Jinxed

by Inez Kelley

  “Chinese is fine. But you can’t do my errand. I need to go to the store.”

  “Just tell me and I’ll pick it up.”

  “No, Jinx, you can’t.”

  “Yes, I can. Just tell me what you need.”

  “Tampons, okay! I need tampons! Tampons and Szechuan pork!” She yelled into the phone. The red-eyed beast known as Mother Menstrual Madness crashed down, gifting her with a blistering case of pissiness. Embarrassed heat flooded her face. Her hand was cool as she pressed it to her forehead. I need Midol.

  “Uh, tampons. And Szechuan pork. Okay, yeah, I can do that.” He sounded like a soldier going into battle and it made her smile through her humiliation. “Be there in a bit, dollface.”

  Breath fogging the window pane, Frannie watched for Jinx’s SUV. A bit, he’d said. But that was over an hour ago. Wild thoughts raced through her mind.

  He freaked out standing in the feminine hygiene aisle and was blubbering in the security office.

  He was totally disgusted with her needs and was sitting in a bar somewhere thanking Gawd he escaped before she totally emasculated him.

  His SUV overturned on the icy roads and he was lying unconscious, surrounded by tiny plastic-wrapped cylinders.

  He was…

  Here. She had the door open before he reached the stone steps. Her eyebrows twisted in confusion. He was carrying five bags but somehow managed to kick off his boots without releasing his bundles. Her hand flew to her chin, covering it from his gaze as he bent to kiss her.

  “Don’t look at me.” She backed away and headed toward the kitchen leaving him to follow. He put the sacks on the table and shed his coat. Baffled, Frannie opened the paper bag containing their food. Spicy steam spiraled upward and her mouth watered.

  “What took you so long? I was starting to worry you were lying in a ditch somewhere.”

  “I don’t know how you women do it.” He pulled a white plastic bag closer to him. “There are a million different products in those aisles. It took me a while to read the backs of the boxes to figure out what to get and I still wasn’t sure.”

  “You read the back of the boxes?” She watched in morbid fascination as he started emptying the bags.

  “How else was I supposed to figure this stuff out? No one’s ever asked me to buy tampons before. It’s not like they pull you out of gym class and give you a lesson on what to buy for your girlfriend’s period. And holy hell, was I lost. There were all sorts of tampons—slim, regular, super, plastic, cardboard, scented and unscented. Why would a woman want something scented anyway? And then of course there was name brand, generic, pink boxes, blue boxes. It was a nightmare.”

  He pulled item after item out of the bag. Deep in her gut, a fizzle of humor grew, pushing away her mortification. To hide her smile as well as her pimple, she clapped a hand to her mouth and stared at him. Pink tinged his cheeks that she was positive had not come from the wind.

  “And the boxes said you shouldn’t wear a tampon more than eight hours at a time. Something about Toxic Shock Syndrome. Did you know women can die from that? I had no clue. That’s some scary shit. So I thought, okay, she needs pads. And that was a whole ’nother kettle of fish. With wings, without wings—what are the wings anyway?—again with the scented or unscented, light days, overnights, longs, supers, Stayfree, Always, Kotex. It was awful. I didn’t know what you needed. I thought about calling but figured you might think I was chickening out. I decided the hell with it. I just bought a few of each.”

  Eyes wide, Frannie let her gaze fly over her kitchen table. Boxes of every size and color were stacked haphazardly and he was still pulling things from the last bag. It was like Show and Tell of the crawl-under-a-rock variety. A gurgle of mania sounded in her throat and she puffed out her cheeks to contain it. He didn’t look her in the face.

  “Then I started remembering different things about every girl I’ve ever dated. You know, things they wanted during that time? So I bought a few more things.”

  He presented her with his purchased bounty like the Wise Men bearing gifts. Her shock had faded and hysteria took its place. Needles shot through her lips as she bit them behind her cupped hand to prevent laughing in his face.

  “Midol.” He handed her a small box. “It says it helps with bloating and cramps. You don’t look bloated to me, but what do I know, I’m a guy.”

  A bag of Hershey’s miniatures found its way into her hands followed by a bag of potato chips. “Becca used to crave chocolate and salt, so I hope those are okay.”

