Remy watched Ororo as she dragged out the process of dragging the last remnants of her cold fries through the puddle of ketchup on her plate. He brooded with a sense of foreboding.
Dinner was over. And Ororo still had no place to go.
She sensed his worry; it was etched on her face, too.
“Um…thanks. Y’know, for dinner. It was nice.”
“Oui, cher. De rien.”
“Oh, uh, okay.”
“Welcome, petit.” His eyes crinkled.
They were tired eyes. Ororo had a better chance to appreciate them after an hour of conversation punctuated by repeated requests for him to excuse her. She just couldn’t stop eating, and every question that he asked found her with her mouth full. Remy’s eyes were so dark they were black, pupils barely visible. They were full of intelligence and sly humor, the kind that whispered that he was laughing at you and with you. He leaned back and drummed long, manicured fingers on the table.
That was their only defect, in Ororo’s opinion. His hands themselves were the kind she liked. She noticed these things. His fingers were long and slender but had thick knuckles. He had broad palms and the backs were covered with dark hair. They looked like man’s hands, despite the buffed cuticles.
“So, I guess…”
“It’s getting late,” he yawned apologetically. His button-down black dress shirt strained across his chest as he stretched. Ororo was filled with dread.
“I know-“
“I’m heading home, petit.”
“Okay,” she murmured sullenly. Ororo already felt cold again, just thinking of walking back into the windy chill. She didn’t want to get rid of the lazy warmth that seeped into her bones over the course of their meal.
She hated feeling so far adrift.
Remy went through the motions of shrugging back into his coat. He nodded at the waitress, who buzzed their table and smacked the check in front of him.
It was like a death knell.
Remy reached for his thick, brown leather wallet and began peeling off bills. Ororo was surprised that he carried that much cash with him. He tucked a five and a twenty into the small black folio with their check and laid it aside. Ororo watched him despondently as he stood.
He surprised her, crossing to her side of the booth and hovering over her.
“Here.”
“What-?”
“Take it.”
He reached for her hand; this time, obviously, his grip wasn’t harsh, but she silently enjoyed his gentle touch. Remy tucked a small wad of bills into her palm and curled her fingers around it. “Don’t lose that.”
“Remy…I can…I can pay you back, you don’t have to do this!”
“No ya can’t yet, petit, and yes, I do.”
No. This wasn’t what she wanted. Resentment battled with relief. The money seemed to heat up in her hand.
A hotel. A hot bath. Maybe a couple of meals.
He pitied her.
Ororo felt sick.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, but she dragged her eyes away from his in shame.
They left the diner, both unsettled but resigned. Once they were outside they diverged. Ororo was too proud to look back, to hope. Her fingers toyed with the wad of cash in her pocket, even as she tried not to think of how briefly it would last.
Remy felt no qualms about watching her walk away. Once again, her gait was graceful and long, painting her a queen among peasants.
The sight pulled at him and wouldn’t leave him alone, even as he turned to hail a cab. One pulled quickly to the curb, making him feel relieved, but he still felt riddled with guilt and concern.
Where is she going to sleep? Tonight? Tomorrow? It’s so cold tonight. She’s so thin, hardly has anything to wear…
His voice burst from his chest.
“ORORO!”
“Where ya headed?” The cab driver was nonplussed and impatient. He tossed out a stubbed out cigarette butt and leaned out his window. Remy glanced at him, then back after Ororo. She’d heard him and stopped.
“Hold up, homme, I need a sec…Ororo! C’mon, chere!”
“That yer girlfriend?”
“Pfft,” Remy tossed back, irritated.
“Sure were chasin’ her before,” he remarked. This time Remy’s black eyes pinned him, but before he could cut him down, Ororo’s voice carried over the wind.
“You have to go,” she told him curtly as she tugged a lock of hair away from her mouth that was caught there in the breeze.
“Not wid’out you, petit. C’mon. Let’s go.” She shook her head incredulously.
“C’MON!” the cab driver blared. “Look, buddy, I’ve got a long night ahead of me, and I get my fares from people who actually climb in my cab and have somewhere they need ta go. I can’t just park here all night.”
“Didn’t ask you,” Remy snapped. “Gonna get ya a good fare, mec. Don’ get yer panties in a twist. ORORO!”
