Summary: Ororo Munroe has the weight of the world on her dainty shoulders, and would do anything for the people she loves. James Howlett wants to show her how to take a load off, and show her that love is a two-way street. Alternate universe, no powers. These are Marvel’s characters, but by the time I’m finished with them, they will only bear a scant resemblance.
Categories: General Characters: None
Genres: Romance
Warnings: Adult language
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 12
Completed: Yes
Word count: 87533
Read: 40852
Published: 06-18-06
Updated: 07-17-06
1. Uh-HUH... by OriginalCeenote
2. Work, Work, Work... by OriginalCeenote
3. Please Tell Me We Have Kool-Aid by OriginalCeenote
4. …Son of a Gun. by OriginalCeenote
5. …Didn’t See Your Name On It. by OriginalCeenote
6. A Buzz, Bunions, and Belt Buckles by OriginalCeenote
7. Careful with the Hummel by OriginalCeenote
8. Grilled Like a Flounder, Part One by OriginalCeenote
9. Grilled Like Flounder, Part Two: Done to a Turn by OriginalCeenote
10. This Little Light of Mine by OriginalCeenote
11. A Little More to the Left by OriginalCeenote
12. It’s Smaller Than a Bread Box by OriginalCeenote
Uh-HUH... by OriginalCeenote
“Alternatives Women and Children’s Shelter Network? Can you please hold?” Anna Marie set down the half a tuna salad sandwich on whole wheat and hastily wiped her fingers on a Kleenex. She pressed the beeping red button on her primary line and barked out a harried “Sorry, shoog, I gotta motor; I’m cuttin’ my lunch a little shorter today so I can leave early, an’ I got someone else on the other line.”
“Coulda fooled me, chere. How’m I s’posedta know ya ain’t just talkin’ t’yer udder boyfriend, non?” Anna snorted and rolled her eyes, hearing the smile in Remy’s voice over the line.
“Dunno, shoog; prob’ly the same way ya might be holdin’ the pillow over some floozy’s face ta drown out her heavy breathin’! I gotta bail, call ya after work!”
“Love you, chere.”
“Love you, honey bunch.” Anna clicked back over to the other line. “I apologize for the wait. How may I transfer your call?”
“Er…hi. Um, can I, like, speak to ‘Ro?” Muted cussing and flustered mutterings assailed Anna’s ears from the other end of the line, and Anna pictured someone young and unsure of themselves. “I mean, can I speak to Ororo Munroe?”
“Certainly, miss, I’ll check her office line and transfer you in a moment. If you get her voice mail, you can still leave a message and call the front desk again, and leave your name with me, if you like. That way she won’t miss you,” Anna offered helpfully.
“Ohmigod, thank you so much! Well, this is her cousin, Kenyatta,” she plundered on, cutting Anna off when she attempted to click over to Ororo’s direct line, and she smothered a sigh. This one was a rambler. “I hate calling her at work, I’m so sure she’s so totally busy and everything, but I needed to talk to her pretty badly, and it couldn’t wait til she got home, I always try to just call her cell phone, but I figured she turned it off for a meeting or something, it just rang and rang and rang, and she doesn’t always go all the way home for lunch, at least that’s what my mom’s always saying, she’s always telling me I should be more like cousin ‘Ro cuz she’s got her shit together…”
“Let me go and transfer you, honey,” Anna Marie apologized, puffing out her cheeks. Dang, home girl could talk the ears off a brass monkey… Anna pressed the button on the intercom switchboard and spoke into it. “Ororo? Have ya got a minute?”
“I sure do, Anna Marie,” a deep, yet very feminine voice chirped back from the speaker. “What’s going on?”
“Got a call for ya on line two.”
“I can take that. Thank you, Anna.”
“Any time, hon.” Anna clicked over the call and paused for another quick bite of her sandwich before her phone began ringing again. She barely choked it down along with a hearty gulp of diet Pepsi before the calls came one on top of another for the next hour. Ah so loooooove mah job, she chanted to herself, her usual mantra.
In her office, set behind the large and open maze of cubicles, Ororo picked up her phone, not expecting anything out of the ordinary. Her own lunch lay half eaten in a white Styrofoam takeout container, filling the space with the scent of leftover beef teriyaki stir-fry and garlic. She grabbed a yello steno pad from her desk drawer, considering that it might be one of her clients calling to set a meeting. She plucked her favorite purple Pentel comfort grip pen from the cup and twiddled a lock of her hair with it. “This is Ororo speaking, how may I help you today?”
“Damn, girl, is that you? It’s me, Kenyatta!”
Ack…
Ororo sighed. “Hey, girl. What’s going on?”
“You gotta help me out.”
Ororo dropped her accent a couple of notches. “Whatchu need, baby girl? I just got back from lunch, so I’ll have to nudge a few things around on my plate if you need a ride anywhere…”
“I don’t need a ride. It’s not that.” Silence. Then, “I need some money.”
Ororo’s nape felt itchy and tight. “How much money is ‘some money?’ Let’s just say things are tight right now.”
“Please, please, don’t say no, I can pay you back, I promise ““
“How MUCH, Kenyatta?”
“A thousand.” Ororo dropped her pen back onto her desk blotter with a clatter.
“Shit!” Ororo’s lunch rolled in her stomach and a faint sheen of clammy sweat collected on the crowns of her cheeks. “That much?” Ororo gathered herself together and stared at the framed photo of herself and a few of her cousins, Kenyatta included, sitting by her pen cup for easy viewing. It was her daily reminder of why she worked so hard. Every day, without fail. If she didn’t do it all, who would? “Fess up, girl, where are you really calling from, jail? A grand? You need a full grand? Like, TODAY?”
“Uh-huh.” Kenyatta’s voice held a meek and apologetic note that did nothing to keep Ororo’s nervous sweat at bay.
“Wait, ‘Uh-huh, you’re calling from jail, Uh-huh, you need the money today, or Uh-huh, both answers apply?’”
“Uh-huh, I need the money today. All of it,” she said with mind-boggling finality. Ororo fanned herself with a loose manila envelope. “And I’m not the one in jail,” she explained, as if to put Ororo’s mind to rest. Ororo rubbed her temples.
“Please don’t tell me this is one of your irresponsible little friends that you’re always hanging out with.”
“Not quite.” She could almost picture Kenyatta picking at her fingernails, something she always did at times like these. “It’s Leon. He was heading to work and got caught going through a four-way stop. He was running late,” she added, as though that was supposed to explain everything.
“And…?”
“…and he got pulled over, which wouldn’t have been that big of a deal. He pulled over,” she reasoned, her voice plaintive. Ororo nodded and shrugged on her end of the line, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, knowing, just knowing there was a “but” coming along. “But he already had a few points against his license for those speeding tickets he didn’t go to class for.”
“How many tickets, for cryin’ out loud???” Ororo’s voice rose in disbelief. Then she reminded herself, This was Leon.
“Three. The third one was kinda pricey,” she hedged. “Like, eight hundred dollars.”
“Gah!”
“Uh-huh! Like people don’t need that kind of money to live!” Ororo slapped her forehead and let her palm rub down the whole length of her face.
“The whole point of a hefty ticket is to keep people from speeding,” she reminded her.
“Folks still gotta eat!” Kenyatta carped. “And it’s not the bail itself I need the money for, ‘Ro. I paid that myself,” she reassured her.
“But?”
“I used this month’s rent.”
“Aaaarrrggghhhh…girrrrrlllll, I don’t know what to do about you.”
“Please say I can borrow the money?” she suggested.
“You know this goes against everything I’ve been telling you, right, girl? That this isn’t something I can just do all happy-go-lucky like I’m made of money? That I’m working full-time and then some just to manage an apartment, a car, and giving my own mama some money to fill the gap of her Social Security check, right?”
“I know, I know,” she agreed, but Ororo could hear the relief sneaking into her voice. She knew she couldn’t turn her away.
“I want you to pay my money back when you can.”
“I will!”
“Better yet, have Leon pay me back!”
“Definitely!”
“For that matter, I could use some help putting a new alternator in my car, the one I have now is acting up, and I don’t feel like getting jacked for the cost of a new one at the Pep Boys down the street.” Honest mechanics, my ass, she cursed.
“When do you want me to send him over?” Kenyatta was ready to spit-shine every pair of leather pumps in Ororo’s closet at this point if it would secure her the cash.
“Come over for dinner tonight. I’ll give you the money.”
“Can I meet you at the bank?” Ororo pictured her picking her nails again. “I need to put the money in before the rent check clears.”
“Dang. That gives me all of twenty minutes to fiddle around through rush hour traffic once I cut out of here.” Ororo looked at her company-issued wall clock. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Luv you, cuz!”
“Stinker! Don’t try to butter me up!” Ororo warned. “Luv you, too.” She hung up and shook her head, her wavy white ponytail dusting her back.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. Ororo took calls from clients for the better part of the afternoon, looking up grants already approved for that quarter’s funds, emailing budget projection sheets to the Director, and fielding inquiries from Betsy at the main shelter in the Bronx, wondering if it was okay to place that order for new bedding.
“If they need it, they need it.”
“We’re running low on funds.”
“I’ll tell Scott. You guys already paid the utility bill and got the food shipment from Sysco?”
“Sure did, chief.”
“Order what you can for now, even if it’s just new towels. I’ll lean on a few people in this office to get a check placed into the account by Friday.”
“You’re an angel.”
“I wish. Maybe then I could get more done!” Ororo clucked a few more well wishes for Betsy and her plight into the receiver before she hung up.
An hour later:
“Damn, girl, what took you so long to park?”
“It’s called rush hour, Kenyatta, give a woman a moment to catch her breath, ‘kay?” Ororo’s hair whipped behind her on the light evening breeze, and she was grateful for the breath of fresh, or at least mostly fresh air. Okay, fresh enough if you ignored the UPS truck exhaust and subway fumes. At least it wasn’t the stifling, recycled air of her snug office suite. Ororo didn’t want to contemplate how often the building facilities staff changed, or didn’t change, the air filters in the vents above her desk each season.
The two young women hurried into the back through the double doors just ahead of the security guard locking it behind them. “Just in time, we can handle your transaction, but we’re about to close.”
“Thank you,” Ororo tossed over her shoulder, managing a harried smile. She turned and practically ran into the line between the velvet ropes leading to the cashier’s counter, whipping out her check book on the way. She missed the appreciative leer he shot her backside with its undulating sway, outlined so nicely in the well-cut gabardine slacks.
“Please tell me you already have some deposit slips for this,” Ororo muttered.
“Got my ID. That’s all you need, these days.”
“Do you know your account number?” Ororo lifted her arched, tapered brow and cocked her head toward her cousin with a belabored look.
“Yes, yes, got it, let’s go, LET’S GO!”
“Heifer, I know you ain’t up here fanning me along and tellin’ me to hurry up,” Ororo sniffed, shooting Kenyatta a head-trip. “Hmmmph.”
“May I help you ladies over here?”
“YES!” Kenyatta dragged Ororo by the elbow, no mean feat in light of the height difference between the two women. Kenyatta’s mom, Ororo’s aunt Ruth, was fond of telling her “All of the boys always knew not to mess with you, baby girl, they turned tail and ran when you grew just as tall as all of ‘em and then some, right about when most girl’s would’ve stopped.” At five-eleven, Ororo towered over her cousin by a good five inches and was solidly built; she wasn’t about to get knocked over by a strong breeze. Her bust line was always in the neighborhood of a D and kept her in a size nine dress, even though she was a seven on the bottom. Oh, well. Half of New York City wore a size seven, so that left more nines for her.
Ororo began writing out a check with more zeroes than she wanted to part with and signed it with her usual flourish, making the “O” in her name slightly curly.
“You’ve got checks with Wonder Woman on them?”
“Yup. Batman, the Flash, and Superman, too.”
“You’re weird.”
“Hey, don’t talk smack about Wonder Woman, she’s paying your rent.”
“Mmmmph.” They completed the transactions with a few more clicks of the teller’s mouse, and Ororo contented herself with snagging a cellophane-wrapped lollipop from the candy dish on the counter. The hard candy was almost as blue as her eyes.
“Have a nice evening, ladies.”
Half an hour later:
Ororo juggled her shopping bags on her hop as she sorted through the keys on her ring, the fluorescent pink key chain winking up at her with its cheeky “All Hail the Goddess” spelled out in tiny rhinestones. She stuck her mail kep unto the narrow slot, yanking open the sticky aluminum door. Bill, bill, junk mail, credit card offer, JC Penney catalog, Spiegel’s catalog, Victoria’s catalog “ dang, it was the “This is the last issue we’re sending you if you don’t buy anything” copy.
It couldn’t be helped. The last time she’d had anyone to even show her pretty underwear off to was two years ago. All of her photos has phantom white spaces where Jon’s head had been cut out. Anna Marie had come by one day with sticks of sandalwood incense and they had lit them up, waving them around Ororo’s bedroom and over her couch to ”chase away the evil spirits” that lingered in the wake of their break-up.
Ororo wasn’t going to have any spare change to drop on the teddy that Tyra was wearing on the cover, not after today’s little mercy donation. Ororo had pushed her cart slowly down the aisles of Stop ‘n Shop, planning a sparse menu that would have to stretch the whole week. She’d come back with pitifully little, and she hoped her neighbors didn’t mind the smell of boiling red beans, since those were going to be lunch and dinner for the next two days.
Ororo’s sandals thumped up the stairs beneath the weight of the shopping bags as she made her way to the second floor. She heard the familiar creak of unit 2C’s door hinge across the hall from hers.
“Oh! Ororo!”
“Hi, Irene.” Ororo smiled, hoping the older blind woman could hear her expression in her voice. Irene Adler and her roommate, Raven Wagner, had been living in the old brownstone for a year longer than Ororo, so they were already privy to some of the best gossip in the building.
“Old Man Lensherr’s grown twins came to visit him this week,” Irene had mentioned one Saturday over tea and bakery cookies. She poked Ororo’s elbow knowingly, adding “He still hasn’t told them about their half sister.”
“Apparently he had a girl in every port during the war. His wife never knew,” Raven explained, her walnut brown eyes dancing merrily over her cup. “His youngest daughter has GREEN hair. If not for that, she’d be his spitting image!”
“Are you just getting back from work, dear?” Irene leaned on the door frame now, peering with unerring precision at Ororo; beneath her rose-tinted sunglasses, her eyes met Ororo’s as though she saw her perfectly.
“I stopped at the store.”
“I’m glad. I hate to think of you working so late,” Irene tsked.
“Can’t be helped, sometimes. This is the beginning of a new fiscal year. I’m up to my neck in budget meetings.”
“Sounds positively dire.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Care to join Raven and I for dinner? We’re having pasta,” she offered. Ororo knew from experience that “pasta” meant some pre-packaged fettuccini with sauce from a packet.
“How about if I bring over some chicken to accompany it?” she suggested. Raven and Irene admitted to neither of them liking to cook much. Ororo actually enjoyed it.
“As long as there’s no garlic. Gives poor Raven gas,” she said, leaning in close to whisper this last confession quite loudly. Ororo stifled a giggle.
“No garlic. I promise.” Ororo crossed the corridor and set down her bags. “See you in a bit,” she promised.
“Looking forward to it!” Irene’s door clicked shut.
“Ororo kicked off her shoes and set the bags on the pine dinette table of her little one bedroom unit. She leaned over and pressed the message button on her phone machine.
“Ororo, it’s Betsy. We got the shipment of bedding, but that small TC that was bolted onto the rec room wall was stolen today. Hate to be the beared of bad news.” Ororo snorted.
BEEP…
“Hi, ‘Ro, it’s Leon. Let me know when you need me to come by and look at that alternator.” Ororo smiled as she pulled a pack of chicken legs from the freezer, popped them into the microwave and hit thaw. At least her cousin’s boyfriend meant well, she mused.
BEEP…
“Ro? This is your auntie Ruth, baby.” Her aunt’s syrupy southern accent trilled at her from the machine, and Ororo found herself listening to it with her hand on her hip, out of old habit. She never called unless she wanted her to do something. No small wonder where Kenyatta had gotten it from…
“Shoog, I was wondering when you could stop by this weekend to tend your mama’s roses, their overgrown and covered with aphids. This is that time of year when we usually go out to your father’s plot, God rest his soul.” Ororo could picture her aunt crossing herself as she uttered the blessing into the phone. “It sure would be nice to have some fresh cut flowers to take out there for the headstone.”
“The roses should be just about dead by now,” Ororo muttered in reply, knowing her reasoning was falling on deaf ears. “We can take him some of the begonias.”
“You know how your mother is about her begonias, child,” Ruth chuckled. “She wants you to clip a few of those, too. And Ororo, if your cousin Kenyatta calls you up asking for money, don’t give that child any, she’s got to learn to fly on her own. I already told her no this morning when she called me in a lather about it.”
“NOW you tell me,” Ororo glared. “Grrrrrrrrr…” She banged around in the cupboards, looking for her favorite Teflon frying pan. She pumped out some Crisco corn oil into it and turned the burner on medium high.
BEEP…
“Ororo, it’s Emma Frost from Inner Circle Management, calling to get a time that we can meet with you about the shelter network’s fundraiser. We had some ideas for a costume ball that we wanted to run by you.”
“Gads,” she grimaced. “Costumes. Great. Just what I need.” She was only slightly relieved that it wasn’t a luau-themed Hawaiian barbecue like last year’s; she’d just about been ready to scream if she had to untangle one more cheap string of silk flower leis from the huge box of them that she ordered from the Oriental Trading Company catalog from the petty cash fund.
END OF MESSAGES…BEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPP…CLICK! Ororo deleted all of them and made herself a note to call Emma tomorrow morning when she got into the office.
Work, Work, Work... by OriginalCeenote
Ororo rolled over and stretched, lolling in the 210-thread count sateen sheets that had been an indulgence the previous summer from the Penney’s catalog. Jon had always used the excuse of liking her bed and linens better for always staying the night at her place. It was a convenient fib, but Ororo had to admit that yes, her bed was comfier than his had been. Unfortunately, it was also echoingly empty.
She sat up in bed and ruffled her hair, giving her scalp a thorough wake-up scratch. Dinners with Irene and Raven were always a hoot, she considered, and last night’s was no different. Ororo had spent an hour dredging and frying the chicken legs with just the right scald, using her own blend of flour and spices, minus the offending garlic powder. No sense in giving Raven the poots…
The chicken rounded out the meal nicely and was enthusiastically received. Irene licked crumbs of breading from her fingers, sighing in contentment. “There’s nothing better than a really good piece of home-fried chicken. Raven, when’s the last time we had any this good?”
“Bojangles, that little restaurant down in Hampton,” Raven supplied, as usual completing Irene’s thoughts. “Except it wasn’t quite this good. They did make a mean corn bread muffin, though.”
“Definitely, that much I remember.” Irene chucked the chicken bone onto her plate before Raven got up to clear. She sealed the rest of the chicken in the capacious Tupperware container that Ororo had carried it over in. “Anything new going on at work, Ororo?”
“Well, I told you about the budget meetings. We also have a great new secretary at the front desk. It’s funny, Raven, her last name is Raven, just like yours.”
“Small world,” she chuckled.
“I know. Her first name is Anna Marie, and she has this fabulous southern accent, even thicker than my aunt’s on my dad’s side. You could cut it with a knife.”
“Sounds like a real charmer,” Irene grinned.
“She’s pretty open with her love life, though; every now and again I walk past on the tail end of her conversations with her boyfriend, Remy something or other. He sounds like he’s a real piece of work.”
“Now, how about you? Anyone new in your life?”
“Nope. If it wasn’t for all the calls that I get at home from work, my phone would have cobwebs draped across it.”
“That’s dismal,” Raven carped. “And it makes no sense. Your upwardly mobile, educated, feminine, funny, kind…”
“Don’t forget gorgeous,” Irene added, nodding.”
“I wasn’t going to forget,” and Ororo chuckled at their bickering tone. “You’re what the young people call the whole package, or ‘all that and a bag of chips.’ Now we need someone to come along and place an order, already!” Now it was hopeless; Ororo dissolved into giggles.
“I knew there was a reason why I keep coming over here,” she grinned.
“You had to have a REASON???” Irene placed her hand dramatically over her heart. Ororo shook her head and suggested they give each other manicures. Raven had painted Ororo’s nails a safe shade of shell pink with French tips that were surprisingly straight. Just for fun, Ororo painted Irene’s nails a creamy beige with tiny, surprisingly detailed cornflowers on each thumb, rendered in acrylic paint and sealed with a clear coat.
“I’ll be a real hit at the Laundromat,” she boasted.
Ororo dragged herself out of bed and set the coffee maker for a half a pot before she trekked into the bathroom. “Errrgghh,” she growled at her reflection. She had a premenstrual zit and a pillow crease across her cheek, and her hair was doing that funny bunchy thing at the crown where half of it escaped her doo rag.
“SO glad Jon’s not here to see this,” she groaned. That thought rankled with her for some reason. They had been together for almost a year, and for the first several months, she had fussed over her appearance, always trying to make sure he didn’t catch her without her makeup off her hair unstyled. Sure, they did things that didn’t always allow for a lot of primping, like rollerblading in the park or taking the occasional trip to see her mother and work in her yard, but part of Ororo was always worried that if she let herself go, if she got too comfortable, he would think she was taking him for granted.
The first few weeks of their relationship had been downright comical. She constantly carried breath mints in her purse, kept enough toiletry items in her desk drawer at work to open a pharmacy, and always checked her hair once last time before opening her door when he came over. In hindsight, she bored herself. It was just something about him that he brought out in her. She couldn’t put her finger on it. Well, then again, she could.
It was like being in high school all over again.
Back to the days of being the tallest girl in gym class, sitting out every couples’ skate at the roller rink, and having a mouth full of braces that her mother always fussed at her to be grateful for, since they certainly cost enough, and would cure her of the gap that her mother never remedied in her own mouth. Ororo reflected back on her hot pink leather Reebok high top sneakers that had been so funky fresh. She’d worn those with her pink Palmetto jeans, bubble gum pink slouch socks, and matching pink sponge sweater and denim jacket. Not so much as an offer to slow drag during “Dead or Alive” by Bon Jovi from anyone. Up in the bleachers, baby. It sucked. It sucked big.
College had changed some of that. It took her a full semester to quit taking herself so seriously She occasionally looked up from the pavement to see the occasional pair of masculine eyes staring back at her in appreciation, and every now and again, she’d be minding her own business in the campus bookstore or library when someone would sidle up to her, ask her if she was so-and-so’s roommate, and could they have her digits. Well, when you asked that way…maybe. Maybe not. It felt good to be able to choose.
Ororo warbled the words to an old Maxwell song that she loved the first moment she heard it, enjoying the faint echo of her voice against the shower tile as she lathered her hair with extra conditioner and raked her fingers through it. She had a few minutes, and she felt like a little extra pampering. She loaded up her Buf-Puf with her Victoria’s Secret Sparkling Cassis body wash and sloughed over the rough spots around her elbows and the balls of her feet. Mmmmmmmm.
She eased into her work clothes, selecting a slightly flared black skirt that hit her an inch above the knee and a deep emerald wrap blouse with flutter sleeves and a V neck the dipped just this short of being impolite for the workplace. It felt nice to dress like a girl. She slipped into her best pair of ankle-strapped black pumps and completed the outfit with a thin gold bracelet that he father had given her back when she graduated from college.
“Sure do miss you, Daddy,” she murmured. She packed a hasty lunch from the leftover chicken, the red beans she had simmered, and a small salad from the pre-bagged Caesar mix in her produce bin. And she was off.
Ororo started her car, not liking the tortured “RUHR-RUHR-RUHHHHRRRR” noise that it emitted when she turned the key. Had to be the alternator. That’s what she got for being thrifty and buying a four-year-old used Chevy instead of a spanking new one that would have lost its resale value as soon as she drove it off the lot. She really needed to see Leon tonight about having that fixed…
She pondered the possibility of shopping around for the part for her car on her lunch break, if she saved the time of eating her food at her desk when she got back. It would be the third time she’d gone that dismal route that week; she was getting tired of her desk, her wall clock, and watching her phone flash at her. She needed some time off. Work, work, work! Then she remembered; she was driving to Mama’s house this weekend. But only if her car worked.
Ororo found the last parking spot out in B.F.E of the crowded parking garage, even though she wasn’t late. She locked up her car and cracked the rear passenger window a centimeter to keep the car from smelling musty and being stifling in case the sun streaming through the nearby terrace drifted her way as the day wore on. Her heels clicked hollowly against the concrete as she made her way to the elevator. She waved at Lucas in his security booth when he looked up from his magazine at the sound of her heels.
“Morning, Miz Munroe,” he drawled, eyeing her skirt with approval. “You make a pretty picture.”
“Thanks, Luke,” she smiled back. He wasn’t too bad. Every now and again they ran into each other at Ororo’s favorite bar, but didn’t exchange much but cordial greetings, for which she was grateful. Once she’d had the chance to meet his ex-girlfriend, Charlotte, before they broke up because “she wanted more of a commitment than I did.”
Ororo exited the elevator and made her way down the street toward her building, already feeling her hair wilt slightly in the heat. It was gonna be a warm one. Anna Marie greeted her on her way in.
“Ororo, you’ve got a visitor already. I held your calls, you’ve got two messages. I can bring in some coffee later if ya like.” Anna Marie handed her the pink “While You Were Out” pad with two names and numbers scrawled across the top. Ororo tore off the top sheet.
“Bless you. Only bring me coffee if you’re having some, too. Or grab me to get some when I come back out,” Ororo suggested. Anna Marie grinned.
“Got it!” Ororo welcomed the excuse to get out of her office and stretch her legs.
She strolled back to her office, ignoring the chatter flying across the cubicles and wondering if anyone else had anything to do with themselves that was actually work-related…honestly. She opened her office door and greeted the woman who had already made herself at home in the chair in front of her desk. “Good morning.”
“Oh!” She clicked her Blackberry off abruptly and put away the stylus before rising from her seat. She reached out to shake Ororo’s hand before Ororo could figure out where to set her satchel and lunch bag. “I’m Emma Frost.”
“Oh. Right!” It dawned on her that this was her first-chance-she-got call from last night’s message. “Pleased to meet you. I love your suit,” she offered lamely. It looked like Chanel, too, and not a knockoff. And she was drenched in a cloud of No. 19, or Ororo was whistling Dixie. Emma flicked her French manicured hand “ beige instead of shell pink, Ororo was thankful to notice “ through her shoulder-length pageboy of straight, baby-fine platinum blonde hair. The maneuver looked rehearsed. Ororo repressed a sigh.
“Make yourself at home,” she beckoned, inviting her to sit back down. “Coffee?”
“Oh, no need. Already took my herbs. My acupuncturist says I shouldn’t drink caffeine if I can avoid it,” she trilled.
Goodness. Ororo mentally inventoried her desk drawer and remembered that yes, she did have some aspirin on hand.
“I wanted to make sure I caught you today to go over the upcoming fundraiser. Did you get my phone message last night?”
“Yes. It was late when I got home.”
“I was available by cell. I always keep it turned on. The most that you would have interrupted was a dreadfully boring dinner date at Tavern on the Green. The salad was surprisingly wilted, normally they do such a nice job,” Emma pouted, regarding Ororo as though she were responsible for the sub-par dinner, either by token of putting off her call or serving her the salad. She wasn’t certain. Ororo smiled weakly.
“I had a few things to take care of,” Ororo hedged. Such as having a life, girlfriend. Once she was out of the office, to the extent that she could allow it, her life was her own again, unless there was an emergency at one of the shelters, or if her mother needed her. “So, what kind of plans did you have in mind?”
“The Chamber of Commerce and a few of the business associations want to get involved; they enjoy having a hand in anything with Inner Circle’s name on it,” Emma boasted. “We’ve already booked a hall downtown. The main suite and casino of Shaw Industries,” she announced. Ororo’s eyebrows darted up her forehead in stunned silence. She opened her mouth, then closed it.
“How much will it set us back to rent that?”
“Zero dollars and zero cents, my dear. Sebastian and I go way back,” Emma beamed, flicking an imaginary piece of lint off her pristine white skirt. “The catering will come out of Inner Circle’s budget. We’ve already spoken to your director.”
“Wow,” Ororo whistled. This, she could almost deal with.
“Wow, indeed,” Emma chuckled, as though it miraculously happened with a flick of her hand. “What we need now is some help from you.”
“What kind of help are we talking, here?” Ororo automatically reached for her steno pad.
“You might want to actually boot up your computer, dear. I’ll need you to take a memo.”
Memo??? Didn’t she have a sign on her door that read “Project and Events Coordinator?” Since when did she become a secretary? Ororo logged on to her system and booted up her Word program, selecting a new document.
“The date is Halloween night, since that is a Saturday,” Emma purred. Ororo’s fingers flew across the keyboard. She clickety-clacked “Halloween Night Fundraiser” across the top until Emma peered around her shoulder.
“It should be Inner Circle/Alternatives Shelter Network Annual Charity Ball,” she corrected her.
Hmmph… Ororo gritted her teeth. Emma rattled off details regarding the caterer, the mode of dress (costumes, of course), the door prize, which was a surprisingly sumptuous donation from one of the area businesses, the name of the entertainment company providing the music, and the time. Ororo just about went into shock when Emma mentioned that the admission was one hundred dollars a plate.
“Hold up. Back it up. One hundred dollars for chicken wings and petit fours?” Ororo was aghast.
“It is for a charity,” Emma pointed out.
“Who can afford to come if we charge that much? I can see having something like an auction to help raise some of that money…”
“Done. I’ll have my admin, Selene, fax you over the phone numbers of the businesses that are contributing the door prize, as well as a few others that you can get an in with. I hope to hear back from you with the results of who’s contributing by next Friday.” Ororo’s fingers itched for her Excedrin.
Ororo finished typing up and formatting the memo and initialed it, emailing Emma’s admin, Anna Marie and her own manager a copy. She hit ‘save’ and dragged the icon to her desk top. Just for fun, once Emma had exited her office, she assigned a tiny Disney copyrighted icon that resembled Cinderella’s wicked stepmother to the file. It made her giggle. Frequently.
Her intercom flashed a while later. “Coffee, Boss?”
“Quit calling me that, girl, ya don’t hafta get fancy with me!” Ororo growled back, and she could hear Anna Marie’s laughter in the background. “Come and get me. You can just imagine what kind of morning I’ve had!”
“No kiddin’. I read the memo.” A few minutes later, Ororo heard a knock on her door, and Anna breezed in. She dropped two Hershey’s kisses onto her desk blotter, and Ororo gave her a thousand-watt smile.
“Bless you!”
“Figured ya needed it. Coffee,” she barked.
“Coffee!” Ororo agreed, grabbing her Wonder Woman mug.
“Ya kill me with that, girl,” Anna grinned, shaking her auburn head. She leaned in toward Ororo for a moment and sniffed.
“Ya smell nice.”
“I’m amazed you can even smell anything on me but the fog of Chanel that my nine o’clock appointment left in my office.”
“Yeah, I can smell that, too. What’d Uppity Britches wanna discuss?”
“Anna, STOP!” Ororo unwrapped the foil from the sweet and popped it into her mouth. “Don’t’ let folks around here hear you talking like that!”
“Hey, it ain’t like she pays my pay check.”
“She could if we end up having that merger that they’ve been threatening upstairs,” Ororo reminded her.
“Oh. Shit.”
“Right,” Ororo murmured blandly.
“Got anything for me t’do today?”
“All depends. I have to shift a few things around on my own plate and do some cold calling once I get Emma’s fax.”
“For what?” Anna Marie wrinkled her nose as they reached the break room; someone had microwaved popcorn and burned it.
“I’m in charge of the auction,” she announced with a lah-dee-dah wave of her hand, making her voice uncharacteristically nasal.
“What auction?”
“Read the memo more closely. My rationale for why the admission for the ball should have been lower earned me more grunt work.”
“I can take care of some of your filing until Scott needs me,” Anna offered.
“Perfect!” Ororo made it back to her office with a fresh cup of coffee that she’d barely lightened with cream, wanting the jolt of caffeine too badly to care that it tasted like the bark of a tree. She turned down lunch plans with Anna, remembering her pauper’s budget and the food she’d packed. She watched the fax in her office, waiting for it to ring. It’s staccato trill roused her from a teleconference that she had to put on mute.
The friggin’ fax was five pages long before the cover sheet. Ororo fumed helplessly and made her contribution of action items to the meeting before logging off. She’d be working late tonight. Again.
Ororo made it through a page and a half of the numbers and businesses, asking politely to be connected to the financial and event coordination units of each, depending on who was listed as the contact. For the next three hours, it was “Good afternoon, my name is Ororo Munroe, and I’m calling on behalf of Alternatives Women and Children’s Shelter Network…oh, you’ve heard of us? I’m calling in regard to a fundraiser that we’re arranging this fall…” It went on and on. Ororo took a breather when she noticed that it was almost late enough to change her greeting to “Good evening.” Damn. She’d missed lunch. Her stomach growled in protest.
She still needed to shop for that alternator while she was on this side of town. “Anna?” she inquired, holding down the intercom button.
“Yeah, Boss?” She sighed.
“Let anyone that calls know that I had to run an errand. This is unofficially my lunch break.”
“Shoot, girl, ya should’ve let me know!”
“Just back me up. I’ll keep my cell turned on if Emma or anyone else from Inner Circle calls.”
“Got it.”Ororo grabbed her purse and marched out to the parking garage, waving to Anna on the way out.
Ororo made her way out to the garage and unlocked her car, taking in her frazzled hair and “end of the day” squint in her rearview mirror. She pulled out her favorite, mostly depleted Revlon Color Stay lipstick in Chocolate and ran it over her lips. Every little bit helped.
She tucked her key into the ignition.
RUH-RUH-RUHHHH…
Crap. She gave it a smidgen of gas and tried again.
More death rattles. She waited a full minute before trying again.
HUH-NUH-NUH, HUH-NUH-NUH, HUH-NUH-NUH, HUH-NUH-NUH, REEEEHHHHHH…Dead.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Ororo looked toward the gate. Lucas was already gone. Tom Corsi was on duty now. He might be able to help her with a number for a tow.
Ororo pushed aside the faint unease that she always had when she approached Tom. He reminded her, physically, so much of Jon that it made her ache. Same burnished bronze complexion, same glossy black hair, but Tom didn’t have a mustache and he wore his hair slightly longer in the back and he was an inch or two shorter. “Hey, Tom?”
“Hi there,” he barked, tossing aside his magazine. “What can I do you for?” Gads. Ororo hated that phrase. It always sounded so…bleah.
“My car won’t start.”
“Whoa. Sounds like ya’ll need a mechanic,” he nodded in sympathy as though she hadn’t surmised that already.
“Do you have a phone book, so I don’t have to walk all the way back to the office. His face brightened, happy that she wasn’t asking for anything complicated.
“Don’t run off with that,” he warned, passing her a yellow pages thick and heavy enough to force an “OOOooph!” from her when he passed it out through the side door of the booth.
“Thanks,” she wheezed. She rolled back the cover and flipped to the “Automotive” section of the directory, then changed her mind. “Tom? Do you know any cheap mechanics?”
“In New York? Oh, no,” he guffawed. Ororo repressed a dirty look, until he added “But I do know this one guy that I like that fixed my station wagon last year, and didn’t ream me for it. Nice son and pop shop a few blocks from here. Howlett Auto Parts and Repair.”
“Never heard of ‘em,” Ororo huffed, scanning the page. Howlett, Howlett…there it was.
“Tell ‘em Tom sent ya,” he recommended. Ororo doubted that would make a difference on the overall cost of her car repair, but she assured him anyway. She dialed the number with her cell and a surprisingly short time later, the tow truck pulled into the garage. When they gave her the address of the shop, Ororo mentally calculated the cost of a cab back to the office and asked for a lift.
A few minutes later, Ororo found herself stepping out of the truck, carefully avoiding a spill of oil in the parking lot with her good shoes. She heard a few wolf whistles as the light breeze caught her skirt, lifting the flared hem a couple of inches higher than she would have liked.
“Just what I need,” she muttered.
“We don’t get a lot of women that come in to this shop,” the truck driver told her, as though that was supposed explain the rudeness of the crew working on the other side of the lot. She shot the men her best “not EVEN” look before she stepped into the shop. The driver chuckled under his breath as one of them yelled “Shake it, don’t break it, honey!”
This day just got better and better…
The metallic smell of auto parts and motor oil drifted inside the shop from the adjacent garage. Ororo wrinkled her nose. The driver, who’s name patch embroidered onto his dirty coveralls was Nate, called over to the back counter, cupping his hand around his mouth to magnify his voice. “Logan!”
“Yeah?” came the reply in an accent that didn’t sound local to Ororo’s ears. The voice was a pleasing baritone that washed over her with a funny little tingle. She stopped herself. No way a man could look as good as that voice.
She was proven wrong. And she didn’t mind.
A man of medium height “ perhaps around five and a half feet tall “ ambled out to the front of the store, placing a wrench into the pocket of his coveralls as he approached. Ororo’s eyes started from the bottom and worked their way up, taking in the heavy work boots, solid looking legs that filled out his work clothes, and brawny, compact build. His shoulders were as broad as a linebackers, and his neck was heavily corded with muscle. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing sinewy forearms covered in a fine mat of dark hair. A faint dusting of hair also peeked out over the neckline of his undershirt, and his skin had a very moderate summer tan, typical of someone that liked working outdoors or camping.
He didn’t have any flab, anywhere, but he looked like a meat and potatoes man. “Hello, miss. How can I help you today?” His voice rumbled out again, and his eyes met hers directly, causing a funny little flutter in her chest. Brown. They were a deep, warm, chocolaty brown, with cute little crinkles at the corners when he smiled. She almost missed what he asked while she was staring at his mouth.
“Oh! Uh, well, I didn’t come in to actually buy anything…well, not intentionally. My car,” she turned and pointed out the door. “I had it towed here. It won’t start. I think it’s the alternator.” Her hand drifted up to smooth away a bit of it that was trying to cling to her fresh lipstick. His eyes seemed locked on the gesture for a moment. No. She was imagining it.
“Yeah?” He walked around her to the door, leading her back outside, and she could have sworn his arm lightly brushed hers as he strolled by. She shivered deliciously at the brief contact. “Is it makin’ funny noises, or it just won’t start at all?”
“Funny noises, and it keeled over and died in the parking garage when I tried the ignition a few times. I didn’t flood the engine,” she added quickly, catching that look that she’d grown used to whenever anyone male ever listened to a female describing car trouble. She dimly remembered her father cussing at Mama one day when they were trying to get the gas mower to start, and he’d accused Mama of doing the very same thing with his beloved Craftsman mulching mower after he cleared the blades of grass clumps. “Damn it, woman, you can’t tell me you didn’t flood this engine!”
“It’s the damned spark plugs, eejit!” she railed back, hands on her hips as he fumbled with the ripcord. Lord, the neighbors had quite a show that day. One more reason why she missed her father so much. To N’dare’s credit, it HAD been the spark plugs.
“Flooding the engine is one thing, but if you need a new alternator, this puppy ain’t gonna start, darlin’, so that’s what we’ll look at first.” It was the unspoken “next” that he was going to look at that which worried Ororo. She was so light in the pocket this month after Leon’s little mess…she decided Kenyatta could at least foot her the cash later for the cab fare, subway tokens, SOMETHING.
In the meantime, her stomach fluttered again when he called her “darlin’.”
“Nate!”
“Yeah?”
“Go ahead and pull this inside. Red Chevy Impala, vanity plates,” and Logan paused to read them again, smiling at Ororo as he read aloud, “WNDRWMN.” Ororo grinned back before letting her eyes drop to her shoes.
“My cousin Rose had a lunch box with her when we were kids. One of the yellow vinyl ones with the matching thermos.”
“Those are collector’s items, now. Tell her to list it on eBay.”
“She won’t part with it.”
“Can’t blame her.” They walked back into the air conditioned shop, and Ororo popped a piece of Trident gum into her mouth to chase the metallic smell from her palate. He eyed it with interest, and she held out the pack.
“Thanks, darlin’,” he nodded. He tucked the wrapper into his pocket as he led Ororo to the back counter. “Let me write up a ticket.”
“What, like a tentative quote?”
“Nope. I mean the ticket. I already know about what it’ll run. The only way I’ll have to add anything on to that estimate is if your starter’s out, too, but I doubt it. Was it making a noise like this?” And he growled out a fair impression of her car’s engine that it made in the parking garage. Ororo chuckled and nodded emphatically, making her hair sway. The sunlight streaming in through a small window near the ceiling hit her hair, setting it ablaze.
And that was the vision engraved on Logan’s memory as soon as she left.
Ororo made it back to the office and glanced at the wall clock. Three o’clock. “Aargh.” She dug her lunch out of the break room fridge and heated it up, almost wondering why she bothered when quitting time was an hour and a half away. Her stomach reminded her why as the aroma of the chicken and beans hit her. Ororo drizzled some dressing onto her salad from the ounce-sized Tupperware tub in her bag and settled down to make calls between bites, crossing off a few more names from Emma’s list and typing up a list of donations promised thus far. Belatedly she realized she was going to end up being the point person for all of the items and would have to make sure they were all received by the date, as well as kept safe until the night of the ball. This project kept on snowballing.
Anna Marie tottered into her office a little while later, plopping a stack of files onto her desk. “Here ya go! Phew! Ya had lots of old email t’chuck in there. I date ordered and collated it all and I started a new file for the new Alternatives site in Salem Center.”
“Did you put it in a red folder?”
“Yep.”
“Who’s my home girl?” Ororo held up her hand for a high five. Anna didn’t leave her hanging. SMACK! Ororo nodded to her phone. “Stop me before I dial again.”
“Go home. C’mon, I’ll walk ya t’the garage.”
“Could you give me a lift, too? My car’s in the shop. Alternator’s out, couldn’t get it to start to save my life.”
“That’s where ya were for lunch, hon?”
“Yup. I was already down to beans and rice after Kenyatta milked me for everything in my savings yesterday. I’ll be eating ketchup soup next after the cost of the tow truck and the repair.”
“Ouch.”
“I was headed to Mama’s this weekend, too.”
“Borrow your cousin’s car. Least she could do,” Anna shrugged.
“Yeah,” Ororo muttered to her purse. “Yeah!” she grinned at Anna. “Why the fuck not?”
Please Tell Me We Have Kool-Aid by OriginalCeenote
“That one pink bush needs to be dead-headed, it’s all covered with rust spots. You know your mama hates rust spots on her favorite pinks,” Ruth warned, fanning herself from the porch swing. Ororo stood and stretched, digging her knuckles into her lower back as she flexed it. She’d spent the past two hours bending and reaching, cutting and feeding shrubs, yanking milkweed from the flower beds, spreading cedar mulch chips and spreading weed-‘n-feed across the lawn.
“Girl, when was the last time you greased that hair? It looks dry!”
“I used my Biosilk leave-in this morning, Auntie Ruth,” Ororo replied diligently. It never failed; a visit to Mama’s and Aunt Ruth’s always yielded the same lectures and questions:
1) “Did you use enough grease on your hair? When was the last time you had a trim? You need to go over to my stylist at Penney’s to get your brows waxed.”
2) “Have you seen yourself walking away in those jeans?”
3) “So, when are you gonna bring home a husband for us to meet?” This was often followed by “I sure wish you could find yourself a nice young Black man who goes to church!” Lawdhamercy…
4) “Here, why don’t you take home a few things from the pantry? I know I’m not gonna eat this bacon, I don’t even know why I bought it.”
5) “So when are you going back to school?”
6) “You need to take your vitamins. And stop drinking all that caffeine, you’ll give yourself lumpy breasts. You know women in our family get lumpy breasts. Great aunt Fanny always did, in particular…”
…and on, and on, and on…it never failed.
Ororo could never really remember the last time she was thin enough, educated enough, rich enough, pretty enough, or marriage-worthy enough to please her mother. Her aunt Ruth, bless her, at least had the decency to remind her, “N’Dare, at least Ororo isn’t running the streets with awful friends like Kenyatta’s, be thankful, girl!” In hindsight, though, back when they were growing up, Kenyatta had been FUN. Ororo was a couple of years older, but the two of them had always been kind of close, sharing clothes and music, and finding some of the same boys cute. Kenyatta had always been her mouthpiece when girls in school would give her a hard time about her size and coloring. Kenyatta would be in the middle of the hall right before homeroom, informing anyone who got into Ororo’s face, “Girl, you AIN’T all that!” She’d always walk with her to the corner store for Dove bar ice cream pops so they could flirt with the cute boy who worked behind the counter.
After a while, Ororo realized that “fun” didn’t pay the bills. Someone had to be responsible. This became stark reality when her daddy passed away. David Munroe had been a war correspondent and photographer whose work had made it onto the covers of publications like National Geographic and Time, and his daughter was the apple of his eye. When he was stateside, he would bring his little girl in her smart pigtails and corduroy jumpers into the press office to look at the pretty pictures he often took, and explain what was happening in the ones that weren’t so pretty, and she would watch him with rapt, intelligent eyes. He was her daddy, and he was her world.
Having a father that documented and portrayed what was going on in the world inspired Ororo to want to be an active part of what was going on in it, herself. N’Dare was a retired school teacher, and she had always envisioned her daughter following in her footsteps, but to Ororo, shaping and guiding young minds was an awesome task. She wanted to help empower people to help and protect themselves, regardless of their walks of life. There were other ways that she could contribute and give something back, and the shelter network seemed to call her name.
It was just as important to give something back to the family that nurtured her. After David had passed away, N’Dare chose to remain in Delaware, mere blocks away from David’s younger sister, Ruth. The sisters-in-law bickered constantly, made tandem beauty shop appointments, sang in the church choir and went to bingo together, and spent most of their coffee hours in N’Dare’s TV room commiserating over their respective daughters’ seeming inability to bring home a good man.
Ororo wondered how long she would be obliged to stay this time, and how much ammunition they would take from her visit once she left. She tied off the garbage bag of clippings and weeds and tossed them into the bin on the side of the house. “Aunt Ruthie, I’m gonna leave cleaning the gutters til the next time I come.”
“The cold season’s not far off, baby. Don’t leave your mama with clogged gutters before it starts to snow. Last year she had icicles as big around as my arm!” Ororo sighed. It all depended on whether or not she had her car, money for gas, and another available weekend between now and then.
“Please tell me we have some Kool-Aid,” Ororo begged.
“Just mixed some up this morning. Help ya’self.” Ororo picked up the bundle of roses that she clipped for their visit to the cemetery and carried them carefully into the house. She deposited them by the sink and began trimming the thorns off the stalks and rinsing them liberally to knock off the aphids. She grabbed a few of the first of the begonias too, just to flesh out the bouquet and add some more color.
Ororo shucked her gardening gloves and tossed them into the gardening box in the laundry room. She scrubbed her hands with some of her mother’s lemon Joy and picked the grit from beneath her nails. Her pretty manicure from a couple of nights ago was a lost cause. The Kool-Aid was calling her name, and Ororo poured herself a tall glass with ice. She was just about to sit next to Ruth on the porch swing, when her aunt said “Before you sit down, could you run on upstairs and grab me my reading glasses?”
“Right,” Ororo muttered. “I wasn’t gonna sit down, or anything.” She set her glass on the railing and scuttled upstairs for the glasses. And she ran into yet another road block on her way back down.
“Ororo, come here for a minute and tell me if I combed out the back of my hair?” She automatically handed Ororo the wide-toothed comb, and Ororo dutifully fluffed her mother’s roller curls and gave it one last flick. “Make sure the waves are going in one direction,” she chided.
“They are.”
“I have that one cowlick that won’t lie down,” she reminded her. Ororo didn’t disagree; she had the same cowlick.
“Already got it. Is the cemetery your only stop today?”
“Your aunt Ruthie ‘n I are headed over to the Giant market this afternoon to pick up some things for the church barbecue. I’m making an ambrosia salad.”
Ororo’s mouth watered. “Bring some back for me,” she begged.
“Wouldn’t hurt you to go with us to the barbecue,” N’dare murmured, cutting her eyes accusingly at her daughter, who raised her eyebrows innocently. “Clover is bringing her grandson who I told you about last week with her. He’s back from his year with Americorp.” The last date Ororo had been fixed up with from the “offerings” at her mother’s church hadn’t gone well. Ororo had lived in New York too long.
“That’s nice,” Ororo sang. “I’ve gotta get Ruthie’s glasses.” Ororo made her escape without committing to anything.
“Clover said he’s got some great photos from his trip,” N’Dare called after her as she tripped down the stairs.
“That’s NICE,” Ororo repeated, hurrying out toward the porch with the glasses.
“Did your mama tell you about Clover’s grandson who wants to meet you at church tomorrow?”
Aaaargh…
“I’ve gotta get Kenyatta’s car back to her so she can get to work. I’m picking up mine from the shop on Monday night.”
“What happened to it?”
“Alternator went out.”
“You need a new car, baby girl.”
“I need new car money.”
“You need you a rich man,” Ruthie admonished, lifting a brow over the edge of her reading glasses as she picked up her Harlequin romance novel. “What’s keeping your mother?”
“Cowlick,” Ororo replied, taking a sip of her Kool-Aid.
The three women spent the next forty-five minutes deciding which car to take, hunting down the address to the cemetery again, fussing over whether they needed sun hats if they weren’t going to be there long, and N’Dare remaining unconvinced that her cowlick wasn’t showing. Once they parked the car and strolled out to the headstone, Ororo arranged the flowers in the little plastic cone and reinserted it into the stand. Out of habit, she wiped down the marble headstone with a damp rag, making sure to get the crevices in the engraved lettering: “David N. Munroe, Beloved Husband and Father.” Ruth handed N’Dare a Kleenex from her purse, and she sniffled quietly into it, dabbing her eyes.
“Ain’t the same without him,” Ruthie murmured. “Back when we were young, your father used to run off with my Barbies, bend ‘em in half, and pretend they were guns. He and our cousin Teddy would play shoot ‘em up with my dolls, can you believe that foolishness?” Ororo grinned. She certainly could. They spent a few more minutes gathering up stray bits of debris and leaves from his plot and chucking them out, and Ororo stopped to talk to another family at an adjacent stone, flirting with the adorable toddler holding tightly to her mother’s hand. She grinned with gappy teeth when Ororo fished out the blue lollipop in her purse from the bank that she never ate.
N’Dare linked her arm through Ororo’s on the way back to the car. “I want you to have what your father and I had. Or even what that family back there had.”
“What I have isn’t all that bad,” Ororo reminded her, but she felt a pang at the memory of that cute little girl, grinning at her.
“One of these days, baby girl, it won’t be enough.”
Sunday night:
Ororo tromped up the stairs with leaden feet and aching hamstrings from the long drive back, still feeling the sting of her yard work from the day before. Still, it was good to go home. Her mother had kept her lectures about Ororo’s lack of a love life down to a bare minimum, and Ruthie packed up a bag of her mother’s food items that she “didn’t know why she bought anyway” to supplement her meager groceries.
