by K. E. Saxon
She took the six steps up to the porch, walked the distance toward the front door, and slid the key into the lock. This was it. She turned the key and then the knob and swung the door wide. She looked around. Someone had opened the blinds, so the natural light afforded her a good view. The furnishings were all wrong, but the smell was just the same: a mix of wood polish and home-cooked meals.
“Hi, Dad. Hi, Mom. I’m home,” she murmured.
* * *
Jason pulled into the driveway of the little white bungalow and killed the engine. His mind was still swirling with all the things Julie had left out in her quickie little recap of her life over the past decade. He totally got why she didn’t want to talk in detail about it—wasn’t he doing the same thing with all he’d been through?—but he had to admire the kid. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders—especially after the wild, strange, circus-ride life she’d been forced to lead—even if she did have no business, her having no real experience, trying to open a restaurant on her own.
As he got out of the car, an all-too-familiar black Mercedes coup pulled in behind him. Ssshhit! The husband hunting divorcée.
“Hi ya, Sugar,” Nora Lee said, slamming her door and shimmying toward him.
“Hi.” Even he heard the irritated tone in his voice, but she just kept on coming. That wide, Pepsodent smile glittering like the rhinestones on an Elvis impersonator’s white leather suit. He instantly noticed that she’d changed clothes from this morning. Now she was wearing a dark aqua blue dress, it’s low-cut top connecting somehow behind her neck, leaving her shoulders—and he was sure—the majority of her back, exposed. The ultra-spikes on her matching heels clicked on the pavement as she moved and his eyes couldn’t decide which bouncing balls to focus on: her tits or her swinging hips. It surprised him when a flash-memory of Julie, standing there in that old-fashioned pink dress, with the same color sash as Nora Lee’s dress, juxtaposed itself with the reality of the female barracuda-flesh flouncing before him.
“I sure could use a glass of iced tea. You got any made?” Nora Lee asked, curling her arm around his and turning them both toward the door.
He refused to budge though. He had way too much business to conduct—and the call to his dad really couldn’t wait much longer. “I’m afraid I’m all out.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. “Look. I’ve got a lot going on right now. I’ve got important phone calls to make and a new partnership I need my attorney to draft a contract up on.”
He took hold of the arm she was clinging to him with and forced it back down to her side. He could tell he was pissing her off, but it couldn’t be helped.
And maybe pissing her off was the best way to get her out of his hair, anyway. Maybe being real blunt would do the trick. “I’m not in the market for a wife. Hell, I’m not even in the market for a steady partner, if you know what I mean. So, really, Nora Lee, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
Her answering smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh, Sugar, don’t you worry your head about me. I’m just bein’ a good neighbor, is all.”
“Good. Because that’s about all I can handle right now.” He took hold of her upper arm and started leading her back toward her Merc. “Like I said, I’ve got a lot of phone calls and business to conduct. Maybe I’ll see you around. At Jimmy’s or something, sometime.”
He opened the car door and all but hauled her into her seat before slamming the door closed. “Goodbye, Nora Lee.”
He could have sworn she nearly stuck her tongue out at him before she said, “’Bye Sugar,” and then turned the ignition key, revved the motor, swung her upper torso around to look out the back windshield and gunned the gas pedal. Jason leapt back. He was not surprised when he heard the tires squeal.
* * *
Jason’s dad answered on the third ring. “Hey, hey, hey! Didya get it then?”
Jason grinned. It had been a long time since he’d heard that much enthusiasm in his dad’s voice. He slid forward on the mauve and green floral print sofa and leaned back, dropping his head to rest on the overstuffed cushion. “Yeah,” he said, resettling the cell phone’s receiver closer to his mouth.
“So…didya meet Julie?”
Jason shot forward as if the lid to a jack-in-the-box had been raised—and he was Jack. “Excuse me?”
“Julie Del Mar. Was she there?”