  A heavy carton the size of a breadbox nearly knocked the chips from her hands and she lunged to catch it. “One girl used to hold a heating pad to her stomach. That seemed to help. I didn’t know if you had one so I picked one up.”

  On top of this, he added a flowery box of tissues. “My sister always got weepy. She’d start crying at TV commercials. So if you need to cry, go ahead, I understand.”

  He perched a tube of Clearasil on the very top then handed her a plastic Wiffle ball bat. “You said you had a huge zit. All I see is a tiny bump, but this might help. And just in case you start feeling grouchy, you can whack the bejeezus out of something.”

  She lost it. The bat was too much. Her laugh rang out like Notre Dame’s bells. Cradling her presents, she slid down the cabinet and sat on the floor with tears of hilarity rolling down her cheeks. The sound of her riotous laughter echoed off the kitchen walls. Soon her sides ached and her chest burned but she continued to cackle.

  Jinx stared at her for a long while, unsmiling. Fists planted on his hips, he growled, “Just what’s so funny? I’m trying to be supportive here.”

  It took her three tries to speak before she could stop laughing. Even then, she continued to giggle through her words. She waved her hand in the general area of the table. “You’re crazy. You purchased a plethora of period paraphernalia.”

  Like a bottle rocket, she exploded in another round of hysteria. His brows rounded and he looked like a sad puppy but she continued to roar, occasionally snorting. Frannie pulled herself to a stand and unloaded her armful onto the table, which looked like the research lab at Proctor and Gamble. Her face was hot under her hands as she wiped her wet eyes. It took several deep breaths before she could speak without laughing again.

  “Thank you.”

  “Frannie, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I just wanted to give you whatever you needed.”

  Touched, she reached up and stroked his cheek. “Jinx, this is really very sweet. But, seriously, it’s overkill. This is not my first period.”

  “No,” he said, wrapping his arms around her, “but it is mine.”

  {

  “Jingle Bell Rock” blared on a sound system as hordes of sugar-hyped children ran about like wild hyenas. Tables of casseroles, crock pots and cookie trays lined one wall of the dance hall where families of all sizes milled around. The factory workers were all happy, laughing and full of the Christmas spirit. Frannie stood in the middle of all this yuletide cheer feeling decidedly Grinchish. All because of a name, her name…and his. So far, more than a dozen of Jinx’s employees had referred to her as Mrs. Sullivan. When she corrected them, they just blinked, stared at her and went their merry way. Each time, her irritation grew.

  She smacked her cup down on the table and fruity punch sloshed over her fingers. She’d stopped being Mrs. Sullivan years ago. She had been there, done that, bought the tee shirt and had it shrink. It hadn’t worked before and wouldn’t work again. The name confused everyone. She should have taken her maiden name back after her divorce. But she hadn’t. It was her one tiny dig back at the man who promised to love, honor and cherish her forever while he banged some bimbo in the broom closet.

  “Change it! You drained me for almost five fucking years, Fran. Enough is enough. I want to forget you ever existed.”

  The name Sullivan was what her CPA license was issued in, she argued, and the judge agreed. But deep down, she’d known she’d done it to hurt him. She’d simp
ly smiled at him across the lawyers’ conference table and let him wonder what she might do with his precious name.

  But he was right as always. She was sensible, stable and predictable. In the end, other than a few drunken, wild nights with Tracey, she’d done nothing to tarnish his family name. And it was that name that first drew Jinx’s attention.

  “Mrs. Sullivan?”

  Fingers tightening into claws at the voice over her shoulder, Frannie plastered a smile on her stiff face and turned. And there stood Moses. Okay, not the real Moses, but close enough. His long white beard and lined face screamed Let my people go. She glanced around, half expecting there to be two stone tablets at his feet.

  “There she is.” Jinx clapped Moses on the back and gestured to Frannie. “Frannie, I wanted you to met Uriah Rempel. He’s one of the master craftsmen who make some of the toy models here at Buddies’.”

  Old gray eyes studied her from beneath bushy brows then he extended a warm, callused hand. His voice carried a slight Germanic accent. “My pleasure, Mrs. Sullivan.”

