Chik~Lit for Foxy Hens

by Ervin, Sharon

  * * *

  After a long and miserable night, I spent the next day preparing complicated income statements while listening for the double ring of my telephone signaling an outside call.

  There were plenty of these calls but none were from Luke. The first was Jeannie, wanting to know if I wanted to talk some more about my “problem,” which of course I didn’t. But I couldn’t tell her that because it would hurt her feelings. Instead I spouted the same sort of double talk I’d learned from her and her siblings. It must have worked, because she encouraged me to feel free to come to her anytime, and then hung up sounding self-righteous and very pleased with herself.

  Mother called four times naming items she wanted me to pick up for her on my way home from work. Zack called to let me know he had eaten the meatloaf I was planning to use for supper, and Sharon called saying we were out of toilet paper and shampoo. I told Mother I was her bond-slave for life and would obey all commands (except I said it in much more civil words); Zack that he’d better pick up a couple of pounds of hamburger at Reasor’s and be ready to grill that night; and Sharon to make a run to Wal-Mart and buy what we needed with her gasoline money. I’d repay her later.

  But I had a much bigger problem. Why hadn’t Luke called? Our tumble in bed, even though there was no actual sex, had been a pretty intimate experience. At least for me. And he’d certainly acted as if he had enjoyed the touching and feeling and general fooling around. Did this silence mean he had lost interest?

  I tortured myself with doubts all day. The self-castigation became so intense that I even influenced the weather. I swear it. The sun shone all morning, but by noon clouds gathered and by six o’clock it rained enough to ruin my plans with the grill. I’d brought Mother home with me and she fried hamburgers while I chopped a salad and added catsup, molasses, and brown sugar to a can of pork and beans for quick baked beans. After supper the kids cleaned up while I took Mother back to her apartment. When I came home everyone had disappeared and I was left with warring emotions: relief that I had the house to myself, and worry about three young adults out on slippery streets in cars of questionable dependability.

  By eight it was pouring torrents and at ten the ceiling in Jeannie’s room was showing a tiny damp spot. I pulled up the carpet. There wasn’t a river like the week before, but the leak was still there. I paced the floor for about ten minutes debating whether or not to call Luke.

  I dreaded talking to him. The smooching obviously had meant nothing to him but everything to me. More than anything else I wanted to climb into a deep hole and hide from any more rejection. I had a lifetime supply of rejection already, thank you very much.

  But the leak was scary, too. I couldn’t afford to neglect a problem that might jeopardize my house. Water leaks caused killer mold to mushroom overnight and eat your entire house in one huge gulp. At least that’s what I’d read in a magazine. So I decided to sacrifice my pride and save my abode. Practical to the very end, but dialing was an agony of dread.

  Someone snatched up the phone on the first ring. Had Luke been standing there with his fingers crossed and breath held, just waiting for my call? Then the sound of a woman’s voice burst my bubble.

  “Hello.” The voice was melodic and breathy, like movie stars sounded in old black and white films from the fifties. “Margo Wallace, speaking.”

  It was a minute before I could speak. When I finally articulated, my voice sounded high and whinny, like a very upset teenaged girl.

  “Is Luke there?” I asked.

  “And who’s calling?” Margo’s voice sounded suspicious and very much in charge.

  “Katy Cole,” I said. “Luke made some repairs on my house and I’m having a problem with my roof.”

  If it sounded as if a large amount of money were involved maybe the woman would let me talk to Luke quickly.

  “Really?” she said. “I’m sorry but my husband and I are very busy just now. We’ve just reconciled and he won’t have time to devote to small projects such as yours. You’d better find another contractor.” Then she hung up.

  Reconciling? I wanted to throw up. Just as I thought, the roll in bed had meant nothing to Luke. An almost physical sickness swept over me, as if I had a bad case of flu. The strength went out of my legs and I leaned against the wall, staring at the buzzing receiver with my mouth hanging open.

