Clementine was partial to houseplants. Logan fingered the soil of the small pot of creeping Charlie and added a low drizzle of water from the tap. He hadn’t even peeled the price sticker from the bottom yet. He was late to meet Clem and Mac for lunch.
The voice mail on his home phone was cryptic. Hasn’t been the same since you cleared out your desk. By the way, Clementine found some information that’ll open your eyes. Clear us a spot on your calendar for a lunch date.
He was just zipping up his spare jacket, a black fleece-lined corduroy number with comfortably deep pockets, when he remembered he hadn’t taken out the trash yet. Logan gathered up the kitchen trash and his recycling pile and trekked out to the garage, whistling under his breath.
It was still echoingly empty except for his tool cart and his old bike.
“Gotta take this thing t’be washed,” he grumbled as his filthy car stared back at him. Salt water mist left the paint looking gritty and chapped; you could still tell it was a red car, but just barely. He set the Clementine’s plant on the roof and tossed both bags of trash into their respective buckets before he raised the garage door. Peering inside his car window, he tsked in disgust.
“Gotta clean it out, too. Damn.” He opened up the rear door on his side and reached for a bundle of clothes he didn’t remember taking home from work or the gym.
He wrinkled his nose. They were wet, smelling faintly of mildew, salt water and sand. He prodded the pile gingerly and sorted through them.
“There’s my other coat, he muttered sourly, turning the sleeves right-side out again until he noticed its condition.
The lining was torn, and hunks of batting were leaking from the seams. “The hell…?” Long, jagged tears in the fabric looked like it was rent by…talons. “Shit.”
He backed out of the car door and dropped the pile onto the concrete floor, peering at them in the dim light. His flannel shirt, tee and jeans weren’t in better condition. All of them were torn and showered sand over his shoes when he shook out each piece. Even his socks were balled up and filthy with wet sand. His shoes were missing.
His tee shirt was the most disturbing. Blotches of dark, dried blood stained the collar.
The moon. It was huge pearl in the sky. High tide. Sand.
Screaming. The taste of blood…
It felt like someone socked him in the gut. His skin grew clammy and cold and the floor seemed to spin beneath him. Logan stumbled forward against his car and drew in deep, ragged breaths.
“God, please,” he whispered. “What’s happenin’ ta me?”
It took him a few minutes to compose himself. He shoved the ruined clothing and jacket into the trash and backed out of the garage. With shaking fingers, he dialed Mac from his cell to let him know he’d be late.
~0~
“Clem, ya gonna eat that?”
“I’m counting points now. Again,” she snorted, waving for him to take the rest of her hamburger from her plate. Logan slid her dish over to himself and plucked the other half of her sandwich up, shaking off the lettuce, tomato and bread clinging to the patty. “I don’t know how you do it, Logan. Eating anything and never gaining a pound. You look good,” she beamed. “Healthy and rested. Robust, even.”
“Yer makin’ me blush, kiddo,” he winked, but Mac interrupted him before he could tear into the beef.
“I wanted to show this to you before we leave today, bub. Might be easier to digest on a full stomach. Here.” Mac slid Logan a slim accordion folio as Logan wiped his fingers on his crumpled napkin.
“Ya said it was important,” he replied, unlooping the string fastening the tab shut and peering inside.
“There’s a sheet from the workbook from last quarter’s activities.”
“Ya shouldn’t be showin’ me this, Mac,” Logan reminded him soberly. “Ya could get the sack like me.”
“You shouldn’t have been sacked, man,” Mac sighed. His eyes searched Logan’s face. “Clementine stepped up to the plate to tie up loose ends after you left, so the new director’s admin wouldn’t be left with too much on her plate.”
“New guy?” Logan’s heavy brows beetled together, giving him the fierce look that spawned several office nicknames that didn’t really bother him. “Thought they just dissolved my position ta cut back.”