Kenyatta had dropped her back at her apartment, giving her chagrined thanks for topping off the gas tank. “You can return the favor for me when I get my car out of the shop,” she demurred.
“You know I’ve gotcha covered,” she promised. Likely story, but at least she meant well, Ororo mused.
Ororo relaxed on her couch, listening to her Lenny Kravitz CD, humming along to “Let Love Rule” as she stripped off her chipped polish. She debated on whether or not to apply a fresh coat, considering that she didn’t really have anyone to impress…until she remembered that she was picking up her car tomorrow night. She thought about the mechanic with the warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners. What was his name again?
Ah, Logan. That’s it. Ororo dipped the brush into a bottle of deep plum polish and started on her thumb.
The following morning found Ororo hopping into her nylons and praying that the tiny snag starting above the thigh didn’t work its way down to her knees. She finger-combed her curls that she’d wet-set and blow-dried, mentally checking her hair for the cursed cowlick before deciding she wasn’t going to obsess about it. Jon had always looked at her like she was insane whenever she brought it up. Ororo had only wished she had been more observant about some of the little signs of his infidelity: receipts for lunches that looked suspiciously high for just one person, a used condom wrapper that fell out of his pants pocket in the laundry, an odd “hang-up” message on her answering machine, and the sudden, frequent late nights when he wouldn’t come home until the wee hours of the morning, and never wanted to explain where he’d been. She’d thought she was just “giving him space” by not nagging him to death about it; it turned out she wasn’t giving him enough.
Ororo added a dash of color to her lips, choosing the plum lipstick that matched her nail polish, spritzed herself with Secret, and patted on some of the Sparkling Cassis talc that coordinated with the body wash in her shower. At least the zit on her forehead no longer looked like a third eye…
She hopped the subway to work and flipped through the morning paper. Anna Marie shot her a wary look. Ororo chafed, hating to ask “Did I get any messages?”
“Ya’ve got another impromptu meeting with Miss Frost,” she sighed, handing her the Post-it pad. Ororo tore off the top sheet savagely.
“Grrrr. Grrrrr,” she mock-growled, stalking off to her office.
“I’ll rescue ya fer coffee in an hour, toots,” Anna promised.
“I’m holding you to that!”
Just when Ororo’s experience with Inner Circle’s director wasn’t harrowing enough the week before, the threat had multiplied itself times three. Ororo’s office was crowded when she opened her door.
“There you are!” Emma trilled brightly, still riding the high of her “herbs” and filling Ororo’s office with the scent of Chanel. “Ororo, I’d like you to meet Selene Gallio and Jean Grey. Selene’s function is almost parallel to yours in our division, and Jean is my personal assistant.”
“I sent you the fax,” Selene informed her nasally.
“Of course! Thank you for that.” Thanks for heaping a pile of crap on my desk that you two could have done yourselves. “I began making some cold calls last week.”
“Would you mind bringing us up to date, dear? Whom have you heard back from?” Ororo set her satchel down behind her desk and booted up her PC. She opened her Word program window before any of the three vultures could spy the Wicked Stepmother icon on her desktop. Ororo opened up the Excel spreadsheet file that she’d begun with the list of contact names and companies, whether they had accepted or declined the opportunity to donate auction items, and what they were if they had.
“Oh, what a helpful little file,” Jean cooed, peering at Ororo’s monitor when she turned it to face them for easier viewing. Ororo mentally rolled her eyes.
“We could always add on to that,” Selene purred, her dark eyes sharp.
We?
“Ororo, it would be wonderful if after the auction itself, you could add the closing bids and the names of the winners as two more columns on this and route myself, Jean and Selene a copy via email?”
“Of course,” Ororo beamed, contenting herself with the image of stabbing herself in the eyeballs with a letter opener.
Ororo studied her guests with some irony, noting she was the only one who hadn’t chosen a monochromatic wardrobe that day. Emma was in yet another white suit, this time Anne Taylor with a pair of cream Manolo Blahnik pumps that gave Ororo a bunion just looking at them. Selene wore a shirred black wrap dress and strappy black sandals that looked like she was on her way out to a dinner date. Jean also wore black, but it was almost a Mary Quant-style dress with a wide patent leather belt and matching kitten-heeled pumps that made Ororo envy her tiny feet. Ororo almost felt gaudy by comparison in her cornflower blue blouse sprigged with tiny white daisies and the lavender tapered skirt, but there was no help for it. She enjoyed color.
“Ororo, is there any way we could get some coffee?”
“Our break room is right down the hall, if you’d like to take a brief-“
“We’d love it if you could bring some back, if you’re on your way down there,” Emma smiled.
Grrrr. Grrrr.
“I’ll be RIGHT back,” she assured them brightly, taking swift strides past the cubicles, favorite mug in hand. Even Wonder Woman seemed to be pouting…
“Thought ya wanted me ta come get ya for ““
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…wishful thinking, girl!” Ororo strode into the break room and dug in the cabinet for the extra coffee mugs reserved for visitors and retrieved three. She left behind the one from Hot Topic that said “Boys Eat Their Own Boogers.” Anna Marie would never forgive her if she served the Weird Sisters coffee out of her favorite cup… Ororo prepared a fresh urn of regular coffee to justify the delay back to her office, which no longer felt like HER office, and fetched a serving cart from the supply room. She loaded it up with a carton of sugar and creamer, then belatedly realized Emma wouldn’t touch coffee, and it would be bad form to go back to her office without some beverage offering. She snagged a green tea bag and a couple of packets of Equal and filled the plain white mug with steaming water from the hot spout on the coffee machine.
Rumbling male chuckles greeted her efforts from behind the cubicle outside her office. “Waitress, I’ll take a cheese Danish and scrambled eggs, with the icing for the Danish on the side, make that separate checks!”
“Here, pucker up, I’ll bend over,” Ororo offered, winking with meaning at Scott from Accounting. That sent him into a full guffaw before he turned back to his monitor. “Danish, my ass,” Ororo muttered before opening her door and backing her way in with the cart.
“Oh, isn’t this nice!” Ororo’s cheeks burned; she could have sworn she had interrupted what sounded like office gossip as she made her precipitous re-entry. Selene clapped her compact shut and tucked her blood red lipstick back into her purse before shooting Ororo a smile that was positively serpentine. Jean watched Ororo park the serving cart as she continued to file her nails.
Lazy, high-maintenance, uppity… “Thought you might favor some tea, Emma.”
Emma made a small moue. “There wasn’t any bottled water?”
Die. Die. Die. Ororo excused herself and crossed over to Scott’s cube, threatening him with dire consequences if he didn’t foot her a buck for the vending machine. Ororo shot Anna Marie an ugly look on her way back to the break room, sending her into a fit of the giggles. Anna knew 'Ro was likely to kill her, but she would have died for that laughter. DIED for it.
The next hour was spent arranging for a DJ (Ororo did it), scheduling a radio spot (Ororo took care of that), and adding a few more businesses to her contacts for the auction donations.
The really grating part that made Ororo’s teeth ache was just around the corner…
“So girls, what should we do for costumes?” Emma clapped her hands together like Sister Maria teaching the Von Trapp children how to sing do-re-mi.
“Costumes?” Ororo asked weakly. “What should we do for costumes?”
“We need to cut a real dash,” Emma suggested.
“Maybe something matching?” Jean’s tone was plaintive, but she had the look of someone that knew her suggestion would be taken to heart.
“I want something in black,” Selene insisted. It figured.
“Perhaps you could scour the costume shops and come up with some choices?” Emma turned to Ororo.
“Perhaps,” Ororo agreed. Hell, there was always Google.
The overwhelming cloud of Chanel gradually evaporated an hour after they left, during which time Ororo chewed mints to clean the scent off her palate and made more cold calls and successfully scheduled the spot. For some reason the ad sales rep laughed when she mentioned she was calling on behalf of Inner Circle Management.
“Girlfriend, you sound too much like a human being to be Selene from that office!” Ororo nearly choked on her coffee. That moment of justice buoyed her through the rest of the afternoon.
It was time to pick up her car.
Anna Marie dropped her by the lot of Howlett Auto Parts and Repair. “Place is tiny, ain’t it?”
“It’s not bad. The mechanic didn’t make me feel like a clueless girl when I came in last week. That alone’s worth the money.” Ororo closed the passenger door, then leaned back inside the window. “Are you planning on going to the charity ball?”
“Only if Uppity Britches comps me a ticket or two so I can bring Remy.”
“Anna, hello? You work for Alternatives!”
“Ain’t seen my name on anyone’s comp list,” Anna sang, shooting Ororo her patented “girl, PLEASE!” look.
“I’ll drop a well-placed reminder to the folks in Accounting. Maybe even put the fear of God into Summers…”
“Cool. ‘Bye!”
“G’night.” Ororo fluffed her hair in the side view mirror before Anna pulled out; Anna gave her one last quizzical look before she waved goodbye. The door’s chime sounded when she walked in, bringing in a breath of fresh air inside with her. The shop appeared empty. “Hello?” She ventured to the back of the store, peering back at the desk.
Nobody home. “Huh.” Ororo’s heels clicked against the mottled, gray speckled linoleum tile as she headed over to the side entrance of the garage. She wrapped on the pane before entering. “Hulloooooo?” Her voice echoed slightly off the concrete floors, and faint shafts of light broke the gloom of the service area, along with worklights hanging up from power cords. She turned and scanned the room; her car wasn’t inside. She supposed that was a good sign. That was when she noticed a vintage Cadillac hoisted up off the floor, high enough for a coverall-clad body to stand beneath it and make adjustments to the undercarriage.
A familiar, compact body whose rippling backside she hadn’t had the opportunity to enjoy on her last visit. She took that opportunity now. Her mouth dropped open on a low gasp. It shouldn’t be legal for a man to look that good in ugly green coveralls. She heard him curse under his breath when he dropped the socket wrench onto the concrete with a resounding clang. He bent to pick it up, then peered around his leg at his unexpected visitor.
Logan mused to himself, Shit, she even looks fantastic upside-down. He righted himself and tossed his wrench into the tool tray beside the car. “Hi!”
“Hey. I, uh, knocked. Wasn’t sure if you heard me, or anything.” A brief flash of memory came to her of paying for Dove bars with Kenyatta at the corner store, counting out the wrong change when the cute cashier smiled at her. Yeah, this moment was a lot like that…
“Sorry about that, I was…my hands were a little…full.” He raked one through his waves of glossy black hair, and Ororo restrained the urge to wipe away a smudge of motor oil from his cheek. He had a square jaw kissed with a fine layer of five o’clock shadow and, now that she noticed, a faint cleft in his chin. Damn.
“Is my car ready?”
“Yup. Wanna head out back with me? I’d like to watch you start her up, before we settle up your ticket.”
“Great. Lead on!” And he did, until they reached the side door, when he rushed ahead to hold it open. Logan was well-raised, you could give him that.
But he was dying for another look at those incredible legs in that luscious little skirt.
Logan ducked behind his counter and grabbed Ororo’s key chain from the wall of hooks, shucking his dirty work gloves before he took it. He held open the shop door as he had the first, and she flicked him a shy smile over her shoulder. The last of the evening sunlight danced on her hair again and brought out the flecks of silver, gentian, and violet in her blue eyes, which rivaled the sky itself.
“I got a kick out of your key chain,” he admitted.
“My what?” Ororo peered down at it, and the shiny pink trinket seemed incongruous in his wide, thick palm. He had fantastic hands. “Oh! That.” She shook her head. “Got it from my cousin.”
“She sounds like a hoot.”
“Lord, yes!” Her laughter lit up her face and showed off even white teeth. Logan unlocked the driver’s side and let himself in, sitting half-in, half-out of the car and making room for Ororo to watch him.
“She starts fine now,” he explained, and inserted the key into the ignition. A deft turn of his wrist and the car hummed to life. No more death rattle.
“Cool,” Ororo sighed. “Now people won’t hear me cussin’ from down the block trying to start my hoopty ride.”
“Hey, don’t hurt her feelings. I love an Impala,” he assured her, and he caressed the vinyl of the dashboard almost lovingly. He furrowed his brow slightly and faced her, still enjoying the view that sitting at this angle afforded him of her legs and shapely torso. Her skirt was distracting him. “I meant to ask you something else. Is that CD in your deck relatively new?”
“Dunno,” she shrugged. “Which one was it?” She peered at the dash, and Logan obliged her by hitting the eject button. The disc popped out of the carriage and he handed it to her carefully, by the outer edges. Maxwell: Urban Hang Suite. Her favorite.
“No. It’s actually an oldie but goodie. I’m surprised I haven’t worn it out by now. This is his first disc, I think he’s had two or three more.”
“That’s what was playing when I got the car to start after I put in the new alternator. It’s not bad,” he offered. Then the thought occurred to him, “You probably want me to get out of the way so you can take your car.”
“If you like,” she grinned, thinking she didn’t mind him right where he was. She almost added “Unless you were planning on coming home with me.” No. No, no, no…even if it was tempting. And he was tempting. She peered at his hands again.
No wedding band. Hunh.
He levered himself out of the car and handed her the keys. “Ready to settle up the ticket?”
“Ready, Freddie.”
“Geez, haven’t heard anyone use that phrase in ages!”
“It was one of my daddy’s favorites. He had a few that were kinda fun that way.” He led her back to the counter and rang up her bill, handing her the yellow copy. A faint spark of electricity ran through her arm at the grazing touch of his fingertips. Surely she was imagining it…
He placed the white original on the spindle with a flourish and announced “All set!”
“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr…what did you say your name was?”
“Logan. That’s actually my middle name. On my driver’s license I’m James Howlett.”
“I like Logan, but what’s wrong with James?”
“Everybody and their brother’s named James.” She rewarded him with a laugh that deepened her dimples. He came out from behind the counter and walked her back outside.
“Try having a name that you never, ever find on a personalized mug,” she challenged him. “Name one other person you’ve ever met named Ororo. I dare you.”
“Can’t say I’ve ever met a woman by that name. To be honest,” and his hand lingered on the edge of her door as she let herself back into her car, “I don’t remember the last time I met anyone quite like you.” Her gaze grew thoughtful and held his through the open window. The clouds were moving a little faster in the sky overhead, creating a dramatic backdrop for those chocolatey eyes and burnished skin.
“Goodnight, Logan,” she murmured softly.
“G’night, Ororo.” He stepped back to allow her to back out, and was pleased when she looked back to wave to him as she pulled out into traffic.
…Son of a Gun. by OriginalCeenote
“Logan, the owner of the custom Cadillac is here for pickup.” Nate’s hazel eyes scanned the board of hooks for the right key chain. Logan whistled shrilly through his teeth to get his attention.
“Heads up!” Logan chucked the key ring in question, and Nate deftly caught it on a jingle.
“Who’s working on it next?”
“Rory Campbell’s detailing shop. They’re also gonna have it fitted for rims.”
“Sweet.”
“Hope they don’t overdo it when they send her for paint,” Logan muttered as he flipped through receipts for parts they’d received in the last shipment. “Ever since American Hot Rod and Orange County Chopper became so popular, all anyone wants is candy paint. I hate it when someone dunks a perfectly vintage classic like that into all that glitter.”
“Last time he was in here, the owner mentioned he had it in mind to go with a nice muscatel, kinda that pale off-gold color you see on some of the newer cars, but its not candy-lookin’, thank God. Might even add a little racing stripe, but nothing too over the top.” Nate’s expression revealed that candy paint was a fate worse than death for any car that was old and precious.
“I’ve always liked good ol’ fashioned light blue on a Caddy,” Logan groused. “My grandpop had a sweet car like that.” He laughed as he popped open a can of Pepsi and took a thirsty gulp. “My dad was conceived in the backseat!”
“TMI, man, TMI!” Nate held out his hands in mock-surrender, making Logan positively roar when he said “Think with my parents, the condom just broke. That, or something about being on their honeymoon on the middle of the ocean, almost being eaten by giant squid, and being creative about celebrating their rescue. I can never tell if Dad’s kidding or not when he tells that story,” Nate mused. Random snorts of laughter escaped Logan as he attempted to take another sip of soda, but continued to fail miserably.
“Ya gotta quit sayin’ shit like that when I’m drinking something,” he advised, snapping his ledger book shut and tucking it back into the metal rack on his desk.
“Eh.” Nate turned back to the box of parts he was counting and tagging and resumed inventory. “Hey, Logan…I noticed that red Impala out back was picked up.”
“Yup.”
“That woman was miles tall! Think that was her real hair?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Really?”
“Unless she had her brows died to match. Doubt it. Guessin’ it was hers.” Logan grabbed his soda and lumbered outside to have a smoke. He wasn’t in the mood to keep going for fear of giving away too much.
Rich, acrid smoke curled into the air from the glowing end of his Cuban, and Logan chewed on it thoughtfully as he remembered her voice, deep, resonant, and with a faint Brooklyn accent. She didn’t look like the kinda girl who liked car shows, but hey, ya never knew. Her taste in music wasn’t bad. And superheroes, he chuckled to himself. He used to drool over his sister’s wall poster of Linda Carter in that tiny little red, gold and blue suit, bracelets crossed and ready for action. Drooled privately, of course, or she’d never let him hear the end of it.
Ororo Munroe…neat name. Suited her. Everything about her “suited her.” He was a sucker for a gorgeous woman in a skirt, and it had been a while since he had looked a woman in the eye and seen a genuine little “something,” a spark.
Yup. The one time he’d come eye to eye with a woman who was too good to be true, it was completely unlikely that he’d ever cross paths with her again.
Across town, at Alternatives Shelter Network:
“My office is beginning to look like a blinkin’ store!” Ororo sighed, blowing out a breath of disgust that sent her bangs floating off her forehead. Anna Marie chuckled and patted her shoulder heartily.
“Ah could keep some of this stuff out front in one of the conference rooms.”
“What we need to do is find a place where we can keep it all locked. I don’t want this to become a security issue,” Ororo pondered, surveying the growing pile of goodies stacked on her round work table and one side of her desk. Ororo had been feverishly sitting in for conference calls for budgets and fiscal year deliverables for the shelters, including the remodeling project for the one in Salem Center. Ten new rooms were being added, as well as two new shower-equipped bathroom suites. Ororo also had to drop off a few more books of vouchers for single-night hotel stays that the shelters kept when there was too full a house to accommodate new clients. It was difficult. It was always hard facing the realities of life in the harsh light of day, and Ororo was disgusted at having to spend so much time on planning a party that was costing almost as much as it was supposed to bring in to benefit the charity itself.
Betsy was always frank when they talked. “Get out while the getting is good,” she warned her over coffee one day. “Don’t spend years of your life “ which you won’t get back “ doing something you hate. When I work in the centers themselves, at least I feel like I’m doing something hands-on, instead of dealing with the bureaucratic crap.”
“I’m good at the bureaucratic crap,” Ororo sighed, licking the whipped cream and caramel sauce off the top of her latte. “I just wish that I were more involved in the other aspects of it, like referring people for aid, social work appointments, coordinating donations to the halfway houses…”
“The Worthington Center needs someone over in their grant writing unit,” Betsy brightened, fishing through her tiny purse for a business card. “This is their recruiter. Call her up, tell her I sent you.” Ororo fingered the heavy cardstock, peering at the indigo ink: Katharine Pryde, Human Resources Coordinator. “I already have a contract that won’t be up for another year, or I’d jump at it myself. This is up your alley.”
“Hm.” Ororo had tucked it into her pocket, not giving it much thought until now, as she eyed the towering pile of donations, her disorganized desk, and her multiple Post-its of calls that she had missed while she was still cold calling and arranging ads. Never mind all of the files she had to update, expenses she had to log for each center that had been spent last quarter, and the steadily creeping migraine that was making her grind her teeth.
“Anna Marie, could you grab me some water to take a few of these with?” Ororo pleaded, jiggling her bottle of Excedrin.
“A few?”
“Best I can do til I can pour myself a stiff one at closing time,” Ororo sang. “I need to go out. Desperately.”
“Long as ya promise not ta wear green tonight, since that’s my signature color, I’ll see what we can do. Remy’s outta town this weekend, and I’m jonesin’ t’go out on a toot. Whaddya think, night out with the girls?”
“I’d kill for it,” Ororo considered. She closed her eyes, then opened them. Nope, the pile of crap was still on her desk. “Ain’t gonna happen, though. I’ve got too much to do to wrap this up. I’m piss-poor and can’t even afford a bottle of that Boone’s Farm Strawberry that my college roomies and I used to drink like it was Kool-Aid.”
“Damn. That’s pitiful.” Anna stacked the last of the files into Ororo’s cabinet and bumped it shut with her hip. “Boone’s, huh? Damn.”
“What did you and your friends drink back in the day?”
“Franzia in the great big box with the handles,” she admitted sheepishly. “Hey, at least it wasn’t Everclear!”
“Lord help you,” Ororo giggled. “Drink one for me, Anna.”
“Will do.” Anna swished out of her office to assess different places where they could keep the incoming donations for the auction while Ororo went back to her calls. She checked the next name on the list…
…and nearly laughed out loud.
“Howlett Auto Parts and Repair. Son of a gun.” The majority of the list that Selene had faxed over initially had read like a Forbes 500 Who’s Who, with the exception of members of the Chamber of Commerce that always seemed to show up at functions like these. This was unexpected. And it answered the nagging question that had been lingering in her head for the past 48 hours: What excuse could she come up with to see that breathtakingly handsome mechanic with the eyes and lopsided grin that made her tingle?
Or hear his voice, anyway. That was a start…
“Good morning,” she said crisply into her phone, “I don’t know if you remember me, Nate, but I came in a couple of days ago, dropped off a red Impala for a new alternator? Yes, yes, that’s me, yes, it’s not every day you see a license plate like that!” Ororo’s chuckle was warm. “I was wondering if I could speak to whoever’s in charge of things like PR for your shop?”
“That’d be Logan,” he assured her. Next it sounded like he cupped his hand over the receiver before bellowing “LOGAN! You’ve got a call back at yer desk!” Ororo giggled; not everyone bothered with mundane things such as the “Hold” button. Nothing wrong with that… Her musings were interrupted by the deep voice that was dark and smooth as syrup.
“Mornin’,” he drawled, making Ororo’s stomach quiver.
Lord have mercy…
“Oh. Hello, er…Logan. I just came from your shop a couple of days ago after you fixed my alternator…? This is Ororo Munroe.”
There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line. “Well. Hi.” A beat later he asked “How’s the alternator working out for ya?”
Ororo was clueless for a split-second before it occurred to her. Shoot, he thinks I’m calling about my CAR! Better get to the point… “Oh, it’s fine. Purrs like a kitten, no problem at all. You did a really nice job.” Something soft, squishy and girly crept into her voice, and Ororo had fallen back in time to when the best that she could manage when a boy ever gave her attention was “Well, yeah, I’ve, uh, seen you around school, too.” Right, Ororo, get on with it…
“I’m actually calling you about an event that I’m coordinating through my work, and your business showed up on my list.”
Damn, a gorgeous woman who he thought he’d never lay eyes or ears on again turned out to be a friggin’ telemarketer…the fates were cruel. “What’s yer work, exactly?”
“I work over here at Alternatives Woman and Children Shelter Network,” she explained diligently, still realizing that wouldn’t mean much to him if she didn’t qualify it. “One of our sister companies, Inner Circle Management, is hosting a fundraiser for our network of shelters and other crisis centers in the community, and your shop’s name was given to me to ask as a potential donor of an item or service for our auction. It’s taking place on Halloween night at the charity ball we’re hosting.” To her relief, her spiel was occasionally broken up by faint “mm-hmms” rumbled into his end of the phone throughout, which definitely beat deafening silence. Or snores. She couldn’t handle that…
“So what is it exactly that you do, Ororo?” She was knocked off guard for a moment. That wasn’t the question she was expecting.
“Well…I coordinate fundraising, events, and other activities that help to build our presence, but if you like the short explanation, I make calls, take meetings, and push a lot of paper.” To her own jaundiced ears, it sounded boring.
“You’re much too good-looking to lock away in an office.” Ororo could hear a smile in his voice, and found one creeping across her lips in return.
“Flatterer.” Logan was still breathing a sigh of relief that she wasn’t shilling appointments over the phone. Now he was looking for excuses to keep her on the phone.
“Just tellin’ the truth.” Suddenly it didn’t feel like a business call anymore. “You get out of that office often, darlin’?”
“Every now and again, they let me out of my dungeon. I can’t see over the pile of stuff on my desk right now, though.” Ororo lazily sketched some doodles on her steno pad, and scrawled “Logan” in girlish script, adding goofy little smiley faces in the margins. “Anyway, I don’t want to take you away from what you’re doing, you’re probably busy,” she hedged, loathe to bring the call to a close. “If you decide that it’s feasible to make a donation of anything to the fundraiser ““
“What’d you say it was again? An auction?”
“Uh-huh. Goods and services. Different things can be given. From a shop like yours, a relatively inexpensive but useful service would be good, like a tune-up? Oil change? Discount on some parts?”
“I think I can come up with a little something,” he rumbled, and his hand wandered over some of the items on his desk; he played with the tab of his Pepsi can, and bent a little flexible toy figure into twisted shapes to keep his fingers occupied. They itched to touch that startling white hair that caught his attention and held his interest so strongly. “It’s always good to have a little tax write-off.”
“It’s a meaningful charity that you’d be helping, too, if that makes it any easier,” Ororo offered. “Maybe you don’t get the immediate gratification of, say, buying Girl Scout cookies or Little League candy bars…”
“Never had much of a sweet tooth, anyway.” Ororo suppressed a chuckle and doodled more scribbles on her pad. “And I get plenty of gratification helping a cause I can believe in. I can arrange to meet you at your building, or you can stop by mine again, and I can get you the vouchers and a receipt for the monetary value?”
“That’d be great,” she assured him. “And…I don’t know if this interests you, but we’re extending invitations to some of our sponsors and donors to attend the ball, if they wish.”
“Ball, huh?” Logan leaned back in his swivel chair and ran a hand through the back of his hair. “Eh.”
“Ehhh??” Ororo echoed him good-naturedly; she wanted him to at least say he’d think about it. “I can’t persuade you?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her what she could persuade him to do. “Since it’s on Halloween night, can I assume it’s gonna be in costume?”
“That’s the assumption. Actually, that’s the truth,” she sighed. “Costumes, or whatever business people define as a costume that reflects their status. There’ll be several different interpretations of it, that much I can tell you right now. Or, whatever won’t mortify them to see in the society pages of the Daily Bugle.” Logan heard the laughter in her voice and pictured her rolling her eyes. The image pleased him.
“We’ll see. In the meantime, let me know when you want me to stop by.”
“You don’t have to go through the trouble,” she insisted, but her heart fluttered traitorously. He wants to come HERE.
“A man’s gotta take a lunch sometime. I’ve gotta get outta my dungeon every now and again, too, darlin’.” Ororo proceeded to give him the address and road directions there.
“I’ll be in my office. Ask Anna to buzz you in.”
“I’ll be sure ta wash off the engine grease before I show up, how’s that?” She tossed out a hearty laugh that made him want to hear more of it, before she told him that yes, that was fine. Ororo logged the call on her spreadsheet and went back to her list, humming a little tune as she got down to work. When she went to put away her steno pad, she was embarrassed to see that she had drawn a crooked little heart with an arrow through it.
The rest of the morning progressed as expected. Ororo teleconferenced in the caterer and wrangled over menus, informing the owner that Inner Circle Management would be handling the expense, but they balked when they realized that she was not employed by that office, and they wanted to know by what authority she was charging it to their account and cost center. Ororo put the caller on hold to bang her head on her desk blotter, then came to her senses.
“Would you like me to patch Emma Frost into this call? She’s the director, she might be able to set a few things straight,” Ororo suggested sweetly.
“Perhaps I should be speaking to Miss Frost going forward,” he suggested back.
“I’ll have her office get in touch with you! Have a good afternoon,” she sang before terminating the call. “Just wait’ll I sick Jean and Selene on your sorry ass,” she muttered to no one in particular, glaring hard at the phone. Knowing she wouldn’t appreciate being called without having anything to offer, Ororo faxed over a cover letter and copies of the menus to Selene, with the note “Escalated issue re: account authorization for expenses, catering.” There. That oughta light a fire under someone’s…
“Ororo?” Anna’s voice squawking out of her intercom wiped away the fantasy that she had of someone lighting a blowtorch and aiming it at Emma’s Anne Taylor clad, Chanel-drenched tookus.
“Yes?”
“Ya appear ta have a visitor.”
“Could you have him sign in and escort him on back?”
“Sure could, shoog.” Ororo heard the none-too-subtle note of curiosity in her voice and grinned like a Cheshire cat. She really wished she was going out with her tonight, now. Then they could at least dish.
Ororo cleared a space at her work table and retrieved her spare chair, moving it in front of her desk. She pushed the stack of items to one side, and accidentally knocked off a rolled-up art print from a local art and framing gallery from the top of the stack. “I hate this, I HATE this, I need more room,” she groused, bending to retrieve the poster, leaning over the chair for balance as she picked it up…
…looking for all the world like she was shooting the moon in her short, tapered skirt that rode up the back of her thighs as her office door swished open.
“Knock, KNOCK!” Anna sang, nearly startling Ororo out of ten years of life. She lost her grip on the chair for a moment as she craned her head around, peering over her shoulder at…oh, SHIT. Her hand slipped, she dropped the poster again, and she clotheslined herself practically in half, landing hard against the chair with an unladylike “OOF!”
And of course the friggin’ chair had wheels. Funny thing about chairs with wheels is that it doesn’t take much momentum to…
WHACK! “OW!”
…accidentally bop your forehead against the wall. Ororo saw a star or two, wondering to herself, just for a brief moment if the Fates hated her for some act of inexcusable bad karma that she had committed in her youth. Until she felt a strong, warm hand encircle her upper arm, pulling her upright. Too big to be Anna’s, she realized.
“Geez. That didn’t tickle,” soothed that yummy baritone voice that sounded even better now that it was filling her tiny office, instead of just chuckling on the other line. “You okay, darlin’?” Ororo pawed futilely at her hair, which had fallen forward and was caught randomly in bits and pieces by her lashes, brows, and lipstick. She blew a strand or two out of her mouth and smiled weakly into those eyes that still resembled chocolate drops.
There was, however, a mixture of concern in their depths, mingled with barely suppressed laughter. Okay. It was official. She could die now.
No. She could die NOW…a feather-light graze of work-roughened fingertips against her cheek freed the final strand of hair from where it clung to her full, plum-kissed mouth.
He looked good enough to eat. When she’d seen his face peering at her over Anna’s shoulder, the first thing that she’d noticed was the glossy, damp waves of hair that looked like he combed it into some semblance of order straight out of the shower. His face was clean-shaven, but she could almost see the faint hint of follicle threatening to restore new growth to that proud, perfect jaw by the middle of the afternoon. Now that Anna was leaning against the doorframe, eyeballing her with one brow cocked in the air, Ororo had a nice, unobstructed view of her charity’s new donor.
She drank in his slightly faded Levi’s, button-down 501s, she noticed, not those frat boy Silvertabs. They cupped and hugged every manly slope and contour and made Ororo want to say “Honey, HUSH!” His beige, short-sleeved Dickies work shirt was clean as a whistle and neatly pressed, with the top two buttons left open to expose a pristine white cotton tee. Dark brown Ropers, well broken in, shod his feet.
“Me? Am I okay?”
“That’s what the man asked ya, Ororo, he probably was hopin’ for an answer,” Anna murmured blandly.
“A yes or no’s fine,” he offered, and her arm felt a faint rush of cool air when he removed his hand. He cleared his throat. “I left the vouchers and receipt on Anna’s desk, if you need to take a look at ‘em.”
“Not a problem. I can do that. Sure.” She nodded to Anna, “We’re fine now, thanks for bringing him on back.” Her expression was calm enough, her tone pleasant, but Anna read something ominous in Ororo’s baby blues that shouted “Get the hell outta here, girl, I’m WORKIN’!” She read it loud and clear.
“Ah…Ah think Ah have some filin’ t’do. Ororo, I booked a conference room that you can use for storage.” With that, she made her escape. Logan watched her slightly hasty exit before turning back to Ororo, his eyes sweeping over her again, taking his time, giving her a good look. She floundered, looking for words, any words, that wouldn’t make her sound like a jackass.
“It was nice of you to head over here. You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah. You told me that earlier.” Of course she had. “I didn’t mind.” Ororo’s hand drifted up to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear. The gesture made him study her hands. “They’re different.”
“What’s different?” Her brow quirked.
“Your hands. Your nails, I mean.” Ororo held her hand out and studied the back of her hand, wondering if she’d grown any new fingers she hadn’t noticed. “You had ‘em with one of those manicures that make the nail look like it’s not really painted. Y’know, the ones with the white stripe painted over the edge?”
“Oh. Right. French. Those are French manicures.”
“What makes it ‘French?’” He actually looked interested in the answer. Ororo was at a loss.
“You’ve got me!” Her chuckle was silenced before it found its full voice when he reached for her hand. Idly his thumb stroked the tip of her index nail; he made a small sound of approval as he stared at the tidy, plum-colored ovals.
“I like these. If you were to ask me what kind of manicure this was, I could answer ‘They’re purple.’ No explanations necessary.” Her hand relaxed in his warm grip. “You’ve got nice hands.”
“Th-thank you, L-Logan, it’s…nice of you to say so.” She cleared her throat with a barely audible “ahem.” His thumb flicked over her knuckles, sending that little quiver back into her belly. “Am I keeping you from anything?”
“Only if we stay here.”
“Excuse me?”
“Lunch. I came out here on the way to lunch.” Gently he released her hand, and again, she felt bereft at the broken contact. His touch lingered on her skin, imprinting her with its memory. “And I’d like t’know if you’d like to come with me. Ya gave me a reason to escape my ‘office,’ such as it is,” and Ororo beamed before her eyes drifted down to her shoes. They met his again when he added “How about I help ya spring yours?” She thought of her shoestring budget, her earlier decline of Anna’s offer of drinks, and the mountain of work on her desk…
Her lips wouldn’t see reason, nor form the appropriate rejection. “I’ll grab my purse.”
…Didn’t See Your Name On It. by OriginalCeenote
“Ororo? Would you like to open with any new business?” Emma watched her expectantly, like a cat peering into a mouse hole. “I believe today was the deadline for the auction donations and a final tally of what was promised and received?” Ororo re-entered the conference room in a huff, pushing the spare swivel chair from the empty cubicles. She had shown up ten minutes early for the meeting and assembled her folders and spreadsheets, politely inquiring if anyone wanted coffee. Anna had thoughtfully prepared an urn and serving tray and left it by the dry erase board. Ororo’s projector was already set up, but her laser pointer was faulty and wouldn’t light; she got up from her chair and pulled the laptop closer to her chair so she could use the mouse, when Selene and Jean entered the suite. Without preamble, Selene took her empty chair without so much as asking if it was occupied. Ororo opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I’ll just be…right back.” Selene’s smile oozed innocence. Damned if Ororo was going to do the entire presentation, let alone last through an hour-long meeting on her feet, and definitely not in her camel suede pumps that weren’t meant for walking any further than from the front door to the cab.
Ororo made it back to the conference room with one, count it, ONE minute to spare before the doors closed. Emma’s cool slate blue eyes darted to the wall clock, landed on Ororo, and gleamed with something…unidentifiable. Ororo nudged her chair into the empty space beside Scott, who merely mumbled under his breath, “What took you so long?” She cut her eyes at him, catching the faint quirk of his lips before she “accidentally” kicked him. His hand flew up to smother an imaginary yawn; she knew he was enjoying this.
“Does everyone have their handouts?” she inquired sweetly. Thankfully, they were just printed PowerPoint sheets, with the Excel spreadsheet as a separate take-away. Not so much paper to make the recycling bins overflow; people hardly ever took their handouts back to their office anymore when they could let the electronic files sit forgotten in their inboxes instead. Ororo’s stomach growled; she hadn’t had time to drink more than a gulp of her Carnation instant breakfast, which really needed to be renamed to something more accurate, such as “Flimsy Excuse for a Meal Replacement When You’re Too Damned Busy and Poor as a Church Mouse.” Ehhhh, probably wouldn’t fit on the label…”breakfast,” my ass.
Ororo took them through the presentation slides, moving at a conversational pace, thankful that she hadn’t crowded them with excess bullets. No one wanted to read it; all they wanted to hear was “Is it feasible?”, “Can we do it?”, and “How much will it cost?” Scott, bless his heart, interjected updates to the quarterly expenses without her having to scramble through her copies of his report. She smiled her gratitude and made a mental note to thank him later, possibly utilizing Snickers bars.
Then the piece de resistance…Ororo clicked on the Excel sheet, which had the harmless little “X” icon on the desktop; only her hard drive copy had the stepmother icon, and she never moved her copy onto the shared drive, thank the Lord. Ororo toggled through each column, giving brief explanations of the goods and services received thus far, and reminding all present that if the charity event was successful, it would be a good idea to rehash during the next fiscal year.
Periodically Selene and Jean got up to refill their coffee, creating a frustrating distraction; Emma merely sat and sipped her Fiji water and flipped through her handout as though it were a Macy’s catalog.
The meeting came to a merciful close, mere minutes before the next conference was scheduled to begin. There was a rumble of muted conversation and chairs rolling away from the table as Ororo logged off her laptop. She loaded up her spare chair, the laptop, and the spare copies of handouts that inevitably got left behind - litterbugs, she fumed - and trawled back over to her office. It was almost over. It was almost over. It was almost over…she chanted it like a mantra.
Damn. She should have learned by now to quit expecting life to be fair.
“Are you too busy for a quick update on the menu?” Emma’s brows lifted in silent challenge, Colgate smile intact. Ororo laid the laptop on her desk and plunked the handouts into her recycle box.
“I can nudge a few things.” Like, her entire day’s work. Not like she had a life, or anything. Or other people to deal with, shelters to fund, meetings to chair. Chicken wings and petit fours at a hundred bucks a plate…
“I received your fax,” Selene murmured. “We’ve never had trouble dealing with that caterer before.”
“He seemed to have a problem dealing with me, or what he deemed my lack of authorization to charge the expense to Inner Circle’s cost center.” Ororo opened her file drawer and extracted a manila folder with neatly paper-clipped notes and faxes. “So I informed him that we would be hiring a different caterer.” Ororo’s tone ended on a cheerful note. Jean’s auburn brows flew up incredulously. Emma choked slightly on a sip of Fiji; she delicately wiped a drop of water from her chin.
“Pardon?”
“I did a little research through last year’s fundraisers, and a few of the events coordinated by other departments and noticed that we had a really good caterer that didn’t overcharge us for our Christmas benefit for the Worthington center.” Ororo handed Emma a Xeroxed expense sheet, menu and business card for the firm in question, eyeing her levelly as she leaned forward on the edge of her seat. Her legs were practically bouncing with impatience, since meetings with Emma normally meant stepping and fetching whatever her little heart desired, even when she brought along her personal assistants. “If you compare the menu we had at the Christmas benefit against what your prospective caterer ““
“Our usual caterer,” Jean corrected her. “We always use them.”
“I work closely with Accounting when I plan events that support our network,” Ororo emphasized. And she did. For all the ribbing and office tomfoolery that Scott threw her way on any given day, she listened to him closely when he was crunching numbers and making budget adjustments. “The menu that they offered us for the price quoted on that sheet,” she nodded to the original caterer’s quote, “doesn’t even offer as broad a selection of food, hosted bar, or set-up in the final cost.” Emma looked over the quote, then did a “you must be shittin’ me” flip of the sheet, looking at the other side as though it could tell her anything else before she passed it to Selene, who passed it to Jean with relative indifference. Jean, on the other hand, pulled out a pair of reading glasses “ Liz Claiborne- and read the quote sheet line by line against Ororo’s Xeroxed copy from the year prior, after waving imperiously for Ororo to hand it over.
“Thank yooouuuu, she hummed. Emma watched her review it, as though it would help her to find a flaw in Ororo’s reasoning.
Both women were surprised a moment later when Jean looked up and deadpanned, “She has a point. Better savings, more goods and services being offered so we don’t have to hire additional vendors for set-up…I can’t see why we should settle for what our usual company offers if they can’t, or won’t give us a competitive deal.” Glittering green eyes studied Ororo behind their designer frames as she handed her back the quote sheets.
“Well,” Emma breathed, “when you put it that way…Ororo, could you contact this other company to get their menu plans and see how much room we have for flexibility?”
“Should I set up a conference call with their scheduler?” she asked brightly.
“Only if we order lunch in,” Jean broke in. The stipulation seemed to please Emma and Selene both. Ororo automatically broke out her Rolodex, until Emma said, “What’s the number to that little café on Market Street that makes that decadent little apple salad that we like so much?” Ororo struggled for her thick citywide yellow pages, hefting it from her drawer with an “oof.” She let her fingers do the walking and attempted to tune out the three women’s idle chatter and office gossip, reaching back into her drawer for her tin of Altoids. She wanted an Excedrin so badly she would have killed for it, but the chalky tasting mints could almost persuade her taste buds that they were aspirin. Altoids as a placebo…I must be losin’ my damn mind.
“Good afternoon,” Ororo recited, checking the orders she’d scribbled on her steno, “I’d like to order three of the apple salads…”
“On second thought, make mine the salmon Caesar, with the balsamic vinaigrette on the side,” Selene interjected, tapping one dagger-clawed index finger against her bottom lip.
“…excuse me, scratch that, two apple salads, and the salmon vinaigrette…sorry, salmon CAESAR with the balsamic vinaigrette,” she caught herself, inwardly rolling her eyes as Selene pantomimed the order silently from across the room, coaching her instead of placing the order herself.
“And I’d like to substitute the cucumber poppyseed for the raspberry vinaigrette on mine,” Emma chimed in. Ororo nodded, cradling the received against her jaw and scratching out her notes, wondering why she bothered…what was the point of notes ahead of time if…oh, shit.
“I forgot to ask,” Ororo murmured haltingly, “separate checks?” Eeerrrgggh. Her letter opener gleamed temptingly from her pencil cup as they nodded as one. That was ten minutes of her life that she’d never get back.
The next hour wasn’t any easier, or more retrievable than the early morning meeting. Ororo’s own tiny, overpriced garden salad wilted as she handled the call to the caterer’s, feeling relieved when the proprietor was much friendlier than the one Inner Circle hired before and actually had some semblance of customer service skills and a sense of humor. After much finagling and wrangling of a consensus of opinion from the three and several tentative, deleted memos on Ororo’s PC, they settled on a menu, budget, decorating theme, hosted bar, and a mention of the new caterer on the next radio ad for the ball. On the one hand, at least she had gotten a word in edgewise; on the other hand, she’d been the mouthpiece for much of Emma’s initial indecision. Plus, hello? Wilted salad. She kicked herself for not just grabbing a bag of Corn Nuts from the vending machine on one of several trips she’d made to the break room to refill everyone’s water and coffee.
She could have sworn she saw a spark of sympathy in Jean’s eyes as they took their leave, thanking her for lending them so much of her time, until the redhead’s Cupid’s bow mouth formed the dreaded words, “Now, Ororo, how’s that costume project coming along?” A blonde and brunette head each whipped back around before they were all the way out of her office, and Ororo merely smiled as she popped another Altoid. She sent Anna an email with a flame on it, high priority, with one word shouted in the header: CHOCOLATE, ASAP.
Later that night:
“Ohhh, my feet hurt clear up to my waist,” Ororo groaned on her way up the steps. Her calluses even had calluses, and she promised herself a long soak in the tub to take away the throbbing.
“Ororo, is that you, dear?” Raven’s voice drifted out into the hallway as she reached her floor.
“Who wants to know?” she grumbled, then pasted on a smile.
“Your little cousin stopped by a while ago. She said she had something for you, but I wasn’t sure what time you’d be home. You’re getting back awfully late,” Raven considered, checking her watch and looking at Ororo with a furrowed brow. Ororo sighed again. Of course she stopped by without bothering to call first.
“She didn’t say she’d try again? Or maybe leave it for me, whatever it was?” Ironic indeed, if it was any of her money.
“Uh-uh. She didn’t say. She had a nice-looking young man with her, though; they looked awfully cute together.”
“That’s what they’re good at,” Ororo tsked. Eh. She’d give Kenyatta a call in a minute once she got out of her shoes. The laptop felt heavy in her grip and was creating a crick in her shoulder as she made her way inside.
Her apartment had that odd scent that she associated with coming home from a long trip; she never spent much time in it these days. Dinners shared with Raven and Irene, late nights at work, weekends at her mother’s, all of it was making her tiny little pad look less familiar. Maybe even more lonely. Ororo laid her laptop case on her dining table and eased out of suede pumps, releasing a tortured “ohhhhhhhh” from deep in her chest.
Now that she had a moment to think, the first thing on her mind was that sexy mechanic. That lunch, that moment, that odd little quiver that kept on coming back…
*****
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when he said he was taking her out. She had ten dollars in her purse that needed to last the next three days til payday and her DC checks that wouldn’t be accepted in half the restaurants on the block. She didn’t figure Logan would have champagne tastes. Then again, she hadn’t figured him for having champagne money.
She almost kept walking past his car until he unlocked the passenger side of a beautifully restored black Crown Victoria with creamy leather upholstery and said “Where to?”
Ororo’s mouth dropped open in numb shock. “This isn’t your car,” she mumbled.
“Sez who?” He feigned indignance for a moment before waiting for her to get in, then gently shut the door once her long legs were safely inside. He’d managed to park in the shade, and the leather felt blessedly cool against her back. She lightly stroked the buttery leather, sparingly so as to not leave marks from her fingers, which had begun to perspire. She automatically leaned over to open his side, earning her a smile as he seated himself. “Thanks, darlin’.”
“Sure.” She watched him turn on the ignition and crank the air conditioning. He nodded to the radio.
“Turn it to whatever you like.”
“I like music that’s kinda current,” she admitted, testing the waters. He cocked a skeptical brow.
“Gangster rap?” There was disbelief in his voice.
“Good Lord, no!” She pressed the seek button and found her favorite top forty station, and leaned back, smiling at the sounds of Amerie pumping out of the speakers at moderate volume.
“That’s all right,” he conceded.
“What do you listen to, normally?”
“Older blues, some country, and cruising music. Anything that you hear at a car show,” he qualified, which piqued her interest.
“Like, Santana, maybe? Old school music?”
“Definitely,” he grinned. Maybe she wouldn’t mind going to a car show, if the opportunity presented itself. “I picked up a couple of good discs at the last one I went to in Jersey.”
“Pop one in!”
“Ya haven’t told me what you’re even hungry for!”
“Anything. Trust me. Better yet, surprise me.” Logan sprang the latch on the console between them and retrieved a mixed CD with artists that Ororo had forgotten she liked. Otis Redding crooned about being “Under the Boardwalk” with his baby down by the sea as Logan expertly maneuvered through lunch hour traffic, eventually stopping at a pretty little café. Ororo was almost loathe to get out of that fabulous car, especially since being in it allowed her to get close enough to smell his crisp aftershave and that comforting little male scent of his. Her regret disappeared when he immediately came around to her side of the car and offered his hand to help her up. She could get used to the grip of his fingers. Down, girl.
Minutes later Ororo found herself sitting opposite him at a tiny table by a window, near the back. They spoke low and leaned close to hear themselves above the din.
“So,” Ororo peered over the edge of her menu at him, “how long have you worked on cars?”
“Since I was old enough to hold a wrench,” he answered matter-of-factly. “The shop was my dad’s. I took it over when he retired. Angina,” he explained. Ororo nodded in understanding.
“My father’s been gone for a while now. It’s good that he gave himself the break to take care of himself.”
“He gave himself the break to get in his eighteen holes on the back forty,” he grinned. “He’s still taking the occasional dab of gin to prevent snakebite and sneaking beef jerky and cigarettes when my brother John and I aren’t looking.” Ororo didn’t press when he didn’t mention his mother.
“Did he enjoy being in the shop as much as you do?”
“How d’ya know I enjoy it?” he teased, and mischief glinted in his chocolaty eyes.
“Just a guess. You just seem…content. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re pretty happy when you’ve got a wrench in your hand and a car suspended over your head.” The unspoken thought rattled in her head that he was probably good with his hands.
“Do you enjoy what you do?”
“Sometimes. Some of it.” Ororo chewed the inside of her lip as she put down her menu, deciding that he was just too distracting for coherent decision-making. She’s just ask about the soup of the day and be done with it.
“Like what?” He laid down his own menu but left it open, leaning on his elbows as he studied her. Logan was a man who liked little details. He noticed things like license plates and rim ornaments, racing stripes or monogrammed floor mats. He carried that same attention to detail when he met new people, and Ororo intrigued him. There were so many interesting traits that comprised her as a whole: the tiny little mole by the corner of her mouth, the deep notch of her upper lip, her long, curling lashes, and a funny little divot that appeared between her brows when she scrunched them in thought or disbelief. Then there were her slender hands. He noticed a couple of shallow, half-healed paper cuts on the seam of her first knuckle on each index finger, and a mole on the back of her left hand, but her skin was satiny and smooth. Hm. This was interesting, what was this little scar…?
“Making sure the centers have what they need. Making sure they get the attention and funds as well as involvement from the community.” He sensed hesitation in her voice.
“What do ya wish ya were doing?”
“I wish I was more active in the community, getting involved. That I wasn’t so cooped up in an office. I’m raising funds to benefit people that I’ve never met. I want to see more of what the money actually does, where it goes, and who it helps. I’ve volunteered at soup kitchens before, and that’s an eye-opening experience.” She fiddled with the dish of sugar packets, riffling them with her fingers.
“I could see ya doin’ that,” he agreed. “Ya seem like someone who gets something out of helping people out. Ya also seem like ya don’t make a lot of time for yerself.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Ya looked like the concept was foreign to ya when I suggested goin’ out for lunch. Do ya work through lunch a lot?” Ororo shrugged.
“I guess…”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He tore his eyes away from hers long enough to scan his menu one last time before he snapped it shut. The waiter paused by their table to recite the specials and took their orders for drinks. Logan echoed Ororo’s request for raspberry lemonade for himself. When he rushed off, Logan nodded to Ororo, focusing on something on the table. “Where did you get that?”
“What?”
“That tiny little scar on your wrist?” What was it with him and her hands, she wondered. She found the one in question.
“Gardening.”
“Ya live in a house?”
“No. Not at all. My momma lives in Delaware. I did some yard work and pruned her roses a couple of weekends ago. Nicked myself on some of the thicker canes. Typical,” she smiled.
“That didn’t tickle,” he stated, repeating his earlier observation in her office.
“I’m hopeless,” she tossed back.
