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?”
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