Emily: Army Mail Order Bride

by Mercy Levy

  “I’m nothing special, Shorty.” He responded gamely. “I’m just a reformed nerd who found out he was even better at fighting than math.” He shook his head. “I’m not telling you no, I just don’t know what you expect me to say.” He sighed with a wry smile. “I’m not actually a hero. But, for you, I’ll wear the cape for a day or two.” He chuckled to himself as he watched her wiggle in excitement (and probably caffeine poisoning, he thought to himself).

  “Well, you might just be a fighter who’s good at math in your own eyes, but to me, you are a hero and you’ll just have to get used to it.” Billie slipped two twenty-dollar bills out of his money clip and set it on the table.

  “You ready to let me escort you home?” Billie asked, holding out his crooked arm in invitation.

  “Of course,” she replied, drawing her purse up over her shoulder and taking his proffered arm. She leaned into his warmth as they exited the warmth of the diner for the outside chill of the witching hour. They shared a taxi uptown to her tiny, but comfortable apartment. They rode the elevator up in silence, as Joy wondered what, exactly, would happen when they reached her floor. The elevator doors opened and Joy stepped out, giving Billie a sidelong look as they walked down the hall to her door.

  “Six-oh-four.” She pointed to the door. “This is me.” She pulled her keys out of her pocket and smiled shyly at Billie. “Thanks for getting me home safely, I’m glad we got to catch up.” She stumbled over her words as he smirked down at her. “I’ll, uh, call you, or text, or something, tomorrow.” He nodded at her and closed the distance between them. She inhaled sharply and froze, her heart racing in anticipation.

  Billie leaned over her and rested one arm against her doorframe. He placed a hand on her face and tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. He could see the pulse racing in her throat and her eyes widened at his nearness. He was close enough to smell her perfume, a sweet, floral scent that enhanced the musk of her skin, making him fight for control over the impulse he felt surging up in him to carry her inside and completely consume her.

  He grazed his lips over her cheek and stepped back until he felt cool air flood the space between them. He stroked her face with the tips of his fingers.

  “I’ll call you in the morning, and set up a time when I can come talk to your kids.” He murmured, his voice dark and silky. “I’m glad you came and found me.” He stepped back further, and felt more in control of himself with each step he took toward the elevator. “I’ll see you later, short stuff.” He teased, as he finally forced himself to turn around.

  He was almost to the elevator doors when he finally heard her key catch the lock and the apartment door squeak as it was opened. He punched the down button and risked a quick glance over his shoulder towards Joy’s apartment. He pretended not to care that the hall was behind him. He stepped inside as the doors slid open and leaned against the mirrored back wall of the elevator car, grateful that no one was there to notice his disappointed descent.

  Joy picked up her phone and looked at the lock screen for the hundredth time since 9:00. No messages, no texts. She turned back to her computer screen and tried to focus on the file she was reviewing. Caleb Jackson, she read. In and out of foster care, three new homes and four new schools in the last 18 months. Joy sighed. In their meetings, Caleb was thoughtful, quiet and introspective. He didn’t complain about his home life and as she scrolled down the screen, she saw he was a decent student. However, in the schoolyard, Caleb had proven himself to be dangerous to other kids.

  “Not that they didn’t have it coming.” Joy thought to herself. Caleb’s last fight had put a kid in the hospital. It didn’t matter that the kid was twice his size, or that Caleb had interrupted him sexually assaulting a younger girl. No, the pervert had two parents, was white, and wasn’t bussed in from the projects. Even though the girl had stood by Caleb, it didn’t change the fact that he guilty for being a brown-skinned foster kid. In this neighborhood, that was proof enough that he was trouble. Of course, it hadn’t helped that he had nothing to show for the fight but a small bruise over his cheekbone. Joy shook her head and snickered to the empty chair in front of her desk, recalling the look of chagrin on his face. One hit, she muttered out loud, the big fat bully got in one. Freaking. Hit.