“No. Hell, no. Accident-prone, maybe.” She giggled. “Hopeless? Never. Helpful? Yup, there’s a word I’d use ta describe ya.” She flushed, hopelessly. Goodness, gracious. “You’re a lot of things to a lot of people, from the sounds of things, darlin’.” There was that fuzzy little glow washing over her skin again at his use of the little pet name, in that rumbly voice that begged for a darkened room and turned-down sheets. “Just gotta be more careful not ta get hurt.” He gave into the urge to reach for her, braceletting her wrist in a gentle grip and turning it up, stroking the tiny scar with his thumb, comforting the tiny wound that no longer stung.
What were we here for again…? Lunch. We were here for lunch. Logan saw a tiny vein jump in her throat at the same time that her pulse quickened beneath his thumb, and he felt a sense of satisfaction at having affected her. The waiter returned to the table, and Logan released her long enough to point to the sandwich he’d decided on, handing him the menu.
“What’s the soup of the day?”
“You can’t share soup,” Logan pointed out.
“I’m on a soup budget.”
“Not if ya order something we can share. And not when I asked ya out t’eat.” He stirred his lemonade indolently with this red straw. “My treat. I’m starving, and I’m not in the mood for soup.”
“Bossy britches,” she chuckled. “Could I have the appetizer sampler instead?” The waiter scribbled down the order and took off. Logan retrieved her hand and resumed his inspection, much to her delight.
“Have ya always had this little mole?” From then on, they exchanged notes, anecdotes of childhood heroes (he was fond of GI Joe and Green Lantern, and had a few first edition Star Wars action figures stored in his father’s attic), and found more excuses to touch each other across the table. Ororo didn’t give it a second thought when she leaned over halfway through the meal and wiped off a stray dab of thousand island dressing from the corner of his lower lip and licked it off her finger. Only when she saw him pause and noticed his bemused expression did it occur to her what she’d done. “Wouldn’t have wanted you to walk around all day with that.” What had she DONE?
“Appreciate that, darlin’.” He tweaked a morsel of succulent corned beef from the thick remains of his sandwich and held it out to her. “Ya need a better taste of it than that. It’s really good.” She wanted to find out for herself. She leaned over and let him meet her halfway, letting her lips drop open enticingly, never taking her eyes from him. He teased her with it for a second, barely skimming her plump lower lip with it before he pressed the tidbit inside, his skin steamed by the moist heat of her mouth as she engulfed him. His gut clenched and a he felt a tightening in his vitals.
“MMMMMmmmmmm.” The piquantly seasoned corn beef, mixed with the faintly salty, male flavor of him was addictive, and her sigh resonated through them both. They were in a public place. She couldn’t make a scene.
“Told ya.” He sucked the faint sheen of flavor reflexively from his finger.
“Sure did.” His gaze made her pause in the middle of picking up a mozzarella stick. He nodded at it.
“How about a little taste of that?”
“I could give you one,” she suggested. Her smile was pure mischief, and he told himself he should be afraid of that twinkle in her eyes. But they were too damned pretty.
“Nope. Just wanna bite.” Dutifully she dipped it in the cup of marinara sauce and extended it to him, figuring that breaking off a piece of the gooey cheese was impossible without mangling it out of shape.
His lips descended on the sauce-kissed end of the stick, puncturing the cheese with his even white teeth, lightly grazing her fingertips. The cheese stretched into a narrow, winding string as he held her immobile, allowing himself the chance to catch it in his lips. “Mmmm. Hmm. Hold on a sec.” His words were mildly garbled by the treat, and he severed the string of cheese neatly, but not before his lips nibbled on Ororo one last time and licked a tiny crumb of fried parmesan coating and dribbled of sauce from her flesh. Her nipples stiffened into peaks, pulsing and throbbing with need beneath her thin blouse, and she heard the roar of blood rushing in her ears. The man’s going to kill me. I’m going to go into cardiac arrest, and he’s going to have to scrape me off the floor… Damn, he was sexy.
“Tasty.” She nodded, speechless. She was saved from lunging across the table to taste the rest of him by the waiter bringing them their ticket. She cleared her throat.
“Could we…just have the rest wrapped up to go?” Anything to compose herself. It was the middle of the day, her desk was stacked with things to finish, and she couldn’t waver or chuck it all aside for a) asking him for a tour of the back seat of his car to see if the upholstery was as soft and buttery smooth there as it was in the front, or b) ducking home for a cold shower until she regained her senses and sanity. Logan shot her a veiled look from beneath his lashes. She pretended interest in the diluted pink puddle of lemonade and diminished ice chips in her glass before she looked back up at him with a funny little quirk of a smile.
The ride back to work was mostly quiet. The strains of Santana filled the car and the Styrofoam to-go box squeaked in her lap as she tried to tame her restless thoughts. They’d barely met; her dropping off her car, picking up her car, and him meeting her to drop off the vouchers had resulted in a lunch date that was the fulfillment of her fervent wish.
So what now?
Logan parallel parked in the metered parking on the street and hit the automatic locks with an audible click. He turned down the volume on this stereo and faced her. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“Thank you for meeting me here, and for taking me.” Chocolate brown eyes bore into hers, filled with something unidentifiable. Don’t say anything jack-assed, girl, she coached herself. He never gave her a chance.
Strong hands reached over the console and grasped her upper arms, hauling her over the console of the car into a kiss filled with impatience, yearning and heat. Ororo reacquainted herself with the flavors of the sandwich and raspberry lemonade that they’d shared, reminding herself why it had been so delicious. It was him. Her hands explored the smooth cotton of his shirt and the knotted muscles underneath as his mouth slid over hers. Why buy the cow, when you can get the milk for free, her mother’s voice nagged in her head.
Mooooooo.
His hands made their way into that glorious spill of white hair, letting it sift through his fingers as his lips demanded a response. She replied in kind, moaning her approval into his mouth as their breath mingled.
It’s after lunch hour. It’s broad daylight. I’m making out in a bumpin’ car with a gorgeous man whom I’ve barely just met. She was panting, licking the taste of him from her lips when she pulled back. Her fingers trembled as they skimmed his jaw.
“Um…”
“Work. Ya gotta…get back ta work.”
“Right. Uh-huh.” Aw, hell. She tugged his shirt collar to bring him back for another searing kiss. She stroked his cheek, already feeling the faint rasp of stubble that he’d only tamed with a razor that morning. He cradled the nape of her neck as his lips roamed over the contours of her face, bringing every nerve ending roaring to life.
“I’m…tryin’ t’be noble, here.”
“Right,” she gasped. “Mmmm.” She left him with three more short, staccato pecks of her lips before she let him go. She was still trembling. Thankfully, the to-go box hadn’t knocked itself open when it fell off her lap. She retrieved it and reached for her purse when a thought occurred to her. “Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Please say you’ll come to the ball.”
“Y’aren’t just planning it; yer gonna be there too?”
“Definitely. With bells on.”
“No bells. I was hoping for a Wonder Woman suit.”
“I’m not making any promises,” she warned, chuckling. He ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek, tickling her throat. She groaned at the touch, still raw from his kiss. “But I’ll see what I can do.”
He helped her out of the car again, and stole one more kiss from the curb, not giving a damn who saw. She stood in the narrow gap of street as he leaned into the goodbye from his perch on the curb, and they were nearly of a height. Nearly.
*
Ororo changed into her floral cotton knit pajamas with the Victoria’s Secret initials embroidered on the pocket and padded through her kitchen, reheating leftovers while her laptop booted up. The jangle of the modem warred with the hum of the microwave as she retrieved a cobalt blue Pyrex dinner plate from the cupboard and fished some clean silverware from the dishwasher. The chirp of her cell phone surprised her; Ororo “answered her purse,” digging out the tiny mobile and snapping it open. “Hello?”
“Dang, girl, I came by earlier! They always chain you up to your desk? When’s a girl get a break?” Kenyatta’s voice was cheerful.
“Raven said you’d stopped by,” Ororo sighed. “Coulda left me a note.”
“Get over ya’ seff, cuz. I’m comin’ back after Leon and I finish dinner. Leon got a bonus at work that he wasn’t expecting.”
“Least they owe him, with him speeding off to be on time everyday,” she muttered dryly.
“Sit on it, girl!” Kenyatta tsked, picking at her nails. “Mmph. Anyway, I got some of your money here for ya, so ya better be nice ta me!”
“Don’t make me snatch you baldheaded. Ya betta git up in here wit’ ma dough!” She shook her white tresses and guffawed at her gall. “While your at it, bring over some chocolate.”
“I’ll stop at Ben & Jerry’s.”
“Knew there was a reason why I loved ya!”
“Better be more reasons than THAT!” They hung up on a happy note. The microwave dinged and Ororo poked the cold spot in the center of her leftover pasta before zapping it for another minute. She twirled a few strands of capellini around her fork and pulled down her bookmarks, finding Google’s shopping page, Froogle and hitting enter. She typed in “costumes,” paused for a moment, and added a few more keywords. She nearly choked on her dinner as she surveyed the results and began making notes.
A sharp knock on her door jerked her head up. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” she grumbled. She peered through the peek hole and grinned. “’Kay, girl, where’s my mocha almond fudge, and be snappy about it, chop chop!”
“Ya want that more than the money?” Kenyatta sang, swooping in and giving Ororo a peck on the cheek. She handed Ororo a bag that felt like it had a whole pint and shut the door behind her.
“Nope. Kick down, cuz.” Ororo extended her free hand palm up, wiggling her fingers with feigned impatience, her face haughty and imperious.
“Hmmph. Bring ya chocolate for what’s gotta be a PMS attack, and this is the thanks I get. Thought Auntie N’Dare raised ya to have more manners than that.” Kenyatta rolled her eyes to the ceiling before diving into her designer knock-off bag with its dubious looking Donna Karen insignia gleaming in the dim lamplight of Ororo’s front room. She peeled off three hundreds and handed them to her. “Ain’t all of it yet. County got the rest of it for that last ticket, but you knew that.”
“Course,” Ororo shrugged, satisfied for the time being. “C’mon, let’s dig into this, and I can show you my new costume for that party I’ve been slaving over for the past month.” She led her into the kitchen, and Kenyatta’s eyes squinted at the tiny monitor.
“Giiirrrrll, what on EARTH are you planning on wearing?”
“Just a little sumthin’,” she answered innocently, eyeballing Kenyatta over her shoulder as she reached for two bowls.
“Just a little. No shit,” Kenyatta whistled. “Damn. I don’t know where I’d ever wear something like that. And you said this party’s for work?”
“No, I’m holding it as a benefit for the network and its sister centers. It’s not actually happening AT work. Alcohol’s gonna be comsumed, so that alone gives me a little leeway.”
“Tongues are gonna wag on Monday morning.” Kenyatta plunked herself at the tiny pine table and took the proffered bowl of mocha almond goodness and spoon. She dragged the spoon through a thick swirl of fudge and took a greedy bite. “Okay,” she mumbled through a gooey mouthful, “this was one of your better ideas.”
“Mmmrrrmmpphh.” Ororo nodded emphatically, licking up a spare dab of chocolate from her bottom lip, and they gave the ice cream the attention it deserved.
“Now, the real question…who ya tryin’ t’impress?”
“Who sez I gotta be tryin’ t’impress nobody?” Ororo cocked her brow and her hand found its way to her hip as she cleared away their bowls.
“Let’s see, smug little look in the eye? Check. Hand on the hip? Check. Tiny, itty bitty little costume that’d make your momma AND mine faint dead away? Check. And you’re looking WAY too damned guilty t’not be up ta something, girl! ‘Fess up, ya MET somebody!”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Uh-uhhhhh…”
“Got all night to keep this up. Yer gonna crack any minute.”
“Didn’t I say something earlier about snatchin’ ya baldheaded?” The threat hung emptily as Kenyatta met her glare with indifference, and with a “head trip” swivel of her head around her shoulders.
“Girl, please!” Kenyatta sat down at Ororo’s laptop and toggled to a full-size view of the costume with the mousepad. “So is he fine?” The last word came out sounding like “foooooiiiiinnnn?”
“Oh, Kenyatta, I couldn’t even begin ta tell ya! He can wear out a pair of coveralls, even the butt-ugly green ones! And what a butt he’s got!”
“What’s he do?”
“Mechanic. That’s why I didn’t nag Leon to get his behind over here to fix my car.”
“THAT mechanic? Shit. I love the job my hairdresser does on my touch-ups, but I don’t go around drooling over him.”
“Stop it!” Ororo aimed her open palm at the back of Kenyatta’s head, but she ducked, throwing her hands up in defense.
“I ain’t the one lookin’ guilty. You haven’t had that ‘I’m up ta sumthin’, so ya betta watch out’ look like ya have now since Jon stepped outta the picture.” Kenyatta leaned back and scratched her stomach with little grace. “Course, he needed t’step. Boy got on my damn nerves.”
“You said you liked Jonathan.”
“You’re my cousin. I’m s’posed t’say that.” Now that she really recalled it, those last few weeks before she sent him packing, Ororo remembered that Kenyatta had made some noises of indifference when she mumbled “I think he’s seeing somebody on the side, what d’you think?”
The girls chatted over fruity herbal tea while Ororo gave her the lowdown on the party menu, DJ, what kind of booze they were serving, and that she planned on (hopefully) meeting Logan there.
“He’s not picking you up?”
“Too soon,” Ororo mumbled into her teacup, swigging down the last gulp.
“…he takin’ you home?”
“Haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”
“What’s that, what’s that sound, ho, hold up, that’s my bullshit detector going off! Ding, ding, ding, dinnnngggg!” Kenyatta got up and grabbed her knock-off purse. “Gotta go, ‘Ro. Luv ya, cuz. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“If I do, just don’t tell Momma,” she smirked. “I know where you live.”
Halloween Night:
Ororo toweled off her hair and wiped off the steam from the mirror, then reached into her medicine cabinet for her Clear Eyes. She blinked and cursed under her breath at the cool chafe of the drops dribbling into her eyes, but it was worth it to quell the bloodshot tendrils fogging them and making her feel haggard. Too much stress, too little sleep, and heavy anticipation was taking its toll on her. The past few days she’d barely eaten, had drunk her weight in water and diligently took her vitamin B complex tablets and had found excuses to walk everywhere when she had the opportunity. The snug little costume hanging in her closet wasn’t the least bit forgiving of physical flaws. She raked a wide-toothed comb through her hair and slathered on a generous handful of leave-in moisturizer. Ororo brushed her teeth and searched her apartment for her cordless phone. She dialed Raven’s number one-handed as she spit the paste back into the sink.
“Please tell me you can help me do something with my face,” she begged.
“Hot dog! Irene, go grab that Mary Kay kit that I spent all that money on last month, Ororo’s coming over.”
“Oh, boy! Do we get to help with her hair, too?”
“We can’t WAIT to see your costume!” Ororo giggled.
“I’ll be over in a sec,” she promised, then clicked off. What, she pondered, am I getting myself into? Ororo slipped into a button down shirt and sweats, swabbed her face with Clinique moisturizer and a base coat of foundation, and draped her costume over her arm. Raven and Irene were already in a dither when she arrived there. Raven yanked open the door, and Ororo practically fell in through it as Raven whooped “Renie! You’ve gotta get a load of this costume!” Irene navigated to the door.
“Let me see,” she demanded, and made a sound of pleasure as she fingered the glossy vinyl. “Love it, LOVE IT! You have that elegant, tall body, that’s going to be so nice on you!”
“All right. Face first,” Raven barked, dragging Ororo to the vanity. She nudged her into the chair and laid the costume on the bed, grinning at the extravagant matching boots. “This is too cool.”
Several coats of nail polish, “ “Red. Gotta be bright, screaming red. Raven, don’t tell me ‘how should I know,’ I used to be young once!” “ hair spray, daubs of lipstick, painstaking applications of jet black eyeliner and mascara, and a few stick-on rhinestones later, Ororo eyed herself in the full-length mirror and inhaled, sticking out her chest and running her hands over her belly.
“I think,” she murmured, “I’m ready.”
“If you’re not now, you never will be,” Raven grinned. “God, I wish you could see this, Renie.”
“I can tell by the grin in your voice that it looks fabulous,” Irene assured her. “Here. Spritz on a dab of this.” She reached for Ororo’s elbow and pulled her close to spray a dash of Yves St. Laurent “Paris” between Ororo’s collarbones. The particles of spray drifted down into her cleavage, which Ororo had dusted with the barest hint of iridescent gold powder.
Ororo strode to the front door on the imposing high heels, hoping Logan didn’t mind too badly that she’d tower over him. She grabbed her whip and looped it into a neat coil, hanging it from the clip on her belt. She blew Raven and Irene a kiss. “G’night!”
Raven chuckled under her breath once the door was shut. “She’s gonna give that poor man heart failure.”
“Bless her little heart.” Irene patted her arm.
Ororo found parking relatively close to the door of Shaw Industries Black Crown Resort Conference Center. She scanned the parking lot with a hint of disappointment. No black Crown Vic. Not yet, she told herself.
She walked in through the service entrance and searched for a closet to set her purse, until one of the bus boys stopped her. “Miss, you need to sign in up front.”
“I work with Alternatives, I’m the event planner,” she explained.
“Still gotta sign in.”
“Fine then. No problem.” Punk-ass. She shrugged; maybe she could find somewhere better to put her purse. Her boots clumped across the hardwood floors as she made her way to the front desk.
“Oh, mah God! ‘Ro, will ya just look atcha! Remy, quit droolin’!” Anna Marie was agog with scandalized delight as she eyed Ororo’s costume. “Didja hafta grease up good to get into that?”
“Used a whole can of Crisco and an industrial strength corset,” Ororo kidded her. “You two look cute, too. I didn’t think you were coming.”
“Funny thing about that. Ya know how that nice client of yours stopped by last week to drop off his donation and swing by your office?”
“Of course.” Ororo immediately blushed.
“I offered him one of the comped tickets that Emma authorized for donors and patrons of the network, and shut mah mouth, girl, he handed ‘em back t’me and PAID for two tickets, and told me t’bring a friend with me instead!”
“Holy shit.” Ororo’s stomach dropped into her shoes…boots.
“Ain’t no way Remy’s wuz gonna swing payin’ fuh us t’go ta this shindig,” Remy grinned. “So, where’s the booze at?”
“Behave yourself,” Anna nudged him and straightened the collar on his Peter Pan costume. He tweaked her earlobe and kissed her soundly, then adjusted her latex pointed ear that was threatening to slip loose. Ororo almost wished she’d gone the safe route with a Tinkerbell suit like Anna’s.
Ororo reached for her name tag and clipped it onto her belt for lack of other places to put it. She headed back to the ballroom and surveyed the tables as they were being set up. She consulted with the DJ on the music selection and made sure there was sensible music planned for when people were still filling their plates. The hall was gorgeous. Pale gold sheers covered the windows, framed with black velvet swagged curtains trimmed in gold fringe. The small round tables were draped in alternating gold and pumpkin cloths and the banquet tables were similarly dressed and draped with gold chiffon sashes tied in saucy bows. The flower arrangements were harvest themed and simple; they varied from dried flower arrangements in autumn colors to bundles of corn tied off with raffia and baby’s breath. Fairy lights dangled in shades of yellow and white from the ceiling, making the darkened ballroom resemble a starry sky. Gauzy cobwebs with grinning plastic spiders were draped over the doorframes, and Ororo felt it was money well spent when she saw the food being brought to the tables. She laughed out loud when she saw the cookie platters.
There were cookies shaped like fingers, with slivers of almond as the “fingernails” and oozing red icing “blood” around the edges. They looked positively macabre. Ororo loved it. There were equally silly-looking spiders made from dark chocolate and chow mein noodles, studded with M&Ms for eyes. The googly eyes winked up at her as the bus boys rushed back forth, filling punch bowls and laying out the napkins in neat slanted domino rows.
Slowly the guests began to file in through the front entrance, and Ororo took a few minutes to just “people watch,” enjoying the different interpretations of costumes. A handful of them were more ostentatious than hers, and she chatted with some of the wives and chairwomen who noticed her by the tables. So far, so good, until the thought occurred to her…
The auction. Emma never mentioned who was going to announce the bids…Ororo raced back to the front desk.
“Anna? Could I see a program for a quick sec?”
“Here ya go.” Ororo opened the heavy tri-fold and was ready to cuss.
“Auctioneer: Ororo Munroe of Alternatives Shelter Network.”
Damn.
Thankfully, the auction wasn’t due to begin until eight o’clock, but that didn’t give her a lot of time to socialize. Then again, that all depended on Logan, didn’t it? She went back into the ballroom and peered through the window, still looking for his familiar car. Nope, nope, and nope.
The ballroom was crowded and the wine was flowing freely by the time Emma arrived, and Ororo kept herself scarce in the hopes that she wouldn’t conveniently find her something else to between now and the start of the auction. She bumped into Jean on the way into the rest room and pasted on a smile.
“Oh! Excuse me…ORORO? Oh, my God, I almost didn’t recognize you!”
“Hi. Cute getup,” she hedged, making her way to the mirror to check her teeth for lipstick. Like a leming, following that silent female urge, Jean sidled up to the other end of the mirror and examined her own for imaginary clumps of missed spinach. Jean was dressed in a clever and surprisingly adult Queen of Hearts costume in red satin that showed off a fair amount of leg. Her fair skin winked out from the mesh of her fishnet stockings.
“Did you come with anyone?” Jean pressed.
“No. Not really. I was just…hoping to see some familiar faces.”
“Well…it’s Halloween. You might have to just look more closely.” Jean swished back out on a cloud of very floral “Lulu.” She gave a slight wave. “See you in a bit, Ororo.”
“Sure.” Ororo let herself into the stall and locked it, wondering “How on earth is a woman supposed to pee in this suit?” All right. She just wouldn’t drink much. Well, not too much.
She circulated through the crowd and things were going smoothly until a cheerful voice halted her grab for a chicken wing. “You really take Halloween seriously.”
“Hullo, Emma.” Ororo’s lips twitched. Well, it just figured. Emma was dressed in a white confection of tulle and silver glitter, looking surprisingly like Tilda Swinton as the White Witch in the Chronicles of Narnia. Selene…wow. Ororo didn’t think she even had the sense of humor to pull off the naughty, short black Hogwarts school girl costume she had on, also complete with fishnets.
“What…are these vile things?” Emma scoffed, holding up one of the cookies.
“Fingers,” Ororo tossed back. She took one and sank her teeth into one, earning a grimace from Selene.
“They’re positively horrid!”
“Tasty, too. Try the punch,” Ororo suggested, taking her leave. She parked herself by the DJ booth and perused his disc collection until he elbowed her.
“That’s the shortest Batman I’ve ever seen,” he chuckled.
“Huh?” Her head whipped around to the front entrance of the ballroom, seeking out…Logan. Lordhamercy…
From the front entrance, Logan scanned the room, adjusting his glove from where it bunched around his fingers, and he made his way through over- and underdressed women, looking for any glimpse of red and blue. One pudgy Supergirl. A sexy nurse, mermaid, hmmm, there goes Anna Marie in the cute Tinkerbell suit…
Where was Ororo?
His heart nearly stopped when a shiny glimpse of something black moved in his peripheral vision, and he saw her moving toward him, her body a melody of curves outlined in glossy polyurethane vinyl.
Sometimes, Fate had a sense of humor. He’d risked making an idiot of himself coming in a costume that felt completely out of character for him, and the gorgeous woman who’d kissed him silly in his car showed up as Catwoman.
“Oh, Thank you, God,” he muttered. His face split into a wide grin.
A Buzz, Bunions, and Belt Buckles by OriginalCeenote
“Told ya he wasn’t that tall,” chuckled the voice by Ororo’s elbow.
“No,” she breathed, “he’s just right.” Good things came in small packages, sometimes. Mercy! Her feet tugged her away from the edge of the DJ booth, and some unseen force moved her across the ballroom floor. Her heartbeat thudded over the music and the hollow thuds of her boots against hard wood, and Ororo tentatively licked her lips, since they’d gone bone dry.
That gesture completed the image that Logan had of the cat that got the cream. Since he was a kid, he’d always gotten a kick out of shiny things. Hub caps, tools in his dad’s box, hood ornaments on luxury cars, the gilt edging on his mother’s heirloom ceramic figurines. Everything about Ororo gleamed. The twinkling lights of the ballroom cast their shimmer over her startlingly white hair that flowed in loose waves over her shoulders from beneath her mask. Her blue eyes were painted with a razor-precise line of liquid kohl, and mascara lengthened her curling lashes. Smoky eye shadow and the tiny rhinestones studding the corners of her lids below the brow bone made it impossible not to stare at those eyes, perhaps even drown in them. The mask itself was loosely inspired by Michelle Pfeiffer’s from the second movie, except for her hair, for which Logan was supremely grateful. The suit…where could he even begin?
Low cut, snug to the point of being painted on, and covered with zippers that tempted his fingers to tug: These were a few of his favorite things. The suit was long sleeved, and Ororo wore a pair of matching fingerless satin gloves that exposed her fingers, as well as her ruby red fingernails. Her mouth “ God, that MOUTH! “ was glossed in the same bold shade that made him want to commit a crime himself. Stealing kisses and kidnapping came immediately to mind. Belt buckled straps criss-crossed over the boots, and a low-slung hip belt had a gleaming silver buckle that winked at him. The neck plunged deeply, and the only thing keeping that sexy scrap of nothing properly closed was a long zipper. Rounded, ripe breasts filled out the front of the costume, catching the gleam of the lights in the shiny polyurethane. Her stroll managed to be elegant in the preposterously high heeled boots, her legs endless, her swinging hips superb.
A drink would take care of the sudden lack of moisture in his mouth, but he’d need a cold shower for that other little problem. Scratch that; big problem.
“Hi.” That was it? Hi? Who’s voice was that coming out of her mouth, and why did it sound so squeaky to her ears?
Logan finally got his lips to work. “You promised me a Wonder Woman suit.”
“I remember more accurately that I said something like ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ That could mean just about anything. As busy as I’ve been, just be glad I didn’t pull on my red underpants, yank my blanket off my bed, tie the corners around my neck and call it good.”
“What was stopping ya?”
“It was chilly tonight.” She reached out to lightly stroke the pointed ears of his cowl in appreciation. “This is better than I could have ever expected. I like this.”
“I don’t do this for just anyone,” he grumbled, but a hint of a smile crept into the corner of his mouth. He grasped her wrist and turned his lips to her open palm, nipping it. She shivered, and a rush of tingles gave her goosebumps beneath the vinyl.
“I’m glad as hell you did it for me. Damn.” She looked him over slowly. “That’s not one of those cheesy muscle inserts under the shirt. That’s all you.”
“Yup.”
Yum.
“I said it once, and I’ll say it all night: I like this.”
“Still haven’t told me what happened to the Wonder Woman suit.”
“Nothing happened with it at all. I scrolled through about ten to twelve pages of links to costumes on Google, eBay, Ubid, Yahoo Shopping and more random costume site pop-ups than you could shake a stick at. I hit every Halloween fly-by-night store in the city, and even a few in the Bronx! I almost got mugged in the garment district, and a guy tried to sell me a Rolex that fell off of the truck. Almost all of them had the same costume: polyester with a stick-on gold decal on the chest, plastic bracelets, foam rubber tiara that looks like a cheap Frisbee, and it was held up by these chintzy little straps. The boots were just these ugly long red foam cuffs that you wrap around your leg with Velcro and hook the elastic stirrup under your shoe. That’s only a step above the completely plastic get-up with the plastic mask in a cardboard box that my momma bought me at the supermarket when I was seven.”
“Maybe you could’ve found one that someone wore to a comic convention,” Logan pointed out.
“Not for less than my arm, my leg, and my future firstborn. I’ve gotta eat this month, Logan.”
“Y’know I’m willing ta feed ya.”
“That was fun, by the way” Ororo admitted. “I had a great time with you, Caped Crusader.”
“It was almost the Man of Steel.” Ororo sputtered with giggles.
“You’re kidding!”
“Nuh-uh. I toyed with a few different ideas, even just wearing my shop coveralls, or even Nate’s, since technically, I wouldn’t be coming to this little tea party as myself if I did that. I peeked at the superhero costumes, and darlin’, I couldn’t picture myself in those silly friggin’ red briefs and tights!” For a sinful second, Ororo pictured him in briefs and nothing else and blushed. “And so sue me, kiddo, Batman’s just cooler than Supes, let’s face it.”
“So am I forgiven?”
“Depends on a few things.” He took her hand and curled it around his arm, leading her to the punch bowl.
“Like?”
“Are ya done with everything ya needed t’do for tonight, planning and fixing things?”
“Nope.” Ororo eyed him thoughtfully as he filled two cups with the murky sherbet punch. “I get to play auctioneer and game show hostess, and tell everyone about their ‘fabulous prizes.’ Wish somebody would shoot me,” she muttered.
“How’d ya get roped into that gig?”
“Someone drew me the short straw.” Someone who was currently cringing at the suspected fat grams of every appetizer on the banquet table. “Originally I just had to be on point to tally up the names of the winners and the closing bids. Looks like I’m a Jane of all trades instead.”
“Or maybe Wonder Woman’s hidin’ under that mask.” Logan took a tentative sip of his punch. “Shit, what’s in this stuff?”
“I didn’t ask. At least we got it for a better price with this caterer than the one our management firm almost hired.”
“How much of this did they put together?”
It was a loaded question. “Eh.” Ororo shrugged noncommittally and swizzled a bobbing ice cube around and around in her cup with her fingernail. It was like asking how birds held up the sky. “The firm doesn’t always like to get their hands dirty. Someone had to.”
“I don’t mind gettin’ my hands dirty, most of the time, myself,” he mused. He set his cup down and perused the trays of finger foods and treats. He reached for a thin chocolate peanut butter pattie from a perfectly arranged semi-circle of candies on an orange platter, disrupting the orderly display. “Gonna ask ya to do one more thing for me tonight, darlin’, as if ya didn’t already have enough on yer plate.” He studied the sweet, holding it nimbly between his forefinger and thumb.
“Like what?”
“Taste this and tell me if it’s any good,” he urged. His eyes probed hers, full of desire and heat and particularly roguish peering out from the dark mask.
“I thought you didn’t like sweets.”
“It all depends. Sometimes I get in that mood for something special.” The smooth disk of rich, silky milk chocolate edged closer, teasing her plump lower lip. “Open up.” The edges of her straight, even white teeth grazed his thumb as she indulged, biting deeply into the candy.
“Mmmmm. Mmmmmm. Mmm-hmmm. This is worth your while. Go for it.” She plucked the remainder of the melting pattie from his grip watched him through hooded eyes as his lips nibbled it at first, then snapped it up, sucking off the last vestiges of the chocolate from her skin. Ororo felt the pull of his lips and tongue all the way into her feminine center, nearly coming undone at the thought of how his mouth would feel against any of her hot zones. The rasp of the multiple zippers’ metal teeth on her costume chafed and enflamed her flesh, and her skin felt too tight. “Speaking of getting dirty…look at this.” She nodded to the minute smudge of chocolate staining the tip of his glove, mingled with a vestige of her red lipstick.
“Can’t take me anywhere,” he murmured. “Napkin?”
“Let me get that.” She plucked a napkin from the elaborate fan of them spread across the table and took his hand, easing the smirch from his glove with gentle but thorough rubbing. “Much better.”
“I get the feeling everything’s better with you around.” His tone was pensive and warm. The thought tickled the back of her mind that Maybe I’m better when you’re around. Clumsy tumbles over office furniture aside, that is.
Off-guard. He’d taken her completely off-guard. All of the old walls that she’d fortified following bad set-up dates, her ugly break-up with Jonathan, and the let’s-get-to-the-action, noncommittal looks she’d gotten from men who asked for her cell phone number over the past couple of years felt unstable and close to crumbling. If she had to tell the truth, Ororo would have admitted that it was damn frightening to feel that way.
Feeling this way about Logan so soon frightened her.
Her eyes searched the room for Anna, Scott, or anyone else that could possibly handle the auction in her stead, but to her amusement, Scott was striking up a conversation with the Queen of Hearts herself, convincing her to eat one of the dismembered finger cookies. His eyes were glued to the redhead, and he didn’t look like anyone could pry him loose any time soon. Anna and Remy were cutting a rug and making a spectacle of themselves, and once again, she hated to step in the way of two people having a fantastic time.
This was going to have to be one helluva fast auction, she decided.
“Any idea what time it is?”
Logan pushed down his glove to check his watch. “Five ta eight. Why, ya gotta coach that’s gonna turn into a pumpkin outside?” His dimple came out when he smiled.
“Nope. I just have to go make like Vanna White and announce all of the ‘fabulous prizes’ that we have to offer for the good of the shelters and convince anyone here with money to open their wallets.”
“Go get ‘em, Tiger,” he encouraged. “And Ororo?”
“Mm-hm?”
“Hurry back.” His fingertip chucked her under the chin, and she felt that fuzzy glow again. Damn, it was gonna haunt her all night, trying not to think about the effect his touch, even one that brief, had on her. The tail of her costume swung rhythmically back and forth, waving goodbye to him as she made her way to the dais. She spoke to the manager of the conference hall and let him know that things were about to get underway. She stepped up to the loud speaker and announced, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, it’s my pleasure to announce that the auction is about to begin to benefit the Alternatives Shelter Network. I welcome you to adjourn to the lounge to your left, through those doors, where the bidding will begin. Thank you.” The music dimmed in volume, and the chatter shifted and moved as people began to file into the adjacent conference room. Ororo’s eyes beckoned to him as she excused herself to the crowd at large, winding her way through it to retrieve the list of items and test the sound system again. Logan was about to follow her when a silky voice stopped him, accompanied by a slender hand dropping onto his shoulder.
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting yet,” a platinum blonde in a witchy looking outfit observed. Something about her voice ran a cold chill down his neck. Weird. “My name’s Emma Frost; I’m the director of Inner Circle Management.” She nodded to the brunette next to her whose smile reminded him of Ursula in the Little Mermaid movie. “This is Selene Gallio.”
“Charmed,” Selene assured him. Or, maybe she was telling him how to react to their presence, he really wasn’t certain if it was a statement or a demand.
“And you are?” Emma’s expression was expectant as her eyes roved over him, sizing him up. Logan realized he hadn’t been forthcoming with his name and moved to correct the error.
“James Howlett.” He didn’t expect his nickname to mean much, and he only liked hearing it used by people he knew and liked. Particularly when it was murmured by a pair of sensuously full lips in a smoky voice.
“Why does that name sound familiar?” Selene glanced at Emma, whose smile was still glued in place. “Ohhh, that’s right. Howlett. Howlett Auto Parts and Repair. Emma, this is one of our sponsors.”
“More or less. My business kind of is, at any rate.”
“Isn’t that nice, you OWN a business,” Emma purred, as though she had stumbled over a gold mine. She wasn’t loosening her grip on his arm, he noticed with some chagrin.
“And look what interesting taste you have in costumes,” Selene added. “Makes you look so dark and dangerous.” She wasn’t so coy; she laid her palm flat on his chest, right over the bat logo. Logan smothered a sigh.
There were different approaches a man could take in instances like these, when two beautiful yet vain, intrusive women were waylaying him in a crowded social setting:
a. He could wing it with standard lines of bullshit to be polite: “Have you tried the finger cookies yet? How about a spider? Kooky looking, aren’t they?”
b. He could beg the need to find the men’s room, except that he’d have to hide out there a good part of the night if they sought him out again; Emma looked like the persistent, pushy type.
c. He could make an excuse such as “You’ll have to pardon me, I’m allergic to fake people, I’m having a slight flare up right now. Kind of like a rash…let me go get my ointment. Surely you understand.”
d. Give in to the fright-flight impulse that was making the vein in his temple pound a mad tattoo and make a beeline for the conference room. Going back out from where he came in wasn’t an option. He came to spend time with Ororo.
What would Batman do? A voice in the back of his head muttered He wouldn’t be wastin’ time on this shit, bub. Up and at ‘em. You saw Ororo in that get-up, go get that woman!
“I’m going to go watch the bidding. Mingle. Perhaps…do some networking,” he lied, at least in regard to the last hastily added bit. It seemed to work. Emma’s mouth settled into agreeable lines.
“Of course!”
“Maybe we’ll see more of you as the night rolls on!”
God help me.
“Ladies,” he nodded, turning on his heel. His cape swished out behind him in a tidy swirl, offering them a too-fleeting glimpse of his backside.
“Meeeee-ooow. Selene lightly fanned herself.
“Please tell me you have his business number tucked away somewhere.”
“It just so happens to be on that handy little spreadsheet file that Ororo’s been maintaining so diligently for us,” Selene chuckled, her voice full of smug triumph.
“She’s a gaudy little thing, but she has her uses,” Emma demurred. Her eyes flicked over the banquet again as she murmured “D’you suppose the chicken wings are free range?” Selene peered at them and shrugged with indifference.
Logan nudged his way through businessmen and their wives, wrinkling his nose slightly at the overwhelming mixture of expensive colognes, hairspray, and oppressive perfumes. The faint fumes of alcohol tickled his nostrils as he approached the hosted bar to order a Jack Daniels. He held his drink protectively against his chest and edged himself along the wall to a seat as close to the tiny stage as possible. He wanted an unimpeded view.
Ororo’s voice was clear and free of the usual down-home inflections that colored her speech when they chatted over lunch; Logan found that he missed them. Ororo read from the handful of cue cards printed on heavy stock, sifting them through her gloved hands. “This handblown milk glass vase, contributed by Maximoff Glassworks, would make a lovely addition to any room done in modern décor…I would like to open the bidding at twenty dollars.” Paddles began to fly up, and Ororo began to match bidding amounts with faces at a surprisingly quick pace. As the evening wore on, and items closed, Logan noticed Ororo efficiently typing in numbers and other notes into a tiny Blackberry that was resting on the podium. Gotta love a multitasker.
So…if she was handling all of the details of the event, and Emma and the other chick worked for the management company “ Emma was the director, no less “ what the hell was Ororo doing everything herself for? Something about it just didn’t sit right with him. He brushed that thought aside and continued to watch her, enjoying the sound of her voice and graceful gesticulations, made that much prettier with her long red nails glittering in the spotlight. The whiskey stung as it went down but warmed him as he reflected on the kiss on the curb. She hadn’t held back, not one bit, and it thrilled him that she gave herself up to it full measure. They’d just met, he reasoned.
Perhaps she was insane…that would be a damned shame. She tasted so sweet and felt like silk. The really hot, impulsive ones were always a little crazy, sometimes even completely around the bend. Logan couldn’t shake the quiver in his gut, though, when he’d reached for her, and found that little spark of excitement that lit up her face when she realized what he wanted to do. No shocked protests or noises of confusion muttering from those gorgeous lips of hers, no sir, just a small, sighing hum of contentment as he made his mouth at home.
Logan always questioned it when life threw him something pretty and shiny that, at first glance, he didn’t have to work for. Good things never just fell into your lap. That wasn’t how things worked. There was always a price. There was always a stabbing, clenching pain in his chest when it all just went to hell.
Jessan had been impulsive. Her skin was like toffee and her eyes were mischievous onyx chips, and she had this funny little way of letting her hair ripple in a long satin wave when she tossed it off of her shoulders in impatience. She was always impatient with him, which amused him when they’d first met at school. “You’re always dragging your feet to class, Logan. We’re going to be late to the movie at the student union hall, Logan. Kiss me already, Logan. I’ve been waiting all night for you to come home, Logan.” They’d kissed on their first date after meeting at a fraternity mixer and getting a buzz on Keystone beer that was all foam by the time they reached the keg. He dimly remembered pumping the spout for her, feeling chivalrous at the time, but he just liked having a minute to look her over, returning her enigmatic smile.
At first, she’d lit a fire under him. She was his day planner, reminding him of term papers that he had to turn in and financial aid paperwork that he had to file. She tacked his monthly bills to the refrigerator door with Disney magnets to remind him to pay them. She was a tiger in bed and woke him with the sensation of her hot, wet mouth tugging on his nipple and her hands roaming his sleep-warmed flesh beneath his t-shirt. Some mornings would find him stirring from his dreams with her impaled on top of him, riding an erection that he’d had no part in creating as she took what she wanted from him, and he told himself that there was nothing wrong with her asserting herself.
Then came the complaints. It was time to pay the piper. Things that seemed too good to be true almost always were, and her reminders became nagging questions. “You know this is our six month anniversary, right? You weren’t really going out to play poker with your dickheaded friend Mac tonight, were you? You promised me you were coming to my parents’ place for dinner this weekend.” And on and on and on and on… Every time he turned around, Jessan pointed out something else he was doing wrong. Logan began to wonder what he was doing right, and why she stayed. “I don’t know what you’d do without me, Logan.” He was dying to find out.
She satisfied both their curiosities when he came home to his crappy student apartment and found all of the dishes, small items of furniture, CDs, and refrigerator magnets gone in a clean sweep, and a note on his computer monitor telling him to fuck off.
Carol had been a different story. Logan wasn’t much for getting poetic and sappy and all that shit, but her hair really did look like spun gold the first day he saw her lying stretched out on the lawn of the campus outside the dorms, with her flannel shirt tucked like a pillow under her head. They’d occasionally made eye contact in the halls, since some of their classes were in the same buildings, but he never had the chance to speak with her until she’d stopped him to let him know that he’d dropped his novel for his least favorite English class. He’d been about to tell her it was no big loss, and he didn’t want it back, but when her fingers grazed his as she handed it back, he’d almost been tempted to drop it again in the hopes that she’d bend to pick it back up. Anything for another quick peek down that gauzy blue blouse. For someone relatively slender and athletic, she still managed to be stacked, and she had a few tiny freckles where the neckline of her blouse dipped, telling Logan she spent a lot of time out in the sun.
She had been the one to lean in and kiss him full on the mouth after their first date, which had been an action movie that he never expected her to want to see. Logan couldn’t believe his luck. Again, too good to be true.
Logan wore himself out with Carol. Always restless, always on the run, busy, busy, busy…she never let him just catch his breath. Every weekend there were always canoes to be paddled, tents to be pitched, or baseballs to be pitched. “Let’s go four-wheeling, you’ll LOVE it!” Her eyes gleamed like blue topaz as she pressed her breasts against him and wrapped her arms around his neck, hanging from him, and he was lost. Logan had broken his nose when he accidentally flipped the damn thing over going over a grassy knoll.
After the cartilage healed up, and pretty nicely, at that, the nagging began, much as it always did. “I don’t just wanna sit around on my butt doing NOTHING. Why don’t you ever want to do anything, Logan? Don’t you want to do ANYTHING with your life?” It was never just a question. It was always a tirade, even a demand. When he wouldn’t go along with whatever she had planned, she had ten thousand reasons why he was wrong. Why he was wasting his life.
He decided not to give her any more of his life that he knew he would never get back. The bridge of his nose still ached just thinking about it.
Silver Fox had put him through his paces and taught him how to question something seeming too perfect. Black eyes full of laughter and long black hair that fell like a shining curtain over them, tenting their faces when they made love haunted him for a while after she was gone. Logan couldn’t see a future without her once, until she shoved that lonely future right under his nose. Circumstances had taken a nosedive after his mother announced that she was leaving his father.
Things had been uneasy under the Howlett’s roof for some time; Logan didn’t argue that fact for a minute. His father retreated farther into his business and spent more and more time nagging him to finish school in the hopes that he could come to work at the shop, since his older brother John had never shown the interest nor the mechanical aptitude. Logan wanted to get a degree in something he enjoyed and that he’d be proud to tell people about. Architecture had been his first love, since he loved the idea of seeing a building from the initial concept, literally, take shape.
Silver Fox was a nursing major moving at a leisurely pace through her program, enjoying the occasional party here and there and proving that college was “the best four or five years of your life.” With his mother’s unexplained absences on weekend trips and his father’s face appearing more haggard and gaunt each time he returned home for the holidays, it was becoming harder to just throw caution to the wind. Caution was strangling him. They’d kissed on the second date, then kissed goodbye on her front doorstep the next morning. Logan was addicted to the sound of her voice whispering in his ear and the sense of being easy in his skin when he was with her.
Life had a way of getting in the way of things, sometimes. He’d found his father pale and clammy, clutching a bottle of aspirin and complaining about pain in his jaw, which he clenched rigidly as he explained “Just…having a bad…day, Jamie.” He didn’t answer his son’s frantic question about where his mother was as he ran for the phone to call the ambulance. Logan wrapped his father in a blanket and cradled his head in his lap while they waited for the paramedics.
Turned out that Jonathan Howlett’s lifetime career of bending over engines and holding himself in myriad bad postures had left his circulatory system in horrible shape; that was to say nothing of the years of too much coffee, stress, red meat and unhappiness. His children, his shop, and the pride he had felt over a lovingly maintained home were the only things that kept him going once Elizabeth had moved out of their bedroom and into the guest bed down the hall.
Jonathan later admitted to his younger son in the hospital, while tucked under pristine white blankets, “She told me that the only thing she ever loved about me anymore was all of you, the children.” His eyes were bloodshot and glazed with a sheen of tears. Logan clenched his fist and ground it into his forehead as he listened to his father pour out his mother’s desertion. “She didn’t want anything. Didn’t want any part of me anymore. None of it made her happy. Not the Lincoln that I bought for her on our anniversary “ thirty-five friggin’ years, Logan, she threw away thirty-five years! “ not the house, not all those damn Hummel figurines and other poncy, expensive crap cluttering every shelf in the house. She just couldn’t stand my presence anymore. She just stepped around me every chance. Bridge club, choir practice “ or so she said “ any excuse to get out of the house.” He doubled over with a wracking cough; Logan leaned over to adjust the cannula strapped to his face and poured him a glass of water. His hands were shaking as he held it to his lips to drink. “I know you’ve got to get back to class, Jamie…”
“Like hell I do,” he growled. “I don’t gotta do a damned thing ‘cept be here.” Silver said she understood when he explained it to her. A few weeks, maybe a month, to get his dad settled in at home and take him to his appointments. They exchanged calls almost every night. She offered to come see him and help with things around the house, but he didn’t want her to worry about the gas there, about missing her microbiology mid-terms.
It didn’t bother him too much when the calls became a little less frequent on her end. And brief. Miss you. Miss you, too. Can’t wait til you come home. Things are starting to settle down a little…Uh-huh. Kisses. B’bye. Nursing was a tough major. Her anatomy class was a real kick in the pants; Logan told himself there were other things he wanted to talk about than hearing how the chloroformed frog’s heart was still beating, and that the leg muscle twitched when she tapped it with a probe. Talk of death frightened him and fed his resentment of his mother, and he didn’t have the heart for it. For any of it. He wanted his family back, but he’d settle for his father.
Silver was slightly surprised when he called her to let her know that he was applying to the university for a leave of absence. “You have to do what you have to do, Logan.” Sounded simple enough, sensible enough. Accepting enough. Logan allowed himself to place too much faith in those phone calls.
Some guy named Vic answered Silver’s apartment door, smelling like Logan’s aftershave that he’d left for himself in her bathroom and wearing his towel draped around his hips. Big, brawny blonde guy that looked like he drank his beer from a 7-11 Big Gulp cup. Silver ran to the door, looking like she’d buttoned half the buttons of her henley wrong as she yanked the door from Vic’s hand and told him to go back to the kitchen. Breathlessly she mumbled something about not expecting him back so soon. Logan nodded curtly and asked “Can I at least have my CDs back?” Her face was blank except for a quiver of the corner of her mouth before she turned to do as he asked. “Just leave my stuff in a box at my place with whoever answers the door.” Logan punched his Eagles disc into his car stereo and let it wail as he navigated to the dean’s office. He didn’t have time to play these games or deal with this shit anymore.
He’d made a point of not playing the game since.
Ororo’s voice snapped his attention back to the stage. Some business named Lensherr-Dane Fine Art and Framing Gallery had donated one helluva homely painting of oil paint-daubed lily pads that had been slashed and slathered onto the canvas with a pallet knife. Ororo kept the opening bid relatively low, which seemed to be the way to go.
“Do I hear fifty? Fifty for this…unique, one-of-a-kind piece?” Logan grinned at her skilled turn of a phrase. One-of-a-kind. Logan heard a woman behind him muttering that it would cover the damaged patch of drywall in the guest room, and her mother-in-law was the only one who ever stayed there, anyway.
“Thank you to the Sleeping Beauty in the back, I now have sixty. Going once.” Ororo plugged more winning numbers into her Blackberry. As the next item was moved onto the stand, Ororo exhaled a silent gust of relief that it was almost over, and she peered through the blinding haze of the spotlight. A small movement caught her eye down front, in the seat closest to the wall. Logan. He rested his whiskey glass against his knee, still looking irresistible in his costume, and still staring at her with a hint of…hunger.
He winked at her. Her smile bloomed across her lips, and Ororo didn’t doubt for a moment that she looked completely thunderstruck.
The vouchers for a free tune-up and lube refill from his auto shop were the last item up for bid, along with the car detailing from Rory Campbell’s garage down the street. Ororo felt a twinge in her lower back from standing at the podium all night, but the totals from the combined auction and ticket sales had been staggering.
She opened the bidding at twenty dollars. Sleeping Beauty bid twenty-five. Pudgy Supergirl raised her paddle at thirty. Anna and Remy raised the paddle shared between them at thirty-five. Bidders became more hesitant as the price climbed. An impeccably manicured hand raised the paddle in a flowing movement at seventy-five. Ororo squinted as she made out Emma’s smug look. Selene casually raised her own paddle when Ororo asked for eighty. The minutes dragged on as tentative bids from the crowd were topped by the two witches three rows back. Emma gave Selene a quelling look, which she disdainfully ignored.
“Going once. Going twice…”Selene’s paddle didn’t rise again. “Sold to…the White Queen. Please collect your prize before the end of the festivities.” Ororo thanked those gathered for the success of the charity ball and excused herself.
With high-end collectibles and other desirable prizes at stake, why would Emma bid so much on car repair vouchers? She owned a spanking new Bentley with a factory warranty…Ororo’s eyes drifted back to “Batman” sucking a stray ice cube between his lips as he swallowed the last of his whiskey.
Heifer!
Ororo snapped her Blackberry shut and jammed the stylus into the slot. She handed it to the facilities manager, asking him to deliver it to the Alternative center on Monday, before she descended from the stage. Emma and Selene were headed straight for Logan. Partygoers swarmed the state to arrange a time to pick their prizes up or have them sent via courier. Ororo lost sight of Logan’s telltale bat’s ears, until a rich baritone rasped into her ear, “Let’s go, darlin’, ya owe me a dance.”
“I owe you a few,” she breathed, letting him lead her by the elbow out the side exit.
They both drew in a hearty lungful of cool, fresh air in the main corridor, thankful to be free from the close press of bodies and too many colognes duking it out in that space. Logan’s hand drifted down her arm and found her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.
“Hey Ororo, haven’t seen much of you tonight.” Scott eyed her costume with interest. “I’ve really gotta remedy that. Wow. You look hot.”
“I agree with the last part,” Logan deadpanned, tightening his grip on her hand. He waited for the introduction.