“Do us both a favor, sweetheart, and get in the damned car!” Remy was about to kill him, but he decided he had a better chance with two against one.
She must have agreed with him. Ororo loped over, head tilted down.
Remy held the door open for her, and she climbed reluctantly inside.
“Where are we going?” she murmured.
“Yer comin’ wit’ me.”
“Didn’t answer her question,” their driver remarked snidely.
“Park Avenue and Twentieth,” Remy added. The driver shrugged and pulled away from the curb, starting the meter.
The cab’s upholstery smelled slightly stale, barely masked by an air freshening pine tree hanging from the rearview mirror. Ororo also caught the stench of tobacco and wrinkled her nose. But the interior was warm, and she settled back deeply into her seat.
Remy’s knee bumped hers. She jerked away. He sighed. She was all nerves, despite spending the past hour with him.
The ride was smooth. Ororo silently watched the street lamps and headlights whizzing by in the dark; seeing them from the back of a car was a welcome change from huddling in a doorway or on a park bench.
“So what was that chase all about earlier, eh?” Ororo caught the cabbie’s gaze through the mirror. His eyes were dark and sly, narrowed as they raked over her. She didn’t enjoy his scrutiny, too used to that look from every other face she saw in the street.
“Maybe it’s none of your business,” she snapped.
“Whoa-ho, ‘kay, darlin’, don’t hafta be that way,” he said, holding up one hand in supplication. “Looked like he had ya on the run! Saw ya runnin’ on those long legs, sweetheart, like ya owed him rent!”
“Hey,” Remy muttered. “She gets it. Maybe ya wanna just drive, neh?” Remy couldn’t decide why he did it, but his hand reached for hers, clasping it. Their driver caught the gesture and grunted low in amusement.
“Whaddever, bub. No more lover’s spats, eh?” He said nothing else as they turned down Remy’s street and cruised the last six blocks. Ororo was tired, lulled into a stupor by the purring engine and soft seat. She also took a strange comfort in the strong hand gripping hers.
She felt safe.
He paid the driver the hefty fare and a tip small enough to make his point. He peered at the driver’s certification tucked into the flap of his window visor.
Howlett, James L. He turned and craned himself around his seat and watched them climb out. As the light inside clicked on, Ororo saw his face more clearly.
He was an older man, she guessed about late forties. She supposed he was almost good-looking, more rugged, definitely not pretty. Even from where she was standing, he didn’t look very tall, and he was built like a tank.
His eyes were bold, raking over her. She instantly hated him.
“Get in from the cold,” he advised them, directing it more toward her. “Ya look like this wind’s gonna blow ya away.”
“Thanks for your concern,” she tsked in disgust as Remy slammed the door.
“Thanks, mec,” he offered civilly before he took her elbow. They trotted up the steps of the large brownstone and disappeared inside. Neither of them heeded their driver as he took off, shaking his head in amusement.
“Where are we?” she asked numbly, barely feeling her feet thump down the hall toward the elevator.
“Where d’ya t’ink? Remy lives here, chere.”
“Wow,” she murmured. He punched the button for the top floor. “Is it nice?”
“You tell me.” The thrum of the elevator beneath her was a shock, it had been so long…
The hallway was dimly lit upstairs. Remy’s hand was gentle at the small of her back as he led them five doors down. He fumbled with his keys while her eyes darted furtively around, hoping no one was laying in wait. He caught her face.
“Take it easy.”
“I know,” she protested, but she still looked worried. He unlocked the door and ushered her inside. “Stay here. Don’t hurt yerself walkin’ around in de dark, chere.” He deadbolted the door behind them and left her in the pitch-black foyer while his feet thumped away. Then the room filled with stark yellow light.
She gasped.
His apartment was huge. She was agog, eyes hungrily gobbling up the furnishings and décor, the shining hardwood floors and tall windows.
“It’s…so nice,” she told him. He was taking off his coat and hanging it over a large leather recliner. “Did you take all these?” She nodded to the framed photographs, reverently touching the edge of a brass frame.
“Oui.” His smile was lopsided. “Whaddya t’ink?”
“Wow,” she repeated.
