boy. Then she noticed she had email on her own domain account.
“Howling Wolf?” she muttered.
“Got me,” Ali mumbled around a cheekful of strawberry. “Read it,” she barked.
Ororo clicked on the tiny envelope and skimmed the cryptic text. “Huh.”
“You’re grunting. You’re still hungover.”
“Girl, please! Naw, it’s just a note from that Howlett guy that I spoke to yesterday. He emailed me. Wants to set up a go-see with one of the bigwigs at the studio.”
“Cool.”
“Hope so.” Her stomach volleyed the food back and forth as she mentally planned her first meeting with a Hollywood producer and drew a blank. “What can I even tell them about myself?”
“Comp them a copy of your book. That’ll get their attention. Guys like free stuff,” Ali considered.
“Pfft. Guys like that with money don’t cook. They won’t give a damn.”
“Invite them to lunch at your restaurant, then, Petunia.”
“Yeah. YEAH. Shit, why not?” Why didn’t she think of that. “Kinda like an audition.”
“Usually works for me,” Ali deadpanned. They exchanged a knowing look. Ali didn’t have to audition for anything anymore. Her last two albums went platinum.
Ororo reread the last line of his message. Looking forward to meeting you. Sounded reasonable enough. And it felt weird that she was looking forward to seeing him, too. Then she reminded herself that no one could look as yummy as he sounded on the phone. It wasn’t humanly possible.
She had a fuzzy flashback to being onstage under the hot lights, belting out Patti LaBelle’s bad girl anthem with gusto “ perhaps more gusto than actual talent “ and scanning the audience of college students and couples out on “mister and missus dates.” She and Ali had overdressed for the denims and sandals crowd, just because it felt so good to show off and be a girl, for once.
That’s when she saw those moody, pensive dark eyes. So dark they were almost black. Deep-set and framed by enviably thick lashes, tiny laugh lines fanned out from the corners, even though he looked like a man who had forgotten how to laugh.
Just for a second, she preened, running her palm down her body, skimming it down her throat, chest, ribs and belly, styling like a showgirl before she licked her lips. Their gaze locked; she knew he hadn’t missed it, because his hand stilled for just a moment as he lifted his beer to his lips. The air between them seemed to sizzle as he inclined his chin in the briefest of nods, before taking a sip.
Almost indiscernibly, he sucked the foam from his lip, then groomed the corners of that sensual mouth with his finger and thumb. He had big, beefy hands with dexterous fingers, from where she was standing.
She snapped back to attention, and realized she was almost two beats behind the music rolling across the screen. She recovered herself and made the big finish, nearly tripping over something on her way down the stairs. A pair of boxer shorts. By the time she reached Ali again, her best friend was crowing “You go, girl!” and giving her a drunken hug that resembled a headlock; and the stranger was gone.
They finished their breakfast. Ororo mentally promised herself she’d clean her condo later and water her plants as she and Ali got ready to go out. She made suggestions from Ali’s wardrobe offerings in her overnight bag of what to wear to impress a shy sou chef.
Barnes and Noble bookstore, downtown Los Angeles:
Logan felt fucking silly asking the girl at the customer service counter in the middle of the store if they carried a cookbook called “Cheap Ass Meals.” Her expression told him that he’d provided her with an anecdote of “stupid crap the customers asked me” that she’d be regaling everyone in the employee break room. Her eyes lit up, though, when he mentioned the author. She smacked her forehead and gave an enthused “OH!” before typing in a few keywords into her computer.
“Cookbooks are over there. Look on the top left shelf down that aisle,” she grinned. “You’ll love it. It’s a bestseller.”
“’Preciate it,” he mumbled, nodding his thanks as he strode off in that direction.
He found the shelf that she’d indicated, mentally chanting “Cheap Ass Meals, Cheap Ass Meals…” Then he finally found a bright orange hardcover with afro centric print on the spine: The Goddess’ Guide To Dirt Cheap Cuisine. He removed it from the shelf and peered at the cover. A gorgeous entrée of something that looked like seared fish and a colorful, fancy-lookin’ salad was displayed on a plate that he knew was Noritake, only because Raven had a set of the same ones that were her pride and joy.
He stifled a gasp when he looked inside the book jacket.
“Goddamn!”
Just Add Honey when the Fruit Isn't Ripe Enough by Goddessreiko
Ain’t No Business
Chapter 5
*Goddamn*
James couldn’t believe his eyes. Miss Pattie Labelle Jr. was Ororo Monroe. He let his has trace the contours of her razor cut hair and the long lines of her neck. He blinked quickly under the harsh lights of the bookstore, which reminded him of his surroundings. He did a quick 360 degree turn to see if anyone saw him drooling on the book. He flipped through the colorful pages and saw random inserts of Ororo holding the dishes she was explaining.
He flipped to page sixty-two. It was another full color insert. This time it was a full body side profile of her working at her island in the kitchen. He could tell her height by the refrigerator. Not even the flat pumps she was wearing could take away from those legs that made her tall enough to jump start a straining erection.
James just rolled his eyes. He hated it when he got hard in public. Oy, talk about awkward. Usually it wasn’t so much of a problem as it was annoying. It kind of felt like an 8:00 pm low tide. By six you could see the tide ebb differently then it did at four. Then around seven it came less and less on shore. Had a beach goer been sitting at the waters edge at for two hour and the clock struck eight, he could no longer feel the water at his toes. That was a normal woody.
But nooooooo, this was no normal piece of wood. It was the sudden growth of a redwood. He shifted and turned so that no one could see his lower half. It was weird. He’s never been so completely hard so quickly before. It was like someone purposely dropped an anvil on him, and enjoyed it immensely.
Another strange thing about this was that he liked the feeling of getting smacked into the ground by a heavy obj...hard-on. It was a complete 180 from what he felt like when he was with Jean. He threw his head back and laughed at the irony. Both women had unintentionally turned him (Mr. Machismo) into a masochist. Hell, he hadn’t even met Ororo, yet.
Well...that wasn’t entirely true. He knew a lot about her already. While waiting in line, he heard a Motown song being hum in a deep baritone. Oh yeah, that was him. He was also the only person in the long-ass boring bookstore having a great time. *Wait a minute. If no one in this country, or mine, read anymore, why are commercial bookstore lines ALWAYS long?* He ignored his own question, and kept humming. As he got to the counter the tired cashier asked him for his money. He dug it out and got his bag, still walking around with a goofy grin. When he got to the door, he finally hit the chorus of her song.
“Voulez-vous couchez avec, moi, sez soir?”
*Oui, si vous plait!*
While he was driving home, and not readjusting himself, he had flashes in his mind of a deliciously tipsy, leggy, snowy headed, earthen skinned, woman having a great time on a stage, just for him. Oh yeah, tonight’s “business” dinner was going to be a blast. He adjusted himself, yet again. Yulp, a real blast, in more ways than one.
~By the Goddess~
“ALI!!! I am going to kill you!”
“What,” was Ororo’s far too innocent sounding reply. She put the sauce pots on the stove and stared at her friend. There was no way in hell Ali could ever look innocent, of anything. Even minus the black hair dye, heavy eye shadow, platforms, chains, tattoos, and other clothing and accessories that made it looked like she robbed several Hot Topics, Ali could never look innocent.
“When did you get that phone call?”
The rocker put her index finger under her chin in a fake pensive pose. “Which phone call? I was a good girl and answered lots of phone calls. My lady must be more specific.”
Ororo smacked her own forehead. *Oh dear God and all other Holy Beings. The woman answered the phones for the whole day!* She took a deep breath. “Ali, when you were answering phone calls, did you take messages?”
“Wait, you wanted me to take messages too!”
“Ali, you asked me if you could help out. I thought you actually wanted to help.” She gave her the sorriest put she could muster.
Alison Blaire was the world’s most un-empathic person in the world. She had one weakness. Pouts. Of course, leave it to her best friend to exploit that. At least she was to angry at her, or else she would have brought up the c-h-i-l-d-r-e-n discussion. Eww.
Ororo continued to bore through her oldest friend like a angry faced psychic. Any moment know. Three, two...
“Alright, alright. You win, Miss Thang.” Ali dug into her left but pocket to pull out the pink postit that had the details of tonight’s meeting with the big-wigs from the studio, an act that didn’t go unnoticed by a very nervous sous chef. Life was good. Ali was able to drive two people crazy in one strike. Oh yeah, she still got it.
Ororo snatched the pink piece of paper and walked into the kitchen. Ali just picked at her nails, just waiting for her to storm back out again.
Sure enough a few seconds later.
“ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIii! Why does it say that they’re coming at seven o clock? YOU DO KNOW THAT’S ITS 5:50!”
“Looks like you should get started. Oh yeah while your at it, you might want to clean yourself up a bit. You look highly stressed. That’s never a good sign.” All that could be heard was the slamming of pots in the kitchen. She turned her head when she caught movement in the corner of her eye. It was her own tasty little dish trying not to laugh at her antics.
“Kurt, right?” She came up behind him as he polished glasses. Ali just couldn’t help herself when it came to her crushes. Letting her hands run up his back, she was able to feel the sinewy muscles that were well hidden underneath the chef’s uniform.
The poor boy was trying to speak, but nothing was coming out. She stepped out from behind him and stood to his side. She tried to peer around to look at him, but he was artfully dodging her attempts.
Finally at his wits end with the playful sprite, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Liebling, please, I think I should go and help Ororo.” He kissed her head and laughed at her bottom lip poking out.
Hmmm, liebling? Was her tasty treat German import? Ali did a quick little happy dance. *Ich ern ien Berliner!*
When Kurt walked into the kitchen he was amazed to see his boss already working on several dishes, and nearly done them. He’d only been out of the kitchen for less than ten minutes.
“Oh common, Kurt. Don’t look at me like that. I cheated, its just a couple of backward sushi rolls.”
“How did you finish the rice so fast?”
“It’s for tomorrow’s special.”
“Good idea.” He walked over to the stove and saw the eel and the unagi sauce boiling. The unique smell coming from the oven. When he peered through the glass he saw almonds being roasted. Maybe it would explain why she was boiling chocolate. At least the movie people would have the greatest most undiluted hot chocolate known to man.
“Could you start on the oranges, Kurt?”
In about forty minutes they had buckwheat soba topped with salmon skin, orange infused spring rolls, and unagi inside out rolls. It was only afterwards did they plan to attack with their secret sweet weapon.
“It looks like you have time to spare, Ms. Monroe. Why don’t you get changed?”
She rolled her eyes when he called her by her last name. She flew by him and kissed his cheek. “You are so getting a bonus and a raise.” She raced upstairs to her office and ran through a clothing rack that her friend Betsy had made her keep. Ororo actually made herself a note to thank Betsy and her modeling career. For once, they both came in handy. After rummaging for a couple of minutes, she found the perfect dress. Well, sort of. She and Betsy may have been the same size, but they had different measurements in different place. Oh well, safety clips, and artfully skipping a few buttons would fix that. She plugged in her super fast flat iron, and hoped that rush hour traffic would keep them an extra ten minutes. *Please God, please!*
~27 Minutes Later~
Dani and Xian looked at the six smartly dressed people who were outside The Goddess.
Xi looked at her best friend, then back at the door again. “Do we have to let them in?”
Dani made it a point to ignore them. “Nope.”
“Uhm, yes ya’ll do.”
“Ms. Monroe,” both girls exclaimed. Neither one had seen the boss sneak up behind them. She was surprisingly quiet in her Manolo’s.
“I suggest that you, Dani, go and get our guest, and you, Xian, go and find me a sherry, a blush, and a spritzer.
Ali who also managed to clean up, just a little, managed to get in one last snide dig before she was shooed away. “How much are you planning on juicin’ them up, girl?”
“You. Out. Now!.”
“Fine.”
“Dani, seat them in the glass expansion, and help out Xi with serving the sherry. And both of you better be nice. No smart-assity. You two are hostesses. So smile, welcome, and host.” She left to help Kurt with the last of the food preparations.
When Dani lead the guest into the inner glass dining room, Xian was pouring the last of the wine and flashed them all a bright smile. Dani rolled her eyes, and poked her tongue out. Xian walked of to stand next to her and glared. Dani was able to get away with it because her back was turned.
When she motioned to have the guest sit at the table, only a pretty and shallow smile remained. Both girls hated Hollywood types. Every time they came in, they closed the restaurant down, demanded the world, and got to be ugly jerks. The only consolation was that when ever someone was snorting, stealing, cheating, or making deals they always did it in front of the staff, then expected silence. Dumb asses. Whenever Xi or Dani got juicy information the first two people they called were Sara, a ninja-esque paparazzi, and Callisto, the assistant editor to People. Dani nor Xi never made any money on their scopes. They did it for fun. Tonight it didn’t look like they were going to get anything good. Both girls just quietly blended in when Ororo walked in. Good thing they were getting overtime. It was going to be boring as hell.
The party looked up at the stunning woman who introduced herself as Ororo Monroe, the owner of the establishment.
An older silver haired man stood up an introduced himself as Eric Lensherr. He introduced the man in the power chair as Charles Xavier. She shook hands with both men. The first gentleman had a slightly cold but tight and calculated grip. Ororo could tell that although that he was fair, she knew that he was precise and had very little time for humor. The second man’s shake was completely different. He had a warm, easy, and light grip. She couldn’t help the genuine smile that came to her face.
Ororo was so bemused by this Xavier guy that she didn’t think about the next few words that came out of her mouth. “Would you like to have a seat?”
“Thank you Ms. Monroe, but I came in with one,” he whispered to her. He was delighted to see laughter bubble out of her. “You know, my dear, I already like you. There’s only one other person here with a remote sense of humor.”
“Oh?”
“Let me finish with the introductions. The man to my left is En Sabur Nur. He is an executive producer. The woman next to him is my twin sister, Cassandra. She’s our casting director. Next to her is our director for this film Scott Summers.”
Ororo looked at the tall man in the Oakley’s. As stylish as he looked, she saw the early crows feet and the laugh lines developing. From the set look of his jaw, it was obvious that he didn’t smile or laugh much. The poor man was aging early from stress. Ororo took pity on him and offered him her hand. A firm grip, totally technical, all business. Nope he didn’t have the elusive sense of humor either.
It must belong to the last person. She took a look at the shorter man. Ororo rubbed her forehead. Why did he look familiar?
James took the woman’s hand and introduced himself. She still looked at him with a tilted head. He still had her soft silky hand in his, and he pulled her closer. She smelled...yummy. “Are you ok, Ororo?”
The sound of her name snapped her out of her daze. “Yes, I’m good.”
Now that he was touching her, it gave him an excuse to give her another once over. She was wearing a dusty silk dress that had a gold trim. The dress was nearly her skin tone. The trim made her naturally shiny skin glow even more. The low cut neck let her left her breast parted and framed by more gold trim. James felt another red wood spring up. She reminded him of a present with a pretty gold bow that only needed one pull to come apart.
“Your staring Mr. Howlett.”
“It’s James, and so are you.”
“I’m sorry, its just that you seem very familiar.”
She heard a soft cough behind her.
Charles was trying to get her attention. “You know what else would be familiar. Food. I’m hungry.”
“Have a seat Ms. Monroe. We’ll get it.” Xian took Dani back to the kitchen. We they bust through the door they saw Kurt and Ali break apart really quickly, and awkwardly.
“Oops, sorry,” Dani said in a way that said otherwise.
Ali narrowed her eyes at the two girls. “Neither one of you better say a word about this.”
Xian had the smarts to look bashful. “We would never...”
Kurt cut her off by loudly coughing.
Dani pushed past Kurt to get in Ali’s face. “What’s going to stop me from making a call to my friends at People?”
“What if I told you everything that went on at that dinner? I mean how often does Rory talk to the owners of studios like Xavier Productions.”
Xian couldn’t believe what she just heard and elbowed Dani. Suddenly struck with a brilliant idea she took Dani aside and told her. When they were finished they offered Ali their proposition.
If she could go out there and charm some of the most influential people in Hollywood, they wouldn’t squeel about her current crush. How could she refuse? She pushed open the double doors of the kitchen and walked into the dinning room like she was the star of her own old western.
“Rory, you didn’t tell me you were having a private dinner. I feel really bad about interrupting. I was only hoping for a bite to eat before I hit the road again.” Before she could get an answer, she had already pulled up a chair next to Ororo and the man in the wheely chair. As she sat down, she asked, “do you mind?”
Ororo looked at her with a plastered smile and answered her through graded teeth, “of course not, Ali, by all means.”
The bigger man who never bothered to shake her hand finally spoke up. “Alison Blaire. What are you doing here?”
“Me and Ro go way way back.”
Ororo sighed and inhaled. Then she kicked Ali as hard as she could under the table.
Before anyone could say anything else, Kurt had come out with the salmon skin salad. Finally, now she could start with the techno babble. As the party began to eat, she went on to tell them the history of the food, how she cooked it, and how she could cater for them on and off screen.
She noticed that the only people talking were Eric and Charles. Everyone else stayed quiet. Was that good?
“Don’t worry about them, child,” Charles said as if he read her mind, “If Eric and I agree then your in. When I say Eric and I, what I meant was me.”
Everyone just rolled their eyes, except for James. Finally someone else who didn’t have something dead stuck up their ass. When their eyes met across the table, she could feel him hold her gaze. Then it hit her. That’s where she saw him before. It was his eyes she felt on her while she was stumbling around on a kareoke stage, drunk.
*Oh just fucking great!* Before she had the chance to let her head slam into the table in utter shame, the door to the restaurant was thrown open.
In walked a flurry of motion that belonged to a dazzling red-headed woman. She looked around at the dinning party and gave a slightly over practiced frown. “Why didn’t anyone tell me that there was a meeting?” It was obvious that she had recently finished drinking, alot.
Everyone stopped. She noticed that the two men whose back were facing the red-head had similar reactions. Scott’s jaw tightened. (Ororo didn’t think that was possible.) His back became ramrod straight, and his chopsticks were nearly thrown down. James on the other hand threw became stiff and angry, but hit it well as he chugged his remaining wine.
Just what the hell was going on?
Dani, Kurt, and Xian poked their head out of the kitchen door on top of each other looking a lot like the Scooby Doo Gang. When the tipsy red-head flew in mouths just dropped. Ororo hadn’t said anything about A-list movie stars coming. Drunk ones at that. Dani took out her pink razor and started to click away.
This was so going to make a great cover story.
That’s the Joint, That’s the Jam by OriginalCeenote
Studio Lot 616, Xavier Pictures Studio, North Hollywood:
“All right, folks, don’t believe the rumors that you’ve probably heard that this next set’s haunted by Marilyn Monroe’s ghost,” Jubilation Lee chirped into her megaphone as the open studio trolley gamboled along the slightly hilly turf, gesturing with a flourish to a film noir-style street set in dark browns and beiges. “Marilyn never worked at this studio!” A polite titter greeted this announcement as she continued her spiel. “Xavier Pictures has filmed three Oscar award-winning features on this set. Ooooh!” she squealed, forgetting any semblance of composure for a moment, “and if you turn your attention to the front gate, we have Jean Grey reporting to the security booth.” Various heads whipped around and craned themselves for a view, and cell phone cameras flashed before she could remind them “Please, folks, no photographs, it’s against studio policy. We are a paparazzi-free set.” She inwardly cursed the marvels of technology as at least fifteen fingers hit “send.” At least Miss Grey was in one of her “professional” moods and bothered to do her hair this time. Her boobs defied gravity, though; they were still swollen, fresh off the cosmetic surgeon’s table from a lift.
It was a sweet gig, being an intern and studio tour guide. Stipend, rental discount as an Xavier employee, four credits toward film school, and the chance to earn valuable “public speaking” experience. Next stop, Disney parade floats as Snow White!
The tours were usually pretty uneventful. She could recite the notable points of every set on the lot, knew who occupied every trailer, and could recite which stars had a gag order on interviews after-hours. Every now and again Mister Summers would make half an effort to remember her name but usually ended up squinting at her name badge after an embarrassingly long pause after listening to her pepper him with questions. He was cute, for a stodgy old guy. Well, old for her, anyway. As Sooraya was fond of muttering, “Poor man looks like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders.”
“Shit. He does,” Kitty once piped up while she was adjusting one of her animatronic model robots for a fight sequence. Kitty “Don’t Call Me Kathy” Pryde was a low-maintenance techie geek and proud of it. Her attire for work normally consisted of sneakers and cargo khakis from the Gap, and she styled her hair with whatever office supplies came to hand, tucking pencils into her twisted bun like chopsticks or pulling it back into a ponytail with a binder clip. Her desk was cluttered with schematics of every piece of set equipment and Post-It notes littered the border of her computer monitor. She did the best Jean impersonation, hands down. The interns adored her. After all, she’d been one of them. Her tryst with Peter, the creative director, was supposed to be “hush-hush,” but Jubes figured, once five people knew, the secret was out, and it wasn’t off-limits anymore.
The latest buzz was about the set’s newest caterer. Jubilee and Sooraya had stood outside in line for an hour and a half while people milled all the way around the street corner, trying to get even the tiniest table next to the rest room at the Goddess, to no avail. They’d ended up starving and foot-sore before stomping down three blocks to El Torito for watery salsa and slimy guacamole.
Getting to fly overseas to nab some footage in Sapporo already had her over the moon; having one of the hottest restaurants in town doing the catering and rubbing elbows with the owner, who “ hello? “ had been on OPRAH, fer cryin’ out loud…well, that was just the icing on the cake.
The rest of the tour went smoothly enough; the crowd even had the chance to gawk at Cassandra Xavier as she stepped out of the security booth clad in one of her cream Chanel suits, tottering along on spindly Vivienne Westwood pumps with toes sharp enough to puncture a tire. Her skin looked as though it had been pulled too tight, and her smile as she waved to the trolley was saccharine and strained. Jubilee wasn’t overly fond of her after she curtailed the company Christmas party a few months ago, citing the workplace conduct policy. She led the interns in a mini-revolt by posting a Photoshopped picture of the Grinch wearing a Chanel suit and a boyish, spiky platinum blonde haircut that looked eerily familiar, printed on green paper on every cubicle wall in the main office floor. She took savage satisfaction that her latest face lift left her turkey neck even more prominent than before.
Scott Summers’ office, Xavier Pictures corporate plaza:
“We’re over budget.”
“So was Titanic,” Logan pointed out.
“So was Hook,” Scott countered. “We can’t do it. We’ve already set back the release date to Fourth of July weekend. Pixar’s coming out with their knockoff the week before. We’ve got three months. We’re burning daylight. Either cut some of the crew on the Sapporo shoot, or plan on fewer shots over the hills. For the price of fuel for the choppers alone, you practically have to sell your firstborn.”
“Or make the kid an intern,” Logan quipped.
“Don’t be cute.”
“It’s my goal in life. Quit yer belly achin’, Summers. I already scouted the sites. Found a real steal of a deal on the local rentals for the crew for the units they’d need ta keep filled ta make it worth their while. We already lined up a caterer, she’s givin’ us a helluva deal.”
“We’re giving her publicity that most businesses would give their soul for.”
“She almost doesn’t need it. She’s doin’ us a favor.” Logan leaned back in his chair and scratched his knee where his slacks were rubbing him the wrong way. “Ya read her cookbook yet?”
“Cookbook? What the heck for? Jean’s got the Zone’s delivery number on speed dial,” he groused. “Who cooks anymore?” Scott had him there. He couldn’t remember that last time he’d made anything more complex than dinners that had to be poked in the middle and nuked for five minutes on high. Raven hadn’t been much of a cook, either; Marie had been the mom in their household before they got married, and she’d already gotten used to having dinner on the table by the time her mother came home from the sets and dumped her makeup cases in the hall. Summers had the casual hatred of high-carb diets that were swelling to nearly epidemic proportions among the famous, and his physique was lean and spare. Jeannie had converted him, much how she controlled all of the other aspects of his life, such as which tennis club they would belong to or which ties he would wear with his silk suits.
Mariko never wanted him wrapped around her finger. He missed that.
“Figure out something else ya can cut. Weren’t ya thinkin’ about bringin’ in that new writer? Reggie whatsisname?”
“He could breathe new life into the story. He’d pull in the minority audience,” Scott pulled.
“We’ve already got the minority audience. His style and Chris’ are completely different. We’re marketing this as a suspense drama, not just an action flick. I read the script rewrite, and I wasn’t all that impressed.”
“What’d you think of it?”
“It read like ‘The Last Dragon, the Sequel.’”
“Hmmm…” Scott shot him a pensive look that Logan recognized as the same one from when he found a car insurance agency that gave him more collision insurance for his premium than the one he’d had a policy with for five years. “Let me look over Chris’ script again. He might have had it right the first time out of the gate.”
“Three Oscars don’t lie.”
Scott snorted. “Screenwriters are paid to lie.” His flicked his gaze over a framed photo of Jean sitting on his desk. “So are actors.” Logan leaned his elbows over his knees and cracked his knuckles.
“Speaking of ‘Last Dragon,’ whatever happened to that dude that starred in it?”
“Taimak?”
“Yeah. Him.”
“Dunno.”
“Seems like once ya get famous enough that ya go around only callin’ yerself by one name, yer five minutes of fame are up.”
“That’s not always the case. Look at Leon. Madonna. Cher.”
“T’Challa,” Logan grunted. “Can’t tell me that action flick he did wasn’t his one-trick pony. Guy’s been typecast ever since. Just saw his latest straight-to-cable flick on Cinemax last night at 2AM.”
“Cinemax?”
“So sue me. I was up. Nuthin’ better t’do.”
“Still…Cinemax.”
“I want the extra footage of the mountains. Whole thing’ll look like shit without it.” Truth was, Logan just wanted to get back up in the air to calm his itchy feet.
“Fine. But if it’s not back in the editing room in eight weeks for the final cut…”
“Kiss my balls goodbye.”
“Pucker up.”
Two nights later:
“You’re so distant. If I wanted distant, I’ve have stayed in my own bed.”
“Who’s stopping ya?” Logan padded over to the refrigerator in his bare feet and boxers and snagged the milk jug, uncapping it and taking several hearty glugs, leaving only the last quarter-cup in the bottom before returning it to the top shelf.
“That’s mature. And sanitary,” she grimaced. “That stuff’ll kill you. I gave up dairy ages ago. No mammal is meant to keep living on their mother’s milk beyond infancy.”
“That milk ain’t from my mom, last time I checked. Keeps me big and strong and cuddly, just how you like me.”
“Please!” she scoffed. She rose naked from the couch, retrieving Logan’s shirt and tugging it on over her head. He grunted under his breath. He hated it when she wore his shirts. She always left them smelling like that Tuscany perfume. She even kept perfume sample cards in the glove box of her custom, emerald green Navigator, refreshing them with the occasional spray so she could take her favorite fragrance with her wherever she went.
It was just one more thing about her that was overwhelming and growing tiresome.
She tipped into his bathroom and made use of the toothbrush that she kept there, and he grew increasingly irritated when he heard his medicine cabinet open and shut.
“When did you start taking Vicodin?”
“Leftover prescription from when I wrenched my neck last spring.” He’d only used half his supply, but he knew those little white tablets were like diamonds, and it was like pulling teeth to get anyone to prescribe it anymore, with all of the lawsuits stemming from overuse of painkillers and celebrities crying “Addiction!” to the tabloids.
She came back out to the living room and began brushing her hair, plopping herself onto the loveseat and propping her feet over the arm. He made a mental note to vacuum the cushions after she left. Hair like hers stood out like a sore thumb over the sedate taupe upholstery. He kept berating himself for not buying the leather sofas when he’d seen them the first time. They weren’t such magnets for stray hairs.
She chucked the brush onto the coffee table and began her usual nervous habit of twisting it into a bun and untwisting it again while Logan joined her, sitting on the opposite couch and flipping the channel to ESPN.
“What are we still doing this for, Logan?”
“You tell me, babe.”
“What do you want out of this relationship?”
“When did it start bein’ a relationship? Ya fergot ta notify me about our change in status. Don’t see how we can call it that, with you bein’ in yer delicate little condition an’ all.”
“What little condition might that be?”
“Married.”
“Great. That’s just great. Let’s just beat this to death,” she harped, rolling her eyes dramatically. “You were fine with this before. We were just having fun! No one was getting hurt.”
“Maybe I was just lyin’ through my teeth. Ya think Scott ain’t gettin’ hurt?”
“I can’t hurt someone who doesn’t feel. Scott’s made of stone.”
“I thought ya liked hard things.” At least below the waist.
“I can get those out of a catalog.”
“Nice,” he sneered, grimacing at the mental image. He found himself growing more interested in Tiger’s golf game than the high drama unfolding itself in the middle of his living room.
“You don’t give a damn about Scott. Don’t pretend you do.” She stretched out like a cat, letting her hair fall in a shining ripple over her shoulders as she got up and strode toward him, lithe and sleek, the evidence that she wasn’t done toying with him poking out the front of his t-shirt. She had that sly look that haunted his daydreams when they first met, but that drove him nuts now. No woman should be that sly, that constantly. Now all that look did was make him check to see if his fly was down.
“Ya oughta head back soon. No sense in making yer neighbors wonder why yer just gettin’ back in during the wee hours, when Scott’s car ain’t in the driveway.”
“Half of them are wondering why his car isn’t in the driveway,” she reminded him, but her sultry tone hardened just a fraction before she straddled his lip, pushing him back into the cushions.
“Quit it, Red,” he griped, hating his body’s response to her insistent grinding in his lap, sinuously rubbing herself against him until he stood at attention.
“You don’t want me to,” she pouted. “You’ll never be able to sleep like that.”
“I’ll muddle through,” he muttered through clenched teeth, but heat pooled between his legs and he began to throb against her softness. She wasn’t wearing any underwear, and he could feel her downy mound abrading his cotton boxers and swollen flesh. He reached around her to change the channel. The effort was completely futile. She leaned forward and nipped his earlobe, making him flinch. He reached to still her restless hips, but ended up find the bare, silky curves of her firm and rounded glutes, and he couldn’t resist cupping them and exploring her, even as his mind screamed at him to push her away. She moaned in his ear; the sound reverberated through his tingling flesh…
His shirt and boxers ended up in a sloppy heap beside the floor lamp as they went at it again. Logan never even turned off his golf game, opting to just put the volume on mute. Jean never noticed the difference.
Jean tossed out her usual assurances that “Scott’s probably got some pretty little piece on the side,” and that Logan shouldn’t feel guilty before she breezed out the door. Logan’s “let’s just call the whole thing off” speech landed on deaf ears. This was how it always started. This week she’d be all smug about how she was doing him a favor. The next, she’d be sending him emails about what a heartless dick he was for not wanting to put up with it anymore, trying to convince him that he was selfish, and that he was ruining her marriage. No matter how you sliced it, he ended up the loser. He didn’t know why he even kept playing the game. He didn’t know whether to dread the day Scott cried foul, or be relieved that it would finally be over without the fur flying in every direction.
Logan woke up from a restless sleep the next morning and perused the contents of his fridge again. Yep. He needed to buy more milk.
He tossed a load of laundry into the wash, remembering to throw in the shirt Jean borrowed. He gave the covers on his king-sized bed a good whiff and decided to throw those in too. Jean would be busy all week, shooting on the set and doing a few red carpet appearances. She’d just won Harvard’s Hasty Pudding Woman of the Year award, so she’d even be on the opposite coast long enough for him to clear his apartment of her scent. He kidded himself that he just might regain some semblance of his sanity “ and his balls “ back without her saturating him with her presence. Absence made the heart grow fonder if your relationship worked that way in the first place. His heart had nothing to do with it.
Logan navigated his shopping cart a short while later through Safeway, nodding greetings to the clerks rushing around in their bright red smocks in the produce aisle, getting tired of replying that he didn’t need any help finding anything by about the fifth time he was asked. Then he wanted to kick himself when he forgot where they kept the trash bags. No trash bags or clerks in sight by the time he reached the household goods.
He was just about to head to the dairy aisle when a pair of long and familiar legs caught his eye over by the butcher’s window.
She was a tall drink of water in her tiny cargo pocket skirt, thong-toed mules and olive green halter top. Thin gold bangles laddered up her slender wrist, and a pair of hoop earrings emphasized her elegant jawline and swanlike neck. She leaned against her cart and had one hand on her hip as she argued over a cut of beef.
“I asked for the petite sirloin. This is London broil. Your ad in this morning’s paper said the sirloin was today’s special.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, the member discount’s only on the London broil.”
“That’s the same discount you always have on that cut. Your ad’s right out front by the entrance. The sirloin’s supposed to be on sale, too.”
“We would have posted it here by the window, on the rack,” he shrugged.
“I’ve got the ad right here, darlin’,” Logan drawled, pulling his cart alongside hers. He unfolded the tattered piece of newsprint from his pants pocket. “Sirloin. Save with yer Safeway card. Today’s ad.” He jabbed a finger at it for the disbelieving genius behind the counter. The man made a face and finally caved.
“Fine. Let me have that a moment, ma’am?” Ororo handed him the package of sirloin, and he stamped it with an orange discount sticker. She beamed prettily at him and accepted it, sliding it into a plastic bag before tucking it into her cart. Logan took the opportunity to steal a look at her other purchases.
Egg bagels. Smucker’s strawberry preserves. Colgate toothpaste. Sally Hansen Tough as Nails Clear Top Coat. Short grain rice. Corn meal. Broccolini. Hm. Never tried it. Almonds from the bulk bin, neatly tied with a green twisty.
“Whatcha got on yer list?” he inquired. Her blue eyes crinkled as though she found his nosiness amusing and way off.
“Milk.”
Bingo.
They fell in step easily as they made their way to the bank of refrigerators along the back wall. Logan almost regretted his decision to talk to her when it occurred to him that he’d denied himself the chance to follow her silently and observe her stroll through the store, with those long legs flashing enticingly from that tiny little skirt, topped off by those hips that could stop traffic. His own shopping list was short and sweet; his days of standing in mile-long lines at Price Club were a thing of the past once his was the only mouth he had to feed. He grabbed the two for one special on the milk and eggs, just so he wouldn’t have to go to the store again. He could always offer the leftovers to his neighbor Wanda if he ended up heading overseas before he finished it all. Her twin boys could go through more milk in two days than Logan could drink in a week.
The she opened her mouth again, and his decision to stop and talk to her felt like a great idea again. Her voice was deep and honey-rich, and dripped with toe-curling sensuality now that they weren’t talking on the phone or in a stuffy meeting.
“Do you always shop here?”
“Can’t justify going to the bigger discount store when I don’t buy much ta begin with, I guess,” he shrugged. “I’m hardly ever home.” Jean never ate at his place, Zone purist that she was.
“Cook much?”
“Nope,” he admitted.
“It can be relaxing.”
“Sloppy pots an’ pans ain’t my idea of a good time.”
“That’s why dishwashers were invented.”
“These are my dish washers right here,” he deadpanned, holding up his hands for inspection. She gazed at them furtively as she selected a carton of eggs and lifted the lid, inspecting them for cracks before closing it and placing it gently into the seat of the cart. His fingers were long, with knuckles slightly thickened from working outside, maybe even from driving or operating machinery on a frequent basis, she surmised. His palms were broad and meaty, too; she’d noticed that when she’d shook his hand the night that he came into her restaurant. It was an enveloping, inviting, cushy grip that sent heat up the entire length of her arm, the sensations echoing in her belly. His hands, like the rest of him, were slightly tanned and burnished, but it wasn’t the bodybuilder “dipped in shoe polish” look from the local salons, thank goodness. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy that went for artifice. His face was his face, his body was his body, and he was his own man.