  Kids like Caleb were why Joy wanted Billie to speak in the school. They were decent kids with trouble in their lives no kid their ages should be dealing with. Joy pulled the Maalox out of her top desk drawer and spun the lid off, tipping her head back and draining the last of the bottle down her throat. Stress and a weak digestive system were only two of the side-effects of being a counselor in a high school split nearly 50/50 between white middle class kids and poor brown ones.

  School uniforms were not nearly enough to hide the disparities between the groups, and her ulcer seemed some days to be the only return on her investment. She picked up her phone again, and dropped it in her lap as its sudden chirping startled her. She juggled it for a moment and managed to swipe the unlock feature.

  “Uh, hello?” she asked breathlessly.

  “I told you I’d call.” Billie’s smooth baritone vibrated through her ear and straight to her gut. Joy’s mouth went dry and she licked her lips before answering.

  “I know what a busy guy you are,” she answered with feigned nonchalance. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to find time in your butt-kicking schedule just for little old me.” She blushed, and was immediately grateful she was alone in her little breadbox of an office. He was quiet for a few seconds, and Joy swallowed nervously. What if she’d offended him? What if he’d hung up? She looked down at the screen of her iPhone. No, he was still there. Before she could raise the phone back to her ear, she heard him yell to his trainer.

  “Yo, Marcus, I’m on the phone here, gimme a second, Jesus!” He huffed and continued in a normal tone “Hey, Sugar, you still there?” She cautiously moved the phone closer to the side of her head, ready to pull away if he yelled again.

  “Yeah, I’m still here.” She answered, stifling a giggle. I may be deaf, but I’m here.

  “Ah shiz, no, I’m sorry, I thought I had the mic covered. My bad. Are you okay?” He sounded so chagrined she couldn’t bear to keep teasing.

  “Oh, I’m fine, I just had to give you a hard time.” She murmured sweetly. He shook his head; glad she couldn’t see his reaction to her voice. She had no idea how hard a time he was having because of her. He remembered how good she smelled the night before. No way he wasn’t getting another chance at that.

  “So, you still want me to come talk to the future felons of America, even though I’m not smart enough to know how to mute my own phone?” He laughed. A towel hit him in the back of the head and he spun around to scowl at his trainer. Marcus glared right back at him and tapped his watch. On the other end of the phone, Joy sighed.

  “So long as you don’t actually refer to them as the future felons of America, like, ever again, yeah, I’d really, really like you to come talk to them.” She said, her voice tinged with disapproval.

  “Aww, Shorty, you know I don’t mean it, I mean, that was us once, right? You know I won’t let you down” He poured on the charm, and could almost feel her melt on her end.

  “Yeah, it was.” Joy sighed again, but Billie had the impression that it wasn’t about him that time. “Billie, I really appreciate this. So I’ll see you Wednesday, about ten a.m.?” the assembly is right before first lunch.” She wrote his name on the daily planner she kept at her desk. The computers were so old and slow she’d given up on using the scheduler there. Besides, it was nice having an excuse to write his name down. It seemed more personal, more intimate to write it by hand.

  “Wednesday, huh?” He griped. “Well, if I have to wait two days, then we’re going to breakfast first.” He cut her off as he heard her start to object. “I know where you live. I’ll see you at eight on Wednesday.” He grinned to himself and the still-glowering Marcus.

  “I’ll see you at seven. I need to be to school b
y eight.” She chuckled. “Unless that’s too early for you, Mr. Heavyweight champ, man of the world.” He groaned, and she laughed again. Billie finally nodded to his trainer and sighed.

  “I’ll see you in a couple days, Woman.” He dropped his voice low. “I may not be able to wait that long.” He added huskily. She sank further into her chair as her spine melted from the heat that rushed through her body.

  “Well, if you can’t, don’t.” she finally breathed. “I’ll see you later, Billie. Thanks again.” She ended the call and leaned back in her chair with her hands folded over her stomach, swishing her office chair from side to side. She reveled in the memories that poured over her.

  Billie Payne had been her first love. Technically, he’d been her last love too. She knew better than to trust the men who were always coming around. Billie had been different. He was honest, and kind and artistic and gentle. Now she had a chance to see if, inside the man he had become, was still the boy he once was.