“Sounds like ya like ‘em, den,” he huffed. She hugged herself and stepped back. She still looked adrift. “Make yerself at home.”
“Okay.” Easier said than done. She unzipped her jacket but didn’t take it off. She approached his kitchen counter, which separated it from the dining room, leaning against it warily.
“That ain’t comfortable. I meant siddown.”
“Um…what….I mean, why did you bring me here?”
“Ya looked like ya had nowhere ta go. Thought ya figured that out by now.”
“I know…but, why? Why did you bring me to your place?”
“Want a hotel instead?”
“It would have been okay-“
“Still an option, petit. Look, an’ don’ take dis de wrong way, but Remy ain’t usually in de habit of bringing women he’s just met into his home. Dis be his safe place. Call it his Fortress of Solitude, if ya want, petit. So wit’ dat bein’ said, consider it a rare privilege an’ take it for what it’s worth. All I ask is dat ya respect him. When ya leave, ya only leave wit’ what ya brought wit’ ya.” He nodded to her backpack. “Set that over dere.” She obeyed, placing it behind a dining room chair for safekeeping.
“You didn’t have to do this.” He watched her and sighed.
“Oui, petit. Yes Remy did.”
He crossed the room and headed for her. She looked almost frightened.
“Take dat off.”
“What?”
“C’mon…” He reached for her arm, meaning to help her out of her jacket. She flinched. “C’mon, now! Make yerself at home, I just said so! I have de heat turned on, it’s gettin’ nice an’ toasty in here, pretty soon yer gonna roast!”
“I-I can do it, leave me alone,” she hissed, backing away from him again, but she hugged herself more tightly.
“Okay, petit,” he shrugged, then walked away. Ororo watched him walk away, no less wary. She heard him moving around down the hallway and hesitantly took off her windbreaker. She followed it with her sweatshirt. As she pulled it over her head, she sniffed it in disgust. She hoped he had a laundry machine in his apartment somewhere.
He found her sitting on his couch, looking exhausted and still shell-shocked. Remy was the one who was surprised, however, as he had the chance to really look at her.
She was wan and thin, even more than he’d assumed before. She wore a simple long-sleeved, dingy white cotton jersey. Even wearing the leggings beneath her jeans, her legs were narrow, tapered columns, making her appear almost coltish. Through the open buttoned collar of her henley, he could see her sharp collarbones and long, slender neck.
She looked vulnerable. He nearly went to her, but he stopped his feet. Her reaction when he reached for her coat gave him pause.
“Where did ya stay before?”
“Around. Wherever.”
“That all ya have?” he said, meaning her pack.
“Pretty much. Less than what I had before. I have to travel light.”
“Damn.” He rummaged around in the kitchen for mugs. She heard their ceramic clink and running water. Ororo felt drowsy but still wary. Nevertheless, she enjoyed her surroundings.
“I was in a shelter for a while.”
“What happened?”
“It didn’t work out.”
“They have the ones for women only.”
“Some women aren’t so nice,” she informed him soberly. He stared at her as he dropped tea bags into the cups.
“M’sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“So this is it. Ya couldn’t find work?”
“I tried. Sometimes I did. Small stuff. Odd jobs. Some of it didn’t pan out. None of it lasted long. I don’t even have an address, or a phone number where they can reach me.”
“No family?”
“Not anymore.”
“What happened? D’ya mind Remy askin’?”
“No.” She sighed. “My mom and dad died. And my foster parents kicked me out when my foster dad came to my room one night.” Remy was appalled.
“Who did ya tell? Den what?”
“Nothing. I had nowhere to go. My foster mom didn’t like me, and it was the last straw when her husband climbed on top of me. It was my fault.”
Anger bubbled in his veins. He pushed it down and brought out their cups and two tiny trivets. “Here, petit. Warm up.”
“Thank you.” It was some fancy minty, chamomile, green crap like she always saw people ordering in Starbucks. It smelled better than it tasted. Ororo sugared hers generously while he drank his straight.
“I was seventeen. I was almost out of the system anyway, and she told the agency that I was a delinquent. That I’d seduced her husband and been promiscuous.” She swallowed. “That I was no good.”
“Dey didn’t believe ya?”
“Of course not. That was that.”
“Ya had no friends at school?”
