Corsets and Quartets

by DeSimone, Mercy

  His frown elicits a rush of words as she tries to justify her lack of progress.

  "I just need to finish an essay for English."

  "When is it due?" Heath asks.

  "Tomorrow." Uh oh. "But not until fourth period." The narrowing of Heath's eyes cannot herald anything good. "It's only a thousand words."

  Oh boy. Trying to forestall the storm gathering, I jump into the breach.

  "What kind of essay are you writing? A thousand words isn't too bad. How much have you written already? Is it something I can help you with?"

  Looking uneasily at her dad, Tracey finally admits, "None so far, but how long can it take? Do you know much about suffragettes?"

  "Tracey! You haven't started?" Heath's voice is stern, and she flushes slightly.

  "I was making dinner, and it would have been rude to ignore our guests." Her words falter as she realizes Heath isn't buying it.

  Jumping up from the table, Simon grabs Brutus, sensing the need for a quick retreat as Heath and Tracey engage in a battle of wills.

  "I'm going to let Brutus stretch his legs. Do you mind if we run around the back yard a bit?"

  Without waiting for an answer, they head toward the kitchen door that leads outside, while I monitor the tense silence.

  How many times did I fidget guiltily in just the same way? At that age, I was the queen of the last minute test cramming, book reporting, essay writing squad. Even then, I still got good grades. Some of us will just never be planners. Feeling sorry for Tracey, I try to defuse the situation.

  "So, who's your favorite? Susan B, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Lucretia Mott? What's your angle?" I ask as Tracey bites her lip, glancing uneasily at her dad.

  "Thank you, Josie. All very good questions…if someone were starting an essay instead of avoiding one." Heath's smile lessens the tension of his words. "You're lucky, Trace. Josie is a talented writer. I would strongly advise you to grab your books and take advantage of her kind offer while I clean up. You can be sure I'll be getting your class schedule from your mom so I know when everything is due going forward. Now, why don't you take Josie into the family room to help you get started?"

  "But—"

  "Later. Get to work."

  * * *

  My God, was I that chatty when I was Tracey's age? Thinking back, I realize I probably was. Tracey's questions were thoughtful, and if anything, too much so. She reminds me of Emma the way her thoughts jump around. Intelligent and looking to prove it, but not in a bratty or condescending way, more the compulsion to share her knowledge with the world. Whether you want to hear it or not.

  Oh well, I settle deeper into the car seat. Time will temper her enthusiasm the way it has Emma's—mostly. Unfortunately, listening to her and Heath argue, it's also likely to get her into some hot water along the way as well.

  Having never dated someone with kids before, it's a little trippy seeing them slip into parent mode. Even though I'm used to watching my siblings do battle with my nieces and nephews, it's different when you watch from this perspective.

  Is Heath's uncompromising stance with Tracey on the subject of homework an indication of how that might translate to bigger topics between us? Remembering his remarks about Simon the previous evening, I shift a bit uneasily, glancing toward Simon's zen expression as he drives, head bobbing to the beat of the soft music playing on the radio.

  "Thanks for driving tonight."

  His eyes shift briefly toward mine, right hand leaving the wheel to grip my knee lightly.

  "Thanks for letting me crash your date." An irrepressible grin lights up his face. "It's nice dodging the city occasionally. Tracey's full of piss and vinegar, isn't she?"

  "You could say that." I laugh. "She sure knows how to push Heath's buttons. I don't know why I thought Heath was going to be a pushover as a dad. I never expected him to be such a taskmaster."

  "Oh, a good Doolittle knows how to tame the animals. I expect he has quite a firm hand when he wants." Simon's wink makes me blush, suddenly conscious of the weight of his hand on my knee.

  "I'm glad you came along. Everybody needs friends in the city. Maybe you'd like to meet my friend, Emma. She's a lot of fun. In fact, Tracey reminds me a lot of her at that age."

  "Is that a hint, luv? You can't distract me with other women, you know. I have no trouble finding girls up for a quick shag. I'm partial to a big heart and bits to match. If she's not you, I'm not interested. Besides, I fancy the idea of you writing me into one of your stories. Am I the villain that gets to steal you away?"

