by J. J. Murray
“What?” Hope said.
“They’re red and white, right? Christmas colors. Her red and white blood cell counts have to go up.”
“Dylan, you shouldn’t be feeding her sweets.”
“I’m not feeding her,” Dylan said. “I’m sneaking them to her. What she does with them on her own time is her business.” He rolled on top of her, placing her legs on his hips. “Is it possible for me to feed you sweets tonight?”
Hope poked out her lip. “Is your candy cane lonely?”
Dylan nodded.
“I am lonely for your candy cane,” Hope said, “but my friend is threatening to stay through the holidays. Let’s give it more time, okay?”
Dylan nodded.
“What are we doing tomorrow?” Hope asked.
“Tomorrow, you will see me fall fifty times,” Dylan said.
Hope smiled. “I was wondering when we’d go ice-skating.”
They spent the day at the Wollman Rink in Prospect Park, and Dylan only fell a few times while Hope skated like a champion.
“How did you learn to skate so well?” he asked as they shared hot chocolate and hot pretzels.
“I am from Canada,” Hope said.
Dylan blinked. “There is no skating gene, Hope. There has to be a story behind it.”
“Are you saying black people aren’t predisposed to ice-skating?” Hope asked.
Dylan wisely did not answer.
“Most Canadian children learn from their parents in backyard rinks and on lakes,” Hope said. “Since I was the child of Bahamian immigrants, my parents forced me to take skating lessons for four years.”
“You skate very well,” Dylan said. “You kept me from falling numerous times, and my derriere thanks you very much.” He looked out at the mass of skaters. “Explain something to me. Why is it that the young ladies can wear so little while they skate?”
Hope saw several “ballerinas” wearing high skirts, tights, and leggings as they spun in the center of the rink. “Those outfits are ridiculous. Normal girls wear jeans and sweaters.” She pushed his arm. “But why are you staring at them, Mr. Healy?”
“Oh, just imagining what you would look like in those skirts,” Dylan said. He stood. “You will teach me how to skate backwards now.”
The man has trouble going forward. “Maybe another day. I don’t want your boomsie to be too sore for later.”
“What’s later?” Dylan whispered.
“I’m a ready vooman,” Hope said. “That means I’m really horny and I’m almost positive my friend has finally left for the holidays.”
Dylan dropped to the bench and began unlacing his skates. “While I would like nothing more than to skate and fall some more and then later hear the Brooklyn Philharmonia Chorus singing carols at the Lefferts House over there”—he pointed—“because I have never missed the chance to sing Handel’s Messiah here in Prospect Park for the last fifteen years, I would much rather spend the rest of this weekend with a ready vooman doing interesting things with my candy cane.”
Hope loved having a ready man.
Hope stripped completely as she entered her apartment and went straight to the scale in the washroom, Dylan looking over her shoulder as he wiggled out of his boxers.
“One thirty-four,” he said. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
Thirty-five pounds in twelve weeks! “That’s fantastic, not good! Go warm up the bed.”
With Dylan gone, Hope closed the washroom door and opened the closet, pulling out the Santa hats she’d bought from Mr. Al-Hamsi. She put the first on her head. The second and third she secured to her breasts by rolling up the bottoms. I’m wearing B cup Santa hats. She tore the stitching out of the fourth and secured it to her waist with dental floss. This won’t stay on long. She smiled. But that’s the point, isn’t it?
Now look who has props.
She opened the washroom door and closed it behind her, her left foot inching up the door. “Will you fill my stocking and eat my cookies, Santa?”
Dylan threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. “Only if you jingle my bells, Mrs. Claus.”
Whoa. Look at all that man candy. Hope took a step forward, the movement causing her “flap” to rise and fall. That was chilly. “I need you to slide down my chimney, Santa. I am feeling like a ho ho ho.”
Dylan stood. “My pole is definitely pointing north, Mrs. Claus.”
Oh, yes. “You sleigh me, Santa.” She took another step, and her “breast hats” fell off.
