by January Rowe
“You got any lawyer recommendations?” Tern asked.
“Sure. If you needed a criminal lawyer. Which you don’t. I do know a few court-appointed family lawyers. You don’t want them, either. They’re overworked, assembly line guys. They have so many cases a month they couldn’t give a shit. Try the yellow pages. Ask for a consultation. It’ll be free. If you get a bad feeling about the lawyer after your first meet, move onto another one until you find one you’re comfortable with. You have good instincts, Tern.”
Buoyed by a plan of action and Jaeger’s confidence, Tern ordered a beer. The brothers shot the breeze. Tern invited Jaeger to come over for dinner and meet Poppy that weekend. Jaeger accepted, offering to bring the food. He thought their brother Swift might be in town. Jaeger would ask Swift over for dinner, too.
After Jaeger left St. Vincent’s, Tern leafed through the phone book in the bar.
“Attorneys,” he said, flying through the pages. “Okay. Got it. Bankruptcy. Criminal. No. Divorce and Family Law. That’s it. Family Law. Okay. Aaronson, Abele, Ahern, Aldrich.”
He sighed. Was Abele a better or worse family lawyer than Ahern? He picked Abele.
* * * *
Tern waited for Abele in a shabby, woody waiting room. The space smelled like floral Glade. He picked up a magazine from a stack sitting on a side table. Some glamour style periodical. Never mind. He wasn’t that bored. He shuffled through the rest of the magazines, wondering which would make him seem most vanilla. Maybe a parenting magazine?
Abele, a short, husky woman of middle years, emerged from her office. She shook his hand. Her blue eyes were clear and observant. She could probably see right through him, discerning even the most secret things. Abele knew they were kinky vagabonds wanting to take a child away from its natural mother.
Or maybe he was just nervous.
She invited him into her office, also woody and shabby. It smelled like coffee rather than floral Glade.
He outlined the situation.
She told him getting temporary custody would be simple and fast, just like Jaeger said. The process of adoption might take years. Certainly months. And it would cost a whole lot of money.
She discussed her rates, and then asked for a $3,000 retainer. He wrote her a check, dread weighing down his chest. Tern and Jill lived on the financial edge as it was.
Hiring a lawyer was going to seriously bend things.
Abele described the legal process of adoption. Abele would not only have to prove Jill and Tern were proper substitutes for the natural parents, but also work to terminate both of the parent-child relationships.
And that meant finding Poppy’s father. Whoever he was.
Chapter Three
Tern paused outside the house after he returned home from meeting with the lawyer. He studied the property. Did the old Victorian even look like a proper family home?
How would he know? He never had one.
He and his brothers had faked a wholesome family life to cover for their drugged-out mother’s neglect. Because of that, not one of Audrina Quinn’s boys grew up to have a conventional family life.
The baby of the family, Perry Quinn, was a CIA field agent. Living in one hot spot or another, he never formed permanent relationships. Swift Quinn was a test car driver. He lived in a hypermodern bachelor apartment in Arizona, complete with black silk sheets and an incredible sound system. He entertained women often. A different woman every month. Jaeger, the oldest brother, rented a small bungalow. He kept the place neat as a pin. But he was too busy being a hero to have much female company.
On the surface, Tern had the most normal family life. He was the only Quinn brother who’d ever married. But he and Jill were vagabonds, and rarely home. Nonetheless, the old Victorian house was their soft landing place. Here they regrouped, recharged, and then took off again.
Now their Lower Pacific Heights home would have to serve as a symbol of their suitability as guardians to Poppy.
He resumed scanning the property. The pink rose bushes in front were overgrown, but no danger to kids. Unless they fell into them, which didn’t seem likely. Would landscaping really come up in the adoption proceedings? With a sigh, Tern realized he had serious limitations in the normal department. He didn’t even believe a kid needed a bed. The only way he could successfully plan out a transformation to domestic normalcy was to think like an uptight, judgmental person.
How to do that?