  One thing was sure; I wasn’t up to dealing with these emotions tonight. I slammed the phone down, walked into the bathroom and took three Tylenol PMs, then went to bed with my makeup still on. Which was something I never did, I’m much too concerned about forestalling aging and/or keeping my pillowcases clean. Throwing caution to the wind showed the seriousness of the situation.

  I lay in the dark room with tears stinging my eyes, determined not to cry. Never again will I cry over a man, I said to myself, then flopped over on my pillow and bawled like a baby. Purrl crept near and meowed. I pulled her close and told her what rats men were. She seemed to agree.

  After about ten minutes of this nonsense I quieted down, reminding myself that one of the kids might trail in and hear. Then the quietness of the room closed in on me so I switched on the history channel until I drifted into a restless sleep with Purrl curled up beside me.

  A wild barrage of fists pounding on the front door and pulled me out of the Tylenol induced sleep. I sat straight up in my bed with my heart thumping. The red numbers on my digital clock said 2:05.

  Oh, Dear God, I thought. One of the kids is wrapped around a telephone pole. The police have come to tell me the worst.

  I rushed down the hall with Purrl under my feet. All of the bedroom doors were closed. That meant the kids were home. In that case Mother must be sick. Another heart attack, maybe? I breathed a silent prayer for her, speed-walked to the front door, snapped on the porch light and peered out the peep hole. My heart stood still.

  It was Luke! And now he was calling my name! My heart pounded harder. What would the neighbors think? A strange man pounding on my front door in the middle of the night. I grinned. My status as a hussy would be established. Everyone might look at me with a bit of respect, finally. My reputation would be set in concrete. I could hardly wait to tell the Royal Roundtable.

  In my excitement I pulled open the door without remembering to disarm the security system. Sirens blared from both inside and outside and the loudspeakers almost deafened me.

  Luke stood on my front porch, rain drenched and with a surprised expression on his face. Footsteps pounded down the hall and Zack raced into the foyer in his jockey shorts carrying an old BB gun.

  “Don’t worry, Mama. I’m here.” He stepped forward and pushed me behind him then leveled the gun at the intruder. When he saw it was Luke he stopped dead in his tracks, seemed to regroup, then said, “Oh shit.”

  “Watch your language, Zack,” I mouthed automatically.

  “It’s okay son,” Luke said. “I think your mom just forgot to punch in her code.”

  My daughters rushed in and stood behind us.

  “Is someone breaking in?” Jeannie held her old softball bat and wore a faded blue T-shirt that hung almost to her knees. Sharon, always impeccable even during the night, wore coordinated pajamas consisting of a crop top with matching Capri pants. She clutched a can of hairspray as her weapon of choice.

  My children looked ridiculous and slightly embarrassed. I had never been so proud of them in my whole life. They’d rushed to my defense in what seemed to be an emergency, grabbing whatever makeshift weapon was at hand. A warm rush of maternal love and gratitude swept through my chest and tears stung my eyes.

  Zack, the first to regain his composure, stepped to the alarm system and keyed in the code to shut up the screaming siren. He glared at Luke. His outraged face told me that Jeannie had told her siblings all about catching Luke and me in bed. Heat crept into my face and I’m sure I looked guilty.

  “You’d better have a good excuse for being here at this time of night.” He spoke in the exact same tone a fifty-year
-old father might use with his teenage daughter’s boyfriend.

  “No one answered the phone,” Luke said. The corners of his mouth twitched as if he were trying to keep from bursting out in laughter. “I found your mother’s name on my caller ID but couldn’t reach her. I was worried.”

  “I turned off all of the phones before I went to bed so they wouldn’t wake me,” I said, not mentioning that I’d also drugged myself.

  What kind of wedding would he and his ex have? I wondered. A sick feeling swept over me full force.

  “Would anyone mind if I stepped inside the house?” Luke asked.

  My kids and I exchanged a look. I shrugged. I was picturing him wearing a wedding ring, his arm around another woman. My heart felt as if ice water surged through my veins. The kids eyed him with open hostility. Finally Jeannie stepped forward and pulled open the door.