Whack shot out of the kitchen, snatched one, and ran off with it.
“Your hats fell like rain . . . dear,” Dylan said.
That was horrible! She moved closer. “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.”
Dylan breathed deeply. “Let me unwrap your package . . .”
It was definitely no silent afternoon or silent night in Hope’s apartment after that. Hope’s neighbors told them to be quiet in four languages as Hope shouted “Allez plus profonds!” (Go deeper!), “Plus vite!” (Faster!), and “Serrez mon derrière sexy!”
Hope liked to have her sexy derriere squeezed now that she had one, and Dylan did his best to separate it from her body.
During a rare lull in the action, Dylan cradled her face as she lay beside him. “Ta tu go halainn, mo anam cara. You are beautiful, my soul mate.”
“And I finally feel beautiful, too.” She kissed his hands. “Merci.”
“I want you to teach me some more French,” Dylan said. “How do you say, ‘I could do this all night long’?”
“Je pourrais le faire pendant toute la nuit,” Hope said.
“You could? Good. I intend to.” Dylan kissed her and slid his hot hand down her side to her hip. “How do you say, ‘You are the best lover I will ever have’?”
“ Vous êtes le meilleur amant que j’aurai jamais,” Hope whispered.
“Merci,” Dylan whispered. “You make me feel like the best lover who ever lived. You weren’t kidding about your orgasmes.”
“I’ve already lost count,” Hope whispered. “You need to catch up.”
He caressed her thigh. “I don’t want to. How do you say, ‘I have waited for you all my life’?”
“J’ai attendu vous tout ma vie,” Hope whispered.
Dylan sighed. “Sorry I kept you waiting. How do you say, ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you’?”
Hope’s heart raced. “Je veux passer le reste de ma vie avec vous. You do?”
He kissed her. “I can’t imagine living another moment without you. I want to be with you all the time. How do you say, ‘Let’s make a baby’?”
Hope began to cry. “Je t’aime.”
“No, that means ‘I love you,’ and while it’s nice to hear, that doesn’t answer my question,” Dylan said. “How do you say, ‘Let’s make a baby’?”
“Permettez-nous de faire un bébé,” Hope said, hugging him close to her. “Je t’aime.” She reached down and found him ready again. “Le faisons de nouveau,” she whispered, turning onto her back.
“I hope that means let’s do it again,” Dylan whispered.
Hope nodded. “Quintuplés,” Hope whispered. “Je veux des quintuplés.” She raised her hips to meet him and felt him plunge deep inside her. “Je t’aime, Dylan.”
“I love you, Hope.” He smiled as he began to move. “Five?” he whispered. “Really?”
“Or eight or nine . . .”
This is what it’s all about! She gripped his sexy derriere.
“Or ten . . .”
CHRISTMAS EVE
Last day to shop before Christmas...
Chapter 25
With Thrifty closed for the day, Hope woke up smiling in the darkness on Christmas Eve morning while Dylan showered and Whack finished shredding the Santa hats somewhere in the kitchen.
Big day. Huge day.
She sighed as Dylan came out of the tub. The man makes me tingle just looking at him. If I weren’t being sneaky today, I would do hi
m right there in the washroom. She wandered her fingers down her stomach. So glad this works again. Damn. Turn this way, turn this . . . way . . . Oh, yes . . .
Already? Yes!
I don’t want to leave this bed now.
“Will you come to breakfast?” Dylan asked.
I came before breakfast. It’s time to start the charade. “I’m sleeping in.”
Dylan pulled on his pants. “Good.”
“Maybe we can do lunch,” Hope said, working a leg out from under the covers.
Dylan sat on the bed and caressed her leg. “I’ll be working through lunch today,” Dylan whispered. “I have to batten down the hatches since we’ll be closed for four days. Though the softness and heat your leg is giving off is giving me second thoughts.”
Hope pulled his hand up to her breasts. “Only second thoughts? Why not thirds?”
He kissed each nipple. “Later, I will have fourths,” he said.