“I fell off their radar. I didn’t even know what to tell them. I hardly had any friends, I couldn’t invite anyone over before, anyway, and I never got to go out. It wasn’t worth the time for anyone to try to be my friend.”
“So this has been it. This is how ya live.”
“This is my life,” she told him bluntly. “Take it or leave it.” She took a gulp of her tea. He watched the long line of her throat as she swallowed; Remy’s eyes dilated.
He listened, rapt, as she poured out a life of trials and sadness that he’d never witnessed and couldn’t comprehend. At times she laughed. At times she pushed back tears, trying to play it off that her eyes just itched, even when her voice shook.
By the time he reached for his tea again, it was stone cold and her voice was hoarse.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted finally. “I just don’t know…what to do.”
“Rest, petit,” he said numbly. “It’s okay.” He was up again, reluctant to leave her.
The smell of fabric softener tickled his nose as he opened up his linen pantry in the hall and fished out bedding and his spare pillow. His eyes drifted to a small eight by ten of Bella hanging beside the bathroom door. Her smile that day had been mischievous and knowing.
It held little appeal for him now. She was due to see him in the morning to “discuss things.” He wasn’t looking forward to it by any stretch.
When he came back, she was slumped over the arm of the couch, her long hair trailing over the side of her face and almost brushing the floor. Her breathing was deep and even. Remy stifled a laugh. Clearly, their chat was over.
“Damn, petit,” he muttered.
She didn’t move a muscle as he gently maneuvered her, stretching her long legs out on the couch and easing a pillow beneath her head. Nimbly his fingers untied her Docs and he tugged them off with some difficulty. She moaned in protest at the movements but didn’t wake up. Her socks were in just as pitiful a shape as the rest of her clothes; he made a mental note to offer her some of his, or even to pick some up from the pharmacy down the street in the morning. No matter what her future held, it would involve warm feet…
Despite himself, Remy’s methodical mind ticked off a laundry list of things to do the next day. Laundry itself was high on the list; he too caught the ripeness of her jacket, so he knew she would appreciate the chance to wash her meager things.
She moaned again, hugging herself in her sleep and burrowing further into the pillow. He laid a blanket over her and tucked it around her carefully, then added a second one for good measure. She sighed in contentment. Remy’s smile was satisfied. He stood over her for several moments, feeling a surge of protectiveness.
Her hair had tempted him too long. He scraped back a soft, thick handful of it from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She moaned and smacked her lips, leaning into his touch.
Remy turned off the lights in the hall and kitchen and retired to his room. He was worn out. His legs still ached slightly from his impromptu run and his face had begun to throb.
He snapped on the bathroom light and took a jaundiced look at himself. Sure enough, his cheek was puffy and had the beginnings of a wicked bruise. His lips were chapped from the wind outside. Remy began his nightly rituals, scrubbing with his face wash and using a moisturizer that Bella gave him for his birthday. He brushed and flossed his teeth and swished out his mouth with Listerine, grimacing at its sharp tang. He considered a shower but left it til morning.
He read by the low light of his small ginger jar lamp until his eyes grew heavy. He fell asleep with his book splayed over his chest.
He didn’t regret that Bella wasn’t there to warm the other side of his bed.
*
The low thud of the door woke Ororo the next morning.
“Unnngghh…” she moaned, rubbing her eyes before she’d even opened them. Her mouth tasted like paste.
She jerked in surprise, stunned to find herself tangled in a nest of blankets.
Warm. Safe. Inside.
All of these revelations washed over her as she stared around the opulent living room. So, it wasn’t a dream.
Remy swam into view, looking amused at her plight.
“How’d ya sleep?”
“F-fine,” she offered, hugging the pillow to her chest. She was grateful she was still wearing a bra beneath her shirt.
“Brought coffee,” he explained, nodding to the drink holder on the coffee table. Two sealed Starbucks cups gave off steam through their plastic spouts.
“Thanks,” she managed, but her eyes were still wide.
He looked fresh, skin still ruddy from the outdoors.
“M’gonna fix breakfast. Here.” He tossed her a folded towel. “Shower. Already finished mine.”
“A shower?”
“Yup.”
“Oh, God,” she cried, struggling free of the covers. Before he could react, she was up on her feet. Ororo flung herself at him, taking him by surprise.
