She had to be out of her mind. Or the real Ororo had been kidnapped by pod people. There was no other explanation for the night before.
She hadn’t even kissed him goodbye.
The enormity of what she’d done sank in as soon as she woke up. She stifled her own moan of exhaustion when she felt something solid moving beneath her cheek.
Logan.
He was solid and warm, and his arm currently pinned her against his side. Hot breath steamed her temple, stirring the tendrils of her hair. He smelled faintly of whiskey.
Panic gripped her, speeding her pulse. She had to go. Now.
She gradually eased her way out from his embrace “ reluctantly, since he felt so good, like cuddling a teddy bear “ and crept out of the bed. He was out like a light, his sonorous breathing nearly a snore.
She watched him flip onto his back, flinging his arm over his head. The movement made him look so vulnerable, so peaceful, that she nearly changed her mind.
He wasn’t conventionally handsome, but he was memorable. His body was beautifully sculpted and sturdy. He was hairy and very male, and she was transfixed by the deep rise and fall of his chest. His abdomen was a washboard of muscle, marred only by what looked like an appendix scar. His skin was tanned; she could tell he was probably olive-toned rather than fair without that much time in the sun.
His brows drew together before he rolled to his side. His hand seemed to be searching the sheets. That launched her back into action. She fumbled into her dress and caught her shoes and purse in her hand. She could have sworn she heard him murmur her name in his sleep as she gently eased the door open and fled.
She had no idea what she would have said to him. Thanks? I’ll call you? Look me up the next time you’re in Queens?
Her way was the best way. When he woke up, he’d be grateful to her for making it easier on them both. Sure. Sure he would.
She’d loved Fear of Flying when she read it in college. To quote Isadora, Logan was her “zipless fuck.” No commitments. No back story or excuses. No reasoning why it had happened or assuming it would lead to anything else.
Her vacation was the beginning of her promise to herself that she’d never again lose herself.
She popped a piece of Wrigley’s into her mouth and started reading her Nora Roberts book before the plane reached full altitude. Her head throbbed. She dug into her bag for some Motrin. And that was that.
*
Hair of the dog, Logan assured himself, would get him through this. Man, he hated flying.
“Your funeral,” Scott shrugged as he watched Logan gulp down the Bloody Mary. He leaned back and closed his eyes miserably. He felt like shit.
“Don’t lecture me, Summers.”
“They won’t let you on the connecting flight if you drink too many of those.”
“One’s all I need.” Truth be told? Logan needed anesthesia. This was the closest he was gonna get til they reached the terminal at Logan Airport. Yeah, he mused; hearing people tell him “So Logan, are you flying out of Logan? Are they gonna fly you first class, since they named the airport after you?” didn’t get old…
He pored through his Elmore Leonard novel that he’d picked up at the airport gift shop, but the words blurred in front of his eyes ten chapters in. Once they were cruising over the Atlantic coast, Scott booted up his laptop. Logan abandoned him for a nap. He woke up with a crick in his neck once the plane skidded against the runway.
*
“Girl…mmmh. I don’t know what to do with you when you get yourself into this shit.”
“Just don’t take blackmail pictures or record it to put my nekkid behind on YouTube,” Ororo suggested. Monica’s lips twisted and she narrowed her eyes.
“He was a complete stranger. He could have been a psychopath. He coulda given ya AIDS or STD’s or fleas, for Heaven’s sake…”
“Lice. Not fleas.”
“Don’t sass me, baby girl.” Monica was getting worked up and talking out of her neck, hands on her hips. “Might as well tell me the rest.”
“Rest of what?”
“Listen to you. Did he have skills? How was it?”
“Good Lord.” Ororo fanned herself.
“Damn. That good?”
“Oh. Monica. I can’t even begin to…” Her phone jangled from the kitchen. She sprinted to pick it up but decided on the lazy man’s way, hitting the speaker button.
“Tory!” It was her boss, Selene. Ororo sighed. Back to reality. Heifer couldn’t just wait til she got back to the office in twenty-four hours. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
“What’s going on?” Nice of her control freak manager to ask her how she was or how she liked her trip. No “So glad your plane didn’t go up in flames on the way home” from Selene Gallio.
“So I was just calling to let you know that there was a change in that AMT meeting with OptforWellth.”
“What did they change?”
“Everything. Different facilitator, different time, different day. Jean’s sending out the revised announcement to the routing list.”
“So when is it?”
“Tomorrow at eight AM.”
Ororo stifled an “aw, hell, no!” and made a face at Monica, who leaned back into her couch rolling her eyes. Ororo made gagging motions with her hands, pretending to stick one down her throat.
She’d no sooner unlocked her door, checked her mail and begun unpacking before the woman expected her to be into work with bells on, jumping through hoops.
“I need the demographics for the Shake ‘n’ Take account. They changed their effective date.”