“That’s what we were told when it came down from the CEO’s desk,” Mac shrugged. “We never got a memo about who was moving into your old office until his admin was unpacking his stuff and setting out his nameplate.”
“Did he come in from the outside?” Logan inquired as his eyes scanned the sheets of paper.
“No. He came in and moved up from another branch.”
“Did he have any seniority?”
“Some. Not enough to take over a department, though.” Logan sighed.
“Then whose ass did he kiss?” Logan laid the papers down and leaned back in his chair, frustrated. “I don’t know where yer goin’ with this, Mac.”
“Then keep reading.” Logan went back to the file, continuing to scan the dates and activities.
Meetings. More meetings. Receipts. “Yer gonna catch hell fer takin’ this outta the office, Ma-“ His voice deserted him as he read a short stack of emails spanning over three months. “Shit.”
“You were the one who brought in the Dane account.”
“No shit. Took me and Clem weeks to put together the package they wanted and ta get approval from the state fer the benefits they bought.”
“Logan, that account was the deciding factor in whether to keep you.” Mac’s words wrapped around his neck and weighed against him like a lodestone. “You weren’t given credit for closing it, or for working the Summers Brothers account.” Logan’s eyes perused the dates sent and the subject lines of messages that never went through his inbox. All of them were related to those two accounts. They’d bypassed him.
“Look at the invoices. We got these back from cash posting,” Clementine offered, handing him a separate folio. “That’s not your signature signing for the receipt of those premiums and deposits.”
“Sure as hell ain’t,” Logan muttered, feeling anger tighten his scalp and thin his lips. The John Hancock on each record of receipt from the ledgers was illegible except for the large, stylized “P” and “M” resting on the line.
“Nothing matches,” Mac mused, toying idly with his iced water and straw. “And it knocked us over with a feather when they filled a position that they said was gonna be dissolved.”
“So they wanted me out.”
“No. They just wanted this other guy in. We just don’t know why,” Mac countered.
“He’s under yer umbrella now, ain’t he, Mac?”
“Uh-uh. Different cost center, different lead.”
“That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”
“At least Mac and I know we aren’t crazy, then,” Clementine muttered. “We were thinking the same thing.”
“How ya holdin’ up, darlin’?” Logan inquired, letting his face ease into softer lines.
“I’d be better if not for the new admin Maximoff brought with him. She’s a piece of work,” she snorted.
“More like a piece of shit,” Mac chimed in, making a face around the French fry he was tucking into his mouth. “Thinks she’s too good to take minutes or to hand in the expense reports on time.”
“Accused me of taking her flavored creamer out of the fridge,” Clementine sneered.
“Didja?” Logan’s lips twisted.
“Didn’t have her name on it,” Clem shrugged. Mac sighed.
“So. That leaves us here. What do you want to do about this, Logan?”
“Dunno. I really don’t, Mac.” Different scenarios played themselves out in his head. “I’m just lettin’ it all sink in. I’m kinda floored. And pissed.” That was the cue for more unpleasant tingles to creep over his flesh, making his nape throb.
“Well, no shit!”
“A whole friggin’ month, tryin’ ta rearrange my life because someone diddled a few receipts and kept me outta the loop.”
“In a nutshell.” Mac dragged his last fry through the ketchup on his plate.
“I gotta think about it. Sleep on it.”
“That’s another thing, Logan,” Clementine cut in before he could dig back into the burger patty. “The LAN desk hasn’t cleaned off your laptop yet. Or your desktop. I just got the requisition slips to have it sent back to them yesterday.”
“So my old inbox hasn’t been deleted yet.”
“Sure hasn’t.”
“Hope they don’t find the porn you were peeking at on your lunch break,” Mac jabbed.
“Hold on, got somethin’ in my eye…” Logan flipped him the bird in the guise of rubbing it. Mac chuckled.
“They already disabled the passwords,” Clementine offered apologetically.