  “Miss. It’s Miss Sullivan. Just call me Frannie to avoid confusion.” Jaw aching, Frannie forcibly kept the pleasant smile on her lips. With a small nod, he acknowledged the correction before leaving them to join a portly woman in a Mennonite prayer cap.

  “You okay?” Jinx circled her waist. Just the feel of his warm, sturdy arms sent delicious sexual shivers through her bones. Each day she fell more and more in love with him and dreaded his leaving. Fear made her even grumpier and she shrugged out of his embrace.

  “I’m fine. Stop pawing me. I’m not a chew toy.”

  Before Jinx could respond, a burst of jingled bells rang out with a loud “Hohoho” echoing in the hall. Children squealed and raced to the white-bearded man like women at a shoe sale. Santa took a seat in a garish North-Pole-themed throne and started calling names. Delighted families crowded around the throne and sat on the floor, eagerly waiting their turn. Each beckoned child spoke of secret dreams and longed for wishes. Santa magically found each name on the long scroll tucked in his belt. A few of the kids he had to remind to stop pulling the dog’s tail, to start picking up her Barbies or to pay attention in school, but each child was deemed well-behaved enough for the “nice” list.

  From under the tree beside his throne, Santa gave each child a brightly wrapped present. Frannie shook her head with a smile. Dozens of Buddies’ Toys’ top sellers were doled out to the excited children. Tension had just started easing from her shoulders when she heard her name ring out. Everyone’s eye swung to her and she froze.

  “Frannie Sullivan! Where is Frannie Sullivan?” Santa stood and scanned the crowd.

  Smile still cemented on her face, she barely moved her lips as she asked, “What are you up to, fruit loop?”

  “Who, me? Nothing.” Jinx’s sly grin belied his words and he pushed Frannie toward the throne. Santa saw her and motioned her forward.

  Digging in her heels, she whipped around and glared at him. “I’m not sitting on Santa’s lap.”

  “Oh yes, you are.” Walking beside her, Jinx propelled her closer to the gaudy chair. Her spine went limp and she tried the immovable-pile-of-bones trick. It didn’t work and he practically dragged her to the front of the crowd.

  “Jinx, no. I don’t want to. This is for the children.”

  Breath warm against her ear, he whispered gently, “Frannie, Santa has a gift for you. Now go on.”

  The hushed statement snapped her face to his. A devilish gleam grew there, a secret he was burning to share.

  A gift? For me? In front of all these people? A gift as in a ring? A proposal?

  Oh dear Gawd, no.

  Woodenly, she walked the last few steps to the fat red-suited man.

  He wouldn’t, she panicked, looking back at Jinx expectantly. He stood smiling with Moses/Uriah and several others from the management staff, delight dancing in his eyes.

  He would.

  Tears she refused to let fall blinded her but she crossed to the Jolly Old Elf. The crowd clapped and cheered at her good sportsmanship, but she only vaguely heard them. Her heart was pounding too loudly. Her life was on the verge of crumbling.

  It’s too soon.

  I want more time.

  Please not yet.

  Santa hohoho’ed and took her arm. Ice chugged through her veins like a Slurpee machine. She shivered and stared out at Jinx, a silent plea screaming in her head. The bearded man drew her down to his knee and patted her on the back.

  “Tell me, Frannie, have you been a good girl this year?”

  No, I’ve been horrible, clinging to Jinx out of selfish pleasure when I know it’s only going to lead to heartache for us both.

  When she didn’t respond, Santa covered for her, bless the man. “Well, just let me check my list. Hmm, it says here you have been a good girl. In fact, it says you’ve been an excellent girl. Now, what would you like for Christmas?”

  The factory workers seemed to hush although she was sure it was her imagination. Her mouth worked for several seconds before a frail whisper squeaked out. “I want more time. I want the dream.”

  Fake white brows crinkled in confusion, Santa leaned closer to her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  Lip trembling, Frannie scanned the crowd, searching for Jinx. Her eyes landed on him just as her vision went wetly blurry.

  “Goodbye, my love,” her heart cried. Pushing the ball of sadness down, she ground out, “Just give me my present, Santa. Let’s get this over with.”