Lately, she was leaning toward the possibility that he was her kind of man. There was just one little…wrinkle. What was the deal between him the actress?
His eyes were her favorite feature. They seemed almost black the night she saw him across the bar while she was making a spectacle of herself onstage. Up close, they were a warm coffee brown that held a warm amber sheen in bright daylight, heightened even more by his temptingly thick, wavy black hair. There wasn’t anything trendy about his haircut. It was the mostly short, no-nonsense hair of someone who didn’t have time or patience for styling products, but despite the work of a skilled barber, each time she’d seen him so far, it always looks slightly tousled. It almost invited a pair of hands to run through it.
“I woulda figured ya ta do yer shopping at one of those fancy, schmancy, overrated stores like Trader Ricks, or the farmer’s market.”
“Farmer’s market’s my next stop. I get my produce there, along with a few other fresh herbs I can’t live without.”
“Hopefully not the bushy, five-leafed kind,” he kidded dryly.
“Not this week,” she quipped.
Yep. He liked her already.
“Gotcher bags packed fer Japan yet, darlin’?” She quirked her eyebrow at his familiarity before letting a smile creep into the left corner of her mouth. He was enjoying that mouth.
“I hate packing. I love going overseas, but I hate getting ready for it. I need room to spread out, I’m horrible about living out of my suitcase. Too many little things to misplace, too little time to double check if I lost anything or left something behind, and I always have to get things I forgot once I get there.”
“I always keep a ditty bag in my car with all of my ‘little stuff’ in advance. That way, I can just pack a suitcase with my clothes in it for long trips, or just a duffle if I’m gonna be gone for the weekend.”
“How often do you travel?”
“Enough that I only check my mail a few times a month. Post office hates me.”
“Wow.”
“It’s a living.”
“It must be exciting. You’re a cinematographer, right?”
“Yep.”
“So you’ve pretty much seen some of the best sights in the world with a bird’s-eye view, right?”
“Sure. Pretty much. Germany, London, Japan…done a few shots in Japan. Those were some of my favorites.” She nodded, noting his voice became a little wistful. “Love the mountains out there.” She almost laughed when he grabbed not only a gallon jug of whole milk, but a bottle of ridiculously frivolous strawberry Nesquik, pink rabbit on the label and all. What was it about bachelor’s and their crazy eating habits?
Then she caught herself: Was he a bachelor? She checked those yummy, big hands again and peered at his left ring finger. No band, and no tanline. Phew!
“I’ve been there once. I went on sabbatical there for a two month. Took a culinary seminar on a stipend. One of the best experiences of my life.” Ali had come with her. They’d developed a fondness for rice wine and, of course, karaoke. It was nice to be able to make a fool out of herself in a land full of complete strangers.
Logan felt a measure of relief that she really listened to him without any trace of faux-friendly, airheaded awe. She was impressed with his occupation, without acting like a celebrity-chasing suck-up. “So ya’ve probably already seen the sights,” he mused, almost disappointed.
“Not all of the ones I’d like,” she considered. “Bet I’ll be too busy for much sight-seeing. Catering all three meals a day for a whole crew is new to me.”
“I know ya can pull it off. I’ve got faith in ya. Not like that counts fer much, but I tasted yer cooking. That kinda talent is uncanny.”
“Thanks.” Another warm little curl of appreciation rose up through her vitals. His eyes were staring at her almost too intently; she ducked her gaze back down into her purse as she neared the checkout line. Logan stood behind her in line, until another cashier opened her register and waved him into hers. He reluctantly broke away from watching her bend over to lift her paltry pile of groceries out of the cart and load them onto the conveyor belt. She snagged two packets of Wrigley’s gum and some IceBreaker’s spearmint mints as an afterthought. She approached the little pedestal to prop her purse onto it and pulled out her Visa. She keyed in her Safeway Club Card code and waited for the clerk to announce her total, and Logan cursed his own cashier for not moving any faster, almost annoyed with her for babbling on and on about how the weather was, and how she hadn’t stepped out from the air conditioning since six A.M. Ororo refused the clerk’s offer of help, and Logan wanted to rip the guy’s arm off and beat him over the head with it when he caught him ogling Ororo’s backside with open admiration as she tipped off to the exit with her bags slung over her dainty wrist.
“Bye, Logan!” she waved, and she was gone in a flash of legs and swinging white curls. He barely had a chance to nod as he fished out his own checkbook.
Well, that sucks.
On her way out to her car, her cheeks felt flushed, and that funny little tickle still hadn’t subsided.
“Damn, he’s fine,” she muttered as she popped the trunk. Idiot, she chided herself. Shoulda hung back to get a mocha at the Starbucks counter. Or a scratcher ticket at the courtesy counter. Any little excuse to get another whiff of his scent and a better gander at that build. Sure, she towered over him, but the guy wasn’t “little” by any stretch. They’d probably be eye to eye if she sat down next to him, she considered. If she ever got the opportunity.
That was a big “if.”
The dinner meeting at the Goddess still left her feeling uneasy. Ororo had few illusions about meeting Jean Grey, so they weren’t exactly shattered when she showed up ripe and ready for plucking, smelling like she’d gargled in White Zinfandel on the way over. Her signature green eyes were just a tad too bright, and her voice, while sultry, was just a bit slurred. Automatically she’d clung like a burr to her husband, which Ororo certainly had no problem with…except her husband’s cursory kiss on her lips was the last vestige of affection he showed for her all night. She playfully patted him, not unlike a favorite family boxer hound, and cooed in agreement at half of what he said, and chastising him for the other half as dinner progressed. She hardly touched her food, a slight that didn’t go unnoticed by the wait staff or by Kurt, who was already on a short tether after slaving over it. She just toyed with the unagi, drawing little homely patterns in the artfully drizzled sauce on her plate, ruining the design and presentation before she took one bite and chewed it dispassionately.
Her most irritating flaw, though, was the way she looked at Logan when she thought no one else was looking. Ororo still didn’t know why she was looking. She couldn’t take her eyes off the scene unfolding in front of her. Neither could Dani and Shan, who were having a field day catching camera phone shots of Hollywood’s It Girl in her cups.
It was a possessive look. Even a hungry look. Ororo wanted to reach over and slap it off her face. Her greeting to Ororo was coy and oozed false warmth, a token of her pampered upbringing and years of struggling through modeling agencies and auditions. She salved her broken spirit with antidepressants and the occasional snort and just continued to laugh out loud when she snuck peeks at the tabloids. She saved her crying jags for the middle of the night. Scott, and Logan, were the only ones who’d ever heard her cry or held her when she hated everything about herself that the industry loved.
Ororo had known girls like Jean when she was in high school who always seemed to want all of the boys’ attention, but who never made female friends easily, fearing that they would be competition for the most worthy specimens. Ororo never cultivated friendships with girls like that. She hated to be caught in “hold my purse for a minute” hell with homegirls for whom cockblocking was a fine art.
Ororo never had the chance to get a word in edgewise with Logan throughout the dinner. At best, she managed to shoot a few polite questions Scott’s way, which he dimly “ maybe gratefully “ acknowledged while his wife hogged the spotlight. He made her look good, she drank in all the praise. Go, team! Ororo snarled to herself. Poor guy.
Ororo went home and unpacked her groceries and called Ali, arranging another date to kick back before her trip. After she got back from squeezing and sniffing produce at the farmer’s market and listening to a positively awful local band covering Grateful Dead tunes in the city square, watching the hippies dancing with babies in their peasant skirts and Birkenstocks, Ororo undertook the arduous task of cleaning her condo and puttering around in her wardrobe, selecting her outfits for the flight. She limited herself to three pairs of shoes and contemplated taking an empty duffle to bring back souvenirs. She dug inside her lingerie drawer, rooting through myriad pairs of pantyhose and unrolling each “rosebud” to check them for runs and snags. Three pairs made the cut; two pairs went into the garbage. A flash of violet satin winked up at her, and she unburied it from a pile of underpants, taking out the spaghetti-strapped babydoll nightie with black scalloped lace trim around the neckline and inserted into the side plackets of the hem. She’d loved it when she bought it. She’d never worn it since. She held it up to herself in the mirror and pulled a mock femme fatale look, then snorted at herself.
Why the heck not? She folded it neatly and tucked it into her lingerie bag. She followed that with her favorite pair of Victoria’s Secret shortie pyjamas in bubble gum pink cotton with the logo embroidered on the pocket.
“Why can’t I come along with ya? I’ve nevah been out of the country before, you and Mom nevah take me anywhere!”
“Them’s the breaks. Would if I could,” Logan soothed. Marie shot him her Sunday-best pout before pertly sticking out her tongue. She puttered around his kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, tsking in disgust at his usual lack of decent foodstuffs, but she improvised, and snagged a packet of dry salad dressing mix, throwing it in with some dried breadcrumbs and flour, using that to dredge some egg-coated chicken breasts. She sautéed two of them in a small frying pan that had seen better days, and Logan made noises of approval over the edge of his paper. “Yer gettin’ better at that, Anna Banana.”
“Don’t call me that in front of mah friends, if ya love me like ya say ya do, Daddy!”
“It’s my prerogative and my mission in life ta call ya stuff ya’ll never live down in a million years. Call it dad privileges. Stepdad privileges, anyway,” he amended.
“Same thing,” she shrugged over her shoulder as she poured a can of string beans into a saucepan. “Don’t matter that ya weren’t the donor, just that ya were mah daddy.”
“Ya don’t like the shiny new one yer mom brought home?”
“Vic’s okay. If ya like that sorta guy. Uses more hair gel than I do,” she grumbled under her breath. Logan gloated silently as he flipped to the sports pages. He was relieved not to feel as though he’d been replaced.
“Yer mom coulda done worse.” And she had. Raven’s men had been a neverending parade of boy toys, sugar daddies, and “self-made entrepreneurs” that fed her vanity and need to prove that she was still beautiful and vital. She fished for comments and reassurances from her friends that she looked more like her daughter’s sister. Before her sojourns under the surgeon’s scalpel, Logan was fine with the hints of character lines that made her beauty more mature, or they would have, if she would have left good enough alone. Logan and Anna Marie were slowly but surely kicked to the curb. Logan had at least been able to get a divorce at the cost of outrageously high child support and a modest allowance for alimony until Raven’s career as a makeup artist took off. Now that he was just chipping in toward Anna Marie’s expenses that her college aid didn’t cover, at least the moths weren’t flying out of his pockets anymore.
His place was sparely furnished mostly undecorated. A framed photo of Anna Marie sat on top of his desktop monitor. Another photo of Mariko graced his bedroom wall. Jean complained about it every chance she got, but he wasn’t putting it away for her benefit. It comforted him to look at it when he woke up.
He kept his place relatively clean. Once in a while he’d call up Merry Maids between jaunts out of the country to spiff the place up a little and to chase away the stale “old house” smell that resided in every rug fiber and drapery when he was gone too long. His refrigerator was frequently empty, except for what Anna Marie termed “a half a head of old lettuce, a packet of turkey meat with one dried up slice left, half a tomayta, some plain iced tea that no one but you ever drinks, and the heels of a bag of wheat bread.” They fought over the bottle of Nesquik once she spied it in his door shelf. He grudgingly split it with her when she promised to make dinner. The thaw-and-heat dinner rolls were starting to release their aroma into his tiny kitchen, making his stomach growl.
The thought sprang unbidden that Anna Marie would get a real kick out of visiting Ororo’s pretty restaurant and trying out the exotic food, if they could ever get back in. He wondered how much pull he’d have if he asked her to reserve him a table.
“Yer awful quiet, Daddy,” Anna Marie remarked.
“Mmm.” He flipped the page and read the classifieds, letting his eyes roam over the car section. He liked fantasizing about having a vintage car again, or better yet, a motorcycle. It’d been years since he’d rode one. There was nothing like it.
“What’s her name?” Marie prodded.
“Get outta here!”
“Ya get like this whenever ya got a new girlfriend. All secretive an’ stuff.”
“I ain’t seein’ anybody new, kiddo.”
“Sure ya ain’t. I found a tube a’ lipstick in yer drawer that somebody left behind in a hurry,” she drawled, shooting him a smirk.
Dang.
“Don’t got a clue where it coulda come from.”
“Looked new.”
Okay. Different tack.
“What color was it?”
“Hot pink.”
“Ain’t my color.” He rattled the pages at her and shot her a dry look. “I’m more of an autumn.” He mentally chalked up a point for himself.
“Wouldn’t hurt ya ta find someone new, Daddy.”
“That’s what they all say.” It hurt like hell when he lost Mariko. And every time he got too close to Jean, he got burned. Just like the proverbial friggin’ moth.
“It ain’t like yer gettin’ any younger, bub!” she accused.
“We can’t all be like yer mother.”
“Nice. Real nice. I worry aboutcha. I don’t wantcha ta be all by yer lonesome.”
“I’m not. I’ve got my daughter t’come over and fuss over me ever now and again when her busy schedule allows, and I’ve got a job that doesn’t leave a whole lotta room fer a full-time flame, anyway. Least not one that keeps the same hours I do.”
“Too bad ya couldn’t find one in the same line of business.”
“Wish one up fer me with her magic wand.”
Three days later found Ororo perusing the pitiful offerings of bestselling pulp novels at the airline gift store and stocking up on a couple of packets of cocktail nuts, gum, and book of sudoku and crossword puzzles. She’d enlisted Ali to housesit for her, giving her the hairy eyeball when she suggested she “might” have Kurt drop by to keep her company.
“Please. I’ve got to work with that man during daylight hours. Better not have any designs on showing him any of my unmentionables or going through my photo albums.”
“I promise,” Ali whined. “Pinky swear.”
“If he comes back to me with anything that looks, sounds or smells like potential fodder for blackmail, girl, I’m gonna post your high school photo of you with your Olivia Newton-John feathered haircut and blue eyeliner to the Internet!”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Ali was aghast.
“Mwahahahaha.” Ororo pealed off gruesome laughter before goosing her and wrapping her in a sloppy, staggering hug. “I’ll miss you.”
“Miss you, too. I’ll be keepin’ it warm for you!”
“Dang, you’re fickle. You mean Kurt’ll be helping you keep it warm for me!”
“You know it!” Ali dropped her off at the check-in lobby and kissed her cheek noisily before she waved goodbye, leaving Ororo with the faint scent of her perfume and hairspray clinging to her lightweight cardigan sweater as she wheeled her suitcase through the line.
She didn’t expect the flight seating to already be underway as she reached the gate. First class had already boarded by the time she reached the counter to give the attendant her name and seat number.
“Right on time, Miss Munroe!” she chirped, flashing her a sunny smile that was the work of a skilled dentist. Perfectly gleaming veneers were heightened by a bright red slash of lipstick. That was Los Angeles, land of the beautiful people.
She filed into the line and made her way down the corridor, saying a silent prayer for a safe and uneventful flight, asking God for angels on the wings of the plane as she greeted the captain. She pretended his look was merely solicitous rather than a blatant leer, but she failed miserably. She still felt his eyes on her butt as she searched for her seat. She was just negotiating around a harried looking mother with a son and daughter who looked to be about five and three, respectively, praying that she didn’t have to sit across the aisle from them for the whole trip. The alternative wasn’t much better; she found her seat and was dismayed to find herself greeted by a woman who chattered a mile a minute and was dressed for a Vegas vacation in a glittery gold jacket and hot pink canvas track suit with tons of jewelry straight off of QVC. Ororo had just stowed her bag overhead, barely managing to fit it in the compartment, when the flight attendant strolled up to her and bent down close to speak.
“Miss Munroe?”
“Yes?” She wasn’t expecting to be addressed by name on a crowded flight at one of the busiest airports in the country.
“There was a mix-up with your seat assignment.”
“Oh?” She remembered asking the travel agent for a window seat, which her neighbor conveniently snagged before she got there, the picture of innocence.
“Yes. I’m taking you to your seat in first class!”
Obviously, those angels on the wings were looking out for her already. Hot diggety dog! She couldn’t suppress the grin playing around her lips as she bade her seat mate a hasty goodbye and followed the attendant behind the curtain.
The first class cabin was more spacious than she had imagined it, vaguely remembering a time when she’d flown that posh on a trip with her mother to visit some relatives in New York when she was a child. But that was nothing like this.
And she had a completely different traveling companion this time. He was already sipping a plastic cup of Sprite as the attendant deposited her at the aisle and relieved her of her bag.
“Go halfsies on a pair of headphones?” Logan offered.
Cutting the Fat is Harder than it Looks by Goddessreiko
Ain’t No Business
Chapter Seven
*Halfsies?* Was this man kidding? Surely he must know what going through her mind. He HAD to have known that she didn’t want to give him half of anything. More like a hol....Great, just freggin great, again. Seven whole uninterrupted hours next to this man. Either this was the meanest best joke ever, or someone up there was trying to tell her something.
“Ororo?”
“Hmmm!”
“You kinda just drifted off for a minute there.”
“Sorry, I was just thinking.”
“About?”
“Ahh, golf.”
Logan raised an eyebrow at her. He couldn’t help it. She was so darn cute. And tall, and smart, and had the biggest eyes ever, and the bounciest uhm curls. *Keep it clean, Bub* He never knew why the voice in his head even bothered talking to him. He couldn’t ever remember listening to it. Nope, never. Notta once.
Not when he was in a four year relationship with Itsu. His brain said, “Hey James, LEAVE HER SISTER ALONE!” Next thing he knew, he had risked life, limb, and honor to run away with her younger sister, Mariko. Then it was the “genius” idea of joining the army. His brain said the special forces wasn’t the safest of all things to do. So of course he signed up and was quickly promoted, just in time for Desert Storm. He knew the missions were getting more and more dangerous. Mariko’s letters were getting desperate, and depressing. The brain said go home. So he stayed. He told himself he had three more weeks of deployment. Nothing was going to happen. After all, he wasn’t “Lucky Jim” for being pretty.
Then came the rescue mission. His squad had finally found some NATO workers who had been missing for months. Twelve people went in for the rescue, and only five of the rescuers came out with the prisoners. He had been shot and presumed dead. Unfortunately no one had properly identified him, so the letter went out, while he had been rescued and was slowly recovering in an American hospital in Lebanon. When he made it home, all he wanted to see was a happy Mariko and some fresh crispy spring rolls. Instead he got a wife drowned dead at the bottom of their bathtub. When the funeral was over, and all was said and done, the voice popped up again. *Told ja so.*
“And I was accused of getting lost in space.” Ororo watched Logan stare at his soda with the greatest intensity a carbonated beverage could muster. “Where did you just go?”
“No where special. Just here and there.”
“What were you thinking about?”
“Lunch?”
“Don’t get the lobster. Airfare shellfish is notorious for being not fresh. By time people get sick, they’ve already landed and have eaten somewhere else, so they never think about the plane food.”
“Thanks for the tip darlin. So, that leaves the Kobe Steak for dinner. That solves that problem, but what do you propose for lunch, milady?”
Propose? Isn’t that a little to early. Ororo took a long hard look at his naked fingers, and for the briefest of nanoseconds, she let her mind wonder.
They both looked at each other and simultaneously said, “Chicken!”
She dug her behind in her leather plush seat to get more comfortable, and took out the folded magazine that was in her purse. There was a serious lack of fashion in this zine, she also saw how thin it was. Which one was this again?
People? *Le groan.* Where’s the Vogue? She flipped it over to read the date, maybe it was a recent one, and therefore somewhat relevant.
Then she saw the cover.
Logan, who was trying to sleep but found it *hard* to focus when Ororo began squirming in her seat, opened one eye to see why all the movement stopped. She was gaping at a magazine in a shocked state. He leaned over and slowly took the magazine out of her hand. On the cover was a armature, but clear, shot of a drunk Jean Grey-Summers stumbling through The Goddess.
“I’m going to kill them.”
“Who, sweetheart?” Seeing her state of mind, he felt it was his civic duty to comfort her. She leaned into him when his arm snaked around to rub her back.
“My hostesses. They promised me they would behave.” He looked at her with dark sorrowful eyes and a puppy dog pout. Ororo turned her head to the window so he wouldn’t see the corner of her mouth turn up.
“It’s alright.” He moved his had in small circles in the center of her back. Feeling her muscles relax, had the opposite effect on him, but he kept his ministrations up. When the fabric of her top got in the way and bunched up he found himself upset at it. What the hell?
“Listen up, darlin.” He noticed she kept her eyes on the widow, so he cupped his free hand around her chin and turned her face. Finally, his body shivered in delight. He was able to touch more of her and look at her closely. Her face was painfully beautiful. There was nothing special about that when you lived in L.A., but there was uniqueness to it. She had a wide flat nose that’s often not seen in many Americans. But, the prize of the fair was her eyes. They were blue! When he was looking at her during dinner, he assumed they were brown. When he saw her for the second time he thought they her a dark grey. How could he miss it? They were ocean blue. As amazing as they were, nothing could compare to the eleven freckles he found on her face. Four on one side of her nose, three on the other, one right on the bottom corner of her eye, and the last two right below the end of her other eyebrow.
“Listen to what?” He was starting to worry her. When most people looked directly at her they would often find something wrong. She tended to avoid having people look directly into her face. She was always found wearing hat, scarves, bangs.
He reluctantly removed his hands. “Jeanie is used to pictures and stories like this. She loves to pretend that it bothers her. But then she goes out and parties for days at a time, knowing full well there’s paparazzi on her tail. When you’re a huge star, there’s no such thing as bad press, no matter how ugly it is.”
“This picture looks like she has something nasty under her nose and she’s been up for three days trying to get it out, while drinking a tub of spritzers.”
“Damn girl, tell me what ya really think!”
Ororo laughed for several minutes. “Do you have a laptop or a Blackberry or something? I need to check on something?”
Logan reached into his the bag on his lap and got his multi-tasking phone out. He unlocked it and handed it to her. Nimble long fingers graced his as he let go of the phone. “Who ya callin’?”
“I left some cookies for Charles. Well actually they were delivered. I want to make sure he got them, as well as the chocolate. He managed to sucker me into making him my special spicy chocolates.”
“Yeah that man has a way of charming a dragon to eat a slurpie, ... did you just say spicy chocolate?”
“Yep. It’s a recipe I found out about while I was in Arizona. I went to a reservation to check out some real southwest cooking and I came across a chili party.” He encouraged her with a look. “A chili party is when all the dishes brought are made with every kind of chili peppers. Even the desserts, which made my head spin. This little lady old lady from Brazil had made these deep dark chocolate squares that were sweet when you bit into them but when your salvia started to break it down the spice kicked it. It was heavenly. See look, Charles sent me a thank you. Ooh and a picture. Dear Ororo, Thank’s for the cookies and candy. The milk you suggested really came in handy! He’s such a sweet man. I love the picture.” Indeed there was a picture of Charles Xavier with chocolate on the corners of his mouth under a milk mustache.
Logan leaned in to look at the picture. Never in all his life did he every have a boss that had a milk mustache and was proud of it. He also got a good whiff of Ororo’s scent. It smelled like...
“Excuse me Ladies and Gentleman we will be taking off in roughly ten minutes. Please make your final preparations.” The overhead voice cut off and there was a flurry of movement behind the curtain that separated coach and first class.
Ororo’s arm, which was resting next to his own, had stiffened up along with the rest of her body. He began to massage her back again. “Take off can be a bitch. But I prefer landing my self.” His attempt at levity went unnoticed.
Her eyes had dilated, and her nostrils had flared. Her hands had curled up in a tight fist. He could hear her pant to breath, and her chest was heaving unevenly. Not that he was looking or anything.
“Oh good lord. Are you claustrophobic?”
She finally snapped out of it long enough to look at him with pleading eyes. “Take off has more pressure. Feels like its all caving in. Anticipation makes me- -,”
It had been a long time since he had seen a woman in actual pain that wasn’t a call for attention. He had to put up with that crap with Jean and Raven. One wouldn’t take the medicine she needed and the other one would disappear for days at a time. He placed his hand over her fist and squeezed, then brought it to his nose so he could softly nuzzle it. The warmth made her hand loosen up. He pushed up the arm rest so it was in it’s crook in the upper part of the seat, making it into one seat. The arm he had around her pulled her closer to rest her head under his chin. She was soft and pliable.
He nearly ran off the plane with her when she whimpered. Knowing that would be a bad idea on many levels, he settled for just humming her songs that he used to sing to Marie when she was upset. By time the plane took to the air, Logan’s new human blanket was already fast asleep.
~Summers’s Malibu Home~
Scott turned up the television not caring at all what was on. He then opened up the L.A. Times not seeing a word that was there. Everything he did to stave off the temptation wasn’t working. His last and final attempt was to turn his back to the phone to try and not use it. The third time he turned to look at it was his undoing.
It took him no time at all to dial the all too familiar number.
“Hello?”
A soothing and achingly familiar voice answered, “Scott? What are you doing?”
“I thought I was calling you.” He could just see her thick red curls just flounce around as she shook her head at his witty remark.
“Very funny. If your calling me, my sister must not be there.”
“You must be psychic. She’s in New York. Last time I checked you where only a couple miles away.”
“The last time you checked was Tuesday, Scott.”
He could tell she wanted to know why he was calling. Jean. It was came to her sister it was always about what she was doing, to many parties, to much liquor, to much coke, to much god damn power. When it came to Scott it was always about what Jean wasn’t doing. She wasn’t memorizing scripts, not taking care of her diet, not taking the anti-depressants, not going to their shrink, and the big one, not having sex. Well, with him. Sure, Monday’s and Tuesdays were good, but the last time he checked, there were seven days in a week.
At first when Jean’s behavior had changed, he wasn’t too worried. Then it began to effect her work. When she became a regular no-show to rehearsals, readings, and started to delay actual filming, he had turned to her family to see why she had suddenly changed. Her parents were defended her blindly. Scott immediately recognized them as enablers. He didn’t need Emma, their shrink, to tell him that.
It was her twin sister that had some answers for him. She had told him that this change in his wife wasn’t so sudden. She had always had a safe likable side that was often polished and prepped for show. When the work got to hard and she didn’t want to do it any more she just indulged in her own pleasures. To her there was no such thing as compromise. Life was either good or terrible. It was Jean’s sister and Scott who understand how terrible it was for her to see no middle ground.
This recognition made what they were doing both justified and wrong.
“Scott, we miss you.”
“It’s nice to hear. I miss you both. How is Nate? Is he enjoying the books I gave him.”
“He loved them. I have never seen a five year old read so veraciously.”
“Nate’s gonna do great things with his mind one day, just like his mamma.” Her bubbly laughter made his feet feel warm.
“Or maybe he’ll be a natural leader just like his daddy. How many times do I have to tell you, hmm. I’m just a stylist.”
“What! Just a stylist. You own your own line of clothing, accessories, and your about to launch an international line. You make Rachel Zoe look like a desperate attempt at a seventies comeback in a anorexic flesh suit.”
“Scott, you’re far too much of an ego boost,” she took an deep breath, “and I love you for it.”
“I love you too, Madyeline. I know its Maddie, but the whole name sounds nice when I only get just your voice.”
“Scott you are just too much. Same time and place tomorrow?”
“Don’t you know it.”
Scott hung up the phone and made on last phone call for the night.
“Hi, Scott,” Emma’s sultry accented voice greeted him, “I hope your not calling to cancel your appointment. You know that’s the only reason why you call. I’m beginning to regret seeing your number on my phone.”
“I’m sorry Em, but something has come up. Can we reschedule, please?”
Before she answered, she left a deliberate pause to make him sweet a little. She always caved in for him, and if she continued to get her way her cave would have a special guest. “Of course. How about this Wednesday night, my office?”
“Deal.” He had the terrible suspicion that he just set himself up for trouble.
No less than fifty feet from the Summers’s residence was a black utility van bustling with activity. The satellite on top adjusted it’s direction to pick up more of the phone call. The driver pressed the call button on her two-way walky talky.
“Sara, can you see anything?”
“No, Callis. It’s pitch black out here and there’s night vision photos don’t make good shots. What about you? Did you pick up anything good?”
“Did I! Your not going to believe this. Once our tech guys clean it up, it’s gonna hit hard. So screw the pics, and lets skittdaddle.”
Sara climbed down the tree and did several cartwheels when she skipped down the quiet street. Things have been looking up for them.
Bad Taste in My Mouth by OriginalCeenote
Sometimes Raven loved her job.
Hairstylists and makeup people had the strange and nearly hypnotic effect of drawing their clients out to confess the scandals of their lives like they were sitting in a tiny box and talking to the man behind the screen. Spouses’ lack of sensitivity and children’s accomplishments or failures were divulged under the warm spray of water in the shampoo sink. Past indiscretions or diets that were cheated on came out at the manicure counter or while calluses were pumiced during a pedicure. Estheticians drew tears when they yanked wax strips off their victim’s eyebrows or simply asked “So what’s new?”
She’d never been privy to gossip like this when she was still at home raising Anna Marie. She was lucky if she even got a halfway decent lunch date that didn’t just involve the salad bar at Round Table or spending many a dull hour counting Weight Watchers points and weighing the merits of preschool versus home school. It was so nice to hang out with the real grownups in all of their dysfunctional glory.
“I think Scott’s seeing someone else,” Jean opined as Raven tipped her face toward her, tilting her chin up so she could correctly position the nickel-plated eyelash curlers. Jean rolled her eyes off to the side to avoid blinking so she wouldn’t flinch when Raven clamped them into place, leaving her reddish-blonde fringe perfectly crimped and enviably long.
“You don’t know that for sure?” Raven suggested helpfully. “Has he been acting differently lately?” Jean failed to suppress an aggrieved snort.
“Lately?”
“That long?”
“Months.”
“Ouch. What are you going to do? Have you called him out about it?”
“No.” She shrugged and leaned back in the chair so Raven could daub moisturizer under her eyes, patting it with feather-light fingertips, avoiding the creasing caused by “rubbing.” Raven turned away to mix the custom blend of foundation that she only used on Jean, designed to give her already peaches and cream complexion an evenness and translucence that wouldn’t need airbrushing in photos at red-carpet events or random “drive by” attacks by paparazzi catching her in random acts of living like getting a latte at Starbucks or walking her tiny Bichon Frisse, Persephone. Raven clipped a small cosmetic sponge into the desired shape and size with a pair of manicuring scissors and dipped it into the base. She swept it over the T-zone of Jean’s face, working her way out to the crowns of her cheekbones, leaving her skin a perfect “blank slate” for the rest of what she had planned. Jean’s face was a monochrome mask, made all the more otherworldly by the absence of her signature red hair, tucked safely under the protective plastic cap.
“You can leave at any time?” Raven hinted. “He’s not mistreating you otherwise?”
“No. Oh, no. Of course not,” she huffed, letting a nervous smile creep over her lips. Raven was impressed that she hadn’t begun relying on Botox or collagen yet to maintain her plump, bee stung pout. Raven hadn’t been able to frown for the past six weeks. She was almost due for another shot.
“You don’t think you can talk to him about this?”
“I know I can’t talk to him about this. It’s not like he’s been all that subtle.” Raven loaded a brush with powder and swept it down Jean’s nose in wispy strokes, soothing her jangled nerves. The avocado and oatmeal facial alone, complete with a massage that almost made her fall asleep would have been enough. But venting to the woman who made her look more beautiful than she felt was a godsend. “I had our phone tapped. I don’t think he has a clue. For what we pay for our wireless service, you’d think he’d use his cell phone more often.”
“Men are cocky that way.” Marie’s biological father certainly had been. She’d never bought his ridiculous alibis of playing poker with his friends on the weeknights.
“He hasn’t made a move yet. Or he hasn’t talked about it from home.” Jean knew a little something about not shitting where you ate. Her arrangements to meet Logan were normally made from the driver’s seat of her car or from her Blackberry when she was shopping. That was half the reason she so seldom hired a driver; little rabbits, even the well-paid ones, had big ears, too, and even bigger mouths.
“The house has been too clean,” Jean groused.
“That’s a bad thing?” Raven was an obsessive-compulsive neat freak. Logan hadn’t been “housebroken” until they split. Then he kept his own home Spartan and uncluttered.
“I don’t think he’s been spending as much time there.”
“You act like you aren’t there to see him coming and going.”
“I’m not. Not much. Things have been busy.” Her trip to New York, for one. She spent a few days with her best friend from high school, Lorna Dane, and they’d attended a few gallery exhibits and a restaurant opening, ending up on the pages of Us Weekly and In Style and earning comparisons to other female celebs who attended galas in pairs. She’d just anesthetized herself on eight balls and painkillers when thoughts of how things with Scott used to be haunted her and made her think too much. Lorna and her latest boyfriend, Bobby, who was an accountant, undressed her and poured her into the shower, cleaning her up before tucking her into Lorna’s bed after a spectacular bender. She’d spent the next day at breakfast hiding her hangover behind a pair of enormous sunglasses. “You aren’t fooling even one fucking person here, you know that, right? It’s like when you’re a kid and you close your eyes, convinced that no one can see you if you can’t see them.” She hissed at Lorna to shut her piehole and pass the pitcher of mimosas.
“I get the feeling it’s someone he works with. Some of his conversations are with someone that he sets appointments with?”
“So it’s not anyone employed in your home?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Maybe she’s an escort?”
“He’d never sink that low. But he probably pays whoever it is to listen to him drag on and on, and ON about his problems at the studio. Sometimes that’s a job I don’t really want.”
She seldom spent the entire night at Logan’s. Again, people would talk. No sense in bringing the press banging at his front door. She was always gone before his next door neighbor, Wanda, turned on her sprinklers and walked their dog. They’d done the hotel thing before every now and again, but Jean was running out of fake names to check herself in under, and reporters had a way of squeezing the information out of the tightest-lipped concierge desks.
Her blood ran cold when he started to push her away. He no longer greeted her at the door with kisses full of hunger and need. More often than not, he just beckoned to her to put her things away in his room for the duration of her stay so nothing would be left inadvertently out in the open. They didn’t shower as often as they used to, either. Sometimes he asked her to shower before he’d even let her touch him. Dimly it occurred to her that he didn’t want to smell or taste Scott’s essence on her skin.
It was also beginning to occur to her that she was getting tired. Try to please all, and you please none, her mother always told her. Jean scoffed at the memory of her mother, Elaine, telling her the story about the old man, the little boy and their donkey. She was carrying that donkey on her back and wasn’t impressing anyone.
Jean and Logan never played hooky from the set on the same days. Please…it would be like kissing him on the mouth with Scott standing right there. Scott carped if their housekeeper turned his undershirts the wrong way in the drawer when she folded them and put them away.
If you don’t feed your man, he’ll eat somewhere else. She wondered whose table Logan had bellied up to for a bite these past few weeks. Scott…well, he’d been pretending not to be hungry for so long that Jean merely forgot to set the table anymore.
“When’s your flight to Tokyo?”
“We’re actually flying into Sapporo. Studio jet. The crew’s already there, setting up.” Then Jean enjoyed the brief opportunity to name-drop. “We have that new, trendy little restaurant catering for the whole set. The owner’s the one who was on Oprah a little while back. A few weeks after I was on, mind you.” She couldn’t resist.
“Which one was that? The one from Food Network?”
“Oh, no. She’s not that camp. She wrote that little cookbook for people who want to cook on a budget. You know, she’s got that flashy white hair, she’s kind of cute…Aurora something.”