  "Come on, Simon, we discussed this. I like you, but we're strictly friend zone right now."

  "I wasn't offering a ring, luv."

  "And I wasn't asking for one. From anyone," I emphasize. "But I've made a commitment, and I don't break my promises."

  "Right now. That's what you said, right? We're friend zone right now? So, I just need to wait in the queue?"

  "That's not what I meant, and you know it." Trust Simon to grab the smallest words to make his point.

  "Isn't it? Brutus and I are patient. We're not looking for a live-in. We like our space, since it allows us to keep odd hours. But we share well. Any time you need a little tussle, I promise to surrender with good grace. We both enjoy a good rubdown in the right hands."

  "You're impossible."

  "Well you know, Alice, it is possible to indulge in at least three sexy men before breakfast."

  "Stop it! That's so twisted. Alice said she could believe in at least six impossible things before breakfast. She was not talking about men, as impossible as you all are. Stop trying to rewrite the classics."

  "I said I'm good at sharing, but three's my limit. Do you think you could handle six men?" Simon's head cocks in question.

  "No! Simon, we were not talking about men. Judging from this conversation, I can't even handle one. You. Me. Friends. Got it?"

  "You're really hot when you get all bothered, luv." Simon smirks as I deliberately lift his hand from my knee and place it on his own. Before I can pull my hand back he quickly grabs my wrist, holding my hand to his thigh. "If you wanted to pet me, you only had to ask."

  Snatching my hand back, I'm relieved to feel the car glide to a stop in front of my building.

  "I'm putting you in a time out, Simon. Everybody needs to keep their hands to themselves for now. No, not for now. For good."

  "What fun would that be? I'm just exercising my hands before I go back on tour again. Gotta stay limber to reach all those chords you know. "

  Flexing his fingers, Simon ends by fisting both hands together. "You girls like your toys, but trust me, I can do better. They don't call me Mr. Great Vibez for no reason."

  "What do you mean?" Glancing at his tattoos, a little zing of anticipation tingles down between my thighs. "I thought you were making a spiritual statement."

  Simon's bark of laughter wakes Brutus from his slumber in the back seat. Scrambling to his paws, his nose pokes between us, whimpering in my ear as he tries to lick my face.

  "Well, the ladies who've encountered my great vibez have been known to invoke God's name occasionally. I've been told it can be a spiritual experience."

  My mouth snaps shut, and I fumble for the door release until Simon reaches across to help me. His fingers drift across my lap, unhooking my seatbelt while gently chiding me.

  "Running away, luv? I thought you were braver than that. I guess it's just you and your toys tonight after all."

  "Say goodnight, Simon." I slam the door before he can reply, lifting my hand in farewell from the safety of outside the car.

  The slight whir of the window marks its smooth, downward slide down, releasing Brutus' quivering nose as he strains toward me through the opening.

  "Sweet dreams, luv. Let me know when my time out is over. Or when I reach the head of the queue."

  Watching the tinted window slide upward to obscure my view, I sigh in relief. Three impossible men, indeed. Thank God it's not breakfast time.

  Chapter 27<
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  A Slot to Fill

  "Hey, Em. What's up?" Tucking the phone to my ear, I continue to dish food into Daisy's bowl as she dances around my feet in anticipation.

  "I'm working on some swag for you. We need to start stocking up if we're going to have stuff for Quill. What do you think of 'Love Unlaced' for a tagline? I sent some designs to your inbox. I got one of my graphics guys to create some art. It's kind of cute. Not overtly sexy, but still a bit suggestive. If you like it, we can do a few t-shirts for giveaways, too."

  "Really? That's amazing! How did you convince him to do that for free?"

  Grabbing my laptop, I click to my email to find Emma's images and swipe through with a critical eye. I'm a bit surprised at how much I like them.

  A black corset encases the delicate, pale skin of a girl's back, long hair swept forward over the shoulder to reveal the satin only half laced. Waiting to be tightened, or undone? My name swirls like laurel leaves arcing above the image, while the tagline drips from the corset within the laces.