“Yeah—what the hell—”
“Now, we can’t really take that property from her. It was her parent’s, after all. Hell, it’s her legacy. No, can’t do it. How much d’ya pay for it anyway?”
“Dad.” Jason’s throat ached with the strain of not shouting the word. “What the hell is going on? Was this some kind of a set-up?”
“No. Well…maybe, just a little bit.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “So, you didn’t really want this property for our fishing resort project.”
“Hell yes I wanted it—want it! In fact, that’s how I found out whose property it originally was.”
“And you knew Julie would be bidding on it?”
“Not exactly. I just…speculated…that she might want it back. Especially after losing her sister.”
“Why didn’t you tell me she might be there?”
“Because. I knew you wouldn’t go then. And…well, I wanted the property for us. Absolutely. Especially if Julie didn’t show. But I also wanted you and her to meet. I just can’t stop thinking about that sweet little thing and how she’s got nobody now. I just want to make sure she’s okay. And I knew once you met her you’d like her—I was right. Right?”
Jason collapsed back and dropped his head to rest on the cushion again. He shook his head. “I cannot believe you set me up.”
“Hey! You know it wasn’t for any malignant purposes.”
Jason heaved a deep sigh. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Now, she’s the kind of gal I’d like to see you settle down with.”
“No way. But, yeah, it figures. The boring housewife type.”
“I got news for you, buddy. It’s the housewives that keep the ol’ furnace lit—know what I mean?”
“Well, staying home and mowing the grass is not my idea of fun. Sorry.”
“Yeah, your idea of fun is all flash, no substance. Like that”—Jason could just see his dad snapping his fingers—“that—what was her name? That last one you brought home for me to meet.”
Jason swallowed a grumble and gritted his teeth. “Jessica, Dad. Her name was Jessica. And she was a tax attorney. I thought you’d approve of someone with those credentials.”
“Well, she looked like a two-bit bleached-blond stripper.”
“She was way more than two-bit. She got through law school on the tips she made at the premier men’s club. Hardly two-bit, I’d say.”
“Yeah, but who’d hire her as their attorney—oh, wait, don’t tell me: Strip clubs.”
“Yeah, well…” Okay, so maybe she should have toned down the 38 Triple-D’s, the porno nails and makeup, and the leather, once she graduated and quit the club. But Jason sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to nix that bit of eye candy.
And why should he? He liked leather. And as far as the other—hell, what red-blooded American male didn’t like that kind of rack?
Seriously.
“She’d only been out of school for six months when you met her. And I’m still kinda pissed at you for being so rude to her. You could have cut her a lot more slack.”
His dad snorted.
“Dad.”
“Oh, all right. I’m sorry for not welcoming your hooker chick with open arms.”
“She was not a hooker. Christ!” Jason took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Look. I’m trying, okay? You’ve seen it: There’ve been four women now that you’ve met—and not liked.”
His dad snorted again, but didn’t comment.
Jason pressed the base of his palm against his twitching right eyelid. “I’m not saying I’m ready to get married—
not by a long shot—but I’m thirty now. It’s time for me to try to date someone longer than a few weeks. I get it. Okay?”
His dad must of realized he’d pushed Jason as far as he could because the next thing he said was, “So—how’s Julie doing? How’d she look?”
Jason gave a mental sigh of relief. He lifted a shoulder and dropped it in a half-shrug. “She seemed okay to me.” He sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “In fact…. Dad, you and I are her new partners. How do you feel about that?”
The answering ‘whoop!’ nearly broke his eardrum. He switched the phone to his other ear and pressed his palm against the abused one.
“Now, why didn’t I think of that? Great idea. Perfect.”
Jason and his dad talked for another half-hour. After hanging up with him, he called Paul and gave him the news. Jason told him that he would be able to get back on track with their newest client in about a month, and Paul agreed to continue dealing directly with them as much as feasible until that time.