“Wait…Ororo Munroe?”
“Yes. YES, that’s her! Keep forgetting her name. She seemed nice enough. Food was a little spicy for my taste.” Not that it mattered. She’d been hammered enough to barely taste it. She vaguely remembered biting into a chunk of something that resembled eel and tasted like chicken. Jean liked being surrounded by pretty people, so meeting the restaurant’s owner and feeling her firm handshake was no big shebang. As long as no one in the room outshined her, everything was fine. The only thing that rubbed her the wrong way was the assessing look in the woman’s eyes that made Jean feel like she had spinach in her teeth. She’d almost seemed like she’d been introduced to a living god, looked down, and seen her clay feet.
So naturally, she had to turn the bitch act up a notch. She sent back almost every dish with only one bite taken from each and deflected polite questions, preferring to talk about what she wanted instead, even if the topics were over the heads of anyone listening. Shit, she could have described her last high colonic in gruesome detail, smiling like Miss America, and no one would have stopped her. She was Jean fucking Grey-Summers, fer chrissakes. The moment she set foot into any room, she owned it. Ororo’s attempts to make chit-chat with Charles and Eric, and to even draw Scott out of his usual foot-thick shell met with failure, thanks to Jean’s numerous shoot-downs and interruptions that kept her entertained all night. She felt Scott’s arm tense up under her grip, which made her titter. Little Florence Henderson tipped back into the kitchen where she belonged, and Jean happily monopolized the table, flirting shamelessly with Charles and Eric, buttering them up like the old farts that they were. Logan continued to glare at her, shooting the occasional furtive glance at the kitchen’s swinging doors. He’d eaten everything on his plate, she sniffed inwardly. She couldn’t fathom why.
“I’ve been wrangling to get a table with her for months. I know my daughter’s been dying to go. I just want to see if it’s worth all the hype.”
“If you’re into that sort of thing.” Jean was a regular at Nobu. “How is Anna these days?”
“Still doing her level best to give me gray hair. She and Vic don’t get along so well. I don’t know why. She manages to say something snide every time he steps through the door.”
“You said she was close to her father?”
“Her stepfather. She worships the ground he walks on, as though he could do no wrong.” All things considered, he hadn’t really done anything wrong, except that he wouldn’t take care of her needs, and if he couldn’t even do that, what good was he?
“What does he do again?”
“He used to be in the service. He flew choppers during Desert Storm.”
“Neat.” She didn’t give it a second thought. “So’s this guy I know. He loves to fly.” Logan had ignored her attempts to let her into the studio’s choppers for a little “tour.” He was such a poop.
At least some time on the jet would give her the time to think and get away from it all for a day. She had a fresh prescription of Valium and some of the Vicodin tablets that she’d stolen from Logan’s medicine cabinet the last time they met. He’d never miss them. Jean rolled her eyes up again while Raven placed some additional false lashes into the corners of her eyes to supplement what she had, using cosmetic glue and tiny tweezers to nudge them into place.
“Those pilots have big egos,” Raven warned. Jean never said that she was seeing this “guy she knew.” She didn’t have to. Raven had been Jean’s makeup stylist for a long time. The only thing missing from their exchanges was the knowledge of their common connection. It didn’t hurt that they each referred to him by different names, did it?
“I can handle a big ego,” Jean bragged. “I married a director.” Jean continued to fill Raven’s ear with details on the goodies that she’d scored at Bergdorf’s, Barney’s and Vera Wang’s and mentioned a cute little pair of pumps she might go back for at Neiman-Marcus. Both women continued to spill all, but from behind the safety of their respective masks.
~ Elsewhere: ~
“We need the fruit platters for the extras’ tent, Miss Munroe.”
“I’ve already got ‘em. Four of them headed over there right now,” she said, nodding at the departing cart as one of Xavier’s paid staff members wearing a jacket with the catering logo on the back strode outside.
“What else are we serving them today?”
“The salad with raspberry vinaigrette, the rosemary chicken, spring rolls, the ceviche with blue tortilla chips, jasmine rice, and the sushi trays. Mostly stuff that they can grab and go.”
“Sounds good. By the way, your bag was ringing a little while ago, might want to check your messages.”
“Thanks.”
“Where did you get the cool ringtone of Nine Inch Nails?”
“I don’t even remember.”
“Damn. Too bad. I love that song.”
“Guilty. Me, too.” Ali had downloaded it for her a little while back when they had been “in that kind of mood” for ice cream and angry music. Ali appreciated Ororo’s R&B collection well enough, but she’d introduced her to a lot of music that she’d never think to pick up on sale at Best Buy.
Ororo escaped back to the spacious kitchen, making her way through the flurry of sous chefs and bus staff, being careful not to bump into anyone flipping a saucepan with flames licking up over he edge or fall over anyone extracting enormous pans out of the ovens. It was a challenge, literally cooking enough food every day to feed an army of crew, extras, and eventually cast members, once the Summers showed up the following week to begin shooting. Right now, the set-up shots on location were what had everyone hopping.
Every now and again, Ororo would run into Logan. It was beginning to feel intentional. She was still blushing at the memory of waking up with her nose buried in the flap of his collar. The sprinkle of coarse hairs peeking up over his neckline tickled her lips as she nuzzled more deeply into the deliciously warm, solid bulk beneath her, supporting her and making her more comfortable than she expected to be on an airline seat. She could have sworn she felt the faint caress of someone’s lips against her scalp.
All she could remember was the flight attendant setting down their meals on the trays as silently as possible, catching someone’s husky, muttered reassurances that no, they didn’t need anything else right now, but could she maybe bring back a cookie or two? She felt her cozy support shifting and negotiating the snug space around them, and heard the crisp flap of money being counted out from a billfold and handed over before a wiry arm corded with muscle propped her up, adjusting the position of her head against her host’s firm jaw. Absently she reached up to rub her eye, and her hand accidentally batted against warm skin, covered in a fine layer of raspy stubble. Her body woke up in slow degrees: Her ears heard the hum of the engines and the faint shriek of the turbines, the wind buffeting against the hull of the plane as they hit a small patch of turbulence. Her long legs had fallen asleep from their odd position. They were bent, as though she had tried to stretch them out but ran out of room. Her mind swam with images from magazines she couldn’t remember reading and a crossword puzzle she had lost interest in. Her feet tapped against the armrest closest to the aisle, and she felt a fuzzy blanket slither free from her shoulder, draping over her lap.
“Time ta eat something, Sleeping Beauty,” chuckled a voice against her temple.
That jolted her awake more effectively than a bucket of icy water.
“What the hell…oh, my GOD! How did I end up…?” Her voice trailed off as Logan shifted his long, thick thighs beneath her weight, trying to feed some more blood flow into them but loathe to let her remove herself. For the moment she was looking at him with curious, enormous eyes that were no longer bleary with sleep. He was still wondering how he managed to miss those cute little freckles of hers that night at the Goddess. He was tempted to kiss one of the ones below her eyebrow, just because it was there, and because she was so tempting.
“Remember how ya said ya were a little claustrophobic? Don’t know if this is helping all that much…guess I ain’t exactly givin’ ya a lot of space, but I made the attempt,” he indicated, nodding to the armrests that were in their up positions to allow her more room. “Those are some impressive legs ya got, darlin’.” She tried to stretch but couldn’t, so she contented herself with an unladylike, almost leonine yawn, drawing his attention to her mouth again. The gesture was sexy and indolent, and he took advantage of her lax muscles and settled her on his lap carefully, and she couldn’t escape the feel of an insistent bulge against her rump. Her palm that was already lying over his chest skimmed over him, feeling his heartbeat and heat. He smoothed her hair from her face, freeing a strand that got caught in the corner of her mouth, caressing the little pillow crease on her cheek. Returning the solicitous favor, she straightened his collar as she sat up.
“You can’t have enjoyed sitting like this for…how long have we been up here?” That’s where she was wrong. He enjoyed himself immensely listening to every little murmur and whimper, drinking in the scent of her hair.
“Bout five hours. Not too much longer,” he assured her cheerfully. She tsked at him, full of guilt at what had to be a difficult journey for him, and that begged the obvious question.
“Need to go to the men’s?” she offered.
“In a minute.” He did, but she smelled sweet and sleep-warmed and felt invitingly soft. He reached for a glass of 7-Up with ice, and she noted that it looked like it had just been poured. She was touched at his thoughtfulness. He handed her the cup, but before she could actually take it from him, he guided it to her lips for a sip, steadying it for her as she drank her fill.
“Mmmm. Thanks,” she murmured. “Had cotton mouth.” She took the cup from him and their fingertips brushed, sending more little tingles of electricity through her stomach and making her realize that they were on a plane “ first class, granted “ and that she was in a precarious, awkward, and…promising position that would raise a few more eyebrows if she gave in to the mad urge to tilt her head just a fraction of an inch and close the gap between her lips and his. He had very nice lips. Chiseled, with a hint of fullness in the bottom one. His upper lip had a sharp, sexy little notch that she couldn’t stop staring at.
“Have I got something on my face?” he inquired.
“Have you got…? No. No, no. No. Nothing. You’re fine,” she huffed. Too fine, if you really wanted the truth. “I’d better…let you get up, I guess.”
“If you’re ready,” he agreed easily enough. “You gonna be okay fer a minute?”
“Sure,” she smiled, smoothing her hair as she shifted off his lap. He stifled a groan but managed not to limp as he rose from his seat, nodding to her with a wicked smile before he made his way up the aisle and disappeared behind the curtain. She felt the cool air rush against her as the blanket fell away, pooling on the floor as she perused her meal tray. The chicken was unremarkable looking, but at least it looked and smelled thoroughly cooked when she prodded it with her knife, instead of ptomaine on a plate.
She’d almost composed herself by the time Logan navigated his way back over people’s elbows and feet, and she met his appraising glance gratefully as he sat back down.
“What’d ya have planned ta pass the time fer the rest of the flight, Ororo?”
“Not much. I’ve got some tunes, my magazines, some crosswords, nothing exciting.”
“I can help with that,” he announced. “Let me get up fer a sec.” She edged out of her seat and let him up, enjoying the little thrill that ran through her as his body brushed hers again on his way to stand. He reached into the compartment and pulled down a dark canvas laptop case.
“Computer?” she inquired.
“Nope. DVD player.”
“Hot dog! What did you bring?”
“Got a few action movies that I bought used from Amazon. Ever seen ‘Collateral’?”
“Nope.”
“That makes two of us. I’ve been waitin’ ta sit down and watch it. Here. I got us some cookies.” Ororo took her time nibbling tiny bites of an Otis Spunkmeyer chocolate chunk cookie and enjoyed the next hour and a half of trading wisecracks with Logan about Tom Cruise’s funky looking blond hair and Logan’s own experiences working on movie sets. She learned a lot about him for the remainder of the flight. He was a real kick in the pants, told great stories and was a more than decent thumb wrestler. At least that contact with him was better than none at all, now that they were back on more platonic footing.
That didn’t stop her from thinking about him now as she answered her voice mails and email, noting a couple of messages from Ali. Ali had been her anchor and lifeline, keeping her apprised of what was going on with the restaurant while she was away. She’d even managed to wrestle Dani and Shan’s razor phones away from them one night when she caught them celebrity-trawling again, and Ororo got both of them on the phone and gave them a long-distance, blistering promise that they wouldn’t make her restaurant fodder for the Enquirer’s front page. They sheepishly apologized, and they put Ali back on the phone, who filled her ear with more than she wanted to know about how good Kurt was out of the kitchen, if she knew what she meant, hint, hint…
“You’re terrible. A horrible influence,” Ororo sighed.
“Once more reason why you love me,” Ali grinned into the phone. “Have you gotten any yet?”
“ALI!”
“C’mon. All those good-looking guys working for a film company, making oodles of money and being far away from home, in those awesome little hotels and rentals, and you haven’t even tried to get the tiniest little piece?”
“That’s not why I’m here, Ali, hello?”
“Doesn’t hafta be your main reason,” Ali grumbled. “It’s just a little perk of the job. Go and get you some.”
“I don’t like flings. Flings are bad. They involve game-playing, and lying to myself. And settling for less than what I really want. I don’t do flings. I’m getting too old for that shit.”
“Whaddever. You were in a real relationship with Forge and with Bishop, or so you told me, but they both played plenty of games. I won’t even go into that mess you had with Mr. Wonderful.” She never mentioned him by name anymore, thanks to Ororo’s stern edict.
“So I should just plunge into a short-term little hot fudge sundae of noncommittal sex, instead of looking for the healthy square meal?”
“Bingo.”
“What does Kurt think of your charming little philosophy on the subject?”
“We haven’t gotten past the ‘oh God, ride me, Kurt!’ phase of things yet.”
“You mean there’s another phase after that? I’m impressed. You’re slipping in your old age, Ali. I think you like him.”
“Kiss my ass!” She still heard warmth in her voice, and some other gooey, squishy little something that sounded like contentment. Yup. She was falling for him.
“Bend over.” Ororo made little puckery noises at Ali, evoking giggly snorts from the other end of the line.
“Gads, I miss you. Come home all in one piece, minus the piece you give up.”
“Behave.”
“I will. Very, very badly.” They rang off, and Ororo felt lonelier than she had before.
Ororo put away her phone and went outside to mingle with the crew. She was getting to know a lot of them by name. Amusingly, an intern named Jubilee asked her for an autograph, and she and another girl named Sooraya asked her to pose for a picture taken with their digital camera.
“Now we can prove we met the woman who wrote the Cheap Ass Meal cookbook!” Jubilee crowed, nudging Sooraya, who elbowed her back.
“Cheap Ass Meals?” Ororo smothered a chuckle, covering the bridge of her nose with her hand.
“Don’t mind them. Someone gave ‘em some sugar a little while ago. The high hasn’t worn off yet,” Kitty assured her. “It’s always like this before the main cast arrives. People run around like they don’t have real jobs to do before anyone asks them to do real work. Then it never ends.”
“You’re the one who builds the robots, right?”
“I can build anything,” she corrected her without artifice and justifiable conceit. “Just finished a sabbatical. I had to decompress after I got my piece of paper from MIT.” Ororo’s mouth dropped open. Kitty didn’t look a day over twenty-one.
“Wow. Never would have guessed.”
“It’s not just for guys who need a back wax anymore. Lots of girls are becoming techies, too. Me, I can’t cook to save my life, so I kinda admire anyone who can. Pete’s pretty handy in the kitchen,” she mused, nodding to the huge, dark-haired Goliath adjusting the lighting on the set and rearranging the furniture and props. “Peter! Come over and make nice with the lady who’s feeding us!”
“Dosvydanya,” he greeted, lumbering over with surprising grace for someone who was easily six and a half feet tall and was built like an oak tree. Cobalt blue eyes twinkled down at her warmly, and her hand was engulfed in his in a handshake that thankfully didn’t crush her fingers.
“People call you Big Guy a lot, don’t they?” He rolled his eyes in mock disgust.
“Of course they do. Anything’s better than ‘How’s the weather up there, buddy?’”
“That scarred him as a child,” Kitty grinned unsympathetically, wrapping her arms around his waist like he was her personal teddy bear. They made a cute pair, Ororo thought, if they were indeed a pair.
“We’ve probably been to the same support groups, then.”
“Thought I recognized you from somewhere.”
“Yeah, like her book, genius!” Jubilee interjected.
“He was being facetious,” Sooraya informed her under her breath. Jubilee cavalierly blew an obnoxiously large bubble and cracked it between her teeth. “Cute, Jubes.”
“I work at it.” Kitty introduced her around to Hank, another of the technical consultants who would eventually edit the final product. She flirted harmlessly with him, since he seemed to be a magnet and willing target for it. Kitty knew Hank from MIT when he earned his teaching credits there. He’d been the one to turn her on to the idea of using her talents on a film production company, and she never turned back. She’d turned down a lucrative opportunity with Disney’s Imagineering to work for Xavier Pictures, and she wasn’t sorry.
Once the tables and buffet were set up, everyone went to lunch and sent up a clamor of approval over the food. Ororo was just in the middle of Peter’s account of his brother’s life as a cosmonaut when a familiar voice rumbled over her shoulder.
“Got room fer one more?” She turned in her seat and peered up into Logan’s smiling coffee eyes.
“Hi.”
“Hey, darlin’.”
“Sit. Better yet, eat! You’ve been gone all day,” she remarked. His skin was slightly flushed from the wind and the down draft of the helicopter blades churning through the air. A baseball cap shadowed his face, and he nudged it back to give her a better look. He was sexy in his bomber jacket, sweater and jeans, looking comfortable in his own skin. She could smell a hint of cigar smoke on his clothing, along with the scent of his aftershave and the manly little smell that she remembered from their trip. She tried and failed to avoid the blush that crept into her cheeks as she remembered nuzzling her face more deeply into his jaw. He felt so right, and the way she reacted to him when he was near was beginning to frighten her. She found herself looking for him, thinking about him, and straining her ears for his voice around the sets and out buildings. It was just the closed atmosphere of being around the same people, she told herself. Once she was back in the states, everything would be back to normal.
He wouldn’t seem so irresistible if they weren’t thrown together so constantly. Yeah, right.
Kitty moved to the next seat over, nudging Peter along with her. “Take this one. Set your stuff down, and grab a plate.”
“Be right back, punkin,’” he promised, then shot Ororo a little wink that made her tingle down to her toes. She toyed with her rice and went back to the conversation at the table, but she couldn’t stop stealing the occasional peek at his backside in those jeans as he filled his plate at the buffet. Warmth rushed up the back of her neck, and she bit savagely into a spring roll.
“Hungry?” Kitty lifted a pert eyebrow.
“Mm-hmmph,” she mumbled. “Long day.”
“They’re all long. You’ll find that no matter how much sleep you get while you’re shooting a movie is never enough. We had three extras get their butts canned for looking straight into the camera. It’ll get worse when Jean and the rest of the leads hit the set the first day. Everyone stares at her, no matter how much we warn ‘em not to.”
“She’s easy to stare at with that hair,” Hank pointed out. “Jeannie’s got an impressive wig collection for when she goes out to throw the photographers.”
“She’s got too much pride to just dress like a bag lady and be done with it. She does do the ‘big sunglasses’ thing once in a while, though.” Kitty plunged a tortilla chip into her cocktail dish of ceviche. “I want you to teach Peter how to make this so he can make it at my house!”
“You can always order it as takeout from my restaurant,” Ororo hinted slyly.
“I’m stingy,” Kitty admitted.
“I guard my secrets pretty jealously. People ask me for one of my recipes, and I’ll leave one ingredient out.” They exchanged wicked smiles. Ororo could sense the beginning of an enduring friendship. “I’ll keep your names on the guest list, though.”
“Woo-hoo! It’s all about who ya know, baby!” Peter smirked at her over the rim of his soda can. The conversation was suspended briefly as Logan made his way back to the table.
“Shoot anything good?”
“Caught the sun breaking through the clouds over the hills. It was friggin’ beautiful. Can’t wait to look at it onscreen.”
“Depends on how much of it makes it there after I’m done with it,” Hank warned, and Logan shot him a look that was almost feral.
“Don’t even think yer cuttin’ out my views from this shoot.”
“Wish I could have seen it,” Ororo murmured.
“Ever been in a chopper before?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t know what yer missin’, darlin’.”
“Don’t know how good it would be for my claustrophobia.”
“It ain’t the same as bein’ in a regular plane. Ya get ta see the whole sky wrapped around ya on every side, like her flyin’ in it yerself.”
“Freaky,” Jubilee commented around a mouthful of rice.
Ororo spent most of the meal enjoying the sound of Logan’s voice by her elbow, which she occasionally bumped when she would reach for her drink or the pepper. Kitty was awed that she could add pepper to the food that was already piquant and spicy, but Ororo confessed to being an addict. When Logan’s thigh grazed hers, she didn’t move away, even though she did stiffen for a moment. She stole a look at him from beneath her lashes, and caught his heady, intense stare as he poked at a chunk of chicken on his plate that was so tender that it separated under the tines of his fork.
The conversation veered briefly back to the food, and Logan piped up “Ya shoulda tasted the unagi that she wowed us with when we had the meeting with Chuckles and Eric. That was something else, but this is nuthin’ ta sneeze at, either.” Ororo glowed under his praise, and Logan wondered why he felt a funny tingle of pride when he boasted about her like that.
That’s when everything decided to go to heck.
“Head’s up. Miss Summers is here!” called one of the key grips.
“And she’s pissed,” added one of the lighting techs.
“Mad pissed or appletini pissed?” Jubilee wondered aloud.
“Both,” Sooraya muttered. “Duck.”
Ororo felt Logan stiffen this time, and the set of his shoulders was uncomfortable and defensive all of the sudden, making her stomach churn as she craned her neck toward the wide double doors of the cafeteria.
All of the sudden, over the din of the crew finishing and clearing their plates and wrapping up their lunch hour, she could hear shouting. Implacable shouting of someone who didn’t give two squirts who was listening.
“What were the press doing on the damned runway? Who the hell leaked it that we were coming today?”
“Don’t shoot the messenger. How many private jets do you figure land here everyday? Shit happens,” Scott pointed out, not shouting, but he could still be heard over the rapidly spreading hush in the break room. The faint clink of silverware being tossed into bussing tubs and the clack of trays being slid into the carousel didn’t mask Jean’s rising voice.
“What the fuck do we pay people for? Ensuring that I make it to the set without incident is their job.”
“No. Shooting the movie and doing what I say is their job.” The couple swam into view, not facing the break room yet, instead opposing each other in the hallway. Jean was stunning in a simple charcoal wrap dress that tied at the waist, plunging in the front. The crew were watching the conflict with the same can’t-tear-your-eyes-from-it attention they’d normally give a five-car, three-tractor-trailer pile-up on the expressway. “Everyone’s here, miles from home, making do with what we have and the budget that we were given. We’ve got interns barely pulling minimum wage and asking how high every time you yell jump. That’s all they ever see. D’you know what it’s gotta be like for them, Jean, to meet their idol and find out what an uncaring, unfeeling bitch she is under all the surface gloss?”
Ouch. Ororo cringed. Logan winced. Peter and Kitty silently blushed while Hank muttered something about editing some of the local footage they’d already shot before he wandered off.
“That’s easy for you to say, you ungrateful sonofabitch. Everyone’s eyes are on me, waiting for me to give in to my so-called biological clock and jump on the mommy train. I’ve had ten good years, I’m married, so why not have a few rugrats, gain a few pounds I can’t lose, start looking my age and fade into obscurity? Or start playing ‘character roles?’ Or shill designer toddler wear with my name on it,” she snapped. “Is that what you want? Fucking June Cleaver, vacuuming your house in a twinset and pearls?”
“You’ve never so much as touched a vacuum in all the years since we’ve met,” Scott scoffed dryly, bitter amusement deepening the lines around his eyes. “No one in their right mind would trust you with their kid. Least of all me.”
“Is that why you spend so much time buddying up with Maddie? Huh, Scott? Do you dream of getting it on with a soccer mom? Getting some suburban pussy?” Her voice was like dark honey as she stood in the hall, hand on one hip as she used the other to artfully toss her hair off of her shoulder while she tore him to bits.
“We aren’t getting into this here. You see those guys over there? They’re here to work. Those lighting techs? They’re here to make you look your best. The sound techs? They’re here to make sure every word of your mouth makes the audience hang on them at the edge of their frigging seats. You won’t fuck this up with your selfishness. You won’t waste the studio’s money. You’ve got the highest salary of anyone here, and you’re going to earn every bloody penny.”
“You’ve never deserved me, you bastard!” Florid pallor rose into the crowns of her cheeks, despite her impeccably applied makeup.
“Then line up a few of these poor bastards to prove their worth.” Logan clenched his eyes shut for a split-second, then opened them long enough to stare into his lap. He felt Ororo’s eyes on him before she stood and excused herself. Her footsteps faded away, and he mentally kicked himself. There was no way she could know about Jeannie… “I’m not going to waste MY time, or Charles’ or Eric’s or Cassandra’s time trying to prove myself to you. People either will or won’t spend millions of their movie-going dollars to see this movie, Jean. It’s all on me. You’re mistaken if you think it’s only on you. You started out like them,” Scott snarled, flinging out his arm in a sweeping gesture that came perilously close to flying upside her head as she stared at him with disbelieving eyes. “You’re supposed to set an example of what they can aspire to, Jean!” He motioned to the extras and a few walk-on players sitting in Raven’s makeup chair for impromptu touch-ups. “People only look up to a bitch for as long as it takes to knock her down, Jean.”
“I don’t WANT to set anyone’s damned example! Maybe I just want to be my goddamned SELF for a change!”
“You’re not getting paid to be yourself,” he deadpanned. “Go eat something. You’ll only kack it back up ten minutes from now, but at least try to fend off those bulimia rumors, babe.” He stalked off, tossing “See you back at the bungalow” over his shoulder in a nonchalant tone that held no hint of the justifiable rage that shocked an entire cafeteria into near-silence. Jean paused to peer into the room before straightening to her full height and pursuing her husband at a pace that was less than sedate.
Logan made weak goodbyes to Peter and Kitty, who were exchanging shell-shocked looks with Jubilee across the table. Suddenly he wanted to get back up in the air.
Naturally, the press had a field day. “Starlet Goes Nuclear on Movie Set, details inside” screamed the tabloid covers two days later. The only thing that readers loved more than Hollywood marriages were rumors of Hollywood breakups, and the Summers were giving the paparazzi a field day and making their jobs ridiculously easy. Ororo emailed back terse replies to Ali when she found nearly a dozen “urgent” messages to give her the juicy details about the blow-up.
Logan’s odd silence in her restaurant and his awkwardness around Jean came back to her in stark detail, matching his reaction to her now. Visions of his eyes staring down into hers on the plane, searching her face hungrily and burning with desire haunted her, but she shook them away. She hadn’t really seen them together. You could tell a lot by a look, but it was just that, a look.
…so what was the difference between the way he looked at her, and the way he was watching Jean today?
She contemplated it for the rest of the afternoon as she went over the menu for dinner.
A few hours later found Logan back at his rented condo, trying to get comfortable in the tiny living room after his shower, his shoulder still stiff from trying to balance the camera while they shot the scenes from over the rooftops. It was punishing work, but he loved it like nothing else.
His hair had barely dried when he heard a knock on his door. He turned down the volume on the badly dubbed version of “Triple X” before he got up to answer it. He peered through the peephole.
Jean was standing in the hallway, garbed in old jeans and hiding her hair beneath a baseball cap, hugging herself, her eyes red-rimmed.
“Shit.” He undid the deadbolts and yanked the door open.
“Are ya fuckin’ crazy??”
“I…I need you, Logan. Please, let me in.”
“Uh-uh. That’s just askin’ fer trouble, and ya know it. D’ya have any idea what it was like fer me today, hearin’ Scott go off?”
“Yeah. I do. I was there, genius,” she hissed before her lips twisted and quivered, and she breathed in a watery sniff.
Shit, shit, shit.
“It’s been a crummy day, Logan.” She played with her sleeve. “Lousy flight. Fucking reporters. Flash bulbs. That thing with Scott. Everyone staring at me like I was a leper. Then I had to finish my research. I watched the tapes the courier sent over of interviews with former hostages, so I could have something to draw from for the part. It helps,” she reasoned. “Now, I’m amped up, paranoid, miserable, my husband hates me, he’s probably screwing around ““ Logan almost laughed, but mastered the urge, “- and I just can’t cope right now!”
“Whaddya want me ta do about it, babe?”
“Hold me. Please!” She picked at her carefully manicured nails and bit her lip in that manner that he was always such a sucker for.
“Jean, I can’t…”
“Don’t turn me away! EVERYONE’S ALWAYS WALKING OUT ON ME!” she shrieked. A couple stumbling their way to the ice machine in the lobby turned to watch the scene Jean was making, and Logan was torn. He could shut the door on her, or pull her inside to safety. He did neither.
“Shhh. Hush, Jeannie. Don’t do this. Calm down,” he muttered, stepping out from the threshold. She was a short tether, and he felt guilty “ as usual “ for letting things go this far. He gently reached for her, and she tumbled forward into his arms, sobbing into his shirt.
“Don’t turn me away,” she pleaded with him on a shrill whimper. His hand stroked her nape, loosening a tendril of her red hair. He twirled it absently around his finger and held her. Even stroking her felt awkward and wrong, but he was mutely satisfied when her body began to relax.
“I need you, Logan.”
“No ya don’t. Ya need ta get things straightened out at home.”
“It’s not a home anymore. He hates me.”
“He loves ya, or he wouldn’t be so damned pissed. Ya wanna keep driving him away, then keep comin’ t’my front door. He ain’t dumb, Jeannie.”
“He doesn’t have a clue.”
“You should’ve given me more credit, sweetheart.” Logan’s stomach dropped into his feet at the sound of a snide baritone coming from his left, all of ten feet away. “Just because I went to film school doesn’t make me an idiot.”
Scott stood watching his wife turn her tearstained face out of Logan’s shirt and saw her eyes dilate in horror. He merely scratched the back of his neck and said “Come on. Do what you do best, baby. Lie to me.”
Holding Your Nose Doesn't Make it Taste Good by Goddessreiko
Ain’t No Business
Chapter Nine
*Lie to me.* For an instant this phrase stopped all movement. Even the tears in Jean’s eyes refused to fall. Nothing could be heard expect for the frantic beating of three hearts. That was until a crash could be heard just around the corner at the end of the hall.
The noise snapped up Logan’s head. He side stepped Jean and ignored her pleading outstretched hand. For a horrifying moment, Logan thought that he saw a flash of a tantalizing earthy leg whip quickly away. *Please God, no!* He ran as fast as could and ignored Scott’s bird, and the courses that trailed him.
When he got to the corner he found something that broke his heart. There on the floor was a hand made gift basket, a near exact replica of the one Chuck had gotten. This one just had larger portions of gourmet cookies, now all broken, with massive amount of the signature spicy chocolates all delicately formed into different cars that he remembered telling her about during one of the many conversations on the plane. The force Ororo must have dropped the basket broke nearly everything in it.
He looked down the hallway toward the elevator. He already missed the last ding. The screaming at the end of the other corridor just got louder and louder. Logan had to make a choice. He could either fess up to Scott and or defend Jean, or he could make an attempt to soothe Ororo. The elevator dinged again, and he realized something. They were on the sixteenth floor, and those elevators are really small. Was it possible, did he still have a chance. He inhaled deeply. The chocolate smelled so good. He never believed in the magic of the delicious sweet, but it really seemed to cleanse what was left of his soul. He heard Jean pipe up with the screaming and then he lunged himself down the stairs where he knew Ororo would still be running.
~X~
Jean just stood there when Logan left. She too saw the tall woman, whats-her-face, flee from the hallway. She had known that she was being trailed when she came to the hotel. As always she assumed it was the press. No matter where she was Europe, the States, and Japan, they were always the same. The cat and mouse games she played with everyone always made her feel powerful. She could do no wrong.
Except now.
When she got to the hotel she expected to see some bumbling camera men, but instead she saw the annoying graceful freaggin cook float her way to the stairs and head up. How was she able to stay in this hotel. She made a note to herself to make sure that Bumble Fuck Chuck cut the budget even more.
Jean knew intrigue when she saw it so she followed her. That crazy bitch made her run up so many god damn stairs. When she got to the floor, she had an incredibly horrible feeling. This couldn’t be why James was so distant.
NO.
Then it came back to her. Ever since “the cook” cam into the picture, things started to fall in place. Jean looked up and squinted her. She remembered walking into the dining room to spot James for a quickie before she had to report in to the reading. She saw his animated posture and the smile on his face. She watched his hands softly grace her’s by accident. She winced when they shared a couple of whispered private jokes. She cringed when she saw his denim covered thigh grace her khaki leg and rub it. She saw Ororo blush under the casual attention.
NO. NO. NO.
She didn’t care if it was obvious that nothing was going on between them. The fact of the matter was that something *could* happen.
Jean was so distracted by this, she didn’t notice how her husband had been watching her since the fight. She hadn’t noticed how he picked up on her odd behavior that slipped through her mask. She missed him watching the angle of her eyes as Logan teased another woman. She missed the look of finality on his face as he watched her cross the busy street under the never ending Japanese lights, to the hotel of her long time lover.
Jean finally saw the anguished look in Scott’s face when she called Logan’s name when he bolted down the hall after a woman who had done absolutely nothing wrong except show the fuck up.
She looked at her husband with defeated eyes. There was just nothing left in her. She had been empty for a long time. It really fucking suck to not even be shallow anymore.
Scott looked at his wife with barely containable disdain. Finally. Was he a hypocrite? A better question would be to ask, do two wrongs make a right?
“Jean, I lied. I don’t want lies. I’ve been getting them for how long, now? Hmm? If I remember it’s was about a month after we got back from our honeymoon, TEN FUCKING YEARS AGO.”
“Scott, please.”
“Scott please, what,” he mimicked. “You wondered why I went to a goddamn shrink. Jesus, my marriage went to hell thirty damn days in. Why the fuck did you marry me? It couldn’t have been for money or the prestige.”
“Goddammit SCOTT! I love you.”
“Are you still fucking Warren, too? Why is it my friends? Do you regret settling?”
“Your one to talk, you hypocrite. How long have you been boinking my TWIN, you stupid sac of shit. It’s not like you made an attempt at being sly. Did you even care about me finding out?”
“No.”
The tears that flowed were real. It took the devastation of one of the few stable things in her life to finally make her feel real emotion. How ironic was that? Here she was, one of the worlds greatest silver screen stars famous for showing emotion, and she feels nothing constantly. Except for now. She’d been faking it for so long, she knew that Scott didn’t know it was for real this time.
Scott reached into the satchel he had and took out a small stack of papers that looked as if they’ve been around for a while. He gave them a once-over than handed them to his wife.
Jean refused to take them. She already knew what they were.
Divorce papers.
“Whose fucking brilliant idea was this, my husband, Emma or Maddie.”
“Mine. Relax it’s legit. I think you should check out the heading, and take a real good look at the date, love.”
She snatched the papers from him and looked. Holy fucking shit.
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!” The date was for July 17th, 2000. “You’ve had these for six years.” He stayed silent looking straight at her.
She would defiantly give him that much. Scott Summers was fearless.
Then it dawned on her. Nate Summers, her own nephew, was six years old. He just turned six in fact. She went to his birthday...with her husband. Jean lost it. She pulled back to slap that stone cold look off his face.
He caught her wrist, both of them.
He pulled her inches from his face, and the iron grip on her hands tightened, not painfully. But Jean could still feel the pain in another place. Why was it now that she had to feel? Karma is more of a bitch than she ever was.
“Just so you know. The first night I was with Maddie was when I found out that you and Logan built up a FOUR YEAR tab at a fucking motel.”
“Scott I want to figure this out. Please.”
“Do you want to ‘figure it out’ because Logan is no longer interested?”
“How did you...?”
“Jean, why the hell do you think I’m stupid. I’ve known for about two weeks that Logan was into Ororo. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that she reminds him of Mariko.”
Jean rolled her eyes. First it was the ex wife, then the mistake of Itsu, then the dead wife, now the freaggin cook. Or it was either the shrink or her own bloody twin. She knew that the bitchiness was going to catch up to her, but damn. This was ridiculous. She leaned against the wall and sank to the ground.
