Present Danger

by Susan Andersen

  She, on the other hand, had been looking forward quite eagerly to some sweaty, vital sex with her new husband. She had always had an intense secret interest in the subject, even if she hadn’t had an abundance of hands-on experience. Ultimately, however, she’d had to concede that their love life was most likely not going to improve, a concession that had left her feeling restless and frustrated in a way she hadn’t quite known how to alleviate. She knew it wasn’t to her credit that she’d managed to console herself fairly well for a while with her newfound wealth.

  Finding herself undesired as a woman and having no useful purpose, however, had begun to pall after the second year of marriage. There were too many empty hours in the day and she could only fill a fraction of them with shopping, lunches, workouts with her personal trainer, and tennis on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Her husband paraded her at business deals and took her out several evenings a week to popular restaurants and watering holes where they could see and be seen by those he considered important, but she wanted to be more than a decoration on display. She wanted to seek gainful employment, but Wesley wouldn’t hear of her going to work.

  Part time? she had pleaded.

  NO.

  She had waited a couple of months and then had suggested volunteer work, thinking he could not possibly object to that. Many of the women in their social circle gave their time to worthy charitable organizations.

  She was wrong in her assumption, as Wesley was swift to point out to her in no uncertain terms. He wanted her on call at a moment’s notice to grace his gallery openings, his business lunches, dinners, and social functions. He expected her to be impeccably turned out at all times in the clothes that he’d selected. He did not intend to compete with anyone else for her time.

  For another two years, she tried to accommodate him. She tried equally hard not to resent being made to feel more like a valuable collector’s item than a desirable woman. She wanted someone who would throw her down on a bed and make mad, impulsive, passionate love to her. She wanted someone who would muss her up without a moment’s thought. She hated feeling as if she weren’t bright enough to climb down off her state-of-the-art lighted pedestal and actually do something useful.

  When she told him she wanted a baby and he refused even to consider the notion, it was the beginning of the end.

  She’d thought about it long and hard before she ever proposed the idea to Wesley. She would love to have a child. She had a wealth of love stored up inside of her just waiting for someone on whom she could lavish it. Wesley had denied her himself for that purpose, but children thrived on love. God knew she had an abundance of time and energy to spare. And all men wanted an heir, didn’t they? Surely, this was one idea with which Wesley could not possibly quibble.

  He flatly refused.

  Why, she had demanded. For God’s sake, why not?

  His reply had curdled the last remaining bit of affection she still held for him. Drop it, Aunie, he had said in that damnably peremptory tone of voice of his, the one that expected instant obedience. You’re not having a baby. It will ruin your figure.

  He had hurt her in the past and he’d made her angry. She’d known he was a man who sought perfection in his possessions, but it had never truly occurred to her before then that that was all she was to him—just another objet d’art. She began to consider the notion the day he flatly rejected her proposal, gave her that preposterous justification, and then turned away as easily as if he had just settled a minor altercation with one of his gallery employees.

  She went to her mother and tentatively broached the idea of divorce. It was the first time she had mentioned the word out loud, and she supposed she should not have been surprised to discover her mother was appalled at the mere thought.

  I can’t continue to live this way, Mama.

  Don’t be foolish. sugah. You have all the wealth and social advantages a woman could desire.

  Mama, it’s not enough; haven’t you heard a word I’ve been saying? I’m nothing more to Wesley than a pretty possession. I’m not allowed to work; I’m not allowed to bear a child. Unless he wants to show me off, he acts as though I don’t even exist. Surely you can see that it’s simply not enough.

  I can see that you’re an ungrateful child.

  Her marriage limped along for several more months, but the idea of divorce, once planted in her brain, would not give Aunie a moment’s peace. Finally, the day came when the voice whispering in her mind was louder than any rationale she could summon to counter it.

  She made an appointment with a prominent attorney, Jordan St. John. When Wesley came home from work that evening, she told him she had filed the papers.

