“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.
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