When it rained it poured.
Scott looked at the defeated form of his wife. This didn’t feel nearly as good as it was supposed too. He remembered why he married her. They were both after the same thing in life, not each other, but they shared the same ideas. Where did that go?
He slid down next to her.
“Jean,” she didn’t bother looking up. Scott put his hand on her knee. “I really missed you. I have for years. Why did you go away?” With that, he got up and left for the bungalow.
Jean stayed where she was and watched his retreating back. She saw him step over the broken gift basket.
What the hell has she done?
~X~
Logan ran down flight after flight. It was like being in a hamster wheel. He saw a flash of her green and what sundress.
“Ororo, wait!” She ran faster. He saw quick movement that looked like her hand went to the side of her face. Dammit. He saw her reach the exit and throw the doors open. He jumped over the railing for the last two flights. He landed properly, but it still hurt like hell. This one better be worth it. *Wasn’t she?* If he had the time and know“how, he would have kicked his brain in it’s ass. Was that even possible. *No, jackass!*
He blasted threw the doors and saw her at the corner trying to hail a cab. He bustled against the traffic of people who came towards him. Logan never minded the intense amount of human beings that took up space in every city on the planet, but if he could he would stab each and every one of them that stood between himself and Ororo.
“ORORO!” This time she stopped waving her arm and turned around. He finally was able to nearly trip into her, but stopped just short. He could imagine how he looked. Sweaty, exhausted, tired, emotionally drained, and unbearable taken by the grace before him. He bent over at the waist with his palms on his thighs out of breath. Then he looked up.
Her hair had come out of its braided bun and had tendrils floating in the wind. Her eyes now dry almost shone, and she had a shy smile on her face. Ororo also managed to look like she just stepped of a runway instead of running down a rotten building. What did this woman do for a work out?
“Didn’t you hear me callin’ ya?”
“I’m sorry, Logan, I should have called first. You’re a busy man.” She rolled her eyes and gave a rueful laugh. “I just thought it would be a nice surprise. You know, the basket. Surprise!” Ororo could have smacked herself. Did that foot taste good? Damn good. Yummy.
“Darlin’, it was over. I don’t know what else I can say.”
“I know.” She tucked a devilish piece of hair in behind her ear, only to have it be blown back out.
He reached to take the same piece of hair to place it behind her ear again. As he did so he grazed the side of her cheek. His other hand palmed her neck and held her in place.
Ororo tried to back away but was held in place by strong hands holding her, as well as her own legs.
“Look, I know you probably hate me right now.”
“Logan, I don’t hate you. I can’t because obviously I don’t know you.”
She, once again, felt his lips on her forehead. Why was her body leaning into his embrace?
“Come with me. I have some overhead night panoramic shots that need to get done. How about it? Have you ever seen Japan from a birds eye point of view?”
“No. I was on foot when I came through here.”
Logan remember a brief mention of her time here. He wanted to know more. Any story, any emotion, he would put up with, as long as she talked to his sophomoric ass. “Come with me. I’ll get dinner. I think you’ve been through enough.”
“That’s not the best idea. We’re both in a rotten place.”
“The best way to not be in a bad place is to try and go to a good one. I would rather not do it alone.”
She sighed.
He rejoiced.
“You’ll love the view.”
~Lot 616, on Xavier Productions~
“Sabur, this is illegal. Wasn’t this what Martha Stewart was sent away for?”
“Cassandra, you worry to much. Stewart got jailed for leaving a paper trail and getting caught because of lousy advice. This isn’t insider trading. It’s more like maneuvering a few things around so that I own them. Think of it like financial feung shei. Those bumbling fools won’t know what hit them. This place will be X.I.N.O. in no time.”
“X.I.N.O?”
“Xavier in name only.”
Author's Note: Just for the sake of plot and my small blunder lets say that Madelyne is married to Alex, Scott's bro. I'm to tired to fix it another way. Besides I've been meaning to throw him in the mix. Oops.
Get It While It’s Hot! by OriginalCeenote
“He’s had the divorce papers six years?” Raven’s voice was incredulous. She sponged a generous layer of concealer under Jean’s eyes after patting on some Preparation H beneath her lids to relieve them of the puffiness left over from Jean’s overindulgences the night before. Despite a long shower and a session with her acupuncturist, Jean was still sweating vanilla vodka from her pores. “That’s six years of your life that you’ll never get back. You don’t just grind an axe like that for six years. What the hell was he thinking?”
“Apparently he had a lot on his mind. He just decided to ‘share’ with his therapist instead of me.” Her voice was petulant one moment, then resigned as she continued pouring everything out. “My nephew is my stepson. How fucked up is that?”
“Not for long,” Raven mused. “He’ll go back to just being your nephew when you sign those papers.”
“Who said I’m going to sign? He’s my husband. I’m not going to just hand him over to my sister on a silver platter. She can’t have him. She’s not wearing his ring on her finger!” Raven’s eyes flitted to Jean’s enormous two-carat solitaire and Florentine yellow gold wedding band despite herself. She was paid by the hour to take care of Jean’s needs, but hearing Jean talk about Scott brought back unwelcome memories of her ex and made the arguments, ugly court battles, and blow-ups during the final days of their marriage come haring back full-force. She’d just had another Botox injection; frowning wasn’t an option.
“So after everything that’s happened, you’re going to fight for him?”
“He’s my husband,” Jean dodged, as though this was irrefutable truth. “For better or worse.”
“We’re past worse. This is officially ‘worst.’ Adultery was bad enough. He schtupped your sister. This isn’t the same thing as ‘He hates it when I make meatloaf’ or ‘He doesn’t like my mother.’ This isn’t something your marriage can just rebound from, Jean.” Jean tried to force her face to relax as Raven began to mix the foundation in the small dish. “You need a brilliant lawyer. You’re not dealing with custody, just your estate and how to divide it up. Just because you won’t have any kids for him to pay child support for, that doesn’t mean that you can’t get alimony. Shoot, you’d never have to work again.”
“I’m under contract with Xavier Pictures for another two films.”
“It’s a conflict of interest. A lawyer can help you find a loophole.”
“I don’t want a loophole.” Her eyes were brimming, but she mastered the urge. “I just want Scott the way he was before. He was so in love with me, Raven. You just don’t know.”
“Sure I do,” she quipped. “Been there, done that, send ya a postcard.” She stroked the makeup sponge down her nose. “You could cite fraud as the reason for the divorce. Everyone uses irreconcilable differences, and then they get boondoggled into marriage counseling for that one last attempt at ‘reconciling’.”
“No way in hell,” Jean snarled. “His therapist is the one who got us into this mess.”
“Nice. Didn’t she break the law about doctor/patient hoo-hah? Wasn’t that unethical?”
“She’s a licensed sex therapist, too, if you can believe that.”
“Aren’t they all?” Then Raven had a thought. “Is she the one that came on the talk shows and wrote the book about hypnotizing your penis to convince it that its bigger?” Raven yanked her hand back as Jean snorted and collapsed in a fit of shoulder-shaking laughter, turning bright red in the face.
“Ehhhhhhhh…shit. That’s brilliant. Hypnotizing your penis?”
“You think I’m lying. Google it.” Raven shook her head in defeat as she witnessed Jean’s tears threatening to ruin her handiwork. Warmly her fingers flicked them away before touching up the concealer again.
“Don’t think I won’t.” The laughter felt too good. She would have died for it.
Elsewhere, up in the clouds:
“Betcha didn’t know that the Winter Olympics were held here,” Logan teased, flicking his eyes across the spare cabin of the helicopter as he guided the tail rotors with his feet. His passenger was bundled snugly in a heavy jacket, gloves and jeans, per his advice, and looked good enough to eat. Cerulean blue eyes glowed back at him with a mixture of excitement and terror.
“It’s…like there’s nothing between me and the sky!”
“That’s how it’s supposed t’feel,” he confirmed. Logan adjusted his headset. “Comfortable, darlin’? Ya warm enough?”
“I’m fine. It’s…cozy. I didn’t expect it to be this much fun. I mean, this is a tiny little chopper. It’s like a bubble in here, but I don’t feel like the walls are closing in on me the way I did on the jet!”
“We’re not as high up. Ya don’t have a couple of tons of steel wrapped around ya, boxing ya in with a hundred other people thousands of feet up in the air. Hundreds of feet, sure,” he allowed. Ororo’s stomach bounced up into her ribcage with a tiny thrill as they descended low enough for a better view of the Okurayama Ski Jump Stadium. The mere sight of the impressive jump ramp’s pristine curl made her imagine how it would feel to speed down it with nothing but a pair of skis, practically flying by the seat of her pants.
Kind of how it felt to fly with Logan right now.
The sky was dotted with stars that continued to peek in and out of the scattered clouds. Logan braced himself; it felt and smelled like impending snow outside. He loved this time of year, on this side of the world. Below them, the snow was an eerie silvery blue, lit more by moonlight than the chopper’s small beacons as they hovered past.
“Beautiful,” Ororo murmured.
“Ya ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Logan reminded her, raising his voice slightly over the clamor of the rotors. They soared over the trees, nearly brushing their lush crowns as Logan gripped the cyclic control stick expertly, taking them back toward the city. “Wanna give it a try?”
“What?” Her voice was incredulous, holding notes of panic and disbelief.
“C’mon. Gimme yer hand. Don’t be shy,” he drawled with mischief. “Just hold onto the stick.” The double meaning wasn’t lost on her, if the wicked raise of her eyebrows was any indication. His voice was deep and rumbly and dripped with sensuality.
“Sure. That’s what they all say.” The curl of her luscious, full lips tempted him as she smiled.
“Bad girl,” he chastised.
“Stinker,” she tossed back. Then she surprised him by slowly reaching out to gently grip the control stick below where his hand was resting. Their eyes met briefly in anticipation of something forbidden as she felt his warmth, even through her snug gloves. He clasped her hand and eased it so her fingers were fitted neatly around the grooves of the lever, then closed his hand around her grip.
“That’s it,” he encouraged. “A little more to the right.” That ticklish feeling in her belly came back full force. This isn’t really happening. I’m flying a helicopter! “Yer doin’ it, darlin’!”
“I’m doing it,” she grinned. “Wow!” She couldn’t wait to tell Ali. She filed it away in the back of her mind to text her when she got her hands on her cellular, but in the meantime, sharing the experience of guiding the tiny craft they occupied was delicious.
The continued on that way for a few more minutes until Logan nodded toward her window with a look of satisfaction. “If ya didn’t have any other reason fer comin’ up here with me, this would have been it, right there. Look, darlin’. Moerenuma Park. Pretty, ain’t it?”
Understatement of the year. Her breath caught in her throat at the spectacle as she drank in her fill. Logan veered in closer to give her a better look, and he found himself moved by the soft look of awe and reverence that settled over her features. The park’s fountains were infused with multicolored lights that looked like cascading geysers of multiple layers of water. The water sprayed up in rainbow puffs before spilling back into the surrounding basins, stirring up rings of froth that reflected the same light.
“I can die happy now,” she muttered. “So help me, if this was what I got to see everyday at my own job, I don’t think I’d ever come out of the sky.”
“Fuel, food and the occasional trip ta powder my nose are the only things that pry me outta the chopper, most days. I love it up here. Even back when I flew during combat, there was something about flying that made ya feel like ya were above it all. Difference is, people’s lives aren’t in my hands now the way they were then.”
“You could have been killed. Someone could have fired on you with missiles, or rockets launched from the ground.” The gravity of those thoughts gave her pause, and she stared back at him, hating to make the moment seem so heavy. “You made it back. You’re an amazing pilot.”
“That didn’t hurt, either,” he admitted, his tone lacking conceit, but something brittle crept between them for a fleeting moment. “I love what I do now.”
“I can see why.” Her hand reached over to cover his this time, and the touch of her fingers stroking him was soothing and warmed him inside and out.
“I like having someone t’share it with fer a change. Ororo?”
“Hmm?”
“Seein’ all this with you feels like I’m seein’ it all for the first time, all over again.”
“Wow,” she breathed. Ororo felt herself flushing all the way up to her hairline, glad that the cabin was dark enough inside that he wouldn’t notice. They hovered for a few more moments, angling over the fountains and watching the geysers dance. Logan enjoyed the rainbow-colored glow that outlined her profile as she continued to watch the display. The vision she created burned itself into his memory. He’d never forget that moment. It inspired him to create more. “Logan?”
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“Thank you. For this. For everything. I’m so glad you brought me here tonight.”
“Any time.” His voice was flippant, but Ororo inwardly smacked herself for wishing that they could do it again. They were both going to be insanely busy over the next few weeks. She doubted that they would have time for another flight, but she beamed at him anyway. “Hey, ‘Ro?”
“Mm-hm?”
“What’re ya doin’ after yer shift tomorrow?”
“My whole day’s my ‘shift.’ We’re shooting the scenes indoors for the kidnapping. I’ve got to make the food for that set, and it’s got to be camera-ready and stunning. I wish I had Kurt with me, because making the food pretty is his specialty, but I needed him back at the restaurant to cover for me. Back-to-back menu changes in that tight of a window wear me out.”
“When did ya find the time t’make that fancy gift basket?”
“Those are easy, she scoffed. “Playing with chocolate is almost as relaxing as eating it!”
“How’d ya shape ‘em like cars?”
“I have some custom molds, but some of those I carve by hand if my molds don’t suit the image in my head of what I want it to look like.”
“Can’t believe ya went to the trouble.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Ya did. I never got ta taste any of it, but I loved it anyway.” He kicked himself again for bringing up that awful moment when Jean and Scott were railing at each other, and it still smarted when he remembered the clench in his gut as Ororo’s legs darted around the corner in hasty retreat after getting an eyeful. Damn, that sucked.
“Sorry,” she offered. He could tell she was still a little shaken, too.
“S’okay. Thought that counts.” They breezed over Ishiyama Park and traded wisecracks about how it looked like alien crop circles and a little like Stonehenge. The aerial view of the wide stadium with its descending level of steps carved in the center of a cliff face was breathtaking, and Logan promised her that it would be even more spectacular up close and in the light of day.
“Ya gotta let me know when ya have some time t’do some more sightseeing,” he cajoled.
“I can’t promise anything.”
“Not even if I say pretty please with sugar on top?”
“Stubborn, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
“Guess I’ll just have to squeeze you in, somehow.” She was already mentally rearranging her day planner, searching for the widest windows of time to spend with him that the next few days would allow. Shit, she didn’t need to sleep.
“Yer flatterin’ me again, Ororo.”
“I work at it.”
Jean licked her lips with the barest skim of her tongue, taking special care not to bruise her carefully lined lips, coated in transparent color that made them look dew-kissed and that screamed You know you want some of this. She peered into the camera and shifted her weight to her left hip, letting the momentum of the movement arch her back.
“That’s it, Jeannie, let me see it! Beautiful!” Peter cheered her on from the sidelines, styling the shoot as shot the latest roll of film. The film wasn’t slated for release for months, but the publicity was Cassandra Xavier’s brainchild. Black and white noir-style photos and posters in every fashion and entertainment magazine, billboard, bus, and subway tunnel. Blood Money was projected to be one of the biggest hits of the year, as well as the film that cement Jean Grey’s standing as a serious actress after she waded through candy scripts and romantic comedy “vehicles” that left critics calling her a one-trick pony. Less kind reviewers panned it preemptively as flopping as badly as “Gigli” or any other film that lionized the stars and ignored the story that were de rigueur.
Peter had run her through the gauntlet, sending her for multiple touch-ups in Raven’s chair for the head shots. They had to be immaculate. She’d been ready to kill him when he pronounced “Back in the day, you’d nail the shot on the first frame of film. What the hell happened, Princess?” She’d had more to smile about, back in the day.
The mood shots were a snap. She channeled all of the rage and fear of what her future held without Scott into each frame, her anguish naked on her face. Peter ate it up.
“Nice,” he breathed as he checked the exposure and adjusted the lighting. He looked at the digital preview of the shot. Her eyes were haunted, haunting, and intense. He was almost moved. Almost. First and foremost, he was a perfectionist.
“I’m going to try something,” he muttered. “Joseph?”
“What d’you need?”
“Bring me an onion from the kitchenette and a little knife.” Joseph looked at him like he grew another head.
“’Kay.” He shuffled off on the errand. Jean looked puzzled.
“Jean…I know we’re getting down to the wire. You’re frazzled. This has been a tough week. We’ve got some good shots, but I want you to dig deeper. You’re not acting here. You’re not using your words. You’re using that fantastic face and body of yours to make anyone who looks at these shots want to wrap you up in a blanket and tuck you into bed.”
“Give me a fucking break,” she huffed.
“I don’t remember asking for that kind of attitude. This movie’s paying your salary.”
“The Xavier twins are paying my salary.”
“Okay, then, this film is paying MY salary. I intend to work my ass off for it.” He took the onion from Joseph when he returned. He placed the onion on the small worktable that held more photographic equipment and lenses. She watched with disbelief when he took the knife and diced off several pieces of onion, without peeling it first. “C’mere.”
“What??”
“You heard me. Take a good, deep whiff…”
“I don’t see what this is supposed to…AACCCK!” She backed away as Peter held the pulpy handful of weeping onion wedges beneath her nose. “That shit BURNS, you fucker!”
“Yup. A few more good snorts’ll do it.”
“Do what?”
“Make those brilliant, beautiful green eyes of yours do this,” he explained, reaching for a small makeup mirror that Raven left out. “Look.” He brandished it in front of her triumphantly, and she looked at her eyes, hating the glaze of tears and sudden hint of pinkness creeping across the whites.
“Are you crazy? Raven, I need you to touch me up again!”
“No, she doesn’t, Raven, sit your sweet fanny back down. That’s it. That’s what I want. Those eyes. Haunted, angry, afraid, and…yes. Back on the set,” he barked. Jean backed away, but obeyed.
“Lay down on the bed. Joseph, zoom in. Lay back. Let yourself dangle off the edge, like you just woke up in the morning.” Her body slid into the unlikely sprawl, but she made it look natural. “Dig deeper, Jeannie. The hostage films, the worst argument you’ve ever had, your first breakup, I want it all in here,” Peter demanded, pointing his two fingers at his own eyes. “If you hate me right now for messing your makeup, I want to see it. You’re captive, afraid, pissed off at the indignity of being trapped! I want it all!”
“You’re fucking out of your mind,” she hissed indignantly, and her eyes narrowed and glimmered with unshed tears.
“That’s gorgeous. Did you get that Joseph?”
“Shit, yes!” Joseph was having a ball. Jean writhed and struggled to find comfortable purchase on the makeshift bed, feeling like a sacrifice fighting her way off the altar. She glared up into the lens, her chest thrust up as she pressed her shoulders into the mattress.
“Tell me to fuck off,” Peter encouraged.
“Gladly, dickhead!” It was almost cathartic.
“Hate me, baby!” Peter wondered if it was him that she was really pissed off at.
“I hate your stupid ass!” She oozed anger, mingled with sensuality that nearly made Peter hard. He fought back the urge to go back into the back room and whack off with visions of Cassandra Xavier in granny panties. All right. He was better now.
Kitty would kill him if word of this got back. But he was getting shots that he would sell their future firstborn for.
All the while, thoughts of Logan cozying up to Ororo swam through Jean’s mind and made her want to scream. That was the shot that was eventually distributed in the press packets from the public relations department.
Raven watched the remainder of the shoot with a surprising amount of sympathy, even as she unpacked her makeup sponges for the inevitable touch-ups. Even though her recent eyelift kept her from crying, she too was moved.
Once the lid was off Pandora’s box, she couldn’t just turn it back off. She felt raw and hollow. She cried into Peter’s sweater while he awkwardly patted her and while Joseph packed up the cameras.
Sapporo Brewery:
“Ya’ve gotta try a bite of this.” Logan tucked enthusiastically into his barbecued lamb. He was cutting it with his steak knife, plucking a morsel loose from the slab. “Have some.”
“Bet mine’s better,” she bragged.
“I wouldn’t take that bet. Yer probably right. But taste it anyway.” He wanted to satisfy the urge to watch her eat. She obliged him, leaning forward as he reached out with the tidbit of lamb. He teased her bottom lip with it before pressing it into her mouth. She let her eyes drift shut in rapture as her lips wrapped themselves around their finger and thumb.
“Mmmmm,” she purred against his skin. Her mouth was hot and liquid against him. His “redwood” returned, making him wish he could spend the next hour feeding Ororo from his plate, just to feel those lips suckle him again. It was a cruel, cruel world, he mused. “Not bad,” she admitted. She’d ordered the unagi, which seemed to be a favorite meal of hers. Logan filed away that and a few dozen other little observations about her that he’d made since the night began. Ororo hated tight spaces, but didn’t mind heights. She was an only child. She switched hands with her fork after she cut her meat. She liked a good beer jut as much as a glass of wine. She had a throaty laugh. Her blue eyes held glints of yellow around the pupils in certain lights.
“I wanted ta take ya somewhere ya hadn’t already been, hopefully.”
“Mission accomplished. This is nice. I missed it on my last trip to this side of the world.”
“Good. I’m glad.” He wanted to give her the grand tour of his rented condo. It was too soon. But the way she was looking at him made him wonder if his advances would really be unwelcome.
He backed up a step, remembering the whole messy disaster from the hallway. Jean, crying into his shirt. Scott tearing him a new one. Broken cookies. Ororo’s wounded look of disappointment. ”I can’t hate you. I don’t even know you.” Ouch. It still rankled.
More than anything, he wanted to taste her. Her light, sweet scent still lingered on the shirt from when he’d caught her and held her against him. He could feel the tension thrumming in her muscles and stiffening her spine. He wanted to kiss away the little furrows between her brows and work his way down, slowly. She’d shucked the heavy jacket and was clad in a thin, figure-hugging sweater of periwinkle blue cashmere with a scooped neckline and three-quarter length sleeves. She tucked it into snug black jeans that fit like a second skin. Her body was a melody of lithe curves that put the meal on his plate to shame. He wanted to feast on her. Badly. Dinner, dessert, and midnight snack, and then, maybe just maybe, breakfast.
The opportunity presented itself sooner than he expected.
Logan skillfully maneuvered the rented Lincoln Navigator through late evening traffic, dodging clubhoppers searching for parking garages as they made their way back to the bungalows. Ororo’s was off the front of the property. She had one of the medium-sized single units, not having to share one with the other staffers or extras. They were both relatively quiet on the ride back, both sneaking looks at each other across the gearshifts. Ororo finally gave in to the urge to touch him, and once again, her hand closed gently around his as he shifted the car into first, this time letting her silky palm stroke his hands. His skin was hot and supple. She caressed his thick knuckles thoughtfully, drawing his gaze to her face.
“I had a good time tonight, Ororo.”
“So did I.” She didn’t want it to end. The scene with Jean replayed itself in her mind’s eye before she could stop it. I don’t want to be his rebound girl. Even if he looked delicious. His jaw was firm and square, and his lips were sensual looking, the lower one slightly fuller than the top one. A sharp little notch in his upper lip made her want to taste it. His dark eyes burned her, staring out above firm, high cheekbones.
“I wanna spend more time with ya.”
“You know where to find me. I’ll be tied to the kitchen all day tomorrow.”
“I was thinking more of getting out and about. Not just in the chopper.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Sightseeing. A trip to the zoo. Maybe even a little skiing.”
“Not off the jump?” she joked.
“Nope. Not the first time I take ya,” he jibed, warming her with his smile.
He parked the Navigator in an uncovered space by a storage garage on the side of the building. “See ya in the A.M., bright an’ early.”
“You’ll see me,” she promised. “Don’t know when. But you will.”
“G’night.”
“Good night.” Logan cut the car’s engine, letting the stereo shut off and killing the lights on the car’s dashboard. His eyes blazed with hunger and desire in the dark as he reached for her. Her hands trembled with anticipation as he pulled her to him, gripping her upper arms as he bent his head to kiss her. His lips settled over hers, brushing gently at them at first, but gradually molding hers to suit him. His mouth slanted over hers before she opened for him, letting his tongue sweep inside. They shared breath and heat, entwining their arms around each other within the confines of the car, taking full advantage of the dark interior to stretch their goodbye out for as long as they could. Logan’s fingers grazed her scalp as he tangled his fingers in her waves of silky hair. Ororo moaned against his lips, and he felt the swell of her breasts push against him, soft and inviting. He felt her fingertips tracing the contours of his cheek and jaw before cupping his nape tenderly. Just as the kisses began to slow, they would come up for air only to drown in each other’s gaze again, and lean back into it full measure. For Ororo, the earth seemed to move…
…she was jerked back to reality once the car stuttered backwards out of the parking space.
“Shit,” Logan hissed, breaking away long enough to right the gearshift after they accidentally knocked it into reverse in their zeal. Both of their hands fumbled for it. “Ya okay?”
“Fine. I’m…fine.” She burned for him.
“Awright. Fine. Good.” He pecked her once more on the mouth before caressing her cheek. “G’night.”
Ororo fought the urge to stagger back to her bungalow as she walked wit Logan’s eyes boring into her back. Her legs felt like limp noodles. She drifted inside on a hazy, happy cloud. She was fine until she had an epiphany while brushing her teeth.
She didn’t know how to ski.
Shit.
Chill and Serve by OriginalCeenote
A faint sheen of sweat slicked Ororo’s cheeks and upper lips as she neatly flipped the seared chicken breasts in a perfect wave of white wine sauce, making the flames beneath the sauté pan dance and sizzle. She was in her element, and she hadn’t had time to do more than text message Ali before she left her rental before she was flung headlong into her day. First, breakfast was laid out for the crew shortly after dawn, continental-style. Everyone had raved over the unexpected treat of cream-cheese stuffed French toast strata topped with a peach glaze.
Next came the first meals for the set. Ororo had planned on five identical plates of food for those takes, thinking that the scene could be done in a few takes, and that the food wouldn’t be disturbed much if the characters were busy talking to each other. Jean hardly ate anyway, she reasoned.
They went through the scene twenty-two times before Scott had the version that escaped the cutting room floor. She had her sous chef interns prep more after the first three plates were prodded enough, sampled or thrown across the room to justify needing another plate that wouldn’t leave the shot badly edited from frame to frame. It didn’t help that Ororo was a perfectionist. Each sliver of julienned carrot had to be placed just so, the garnish couldn’t rest on the wrong side of the plate. The sauce had to have the same patterns drizzled into it on every plate, using the exact same china.
Jean had a field day criticizing the food, joking that it was a good thing she was being compensated well into the millions to suffer through the menu. She shot Ororo a sneer as she stalked back to her dressing room. Ororo pondered what Ali would do in a moment like that.
On the twentieth plate, Ororo spat into the sauce.
After the first three weeks of shooting, Ororo was exhausted. After the first six, she was ready to smack someone. Anyone. It didn’t matter who anymore. A certain prima donna getting her toenails polished in her trailer after announcing to the world at large that she was ordering out for dinner for a much needed reprieve from “this cafeteria slop” was the first slappee that came to mind. Ororo, being a woman of insight, decided to take the next best tack.
She made little voodoo dolls out of food. Jubilee and Sooraya caught her one day and hooted with laughter, threatening blackmail until she promised that they could each make one, too. The one had a funny little mouth opened in a wide “O” made of string licorice and had julienned carrots for hair. Toothpicks protruded at vicious angles from its chest and neck.
“That’s one for the Halloween potluck,” Jubilee crowed as she snapped pics with her razor phone.
“You two are corrupting me,” Sooraya muttered, decorating her doll with squiggles of chocolate from a pastry bag to make brown hair. She added little cinnamon drops for eyes to resemble the red sunglasses that a certain director wore whenever they shot takes outside.
That evening found Jean in the bungalow that she and Scott shared, alone and picking at a local restaurant’s bento box, reading the evening paper. Raven had picked up a stack of magazines as well as a copy of the Los Angeles Times from a newsstand that carried international periodicals in nearly every language. Jean had just unfolded it to read the front page, skimming the headline briefly before moving onto the bottom page jumpline.
Her hand froze in mid-air just as she was about to dip a seaweed-wrapped morsel of sushi into a tub of soy sauce. Her fingers shook so violently that she dropped it and clutched the paper in both hands. The newsprint crackled as she read the column with horrified eyes. The photo spoke a thousand words and made her bite back a scream of her own, captioned:
“Oscar-Award Winning Starlet Makes Scene in Overseas Hotel While on Movie Shoot.”
“Raven,” she whispered. “Raven. Ravennnn. RAVEN.” Her voice rose and quickened on a note of hysteria as her stomach tied itself into a steel knot. Raven came running out from Jean and Scott’s bedroom at as quick of a trot as her Prada pumps would allow.
“What’s the matter, Jean?” Jean looked miserable as she handed Raven the half-crumpled newspaper, shaking it at her as she buried her forehead in the palm of her free hand.
“Just look.” Raven’s eyes scanned the opening paragraphs of the column efficiently, flitting over each line. She squinted, letting her lips mouth the words before her mouth dropped open on a gasp.
“Shit,” she murmured.
“I know.”
“Jean, this is…”
“I know,” Jean repeated, nodding her head, eyes brimming.
“What happened?”
“I…I didn’t tell you everything that happened the night that Scott gave me the divorce papers.”
“No, really?” Raven quipped, attempting to lighten the mood. Jean shot her an unrehearsed glare that quelled further reply from the peanut gallery.
“Scott caught me visiting someone.”
“Okaaaay.”
“I didn’t go straight home after the shoot that first day on the set, Raven.” Raven broke their gaze as she peered at the day the article cited that the “incident” took place. The first photo showed Jean looking upset, hugging herself and ducking beneath her baseball cap. Even though most of her hair was hidden except for a loose, slovenly ponytail, her profile was unmistakable. Whoever had snapped the photograph had caught Scott from the back, but fingerprinted him as her husband. A “lover’s spat,” the article called it. An “altercation in a luxury rental” that happened between two easily recognized names in Hollywood. Tinseltown’s power couple, on the rocks. The look of anguish on Jean’s face was unmistakable. The next photo on the jump page in 8B, abbreviated to “Starlet’s Scene,” tore her marriage, reputation and character to ribbons. Raven decided to reserve judgment until she had the chance to read the whole thing. Tears ran unchecked down Jean’s face. Her wet-sounding sniffle interrupted her from the last few lines.
“God bless the free press,” Raven announced. She reached for a fast food napkin and pressed it into Jean’s hand. She squeezed it with unexpected sympathy and tenderness. “You gonna be okay?”
“I don’t know,” Jean squeaked.
“Do I have to run off with all the sharp objects?”
“No.”
“Want me to stay?” Raven’s expression was soft as she knelt by Jean’s chair and rubbed her back.
“Yes.”
“Need a wine spritzer?”
“Oh God, yes.” Raven fixed the drinks and nudged one into Jean’s limp grip before sitting next to her on the couch.
“So. You were visiting someone.” Jean nodded. “Male.” She nodded again. “Platonic?” Jean met her look with one of despair.
“No. Definitely not platonic. The only thing we had in common was an itch that needed to be scratched and opposable thumbs. And for a while, it was fine.”
“How long?”
“Four friggin’ years,” she spat, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. “He always seemed fine with it all. He listened to me. He held me when I needed it. There were no strings…”
“That’s what they all say. My marriage started out as a no-strings fling while Anna was still just little, she’d just started kindergarten.”
“James?” Jean inquired.
“That’s the one,” she agreed, taking a thirsty gulp of her spritzer and leaning up against Jean’s shoulder, letting her feet knock together where they were propped up on the coffee table. “That’s my Jamie. He hated it when I used to call him that. I just hated calling him Jim.”
“I like Jamie.”
“Yeah. He was an ungrateful putz.” Jean snorted into her drink mirthlessly, but Raven was glad to see the fleeting smile. “You wanna talk about opposable thumbs…I used to love his hands. Big, meaty hands. He used to pet me like a cat,” she mused.
“It’s nice being touched like that.” Jean remembered the dark look Logan used to pin her with when he was in the mood. “Lately I miss that. Scott never touches me like that anymore. He never really did.”
“How about Mr. Wonderful?”
“Sure, that’s what I’ll call him,” Jean scoffed, staring into her glass and wondering when the contents up and evaporated on her. “We need more wine.”
“Don’t change the subject, it was just getting good.”
“Fine. Bring over the bottle.” Raven complied, reaching out to fill Jean’s glass again before she even sat back down.
“Scott knew about him?”
“Uh-huh. It’s my own fault.”
“Didn’t you try to be careful?”
“Thought so before. Now I think I wanted to get caught. You don’t drag something like that out that long without feeling guilty, and without ACTING guilty.”
“What about him?”
“Logan? Pfft. He was already convinced women were Hell on earth after he and his wife split.” Jean looked up from her glass. “What?” Raven was staring at her like she had grown a second head.
“Logan?”
“Yes, Logan?”
“What’s his last name?”
“Howlett.”
“The cinematographer?” Raven was looking at her even more strangely, and Jean didn’t think it was the wine.
“Yes. The beefy, handsome one that looks like the Marlboro Man.”
“Jean…that’s Jamie.”
“Jamie?”
“JAMIE. My ex.” It dawned on her. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know that?”
“Raven…you’ve never said anything.” She was still in a daze from the revelation. “Shit. HE never said anything. All he ever said was that his ex-wife…”
“Had balls of iron?” she suggested. Suddenly Jean felt like she had fallen headlong into a bad remake of an Oscar Wilde play. It was the way he’d described his ex any time she asked him about her, almost verbatim. But he’d called her Ray. Not Raven.
“Oh, my God!”
“I changed my name when we got divorced.”
“Back to Darkholme…geez.”
“This is insane, even for a town like Hollywood. It’s supposed to be too big for people like us to say ‘Small world,’ Jean.”
“Shit happens.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
“So that means…?”
“You’ve been schtupping my ex-husband.”
“Right. Raven?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Aren’t you mad?”
“Alimony. Botox. New boyfriend as rich as God. Think I’m covered. This finally solves the mystery, though.” Jean stared at Raven this time. “I can’t fault his taste.”
“You mean you won’t.”
“You’re paying me too much.”
“Bullshit.” Jean leaned her head on Raven’s shoulder in a sisterly gesture. “You’ve been great.”
“I know,” she admitted, patting Jean’s knee.
The following week, Ororo was relaxing in a tub of bubbles. The water was slightly hotter than she liked, but it soothed her muscles and joints that ached from a day of running around the set and standing in the kitchen all day. She wasn’t expecting company.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
“Balls,” she snapped. “Just a minute,” she called hesitantly. The visitor paused a moment, then knocked more insistently. She rose from the tub, letting the foam sluice down her body as she shook off each foot before stepping out onto the bathmat. The thick towel was draped around her chest before she reached for her robe. She was barely tying it shut as the knocking continued. “I said just a minute!” She raised her voice. The knocking stopped, and she was almost afraid they already left.
She was wrong. She peered out through the peephole. Logan’s face looked magnified as he seemed to peer back through it, and she laughed at herself as she imagined that he could actually see her.
“Shit,” she hissed in a whisper. Her hair was pulled up into a sloppy topknot, she was still dripping wet, and she didn’t have her makeup on. Murphy’s Law, she grimaced. She steeled herself and opened the door.
“Hey, darlin’, I…whoa.”
“Get in here before someone sees me like this!” she warned, grabbing him and yanking him firmly over the threshold, slamming the door shut after him. “What are you doing here?”