  Billie stared at the phone in his hand for a second, then handed it to the gym bunny standing next to him, waiting for him to finish. She leaned up and kissed him, pressing up against him and trying to put his hands on her body. She tried to deepen the kiss, but Billie pulled away, irritated. He looked at the half-naked woman glaring at him and shook his head. Marcus growled something out behind him, and he pushed the girl away. She pouted and slunk off. Billie turned to his trainer.

  “What is it Marcus?” Billie complained. “I can’t take a call now?” Billie began rotating his shoulders to loosen them up. “When will my wins be enough to cut me some slack?” he continued to stretch his arms and back muscles while he and Marcus walked toward the manager’s office.

  “I don’t like this, Billie.” Marcus warned his young protégé. “You’ve turned a blind eye to Slade’s gambling bullshit so long, it’s a part of your working relationship.” Billie glanced over at his trainer, confused.

  “What do you mean, old man?” Billie snorted. “Everybody bets on fights. It’s no big deal as long as no one gets caught. Besides, you know it increases the turnout to the fights, it’s just part of the sport.” Billie felt himself getting angry. “Why are you making this a thing, you know that’s how it goes.” They paused at the top of the stairs in front of the office.

  “Billie, you can’t keep pretending that every win you’ve had, you felt you won on the square.” The older man grabbed Billie’s shoulder and shook him. “What do you think you’re being called in for, huh? You think he’s gonna give you an attaboy, good job, here’s a raise?” Marcus pushed Billie back. “Don’t be stupid, kid. Your ticket’s been drawn. He’s gonna bet against you soon, and you’re going to have to take the fall.” Marcus stepped back from Billie and stood looking at the ground with his hands on his hips. “Nobody wins all the fights, Billie. It’s already in the papers that guys have been throwing matches in your favor. You gotta wake up.” Billie clenched his fists, enraged with the idea that his fighting record was in doubt.

  “I’m not throwing any fights.” Billie snarled. “I won’t. If J.J. Slade, or anyone else, doesn’t have the faith in me to hang onto their money, that’s their problem. I’m unstoppable, and I won’t let any asshole with a wallet change that.” Billie clenched and unclenched his fists as he tried to calm down. He knew that Slade had goons who he’d send to “convince” Billie to cooperate. He’d heard stories at other gyms about how the game really worked. He’d never believed it would happen to him.

  “Look, Billie,” Marcus enjoined him, “He got greedy, and didn’t trust you for the wins. Now he has to prove you’re not invincible, to counter the rumors that you’re being handed all your fights.” He spread his hands in surrender. “Billie, you let this happen, you might have to take the fall now.”

  Billie shook his head. All his life, he’d struggled not to be weak, not to be pushed around and bullied and kicked down. He wasn’t about to let that pasty-faced, bad-suit-wearing, steroid junky make him just another little bitch. He wiped a hand across his face and rolled his shoulders, hearing his joints crackle from all the abuse they’d taken in recent months. He looked at Marcus and nodded that he understood, then walked over to the office door and knocked. Marcus watched, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, as his friend and student disappeared through the door.

  3.

  Tuesday night, Joy ran herself a bath after a long, long day at work. Two suspensions, an open investigation into a cheating ring, and Caleb hadn’t been to school all week. From the bruises she’d seen when she caught a glimpse of him through the apartment window, he might not be back all week. His foster father was a big man, and Joy doubted very much if he was a “time-out” kind of parent. She immersed herself in the hot bubbly water and tried to relax.

  Without a closer look at Caleb, Joy couldn’t be sure enough of what she’d seen to go to the Department of Child Safety. But, she knew went on behind closed doors. She’d seen it so many times. Her own mother and father had intervened to save kids more times than she could remember.

  Still, she thought as she reached out for the glass of wine perched on the shelf next to the old claw bathtub, she’d done what she could for today, and tomorrow, she’d try again. She had let Caleb’s foster father know about the assembly and how important it was to her that Caleb make it to school if her could. He’d slammed the door in her face, but that was par for the course in his neighborhood. She wondered if he would’ve been nicer if she’d shown up with beer. The thought made her snicker, and she inhaled wine. She was still coughing and choking when her phone began it’s chirping from the edge of the sink where she’d left it.

