The black slacks were her favorites, along with the crimson twin set and a gold necklace. She looked cute. She looked cute enough to go to a professional dating agency and become a client. Today was the day her life was going to change. It was also the perfect day to get on the subway, head over to midtown, and walk up the Avenue of the Americas to the front door of Perfect Match. She made it just in time to physically bump into Coraline Newair, who was about to shut down the shop for lunch.
“Can I help you?” the petite proprietor asked.
“Yes, change my life,” Pecola told her.
“Never on an empty stomach; come, I’ll take you to lunch,” she said. It was the look in Pecola’s eyes that made a mark with Coraline. Intelligence buzzed behind those eyes. The simple clothing of good quality and the sincerity on her face all worked for Pecola.
They walked down the sidewalk to a small eatery where it appeared that Coraline had her own table. It was at this table in a corner of the small bistro in MidTown New York that Pecola Peters told a random stranger everything there was to know about her, including her pen name. In carefully chosen words, she explained to Coraline why those ugly women were right and how she needed to live so that her words could grow.
Over salads lightly dressed in a special vinaigrette, Coraline listened to the woman and didn’t bother to take any notes. The moment Pecola said she was a writer, Coraline knew the perfect match for the cute black woman.
“Actually, I have the perfect man in mind for you. Do you have an issue with race?” she asked Pecola.
“Not in particular...I mean, I don’t want to move to Russia or anything,” she told her. “I don’t want some freakishly tall Zulu warrior either!”
Coraline was a very pretty brunette with sparkling green eyes. Her left hand sported a ring that would get her mugged in Brooklyn, but here in her world, she was safe. “His name is William Joseph Johnson; he is a Montana rancher and has a very specific request, which makes it hard to match him up,” she said.
“Does he have like fetishes or something?”
The veneers on Coraline’s teeth shone like a pirate’s gold tooth when she smiled at Pecola. “No, he’s a literature buff and very well read. He’s a former assistant professor of English, an aspiring writer, and lives in the middle of nowhere. The request is that the woman has to be willing to give him a child in the first 12 months of marriage,” Coraline said.
Pecola didn’t get it. Most women wanted to be married to a man who desired kids right away versus being married five years. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch; most women want the option that if the marriage doesn’t work they can leave. The child is a guarantee that the marriage will have to work because that man will never give up his child,” she said as she cut into the endive salad.
It was something to think about, but once Pecola read the ad and saw his picture, she was drawn to his eyes. Soft gray eyes and a head full of thick black hair which called to her to run her fingers through it. “He looks alright to me. Have you met him or talked to him in person?”
“I have spoken to him over the phone. He has a nice tenor voice, a cowboy drawl and he is very polite and amenable,” Coraline told her as she sat behind her polished granite top desk. The office was not very big, but it was plush. The carpet was thick and Pecola’s feet sank into it, making her shoes almost disappear. The walls were covered in a textured wallpaper on the top portion and the base was mahogany wainscoting. No pictures were on the wall with the exception of six women. Six generations of women were on the walls, with Coraline being the last on in the succession.
Pecola asked incredulously, “Your company has been in business this long?”
“Even longer; we have been in New York since 1842 before the Great Migration of 1843 to the West. In some form or another, we have been making the perfect match between ranchers, farmers, miners, and men with visions who require wives who can help that vision grow,” she said and paused. “We have never, nor shall we ever, match women who desire to get married so they can be taken care of and spoiled. Our service puts together two people with commonalities to build something together.”
After that speech, it did not take her long to get registered. Coraline’s company did require a physical and blood test. The same was required of the males.
Coraline told her, “Even if it takes us 3 months or 3 years, our male clients are subjected to fresh blood testing and physicals every six months. We don’t want to send women across the country or the world to live with some man on his deathbed.”
“How do you know these men are legit?”
“We have our own investigators who go out, observe, take photos of a day in the life, without their knowledge,” she said with a smile.
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“No. In the contract, it states that they are willing to be observed. The contract just does not specify when ” she told her.
“Oh, okay. So I can take everything you have given me and told me about William Joseph Johnson to be true. This man, with these kind eyes and thick black hair, is willing to take the woman who writes a letter that sings to his heart to be his lawfully wedded wife?”
Coraline nodded her head. “Yes.”
Pecola wanted to be certain she understood. “And these pictures of this ranch are his home?”
“Yes, my company took those,” Coraline told her. “These are not photos that he took of his home to highlight the good parts.”
“And he truly owns 75 acres of land, with a lake on it, with mountains in the background, like in this picture?”
“It is all real, Pecola,” she said.
“Nope.” Pecola shook her head. “He is in a ton of debt right?”
“He is financially stable,” Coraline said.
“I can have that man as my husband if I write this letter, he likes it, and I am willing to give him a child in the first year of our marriage?”
“Yes; again, this is legitimate. All we ask is that you take a physical to ensure you are in good health. We will want to pull your credit report and do a basic background check on you.” Coraline watched her reaction.
“Deal me in,” Pecola said.