“Rethinking my original plan for the day,” he marveled, drinking in the long brown legs peeking out from the robe.
“Stop that,” she bubbled, grinning.
“Can’t help it. Damn, they go all the way up!”
“Quit it! Go. Sit down. Hog the remote! I’ll go get dressed.”
“In a minute.” He snaked out an arm and looped it around her waist, tugging her close. “Ya haven’t told me that yer glad ta see me,” he murmured against her lips, teasing them before he brushed them with a sultry kiss that tugged a moan from her throat.
“Mmmm.”
“Damn, ya taste good.” He drank a few more kisses from her mouth before he released her.
“What brings you here?”
“Ski passes. Scored some from a guy that offered some freebies to the crew today.” He held up two lift tickets. “You game?”
Here it was. The moment of truth. On the one hand, she couldn’t ski. She’d make a fool out of herself. She wasn’t big on snow and the way it made her hair sail back on the boat.
On the other hand…look at the way Logan was looking at her, like he could eat her up with a spoon.
“I’ll slip into something warm and grab my coat.”
Oh yeah. She was a goner.
That thought chased her all the way up the ski lift at Mt. Moiwa.
“Look at that powder,” Logan grinned. “Can’t wait!”
“Yippee,” she agreed, sending up prayers to anyone listening, “HELP!”
Ororo looked damned cute. She’d decked herself out in soft black knit track pants with white racing stripes and cuffs and her blue winter jacket from their previous date. The crisp air bit at her cheeks, but Logan seemed right at home. They reached the top of the slope and stood overlooking the run.
“Ladies first,” he beckoned, waving his hand forward in an after-you gesture; he was the perfect gentleman.
“Right. About that…”
“C’mon, let’s get while the gettin’s good!” She felt his hand on the small of her back one moment, stroking it admiringly, before he gave her a little push, sending her on her merry way.
Ohshitohshitohshitohshit “ WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!
To her everlasting embarrassment, Ororo realized she’d uttered that entire string of garbled profanity out loud. Never mind that; she’d screamed it. The children skiing past her supine form were snickering as they sped along at sixty miles per hour. It took Logan a moment to catch up. As she waited for him to approach, she mentally reviewed her progress.
She overcorrected when she bent her knees. She snow-plowed for a while. Her skis crossed.
Let’s see…oh, yeah. She overcorrected again, pulling her legs apart to untangle herself.
Her poles weren’t the same as a pair of brakes. Didn’t mean she didn’t try. She’d slowed her progress down the slope, slippery already from previous thrill-seekers’ runs down the mountain. The snow was slick, unforgiving, and COOOOOOOLLLLD. Didn’t help that it was currently seeping through the backside of her pants and creeping in above the waistband from when she had landed on it in an ungainly heap.
What had she said again? Let’s see…right. “WHOOOOOOUULLFFF!” Something like that.
“Cripes!” Logan pulled himself to a neat stop after watching her take off like a shot and biff it like a champ. He pulled alongside her and knelt beside her. Her skis had fallen off for her troubles. She didn’t know where the other ski pole was, the but the one directly over her head had clopped her on the way down.
“Ow.” That was all she could manage.
“Ya don’t ski, do ya?”
“No,” she confessed. His eyes were warm but not accusing.
“So this wasn’t really yer idea of fun in the snow?”
“Well…no.”
“Can I make a suggestion?”
“Fire away.”
“Snow angels?”
“Snow angels? What…” Oh. Ohhhhhhhhhh. He sat beside her and brushed flecks of melting snow from her cheeks with is gloved hand. He stroked that tousled mane of white hair from her eyes and grinned down at her. She reached up and stroked his cheek, and slowly his mouth descended toward hers. His kiss felt hot against her frozen lips.
She revised her progress down the hill to include “made snow angels.”
Chicken Soup for the Unlucky Soul by Goddessreiko
Aint No Business
Chapter 12
Hank opened up Logan’s thermos and drank from it while the other man was in the bathroom. He had expected boring run of the mill coffee, but instead his lips touch the most rich smooth hot chocolate ever. Hank was a bit of a chocolate connoisseur himself and he was able to tell that this was not your normal treat. It contained several kinds of chocolates. Dark, at least seventy percent cocoa, the was a vanilla bean infused milk chocolate, and white chocolate that tasted like it had hazelnuts soaking in it for a good two days. Hank had to fight to keep eyes open. The warm deep concoction made him inhale and get a little too relaxed.
There was no way in hell Logan made this himself. Hank almost snorted in the thermos. He must have gotten really close to the person...the woman who made this.
Ahh yes, he thought, Ororo. He remembered a conversation that he had been walked in between Peter, Logan, and the new camera grip guy Little Peter...Parker, a few days ago. Was that his last name? Hank rubbed his temple as he thought about the wiry young man’s name. Names and faces were not Hank’s forte.
As he walked in the room, both Peters were laughing really hard and Logan leaned backed in his chair glaring at the both of them.
“What’s all this about? And why aren’t we editing, hmm? Don’t tell me you ladies are girl talking, again?” Hank had asked.
Logan just grunted. No surprise there, but Big Pete and Little Pete had another fit of uncontrollable giggles.
Lil Pete pushed up his glasses, dared Logan’s wrath and started to explain. “ Yea it was girl talk. As if there’s anything else worth the time!”
Hank just shrugged at the younger man’s enthusiasm. “Well, young man, the last time I checked work was worth my time.”
Lil Peter just yawned. “We were just talking about the ladies. Big P went on and on and on and on and on and on and on....”
This time it was Logan who had the giggles.
“Ok! I get it LP,” the bigger Peter cried.
“And on and on about The Kitten,” he said dramatically. He put on a bit of a Russian accent and adopted a baritone to impersonate his friend, “Kitty is so smart-y. She is the one that wired the pirate ship for explosives, she is the one responsible rigging up the minkas for wireless sound, blah blah freaggin blaaaah.”
Logan and Hank both pointed and laughed at Big Pete.
Pete was not one to be out done, turned his retaliation on Little Peter. “Your one to talk, LP. How many times have we had to put up with Mary Jane/Gwen Mary Jane/Gwen Mary Jane Mary Jane Mary Jane MJ MJ ooh aahh. She’s so special and model, and an actress, and she can fly, and has REAL boobs that double as floatation devices, and she’s a licenced lifeguard, and she has the reddest red hair that ever red-ed, and she’s also up for sainthood!”
Lil Peter blushed and Hank laughed merrily. Logan held himself stiff and tried to make himself small. He knew that he was next...again. Damn, he thought, they had just ripped into him right before Hank came in.
Suddenly there was silence. All three men looked at the man whose head just hit the table. Both Peters had grins that would make The Grinch envious.
Peter arose to his full six feet inches to tower over the cowering Logan. “Hmm...where shall we start on Mr. Howlett?”
“Wait wait! Ya’ll just had a good ten minutes makin’ fun of me.”
“But I didn’t get to see,” Hank whined.
“Oh gosh, were should we start?” Little Pete pretended to be in serious contemplation about that.
“LP, you seem to be the resident expert with red-heads, lets start there.”
“Oh Jesus,” Logan moaned. Never in all his life did he ever regret his decisions until now. “Parker, if ya ever considered yourself a human being, ya’ll shut the hell up, please.” He pouted at the young man to enforce his pitiful position.
Big Peter asked a question that was on every man’s mind that had to Jean just had to know. “Logan, um...how knarled is Jean’s red bush?”
The entire room busted a gut laughing.
Hank couldn’t help himself and chimed in, “Did you need a machete for that thing?” Even more laughter erupted this time.
Little Peter did an imitation of a hunter going through the jungle crouching and searching through the jungle bush.
This time the laughter was accompanied by tears.
Once Hank recovered he added, “How long did it take you to comb through that mess. I mean even Scott, the most patient man I know, didn’t touch that?”
“She wasn’t that bad, guys, damn.” Logan knew he had just lied through his teeth. “I mean yea she was whiny, bitchy, and just plain evil, but that was only when she spoke. Other than that, she was mostly tolerable.” Logan couldn’t keep up the ruse. “Alright alright...jeeze. She can boink hard. There I said it. Ok? It’s the only time she’s not being a queen bitch.”
The bigger Peter just rolled his eyes. He hated working about Jean, thinking about Jean...Jean Jean Jean! He felt his stomach bubble. Damn stupid acid reflux. “Can we talk about something that’s not going to set my esophagus on fire. I want a settled stomach when I go back to work.”
Hank saw his opportunity to drive in the final nail. “Speaking of yummy in your tummy, Logan, how is that delicious new morsel you’ve been with?”
Logan’s face lit up like a Christmas Tree. “She’s good minus the skiing incident,” he said trying to play it off. Too bad nobody was buying it. He sighed and gave up to the audience. “She’s so often a mystery. I thought she was going to be so angry when she found out about, you know, but she took it in stride. I mean she even agreed to go out with me that night.”
All three men looked at him incredulously.
“ I couldn’t believe it either. I mean, yeah, she’s been holding me at arm’s length but at least she still talks to me.”
Little Pete interrupted him. “Arm’s length? You mean to tell me you, of all people, haven’t...”
“No, Parker I haven’t.”
Hank beemed at his friend. “Apparently our Logan has grown up and learned from his mistakes. You have learned from your mistakes, right? Please tell me she’s not married.”
“No! She’s single, has the longest legs ever on a person, the biggest eyes. Oh yeah, I don’t know if ya’ll noticed but she can cook.” Everybody just groaned. “But seriously she has this child like enthusiasm for things. I can’t wait to be around her because I know no matter how disastrous something is she’ll make it worth my time.”
Little Pete dared for one more dig, “Aww Logan, you sound sm...”
“If that word ends in ‘mitten’ I will stab ya, Parker.”
That finally stopped the jokester.
Big Pete took mercy on the poor man. “What did you two do the last time you went out?”
“We made snow angels.” Logan didn’t give any more details, but he got to give his version of the Grinch Grin.
Just then Little Peter’s watch beeped. Hank called the camera men back to work, and all thoughts of ladies were temporarily expelled.
Hank heard Logan curse at the fancy buttons on the high tech Japanese toilet, then he flushed it and turned on the sink. The big man hurriedly put the top on the thermos and slip it back to Logan’s side of the desk.
When the door opened Hank tried to look as busy as he could so the guilt wouldn’t come across.
Logan glanced up at the desk before he sat done. Something was askew. He ran his eyes against the long working desk. Hank was busy going through frames on the large flat panel monitors on the left side while his right side was empty. All the paper work was where it should be, the chair hadn’t moved. He shrugged it off and sat down to tag a swig. That’s when he noticed it.
“Hey ah Big Guy, what the hell happened to my drink?”
“I have no...oh common. You and I both know that chocolate is my only weakness.”
“Only?”
“Ha ha ha, very funny. Besides, my friend, you never finished your story from the other day.”
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
Hank just sighed, “You do know that we will find out sooner or later.”
“Ha ha ha.”
~X~
“Girl, you’ve got some serious explaining to do!”
“I’m sorry Ali,” Ororo whined to her friend on the phone.
“Where have you been for the last week? I haven’t heard a word! Ooooooh, does it have anything to do with that shorty-hottie.”
“Al, its two in the morning there. Don’t you have something else better to do?”
“Kurt is knocked out cold. Poor guy. But now I’m full of energy, so you better talk.”
“Oh alright fine.”
“Hey Ro, is it just me or are you a little nasal? Did he give you a cold? Aww that’s so sweet..”
~Flashback~
“So how are you with snow angels?” Logan let his tongue trail the fine lines of her plump mouth before he coaxed her to open up to him. She tasted like sweet peaches sitting on ice. He licked, nipped, and sucked until her flavor became part of him.
Ororo found herself being moved on her back to a position that gave him more access. The ski poles were swatted aside. She wrapped her hands around his neck closed her eyes, and let her tongue meet his. She crept around his mouth and was awarded with small deep grunts and moans that vibrated throughout his body and hers too. She felt overtaken, warm, and wet all at once.
Then she felt cold. Cold freezing wetness dripping down her back and through all of her protective gear.
“AAAAaah. Oh my god!” Ororo sat up as quickly as she could, threw Logan off of her, and started to dance around desperately trying to get the cold water out that slipped inside her.
“Easy easy! Slow down Ro.” Logan watched her stop and hug her self as she violently shook from the cold. She was so adorable. Damn. Once again he found wanting to just scoop her up and run away with her.
Ororo couldn’t concentrate on anything else except the cold. Who’s bright idea was it to invent alpine “fun” any way? Just as she was half way through cursing that person’s name, she felt the offensive wet outer clothing being taken off by Logan. He stepped back and looked at her shyly before wrapping her in his own coats. He rubbed her shoulders and looked at her with pleading eyes.
“Common,” he whispered softly, “lets get you warm inside.”
By the time they were in the cabin, hands were all over the place as were kisses and outer skiing gear.
Ororo let Logan take control of her mouth again, and was senselessly reveling in it when she got the funniest tickling in her nose. She pulled back and turned her back to him. She inhaled and held her breathe.
“Ro are you o...”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACHO!” The sound reviberated throughout the entire cabin. The sniffle that accompanied it was very unattractive. When she turned around she had the most pitiful look on her face. “Just my freaggin luck!”
“It’s alright darlin’. Take the rest of that wet stuff off, and I’ll fix you some green tee. In fact ya should probably soak in a hot bath for a bit. I’ll bring it to you.”
He boiled the water and found the green tea he was looking for. This was the real stuff. Not that watered down and sugary stuff. This was bitter and was perfect for colds. The sound of running water signaled Ororo’s bath being filled.
He took the two porcelain cups of tea upstairs to the bathroom and knocked to the on the door. “Can I, ah, come in?” He hoped that his enthusiasm and the double meaning of that wouldn’t be that apparent.
Ororo had just tapped a toe in the tub when she heard the knock. “Give me just a second.” She sat down and adjusted herself so that she was comfortable. She reached to a spare towel to wrap around her hair. After everything that happened, she absolutely refused to have wet, soon to be painfully nappy hair, in front of this man. When she pulled up the bubble to give herself some form of modesty she told him to come in.
“Hey there, I got you tha....”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s not everyday I walk into a bathroom to find the most adorable woman I’ve ever known covered in bubbles with an adorable red nose from the cold. I can’t help it, its hilarious.”
He walked to the opposite edge of the tub and placed the cups of tea down. She maneuvered herself to that end and got a glass. He reached for his glass and sat down too.
“Logan!”
“What?”
“What are you doing?”
“Drinkin’ tea.”
“Here? I mean I’m kinda in the middle of something.”
“Oh fine.” He got up and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to her lips and jogged to the door before he changed his mind.
“Logan?”
He paused with a hopeful feeling fluttering around in his chest.
“How did you get this cabin? I thought the ski tickets were only for the day? Is this a plot hole or did you have something else in mind?” She gave him a sarcastic narrow look with a raised brow.
“Nothing gets by you, Darlin’. I got the cabin while you were getting the gear. I was going to show you the fireworks they always have hear on Friday nights. But hun, I doubt you’ll be ready to be outside again for extended amounts of time in the snow.”
She pouted again. “I’m so sorry. Hey! I saw those nice big windows to the porch. We might be able to still see them.”
“That’s a good idea. The lights reflecting of the snow is...I can’t even tell you how beautiful it is. I’m gonna head out, so you can finish faster, alright?”
He watched her shake her head up and down like a child about to go to FAO Schwarz.
~End Flashback~
“So did you do him before or after the fireworks?”
“No Ali!” Ororo sniffled so hard she swallowed a wet boogie. “Ewww!”
“You just swallowed one, didn’t you? Hahaha”
“We just watched the fireworks and cuddled. I can’t believe that he wanted to come any where near me. I was gross. Still am in fact. It feels like really shitty karma is stalking us. Everytime we get really close something awful happens. The runaway car, crazy bi...people, colds, schedules, and who knows what’s next.”
“Oh oh, Kurt’s starting to snore. I gotta role him over. That means my time is up, sweets. I’ll take to you later. Next time I better hear some gossip.”
“Ok ok. Promise! Kisses.”
“Kisses you back. We really miss you, kid. Bye. Come back soon.”
Ororo heard the beep of the ended call, put her phone on the dresser, and slammed her head into the pillow. If after this nap, her head didn’t clear up and the aches and pains didn’t stop, she would have to call out.
A couple of hours and two Benadryl should do the trick. Dinner wouldn’t be worked on until five o’clock and served at seven. It was two o’clock now, so she had plenty of time for a well deserved can nap.
Or so she thought.
The loud banging at her door just wouldn’t stop.
“Go away!” Holy shit, she thought. Was that what was left of her voice. Nothing but air came out. She tried to sit up, but the ache in her lower back kicked her in her ass, literally. The sun was also much brighter than when it was when she laid down. She moaned as she limped to the door.
Not even bothering with the peephole, she cracked open the door and leaned on it.
“Hey Darlin’, good sweet Jesus! Ya got worse. Everybody was wondering where the continental breakfast was. I told them ya weren’t feeling well and ya might be late. So I thought I’d make sure ya were gonna be alright.”
He pushed open the door and lead her by the hand back to bed. She watched him open the covers, and wait patiently for her to get in. He propped up her pillows and elevated her feet. He laid next to her and took out his Blackberry.
“What are you doing,” she asked with air and a nasal accent.
He kissed the top of her head. “I’m about to disappoint a lot of people.” He slipped his arm and tucked her head under his chin, “go back to sleep.”
“Hey Scott.”
“Guess again,” said a familiar feminine voice with a hint of anger and briskness.
“Jean,” Logan said with a flat indifference. With the sound of her name Ororo tried to scoot away but he just held on to her.
“Look Logan we need to talk. I want to...hold on for a sec. Scott wants the call on speaker.”
“What’s going on Logan? Is she ok,” Scott asked.
“I think so. But she’s totally fucked up, and by herself, so I’m gonna stay with her. Make sure she’s better by the end of the week. Looks like you’ll get your wish Jean. Now all things involving food are postponed. Now you can just throw up stomach acid. Good luck with that.”
“Enough both of you. Jesus. So what’s going on?”
“I think I’m gonna stay here with her.”
“WHAT!” Jean’s shock hit both men very hard. The awkward silence that followed made her have to scramble with an explanation. “I mean can’t we take her to the hospital or get her a nurse.”
“No Jean,” Scott said with an annoyed voice. “That would cost money, and after having delayed filming for a certain scarlet’s breakdowns, tardiness, and far too many no-shows, this may actually be a good idea. You got in those winter shot, right Logan?”
“Yea we got them edited this morning.”
“That’s fine. We’ll just have to move around the scenes filmed. I don’t care at this point, just as long as we get it done. Oh one more thing.”
“What is it Scott?”
“What’s Ororo’s room number?” Scott saw his wife, out of the corner of his eye, stop in mid page flip because she was eavesdropping, just as he was counting on.
Logan coughed uncomfortably. What was Scott doing? Was this some kind of sick revenge? He hoped not. “Her room is 6911, why?”
“Relax Logan.” He sent his wife a dirty look. “I was just going to send her a designer s.w.a.g. bag. I mean shortly after the incident, she sent me a really nice gourmet chocolate basket. It was fantastic. I didn’t even know that you could make chocolate like that. She’s good. It’s a small way for me to say ‘thank you and get well.’ Just let her know for me, ok. Ro’s a sweet heart.” With that he hung up the phone.
Logan could have sworn that Scott’s last statement was a warning. He removed his shoes and got comfy with her over the blankets. When he settled in with her, he could have sworn he felt a tremor, but tossed it up to the gas from the greasy fast food breakfast he had before he stopped by.
Queasy and Uneasy by OriginalCeenote
Jean silently gave thanks that Starbucks was as ubiquitous on this side of the world as it was in LA as she took a thirsty sip of her raspberry green tea smoothie. Raven quirked an eyebrow at her drink, noting how Jean hungrily licked away the red berry-flavored syrup and whipped cream coating her upper lip.
“Not counting carbs this week?”
“Takes too much thought. I don’t want to think. Makes my damned head hurt,” she groused.
“Called your lawyer yet?”
“Jenn’s faxing over the paperwork tomorrow. I’m paying her air fare out here so we can meet next week.”
“She’s good. She really came through with my alimony arrangement during my divorce.” Raven had retained the firm of Walters, Whedon, and Murdock, Attorneys at Law from the moment that she and James paused long enough from shouting each other to agree that it just wouldn’t work anymore.
“I need a real ballbuster.”
“Jenn Walters’ your girl.”
“I want him to suffer.”
“Jamie’s still got rug burn from being dragged through the court. You’ll be fine. You’ll love her,” Raven assured her cheerfully, as though they were discussing a florist or electrologist.
“He sent the cook a swag bag.”
“Everyone on the crew gets them, anyway. I loved mine,” Raven reasoned, flourishing her wrist to show off the delicate little Swarovski crystal charm bracelet that was tucked into the little bag of goodies and freebies.
“She sent him a gift first. A food basket,” she scoffed. “Cookies, chocolate, you name it, wrapped up as pretty as you please. Scott doesn’t even like sweets! He acted like no one ever gave him a gift before! I bought him a platinum Rolex for Christmas last year, and he hardly batted an eyelash, and what does he do when that stupid basket shows up?”
“What did he do?” Raven inquired, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Fawned all over it. Took out this enormous sugar cookie with a little director’s camera squiggled onto it and took a huge bite, with this look on his face that was practically ORGASMIC! Then he asks me, as smug as you please, ‘Jean, why don’t YOU ever bake me anything special like this? He wants frigging June Cleaver!” she snapped bitterly.
“Only in the kitchen,” Raven pointed out.
“That’s not me. That’s NEVER been me,” she railed, chucking the cup, wrapped in its protective recycled sleeve, into the garbage even though there was still a couple of gulps left. “He acted like he didn’t give damn one way or the other about her back when Charles and Eric hired her as the caterer, and now he’s fawning all over her…”
“Fawning? Really, Jean?” Raven sounded skeptical as the two of them trekked back to their hired car from the teeming marketplace, strolling beneath the bright, multicolored silk banners flanking the corridor down each side. Jean met her disbelieving eyes before letting hers guiltily slide away.
“It just seems like it,” she corrected herself. “First my sister, then his icky shrink, now the COOK! At least I only cheated on him ONCE!”
“Four years with one guy doesn’t count as ‘once.’”
“You’re supposed to be on my side!” Then Jean had an epiphany. “Are you mad at me because of Logan?”
“I already said I wasn’t.”
“You said that. Did you mean it?”
“Jean…we’re old news. I don’t want Logan back.” Raven made herself comfortable on the left side of the roomy seat in the back of the black Suburban. The leather upholstery felt cool against their backs, even through the comfortable fleece track suits that both women wore. Raven’s makeup was impeccable as always; Jean opted to wear her sunglasses and floppy baseball cap over her hair again. Then Raven had an epiphany herself. “Jean, are you still mooning over Logan?”
“No,” Jean pouted.
“Are you sure?”
“We had fun while it lasted,” she reasoned aloud, but Raven heard the catch in her voice, the same voice that convinced audiences worldwide that she was the girl next door for nearly a decade.
“Fun? Pfftt!”
“Well, we did. At least we did for a while.” Jean’s eyes were wistful behind her dark glasses as she played with a tiny pulled thread on her sweats. “I had fun, anyway.”
“Logan’s male. He had his fun, too,” Raven snorted. “Didn’t matter to him that he was hurting anyone else in the process.”
“It mattered to him. That’s why he’s been backing away.”
“Logan finding someone available might have had a little something to do with it, kiddo,” Raven reminded her gently. Something sniffly and garbled passing for words escaped Jean’s mouth. Her balled up hand was getting in the way. “What was that, Jean?”
“No one…loves…meeeeeeee!” Her voice elevated to a creeling squeak, and Raven was glad Jean wasn’t wearing any makeup after all that would end up ruined from yet another sobfest.
“Come here, Jean,” Raven beckoned imperiously but with no dearth of warmth.
“Why.Don’t.They.Love.Me.Why?” Each word was punctuated with a breathy hiccup. Jean curled up into a ball, as though she wanted to shrink into the corner of the car. Raven was insistent; she tugged on her arm, jerking her across the seat until she collapsed head-first onto her lap. The driver met Raven’s scowl back at him in the rearview mirror before she pushed the lever, raising the privacy glass to afford them some time alone.
“You’re asking the wrong person. I gave up on love a long time ago,” Raven admitted, removing Jean’s cap and glasses to they wouldn’t dig into her face. Her creamy skin was blotchy and pink from the cool air outside and the salty trails of tears. “It just didn’t work out. I have a daughter I adore, a house that finally feels like a home instead of a prison, and a career that feels like I found my calling. Making people beautiful and feel good about themselves.”
“You’re a genius at it,” Jean sniffled into her lap. Raven tsked to herself; Jean felt too light and limp across her lap. “I don’t even love Logan like I love Scott,” Jean confessed at last. “But I’m so angry right now. I hate him, I want to hate him,” she insisted. “But…I can’t.”
“Hating makes wrinkles. Wrinkles are bad,” Raven declared matter-of-factly. She stroked Jean’s luxurious cascade of red hair, untying the hair elastic that bound it into its sloppy ponytail. Bit by bit, by slow degrees, the tension ebbed out of Jean’s body at Raven’s almost motherly caress. She stroked the errant locks of red hair back from her cheeks where they were plastered down by her tears, creeping into the corner of her mouth. “You’re too good for both of them, y’know.”
“Tell them that,” Jean carped, then settled herself comfortably, crossing her arms over her chest and hugging her shoulders. Raven’s slim, cool hand covered hers before she laced her fingers through Jean’s in a gesture of solidarity, coupled with something else that neither could name. “I feel ugly inside.”
“Get out of here. You have a lot to give. You’ve just been giving to the wrong person. The wrong people,” she amended. “Scott loved you when he married you. He still does, if his fling with your sister is anything to go by. It’s not like he picked someone who was your exact opposite?”
“Not on the outside,” Jean snorted this time, and Raven suppressed a laugh. “Everyone thinks she’s Miss Merry Sunshine. It’s such an act,” she sneered. “When we were growing up it was always ‘Maddie’s such a great artist, Maddie’s not wild like Jeannie, Maddie’s so smart in school.’ She was such a priss. When I brought Scott home to meet my family, she acted like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.”
“She sounds perfectly boring,” Raven declared.
“You got the ‘perfect’ part right. And now she has everything. She already had a good husband. She already had a beautiful little boy. Now she has MY husband!”
“Not yet. Only if you give up the fight.” Raven knew it sounded clichéd. “How much does Alex know?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him about it. You’d think Scott would have a little reservation about messing around with this brother’s wife.”
“Didn’t stop Maddie,” Raven quipped. Raven’s lap made an excellent pillow, Jean sighed to herself. Her thighs were toned without feeling like boulders beneath her cheek. More than anything, she needed her ears to bend in the middle of this mess. “There’s more here than deciding if you love Scott enough to try to make it work. My first thought about all of this is that Scott’t not in love with Ororo. He’s no doubt flirting with her to piss you off. Maybe even piss Jamie off. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. My second thought is that you might be lionizing what you have with Logan, because he was yours, and he wants to belong to someone else.” Jean glared up at her, but Raven was nonplussed. “I recognize ‘if I can’t have him, no one else can,’ Jean, I’ve been there. My third thought is that your sister stands to lose a lot if she breaks up with Alex for Scott. She’s famous in her own right. Her reputation, and Scott’s, won’t look too great if they hook up. She’s your sister, and she cheated on her husband to snag yours.”
“Won’t hurt the sales of her line any. Fashionistas love a scandal.”
“She’ll end up in the tabloids,” Raven pointed out. “Being on the cover of Enquirer is a far cry from being on the cover of Vogue.”
“I hate landing on Enquirer’s cover. They always make me look fat,” Jean complained. “Bastards.”
“About that, Jean…your clothes are hanging on you lately. Are you all right?” Raven reserved the same tone for the question that she would have used if she were trying to nudge Anna Marie away from inch-thick black eyeliner, blood-red lipstick, and those ratty looking clothes from Hot Topic that she loved.
“M’not hungry,” Jean murmured. Not for food, a little voice in the back of her mind nagged. She was itching for her Valium.
“Then later we can order in,” Raven clucked, tugging a lock of Jean’s hair. “And that’s that. Don’t make me handcuff you to the dinner table, young lady!”
“Yes, Mom!” Jean sniffed, exhaling a giggle as she rubbed her cheek into the soft velour of Raven’s sweats. She took small comfort in the fact that at least Ororo’s sous chef, Kurt Wagner, had flown out to fill in for her while she was out sick. At least she wouldn’t have to swallow the sight of her and Logan in the cafeteria. Rumor around the set was that Ororo had developed walking pneumonia, and wouldn’t be anywhere near the kitchens for three weeks. She pushed down her sympathy for the hot little cook; at least Scott wouldn’t be making time with her, in the meantime: He hated germs.
Back at the bungalow:
Logan came running from the bathroom, wastebasket and Kleenex box in hand as Ororo’s spate of ragged, choking coughs interrupted him from making the bed and tidying the place up. Ororo was normally a fastidious housekeeper, but things had a way of piling up when you were sick.
“Ya all right, ‘Ro? Ya sound like hell!”
“Only hurts when I laugh,” she squinted at him, nose bright red and chafed.
“This was only supposed ta be a cold.”
“Someone flipped the script,” she shrugged, trying to make her voice sound light. She only succeeded in making herself cough again, and Logan handed her a handful of Kleenex. She groaned before tossing the sodden tissues into the wastebasket, and she fell back against the couch cushions.
“I’m worried about ya.”
“I’m okay,” she assured him feebly.
“I’m makin’ ya some soup,” he grumbled.
“M’not hungry,” she complained, echoing Jean’s reply made only minutes ago and mere miles away.
“Yer eatin’, woman, don’t make me hafta sit on ya!”
“Oooo. Yessir!” she saluted weakly. Logan caught the gleam in her watery blue eyes. At least she had her sense of humor back. Logan stalked into the kitchen, on a mission of mercy as he yanked open cabinets and fished out dishes. He unwrapped the Styrofoam bowl of dried broth, noodles and freeze-dried vegetables and vented it, filling it with water up to the line before zapping it in the microwave.
“Ya don’t sound all that convinced. I ain’t lettin’ ya outta my sight, darlin’.”
“I know.”
“Yer not supposed ta be so agreeable.” Now he was really convinced she didn’t feel well. The first couple of days, she’d balked at him barring her from walking out the door. She conceded to him tucking her back into bed when a dizzy spell made her fall back against him while she was arguing that she was all right.
“Ya don’t look too hot, darlin’.”
“I don’t feel too hot. Actually, I feel kinda cold,” she wondered, hugging herself. Logan laid his thick palm tenderly over her forehead, which was gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat.
“Shit. Yer burnin’ up. Not good.” He stomped off to the bathroom to fetch a cool compress. “Yer scarin’ me.”
“It’s just a cold.” She hunched further down under the covers, shivering slightly. Logan’s dark eyes flooded with worry.
“Like hell it is!” A frantic trip to a prompt care center and two prescriptions later, Logan and Ororo made their bleary way back to the bungalow. Ororo loathed the trip back up to their floor, ten stories up as she sagged against him, grateful for his strength and the masculine scent of him. A whiff of his aftershave, mingled with the residue of his cigars tickled her nostrils, what little she could smell through them. Her sinuses were hopelessly clogged and she felt like she was breathing pea soup.
The past few days yielded foot rubs, shoulder rubs, fumbling yet endearing attempts to help her with her thick hair, and equally amusing attempts at cooking for her. Within her nest of scattered blankets and pillows, Ororo discovered one new reason after another to nudge aside her misgivings about the rugged helicopter pilot.
He was funny.
He was tender.
He was caring.
He hummed a great assortment of drinking songs when he thought she wasn’t listening and let her commandeer the remote once in a while, as long as she didn’t turn it to “chick crap.” They both had a common love of the Discovery Channel and the Food Network, and they laughed until they cried at episodes of “Orange County Chopper” shown with subtitles.
He whispered things when he thought she was asleep. That had been enlightening. He also talked in his sleep. She never heard Jean’s name on his lips, for which she was eternally grateful.
He brought her green tea, even though it was the bitter kind. He remembered that she liked honey in it.
He let her bundle up in his shirts, which were enormous on her and smelled like Tide. She was wearing her favorite of all of them now, a royal blue and black plaid flannel missing the top button. She made a mental note to sew on a new one for him when they were stateside.
He kept her on a rigid schedule for her medicine and inhaler.
He brought back gossip from the set and gave Kurt a report on her progress everyday so he wouldn’t worry. He had grown grudgingly fond of the sous chef once it became clear to him that 1) he was crazy about Allison Blaire, and posed no threat to Logan’s budding relationship with Ororo, and 2) he was full of great stories about when he used to be a stunt man in the business before he got bitten by the culinary bug.
He was jealous…Ororo wasn’t sure about how she felt about that. It was pretty recently that Jean was staring daggers at her every time she breezed into the cafeteria to sneer at the offerings before calling in her Zone delivery. On the one hand, she hadn’t caught Logan with his pants down. On the other hand, didn’t catching him holding her in the hall still count?
And with that in mind, why was he getting up in arms about Scott sending her a gift? Her swag bag was still left unopened on the kitchen counter; Ororo wanted to wait til she saw Ali again to peek at the goodies and compare notes with Betsy, who got stuff like that all the time. All she remembered before drifting off that night was Logan glaring at the phone before he tossed it back onto the cradle. All she did was send Scott some sweets, she mused. It wasn’t like she gave him some sugar. She didn’t take anything away from Scott’s talk with Logan above and beyond him being happy about receiving her basket. She’s good. It’s a small way for me to say ‘thank you and get well.’ Just let her know for me, ok. Ro’s a sweet heart. Logan had been up in arms ever since, shrugging it off whenever she mentioned the Summerses. She was trying not to, but it was hard not to talk shop without mentioning the moody director or mercurial leading actress. They shouldn’t be so damned taboo, she told herself. Ororo wasn’t the one caught with her pants down, fer cryin’ out loud.
Logan let the bowl of soup steep as he rummaged through the cabinets again, retrieving a box of rice crackers. He poured Ororo a glass of apple juice, knowing she was sick to death of green tea, and carried it out to her, setting the offerings within fingertip’s reach on the coffee table.
“You shouldn’t be here, doing all of this. You have to get back to work. Shit, I’m supposed to be at work!”
“That’s what Kurt’s for.”
“I hate taking him away from the restaurant,” she grumbled miserably.
“Ain’t no help for it, babe. Have a cracker.”
“Do I have to?” she whined plaintively. Her stomach lurched in complaint at the scent of the soup. Even the safe-looking little crackers made her taste buds rebel as she considered one, then barely nibbled the edge. It tasted like paste in her mouth, so she washed it down with a sip of juice. That didn’t help much; her saliva glands went into overtime in response to the acidic liquid, and Ororo closed her eyes and exhaled deeply through her nose to the extent that she could.
“That didn’t sound good,” Logan tsked.
“Bucket,” she hissed.
“Eh? What was that, ‘Ro?”
“BUCKET.” Her voice rose. Logan’s brows beetled together as it slowly dawned on him what she was “
“WWHOUOUGGGLMMPPPHH!” Blankets were flung aside as Ororo scrambled off the couch, and this time Logan stumbled aside, grasping her arm and hauling her along with him to the bathroom. They almost made it…Logan stood aside at the sink, sighing over the sight of Ororo leaning over the edge of the commode.