Afterward, Jason did something he hadn’t done since he was a kid: He stayed home and watched television. After the day he’d just had, he was beat. Plus, he had no intention of going to Jimmy’s, the only bar around, for fear he’d have to deal with Nora Lee for a third time that day. Nope, even though he’d be bored out of his everlovin’ gourd, he was not stepping foot outside his door until he went to meet Julie the next morning.
* * *
The pink cotton shirtdress slid off of Julie’s slip-covered hips and dropped in a puddle at her feet before she could catch it. She stepped out of it and draped it over her arm before walking to the closet to hang it on a hanger. It looked rather lonely there, all by itself.
Kind of like her, she supposed.
The style of the dress was loose, and the size was a little big, but it was the only thing—other than a few family photos—that she had of her mother, and wearing it comforted her, made her feel a small spark of connection to the woman who bore her, and to her disrupted childhood.
It had been one of her mother’s favorites.
When the authorities had shown up, in the wee hours of the morning all those years ago, to tell her and Connie that the flight their parents were on had burst into flames just before landing, and that her parents were among those that hadn’t survived, Julie had run to their bedroom and wept into the dress. It had been tossed on the end of the bed in a last minute packing decision by her mother.
Julie had brought the dress with her when CPS had come to take them to the facility. The dress, along with the few—the very few—other items she and Connie were allowed to take with them.
Connie, she remembered, had been terrified—and very angry. Angry that she wouldn’t be going to the junior prom with some boy she’d had her eye on for months who’d finally asked her to go with him, and angry at their parents for dying, as well. Which was why, Julie understood now, Connie hadn’t taken anything with her but her makeup, her favorite pair of jeans, and a few skimpy tops. She’d been in denial.
Julie had been scared as well, but beside herself with grief, too. She’d wanted so desperately for the authorities to be wrong—for her parents to show up, still alive, to take them back home. For everything to go back to the way it had been.
She’d wished it so fervently, in fact, that she’d actually dreamed about it that first night they were in the children’s home. She’d experienced such intense joy, seeing her parents again, that when she’d awakened and realized it hadn’t been real, she’d wanted to curl up and die herself.
So, during those first days, she’d barely eaten; wouldn’t speak to anyone but Connie. Just wanted it all to fade to black.
And then, when their caseworker told them that they’d be placed in separate foster homes, Julie told her sister what she’d been thinking—wanting.
Connie had flung her arms around Julie and squeezed her so tight, she couldn’t breathe. She’d told her not to ever leave her; that they wouldn’t have to live apart. She’d get them out of there and they would go so far away, nobody would ever find them.
And no matter what her sister had become afterward, Julie would always—always—be grateful to her for the near miraculous feat she’d accomplished that very night by getting the two of them out unnoticed and then, for all those years afterwards, taking care of Julie, keeping her safe, and loving her the best way she could.
A sigh slipped past Julie’s lips. She walked over to the backpack on the bed and took out the small framed photograph from an inside pouch. As she slowly pivoted and sat on the edge of the mattress, she drew her thumb over the images of her grinning father in his fishing cap, her wind-blown mother, Connie’s sunburned cheeks, and herself—at six years old—holding up the most pathetic excuse for a fish she’d ever seen.
After another long moment, she positioned the photo, just right, on her nightstand and dropped a fingertip-kiss on each of their images.
* * *
Three nights later, Jason was sitting at the table in Julie’s kitchen. It was nearing seven o’clock and he had pages strewn from one rounded edge to the other. It was one of those rickety old tables that wobbled and creaked every time you made the slightest move and it was covered with a red and white checkered plastic table cloth that had more than one acid-brown stain from a stray cigarette on it, as well as a hole burned directly in the center from the same type of abuse. Julie usually hid the hole with a canning jar filled with wild flowers, but right now the make-shift vase was on the counter and the fledgling partnership’s plans and contracts were covering the damage.