“Not the ones on my machine at home. Even when I ain’t at work, I’m workin’. Last time I sent in my expenses, Clem, I did it from home.” Her eyes widened and she slapped the table.
“Sure. You sure as hell did! Shit,” she marveled with a shake of her head. “Bless your little heart.”
“Thank God for telecommuting,” Mac agreed. Logan handed Clem back the files before he folded the patty and crammed it into his mouth.
~0~
Three days of sleepless nights found Ororo cranky and impatient when Ali called her that morning, sounding too chipper for it to be random.
“H’lo?” she rasped as she turned down the volume on her set. Giblet meowed in complaint as she sat up from her reclining position on the couch. She scratched her ears as she nudged the kitty from her chest, letting her resume her own nap on her lap. The warm, fuzzy haze from her too-short nap was dissipating the more Ali spoke.
“Go to your closet and get out your dancing shoes.”
“Let me wake up first. And for the record, Al, why?”
“Why ask why?” she grinned into the phone.
“Al…”
“Okay, Miss Killjoy. You and I are going to the publisher’s ball next week.”
“Eerrrrgh,” Ororo groaned, stretching and popping the joints in her neck. “Why?” she repeated.
“Because it’s good publicity. And we’re doing the Christmas launch. Might be good to have your picture taken with the beautiful people.”
“Thanks,” she yawned. “Glad you’re thinking of me.”
“Someone’s gotta. You’re such a hermit, babe.”
“I’ve got gas,” Ororo offered. “Leave me alone.”
“Gads…no excuse.”
“Then stay upwind.”
“You’re so full of it.”
“Gas?”
“Excuses. If you don’t show, everyone will be breathing down my neck wondering where you are.”
“Then let ‘em wonder.”
“No. I’m got going to be the middle man. You’re going. I’ll be lonely without you.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Then I need my partner in crime to make sure I don’t tuck my dress into my pantyhose coming from the ladies’ room all night.”
“Wear pants,” Ororo suggested dryly.
“No way. I’m not showing up looking like a complete dowd. This is the velvet and sequins crowd. The more glitz, the better. Speaking of which, we’re hitting the mall. Get up and do your hair.”
“Al…”
“Up and at ‘em. Run a brush through that mop or I’ll come over and do it for you.”
“You’re not gonna let me get away with crawling back in bed and blowing the whole thing off, are you?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
~0~
They were dodging the flow of people crowding the mall corridor as they clutched vanilla lattes and cinnamon soft pretzels.
“We should’ve headed down the freeway. Every place in town’s gonna have the same stuff. We’ll see ourselves coming and going at the party if we get something here.” Three boutiques and the top floor of one department store yielded the same result. They’d thumbed through countless racks of dresses that started to look identical after two hours.
“I might just wear that pants outfit I have.”
“No,” Ali snapped.
“Ooookayyy…”
“No, Ororo! You always do that! You’ve gotta get yourself back out there. I worry about you. You don’t have the spunk and spice you used to have before Jonathan.”
“Forge?” Ororo scowled. “What’s he gotta do with anything?”
“You’ve taken yourself off the menu since you guys stopped seeing each other.”
“Maybe no one’s hungry,” Ororo replied sullenly as they made a left turn into a country boutique to look at a rack of overpriced jewelry. She held up a pair of beaded gold earrings, tossing her hair back to see how they’d hang.
“Maybe you’ve just got your blinders on.” Ali sighed as random passerby gave Ororo the eye while her back was turned. Despite her protests, Ororo had gotten dressed for their outing in boot-cut black jeans and a snug white sweater and left her hair down, falling in loose curls down her back. She’d even put her dark raisin lipstick on, creating a tempting, kissable pout that competed for attention with her azure eyes. “There’s still some great men out there, kiddo.”
“Like Pietro?” she scoffed.
“Exactly like Pietro. He’s really impressed with you. Not like you could tell with the drool and how he mentions you every time I run into him.”
“How did you even meet him?”