  Of all the reactions he could have made, she did not expect the one she got. He laughed.

  I’m serious, Wesley.

  Don’t be ridiculous. Go put on your red Scaasi—we have dinner reservations at eight. She could still see his manicured fingertips impatiently tapping the crystal of his Rolex watch and the irritation in his eyes when he looked back up at her. And for God’s sake, do something with your makeup. You can’t be seen in public looking like that.

  When she finally convinced him that she was, indeed, serious, she was terrified he was going to have a stroke. He was enraged; there was no other word for it. He threatened her with all manner of legal harassment; he told her he would see to it that she was left penniless and socially ostracized if she insisted on going through with her insane proposal.

  By that time, she’d reached the point where she truly didn’t care. She just wanted to feel that she had some worth in this world that didn’t begin and end in her looks. She also knew deep in her heart that she would never feel worthwhile or even entirely real as long as she was married to Wesley.

  She told him to do what he had to do.

  To her amazement he made a complete turnaround and agreed to an amicable settlement. Suddenly as gracious as he’d been in their courting days, he insisted that she keep the house and the Mercedes. He moved into his club and instructed his own lawyer to settle a generous sum in her name. She was baffled by his abrupt change of heart, but she didn’t question it. She was simply grateful that the fighting was at an end. When their divorce was ultimately finalized, she felt as though she had gained a whole new lease on life.

  It was not a feeling destined to be long-lived.

  James flipped on the light that was mounted to his drafting table, dropped onto the padded seat of his secretarial chair, and picked up a pencil. Ten minutes later, he tossed the pencil aside and drummed his fingers against the slanted edge of his table in an irritated rhythm, no closer to inspiration than he had been when he’d first sat down. Damn. He was restless and edgy and concentration was simply beyond him.

  He popped the cap off a cold Dos Equis and prowled the apartment but there wasn’t a thing there capable of holding his interest. The book he’d been enjoying last night was suddenly boring and dry; there was nothing worth viewing on television, and what in hell ever happened to the days when FM radio meant listening while smooth-voiced DJ’s played an entire uninterrupted side of an album? He couldn’t even find anything good to eat in this place.

  James killed off his beer and grabbed his scuffed leather jacket. He had to get out of here for a while; he was going nuts.

  He stopped at the grocery store and bought some provisions, bypassing the chocolate-chip-mint ice cream regretfully. He wasn’t in the mood to go home yet; and unfortunately by the time he was, the ice cream would most likely be reduced to a soggy puddle in the back of his Jeep. Storing the groceries, he headed for a nearby tavern that served excellent barbecued-beef sandwiches.

  A sandwich, a beer, and the smoky, noisy atmosphere of the tavern began to unravel his uncharacteristic tension. He put a quarter on the pool table to reserve himself a place in the lineup waiting to challenge the current champ and ordered another beer. Leaning an elbow on the bar, he sipped his beer slowly as he watched the tavern patrons.

  The little blonde by the j
ukebox reminded him vaguely of his new tenant, the Southern belle. God, she had hummed while she was sanding the wall this afternoon. She couldn’t carry a tune worth a damn, but still, who would have expected that kind of cheeriness from someone eating plaster dust? Especially someone like her. Otis was right: he’d only made the offer in the first place from a contrary desire to embarrass her. Her eagerness in accepting and her cheerful industriousness had knocked him on his butt. You were right, Mistah Rydah, sandin’ keeps you nice and warm.

  Offhand, he could think of about a dozen ways of keeping her warm that would be a helluva lot more enjoyable.

  James sucked in an involuntary breath and aspirated beer into his lungs. He coughed harshly. Where in hell had that thought come from? He didn’t go for the petite, vulnerable type; he liked them tall and experienced, girls with big tits who knew the score and were no smarter than they had to be. He enjoyed good-natured women who didn’t expect more from him than a night’s pleasure.