“Logan, this is Scott Summers from Accounting. Don’t let the costume fool you, he’s a pussycat.” Scott gave her a mock glare that drifted into a smirk. Scott had indulged in a surprisingly extravagant knight’s costume, complete with chain mail, heavy gloves and boots, and a sword and scabbard adorned with gaudy glass jewels. The Dark Knight sized him up with a blank stare, until the Queen of Hearts tugged him away.
“You promised me a dance,” Jean insisted.
“I promised you a few,” Scott chuckled. “Later, Ororo.”
“Gimme a sec to wet my whistle, and we can head out there, too,” Ororo suggested, watching Logan’s shoulders relax as Scott and Jean took their leave.
“Wet your whistle…hold still.” Logan’s hand crept up and cupped her jaw, tilting it at an angle to suit him, and he kissed her long and deep. Logan captured the tiniest trace of chocolate inside the seam of her lips that remained from the tidbit they shared.
“I meant…a drink. But…that’s a nice start.” She covered his hand with hers, leaning her cheek into his palm. Logan grabbed a flute of champagne from a circulating tray. She took a grateful gulp, then released the goblet when he reached for the stem, downing the rest, and covering the red imprint her lips made on the glass. He set the empty goblet on a side table and they made their way to the floor.
As Ororo’s body moved to the music, Logan saw her in her element, doing what came naturally. His body responded to the rhythm of her hips; he was enthralled as her torso rippled, isolating her shoulders, breasts, ribs and taut abdomen in undulating, controlled ripples. His arm snaked out, pulling her close, and his body fell in step with hers, succumbing to the pulse and flow of her dance. Ororo’s hands eased up his arms, exploring the contours and smooth muscles of his shoulders before she laced them behind his neck.
The music swelled and thudded through them. The Jack Daniels flowed through his veins as Ororo’s champagne fizzed its way through her system. She wasn’t drunk by any stretch, but Ororo rode the giddy, heady buzz of Logan’s presence, of his touch. One song blended into another. Then another. There was barely a sliver of space between them as the music played on.
“He’s not very tall, is he?” Selene observed, sipping her fuzzy navel.
“Good things come in small packages,” Emma reminded her. She bit into the green apple wedge in her martini. She’d already had her car tuned up a month ago at the dealership, but who cared?
Ororo drifted to a dizzying stop as a slow song wound its way around them. D’Angelo wailed “How Does it Feel?” and Ororo wanted to cry out that it feels amazing. Ororo’s voice sounded desperate to her own ears as she murmured “Let’s get out of here” against Logan’s mouth. She felt his slight nod as she caught the mellow aftertaste of his whiskey. They stayed just long enough for the song to wind down to its last soulful notes before Ororo retrieved her purse.
The lights in the parking lot were dim, and Logan ignored the latecomers straggling in as they reached his car. He’d no sooner unlocked her side of the car before he drew her against him. Ororo felt herself turned until her butt smacked up against the door, and Logan stepped between her slightly parted legs for closer access, zeroing in on her tempting mouth. Any passerby would have been struck by the irony of their costumes and the disparity of their heights before acknowledging that there was something about them together that just worked. Logan drank her essence with indefinable thirst, spurred on by the sounds of need clawing their way out of her throat. Ororo’s deep, silky voice thrummed through him as the kisses turned hot, and it formed words as his lips traveled down her jaw.
“My apartment’s nothing to write home about,” she moaned as Logan’s teeth found her favorite spot on her neck, “but my bed’s pretty comfortable.”
“I’m that close ta just takin’ ya in the back seat of my car, darlin’, it’s gonna be hard for me ta wait that long.” His hands were stroking her and threading through her hair.
“I need to see all of you,” she informed him.
“Your place it is, then.” He nibbled her earlobe, steaming it and turning her knees to jelly in the process. “Don’t mean it’s gonna be easy,” he grumbled. He pulled her away from the door and opened, helping her inside. She automatically scrambled to open his side, yanking him in by the hand. Another long, feverish kiss was all that they could content themselves with before Logan turned on the ignition. The sounds of Otis Redding filled the car at low volume, occasionally broken by Ororo’s shaky road directions. Logan’s hand on her thigh was making it difficult to think.
Logan parked in the lot behind Ororo’s brownstone and silently admired the tidy street and the character of the building itself. His hand gripped her waist as they made their way up the stairs, him following a step behind to admire the curves of her backside in the shining vinyl, tail and all. He grinned for what seemed the umpteenth time that night. He pressed himself against her back, lifting tendrils of her hair away from her neck to taste her again, and Ororo trembled as she tried her key in the lock. “That’s wicked! Please, don’t stop!” Now who was making it hard???
“This’ll go a lot smoother inside,” he mumbled behind her ear. She finally managed to cram the key into the lock and gave the knob a savage twist, and they practically fell inside. Logan kicked the door shut behind him and they stumbled against the wall. He snagged the tip of his glove between his teeth and jerked it off, caressing her cheek. “You’re so soft,” he whispered, kissing her again, savoring how she looked in the faint glow of the street lamps shining in through her living room window. As his finger skimmed the corner of her mouth, she turned her face just a fraction and nibbled it, and Logan was more determined to get her out of that costume. His fingers worked themselves under the domino and urged it off, letting it fall to the floor. “There you are!” He grinned in triumph at the vision she made, with her long white hair tumbling loose in flowing waves.
“I’m right here.” She went to work on his other glove, tugging at it and flinging it over his shoulder.
“I’ve been dying to play with this all night,” he admitted, fingering the metal zipper pull between her breasts.
ZZZZZZIIIIPPPPPPP.
The cool air hit her flesh, making her tingle. Through the widening gap that he’d begun, Logan took in the sight of her smooth mocha skin and the hint of red satin. A tiny heart-shaped plastic clasp hooked together between her breasts, making his fingers itch to relieve it of its burden and do more mischief. He traced one fingertip idly between the valley of her breasts, down her abdomen, making her shiver. She reached for his mask, but he leaned back. “Uh-uh. You first. I’ve been waiting all night for this. For you.” A warmth spread through her stomach at his words. “I want you outta this damned thing.” She wrapped her arms loosely around his neck while he continued to work. Her prop whip hit the floor with a faint plop, and he fiddled with the belt buckle, yanking it off with a swish, sending it flying. He surprised her as he bent down and wrapped his arms firmly around her waist, lifting her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“What on earth…?”
“Gonna be tricky to get those boots off, kiddo.” He plopped her on the couch so her long legs were dangling over the arm. “I need room to work.” The buckles on the boots were snapped open with casual ease, and he grunted slightly, tugging on the boots that seemed to mold themselves to her flesh. They came off with some effort, and the vinyl encasing her legs practically squeaked in protest. He blew cool air between her toes, and damp heat flushed into her core. Her moan was ragged as he kneaded the ball of her foot with his thumb.
“I knew…you could manage it,” she hissed. “Logan…you’re very good at that.”
“I try.” He mouthed her big toe teasingly and she nearly came apart. Logan rose to his feet, still looking dangerous as he loomed over her in his costume. “Damn, darlin’, don’t look at me like that.”
“C’mere,” she suggested, edging back toward the other end of the couch. Logan unhooked his cape and let it flutter to the floor behind him, and his fingers dug under his mask, shucking it; the latex made a small sucking sound as it was pulled away. Logan scrambled over the edge of the couch, between her parted legs, crawling his way toward her. His body grazed hers as he eased himself against her, into her waiting embrace, and he felt hot and solid against the exposed parts of her flesh when he kissed her. Ororo couldn’t recall how she got out of her costume; frenzied hands roaming her and ragged whispers in her ear pleading for her not to let go of him came to mind. Her hair fanned out over one of the throw cushions. Out of the blue, Ororo leaned over to the coffee table and grabbed the remote.
“Plannin’ on watching the game, darlin’?” Logan’s face was incredulous and amused.
“Nope.” She clicked play, and the red power button lit up on her stereo console. She smiled up at him as the compact disc was fed from its carriage into the slot with a sliding sound, and she set the remote down before pulling him back down to her, clutching handfuls of his dark hair. His belt buckle was digging into her bare belly, and she wrestled it off with surprising ruthlessness. He chuckled at her tenacity.
Ororo had the stereo set to “shuffle,” and the songs played in random order. She silently thanked God when her favorite one came on first:
It's been so long since I have got you lady
Since I have had yo brown legs wrapped around me
The smell of she just drives me crazy
Imagine what the sight of her can do
“Let me see you,” Ororo husked, stroking the stubble along his jaw, pressing her fingertip into the indent of his chin. He kissed her one more time before he reared up, straddling her, and tugged the hem of his shirt up one-handed. Ororo’s mouth went dry at the sight of his broad chest and solid pectorals, covered with a downy layer of dark hair. It tapered down to a happy trail that kissed his navel and lead below his waistband. A sigh of approval escaped her as she ran her hands down his washboard stomach. “This body of yours is your best kept secret, Logan. Those coveralls of yours are almost a crime, covering all this up.”
“Can’t fix cars in my birthday suit,” he reasoned. Reluctantly he righted himself, pulling her up by the hand. She led him to the bedroom, leaving the door open so they could hear the music. More streetlight infiltrated the room from between the slats of Ororo’s mini-blinds, illuminating her lithe form and wild, tousled hair. Her blue eyes glowed up at him as she lowered herself to her knees, encouraging him to balance himself against her shoulder while she removed his boots. Her lips nibbling him made the erection he already had strain and twitch as she hooked her fingers into the belt loops of his leggings and dragged them down. Her hands skimmed his taut thighs and tickled the backs of his knees as he stepped out of them, and his hands clamped around her upper arms, pulling her flush against him. The height difference between them wasn’t so stark with both of them in their bare feet, he was delighted to discover. He bent and unsnapped the tempting little heart-shaped clasp and was awed by the perfect breasts that greeted him, their tips puckering under his gaze.
Suitelady don't worry
Ain't no end to what this ring wants to begin with you
I've waited; suitelady,
Cause no man can tear asunder -
What my love can groove
“Beautiful,” he pronounced, his eyes sweeping over her body with bare admiration and awe before they bore back into hers. “I want you.” Ororo nodded her assent before they collapsed on the bed in a tangle of limbs. His kisses were liquid, drugging and thorough. He worshipped every inch of her flesh, letting his tongue swirl against the pulse of her wrist and tease the bend of her elbow, dragging it against the sensitive, soft skin of her upper arm, making her shiver the entire time. He whispered how beautiful she was, how good she tasted, how soft and smooth she felt against her shoulders, plying his words around the sweet feel of her nipple captured between his teeth. She squirmed against him, giving up on words of her own, with the exception of two: “Yes, Logan.”
“Yesssss!” She lost herself in his touch as his mouth sought out the undercurves of her breasts, as he nipped her ribs playfully with his lips.
“Yes, Logan!” His skilled fingers caressed her with care, making the nubbin atop her folds slick and damp, straining for more.
“Logan…oh, Lo…gan.” Well, technically that was three words. There was no more need for talk; their cries were guttural and mingled, soaring above the music as he thrust home. Ororo’s wrapped her arms and legs around him and held on for dear life as he loved her, moving with solid, heavy thrusts, filling her. Her slick heat enveloped him, milking groans and curses from him as his hips rose and dropped in a rhythm that was overpowering. Her lips dropped open, and long, keening sounds of fulfillment were rocked from her between frantic nips and kisses of his throat and collarbones. Her fingernails dug into his back, but she distracted him from the slight sting as she caught the crest of his ear between her lips and suckled it. He never wanted the sweet torture to stop, even as he prayed to her, and to God, for release.
I never thought myself the kinda guy
The kinda man that would ever want to settle down
Statistics say it's crazy, passion won't survive
But something says naw, deep down, deep down inside...
“Ororo…ORORO! Oh, God, darlin’, oh, God! Can’t get…enough o’ you! Eeeerrrrgggghh!” He shifted and unwrapped her legs from his waist, and bent them over his shoulders instead, deepening the penetration within her depths. The vibrations of their lovemaking made her breasts knock together enticingly, and Ororo’s eyes rolled shut as she threw her head back, digging her fingers into his thighs. It was too good. He just felt too damned good…pressure throbbed and built up within her womb, and she felt the first stirrings of contractions. She clenched and tightened around him reflexively, heightening the feelings for them both as he stroked her pearl, plucking that final chord…
“Uh-uh, don’t hide from me, look at me, darlin’!” He was so close; Ororo felt the tightening and rigidity of his flesh, becoming even more turgid. Her eyes opened again, pleading with him. “That’s it; I’ve gotta see those beautiful eyes. I want ya ta watch me when ya come.” She nodded, then bit her bottom lip, strangling the soul-deep cry of satisfaction, arching up off the bed as she came. Logan dropped her legs as they spasmed with the initial shocks, and he jerked and cursed as he found his own peak. His arms convulsed around her as he climaxed, unable and unwilling to let go. Her muscles continued to quiver until they finally relaxed beneath him, completely limp. Her breath stirred the hair at his temple as he rested his head within the crook of her neck. Her legs entwined themselves around his as she stroked him, and she could do nothing more than stare up at the ceiling with a ridiculous smile plastered on her face. Logan was still breathing hard; she counted the vertebrae in his spinal cord by feel, growing better acquainted with the cords of muscle in his back.
“You okay?” Her smile widened at his stifled laugh against her skin.
“Mm-hmmm.” He lazily caressed her arm and wound a lock of her hair around his finger. “Better than okay.” He shifted himself slightly lower so that his head was cradled against her chest. He kissed the slope of one breast affectionately. Now that the urgency had passed, he felt comfortable enough just relaxing with her and talking in the dark, listening to the soulful music filling the room and wrapping around them like a blanket.
“You’re one very sexy man, Logan.” That funny little tickle in the back of her skull sent tingles through her body as she contemplated what to say next. Logan, I like you. Logan, I want to see you again. Logan, I’d hate it and wanna hurt somebody if this turns out to be a one-night stand… She supposed that their “lunch” together comprised a date, and even him meeting her at the ball, but it was still so soon…she hated not knowing, and that stupid tongue-tied feeling of wanting to ask but being afraid of the answer.
“Thanks. Feelin’s mutual,” he yawned as he snuggled closer. His lips sleepily roamed her collarbones and steamed her neck. Ororo emitted tiny whimpers as her body began to respond to him again. “Smell good, too.” He nuzzled her jaw with the tip of his nose as he feathered kisses there. His sweat-glazed skin began to cool despite the heat swirling through Ororo’s veins at his renewed ardor, and she invited him between the sheets to get more comfortable. Logan rolled her on top of him so her silky hair brushed his cheeks and chest as she kissed him, and she proceeded to warm him back up.
“Logan?” she inquired, pausing to look up at him through her lashes as she laved his nipple. He bucked beneath the caress.
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“You don’t have to get up early tomorrow, do you?”
“Nope.” She anointed the other nipple in the sweetness of her mouth.
“So if I promise not to steal the covers or snore too loud, would you stay the night?”
“Oh, yeah.” Her tongue was playing havoc with every nerve ending of his body, playing hide and seek with his navel beneath the covers. Her muffled voice drifted up to him as she found him again. His breath hissed out between his lips. “JESUS!”
“Then I’m going to tuck you in, now.” He surrendered to her again as she rocked him to sleep.
Careful with the Hummel by OriginalCeenote
Ororo’s bedroom was bathed in the faint glow of sunlight peeking through hazy clouds; the sun shifted through the trees, throwing a sprinkle of shadows from the swaying leaves overhead across her skin and face. That was the first sight that greeted Logan as he opened his eyes.
He rubbed them as he got his bearings, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings and taking stock of his memories of the night before. He’d gone to a highbrow function in the name of charity to meet Ororo, who’d made an impression on him from the moment she walked into his shop. The impression hadn’t only lingered; it deepened, swelled, and wrapped itself tightly around him. He’d surrendered to it with little argument. That left the question: In the harsh light of day, now that he had a minute to think about it, had it been a mistake?
He tucked his free hand back under the covers and shifted himself, feeling the warm weight of a body, soft and fragrant, squirming against him for a comfortable purchase, which she found pretty easily. He turned toward the sweet scent, burying his nose in her silky hair, noticing that the fragrance clung to her pillows and sheets. He tweaked the covers into place, tugging them over her shoulder so she wouldn’t get a draft. A sound halfway between a moan and a whimper hummed through her lips as her hand sought him out, grazing his nipple as she stroked his chest. Her cheek rubbed against him like a cat’s, another tiny “mmmmmph” breaking the silence of the room. Locks of tousled hair brushed against his lips, and Logan grinned at the way she smacked hers dryly, then turned her face up toward his without opening her eyes. The expression held none of the mischief or desire that was laid bare when they met at the conference center’s dance floor, but this look of hers endeared him.
Logan studied her features uninterrupted; she was every bit as beautiful in repose with most of her makeup rubbed off now as she was before. Her eyebrows were elegantly arched and tapered, framing large, deep-set eyes with a faint slant. Her lashes fanned high and sculpted cheekbones, and her nose was slightly turned up, almost pert. What really held his attention was her mouth, full, shapely and shaped like a Cupid’s bow. Logan brushed her hair away from her face, tucking it behind a gracefully tapered ear. Her fingers plucked at him in response, exploring him blindly, and her hand paused as it found his stubbled jaw.
Ororo woke up a few degrees at a time, feeling oddly peaceful and relaxed, even though various muscles in her body ached from staying out too late, not to mention on her feet. It was strange; she’d forgotten to slip into her pajamas. A little draft slipped across her backside where her foot had kicked the covers loose, and without thinking she flipped the edge of the sheet over the gap. A deep, raspy voice rumbled “Thanks, darlin’, I was gettin’ a chill” into her hair, and Ororo’s eyes cracked up, squinting up at the source.
They widened as they recognized her overnight guest.
“Oh,” she murmured. “H-hi.”
“Mornin’, darlin’.” She felt firm, warm lips press themselves against her forehead tenderly, and the hint of panic that leapt into her chest subsided when she realized that he’d stayed the night, and that wasn’t a look of regret or confusion she detected in his eyes. Just…contentment. His muscles were relaxed beneath her, and it occurred to her that their limbs were still a mad tangle. The revelation of their nudity followed soon after.
“Morning?” Her eyes left his long enough to flick over to the clock radio on her nightstand. “Good Lord, look at the time!” The red digital display blinked 9:00AM.
“Ain’t gotta be anywhere just yet,” he reminded her. “I was gonna go visit my pop later this afternoon. Other than that, I’m not in any rush.” The corner of his beautifully chiseled mouth quirked. “Unless ya were plannin’ t’kick me out?”
Not even if you ate crackers in bed. “Nope.” She raised her face just enough to shake her head, then brushed her lips over the tiny cleft in his chin. He sighed at the warmth of her lips, wanting more of it, and his fingers lightly traced her jaw as he plundered her mouth. Ororo mentally shoved aside thoughts of the pillow crease she felt in her cheek and morning breath as she let her tentative grip on him become a fervent embrace. The faint sheen of sweat that had collected between them made their bodies pull away with a slight smacking noise as he hauled her on top of him for better access.
Logan, Ororo realized, was a toucher. No quick escapes to the bathroom, no slinking out the front door leaving a dent in the other pillow, no crappy, empty promises of “I’ll call you.” By the time they’d both fallen asleep last night, they were thoroughly exhausted and just collapsed into each other’s arms as the final strains of music faded away. She hadn’t even had the chance to ask him which side of the bed he preferred or how he was most comfortable; her eyes just drifted shut in drowsy languor as she buried her face in his chest, hugging him like a favorite teddy bear.
Right now, Ororo basked in the afterglow that was slowly feeling like foreplay, reveling in the easy caress of his hands over her flesh, infiltrating her sleepy defenses with kisses that pulled her back to the land of the living. Her body was doing most of the thinking for her, and her pelvis moved against him of its own accord, pressing and rubbing against him. He devoured her lips with a growl of approval as she brought him throbbing and twitching awake, too, and his hands groped her backside, pressing her closer, wanting to possess her softness. Her downy curls brushed against him and gradually grew damp.
“I’m dreaming this,” Ororo moaned between kisses. “I dreamed you. That’s the only way to explain this…oh, Lord, that feels good. Logan! LOGAN!”
“Whaddya need me ta explain, Sunshine?” Logan closed in on the sweet little tender space behind her ear as she teased the head of his erection, running it between the folds of her slick heat but never actually engulfing it. “I’m real. I’m here.” He bit her earlobe to drive that point home.
“You’re hot,” she hissed, adding her own item to the list.
“You’re responsible for that,” he countered. She moved against him, her rhythm bringing both of them to a fever pitch. The covers eventually fell away, exposing her to his inspection. She tempted him. Her lips, her breasts offered up like a succulent feast, her feminine core begging him to thrust upward and relieve her torment of him.
“And…I’m awake, now.” With a sinuous ripple of her hips, she drew him inside, and this time it was his face that contorted, eyes widening from the shock of being buried in her depths.
“Good MORNING!” His voice came out a strangled cry that made Ororo stifle a laugh before she was moaning and crying out again from the feel of him beneath her. She rode him, reveling in the pressure that the position put where she wanted it, and Logan drank in the sight of her chest heaving with each breath, her thighs clamped snugly around him as she worked. He drew his knees up behind her, allowing her to lean back against his thighs, and the sight of her sliding up and down along his length spurred him on. “You. Feel. So. Good. Hot. Wet. Uuuuuurrggghh…” Ororo’s fingertips skimmed the veins that stood out in sharp relief against his throat and stroked his chest. She wanted all of him. She loved seeing him like this, every inch laid out for her enjoyment.
“Oh…OH! LOGAN!” Now that she knew she wasn’t dreaming him, Ororo wondered what she had done right with her life to end up here, but didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Her climax was building up with startling intensity, and Logan had a viselike grip around her waist, his hips rising to meet hers.
“Coming…coming…’Ro, come with…meeeeeeeeeeeee “UUUUUURRRGGGH!!” He was preaching to the choir. She squeezed him, never wanting to let him go, he just felt too right, too…too…perfect.
Too much like someone she could never let go. The initial panic that she’d felt when she woke up, over the possibility that he’d make a hasty getaway, crept back up her spine, and for a fleeting moment, her eyes met his, her fear plain. “Logan…?”
“RO! Nnnnnnggggghh!” He pushed her over the edge with one more thrust, throbbing. Tight as a bow string. Her body spasmed around him, every muscle taut as she gave in to pleasure.
“Lord. Have. MERCY! Aaaaagggghhhhhh! LOGAN! Logan!” She bucked and threw herself over him, clutching handfuls of the pillow beneath his head. She quivered as he touched her, urging her to relax her knotted legs and stretch out against him again. They were both out of breath, this time with Logan grinning idiotically at the ceiling.
“Right,” Ororo panted. “Right. Okay. Plan for the day…breakfast. I should feed you.”
“Ya mean ya can actually think straight enough ta make a plan for the day right now? I sure as hell can’t,” he admitted.
I’ll take that to mean I did it right, then… “This isn’t me thinking straight. This is me feeling seriously starved. Last night’s finger food didn’t cut it.” She wiped her hair out of the corner of her mouth and studied him. “It’s not fair for a man to look as good as you do first thing in the morning.” His chest rumbled with laughter, and she tickled the tiny crinkles at the corners of his chocolaty eyes. “I know I look like hell.”
“Stop that. You’re insulting someone I like.” He stilled her hand and kissed her fingertips. “A lot.” He lifted his head from the pillow to kiss her smile. “About that plan…”
“Hmmm?”
“Let’s get up, even though these sheets feel fantastic, yer still nekkid, and the day’s still young. Let’s wash up. Let’s go eat.” He kissed her again, weakening her resolve to get out of bed.
“My place is probably a mess,” she warned him. She doubted there were dishes left in the sink, but she dimly remembered the flurry of hair care products that she had fanned out across her bathroom vanity and the hastily hung towel draped over her shower curtain rod after she dried her hair, to say nothing of the random articles of costumes decorating her living room.
“No biggie. We won’t be here long. I’m headed to Pop’s, but I feel like spending some time together before I head out there. It’s too nice to stay inside…even though I can think of plenty that we could do indoors.”
“I’ll have to make an appearance sometime. My neighbors will be looking for signs of life from me after I went to that ball last night.”
“Afraid they’ll start talkin’?”
“Nope. Just afraid they’ll worry about me and call the cops if they don’t see hide nor hair of me within the next few hours!” She let him up and stretched, giving him a leisurely, unimpeded view of her. She reached into her bureau and snagged a Victoria’s Secret bubblegum pink cotton nightshirt and pulled it over her head. Logan reached over and collected his discarded boxer shorts and tugged them on. He caught her around the waist and nuzzled her neck before she could leave the bedroom.
“Shower?” he inquired and suggested in the same breath.
“That way,” she nodded. They stumbled together into the bathroom, and Ororo adjusted the water to a comfortably warm temperature, splashing a few drops on her wrist. “Do you wanna go first “ OH.” Her voice was muffled as he tugged her nightshirt back off, watching her hair fall back down in a luscious, disheveled tumble around her shoulders. His shorts joined the nightie on the floor before he jerked the shower curtain shut after them, and they made liberal, painstaking use of her shower gel. He massaged the luxurious foam of Ororo’s shampoo through her hair, eliciting moans that echoed off the shower walls. The suds sluiced down both of their bodies and drizzled between their toes before running down the drain.
“Was this…part of the plan for the day?” The shower tile felt cool beneath her palms as she supported herself for balance.
“Yup.” He cupped her breasts, swirling soap around their stiff peaks as he took her again. “Yer not clean enough yet. I missed a spot.”
“I trust your judgment,” she gasped. The water was lukewarm by the time they tumbled out of the shower. Ororo’s legs were nearly boneless as she seated herself on the toilet lid. Logan thoughtfully toweled her hair.
“A totally jacked up thought just crossed my mind,” she frowned, peering up at him.
“Lay it on me,” he offered, chuckling.
“I don’t have anything for you to wear here. Just your costume.”
“Hunh. Okay…nothing jacked up about that. It’s the truth,” he admitted. “We’ll have to work around that.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Stopping by my place for a quick change. Slip into whatever you’re comfy in for Sunday brunch, and we’ll take off.” Ororo breathed a silent sigh of relief that he was okay with taking her to his apartment. Of course, the image of him escorting her to his car still in his costume from last night made her giggle. Reading her mind, Logan reached down and lightly tweaked her nose.
She decided it could have been more traumatic for him if they had run into Irene and Raven in the hallway, but thankfully it was just old Mr. Lensherr, taking his Dachsund, Charlie, for a walk. The dog yipped and gave a low throaty growl as he puttered over to Logan, sniffing his boots while Ororo locked her front door.
“Ach! Charlie, that’s no way to behave around little Ororo’s friend, ja? Come to Eric, that’s a good boy!” Mr. Lensherr snapped his rheumatic fingers, and to Ororo the movement looked painful when performed by his gnarled old joints. He wore his favorite pale blue cardigan sweater over a clean white polo shirt, even though it was still warm outside. His tweed slacks looked like they came straight from the dry cleaners, and his gray wool driving cap sat atop his silver waves of hair. Faded eyes that had once been a vibrant blue sized Logan up as he asked “And who might you be, young man?”
“Good morning. Name’s Logan. Actually, James Howlett, but folks call me Logan.” The old man’s grip was surprisingly firm, and his smile held a glint of mischief.
“Where are you coming from in that get-up, Mr. Logan? That’s some costume you have there! Ororo, didn’t you remind this nice young man that it’s no longer Halloween? Let me tell you, the kinder cleaned me out of peppermints last night, I answered my door until at least eight o’clock! Cute little munchkins came into the building this year,” he boasted, reaching up to scratch his neck. Ororo endured his interrogation and smiled at his stories of the “kinder” in their outfits.
“Mrs. Lensherr, my wife, Magda, would have loved seeing little children in these halls if she were here today,” he sighed, peering fondly at Ororo. “This young lady,” he nodded to Ororo as he leveled his gaze at Logan, “is just about the age that Magda was when she and I were married.” Ororo’s cheeks flushed hopelessly as Logan just smiled and made small “hmmm’s” of agreement. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes…one glance at him made hers dart back to her shoes. She wanted so badly to pantomime throat-slashing motions with her finger to shush the well-meaning septuagenarian and tell him to get on with walking his pooch.
“Magda must have been a special woman,” Logan murmured as Mr. Lensherr bragged that they had been together over thirty years before she was taken by small cell lung cancer.
“She was a jewel, my boy, a rare jewel.” He patted Ororo’s arm fondly, winking as he assured him, “and so’s this one here. Don’t let her get away!” Ororo was ready to sink into the floor. Ororo broke up the awkwardness with a hasty tug of Logan’s arm.
“We won’t keep you, Mr. Lensherr. It was good to see you.” She blew kisses at Charlie. “Bye, puppy.” Logan paused to scratch the dog behind his ears, and his tail wagged furiously as he danced on his paws. She tugged Logan toward the stairs faster than he could remember moving on an idle Sunday morning such as this…he nearly dropped his folded cape, belt, cowl and gloves that were bundled under his arm.
“Speedy exit,” he muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, just clearing my throat.” He unlocked the car and let her in on her side, chucking his things into the backseat. “Ya seem a little flushed, darlin’, want me to open the windows?”
“If you like,” she answered noncommittally, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. He slid the key into the ignition.
“He’s right, ya know.”
“Hmm? What?”
“Mr. Lensherr. What he said a minute ago. About you being a rare jewel.” Ororo spun to stare at him in surprise. “I liked him. He reminded me of my father.”
“I’d probably like your father,” she replied, rubbing her palms against her faded jeans. “And…thanks, Logan.” Her smile warmed him and brought out a dimple in her cheek. He hadn’t said anything about the “don’t let her get away part,” but it was too soon. That didn’t take away the warm tingles that swept up her neck.
“Any time.” He pulled out of the lot and reached over to stroke her cheek with the back of his knuckles.
A few minutes later, Ororo and Logan were pulling up to a brick duplex with a well-maintained yard.
“Do you own this?” Ororo stared at the two-story home with black shutters and beveled panes in the front door.
“Half of it. The Hudsons live on the other side,” he explained, nodding to the pink child’s bicycle with plastic streamers hanging out of the ends of the handlebars. Barbie winked out from the front of the white plastic basket. “That’s their daughter’s bike. She’s a cute little tyke, and a real pistol just like her mom.” Out of nowhere, Ororo suddenly felt shy. Logan’s home. It almost felt unreal, but a small thrill ran through her stomach that she was actually there. They held hands as he led her up the front walk and short row of concrete steps. He unlocked both sets of locks and a deadbolt and announced “This is it. Whaddya think?” He stepped aside and pushed the door open, letting her step into the foyer.
Hardwood floors thumped beneath her feet, and the distinctive scent of pine tickled her nostrils, as well as remnants of other “male” smells: the rubber wheels of his bike, hung from pegs on the wall in the corner, the leather of his Ropers boots that he’d worn the day he’d taken her to lunch, standing neatly by the front door, and an evocative hint of his aftershave, mingled with a hint of cigar ashes. She spied an amber glass ash tray on a side table that was empty except for the merest vestige of gray residue. A brass floor lamp with an octagonal wraparound glass tray held a framed photograph of a couple that had to be his parents, perhaps when they were in their late thirties. Another wall shelf held a photo that had begun to turn sepia and was crinkled around the edges, with a tiny water spot; this was of two little boys, the older one sticking out his tongue and waggling his fingers in his ears, the smaller of the two flapping his hands under his armpits like a rooster. The cleft in the smaller one’s chin told her who he was. Ororo was drawn to it, running her finger over it.
“This is you,” she informed him.
“Uh-huh. Ugly little cuss, wasn’t I?”
“Hush your mouth!” Her expression was tender as she examined it, then tore herself away to see the rest of his home. Logan noticed that she didn’t pry or open things; she just occasionally peered more closely at different items, asking for the story behind them if there was one to be told. He poured her a glass of instant iced tea from a pitcher in the fridge and told her to make herself at home. He tossed her the remote, one of those all-purpose numbers that turned on a half dozen different appliances, before he headed upstairs to his room to change. Burning curiosity made her want to see his room, but she reminded herself that if her stomach was growling like a bear’s, then he was probably dying of hunger. She perused his wall unit, peering at the rack of meticulously arranged compact discs. There was some old country and blues by artists such as Bonnie Raitt, Johnny Cash and Eric Clapton, and a concert recording by Miles Davis that she never expected to find in his collection. When Logan made his way back downstairs, B.B. King and Lucille were singing the blues, telling him that “The Thrill is Gone,” and for once, he actually disagreed with him. He kissed Ororo soundly, sharing the flavor of his minty toothpaste before he pulled her close, drawing her into an impromptu slow drag across his living room. Her laughter mingled with the music as her hands feathered through the hair at his nape, careful not to muss it again.
“We’ve gotta eat sometime,” she mumbled into his ear.
“In a minute, this is the good part.” Waking up to her gorgeous blue eyes had been the best part. He pondered her words. I’m not dreaming. Was he? He dipped her over his arm with a flourish, grinning at her whoop and the way her chest jiggled a little when she did that. “Now we can go.” He clicked off the music, then ejected the carriage of the disc changer, taking that disc and its case with him out the door.
Ororo directed Logan to her favorite diner, and they shared bites from each other’s meals with occasional bouts of “bad aim” that made them have to lick up the mistakes. It was official, Ororo mused, he’s ruined me. Nothing will ever top last night, followed by this day.
They took a walk in the park as the sun grew higher in the sky, and they sat in the shade of a huge dogwood tree, watching the blossoms litter the grass. A game of “I Spy” slowly gave way to Ororo asking Logan if he’d ever seen the movie “The Wonder Boys,” and they took turns “writing the life story” of passerby at random.
“That woman on that bench over there used to dance on tables in seedy bars and had a career as a pinup model before she met the love of her life in a Laundromat,” Ororo declared, starting them off. “She was washing her whites and crossed the room to buy a box of powdered Clorox from the dispenser ““
“…but she ran out of quarters, and reached into the pocket of a pair of jeans that were so tight they looked painted on,” Logan’s voice intoned as he plucked a dogwood leaf from her hair, then tickled her with it. She swatted at his hand before clasping it. “A man in a red shirt who’d just stepped inside from having a smoke put away his lighter and caught sight of her just as she was looking into her back pockets. That’s when he noticed that she had the sweetest tail he’d ever laid eyes on.”
“He reached into his pockets for some spare change and held it out to her, asking ‘You looked like you needed some change.’”
“She looked deep into his eyes, and said ‘Actually I needed some bleach.’”
“God, we suck at this.” Logan’s bark of laughter startled a woman walking her baby in a stroller.
The drive back to Ororo’s apartment was relatively quiet, but companionable. Logan drove one-handed while his other hand was laced together with Ororo’s and resting on his lap.
“Busy day tomorrow.” It wasn’t a question. Logan nodded.
“Yup. Working on another custom car for a show in Jersey and fixing a transmission.”
“I’ll be home late.” She didn’t doubt it. Too much work that she’d nudged aside for the fundraiser was beckoning to her when she got back. Logan sensed a funny little note of hesitation in her voice.
“Do ya keep yer cell phone turned on during the day?” She cocked her head and nodded. “Good. Does it play one of those annoying little ringtones?”
“No way. I hate those things.” Kenyatta’s always treated her to a tinny rendition of any current song by 50 Cent.
“Good. Then I can call ya if I need to hear the sound of yer voice.”
“You can do that.” Warm hands cupped her face and drew her close. Sure he could call her. But the proof was in the pudding when he showed up on her doorstep again. Her lips still pulsed with the memory of his kiss as she made her way up the stairs, waving to him as he pulled out of the lot.
Raven and Irene finally showed themselves and subjected her to the inevitable interrogation, and she gave them the abridged version, regaling them with details of the ball and mentioning that “Logan and I had a nice time.” She left it at that.
“Hot dog!” Irene crowed. Raven poured them some more tea.
Logan’s drive to his father’s house was pensive and filled with thoughts of Ororo; how could he not think about her? Pretty much from the jump, from the moment that he’d kicked her door shut and searched for her lips in the dark, she’d had a hold on him. Never mind that she’d blown him away in that costume. He’d been hooked from the moment that the sunlight hit her hair the afternoon that she’d dropped off her Impala. He’d felt instant attraction before, he was no stranger to it; but never so visceral, never like being punched in the gut and having the wind knocked out of him, never this feeling of his feet moving of their own accord toward someone, hands itching to touch her.
He’d wondered if he’d gone to far when he kissed her in the car. It was a lunch date: friendly, casual, no expectations. Then she’d given him that look: Please don’t tell me it’s over this soon. When will I see you again? Stay. Her posture spoke a different story, though. Something tense in her shoulders and a whitening of her knuckles told him that she was struggling. He didn’t think he misread the attraction between them, but she seemed worried about giving into it. Maybe as much as he was. Logan maneuvered his car through the evening traffic, cursing whatever man, or men in her past that left that tension in her demeanor behind.
So, Logan went out on a limb. He’d scoured the costume shops, feeling like an idiot whenever store clerks asked him if he needed any help. It didn’t help when the shops were filled with the screeching of “haunted” door buzzers and maniacal laughter emanation from foam rubber zombies and googly-eyed spiders. Rows of plastic scythes, swords, and executioner’s axes lined the walls, and fake cloth “flames” fluttered inside of backlit jack-o’-lanterns as he perused the costumes hanging on the racks, then walked farther back to examine the ones against the wall. The question that kept popping up in his mind amidst the constant tattoo of I feel like such a tool was I wonder if she’d like this one?
The Batman suit took him back. He poked at the plastic sleeve as he removed the hanger from the rack, peering at the contents and the cardboard insert showing the model and size. He shrugged off an offer of help from a gum-popping girl wearing a blue glitter Tina Turner fright wig as he unsnapped the costume sleeve and pulled out the jersey. No insert, thank goodness, but the accessories were flimsy. He reassembled the costume and continued to comb the store and found a surprising treasure of accessories sold separately that he could use to make the cheesy suit a bit more authentic. By the time he walked out of the store, he had a costume that he would have loved when he was twelve.
The winding circular driveway outside of his father’s house was still vibrant with color from his mother’s rosebushes giving up their final blooms of the season. He chuckled at “Norbert,” the lawn gnome that he and his brother had nicknamed as kids, often times dressing it in purloined articles of his parents underwear or hats during the winter when they built him a “friend in the form of lopsided snowmen. Norbert still stood proudly on the left side of the lawn, albeit in less grand shape than he remembered. The enamel paint was chipped and weather beaten around the red cap on his head, and his snowy beard had seen better days.
Logan locked his car and steeled himself for the inevitable, knocking on the heavy oak door. The old navy blue Buick that he’d parked behind told him that his father had company. He saw the blurred outline of its female owner trotting gracefully to answer the door through its frosted glass panes. It was jerked open before he could answer it again.
“Logan!” Her hand flew to her chest with her characteristic flutter, and Logan mutely asked himself, as he had before, if she practiced that gesture in the mirror. The house smelled faintly of furniture polish, lemon oil and 409 spray as he stepped inside and wiped his boots on the front mat. Logan nodded at the handsome fifty-something woman and pasted a smile on his face.
“How’ve you been, Amelia?”
“As well as I can be, with all the grass clumps your father tracked in with his golf shoes this morning! He left at the crack of dawn to see if he could break ninety again with Earl before he took us to brunch.” Like a child tattling to her teacher, she peered around the corner before leaning and muttering, “And he hid his empty beef jerky pouch between the car seats so I wouldn’t find it! I don’t know what he sees in that horrible stuff! The next time he goes for his upper G.I., they’ll find the whole cow!” Logan uttered a short huff of laughter and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Logan’s father’s girlfriend had taste in furnishings that was thankfully similar to his mother’s, and Logan was grateful for small favors. The couches and tables that he’d grown up with had been refinished with new cushions and stain instead of replaced, even though there was new carpeting and tile throughout the house. When Logan gazed through the patio doors in the kitchen, he spied two new maple trees in the back of the yard. More kitschy, folksy figurines crowded the shelves in the den, their painted eyes staring hollowly at him as he inspected the changes. Most of the pictures of his mother had been put away, with the exception of his parents’ wedding photo above the mantel and a photo of all of them together, taken when Logan was seventeen. The glass pane of the frame was gleaming from a recent rubdown with Windex; faint wipe marks remained along the corners.
His father was his only anchor to this house that no longer felt like home. Visits with his older brother were scant and infrequent due in part to the distance; John had always been a little closer to their mother, and took after Elizabeth a great deal. He always promised Logan and his father “We’ve gotta get together more often than this, sheesh!” over the heads of his two children hugging their Grandpop around his bony knees one last time. The last time Logan had seen his niece and nephew, they were up to his waist, and his frustration at their lack of a cohesive family grew.
“No one believes me when I tell them I have another son,” his father’s voice boomed as he strode into the den, hugging his son tightly enough to force an “oof!” from his chest. Logan drew back, examining his father and approving of what he saw. His color was healthy and his eyes were bright, and his thick, dark hair was still sprinkled with gray and receding at the hairline, but it had been trimmed recently. Jonathan Howlett was an older version of his son, and Amelia had fallen willingly victim to his chocolate brown eyes and cleft chin the day he’d approached her in the supermarket to ask if she thought the cantaloupes were fresh, and how could was he supposed to tell? The rest was history, and made a tale that sounded convoluted to Logan’s ears at the dinner table the first time they’d invited him to dinner together. Still, the sappy grin on his dad’s face and the neat-as-a-pin house were proof enough that his father’s life was rolling along nicely.
“How long are you staying, Jamie?”
“I’ve a nice pot roast,” Amelia sang from the kitchen, as she pulled it from the oven using a huge pair of oven mitts with red hens embroidered across the cuffs.
Logan shrugged noncommittally. “Dinner. I’m stayin’ fer dinner.” He ran his hand over his nape as he studied his dad. “Ya got anything ya need me t’do?” It was his standard opening, one that his dad was happy to pounce on.
“I’ve got some plant food spikes that need to be put in around those new trees out back, the lightbulb in the garage needs to be changed, and Amelia says the ceiling fan in the guest room makes a funny noise when you turn it on high.”
“Logan, could you get me the good china out of the hutch? And the blue placemats?” There was that tightening in his gut again. His mother’s good china. One more thing that she hadn’t bothered to take with her, even though it was one of her most prized possessions. His father’s words came back to him in a rush, and he felt the weight of his father’s head in his lap while he raged inside: She didn’t want anything. Didn’t want any part of me anymore. None of it made her happy. Logan opened the deepest drawer of the hutch and withdrew three of the antique, gold-rimmed plates with tiny blue cornflowers in the centers and stamped with the Lenox brand seal on the back. The dining room table was already covered with the delicate white crocheted cloth, and a gravy boat that was never used took the place of honor in the center. Logan arranged the plates and mats on the table before searching for the plant spikes in the garage.
Logan finished tightening the screws on the base of the ceiling fan with his father’s over-stripped Phillips screwdriver when Amelia called him to dinner.
“What kind of cars have been coming into the shop lately, Jamie?”
“Worked on a sweet little Mini-Cooper last week,” Logan mumbled around a chunk of roasted potato.
“Those are great little cars,” his dad agreed, swallowing half of his iced tea in one gulp. “How’s Nate?”
“Still a kick in the pants.”
“Where were you yesterday, Jamie?” Amelia brought some hot rolls to the table and automatically placed one on Logan’s plate. “We called you twice yesterday, and the phone just rang and rang and rang…were you out the whole day? We tried this morning, too,” she accused. Jonathan’s eyebrows lifted, and a hint of a smile played around the corners of his mouth.
“I was out last night. A little later than usual. Slept in,” he added. Nope. Didn’t work. That funny light went on in his future stepmom’s eyes that usually preceded a game of Twenty questions?
“Did you meet someone?” Yes. “Is she nice?” Yes, very nice. “What does she do?” Works for a charity network, doing PR, and a lot of grunt work that gets dumped on her plate… “Does her family live around here?” No. “Where are they from?” She mentioned Delaware. “Where did you two go?” A fancy shindig that lasted waaaayyy too long, but he refused to launch into why.
“What’s she like, Jamie?” The question was simple enough, coming from his father’s lips, but he hadn’t the first clue of where to begin.
“Different.” He plucked idly at his dinner roll and ran a hunk of it through the thin gravy swimming around the roast beef. Hot. Earthy. Funny. Sexy. “Nice.” He supplied that for Amelia’s benefit, but his father looked at him as though he knew better.
“Bet she’s a real looker.”
“Ya do, eh?” Logan looked up at him sharply.
“Betcha really like her, too. Yer bein’ way too quiet, there, Jamie. Johnny had that same goofy look on his face back when he and Sharon started dating.” Jonathan winked and went back to his pot roast. Throughout the meal, Logan stole looks at his father and Amelia and the way they still held hands at the table. It gave him an odd pang.
Logan helped clear the table and went back to perusing the myriad assortment of knick-knacks in the den. He reached for a tiny resin figurine that he didn’t recognize, but that brought a smile to his face.
“Watch the Hummel. Most of those aren’t replaceable,” Amelia warned. “What’re you looking at so hard over here?”
“This one. It’s not like the ones that Mom used to like. Where did you get it?”
“EBay. I love Boyd’s Folkstone figurines, and they had a huge run of first edition pieces that I couldn’t resist. I loved the detail on this one, and it’s one of a kind. They only made one edition like it.” Logan turned it this way and that, smiling at the two little girls with books tucked under their arms, wearing old-fashioned ruffled dresses and pigtails.
Their coloring and features were African-American.
“Good choice,” he rumbled, placing it carefully back on the shelf. Boyd’s Folkstone, Boyd’s Folkstone…he made a note to himself to remember the brand. He tossed back a reply that didn’t promise much on his way out the door when his father suggested that he bring Ororo over to the house one night for dinner. He was wondering how to get her there himself.
Ororo hated phone tag. She even hated people calling it “playing phone tag.” It sucked. Just rename it “restless, ugly torture from banging your head on the wall, waiting for the phone to ring.” That was her definition. Two weeks had gone by, and the most she had heard from Logan were his messages on her mobile, in that yummy baritone that reminded her all too painfully how good his lips felt on her neck. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it.
It was always the same. She called. She waited to hear him pick up. His answering machine came on, reassuring her “No one’s home right now, wait for the beep, and pretend yer talkin’ t’me instead of this machine. Thanks!” BEEEEEEPPP.
“Hey, Logan. It’s ‘Ro.” She’d slap herself briefly when she remembered that only her family really called her that, he hadn’t really offered her a pet name. Not yet, anyway…she was still optimistic. “Ororo. I had a free minute, and I was wondering…if you wanted to spend any time together. Maybe I could take you out to lunch this time.” She fiddled with the pens in her pen cup, lining them up next to each other like linkin’ logs. “Hope I hear from you.” This was ten times worse than being in high school. Maybe her voice didn’t sound as desperate as she thought it did, but at least when she was a kid, she was leaving messages for boys NOT knowing what it was like to have had sex so good it made her toes curl. She wasn’t cockwhipped back then. That always made a difference. So she turned back to her pile of work and moved things from her inbox to her outbox, commiserating with Anna how much she hated playing the waiting game.
Logan didn’t realize he was playing it too, in so many words. He was elbow-deep in the hood of a silver Ford Ranger, changing a filter. He’d spent more time under the hood than at his desk, and every time he tried Ororo’s cell, he got the brief, electronic voice telling him to leave a page for this customer, press one now. He was about to wear out the “one” on the button pad of his office phone pretty soon. She was busy, he was getting frustrated, and his duplex felt too lonely when he came home at night.
All right. It was time to haul out the big guns. Logan wiped his hands on a rag, succeeding in redistributing the grease on his hands more than cleaning any off. “Nate,” he barked across the shop, “what was the name of that little florist’s where you got that big bouquet for Beatrice?” Nate covered the receiver of the phone as he bellowed back the name, then quickly ended his call while Logan hunted down the yellow pages and whipped through them, jotting the number down on a Post-it.
Ororo looked up from her spreadsheet as someone gave a fumbling knock on her office door. “Yes?”
“Oof!” Anna’s voice was muffled behind something, and Ororo rushed to open the door, gasping with a mixture of shock and delight. Anna’s voice was hidden behind a flower arrangement so large it was ostentatious, and her female coworkers peered around the corners of their cubicles at Ororo’s cry.
“It’s HUGE! It’s GORGEOUS! Good Lord, what’s this?”
“Another good reason to give him some,” Anna retorted, not missing a beat. She allowed Ororo to take the flowers and set them on her work table, and her fingers combed through the fern fronds and baby’s breath for the plastic rod holding the card. With shaking fingers she opened the tiny cream-colored envelope.
Figured you’d like this more than me filing a missing person’s report. Miss you. Logan.
Ororo was grinning foolishly, eyes bright as she fanned herself with the card.
“That good, huh?” Anna inquired, leaning down to sniff one of the tall white lilies and straighten a blue Dutch iris.
“Uh-huh.” Ororo was speechless.
“Guess this means he likes you.”
“I definitely like him” Ororo gushed. “This is unreal.”
“Are ya gonna call him again?”
“Are you kidding? First I’ve gotta call my momma!” Then she’d call him…
“Howlett Auto Parts and Repair? This is Logan,” he announced, juggling the phone on his ear while he tore open a box of filters.
“Can the Caped Crusader come out and play?” Logan’s ear-to-ear grin at her sultry voice.
“Play? Batman doesn’t play,” he corrected her gruffly. “But he does make house calls. How’ve you been, ‘Ro?”
“Lonely.” She twirled the phone cord as she continued to stare at the flowers. “But someone sent me these beautiful flowers to keep me company in my little dungeon.” Her cheeks grew warm at his use of her nickname, telling her that he’d gotten her messages.
“Flowers? Hmmmmm...not to rain on your parade, but I might hafta kick the ass of the guy sendin’ ya flowers…”
“Don’t you dare. I had plans for his ass.” Nate stared at Logan as he guffawed and slapped his knee, then just sat there with a cheesy grin. “After I feed him, of course.”
“I’ll be there at seven.”
Grilled Like a Flounder, Part One by OriginalCeenote
“That’s not enough. You always come out of here with two bags, you know Monica’s just gonna send your ass back in here for a third bag,” Kenyatta nagged, hands on her hips for about the umpteenth time that day.
“I’m not gonna have her do anything over the top like last time.”
“That’s what you said the last time, boo. I didn’t believe you then, and I don’t believe it now. Get you a third bag!” Ororo twisted her mouth into what Kenyatta had been calling her “Donald Duck mouth” since they were in junior high, shooting her a look that made Kenyatta double over snorting, pointing, and stomping her feet. “Girl, you a mess! You kill me when you do that!”
“Mmph. Up here fussin’ at me t’buy all this ‘huhr,’ I know how much ‘huhr’ I need, who you tellin’?” Ororo kept muttering as she pulled another plastic sleeve of 100% kanekalon synthetic hair in Silver White from the rack and marched her way over to the sales counter. *
“She said ‘HURRRHHH!” Ororo shot her another of her patented looks over her shoulder, sending Kenyatta into further snorts and giggles. She finally wiped her eyes and fanned herself.
