Chik~Lit for Foxy Hens

by Ervin, Sharon

  “A left-brained man,” she said the same way she might say “a multi-millionaire.” “And honesty is always so charming. Don’t you think so, Katy?”

  I just gave a silly little grin. Actually I thought I could be perfectly happy with a lot less honesty in my life. I could have been content with a husband who lied and said he still loved me, one who was willing to pretend I was still exciting and one who stayed away from liaisons with other women. For sure I could have been happy with a mother who delighted in little white lies for politeness and social tranquility. Luckily Zack came to my rescue with a question for Luke.

  “Can I give you a hand up on the roof?” he asked, surprising me. Did he really want to help or was he just rescuing me from his grandma? Or possibly he just trying to escape the lecture he knew he’d get from me later on.

  “That’d be great,” Luke said.

  “Anyone need a chili refill?” I asked, mostly to keep the conversation ball out of Mother’s court.

  The guys opted for more and Mother chowed down on her salad, slathering on ranch style dressing despite the doctor’s orders for a low fat diet. Luke and Zack began discussing football and Mother got a strange glint in her eye. Uneasiness made a nasty little trip around the pit of my stomach. If there was anything worse than my Mother hating some guy I liked, it would be her deciding she liked him and try to play cupid. That could spell real disaster.

  To my complete surprise, the rest of lunch went well. Zack and Luke seemed to have hit it off and Mother stayed quiet and listened to others talk with an unnerving concentration. Purrl howled from behind the bedroom door from time to time, but Luke seemed to have grown used to her noise.

  My heart filled with a dangerous optimism. I reminded myself Luke was just a guy fixing my roof. For money. Don’t read anything else into the situation for goodness sake, I screamed inside my head. Then Luke gave me one of his killer smiles, a quick wink, and excused himself. He and Zack left to pound nails into my roof.

  * * *

  Mother buffed her nails while I loaded the dishwasher. She had one of those pensive, far away expressions on her face that always scared me. Finally she opened her mouth.

  “I wouldn’t mind having this Luke person for a son-in-law,” Mother said in her strongest thespian voice. “You’ve finally found a man of whom I approve.”

  “Please, Mother, the guy’s just fixing the roof,” I said.

  “Not just now he’s not.” Zack’s voice startled me and I whirled around to face him. He and Luke stood in the kitchen door. Both wore startled expressions and both of their faces were bright red.

  Chapter 9

  I’m not especially glib at best, and Mother’s unfortunate choice of words rendered me speechless. An awful silence filled the kitchen, embarrassing all of us. I knew it was my responsibility to fill the void with something. Anything at all would be better than nothing. Or so I thought.

  “I’m not the least bit interested in marrying Luke Wallace!” My words were a knee-jerk reflex to Mother’s gaffe and they came out all wrong. I watched a muscle tighten in Luke’s jaw and my stomach knotted. I had hurt his feelings.

  Hours of energy would be squandered later when I rehashed this particular scene, rewriting my lines, making them clever or intelligent or at least non-offensive. But the damage was already done. Mother had scared the crap out of the poor man, and I’d made things worse by acting as if he were dog-meat. For sure I had destroyed any chance of a possible romance with Luke by spouting these hasty words. And I hated that. Especially since he and Zack seemed to be getting along so famously.

  The two guys grabbed bottles of water from the refrigerator then fled back to the roof. I wanted to beat my head against the wall. Instead, I headed to the bathroom to find a tranquilizer. That is if I still had one left from my divorce.

  “I don’t understand why you’re so upset, Katy.” Mother followed me into the bathroom and watched with a disapproving glare as I shook the last pill from a bottle. I glanced at the ‘no refill’ note on the label then threw the container away. Evidently the doctor thought one bottle would cure me of depression. If only it were so. I didn’t dare answer Mother for fear I’d lose my temper and raise my voice. Something I’d later regret.

  “How was I to know the man was standing there?” Mother’s voice resonated annoyance. “I hate a person who sneaks up on you like that. It’s positively rude.”

  Another five minutes of rationalization and Mother would become the injured party. Then somehow I’d end up apologizing. I think she does that sort of thing with smoke and mirrors.