  Hell, he was horny; that was all. All that edgy restlessness that had driven him out of his apartment was simply a result of having gone too long without any good, raunchy, uncomplicated sex. That was the only reason those mind images featuring the Magnolia Midget in glorious technicolor had popped with momentary vividness into his brain. Jeez.

  He took another sip of beer and rolled the cool bottle across his flushed forehead.

  “Hello, James.”

  James lowered the bottle and found himself staring smack dab into a truly spectacular set of mammaries showcased in a thin tank top and framed by a loose, open jacket. His face creased in half-a-dozen places as he grinned. Well, all right. This was more like it. He raised his eyes. “Shelley! Haven’t seen you for a while. Sit down. Let me buy you a drink.”

  She smiled in pleasure and slid onto the vacant stool next to him. “Thanks, I’d like that. Make it white wine.”

  James motioned for the bartender.

  He felt himself returning to normal as the evening progressed. He flirted, laughed, and teased. He pushed aside the stray thought that Shelley’s skin wasn’t as smooth and clear as he remembered almost in the same instant that it formed in his mind. He enjoyed the way she pressed her lush breasts against his arm when they talked and how she encouraged him when he went up against the pool-table champ. Unfortunately, the encouragement didn’t do him a world of good. The guy was exceptional, and one game was all that James got. He was just grateful he’d only had two balls left on the felt by the time his opponent finally sank the eight ball … at least he hadn’t been totally skunked. Shelley’s brand of commiseration took the sting right out of his defeat in any case.

  It was growing late when he leaned over and nuzzled her ear. “Wanna take me home?” he breathed. “You can show me all those new colors you were telling me about.” Shelley was a manicurist who specialized in acrylic nails.

  “Oh, James, I can’t. Me and my roommate painted my room, and I have to sleep out on the couch tonight.” She leaned close, cuddling his bicep between her full breasts again. “Let’s go to your place.”

  For just an instant, James was tempted to break his number one cardinal rule: Never bring the ladies home. Shelley was, after all, exactly what the doctor ordered.

  Then the moment passed. “Uh, that won’t work. I’ve got one of my brothers staying with me.” Once women spent the night, he’d discovered the hard way, they had a habit of forever after dropping by unannounced and making themselves at home. Then he always ended up hurting their feelings when he told them he didn’t want someone to cook his dinner or straighten up his living room. Or worse, they noticed his work on the drafting table, discovered who he was, and then the trouble really began.

  According to Lola, he was a real pig, but that was just the way it was. He didn’t need the complications.

  James visited with Shelley for another hour, but when he finally left, he left alone.

  This had just not been his day.

  CHAPTER 3

  Lola pulled the basal thermometer from her mouth and made a notation on the chart next to the bed. She reclined back on her pillow, feeling depressed. It looked like tomorrow was going to be the day, and Otis would be gone. His rotation at the station began this afternoon. Damn! She tossed aside the covers and slowly climbed from the bed.

  She was brewing herself a cup of herbal tea when Otis sidled up behind her. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. “Mornin’ baby.”

  “Mornin’,” she responded glumly and when Otis’s mouth returned to the side of her neck, she hunched her shoulder irritably. He slowly straightened.

  “I can see you’re in a wonderful mood. Thermometer give you some bad news this mornin’?”

  “It looks like tomorrow.”

  “So recreational sex today is out of the question, I guess.” His voice turned bitter. “Gotta save up all those sperm for when they’ll really count!”

  “I don’t suppose you could come home for a while tomorrow.”

  “No, dammit, I can’t.” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “How long are we going to keep putting ourselves through this, Lola? Remember when we used to make love just because we felt like it, not because some friggin’ chart said it was time?”

  “I want a baby, mon!”

  “So do I, girl. But I don’t want to sacrifice our entire life to the project in the meantime. There must be hundreds of black babies out there just beggin’ for a good home. I want you to give some serious consideration to adoption.”

  “I want your baby,” she maintained stubbornly.