“This and that. We just know a lot of the same people. But he’s nice.”
“Then you date him.”
“I’m not the one who needs fixing up.”
“Tell me another one! You’re single and looking. Go for him.” She didn’t add And quit picking on me.
“He’s a flirt, but he doesn’t feel that way about me.”
“Never know til you ask,” Ororo reasoned.
“He doesn’t look at me like he did you.” Ali’s tone was wistful and sad, reflecting her eyes when Ororo faced her. “And it’s been a while since anyone did.”
“Giblet and I love you.”
“Thanks a lot. I’m touched.”
“You’re a kick in the pants. Quit worrying about making me presentable to the public and put your shingle up in your own window.”
“It’s more fun when we’re trying to fix you up,” Ali pointed out. “It’s like having a Barbie doll to play with!”
“Brat!”
They headed down the freeway to the two-story galleria and parked out in “B.F.E.,” as Ali quaintly put it before nagging Ororo to remember where which row they put the car.
Ali detoured from her usual dark blue. She bit the bullet and bought a costly mauve silk, iridescent and that shifted with changes in the light.
“That’s different,” Ororo mused, smiling in approval when she tried it on. “You’ll need shoes to match that. I saw some nice stockings at the back of the store, the ones with the gold dust.”
“Pantyhose. They’re called pantyhose, silly!”
“Same diff. Women in my family call ‘em stockings,” Ororo huffed as she fingered a black velvet jacket.
“Put that back. You’re not wearing that boring old thing. And for the record, Petunia, if it has a crotch or a ‘middle ground,’ then it's a pair of pantyhose. If there’s no crotch to be found, then they’re stockings.” Ali’s smile was wicked when she added “If they’re the old school socks old men wear with suspenders, those are also stockings.”
“So you’re comparing me with old men who wear suspendered socks?”
“Not in so many words…”
“Meanie. And I like black velvet.”
“Get ready to look like half the women over fifty in the room. Get something red. Like that dress you wore to the signing.”
“I could just wear that, then.”
“No! Something that’ll knock everyone’s eyes out.” Ali scanned the store and suddenly said “Hello, mama! Here we go! C’mere!”
“What?”
“Look. This is your outfit. It’s screaming for you to take it home.” She dragged her over by the elbow to the display mannequin that they hadn’t noticed on the way in. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s…wow.” She lifted the price tag and nearly dropped it in shock. “No. No, no, no. Too much. I’ve gotta eat this month, Al.”
“Skip it. Might help to fit into this little beauty.” She lifted it off the rack. “Try it on. I’ve gotta see this.”
“I’m not depressing myself trying on something I can’t afford.”
“Then we haul out the big guns.”
“Ali. No.” Ali gave her that wicked, knowing look.
“Yes.”
“NO!”
“Heck, yeah!” She shoved the dress at Ororo and dragged her by the elbow to the dressing room. “In. Now.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“I’ll tell ‘Tro you’re hot for his bod.”
“Blackmail won’t work.” Her cheeks betrayed her, flushing darkly.
“Imagine the look on his face when you walk into a room in this. Buy me, Ororo, buyyyy meeeee…” she chanted in a disembodied voice, waving the dress through the air on its hanger.
“You’re not gonna quit.”
“Nope.” She patted her purse. “Me or my Amex Platinum card.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Can too. It’s called a Christmas gift.” She gave her marching orders crisply, pointing her finger toward the dressing rooms. “Go.”
“Ack.” But she went. Twenty minutes of bickering, fawning and grumbling banter later, Ororo walked out of the store one dress richer, avoiding Ali’s smug look.
~0~
She’s been so quiet lately. She looks sad. I hate it when she’s sad.
She needs a present. I know what will make her smile.
I can make her smile the best.
Every time I see her in on the couch like that, all snuggled up in the blankets, it’s like I can feel how soft her hair is. What it feels like for her to lay her head in my lap. Hear her make those tiny sounds in her sleep.