  It's provocative yet sexy, letting the viewer decide whether it's about denying the sexuality or embracing it.

  "I love it! Could we change the color? The black is a bit goth. I'd love to see something a little more feminine."

  "Red?"

  "How about green? Or yellow? Or maybe purple. Think fresh and young, not rode hard and put away wet."

  "Ahhh…but wet is my favorite word." Emma laughs. "Forget stories that make you sweat, we need stories that make you wet."

  "No. I think ‘Love Unlaced’ is provocative enough, thank you very much. When you write a book, your tagline can be 'stories that make you wet.' I love that font by the way, but do you think my name is a little too large?"

  "Josie! Your name is the whole point. By the time we're done, Josie Jarell is going to be on everyone's radar."

  "Well, I love it! Thank you, Em. I know you realize how much this means to me. I hope you didn't have to pay your friend to do it."

  "Don't worry, it only took two blow jobs."

  At my sharp intake of breath, Emma breaks into laughter.

  "I'm kidding! Relax. I tried to fuck him last year, but he had Peter syndrome. Still, he's ever hopeful. That's how I get my projects for free."

  "Emma! That's awful." I try to sound scandalized, but Peter syndrome is a legitimate problem—one I can laugh about now.

  "Thanks for taking one for the team."

  "You're welcome. We'll do some bookmarks and postcards, and maybe a few lace up wrist cuffs. I wonder if we could make them look like little corsets? And a few t-shirts as raffles for newsletter sign ups. What about paperbacks of The Duke's Rose?"

  "Maybe next time. I never paid the cover artist for a wrap since the book barely sold. As much as I'd love to have some there, I can't afford to just print them and hope that people will buy them. The last thing I want is a stack of them mocking me from the corner of the living room when they don't sell." My voice is wistful. "If we can reel in some new readers, maybe I'll make enough money on Lady Sydney's book to do paperbacks. That would be sweet."

  "We will, don't worry. Speaking of which, how is the story coming along? How quickly do you think you can wrap it up? We don't want to leave new followers hanging for too long."

  "Ugh. Simon is driving me crazy!"

  "Simon? Simon who? Westcott? What does he have to do with it?"

  "What? Percy. I meant Major Percy." Guilt floods through me as I realize my faux pas and that Emma's not likely to let that little slip go.

  "Josie, are you fantasizing about Simon? You're not usually dazzled by fame. He must have made a big impression if you're still thinking about him after one meeting."

  "Maybe."

  Silence reigns as Emma, for once, waits for an answer.

  "Ok, so, I might have gone with him when he took his dog to the vet—which was Heath, by the way!" Throwing in that fact makes my behavior seem justified.

  "Wow. What did you talk about? Did he ask you out?"

  "No! It's not like that. I was coming from Mark's, and I ran into him and Brutus. He's not comfortable driving on the right side of the road, so I offered to navigate and keep Brutus in check. I was telling him about you."

  "You told Simon Westcott about me?" Emma's voice practically squeaks in excitement. "Why?"

  "I just mentioned in passing that maybe he would want to meet you because you remind me of Tracey at that age, and he liked Tracey."

  "Heath's Tracey? Was she at work with Heath? I'm so confused. Shouldn't she be in school?"

  "No. I mean, yes. He met Tracey at dinner last night at Heath's. We were talking about you on the drive home."

  "Hold on. Just how much time have you been spending with Simon fucking Westcott? Does Mark know? How did Heath let that happen? I can't believe he doesn't care when he didn't even want Mark in the picture. "

  "It's not like that," I defend. "He doesn't have many friends in town, and I'm just trying to make him feel welcome."

  "So what did he say about meeting me?" Emma asks suspiciously.

  "He said sure, but maybe when he gets more acclimated." The lie trips off my tongue easily. It's rare that I lie to Emma, but avoidance is my friend right now. Too bad I tend to forget how well Emma knows me.

  "You're totally lying! He's got a thing for you, too, doesn't he?"

  Silence lies empty between us as I struggle to come up with a denial and realize it's pointless.