“That was sudden,” he murmured gently, wetting a washcloth with warm water and skimming it over the bar of complimentary soap stuck to the dish. He swabbed the back of her neck and forehead, rinsed and wrung the cloth again, then worked on her sticky hands and mouth.
“Told you…wasn’t hungry,” she whimpered on a rasp he could barely hear. She backed away from the back splash as Logan flushed the commode and helped her up. “Could use a shower, though.”
“You got it, sweetness,” he rumbled. “I’ll run the water for ya…”
“Stay,” she implored, turning tired eyes on him that were at once beautiful and heartbreaking. His gut clenched as her now clean fingers found his pants leg and tugged it to keep him close. She saw his eyes dilate with a need of his own, to protect her. Maybe even care for her. Her mouth went even drier, and she swallowed as she searched for more words to make him stay.
“Er, Ororo, I don’t wanna intrude…”
“Getting into the tub isn’t the problem. Getting out’s another story. I need you.” She sealed his doom with the last three words. He nodded, then bent into the tub to turn the water dials to a comfortable temperature. While the shower ran, Logan filled her a capful of Listerine, and she did what she could with it to remove the carpet of grunge from her tongue.
“Need any help?”
“A little,” she admitted. Logan bent down to strip off her socks. His hands were gentle and didn’t move her too quickly. He set her tootsies into his lap as he completed that task, then looked expectantly up at her as he settled his hands at her waist.
“It’s okay,” she nodded. She leaned back on her hands and lifted her hips, letting him tug down the flannel pajama bottoms, revealing the expanse of supple brown leg. He failed miserably when he tried not to stare. He darted his eyes away from the tiny little triangle of dark violet satin at the apex of her thighs, instead taking the hem of her top in his hands.
“Ready?”
“Uh-huh.” She offered him a faint smile, just enough to bring out a tiny dimple and warm his stomach. He pulled the top up, waiting for her to raise her arms, and she complied, this time knocking the breath out of Logan. He thought he’d need a snort of Ororo’s inhaler in a moment. She was beautiful, even sick, and the past few days of not eating enough to nourish a small child had made her ribs stand out starkly, but didn’t diminish her ripe curves or luminous skin. He laid the shirt down in the growing pile of clothes and looked at a loss.
“If ya don’t want me ta see…”
“I don’t mind,” she assured him. On the one hand, neither did he. He’d dreamed about her often enough, and clothes didn’t enter into the scenario most of the time, or at least not for long. On the other hand, this was Ororo. He wasn’t having a no-strings fling with her and looking to scratch his own itch like he was with Jean. She wasn’t just a gorgeous knockout in a karaoke bar anymore, or a pretty face staring out at him from her book cover. Over the past few weeks, she’d become real to him, and more vital to him than air.
She was a good listener.
She didn’t play games.
She was giving.
She was affectionate.
She was willing to try new things. The skiing incident nudged him over the edge; he’d just been “infatuated” until he saw her spitting out flecks of snow and peering up at him sheepishly, looking good enough to eat. He still wasn’t sure of what to call it now. He was too chicken shit to give it a name.
And now…he was at an impasse. She needed a shower. She needed his help. And he needed to not fuck this up.
Minutes later, Ororo was leaning back into him, letting the warm spray hit them both as he washed her hair. “Those can’t be comfortable,” she mused.
“Hm?”
“Your boxers.” She was right. They were sodden, and they felt absolutely awkward and unnecessary, but he needed some barrier between himself and her slick, soft flesh or he’d lose his cool. His fingers feathered down her arms, distributing the shower gel over her skin. The shampoo foam ran down them both in runnels, tickling their senses. Ororo was glad her stomach was empty, because it was quivering at his touch.
“Can’t be any less comfortable than this thing,” he replied, nuzzling her shoulder as he ran a finger down the strap of her Victoria’s Secret underwire demi bra. His voice held a yummy note of mischief in it, and his intent was clear: I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. She shook against his chest as she gave in to a much needed laugh. Their legs were languorously tangled, and her toes stroked the arch of his foot as she settled back into the nook afforded by his body. His flesh was supple and drawn tautly over compact, curving muscles. The fine mat of hair curling over his chest tickled her shoulder blades. He felt just right. The steam of the shower and the hissing spray filled her ears and drowned her senses with satisfaction. “Ya feelin’ any better, darlin’?”
“Mm-hmm,” she sighed. “Much. Thank you.”
“Fer what? It’s my fault ya got sick in the first place.”
“It is not,” she argued. “Getting a chill doesn’t cause colds. Viruses do.”
“Rolling around in the snow didn’t help things much.”
“Eh.” She eyed the bottle of conditioner in the corner of the tub. “Could you do the honors?”
“Yep.” He reached for the bottle and opened it, squirting some of the cool, slippery goo into his large palm. He set the bottle down on the edge of the tub and slowly, meaningfully rubbed his hands together, coating his palms with the conditioner. Ororo’s stomach shuddered again, watching him attend to the task and feeling a sensual little thrill before he stroked his fingers through her ropes of tangled wet hair. She was struck by the rightness of it, feeling him massage her scalp and shivering as he pulled her hair aside, baring her neck. She felt his breath on her damp skin, and it quickened as he twisted and kneaded her hair into a coil around his hand. The gesture felt possessive and full of want.
She nearly came out of her skin when she felt his lips nibble her throat. She arched against him, grasping his knees snugly. His thighs clamped around her like a vise, and his voice sounded tortured and full of the yearning she felt herself.
“We’d better head on outta here, darlin’, if ya wanna get any rest. Gonna turn into prunes pretty soon,” he rumbled.
“Yeah. Sure. Right,” she rasped, tilting her neck to give those firm lips better access. They traveled up and claimed the tiny spot behind her ear. His brawny forearm locked itself around her narrow ribs, holding her nearly immobile “ squirming, mind you “ as his tongue danced along the shell of her ear. Her lobe was sucked into the heat of his mouth and laved like an all-day sucker. Suddenly, Ororo was wet. The slowly cooling spray had nothing to do with it, and if anything she just felt hotter as Logan stroked her flesh and tasted her.
“Yer supposed ta be the voice of reason here, ‘Ro.” He was tracing the line of her jaw with his lips, making it difficult for her to think, let alone reason. Let alone talk…
“Mmmmmmm.”
“That didn’t sound much like reason.” She was slowly tilting her face for more of his kisses, and her fingers twined through his as he splayed his palm over her flat belly.
“Don’t stop,” she moaned. Damn it. He was nearing the end of his tether.
“Don’t want to.” His own voice of reason nagged him to come up for air, and he was dying to ignore it. He craved the sweet heat of her pliant body and wanted to drown in it, but he remembered that she was sick, and that it wasn’t long ago that she caught him with Jeannie. The hurt, confused look in her eyes from that night sobered him now.
“Towels.” Ororo felt his body stiffen against her back, right before he released her, and she felt herself being tugged unceremoniously to her feet. “Gotta get some towels. There’s one right here,” he announced crisply. He couldn’t think straight with her so close…and so delectably bare.
“Logan -?”
“Sit tight, Ororo.” Well. The use of her full name caught her attention as he scrambled out of the shower, leaving a drippy trail all the way to the linen pantry. Ororo leaned against the shower wall a moment, drinking in the last of the warm water and closing her eyes in defeat.
Shit. She loved him. There was no way around it. What the hell was she supposed to do NOW? Ororo bent to turn off the shower dials, and was frustrated at how limp her legs felt. Logan caught her just as she began to stumble free from the tub.
“Easy, darlin’!” He’d half-heartedly tugged on dry boxers and sweats and his arms were laden with fresh, thick towels. Her face was strained as she hung onto the shower curtain for balance. He hauled her from the tub, and she stepped cautiously into the towel he held open for her.
“Logan…”
“Lemme get ya somethin’ ta wear,” he growled, urging her to sit on the commode lid. She complied, then smiled gratefully for the towel that he laid over her lap. He hurried out and dug through his duffle for another of his shirts. He’d all but moved in to her bungalow, not giving a damn how it looked to anyone on the set. He was living out of his suitcase, so to speak, but he’d settled into a routine that was beginning to feel too cozy and addictive. Waking up with Ororo’s hair tickling his lips and watching her slowly moan and fidget her way out of sleep, peering up at him through sleepy blue eyes was his favorite ritual. He dug out his last clean flannel and made a mental note to do laundry as he settled on a gray tee for himself.
“Can ya manage yer hair, ‘Ro?”
“Sure,” she lied cheerfully, letting him off the hook. A funny little wall had sprung up within those few heartbeats that he’d been gone. He didn’t know what to make of it. She craved his touch. She liked it when he combed her hair. But watching him tuck tail and run “ dripping the whole way “ sobered her.
Once she was back on the couch, Logan urged her to try the soup. This time, she succeeded in finishing half the bowl and a couple of crackers. Logan kissed her chastely on the forehead before clearing the dishes away. Ororo turned on the TV and tried to distract herself with the local news, but she frowned when she saw Logan emerge from the bedroom in his jacket, shoes and hat, looking like he was heading out.
“Where are you going?”
“Gotta head to the set. Gonna work with Hank on some editing. Take care of a few things.” He was escaping.
“Sure. Tell Kurt to ring me.” She was pretending not to care. It chafed her.
“I’ll be back in a little while, darlin’.”
“Later, gator.” She gave him a limp wave that felt lame before she turned back to the TV. Logan mentally kicked his own ass out the door and secured the deadbolts after him.
Ororo gave the news her attention, and was surprised at the report that the aftershocks of an earthquake registered in Sapporo’s hillside a few nights ago, and that more seismic activity was likely over the next week. Residents were warned to prepare themselves for the contingency.
Back in Los Angeles:
“So I really can’t change your mind? You’re going to Japan?”
“I already bought my tickets, Alex. I’m not losing my money.” Madelyne shot him an impatient glare that reminded Alex sorely of the look that his brother’s wife always had pasted onto her own face whenever they came over to visit. She saved her smiles for Nate, playing the doting aunt to the hilt, but fuck anyone else.
“It’s not the money. I don’t see why you have to take off in the middle of everything and fly across the friggin’ world. And why you have to take Nate.”
“He hasn’t seen his uncle Scott in a long time,” Madelyne trilled, zipping up her wheeled suitcase before she checked her long red hair one last time in the mirror, raking her fingers through it to let the layered waves tumble into place. “And it’ll be good for him to travel and see some place new.”
“Sure,” he agreed. “Six-year-olds need a dose of culture. Can’t deprive the poor kid of that.” She ignored his sour tone and fought back a little wave of guilt.
She knew Scott would be happy to see her. She could practically smell his cologne and feel his lips.
Alex was practically thrumming with anxiety. The air between them was thick with questions and answers he didn’t want. He clenched and unclenched his fists. “Got your cell? Your ID? Some money?” He dug into his pocket and tugged out his wallet, counting out a handful of crumpled bills. “Your Amex?”
“I’m fine, sweetie.”
“Did you pack Nate’s toys?”
“He’s glued to his Pixter. His comics and action figures are in that bag over there. I brought his Veggie Tales disc for the DVD player. We’re fine,” she added.
I’m not fine, he railed to himself. Can’t you see that, damn it? She wouldn’t see. She never did. She just took refuge in her business and their son, and in that mess of an affair she was having with his brother, and ignored the fact that she was slowly killing him.
Jean’s visits were rare but painful. He never knew what kind of mood she’d be in when she swept in through the door. Scott wasn’t much better in recent months. Conversations between them were full of football scores and new stuff that Scott had bought for his cars. If Alex had to name the one thing he hated most, it was seeing his wife’s disrespect for him in stereo whenever Jean came over. Jean never looked at him with anything but disdain; Madelyne only seemed to offer him pity.
His knuckles itched with the urge to paste Scott across the chops. It only grew whenever he kissed Nate goodnight. Alex had taken biology. He knew a red-haired, green-eyed mother and blond, blue-eyed father didn’t give birth to a dark-haired son with black eyes. The Punnett squares just didn’t add up. Scott gave himself away the moment he’d held his nephew in his arms at the hospital, looking like someone punched him in the gut. He was trembling as he leaned down and kissed the baby on his translucent, plump cheek. “Hey, little guy,” he whispered. Prickles of unease had swept over Alex’s skin as the scene unfolded. Madelyne gazed with bleary affection at the two of them, revealing what Alex didn’t want to see. He felt like an outsider in his own family, as though something precious had been stolen from him.
Alex struggled to figure out what he had done wrong. A house with a picket fence? Check. A minivan and a sportly little car for weekends? Check. Pledging his undying devotion and changing his fair share of diapers? Check. Treating his wife’s friends with respect? Check. Loving her so much that he couldn’t tell where she ended and he began? Check. Guess you just weren’t enough of a bastard, sport, chided that little version of himself perched on his shoulders, scratching his horned head.
A tiny grain of an idea so desperate that it had to work exploded in his brain. Alex grabbed his cell phone as Madelyne resumed packing her bags. She threw a tiny smile over her shoulder at him as he wandered into the den.
“Hello, Final Destinations Travel? I’d like to book a reservation, if you have one, on the Air Japan flight to Sapporo?” He dug into his wallet again and fished out his Visa platinum card. His voice trembled as he read the numbers and the expiration date. His palms were sweating by the time he replaced them in his pocket. He ran his hands through his hair before heading back to their master bedroom to pack his own duffle. He chucked it into the trunk while Maddie was in their room, putting the finishing touches on her hair.
She didn’t bother to hide her shock when Alex stood in line with her at the check-in counter an hour later, having his own ticket stamped before their bags were loaded onto the conveyor.
“This was so…sudden, Alex.”
“We haven’t been on a family trip together like this since Nate was born,” Alex sang cheerfully. “Whaddya think, Slugger? Are ya happy that Dad’s coming along for the trip?”
“Yeaaaaahhhhh!” Nate grinned, tackling his father’s legs and looking up at him adoringly. Alex felt another pang as he ruffled his hair.
“I can’t wait, buddy.” His gaze was measured and careful as he stared at Madelyne over his son’s head. “I just can’t wait.” There was little exchange between them as they perused the airline gift store for magazines and treats. Nate chattered a mile a minute as they made their way to the gate.
Xavier Productions Studio, conference room:
“You should have seen this coming, Charles,” Cassandra purred sweetly.
“This wasn’t the vision I thought we shared when we started this company,” Charles admitted sadly, laying down the contracts and smoothing them with shaking hands. “Eric,” he murmured. “How long have you known?”
“A week or two,” he replied, almost too quickly. He met Charles’ icy blue eyes, full of pain at the betrayal of a friendship that had spanned over thirty years.
“So this is how it ends,” Charles announced, forcing cheer into his tone that he didn’t feel.
“This isn’t the end, brother. It’s a new beginning!” Cassandra’s smile was venomous. Charles longed for the ability to walk. He wanted to stride out of the chamber, his back ramrod straight, leaving this nest of vipers with his dust in their mouths. He skimmed his palm over his smooth scalp in defeat, but defiance burned in his heart. He looked up when he heard the loud click of the door. En Sabah Nur’s large frame took up the doorway and seemed to block out the light streaming inside. His lips twisted themselves into a parody of a smile. Charles stared the obliteration of his dream and a lifetime of hard work in the eye.
“This is a momentous occasion, Charles. Tessa, bring in the champagne. We have about five minutes for a toast before the press conference.” Nur turned to Charles and nodded at the contracts in front of him. “Have you contacted Summers yet?”
“No. I intend to call him after the conference.” He stifled the urge to remind Nur that it was being televised live. Telling Scott over the phone before the axe fell was redundant and spared little cruelty to the exuberant young director who he’d always regarded as a son.
“Fine. That’s fine.” Tessa carefully uncorked the champagne and poured for the assembled company before taking her leave. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. She had to update her resume on Monster, knowing full well that they always eliminated the clerical and office management staff first. She’d been self-medicating herself with M&Ms out of the vending machine before their meeting even began, dreading the memo she knew she would have to write.
Sapporo, on-set, several hours later:
“Don’t be such a wuss, Logan. If you want her, grab her with both hands.” Kitty took a pencil tucked into her bun and made an adjustment to the design for one of her animatronic robots’ schematic. “She’s the best thing that’s happened to you since…I don’t know when.”
“Hey, my life wasn’t always this messed up, Pryde. Cut me some slack, will ya?”
“Not in my job description. Should’t have been playing hide the sausage with a certain Julia Roberts wannabe.”
“Errrrgghh.” Logan scrubbed his palm over his face. “The shit sounds so tawdry when ya word it like that, Half-Pint.”
“Hey, it IS tawdry. That ain’t my fault,” she clucked.
“Kid’s got a point,” Hank agreed.
“Fuck off,” Logan warned, stomping off to his folding chair. He sipped at the wooden-tasting coffee, wishing it were Ororo’s special cocoa. His body still remembered the feel of hers draped against him, squirming and slippery, responding to his touch…aw, dammit, there was the redwood again. Great.
“Anyone saw the news today? There were some aftershocks a few days ago. Word is, we might end up in a quake.”
“We can’t afford a quake. We’re not budgeted for a quake,” Kitty jibed.
“Thought I felt things go a little off-kilter a few nights ago,” Logan muttered. He’d marked it up to indigestion and wanting to rip Summers’ guts out through his chest cavity.
“Logan? I need to speak with you.” A nasty little chill ran up his nape at the sound of Jean’s voice. He turned to face her. She had her game face on, thanks for Raven’s makeup brushes, and she looked ready to pounce.
“Look, I’m just getting ready to head back, ‘Ro’s still not feelin’ all that great ““
“She can manage a few more minutes, Logan, she’s not a baby,” Jean snapped. She grabbed his sleeve and yanked him half out of his chair.
“Don’t pull this shit, Jeannie!” Logan growled.
“I’m not pulling anything. C’mon,” she ordered. “Let’s go.” She glared at Hank, Kitty and Peter, and they each went back to their respective tasks without so much as a whimper.
“Thanks a heap, guys,” Logan muttered under his breath. “Yer real pals.”
“I don’t want any of that,” Kitty piped up in passing.
“You’re on your own, buddy,” Hank shrugged.
Jean tugged him into her cluttered trailer. Logan practically stumbled over a case of Fiji water, banking his shin against it and cursing impatiently. “And ya used ta complain about my place bein’ a dump.”
“Whatever. Logan, what was that little thing about with Scott the other night? Why are you two having this little contest over Ororo?”
“At least ya remembered her name this time,” he grumbled. “Ain’t a contest, as far as I’m concerned. Better question is, why are ya lettin’ Scott sniff around Ororo?” She was glad to have struck a nerve; Logan was jealous, too.
“I’m not ‘letting’ him do anything. He can do what he wants. And he has,” she griped. “Scott’s filed for divorce.”
“Shit. Jeannie, I’m sor-“
“Fuck off, Logan. That’s not why I brought you back here. It’s not like I want you to feel guilty for breaking up my marriage…”
“Last I remembered, ya had a hand in that yerself.”
“Ohhhhh, there he goes, passing the buck!”
“Hey, if the shoe fits,” he snarled, looking meaningfully at her Manolo pumps. She wanted to smack him. “If I feel guilty about anything, Jeannie, it was screwing over Scott, when he’s done a helluva lot for me over the years with this gig. I love my work, Jeannie. And we had something special for a while, but it’s cost too many people too damned much.”
“So that’s it? You don’t feel sorry for what we had? For letting it go down the toilet?”
“Flush, flush.”
Jean let out a little shriek and began to pummel Logan with her fists. Logan struggled with her, wanting to only hold her back from doing him damage. Her spindly heeled pumps came down on his unprotected toes, and he howled in outrage and pain. She surprised him by head-butting the bridge of his nose.
“GARRGGGH! SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK DID YA DO THAT FOR?!?!”
“Hate you. Hate you!” Jean rasped.
“Shit! Didntcha take yer pill, Red?”
“DON’T ASK ME IF I TOOK MY PILL! YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY? IT’S ALL A BIG JOKE TO YOU? YOU DON’T LOVE ME, AND IT’S ALL A JOKE???” Her voice kept rising, and Logan didn’t want to be anywhere near her if, and when, anyone came running to see what the ruckus was about. Logan didn’t do ruckuses well.
“Shhhh, Jeannie, shut the fuck up! Yer makin’ a scene,” he hissed. He held up his arms to protect himself from her tiny, bony fists. She was panting in her zeal to hurt him by any degree possible.
“Sonofabitch. You. Didn’t. Love. Me. Hate you. So. Much.” She was losing steam.
“Ya didn’t want me ta love ya. Ya wanted Scott ta love ya, and God knows what else. Ya don’t hafta have everyone wrapped around yer little finger, darlin’. I can’t be anymore. This ain’t a game. I can’t play it anymore with ya. Let it go.”
“No,” she shook her head at him, letting her waves of red hair rattle with the motion. “I won’t.”
“Ya hafta let me go. We can’t do this anymore. I won’t. Scott doesn’t deserve it. If ya still love him, fight for him. I can’t do it for ya.”
“You sound like Raven,” she grated out. She pulled away from him and straightened her top. “Get out, Logan.”
“Get out?” he barked. “Fine. I didn’t wanna come in here, anyway.” He turned to leave, then paused. “This ain’t gonna get any better if ya keep throwin’ me between you and Scott. I don’t do this anymore. Just stay away from me, Jeannie. I mean it. Yer not gonna come between me and ‘Ro.”
“That’s it, isn’t it? She’s all you care about.”
“Yeah. She is. I’m sorry if that rubs ya the wrong way, but that’s life.”
“Do you love her?”
“That ain’t any of yer business, Red.” He was letting his mouth get him into trouble.
“Do you love her, Logan?” she pressed. “It’s the least you can tell me, don’t you think?”
“Back off, Red?” He grabbed his hat, which had been knocked off in the skirmish. “I’m outta here.”
Naturally, he ran smack dab into Scott as he exited the trailer. His nose was still smarting and bleeding slightly as he dabbed at it with a Kleenex from his jacket pocket. He’d been keeping spare tissues for Ororo everywhere in the bungalow, including a few on himself for emergencies.
“Are you done?” Scott asked, eyeing Logan up and down with more than a little resentment.
“Yeah. I’m done.”
“Good. Tell ‘Ro I said get well. We miss her.” Then Scott had another thought. “And Logan? It is the least you can tell her. And Ororo. Don’t play these dumb ass games with Ororo that you have with everyone else. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“Sure. I’ll let her know.” Logan stomped off. “Sonofabitch,” he muttered to himself when Scott was out of earshot. Great. Red made a scene, Scott was preaching to him, and ‘Ro was acting like she didn’t know what to make of him. It just got better and better. He longed for a handful of Tums.
The weather overhead was strangely placid and gray, the fabled “calm before the storm.” The air felt heavy, warm and moist. It made his hackles go up and put him on full alert. The urge to run for cover nagged him and quickened his steps as me made his way to the Navigator. He had to get back to Ororo.
Distilled Spirits by Goddessreiko
Aint No Business
Chapter 14
Scott watched as the propmasters and the editing department set up the furniture to get the most sound and light expose for the camera before the scene started again. He saw Big Pete talking to his wife out of his peripheral vision. He didn’t have to eavesdrop to know what was being said. The only way anyone could get a professional response out of Jean, nowadays, was if they stuck their head so far up her ass and kissed it so hard they left lip marks in her colon. As disturbing as that picture was, it was true. Case in point: Big Peter, and Raven.
Scott and Charles had several long talks before this picture started about that. Jean was no longer worth the extra effort. The bad press, and the long list of horror stories from people who had to work for her, made it difficult to hire people around her. Charles told Scott that after this two-picture deal was up, Jean would have to find another studio to work for, find new representation, or start her own company.
There was just one problem. No one in their right mind wanted to work with Jean. There wasn’t a studio on either Coast that would put up with her crap. Her last three agents quit. At the time it wasn’t that big of a deal. She had a secure position with Xavier’s, and it was a few years ago. Jean was able to hold down different acts, as well as her liquor, and her depression. The new company idea was completely out of the question. Jean would have to actually put in some effort behind the camera, out of earshot of the public eye. Scott knew he’d be throwing snowballs in hell before that happened.
He also realized that Jean no longer had the ability to be self sufficient any more. Most of everything had to be done for her. If she had her own production company, he would be doing most of the work. He shook his head to ward of the thought. No! He spent four years of his marriage doing all the hard work for her, while she had her fun. Scott had enough. It was high time that Jean started to take responsibility for herself and her actions.
Scott watched as Peter nearly tripped over himself to get out of the way when Jean went to squeeze his shoulder in gratitude. He then made an excuse to scramble away. He watched her narrow her eyes at his back. Yep, Scott thought, she knew her days were up. Scott wasn’t sure if she knew it was her own fault. Oh well, she was about to find out. He knew that she often behaved the way that she did because Xavier was her safety net.
He stood up and stretched then he reached for his megaphone. “ALL RIGHT EVERYONE TAKE TEN!”
Jean turned her back and started off in the opposite direction, until he called her back. Scott used the patronizing voice she hated, but it always worked.
“What do you want,” she asked with an obnoxious attitude.
“First of all, don’t ever do that again. I am sick and tired of you treating me and everyone else hear like turds because you have problems and can’t control everything. If we have this conversation again, I will cut and edit you down to a glorified extra. Don’t look at me like that, I’ve done it before and I will do it again. You will never get a single award, nor will you ever be more than the aging girl next door, if you keep this up. Got it!”
Jean’s eyes widened just a bit. She realized that Scott was finally doing what she wanted to since the day she met him. He was growing some big hairy balls. It figures, he would use them on her. Life just wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right that he was using her greatest fear against her. She swallowed, tilted her head up in defiance, and wisely kept her mouth shut. He didn’t really talk to her at work unless it was business related. Her curiosity made her behave, for now.
Scott motioned her to follow him to his trailer. When they arrived he told her to have a seat, so she stood. They glared at each other. He went to his desk file and handed Jean her revised contract under Xavier’s new management.
Jean look at the first page, then at her husband, and back again. “Is this some kind of joke? What did Nur and Nova think they were doing?”
“Taking over,” Scott said with no emotion.
“Where’s Lensherr? AND WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO CHARLES?”
“Erik sold the majority of his shares to Nur to keep his seat as a CEO. Nova black balled Charles into it, and basically forced him to retire. Granted he got a four hundred and fifty million dollar retirement package, but I have the feeling he’d rather be making movies. And I suggest you keep reading. Page two is were it gets interesting.”
Jean let gravity plop her down on the leather sofa, but it also brought down a set of real tears that blurred her vision as she continued to read. She looked at the ink in disbelief then pleaded non-verbally with her husband. This couldn’t be happening.
As of the end of production of Blood Money, Jean Marie Grey Summers would no longer be employed at with Xavier Productions soon to be Nur and Nova Films.
Scott didn’t wait for the information sink in. He headed to the door and stopped when he felt her grab his shirt.
“Scott? Where are you going? Aren’t we going to talk about this?”
“Actually Jean, I am going to talk about this.” He saw the question on her face and ignored it. “There are seventy three people on set with us who need to hear this information. Your not the only here. There will be a meeting in the mess hall in twenty minutes.” He walked out without looking behind.
~X~
Logan briskly jogged past the trailers towards the mess hall. He could her sniffling inside Scott’s trailer and he honestly didn’t care and didn’t want to find out what it was about. He hopped that this impromptu meeting wasn’t going to be another lecture by the Boy Scout. God how he hated those. He pushed down the tissues that kept popping up in his pockets as he jogged, and tried to stuff thoughts of Ororo to the back of his mind. Of course it didn’t work.
The fact that he ran just when she was in a vulnerable position, and yet ready to open up, angered him. Why was he always ready and willing to cut and run when it was his time to stand strong. He ran from Itsu, Raven, Jean, and dining and dashing on Ororo less than an hour ago made him feel like an ass. All he wanted to do was to go back and talk it out. He stopped a few feet away from the door and snorted. ‘Talk it out.’ Never in all his life did Logan ever think he was going to use that phrase with a woman, and actually mean it.
He ran his hands through his already funky hair and looked up at the sky. Logan had a sinking feeling. Ro was drifting emotionally, Jean was clingy, and Logan had gotten the strangest feeling when he was heading to the set. While on the drive he passed a beach and found that there was no waves, or birds or any response from nature. It seemed as if something big was comimg, and everyone, including the earth itself, was preparing for it. Logan could have smacked himself. He was never really good with profound thoughts. That’s when he felt it, again. Another tremor. This time there was no greasy food to blame it on. That was the second tremor he felt in a the last three days.
Oh shit.
Logan flew through the corridors down to the mess hall. Now more than ever all he wanted to do was get this over with and go home to Ororo.
‘Home to Ororo.’ That line of thought didn’t bother him now like it did earlier. That was something, wasn’t it? He hoped she would think so too.
He saw the usual crew of Kitty, Big Pete, Hank, and the groupies, Little Peter, Jubilee, and Soorya at a table and joined them. Kitty extended her hand and waved him over. There was a chorus of “Hey Logan” and “how’s Ororo? Is she gonna be ok, soon?,” and “so just what do those legs feel like?” That one came from Parker, who was promptly slapped upside his head from Soorya, Jubilee, and Kitty who had to reach across the table.
“So does what’s going on,” Kitty asked with a bit of apprehension.
Jubilee looked around to see if anyone was watching them and reached into her purse to pull out her video Ipod. “Alright you guys, shut up and listen up. I found this podcast of Access Hollywood this morning, and it isn’t good. It might explain why Miss Biatch isn’t here either.”
Just as she said that a very subdued Jean Grey walked by them. For a brief minute Logan could feel her eyes bore into his back, he didn’t take her bait to turn around and look. He took out one of the tissues and hoped that Ororo would be ok now that he was going to be longer. He sneezed in it, and wiggled his nose to stop the tickling sensation. Everybody stopped and looked at him. Kitty and Hank scooted away from him on both sides.
“Knock it off you two.”
“Hey,”Jubilee said in a sharp whisper, “shut up. I don’t want to get caught with this.”
All conversation at the table stopped and everyone leaned in to hear what was being said on the tiny screen.
There was a blond woman on screen next to the story she was talking about. On the screen was the Xavier Productions logo. She talked about the sudden shift of market shares from the two founders to other CEO’s on the executive board. She said that the current film being shot would be the last one under the name Xavier. Everybody at the table stifled gasped. They quickly pulled themselves together to avoid attention. Scott stopped speaking for a moment to look at them, but continued on with his vocal diarrhea that was masking the truth. Sooraya fumbled inside her niqab and brought a rolled up new issue of People.
Everyone looked at her in wonder.
“What,”she asked. “This thing does more than people think. Its better than a bag of holding plus one.”
Jubilee shook her, “You know for a minute there Soo, I thought you weren’t gonna be a nerd.”
“Maybe I should put it back then.” The whole table lunged for the magazine. “Didn’t think so.”
All of the table fished through the glassy pages, until the article came up. The article gave out confidential information about stock ownership and other things that should have been classified. It looked as if this information was leaked on purpose.
“Oh my god, Charles must be devestated,” Kitty said in a hush. The whole table talked in quiet tones about their unstable futures and the company, and where they’re places would be.
Jean stood next to Scott and didn’t hear a word he was saying. She keep her eyes on the table that was whispering in the corner. All she could make out was things like, “Charles,” and “how could she/he,” “Eric just stood there,” and “what are we going to do?” Not a single person said, I worried about Jean. She has no other projects lined up. What’s going to happen to her?
For Christ sake, she thought. Charles had a four hundred million plus dollars to die on. Scott speech went on and on. She did what she could to bore holes into Logan’s back. He was really into his conversation. It wasn’t until he pulled back and sneezed did she pull her pout into a smile. “Bastard,” she let out. Scott looked at her for a brief second and went back to his speech. She rolled her eyes and went back to eavesdropping. She nearly slapped everyone at the table when someone mentioned Ororo. Then the topic switched to concern about her.
Jean wanted to pull her hair out and scream her lungs off. The woman was nothing more than a sub-par caterer, and she had a restaurant that wasn’t hated. She’d be fine. So what she had pneumonia. It wasn’t gonna kill her. Although, now that she thought about it, she wanted to know how she got it. Damn, where was Raven when she really needed her. Now that she thought about her future, suddenly didn’t like it. If she had to work somewhere else, no Raven. That was *if* she worked. That’s when Scott’s speech suddenly took her attention.
“Listen everyone here in the Guild will still have a job. Those of you who aren’t, will have more detailed explanations of the merge tomorrow. Everyone will get a detailed copy of the new contracts that will finish out this production and lead into the new fiscal quarter,” Scott said before he went into the new schedule changes.
Jean stopped listening again. This was another reason why Scott probably had no pity for her. Ever since they both started out in the business, he had asked begged and pleaded with her to join the Screen Actor’s Guild. She would always laugh in her face. Her big break was just waiting for her, and from there she knew that her career would only go up. Once she became comfortable she’d retire before anything happened. What the hell happened?
She put the blame on Logan. Him and his stupid inspiring dreams. And Scott. His dreams were stupid too. Why didn’t anyone help her with her dreams? When did this all become such a necessary chore?
Just as everyone became really depressed about everything there was another tremor. This time it was enough to jiggle everyone’s chair. There were a few excited chills and for those not used to it they squealed aloud.
Scott interrupted thoughts of impending doom. “Enough people! There will be a few tremors, nothing to big. There’s been some seismic activity in several places around the island. But nothing to write home about. But if by noon the tremors increase in intervals and get stronger we will call it a day, and everyone goes home, got it. No going out, and no hanging by windows.” He then went into earthquake safety rules, and the whole room groaned. He looked up because an odd movement caught his eye. There at the window waving at him was little Nathan in his father’s arm. Madeline was there too looking at Alex then to Scott with a worried expression. Scott was stuck speechless. “Alright you know what,” he slowly dragged his eyes away from his brother and his family and looked at the crew, “enough for the day. Go home, we’ll pick up if the tremors stop by tomorrow or the next day. Just keep yourselves safe. The new contracts will be here when we start filming again.” No one moved. “Seriously people. Take a day!”
Most people were still sitting there in shock. Only Logan didn’t have to be told a third time. He dashed out and gave his table a wave, and Kitty a thumbs up.
Jean wanted to throttle everyone. Then she followed her husbands eyes, and nearly snapped. She did not want to be right about seeing her sister’s family outside the glass window. Her sister, her husband, who was madly in love with her to no other end, and her.........son. Maddy’s beautiful brown haired blue eyed son. Little Nathaniel. Jean remembered how those eyes would look at her as if she held all the answers in the world, when she would bend down to talk to him, or lift him in her arms. That look was the same his father had given her, so long ago.
His father.
Her husband.
Scott.
Hers.
As everyone filed out Jean kept her eyes on her defiant sister and was carefully choosing each and every word she was going to say. When they were alone, Scott stepped in her view.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said.
“What?”
“Before you go ballastic, take your medicine, and think.”
Jean just sucked in her teeth and glared at Scott. “Hmph, about what?”
“Think about what it’s like to have a marriage that lasted thirty two days before it imploded in on its self through no fault of your own.” With that he walked out into the hallway for the inevitable confrontation with his brother.
~X~
Ororo slowly blinked herself awake and yawned with nasty cotton mouth. Her neck was stiff and unyielding and her arm that she was laying on was covered in her own drool. Very attractive, she thought.
