Aye, I am a Fairy

by Dani Haviland

  “Colleen, this is James and Leah. He’s the man who’s buying my spare shirt and pants. Do you think you’ll have a chance in the next few days to alter the pants for him?” Walter asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” she replied, then realized how rude she sounded. “I mean, since I can’t get anyone to talk to me about publishing my book without a thousand dollars in my hand, yes, I’ll have all sorts of time.” Colleen lightly stroked the book on the credenza, a hand-lettered and handbound book on plants and herbs of North Carolina, her pride and masterpiece, the result of many hours of research, drawing, and coloring.

  “May I?” James asked when he saw the title of the book.

  Colleen handed it to him graciously, and he accepted it in the same manner. “Wow,” he said softly, as he gently turned the pages. Each one was hand-lettered with watercolor-tinted line drawings of the flora of North Carolina. “Did you do this yourself?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yes, I did,” she said proudly. “Every bit of research from the Latin name, physical characteristics, uses, antidotes, and then the illustrations. I didn’t want to get too carried away with those, but it was important to show the colors of the flowers and the leaves, too. I thought I would have found a publisher by now, but each one I called said it was of limited interest, and I would be better off to publish it myself. Of course, that would cost at least $1,000, and where could I possibly get that much money?”

  “Do you have all of this scanned into a computer?” James asked, looking up briefly before poring back over the work of art and science.

  “It’s already formatted and camera ready for the printer. They told me how to do it. All I need is enough money for the first run. I’ll own all the copies and can sell them for whatever I can get at the events or maybe to some of the garden clubs. There are lots of groups interested in buying it, but I can’t sell them if I can’t get them printed!”

  “So, would you sell me this original for, say $2,000?”

  Colleen’s eyes opened almost beyond her eyebrows. “Absolutely!” she said, then suddenly started coughing. She stumbled into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water to try and settle her cough. “Excuse me, but, are you serious?” She took a long drink then asked, “I mean, you’d do that?”

  “I would if I could have this hand-illustrated copy, just like it is right now.” James lifted the book to his face and sniffed it. “You’ve used this to press leaves or flowers in, haven’t you?”

  “No, but I did make the paper for the front piece. See, it’s a little thicker and has violet petals embossed in it. I only did it for the title page, though. That’s okay, isn’t it? I mean, I can take it out if you’d like. I mean, I’d do whatever you want for $2,000!”

  “No, the book is fine, but if you could see fit to take in the pair of pants your brother has for sale and have it done in, say, two days, I’d throw in a few extra bucks.”

  “No extra bucks needed. Walter, bring me my sewing basket and those pants. I’m going to take some measurements and make this fine…British?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. James nodded. “Make this fine 21st century British citizen into a common 18th century American.”

  “And I will make this fine 18th century botanist extraordinaire and seamstress into a 21st century publisher. Deal?” he asked, as he reached into his pocket and rolled off twenty $100 bills.

  “Deal!” she said. She snatched the bills from his hand and did a little two-step money dance. “And here,” she added, reaching for the book that was still in his hands, “I’ll even autograph it for you.”

  She read as she wrote out in broad script, “For James, May all your ivies be non-poisonous. Colleen Joest. You’re a life saver, James.”

  “No, your life was never in danger. I am, however, an investor and believe in the entrepreneurial spirit. I’m sure you’ll make enough with your first printing to be able to take care of the next several printings by yourself. That is, unless a big publisher decides that there’s more to this fine reference piece than just data. Your illustrations are fantastic. This is a great work of art. Thank you.”

  “Oh, thank you. Now, put the book down and stand up straight. I’ll need a few measurements, and then you’re free to go and do whatever you want.”

  **38 Frustrated

  August 12, 2013, 4:00 PM

  “Sometimes it feels like it’s going to take forever for August 17th to get here, and then other times, it’s like we can’t possibly get our shit together—I mean, our act together—in less than a week. I mean, what have we accomplished? Squat. There, that’s better. See, I didn’t say shit. Damn, I just said it, didn’t I? Well, you’re just going to have to believe me when I say I am trying to curb my cursing.” Leah pursed her lips in reflection. “I don’t think women were supposed to cuss back then.”

  James didn’t remark on her last comment, but wanted to. He opened his mouth to address the ‘what have we done so far’ situation, but Leah cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, women aren’t supposed to cuss now, either. Right? That’s what you were thinking?”

  “Well, it doesn’t take a psychic to pick up on that one, does it? I mean cursing is pretty much a bad habit or laziness or…”

  “Or frustration,” she finished for him. “Damn, shit, hell, and well, I only say the ‘f’ word if I’m really, really mad. Sorry, I cut you off again, didn’t I? That’s mostly habit, a bad one I know, and well…I don’t do it to be rude. I guess I’ve spent so much time around sick or injured people who either couldn’t talk at all or had such a hard time speaking that I just found it more convenient to finish their sentences for them so they didn’t have to strain themselves. Well, it’s something like that. Impatience is part of it, too. I promise to be a good wife and keep my mouth shut unless it’s appropriate, okay?”

  “Honey, I don’t mind if you talk. What I have to say isn’t any more important than what you have to contribute. Why would you think otherwise?”