A visit to the doctor’s office in the next block was required for testing and a physical. Once that was complete, she returned to the office to have her makeup stripped off. It was reapplied to accentuate her almond-shaped eyes, full lips, and A- line nose.
I look pretty.
I felt pretty.
She was going to snag this man, move to Montana and live out the fairy tale in the stories that she wrote.
Giddy with excitement, Pecola’s return trip to Brooklyn had a new focus. In her bag was a photo of her new husband and his address. Anxious to pen a letter, she opted instead of typing one, she would hand write it in ink with her beautiful cursive handwriting and send it to him.
Not to him, but to William Joseph. Billy Joe. Billy Joe Johnson. My future husband.
She clamped the pen in her hand between her fingers as she prayed over her words. Once more she looked at his photo, then began to write.
“In your eyes, I see a longing...”
4. Love and Learning...
Augusta 2014, Rocking J Ranch, Montana
The click of the bedroom door made her jump. The footfalls of his boots behind her made little prickles down her spine and brought goosebumps to her skin. He stood so close the heat of him seem to make the satiny dress stick to her body. Determined fingers tugged at the rest of the zipper, exposing her back to the hot stuffy room. The dress was going to come off in a hurry if he had his way.
“It’s really warm in here,” she said with a dry mouth.
Billy Joe was out of words; the time for talking was over. He quickly moved to the window, pulled back the drape, and clicked the button on the window air conditioning unit, allowing streams of cool air to permeate the thick tension in the room. In seconds, he was back at her side, sliding the expensive, pretty white dress from
her shoulders allowing it to pool at her feet. The lacy underwear she wore was also expensive, purchased for this moment for her husband to enjoy. He fingered the frilly lace that lay perfectly across her firm round butt cheeks.
In her ear, his warm breath whispered, “Turn around so I can see you.”
Slowly, she stepped out of the dress to turn and face him. Nerves jangled, she wanted to take off running. The look on his face held her firm. He looked her up and down, then he gently fingered the lace cupped bra strap.
“Ooweee, that sure is pretty. It matches, too,” he told her. “Did you buy these for me?”
Pecola swallowed hard, “For our wedding night, yes...”
“I sure do thank you because you look mighty fine...mighty fine,” he said as he took a step forward.
She took a step back.
Billy Joe took another step and Pecola took one more step back.
“We are going to have a bit of trouble loving each other if I am too tired from chasing you about this room,” he told her with a slight twist of his lip.
“I’m sorry...I just... I ...,” she tried to say something to explain.
“I tell you what we are going to do,” he said as he walked away from her. “I’m going to go to the other side of the room and get undressed, and then meet you in the middle of that bed.”
“...that bed...” she repeated.
“Yep. That one right there,” he said as he took a seat in an old arm chair. The fabric on the arms of the chair was worn from what looked like many nights of worrying by someone sitting vigil over a bed. He removed one boot and began to sing as he took off the other. Pecola’s eyes were closed as she took off her undergarments and slid in between the cotton sheets of the bed. Please don’t let this be awful. Please don’t let this be awful. She pulled the bedding up under her neck, holding it as a protective shield. She heard the zipper of his pants being pulled down. Her nerves were getting the better of her. Two more seconds and she was going to be out to the bed and running down the hall.
The bed creaked under his weight when he climbed in beside her, landing next to her tense body with an “Oof.” His hand was warm when he touched her abdomen, sliding over to her side and pulling her closer to him. Pecola gripped the covers under her neck tighter. Billy Joe tugged at the bedding several more times before she released it with a frown on her face.
“You sure this ain’t your first time?” he asked with concern in his voice.
“It’s not,” she said softly. As uncomfortable as she felt, it may as well have been.
“Pecola,” he said. His mouth went to her shoulder, planting a small kiss while he watched the goosebumps form on her arms. Billy Joe rolled over, shifting his weight as he nudged her knees open with his leg.
Her eyes were squeezed shut. Her hands were fisted at her sides. The mass of him was on top of her. Warm skin touched hers as the feel of his manhood grazed her thigh. This is actually happening.
“Look at me, Pecola,” he said softly. Billy Joe looked down at her face. The brown eyes looked into his gray ones like a prisoner seeking a reprieve the day of his execution. He reached between them, gripped himself, aimed and pushed.
Her back arched and her mouth opened wide as she gasped, trying to grab back the air he had pushed out of her. Tentative movements began as he used small hip movements to deepen the connection. A deep throated groan escaped him as he pushed a bit harder.
This is not working.
Billy Joe wanted more engagement from his new bride. His head lowered to kiss her lips softly until she began to kiss him back. The kiss deepened and his tongue slipped inside her mouth, rubbing against her own. As she kissed him back, he pushed harder into her. Smaller kisses trailed down the side of her face, to her neck, her throat; he nibbled on her earlobe.
“You feel amazing, Pecola,” he whispered in her ear.