Speaking of being attractive, where was Logan? She looked around and saw that his favorite blue quilted vest was missing. Didn’t he say something about a meeting?
Ororo sat up on the couch and stretched. It was the first time in three weeks she could do it with no aches and pains. Logan was a godsend, and a whole lot more. He was everything that the other certain someone wasn’t. One of the things she lo...ed and hated about Logan was his amazing ability to be easy going, free flowing and painfully complex at the same time.
He was able to be commitment free and yet he through himself head first into things wholeheartedly at the same time. How in the world did he pull that off?
What bothered Ororo the most is that, now that she cold finally label Logan, she began to second guess herself. As she began to get dress, she thought about why she pegged Logan as ‘commitment-free.’ She pulled on a tight cotton tee and a pair of embroidered cargo khakis. Just as she began to tangle through her things for a pair of matching socks, she thought she felt the ground turn to wiggly jello. As soon as she had the time to register it, the movement stopped.
She thanked her lucky stars. That could have been bad, very very bad. If there was one thing that unnerved her more than enclosed spaces it was earthquakes. That was mainly because quakes lead to one being in small spaces. In total, that equals bad for her.
Ignoring her mismatched ankle socks, she grabbed her giant purse and ran down the stairs. She needed to have another one-on-one with Scott about the upcoming Imperial Palace scene. It was supposed to show a dinner that had European and Japanese dishes as well as fusion meals that were going to be used to impress Western envoys in the movie. As amazing as Kurt was, there was no way she was going to leave all of that up to him. She managed to flag down a taxi and head down to the set.
Logan would be pissed as a buffalo in a steak house, but Scott was counting on her, and she couldn’t help but to like working with the guy, even with his faults. He made a great man-in-charge, he’d make an even better one if he wasn’t so keen on the facade he put up. He wanted people to think he was a hard ass with a stick up there. Everyone knew that he was a teddy bear who cared a lot. Ororo thought that he believed that he would loose respect if he dropped his mask. In reality, it would be just the opposite. What on earth would give him that idea, anyway? Oh yeah, his wife. A sly smile crept across her face as she thought about Jean realizing that she wasn’t the only person who ever existed. Being homebound made Ororo restless and feeling a little naughty, she leaned forward and said, “Haiyaku, onigaishimasu.” [Hurry please] The driver nodded his head, and put the pedal to the metal. She’d been out a while and just knew that real drama was about to happen. Then she’d remembered a promise she maid. She looked for her telephone in her knock-off Berkin bag, and speed dialed Ali’s number.
“Rrrrooo [yawn], it’s two in the morning, what do you want?”
“Girl, please. You don’t sleep until after three, and you asked me to call you, and believe me, you want to hear this.”
Ali sat up straight and gripped the phone, “Please tell me it’s not Kurt!”
Ororo smacked her head. She forgot how paranoid Ali could be. “No no no. It’s not anyone you know personally. But it is someone we’ve met before...someone big.”
“Oh dear Lord! You have drama news. SPILL! NOW! Please please, tell me its about wanna be worshiped Looney Jean. I gotta tell you what I heard.”
“Uh uh. I called you first, so I go first. Besides, my shit is gooood, and it smells like roses.”
“Apparently crazy rubs off. Your shit smells like rotten sewage, and my shit is better any way. It’s worth it’s weight in gold. But your right, you go first,” Ali conceded.
“Alright, get this Jean was cheating on Scott.”
“Well duh.”
“A month into their ten year marriage.”
“WHAT!”
“Your not going to believe with who.” A slew of curses followed her pause, as well as a threat of violence if she didn’t continue. Ali hated being the last one in on the loop, so Ororo obliged. She inhaled to prepare for the shock. “James Howlett.”
“James? That sounds familiar. Wait, hold up. Isn’t that your Lo...oh my god. That’s Scott’s friend, and your... I’m confused.”
“First of all Logan isn’t my anything. Friend, yes. Not anything else, I think? Besides, that’s only half of it.”
“Not anything else? You think? Half? Do tell.”
“I can’t go into detail, but Jean wasn’t the only one cheating. Scott had been sleeping with, get this, Maddie Pryor, and they have a kid. He cheated after he found out about his wife and his best friend, four years later. His brother must be devastated.”
“Maddie Pryor! MY STYLIST!!! Princess’s sister! Great googly moogly! Jesus. Oh well, I can top that. Jeannie got fired as a condition to the merge. Bloodmoney is her last picture with these producers. She cost to much money and isn’t that profitable anymore.”
“No way. Damn. Logan didn’t say anything about that,” Ororo frowned and didn’t like about what she came up with as to why he didn’t say anything.
“Here’s the kicker. Her lawyers are saying that dollar’s aren’t the reason why she got fired.”
“Oh shit Ali...please don’t say what I think your gonna say.”
“Her representation is saying that she’s preggers, and that’s why she got pink slipped. But this firm has been known to play dirty.”
Ororo couldn’t hear Ali as she chatted away a mile a minute. She heard something about an international tour, and she’d be in Tokyo a few days, but everything else didn’t connect. She was still stuck on “preggers.” As she paid her fair and got out, she didn’t even feel the tremor that made the cab burn rubber on the way back to the highway.
~X~
Logan had waited for twenty minutes to try and move more than six feet on the highway. People where all headed south out of the range of the quake that was reported to be mere hours away. Of course everyone wanted to go to the same place at the same time. So the southbound highway was bumper to bumper just inches apart.
To bid his time he decided to call Ororo to check up on her. That’s what he told himself. It had nothing to do with being apart from her for hours for the first time in a couple of weeks, or missing the sound of her soothing voice, even when she was sick. He was merely concerned about her health. He hoped the more he told himself that, the more likely it was to be true.
Hearing the phone ring and ring in the room with no answer, he tried Ororo’s cell.
“Ro?”
“Hi Logan, were are you?”
“On the highway stuck about five minutes from the set, you sound like your better.”
“Much better! I even got out today. I’m still out actually.”
“Oh really. Are you at the coffee shop at the corner?”
“Nope. I’m heading to Scott’s office. I told him I’d meet with him about an important scene coming up.”
Logan could have throttled her right then and there. Being in the far left lane on a highway with no barriers it was easy for him to do a 180 turn and head right back to the set. Ignoring the glares and the honking he speed back on the empty side up the highway.
“Listen to me, hun. I need you to stay right where you are and wait for me. Please?”
“Logan, common. I’ll be fine.”
“FINE! Are you seri...” He stopped in mid sentence and inhaled deeply. Ro was stubborn mull-headed and thick as a fortress wall. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t have anything that could penetrate. Logan felt the lower half of his body grin at the thought of penetration. His foot slammed on the gas to help jar his thoughts back in place. “Have you ever been in a big earthquake before?”
“No,” was her mumbled reply.
“Never. That’s what I thought. There’s no where to run. Everything is fair game. I can’t...Please, baby. Just wait for me. I’ll be there in ten minutes. I want you to be back at the shock absorbent god damn hotel.” He heard her suck in her teeth. “I just want to be with you. Wait in the reading room for me, ok?” with that he shut of the cell and took the sharp right turn that took him into the studio.
Ororo was struck back by his sincerity and the worried tone. She’d seen it when they went to the hospital and when she woke up from passing out. She seen it again that night in shower. Logan was probably using it because he knew it was her weakness. All right, she thought to herself, I’ll just wait in the reading room. She hoped he was over reacting.
Ororo felt the building shake beneath this time for a full minute rather that a few short minutes, and that’s when she started running blindly. In her haste she had ran completely past her intended destination. One right, two more left turns, and long corridor. She span around widely. Where the hell was she? There was another huge quake. It threw Ororo off balance and she was left clinging to the corner of the wall to regain some kind of balance. Before she had time to get her barings she had heard some very familiar loud voices screaming at each other, again.
“Scott, you’re a complete asshole,” the new male voice said with seething anger.
“Alex, not in front of Nathan! Please,” a new female voice whined.
Ororo peeked her head around the corner just a bit, Scooby Doo style, while she was crouching to get a look see at the angry voices she didn’t recognize.
With their backs facing Ororo stood Jean with her hips to the side and one arm hanging on it and next to her arms length away was her husband, Scott. He had on a baseball cap and those painfully sexy Oakleys with the red lenses.
Scott took of the cap and ran his hands through his handsome tousled hair and rubbed his stubbly cheeks.
Wow, Ororo thought. He has a lot on his mind to have not styled his hair and let shaving go. She knew she really should have gone else where, but...it was good to be moving around in a earthquake, right? That’s what she told herself to make the eavesdropping guilt go away.
“Maddie, just stop. He’s got every right.”
Maddie! Ororo peered so she could have a closer look at the stylish woman actually facing her. Holy Shit! Jean and Madeline were really twins. Ororo didn’t know why she was so shocked. She had seen both separately. Hell, she’d even gone a shopping session with Betsy and Maddie. Why hadn’t she put two and two together when Jean blew through her restaurant?
“Of course, your going to take her side...sweetheart,” Jean said.
Everyone stopped and nearly gasped at that remark. The sisters glared at each other, the brothers glared at Jean.
“What the hell is she talking about?”
Ororo stifled a scream at the husky voice that shocked her from behind.
“Lo“mmmph,” She didn’t have the opportunity to finish because his hand was over her mouth.
“Sorry, baby. But we need to go.”
She held her index finger to her lips. There was no way in hell that she was going to miss this. He squatted down to her level and slowly to her finger away and leaned in for an unrivaled slow kiss.
“You don’t,” he bent his head for another short but sweet kiss and nipped at her plump bottom lip. “You don’t want to hear this.”
“Oh yes I do!”
Logan looked crestfallen. Ororo looked away and found the ground fascinating. Apparently his need to protect Jean hadn’t gone away. It almost appeared to be stronger.
Ororo stood up and hugged herself against the wall.
“Ro?”
She just glared at him. Logan was merely left wondering what had happened in mere seconds. One minute she was pliable in his arms, and the next she put up a fortress wall. The only time that happened was when he was the first to pull away. Didn’t she understand that he came for her.
Logan had pulled on her hand to make her leave when the four voices picked up again. She tugged her arm away and pressed against the wall.
“Jean have you lost you mind completely,” Scott asked. “I wasn’t even defending her. I was trying to encourage my brother and apologize to him. Lord knows non of this is fault.”
“So what are you saying, Scott?” Jean did not like where this conversation was heading.
“What he’s trying to say, Jean,” Alex cut, “is that he done some shitty things, but he did it as a sorry side of retaliation.” Alex never did like Jean. She was always one of those wanna princesses, and a near idiot to boot. She hated him because he treated her like a bratty child, and he loved getting in her face about her immaturity. Why did she always believe that everything revolved around her? When it didn’t she would go off and get her own attention no matter who it hurt. He hated what she had put his brother through when they were dating. When ever she didn’t get attention from him how, when, and where she wanted it she always went for the kill with his best friends.
Then there was the time when she got bored, and when after him.
“Mommy?” “Daddy?” Nathan looked up at his mother, and squeezed his father’s hand. He didn’t like the way his aunt and uncle looked. They always looked mad at each other, but this was different. Everybody seemed mad.
“This isn’t my fault, Alex!”
“Of course Jeannie. Why don’t you explain again, how Howlett managed to trip inside you with his pants down over and over? I forgot how fucking your husband’s friend less than a month in your marriage can be an accident.”
“You knew about that?”
Alex pointed and laughed at her. “Of course I knew.”
“Well then if everyone knew, why didn’t anyone say anything?” Jean was really beginning to hate all of these self-righteous asses.
Maddie just rolled her eyes, “why so you could just blame it on other people.”
Jean was about to rush at her sister until Scott blocked her path.
Logan ran his thumb slowly down Ororo’s arm that was fattened against the wall. She turned to look at him with an expressionless face, but wide cobalt eyes. He kissed the top of her shoulder and asked quietly, “can we go now?”
Just as they turned around to leave, the entire building swayed violently as if it were out at sea. Logan and Ororo were tossed un-gracefully in the hallway in a tumble of tangled limbs. The others were far too busy at trying to stay upright to notice. Jean tried to stand by holding onto the wall, but the plaster cracked beneath her palm. Scott was knocked on his behind and was left to stare at the ceiling as it began to crack and buckle. He saw his brother clutching...his son, and they looked at the ceiling than at each other and nodded.
Alex took Maddie by the arm and tackled her away from the weak point in the ceiling while Scott did the same with Jean but in the opposite direction towards a bewildered Logan and Ororo.
When the debris came down Scott made sure that Jean was safe, and Alex had his family on the other side of the blocked hallway. The last thing he saw was a tearful Ororo watching the falling debris in absolute horror and Jean running towards him He didn’t have time to think about anything else before he was knocked unconscious.
“Scott! SCOTT!” Jean was shaking violently as she tried to listen to her husbands heart.
“Jean stop! Don’t move him,” Logan commanded. He has seen head wounds like this many times in the Special Forces. He bent down to listen to Scott’s pulse in his wrist, and took off his quilted vest to prop up his head. While he was trying to determine Scott’s condition and keep Jean calm, he looked over at Ororo and curled up with her knees to her breast and staring blankly at a wall with tears streaming down clear eyes.
He grabbed Jean’s shoulders and shook, “for once, focus on Scott. He needs you now more than ever.”
He walked over the debris and slid down next to Ororo. He remembered how she told him about her immediate dislike to a lot of areas in Japan because of closed spaces. One of the reasons she didn’t like Tokyo a lot. He looked around the space they found themselves in. The ceiling was only about seven feet from the floor because of the weakened frame, and the back way of the corridor was also blocked of from another cave in of ceiling debris. They were stuck in a space of ten feet by four feet.
Ororo whimpered in his shoulder. He kissed her head and buried his nose in her loose white curls. He had failed her.
Jean placed her husband’s head in her lap and let her tears fall. So many un-voiced thoughts ran through her head. Sure she had wanted Scott to suffer for making her miserable, but not like this. Never like this. All she wanted was his attention. The kind he gave when she used to walk in a room, or when she showed up at his place unexpectedly. The same kind of looks and kisses Logan seemed to always have ready for her. Until recently. She was going to tell Scott today. Sure she was late with it, but it would be better late than never, right.
She kissed his unresponsive lips and whispered gently into them, “Guess what, Slim? Your gonna get your birthday wish. I hope it’s a girl. Do you remember that one social worker who was always nice to you. She even made sure you got your special glasses. I remember her. Wasn’t her name Rachel? I’ve always liked that name. Hope you do to.” She let more tears flow as she rocked his head in her lap. “I’m so sorry, love.”
Reheat on High by OriginalCeenote
Logan hated the wail of sirens. Some things never changed. Ororo’s hand felt too cool and too limp, and her skin’s pallor was a shade too gray for him to feel anything but gut-clenching fear. His heart hammered all the way up into his throat, making him choke and cough on the dust he’d breathed in for the past three hours that it took for them to be found.
“Wake up, ‘Ro. Yer scarin’ me, darlin’,” he rasped. Her eyelids twitched faintly, as though she were searching for him, drinking in his words, but he could have imagined it.
“Sir, we need to take her vitals,” the paramedic reminded him. “Take it easy. We just need to get her settled and checked in, and you can resume your spot. You won’t have to leave her at all, okay? I promise.”
“Sure,” Logan grumbled, loathe to let her go. His fingers loosened as they tugged her wrist, freeing her from his grasp. That’s what they all said. Mariko was already gone by the time the paramedics came to take her away, but he wouldn’t let go of her hand until they pried him away. The funeral was a closed casket affair, and a portrait of Mariko graced the altar of the temple, showing her as vibrant and beautiful as she was the day that they met. Itsu never forgave him, and his father-in-law informed him that any connections to their family that he ever had were severed with his daughter’s death.
Oxygen hissed through the mask covering the lower half of Ororo’s face. A long scratch across her forehead leaked blood into her white hair, staining it and making Logan cringe. He was dying to wipe it away. Guiltily his thoughts slid back to that night in the shower as he washed her hair. He wanted that moment back. He wanted to tell her what he should have said in the first place.
~*~
“We’d better head on outta here, darlin’, if ya wanna get any rest. Gonna turn into prunes pretty soon,” he rumbled.
“Yeah. Sure. Right,” she rasped, tilting her neck to give those firm lips better access.
“Yer supposed ta be the voice of reason here, ‘Ro.” He was tracing the line of her jaw with his lips, making it difficult for her to think…
“Mmmmmmm.”
“That didn’t sound much like reason.” She was slowly tilting her face for more of his kisses.
“Don’t stop,” she moaned.
“Don’t want to.” He didn’t want to let her go. It was the sensible thing to do just that.
Screw sensibility. She wasn’t moving, laid out on the stretcher, not making so much as a sound. He should have taken the chance he had before and ran with it.
“Didn’t wanna fail ya, ‘Ro,” he whispered, watching the paramedics take her blood pressure again and adjust the IV of fluids in her arm. He heard the driver barking into the small radio about needing to run X-rays when they made it to the emergency room, informing the dispatcher to expect one woman, late twenties, with a deep concussion, and shoulder fracture of moderate severity. Logan’s blood ran cold as he heard the static-riddled response that a second ambulance was following them in, carrying in one male, mid-thirties, in equally bad condition that would need the radiology suite first. Shit.
Why didn’t she just listen? He tried telling himself she would have been fine back at the bungalow, until he realized that she would have been all alone when the quake hit. He never should have hared off like that.
His angry thoughts kept him company as he continued to stare at her and pray the rest of the way to the hospital.
Less than a mile away:
“Don’t leave me. Do you hear me, baby? Don’t leave me,” Jean cried, her voice hoarse and strained. Streaks of dark makeup ran down her cheeks, making her bear little resemblance to the camera-ready beauty of a few hours ago. A sympathetic paramedic bade her to lie back, but Jean stubbornly refused. The cannula tugged against her cheek; the plastic felt cool but unwelcome. Her leg burned from knee to ankle, and someone was bidding her to lie still as they probed the raw flesh.
“Looks broken,” the woman tsked.
“Stop poking at it!” Jean hissed. They were distracting her from Scott. He still hadn’t woke up to dispel the terror she’d suffered since his last words before they were brought out. “Scott, wake up. Please.” The plaintive note in her voice baffled her. He’d tried to wash his hands of her only that morning. Why was she begging him to stay?
She pushed that traitorous thought aside. This was Scott. How would she live without him?
Nausea clawed its way up into her chest, making her dizzy. She fell back onto the scratchy, cool pillow as stray tears leaked from her eyes. She knew she was a lost cause and looked absolutely torn up, but she couldn’t worry about that. It was awkward, but she kept her grip on Scott’s limp hand. By the time they reached the bay of the hospital driveway, Scott groaned in pain, but lightly squeezed her fingers back. Jean felt the contact and began sobbing again in gasping, gulping breaths.
“It’s okay, Mrs. Summers. Just lie back and relax. He’s okay. We want to help you, too.”
“Don’t take him away from me,” she pleaded. “Don’t let anyone…take him away from me.”
“We wouldn’t dream of it.” They couldn’t know the full intent behind her words. Jean decided to believe them.
Mere hours before:
For once, focus on Scott. He needs you now more than ever.
Logan’s words tore at her. “We have to get him out of here, Logan! We can’t just…”
“Jeannie! Listen ta me! Ya don’t know how hard Scott was hit, he coulda fractured his friggin’ neck, or his brain could be swelling. Ya don’t wanna make things worse while yer tryin’ ta help.” At her stricken look, he rubbed his palm over his face. “Just keep him warm,” he suggested, trying to take the edge off his words. She’d already had a swift kick in the teeth for the day, he figured. Her losing her contract, and no one speaking up for her had to hurt. Madelyne and Alex showing up on her doorstep didn’t help matters. Grimly Logan brooded about the implications of their visit. Was Madelyne pulling a Jean? Did she come to claim her property “ Scotty “ or did she just figure she’d visit the set for kicks? And why did she make a scene with her son right there to witness it all?
That reminded him that they lost track of Alex and his wife. “Shit. Where’re the other three?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t care right now,” Jean whimpered, stroking back Scott’s hair from his brow.
“Sure ya do. Don’t say that, Jeannie,” Logan grumbled, pausing in his firm caress against Ororo’s back in a near-futile attempt to soothe her. “She’s yer sister. She’s yer family.”
“I’d be better off with a nest of rattlesnakes,” Jean scoffed harshly. “She’s not my sister anymore.”
“Ya might feel differently about that when we get outta here, kid,” he warned. “Don’t say anything now ya might regret.”
“Don’t worry, Logan. Scott already warned me about talking shit about his precious Madelyne. You don’t have to take her side, too!”
“I ain’t takin’ her side, Red.”
“Sure you aren’t.”
“I ain’t. I know she hurt ya.”
“You hurt me, too!” Her eyes sparked at him, and she was past caring about the way Ororo stiffened against Logan as they huddled together. “You know I needed you, and you deserted me.”
“It ain’t all about you, Jeannie. And I didn’t desert ya. What we had made a muck of yer marriage. We drew it out fer way too damned long.” Logan heard Ororo gulp in a shaky breath at his admission and claw at his shirt collar, burying his face in it. “I never wanted this ta end like this,” he reasoned.
“But that didn’t stop you from ending it, did it?” She flung an accusing finger at Ororo. “Are you happy now? You won. You’ve got him now.”
“I win? Are you fucking kidding me?” Ororo railed back. “Is that what you think? That you’re giving him to me? I don’t know what’s been rolling through your head, but he’s not yours to give, Miss High and Flaming Mighty. That should’ve been obvious by now. From the moment you met me, you’ve done nothing but get your panties in a twist, hating on me from the jump! There was no need for you to take out all that pisstivity you felt toward Scott on everyone else, least of all Logan, just because he was with me!” Ororo shook her head as it dawned on her. “The day I compete for a man is the day I give them all up. Get over yourself.”
“That’s enough, ‘Ro,” Logan murmured, but Jean rose to the bait.
“Get over myself, she says! Oh, that’s rich! The little cook with the ego! The Soup Nazi’s more subtle! And more talented, I might add! The damned unagi’s too salty, Hot Pants, try using a pinch instead of a handful!”
“Oh no, she didn’t,” Ororo spat, batting away Logan’s hands when he tried to pull her back. “Like you can tell me how to cook. Can’t figure you’d have any taste buds left from all the booze.”
“Just as well. Look at the slop we’ve been saddled with eating for the past two months.”
“At least if you’ve been starving, that explains away why you can’t seem to concentrate on camera. I’ve seen better acting from a Christmas pageant full of five-year-olds.” Before Jean could sling another handful of dirt, all of them looked up toward the ceiling as they heard more groaning of beams overhead. The rumbling continued at a dull roar. Jean smothered a sobbing cry.
“I don’t wanna die!” she railed defiantly. “Not now. I won’t accept this.”
“Like any of us has a choice,” Ororo muttered.
“Shut up, just shut the hell up!” Jean shrieked.
“Jean…stop shouting…please.” Scott’s voice was halting and slurred. Jean had been clutching his Oakleys in her hand, protecting them from damage while she stayed by his side. His dark eyes were slightly unfocused as he cracked them open. “S’okay.”
“No. No, it’s not. We’re trapped,” she wailed.
“We’ll get out,” he assured her. “Don’t cry, Jean.” Her tears dripped onto his cheek and trickled into the corner of her mouth. “Everything…will be fine,” he winced, groaning at the pain in his skull. “Feels like gremlins are tap dancing on my brain.”
“Tap dancing, huh?” she whispered weakly. Logan managed a faint smile despite himself.
“Hurts,” he replied.
“I bet. I’m sorry, baby.”
“Don’t worry about me, Jean.”
“I can’t help it. I need you.” She bent down and kissed his cheek as gently as she could manage. “I need you so much.”
“I know that. Jean?”
“Yes, Scott?”
“Do you want me anymore?” She began shaking violently at his words. She couldn’t face him until he demanded her full attention. “Look at me. Please.”
“Scott…I ““
“Do you want me anymore? Don’t tell me about need. We’ve been over your needs for a long time. This isn’t about need.” His voice was hoarse.
“Save your strength. We don’t have to talk about this.”
“No? Then when?”
“Fine, then. I don’t think we have to talk about this.”
“I do. Hear me out. It’s been too many years that we haven’t really talked. No more games. No more hiding. This is me, talking to you, Jean. No lawyers, no shrinks, no family in the way.” She finally let her eyes drift up to meet his. She nodded in agreement, surprising Logan and Ororo both.
“Talk,” she croaked.
“I could have left. I could have left a long, long time ago. D’you know why I stayed, Jean?” Mutely she shook her head, and it hurt to realize that it was true. “I was in love. I was in love with you, Jean. Loved you so much. You were in my system from the day we met. It hurt me when you just played games. It hurt when you didn’t see what that was doing to me. Why wasn’t I enough, Jean?”
“Let’s not talk about this…I can’t…”
“You can. And you will listen to me.”
“Listen to him, Jeannie. It’s the least ya can do.”
“Butt out, Logan!”
“Can’t. Summers is right. We’ve all played enough games. That includes me. Summers?”
“What, Logan?”
“I’m so friggin’ sorry, bub.”
“No shit. Really? Well, that just solved everything, didn’t it? Are you putting on a show for your little girlfriend?” Scott’s eyes swung to focus on Ororo. “Are you sure you want this fucker? He tore my family apart.”
“He had help,” Ororo murmured. “You and Jean took part in it. If he did anything wrong at first, it was because you didn’t know. But if you watched him dick you over for four years, Scott, without saying anything, then you let it happen. And Scott?” His expression was miserable and mingled with pain.
“What?”
“Don’t call my boyfriend a fucker.” Silently she fumed, I’m the only one who’s allowed to do that.
“Fine,” he grumbled, then moaned as he tried to find more comfortable positions on the floor. His shoulder throbbed, and he felt Jean’s hand lightly press against his chest.
“Don’t. Stay still.” Jean removed her lightweight sweater, ignoring the chill in the air from the cracked windows. She spread it over Scott, doing her best to keep him warm.
“Thanks.”
“Sure. Sure.” He freed his hand from beneath the sweater and reached for her hand. She was surprised as how good his grip felt. “You’ve always taken care of me,” she assured him.
“That’s all I ever wanted to do, if you’d let me. It was always such a game with you. No matter what I did, I couldn’t make you happy.” His eyes nearly broke her heart.
“I…maybe I was just unhappy. Maybe it wasn’t just you. I thought you did make me happy, in the beginning.” She swallowed around a huge lump in her throat. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“I wish you would have tried. Guess it’s the pot calling the kettle black, Jeannie. I couldn’t help myself either, after a while.”
“Why Maddie?”
“You know why. C’mon, Jeannie, d’you even have to ask? She looked like you. She even tasted like you. She told me she loved me, and wanted to please me. She wanted to look after my needs, instead of always asking me what I could do for her. When she cried my name…”
“I don’t want to hear this!”
“Neither do I,” Ororo muttered.
“It was like someone gave me back the marriage I wanted in the first place. It was like my wife still loved me back. Still wanted to make me happy.” This time Scott’s eyes filled. “Still wanted to have a family with me.”
“Don’t do this, Scott,” she begged him.
“I have to. Nate…he’s not just my nephew.”
“I know. Nice to hear you finally admit it.” She sighed heavily, but she never quite stopped trembling. “He’s my stepson.”
“He’s your nephew,” Scott argued. “That won’t change. I can’t be more to him than his uncle. I wouldn’t hurt Alex that way.”
“You already have. That was some little scene a little while ago. He looked about ready to take out a hit on us both.”
“Did you ever sleep with-“
“No. For all of a minute, once, I waved it under his nose, but he wasn’t buying it.”
“Great. That’s…great.” He wanted to harden himself against her, but he was too tired. And she looked miserable. Sad, broken, and still so beautiful and vulnerable to him.
“I wish things could have been different.”
“They can’t be?”
“We’ve already filed.”
“Scott…I still love you. What I did was wrong.”
“You destroyed me.”
“Nothing can destroy you. That’s what I love about you. Do you hear me? I love that about you, present tense. I never stopped.”
“Then why all the drama?”
“I majored in theater, Scott. What did you expect?” Ororo muffled a snort of laughter into Logan’s flannel shirt. He pinched her, but smiled into her dusty hair.
“I can’t just clean up your messes, Jean. I want a wife, not just someone who takes from me without giving anything in return.”
“I want my husband back. I want the man I love to love me, and not take what he needs from someone else. I’m one of a kind, Scott; don’t let the familiar looks fool you.”
“That was all you had to say,” he grated out. “That was all you ever had to say. Thousands of dollars of therapy, years of excuses, and it all could have been avoided if you’d just said what we both needed to hear.” His grip was limp, but he drew Jean’s hand to his lips and kissed it, closing his eyes at the taste of her skin. It had been so long. She felt so soft and good.
“Then I’ll say it now. Don’t leave me. I’m lost without you. I love you, Scott. I want to stay married to you. I don’t want a divorce.”
“I want my wife back,” Scott announced. “My real wife. This marriage has two people in it, if you want it to work.” He turned his eyes toward Logan. “You hear me?”
“Loud and clear.” His arms tightened around Ororo possessively. “Y’ain’t gotta tell me twice, Summers.”
“Good.”
Voices and footsteps were audible below them. “HELP!” Ororo shouted, hoping someone could hear them. “We’re up here, we’ve got a man hurt!” The voices didn’t seem to change or answer them. Jean rose shakily to her feet.
“I’ve gotta get down there. I’ll try to take the stairs.”
“Jeannie, don’t! The ceiling’s not stable, just stay put!”
“I want OUT! I want my husband out of here!” She ran, heedless of the unstable floor and rubble. Her foot lodged in a pile of crumbled plaster and broken beams, and she fell, twisting her ankle. “Oooowww!”
“Jean, are you all right?” Scott struggled to right himself, craning his head to check on his wife. “Shit,” he hissed.
“Summers?” Logan’s voice was heavy with worry.
“Don’t…feel…so good.” All four of them froze where they were as the tremors began again. The building shifted and shook, and Ororo felt like she was sitting on a railroad track in the path of an oncoming train. Bits of plaster rained down from the ceiling, speckling Jean’s red hair.
“Jean…I don’t think you’re safe there,” Ororo murmured. She was still petrified, hating the closed in space.
“Summers, answer me,” Logan barked. He released Ororo to hobble over to Scott’s side. “Ya okay, bub?” Scott’s eyes rolled shut. “Shit!” Jean struggled where she sat, gingerly prodding her leg.
“Hurts,” she whined.
“Jean, get up! Come over here against the wall with me, please,” Ororo ordered.
“I’m stuck, my foot’s stuck!” The building stopped shaking for a few seconds, then began again, more insistently this time.
“Jean…NO!” The ceiling continued to rain rubble and plaster perilously close to Jean as she struggled to get loose. Logan wasn’t close enough…
Ororo dashed across the room and knocked Jean aside, clearing her out of the path of the rubble that threatened to crush her. The impact freed Jean’s foot but twisted her ankle; she felt it pop and cried out in pain from within Ororo’s protective embrace.
“Are you okay-“ The words didn’t make it all the way out of her mouth.
The floor collapsed beneath them.
“ROOOOOOO!”
~*~
Jean felt herself being rolled up the ramp and down the hallway of the hospital, which reeked of ammonia-based cleanser and that clinical smell she hated. She had lingered in the waiting room of the hospital during Madelyne’s labor with Nate, feeling uncomfortable in her surroundings and listening to the fetal monitor beep while her sister suffered the pains of childbirth. She couldn’t handle it then. Things change, she decided.
Scott disappeared from sight as she was wheeled out first; she heard the wheels of his gurney depart and roll farther away. “Don’t take him away!” she cried.
“Your husband needs an MRI. We’ll bring him right back as soon as we can,” the kindly female paramedic assured her. Jean could barely make out her name tag: Yuriko.
“He might need a CT scan, too; we need to take a look at that concussion he has, and make sure he didn’t have a skull fracture or any hemhorrhaging.”
“Oooohhh!” Jean moaned. That wasn’t the same reassurance they’d given her on the ride over. She needed Scott. Even Logan was gone. She was all alone. She rolled to side and sobbed into her pillow. Yuriko strode beside her, guiding her IV pole and speaking soothing words.
“We’ll take good care of him, Mrs. Summers.”
“Thank you,” she whimpered weakly. “Thank you.”
Logan sat in the exam room in the E/R, waiting impatiently for some word on Ororo. He cradled his head in his hands as he listened to the ongoing roar of commotion in the corridor. He didn’t know how long he’d been there, but he guessed it was at least an hour. Ororo hadn’t been brought back from her MRI, X-rays or CT scan. Watching the nurses poke and prod and adjust her and hook her up to more equipment made him agitated, and the looks of understanding and pity on their faces didn’t help a damned bit.
“Please, God. I need her. I need her so bad.”
In the midst of his worry, a weight seemed to lift off his chest. He was here, where he needed to be. Not overseas, miles away from the woman he loved, fighting the good fight. Ororo was in good hands. With him there, she wasn’t alone. He was going at least a little nuts; he could have sworn Mariko whispered something to him.
“Relax, Logan-sama. She won’t join me tonight. I promise.” A pause, and then, “She loves you, too.”
“How d’you know that, darlin’?”
“She told me. It’s all she can talk about. The only way she’s leaving is if she’s pried away.”
A few minutes, Logan woke from his doze with a start, feeling completely disoriented. “Where is she? Please tell me where Ororo is!” a familiar male voice implored. A warm, lean hand gripped Logan’s shoulder and lightly shook him.
“They ain’t brought her back yet?” Logan’s mouth tasted like dust. “She was supposed ta be back by now.” Logan squinted up at Kurt Wagner, picking up on his distress. “I came in with her.”
“Why was she all the way across town?” Kurt prodded.
“She came after me. I told her not to go,” Logan began, but felt himself choking up. He passed his hand over his eyes to center himself.
“It’s all right. You didn’t know she’d follow you,” Kurt soothed.
“I didn’t wanna leave her,” Logan groaned. “Wanted…ta take care of her.” His voice broke.
“It’s all right, man, no one’s blaming you. Don’t blame yourself.” Kurt patted him gruffly and reached for the box of paper-thin tissues. “She’ll be okay. ‘Ro’s tough, have faith in her. We’ll be praying for her.” Kurt was a man who believed faith could move a mountain. “We won’t leave her.”
“We won’t leave her,” Logan repeated.
Down the hall, Jean was having her leg splinted after they gave her a pain injection that could tranquilize a horse. Her eyes swam with exhaustion and more tears. Scott was finally back, but was unconscious. She was sitting upright on a cardiac recliner that they wheeled into their private suite with her foot propped up. Scott’s blood pressure monitor hissed and hummed, providing welcome background noise. A light knock preceded the entry of Alex Summers, carrying Nate on his hip.
“Hey,” he greeted, right before panic filled his blue eyes.
“Daddy, what’s wrong with Unca Scott?” Nate’s little voice sounded frightened.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have brought him here,” Jean suggested blandly, but there was no malice in her voice. “Not a great place for the little guy.”
“He was afraid for you. For both of you. I’ll take him back out with Maddie.”
“Is she okay?” Jean asked dutifully. Dread seized her heart. She hated Madelyne, but she couldn’t wish her harm. Not yet. The fear written across Nate and Alex’s faces was almost too much to bear.
“She’s fine. A little banged up, but she’ll be just fine. She asked about you, Jeannie.”
“Fine. Fine.” Alex drew near, lowering Nate for a moment.