She’s so much like Zoe. And I want to be her Mick.
~0~
Logan was too distracted to watch TV when he got home. He settled back in his favorite recliner with a beer and “The Book.” He was almost finished with it, but it barely whetted his appetite.
”I almost lost you!” She felt limp as she shivered in Mick’s arms against the cold.
“Knew you’d find me,” she sobbed into his dripping coat. Her attacker lay lifelessly mere yards from them on the deserted pier, his blood mingling with the rain and salty mist.
“You’re safe.”
“Mick? I didn’t mean it,” she pleaded, clutching at him and inhaling his scent to reassure herself that he was real.
“The part where you said that I was a hardheaded sonofabitch?”
“No. The part where I said I didn’t love you.”
“It’s all right, baby.”
“No it’s not. I love you, Mick! Damn it, it’s always been you!”
“Your car. It’s wrecked. There was…no body,” he choked, still feeling the cold weight that settled in his chest at the sight of twisted metal. “You don’t know what that did to me.”
“No. I know,” she murmured, still trembling against him as he stroked her hair. “Because I know what it did to me.”
Slightly mushy, he admitted, but in a good way. And she wrote a damned decent kidnapping.
“Fuck.” It was nagging at him. Her phone number was still burning a hole in his pocket.
Why the heck not?
He reached for the handset of his cordless and dialed it, tracing the loops of her signature inside the book jacket with this fingertip.
One ring. His pulse stuttered. Two rings. His skin felt uncomfortably warm, and he fidgeted with the possibility she’d answer “Logan who?” Three rings. He was getting antsy.
Four “ CLICK. “Hello?” a breathless voice greeted him. He smiled. She sounded even better on the phone.
“Hey. Uh, it’s Logan. Ya gave me yer number a little while back.” Her silence on the other end was charged, and he bit his tongue.
“I did,” she agreed, and he imagined her lips curling in a grin. “Hello there, Logan.” He heard the rustling of something that sounded like plastic in the background. “It’s good to hear from you. And it was good to see you without being laid out on the asphalt.”
“Damn. Don’t remind me about that, darlin’. That was one of the worst nights of my life when I saw what the asshole did to ya.”
“Wasn’t one of my best either, buddy. It could have been worse.” He heard her clear her throat. “A lot worse. Thank you. I can’t say it enough.”
“Ya don’t hafta keep it up. I believe ya, darlin’.” He turned the book over in his hands. “Read yer book. Haven’t been able ta put it down.”
“Thank you.” She took the compliment easily without gushing or protesting.
“Ya take a nice picture.”
This time she argued. “Goodness, no, I don’t! I hate posing for photos. I’m squinty.”
“Like hell!” Even in black and white film, she was striking. “I like yer picture. That’s the kinda smile where ya can see the wheels turnin’ a mile a minute.”
“What does it look like I had on my mind?”
“Somethin’ deep.” He warmed to the subject, and his voice grew slightly husky. “Maybe somethin’ naughty.”
“Might have been dancing elephants,” she pointed out, but her tone was soft. A funny little thrill ran through her stomach. “Or the national debt. The price of pork bellies.”
“Somethin’ a little more profound than that,” he nagged. But he snickered.
“Not much.” He heard the sliding of fabric from her end and wondered what she was doing. “It’s the weekend already. I don’t know where the days between went, I’ve been so busy.”
“Wore yer hand out signin’ books?”
“It’s not any worse than the carpal tunnel I give myself from being in front of my PC all day.” He bit back that there’s worse ways to wear out your hand. And better ones. She tempted him.
“Haven’t touched a keyboard in a while,” he admitted. “I’m in transition now and lookin’ fer somethin’ else.”
“Job change?”
“I just retired.” Forcibly.
“I envy you. ‘Retiring’ for me means I’ll fade into obscurity when my next book bombs.”
“Shit. Ya don’t hafta worry about that, kiddo.”