  “H-h-hello?” She finally managed to sputter, turning her head away from the phone to avoid hacking into the mic.

  “Hey, Sugar, did I catch you in the middle of something?” Billie’s concerned voice did nothing to allay the feeling that she was exposed, as she stood there naked and dripping bubbles onto her bathmat.

  “No, a little wine went down the wrong tube.” Joy started to shiver. She tiptoed over to the bathtub and climbed in as carefully and quietly as she could, and slid down the side into the frothy heat.

  “I wanted to take you out tonight, but something stupid came up.” Billie fairly snarled into the phone. He looked down at his bandaged hand. Something had come up all right. Or rather, something was going down.

  “You okay?” Joy asked him. The silence on his end of the line was heavy and thick.

  “I had a bad day.” Billie replied. He didn’t know how to tell her he’d been cornered and ordered to throw his next fight. J.J. had told him, from a position of safety behind three big bodyguards, that it was his turn. Billie had put his fist through a closed locker and broken a couple of fingers. “I broke a finger yesterday, so now my next fight’s been postponed.” Joy thought he sounded more like his best friend had died, than just a fight postponed.

  “Why don’t you come over?” She suggested. “I just opened this bottle of wine, and it sounds like you could use a little company.” She glanced over at the clock. It was just before eight. “I haven’t eaten yet, so I could throw something together, if you’d like.” She added, shyly. She wasn’t sure what was possessing her now, but she felt equal parts hopeful and terrified that he’d agree. Billie looked around his quiet, stark apartment.

  “You know what?” He asked, sliding the phone between his jaw and shoulder to free up his functional hand. “That sounds amazing. I’ll pick up another bottle, you know, just in case we need it. I’ll see you in 30 minutes.” Billie slipped the keys into a front pocket of his jeans, hung up the phone, and juggled it from his bandaged hand to his back pocket.

  He checked the cupboards in his kitchen, and sure enough, there was an unopened bottle of wine, courtesy of the pretty reporter who had “interviewed” him, in the living room, the bedroom, the shower, and possibly a few other locations he’d forgotten. When the article had come out, Billie had wondered where she’d actually gotten all her information from
.

  “Good times.” He said to himself as he nestled the bottle under his left arm. He checked himself in the mirror. The bruises on his face were hardly noticeable now, and aside from the hand, he figured he passed muster. He winked at his reflection and left for Joy’s place.

  Joy stared at the phone for a few seconds when it went dark and silent in her hand. He’d hung up without saying goodbye. He’d hung up and he was on his way over, her inner voice gently prodded her. He was on his way over and her hair was a mess, she wasn’t wearing makeup, and frankly, she didn’t think there was any food in the house. She tossed the phone onto the soft robe she had laid out and tugged the rubber stopper out of the tub drain, sighing to herself as the bubbles chased the hot water down the drain in a fragrant whirlpool.

  She wrapped herself up in the soft warm robe and padded out to her kitchen. She grew more apprehensive with every cupboard she checked. The sparse contents of the fridge did nothing to improve her mood. In resignation, she opened the overstuffed drawer that held all her takeout menus. She tried to remember what 14-yr-old Billie had liked. She closed her eyes and grabbed a menu at random.

  “Indian it is,” She said to herself. She couldn’t remember ever seeing Billie eat Indian food, but shrugged her shoulders and decided to give it a shot. “Worst case scenario, I stick it in the fridge for later and we order something else, right?” She said out loud to no one.

  She ordered enough food for six people and, with a worried glance at the time, rushed into her room to get dressed and tame her curly hair into a somewhat manageable mess. Knowing he’d be expecting her to be casual, she opted for a pair of yoga pants and a simple fitted, scoop-necked t-shirt. She did a turn in the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. It was all right, if she did say so herself. She did one last check of the ponytail she’d pulled her hair back into, grabbed her wallet from her bedroom, and went to refill her wine glass before her guest and her food arrived.