He recalled his third grade teacher. She had been particular and snooty. Yes, he’d pretend to be Mrs. Panik. From day one, the woman never liked him. She’d always make comments about his long hair or his marginal cleanliness. Once she pointed out his holey jeans and accused him of being a “motherless child.” It was too close to the truth. After school, Tern had run home in terror. He told Jaeger Mrs. Panik was on to them because his jeans were old. The teacher knew they were fending for themselves. That night Jaeger went out and returned an hour later with a pair of stiff, new jeans. Jaeger, the future cop, had stolen from the Target store.
Tern pretended to be Mrs. Panik. Indeed, her unforgiving eyes could see what he couldn’t. She disregarded the house’s noble bones, noticing only the peeling paint. The squeaky stairs. The worn porch furniture. Deferred maintenance, some people would say. Not his mean third grade teacher. She called it run-down. Like his holey jeans.
He’d repair the worst of it during the next few days. He opened the front door. He’d repainted the door a vivid golden-yellow just last year. Prim and proper Mrs. Panik didn’t like the color. She claimed it was garish. Tough. Jill loved the shade, saying it was as pretty as sunflowers. He would not repaint it.
The central hall smelled faintly of varnish and cinnamon tea. What was it that regular folks said? Something about the home being the heart of the kitchen? Or the other way around? In any case, normal people valued the kitchen.
Mrs. Panik had better check it out. The kitchen’s large size and old-fashioned Victorian nature stunned his third grade teacher into silence. He enjoyed looking around without her complaining. Plain quarry tile floor, simple varnished wainscoting and relief molding around the high windows. Freestanding cupboards. And best of all, a cast-iron stove that looked like an exotic suit of armor.
The stove got a rise out of Mrs. Panik. With its outrageous curves and filigree, the stove wasn’t merely feminine, but voluptuous.
You use that thing to cook? she sneered.
No. They didn’t. Even when they were home, they still cooked like backpackers. Simple, inexpensive foods that started out dry. Spaghetti, bean, rice dishes all cooked on their little MSR camping stove. For special occasions, or when they had guests, Jill made stews with her little thrift shop Crock-Pot.
Mrs. Panik was back to complaining. Kids need wholesome meals. You have to give them meatballs with their spaghetti. Make them pancakes for breakfast, and roast chicken for dinner. Hop to it, Tern Quinn!
Pancakes and chicken. She was right. A normal family cooked on a stove. He dismissed the virtual Mrs. Panik with his thanks. He refused to replace his lush iron maiden with some ugly square thing. That meant he had to learn how to convert the woodstove to gas.
* * * *
Tern sat on the front porch steps, sipping iced tea. He’d spent the morning pruning and rigging up a door to the workshop without damaging the walls. The rest of the day he successfully converted the Victorian stove to gas. The work around the house was unexpectedly satisfying.
Jill and Poppy were outside, digging up the earth near the side of the house. Jill was teaching Poppy how to prepare a plot. Soon they’d plant flower seeds. They were making a “cutting garden.” Jillie never got to plant anything during the ten years they were married. They weren’t home long enough. But ever since Poppy arrived, she’d taken to gardening. Last week she’d planted tomatoes and cucumbers and all manner of vegetables in the backyard. His love for Jill swelled. He enjoyed watching his wife, usually so solid and adventurous, develop a nurturing, domestic side.
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br /> His brothers were due to arrive for dinner any minute. He looked forward to having them meet Poppy for the first time. The little girl would, of course, not warm up to them, but Tern thought it was important for her to get to know her extended family.
Swift arrived in his vintage white ‘64 Mustang. He might test-drive the latest minivans and subcompacts, but he preferred the old-time muscle cars. Waving a greeting, Swift hurtled out of the Mustang. His girl of the week oozed from the passenger side. She was all legs in her short-shorts. Her tight little T-shirt hid nothing. Her white-blonde hair was a wild fringy affair. Her lips were bright red and her eyes were outlined in black. Tern much preferred his own wife’s modest sundress and natural look.
A slender silver collar wound around Swift’s girl’s neck. The collar was Velcro. It could and would come on and off quickly. She would soon find another “Master” and Swift would acquire another “slave.”
Tern walked over to say hello.
“Tern,” Swift said. “This is my girl Merriam.”