“Hoooooo…better get you a doo rag and tie that mess up. You’re paying enough for it.” Kenyatta plucked one from a nearby display and tossed it into the small pile of goods that Ororo had collected. Ororo set down the bottle of braid oil and pondered some cheap barrettes before shaking her head.
“You mean you’re paying for it. You promised.”
“You know I’m good for it, ‘ho!”
“That’s ‘Ro to you, ‘ho.” The petite Korean woman rang up their purchases, cheerfully laying Ororo’s change on the counter and wishing them a nice afternoon, offering her assurances that Ororo’s hair was going to be pretty when she had it done. The two cousins bickered like Heckle and Jeckle the entire way down the block. Ororo stopped to buy each of them a blended mocha from Starbucks and added a shot of Torani Butter Pecan to hers. She used her straw to spoon up the whipped cream on their way into Monica’s boutique, and the smell of perming and waving solutions hit them in the face as they opened the door.
“We’re late,” Ororo observed, checking the clock. “See what nagging me does?”
“You know you needed more hair,” Kenyatta tsked, cutting her eyes on a neck roll. She sipped her mocha and sat herself down in one of the cool black leather chairs in the lobby. “Go ahead and sign us in. You know we always end up waiting anyway. Mrs. Jenkins is up there getting her finger waves redone, you know Monica’s gonna be a while.” She helped herself to a copy of Black Hair Trends magazine and shook her head at the photo of Whitney Houston on the cover. “How old is this thing, anyway?”
“Uh-uh-‘um.” Ororo answered around her straw and shrugged as she signed them in.
“Ororo, I know you haven’t been greasing those ends, they look dry and split from all the way over here!” Monica Rambeau called from her stylist chair. She held up her tiny hand mirror to the middle-aged woman with flamboyantly auburn hair done in painstaking rows of finger waves. “Tell me if it looks okay, Mrs. J.” The old women admired it from different angles and patted it with satisfaction before placing a large tip in Monica’s jar.
“You sound like my aunt Ruthie and my momma combined,” Ororo pouted, Donald Duck mouth back in place.
“Then grease those ends!” Kenyatta chuckled from behind her magazine.
“I wouldn’t be up there acting all smug hiding behind that book, Kenya, I see you coming in here two months after your last touch-up, you can’t tell me you don’t have some nappy new growth that needs my attention!” Misty Knight pointed at her with her rat-tail comb. “Yeah, I’m talkin’ t’you!”
“I love you, Misty!” Kenyatta hedged.
“Don’t try t’butter me up! I’m gonna snatch out those naps, just you wait!” She tossed her hair clips into the sterilizer. “And I love you too, girl. Say hi to Ruthie for me, I miss her something fierce. She tore up that ambrosia at the church picnic last weekend, and we didn’t get to talk.” Ororo and Kenyatta muttered at each other and compared magazines for the next few minutes, crowing “There’s your NEXT hairstyle!” over some of the uglier ones. Monica called Ororo over to her seat and patted it.
“Next victim!” She eyed the bag of hair supplies and mumbled “All right, give it up,” extending her hand face up and waggling her dagger-manicured fingers for Ororo to pass it over. She took it and peered inside. “Halleleujah! Three bags of hair, oh, my God, someone alert the media! ‘Ro got me enough hair on the first go!”
“See! SEE!” Ororo was brandishing her fist at Kenyatta pointing her finger from her perch in Misty’s chair. Misty snapped the drape sharply, fanning it out and wrapping it around Kenyatta, placing her purse on her counter. Kenyatta puckered her lips at Ororo, making kissy noises. “You love me!”
“Yeah, I love ya. Now shut yer yap, let me get my hair done for my man,” Ororo snapped, then clapped her mouth shut. She’d done it now…
“Your MAN? Lay it on me, when did you get ya seff a man?!?” Monica draped Ororo and fastened the neck strip in place, running her fingers through Ororo’s wavy locks. “Is he keeping you handcuffed? And is that why you haven’t had the chance to grease this mess?” Ororo chuckled.
“Why do I take this abuse?” she muttered.
“Cuz I make this look GOOD,” Monica intoned, doing her best Will Smith impersonation from Men in Black. “And it will, once I trim up these ends real fast.”
“Here that, Kenya, you’re paying for my trim, too,” Ororo warned gleefully. “Hot dog!”
“I’m almost done paying you back!”
“Today’ll just about make you break even.”
“Right. Back to what I was saying a minute ago, what about this man of yours?” Monica led Ororo to the shampoo sink. “Is he fine?” (foooiiiinnn?)
“Honey, hush. Yes. Yes. Yes.” Words were failing her, but Monica wanted her to dish.
“Where’d you meet him?”
“He fixed her car,” Kenyatta filled in, since Misty was listening in as she washed her hair and slathered on a generous handful of conditioner.
“Hot dog! Good with tools! What else?” Monica’s hands scrubbed Ororo’s scalp and aimed the sprayer at the foaming suds, brushing it away from her eyes.
“His family lives twenty minutes out of town. His daddy, anyway. He went to that ball I had to help put together for work last month,” she qualified. Monica nodded as though a light went on.
“You mean the one that you slaved away on all by your lonesome,” Kenyatta corrected her, craning her head up from the edge of the sink. “Don’t sugarcoat it. That director at your job is a heifer.”
“Don’t announce it to the whole world,” Ororo muttered. Monica grinned down at her as she massaged in the conditioner.
“Is he nice? Does he treat you right?”
“Mmmmmmm-hmmmmm,” Ororo sighed, enjoying the pampering and the exchange of gossip.
“What’s he look like?”
“Compact.”
“She means short,” Kenyatta bellowed over the rush of flowing water.
“Shit, everyone’s shorter than you, girl,” Monica assured her, leaning Ororo up to pat her hair dry and wrap the still-dripping mass in a towel. She led her by her bundled hair to a hair dryer station against the wall and automatically handed her a copy of People.
“He’s built,” Ororo added. “Lotsa muscles. Real broad in the chest. Thighs like a pair of drumsticks, and a stomach you could bounce a quarter off of.”
“How’s the booty?” Monica cut to the chase.
“Bounce a quarter off that, too,” Ororo winked. Monica held her hand up for a high five, and Ororo leaned out from the dryer to give it to her.
“What else?” Misty was enjoying herself as she wrapped the cap over Kenyatta’s hair and lowered her dryer head.
“He’s got a little cleft in his chin, it’s damn cute. He’s cute. Good old fashioned thick hair, I think he’s got some Italian in him…” Ororo loved his hair.
“Hold up…Italian?” Monica’s brows shot up and her mouth dropped open.
“Maybe even some Native American,” Ororo mused, oblivious to Monica’s surprise. “I think he said his parents were Canadian?”
“Sooooo…is he a brother, or…?”
“Uh-uh,” Ororo snapped back to the chat at hand. “He’s White.”
“Hunh.” The dryer whirred as Monica turned back to her counter and arranged her hair clips and combs.
“You got awfully quiet, girl,” Ororo pointed out.
“Naw. No. No big deal.” Monica recovered herself. “Has your momma met him yet?”
Ororo let her magazine fall shut on her lap. “Nope.”
“Ahhhh.”
“Don’t act like she ain’t gonna flip, either, cuz. You know how she feels about her baby girl finding a ‘good, solid, strong Black man’ with marriage on his mind.”
“I know how Auntie Ruth feels about YOU finding one, too. Let’s not forget that!” Misty smirked as she began parting Kenyatta’s dried hair into sections.
“I’ve got me a brother,” Kenyatta argued, shooting her best ‘fuck off’ look across the room.
“You left out the ‘solid, strong, and marriage-minded’ part.”
“Your cousin’s got a point,” Misty chimed in.
“I know I’m on the other end of the comb right now, Misty, but I swear, don’t MAKE me snatch you baldheaded!” Kenyatta pouted. “Leon loves me.”
“He also loves your car, your mobile phone, your housekeys, your refrigerator, and your cable with 250 channels that he hasn’t helped you pay once in the two years you’ve been going out. Need I say more?”
“No!” Kenyatta settled into a snit. “You needn’t,” she muttered. Ororo sighed, rubbing the bridge of her hose.
“Sorry, girl.”
“S’okay.” Kenyatta submitted to Misty’s narrow brush as she dipped it into the relaxer crème and painted the hair above her temples, taking care around her ears. The edges of her cheeks glistened with a protective coat of Vaseline in the sunshine flooding the shop. Ororo tipped her head forward and looked up through her lashes, watching reruns of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air at an awkward angle. She let out an explosive cackle.
“I love Carlton in this episode,” Ororo giggled. She watched Alfonso Ribiero dancing similar to Molly Ringwald in The Breakfast Club with his sweater looped around his neck.
“Me, too,” Monica chuckled, wrapping a lock of the synthetic hair around Ororo’s own to cover and stabilize it as she began the first row of braids. Monica’s fingers flew like lightning through each section, turning them into needle-precise braids. Ororo bit the inside of her bottom lip against the sting, knowing that sleeping on it that night was gonna ache like a bitch. But it was worth it. She was getting the works.
She couldn’t wait to see Logan’s face.
“So he’s not Black,” Monica said reviewing the juicy tidbit.
“Nope.”
“But he’s nice, good-looking, treats you well, and acts like he’s in it for the long haul?” Monica’s voice was hopeful as she kept fishing.
“Well…it’s that last part I’m still working on.”
“A-HA!” Kenyatta pounced.
“I’m WORKING ON IT,” Ororo snarled. “Hmmph.”
“What’s his deal?” Monica began to sweat from the heat of the tiny shop as other stylists flipped on the dryers for their clients faint curls of steam rose up from flattening irons heating in their ceramic hearths.
“I don’t know. Still trying to figure that one out,” she admitted. And she was.
Ororo contemplated the past few weeks as Monica parted off the next row of hair in a tidy layer. Up until that day she picked up her car, Ororo could confidently tell anyone that her daily routine included most of the following:
Waking up.
Going to work. Solving problems.
Calling her mother. Solving problems.
Visiting the shelters. Solving problems.
Eating lunch at her desk.
Getting coffee with Anna.
Going home.
Doing a load of laundry to replenish her supply of clean panties.
Swallowing some dinner.
Watching Jeopardy. Winning an imaginary million dollars.
Saying her prayers.
Going to bed. Alone.
That routine never varied until he’s leaned inside her window and said “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before, Ororo.” Then she began to think about him on the way to the printer, the break room microwave, and the coffee maker. Those liquid brown eyes crinkled at her when she was in the middle of a memo, and she’d drift off in the middle of conferences with Scott over the quarterly budgets, urging him to ask “What is WITH you today?” Scott didn’t have much of a margin to poke fun anymore. Jean from Inner Circle had been showing up in the Alternatives front lobby more often, and Scott could be heard muttering to anyone standing randomly by the water cooler, “She’s hot. I’m in Accounting. She likes ME. Did I mention she’s HOT?” Ororo enjoyed the way that the shoe fit once it moved to the other foot: Scott was whipped. “That’s just pitiful,” she tsked as she poured them both coffee one morning.
“Hopeless,” he grinned, toasting her.
Logan, Logan, Logan. Where could she begin?
The flowers were the tip of the iceberg. It wasn’t like he showered her with them, although every now and again he would bring some for her table. It was just…he just thought about those little things that amounted to a lot. When he came over that first night for dinner, she felt his hello kiss all the way to her soul. YES! her soul cried, You’re home! Instead of more flowers, he brought over a jug of raspberry lemonade to go with dinner and a DVD that they watched after Jeopardy was over. Ororo cuddled up to him under her quilt on the couch as they took Renaissance Painters for $200, Alex.
Logan loaded the dishes into the washer as Ororo rinsed them and put away the food. Logan got a better look at her bedroom this time. A photo of her father as a young man, holding a preschool-aged Ororo on his lap took the place of honor on her nightstand. He was still staring at it when Ororo beckoned to him, “Coming to bed?” He answered her with a mute nod as she began helping him out of his clothes. Logan loomed over her in the dark, murmuring into her hair, “I can’t stop thinking about you, ‘Ro.” The day’s worries and any doubts that she had about whether they had a ‘relationship’ instead of a ‘fling’ evaporated under his touch. Ororo lay wrapped snugly in his arms and hoped she wouldn’t have to wake up from this fantastic dream.
Like all dreams, though, the landscape sometimes shifted and blurred, and the direction changed before you could tell it to stop. Logan was still attentive, and they had a good time together, but every now and again, he got that funny little pensive look that something was bothering him, and Ororo felt that familiar chill of “not wanting to pry.” That feeling was always the advent of something she’d rather not want to know.
What she did know, and what frightened her, scared the pants off of her, was that she loved him. Her mother had looked at her funny when she was watering the begonias and planting the fall iris hybrid iris bulbs on the side of the house as Ororo stood there with a thunderstruck look on her face.
“What’s the matter, baby? You getting too much sun?” Her mother reached over and fanned some cool air on her cheeks with her gloves.
“Uh-uh. M’fine, Momma.” The hose was limp in her hand as she ran a hand over her eyes, her heart and thoughts racing a mile a minute. I love him. Damn, I love Logan.
That revelation still echoed in her heads as Monica’s fingers tugged on her hair and tipped her head back an inch or two. “I love him,” she muttered out loud.
“That was my first guess as soon as you started talking about him, baby girl.” Monica reached for the remote and turned up the volume on the set as Misty flipped through a nearby rack of DVDs to plug into the console, grinning as she pulled out Tyler Perry’s “I Can Do Bad All By Myself.” Monica stared at Ororo in the mirror over the vanity. “And all I have to say is, it’s about time. This isn’t you pouring out everything about what’s wrong with your relationship for a change and reminding me why men are dogs.”
“Woof, woof,” Kenyatta interjected. She and Misty tapped knuckles in a salute.
“This,” Monica emphasized, “is my homegirl glowing and looking like ya won the lottery. ‘Course, you’ll be looking like a million bucks when I’m done, too! All I can say is, go get that man.”
“Amen,” Misty hooted from across the way as she ran the raked the rat-tail comb through Kenyatta’s roots.
“Your momma will come around. Once she meets him, she’ll come around.”
Shit. Once she meets him…?
“Thanksgiving’s comin’ up, cuz. Man, I can’t wait t’see what happens then!” She cackled at the screen, and Ororo chewed her lip.
Three hours later:
Logan and Nate were in the middle of hammering out the dent in the fender of a classic Camaro before they could add a coat of primer to it for its new paint job when Logan heard the sound of the entry chime on his outside door.
“Wanna get that?” Nate asked him, wiping the sweat from his forehead onto his filthy sleeve.
“Might as well.” Logan strode into the shop and peered around the aisles, looking for whoever had…oh, shit.
The buxom blonde with the man-eating smile was back, right here on his front doorstep. She beamed her pearly whites at him as she turned away from the rack of novelty key chains on his counter with disinterest. “Small world. Good afternoon, James.”
“Hi.” Logan reached for a small plastic tub of pop-up wet naps and yanked out a few, wiping off his hands before chucking the rags into an upright trash can. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”
“It’s Emma,” she reminded him. She licked her lips, glossed in pale pink lipstick, and eyed him thoughtfully. Logan could almost see the wheels turning in her head what he could do for her. “And I wanted to stop by and cash in my prize. I’m dropping off my car to be…serviced.” Her eyes roved over him, pausing on the tempting sprinkle of dark hairs peeking above his undershirt. Shamelessly her index finger traced the embroidered name patch on his uniform. “Logan,” she breathed. “I thought your name was James.” Her tone was mildly accusing.
“It is. Some folks call me Logan,” he clarified easily, but her touch against his chest, even clothed, burned him. Chafing. Uncomfortable.
“It’s…charming,” she assured him, even though he didn’t give a damn. Emma reached into her Donna Karan purse, genuine unlike Kenyatta’s favorite knock-off, and handed him the voucher for the promised tune-up. “My car’s out back.”
“That’s fine.” He took it, noticing she held onto the slip a little too long. Her smiled widened a moment, her eyes flashing a silent “Oops.” That expression was replaced by one of shock “ he thought it could be called that “ as Emma dropped a tube of lipstick that protruded precariously from a pocket in her bag.
“Goodness, look at me, dropping things…let me just get that.” In a move that Logan had only seen in a strip bar, her knees bent smoothly as she stooped, nearly skimming his pants leg on the way down as she plucked the cosmetic cylinder off the speckled tile floor. Her creamy, swelling cleavage was in plain view from the prim, slightly sheer white blouse due to the top two buttons of it being undone. Logan raised his brow and averted his eyes. Behind him, Nate stepped out of the garage and cleared his throat, couching an impressed “Holy shit” in a fake cough into his hand.
Ororo picked precisely that moment to come strolling into the shop, bringing the fall breeze inside with her. All she saw was Emma’s ass rolling its way back up like a cobra’s head rising from a jar, Logan’s look of embarrassment, and Nate getting an eyeful from behind him. The breeze stirred Emma’s fine blonde hair as she stood back up, blowing it out, and she tucked it artfully back behind her ear.
Oh no, you didn’t!
Nate saw Ororo first. “Logan?”
“Eh?”
“Look.” Nate’s hand tapped his shoulder firmly, and Logan peered around Emma for a better view at who was at his front door. Emma’s gaze followed his as she turned around, treating Nate to a decent view of the other side. Logan and Emma missed his appreciative grin. Logan stepped around Emma and approached Ororo with nearly stumbling feet.
“Are you busy?” Ororo’s eyes were icy, her expression unreadable. “Am I interrupting you from anything?”
“Not a damn thing, darlin’,” he replied, sweeping his eyes over her from head to toe. “But if you wanna try, I’m fine with it.” His hand drifted up of its own accord to her braids, sifting them through his fingers. Amber and garnet red beads winked up at him and twinkled in the sunlight. The top layer of braids was woven in an intricate, eye-catching pattern of angles that reminded him of the border of a Grecian urn. The braids were swept back from her face and clipped up at the crown with a simple teakwood barrette. Ororo’s dress was a simple halter-necked, gradient blend shift with an A-line hem that reached just above the knee, the vibrant shade of brick red giving way to a soft camel beige. Logan’s mouth was still dry as he struggled for words, but Emma relieved him of the need. His callused fingertips lightly grazed her cheek as he examined her hair. A curl of the tension at seeing Emma displaying herself like that uncoiled itself as she read the desire in his face.
For her.
“He was just going to fix my car,” Emma pointed out. “He’ll be occupied for a while.”
“Actually, Nate was gonna fix yer car,” Logan tossed back, never taking his eyes off of Ororo. “That voucher’s good for services rendered in this shop.”
“There’s nothing on it saying the owner’s gotta do the repair,” Nate deadpanned. “Logan, I don’t recall that you’ve taken a lunch yet.”
Screw that. “I’m taking the rest of the day off,” he announced.
“I was just stopping by,” Ororo reasoned, but she felt a small twinge of satisfaction at the petulant tilt of Emma’s mouth. She almost detected some envy there, as well, if she wasn’t mistaken…life was good.
“And yer takin’ me with ya.” Throwing his usual reserve to the wind, Logan cupped the back of her neck and tilted her face toward his, kissing her hungrily, not letting her up for air until she responded with a strangled little moan. Her hand was shaking as she released the collar of his coveralls.
“Okay.” Any hint of argument dissolved, and no one missed the blissed-out look on her face as her eyes followed him back to his desk. He collected a few items from his desk drawer and locked it up before meeting Ororo at the door, snaking his arm around her waist.
“Just leave yer keys with Nate, he’ll call ya a cab,” Logan tossed back.
“Er…bye, Emma,” Ororo waved weakly, still enjoying the lingering feel of his lips. Emma’s narrowed eyes and exasperated huff followed her out the door.
Ororo managed to walk across the lot to where her car was parked, impressed at how quickly Logan managed to drag her there in spite of the disparity between their sizes. “Take it easy,” she laughed. “Someone’ll think you’re kidnapping me.”
“Who says I ain’t?” The wind rushed out of her lungs as he backed her against the door of her Impala and closed in on her mouth, crushing her to him for a thorough ravishing. “Do you have any idea how good you look, ‘Ro?” he growled against her throat, leaving a path of fire along her jaw as he nibbled her. “God, I wanna eat you up!”
Bon appetite! Ororo’s tiny cry was ragged and full of yearning as her lips found his again. “Do you like it?” she asked, even though she didn’t’ have to.
“Mmmmmph. Mmmmmm. Mmmmmmm.” That answered that question. She felt a tiny slick of dampness between her legs as he nudged himself between them, and that was when Ororo heard the catcalls coming from the garage next door.
“Logan…we’re outside. Broad daylight.” The breeze tickled her legs, and cars whizzed past on the busy street. His mouth was like molten honey. She didn’t heed her own warning, since her hands were groping him and clinging to him for dear life.
“My place.” Problem solved. “You off?”
“Yup.” Ororo had so much unused time off in her vacation bank she could plan a world tour.
“Then for the next twenty-four hours, yer mine!” Something greedy inside her wanted to ask for a lifetime.
Logan nearly cut off two people at two different intersections on the way home, but he didn’t care. Heather and Mac Hudson were just pulling into their driveway as Logan hit the parking brake, and their daughter waved to him, giving him her best gap-toothed grin. He slammed his car door shut and jiggled the key to his front door to the locks.
“Hi, Mistew How-ette!”
“Hey, punkin’, how’s tricks?”
“I kin ride my bike wi’ out da twaining wheels,” she bragged, grasping her hands behind her back and swinging her body from side to side. Heather grinned at him.
“Alert the media,” she chuckled. Logan grinned back.
“Mistew How-ette?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you gonna bwing home some widdew goo-els fo’ me ta pway wif?” Mac and Heather were a one-income family and were taking their time on planning additions to their little family.
“I don’t think he has any little girls tucked into his pocket today, Sara,” Mac suggested, cocking an eyebrow at Logan as if to say “Sorry, buddy, can’t blame her for asking.”
“Nope,” Logan agreed solemnly, tweaking her nose to make her giggle. “But…what’s that in your ear?” He reached behind it and pulled out a quarter. Sara squealed in delight and clapped her hands.
“What do we say, Sara?” Heather coached.
“Thank yewwwww!” Pudgy little hands clasped his face, tugging him closer for a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Before Logan could tell her she was welcome, he heard the engine of Ororo’s car parking across the street.
“Who’s THAT?” Mac asked as the striking woman got out of her red car.
“A big girl for me to play with,” Logan winked. Heather shooed Sara inside after a hasty introduction was made, and Mac winked back at Logan before he closed his front door shut behind him.
“You didn’t…get to see…the whole…mmph…place the last time ya were here (smooch),” he mumbled over her lips. Ororo kicked off her sandals, letting them land with a thump on the hardwood floor as her fingers worked on the snaps laddering up his coveralls, unfastening them with unusual speed.
“MMmmmm. (smooch) Nope.”
“I’m dirty,” he pointed out, and groaned as his earlobe was caught between her teeth.
“Mm-hmm. Especially these, gotta do something about that, oh, here we go.” She shoved the sleeves down his arms and let them fall to a heap around his ankles, leaving him in his undershirt and boxers.
“That works. (kiss)”
“Uh-huh. Mmmmmm.” She tugged the hem of his undershirt over his head before he broke away long enough to drag her upstairs by the hand.
The thought occurred to him as he ran water in the tub, testing the temperature. “Can you get those wet?” He nodded to her braids, still flummoxed at how good she looked.
“Not today.”
“We’ll have to work around that. It’ll be easier, though, once we get you out of this sweet little get-up first.” He untied the sash around her neck and let it drop soundlessly to the floor. Thankfully she had already kicked it several feet away from the tub before they descended into the bathtub brimming full of bubbles, or it would have ended up drenched. She straddled his lap and scrubbed him, drawing lazy circles over his flesh with the bar of soap. If memory served, and if that look in his eye was any indication, this was about the time for him to say “
“I think ya missed a spot.” Beneath the warm water, his fingers probed her, stoking her to a fever pitch, and she moaned, biting his lip. Logan yanked the chain on the plug with his toes “ now there’s a talent, Ororo observed “ and stood, pulling her to her feet. Soapy water sluiced off of them, and her flesh was slippery beneath his touch as they stepped down carefully from the tub and made their way to his room. She fell backward onto the bed, taking him with her. Logan’s eyes were ablaze with his hunger for her.
“No phone tag. No meetings. No one telling me yer out of the office,” he groaned, enveloping her. She squirmed and rubbed against him, wanting him inside. Wanting him that badly was torture. Sweet, exquisite torture. “Yer all mine.”
“Logan…” His jaw was cradled in her palms as she stared deeply into his eyes, feathering her thumb along the corner of his mouth. He nibbled it and nodded.
“Mine,” he emphasized, claiming her mouth, and Ororo edged that much closer to the brink. He took her with such sweet intensity that it brought tears to her eyes.
His. He said I’m his… “Logan!”
“That’s it,” he encouraged, stroking her. Filling her. Bringing her to completion.
“Logan…”
“C’mon, darlin’,” he urged, drawing closer to his own fulfillment. He didn’t know what he was asking…did he?
“Love you.” The sensations spiraled in her womb. Her lips betrayed her, and she tried to bite back the damning words. “Love. You. Love you. Love you.” The words tumbled out with every thrust, which Logan couldn’t stop if his life depended on it. He was too far gone, she was squeezing him and holding him, offering everything that he wanted. Their eyes met for one fierce second…
“Ro…?”
“Love you,” she whispered, and his eyes dilated with the enormity of it, but he didn’t pause, never indicating that he’d absorbed her intent.
“Mine,” he repeated, and he picked up the pace, shoving them both over the precipice. He buried his face in her shoulder and bit it, holding back the last piece of himself that she craved. They lay together in a jumbled daze as Ororo stroked his back. His cheek rubbed absently against her soft breast as he fingered the errant cornrows, twiddling it and admiring its texture. Logan only looked up when he felt her hand leave his back to reach up, causing her torso to shift beneath him, and his eyes traveled to her face. He frowned when he noticed the remnant of a tear streak on her face that she’d wiped away. He cleaned the salty trail with his lips, kissing the corner of her eye. She shut her eyes against the sight of his concern until he pleaded with her.
“Don’t. Look at me.” She shook her head, and he kissed her eyelids tenderly. “Please, ‘Ro. Look at me.” She sighed at the stroke of his fingers against her cheeks. Finally she obeyed and met his gaze.
“I want you.” A kiss caressed her cheek. “I can’t get enough of you.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “And it scares me how much you’ve gotten under my skin.”
“Scares you, huh?” Another tear trickled out from the corner of her other eye, and Logan gently brushed it away. He studied her face, still amazed at the change the braids made to her face, heightening her beauty. He felt something in her withdrawing from him, even as her eyes held him, questioning him.
“More than you know,” he admitted. A butterfly kiss landed on the tip of her nose. “I tell myself sometimes that I’ve gotta be crazy. I don’t normally ask out any woman after fixing her alternator, or otherwise, I’d be dead broke. And tired.” Her lips twitched, but she remained quiet. “And I don’t normally kiss on the first date like that, where I don’t give a damn about coming up for air when a woman tastes as good as you do, or feels as right as you do. You have a way of making me do things that don’t make sense at first, but I’m starting to enjoy that. A lot.” His tongue lapped at her lip, urging her to open for him. She sighed into his kiss, and Logan knew he was making himself understood as she arched up, pressing her softness against him, making him hard again. “To give myself the benefit of the doubt, I don’t think I’m crazy, not yet. To give you the benefit of the doubt, darlin’, I was already half in love with you when you whacked your head against the wall and gave me a great view of your sweet little tail. I’ve grown pretty attached to it.” She grinned at him, even though her eyes were swimming.
“Listen to you,” she chided him, nipping his chin.
“That’s what I’m trying ta say. Listen to me. Or just let me show you. I love you, Ororo Munroe.” She fought for her composure, but just let it go when he kissed her again. “I love you, darlin’, so much. Things happened pretty fast, but I’m not gonna drag my feet to try to stop it. Doesn’t mean I haven't been hurt before,” he cautioned her.
She nodded emphatically. “I know about hurt. And I didn’t just want to throw all this at you out of the blue, but I couldn’t…”
“Couldn’t help it,” he finished for her. “Neither can I. Which brings us back to what I mentioned a second ago.” She whimpered at the feel of his teeth grazing her pulse. “Showing you that I’m not just full of hot air. I love you.”
“I love you.”
“Good. Then promise me something.” His hands plucked at her and kneaded her, and she would have promised him anything at that point.
“What, sweetie?”
“That you’ll come to dinner at my dad’s house for Thanksgiving?”
A week later:
“You must be outta yer mind, cuz.” Kenyatta flipped up her ends with her big gold curling iron as she met Ororo’s reflection in the mirror. “The same holiday you’re gonna meet his family, you’re bringing him to meet your momma? How are you gonna be in two places at the same time, let alone drop the bombshell that he’s not Black?”
“Who’s dropping a bomb? He’s walking in through the front door, as easy as you please,” Ororo flounced, folding her arms over her chest.
“’Kay,” Kenyatta muttered, clicking off the wand and reaching for her lipstick. “Now, the real question is, are his folks gonna be answering the door expecting apple pie but ending up with sweet potato? Has he told them about YOU?”
Ororo opened her mouth, then shut it again.
“Well, there ya go!”
“Hmmph.” Ororo muttered all the way back to her kitchen, “Sweet potato. Hmmph. Who’s she tellin’?”
Kenyatta followed her out. “Can Leon and I get a ride with you when you head out to Auntie’s for dinner?”
“Only if you behave,” Ororo cut her eyes at her, one more time out of many. “No short jokes. No making him feel uncomfortable like you’ve never met a White man in person before. No eye-rolling, wisecracks, or whispering shit behind my back, a’ight?”
“I got yer back.”
“Leon, too.”
“Are you kidding? Leon’ll be grateful he’s not the one getting grilled like a flounder this year.”
Grilled Like Flounder, Part Two: Done to a Turn by OriginalCeenote
Thanksgiving Friday, 12:01AM:
Ororo hugged her knees to her chest and stared at the glaring red display on her clock radio, telling herself off one more time, just for good measure, in case she hadn’t gotten the message yet: She messed up. She rubbed already red-rimmed eyes, even though they burned, and took inventory of the day’s ups and downs. The downs won, hands down.
Her eyes drifted over to her doorframe to the limp, dessicated remains of a rose that she’d taken as a souvenir from the bouquet Logan had sent to her office weeks ago; hours ago, she’d admired how it held its shape. The dark gloom and faint moonlight streaming inside turned its pinkish petals an ashy mauve. If she reached out to hold it, it would crumble.
A couple of hours ago, it became all she had left of him.
Mid-afternoonish, Thanksgiving Day:
“So…how do you pronounce your name again? It’s just…so unusual, I’ve never heard anything like it,” Amelia stammered, smiling fit to split her face in two. Logan sighed under his breath as he searched for the Lenox china and the “pumpkin” placemats and their matching cloth napkins.
“Ororo,” she repeated, smiling brightly. It was a reaction she was used to, and one that frequently made her question her mother’s choice to bless her with a name from her native land. It always went back to the problem of never being able to buy those cute little white shoelaces or ribboned barrettes with her name on them when she was twelve. In hindsight, she was glad; with so many nutjobs snatching children off the street in this day and age, and even back when she was younger, it was better that strangers DIDN’T know her name from her announcing it with her clothes. As she matured, Ororo realized she wasn’t just proud of her name, she was protective of it.
“Come again?”
“Or-OR-o,” she attempted again, trying not to treat Logan’s stepmother as if she were dense or deaf, but not wanting to suffer through mispronunciations all night, either. Amelia seemed like a nice woman, so decided to spare her. “Logan calls me ‘Ro,” she offered.
“Oh. We call him Jamie,” Amelia informed her brightly, squirting up the juices with the turkey baster and drizzling them over the bird as she leaned the pan on the oven rack. Logan’s father strode past the kitchen and paused by the counter, grinning and rubbing his palms together with glee.
“I just can’t stand it, that’s gonna be some bird!”
“SIT! Go watch your game, Jonathan, and quit slavering and licking your chops! Let us women take care of the rest of this. Jamie, sweetie, fetch me that gravy boat, please?” Logan stifled a grumble as he picked up the gold-rimmed container by its handle and set it gently on the kitchen counter while Amelia stirred her giblet stock and added a handful of flour. She squirted in some of the reserved pan drippings from the turkey and turned down the heat. Ororo wanted to laugh at how she’d become part of “us women” so quickly. She felt relieved.
When they’d first knocked on the front door, she’d gotten the reaction she’d been afraid of the whole way over in the car.
“Just a minute, Jonathan, I already pulled out the corn pudding…oh! JAMIE! Oh, come in, COME IN!” The front door was yanked open as a pleasant middle-aged woman who was still relatively attractive and slightly kitschy in her turkey-themed holiday sweater and Dockers khakis practically pulled Logan inside by his face, sideswiping his jaw with a smooch. “Oh…Jamie, who’s your lady friend?” She stepped over the threshold, which Ororo hadn’t quite crossed yet, and craned her neck up for a closer look.
First thing they notice, Ororo mused, bracing herself. Out of habit she straightened her shoulders and smiled with as much warmth as she could muster. Logan’s hand reached for hers and urged her to step inside, pulling her beside him.
“Amelia, this is my mysterious woman you wanted to know about last time I came. She goes by Ororo. Ororo Munroe.” He released her hand long enough for her to shake Amelia’s in a firm, careful grip. Amelia’s hands were slightly cool from repeated washings as she prepared the dinner, but her face held pleased surprise.
“Well, hello there! You know,” she began, looking Ororo over from different angles, “I don’t thing I’ve ever seen hair quite like yours; is that a hair color, or some of those fancy hair extensions?” Monica had redone Ororo’s hair in a sedate mound of microbraids and curled the ends around bone rods so they hung in neat spirals down her back.
“Some of it’s synthetic. All of it’s mine though, since I paid for it,” Ororo clarified, cringing slightly when Amelia hesitated a moment before laughing a little too loud.
“Listen to YOU! That’s priceless! Jamie, why don’t you two go ahead and hang up your coats?” Ororo obeyed, and caught Amelia looking her over again, taking in her flat shoes and confirming for herself, “Good heavens, she really IS that tall!”
That was how it began. Ororo handed Amelia items from the cabinets and fridge as she went a few rounds of Twenty Questions with Logan’s stepmom:
“Where do you work again?” Shelter network. Handling events and publicity. “How did you and Jamie meet again?” He fixed my alternator when it went out. “Have any brothers or sisters?” No, there’s just me. “Do your parents live around here?” My mother lives in Delaware. “Your parents aren’t together?” My father passed away; yes, I do miss him. We were close. “Are those contacts?” No, ma’am. “So, just how tall are you, if you don’t mind my asking?” She didn’t mind it anymore than the last million people who’d asked her over a lifetime…but she didn’t say that out loud.
“Jamie hardly ever brings houseguests over, we’ve gotten so used to him just breezing in and out,” Amelia explained almost accusingly, whisking the gravy in endless whorls before finally giving up, chucking the lumpy mixture into the blender. She bellowed over the pulse of the appliance, “Have you two been together long?”
“Well, not too long…”
“WHAT WAS THAT?”
“NOT TOO…long,” Ororo paused, allowing her voice to drop back to normal volume.
“So you live in the city? Do you enjoy all the hustle and bustle?”
“I’m used to it.” It was her stock answer that she used for all of her relatives when they asked why she didn’t move closer to home. Ororo took a moment while Amelia struggled with a jello mold to look around the kitchen and dining area. It was quaint, clean as a whistle, and every spare inch of space was cluttered with figurines and knick-knacks. The ceramic statuettes and dolls seemed to stare back at her as if they had some questions of their own to lay on her.
“Jonathan and I just aren’t up for that anymore, but it seems to suit Jamie,” Amelia mentioned, sending Logan a look that was scolding but affectionate. Ororo suddenly wondered how often Logan made it over to visit his own family.
She perused some framed photographs and found some that made her smile. “Logan?”
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“Isn’t that cute, you have little pet names for each other!” Amelia grinned over her shoulder, then went back to wrestling with the jello to slide it onto a serving plate. Logan chuckled under his breath and shook his head.
“You never told me you played any sports,” Ororo observed, nodding to a photo of Logan in a team photo, directly center in the front bottom row, looking boyishly handsome in a blue basketball uniform, lucky number seven.
“Never woulda guessed that he had such a great three point shot by lookin’ at him; everyone always underestimated this guy because he wasn’t ten feet tall,” Jonathan chuckled from his cushy armchair in the den as he turned down the volume on the set. “What about you, kiddo, did you ever play any basketball, as nice and tall as you are?”
“Nope.” Of course she got that a lot, too. Jon’s parents had asked that question, too, when they noticed she was as tall as he was. Never failed, she sighed. But Jonathan Howlett made her feel at ease with his warm humor and striking resemblance to Logan. “Sports weren’t always my thing.” Especially when the cheerleaders always got on her case, even when she was just a spectator.
“Jamie had tons of potential. Elizabeth and I knew he’d make something of himself some day, and that he could do anything he set his mind to. Did he ever tell you he wanted to be an architect?” Logan met her stare with a mute shrug.
“He sure didn’t! Wow. I just figured you always wanted to work on cars.”
“I did. Eventually. Still do.” Logan retrieved some wineglasses from the cupboard. “Sometimes dreams change. Plans change.” His voice sounded odd.
“You never had to change plans on my account, Jamie.” Jonathan turned his Lazy Boy so that he was facing his son and leaned his elbows against his knees. He flicked his eyes at Ororo. “Jamie saved my life, and pretty much picked up where I left off while I was recuperating, took over running the shop and never looked back.”
“I know,” Ororo replied, and Logan suddenly felt her soft, slender hand stroking his back in circles. “He’s very good at it.”
“He took care of me, too. My wife was already long gone by the time I had my heart attack, and she made it clear she wasn’t coming back.” Amelia paused as she poured gravy into the boat, accidentally slopping some over the edge. Logan felt the draft from where Ororo’s hand left him as she crossed the kitchen to hand Amelia a sponge. “It was a difficult time. We have a lot of years together behind us.” He looked fondly at Amelia before saying “Everything happens for a reason.”
Sure. That reason being that she ran off with the gardener. We had the best friggin’ roses on the block, and Mom was making time with the guy who was taking care of ‘em. A lot of years together, behind us. Logan never wanted to have to say those words out loud about himself.
“Dinner’s almost ready!” Amelia sang, bringing the covered dish of turkey dressing to the table and setting it on a trivet. Her cheerfulness didn’t distract Ororo from the fact that tension was rolling off of Logan in waves.
“So, Ororo, where did you go to school?”
“I transferred to NYU after finishing my general ed at a little junior college over in Westchester.”
Jonathan whistled, impressed. “You sound educated, all right, that was my first thought. NYU, eh? Bet your parents are damned proud!” Ororo recovered her smile, even though it was weak.
“My father was happy when I picked that school.” Her mother had always been a little disappointed that she hadn’t chosen Spellman or Howard.
“That’s great. That’s really great. I always wondered what it would be like, having a daughter, but I ended up having two of the best boys in the world.” He settled back into his seat and took a sip of his beer. “I bet beating the boys away from his doorstep was a full-time job for your pop, kiddo. You’re a real looker!” Ororo giggled, and Logan lightly tugged on her braids and kissed her cheek.
After a brief grace where they linked hands in their seats, and Logan’s father gave thanks for “bringing us together with family and new friends,” they dug into the food and continued to chat. Logan continued to duck questions about plans for their future, since it was so soon after they’d determined that they had a “present” together.
“So, young lady, what’re your intentions toward my son?” Jonathan prodded, and Ororo nearly dropped her butter knife.
“Pop!”
“What, I can’t ask? For all I know, she’s keeping you out past your curfew. Pass me the mashed potatoes, Jamie.” Jonathan took another pull off his wine. “Don’t be shy, ‘Ro, tell us the truth. Do ya love him? Gonna make an honest man of him?” His tone was teasing, but Amelia leaned forward as though she were happy that he had fished for the answer so she wouldn’t have to.
“Well…” She was almost saved “ almost “ by Amelia this time, who clapped her hands in delight at another prospect that made Ororo blush to her hairline.
“Just think of the grandchildren we’d have,” Amelia gushed, getting a faraway look in her eye. “We hardly ever get to see John Jr.’s and Sharon’s!”
Ack!
“Quit givin’ her the third degree,” Logan growled at his father, but there was something tender and contemplative in his eye when he turned back to hold Ororo’s hand under the table. They communicated in that not-quite-telepathic way that new couples normally do when put on the spot.
We never really talked about that before…
I know.
So what are your intentions toward me?
To love you silly. Case closed.
Okay. Works for me. Logan winked at Ororo. She squeezed his hand and winked back.
They ate lightly, ducking Amelia’s prodding to have some more stuffing, or how about a slice of pecan pie? Were they sure?
“We’ve gotta jet. We’re takin’ ‘Ro’s cousin and her boyfriend to her folks’ place for dinner.” He was saved from further explanation by a brisk knock on the front door, followed by a jiggling turn of the knob. Two children with their grandfather’s eyes dashed in, yelling “Grandpop! Grandpa Jon-Jon!” They proceeded to climb him like a tree, which clearly thrilled him as he gave them smacking kisses on their cheeks.
“It’s an invasion!” he bellowed. Their parents followed at a sedate pace, looking quizzically at the exotic female seated next to Logan.
“Don’t think we’ve met your friend before, Jamie.” He clapped Logan on the shoulder in acknowledgement before sidestepping him to extend his hand. “I’m Logan’s big brother, John.” She rose to shake it, and his eyes rose in that telltale way, telling her that she’d surprised yet another member of the Howlett clan with her size. “Damn, you two must look like Mutt and Jeff when you’re together! Bet you can use my kid brother as an armrest!” She nearly laughed at his gall. She caught Logan’s muttered “Fuck off” and playfully tweaked his ear.
“John, stop it,” Sharon hissed.
“This lovely lady is my wife,” he explained, and Ororo shook her hand in turn, thankful that her smile was genuine.
“This is the first time in years that we’ve had an even number of men to women in this house!” Amelia scurried off to get plates and asked Logan to bring in more chairs from the garage, until he reminded them that they were on their way out.
“Making your escape already?” John hung up his parka and tugged off his children’s shoes.
“Visiting Ororo’s family,” he explained, deciding that was sufficient. “Gonna meet her mother.”
“Mom asked about you when I spoke to her this week, by the way. Oughta give her a call,” John suggested. That tension leapt into Logan’s back again before he pushed his chair back from the table, not in the mood to be cornered any longer.
“Yeah. Sure.”
“She misses you,” John added.
“Sure she does.” Jonathan’s eyes followed his younger son as he collected his and Ororo’s coats.
“I wish you two didn’t have to leave us so early!” Amelia opined, drawing Ororo into an unexpected and fragrant hug that she found herself returning. “Maybe we can get together again for Christmas! It’s nice when we have the whole family under one roof!” There was that funny twinge again that made her heart stutter: Family.
“Are you Unca Logan’s girlfriend?” John’s son Thomas inquired.
“I like her hair, Unca Logan, she’s pretty,” his niece Eliza informed him. “You look like my brown Barbie that I have at home, but her hair isn’t like yours!” That broke some of the tension, and despite Sharon’s low shush, Ororo laughed and thanked her profusely, admitting that she had a few brown Barbies a long time ago, too, and a Wonder Woman doll with a kung-fu grip and lasso that she could use to fly.
Jonathan stood and hugged his son in that distinctively male back-clapping way and advised him, “Don’t be a stranger.” He released him and told Ororo “That means you, too.” He tugged her coat sleeve, urging her to lean closer to kiss her cheek. Jonathan followed them out the door to the car, and Ororo paused when he tugged her arm again.
“Well, kiddo, come clean, whaddya think of my boy?” His eyes were shining with mischief.
“I think he gets his charm and good looks honest. He’s growing on me,” she grinned. Logan huffed at the exchange, overhearing everything as he unlocked the doors.
“He might grow on ya some more, the longer ya hold onto him. Kinda like roses and ivy. Drive safe, Jamie. Be nice to her mother!” He waved to them as he made his way back to the rest of his family for a slice of pecan pie.
Next stop, Kenyatta’s.
Logan’s CD player was on at low volume, and Ororo’s fingers gently kneaded the knots in his neck as he drove. “That wasn’t too painful. Your father and his fiancée are great folks, Logan. I liked them a lot.”
“Once you get past the nosy questions, Amelia’s a kick in the pants,” he agreed. “She’s picking up where my mom left off, collecting more of those figurines. She’ll run us out of the house with ‘em.” Something about the way he phrased that still her hand from where it was combing through the back of his hair.
“Logan?”
“Yeah, ‘Ro?”
“I love you, you know.”
“I know.” The way she conveyed it when she’d confessed it the first time lingered with him like the aftertaste of a favorite sweet.
“I wanted to tell you again. I wasn’t sure how you felt about your dad asking…”
“That’s what I figured, darlin’. He’s good at that,” Logan laughed. “He gave Sharon a hard time too, back in the day. Asked her if she planned to compromise his virtue, or something crazy like that, and made her turn red as a beet. I think it’s safe to say he liked you.”
“Sure hope so.”
“Doesn’t matter. I like you.” He unwrapped her hand from his nape and kissed it. “He’d be crazy not to like you, but I’m biased.” He nibbled her knuckles wickedly.
“Sssstop! We’re here already. Damn it,” she mock-griped. “Go ahead and park it, c’mon in.”
“Why are they riding with us again?”
“The usual. Kenyatta wanted to save the gas, and she was running late because Leon had to work at the store until noon.” Logan helped her out of the car. “Of course, I’m also guessing she wanted to scope you out before you meet the rest of the family.”
“It’s not like I’ve done time, fer cryin’ out loud,” he groused. Ororo’s shoulders shook with restrained giggles as they pressed the button on Kenyatta’s intercom.
“S’up, cuz!”
“Go ahead and let us in, time’s a-wastin’!” Kenyatta buzzed them in, and they made their way up to the third floor. Kenyatta’s apartment building was old and the hallway carpeting smelled slightly musty. Ororo’s brisk knock brought the running of feet inside and sent a shadow over the other side of the peephole. Kenyatta opened up, took one look at Ororo’s hair, and announced “You’re better let me put some braid oil on that!”
“I already did!”
“That’s the first thing you’re momma’s gonna ask. And ya need some lipstick, bring your face over here…oh, by the way, I’m ‘Ro’s cousin!” She gave him a toothy grin and shook his hand; Logan was tickled that Ororo’s cousin was so flamboyant and bubbly. “C’mon in, sit yourselves down!” Then she escorted Ororo into the bathroom with a terse “Not you. Let me get that lipstick! Let’s put some color in your face, I’ll fix you right up!” Ororo rolled her eyes at the diversion tactic. Kenyatta dug in her vanity for her Clinique transparent lip glaze and painted Ororo’s mouth with the wand. “He’s a cute little thing, ain’t he?”
“Uh-huh,” Ororo murmured through dropped lips, letting her coat them with the makeup and hand her a tissue to blot.
“How was dinner at his daddy’s house?”
“Interesting. Not bad, but I get the feeling there’s a story I’m not getting.” Kenyatta squirted some of the braid oil into her hands and rubbed them together. “Didn’t seem too happy when his brother asked him if he’d called his momma.”
“Maybe they don’t get along,” Kenyatta suggested.
“I just don’t wanna see him upset, especially on his holiday.” Ororo didn’t admit that she didn’t want that underlying tension to keep him from enjoying dinner at her mother’s house. It was going to be challenge enough meeting all of her relatives en masse…Lord have mercy.
“Quit frettin’, it’ll be fine.” She smugly added “And at least they aren’t running me through the gauntlet this year! I’m not the one bringing home fresh meat!”
“Rub it in,” Ororo snarled, straightening her eyebrow in the mirror.
“Kenyatta, move it along, girl, finish putting your face on so we can go!” Leon bellowed from the living room.
“I’ve already got my face on, quit rushing me, I’ve just gotta get my hair out of this doo rag and give it a lick and a promise! Do something constructive!” she hollered back. “Like fart on the couch and scratch yourself,” she muttered, going over her hair with the heated curling iron. Ororo snickered.
Logan plopped himself on the couch as Leon turned up the football game from where he was reclined on the chair.
“You fix cars, man?”
“Yep.”
“Cool. That’s cool. You do body work, too?”
“Yep. Even stuff for car shows.”
“Nobody does anything with hydraulics anymore. Never see cars that hop these days.”
“Nah. Not really, huh?”
“Everybody’s got candy paint nowadays, though; you ever watch Pimp My Ride?”
“I saw the one episode when the girl’s car was full of rat poop and turned it off,” he admitted. Leon laughed and slapped his knee.
“That shit was nasty,” he agreed. “They give all those damned cars candy paint.”
“No kidding,” Logan muttered. Ten minutes later, Ororo and Kenyatta breezed out of the bathroom on a cloud of Kenyatta’s perfume and hairspray, both looking good enough to eat.
“It’s on! Let’s bounce.” Leon clicked off the remote and they headed downstairs, bundling themselves into Logan’s Crown Vic. Leon and Kenyatta made envious sounds as they admired the leather interior.
“Not too shabby, cuz,” Kenyatta grinned at Ororo in the rearview mirror. Ororo sighed.
“Can’t wait for some of that cornbread stuffing your momma made the last time,” Leon enthused. “Why don’t you ever cook like that?”
“Need to be grateful that I pay the bills,” Kenyatta grumbled under her breath, cutting her eyes at him. He held up his hands in surrender.
“Just sayin’…” he trailed off.
“Need to quit sayin’ anything.” To that she added a clear “Hmmph!” Logan caught the quirk of Ororo’s lips as she continued to direct him onto the ramp. Logan estimated they’d reach Wilmington shortly after it got dark. Ororo assured him that there would still be food on the table by the time they got there.
To Kenyatta’s credit, she behaved herself toward Logan, but she had a little too much fun teasing Ororo about things they did as kids. “Don’t make me come back there and snatch you baldheaded, cuz!” she warned a few times, looking with evil intent over the seat.
“Hey, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you about those Jody Watley-looking hoop earrings, can’t say those were my fault!” Logan was starting to have a good time now, despite Ororo’s continued murmurs of “Girl, DON’T go there!”
Logan had to circle the neighborhood to look for parking once Ororo had pointed out which house was her mother’s. Cars were laddered up the driveway on both sides and edging the sidewalk out front. He parked the car in the tiny cul-de-sac and got out of the car, taking a deep breath.
“Don’t be nervous,” Ororo assured him.
“I won’t.” It was already too late. He was. She laced her fingers through his and they marched up the street, greeted by the increasing volume of the commotion inside the house.
Kenyatta reached the front door first and was about to ring the bell before it swished open, pulling the knob from her fingers. She almost fell inside from the momentum.