“Oof!”
“Thank you,” she whimpered. Her thin arms embraced him so hard that he ached.
“Take it easy, chere,” he murmured, but his hands crept up to her lower back, gently rubbing it.
“Thank you,” she repeated. Her body shuddered against him. Her need and her relief pricked him.
Then her warmth and the weight of her pressing against him made him flush and tingle. A dangerous sensation swept over him, making the hairs stand up on his neck.
“Yer welcome, already. G’wan,” he nagged, disengaging himself from her grasp. Her eyes were flooded.
“You don’t understand. Thank you,” she emphasized.
“Take yer time,” he said softly. She clutched the towel against her and rushed off.
Finally!
She locked the door after her and yanked aside the shower curtain with a loud scrape of the rings. She flicked on the dials and pushed the shower stopper on the faucet. The spray hissed, rushing and smacking the file. Steam filled the room while Ororo undressed, glad to shuck the offending clothing.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror before she stepped into the tub. She was so gaunt. She noted with a brief sense of relief that her breasts hadn’t suffered, they were still relatively full and high, but the rest of her was too thin for comfort. She could feel her hipbones and her ribs were too visible for her taste. Ororo tsked and yanked the curtain shut behind her.
Weeks.
She felt like she washed the filth of the world from her skin, lathering her hair with great gobs of Remy’s herbal shampoo. Luxurious foam slithered over her skin and over her scalp; it felt decadent. The hot spray against her face was a benediction.
Remy helped himself to his coffee and snapped open the newspaper. He glanced at the sofa briefly, noting the rumpled blankets and the pillow that still held the impression of Ororo’s head. What next? Would she stay, or would she go? And if so, then where?
He lost interest in the paper. Remy set aside his coffee and rose, retrieving his camera from the counter. He turned it on and reviewed the shots of Ororo again.
They definitely had promise; he added a trip to his private studio and processing lab to his agenda for that morning. He wondered if Ororo would indulge him again, perhaps sit for him?
He scoffed at himself. Like the rest of her day was so busy?
There was something in her eyes that haunted him as he perused each shot. He could almost get lost in them, they were soulful and ancient and deep…
He shook himself.
A publisher had to see them. An agent had to see them. A couture house had to see them. He had to get Ororo out there.
More importantly, Ororo was fresh. She wasn’t just another pair of long legs or full lips. She wasn’t a breathing mannequin or a canvas for a stylist’s makeup. There was just something about her…
The crunch of a key in his front lock put the brakes on his train of thought. Ororo was still in the shower, and Remy was grateful.
“Remy?” Belladonna’s voice was bright, a change from the last time they spent any time together. “What’re you doin’, sugah?” She breezed inside and looped her arms around his waist.
“What’re ya doin’ here, petit?”
“What’m I doin’? Well, that’s a nice way t’greet me after I’ve been gone fer a few days.”
“Wasn’t expectin’ ya back fer a week.”
“I left a voice mail, didn’t ya get it?” She illustrated her point by punching the button on his answering machine.
Hi, Rem, it’s me. I’m takin’ an early plane back, they’re due ta get another four days of rain here. Ain’t much of a way ta spend a vacation. ‘Bye. She stared at him accusingly. “Didn’t miss me much if ya didn’t look fer my calls, did ya?”
“Figured ya were enjoyin’ yerself just fine.” He wouldn’t admit to her that he’d missed her in his bed at night, not even for the sex as much as her simple presence. When she slept, he could hold her. They weren’t fighting or accusing or pointing fingers. He was just breathing in the sweet smell of her hair and listening to her deep, even breathing, and he could pretend that things between them weren’t going down the toilet.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t beautiful, that he didn’t find her desirable. Belladonna Boudreaux had cool, clean, blonde good looks and a body that could stop traffic. The connection between them was frayed and strained, and Remy didn’t know anymore what to do about it.
“What are ya doin’ today? Looks like ya’ve already been out.” Remy had already hung up his coat, but he still had his shoes on his feet. She turned her face toward the hall. “Is someone in yer shower?” Unease washed over him.
Shit. He had no explanation ready for her at all.
“What’re ya plannin’ on doin’ today, Bella?” She looked annoyed.