  "I'm sorry, can you hold please? I need to make a call. Hello? I'd like to report a missing person."

  "Emma."

  "Yes, she's a single white female—Josie Jezebel Jarrell."

  "Emma."

  "Uh huh. Five foot five, two hundred and twenty-five pounds of buxom brunette boobs and butt."

  "That's awful alliteration, Em, even for you."

  "Maybe check the psych wards. Or possibly Hell. I feel an ice storm coming."

  "Emma!" My outrage finally stops Emma's inane monologue.

  "Josie, do you even have a clue what the fuck you're doing? Or who?"

  "No," I reply honestly. "I really don't. It's a mess, and I have to clean it up. Clearly, I have to avoid him. Which is really a shame, because I think we could be good friends."

  "Now you are being crazy! Do you realize what you have? A harem! An impossibly sexy one at that. You can't pretend it's not there waiting for you to take it."

  "Of course I can. In fact, I have. Simon will get over it, since he didn't really mean it. He outright told me he can get a quick shag whenever he wants. I'm not looking for a one night stand, and he's not looking for a relationship. Besides, I already have one—two, to be exact. I don't need anything screwing up what I'm already balancing. Team Harlot is no longer taking applications."

  "That's a damn shame, because it's pretty obvious Simon just put himself on the waiting list. This is your chance to be greedy, girl. Open up another slot! According to my calculations, you still have at least one more opening to fill."

  Hanging up on my best friend doesn't feel nearly as good as it should.

  * * *

  "Josie, do you know a Simon?" Marco's voice pipes through my earpiece, breaking my concentration as I filter through the backlog of emails.

  "Yes," I say cautiously. "Why?"

  "He called and said that he wanted to place an order, and that you offered to pick out what he needed. And that you should call him when it was ready for pick up, and he'd drive you home."

  "Ok." My mind stutters slightly at the thought. "Did he say what he needed?"

  "He said he texted you, but you hadn't replied."

  Grabbing my phone, I realize that I have it on 'do not disturb' so that notifications are silenced. Not only have I missed a message from Simon, I've missed messages from Mark and Heath as well. Seeing all three notifications lined up on the screen, one after the other, gives me a buzz of pleasure immediately tempered by guilt.

  The relationships may not be equal, but there's an unexpected sense of rightness ab
out it. I don't know why it works, it just does. We don't have a lot of history behind us, and Simon should not be in the mix, but my mind is convinced what I'm seeing makes sense—even if my logic says it shouldn't.

  How do I create a delicate balance to keep Simon close without inadvertently destroying the structure I've established with Heath and Mark? I need to incorporate Simon into the puzzle as a friend without triggering jealousy in the others. Surely friendship isn't off the table?

  For someone who hasn't felt a strong connection to any man in a long time, this hypersensitive awareness that I feel every time I'm with any of them is bending my brain. It may not be sustainable, but I'm greedy enough to want it to last. Even if I'm pretending that I'm not fully invested and that it's all surface illusion.

  Self-denial be thy name.

  Tapping Heath's notification first, the tingle of anticipation sizzles through me with his confirmation of our date tomorrow night, and the reminder that he's staying at my place. He's promised me breakfast in bed, and I intend to take him up on it. What gets us to bed is still to be determined.

  Mark's message is a quick check in asking me if I'm hungry. The eggplant emoji that follows has me laughing at his not so subtle attempt at sexting. Claiming that I'm starving prompts promises of an elaborate meal when he sees me again, although there's no response to my question about how the negotiations are going or my reminder that advertising needs his updated headshot and bio.

  Licking my lips hungrily, I move on to Simon.

  Brute's Daddy: I need some real kitchen equipment.

  Impossible Alice: What do you need?

  BD: I'm making sticky toffee pudding.

  IA: That sounds ambitious

  BD: Not really. Can you help?

  IA: Sure. Give me your list.

  BD: Pans, spoons and such. And a mixer. Pretty much everything. When can you get off?

  Nope. Down girl. It’s an innocent question. Stop formulating answers that will just land you and your awakening libido in trouble.

  IA: 6