“Land sakes alive, look at this child showing up just before it’s time for the cows to come home! N’Dare, Ruthie, your daughters are here!” Ororo’s aunt Martina yelled over her shoulder, “and they’ve brought company!”
“Good night,” Kenyatta shuddered. She dutifully kissed her aunt’s cheek and dragged Leon by the sleeve through the front foyer.
“Tell the whole neighborhood we’re here, why don’t you,” Ororo chimed in. Ororo’s hand slipped from Logan’s grip as she was yanked into a crushing, rocking hug.
“There’s my baby!” Martina passed her off to her aunt Naomi, a woman roughly as tall as she was with a formidable bosom that she enveloped Ororo into as she hugged her hard enough to make her see stars…
That went on for a while, until someone asked “Oh, who’s this?” Logan found himself meeting a few dozen pairs of curious eyes, and he waved instinctively to everyone present. A few heads ducked around the corner of the kitchen doorway to peer at him, and he realized he was now, officially, under the microscope.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” he told them. Awkwardly Logan heard a male voice asking in the background “Is that Kenyatta’s new man?”
Someone else shushed him, answering back “No, no, no; N’Dare’s girl brought him in, from what I can tell. Leon’s right over there, he came last year!” Ororo was just disengaging herself from her grandmother’s skeletal but firm grip on her hands when she turned back and retrieved Logan from the hallway.
“Sorry about that,” she whispered. “Got carried away for a second.”
More like got dragged away… Logan was still strangely satisfied to see how much her family really enjoyed having her there, if the proud glances they gave her were any indication. Some of Ororo’s nephews darted in and out of the den in a mad tangle, and her aunt Martina fussed at them to quit carrying on like that in the house. One of the smaller, younger boys paused long enough as he ran by to stare at Logan and giggle with gappy teeth before he followed his siblings. A girl who looked about the same age as Eliza stared up at him as he was led into the kitchen, peppering him with questions.
“What’s your name? Mommy, what’s that man’s name? He’s not one of my uncles, we never saw him here before?” Her twisted pigtails were adorned with white plastic hair bobbles and her eyes studied him without blinking.
“My name’s Logan.” He nodded to her baby doll. “I like your baby, what’s her name?”
“Felicia. And my name’s Monique,” and she stuck her chest out proudly, enjoying the attention from this new adult. “Felicia’s not allowed to talk to strangers,” she scolded him.
“That’s probably for the best,” he nodded solemnly.
“Logan’s my friend,” Ororo told her, hooking her arm through his, “so now he’s not a stranger.” She relieved him of his coat and ran off with it, leaving him again at the mercy of the kitchen’s occupants.
“Take this,” Leon mumbled to him, nudging his arm with a cold bottle of beer. Logan nodded at him, grateful. He appreciated the mellow, false sense of calm that the beer gave him as more questions began flying at him. He still hadn’t even met Ororo’s mother, that he could tell.
“So what do you do again?”
“Wait a minute, did you say your name was Jon?” That question chafed him, but he just corrected Ororo’s elderly uncle with “Logan.”
“So who was Jon?” He asked one of the nearby women for clarification, and she whispered something in his ear that made a look of comprehension dawn on his face. Logan recognized it for what it was: Jon was the “old” boyfriend. Ahhhhhh…
More voices chattered around him in the commotion. He thought he heard “Tiny little thing, ain’t he?” a couple more times, making him rub his hand over his face. He was ushered into a chair and a plate of food was nudged under his nose.
“Here, let me get you some of my sherbet punch,” Ruthie flipped over her shoulder, and she was off like a shot, getting him a fresh glass.
“Don’t forget to give him some of that ambrosia salad,” Martina reminded her.
PLOP! A hearty spoonful of stuffing was ladled onto his plate, which was looking crowded. “You gotta be starved after that long drive. Someone grab ‘Ro and get her in here to eat. Where is that child?”
“Helping N’Dare round up the kids for pie,” her uncle Lucius called from the den, never taking his eyes from the set.
“What kind of program did you have to finish in school to fix cars?”
“I learned everything I know from my father,” he answered easily enough. He took a sip of the punch, watching the swirls of lime green and orange sherbet blend together on the surface.
“So you didn’t go to school?” The question was asked in a tone that suggested that the very idea was a sacrilege.
“No. I went to school. I just didn’t finish.” Ororo heard the tail end of the conversation and homed in, taking up the chair next to Logan and dropping herself into it.
“Logan decided to head back home to take care of some family business back then.” She tweaked a piece of his dinner roll and popped it into her mouth.
“Still, it’s nice to finish school?”
“Sometimes life gets in the way,” he said thoughtfully. He poked his fork into the small mound of ambrosia salad, studying the chunks of mandarin orange and pineapple.
“Why did y’all get here so LATE?” Ruthie complained.
“We wanted to stop at Logan’s father’s first.”
“Leon had to work,” Kenyatta called from her perch against the refrigerator.
“You missed the family blessing. Your uncle John gave a nice speech this year.”
“We probably would have just ended up at the kiddie table,” Ororo retorted. “Couldn’t have been too much different from his speech last year.” Ororo turned to Logan to fill him in. “Every year, Uncle John says the blessing and gives a speech about new additions to the family, and all the usual hoopla. Every year, Uncle Marty complains about why doesn’t he get to make the speech. It’s a running argument.”
“Speaking of running arguments, who’s got The Book this year?” Ororo’s cousin Anita demanded.
“The Book?” Logan quirked an eyebrow.
“You don’t wanna know,” she replied, rolling her eyes skyward.
“I already gave it back to Momma,” Kenyatta pleaded her innocence.
“I gave it back to Martina,” Ruthie bellowed from the dining room table where she was cutting the pies into neat triangles. “Never even got to finish it.” More accusations flew around the room, even through the house about the whereabouts and who-had-it-last of the mysterious book.
“Dare I ask, what book?” Logan repeated.
“An original hardcover edition of ‘Sally Hemings’ by this lady named Barbara Chase-Riboud. Kenyatta brought it home from the book store one day and left it here, my mom read it and loved it, and it’s made its way from house to house. No one ever knows where it is until someone finds it again and passes it along. It’s a family tradition to argue about where it ended up last every year, when we’re together.” Ororo took a generous bite of cornbread stuffing. “Get enough of us under one roof long enough, and we argue. What could be better?” Before Logan could question that, a woman roughly his height with bone structure like Ororo’s and salt-and-pepper hair in shoulder-length braids came up beside her daughter, eyeing him with curiosity.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Momma.” Ororo dutifully rose and kissed her mother and turned back to Logan. “This is Logan.”
“So I’ve heard. Call me N’Dare”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” he offered. He shook her hand for a fraction of a second before she tore herself away, tugging Ororo along with her.
“Help me serve the pie.” Logan sank back into his seat, the sentiment “what the flamin’ fuck?” plain on his face. Kenyatta peeked over at him, her sympathy plain.
“What took you so long to get here tonight?”
“We stopped at Logan’s,” she explained for what seemed like the umpteenth time. Her mother handed her a can of Redi-Whip and told her to shake it up. “I met his family.”
“They hadn’t met you before?”
“Not until today.”
“What’s the verdict?”
“Excuse me, Momma?”
“Did they give you the runaround? How did they treat you when you walked into their home?”
“I had a nice time,” she admitted, reflecting that yes, she had. Awkward questions notwithstanding…
“That’s nice,” N’Dare mused. There was an edgy hint of vinegar in her voice. “Now when were you going to tell me he wasn’t Black?”
“When I thought for so much as a second that it mattered worth shit.”
“Watch your language, girl! You won’t disrespect me in my house!” N’Dare’s voice was a hushed whisper when a couple of Ororo’s aunts turned to peek at the scuffle. Ororo resumed squirting squiggles of whipped cream on the slices of sweet potato and pecan pie.
“I didn’t think it was all that important; I didn’t get around to it,” Ororo said dismissively. “So?”
“Why couldn’t you have brought home someone like your father? He treated me like a queen from the jump. You grew up with an excellent example of how a Black man treats his wife and daughter, Ororo, so I guess I’m confused as to why a White man’s sitting in my kitchen, with you out here calling him your boyfriend.”
“It’s my life. It’s my choice. He’s a good man. Why should that even matter?” N’Dare sighed and shook her head, loading the banquette by the wall with the serving plates. Ororo’s uncle Marty conveniently overheard and added his two cents.
“There’s still a few of us good ones left, too, baby girl,” he reminded her, swiping a slice of sweet potato pie and the fork she handed him.
“Maybe Kenyatta got the last one,” Ororo shot back, curling her lip. Leon, true to form, was regaling all of her male cousins of a woman that walked into the supermarket while he was on the shift wearing a too-small skirt stretched over a too-large behind. The men crowed like roosters from the den in approval. “I thought I did a pretty good job of finding a man who met all the other important criteria such as employed, caring, strong, and loves me, but I guess I missed something, after all. He’s not Black.”
“Why make things harder on yourself and any children you might have in the future? Do you see how much attention women with mixed children get when they walk down the street?”
“It probably wouldn’t have been any more attention than people gave you when you walked me down the street,” Ororo murmured. “Or when Daddy did. But he always seemed proud of me, anyway.” Ororo laid down the pile of forks, unaware that she had an audience.
“You were his greatest joy, don’t get me started, child. I think he would agree with me when I say that I think you’ve stopped trying to find a Black man to share your future with.”
“I’ve stopped trying? Hold up. Run that by me again? You see me as giving up? Since when is being with someone who cares about me and treats me well and who makes my TOES CURL” “ her voice rose as she made her point “ “considered giving up? I’m just throwing in the towel?” Her mother’s nostrils flared with frustration as she threw up one hand, waving away her daughter’s impatience and the unwelcome knowledge of her “physical” activities.
“N’Dare, did you use that recipe that I gave you this year for this pie? Looks good, girl!” Martina snagged a piece and patted her sister-in-law’s shoulder, shooting Ororo a “just calm down” look before she turned away.
“What does he think of you? Your color? Your history? How do people react to you two being together when you go out?”
“So far, it hasn’t been much of a problem,” Logan rumbled by Ororo’s elbow. Her head whipped around to stare into his eyes. “The consensus so far is that she could use me for an armrest, bein’ that I’m not that tall. As for what I think of her, I don’t mind answering that. She’s bright, fun, sweet, gorgeous, and I can’t wait to rush home every night to see her smiling face.” He turned back to Ororo. “Except yer not smiling right now, ‘Ro. You okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay.” He kissed Ororo’s cheek, still not convinced, and suggested “Why don’t I get you a drink?” She nodded, still dazed that he’d heard it, all of it. She watched his retreating back, ramrod-straight, as he strolled back to the kitchen. Ororo finished dressing the pie slices and moved to take the whipped cream cans back to the kitchen after him, but her mother stopped her. “Just leave those here. Let him come on back.” Ororo gave her a troubled look, but she sat down on one of the dining room chairs as her relatives milled about, retrieving plates of dessert and watching the children tumble through the house, still high on all the sweets from dinner like the corn pudding, candied yams, and ambrosia salad. Ororo heard the echo of the dishes clinking together in the kitchen as her aunts began the clean-up. Logan came back a moment later with a cup of punch and his half-finished beer. N’Dare rested in a chair opposite them and folded her hands on the table.
“Did Ororo tell you I used to be a school teacher?” Ororo fiddled with a discarded napkin. “Her education was very important to me, not only because I was a teacher, but because an education was almost denied me while I was still living with my family. My own father wanted to marry me off instead of continuing my education. I met my husband David before that could happen, and he brought me to America. While David worked, I cleaned houses, trying to afford to go to school myself. It was rough, and we wanted to give Ororo a better life than that which wouldn’t involve such a struggle.” Logan wet his lips with another sip of beer as he listened. N’Dare’s eyes seemed to bore right through him, as though watching him was triggering something, maybe an unhappy memory. “When you are not a citizen of the land where you live, people can be cruel. They can make assumptions. They can give you a hard time. I dealt with narrow minds and difficulties regarding my color, the way that I spoke all the time, when I attended my classes, when I went off to work, and when I eventually taught classes myself. David took it in stride. What made it worth it in the long run was how well he treated me, and that he was always proud of having me for his wife.”
“Okay.” Logan set his beer down on the place mat and scratched the back of his neck. “So do ya think I won’t be proud of Ororo if we get married? We haven’t really talked marriage yet, but I’m pretty proud of her now. She’s special and she means a lot to me.”
“She means a lot to me, too. She’s all I have. I want to see her happy. But I also want my grandchildren not to worry about who they are.”
“Momma, don’t count your grandchildren before they’ve hatched.” It sounded more harsh than she’d intended, but she was straining at the seams, fighting not to come unraveled. There it was: Now her mother was dropping the grandchildren card. Logan cleared his throat, and Ororo saw hurt in his eyes when she glanced over at him, cursing herself.
“So, Logan, have you had any education? You fix cars?”
“I own an auto shop, yes. I have some education,” he clarified.
“Some?”
“I dropped out of college after my father had his heart attack.” N’Dare’s face finally softened a bit. “After I’d been out for a semester or two, working in his shop, going back to school didn’t seem as important.”
“Wouldn’t you want your own children to consider an education important?”
“Sure. But my own circumstances were different. My mother had already left, because she wasn’t happy with what she and my father had together, not the way you and ‘Ro’s father were happy. They stayed together long enough for my brother and I to have a home with both of our parents under the same roof. But even when you’re grown up, and your mother takes off, claiming she was never really happy where she was, it still hurts. I had to watch my dad cope with almost dying, not only from the heart attack, but from a broken heart.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. He hadn’t even had a discussion like this with Ororo up until now, but it was hard to escape the pull of her mother’s expression, of her frustration and seeming insistence that they were making a mistake. Ororo’s hand covered his, but his frame was still taut and unyielding.
“Going back to school wasn’t as important once I spent some time out in the real world.” Logan screwed the cap back onto his beer. “That same real world that you’re afraid won’t accept a relationship like what I have with your daughter. The whole world didn’t come grinding to a stop the first day that I asked her out to lunch.” He wanted to go on, maybe even explain that if anything, time stood still for him the moment they met, but Ororo’s mother still wore a slightly mulish look. Something stubborn inside him decided he didn’t want to justify something that they shouldn’t have to explain. Ororo loves me? Yup. I love Ororo? Yup. Then we’re good. It should be that easy.
Yet in the space of a couple of family get-togethers, all of the sudden it wasn’t. What the hell?
“Logan does very well for himself, Momma.” Ororo’s voice was firm, but it felt like too little, too late. Something had just changed the workings of their relationship, and it worried her. A lot.
The rest of the evening drifted by in a blur. Logan managed to meet all of Ororo’s relatives and chat briefly about mundane enough things while Ororo helped her aunts put away the good silver and load the cloth napkins into the wash. Slowly, the house began to empty car doors could be heard slamming outside. Ororo was tired and anxious to get back on the road. First, though, she had to find Logan. She peered around the kitchen, asking Leon “Have you seen Logan?”
“Check in the den. Keisha’s kids are still up and playing, they were gonna watch a movie before they went to bed.” Ororo had wondered why it was suddenly so quiet without her nephews and nieces wreaking havoc. She craned her ears for the sound of Logan’s voice, and was grateful when she found it.
“Do the wolf noise again!” Monique squealed at him, giggling behind her hand.
“GRRRRRR!” Monique and a couple of Ororo’s nephews ran for cover behind the couch, peeking out at him with delight. Monique raised her baby doll up first to see if it was safe. Logan pretended to pounce at the doll, and she snatched it back behind the couch. Logan stepped back and chuckled at the resulting shrieks.
“Ready to pack it in?” Logan faced her and took in the weary look and limp droop of her shoulders as she hugged herself. He half-guessed that she could use a hug right about then.
“Sure. Ask your cousin if she’s ready to go.”
“Kenyatta’s staying with Aunt Ruthie tonight, so she and Leon won’t be going back with us. They can catch the Amtrak back.” He heard the note of relief and agreed that it would be better if they had some time to talk.
“I’ll get our coats.” Ororo began making her goodbyes, exchanging more hugs and kisses and agreeing not to wait so long to visit the next time. She returned to the kitchen and approached her mother while she was tucking the leftover turkey in Ziploc bags. “Momma, we’re going home now.” She dropped a perfunctory kiss onto her mother’s soft cheek, but felt the stiffness in her body before she pulled away.
“Ororo?” The sound of her name brought her to a stop just as she was halfway out of the kitchen.
“Yes, Momma?”
“Let me tell your young man goodnight.” N’Dare gathered up some of the leftover food, already packed into disposable Tupperware, and filled a shopping bag full for Ororo to take home, claiming “We’ll never eat all of this.” It felt like a way of delaying the goodbye. The wrongness of it thrummed through Ororo, wondering what it was that her mother felt she hadn’t already said, or what she should be saying herself. Her mother eventually followed her to the foyer, where Logan held her coat open for her to step into.
“Happy Thanksgiving, N’Dare. Thank you for having me to dinner.” His faint smile didn’t hide the solemn look in his eyes.
“Good night. Drive safely. Keep my baby safe.” She stood out on the front stoop in her house slippers and cardigan, hugging herself against the chill as she watched them make their way to the car. She didn’t wave.
Ororo silently berated herself getting into the car, pulling out of the cul-de-sac, and all the way onto the off-ramp. For the next forty miles she contemplated what to say. For the next hundred miles she stared at the landscape whizzing by until she grew dizzy and drowsy, until Logan’s voice disturbed her thoughts. Since her thoughts weren’t the greatest place to be at the time, she almost welcomed the save.
“The view ain’t gonna get any more interesting if ya keep staring at it. It’s dark out. You could tilt the seat back and take a snooze,” he offered.
“I’m not quite tired enough to sleep yet.”
“Okay.” He opened his CD holder and handed it to her. “Feel like listening to anything?”
“Maybe in a while.”
“It’d help me stay awake on the drive home if we could have something else besides deafening silence,” he reasoned. That caught her attention. “I’m not good at awkward silences, especially when you’re looking like someone ran over your dog.”
“Right. Sure. Awkward. Got it.” Ororo plowed her hand through her braids and kicked off her shoes, which had begun to chafe the balls of her feet. She tucked her legs up under her and faced him. “It’s not you.”
“It’s not me. What’s not me?”
“That…whole…thing at the table. My mom. What she was saying.”
“You mean the part that I’m White, the part that I’m not educated, or the part where she wants you to marry someone Black? Or the part where you omitted that little piece of information that I was White?” His voice wasn’t angry. His words flowed out calmly as he kept his eyes on the road. He was still uncomfortable and radiating frustration, and Ororo’s was pushing and clawing its way out. She wanted to touch him, but his muscles were still tightly knotted, and he flinched when she reached for him.
“It almost sounds like you and my mother are on the same page, thinking that I omitted it. Telling her that you’re White. I think I kind of made my feelings clear that it didn’t matter to me.” Ororo played with the end of one of her braids, peering at the curled tip as though it were fascinating. “Does it really bother you that I didn’t say anything about it ahead of time?”
“She seemed awfully shocked.”
“She would have grilled any man that I brought home. Education speech and all. You could have had a master’s, PhD, and a Nobel Prize, and I guarantee she still would have given you some semblance of a nobody’s-good-enough-for-my-baby speech. She’s my mother. She’d a proud, stubborn Black woman who used to teach for a living, Logan, she’s pretty used to telling people what to do, and how they should do it.”
“So is that it? Do I need a Nobel Prize?” He smiled without humor on his side of the car.
“Sure, if you wanna use it as a doorstop. Don’t get one on my account.”
“What do you want me to do on your account? It wasn’t just your mom that got the drop on us tonight and caught us napping.” His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, and Ororo felt as though they had made a mistake of not just playing a CD to fill the silence. Anything to stop the storm that was brewing…
“Were we supposed to exchange notes and bone up first before we headed out? Cram for the test?” Logan shrugged and let out an exasperated sigh.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Logan.”
“We’re in a relationship.”
“Yeah.”
“People communicate in relationships. Talk about what they expect.”
“Yeah.” Her jaw clenched and she ground her teeth against the urge to cry out “Get on with it, already!”
“What do you expect out of this? Where do you see us going with this, Ororo?”
“Logan…I guess the only way I can answer that is to say that I want there to be an “us” and not just a ‘you and me.’ When I was put on the spot like that, all of the sudden, no matter what I said was going to come out wrong.”
“Come out wrong?” His voice was still too soft. “How? Come out wrong for who?”
“My mother.” A pause. “You.” She stared at him, willing him to look at her.
“Ororo, do ya want marriage? I’m not just askin’ with me, I’m askin’ as a general question. Do ya want kids?” Then he asked the nagging question that had buzzed in the back of his skull for most of the night since he’d mentioned that his mother had left his father. “And if ya were to get married, would it be for keeps? No returns, with a fifty-plus year warranty?”
“Marriage isn’t something I take lightly. I don’t know if I said anything to give you that impression.” Another thought occurred to her. “Unless you think that by mother telling me I wasn’t trying hard enough to have what she did with my father, that I didn’t want that kind of commitment? I hope you didn’t think that.”
“I didn’t say that. I say what I think.”
“I want a happy marriage one day with someone who loves what I am.” Uppity relatives and all.
“That’s funny. I want the same thing with someone who’s proud of me and what I do. I want a relationship where I don’t feel like the woman I love is defending me from things that the other people in her life that she loves have to say about me.” Visions of his father being lifted into the ambulance, asking him to tell his brother what happened, but not to trouble his mother haunted him, making him taste metal. “I don’t want to go into this knowing there’s an ‘expiration date’ because I didn’t meet some mark or some goal for you to be happy with me.”
“Wow.” Ororo settled back into her seat and leaned her forehead against the window. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I just sat there trying to defend you, I guess. I thought I was defending us. You weren’t the only one under attack, when you think about it, Logan. I was the one she was accusing of making a mistake and of ‘giving up’ the hunt for Mr. Tall, Black, Handsome and Eligible.”
“Tall, huh?” A snort escaped him, fueling the bad mojo.
“I like ‘em short,” she snarled, “all the better when I tell a guy to kiss my ass.” Yep. Before they were just dancing close to the edge of an argument. Now they waltzed, twirled and dipped right into it, cha-cha-cha.
“From what I saw tonight, I need a degree in it to do that.”
“The fuck you do!” She was glaring at him openly now. “You don’t need a degree for anything concerning what you do with me. That’s not a condition that I ever set for what’s between us.”
“But there’re conditions.” Traffic stalled at a toll bridge as Logan dug into his pocket for change. She pondered that as they edged along in the tide of cars, wishing they were already home but unsure of what would happen next. She didn’t want to get out of that car without resolution. Peace. Some promise that something this ridiculous wasn’t going harm what they built, or end it.
Logan dropped the change into the metal net and they were waved through the gate.
“There aren’t any conditions,” she told him. Her voice sounded disembodied and sad, coming at him from the dark, partly muffled by her knuckles pressed against her mouth. “I’m the one who loves you. I’m the one you’re in this relationship with, Logan, not my mother. What I want and what she wants for me are two different things. I want you. If she loves me, and she does love me, then she can accept that.”
Logan brooded over that. Accept it. Defending him. Conditions.
Ororo.
“What happens if she doesn’t?”
“What?” Her eyes gleamed slate blue in the passing glare of another’s car’s high beams.
“What happens if she doesn’t accept it.” He had to ask, even though he didn’t want the answer. “I ain’t gonna come between you and yer family, darlin’, because that’s yer mom. Ya only get one in this lifetime.” His words sounded hypocritical and hollow to his own ears. He hadn’t spoken to his mother except for a terse confrontation when she had come back to the house to collect her clothes and drop off the housekey. He’d shied away when she tried to hug him goodbye. Her eyes were swimming with tears, but she just straightened up and climbed into Thomas’s old Cadillac and rode off without looking back.
He didn’t wish that lot on anyone. Not for ‘Ro. No regrets for the woman he loved. Even if it meant stepping aside.
“And what if we wanted to have a family?” He felt her eyes on him even as he faced the road. “What if we wanted to have some of those grandchildren that everyone was asking about? That your stepmom wants to have to round out the family, and who my momma was convinced would have the whole world against them, pointing the finger for what they are?” The memories of Logan with the Hudsons’ daughter, his niece and nephew and the children running around her momma’s den nagged at her and sent a rush of yearning through her stomach. That feeling was at war with the stress twisting her insides. “Momma did have a hard time, sometimes, when people would approach us, or just stare at us when we walked down the street. Can’t really help it when you look different like I do.”
“Those people were stupid,” he growled.
“But I looked different. Oh, well. That was that. Somewhere in her heart, she worried about me not being Black enough, not blending in, you name it. She wanted me to sing at our Black church, wear my hair like Black women do, which wasn’t a stretch, go to a Black school, and eventually marry a Black man. It was what I was supposed to do. To her, it was safe.” Ororo sniffled miserably, and Logan realized she was crying.
Damn it.
“That was her…idea…of how to fix the problem.” Her words came out in halting gasps at first, but she eventually mastered it, just letting the tears stream down her face. “I love my momma, Logan. But I won’t be her problem to fix. And right now, I don’t know how to fix this, either!” She bowed her face, cradling her forehead in her palm, and more high beams whizzed by, throwing their stark, eerie light over her hair as it fell forward and hid her from him. Her braids shook as her shoulders rose and fell.
A warm hand drifted across the seat and landed on her knee, stroking her, trying to soothe her. Logan’s jaw worked as he searched for something to say that would put things right. He was coming up empty.
“You don’t need fixing.” The frustration still hung thickly in the air, but Logan forced himself to relax and to concentrate on getting through to her before she closed him out. She didn’t fight him when he pulled her over closer and lifted the shoulder strap of her seat belt aside so she could lean against his shoulder.
…and that was how she ended up here. Alone in her room, staring at one withered pink rose.
When Ororo picked up the bag of leftover food and collected her coat from the back seat, things were still to raw and thrumming with awkwardness, and the things unsaid between them just hung in the air like a dark cloud. He didn’t follow her upstairs, and she didn’t ask him in. She just fled up the stairs, unlocked her door, and collapsed against the other side of it in a bawling heap. She missed the tight clench of his fist against the steering wheel as he sat and watched her hair wink out of the glowing streetlight when she hurried inside.
This Little Light of Mine by OriginalCeenote
…The Brightest Flower in the Garden
“This takes me back,” Kenyatta murmured, wrapping her hand lightly around Ororo’s elbow. “I’d forgotten about the hats.” Ororo nodded, her only reply a low “Mm-hmm” as she scanned the spacious annex and felt her taupe pumps sink into the thick carpeted runner in the aisle. It had been too long. Or maybe not long enough, muttered that little voice in her head. She told it to hush its mouth and sit in the corner as they made their way to where N’Dare and Ruth were seated, four rows from the front.
Naturally, just getting there was an adventure:
“Kenyatta! I’ve got a run in these, girl, let me borrow a pair of stockings!”
“We don’t wear the same size, ‘Ro, these aren’t gonna reach up those long legs of yours!”
“I don’t care. I’m not going out of this house to church with bare legs!”
“I wouldn’t, either; they’re ashy. Here, use some of my Keri and cream ‘em!” Kenyatta waved the bottle at her, muttering “Gonna go out the door with ashy legs…”
“Leave me and my ash alone,” Ororo snapped back. She smoothed on some of the thick, cool lotion and rubbed it in impatiently, waiting for it to absorb as she dug into her overnight bag for her shoes with her free hand. “Don’t you even have a pair of knee-highs, Kenya?”
“Momma might.”
“Auntie Ruth!” Ororo bellowed down the stairs, “you got any stockings?”
“I’ve got knee-highs, baby girl!”
“Can I have ‘em?”
“Gimme a sec, I’m combing out your momma’s cowlick, I’ll get ‘em for you in a minute!”
“Thanks, Auntie!” The next few minutes found Ororo patting on some concealer for the faint circles under her eyes and Kenyatta fussing at her to lend her some lipstick. Ruthie met Ororo halfway along the stairs, tossing her the nylons in a rolled-up ball.
“Here y’go, baby,” she beamed. Ororo heard her mother banging away over the last of the pots and pans as she finished putting away the clean breakfast dishes, and she hollered up to her daughter and niece amidst the clatter.
“We are NOT running late so we have to sit all the way in the back,” N’Dare warned them, just this side of coming up the stairs to drag them both down herself.
“Runnin’ on CP time,” Kenyatta clucked under her breath.
“Never fails. This family can never just get out the door. C’mon, let’s motor.”
They climbed into Kenyatta’s little Prius and turned on the heating vents. Not even a half a mile out of the cul-de-sac Ruthie carped “Turn OFF that heathen’s music, this is the Sabbath, and I wanna hear myself think!” Ororo grinned behind her hand as Kenyatta complied, shooting her cousin an evil look. Ruthie fiddled with the radio dial once Kenya popped out the Busta Rhymes disc and found herself a gospel station. Ororo heard her mother humming beside her on the opposite passenger seat, and she was fine for the moment without saying much.
Ororo had a lot of time alone with her thoughts for the past couple of weeks, and her thoughts weren’t good company. No messages showed up on her answering machine, but there were a couple of hang-ups with hollow sounding dial tones left on tape that made her stomach lurch. Her hopes were having their last gasp. She missed him. She was a wreck without him, and it didn’t make a damned lick of sense why she couldn’t retrace her steps and just talk to the man. The weekend after Thanksgiving had been fuzzy and surreal. Her feet didn’t feel like they were really walking her where she wanted to go, sounds echoed in her ears like she was in a tunnel, and the world felt like it was just whizzing by without so much as a by your leave. Kenyatta asked her why she and Logan didn’t stick around the extra day to make it a four-day weekend, and her response had been mumbling and noncommittal.
Ororo skipped calling her mother for their usual end of the week chat and kicked herself for her cowardice, but she was still fuming inside. You only have one mother, he said. The same thought mindlessly drummed through her being during the day as she clicked and typed away at work: She and I are all we have left on this earth; I’m her only baby girl. Attempts to call Logan were equally discouraged, and she would pick up her mobile only to pause, stare at it and drop it back into her purse. If only she could come up with the right thing to say…
Her mother’s phone call out of the blue made her hand lean on the keys while she was composing a project report, and an ugly row of z’s stuttered across the column as her mother’s voice announced who it was.
“Momma?” She stifled a curse as she hit “undo” and collapsed the window. She doodled in the margin of her desk blotter as she asked “What’s up? This is a surprise, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
“Your Aunt Ruthie’s just coming out of the beauty shop right now, Monica redid her finger waves today. Looks pretty sharp. Figured I’d talk to you while I was waiting for our lunch date. We’re headed to Chili’s in a minute.” Ororo could hear the rumble of people in the street and passing cars in the background static of her mother’s mobile connection, but she caught her sigh anyway. “I’d like it if you could come down next weekend to go with me to church.”
“I was planning on coming down for Christmas Eve, like I always do,” Ororo explained, furrowing her brow as she scribbled little question marks. “Do you need anything? Are the gutters clogged up again that fast?” She felt a funny little chill run down her arms at the thought of the last time that she went to church and had to endure the liturgist’s son up in her grill, just because she was still unmarried and her mother had pushed her to just “talk to him, what could it hurt?” She nearly died from boredom…nice enough, sure, but no.
“I’d just like to spend some time with my daughter. And it’s been a while since you visited the Lord’s house. Christmas, Easter, and the occasional wedding or baptism won’t make good excuses when you’re standing in line at the pearly gates.” Ororo sighed, and her mother pulled the guilt card. “It would do your lonely old mother’s heart good to have her lovely daughter beside her so everyone remembers that I have one.” Her tone was cajoling, but Ororo still felt a funny little tug. Her mouth tried to say “no” a couple of times, but she bit her lip against it and steeled herself, chucking her pen back into the cup.
“Does Ruthie want me to bring Kenyatta?” Did bears poop in the woods?
Ororo could hear her aunt’s voice hollering in the background, “Bring that sassy little somebody down here for church, baby girl, she ain’t been to Sunday services for way too long, she’s just as bad as you! Tell her to pack something decent, I have to see these people every Sunday!”
“There you go. Bring your cousin,” her mother deadpanned, and Ororo could hear the smirk creep into her voice. She cracked up.
“I’ll drag her into the car by the scruff of the neck.” If I’ve gotta go, she’s gotta go.
So here she was. Her aunt and mother walked arm in arm to the front steps while she and Kenyatta parked the car and hunted in her glove box for a pack of Tic Tac mints. A strong breeze lifted her hair and made it whip out like a satiny banner. She knew she’d look like a wild woman by the time she reached the chapel, but she didn’t care. Memories of her hair being snatched back and ruthlessly parted down the center, in ponytails with hair bobbles so tight that her eyes looked like a guppy’s haunted her, as well as her mother’s constant fussing at her to sit still, to smooth her dress and straighten her white stockings so the knees didn’t sag. N’Dare’s eyes would follow Ororo everywhere, always searching for any little flaw that would draw more attention to her daughter than she already received. She hovered over her protectively once the children’s story was over, practically hiding her in her skirts, it seemed, on the way back to Sunday school. Some memories still stung, even after they had time to heal.
The opening strains of the organ snapped her back to the present day, and the chapel began to fill as people shook hands and seated themselves in the pews. Ororo declined the usher’s offer of the pen for the guest book, kicking herself for not coming more frequently if they thought she was just a visitor. The sights and sounds brought with them a longing for something elusive that she felt like she’d lost. In an attempt to outdo one another, almost every woman over the age of twenty wore their brightest Sunday hats, ostentatious in the sheer variety of colors and decoration. Netted veils, ribbon-bound hatbands and silk flowers framed faced that smiled with recognition and made moues of pity over sad news as everyone got caught up, and to Ororo felt like she was standing in the center of an elaborate garden. Each flower opened its petals, fighting to be the brightest one in the yard.
Altar Call:
N’Dare felt soft and solid as Ororo edged in closer to make more room on the pew, and her powdery cologne tickled her nose. Ororo leafed through the program and used a visitor information card as a bookmark to save her place in the hymnal for the first congregational prayers.
“Sister Bessie asked me if you were interested in a solo for the Christmas Eve services,” N’Dare prodded, selecting a worn leather bible and laying it in her lap.
“Oh. Oh, Momma, I just don’t know.” Ororo smoothed her skirt as the organist played the thunderous prelude. “It’s just been so long. I don’t know.”
“Sure have missed seeing you up there, baby,” Ruthie sighed, reaching over N’Dare to par her niece’s hand. “I remember listening to you sing your heart out up there and watching everyone in the front row just fall out!” She leaned back in her seat and opened her program. “Think about it, sweetie,” she urged. A gusty sigh escaped Ororo’s lips before the assembly stood to greet the minister as he swept down the aisle. The hem of his dark blue robes fluttered in his wake, and Ororo was on edge, feeling unsettled. Incomplete. The air was charged and tingling with something that felt like unfinished business.
“May the Lord be with you!” bellowed the reverend, raising his arms in broad greeting.
“And also with you!” The response was automatic, and the chorus of voices was strong; the church was packed to the rafters. Next came the request for visitors to step forward and announce themselves and N’Dare hissed at Ororo and Kenyatta both.
“Go! Stand up! Let them see you’ve come back for a change!” Ororo wanted to point out that she live in another state, but she sensed a future lecture on her less than remarkable attendance at her local parish from her mother, whose weekend calls to Ororo on Sunday mornings often still found her tangled in the sheets.
“Mommaaaaaa…”
“Auntieeeee…” Kenyatta chimed in, stifling a pout.
N’Dare took things into her own hands and rose from her seat.
“Yes, Sister N’Dare?”
“Good morning, Reverend,” she greeted him, smiling brightly at hum as she reached for Ororo’s hand and hauled her up to stand beside her. “My daughter Ororo’s come to visit me this weekend and worship with us this morning!” N’Dare’s grip on Ororo was snug as if to brook no protest. Ororo beamed politely and waved at the congregation.
“Praise Jesus! Bless you, Sister!” This was met with a murmur of amens as he added “Welcome back.” Ororo sat down in relief as Ruth subjected Kenyatta to similar treatment before the remaining greetings were made. The chapel was heated to a moderate temperature, but the sense of having been put on the spot lingered, sending a flush over her cheeks. Out of old habit, she closed her program and used it to fan air on her face. The service progressed with intermittent declarations ringing out from the pews, “Praise God!”
“Thank you, Jesus! Bless you, Lord!”
“Yes, Jesus!” A familiar stirring resonated in Ororo as the blessings continued. N’Dare’s fingertips led her eyes over the faded ink of the bible she shared between them as they followed the scriptures.
“Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord,” the liturgist intoned from the pulpit. Mutely heads nodded as the remaining verses were read, but that line struck a chord. I’ve done my best in that regard. Ororo took stock during those moments as her reverend took up his place at the podium and explained the meaning of the Word using examples from his own life to drive home the message. Ororo chuckled over his anecdote and the smile that he aimed at his own grown daughter sitting in the front pew, and the billowing sleeves of his dark blue robe fanned out like wings as he beckoned for the congregation to stand again and pray.
Strains of the doxology swept through the chapel, and Ororo’s lips moved of their own accord, her voice blending and rising with those gathered: Praise God from whom all blessings flow, Praise him all creatures here below… Her voice ebbed and trailed off on the “Amen” as her thoughts drifted back to Logan. He’d been so hurt, and so confused. The look of pain in his eyes followed her all the way back into her apartment that night, and the worst of it was, he hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d come at her request to meet her family and she hadn’t stepped up to the plate when they brought the drama and awkward questions. He just sat there, holding her hand while they raked him over the coals. It gnawed and chafed at her that her mother didn’t seem to realize that the old rules and assumptions just didn’t hold water anymore. Maybe they never did in the first place.
Ororo’s favorite part of the morning service arrived with a rush of skipping feet as the reverend called the children to the carpeted altar steps for their lesson. “All right, raise your hand if you did what I asked last week and talked to someone about Jesus!” A flurry of hands was accompanied by “ME! ME! I did! I did!” A handful of children let their eyes wander around the congregation to peek at the adults watching them before hesitantly raising their hands, and Ororo chuckled at the sight. They were darned cute in their Sunday best and shiny patent leather shoes. Sitting slightly behind the flock of children, Ororo spied her niece, Monique, with her dollie Felicia tucked securely against her chest and waved. She shyly waved back, flashing Ororo a grin that warmed her to her toes.
“Who here knows the story about one of God’s followers named Daniel?” The children were rapt, some giggling, as the minister related the story of Daniel walking into the lion’s den and of the angels shutting the lions’ mouths as God’s way of showing his love. Ororo, Kenyatta and their mothers snickered helplessly when Monique raised her hand and asked “Didn’t the lions wanna gobble Daniel up for dinner?” Ororo missed seeing her father’s dark eyes shining at her from the pews as she sat on the steps in her Sunday best and snug pigtails, once upon a time.
The children were excused for their Sunday school classes, and Ororo noticed Monique grasping the hand of an adorable little girl with butterscotch-fair skin and wiry, sandy brown hair pulled up into little “pom-poms” and carrying a pink plastic purse with a Strawberry Shortcake appliqué on the front. They linked arms and strode out with the tide of pattering feet, and Ororo leaned over to N’Dare.
“Momma, who’s little girl was that with Monique?”
“That’s little Jasmine,” she offered, and then nodded to a couple across the aisle, two seats down. “That’s Luke and Jessica’s little girl.” Ororo was surprised when she saw a tall, broad-shouldered man with his arm wrapped around a petite White woman with sable brown hair. “They just started coming here,” N’Dare qualified when Ororo looked at her questioningly.
“Ain’t she cute?” Ruthie gushed. “She told me about Ruth gleaning the corn when her parents introduced me to her the first time.” Ruthie fanned herself and smiled. “How could you not love that precious little child?”
How, indeed…
The minister resumed his place in the pulpit and reminded them, “In times like these, one of the biggest mistakes that we, the children of God continue to make, is that we disobey God when he asks us to love our enemies. ‘Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in Heaven.’ I can look any of you here in the eye right now and see what’s going through your heads. ‘Love my enemies?’ Does that include that paperboy who keeps leaving my New York Times outside the door when it rains? Do I have to love my brother-in-law when he doesn’t bring back my miter saw and tells me my kids aren’t as smart as his because he has an honor roll sticker on the bumper of his car? You can take the easy road and talk about what makes your enemy so easy for you to hate, or you can love them, pray for them, and ask that they God lift them up and follow his will.” More “Mm-hmms” and “Yes, Lord, hallelujahs” swept through the congregation, and Ororo’s memories were taken back to all the times that Emma showed up in her office unannounced with more constructive criticism to needle her with when her day planner was so full it could spill.
Emma had made designs on Logan, and Ororo wanted to slap herself for wanting Logan so much, and then not fighting harder to not let their differences be an obstacle. Emma and Logan didn’t have a situation like theirs where their color would separate them, but the mere thought of Emma draping herself over him made her stomach churn with knots. Yes, she thought, loving Emma and praying for her soul could prove to be a bit of a challenge. Okay, a hefty challenge. Okay, perhaps a lifelong struggle…oh, heck.
Programs fanned the air as people squirmed in their seats, letting the day’s message wash over them and evoke responses that varied from more nodding to the occasional keening cry. They’d hit that point in the morning the Ororo and Kenyatta fondly referred to as “everyone getting good and worked up.”
“Don’t just say ‘I hate the IRS, they raised my taxes, PRAY FOR THEM! Don’t gossip about someone who cut in line in front of you at the grocery store, PRAY FOR ‘EM!” His fist banged against the wooden podium as the beginnings of sweat gleamed on his forehead. “First and foremost, when you pray for their souls, PRAY FOR YOUR OWN!”
“AMEN!”
“PRAISE JESUS!”
“It doesn’t just have to be someone who you call your enemy,” he intoned, taking it down a notch and spreading his hands in entreaty. “Persecution, trials that you need the Lord to help you deal with from day to day can come from anywhere. Your work, your home, your spouse, your parents. Don’t just ask God to relieve you of the burdens; ask him for the strength to forgive those who impose those trials and burdens on you! Don’t give in to hate! Love them the way the Lord loves you!”
“UH-HUH! PRAISE JESUS!”
The rest of the sermon became a blur. Ororo clutched the hymnal in her lap until her palms became damp, and she inhaled and exhaled through her nose in sweeping breaths, overwhelmed by emotion. Beside her, she felt waves of agitation within her mother, too, blending with hers, and N’Dare made a small, almost tortured sound in her throat. Minutes ticked by, the minister plowed ahead, reminding his flock that none of them were free from judgment, yet none of them were unworthy of love from their Creator. The clamor of the chapel rose with humming and crying and stamping of feet on the wooden floorboards.
Ororo’s mind drifted back to dinner at Logan’s father’s house. Back to his stepmother’s warm greetings and the way he ever so slightly pulled away. Lingering over the look he exchanged with his older brother when he mentioned their absent mother, and the frustration in the set of his shoulders, telling her the sting still hurt. All the answers she wished she’d given her mother at Thanksgiving dinner tumbled through her thoughts like so much litter:
“Did they give you the runaround? How did they treat you when you walked into their home?” Like the daughter they never had from the moment I walked through the door. Scratch that; from the moment that his stepmother figured out how to pronounce my name, as though she gave a damn.
“Now when were you going to tell me he wasn’t Black?”I should have from the jump if I’d known you would give him the third degree after he drove several hours to bring me there. I thought it meant something when I told you how much he cares about me, doesn’t change the TV from my favorite shows if I’m already watching them and rubs my feet just like Daddy used to with yours. But if he’d been Black, you would have fawned over him? Rolled out the red carpet? How is that fair?
“Why couldn’t you have brought home someone like your father? He treated me like a queen from the jump. You grew up with an excellent example of how a Black man treats his wife and daughter, Ororo, so I guess I’m confused as to why a White man’s sitting in my kitchen, with you out here calling him your boyfriend.” Daddy was one of a kind. That’s like telling me to find another four-leaf clover, Momma. But if you want me to bring home a man who treats me like a queen, look no further than Logan. If he had done any less, he never would have set foot on your doorstep. I’m calling him my man, Momma. I love him so much!
“There’s still a few of us good ones left, too, baby girl.” Okay, that had been her uncle Marty who gave his two cents that time, which still wasn’t worth a plugged nickel. What was she supposed to say, “Somebody rally the hunting dogs, we’re going on a manhunt, just gotta keep on looking!” No, no, and no.
“Why make things harder on yourself and any children you might have in the future? Do you see how much attention women with mixed children get when they walk down the street?” This time, her first answer felt like the right one, even though spitting those words out so indignantly, even though she felt entitled to her reaction, seemed like a slap: “It probably wouldn’t have been any more attention than people gave you when you walked me down the street, or when Daddy did. But he always seemed proud of me, anyway.”
“What does he think of you? Your color? Your history? How do people react to you two being together when you go out?” Simple: When I’m with him, everything, everyone else just falls away. Women occasionally glanced at them when they walked by, hand in hand, but as near as Ororo could tell, it was done with envy on account of the handsome man by her side, carrying her bags and holding her doors.
“I think you’ve stopped trying to find a Black man to share your future with.” No. I’ve stopped looking for ANY other man to share my future with.
…at least, she thought she had.
The choir rising from their seats and the responses from the assembly dwindled to a dull roar, and the organist began to play again, the chords of a song that used to make Ororo sway in her seat enveloping her. The notes were tentative and pleading as the ushers moved up the aisle for the collection of the tithes. The women dug deep into their purses for stray bills, and Ororo clutched a Kleenex that she discovered tightly in her fist before the plates came their way, realizing that she might need it shortly. She was strung too tightly right now.
She caught a glimpse of her watery eyes in the gleaming brass collection plate’s rim as she dropped the offering into it and handed it over to her mother. She began faintly humming the melody of the hymn, her voice low and throaty, and to her surprise, her aunt and mother joined in. Kenyatta checked her calls on the tiny screen of her mobile. The ushers stepped, passed and paused at the ends of each pew before they strode back to the front of the chapel for the blessing. The reverend patted his forehead once more before resuming his place at the pulpit, beckoning everyone “Those of you who would like to approach the altar for some personal time with the Lord may do so now, and feel free to take your time. Reach out to the Lord with your troubles, let him carry your pain. I can sense some of you are shouldering burdens…harboring sorrows…suffering from regrets. Come. Come share it with God. Lift up his name,” he offered again.
Slowly people began hesitant strolls up the aisle and the outer walkways between the pews and the windows, holding hands with loved ones or escorting those who couldn’t walk themselves. The sight pulled at Ororo, and the choir hummed the lyrics at a low, chanting volume, calling out to her. Her limbs moved without any direction from her; the hymnal was tucked neatly back into the rack, and she set down her purse on the bench, leaving behind the faint warmth of her mother’s sleeve against her arm. Her feet glided up to the altar, taking the steps without stumbling. Mutely she nodded to the minister who stared back at her with kind and inquiring dark eyes.
If she wanted to talk things over with Logan, there was somebody else she had to talk to first.
“Forgive me, Lord. Bless you, Father.” She folded her hands, lacing her fingers together around the crumpled Kleenex tucked in her palm, and let the tears roll down her face as she poured out her sorrows over the past few weeks in a fervent prayer.
Help me make him understand. Anoint my words, Lord. Speak through me. Help me to let go of this pain. Help me to let go of his anger. Carry me through this sorrow, Lord. Help me make my mother understand that I love her, even though she can’t see my reasons for loving someone she wouldn’t have chosen for me. Help her to understand why I chose him, Lord, help her to see! Behind her members of the congregation sought prayer requests from the minister, and she gradually felt the faint swish of his robe brushing her ankle as he approached, laying a hand on her shoulder, offering comfort. She answered yes when he asked if she was suffering from a burden. She didn’t argue when he stepped down to ask her mother to join her. N’Dare knelt by her daughter’s side and tugged Ororo’s hands apart, taking one and grasping it firmly in hers. She stared into her daughter’s face, where her anguish was plain, before she whispered that she, too, was sorry. N’Dare’s murmured comforts mingled with Ororo’s sobs as she released it all, their minister looking on and uttering a blessing over them both. N’Dare rocked Ororo as she hadn’t since her husband passed away, and reassured her as she hadn’t since she was a young child that she loved her. Minutes passed as they absorbed the tingle of the spirit moving through the room, anointing them, taking away the pain, carrying them through their troubles. When Ororo made her way back to her seat, she and her mother supported each other, arm in arm. She wasn’t surprised when Kenyatta and Ruthie’s eyes were also damp.
The organ soared again as people took their seats, and the choir director lifted her hands to launch them into the joyous chorus of words that made the congregation practically dance in the aisles:
“This little light of mine,
I’m gonna let it shine,
This little light of mine,
I’m gonna let it shine,
This little light of mine,
I’m gonna let it shine,
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!
Everywhere I go,
I’m gonna let it shine…
Ask, Seek, Knock…
Logan parked his car across the street from a small but well landscaped house and stepped outside, feeling like he was trespassing, even though he was invited here. The phone call from a week ago echoed in his ears as he made his way up the front walk:
“Hello, this is Elizabeth, who’s speaking?”
“Mom?”
“…oh, my God, Jamie?” (pause) “Hello.’
“Hi.” Logan’s fingers itched to dig into his coverall pockets for a cigar, but he settled for twisting the telephone cord into a wiry knot. “John…I saw John at Dad’s for Thanksgiving dinner last week. He was doing well. Kids are getting big,” he offered, searching for anything to say that would fill the awkward silence. His mother clucked something like agreement into the receiver, and Logan could picture her fidgeting as she spoke, with that funny little divot that she got between her eyebrows when she was upset or just baffled by something.
“Did your brother mention if he ever got that box that I sent for Thomas and Eliza?”
“Nope. Not really.” Then, “I didn’t really ask. We didn’t talk long.” He’d been in a hasty rush to get out as soon as John had mentioned their mother’s wish to contact him. Elizabeth seemed to be processing that information as Logan peered into the dregs in his coffee cup, knowing he didn’t need a refill, as keyed up as he already was.
“How’s your father? What’s he up to?”
“Mom…do ya really wanna know?” His tone was incredulous, and a flush of chilly tingles swept over his scalp. Frustration, remembered rage, regret…sorrow…he was running the full gamut in this one call.
“Yes. I do, Jamie.” Logan heard her clearing her throat. “Is he well?” Once again, Logan could almost “hear” her physical gestures, this time visualizing her tugging that loose tendril of hair that always worked its way free of her braid.
“Yeah. He’s alive and well. Still trying to beat his own golf game. I know ya don’t wanna hear about it.”
“You only think you know. I wanted your father to be happy, Jamie, that didn’t change just because I left.”
“Didn’t it? Ya wanted yourself to be happy, while ya were at it!”
“Fine. That’s fine. I did. It’s true. I wasn’t happy.” Logan shut his eyes against the truth and raked his fingers through his hair, making it more disheveled than usual. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“No. Shit, no. I really wanna hear my mom telling me she wasn’t happy in our home for who knows how long!” Logan’s voice was low but gruff. “Thirty-five friggin’ years, Ma. I mean…were me, Johnny and Pop keeping you from anything? From EVERYTHING?” Bile rose in his throat. “Were we just some friggin’ obstacle?”