  Otis stiffened and dropped his hands. They’d been over this before … too damned many times. It was starting to drive a wedge between them. Lately, he’d been getting the feeling she wouldn’t really welcome his lovemaking unless there was the possibility it would impregnate her. The thought hurt more than he could ever let her know. Angrily, he turned away. “I’m going to work,” he said stiffly. Grabbing his jacket from the closet, he headed for the door.

  “Otis.”

  He stopped in the open doorway but didn’t turn back to her. Lola came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against the warm muscles of his back. “Don’t go. You don’t have to be there for hours.”

  He remained stiff in her embrace. “I’m sick of this, Lola. We had something so rare and good, and I can feel it slippin’ away. I want to be wanted just for myself again, not because it’s time for me to play the stud. And I swear, if my brother offers his services one more time, I’m gonna flatten him.”

  “I know.” Her hands slid down his hard thighs, then slowly rose again. Long, brown fingers brushed seductively back and forth across the fly of his slacks. “I’m sorry for my lousy attitude, mon. I love you.”

  He remained where he was standing but slowly reached out and closed the door.

  “Let me start over again,” she whispered. “Say ‘mornin’ baby.’”

  “Mornin’ baby.”

  “Mornin’ yourself, soldier boy. Wanna fool around wid an island girl … just for the heck of it?”

  “Yeah.” He turned in her arms. “Oh, baby, yeah.”

  “Happy Halloween, Lola,” Aunie said cheerfully when the door opened to her knock. “Otis home?”

  “No. He’s on his rotation at the firehouse.”

  “Oh, rats. The lamp in my bedroom quit working and I was hoping he could help me fix it.”

  “Help you?”

  “Okay, fix it.” Aunie’s unrepentant grin slowly faded when it was not returned.

  “James is home,” Lola said flatly. “Get him to fix it for you. He’s better wid the electrical stuff anyway.”

  Aunie frowned. “Lola, have I done something to offend you?” Ever since the day they’d met, Lola had felt like a very good friend. Friends had never been overabundant in Aunie’s life. Today, however, she was receiving the distinct impression she was not welcome, and her self-esteem dropped a notch lower than usual. She backed up a step
.

  “No.” Lola reached out and gripped Aunie’s wrist. “I’m sorry. I’m just depressed today, and I’m takin’ it out on everyone around me.” Her dark eyes filled with quick tears. “I made Otis angry wid me earlier and now I’m hurtin’ your feelin’s.”

  “My feelings will survive. You want to talk about it or should I go away?”

  Lola pulled her through the door. “I want some company.”

  “The doctors, they can’t find anything wrong wid either of us,” she confided awhile later. Her chin rested on her updrawn knees as she gazed unhappily at Aunie. “We’ve been married for seven years and tryin’ for a child for nearly four, but I just cannot seem to get pregnant. For a long time it didn’t matter so much, but lately it’s practically all I can think about. It’s become such a sensitive issue, Otis’s sister Leeanne dreaded to tell me she was pregnant, and wid good reason. I was hoppy for her, but also I was so jealous I could have screamed. Now, it’s startin’ to drive me and Otis apart; and, Aunie, if I let that hoppen, if I drive him away because I can’t stop obsessin’ ‘bout having a baby, I don’t know what I’ll do. I love that mon so much.”

  “Have you ever considered adoption?”

  “That’s what Otis wants to do, but I don’t know … I want to give him his own child.”

  “I wanted a baby when I was married,” Aunie said slowly. She had never admitted this to anyone except her mother and lawyer, and it was difficult to admit to now; but perhaps, if she could make Lola see how lucky she was to have Otis … “My husband refused even to consider the possibility. The reason he gave me was that it would ruin my figure.” When Lola stared at her incredulously, Aunie met her eyes and continued, “Kind of gives you an idea of my importance in his life, huh? I envy you Otis so much, Lola. It’s obvious he’s crazy about you, and he doesn’t strike me as a man who would love a child any less just because that child wasn’t created from his own seed.”