  “Well, I picked up one of the Sinclaire novels this morning and scanned through it again. I’d read this one before and would like to read some—well, all of them, again—but I don’t have the time. I was just refreshing my memory about what went on. One of the things Sarah,” Leah dipped her head to make sure he knew who she was talking about.

  He nodded back. He had read the first book in the ‘Lost’ series just a week ago and knew Sarah was the 20th century doctor who had found herself back in 18th century Scotland.

  Leah continued, “Well, one of the frustrations Sarah had was that no one—until she met and became friends with Jody—would listen to her because she was a female. Hey,” she said with an expression of surprise, as if she had just discovered the answer to why there was air, “Sarah married Jody because she pretty much had to. Kind of like you and me. They were friends, too, but she didn’t plan on getting married. She really wanted to go back to her life in the 20th century. Well, at least at first, she did. I just thought it was kind of strange that we’re doing the same thing.”

  “No,” James declared adamantly.

  “What do you mean no?” she asked, feeling very insulted. She had just had an epiphany, and he was emphatically denying it.

  “I mean, we don’t have to get married. Like I told you before, I want to marry you, okay?” James looked at Leah’s suddenly pale face and continued. “Now, I will concede that we are becoming good friends first like they did, but you know, I think Jody wanted to marry Sarah, and that greedy and selfish lawyer just happened to find a way to make it easy for him to get it accomplished. And Sarah did make a choice, remember? She chose him; she didn’t take that one free-shot to go back to her 20th century lifestyle. Now, I want you to be clear on this—whether we are in the 21st century or the 18th century, I want to marry you, okay?”

  Leah studied the freckles on her hands, not wanting to look into his deep brown eyes. “Uh, yeah, but I thought we were only getting married so you could protect me in the wilds of 1781.”

  “Yeah, well, what
did you think I was going to do? Dump you back there and come back here and forget all about you? Or maybe both of us would come back here if it was too crazy or scary or whatever, and then I’d ask you for a divorce? Really?” He nudged her head up with the side of his finger so she had to look him in the eyes, “Do you think I’m a cad?”

  “No,” she said softly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I guess I didn’t think very far ahead. I mean, not really, I mean realistically. Those grand delusions that we talk about, having a family and farming, and well… I want them to happen, I really do, but it just doesn’t seem possible.”

  “Okay, here, maybe I can help you visualize it. You have a box of seeds coming today, right?” Leah nodded, her eyes closed to help with the visualization. “Now, I have a bit of experience with gardening. Believe it or not, your mother and I have that in common. Now, have you ever seen a petunia seed?” Leah shook her head. “Hmm, well how about a pumpkin seed?”

  “Oh, I…” Leah began to finish his thought for him, but decided she’d better settle for a polite, “uh-huh.”

  “One white seed, smaller than a fingernail, can grow into a vine that spreads for meters in all directions and produces fruits over fifty kilos. Now,” James lifted Leah’s head and opened her eye with his thumb and index finger, “we have both a seed and fertile ground, and we are going to have a bumper crop of a marriage, okay?”

  “Yes, Peter,” she answered with a grin.

  “Huh? Oh, well in that case,” he said, suddenly getting the pun, “I’ll get started a little early on the pumpkin eating.” He bent over her neck and nibbled under her ear, tickling her with his week-old beard. “You’re good enough to eat even without the sugar and spices….”

  James pulled back from his neck-nuzzling to see her face. He could tell by the way she had scrunched her shoulders into him that she had enjoyed it. He had, too, and was finding it difficult to back away from a full-fledged pass, complete with groping and long, deep kissing. He forced himself to stop, pulled away, and patted her on the shoulder, sucking in a deep breath to rein in his compulsions.

  She sat down and was evidently doing a little composing herself. Her hair wasn’t messy, but she was running her fingers through it, pushing it behind her ears, twisting it into a rope like she was going to wrap it into a bun. Her next softly spoken words shocked him.

  “So, do you want to have sex with me?” she asked gingerly, her eyes cast down. She didn’t have the nerve to look at him—it was difficult enough to voice the question without looking into those beautiful, dark, long-lashed eyes. And it was more than a matter of curiosity. She really needed to know if he could enjoy having sex with her.

  James put the side of his index finger under her chin, brought her face up to meet his, and looked her in the eye, “Only if you’re sober.”

  She gulped hard. He was thinking of his ex-wife’s need to be drunk before she would let him touch her. That wasn’t the kind of answer she had expected. Shoot! That was about as horrid an answer as he could have given!

  Damn! He had unintentionally put her in an awkward position. His sarcastic remark hadn’t answered her question, and she obviously didn’t want to ask again. He had to perform damage control quickly. James gently pushed a non-existent hair off her forehead and tried to give her an opening for mutual reassurance. “Now, if you want to see if it is even possible, I’d be willing to give it a trial run. I mean, how do you say in America, two consenting adults?”

  Leah blinked hard twice, stunned, and mute.