  With much regret, I’ll admit to being a bit neurotic myself at times. However, I’m a practical neurotic. When something is done, it’s done. So I blinked back the tears that stung my eyes and took a deep cleansing breath. (Which didn’t help one bit, no matter what the Lamaze folks say.) My stomach roiled. I owed someone an apology, but his name was Luke. Nothing was worse than acting badly then having no one to blame but yourself.

  But Mother had her own defense technique. She had switched the focus from her own blunder to my shortcomings and was now critiquing my butt.

  “You really shouldn’t wear white shorts, Katy,” Mother was saying. “They make your hips look two ax-handles wide. Black or navy blue would be much better.” She peered critically at the lower half of my body as if wondering how in the world a tiny person such as herself could breed so hefty an offspring. “Just cut out all of those knick-knacks that you like to eat. The chips and cookies are making you look all bloated.”

  It was hard to breathe.

  “I think I’ll scrub the kitchen floor,” I said abruptly.

  Housework was the thing I hated most in life, so when I was unhappy I started scouring, cleaning, and dusting. I figure if the day is already ruined I might as well at least get a clean house out of the misery. After Garry Ray left me, and during the months we were getting a divorce, I had the cleanest house in Tulsa. Every night I came home from work and started the scrubbing frenzy. It was almost as if I were saying, “See, I was too a good wife.” Then after about six months, I came home one night, started to straighten the pantry, then changed my mind and watched Friends. That was when I knew I was starting to heal.

  But right now, to punish myself for running my mouth and dissing Luke, I switched into Martha Stewart Mode. Also, since Mother hated housework even more than I did, I knew she’d disappear immediately. That was worth a lot. Later on I’d call members of Roundtable to see if anyone was free for an emergency meeting.

  “What you said wasn’t so bad.” True to form, Pamela defended me. “To admit you wanted to marry him would make you far too vulnerable.”

  “It’d also scare the hell out of him,” Magda said.

  “I don’t want to marry him,” I said. “I just want to date him.”

  “But the one sometimes leads to the other,” Carmen said. “And I think you should always tell the truth.” She took a tiny nibble off a cheese puff. “Except in this case, where I think it might be best to pretend that it never happened. You know men, they don’t listen, anyway. If you ignore it maybe he’ll forget it ever happened.”

  “I’m sure he’ll never call again so it doesn’t matter anyway,” I said. “The roof repairs were finished yesterday. The poor man will never want to be around me and my dysfunctional family again.”

  “All families are dysfunctional,” Magda said. “At least the interesting, fun ones are. Who wants to live an Ozzie and Harriet kind of life?”

  “Me,” I said. “What I really wanted out of life was a faithful husband, well behaved children, a clean house, and a life-time supply of Godiva chocolates.”

  No one commented on the shallowness of my aspirations. That’s the nice thing about the Royalty. Friends are accepted for whatever they happen to be. (Two ax handles and all.)

  “I’m never going to see Luke again,” I moaned. “I know that he’ll never call.”

  “This is the twenty-first century,” Pamela sai
d. “There’s no reason you can’t call him. He seemed to like your chili. Have him over for something else. After all, the way to a man’s heart is supposed to be through his stomach.”

  “Send him positive thoughts,” Carmen said. “In a crisis always remember to use your soul-power.”

  Instead I ate a Brand-X caramel-nut chocolate.

  For three days I jumped every time the phone rang. But Luke didn’t call. That was no surprise, but I was still disappointed. Finally, on the fourth day I couldn’t stand it any longer. Fortifying my courage with a big glass of Chardonnay, I called him with a bogus question about the roof, and to my surprise he agreed to come over and check it out.

  Luke showed up after work on Thursday afternoon dressed in a yellow polo shirt and tan Dockers. I couldn’t believe how glad I was to see him. And he looked good enough to eat with a spoon.

  I invited him in with what I hoped was a dazzling smile, led him to the kitchen and settled him at my circa 1937 round oak table. The kids were gone and the house smelled heavenly since I’d rushed home from work to slice refrigerator cookies and pop them into the oven. I hoped the fragrance of freshly baked cookies would cause him to forgive Mother and me.