Merriam acted shy, lowering her eyes. Odd. Nothing else about her was shy. Not her clothing. Not her makeup. Not her posture.
“Nice to meet you, Merriam,” Tern said. “And welcome.”
“Go say hello to Jill and Poppy, Merriam,” Swift said. “They’re over there, on the other side of the house.”
“Yes, Master.”
“No ‘Master’ in public, girl. You wait until we’re alone. Understood?”
Her red mouth took on a pout. “Yes, Master.” She wandered over to Jill and Poppy, her hips swaying.
“Will she obey you?” Tern asked.
“Probably not. But I like ’em feisty. I like ’em to challenge me.” Swift smirked. “I like ’em angling for punishment.”
Tern believed that kind of woman was just a pain in the ass. Although he had to admit Merriam’s ass, so round and high and partly exposed, was nice.
Swift opened up his trunk and hefted out a box and set it on the sidewalk. “Jaeger told me you were looking to vanillify. So I got you a Smokey Joe barbecue. You have one of these jobbies in your backyard and the legal system’s gonna think you’re 100 percent kink-free.” He also set a big bag of briquettes and a bottle of lighter fluid on the grass. “Jaeger’s bringing over steaks, beer, salad, the whole nine yards.”
Just then Jaeger arrived in his brand new yellow Chevy Camaro. Like Swift, he was a muscle-car kind of guy. He parked behind Swift. Rolling down the window, he yelled, “What’s this wimpy white car doing in front of your house, Tern?”
“The hell you say,” Swift replied. “I’d rather push a Ford than drive a Chevy.”
“Is that right? Well, you’re gonna get your wish any day now.” Jaeger got out of his car and kicked Swift’s Mustang’s tires, his cop face full on. “Hell. Pushing’s not even going to be an option. You’re gonna have to carry it in pieces. This thing’s a pile of junk.”
Tern laughed at their pretend feud. Their car pissing contest had been going on for years. Tern suspected that Jaeger secretly loved Swift’s classic Mustang but would never admit to it.
The brothers moved on to comparing engines. They talked seriously about carburetors, differentials and so on, as if they were figuring out how to solve the world’s problems. They then gossiped about six-wheel-drive luxury SUVs, followed by bickering over the merit of supersmart cars that could take over the controls to prevent accidents.
Tern didn’t understand the appeal of cars, let alone arguing about them. He and Jill didn’t own a car.
It didn’t take long before Swift pretended to go off in a huff. He stalked off, carrying the BBQ box, balancing the charcoal and lighter fluid on top. Swift started to set it up on the porch. Poppy drifted over to watch him, intrigued. Both Jill and Merriam followed.
Jaeger and Tern remained on the sidewalk.
“So, did you find a lawyer?” Jaeger asked.
“Yeah. Abele. She’s filed for an emergency temporary custody hearing. Once we get temporary custody we’ll work on it getting it permanent.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.”
“Yeah. Abele’s going to work out.” Tern had too much pride to mention paying for the lawyer was going to be a financial hardship.
Jaeger gazed at the porch. “Poppy looks a lot like Jill, doesn’t she? Just a darker version.”
“Yup.”
Jill smiled and waved from the porch. She walked down the stairs, and crossed the grass. Surprisingly, Poppy didn’t follow, remaining with Swift and Merriam on the porch.
“Hey, Jaeger,” Jill said. “It’s great to have you over.”
Jaeger dropped his cop face. “I wouldn’t miss a chance to cook for my favorite sister-in-law.”
“I’m your only sister-in-law,” she said. “Whatcha cooking for me?”
“Steaks. So when are you going to get rid of this starter Quinn, Jill? Marry up. Marry me. Move up to a smarter, stronger, more handsome Quinn. One that cooks you steaks.”
Jill laughed, her freckled face taking on a pinker hue. “I’m pretty happy with the Quinn I have.”
Jaeger was always pretend flirting with Jill. His affection for her was authentic, but his outrageous propositions were not. Around her the serious cop turned into a big, frat boy joker.
“Good God,” Jaeger suddenly cried. “He’s an idiot! You don’t start coals like that!”
Jaeger stalked over to Swift and the barbecue. Jill and Tern followed. The brothers’ competitiveness was always fun to watch.