“Was my question too complicated, Remy?”
“Non,” he shrugged. A disturbing energy gathered between them. Bella’s hint of a smile evaporated.
“What’s goin’ on?”
“Why’s anyt’in’ gotta be goin’ on?”
“Who’s here this early in de mornin’ takin’ a shower? Dey can’t visit after takin’ one in dere own place?” Remy tightened his lips and sighed deeply. How much of Ororo’s story could he give her?
Ororo deserved her dignity, yet Bella deserved some explanation.
Or did she?
Indecision warred within him with guilt. He still cared for Bella, or cared about her, but there was such a wall between them. It was like knowing the peanut butter jar was empty, but you kept sticking your finger inside to scrape for the last taste before buying a new jar. Their differences had begun to outweigh everything they had in common. He felt her resentment more in recent months as she began to spend more time out of town, even when she wasn’t on a shoot. And Remy had begun to spend more time alone, needing to get away from…something.
Ororo took the choice out of his hands. The shower shut off abruptly.
“Maybe ya wanna come back later, Bella, when ya aren’t catchin’ anyone indisposed. If ya want, I can make breakfast.” Normally that was a quick save; Remy was a good cook, while Bella kept nothing in her fridge except for nonfat yogurt and bagged salad.
“I always come over early, petit. Sometimes earlier than dis.” She folded her arms and cocked her head. “Who am I catchin’ indisposed?”
“C’mon, Bell!”
“C’mon, nothin’.” Her voice was full of venom. It stung him.
As if on cue, Ororo padded into view, looking surprisingly regal in her tee shirt and a towel wrapped like a sarong around her hips. A second one was wrapped in a turban atop her head, obscuring all but a few dripping tendrils of her hair.
“Oh. Oops. I didn’t know you had company?”
“Likewise, chere,” Bella commented dryly. “Hi. I’m Belladonna.” Ororo came forward sheepishly after chucking her folded pants on the couch.
“I’m Ororo.” Then something dawned on her. “Wait…Belladonna Boudraux?” The corners of Bella’s mouth lifted slightly, but her eyes still pinned Ororo. “I see your face everywhere! Wow!”
“Probably sick of it, huh?” Remy smothered a tsk. She launched into self-deprecating remarks to hide a swollen ego and fish for compliments, and it grew worse when she was annoyed. She released Ororo’s hand and stepped back. “Guess I’ll let ya get back ta…whatever it is ya were doin’.”
“Oh…nothing. Please. Don’t let me interrupt your visit, I won’t get in the way. I figured Remy was going to be busy this morning, and I didn’t plan to stick around long.” Ororo glanced hopefully at Remy, yet he could tell she was trying to pacify him. And Belladonna.
“Busy mornin’, huh?” She peered back at Remy. “Have a late night?”
“Non. I sawed logs as soon as my head hit de pillow, Bell.” Ororo, in the meantime, was scooping up a different change of clothes and making her escape.
“It was nice to meet you, Belladonna. I know you probably want to spend time together, so I’ll just clean up and skedaddle.” It was almost laughable. Ororo had to know how it looked.
“Why d’you hafta go anywhere? Stay! Ain’t like ya wore out yer welcome already, and Remy here believes in extendin’ his hospitality ta overnight guests.”
“Um…I don’t like waiting to wear out my welcome, anyway. I’ve done that before.” This time she glanced at Remy, and he felt a pang of frustration. His eyes softened as he realize what she meant. “I’m going to get dressed.”
“Don’t hurry on my account.” If she noticed Ororo’s shabby clothing as she disappeared, she said nothing.
All she saw was a tall drink of water with blue eyes stepping out of her boyfriend’s shower. That said enough.
“Still nothin’ else t’say, huh? She’s gonna ‘skedaddle’? She don’ hafta do that. I ain’t stayin’.”
“Ya don’ hafta go. She said she’s takin’ off, and ya wanna leave? Why waste de trip here, Bella?”
“Because I kinda feel redundant.”
“Well, don’t.” Belladonna brooded, staring at the rumpled covers. She took a different tack.
“Ya gave her de couch?”
“She was just glad ta have a roof over her head, petit.”
“Wait…what?”