“They signed already for 1/1.”
“They want to add a flexible spending account effective April first.”
“Shit…” Selene tsked; Ororo could almost see her on the other end of the line, shaking her head at her choice of words. Hey, Ororo figured, technically she was still at home. She could say whatever she darn well pleased. Selene wasn’t going to turn a random phone call into a meeting.
“We’ll just have to buckle down this week. And every week until we get the workload down to size.”
“No doubt.”
“See you at the meeting,” Selene trilled. “Oh, and go ahead and save the rate sheet as an attachment in the database so we can get to it.” Ororo sighed.
“I’ll update the numbers ““
“No. Oh, no. We’re not amending their rates for the renewal. It was a condition of their agreement not to charge them more for adding the spending account.”
“Good enough for me.” Less work in the long run, she hoped.
“Hope you had a nice vacation,” Selene pronounced. That didn’t bode well. She hung up without any further ado. Ororo clicked the handset off and proceeded to bang it against her forehead. Monica laughed.
“A’ight. I wanna hear more about this man. What does he do?”
“He said sales.”
“Mm-hm. Likely story. He could be a checker at Target for all you know.”
“He was well dressed. Had on a nice watch.”
“An ex could’ve given it to him.”
“Said he lives in Boston.”
“Eh. Still too far away to bother with anything long distance.”
“I don’t want anything long distance. I didn’t leave him my information. I beat feet.”
“Damn, girl.”
“I’m not gonna have a ‘pen pal’ who’s supposedly the love of my life after one date.”
“Speaking of which…”
“He already gave me back my key. Saved me having the locks changed.” Monica bit back an “I told you so” and began removing items from Ororo’s carryall, dropping them into a small laundry basket. What else were friends like Monica Rambeau for, if not to help her unload her baggage?
“Anyway, what’d you bring me? Kick down,” she reminded her. Ororo’s face lit up.
“Oooooh. Yeah. Hold up, hold up…” She nudged Monica aside and rummaged through a tiny pocket inside the bag and pulled out a tiny paper one. She uncrumpled it and handed her a small box inside. Monica flipped open and cackled.
“Girl, I love this!” It was a ceramic tile fired and glazed with dancing skeletons and inscribed with “Dia de Los Muertos.” She clucked her tongue and held it up for a better look. “I’m gonna add this to my house number plaque out front.”
“When do you close escrow?”
“Next week.”
“Better warm up that gas grill.”
“Luke’s already got a propane tank and some of those extra long barbecue tongs. He’s more than ready.”
“I can’t wait. I can’t wait to see everything when you two get moved in.”
“You and me both. Seriously. My neighbors are driving me nuts. Nuts, I tell you. They were out front acting ghetto in the parking lot at nine in the morning on Sunday.”
“Mmph. What now?” Ororo rolled her eyes.
“Ya don’t wanna know.”
“Lay it on me.”
“She screamed at him that he farted.” After a pause, Ororo’s shoulders shook and she face-palmed. “You heard me.”
“Say it ain’t so.”
“The whole building heard those two fools. Back and forth about no he didn’t, and she was a psycho, and he was a pig, and why didn’t she just light a match…”
“That’s just wrong.”
They chatted over a snack in Ororo’s kitchen; naturally, Monica came bearing gifts in the form of Subway sandwiches. Ororo didn’t cook. Not even under penalty of death.
Her mother would be turning over in her grave at the contents of her refrigerator. N’Dare Munroe was a born homemaker from the jump. Griller of cheese sandwiches, folder of hospital bed corners, hostess of Mary Kay parties. Ororo shunned her legacy, majored in business at BU, denounced commitment and never looked back.
Ororo fished out some bottled water and poured it into two red plastic cups from her last house party. Monica glanced over her shoulder at the mostly bare shelves inside the fridge and tsked. She saw expired yogurt, a bag of dried-up broccoli and a bottle of ketchup that had been in the door since the first Bush administration. Of the first Bush.
“That’s pitiful.”
“Hey, whaddya want. I was out of town.”
“Not for a whole year.”
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you.”
“Love me and my dirty drawers.”
“Uh, no. Not those…” Monica tossed a bit of provolone cheese into her mouth and swigged some of the water.
A while later Ororo’s washing machine was rumbling away in the background when Monica stood to go.
“Listen up. Call me. Stevie’s having one of her Pampered Chef parties.”
“Girl, please.”
“Just go to see Stevie. Waste money on something cute like one of those little oil spritzers. Or a can opener. You open cans. Sometimes. Kinda.”
“Hmmph.”
“Humor me. She’d love to see you.”
“I’ll think about it.” She’d probably go. She didn’t have anything else to do, and, obviously, it was Stevie. She loved Stevie, Avon catalogs, Partylite candles, scrapbooks and all.
It reminded her so much of Mama.
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