Calloused hands massaged her breasts as his pace increased. As much as he wanted it to be a pleasurable experience for them both, it was not going to happen. Six months of longing. Twelve months of letters. Six months of awaiting her arrival and she was here. In his arms. In his bed. As his wife.
He clenched his teeth, trying to stave off the ending but he couldn’t stop it. He held her hips as he grunted like a caveman through his release. He lay atop her, spent, somewhat sated, and feeling lousy for not doing a better job. Slowly, he pulled away from her to lie at her side.
Pecola grabbed for the covers and pulled them under her neck, gripping them tighter now than she had before he jostled her. As hard as she tried, even with her eyes aimed at the spots on the ceiling, she could not hold back the tears that began to run from the corners of her eyes. The first teardrop that rolled down her right cheek was caught on his fingertip before it fell. Those two heifers were right. I have gotten this all wrong. I have written it incorrectly too many times to count. All those women. All those men. Strangers on a wedding night. It feels like this. It feels like a violation.
“Are you hurt, Pecola?” The concern in his voice was evident.
“Only my pride,” she sniffled.
Billy Joe was confused. “You certain I didn’t hurt you?”
She shook her head no and wiped away another tear. His eyes were upon her as he came to rest his head in his hand while he leaned forward on his elbow. “Was it that terrible?”
“I’m being silly. I am your wife. I was just hoping we would have gotten to know each other better before we...got to the jostling,” she told him.
He went back to his professor mode to choose his words carefully. “Not me. If everything you said in your letters were true, then I know you. Everything I said in my letters was true and honest and you should know me.”
“But we never talked about this part, Billy,” she said to him.
Gentle fingers touched her face, turning it towards him. “Look at me.” He used a corner of the sheet to wipe away her tears.
“I will catch each tear that falls, wipe away any sadness in your heart, and shower you with all my affection,” he told her. “But a man needs to get some jostling done on a regular basis!”
He started to laugh, which elicited a smile from her in return. “As we spend more time with each other, Pecola, you will get comfortable with me and then our times together ain’t gonna be anything like this. I’m counting on it,” he said with a waggle of his brows.
“I’m being silly,” she said.
“No, you aren’t,” he said as his finger traced her bottom lip. “I could have done better, but damn, you are a mighty fine looking woman! And all mine too! I lost all my cool points,” he told her with a sheepish grin.
She still hadn’t said anything of substance on why she was crying. He was all in and going for broke. “...Then you had on them fancy panties that matched your brassiere...you know I ain’t used to nothing so foofy; heck I wanted to get on my knees and lick those right offa ya cute little caramel colored bottom!”
Finally, she started to laugh. “Somehow, I am comforted by those words,” she said as she sniffled and wiped her nose.
The professor hat was back on as he opened his heart and let forth some truth into the moment to give her perspective. “I waited for you, Pecola,” he said.
“Waited for me?”
“Yes. That ad was up for 18 months. I have bags of letters in there and none touched my heart but yours. After I got your first letter, no other woman mattered to me but you. All I wanted was you so I waited. I waited until you got here to me,” he said as his hand rested on her hip.
He was close enough she could smell the biscuit on his breath. “I saw the picture of you, but refused to believe it wasn’t lighting, makeup, and camera angles,” he said. “Your words were perfection and in them, I felt something familiar. Yet when you stepped off the plane in Billings in your fancy white dress, I couldn’t believe my luck. You came. To marry me. To end my loneliness,” he stopped and got quiet.
Billy Joe was stuck between two worlds. In one world words were e
verything and another world required physical strength, broken grammar, and a strong back. He wanted her to be the bridge between the two.
She spoke to him softly, “I am here.”
“I am glad that you are,” he said as he kissed her on the nose. The bed squeaked when he rolled over and popped upright on his feet on the opposite side of the bed. His nude body was full of scars, muscles, and absolutely the right amount of body hair. Damn, he is mighty fine himself.
He was grinning at her, “I don’t know about you, but there’s a pork chop and biscuit calling my name, and I ain’t gonna keep them waiting.”
Hesitantly, she rolled to her side and stood up on the other side of the bed, her bare form exposed and her eyes looking about for the items she had taken off in haste when she trying to hide under the covers from him. She bent over and heard his breath catch. Pecola jumped and turned around.
“Dear Heavens!” he exclaimed.
“What?”
“You bend over like that again in front of me, damn a pork chop and biscuit, we’re getting back in that bed!” He said.
This time, she bent down but took her whole body down with her to gather her belongings, keeping her eyes on him, eyes that were twinkling when he watched her put the bra on and slip into the panties. He threw the shirt he’d worn with the hole it over to her.
“You don’t want to ruin that pretty dress with chicken grease. Put on my shirt,” he said.
Barefoot, she followed him through the bedroom door to the kitchen. He took pretty plates with small yellow flowers from the cabinet, rinsed them, and loaded his with food. On her plate, he put on a thigh and a drumstick, with a small serving of casserole, before popping each plate in the microwave to heat.
“Do you have any honey?” she asked him.
Montana (Modern Mail Order Bride Book 2) Page 3