“It’s a long story, Bell, but it ain’t my story ta tell.” Her blue-gray eyes were filled with confusion, and her irritation started to dissipate.
“Why couldn’t ya say so?”
“T’ink about why she didn’t say so, sweetie,” he suggested flatly.
Ororo came back out, this time fully dressed in jeans that were faded to a nondescript gray, with fewer holes than her last pair. Remy was folding up her blankets and laying them neatly at one end of the couch, unsure of whether to wash them yet. The question wanted to jump from his lips. Ororo’s hair was still damp, springing into ringlets. Remy could see Bella staring at her with the same awe he’d felt, seeing the long white mass for the first time.
“Damn. That’s some hair ya got, girl.”
“It is what it is.” She fished a rubber band out of her pack and looped it around her waves, leaving it in a simple ponytail.
“Why don’tcha stick around fer breakfast?” This time he directed the question at Ororo.
“That’s okay. I’m fine. I’ll take the coffee, though.” She shrugged into her sweatshirt and jacket from the day before. Remy still wished she had something warmer, wanting to offer her one of his spare coats or a thicker sweater. He decided to take a subtler tack.
“Don’ head out wit’ wet hair, petit. Here.” He retrieved a knitted wool cap and tossed it to her. Ororo took it with a grateful smile.
“You won’t miss it?”
“Wear it in health, petit.”
Ororo tugged it on, enjoying the warmth over her ears, a definite improvement from her baseball cap. She tucked the last of her meager possessions into her pack and headed for the door.
“It was nice meeting you,” she offered Bella.
“Where are ya goin’?” Bella asked quietly.
“Out and about. It’s a nice day.” The sky was actually just a brighter shade of gray outside from what Ororo could see from the tall windows, but that was fine with her.
“Remy? Thank you.”
“Sure,” he said, nodding.
“Goodbye.” She strode to the door, deftly undoing the deadbolts.
“Ororo-“
“Enjoy your breakfast.” She was gone in a blink. Remy stared at door, clenching and opening his fists at his sides. He had to go after her.
“Go,” Bella said aloud.
“She-“
“Go, Rem.” Bella buttoned her coat and took her purse from his dining table. “I ain’t gonna stand here waitin’ fer ya ta tell me what happened last night or how she ended up here, but I get de impression that yer gonna lose track of her once she leaves dis buildin’.” Her words fell on deaf ears. Remy was grabbing up his keys, coat and a different hat and hurrying out the door.
“Ya can stick around or let yerself out, Bell.” She listened to the door slam and shook her head.
“I know m’way out, Rem,” she told his empty apartment.
*
Ororo knew the deal.
Only one queen bee can live in a hive. Her mother’s words came back to her, remembering her decision to move herself and her daughter out of her grandmother’s house. N’Dare Munroe’s mother-in-law had never seen eye to eye with her, and it grew worse after Ororo’s father, David, grew sick. Yet she stayed under her roof for several months, paying meager rent to allay the feelings of putting the older woman “out of her way.” Their frequent enmity couldn’t be helped, even if it was counterproductive. Both women loved David so much, and they stumbled over each other, trying to make the best decisions regarding his well-being.
So Ororo easily understood the territorial look in Belladonna’s eyes when she first came dripping from Remy’s bathroom, no doubt looking like an interloper-slash-homewrecker. Sure, rumpled blankets on a couch were different than wrinkled sheets on a bed, but it still didn’t look good. Ororo didn’t like fireworks, and she wasn’t sticking around for the show.
She heard Remy’s words and felt a hint of resentment. She was just glad ta have a roof over her head, petit. Even though it was true, it pricked her. Ororo had her pride, even if she didn’t have anything else.
She still had the cash he’d given her in her pocket. That would get her subway fare, even though she hated the dark, stinking tunnels. The crush of people made her feel claustrophobic, but there was no help for it. Ororo wasn’t familiar with Remy’s side of town. At least close to the park and the harbor, she knew all of the places she could squat.
Remy made it into the street on swift feet. He felt unapologetic about leaving Bella behind; guilt might hit him later, but he had other things on his mind. He scanned the street, looking down both ends before realizing she would leave the same direction she came.
He headed past Nineteenth Street, then Eighteenth, almost running. Passerby peeked at him briefly and stepped out of his way.