“I could bring you lunch,” Hope whispered.
“We’ll do dinner instead,” Dylan said.
We’ll see about that. “Is your apartment ready, Santa?”
Dylan pulled on a T-shirt. “I haven’t been there in so long. I guess. I hope the tree hasn’t dried out.”
“When will you be available to come get me?” Hope asked.
“I don’t know,” Dylan said. “I’ll call you later.”
She slipped out of bed and wrapped her arms around him.
“You are completely naked, Hope,” Dylan whispered. “Will you kiss me good-bye this way always? Please say you will.”
“I will.” She kissed him and led him to the door, opening it.
Dylan jumped into the doorway and shielded her. “Cailín, what are you doing?”
Exorcising a goblin from my past for the last time. She kissed him tenderly. “Turn around.”
Dylan turned.
Hope cuffed him sharply on his boomsie.
“Ow,” Dylan said.
“There’s more where that came from,” Hope said.
Dylan smiled. “As long as I can reciprocate.”
“You better,” Hope said. “Have a great day.” She kissed the back of his neck.
“You, too.”
As soon as Hope closed the door, she checked the clock.
Five-thirty.
Time to get to work on my day off.
I have a lot of work to do and barely enough time to do it.
While she ran hot water in the bathtub, she assembled all the shampoo and conditioner she owned near the lip of the tub.
I hope I have enough conditioner.
She shut off the water, disrobed, and lay in the bathtub, soaking her dreadlocks for ten minutes while trying to keep her body from contacting the hot water for too long. Once her hair was sufficiently soaked, she shampooed and rinsed her dreadlocks with hot water for the next half hour, her fingers cramping, her arms aching, her scalp burning. Confident that no wax or grease remained in her hair, Hope stepped out of the bathtub and immediately worked copious amounts of conditioner into each dreadlock.
And now for the not-so-fun part.
Removing the only metal comb she had from her medicine cabinet, she began picking out each dread, beginning at the bottom and working her way to the scalp.
She did this for the next two hours until her dreads were no longer locked, her scalp was on fire, and her fingers were nearly numb.
She returned to the shower and washed her hair rigorously despite the pain, drying it thoroughly with a hair dryer that dimmed the washroom light. She looked in the mirror, pulling her hair away from her face.
I’ll look all right.
She wrapped her face with her hair one last time. This isn’t my hair anymore. It belongs to a child. Yes. A princess out there is waiting for this queen’s hair.
She watched a few tears fall into the sink.
It’ll grow back. Aniya’s will grow back, too. Right. We’ll grow our hair out again together. I just hope Dylan—
Hope tried to part her hair in the center of her head, but the going was painfully slow. She felt her depression creeping up on her again. Doh ge’ meh vex, nuh. Not today. I don’t need to be depressed today. I am deeply in love, we’re working on a baby, and I’m happy. Go away. I’m confident Dylan will like my hair. I hope he likes it, but even if he doesn’t, a child will like it, and that’s what really matters.
After combing her hair to each side, Hope separated her hair into what she hoped were six equal sections, twisting and flopping them over her ears. She laughed at the woman in the mirror. I look like Aniya’s Medusa masks. She slid rubber bands up the length of each thick ponytail, leaving herself two inches of hair. Now I look like Dread Woman. No more stick figure girl for me. She shook her head one last time. I’m about to lose two pounds!
She sighed and picked up the scissors.
Make him still love me.
She cut above the last rubber band until the ponytail was in her hand. Look at that. Eight years of hair. She cut the other five, wrapped them in tissue paper, and put them in a Ziploc bag. They might get two wigs out of all this hair. She slid the bag into a large envelope and addressed it:
Wigs for Kids
24231 Center Ridge Road
Westlake, Ohio 44145
She showered again, watching hair clog the drain, and then she inspected the damage in the mirror.
Dear God, what a mess.
More tears fell into the sink.
She tried to comb it out, but it wouldn’t cooperate.
I need some help.
I need a lot of help.
On the day before Christmas when most salons are filled to capacity.