  Her body was a mere foot away from his—a motionless—frozen yet warm—a breathing statue of Athena with unseeing eyes. Her silence made him uneasy. He had apparently just committed a foul with his unromantic ‘sex only’ pass. His foolhardy proposal of a technical, biological exercise rather than suggesting they share a passionate, caring intimacy had now become a major fumble in their game plan. Hopefully, he wouldn’t lose her affections altogether.

  Leah remained mum, but wasn’t going to let the subject die. She was intentionally maintaining and stretching the tension of the moment by walking away from him. She played with her smartphone on the table, spinning it around on its axis to see how long it would spin, then flipped the light switch on and off. She turned to him, allowed, “Hmm…” to escape her lips, then walked over to his bag on the floor and turned it slightly so it was aligned with the room’s air conditioning unit.

  Her delayed response was eating him alive, but he wasn’t brave enough to say, ‘Yes, I want you; sorry I was such a jerk.’ He bit his bottom lip. He thought the titillation of ‘two consenting adults’ would allow them to get close enough physically that she could see how it really was for him. Maybe his actions—releasing his pent up passion—could say what his words could not. He wanted her to know he was a heterosexual man and that she very much appealed to him. Hell, he wanted her in every way possible: both physically and emotionally! But he couldn’t—or didn’t want to—tell her flat out, ‘I’m not gay; sorry you had the wrong impression about me.’ If he did, he would be admitting that he knowingly deceived her, allowed her to believe he was homosexual just so he could, well…he just couldn’t tell her. That would possibly—no, would most likely—ruin the trust aspect of their relationship. He doubted she would believe he had allowed the misconception to continue because he wanted to be close to her, to really get to know her as a person. That sounded lame to him, and he knew it was the truth!

  Leah opened a dresser drawer slowly, slammed it shut, then quickly turned about to face him, her decision made. “Can we cuddle first and see what pops up?” she asked with a sly grin. If nothing popped up with some serious snuggling—and she could even throw in some slightly aggressive foreplay, if necessary—then she would know he was a dud. She did want to marry him and loved him as a person. But if she was going to be with him for a very long time—or at least till death do us part—she wanted children and passion. She wasn’t bold enough to explain that to him, but really wished she could.

  “You see,” he replied stoically, trying to hide the immense sense of relief he felt, “cuddling—now that’s a good idea. I know for a fact that it is possible, but I want you to know two things.”

  He pulled himself up tall and addressed her as if she was the Queen of Spain and he was declaring his intent to discover America for her, “I want children, but I have to have passion, too. I care for you deeply, but if we can’t be passionate in our intimacy, well, I think we’d both end up frustrated, no matter how much we cared for each other.” He relaxed his posture, found a fistful of moxie, moved two inches away from her, his voice now casual and added, “Shoot, you might as well be a lesbian if that were the case.”

  “Me, a lesbian?!” Leah straightened her back, pulled back her shoulders and screeched, “Why, why…”

  James reached out and quickly pulled her to him, stopping her protests with a quick, closed-mouthed kiss. Her body was rigid from lips to shoulders, and although she didn’t push him away, she was unresponsive. He didn’t let her posture stop him, though—he was in control now. He continued his soft yet firm smooch until he felt her mouth soften and yield to his. She was melting like milk chocolate in his mouth. His lips relaxed and parted with the mental image. He felt her respond, her tongue gently probing his. He released her arms and reached around her back, holding the air around her without clutching her to him.

  The hands that had wanted to push him away, now slid around his waist, slipping down to gently hold his buttocks, cupping them, letting him know they were hers. She paused for a breath, so he did, too.

  “Can we cuddle now?” he asked with a wry smile, looking deep into her eyes with confidence.

  Her answer in the affirmative was a low, purring moan, as her hands possessively clutched his bottom. Her eyes shifted side to side, as if making a decision. She swallowed, found her voice, and whispered, “Just a minute.”

  She leaned sideways toward the table, keeping one hand on his butt cheek, and grabbed her
smartphone. She used her free hand to awkwardly push the power button, then set it back down. She straightened up again and pulled her upper body away from his, but maintained contact in their nether regions. She reached into his shirt pocket for his phone. It was easy to grasp, but she decided to play, and rubbed her finger across his nipple a couple of times. “Ooh, it gets hard in a hurry,” she whispered, as she removed both her hand and the phone from his pocket.”

  “That’s not all that does,” he murmured back. She held up his phone for him to power down, then set it down on the table next to hers.

  “No distractions,” he said, and let go of her shoulder. He took a half step back, still holding her left hand, and led her to the bed. They stood beside it, neither wanting to make the first horizontal move, and continued kissing until he was physically uncomfortable.

  “Hold on a minute,” he said. He turned away from her, stuck his hand down his pants, and rearranged his manhood. “I think I almost broke it,” he said sheepishly.

  “Do you want me to kiss it better?” Leah offered, her eyes cast down so he wouldn’t see her blush. She’d never done anything like that, but wanted to try, at least with him.

  James gulped. He did want her to kiss it better, to kiss him anywhere and everywhere. He was just ready to answer in the affirmative when they both heard noises outside.

  “Wait right here,” he said, and helped her sit on the edge of the king-sized, bedspread-covered play area that they had been sleeping on for a week. “I’ll put out the sign.”