“Give Aunt Jeannie a kiss, buddy.” He obliged. His little mouth felt puckery and soft against her bruised cheek.
“Love you, Aunt Jeannie.”
“Love you too, little man,” she murmured, fighting back more tears.
Alex left, then came back a half an hour later, empty handed. “Scott’s still not awake?”
“They gave him some pain killers. He’ll be out for a while. He’s breathing peacefully; he’s comfortable.” Jean’s hospital tray remained untouched, except for an empty packet of saltine crackers and a half-drained cup of 7-Up. “If you want to kick his ass, stand in line,” she jibed.
“You need to take better care of yourself than that. Eat. If you don’t want that, I can bring you something back.” Jean’s finicky appetite was legendary.
“My stomach won’t hold anything down right now. I haven’t been able to for a while, Alex.”
“Maybe they can give you something for the stress.”
“No.” Her voice lowered. “It might hurt the baby.” Alex froze, and his hand tightened its grip on her shoulder.
“Holy shit,” he announced, then dropped bonelessly into a nearby chair. “You know how to drop a bombshell.”
“It’s what I do best.” She was unapologetic, but he didn’t mind.
“Scott’s going to be a father.”
“This time it’ll really be his. He’ll get to be a real dad, instead of just wishing he could be Nate’s.” She leveled him with a steady gaze. “I know about everything.”
“So do I.” Alex ran his hand down the back of his neck in an accepting gesture. “He’s mine. In all the ways that count, he’s my son. Until Maddie says otherwise, she’s my wife.”
“She can’t have my husband. Not anymore.”
“You’re claiming him? For good? No more games? No more fooling around?”
“I was blind for too long, Alex, but so were you.” Her hand lightly covered his and stroked it. “We hurt you, and Nate, for far too long. You didn’t deserve that.”
“No. We didn’t. I love Nate, d’you hear me? I love that little boy…so damned much, Jean. You and my brother won’t take him away from me. He’s all I’ve ever had!”
“Not anymore!” She beckoned to him, holding her arms wide open. “I’m sorry, Alex. So sorry,” she cried. He needed no encouragement, and he eased himself next to her, falling gratefully into her embrace. “No one’s taking anybody away from you. You’re the best thing Nate’s got. I’m still angry at Maddie.”
“I know.” That was as much as she would say. She refused to spill bile when he was already burning from so much pent-up pain. She rocked him as he clutched her back. “So am I, but I won’t let you hurt her. I can’t. I’m not built that way. She’s my wife.”
“I hope Scott feels the same way.”
“You know that deep down, he does. Give him time.” She stroked his fine blond hair with trembling hands. “Just give him time. And Jeannie?”
“Yeah?”
“Fire his damned therapist.”
Two days later:
“How’s our girl?” Hank rumbled into a tiny cellphone.
“Not much change today. It’s Kitty’s turn to come sit with her today, but I’ll pencil ya in fer later tonight,” Logan assured him. Two days of hospital food and the occasional takeout offerings from Kurt left his clothes hanging on him. Nothing tasted right, anyway. He had no appetite. His cheeks were coated in coarse whiskers, but Kurt managed to bring him a fresh change of clothes back from the bungalow.
“This is killing me, you know. I hate not seeing you two here on the set.” Hank paused for a moment, then told him “Both Peters say hi, and Jubilee says to hug you when I come in today.”
“Let’s not and say we did,” Logan grumbled. “But ya can hug her for me, ‘kay?”
“Deal.” They hung up amicably, and then Logan was left alone with his thoughts.
“Wake up, sweetheart. I wanna see those beautiful eyes of yers,” he murmured, taking her hand. She looked thin and was still pale, and Logan reached for a small bottle of lotion. He squirted out a dab to run over her chapped lips. She was well-hydrated by the line of saline, but it wasn’t the same as taking in fluids the old fashioned way. Her long hair was lank and tangled, despite his efforts with the packet of dry shampoo and a battered brush from his ditty bag.
Comas were a bitch.
Ororo’s doctor, Shiro Yoshida, M.D., assured him that sometimes comas were useful when the body needed to heal from trauma. “Her vitals are looking better. She took quite a fall, Mr. Howlett. It will take a while for her to recover, but she can hear you. Keep talking to her. Sometimes the patients enjoy that, even if they don’t seem responsive.”
And talk he did. He railed at her, begged her, prayed over her, cried to her. Joked with her. Read to her. Kissed her cheek, or her hand. Ran his fingers through her hair and told her he loved her more than air. Promised her the world on a silver platter if she’d only come back.
Kitty looked stricken when her eyes landed on him, leaning over Ororo’s body with so much yearning and pain on his face. “Damn. Logan. Are you all right?”
“No,” he grated out. “I need her, Pryde.”
“She’s not going anywhere yet. She needs you too, and here you are.” Kitty reached out to straighten the bedclothes. “Wake up, Ororo, we’re starving here! The backup caterers that Nova hired suck!” Logan chuckled as Kitty wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his grizzled cheek.
“Remind me to bring you one of Peter’s razors on my next trip.”
“Don’t bother. I ain’t got anyone ta impress just yet.”
“You will. Trust me, you will. She wouldn’t want to see you desperate like this.”
“Desperate’s all she’s seen of me, dontcha think? Between this mess with Jeannie, Scooter, ‘Ro and just tryin’ ta hold it together to wrap this friggin’ movie up, it ain’t like I’ve had time for anything but desperate. I’m dyin’, here, Pryde! I hate this damned place! I want ta just take her outta here! I wanna take Ororo HOME!”
“I know you do. Shit, Logan, do you know what it was like, getting that call from Jean of what happened to you two?” Kitty had dark circles under her eyes. “I haven’t slept. Not one wink more than you have, despite having a comfy bed in a hotel. C’mon. You need a break.”
“I ain’t leavin’ her.”
“You need some fresh air.”
“I’ll cope.” Then he remembered: Closed spaces. “She might need some, though. Kit-Kat, crack that window, why dontcha?”
“Sure.” She drew open the curtains and let in some much-needed daylight, sighing in relief. “It’s so dreary in here.”
“Don’t tell Allison that, or she’ll send more flowers,” Logan warned. “Place looks like a friggin’ florist’s.” Bouquets laddered their way across every flat surface in the room, along with weighted helium balloons in every shape and color. The scent of lavender fought with the institutional smell of the room; it was the national flower, and sprigs of it peeked out from almost every arrangement there. “Now we’ve got a little fresh air and light, darlin’, okay?” Logan murmured, taking Ororo’s hand again. Kitty sat on the opposite side of the bed and took her other one, stroking it lovingly.
“She’s great. We’re all crazy about her.”
“Me, too, but I’m biased.”
“Being in love will do that.”
“Yeah,” he admitted, shamelessly. “It will.”
A faint groan rose up from the hospital bed a few minutes later, after Kitty stepped out to use the rest room in the hall. Logan stirred from his chair at the sound after he dozed off.
“Mmmmm.”
“Whuzzat…mmmph. What time is it, Pryde?” Logan complained, rubbing his eyes with his free hands, cleaning away the gritty sleep left behind. He was knackered.
“Ooooh.” The bed creaked as its occupant shifted minutely. The noise shocked him into wakefulness.
“Pryde. PRYDE,” he called out. “NURSE!” He fumbled for the call button, scarcely believing it when Ororo’s lips twisted and smacked themselves. She winced, and her eyes cracked open, trying to focus.
“Unnnngh.”
“Don’t talk,” Logan begged. “Not yet. Just rest. It’s okay, baby, just stay right where you are.” Her eyes drifted around the room, trying to follow his voice. They gradually settled on him; he could tell her vision was still blurry. She stared at him, taking in his wan features and tousled hair. He was thoroughly rumpled and a sight for, literally, sore eyes.
“I love you,” he rasped. He felt the faintest squeeze of her hand, and she shut her eyes in approval when his lips brushed her forehead. He tenderly stroked her hair back from her face. “Love ya, baby. Come back t’me.”
Dr. Yoshida was checking her vitals and clucking over her moments later. That was the scene that Kitty walked in on when she returned.
“Omigod, what’d I miss! OhGodshe’sawakeohLOGAN!” He felt her hands grip his shoulders. “Oh, Thank God!”
“Thank you, God,” he rasped, absorbing her warmth as she fell all over him, hugging him so hard it hurt. Ororo watched the display with curious, calm eyes. Logan never let go of her hand.
“Welcome back, kiddo,” Dr. Yoshida beamed.
Back down the hall:
“You don’t have to keep fussing over me, Jean. I’ll be fine.”
“Your feet are cold. I’m putting on your socks. Here, have some juice.” She was solicitous and flapped over him like a hen. It was getting annoying, really.
He loved every minute of it.
Raven looked up from her magazine, clucking at the two of them. “The two of you sound like a grumpy old couple, nagging each other like that.”
“We might be, one of these days,” Scott considered.
“Spoken like someone who’s never had children. They love to drive you as close to a heart attack as humanly possible, every chance they get. I know my goddaughter will be a spitfire.”
“Could be a godson,” Scott reminded her.
“Not if there is a God. I need a little girl to spoil.” Raven already had visions of having a little red-haired toddler to bounce on her knee and play with, giving her manicures with Tinkerbell polish.
They’d settled into a routine, too. Raven stood sentry by Scott’s bedside, screening the couple’s visitors. She’d been Jean’s rock, keeping her spirits high and her appearance kempt and neat. When Madelyne had stopped by, it was Raven who informed her, “Out.”
“What?”
“Scott needs to be surrounded by people who love him, and the same goes for Jean.”
“But…”
“OUT. Did I stutter?” Raven was nonplussed. Madelyne walked away, looking thoroughly puzzled. Raven also tersely hung up the phone on Scott’s therapist, Emma Frost, who’d been calling Scott’s private line and cell phone once the nightly news ran the story of Blood Money’s film crew’s near brush with disaster in the devastating earthquake in Sapporo.
“Scott’s getting a sponge bath, all without your help, Emma dear. Go find some penises to hypnotize,” she suggested, then hung up. Jean’s ribs ached from laughter, which again, she would die for.
The afternoon continued on like that for a while. Jean fielded the call herself when Jenn Walters called from the firm to make sure she was all right, and that she received the paperwork she’d faxed over.
“I won’t need it just yet. I’ve also been wanting to look into some revisions to our prenuptial agreement. To make it less stringent.” To dissolve it.
“What are you going to do once the film wraps, Jean?” Raven inquired.
“I was considering taking a break. It’s not like I’m poor. Unhirable? Maybe. But not poor.”
“Honey…” Scott attempted to deflect the self-denigrating rant he sensed around the corner, reaching over to stroke her hair. She leaned into his caress.
“Independent films are where old ‘It Girls’ go to retire. There are some character roles I have been dying to take. And I need some time after the baby comes. I need to dry out, let’s admit it,” she shrugged.
“Don’t pull a publicity stunt of airing your rehab on TV,” Raven shuddered. “That’s so passé.”
“Not my thing. No wall-climbing for me. No goofy mission statements. Detox, the serenity prayer, group therapy, I’m there. Whatever it takes.” She glowed from beneath slightly green pallor, despite Raven’s careful work with her makeup. “Raven, pass me some saltines.”
…And back down the hall again:
“Most people have the common sense to stay away from the site of a natural disaster, not fly straight into the heart of it,” Ororo accused, eyeballing Ali sternly as she fiddled with her can of soda.
“Feh. When have you ever known me to do what I’m told? I miss my best mate.” She shot Kurt a warm look. “And my sweetie. No way could I stay on tour with you two abroad and cooped up in the hospital.” Her eyes glistened. “I almost lost you.”
“It’s okay.” She nodded to Logan. “He’s been taking great care of me. Everyone has,” she qualified. “This room’s been Grand Central. Every hour on the hour, someone comes through that door with food, flowers, or painkillers.”
“Shoot. Book me a bed, too!”
“It’ll get too crowded in here, kid. I got first dibs,” Logan growled, cradling Ororo’s hand in his grip and raising it to his lips.
“Keep it warm for me,” Allison tossed back.
“In yer dreams!” The two of them squabbled like siblings. Ororo watched their jabs at each other fly across the room like a ping-pong match.
“You’d better take good care of her. Don’t make me interrupt my tour again to come back here and kick your ass, Flintstone,” she warned, using the nickname she’d given him before he’d finally shaved and changed into decent clothes.
“Shit. Let you take care of her, and you’ll have her back in the karaoke bar, makin’ a scene.”
“Shit. How much of that did you see?”
“Every flamin’ minute.” His grin was wide and wicked.
“Kurt…you didn’t hear any of this.”
“Liebchen, I inevitably hear it all.” She snuggled up on his lap and sighed as he nibbled her ear. Ororo stared at them longingly, wishing it were her, sitting on Logan’s lap like that without a care in the world.
“Guys…why don’t you head on out to pick us up something?” Ororo nodded to her purse, which Ali had recovered from the hospital safe. She needed time with Logan. Awake, unchaperoned, and uninterrupted.
“Sounds good. After you, liebchen,” Kurt urged, steering Ali away, but not before she doubled back and kissed Ororo soundly on the cheek.
“Get well soon. I need my partner in crime back.” Ororo let them drift out the door, then sighed. She fidgeted with the bandage holding the IV tube in her arm; it itched abominably.
“What’s up, ‘Ro?”
“Us,” she declared.
“Yeah?” His hackles went up.
“Yeah.” She patted the edge of the hospital bed. The rails were down, and she nudged herself over, making room for him to sit. “C’mere.” He obliged her, and he actually laid down beside her carefully, resting his head on the pillow next to hers. They stared into each other’s eyes, and Ororo’s fingertips drifted over his cheek.
“What’s on yer mind?”
“You. Us. If there is an ‘us.’ I want there to be.”
“Yeah.” His mouth went dry. “Me, too.”
“I don’t want to be your rebound girl. This is a crappy time to talk about it, but there you have it.”
“Are ya kiddin’ me? Rebound, my ass!” His brows slammed down in disbelief and frustration. “Do ya know how hard it’s been, trying ta keep from losin’ ya, woman? Wishing and hoping that all that shit with Jeannie didn’t screw everything up?” He flattened her palm against his cheek, and his stubble rasped against her flesh as he encouraged her caress, leaning into it. “I hope it didn’t screw everything up.”
“No. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t afraid you still carried a torch for Miss Thang.” She was feeling generous…almost. “She’s not so bad.”
“When she’s sober,” he qualified. “And when’s she’s not dicking around poor Scooter.”
“Have you been to see them?”
“It’s too soon. And Raven kicked me out.” He shrugged. “No biggie.” Her smile warmed him.
“We’ve got a movie to wrap. I don’t want to keep you from work.”
“It ain’t like yer keepin’ me from anything. Hank and Petey are cleaning up the footage we took. Don’t make sense ta resume production when the director ain’t even all the way back on his feet, yet, and the leading lady has her leg in a cast.”
“Folks have to eat,” she prodded, feathering the corner of his mouth with her thumb.
“ Cassandra Nova can order everyone some pizza.”
“Geez.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought.
“Until then, yer stuck with me.”
“I’ll muddle through it somehow.” He stroked her arm easily, warming her with his touch.
“Ro?”
“Hmm?”
“I love ya so damned much. Come home with me.” He shocked her into silence for several moments that made his gut knot.
“I’ll be out of the hospital in another day or two,” she soothed.
“I mean ‘home,’ home. Back to my house, or yer condo. It don’t matter.”
“Logan…”
“Don’t say no yet.”
“I wasn’t going to.” Her fingers combed through his soft curls, and his arm locked itself around her waist. His breath tickled her lips, and she could practically drown in his eyes. “I love you, too. It feels like I know all of your secrets.”
“Can’t help that; they’ve been flapping in the press for weeks.”
“They haven’t scared me away. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, don’t you know that? Do you have any idea what you mean to me, Logan Howlett?”
“Tell me anyway, darlin’. I need ta hear it.”
“I love you silly, one hundred and fifty percent. Common sense be damned.” Her heart swelled as relief etched itself across his features.
“Thank God for a lack of common sense,” he growled, devouring her lips.
Chapter 16 Epilogue Part One Alternate Ending One by Goddessreiko
Aint No Business
Chapter 16
Epilogue Part One
Alternate Ending
*Six Months after the Earthquake in Sapporo*
The reporter tucked the loose strand of hair back behind her ear, and shifted her wireless microphone. She had forty seconds until the live feed started. Usually around this time she would finger her rosary beads or bury her hair head into her girlfriends neck and let her heart calm her. So much had happened to her and the woman behind the camera whom she loved with all of what was left of her soul. She had done a lot of rotten things to better herself and those in that pitiful sorry excuse of a neighborhood. The only person who bothered to ask about her or even remotely care about her was the woman who was trying to get her attention right now.
“Cali...Cali? CALLISTO RAMOS!”
“Huh? What, Sara?”
“Sweet heart, we have fifteen seconds left.” She whispered directions to the camera man about lense adjustment, then looked at the studio watch as she counted backwards. Sara new that Calisto always got nervous right before she got on camera, and she hated actually talking to celebrities. Most new her as an up and coming entertainment newscaster. She was rarely taken seriously. Sara knew it was her dream to be on the ABC’s World Evening News. As a producer, she new she was in a position to make it happen for her lover.
Her watch continued it’s count down. When it reached five she pointed at Callisto.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
“Hi Access Hollywood. I’m Callistio Ramos, and I’m reporting to you live from Grauman's Chinese Theatre in Los Angeles at the premiere of Bloodmoney. This power packed emotional film already has a ton of raving reviews at Toronto and Cannes, as well as quiet a lot of Oscar buzz This appear one of those signature films of the year.” When she got to the last part of her introduction, she found herself nearly shouting to her herself over the screaming paparazzi and fans shouting at the other A-listers attending the premiere.
“And coming down the red carpet now is top model Elizabeth Braddock. Lizzy! LIZZY! Over here.”
Callisto knew that the taller woman heard her the first time, even facing throngs of hundreds of screaming fans. All the celebrities from each venue of entertainment knew how to work the media. There was no such thing as bad publicity, and each star would make the press line or make a big show of not making the line. Either way was a big amount of exposure and both parties won It was an evil double edged sword, but it was a multi-billion dollar industry, so cry and complain as they wanted the “sword-handlers” managed just fine. She just gritted her teeth as she asked ridiculously shallow questions as, “who are you wearing,” and “how much was that stupidly glittering accessory.”
After posing for a few fan pictures and signing a couple of autographs Elizabeth ‘The Psylocke’ Braddock inhaled with a large amount of frustration plastered her in-demand flashy white smile, and made her way onto the Access Hollywood platform on the red carpet. Oh well, time to suck it up.
Before the interview started, she had a brief update of events surrounding the movie on a three by five card. She took a brief glance before Sara started the live feed.
“Hey Cali. What’s up.”
“Well, Psy, I could ask the same for you. You’ve had a very busy year. You brand new Cover Girl spokesmodel, you.”
“Stop that,” Elizabeth said with a playful wave of her hand. “Its been pretty good for me so far.”
“You’re the highest paid British model and the first Asian top model. So far, so good. What about your work with the Red Cross?”
For the first time since she arrived Betsy breathed a sigh of relief and actually smiled. “Well, I got involved with the Red Cross thanks to one of the producers of the film.”
“Would that be a Mister Worthington III?”
“Oh look, there he is now, WAR!” Betsy raised her arm to call him over and gave a beautiful shot that made photographers go wild. The handsome tall blond man cam over with a quiet swagger and snagged an arm around her waist. “Hey there, I was just talking about your work on the film.”
Had he been her type, Callisto would have inwardly oogled, and perhaps made a show of flirting, but she was happy when no feelings of attraction surfaced. “Warren, why don’t you tell us what happened during that devastating quake?”
“Oh no, I’m not going to get into that,” Warren said. “Bets,” he nudged her soft bottom, “wasn’t your friend on set that day.” He belatedly ignored her scowl and her panicky eyes.
She smiled, and quickly looked around for an excuse not to answer, and that’s when she saw her saviors.
“JOTT! Come on over,” she yelled. “We were just talking about you!”
“Jott? Whose Jott, Bets?” He answered his own question when two very famous faces came up to him. “Oh, I get it.”
Betsy just sighed. “I’m glad your pretty.” Before she could add another snarky retort her cell inside of her handbag began to vibrate with a text message. She held up a finger to signal her need for a private message. When she walked a few paces, she looked at her message:
Hey U
U dere yet
Ur dress is itchy
btw where’s ali
--Ro
With a few quick presses on her key pad she sent her response.
Poked ya
I here
take d dress off
make hairy gary take it off
btw isn’t ali wit u
“Psy
With that she rejoined the conversation.
As the second couple came up on the platform to talk, Sara nearly fell over. Callisto’s mouth was agape, and the camera nearly dropped the camera. They were going to get a red carpet interview with the suddenly reclusive Summers’. This night couldn’t get any better!
“Well look at this. Jean and Scott Summers. Is nice to see you both out and abo...” Before she could finish her sentence Jean had turned around to face Callisto and the space in between them was nearly obliterated by her protruding stomach. She turned her gaping visage to look at Sara who was quickly motioning to move the interview forward before the Summers’ could move on. There was no way she could let this bombshell slip through their hands.
“Wow,” Callisto said, once she managed to speak. “How are doing with your first upcoming birth?” Before she could answer, Callisto then turned the microphone to Scott Summers, and she nodded to his cane. “How has the recovery been for you?
Jean looked at her husband with wide eyes, and he threw his free hand around her waist and squeezed gently. No matter how prepared she was for this question, Jean didn’t want to have to play pretend-to-be-positive around her pregnancy. Sure all pregnancies were no walk in the park, but after 15 years of hard parting, binge drinking, vomiting for beauty, the occasional line of powered illegal substances, rough sex, over exercising, and the last eight years of just pretending to eat has, surprisingly enough, weakened her body. Who knew!
Life just wasn’t fair, she would never forgive those who let that happened. Sure some of it was her fault. She sighed. Alright all of it was her fault. No one put a gun to her head to make her do it, and there was those who tried to stop her.
It was painfully ironic that she spent so much time inhaling oxicodine, percecpts, and other pain medicines to get high, and now she couldn’t use them. Now at age 37, she was acting like a responsible adult. For shame.
Scott could feel her body loosen and sag. He whispered words of strength, and leaned into her. He could feel her take on the extra weight and rub her lurching stomach. He had faith in her to beat this depression, without medicine. Jean could take on the weight of the world if given the chance. All she needed was a little faith and love.
Inspiration was, more often than not, right under one’s nose.
He watched as his wife elegantly keep her composure while she skirted around the private questions that were asked. Her aloofness wasn’t a haunting reminder of how much she wasn’t there this time. It was quiet the opposite. It was her way of protecting her family’s privacy. Her family.
Him. Scott Summer’s was finally the only man she loved, and was attracted to. So, what it took this long. Now there was something more than himself to think about.
Rachel.
Even though he was drifting in and out, he wanted to wrap his arms around her and just tell her that he loved her. For her to remember about his social worker that protected him and who was able to get him out of abusive foster care was more than he could ever ask for. From right then and there his life had no where else to go but up.
Suddenly there was silence.
Jean looked at her husband, but was unable to read his face behind his red Oakleys. He looked as if he hadn’t heard the reporter’s question, so she nudged him “playfully” with her elbow.
“Ouch!”
She looked at the camera and the looked at him, waiting.
“Oh sorry, what did I miss?”
“So, Scott,” Callisto asked again, “got any up coming films that we should watch out for?”
“Well, yeah.”
Jean was stunned. Scott took this moment in.
“I’ve got two projects coming up. Didn’t I tell you sweety?”
“No,” was her tight lipped reply.
“Do you remember that roasted red pepper soup, and that grilled corn dish I made you?”
“Yes, of course it’s one of my favorites, especially since it stays down.”
“Didn’t you wonder where I got the sudden aptitude to cook? Good food, nonetheless.”
“I- - I didn’t figure... Scott that’s the only food I’ve been eating.”
Callisto looked back and forth at the couple. “What’s this all about?”
“I will be producing a cooking show starring a mutual friend. (He ignored Jean’s almost unnoticeable grunt.) After that, depending if my wife is up for it I have a documentary and a indie film I would like to work on.”
Before more questions could be asked, Jean wrapped her arm around her husband’s and dragged him away with a friendly wave.
“What,” he asked innocently.
“You have a bit of explaining to do. I mean you could have told me where at food came from.”
“Are you kidding!” He lowered his voice as he was being dragged into the theater. When she huffed and turned around to face him in a corner her placed his warm and elegant hands on her bare shoulders. When she calmed down enough, he took his right and thumbed her chin to bring her face up to his. “If I had told you that Ro had specifically designed the food you’ve been eating, and managed to keep down for all sorts of reasons, would you have eaten it?”
She tried to look away, but he held on to her. That very thought made her clear green eyes sparkle with unshed tears.
“You are the most stubborn person I know. All I wanted was for you to eat real food. God, Jean. I know you may not want to admit it, but Ororo saved your life and Rachel’s. I will be forever grateful for that.”
Jean leaned into her husband’s hand as his fingers brushed away her tears.
“Are you ready?”
“Hold on Slim. I can’t take this anymore.” His panicked stricken face caused her to snort. She used his shoulder as leverage to stand on one foot and took of her spiked Manolo. Sure the shoes matched her chiffon and lace dress, but they were murder on her swollen feet. If they didn’t come off, someone was going to die.
Scott bent down to lift up her dress in a slow and purely intentional way to remove her other shoe. He backed her up to sit on the window seal and rubbed some of the pain away.
She looked down to watch him work and then started to squirm.
“What’s wrong Red?”
Jean did what she could to peer at him and it just wasn’t working. There was a round wide tummy in the way. She couldn’t even see the top of his head. That’s when the giggles started. Sure being preggers had its perks, like being horny and eating four breakfasts, but there were down sides. Peeing every twenty-seven seconds, sex with a third party member (inside of you), and having to pee every twenty-seven seconds while trying to have sex with a third party member inside of you. Oh and there was the waddling. She rolled her eyes thinking about all the times Scott quaked at her at the most inopportune moments, usually during trips to the bathroom.
When Scott realized that Jean just wanted a glance up and a smile he did, and all he saw was tummy.
Both started laughing hysterically.
Scott took his wife’s hand and held her shoes in the other. When they walked into the theater to be greeted by friends and associates, all Scott saw was his wife’s adorable nearly skipping feet and that undeniable glow.
~Meanwhile~
*On the way to the Theater*
Logan adjusted his black silk bow tie for the forth time in two minutes, and began to fidget again in the smooth leather of the limo. He heard giggling to his left and turned to glare.
Kitty and Ororo did what they could to stifle them, but it was a lost cause. The bigger Peter made a show of not looking at him. The younger Peter and his fiery girlfriend Mary-Jane, shared a video ipod and were seemingly unaware of his predicament, until both glanced up and snickered.
“I hate all of you.”
“My friend,” Hank said with a hand on Logan’s shoulder, “let them be. You and I know that if they are not happy, we are not happy.”
“But I’m not happy!”
Hank’s eloquent girlfriend, Cecilia, chimed in “ and you never will be if you men don’t learn to bend over and take it.” She looked at her date then at Logan and rolled her eyes. “You should be secure enough in your manhood to do that?”
Logan gave her a wide eyed look as if she was actually seriously. “So let me get this straight““ He was cut of when a warm smooth hand caressed his upper thigh.
As much as the crown inside the stretch limo would have loved to see Logan and Cecilia verbally duke it out as usual, Ororo wanted nothing but smiles on the way there or else...
Logan put his hand on top of hers and squeezed; if she wasn’t careful someone could get an eyeful, or a handful. He grinned at his lady who offered him a dazzling smile right back. Then he turned to his oral nemesis and blew raspberries.
“Hey look, there they are,” Peter said. He pulled down the window to wave at the odd couple sight of Big Peter and the tiny Kitty Pryde next to him.
As they got out Peter looked at his girlfriend’s amazement. He knew that he wasn’t always the best significant other, nor was he always there for her, but he was going to do all that he could when he was. Mary-Jane dreamed of Hollywood. That was no different than the glitz and glam of any other average girl’s dream, but her’s were different. She was willing to actually work for it. The long hours, sleepless night, unbearable personalities, rejection after rejection, the research, the press, the low paying thankless jobs. All of it. Mary-jane wouldn’t tell people that she was a model, those who already knew would. But Peter knew that her true passion lie in the magnificent art of story telling. All she really wanted to do was direct. She was recently accepted into the a prestigious school for film making, and this premier was a congratulations gift. As they got out and mad their way through the red carpet, Peter nervously pulled Logan aside.
“So, is...is it all set up?”
“Oh that, I dunno. I haven’t really gotten to talk to Scott yet. Everything’s been a little crazy. I’m sorry Petie.” He put his hands in his pockets and nervously closed them around something that he hoped was worth it. The youth was crestfallen.
“Logan! Will you please stop doing that.” Ororo hated sounded like a “Mom,” but sometimes that man deserved it. “Scott is going to be waiting for the two of you. And he will still need an assistant, so make sure that he understands that MJ wants to work, and isn’t there to party.”
“Thanks Ms. Monroe! I’m going to talk to him now.”
“Aww that was sweet, Ms. Monroe,” Logan said. That just got him a look. He kissed her neck and hugged her. He had to bit his tongue at Ms. Monroe. Only a few more hours left... He held her a little tighter and shifted his weight, so he would stop pointing at her. It didn’t work.
Ororo looked down at him and noticed he was still fidgety and nervous. “Logan, what’s wrong? Your still wiggling. Spill. Now.”
“Nothing.” He began to lead her into the theater. They met their friends in the dim room and settled in, for the most part. Ororo sat in between Kitty and Logan. Both women were still watching Logan as he continued he nervous behavior.
Kitty nudged Ororo and whispered, “what’s up with him tonight?”
“I just thought he got nervous, you know, watching his final product. I mean watching everyone’s reaction the first time has got to make anyone nervous, right?”
“Roro, he’s never like this. Oh yeah, he also never comes to the premiers. Feel his forehead.”
Ororo reached across to feel his head but Logan had caught her hand and laced his fingers through hers.
Hank leaned across and told them all to shhh.
The opening credits came on and the insubordinate crowd still was making noise which caused Scott to turn around and glare at them.
By then, Logan had enough. He grabbed Ororo and pulled her out of the theater down the darkened hallway to the quiet corner away from prying eyes. He began tying doors until one of them would randomly open, so far no luck.
“James Howlett, I sear on all things holy if you don’t tell me what the he...mph,” before she could finish her threat she found herself in a very tightly crammed utility closet next to a closed vending counter.
She was about to ask more questions but her lover had her in a frantic embraced and his warm mouth had covered hers and began teasing her. She slowly ran her hands up his broad chest and across his silk lapels. Her mouth vibrated as he groaned inside of it.
“Logan, what’s going on?”
“I can’t take it any longer.”
He placed her hands one the back of his head and grabbed her shoulders to bring her down for another searing kiss. He frantically pushed her up against the wall that she already had her back against. After much writhing and more wiggling they had managed to get her legs squarely wrapped around his muscled waist. Her searing heat made him give an experimental thrust. His fingers thread down her thighs into her already soaking center. He pushed her panties to the side and began to rub her swollen nub already begging for attention.
The sudden attack her sensitive flesh made her hike up her knee, which promptly collided with a shelf full of cleaning supplies.
“Ouch, dammit.”
A spray bottle fell off the shelve and hit a dry mop. The mop fell and smacked Logan. He just snarled at it.
Ororo fumbled through his vest buttons, dress shirt, undershirt, until she was finally able to get to his belt. She had a difficult time undoing it with his clean shaven mug doing wonders to her bar neck, and his hands, which had slipped under her underwear to her ass grinding it to the same rhythm his body was rocking into hers.
Logan let his teeth graze her ear and whispered, “please.”
Ororo knew it was a rotten idea but she decided to throw caution out of the window.
She unbuttoned his belt and helped his pants and boxers slid down his hips enough to unleash his straining erection. Before she let go of his pants, she found an odd seemingly round but rectangular lump in his pocket. Again her train of thought was cut off when he latched on to a hardened nipple.
She looked down when she heard crinkling and found him ripping apart a condom. Ororo rolled her eyes.
“What,” he asked innocently.
“I can’t believe you brought one.”
“In case of emergencies. This is a flamin’ emergency.” He smirked at her as in swirled his index finger inside her.
Ororo was not one to argue this time and ripped the circular package open with her teeth.
After the material was slipped on, Logan gave her another thrust. Her inner walls squeezed him and momentarily held him helpless. He grabbed a nearby shelf and began to rock in and out of her. Her soft moans encouraged him. That’s when his grip on the shelf tightened, and caused it to crack.
Her right leg wrapped around his left leg while the other braced on a lower shelf. When she felt an oncoming orgasm, she lightly took note of the objects that had fallen all around them spilling some of their contents.
For an oddly glorious moment, everything was so...clean?
“Logan?”
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere, baby,” he said in a harsh whisper in her ear.
The speed of his thrust gathered to a near bruising pace. The arm that was possessively wrapped around her gripped as he came. Ororo heard her name expelled from his last breath before he collapsed on her shoulder for a brief respite.
When he had enough air to breath, he looked up and grinned. “Well, I feel A LOT better.” That just earned him another playful swat.
They helped each other dress and look somewhat presentable. Unfortunately what was left of Ororo’s updo was completely unsalvageable. Down it went.
Logan watched with glee as she straignted her silk slip and realized that she would need her panties.
“Hand them over, now!”
Logan sighed and gave them up. Both pieces of the lace.
“That is so not funny, James.”
“Uh oh, there’s that first name again.”
Ororo couldn’t help herself from laughing. “So what are you going to do about it?”
Now was his moment. This was his opportunity to grow up or shut up. No more half-assicity for him. Here was a woman who demanded and deserved everything that he could give and wanted to give. More than what was ever asked of him, and for that he loved her.
He lowered down to kiss her stomach and gathered himself on one knee. He heard her inhale sharply and not let it out, he saw her wide blue eyes get even wider. That’s when his hidden hand produced the small box that was in his pocket.
“Lo““
“Don’t. There is so much I want to say, Ro. I don’t even know where to begin. Jesus woman, do you have any idea what you do to me. I thought I was going to loose whats left of my damn mind watching you in that hospital bed not wakin’ up. I got ya this while your were sleepin’.”
She took the box and slowly opened it. The creaking of the velvet container was nerve wracking but it was worth it. The box held the most stunning piece of jewelry she’d ever seen. Ororo couldn’t believe that he had actually remember that conversation they had one night about her favorite pieces of jewelry.
He laughed when she told him about how blue was her favorite color and sapphires were her favorite things to look at. Ororo pouted when he asked about diamonds being her best friend. She told him about how her mother’s brother had been ruthlessly killed in the mines in South Africa over blood diamonds.
The ring in her hand was perfect for her. The royal blue center stone was nearly heart shaped and surrounded on both sides by her second favorite stone, opals. These two Australian opals twinkled periwinkle blue, rose pink, and an cloudy white. The platinum band secured all of the stones. It was glorious, and it was so shiny it seemed to wink at her.
“Psst..psst. Hey you, down here.”
Ororo reluctantly let her eyes drift downward to her lover. “Oh, I remember you.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
She smiled at him and his heart fluttered. He did believe that he already had his answer. All he needed to do was ask.
“Roro, will ya marry me?”
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.