  “Something smells really good,” Luke said with a hopeful expression on his face.

  “You want some coffee and cookies?” I asked. Coffee was a critical question. A deal-breaker question. Garry Ray hated coffee. He swore the caffeine in the stuff would kill me, but he swilled Pepsi by the liter. No way was I ever getting involved again with a man who hated that rich, dark elixir of all good things.

  “Sounds great,” Luke said and a flush of pleasure washed through my body. I picked up a pot of freshly ground, just brewed Starbuck’s Original Blend, grabbed a cup handle from the cabinet and poured him a mug full. Then I noticed I’d used the cup with a picture of a cow lying on her back with all four legs in the air and a caption underneath reading, “Really, I’m Fine.” Luke took the cup, glanced at the cartoon and grinned. “Nice cup,” he said.

  “It was a gift from a coworker,” I said with a sigh.

  “That tells me a lot about your job.”

  It was my turn to laugh.

  “You need milk or sugar?” I asked and he shook his head.

  “So there’s a problem with the roof? Has it rained in this part of town and it’s leaking again?” He took a quick sip and grinned at me over the rim of the cup.

  The sneaky look on his face was definitely baiting me. Did he suspect I was making up excuses to get us together? I decided to ignore this possibility and act very businesslike. Which wasn’t easy, so I set a plate of cookies before him as a diversionary tactic. He took a bite of cookie and his eyes closed in pleasure. A small wave of lust swept over me leaving me breathless.

  “No, I’m wondering if there’s some way I can remove the water stain from my ceiling. Maybe cover it with some special kind of paint or something?”

  “You don’t want to paint it.” He reached for another cookie, popped it into his mouth and chewed. “These are great. Homemade cookies are a real treat.”

  I almost blurted out that Pillsbury deserved all of the credit, then bit my tongue just in time. After all, I’d bought the cookies, split that difficult little plastic tube, then spooned the dough onto the baking sheet. The way I figured it, I deserved the credit.

  “Thank you,” I said modestly. “Why shouldn’t I paint the ceiling?”

  “It’s better to spray it with Clorox and bleach the stain. You got a spray bottle of some kind? The Clorox will take out the stain, then if it rains again and re-stains the ceiling, you’ll know you still have a problem.”

  We finished our coffee and then I found an empty spray bottle and filled it with bleach. We went into Jeannie’s bedroom with a stepstool and I admired Luke’s nicely shaped buns while he squirted the ceiling. Like magic, most of the stain disappeared.

  “Wow,” I said in true admiration, both for removing the spot and for Luke’s well-shaped rear. “That’s wonderful.”

  He climbed down with a self-satisfied grin on his face. I decided to plunge onward before I lost my nerve.

  “I want to apologize for my mother. She operates on the theory that at her age she’s entitled to say anything she wants.” I crossed my fingers because this was an outright lie. Mother had always said whatever she pleased.

  “So you’re not interested in marrying me, huh?” he said, a mischievous grin lighting up his face.

  That took me by surprise and it was a minute before I could answer. Then I tried to keep my reply cool and off-beat.

  “I dunno. I blurted that out before I saw how good you were at cleaning spots off the ceiling. I may have to reconsider.”

  Luke laughed out loud.

  “I know you were embarrassed,” he said. “But I think that your mother’s a hoot. She reminds me for all the world of my grandmother who died fifteen years ago. Grandy was always saying things I thought were humiliating, especially when I was a teenager. But then she died and I never thought it was possible to miss someone so much.”

  My mouth fell open and I had to concentrate to make myself close it. Something warm and loving and comfortable crept through my body and wrapped itself around my heart. Talk about your miracles! A good-looking guy who thought my mother was a hoot. Garry Ray had thought she was insane and abrasive and terrifying. Unfortunately there was enough truth in his accusations to make it hard to defend a person whom I loved with even the marrow of my bones.

  But on the other side of the coin Mother was also smart and brave and artistic and fiercely loyal. A person can’t take half a coin—the side that makes one’s life comfortable—then reject the half that makes it miserable. Mothers, like coins, are a package deal. Was it possible that Luke understood this?