There. The tunnel. Remy saw a hint of white hair hanging below a familiar dark cap, descending the stairs.
“Petit!” he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth, not caring about people’s stares. “ORORO!”
He ran this time. She was growing lost in the milling crowd. Remy pushed and shoved his way down the sticky, stained concrete steps, buffeted on every side. She didn’t hear his cries as she reached the bottom and headed for the turnstiles.
Ororo didn’t stop as she checked the street map of stops before heading to the fare booth. She decided it wouldn’t help to buy a few rides’ worth of tokens, just in case. She was fifth in line when she spied the vending machine across the aisle. Her mouth watered for a Snickers bar. Ororo sipped her coffee, grimacing at the sharp French roast. Still, it kept her warm.
“Petit! Ororo! C’mere!” She was startled to hear her name, and that distinctive accent.
She whipped her head around, not seeing anyone at first, just a line of people behind her. The woman directly behind her snapped, “Move up!” Ororo obeyed, but turned back seconds later at another call.
“Ororo, don’ go yet, chere!” Her gut clenched in confusion.
Didn’t he have a gorgeous supermodel to go home to?
She heard curses and grumbles behind her, just as she reached the token booth.
“Can I help you?”
“Here, however many this will buy,” Ororo said, sliding over a ten. The woman’s long, killer red nails snapped up the bill and she began counting out brass-colored tokens mechanically, eager to be done with the morning rush of passengers so she could have a break.
A firm hand clapped over Ororo’s shoulder.
“Look, I’m getting out of the way in a sec,” Ororo wanted to tell the woman behind her.
“Tell that to this asshole, then,” the woman retorted, and Ororo was shocked to see Remy’s dark eyes boring into hers.
“Ma’am? Here, take your tokens,” the booth worker told her impatiently. Ororo couldn’t win.
“Come home wit’ me, petit.”
“Why?” He stared at her like she broke wind.
“Whaddya mean, why? C’mon!”
“Your tokens!”
“My tokens,” Ororo repeated. “Thank you,” she told her grittily. She scooped them out of the slot in the window and crammed them into her jacket pocket, planning to move them into the front one of her jeans when she had a moment. Ororo had picked enough pockets herself not to make herself a mark.
Suddenly she was jerked out of line and guided toward the opposing turnstile. “Hey!’
“Let’s go.”
“I’ve got a train to catch in three minutes, Remy!”
“Don’ have to.”
“Um…yes, I do,” she told him, as if he were dense.
“Non. Ya don’t. Ya didn’t hafta leave.”
“Your girlfriend might beg to differ.”
“She came over. That didn’t mean ya couldn’t stay, Ororo.”
“She looked put out. And I didn’t want to put you out.”
“I have plenty of room. And I’ve got a whole fridge of food wantin’ someone ta eat it.”
“What about Bella?”
“She agreed that ya made a hasty exit when ya didn’t have to,” he said, making his case with a shrug.
“Remy… I appreciate what you did for me. It’s more than anyone’s done for me in a long time, but…”
“But what?” People rushed by the bickering pair, making them move farther toward the stairs heading back up to the street. Ororo’s determination to get to her train was waning slightly at the sight of daylight.
“But what are you doing? You don’t have to be nice to me. I’m not…I don’t…”
“Don’t what?”
“I don’t…you don’t get it…” Ororo’s voice filled with bitterness. “I’m not a charity case!”
“Hell, no, ya ain’t, toots!” Remy threw out his hands. “Did I say ya were?”
“It felt like it this morning. I heard you. And yeah, I was really glad to have a roof over my head. But I won’t pretend that I expect a repeat performance on your hospitality.”
“Maybe ya need ta expect more, den, petit.”
“What?”
“Come wit’ me.” Remy was tired of the smell of the tunnel and the grouchy passengers rushing around them with little regard to personal space.
“You don’t have to do anything else for me.”
“Ya haven’t eaten yet. Only thing I’m gonna do is put food in yer stomach, little girl.”
“Then that’s it. Nothing else,” she ordered.
“Shut up wit’ dat shit.”
[Reviews - 56]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story |
Has been viewed 14505 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story | - Text Size +
You must login () to review.