“They can’t all be gems.”
“They don’t all hafta be. Sometimes ya can say somethin’ that moves someone and that stays with ‘em, no matter what happens after that. That’s a real talent. Takes someone who’s got a good grip on people’s emotions and how they think t’do that. Ya’ve got a gift.” Pleasure curled in her stomach and gave her a faint buzz. “And a lot of insight.”
“You’ve got a lot of courage,” Ororo murmured thoughtfully. “No one’s done anything like that for me before.”
“I couldn’t not do it, darlin’. When I saw him hit ya like that…I was scared. Scared I wouldn’t get to ya on time.” The silence between them was charged; they sat listening to each other’s breathing.
“I just want to say, Logan, that I’m happy I ran into you again.”
“Likewise.” He heard more rustling in the background. He couldn’t see that she was holding her new purchase against herself in the mirror as they chatted. “Worried about ya when they took ya away.” It was an understatement. Her eyes had haunted him ever since, as well as the way her hair felt when he stroked it.
“What were you doing when you saw me?”
“I was in my car across the street. Celebratin’ my retirement, I guess.” He hated the lie. “Wasn’t doin’ a good job of it.” That was enough honesty.
“What kind of job did you have before?”
“Investments and securities. Twenty years.”
“Wow.” She sounded impressed and awed. “I haven’t even been getting my work published half that long, even though I’ve been writing for that many years.”
“What else did ya write?” She chuckled softly. She had a nice laugh.
“I wrote my own little short stories starting when I was still in braces. Nothing that great, but I had little hearts doodled in the margins.” Laughter shook him and he shook his head.
“I’ll stick with what ya signed for me, darlin’.”
“Good call. If you don’t mind me asking, what kinds of books do you like to read? Do you enjoy reading?”
“Stuff with substance. Somethin’ with a real plot and characters that feel like real people. Nothin’ that just feels like something Hollywood would make into a movie.”
“Man, I hate that,” she snorted. “No kidding. Only exception to that rule is Gone with the Wind.”
“Never read it.”
“Twelve hundred pages, but it’s worth every second. I don’t watch that many movies these days. Nothing good in the theater.”
“It’s all been done before.”
“Exactly. Doesn’t leave a girl much to do on a Friday night.”
“Well…if ya don’t mind me askin’ this time, what DO ya usually do on a Friday night?”
“Write. Go out with my best friend, who’s also my agent. Watch SVU reruns. Or walk on the beach, depending on how cold it is.” An uneasy feeling swept over him.
The beach.
She rambled when he didn’t seem to have anything else to say. “Can’t beat the view. I’ve got a huge picture window. I still haven’t gotten sick of the Vineyard.”
He couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth. “Didja happen ta see the full moon a few nights ago?”
Her legs seemed to give way, and she quickly sank down onto the corner of her bed. “Yes,” she rasped. “Yes, I did. There’s just something about a full moon. It’s…eerie. But listen to me,” she dismissed. “I sound like a big scaredy cat.” All the more ironic as she remembered clutching Giblet while she hunkered down behind her winter coats. But the memory still made her shiver and her stomach twist.
“It makes folks act different than they normally would. And yer not a scaredy cat,” he corrected her, no longer sounding cryptic. “There’s nothin’ wrong with tryin’ ta protect yerself, darlin’.”
“That means a lot coming from you.” She cradled the phone against her cheek and toyed with a lock of her hair. “Logan?”
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“You have nice eyes. It’s like they could swallow you up.”
“Ain’t like I hear that every day,” he huffed, but he sounded pleased.
“It’s like you can see the wheels turning a mile a minute,” she said, stealing his phrase. Suddenly, the call waiting beeped on her phone.
“Sounds like someone’s beggin’ fer yer attention, Ororo.” She sighed. She actually was expecting a call from Ali.
“I’m glad you called.”
“So’m I, darlin’.”
