by Blue, Jayne
She screamed my name again when I leaned down and sucked hard on her breast. Her channel tightened around me and I thought I was going to scream too.
Shit, it felt so good; she felt so good.
I climaxed in a burst of color. It was so good and so intense. I had thought maybe this would cool a little. We’d only been together a few days really, but usually, once or twice with a woman was all I needed to know.
This was not the case with Frankie Kaminski. I heard her moaning and her own climax follow mine as I slowed our pace down. I kissed her neck, her hair, and I pulled her as close to my body as I could get her.
“I love you, Frankie. I fucking love the shit out of you.”
She laughed between her heavy breaths. As soon as we were alone, which wasn’t often since the fire, it was a sprint to get naked, and to get close. But now we both slowly rocked together, our bodies were still attached, still one.
“Funny eh?”
I was slightly worried that I shouldn’t have told her that. Maybe I’d scare her off. Maybe it was too fast. The last few days had been insane. But because we’d gone through this epic shit, I knew from watching her deal with it, that she was the one for me.
“No, yes...I mean, I think that should be a greeting card. Because I fucking love the shit out of you too.”
I put her pretty face in my hands, and I kissed her. She smelled like flour from her work with Lamont and she tasted like sugar from the cookies they were making.
“I never had an old lady before,” I told her, blurted it really.
“Old lady?”
“Yeah, that’s what you are. You’re my number one, my old lady.”
“Yeah, at twenty-four washed up already.”
“Yep,” I said and was a little scared she had no idea what I was even talking about. She really had no clue what the GWMC was about. I worried again, had I done this shit with her too fast? It was one thing if I was back in my home base, Grand City, but here, things were so unstable. This club could still fail spectacularly.
And then where would we be? My life was the M.C. and hers was Stickney Forest.
“If you call me Busia, I will have to murder you,” she said and then nuzzled into her spot on my chest. I wrapped my arm around her.
It was supposed to be perfect. I’d found this woman. She loved me, I loved her.
But all of a sudden, a creeping doubt wormed its way into the back of my head. What if this wasn’t the life she wanted?
What if the M.C. here crashed and burned?
I tried not to think about it. I tried to sleep.
The worry would be there tomorrow. Right now, I had Frankie.
Eighteen
Frankie
The time had flown. And somehow, Ridge and I had fallen into a rhythm. He had the GWHQ to fix up, he had a fight-promoting business to start, and he was, as he put it, teaching the probies what it meant to be in the MC.
I didn’t really know what it meant, except, from the outside, it looked like it meant they were a family. A family of badass sexy bikers that were in turns scary, crude, and gentlemanly at any given moment.
It was an odd group I’d fallen in with but, generally speaking, odd groups were my favorite.
Ridge had made it so Lamont and I could work and the neighborhood could plan, all at the old Woolworths, which needed a new name, I supposed, other than GWHQ.
There were times when Ridge disappeared, but usually, I didn’t realize it until he’d been gone a while. It was part of teaching the probies I guessed.
I overheard him talking to Thorn—I mean who comes up with these names?
“We put the beat down on them last night, that was a good message, to the lower level Bane members,” Ridge said. I now knew where the mysterious bruise on his cheek came from, a remnant of “the beat down.”
“We’ve got them on the run, that’s not a bad thing. But I’m still uneasy about not having Crank or Gooch,” Thorn said as I strained to hear.
“Brogan is still on surveillance, but they’ve been smart. I would not have pegged them for smart, or patient,” Ridge said.
“So the plan is still the plan,” Thorn asked.
“Yep, eyes open, everyone on deck for Polish Festival.”
Their conversation broke up, and I hustled to get back to my food prep. I pretended as though I hadn’t heard a thing. Ridge came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me as I plated the millionth Polish kolaczki for the food truck that we were setting up for the Polish Festival.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend you weren’t listening, Harriet the Spy,” Ridge whispered it in my ear. His deep rumble of a voice vibrated from my neck to places farther south.
“I was not listening.”
“Right.”
“But since you brought it up. What’s the plan for the Polish Festival?”
“The plan is making sure we’re out in full force, making sure to stop any bullshit from Crank and The Bane before it even starts.”
“Ridge, are we safe? Are the neighbors safe?”
A kernel of nerves about tomorrow’s festival started to grow. I had so much to worry about when it came to the food, and marketing the neighborhood, and my business, I hadn’t even let myself think that if I were Crank, I’d make a statement during the Polish Festival.
“The cops will be out in full force, the GWMC will be patrolling, and people will be stuffed with your food. Worry about that, the food.”
“Okay.”
I said okay, but I felt scared that one wrong move from Crank could ruin everything, again.
The Polish Festival ran Friday night to Saturday night. Back in the day, it started on Thursday, but we’d decided as a neighborhood a good thirty-hours was better than three days where things had more chance to go wrong.
I wanted people to experience the vibrancy of Stickney Forest. I wanted them to try one of the three Polish Food trucks, but the neighborhood was also home to a Thai to Go truck, a taco stand, and an ice cream vendor. In all, we had eight trucks set up at points throughout the main drag at Zablocki Corners.