  “I guess not,” she said. “My ceiling’s still leaking.”

  “That’s why I called,” I told Luke in a cold tone. “Your wife said the two of you were reconciling and you’d be too busy to come, so I’d better find another contractor.”

  “We’re not reconciling!” Luke rolled his eyes. “She left me for another man, and the truth is I was relieved when she was gone. I lived with drama and hysterics for twenty years and hated every minute of it. When Margo walked out the door two years ago I told her I was done for good. And I meant it.”

  “But she was at your house when I called you,” I said.

  “Not because I invited her. I got an emergency summons from a client to go out of town for a day, and when I got home this afternoon Margo was on my doorstep. She claimed to have left something important in the attic. While I was up there hunting for her box of high school yearbooks, you must have called.”

  “That was hours ago,” I said in a still frigid tone. “Why did you wait until the middle of the night to come over?”

  “I didn’t know until thirty minutes ago that you’d called. After she took your call that woman must have deleted your number from the caller ID on my phones. Then about thirty minutes ago I was finishing up some work and happened to see your name on the phone in the back bedroom I now use as an office. I guess she didn’t know to clear that.”

  A siren sounded in the distance and gradually grew louder. The noise escalated then suddenly stopped. I leaned forward and peered through the glass storm door. Sure enough a black and white parked right in front of my house.

  “Is that the cops?” Zack asked. He glanced down, realized he was wearing only underwear, and dashed toward his room. Ten seconds later he was back pulling on a pair of running shorts. The fact that I was wearing an old company Corporate Challenge T-shirt which covered my panties was the least of my worries.

  “Oh dear,” I said. “The security company wouldn’t have been able to reach us because the phones were turned off. They must have called the police.”

  “I’ll bet they’re pissed,” Zack said.

  I let the remark pass without reprimand, which showed just how upset I was. A minute later another siren screamed through the night and another cop car joined the first. We watched two uniformed officers step out of their cars and head toward us.

  If Luke hated drama the poor man had just stepped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  The police, I suppose, are used to anything. They didn’t seem overly surprised to find four half naked family members and one very wet man trying to explain why the alarm had been accidentally triggered but not reported. They were, however, a bit ticked off. And plenty arrogant.

  “It’s a good thing your alarm permit is up to date,” an over-weight, self-important cop said in an intimidating tone.

  To my delight the entire room bristled to my defense. I’ll say one thing for my kids, when the chips are down they come through. Dysfunctional or not, we’re a family. And it was wonderful to have Luke stand up for me. In fact, the room erupted in a mixed cacophony of voices claiming my innocence, and their words were music to my ears. Even Purrl added her two cents worth with a couple of hisses and a loud meow.

  “It wasn’t my mother’s fault,” Jeannie said.

  “That sort of thing could happen to anyone. My mom’s the perfect citizen. She doesn’t even cut the tags off her pillows,” Sharon added in a huffy tone. Then she smiled prettily at the young cop who stood to one side frowning at his fellow officer.

  “Don’t threaten my mom,” Zack bristled. “Remember that we pay your salary.” Zack had become intensely aware of his rights as a citizen the first time he received his check from the cafeteria just down the street. He’d figured to the penny what he expected to earn and when it was about thirty dollars short he fumed for hours. Federal, state, and social security taxes had been deducted without his permission, and he had been outraged. Now he had a live person to vent his frustration on.

  “Actually, it was my fault,” Luke said. “Address your complaints to me, please.” It took him awhile, but Luke finally got the policeman calmed down, and I was more than a little impressed with his diplomatic skills.

  “Thanks for responding, officers,” Luke concluded his little speech by opening the front door and hustling the police outside. The beefy guy blinked a couple of times, but stepped out the front door, meek as a lamb. The cops climbed in their cars and sat there for a while, evidently filling out paperwork, the lights still flashing on top. I glanced around and saw neighbors standing in their doorways, enjoying the show. I groaned.