“Don’t ever think that.” The injunction was a harsh whisper that chastened him, warning him that he had overstepped himself. “Don’t think that for a moment, Jamie. I loved your father a long time…”
“He said you didn’t want any part of him anymore,” Logan informed her. “Sounds like you stopped loving him at some point.”
“Sometimes you can love someone and never really know them, sweetie.”
“Don’t give me that crap!”
“You called me. You wanted to talk. I’m sorry if you don’t want to hear what I have to say…I think I’m hanging up now, Jamie ““
“Wait!” His fingers were clenched against his forehead, knuckling their way into his hair and pulling on it as he stared down at his desk. “Ma…don’t. Don’t hang up.”
“Can you hear me out?” Logan could hear her fear, as though she were afraid that he was about to scold her like an errant child.
“Yeah.” He reached for a tin of Altoids in his desk drawer, a habit Ororo had started him on, and popped one into his mouth, letting the stinging bite of spearmint tickle his palate.
“Leaving your father wasn’t a decision I arrived at easily, and I don’t want you to think that it was. There were just too many ways that we didn’t connect anymore, Jamie. Your father was so absorbed in his business, and he and I never really saw each other anymore. Even when he took time off, we spent time together, but never really ‘together.’ He’d be out in the garage with his tools, I’d be inside with my quilting and tole painting, and we’d hardly ever talk. We ran out of things to say. Our children were grown and gone, and being a homemaker for so long left me with a resume that didn’t impress anyone!” She laughed helplessly, and Logan swam in guilt, wondering how much of her life she really put aside to stay home to raise him and his brother.
“That sucks,” he sympathized. She heard the tinge of hurt in his voice.
“No. I would have done that part all over again, being there for you. What was really tragic was that your father and I never really worked as hard at being man and wife as we did at just being “Mom and Pop” or even just “Jonathan and Elizabeth.” He was who he was, I was who I was, and we slept in separate rooms, and lived under the same roof. We just didn’t ‘live together’ anymore.”
“You were never really into his cars, not the way he was.”
“No one was ever really into his cars the way your father was, except you!” Logan’s harsh bark of laughter rattled out of his chest. She had him there. Her next words changed the expectations that he had for their call when he first dialed and shook him deeply.
“Jamie? Just because my love for your father changed, that doesn’t change the way I love you. You’re so much like him, Jamie, but everything I ever loved about him is plain as day when I look at you. Every good quality he ever had went into you, and you’re greater than the sum of your parts! Might not be saying much, considering who your parents are!” His eyes stung as he laughed again, this time with more feeling.
“Mo-ommmmmm!” he groaned.
“It’s true,” she declared. “Johnny’s always kind of taken after me, just kind of does his own thing without so much as a by your leave.” She stirred her coffee thoughtfully. “Next time, though, maybe I’ll do a better job of explaining myself before I run out the door.”
“It was hard. It was hard, Ma. Finding him like that, without you around, scared the crap out of me.” His voice was soft and trembling. “I didn’t have a clue of what to do.”
“And you shouldn’t have had to find out like that,” she agreed. “Sometimes it haunts me at night, baby boy. I ask myself that. I don’t like asking myself that…”
“Ma, don’t.”
“…would things have been any different if I had stayed? Was our argument that last thing on his mind before he fell and started having chest pain? Was he still angry with me for not being there? Was he scared?” Her own voice was shaking, and Logan wished he could reach across the line and embrace her, and tell her that he was trying to hard to just let it go. He didn’t want to be angry anymore. “Were you scared, Jamie?”
He missed her. He wanted his mother back.
“Yeah, I was scared. I was, I won’t lie. But ya know, Ma, it could’ve been different.” He swallowed thickly before adding “It could’ve been you lying there.” One day, it could, indeed, something he didn’t want to linger on, since a cold sweaty flush washed over his skin and his heart started thudding in panic. Life, he acknowledged, was short. So he took a different tack.
“Pop…he’s really happy. Amelia’s good to him. She keeps the house up nice. Makes a decent pot roast.” Somehow, he needed to find the right thing to say. The words were clinging to the tip of his tongue, and he couldn’t spit them out. So he pulled random consolations and good news that he felt would relieve her out of thin air instead.
“Ahhh. Yes. Your father and his beef. Make sure to check the car for pouches of that horrible beef jerky, he still liked to sneak some every now and again, last I looked.”
“Still does. Amelia chases after him and nags him to take his aspirin and fiber supplements every day, so it’s all good. She knows prying the jerky bag out of his hand is a losing battle.” This time their laughter was shared and comforting. Logan exhaled a pent-up breath and wiped his damp eyes.
“Well, Jamie, it’s been a long time. Your father’s hogged you to himself long enough. It’s my turn to see you.”
“I still don’t have any grandkids to bring home for ya ta play with,” he pointed out.
“Bring me home a daughter-in-law first,” she advised bossily. That halted him in his tracks.
“Yeah. Sure, Ma.” He rubbed his hand over his face, and Elizabeth heard what he wasn’t saying.
“Are you having some trouble, Jamie?”
“Uh-uh.” He batted the possible replies back and forth in his head and weighed them for plausibility:
a) “I might have to get back to you on that. The woman I love just walked out of my life in a huff, her mother couldn’t stand me on sight, and I don’t have a freakin’ clue of what to do about it.”
b) “Nope, still single.”
c) “Actually, I was just thinking about getting a nice golden retriever and naming her Daisy.”
He decided on option D.
“I’ve been seeing someone. Well, I was seeing someone.”
“Was, huh? What’s this past tense stuff? What happened?”
“It’s hard to explain.” Logan felt like a powder keg waiting for a spark, and his mother sensed that.
“Get your behind to my house this weekend, then. You haven’t seen the house yet, and I’ll bake an apple crisp.” Her injunction was stern and determined, reminding him of when he was a teenager and she would nag him to buckle down and study. She gentled it with “I really can’t wait to see you, Jamie boy.”
“Me too, Ma.” He sighed as he hung up the phone and settled back in his office chair, letting it swing from side to side.
So that left him here, waiting outside his mom’s front door, wondering whether to knock. His fist hung in the air a moment before he decided “what the hell” and rapped on it sharply, leaning inside the screen door and shrugging more deeply into his jacket.
The door flew open, and his mother rushed forward. “JAMIE!” Forget about awkward greetings. She practically bowled him over as she wrapped her arms around his waist, and the air in his lungs shussed out in an “OOOMPH!” His arms crept up of their own will in a tentative embrace, and his earlier urge for a cigar disappeared. The reality of his mother’s warm bulk wrapped around him, welcoming him home was dizzying and overwhelming, and his grip slowly tightened on her.
“Ma,” he whispered. “Ma…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just-“
“Hush, Jamie. Oh, just shut up and hug me! I love you!” Her voice was muffled in his jacket as she clung to him, and he could hear the tears in her voice.
“Love you too. So sorry.” He was sniffling too, but he didn’t give a damn. A guy could hug his mother hello, goddamn it. She smelled like baking and shampoo, just like she had when he was a kid, that same old sweet “mom” smell that he’d missed for so long.
“Come on in, before you let out the heat! Hang up your coat, let’s have some of that apple crisp I promised!” She kept a tight grip on them and pulled him inside.
Minutes later he was leaning his elbows on his mother’s kitchen counter, straddling a stool as he tucked into a generous bowl of apple crisp topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and a dollop of Cool Whip. “Man, I’ve missed this.”
“Should’ve called me sooner,” she chided him, “but I know why you didn’t.”
“We don’t have to talk about that.”
“But we can. Don’t feel like you can’t tell me how you’re feeling, Jamie. That whole thing with your father and I splitting up aside, I’m still your mother. Now,” she said, getting to the business at hand, “what’s my strapping, hardworking son still doing single?”
“I was seeing someone. She was nice. She IS nice. But the holiday didn’t really go the way we thought it would.”
“Why?”
“We visited her family fer dinner. From the way they reacted when I walked in through the door, I wasn’t what they were expecting.”
“What were they expecting?”
“You know that scene in Blazing Saddles when the townspeople meet the sheriff for the first time, and they can’t hear what the mayor’s yelling over the bell before they see that he’s Black?” She stifled a chuckle; she loved that movie, too.
“Sure, sure. That’s a great moment.”
“Not when it happens in real life.” He fortified himself with another bite of dessert before continuing. “She never got around to telling her mother that I was White before we actually met. Turned out that was important information that she left out.”
“So she’s not White?”
“Nope. Her mom’s from Kenya, and her father was Black. Worked as a photojournalist. Both of her parents had a few degrees behind their names.”
“You almost had one, too. You could have finished it, if you wanted to,” she reminded him, but her manner wasn’t one of nagging. She filled his coffee cup to the brim and ladled a heaping dose of sugar into her own cup before pouring in enough creamer to change it to a medium beige. Mom never liked the hard stuff, he grinned to himself.
“I don’t regret not going back, though.”
“Didn’t figure you would, either. Your father was thrilled when you first came to work for him, too.”
“He talked to you?”
“He told Johnny, who mentioned it to me once when he visited with he, after I moved my things out of the house.” She sipped her drink and cradled her jaw against her palm, gazing at her youngest with warm eyes. “Johnny was frustrated with me for leaving at first, too, back when your father had his spell, but he was older back when your father and I began to not get along anymore. He remembers a little more, Jamie.” More than anything, Logan remembered little things, like his mother never wanting to go with them to car shows on the weekends, claiming she didn’t want to stand outside in the hot sun all day. That and the funny look she always gave his father when he could cavalierly tell her “Do what you want, the house is your domain, Elizabeth, I’ll leave it up to you.” It only now struck him that maybe she wanted something more.
“Ma…did ya ever think about working with dad in the shop? Ya know, bookkeeping, handling the register, anything like that?”
“I asked him once. I never asked him again after he laughed it off. I joined my bridge club and never looked back.” Logan’s shoulders shook as he chuckled at her wry look. She saluted him with her coffee mug, cocking an eyebrow, which only made him laugh harder. He’d gotten that expression from her, he decided. There was no denying it.
“So…what is it you like about this girl of yours?”
“Everything. There’s no one like her.”
“What did she say about her mother’s reaction to you, Jamie?”
“It was a mess.” He let his spoon clatter into his empty bowl. “We had a doozy of a fight, calling ourselves talkin’ on the ride home, and it just got out of hand.”
“Oops. Doesn’t sound good, Jamie.”
“No shit…”
“Language, Jamie!”
“Sorry,” he muttered. “My bad. Still…it’s a mess. I told her that if our relationship was going to create problems between her and her family, that maybe we shouldn’t continue it. I don’t wanna stir the pot and make trouble. That’s her family.”
“Did she fight for you?”
“Eh?”
“Did she speak up for you? Did her mother say anything to actually say she didn’t want you in the family if the two of you decided to take that next step?”
“Mostly she just said that she’d prefer it if ‘Ro married someone Black, and some other nonsense about ‘not making it harder on ourselves.’ Ororo told me later that I could have a Nobel prize on the shelf with my name on it, and her mother still would have grilled me, but still…this is about me not being Black, not having an education, and not meeting her expectations, whatever those are.”
“Making it harder on yourselves…good Lord. Being two different colors is the least of your problems in a marriage! Did I ever mention that your father’s mother couldn’t stand me when we first met?” He looked incredulous, brows drawn together. He couldn’t imagine anyone not liking his mother. She had been on the PTA and made cupcakes for every bake sale, damn it, how could you not like her?
“I was a girl with a drinking father from the wrong side of the tracks, and my mother bought our groceries with food stamps. I had an education, for all the good it did me, but she knew what kind of family I came from, and she didn’t want her grandchildren raised by a trashy girl who had to walk her dad home from the pub. Your Grandma Claire was never the easiest person to please when we first married.”
“She never was when she came here, either. She liked Johnny best; all she ever did with me was tell me to quit slouching and fix my shirt.” She smelled like peppermint candies and perming solution, too. His mother always looked unhappy when Grandma Claire came to visit. It was nice to finally understand why.
“That’s okay, Jamie. Your grandmother pretty much snatched Johnny out of my arms the first day after we brought him home from the hospital and spent every waking second telling me what I was doing wrong with my baby. At least when you were born, I got to hog you all up for myself,” she declared with a huff, and Logan grinned. It was good to be home.
“Anyway,” she said, pulling him back to his own grievances, “if you’re lady friend is smart, and if she loves you at all, she won’t let her family or her mother or anyone else stand in the way. She’d be crazy not to snap up a little sweet patootie like you.” She reached for the glass carafe and topped off his coffee. “As long as she’s not the one complaining about your color and education, then it’s no skin off your nose. I might not seem like the one to tell you how to handle your relationship, but I can definitely tell you a few things to avoid. Letting her mom run your ranch and make you feel badly about what you have together is one of ‘em.”
“We haven’t spoken since that night, after we fought,” he sighed.
“What’s stopping you? Do you love her?”
“God, yes.”
“Call her. If she doesn’t pick up, then leave her a message. There’s nothing wrong with that, Jamie. But don’t overdo it and leave too many, or she’ll call the cops and charge you with stalking.” Logan nearly choked on his coffee. Yup, he’d missed his mom.
“Gotta bail. Thanks, Ma.” He considered something. “Where’s Jack?”
“Working. He had to drop off a shipment of sod. I scheduled him some appointments with a few families that live in that brand new subdivision. These days, everyone’s on that new weird contract when they buy a new house, where they have to landscape the back yard and install sprinklers within six months of moving in to ensure the resale value. Business is good,” she boasted, helping him into his jacket and shoving his hands aside when he tried to zip it himself. He shook his head at the old habit and sighed when he noticed that her black hair was a little more salt and pepper than he remembered, the creases beneath her eyes a little deeper. But the same warmth and affection shone in her dark blue eyes, which twinkled at him as she hugged him goodbye.
“I almost forgot, here.” He reached into his deep pocket and pulled out a small, dark green box with the Boyds stamp on the bottom. “Amelia helped to pick this out. She still loves all those figurines ya left behind and takes care of them like they were solid gold.”
“They might as well be, they’re worth mint now! I’m glad she appreciates them, though,” she recovered, and lifted the flap on the box. “Oh, she’s good, how could she know I’d love this?” she exclaimed, pulling out the little resin figuring of an intricately engraved teddy bear with angel wings and a halo. She hugged him snugly with her free arm and kissed his cheek loudly, with a big smack. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t.” With another thought, he added “I’ll call ya later ta let ya know what I’m doin’ fer Christmas, once I figure it out.”
May She Who Gave You Birth, Rejoice
“Your father was good at taking the pictures, but there were always so many funny things that the two of you would do that I had to snap a picture,” N’Dare murmured as she pointed to a black and white photo of Ororo sitting atop a pony at a birthday party, with her father holding the animal’s reins. “You were just a little thing, then. You’d already lost your two front teeth.” The album warmed Ororo’s lap as they flipped through it together on her mother’s couch while Ruthie and Kenyatta fussed in the kitchen about what to have for dinner.
“I always wondered why we didn’t have more pictures of you,” Ororo mused.
“Camera shy. Your father liked to try to catch me before my hair was combed,” N’Dare explained. “He was incorrigible.” Then she removed one of Ororo’s school photos from the sleeve, examining it. “You were always the tallest girl in your class.”
“Don’t think they didn’t let me know it,” she grumbled. “From first grade through ninth, I was ‘Sasquatch.’ It was awful.”
“What did they know?” N’Dare grumbled back. “If you go back to your high school reunion, who do you think they’ll remember the most? Probably that ‘tall girl Ororo with the pretty blue eyes’ that towered over everyone else and stood out.”
“Momma? What was it like? When you were around other people and they saw you with me, what did they say?”
“It depended on where we lived. When we lived down south, it was a bit harder, baby girl. They saw me, looking like I do, carrying this caramel-colored baby girl with a shock of white hair and eyes as blue as a robin’s egg, and the questions just jumped out of their mouths. Sometimes, though,” she sighed, “it wasn’t just about you. The same people that acted like they had a problem with how you looked, and how you could possibly look that way, were the same people that had an opinion about my being Black to begin with. Or about your father marrying a foreigner.” She gazed fondly at her daughter as she reached up to smooth a lock of her hair behind her ear. “It was never about you.”
“It was hard sometimes, trying to prove I was Black enough.”
“That’s ridiculous; as though you can even measure such a thing,” N’Dare scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “Why does anyone feel like they’re an authority?”
“Happens,” Ororo shrugged.
“Ororo…I’m sorry. I was taken by surprise when you brought in your young man to have dinner with us, and I said some things, and acted like I was angry at him for things that had nothing to do with him.”
“I think Daddy would have been okay with him, once he got over the shock,” Ororo considered.
“That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have given him a hard time, however; no matter who you brought home to a family dinner, especially for a holiday like that, your father would have tried to glare him out the door for wanting to take his baby away from him. Back when you went to the prom and your date showed up with your corsage, and tried to pin it on you, David just glared at him like he was ready to break his arm!”
“We’re kind of past corsage pinning,” Ororo admitted, glancing at her mother through her eyelashes.
“I’m getting old, Ororo, I can’t take it when you tell me these things!” N’Dare fanned herself for emphasis.
They continued to leaf through the old pictures, coming to Ororo’s college graduation photo, with Ororo garbed in her cap and gown, Kenyatta grinning and hanging off her shoulder as they waved to the camera. “Your cousin’s a mess,” N’Dare chuckled.
“She’s my homegirl,” Ororo admitted.
“I always wished you could have gone to Spellman, that was my dream school.”
“Umm.” Ororo shrugged again.
“It would have been nice for you to go to school with Black people that wanted the same things you did.”
“I know. But the whole world’s not made up of nothing but Black people that want the same things that I do. So I went where I was supposed to go. I think so, anyway.”
“How much education did your young man have behind him when he left college?”
“More than he lets on. He dropped out after three years after he originally took a semester off to take care of his father.”
“That’s a shame.”
“That’s life. If that’d been Daddy, I would’ve done the same thing in a heartbeat.”
“You didn’t have to,” N’Dare pointed out.
“That’s because you were here. Logan did what he had to do. He’s a good man, Momma. He takes care of his own.” The two women thumbed through the albums, occasionally laughing or sighing over them before they put them aside.
“I want you to have what your father and I had.”
“Logan doesn’t have to be just like Daddy for me to have that. He just has to be there. He just has to love me.” Her eyes misted. “I think I ruined that, Momma. I drove him away. I don’t know how to bring him back.”
“Do it the old fashioned way, baby girl. Get down on your knees and beg. And pray.” N’Dare rubbed her daughter’s back soothingly as she pondered the ways that she, too, could make amends. Her future grandbabies were on the line.
They had a son-in-law to win back.
A Little More to the Left by OriginalCeenote
Ororo’s afternoon:
“Warren Worthington Center Human Resources, this is Kate?” Her voice was relatively young from what Ororo could tell at her first impression. Her accent marked her as someone who hailed from Chicago.
“Good morning, Kate, I was referred to you by one of my contacts over at the Alternatives shelter, she gave me your business card. My name’s Ororo Munroe.” Ororo twirled the phone cord around her finger. “I handle event and project coordination for the network,” she qualified.
“Oh. OHHHHH! Right, right. Now I remember, Betsy DID tell me about you!” The knot of tension in Ororo’s stomach eased a bit as Kate’s voice brightened a little with recognition. “And she told me some really good things.”
“That’s a relief,” Ororo grinned, and their chuckles mingled in preamble to the real reason she was calling. “A little bird told me you were looking for another grant writer.”
“Ahhh. Let me just pull that requisition number up online a sec…” Ororo heard furious keyboard clicks on the other end of the line and muffled curses (“stupid thing, slow as freakin’ molasses, piece of…”) before she received a whooping “Here we go!”
“Is this something I could apply for online?”
“You could. And it would likely go through Internet limbo and ten rings of Hell before it reached my desk among the hundreds of other applicants, I get more hits in my inbox than I can count everyday, and sifting through them is a real ball…sure you don’t wanna just apply for the job of administering the inbox?”
“It sounds almost as grueling as what I’m doing now,” Ororo deadpanned.
“More.” She stifled a giggle at Kate’s tone and honesty, especially at the use of the phrase “ten rings of Hell.” Ah, the joys of working for the city…
“How long until the job posting closes?”
“Until it’s filled. I’d love to have the luxury of saying ‘until I say uncle’ but it doesn’t work that way.” Ororo could picture her holding up her palms in surrender and helplessness. “As for applying online…you could just float me your resume via email or fax, if you were so inclined?”
“Am I so inclined? Let me grab my pen, what’s your email?” She dove for her pen cup and grabbed her best amethyst purple Pental comfort grip pen and her Post its.
“Katherine-underscore-em-underscore-Pryde-at-Worthington-dot-org,” she intoned clearly, letting Ororo’s writing hand get caught up. “Just like the homepage. And I’m Kate. Never really been one for Kathy.”
“Ever been called Kitty?”
“Not by anyone who’s escaped with their life!”
“Understood! Say no more! And I’ll be emailing you a resume as an attachment.”
“Pop the job title and req number into the subject line, just to preserve some modicum of my sanity, and we’ll call it good,” Kate promised. “Toss in some of the usual mundane stuff like salary history, too, just for laughs. Makes it easier when I hand it off to the manager, which I have the feeling I’ll be doing. Betsy’s really raved about you.”
“She’s sung me many of your praises, too; I hope we’ll get to talk again soon.”
“Have a great day, Ororo.” She returned the well-wishing with a lighter heart as she hung up and went back to her project Gantt charts and PowerPoint slides. Nothing like a little schmoozing with human resources through sly networking at the back door to raise your spirits.
Anna Marie’s voice hopping out at her from her intercom startled her from arranging her tasks and completion dates. “Crap! Don’t do that again!”
“Sorry, girl, just wanted t’let ya know that your cousin’s out front.”
“Kenyatta?” Ororo peered at her wall clock in disbelief. “It’s early, I wasn’t expecting her to go to lunch with me today.”
“That ain’t what’s she’s saying,” Anna argued. Her voice was matter-of-fact about it all, and Ororo sighed gustily. She’d better not be asking me for money, so help me, Lord…it’s right before Christmas, for cryin’ out loud! “She’s right by my desk, arms folded and tapping her foot, so ya better hustle, shoog!” Ororo chuckled this time.
“I’ll get out there as fast as my birdy legs will carry me,” she simpered before hitting the off button on her intercom and rising from her desk. She heard her joints click in complaint as she strode out of her office. Scott’s voice around his cubicle wall halted her progress.
“Ororo?” She saw his chestnut-haired head pop out around the edge, still holding his phone against his opposite ear before he told whoever was on the other end that he had to go. She waited for him to cradle the receiver before she paused by his chair, grinning at the stressed out look he was sporting: loosened tie, hair disheveled like he had been running his hands through it, grooves around his mouth from grimacing, and that “Just shoot me and put me out of my misery!” look that he always seemed to get at this time of year. The first of the year brought about more frequent demands for numbers to be crunched, budgets to be drafted, and reports to be run, and fewer people to do it all as people made their holiday plans. “You look happy. There’s nothing in the employee handbook about looking happy. We’ve got a one-whiff policy for improper workplace conduct, Munroe.”
“Whistle blower,” she accused, grabbing his coffee mug and hitting the prompt on his keyboard for his screensaver to come on. “Coffee. You know you want to.”
“Twist my arm a little further.”
“You’re about to collapse, and I can see spreadsheet cells burned into your eyeballs.”
“Coming!” he sang, his usual baritone rising to an almost simpering tenor to rival the one she’d given Anna a few moments ago. Ororo snorted her approval.
“Hey, you snorted.” She giggled and snorted again.
“Did it again.”
“Quit it! Or I’ll report your one whiff for enjoying yourself here at my expense.” Scott shot her his best innocent look as she handed him his Dilbert mug and ushered him into the hall.
“I need your feminine intuition and chick expertise.”
“There just so happens to be a sale on that today. What’s on your mind?”
“You mean what little of it that’s left. I’ve gotta come up with a Christmas gift that doesn’t suck.”
“Mother? Grandmother? Sister? High maintenance girlfriend?” Ororo ticked off the possibilities, and Scott shot her a disgusted look at the last one.
“Jeannie’s not high maintenance.” A beat later. “Not THAT high maintenance. She’s really sweet.”
“Jeannie?” Ororo raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Sounds suspiciously like a pet name, Summers.”
“Big deal. It’s not like I’m running around calling her Cookiepuss,” he pointed out.
“You realize, of course, that you’re an educated, grown man with a demanding professional occupation, and the word Cookiepuss just slipped past your lips, right?”
“You, of course, realize I’m perfectly willing to use certain photos from a certain Halloween charity ball of a certain event planner wearing a perfectly scandalous costume as blackmail. Or at the very least as a decoration on the break room fridge,” Scott suggested pleasantly, treating her to a shit-eating grin. Ororo took the hint, holding her hands up in surrender. Ororo rattled off a few ideas for gifts as they grabbed their coffee fix, then left Scott to meet Kenyatta in the lobby.
“What’s up, cuz!” Kenyatta was smiling like she had just run off with the last chocolate chip cookie.
“What’s up with you? We weren’t doing anything today, were we? Unless I’m just having a brain fade,” Ororo suggested. “I wasn’t gonna take lunch for another half hour.”
“Girl, I’m doin’ you a favor, you’re already gettin’ that evil look that says you’ve been crammed behind your desk for too long, and that you haven’t eaten anything yet. If I waved a sandwich under your nose, I’d have to count how many fingers I came back with!”
“Maybe we could just run out and I could bring something back,” Ororo muttered, peeking at the lobby clock. It was just too damned early, she had too much to do…and her stomach was growling like a grizzly.
Kenyatta’s hands leapt to her hips as she eyed Ororo’s abdomen. “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought. Hustle back to your desk and grab your purse. I might even treat you if you promise to help me pick out a gift for Leon.”
“Pffft. Treat me? As soon as you open up that purse, moths’ll fly out,” Ororo nodded to Kenyatta’s Prada knockoff dangling from her wrist. “And girl, you’re only the second person to ask me about what to get their sweet patootie for Christmas! Do I look like Ask Heloise?”
“You looooove me,” Kenyatta flounced, “you know you do, cuz.”
“Mmph,” Ororo grumbled. “Let me go get my dang purse…disturbing a woman at work…want to give advice on what to get YOUR man, when I ain’t even gotta man…hmmph…” Ororo’s mutterings rose and fell in volume with emphasis, trailing in her wake through the lobby as Anna and Kenyatta bust into a giggle fit.
Of course, the realization hit her like a Mack truck, what she’d said (grumbled) aloud. I ain’t even gotta man.
The words “I don’t ever wanna see hide nor hair of your sorry ass again” had never sprung from either of their lips. No questions such as “Well, is this really it?” Or Ororo’s favorite, “Baby, don’t be like that, why you bein’ so cold?” Jon had pulled that shit right before she tossed his clean laundry out onto the apartment stairs and threatened to call the building superintendent on his behind. Raven’s eyes were agog behind her reading glasses when she stepped out into the hall, catching the last of the exchange and the colorful spray of clothes fluttering over the rail as Ororo tossed them into the air.
Thoughts of Logan continued to plague her and dog her footsteps as they made their way to the mall food court and ordered hot dogs that they could carry with them. Ororo spent the next half hour nodding and shaking her head over various colognes that Kenyatta held up for her to sniff before she finally settled on Liz Claiborne for Men and a Nike jersey in a deep royal blue nylon. With a pang Ororo remembered the sleep-warmed scent of Logan’s skin, right behind his ear whenever she nuzzled his neck. They’d spoon together, tangled up in the sheets at the crack of dawn, with the early morning light chasing away the gray shadows and revealing the colors and textures of Ororo’s bedroom furnishings and knick-knacks, and Ororo would toss the flap of the comforter over them and kiss the chill from Logan’s shoulder that had settled there overnight. Logan would inevitably become aware of her warm body pressed against his back, soft, full breasts rubbing his shoulder blades, and he would feel a rush of desire at the sensation of her nipples stiffening against him, as though seeking his touch. Ororo loved that funny little half-sigh, half-moan he made to let her know he was awake, right before he’d roll over and pin her to the mattress, engulfing her.
Listening to her cousin blabber on about whether Leon was giving her a ring wasn’t exactly helping matters any…idly Ororo thumbed through the racks of men’s socks as Kenyatta paid for her purchases, looking for a pair to stuff into her cousin’s mouth. Anything to make it stop…stop it, ‘Ro. Girl was gettin’ sickening, though…
“We might go to Leon’s momma’s for New Years, he’s been sayin’ he wants to head down there, you knew she lived in Virginia Beach, right? Anyways, he keeps snooping around in my closet, asking me if I have anything nice to wear down there if we go! He thinks I’m gonna head down to his momma’s house, looking like Hope diggin’ potatoes with my hair sticking up all over my head and a thong showing over my waistband…” and she finally took a breath, stuffing her wallet back into her purse before she looped the shopping bag handles over her wrist. “What’s wit’ choo?”
“Umm,” Ororo mumbled. “Nuthin’, cuz. Carry on. Where’s this ring he’s been hinting at?” Might as well cut to the chase.
“Hell if I know. I’ve been peeking through his pockets for store receipts, went into his shoebox in the closet where he keeps his odds and ends, I checked the glove compartment, the penny jar in the cupboard, you name it. Either he’s hiding it at work, or he’s gonna let Momma glare at us at Christmas dinner some more for ‘livin’ in sin.’ Don’t know why I put up with that triflin’ somebody…”
“I could state the obvious reasons…hmmm…cock-whipped. Yup, there’s all the reason you need.”
“Don’t make snatch ya baldheaded in the middle of this fancy mall,” Kenyatta huffed under her breath, giving Ororo’s arm a warning pinch. Ororo snapped her arm with a flourish, whistling the sound of a whip flying through the air with her teeth, making Kenyatta double over with laughter. “You just wrong, girl!”
“Don’t lie. I hit the nail right on the head.” She eyed the food court stands again. “I feel like an Orange Julius.”
“I ain’t payin’ five bucks apiece for some orange foam out of a blender,” Kenyatta fussed. “Leon’s gift just broke me. Now, Miz Thang, what about you? What’s the deal? Have ya talked to your man yet?”
“Nope.” Kenyatta rolled her eyes.
“Wasn’t that you telling me how well Logan had his act together and rocked your world?”
“Uh-huh.” Ororo’s footsteps quickened a bit, but they were both working women in New York; slowly strolling along wasn’t something that either of them did on a regular basis, so Kenyatta nonchalantly kept in step with Ororo without missing a beat.
“And wasn’t that you looking all goo-goo eyed at him like you could eat him with a spoon on the ride down to your momma’s house, hanging on his every word in the car?” Ororo’s heels clop-clopped down the mall corridor, making her way toward the brightening sunlight streaming in through the exit doors in what could only be called an escape attempt.
“Mmmmm. Eh. Maybe.”
“I think it was you, cuz. Quit running away from me when I’m talkin’!” Ororo drew herself up, stopping short, and Kenyatta almost crashed into her, Prada knockoff and shopping satchel still swinging. Ororo steeled herself. “If ya love him, why you trippin’?”
“Don’t get up in my grill with this shit, Kenya,” she warned, then dove into her purse for her Altoids so she wouldn’t go back to work with hot dog breath. “I’m not trippin’, I just don’t know what to say to him right now. If I go stomping up to his front door, he could shut the door in my face, and if I show up at his work, he’ll think I’m bringing him drama.”
“Yeah, guys hate that shit,” Kenyatta grudgingly agreed. She’d almost gotten escorted out of her ex-boyfriend’s work building once, waaaaaaayyy back in the day…the reasons why didn’t even bear thinking about now, but it had been some crazy shit. Never again. “Still…he’s still your man, right? You never formally told him he wasn’t your man anymore, so what’s stopping ya from calling him back up?”
“Kenya…”
“Don’t Kenya me,” she snapped. “Tell him ‘You don’t stop being my honey til I tell ya t’stop!’ To quote Monica, go and get that man!”
“He’s not gonna want Momma to give him a hard time again.”
“Seemed to me like you already talked with her about that.” They scrambled back into Kenyatta’s little car and headed back to Alternatives, still arguing with the beats of N.E.R.D. bumping in the background. “This isn’t about Auntie N’Dare giving him a hard time. It’s all on you if you don’t tell him you want him back. Shit, you showed me that bouquet he gave you that one time. If any man did something romantic like that for me right after we got together, I’d be wearing him like a coat! Now repeat after me…”
“Repeat after you?” Ororo cocked a brow.
“…I won’t let my mother dictate my love life and let my fine ass man get away, or my cousin Kenyatta will beat me severely about the head with her purse til I come to my senses!” Ororo’s chest shook; Kenyatta snaked her head around as she parked her car.
“I don’t hear you repeating after me!”
“I won’t let my mother (hee hee hee) dictate my love life (snort) and let my fine ass man escape…”
“Get away,” Kenyatta corrected her.
“Right. Something like that. Whatever.” Ororo let herself out of the car at the curb so Kenyatta wouldn’t have to worry about the parking validation in the garage. “What you said. I gotta go.”
“You better call him. Promise?”
“Pinky swear,” she vowed, even though her stomach twisted itself in a knot.
“By the way, you’re headed to your momma’s for Christmas, right? We don’t have to ride up together since I’m gonna be in Virginia Beach for Christmas Eve, but we might go up the next day.”
“Momma wants me to sing for the nighttime service.”
“Indulge her; she’s your mother. You know how she just lights up whenever you get up there and start belting ‘em out, it’s all she can talk about. You’re going,” Kenyatta insisted, raising her “talk to the hand” palm when Ororo squinted at her.
“Errrrgh. I’m going! Sheesh. ‘Bye!”
“Get back to work,” Kenyatta huffed, then blew her a kiss as Ororo shut the car door, letting her cousin dart back into midday traffic.
Once she was a block or two away, Kenyatta reached into her Prada knockoff for her rhinestone studded cell phone and punched in her aunt’s number. She knew her cousin well enough to know how stubborn she was, and that she wouldn’t call. Kenyatta’s mother’s voice squawked at her like she’d interrupted her in the middle of something when she picked up.
“Kenyatta! Land sakes alive, baby girl, we’ve been waitin’ for ya t’call us all day! How did it go?”
“I talked her into it. She’ll be there with bells on. I’m gonna drag her to Monica’s to get her hair done the day before, I won’t tell her why.”
“That’s my baby.” As an afterthought, she mentioned “Make sure to make her pack some hair grease and buy some nylons. And Kenyatta, please don’t embarrass me to Leon’s mother by wearing something with your cleavage hanging out one end and your boomboppity hanging out the other when you go over there for dinner!”
“Hmmph. Y’all act like I don’t know how to dress, everyone’s gotta get up in my grill and fuss at me like I’m twelve…y’all must think I’m hopeless…” Kenyatta had inherited the family habit of muttering.
“Just don’t show up at the woman’s house looking like Boo or Boo’s cousin,” Ruthie suggested, and Kenyatta could hear her rolling her eyes on the other end. “Your Auntie N’Dare and I had an interesting day today.”
“Y’all can tell me about it over dinner if you promise to feed me and Leon tonight,” Kenyatta said.
After all, she’d casually forgotten to tell Ororo that her mom and her auntie were in town, making Leon have to fight for the remote control and suffer through questions about when he was going to make Kenyatta an honest woman, cut his hair and get a real job. All that aside, it was fun playing matchmaker.
Logan’s afternoon:
“Nate? Hand me that smog filter?”
“Comin’ up.” Nate stood and stretched from where he’d been leaning over the hood and handed Logan the new filter, pressing his hands into his lower back with a few pops. He handed Logan the filter, but glanced through the windowpane of the door dividing the garage from the shop for a moment. “Got comp’ny,” he murmured.
“Customers?”
“Nope. Familiar face. Lots of cleavage. Looks like she wants a tune-up.” Logan’s pulse raced for a moment as he wiped his hands on a rag and got up to see for himself.
His disappointment sat like a lead lump in his gut when he realized it was Emma Frost instead of Ororo, peering at a display of Armor All wipes. “Nate, if ya have any pity, you’ll go out there and tell her I died. Or at least ask her what she wants.”
“Hey, ya only pay me to fix things, not bullshit the customers, particularly high-maintenance women in expensive perfume. You lucky dog, you.” Nate turned back to the filter and began installing it in Logan’s stead, missing Logan’s acid glare boring into the back of his head. He grumbled curses under his breath as he swung open the door, schooling his face into a neutral look. Or at least one that didn’t promise death…
Emma’s blonde head twisted his way as though she were waiting for him, and her smile reminded him of the look a python gives its prey right before swallowing it whole. “Hello, Logan, fancy running into you here.” As if she was likely run into him anywhere else; shit, it was his shop, for cripes’ sake! His skin also itched when she used his nickname. It sounded wrong coming out of her mouth.
“What can I do for you, Emma? How’s your car running since we worked on it last?”
“Purrs like a kitten,” she gushed, and once again she stood too close, overwhelming his senses with that damned cologne. “Actually, there was something else you could help me with.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Accessories. I was wondering if you could show me something in a floor mat,” she continued, “something durable…and long-lasting. When I take someone for a ride in my car…I don’t want the poor things to get worn out too soon. I need something good-looking that can take a good beating.” Her smile widened at the way his eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Any suggestions, Logan? Could you show me anything like that?” The entry chime on the front door trilled, giving him a welcome reprieve, until a deep, familiar female voice rang out in slightly accented English.
“He can’t show you anything of the sort.” Emma spun around to face a well-maintained, handsome Black woman with exotic bone structure and features, dark cornrows and a regal air that rung a bell. “He has business with me first. And I doubt you’ll find what you were looking for here, anyway, child. Not from my daughter’s boyfriend.” In case she didn’t get the message, N’Dare Munroe nodded to her and said “Goodbye, now” dismissively. Emma opened her mouth and turned to Logan as if to plead for him to argue, but Logan found the first smile he’d made all day creeping across his lips.
“You might want to try Rory Campbell’s detailing shop down the block. Tell him Jamie sent you.” He eyed N’Dare carefully. “I need to help this nice woman with something she needed from me.”
Emma’s cheeks flushed scarlet before she breezed out of the shop, her flagging temper plain. Logan didn’t watch her departure, instead meeting N’Dare’s solemn gaze.
“We need to talk.”
“You called me your daughter’s boyfriend,” he pointed out.
“Aren’t you?”
“I want to be more. A lot more. But it’s up to her.” Logan rubbed the back of his neck helplessly. “I love her. You have no goddamned idea how much I love your daughter.”
“No need to bristle at me, and there’s no reason to cuss like a sailor.”
“No, ma’am,” he agreed.
“If you have anything to change into before my sister-in-law and I take you to lunch, I suggest you change into it now.” Her tone was imperious, but Logan noticed a warmth in her black eyes that was absent during their first encounter. “Her motor’s running,” she prodded.
“I’ll be out shortly,” he promised. She gave a clipped nod and went back out the way she came. Logan shook his head at her departing back, mumbling “Hunh.” What the hell had just happened?
And what was he getting himself into? He headed back to the shop’s locker room and shrugged out of his coveralls, changing into his jeans, ribbed sweater and Ropers. He took his comb and gave his hair a lick and a promise at the sink and addressed his reflection.
“Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up. You CAN’T fuck this up.” He argued with himself the rest of the way outside. I’m not the one who has to prove anything…am I? Is she here to rake me over the coals again? Did Ororo talk to her? Wasn’t I the one she gave the third degree at dinner?
He almost laughed out loud when he climbed into the back of the cranberry red Lincoln Continental and found Leon grinning at him from the other side. “S’up.”
“Hey.” He shut the door after him and bade Ruthie good afternoon. “You get kidnapped from work, too?”
“Yup.” Leon shot Logan a look that shouted “See how much of your ass you come away with from this, buddy.” He fidgeted uncomfortably in his sweater as the knap of the knit rubbed against the plush upholstery of the car. He hoped the lunch wouldn’t rub him the wrong way, too. Gradually it dawned on him that Leon’s presence also explained N’Dare and Ororo’s aunt being able to find his shop.
“What brought you into town?” Logan inquired.
“We were planning on heading up anyway,” Ruthie replied, glancing at him through the rearview mirror with a look that seemed to measure him. “We’re staying with Kenyatta this week to do some shopping.” It was a plausible reason, he supposed. He still wasn’t convinced.
They stopped at a T.G.I. Fridays and parked in a nearby garage. The air was crisp and chilly, nipping the tops of Logan’s ears and making him wish he’d worn his Stetson, but he decided that he’d look that much more out of place with his present company in his favorite hat. N’Dare wore a batiked dress under her black wool jacket, and Ruthie wore a dark red jogging suit with a “Baby Phat” logo and cross-trainers on her feet that almost looked incongruous with the gold jewelry she also had on. Leon was decked out in Nike logos from head to toe. He caught sight of the picture that they made in the windows of the restaurants as they strolled past, and his skin stood out in contrast to their darker complexions. One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just isn’t the same… The Sesame Street standard droned on in his head as they entered the front lobby and were greeted by the hostess.
The waitress no sooner took their menus and orders and moved away before N’Dare pinned Logan into his side of the booth with unabashed bluntness. “Why haven’t you called Ororo?”
“I wanted to.” He still wanted to.
“That begs the question, again, why didn’t you?” N’Dare sipped her water, and Leon spun the tiny metal carousel showing the daily specials around on its axis innocently, again giving Logan the impression that he was glad he wasn’t the one getting grilled. “The child’s absolutely miserable. When I call her to ask what’s new, I get ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I’m fine, I guess,’ which tells me she hasn’t mended fences with you yet. She never comes out and tells me when something’s wrong, because she figures I’m getting too old to handle hearing about her problems. I’m not as fragile and breakable as she thinks,” she huffed, drawing herself up in her seat. “And I’m willing to admit when I’ve done something wrong, particularly when it hurts my only child. That’s what brought us here.”
“This wasn’t just a random kidnapping?”
“Not at all. I wanted to apologize for the way I reacted to you when you came to my house.”
“Hm. Okay. So you didn’t really mean it when you lumped me in with all of the people that have ever given you and ‘Ro a hard time for being what you are?” Logan fiddled with the edge of his napkin. “I’m not the bad guy?”
N’Dare shrugged. “If you like. I meant it at the time, but I’ve had some time to think about it, and I don’t like the way I treated you. It wasn’t fair, it didn’t make me any better than the people that criticized my husband for marrying someone outside his own culture, and you didn’t deserve it. So no,” she answered, using his own words, “you’re not the bad guy.”
“I’m housebroken and I keep food on the table,” he offered. “And my family’s important to me. If she wants me back, that’ll include her family, too.”
“Take some notes, Leon,” Ruthie spat, swiveling her neck in a head trip in his direction.
“Ororo’s work is important to her. Don’t expect to just keep her barefoot, pregnant, and locked in the house. Not,” N’Dare corrected, “that I don’t want some grandbabies. One or two would be nice.”
“I wouldn’t dream of trying to keep her in the house unless she wants to be there,” Logan chuckled. “My mom was a homemaker and it drove her nuts, even if she never said so in so many words until recently. I want my wife to be happy.” He wet his lips with some water. “I want Ororo to be happy.”
“Ya hear that, Leon? He wants his wife to be happy! You should be taking a page out of his book!”
“Hey, Kenya’s still speakin’ to me, I’m not the one getting the silent treatment,” Leon reminded them.
“That’s different; ya live with her, bub.”
“And you have been for two years now, with no word of an engagement at all whatsoever, boy! I want grandbabies, too, but not before there’s a ring on my baby girl’s finger!” Ruthie cut her eyes at Leon as she perused the dessert menu. “Oh, look, they have apple cobbler,” she mused.
It was all a blur after that. Logan spent the next hour nodding and chuckling between bites as N’Dare regaled him of stories about Ororo when she was little, making him roar over an incident when she was about six when she had taken her swimsuit off at the public pool when her mother had told her to “get dressed” so they could leave. Leon submitted to more of Ruthie’s interrogation about his intentions toward her daughter, and Logan sympathized with him wholeheartedly by the time he finished mopping up the ketchup on his plate with his last fry.
“I’d like you to come back for Christmas. It would be nice if you could bring your family this time, so you don’t have to split the holiday between houses.”
“I’d like that. I’ve gotta convince ‘Ro, though. It’s up ta her.”
“That might not be as hard as you think. Kenyatta’s softening her up right now,” Ruthie smiled.
“Why else d’ya think my girl’s not here, helping my momma put me in my place?” Leon chimed in.
“Ororo takes after me in one regard; she’s stubborn when she goes after something she really wants, no matter who tries to get in her way. Even when that someone is me. She pleaded her case with me after church last weekend and showed me the error of my ways,” N’Dare admitted dryly, but Logan returned her gentle smile with one of his own. “So in a way, I’m breaking my promise, which was not to open my mouth again about her relationship with you. I opened it, but just not the way she implied.” That was right about the time that Logan decided he liked his prospective mother-in-law and couldn’t wait to see what happened when she met his folks. They settled up the bill, and Logan promised to speak with N’Dare again regarding his holiday plans.
He had some unfinished business to take care of first.
Later that evening:
“It needs more tinsel on that side,” Scott nagged, craning his neck for a better look at the nine-foot artificial prelit tree in the Alternatives Network front lobby. Anna Marie was feeding Ororo more tinsel garland, handing a few inches of it at a time to Ororo, who was perched precariously on the step ladder.
“Everybody’s a critic,” Ororo muttered. Her afternoon had zipped by after lunch with her cousin. She’d gotten a call from Betsy asking her if she had applied for the job at the Worthington Center, and then ended up roped into coming by to pick up the Angel Tree names for the Christmas toy and gift drive for the shelters. The couple of hours were spent making sure the miniature trees at each site were decorated with the paper ornaments with each child’s name and wish list item on it, and that a collection box for the presents was positioned next to each. Another radio ad was placed with the local stations, a memo was sent out to the branch about the office Christmas party, and Ororo was ready to throw in the towel.
Of course that was when Anna Marie showed up, knocking at her door to see if she could help with decorating the tree in the front lobby. Scott of course called himself “supervising,” and Ororo indulged in a fantasy that involved grappling him into a headlock and giving him a nuclear noogie.
At least she was almost finished.
“Girl, I gotta meet Remy, I’m running late. Scott, can ya help ‘Ro ta finish this up, shoog?”
“Go ahead, skedaddle, kiddo. We’ve got this about wrapped up.” Scott handed Ororo some more glass ornaments and caught her elbow when her foot wobbled slightly on the step stool. Anna Marie trotted out to meet her main squeeze, waving at them both with a big grin.
“Find that gift for Jeannie?” Ororo adopted Scott’s nickname for the “least of three evils,” as she had come to dub Emma and her associates over at Inner Circle. She had seen her coppery red hair from time to time around the office and made a point of being pleasant, which fortunately wasn’t too hard; once the charity fundraiser was over, Jean acted surprisingly human. Still high maintenance, but human. Ororo supposed it didn’t hurt that Scott was one of Ororo’s best friends, and it never hurt to make nice with “the friends.”
“Got her a pretty necklace. It was either that or a lava lamp that I saw in Spencer’s. The necklace seemed like a safe bet.”
“Smart man.” Inwardly Ororo asked herself, Lava lamp? She couldn’t picture Jean having that much of a sense of humor.
“So where’s the Caped Crusader been lately? You haven’t talked much about him,” Scott observed, handing her up a plastic icicle.
“Things are complicated,” Ororo replied, hoping that he would get the message.
“Ooooh. Doesn’t sound good. It’s too soon for stuff to be ‘complicated.’ It’s only been a couple of months, you’re supposed to be in the ‘honeymoon’ phase of the relationship.”
“Guess we forgot to hang the Do Not Disturb sign. Hand me the star?” Scott unwrapped the gaudy gold aluminum star, and Ororo fiddled with it, trying to bend the top tuft of bent tree branch into an agreeable “cone” to insert into the star’s opening.
“Want me to try it?” Scott offered.
“Nah. I’ve got it,” she insisted.
“It needs to go a little to the left. No, my left.”
“Don’t you have some spreadsheets to sort?”
“Nope. Just a girlfriend to pick up for dinner. I get it, I know when I’m not wanted. I’ll take this box back to the Activities Committee store room, ‘kay?”
“Okay. Get outta here, Summers. Tell Jeannie hi.”
“Will do, Catwoman!” She shot him an evil look that warped into a smirk as he left.
“Catwoman,” she snorted to herself. “Sheesh.”
In the wake of Scott’s exit, she hadn’t heard the light thud of footsteps approaching from behind.
“Do ya always mutter to yerself like that when no one’s listening?” That familiar voice startled her enough that she lost traction on the top of the ladder, and her high-heeled pump slipped out from under her as she whipped around to see Logan staring at her oddly.
“Loga…SHIT!” Whoosh! She toppled over backwards, and savagely bit her tongue as she made contact with something firm and solid. Solid, and tsking in her ear at her near brush with disaster.
“Geez,” he grumbled, “are ya all right, darlin’? Ya nearly scared me out of ten years of life. What are ya doin’ up on that damned ladder, anyway?” Warm and gentle hands righted her but didn’t let go, turning her in his grip to face him. Logan reached out to smooth a lock of hair from her lip, something he had a knack for, she realized. How did they keep ending up in these positions?
“Fixing the tree,” she answered numbly.
“I see that. Looks nice,” he acknowledged. He frowned as she lifted her hand to her lips. “Whatsamatter, darlin’?”
“I bi’ mah nung,” she explained, probing the tip of her tongue lightly. “Ouch.”
“Ouch,” he agreed. “Ororo?”
“Hmm?”
“Can I kiss it and make it better?” He pulled her hand away from her lips and laid her palm against his chest as he wrapped his other arm around her waist.
“Logan…”
“Please.” He slid her hand up farther against him, nibbling her fingertips in entreaty. His eyes were soft and full of concern, and she wanted to drown in them. She shushed the cautious little voice in the back of her head and nodded her consent. His fingers found their way into her hair and wrapped around her nape, pulling her to him. He brushed his lips against hers sweetly, lightly sucking on her bottom lip. More feathery kisses followed before Ororo wrapped her arms around his neck and opened herself to him, letting his tongue stroke hers. The miracle of holding him, listening to his low sigh and feeling his breath steam her made her shiver and cling to him more tightly. She couldn’t get close enough, and it took generous minutes for them to come up for air.
“Better?” he inquired, stroking her hair back from her face, kissing the corner of her mouth.
“Much.” Her eyes were glistening wetly, and Logan realized she was close to a break down. “Missed you,” she sniffled.
“Missed you too.” He’d never seen anything more beautiful at that moment than that quivering smile, so close and so full of emotion. “Don’t cry,” he begged, although his own voice shook.
“I can’t help it!” She decided the best way to deal with the immediate problem was to kiss him again. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.”