“Any chance you’d call again?” There it was. That little husky sound that hid nothing.
“You can bet on it.”
“All right. Good night, Logan.”
“G’night, Ororo.” She hung up reluctantly; he stared at the phone in his hand for several seconds after he rang off. He set it down and leaned back into his chair with a sigh.
“This is Ororo?” she answered breathlessly.
Silence.
“Hello?”
Nothing. Not so much as a whisper or discernible breath. For just a moment, her hair stood on end.
“Goodbye,” she tsked flippantly, powering off the handset and cradling it on the charger. Wrong number. Punk…
The phone rang again a few minutes later. This time she waited for the machine to pick up.
I know you’re home, you nerd! It’s Al. You or the cat pick this up if you’re there… She dove for it this time after putting her dress away.
“Hey. I thought it was the same idiot dialing a wrong number?”
“How do you know it was a wrong number?”
“They hung up,” she shrugged. Ali didn’t seem convinced.
“No one’s annoyed enough with you to make a crank call?”
“Please…maybe this one girl who hated me during home room in ninth grade. Who I haven’t seen in, what, fifteen years?”
“Eh. Did you try it on again?”
“Yup.”
“Good idea, wasn’t it?”
“Yup.”
“You sound…perky.”
“Hm.”
“You do! What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Well,” she amended, “I just got off another call.”
“Dish, then. Was it ‘Tro?” Ororo made a face.
“No. Not ‘Tro. Logan.”
“Who?”
“The guy in the parking lot that showed up before I got really hurt that night.”
“Wait…he’s calling you? What the hell is he doing with your phone number? It’s a violation of patient confidentiality for a hospital to give our your num-“
“Take it easy. I gave him my number. He showed up at my signing.”
“Then he’s a fan. You never give fans your number, Ororo. You know that.”
“He didn’t know who I was that night,” she reminded her, but she was put off by Ali’s disbelieving tone and seeming irritation with her.
“He could have read about your signing in the newspaper.”
“I don’t think it was like that.”
“You don’t know him,” Ali chastised. Ororo sighed, then conceded.
“You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right,” she admitted, copping a line from When Harry Met Sally. “But he was worried. Last time he saw me, the men in white suits were taking me away on a stretcher.”
“Blue suits,” Ali retorted. “White suits mean they’re taking you to the farm.”
“You’d know,” Ororo shot back, giggling.
“Bitch,” Ali smirked.
“All we did was talk.”
“How was he that night?”
“Strong. Amazing,” she gushed, and her voice and eyes grew dreamy. “He took good care of me, Al.”
“Don’t let that dazzle you too much, ‘Ro. He saved you, but at the end of the day, he’s just some guy you met.”
“I won’t.” She sounded curt.
“Just thought I’d let you know, too. I gave Pietro a ticket to the ball.”
“You WHAT?”
“A little louder, Ororo. Don’t think that was strong enough to blow out my ear drum. Shit! And you heard me. I had an extra one that they comped me, so I gave it to him.”
“Enjoy dancing with him, then.” It didn’t matter to her that he looked like someone who danced pretty well, or who would be a good match on the floor, with them being of a height.
“Don’t be a spoilsport. You’re gonna look fantastic. So will he. You saw him. Picture him in a tux or a formal suit. Yum!”
“Gads…evil, evil woman. That’s why you got up in my grill about the dress.”
“I did no such thing,” she said innocently.
“Ohhhhh, I beg to differ. So evil,” she sighed.
“I’ve booked us for a mani-pedi that morning. And go to that lady who did such a nice job braiding your hair that one time.”
“That’s four hours in the chair for someone who I might not even call the next day.”
“Ro, he’ll be the one calling you.” After more jabs and a grudging confession from Ororo that yes, the ball might just be what she needed, going out dressed to the nines, they hung up.
[Reviews - 122]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story |
Has been viewed 1774 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story | - Text Size +
You must login () to review.