There were also two huge tents, one was for eating and drinking, and the other was a Polka tent, where if you had enough to drink, you too could Polka like you came from the old country.
Friday night was huge! People streamed in—older people, those who’d moved out, those who’d remembered what it used to be like here—and all visited my food truck.
Lamont and I served up kielbasa and horseradish to dozens and dozens.
Channel Seven was even live!
“Frankie, Frankie, come out here!”
Dziadzia had been holding court, like the Polish King of Chicago. And it was so fun to watch.
“You guys okay for a minute? I have to see what Dzia needs.”
Lamont was supervising Sherry and Terry, and while it was crazy, they were getting the food out, and it was delish.
“What is it, Dzia?” I walked up to him and saw that he was being interviewed by the news!
“This is my granddaughter, isn’t she beautiful?”
“I’m sorry, he likes to brag,” I said, putting my hand out to the reporter.
“Not bragging if it’s true,” the reporter, Rob Towheart, I think his name was, replied, giving me a wink. I mean, I was in my Kaminski’s t-shirt and jeans with my hair in a high pony, but okay, I’d take the wink if it meant good coverage of the Polish Festival.
“Can we ask you a few questions? We just talked to your grandpa, and we’d like to get the younger perspective too.”
“I don’t know, I’m not really—”
“Don’t let her fool ya, she helped organize this, and she is the Block Watch Captain, and her business Polish Wedding is opening any day now! She’s a firecracker!”
“Dzia!”
“I thought your business, wasn’t it the one with the pipe bomb?”
“Yeah, well, we just got approved to reopen. We’re doing some awesome new renovations, and we’ll be read
y for wedding season!”
I did not need The Place With the Pipe Bomb to be how people remembered my banquet hall. Ugh, this was not going well.
“Just a few questions?”
“Okay, I guess.”
Rob Towheart asked the basics, and I answered, trying not to say anything stupid.
“Bottom line, you’re not going to find better food, live music, or beer than right here this weekend in Stickney Forest,” I said and hoped it was all right.
“Or prettier girls! Look at our Southie Beauties!” my Dzia said and pinched my cheek.
Rob Towheart laughed and then stood next to Dzia and me.
“Live from the Polish Festival in Stickney Forest, I’m Rob Towheart for Chanel Seven Action News."
“Live? That was live? Dziadzia you just pinched my cheek on the evening news!”
I put my hand over my head.
“You’re lucky I didn’t smack your dupa!”
Dziadzia laughed it off and Rob Towheart cracked up.
“Yep, and they’re still on us, so that was live too! Back to you, Diana and Kurt.”
I smiled at the camera, and this time didn’t say a word so as not to further my embarrassment.
“Okay, now we’re off.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Towheart, about the beauties thing, and the pinch, and the dupa.”
“I’m assuming that means butt?”
“You’d be right in that assumption.”
I was nine shades of red at this point.
“It was great, people will love it. I wouldn't be surprised if you don’t get twice the people here tomorrow, just to get a taste of you two and your authentic realness. You know?”
“Uh, yeah?” I did not know, but whatever, hopefully no one watched the evening news. I did not need my pinched cheek and dupa on the air.
My Dzidzia put his arm around the reporter and I heard him begin to explain the finer points of drinking vodka. I decided it was time to get back to the truck.
After sundown, the festivities were in full swing, and Lamont had it handled.
“I’m going to check in on the other trucks, make sure we’re all set for tomorrow.”
“Sounds good, Boss,” said Lamont.
I took a stroll and was so excited. There was so much life. It wasn’t as huge an event as it had been when I was a kid, but we had pulled it off.
The Polish Festival was a thing again! I talked to a few other vendors, and everyone had a lot of nice things to say.
“Those bikers handled a few teens who were trying to sneak beer.”
This was according to Anne Zbornak, who was trying to convince Officer Parker that she would use warm water for the dunk tank and that it would be fine! He did not look convinced.
“I think he’s not allowed because it’s still too soon since his injury. You wouldn’t want him to get an infection.”
Anne eventually agreed that gunshot wound healing was more important.
“Well, what about the kissing booth?”
“Hard no, Anne,” I said and pulled Officer Parker away from her evil schemes.
“You look good!”
Hayden Parker was in plain clothes. He was out of the hospital but not cleared for duty just yet. That he’d come to the Polish Festival warmed my heart.
“Thanks, almost healed, and I would not have thought about that excuse for Mrs. Zbornak, so thank you for that.”
“Ha, no problem.”
We walked together for a while and wound up at the beer tent, with Polka music frenetically playing.
“May I have this dance?”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m supposed to continue to increase my cardio fitness.”
Hayden put out an arm, and I took it.
“Okay, but just tell me if you get winded or whatever. Polkas can take it out of you.”
“I promise.”
Hayden Parker, to my surprise, knew how to polka! He swung me around the floor, and I was the one who had a hard time keeping up. I heard the familiar “woot woots” typical of when a polka breaks out, and I laughed—really laughed—at how, for a moment, I just had no care in the world!