“The aim is to get the coals lit as soon as possible,” Jaeger told Swift. “You’re using the wrong fuel.”
The pissing contest began anew. The two men argued long and hard about the best way to start coals. The conversation ultimately devolved into a telling of tall tales. Poppy smiled as Jaeger and Swift tried to one-up each other. Jaeger claimed a real man would light coals with nitromethane. He made explosion sounds and demonstrated how the top of the Smoky Joe would blow off signaling the coals were ready. Poppy outright laughed at Jaeger’s kablooms.
Tern was pleased the little girl was connecting with her new family, but he had to intervene when Jaeger threatened to go buy some nitromethane. Tern wasn’t about to let his brothers experiment with explosives on his porch.
Swift, with Jaeger egging him on, finally got the coals started the conventional way. Jaeger grilled the steaks and foil-wrapped corn. The whole time he and Swift argued about the relative merits of dry rub versus barbecue sauces. The smell of the grilling steaks made Tern’s mouth water. He and Jill rarely ate meat. It was too expensive.
They all sat down on the porch to a glorious, 100 percent normal suburban dinner of steak, corn, store-bought potato salad, soft drinks, and beer. Swift and Merriam shared a rocking chair and fed each other. Jaeger took a place on the porch stairs. Poppy sat next to him. Something about the cop fascinated her.
Tern and Jill sat on the porch, cross-legged, facing each other, enjoying the June evening and the meal. They smiled at each other when they noticed Jaeger cutting Poppy’s steak.
Tern had been so afraid that Poppy hated all men, perhaps because one had abused her. That dreadful possibility kept him awake at night. A man’s role was to protect, not harm. And here Poppy was, looking up at Jaeger with trust and curiosity.
Tern relaxed for the first time in weeks.
He supposed Jaeger’s crazy play-fighting with Swift had loosened up the girl. Whatever the reason, Poppy had let another person in as a friend. Tern hoped someday Poppy would include him in that magical circle.
* * * *
Later that night after the barbeque, Jill came into Tern’s workshop. She was laughing. “You’re not going to believe what just happened!”
He put down his scraper. “Okay. What happened?”
“I tucked Poppy in, like I always do. I went to go lay down next to her, like I always do. And she kicked me out! She said she wanted to sleep without me!”
“Really? Kicked you out?”
&
nbsp; “Really.” Surprise and delight was etched on her face. “Who’d’ve thought that scowly Jaeger Quinn would have triggered feelings of security in that little girl?”
“Not me.” And Tern intended to take full advantage of Jaeger’s gift. “Lock the door, heart.”
She obeyed. Her breath quickened by long-suppressed ardor, she stood by the door, waiting for his next command.
He’d married the perfect woman. The perfect submissive. Unlike Merriam, Jill didn’t need threats or punishment. His wife endeavored to please him, in all ways, simply because it made her happy.
His passion ignited, he crossed the workshop toward her.
Chapter Four
Tern cupped his hands around Jill’s satin-silky shoulders, turning her, pressing her body up against the workshop wall. The ancient curled wallpaper, floral and feminine, crunched.
“Sir,” she sighed.
He savored her delicate fragrance of flowers, freshly tilled earth, and womanly lust. Leaning in, he kissed her soft lips. She melted into him.
At her surrender, a hot, urgent flow of desire overcame him. After months without, he needed more than her giving mouth. He broke the kiss. Scooping her up, he carried her over to their favorite piece of furniture, a spanking bench. They never used it for spanking—and never would.
He positioned her on the bench, roughly jerking up her dress. Since when did she wear white cotton panties? She favored frilly, sheer things—or, if she wanted to please him, nothing at all.
His greed stalled, he lingered, gazing at his white panty-clad woman, quiescent on the dungeon furniture. Evidently she was already working on her own vanillification campaign. Her knees rested perfectly in the curves of the bench. He’d created the smooth flowing contours with a scraper. He refused to pad the wood. Upholstery debased the grace of his bench. And he would never scar his personal dungeon furniture with eyehooks either. His wife didn’t need to be bound. Collar and cuffs were unnecessary.