The abandoned black kitten that Julie had found under her porch that first morning curled around Jason’s left leg and mewed. He leaned down and absently stroked the animal’s head and back with one hand while he shuffled through the pages in front of him with the other.
“Come here, Pookie,” Julie said and dropped down to her haunches, holding out a few kitten treats in her palm. Jason had to shove the animal toward her, but it finally caught on to the fact that she was offering it something to eat, and walked the rest of the way by itself. He grinned and looked up when he heard the loud purrs coming from the little tyke. “That cat has no idea just how lucky it is that it wound up at your house,” he said.
She looked up at him then and grinned back. “Yeah, I know. I was always adopting strays when I was a kid. Actually, it had been a joint effort, most times, between me and Connie.” She shrugged and looked back down at the kitten, which was now having a wrestling match with her hand. “You know what they say about old habits.”
Jason was trying real hard not to notice the amount of inner thigh revealed now that Julie’s shorts were hiked up high by the position she was in, or the sliver of silky, softly tanned hip and back that the low waist and somewhat lifted tank exposed, but he was losing the battle.
He jumped to his feet. “Hey, I’ve got an idea.” The table nearly tipped over, so he hurriedly righted it, grabbing hold of the papers at the same time before they slid to the floor. “Let’s go to Jimmy’s and get a beer and a bite to eat.” He looked at his watch as he continued scrambling the documents together with the other hand. “The honky tonk floor should be open just about now, too, so we can dance for awhile.”
* * *
Julie rose to her feet and turned around, heading toward the sink. Go dancing with Jason? Not a good idea. At all. He was way too good looking, way too sure of himself, and way too sexy for her own good. As she washed her hands, she said, “Sorry, Jason, but I want to unpack some more of my things that arrived this morning.”
After wiping her hands on the faded cherry-design dish towel next to the sink, she turned back to face him and leaned against the counter. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she said, “Maybe another time.” Not likely.
“Aren’t you hungry? Well, I am. Hey, in fact it’ll be my treat. What say?”
She glanced at her refrigerator and then back at him. “I’ll be happy to cook something for us…in fact, I’d like
that.” Her lips pressed together a brief second before she continued, “I really hate to only cook for myself.” Yeah. That’d be much safer. She could stay on her side of the kitchen. He could stay on his. She lifted her brows, giving him a slight smile of invitation.
One side of his face scrunched up and he gave her a half-shrug as he answered, “That sounds great, Julie. And I appreciate the offer, but I was really wanting a bit more exercise—you know—dancing?”
He strode up to her and took hold of her hand, giving it a little squeeze. “Come on.” When he added that megawatt grin, she felt the power of it, and his electric touch, along every nucleotide that ran down every double helix that resided inside every cell of her being.
She jerked her hand away and ran it over the hair behind her ear, tucking it more snugly in place. “I—I don’t know. I’ve just got so much to do.”
She turned around and picked up the coffee mug out of the sink and began washing it. She’d been so keyed up these past three days—between filtering every word she said to him with regard to Connie, trying to present to him the professional businesswoman persona that she aspired to—well, as best she could without her better clothes, which had finally arrived earlier—and doing everything in her power to not let on how attracted she was to him, she was wiped out.
But dancing! No way.
First of all, she wasn’t very good at it, but second of all—she’d no doubt end up acting just like every other woman who ever met him, clinging to him like a vine. And not only would she embarrass herself, but she’d mess up the great business opportunity this partnership was affording her.
His hands settled on her shoulders. She started, but then she forced herself to relax.
“Look, it would be a big favor to me if you would go. I really need to get out for awhile. But, you see, there’s this, ahem, woman, Nora Lee Blum—do you know her?
Julie stopped washing the mug and shook her head.
“Well, she’s a divorcée—real recent—and, well…it would just be a whole lot easier if you were there, kind of as a buffer.” He turned her around to face him again and that hopeful, eager-little-boy look on his face sealed the deal.