“Officer Hayden Parker, who taught you to polka like this?”
We’d switched from facing each to side-by-side, with our arms crossed. We polka-ed around the dance floor, and I swear, I belly laughed. I hadn’t taken the time to do this in years! In the past, at every single wedding reception, every single First Communion, Busia and Dzia would lead the dance floor.
Hayden slid behind me and switched sides with ease. He was so good!
“My Dad was Greg Parker, but my mom was Susie Koslowski!”
Well, that explained a lot. We did two fun songs, and I realized time was getting away from me, and also that maybe Hayden should take a rest.
I put my hands up.
“I think better get back to the food truck. You have hidden talents, Officer Parker.”
He laughed, guided us both off the floor, and we made our way to the edge of the tent.
“I really have fun with you, Frankie.”
Officer Parker had not let go of my hand. He pulled me in towards him and planted a kiss on my lips.
I kissed back, a little, I think? I was stunned, taken by surprise, and overwhelmingly concerned that I’d given a mixed signal. Polka had never been foreplay in all the history of the universe, not that I was aware of.
I liked Hayden Parker. He’d taken a bullet because of me. But I liked him as a friend. How did I phrase that? Thanks for getting shot, but I’m not into you?
I tried not to react badly; the man was just out of the hospital.
“Hayden, uh, thank you. That was nice, but, uh, I have a boyfriend.”
It sounded like something a fifth grader might say.
“Oh, oh, I’m so sorry—I should never have, I would never have.”
He still had my hand in his. I searched for the right words to stop any embarrassment he was feeling. It was just awful for a second.
“No, no, don’t apologize. You’re a great kisser. I’m just not single, right now.”
There, maybe that would do it? Right now, though? Did I expect that to change?
“Gotcha, well, if it doesn’t work out, you know who to call for your next polka?”
“I do.”
He still had my hand, and he raised it to his lips and kissed it chastely. The awkwardness disappeared.
“I’m going to head back, and thank you again, dating or not I expect more polkas in our future.”
Hayden laughed and we parted ways. I was headed back to the food truck. I’d been gone for almost thirty minutes and it was time to give someone else a break.
“What the fuck was that?”
I ran right into Ridge, a pissed off Ridge, a jealous Ridge, a Ridge who did not want to listen to a word I said.
“Oh, Hayden? Uh, yeah, he’s a great dancer.”
My first tact was to make light of it, give it the brush off. Maybe he didn’t see the kiss?
“Dancing and kissing, you’re fucking around on me? I mean, when did you find the time?”
“Excuse me?”
“I saw your little performance, the good times, the laughs, the kisses. Jesus, maybe sneak around a little better.”
“Ridge, you're ridiculous. That was nothing. That was me being nice to a man who mistook a dance for something more.”
“Looks like Officer Parker isn’t the only one who gets mixed signals from you.”
“I really don’t know what to say to you. He kissed me, it was a misunderstanding.”
“I bet.”
And with that Ridge turned his back on me. He left me there, stomped away, and I literally had zero chance to explain. All the trust I thought we had with each other had taken one second to destroy.
I was hurt, stunned, and getting mad too. How dare he think that I led Hayden on? What kind of person did he think I was? Hot tears pooled in the corners of my eyes.
I
blinked them away.
I made my way to the food truck.
“Hey, Frankie, can you run to the GWHQ and get us another couple of trays of cookies, we’re running low. Which also means we’ll need to bake more tonight. Lord, this is a zoo!” Lamont said as he gave an order to another customer at the window.
“Yep, on it.”
It was good. I could walk this off. I could get my act together about whatever just happened with Ridge. What HAD just happened? That man, he was supposed to trust me. I was supposed to trust him. He had decided, in seconds, that I was a cheating liar.
I thought we had something more than a surface connection. I thought I loved him, and he loved me. But the mean way he lashed out at me hurt. And it had me, honestly, a wreck.
I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking. I didn’t really see much of anything except Ridge’s angry eyes.
I crossed the street and walked around the barriers that had closed down East End and Woodrow to traffic. The crowd had thinned out here, so I could think. I could collect myself.
I heard laughter and looked up. I stepped to one side so a group of Polish Festival attendees could have the sidewalk and head into the festival. Wow, good, more people! This event was a success. I wished I didn’t feel sick to my stomach over Ridge.
But the group didn’t pass. Instead, they enveloped me in their little circle, stopping me in my tracks.
“What the heck?” I said and tried to push out.
“Hi, Frankie.”
Too late I realized it was Crank, Danny, and a man I didn’t recognize. They’d ditched their leather and were hiding under White Sox hats. They were trying not to be seen for a change.
And it had worked. I hadn’t even noticed them as I made my way out past the barriers and away from the crowds. Could anyone see us?
“I wouldn’t scream if I were you.”
And then Crank had his hand over my mouth. I tried to break free, but there was a gun to my side, and all of this was happening away from the crowd. No one could see what was going on.
“Let me go, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I think we’re going to have some fun. You’re a neighborhood girl, you like having fun.”