  The man straightened and then leaned to grab a gaily wrapped box. It was the size of a square cantaloupe with silver paper tied with a blue ribbon.

  Too big for ring box.

  Hope flickered and she bit her lip. Her shaky hands reached for the glittering gift. It seemed as if time stopped. She carefully peeled back the metallic paper and popped the top on a white paper box. She was aware of strange little things like Santa smelled of spearmint and had sharp, knobby knees beneath her rump. She knew subconsciously Jinx stood just to her left. Somewhere a child cried and a woman coughed.

  Thin tissue paper folded back to reveal an ornately carved wooden box. Shining like gold, the polished wood had a rich cherry luster and a tiny brass clasp. Tremulous fingers flipped the latch and music filled the air. Inside, the small metal cogs swirled in a graceful mechanical ballet as a lullaby chimed.

  It was a music box. A beautiful, delicate, exquisite, so-not-a-diamond-ring music box. Joy leapt out of her chest like a racehorse and galloped toward insanity. Silent tears of relief slipped down her cheeks unchecked as she watched the tiny circles spin. She got her wish. She had more time.

  “Do you like it?” Jinx’s voice brought the world back into sharp focus and she dabbed her eyes with her fingers.

  “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

  Jinx leaned down and kissed her briefly. Santa chuckled and patted her back. “Now that didn’t hurt so bad, did it?”

  Shaking her head, she caught the wise old eyes of the master craftsman. He nodded regally and she knew he had created this amazing gift. Mouthing “Thank you,” she let her hands glide over the smooth wood. Suddenly she felt lightheaded, giddy and impish. Grateful to the fates who had pardoned her, she laughed throatily and clutched the box to her chest. She was going crazy. It was simple. Jinx had somehow passed on his insanity to her and he must pay for it.

  “Santa, I know exactly what I want for Christmas this year.”

  Magnanimously, Santa nodded and Jinx perked up, listening for her heart’s desire. The temptation for payback was too great and she gave in willingly. Staring directly into her lover’s eyes, she smiled. “I want a unicorn. A real unicorn with a sparkly purple horn that grants real wishes.”

  Jinx’s groan was echoed by two members of the R&D staff nearby. He dropped his head and clapped one hand to his forehead in defeat before sliding that hand down his face. He grinned at her with open admiration and bowed. “Your wish is my command.”

&nbs
p; Frannie could only wonder what he meant.

  {

  When a phone rings deep in the night, it never brings good news. Frannie heard the electronic trill even in her deepest slumber and it instinctively made her blood run cold and fast. Before she was awake enough to realize why her heart was jumping, Jinx had answered it, his voice low and soft as if trying not to wake her.

  But there was no way she could have slept through his muscles going stiff and him jerking to sit at the edge of the bed. Bleary-eyed, she pushed the blankets away, sat up and flicked on the lamp on his nightstand. The low wattage still shone harshly, highlighting the stark horror and disbelief on his face.

  “Was anybody hurt? Sweet Jesus, what happened?” Receiver pressed between his shoulder and his ear, Jinx pulled on his boxers then sat in the wing-backed chair in his bedroom alcove, head in his hand.

  “Alright, call me back.” Punching the off button, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Frightened, Frannie untangled her feet from the sheets and hurried to kneel before him. He lifted her hand off his knee and brought it to his cheek. His five o’clock shadow was on its second overtime and scratched her palm but she didn’t think about pulling away. Hints of auburn peeked through the black whiskers and made her smile. A small detail but it was gathered, caressed and shoved deep in her memory file.

  Deep with sorrow, his voice barely broke the fabric of the night. “The factory in Maine caught fire. Dave doesn’t have many details yet, but the night manager, Ray Hawkensmith died.”

  “Oh my Gawd.” Instinctively, Frannie pressed her palm to her heart before reaching out to him.

  He shuddered under her hand. “These are my people. They work for me. I have to go. I have to fly up there.”

  He sounded so lost, so subdued; she pulled his head to her breast. Hugging her hard, his chin biting into her sternum, he drew several deep breaths. Like a mother shushes a fussy child, she murmured low nonsense words, telling him over and over it would be all right. “I’ll take you to the airport.”