She dressed hurriedly and put on a toque, dropping the envelope in outgoing mail downstairs and rushing outside to the nearest ATM, a Capital One Bank ATM that charged her a fee.
I did not think this through at all.
She threw back her shoulders, collected her thoughts, and entered Divine Connection Hair Spa, the salon already packed and noisy at 9:30 AM.
Hope approached a woman at a counter. “Is there any chance I could get an appointment this morning?” she whispered.
The woman, wearing a brown smock with a “Samantha” name tag on the strap, shook her head. “We can’t possibly get to you today. I’m sorry.”
Hope removed her hat. “Please.”
All noise in the Divine Connection Hair Spa ceased.
Hope felt tears.
“Child,” Samantha said, “what did you do?”
Hope looked around at the eyes looking at her. “I cut off my hair for Wigs for Kids. For children who lose their hair because of illness.” Tears hit the counter. “I just mailed my hair to Ohio.”
Samantha moved around the counter. “Oh, I remember you. Your hair was so long. You walk by here every day, don’t you?”
Hope nodded. There are too many mirrors in here. “My . . . my boyfriend hasn’t seen me yet. It’s going to be a surprise.”
“She can go in front of me,” an older woman said.
Hope put both her hands on her head. “Do I look that bad?”
“You could look a lot better, honey,” the woman said. “Some surprises need some extra help. Your hair needs some divine intervention, child.”
Hope turned to the woman. “Thank you. I’m, um, I’m Hope.”
“Good name,” the woman said. “I’m Joy. Nicole will take good care of you, child.”
“Thank you, Joy.”
Nicole led Hope to her chair as the noise increased. “Don’t worry about a thing,” she said. “You ain’t hopeless.” She pulled up some of Hope’s hair. “How long was it?”
“Sixteen inches,” Hope said. “More or less.”
“Least you left me something to work with,” Nicole said. “Anything in particular you want done?”
“I just want to be . . . acceptable.”
Nicole smiled. “I don’t do acceptable. I’m gonna make you beautiful.”
“Thank
you.”
Nicole handed Hope a tissue. “It won’t be hard,” she whispered. “You already are.” She squeezed Hope’s shoulders. “Leave everything to me.”
In a matter of hours, Nicole transformed Hope into an angel with tight ringlet curls that fully showed off Hope’s eyes, forehead, and ears.
“What do you think?” Nicole asked.
“I look like a little boy,” Hope whispered. “I want him to like me.”
“Girl, with that body, you do not look like a boy,” Nicole said. “God has been good to you.”
Hope turned her head side to side. “Yes. He has.” Three months ago I was an anorexic stick figure dread girl, but now there’s a curvy, sexy, short-haired woman staring at me.
Hope stepped out of the chair. “How much do I owe you? I haven’t had my hair done in over eight years.”
Divine Connection Hair Spa again became silent.
I must learn not to speak in this place. “So I don’t know what things cost,” Hope whispered.
It was still quiet.
They’re curious, too. I don’t blame them.
Nicole looked around the salon, and then she shrugged. “Normally, I charge extra for a rescue.”
Hope took out a roll of twenties. “A hundred sixty? Two hundred?”
Nicole hugged her. “Child, I was going to say eighty.”
Hope handed her ten twenties. “You saved me. Take it.”
Nicole took the money. “God bless you.”
Hope smiled at Joy. “When should I come back?”
“Soon?” Joy said.
Divine Connection Hair Spa filled with laughter.
“I’ll be back,” Hope said. “Merry Christmas, everybody.” She took out her toque and started to put it on her head.
“No!” sounded out from all over the salon.
Hope pulled the toque off, holding it in front of her. “But it’s cold outside.”
“Let it breathe, girl,” Joy said. “Let the world see you.”
Hope stuffed the toque into her pocket. “Okay. Thank you for giving up your spot.”
“I have nowhere else to be today,” Joy said. “It’s one of the perks of being a granny. They come to you. I imagine you have plenty of errands to run today.”