  “It’s over.” Luke grinned at my family. “You guys did good, jumping right to your mother’s defense.” He clapped Zack on the back. “I respect a man who stands up for his mom.”

  “My dad sure never did,” Zack said and I watched Luke’s brown eyes narrow.

  With seemingly no effort and without any ruffled feathers, Luke had the room cleared in two minutes flat. The kids went back to their rooms. Zack even picked up Purrl and carted her off with him. At last Luke and I were alone.

  “Can I get you a Coke or something?” I asked.

  “No, you look exhausted and tomorrow’s a work day. I’m going to leave and let you get some rest.” He paused a minute. “I just want to make sure we’re clear on one thing.”

  My heart skipped a beat.

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “That I have myself a girl.” He pulled me into his arms and kissed me until my toenails sizzled.

  “But… but…” I stammered when he finally let me breathe.

  “Are you interested in dating me?” Luke asked, his eyes deep pools of golden brown.

  “Oh. Yes… of course… it’s just…”

  “It’s just what?” he kissed me again. I melted into his body and held on. It was awhile before he let me catch a breath and speak.

  “You said that you hate drama. And my family—my mother, my kids, even my pets—they could all qualify for the academy award in family hysterics.”

  “You have a great family,” Luke said with a grin. “Where else could you find your own attack team armed with a BB gun, a softball bat and a can of hairspray? If your mom had been here, I expect that she’d have brought her knitting needles.”

  “More likely it would’ve been a heavy volume of Shakespeare to throw,” I said with a smile. “Mother has never knitted in her life. But you’re right, they were heroic. I couldn’t believe the BB gun.” I burst into laughter.

  “I wouldn’t want to cross a mob like that on a dark and stormy night,” Luke said with a twinkle in his eye. Then his expression turned serious. “I’ll ask you one question, and if the answer is no, I won’t be back except to reseal the roof.” He paused for a long minute and I swear that I could hear his heart beating.

  “Do you want to have dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes. The answer is yes.”

  SECOND BEST

  by Paula Jean Watkins

  Paula Watkins and her long time partner, Jim, live in Tulsa, Oklahoma. They have one daughter, Sarah. Paula, a veteran defe
nse attorney with the Tulsa County Public Defender Office, currently handles appeals after doing a lengthy stint in the trial division. She has taught and written teaching materials for both state and national legal seminars. Paula’s creative writing has been honored in state competition. Avid dancers, Paula and Jim, escape the everyday stresses of life with a good dose of weekend dancing, and as much Oklahoma Sooner football as they can get.

  Chapter 1

  “BERTHA”

  I met Pandora (Pandie) Kitt at the Summit Library Book Discussion for Young Ladies. Pandie shocked me at that first book review—more about that later. I was a newlywed, just married to Sam. Pandie was hip and single. We were so tremblingly young, anxious not to make any mistakes.

  It took such courage, I remember, for me to go to the discussion when I didn’t know another soul. I’d chosen to attend the book discussion in a simple Jackie Kennedy sheath dress. Its simplicity had reminded me of a Japanese room, sparse and elegant. Khaki to match my eyes, definitely my best feature. Back then it took a lot of makeup to get me out of the house. I required black mascara, three coats, and thick black eye liner applied to my upper lid with a little tail that kicked up at the end. But the most essential tool in my arsenal was the pancake makeup applied so thick that not a single freckle dared to show its face. To my terrible disappointment not one makeup trick in the book could give me the chin that God had denied.

  But let me tell you exactly how Pandie looked to me back then. She looked tawny like butterscotch or caramel. Eyes, hair, and skin combined into one warm toasted monochromatic look—unusual, sexy, and yet so natural. Doll eyes, big, long lashes, every blink an event. Narrow waist and high breasts that moved unrestricted beneath her red summer sweater that matched her micro mini skirt. Skimpy red sandals highlighted perfectly shaped feet, narrow and elegant. She looked to me like a model on a magazine cover, the model I’d always dreamed of being.