“There’s nowhere else I wanna be,” he murmured. “Just with you. No matter what. I want you so much.” He cleaned the tear tracks along her cheeks with his lips. “I went nuts wondering how we were gonna make this right, and tryin’ ta figure out how ta fix what happened.” Her palms cupped his face, and her lips traveled over his forehead, kissing the space between his eyebrows, grazing his temples, distracting him thoroughly, but he didn’t care. He just let her do as she wished as he kept talking. “I didn’t wanna interfere and cause problems with you and yer family, baby.”
“No,” she sniffed, kissing the tip of his nose. He suppressed a smile at the gesture, but his chocolaty eyes crinkled at the corners. “I know. I was afraid I’d just make things worse. I didn’t want to fight again, not after what happened, but I wanted so much to keep you there, I wanted you to stay! It killed me when you left, when you were so hurt! I should have stuck up for you, and I never should have let you leave!” Her lips found him again, and his embrace tightened convulsively around her; she felt so good in his arms. “I should have just called you. I was stupid, Logan. I’m so sorry!”
“I know, baby, and I was a flamin’ idiot fer not gettin’ my ass in gear sooner. A stubborn, flamin’ idiot.” His hands stroked her back, then kneaded it as she kissed him deeply. He consumed her, capturing her small “mmmmmph” of contentment as he took possessive hold of her ass. Wantonly, Ororo pressed herself against him, forgetting where they were as she ground herself against him. “Damn, you taste good!” he muttered over her lips.
That was where they left off until they heard the click of Scott’s hard leather shoes against the floor tiles. They broke apart, both slightly chagrined and out of breath as Scott shot her a knowing look.
Time to hang up that Do Not Disturb sign after all, eh Monroe? Scott nodded to them on the way out the door, and saluted Ororo with a knowing grin. No sooner had the door clicked shut before Logan drew her back for another helping.
“Mmmmm. This isn’t (smooch) the best place (mmm) for this, I think…”
“Right. Right. Got it. (smooch) Don’t stop…oh, God.”
“I’m that close to dragging you back to my office and locking the door,” she threatened.
“What’re you waitin’ for, ‘Ro???” Her footsteps skipped after his as he strode back through the double doors, practically dragging a giggling Ororo behind him by the hand. As promised, Ororo locked the door and pulled the blinds over the window while Logan reached for her, pulling the hem of her blouse from her skirt. Her skin was satiny and hot under his fingers as he leaned in to kiss the tender spot on the side of her neck.
What was it that Scott had mentioned earlier about the office “one whiff” policy for improper workplace conduct? Right. Don’t get caught. Whatever it was escaped her for the moment…so, never mind. The stroke of Logan’s fingertips against her damp heat drove all sane thought from her brain as she sat on top of her desk, skirt rucked up ridiculously to allow her to wrap her legs around his hips. Ororo was impressed that he only popped one button from her blouse before he shoved it down her arms, revealing her breasts, framed to perfection by the lilac satin bra, to his heated stare. He bent his head and suckled her through the thin, slick fabric, tearing throaty moans from the depths of her soul.
“I’m sorry darlin’, this is gonna be fast!” Her hands fumbled with his zipper and snap, jerking them open and tugging his jeans down his thighs, freeing him from his boxers.
“No problem,” she hissed out, and Logan felt the crest of his ear caught between her teeth. Her ragged breath thrummed through him as he tugged the crotch of her panties aside. “The cleaning crew’s due to come through here in a half an hour!” When he entered her all at once, she leaned forward and bit into his shoulder to muffle her shriek of satisfaction. The edge of her panties pressed against the swollen petals of her sex as he slammed into her, balancing her butt against the unyielding edge of her desk. At my next job, I’m demanding a couch in my office! He was solid and thick and hot, sheathing himself in her. His climax threatened to push him over the edge, and his body cried out to him, I’ve finally come home!
Ororo was his heart, and his home. He was shaken by it, but he never broke his momentum. Ororo rode it out, clinging to him and serenading him with tiny mewling sounds that became a steady chant.
“I love you. Oh God, Logan, I love you so much. I need you. I love you.”
“God, ‘Ro…eeeeaAARRGGGH! Unnnnnnnggggh!” His hips spasmed, and he felt his flesh throb, his skin pulling tight as he spilled himself within her, locked within her sweet grip. Her arms and legs remained wrapped around him as they both shuddered with the aftershocks. She lowered her forehead to his shoulder as she caught her breath, and Logan was surprised to hear a low, hitching sob.
“Darlin’?” He backed off and slowly, gently disengaged himself from her warmth before he lifted her chin. Two fat tears were rolling down her cheeks, but she gave him that same watery smile before she kissed him. “You’re gonna have me really worried if ya keep on cryin’ all over me, ‘Ro,” he said gruffly.
“Sorry,” she sniffled. “M’just happy. So happy.” She looked down at him, taking in his state of undress and let out a sputtery giggle. “Let me help you with that!”
“God…yer SO gonna get fired!”
“I wanted to quit this damned job anyway! I put in an application with a colleague today,” she admitted, drying her tears and helping him back into his jeans.
“More money?” Logan helped her straighten her skirt as she stood from her desk.
“Uh-uh. Less insanity. And more time left in my day. I get to help write grants and proposals for different projects instead of beating myself to death to see the projects through to completion. Which means I can get home at a sane hour of night instead of after the cows come home.” He watched her shuffle back into her blouse and button it haphazardly before she tugged on her blazer. “In the long run, it’s a better job if I want to have an actual life.” Her sapphire blue eyes glowed as she caressed his cheek. “I’d like you in my life, Logan.”
“Yer mom beat ya to the punch. She told me she wants me in your life too.”
“WHAT?!?” Her look was incredulous.
“Your mom’s something else. Can’t help but listen to her when she kidnaps you from work and pins you to the wall with questions, but she’s growin’ on me. I almost didn’t believe her when she told me about that incident with ya takin’ off yer suit at the pool, but then I remembered that Catwoman outfit left little to the imagination, and this little tour ya gave me of your desk kind of clinched it for me that I’m head-over-heels in love with an exhibitionist!” He ducked when she brandished her purse at him and hauled her against him for one more kiss, silencing her protests.
Their brief frolic in her office did little to whet their appetite. When they reached Ororo’s apartment, she made hasty hellos and goodbyes to Raven, Irene and Mr. Lensherr before she unlocked the door and yanked Logan inside. They left a trail of clothes all the way back the bedroom, and Ororo put her calls on forward and turned off her mobile right before Logan pulled her down to him, this time slowly showing her how much he missed and loved her.
It’s Smaller Than a Bread Box by OriginalCeenote
Logan’s phone call:
“Should I go ahead and bring an ambrosia salad and a Jello mold?”
“Ambrosia?” He briefly drew a blank.
“You know, that pretty fruit salad with the pineapple and itty bitty mandarin oranges in it, with the Cool Whip and sour cream…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get ya, got it,” he acknowledged, before recanting himself. “And no, I don’t think you need ta bother with that. ‘Ro’s mom makes a pretty good one already, so she might already have it in mind to do it herself. The Jello’d be nice, though,” he suggested, attempting a compromise. Once upon a time, all Logan had to do for the holidays was show up at his parents’ house showered and on time, with a case of beer to share with his brother and his pop.
Now, all of the sudden, it became a game of musical houses. He and Ororo were gonna have to choose which family they would spend each holiday with, and actually attempt to keep track. Holeeeee shit! It made his head hurt just thinkin’ about it…
He had some small consolation in the fact that Christmas was at least gonna be a helluva lot less nerve-wracking than Thanksgiving, but his gut was still clenched up into a tight little ball in anticipation.
Amelia’s voice stirred him from his musings. “Oh, Jamie, this is so exciting! I can’t WAIT to see your lady friend again, she’s just darling! So elegant! She cracked me up when she mentioned that thing about her hair really being ‘hers, since she paid for it!’ She’s a kick in the pants!” Logan stifled a laugh behind a cough at hearing his usual description for his stepmother coming out of her mouth, being said regarding his girlfriend, no less. He guessed it was a good sign. “You need to hold on to that one!”
“Yeah,” he grinned, scratching his neck, “I won’t disagree with ya there, not in the least.”
“She’s just a sweetheart, you know?” Yes, he knew. “She just looks so content when she looks at you, Jamie, you’ve gotta love that!” Yup. He did, no doubt about it. “Jonathan was pretty fond of her, too.” Gee, really? What was yer first clue?
“She enjoyed meeting you an’ Pop, too, don’t worry.”
“Maybe we could work something out that everyone could come over here next year!”
“Eh, why not?” Logan mentally counted the number of chairs in his parents’ house and measured the interior of the dining room that had been his mother’s pride and joy and found it miles too small to cram in Ororo’s whole family, but he smiled at the image of everyone being elbow to elbow.
“I sure would have loved to have shown her mother the Hummel and my collection of other little goodies; d’ya suppose she collects anything like that?”
“Dunno ‘bout the Hummel,” he admitted, not recalling any of the “charming” little porcelain figurines, throw blankets or little embroidered pillows gracing so much as an inch of space in N’Dare’s home. When he remembered back to that night, he had an impression of warm, dark colors, the occasional batiked tapestry hanging in the halls, lots of framed photos of Ororo and her father…nothing really “kitschy.” Although…
“Now that I think about it, Amelia, she might not be into Hummel, but she had some nice African statues carved out of some kind of wood, and a nice painting in the den.” Ororo would explain to him later that it was actually an art print that she’d purchased for her mother on her last birthday and had framed, but close enough. Then the glimmer of a good idea hit him. “Amelia, remember that little figurine that ya showed me that last time I came fer pot roast? The one with the cute little girls?” He felt weird describing anything as cute, but it worked. He was nearly bowled over by Amelia’s crow of recognition.
“OHHHHHHHH! RIGHT! That little figurine with the little girls walking to school together! I LOVE that one! What were you thinking, Jamie?”
“Could ya maybe find another one? It might make a nice little tidbit to wrap up and put under the tree. Or a hostess gift.” He felt his mother mentally coaching him that time, figuring that was what she would have called it. A hostess gift. Sure, that’s the ticket.
“Oh, perfect! Yippee! Gives me an excuse to hunt the knick-knack shops in spite of your father warning me that I’m about to run him out of his house with my junk!” she said conspiratorially, and Logan could visualize her winking at him from the other end.
“Better get crackin’,” he muttered, but his smile was almost boyish. They hung up on a pleasant note.
After all, he had some shopping of his own to take care of.
Ororo’s phone call:
“So what do they like to eat? I never even asked your man what HE liked to eat, how am I supposed to know what to feed his family?”
“Search me. Actually,” Ororo remembered out loud, “pecan pie. His stepmom made some when we went over there. She also made giblet gravy for the turkey.”
“My kind of woman.” Then another thought came to N’Dare. “What do you suppose his mother would enjoy? Is she coming?”
“Logan says she’ll be there with bells on, and wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“The mother and the stepmother,” N’Dare murmured. “Goodness. Have they even been in the same room before?”
“I don’t know. My name’s Bennett, and I ain’t in it,” Ororo drawled.
“You’re as bad as I am; I always threw that one at your father whenever your grandmother and I couldn’t see eye to eye!”
“Gram-Gram didn’t say anything about Logan when he showed up for Thanksgiving dinner,” Ororo pondered.
“In all the commotion, she probably didn’t know him from Adam. And I don’t imagine she’ll say much of anything anyway, if Ruthie’s making her sorrel this year. She uses a whole bottle of red wine in it; I expect Gram-Gram to be in a fine mood to accept whomever you introduce as your beloved on Christmas Eve. Did you pick up those flannel pajamas I told you to get for her?”
“Yup. All wrapped up and ready. I got Aunt Ruthie a new hat for church, too.”
“She’s been hinting at wanting a new one, baby girl, so you did well. I can’t wait to see it.” Ororo thought she heard the crinkle of gift wrap on her mother’s end of the line in the background. “Has Logan heard you sing yet?”
“Only under my breath when we’re in the car, listening to his CDs.” That was pretty frequent. Once in a while, she’d see him peering over at her with a look of surprise that she could carry a tune.
“Ooh, I can’t wait, we’ll knock his socks off! The women in the front row will just fall out! It does your mother’s old heart good to have you back in church, bringing the house down!”
“I don’t know if Logan’s ever set foot into a church like ours, let alone heard folks belting out hymns loud enough to be heard down the street,” Ororo considered, “but this’ll expand his horizons a little. Just hope it doesn’t scare him off!”
“Oh, hush! Listen to you, he’ll be fine!” Ororo heard more rustling of paper and wondered what she was wrapping up with a bow. Socks? Underwear, since she claimed Ororo always needed some every time she came to visit? Longjohns? Tupperware? Souvenirs from her and Aunt Ruthie’s trip to Wakulla Springs, where they saw live alligators through a glass-bottomed boat? Every now and again, N’Dare would get Ororo things that she would never think to get for herself. She almost hoped it was another ceramic seagull like the squat, stick-legged, beady-eyed one that she brought back from Cape Cod two years ago; it made a great conversation piece. “Now, if he enjoys himself enough, there’ll be nothing keeping you from visiting more often on the weekends and coming along with me.” N’Dare’s tone held that note of “just try to argue with me now, you little heathen!” that made Ororo grind her teeth and massage the bridge of her nose.
“Sure, nothing keeping us…” she trailed off. “Kenyatta’s going to Leon’s momma’s,” she interjected. Simple enough distraction tactic, score one for Ororo. She admired her mother’s initiative.
“Ruthie told me already. She’s hoping for a ring this year,” N’Dare remarked, “something I hope you’ll have on your own finger one day, Lord willing.” Okay, score one for N’Dare.
“So…what should I pack to wear for the Christmas Eve service and dinner?” Ororo spent the next half-hour fishing for hints on what her mother wanted for a present and ducking further questions about Logan. Between the two of them, they figured out a menu and guest list before Ororo begged off to reheat her leftovers. They remained untouched as she mulled the ring question over futilely in her mind. Damn it, Momma!
Why did she have to go there? Now she’d be up thinking about it all night, eyes round as saucers in the dark.
Alternatives Shelter Network, the following afternoon:
“Okay, Ororo, you realize the only way I’m letting you fly the coop is if you take all of my reports I have to run and spreadsheets to sort with you to your new job, right?” Scott poured her another Styrofoam cup full of fruit punch and handed it to her with a knowing grin.
“Dream on, Summers, dream on. Jealous much?”
“Hell, yeah! Don’t get too smug, kiddo, I can still report you for improper conduct?”
“For what this time?”
“Hmmm. Gotta think on that one a sec…outbursts that disturb your neighbors?”
“You were right there with me, singing ‘Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead’ as I recall, when I mentioned that Emma wasn’t the director of my new branch at the Worthington Center. Next,” she barked.
“Okaaaayyy…unwork-related use of time on-site?”
“You’re the one throwing me the party,” she pointed out, looking up at him through her lashes. “Try again.”
“Nope. I’m out. Ya got me.”
“I expect you to email me once in a while, Summers, to let me know you’re still alive.”
“Like you had to even ask! You’re my link to the land of the living. Gives me street cred to have friends in high places,” he added smugly, elbowing her. She almost choked on her carrot stick dipped in ranch.
“High places…sure. I’m just lucky I didn’t get the office next to the boiler room.”
“As opposed to them just putting you in the boiler room.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m headed over to Jeannie’s tidy little corner office in a little while for lunch.”
“Give her my regards. Where’s she dragging you for the holiday?”
“Her parents’ little place in the Hamptons.”
“Sounds fancy.”
“I’ll have to eat with utensils.”
“The fork’s the one with the little pointy things.” Yup. She was gonna miss Scotty.
At the end of the day, Anna Marie helped her load her Impala’s trunk with all of her desk junk and mementos; her Wonder Woman coffee mug was carefully wrapped in newspaper and lying on top of the box. Ororo’s badge was deposited at the front desk; Anna already put her desk plaque and mailbox tag in the “Employee Graveyard” pile in her desk drawer.
“Gonna miss you, shoog,” Anna moaned, pouting. “If ya think I’m not headed over ta yer fancy office ta bug ya and drag ya out for trips ta Starbucks for frappaccinos, yer just lyin’ ta us both.”
“I’m counting on that! I’d have to snatch you baldheaded if you forgot about me! I’m just moving across town, not off the planet. You behave, y’hear?” Ororo enveloped Anna in a boob-crunching hug and sniffed back the tears that were threatening to spill off her lashes. Anna saved face by wiping them off with her sleeve.
“Ain’t gonna forget aboutcha, sugah,” she promised. “Say hi to short, stubbly and gorgeous for me, a’ight?”
“Give Remy my best.” Ororo gave her one last peck on the cheek before she waved to her from her car. She was still sniffling by the time she reached her apartment, but she felt a half ton lighter as she made her way up the stairs to call Logan. She stopped over at Raven’s place to do a quick, jaunty little “I’m FREE! I’m FREE!” jig and to give them the skinny on her new digs. She left their apartment with well wishes and a homemade butter cookie with sugar sprinkles that was half gone by the time she made back to her own kitchen.
She was just wiping the last crumbs from the corner of her mouth when her phone jangled at her. “He-wohl’m?” she answered, trying to swallow the remaining hunk of cookie that decided to stick to the roof of her mouth in defiance.
“That’s pitiful. Stuffing your face already, cuz, and it ain’t even Christmas yet!”
“Nngh. Mmmph. Cookie. Raven gave me a cookie. It’s the holiday week, I’m entitled,” she carped back. “And hello to you too, Petunia. What’s goin’ on?”
“I set us an appointment with Monica and Misty. Kiss your eyebrows goodbye, because I told her you were having that done, too.”
“Pot calling the kettle, girl. When’s the last time you had your lip zapped?”
“Naaawwww, you didn’t, ya HAD ta mention my ‘stache!”
“I love you, Kenya!” Ororo demurred, falling back on her cousin’s favorite claim.
“Not when ya talk smack about a woman’s lip!”
“It’s my mission in life. Gotta make it silky smooth for Leon, that can be his Christmas gift. No sense giving him rug burn in uncomfortable places…”
“That’s IT, I’m telling Auntie N’Dare that I haven’t seen your car parked outside your building for the past week! I know whose bed your shoes have been under, girlfriend!”
“Stop it. That ain’t funny. You ain’t cute.”
“Yes I am,” Kenyatta insisted. “Speaking of which…ya gotta help me find something to wear to Leon’s momma’s house.”
“You’ve got tons of clothes,” Ororo reasoned.
“Sure, if I’m headed to work or a club. I need something that says ‘I’m not living in sin with your son.’”
“Too late,” Ororo quipped. “Wear your cute black wrap dress with a camisole under it so your girls aren’t poppin’ out all over the place, and you’ll be fine.”
“You’re supposed to tell me ‘I’ll be right there so we can go shopping for shit you don’t need, Kenyatta,’ like I taught ya.”
“You’re a bad influence.”
“Say it anyway.”
“I’ll be right there so we can go shopping for shit you don’t need, Kenyatta.” Then as an afterthought, she sputtered out “but not til I call my man.”
“He can keep the sheets warm fo’ ya til I’m done with you. You’ve got priorities, such as telling me when something makes my booty look too big. Call him up, grab your purse, and let’s go!” Ororo “hmmphed” and made her goodbyes.
Logan howled when she described her priorities as Kenyatta’s wardrobe consultant and “judge of booty emphasis” and promised her that yes, he’d keep the sheets warm til she got back.
“Love you,” she cooed into the phone.
“Love you too. Shop fast.”
Three hours later:
Ororo rubbed the balls of her feet against Logan’s bare calves from under the covers, trying to relieve them of the throb. “Homegirl dragged me through three shoe stores and all but walked the heels off of MY shoes trying to find pumps to match that dress.” Logan’s CD player was on shuffle, currently playing “All Night Long” by the Mary Jane Girls. Ororo had been in the mood for more old school music and downloaded song after song onto her iPod, including a few cruising songs to keep in Logan’s Crown Vic.
“Poor baby,” he crooned, snuggling her against his chest and stroking the smooth skin of her upper arm. Idly his fingers twirled a lock of her hair as he caressed her forehead with his lips. “Show me where it hurts,” he suggested, and she thought his voice sounded a little too benign as he looked down solemnly at her. He playfully brushed the tip of her nose with his index finger before kissing her there. “That it?”
“Nope.” Wonder where this is going…?
“This it?” He repositioned her so that her chest squarely rested against his, and his dark sprinkle of hair rasped against her nipples, abrading them gently and making them pucker. He leaned up and nibbled her chin.
“Uh-uh,” she murmured. Mmmmm…
“Hmmm. Am I getting warm?” He nuzzled her earlobe, steaming the whorls above it with his breath before he lightly bit it. He applied a hint of suction, and her hips bucked against him instinctively.
“Maybe by a half a…degree. Try, try again,” she encouraged. Her hands roamed his flesh and combed through his thick, tousled hair. She began to move against him with wanton grace, making them both slick with her heat, and her lips fell open on a tiny cry.
“Ya could just tell me,” he said thoughtfully, devouring her neck.
“Tell you what?” She couldn’t even remember her own name.
“Where it hurts?” He paused in feasting on her to cup her face in his palms; the edge of his thumb barely stirred her lashes as he studied her.
“I felt better the minute I walked in the door. Sore feet and all,” she confessed. “But remind me not to wear those shoes to the mall ever again.”
“I’ll take a memo,” he promised. “Speakin’ of which…how are we gonna get everyone to yer mom’s place?”
“Separate cars, lots of overpriced gas, and through an act of God,” she admitted, reaching up to stroke his wrist and leaning her cheek into him.
“Yup. Sounds about right. Amelia’s making noises about bringin’ a Jello mold.”
“Momma’s planning on having Aunt Ruthie make her famous sorrel. Folks oughta be deep into the grape by the time we have dessert.”
“Deep into the grape?”
“Sauced.”
“Gotcha.”
“Cures what ails you.”
“So’ll this.” Another rush of heat swept over her flesh as his fingers found her under the covers. She was about to tell him that there was nothing wrong with her anymore, but Logan silenced her with a kiss that left no opportunity to disagree.
Through the hail of Ororo’s moans and gasps above him, several that she wrenched from him, and the music drifting upstairs to them from the stereo as she stretched herself over him and let her hips do the work, two things occurred to him. One: He was a very lucky man. Two: Ororo was very, very limber. All was right with the world.
Christmas Eve, in the middle of a crowded church parking lot:
“Will you be fine waiting out here, baby?”
“I’m gonna wait out here for my mom and pop, then we can go in and find yer mom.”
“Aunt Ruthie said they’d wait near the back by the guest book if you need any help finding Momma.”
“Think I can manage, ‘Ro.” He reached for her gloved hand and tugged her close for a chaste kiss. “Ya look like an angel.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere. I’ll see you inside.”
“Can’t wait, darlin’; knock ‘em dead.” Her fingers slipped free from his and she trotted up the steps, mindful of the slick dusting of snow that settled on the stone. Logan watched her retreating back in her long blue wool coat and the scarf that she draped over her hair. She turned back and blew him a kiss before she cut to the right side of the lobby to head toward the choir rehearsal room. The light over the doors shone down on her eyes and hair peaking out from her scarf for a brief moment, and that vision kept him company while he scanned the street, watching for his parents’ respective cars. The familiar silver Lincoln pulled up to the curb, and Logan’s father turned on the roof light inside, illuminating his grinning face as he waved at Logan, then indicated where he intended to park. A few minutes later, Logan was just hugging his father hello and kissing Amelia’s cheek as Jack and Elizabeth came up the street. His mother leaned out the window and bellowed at him for the best place to park before she made a shy hello to her ex-husband and his fiancée. So far, no one’s killin’ each other, Logan mused. Good.
They made their way into the lobby, with Jack, Logan and Jonathan stomping the layer of snow from the grooves in their boot soles. Elizabeth and Amelia took turns signing the guest book, taking a moment to chat about the weather, and for Elizabeth to exclaim how adorable and thoughtful Amelia’s present was the month before.
Ruthie leaned her head in through the swinging doors and nodded to Logan, crooking her finger at him to follow him in. They tiptoed through the chapel around other members of the congregation trying to enter their pews. Logan was relieved to see N’Dare’s red felt hat and her face in profile as she laughed at something Ororo’s aunt Martina said three rows from the front. They were almost directly in front of the choir pedestal. Excitement stirred in his stomach as he let his eyes wander over it, realizing Ororo’s singing up there soon.
The church was packed to the rafters, and more folding chairs were being brought to the back rows. The altar was adorned with a huge bouquet of red and white poinsettias and flanked by large white pillar candles. The opening strains of the organ preceded the acolyte as he strode up with the lit taper outstretched before him, and he neatly lit the pillars, and they cast their warming glow. Logan never expected coming to church to affect him like this. The experience was special because it was shared. He heard his father and Amelia murmuring in low tones on one side of him while his mother and Jack flanked his other side. He felt a funny little childlike tickle resonating in him to have both of his parents together in the same place for the first time in several years, made more remarkable by the fact that it was peaceful. It’s a Christmas miracle, Charlie Brown. His mother sensed the shift in his mood and reached over to hold his hand, right before she fussed at him to remove his coat and get comfortable.
The service was one of the most boisterous that Logan could remember, and it included a brief Christmas pageant put on by the children in the Sunday school. Logan pointed out Ororo’s little niece that he recognized from dinner at N’Dare’s house, dressed up in little shepherd’s robes and still holding her dollie in one hand, and the shepherd’s staff in the other, making Elizabeth grin at the sight.
“Precious. That’s absolutely precious. This takes me back.”
The reverend’s sermon plunged Logan into contemplation, even though his voice rang out through the chapel like a claxon. This was where Ororo grew to womanhood and learned right from wrong. This was yet another part of her that amazed him to witness, much like everything else about her had from the moment she’d introduced herself and promised that she hadn’t flooded the engine on her car. The minister’s lesson to the congregation reminded them of the “reason for the season” and made Logan silently thank God for the chance to have his family, and Ororo’s family all together for the holiday, hoping it would be the first of many where things just clicked. He wanted his future to hold the occasional Sunday service and pot roast dinner, with kids running in and out of the den and various aunts bellowing at him to come and eat. His hand drifted to his pants pocket, patting the small lump inside to reassure himself that it hadn’t fallen out before his mother lifted their hymnal between them for the doxology.
Watching the choir file inside the chapel was what he looked forward to most. He spied Ororo’s snowy crown of hair falling in soft sheaves down her back, and he’d never seen anything more beautiful than the way she looked in her red robe and white sash of embroidered satin. As the choir sat and listened to the sermon, he saw her eyes slowly searching for her family, brightening as she found her mother, who waved briefly at her in front of him, and lighting up with true joy as she found him looking back.
He stood with each hymn, adding his voice hesitantly to those around him, amused to hear his tones sounding so much like his father’s, now that he had the chance to really listen. Amelia’s singing voice was higher than he expected and not altogether unpleasant. Logan could swear he heard Ororo’s voice rising above the rest as they launched into a song that he wasn’t familiar with, but the cadence and rhythm cheered him; the song felt more like a carol:
Mary had a baby, Oh Lord,
Mary had a baby, Oh my Lord,
Mary had a baby, Oh Lord,
People keep a-comin' an' the train done gone.
What did she name Him? Oh Lord,
What did she name Him? Oh my Lord,
What did she name Him? Oh Lord,
People keep a-comin' an' the train done gone.
She named Him, Jesus, Oh Lord,
She named Him, Jesus, Oh my Lord,
She named Him, Jesus, Oh Lord,
People keep a-comin' an' the train done gone.
Now where was He born? Oh Lord,
Where was He born? Oh my Lord,
Where was He born? Oh Lord,
People keep a-comin' an' the train done gone.
Born in a stable, Oh Lord,
Born in a stable, Oh my Lord,
Born in a stable, Oh Lord,
People keep a-comin' an' the train done gone.
Ororo swayed shoulder to shoulder with the choir surrounding her as they clapped their hands, and as Kenyatta had promised the day before, everyone in the front couple of rows got riled up and “fell out.” He stood transfixed by the commotion and emotions going on as people were overwhelmed left and right by the Spirit, clutching the edge of each pew and thanking God, weeping openly when it moved them.
Just when he thought it couldn’t shake him any further, the offering was quickly collected, giving him a moment to catch his breath.
Then the organist launched into the opening bars of “O Come All Ye Faithful,” and it was his turn to go weak in the knees. Ororo had her solo beginning on the second stanza of the hymn. She opened her mouth and he found himself taking a breath when she did in anticipation, and her voice rose sweet, strong and true. His dad caught the thunderstruck look on his face and clapped him on the shoulder.
“All that AND she can sing, eh, Jamie?” He turned to him, mouth still hanging open, and simply nodded.
His eyes returned to Ororo as she continued to sing, eliciting more cries from the front row to “Praise Jesus!” and “Yes, Lord!” What really struck him was how much joy she got out of it; she was radiant and in her element. Her voice thrummed through him and touched something in him that he’d only just discovered, and wanted to know better.
Heck, he couldn’t let this woman get away now. It was just unthinkable.
An hour later:
“I’m sorry, how do you pronounce your name again? I’m horrible with names.”
“N’Dare,” she said carefully, giving Amelia a tolerant smile that broadened when she saw the pretty Jello mold. “Let’s put that in the refrigerator, I’ve got some whipped cream that’ll go nicely with that, I bought extra for the pecan pie!”
“Now we’re talkin’!” Logan had already hung up his and Ororo’s coats and unloaded the gifts, tucking them under the tree that was surrounded by mounds of loot. Ororo had looked quizzically at the flat rectangular box wrapped up in silver and white foil with a department store bow that had her name scribbled in pen across the left corner, but she just smiled at him and said nothing. Lingerie, perhaps? A Wonder Woman T-shirt? Or the Betty and Veronica underpants she’d jokingly pointed out in Penney’s? Who knew?
The rich scents of the baked ham and yams, and the roast beef with potatoes wafted through the house, rousing comments from Jonathan as he and Jack made their way to the den to watch basketball with Ororo’s uncles and offer them some of the beer that they picked up on the way over. Logan and Elizabeth heartily assured little Monique that yes, she was the best shepherd they had ever seen in the pageant and that Felicia had done a great job, too. Logan wandered into the play room where the kids had assembled to wreak general havoc and fight over which DVD to watch next, and shortly had them all shrieking at the top of their lungs as the “Wolfman” made his growling return, gnarly claws, wiggling eyebrows and all.
“What’s that boy up to now?” Ororo chuckled as Martina handed her a cup of sorrel punch.
“What he does best,” Elizabeth replied. “His older brother John’s kids adore him, kiddo, this is typical of wherever we go, when there’s kids in the house. He loves ‘em. Just a thought,” she winked, dropping the grandchildren card. Ororo beamed as she sipped her punch.
A gorgeous array of food that put even the Thanksgiving spread to shame was laid out on the buffet, and after Ororo’s uncle said the blessing and gave his usual speech, Ororo got up to help pass the dishes and serving bowls. Logan enjoyed watching her move between the adult and kiddie tables, looking good enough to eat, herself, in her white cashmere sweater, black leather vest and matching calf-length skirt. The glow of the candles and softer overhead lights from the chandelier cast a warm glow over her skin and hair. Her blue eyes looked amused as she caught him staring at her, and she grinned at him before pulling a face. He laughed into his napkin at her expression before she moved off to offer her uncle the stuffing and gravy.
The chatter rose into a cacophony as dinner progressed, and Logan found himself holding down his end of three or four conversations at once as Ororo’s relatives, not to mention his own, got “deep into the grape” on Ruthie’s sorrel punch and her cousin Howard’s “famous apple martinis.” Every now and again, just for kicks, he would play peek-a-boo with the nieces and nephews from their huddle at the kiddie table, making faces from behind his cloth napkin to make them all giggle and bounce in their seats.
“You’re a bad influence,” Ororo scolded him.
“Yup,” he shot back proudly. Logan got up to help clear away the dishes with Ororo to let the food shift and settle itself. Whoo, that was good stuff.
Logan’s thoughts wandered back to the sight of Ororo perched and wobbling on top of the step ladder in her building’s lobby, adjusting the star atop the tree as he stared at the towering, painstakingly decorated fir in N’Dare’s family room. String after string of tiny white lights, not the annoying flashing ones, were draped from its branches in neat rows, picking out the details of the long sashes of burgundy and gold ribbon, icicles, tufts of ornamental grapes and Afrocentric ornaments recreating a charming Nativity.
Logan rubbed his nape and drew in a shuddery breath. It was almost time. Gads, he was nervous.
He wandered back into the kitchen, watching Ororo cracking jokes with his mother and stepmom, feigning indignance as her aunts teased her and fussed over hair, accusing her of letting it get too dry. Nope, not quite time yet. He prowled back into the den and watched the game with little interest as his father handed him a beer.
Martina’s voice cut across the house like a bullhorn. “Everybody grab the kids and herd ‘em up! Everyone into the den to open up presents! Hustle, people!” That settled that. Logan patted his pocket for the second time that night and steeled himself as Ororo came out of the kitchen, untying her apron and tossing it over the back of a chair.
“Miss me?”
“You know it, darlin’.” She tugged him over to the recliner and nudged him into it while she balanced herself on the arm, massaging the kinks out of his neck and smiling at him as though he reached up, plucked the moon out of the sky and handed it to her. She couldn’t put her finger on the exciting, restless feeling she had right now, but she was content to trade mischievous looks with Logan, watching his chocolate brown eyes twinkle up at her. Gifts were slowly handed out from beneath the tree and arranged into smaller piles in front of each person. Ororo got up and handed N’Dare the tiny green box with a crisp bow on top, beaming as she said “Logan and Amelia picked this one out for you.” N’Dare was puzzled at first, then thrilled when she pulled out the little figurine of the two little girls holding hands and clutching their school books, their hair styled in little pigtails and painted with strong attention to detail.
“Ruthie, will you just look at what Logan and Ororo gave me! Bet you wish you had one, too!” she gloated playfully, turning it this way and that before she rose and gave Logan an unexpected peck on the cheek. “Okay, it’s settled, we’ll keep you,” she announced.
Let’s see if she felt the same once Ororo opened up her box.
Various squeals from the kids drowned out everything else as wrapping paper flew off every which direction, littering the floor until Martina came out with a garbage bag to begin collecting the discarded foil and tags, saving the bows in a grocery bag for the next year. Logan opened up a surprisingly nice sweater that N’Dare had given him, and he stroked his fingertip over the gleaming silver watch adorning his wrist, admiring it in the light after Ororo presented it to him. He kissed her soundly, not caring who saw, even when Ruthie admonished “All right now, that’s enough of that, y’all behave y’selves!”
Ororo saved his box for last, wanting to enjoy it after everything died down. She shook it slightly, wondering what could make a big box like that feel so light. She peeled away the tape and lifted up the gift-wrapped lid.
A tiny slip of folded paper lay on top of a layer of tissue. What on earth…?
“Read it,” he grated out, his pulse pounding in his neck as he leaned forward to watch her face.
“What? Wait… ‘Ask me what’s in my pocket?’” She was incredulous, looking at him like he’d gone off his rocker before she took the bait. “What’s in your pocket, Logan?”
“I know where your mind went, get it outta the gutter,” he barked before he rose from the recliner and reached into the pocket, withdrawing a small red velvet box. Ororo’s hands flew up to her mouth as her breath lurched out of her lungs, nearly knocking her off the arm of the chair. Her eyes met his, glittering with an odd sheen and a dozen questions. It was almost surreal as he dropped down on one knee.
“Say something, Ororo.” He took her hand in his and gently squeezed it. She shook her head, mouth still covered. She was completely overwhelmed, and almost immediately, Logan’s mother, his stepmother, N’Dare and Ruthie swiveled around to see what was drawing everyone’s attention in the back of the den.
She swallowed around an enormous lump in her throat, and she couldn’t stop trembling, but she tried to play it off with a smile. “It…it’s smaller than a bread box. How many guesses do I get?” She squeezed his hand back.
“None. Ya don’t have to.” He pried open the box with his thumb, revealing a narrow, yellow gold band with a two-carat, marquise-cut solitaire that glittered up from a nest of white satin. Logan wasn’t a poetic man, and there were moments when words surely failed him, but this was crucial, and he couldn’t afford to mess this up.
“Oh, my God!” N’Dare felt Ruthie lay a hand on her shoulder as she watched the scene unfolding before her, and she fanned her cheeks for air, unable to believe it.
“That’s my boy, Jamie,” his mother whispered. Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close.
“Ororo, I love ya more than I can even begin ta describe, for more reasons than I can even list. From the moment I met ya, I knew you were special and one of a kind, and nothing was gonna stop me from having ya in my life. Yer the light of my life, darlin’, and ya’d make me the happiest man alive if ya’d do me the honor of becoming my wife. Will you marry me, ‘Ro?” Her fingers trembled over her lips as tears welled up and spilled over her lashes, dripping onto her skirt. Before he’d even finished his sentence, she was already nodding emphatically. She made a choked, mewling sound of accord before he tugged her wrist away, stroking it with his thumb.
“Yes,” she sniffled. “Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes! I’ll marry you. Momma, come and look! It’s BEAUTIFUL!” Logan plucked the ring out of the box and set it aside before he took Ororo’s hand and slid the ring onto her left hand, caressing her slender fingers in a tender grip.
“I couldn’t miss it, baby girl, it’s huge,” N’Dare chuckled, but even her eyes were wet. Ororo bent down and kissed Logan to an uproar of shouts and claps from their assembled family as Monique and her other nieces jumped up and down and giggled behind their hands in the corner amidst the piles of toys.
“I love you,” she whispered against his mouth beneath the clamor. She caught his muffled response as he kissed her again, just to make sure she stayed kissed, before he came back up for air.
“Ruthie, go ahead and bring that sorrel back out here, this calls for a toast!”
Midnight, in a hotel room not far away:
“I can’t stop staring at it,” Ororo murmured, studying her hand with just as much intensity and interest as she had the first umpteen times, unable to take her eyes off that gorgeous ring.
“Gotta sleep sometime, darlin’.”
“No need. I’m already dreaming. I love you,” she informed him again.
“Love you, too.” The hotel TV was on low volume, and they were snickering at the marathon of the movie “A Christmas Story” that had been playing on heavy rotation since they checked into their room. Logan’s breath stirred the hairs at her temple as he held her in a possessive embrace. He’d been fretting about it all month, but now it was almost over too soon. “This was the best Christmas I ever had, hands down. Unless we get married, you tell me we’re having a baby, actually have a baby, or win the lottery when the jackpot hits ten million next Christmas or any of the ones after it, no other Christmas will compete with this one.”
“I wish Daddy could have been here for it, but I felt him watching when you took that box out of your pocket, and that made it perfect. You made this perfect for me.” Logan’s lids were heavy and his hands stroked her with sleepy languor. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, darlin’.” They eventually turned off the TV when Ororo nodded off during the scene when Ralphie unwrapped his Red Ryder air rifle with the compass in the stock. Logan huffed deep in his chest at the look of joy on Ralphie’s face, knowing exactly how it felt to be given everything you’ve ever wanted in life, wrapped up with a shiny bow.
He woke up the next morning with Ororo’s hair tickling his lips and her breasts mashed into his ribcage where her pajama top rode up. He toyed with the idea of peeling it the rest of the way off and waking her up with grand ceremony until he heard her purse start ringing.
“It’s too early f’r this,” she grumbled sleepily, patting Logan with a fumbling hand, enjoying his warm skin. “Morning, baby,” she rasped, kissing his jaw.
“Ya better get that. Might be yer mom calling us to see if we’re still comin’ over.”
“Doubt it,” she replied, yawning as she rose and scratched, then rummaged in her purse. “Whassup?” she muttered. Her face twisted into a grin before she cackled out loud, then bounced back on her heels. “Girl, you’re too much! No, he didn’t!”
“Kenya?” he mouthed, pointing to her phone. She nodded before she went back to her conversation, then held the phone away from her ear due to what he could only guess was more shrieking on the other end of the line. Ororo’s face was smug.
“Guess what I got?” Ororo sang, drawing out the last two syllables. Yup, his fiancée looked like the cat that got the cream as he sat up and leaned against the headboard, patting her side of the bed. She smiled as she continued to bait her cousin. “C’mon, just guess, you know you want to!” She rolled her eyes before she dropped back down to Logan. “It’s small and round…I take that back, BIG and round and fits nice and neat on your ring finger. Ya wear it on the left one.” This time Logan was close enough to hear Kenyatta shrieking in Ororo’s mobile, and he drilled his finger into his ear with exaggeration.
“Whoa. Shit,” he hissed. Ororo socked him.
“Hold up…” Ororo held her hand over the mouthpiece. “Kenyatta said to tell you Leon beat you to the punch.”
“Like hell he did,” he grumbled. “Only if he asked her before dinner was over,” he added.
“Yup, only if he asked you before dinner,” she repeated, peeling the blankets off of Logan and clambering onto his lap, straddling him. He grunted under his breath as she eyed him with mischievous intent. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yup, I want details when y’all get here. Yup. Love you, too. Can’t wait to see that rock. Gotta go, bye!” She clacked the phone shut and chucked it onto the nightstand. “We’ve gotta go meet the folks for breakfast.”
“I know. So what’re ya doin’?”
“Waking you up properly,” she told him as she wrestled off his boxers. He didn’t have it in him to object. They proceeded to get their money’s worth out of the hotel room and the shower and made it to her mother’s before the first cup of coffee was poured.
One sunny June morning:
“Folks always gotta be runnin’ late on their weddin’ day,” Kenyatta grumbled at Ororo as she hurried into the small room in back of the chapel to put the finishing touches on herself. N’Dare and Ruthie already stood sentry at the door to make sure no one caught sight of her before it was time. “Can’t make the poor man wait all day, cuz.”
“You mean can’t make you wait all day, you’re the one fussin’ at me, girl! Give a woman some peace…where’s my lipstick?”
“Pass your face over here.” She flicked her eyes over Ororo’s elaborate hair as she ran the wand of lipstick over her bottom lip. “Damn, how many pins did Monica use to get this mess up there and get it to stay?”
“Don’t ask. My head feels like it weighs a ton. How you feeling this morning?”
“Don’t ask. Got my saltines in my purse.” She patted the tiny handbag dangling from her wrist that matched the raspberry pink chiffon bridesmaid dress before she help Ororo settle the veil into place with more pins. She fluffed out the long stream of ivory tulle and handed Ororo her shoes, which she’d carried over to avoid having anything stain them on the way. They were silk shantung like her dress and crusted with tiny pearls that winked up at her as she lifted gown up for a better look.
Pretty soon she wouldn’t even be able to see her feet. Kenyatta was in pretty much the same boat, and they’d just had her wedding in May in an effort to pacify Ruthie that her daughter would be married before her grandchild came into this world. When she had emailed Scott to let him know the happy news and had an invitation delivered to his new office, he’d slyly written back that something must have been in the water for all of the females to be in the family way like that.
“Jeannie’s got you all beat; she’s due on Halloween!”
Ororo smoothed the folds of her gown before Ruthie handed her the bouquet of snowy white roses and baby’s breath. “What’s the verdict?”
“Perfect,” her mother admitted, and her face began to crumple as Ruthie handed her some tissues.
“We’re not even down the aisle yet, and y’all are carrying on,” Kenyatta tsked.
Leon poked his head inside the door, and his eyes bulged a moment before he said “Dang, girl, he’s gonna fall out when he sees you looking like that!”
“We had to scrape you up off the floor when it was Kenyatta’s turn,” Ruthie reminded him.
“You ready?” He proffered his arm, looking spiffy in his gray tux as she scooped up her train and accompanied him to the back of the chapel, waiting in the wings.
Down by the altar, Logan rubbed the back of his neck restlessly until his mother swatted him from her perch in the pew. “Stop that, Jamie! Settle down!”
“Ma…” he grumbled.
“Stop fretting. You look handsome, the church is beautiful, this is your big day, and you know we’re right here pulling for you. So stop fidgeting.” Yup. Same old Mom.
“Don’t make her haul you up by the ear like she used to,” his brother John warned, reaching out to straighten Logan’s bow tie, smoothing it slightly before Logan reached up to loosen it again. He poked his finger under his collar impatiently, ready to pounce when his brother sighed “Yeah, that really helps when you do that.”
“Kiss my ass,” Logan muttered under his breath.
“JAMIE!” his mother hissed at him in a loud whisper before swatting him with her fan.
“Sorry,” he muttered. The organ thundered through the chapel of Ororo’s church, ceasing Logan’s mother and stepmother from fiddling with the pew bows as they looked to the back of the church.
The wedding party made their way down the pristine white runner, starting with N’Dare leading Monique by the hand, clutching her basket of silk flowers, with her dollie Felicia conspicuously missing. Logan grinned at her dignified little expression that she gave everyone until he winked at her, causing her to clap her hand over her giggling mouth as she and N’Dare sat down. Kenyatta made her way next, walking elegantly enough in the pink sheath layered in iridescent chiffon and silver heels, enjoying her maid of honor privileges to the hilt. Ororo’s other bridesmaids continued along on the arms of the groomsmen and took up their place. The music segued into the bridal march, and Logan’s breath caught in this throat.
“Easy, buddy,” John whispered, “I’ve been there. This is it.”
“Uh-huh.” That was all he could manage.
Leon appeared at the end of the aisle, escorting Ororo down the aisle with carefree grace. The assembly stood and craned their necks around, and Logan could have sworn he could hear a pin drop at the sight that she made. The ivory tulle blusher of her veil was lowered over her face, which was radiant as she beamed at him, offering him their future together with a smile that nearly made him choke up. The spaghetti-strapped ivory silk shantung dress had a simple yet elegant princess-seamed bodice and waist and full skirt that rustled when she walked. The short train was delicately appliquéd and completed the vision that she made, ethereal and beautiful, and every inch the blushing bride. Ororo hugged Leon once she reached the altar and released him, then turned to Logan.
“Hi,” she mouthed at him.
“Hi, yourself,” he grinned back. He lifted up the blusher and drew it from her face, letting the gauzy veil drift down over her shoulders. She tucked her hand in the crook of his arm before they nodded to the minister.
“You may all be seated,” he intoned, and there was a shuffling in the chapel as everyone situated themselves. Before he could go any further, a baby could be heard squalling at the top of his lungs in the back row.
“You know what that means,” Amelia whispered to Elizabeth. “If a baby cries at your wedding, it means a full cradle nine months later!”
“I think they jumped the gun a little on that one,” Elizabeth murmured, “but as long as I have some more grandchildren to spoil, I’ll be just fine! Maybe this’ll insure that they’ll have a whole houseful,” she considered. Amelia shrugged and nodded as they sat back to enjoy the ceremony, with visions of baby blankets and booties dancing in their heads.
Logan’s hand was trembling as he slid the wedding band onto Ororo’s finger. “With this ring, I thee wed,” he grated out. His chocolaty eyes glimmered with emotion, and Ororo reached out to gently wipe the moisture away before she did the same.
“You may now kiss the bride!” A wave of applause broke out as they enthusiastically obeyed. “It’s my pleasure to introduce to you, Mr. and Mrs. James Howlett!”
That following Christmas Eve:
“Next time just tell me ya don’t want any ham, ‘Ro, instead of breaking your water to drive the point home!” Logan mopped her forehead with a cool towel as she writhed on the hospital bed, well past the point of Lamaze breathing doing the least bit of good, which if she had to be honest, was after the “hee-hee-HOO” stage. Over the past five hours, Ororo had gone from making pleasant yet nervous chatter with the nurses to threatening never to sleep with Logan again if he didn’t “get someone in here with some painkiller horse pills NOW, damn it!”
“Can’t ya give her ANYTHING?” he bellowed, wincing as Ororo’s fingers dug into his shoulder. Shit, she was strong! N’Dare, Amelia and Elizabeth stood by, broadcasting a combination of anticipation and empathy, occasionally offering her sips of 7-Up and back rubs when Logan began to look aggrieved and overwhelmed.
“Now we’re in business, she’s nine and a half centimeters!” the nurse announced cheerfully, “just hang in there, Mrs. Munroe, I’ll grab the doctor! Let’s have this baby!”
“She…sounds like…a damned…cheerleader,” Ororo panted. Logan suppressed a chuckle as he kissed her cheek, wincing as another contraction made her abdomen stiffen into a tight ball of pain.
“Almost there,” he promised.
“I want it OUT!” she screeched.
“I want it here,” he soothed. “I wanna see our baby, darlin’,” he crooned, stroking her braids over her shoulder and mopping more sweat from her neck with the cloth. “There’s nothin’ I want more.” Her sapphire blue eyes softened for a minute as she peered up at him.
“I know. Me too.” It was the last peaceful moment they had over the next hour as Ororo clenched his hand strong enough to do him damage and began to push.
“I asked for PAINKILLER, damn it!”
“It’s too late for that, sweetie,” her OB/GYN assured her, “but give me another good, big push and we’ll set you up with some pain pills and a nice comfy bed! Here comes baby…Dad, d’you wanna see the head?” Logan turned slightly green. “That’s fine!” she chirped.
Ororo released another guttural shout, curling her body around the push, feeling a twisting within her, almost as though she were being pried apart…then something slipped free in a warm rush. Logan gripped her now, begging her to tell him that she was okay.
“It’s a beautiful baby GIRL! Say hello to your daughter, Daddy!” The squalling infant squinched her eyes shut and howled to rival her mother’s earlier cries, flailing tiny fists against the chill. N’Dare collapsed against Amelia and held onto Elizabeth’s hand.
“Our grandbaby. Oh, David, I hope you can see this, wherever you are!” she exclaimed. She marshaled the strength to come to her daughter’s bedside and kiss her cheek. “You did wonderfully. So help me, this is my proudest moment since you came into my life!” Elizabeth was hugging Logan, who was still looking shell-shocked while Amelia hovered over the nurse’s shoulder as the baby was weighed and cleaned up, squalling in protest the entire time.
“EIGHT POUNDS! Someone likes to EAT! My kind of girl!” Amelia crowed. “Oh, we’re gonna have some fun with this grandbaby!”
“I’ve got dibs on her first,” Ororo murmured weakly. Logan took her from the nurse and carried her over, bundled into a pink bunting and matching knit cap. He placed her on her mother’s chest, where she snuffled and cooed, becoming acquainted with her mother’s scent and warmth. “Hi,” she croaked. “Welcome to the world!”
“We did it,” Logan huffed, stroking his daughter’s tiny head. “I never thought we could top last Christmas, but ya proved me wrong, darlin’.”
“The only way to keep up our track record now is to win the lottery,” she pointed out, “but our odds are fantastic.” From then on, Elizabeth N’Dare Howlett’s grandmothers took turns passing the baby among them while the nurse saw to Ororo’s needs, and Logan made his bleary-eyed but blissful way to the packed waiting room to give Kenyatta, Leon (bouncing their baby boy on his knee) and the aunts, uncles and grandpas the news.
Little Elizabeth grew up with her mother’s kindness, her father’s aptitude for how things worked, their combined good looks, and a genuine love of family and her rich heritage. And all was right with the world.
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.