  Hearts are such unpredictable things. Quick as a flash, before I could reason my way through any sensible process, before I could even so much as fasten my sanity safety belt or consider the consequences, I felt something very akin to love for Luke Wallace.

  I thought I had been immunized from the disease of love by the intense grief caused by the disintegration of my marriage. But that proved to be false. I slid down that slippery creek-bank of emotional intensity so fast it made my head spin. My size 12 butt landed smack-dab in a silken bed of unreasonable joy from which it was impossible to escape, at least without serious injury to an already vulnerable heart. And idiot that I was, instead of running for my life, I just stood there gazing into Luke’s brown and amber eyes. My mouth was dry so I licked my lips; then Luke’s chocolate eyes seemed to darken. He took one quick step, pulled me into his arms and kissed me. He was one good kisser. Much better than Garry Ray. My knees melted and I’d have splashed into a puddle on the floor if he hadn’t held me upright.

  His arms crushed me tighter. He slid one hand to the upper part of my back and pressed my breasts against his chest. A guttural sound escaped from his lips.

  “You feel so damned good,” he said.

  Heat fire-balled through my body and centered in my nether parts.

  “I do now,” I said honestly, pressing against him. That age-old feeling of power and excitement and giddy happiness dizzied me. There was no doubt this guy liked me and the thought went to my head like well-aged wine.

  It felt wonderful to be as close to Luke as was humanly possible, at least while fully dressed. The rhythm of his heart seemed to beat exactly with my own. The edge of Jeannie’s mattress pressed against my legs and the next thing I knew Luke lowered me onto my daughter’s unmade bed. I heard another guttural growl and realized it was mine. He kissed my mouth open and I welcomed the velvet of his tongue. Blood pounded in my temples and I couldn’t catch my breath. Suddenly his hand moved to my breast and I groaned again in pleasure.

  My hands snaked around Luke’s neck and I pulled him even closer. Then the shocked, indignant voice of my twenty-year-old middle child brought me back to reality.

  “Mama?”

  Luke rolled o
ff and sprang to his feet, pulling me up with him. His arms held me upright or I’d have collapsed on the floor.

  “Hello, sweetie.” My voice cracked a bit and sounded strained and annoyed and very guilty. “I wasn’t expecting you home just yet.”

  “That’s pretty obvious! Really, Mother, you should be ashamed of yourself.” Jeannie shot a venomous look at Luke. “And who is this man in bed with you?”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry sweetie. I forgot you hadn’t met our roofer.” I bit my tongue, but it was way too late.

  “The roofer!” Jeannie shouted. “You’re in bed with the roofer?” Her eyes flashed danger signals and she tapped her toe in anger. Every strand of her fiery red hair seemed to bristle with outrage.

  The same exact emotions I had felt at seventeen when Mother caught me with my blouse unbuttoned and Garry Ray’s hand up my skirt, flooded through me.

  “Just wait until I tell Grandma on you,” Jeannie said.

  Chapter 10

  It’s amazing to think how many embarrassing situations one has survived by age fifty. After Jeannie caught Luke and me making out in her bedroom, I quickly told Luke goodbye so I could deal with my daughter. He didn’t want to go and when I insisted he stormed out the door, even madder than Jeannie.

  Okay, okay. So I handled the mess badly. But it was a sticky situation and I was flustered. I’d previously had the usual discussions with both of my daughters about the inadvisability of casual sex. (And I knew it must look to Jeannie like I wasn’t practicing what I preached.) So I needed to explain to her that my feelings for Luke weren’t the least bit casual. But I couldn’t confess the intensity of my emotion, much less use the L-word with Luke listening. I had to get rid of him. Then after he’d gone, and as honestly as I knew how, I told my daughter exactly what had happened. She didn’t like it much, but I think that she understood.

  With shaking fingers and considerable trepidation I dialed Luke, rehearsing a glib little apology for asking him to leave my house in order to placate my daughter. The phone rang seven times before the answering machine kicked in, and at the sound of his voice my nerve disappeared and I hung up.