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.
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