Present Danger

by Susan Andersen

  “Hang on a sec,” he said through the door, and when he opened it Aunie was reminded of Halloween day. Once again he was wearing a white shirt that was unbuttoned and hanging open and jeans that were not zipped. His hair was damp. “Hi,” he said in surprise. He buttoned up his shirt and stuffed the tails into his waistband, zipping and buttoning the fly. “I thought you’d still be at school. You finish your final already?”

  Some of her optimism drained away when he didn’t move out of the doorway or invite her in, but she determinedly gave him the benefit of the doubt. “Yes, and I think I did all right.” She looked up into his face. “We’ve got to talk, Jimmy.”

  He stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. It was strictly a reflex action on his part, not something he’d consciously planned to obstruct her. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I know. It’s been a hellish couple of days.” He placed his hand on her arm and out of habit began to guide her along the hall. “Let’s go down to your place.”

  She went cold all over. “No,” she replied through constricted vocal cords, pulling her arm free. “Let’s not.” All her old insecurities rose up to haunt her. Had she once again fooled herself into thinking there was something more to a relationship simply because she so desperately wanted there to be? Her eyes filled with tears. “I thought you loved me.”

  He stared at her, dumbfounded. “I do love you!”

  Suddenly, she was furious. “You love having sex with me!” she spat at him. “Sex! That’s all it is. But when it comes down to allowin’ me into your life … boy, is that a different matter!”

  “I don’t have sex with you, Magnolia; I make love to you.”

  “Indeed?” she said with flat disbelief as the episode in her kitchen flashed through her mind. “What’s the difference?”

  James paled. “Jesus,” he whispered, staring down at her flushed and furious, upturned face. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “You don’t really believe that, do you Aunie? That there’s no difference between some slam-bam, back-alley fuck and the way you and I make love?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” she demanded. “How do I differ from your other girlfriends, Jimmy? Name me one way, aside from the obvious of course … that they all have big boobs and no intellect, while I have a big intellect and no boobs.”

  “Dammit, Aunie, there’s no comparison between you and the women I used to see! They were … friends. Hell, not even that, some of them. I love you!”

  “Then why am I just as excluded from your life as they were, Jimmy? Why haven’t you once invited me into your apartment, showed me your work? And how come, if you make love to me the way you claim to do, the other day in my kitchen felt more like makin’ war?” She was mortified and furious with herself when she began to cry in earnest. “Why did I feel like Ah was bein’ punished, Gawd, Ah hate it that I can’t even remembah what was said that started the whole thing!”

  “You called me a prick.”

  “I didn’t!” The word had arisen in her mind on a number of occasions, particularly where Wesley was concerned, but she’d never said it aloud in her life.

  “Yes you did, baby. And hearing it come from your mouth … I don’t know, I lost what little control I was exercising up to that point. “ He thrust his hand through his hair. “Dammit, Aunie!” I was scared to death and it transmuted into anger, he wanted to say. But Terrace machismo inoculated in the boy prevented the man from admitting it. He tried an oblique explanation instead. “Not only had you just nonchalantly informed me that someone was still watching you, you’d also put yourself at risk when you contacted Cunningham. So I guess when you called me a prick on top of it, I lost it. I decided to show you just how big a prick I could be.” He moved close and touched the tears streaming down her cheeks with a rough-tipped finger. “But I’m sorry, Aunie. I am. And I swear to God it didn’t occur to me until yesterday when we were talking about Greta-Leigh’s pacifier, but … Could I have gotten you pregnant?”

  She wiped her palms across her cheeks and sniffed. Knuckling her nose like a little girl, she hunched one shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve gone over it and over it, and the closest I can determine is that it was right on the boundary between the days that are safe and the days that aren’t. I won’t know for sure for a week or so.”

  “Have you thought about what you wanna do, if it turns out you are?”

  “Have I—? Of course, I’ve thought about it! That’s been practically all I’ve been able to think about.”

  “And I suppose you’ve come to some sort of decision?” he queried her neutrally. He felt he’d screwed up so many things in their relationship. He regretted his aggressiveness on Wednesday: the deliberately wounding words and the way he’d taken her in anger up against the fridge. He was sorry about his failure to use a condom, which had left her unprotected; sorrier still—given that look of betrayal on her face—about not sharing the most important aspects of his life with her: his home, his work. When he’d first made the decision to keep them separate, it had seemed a smart way to protect himself in case she walked out on him. Now it merely seemed childish. He was trying to make it up to her by showing her he’d abide by whatever decision she made and not attempt to muscle her into doing what he desired.

  Aunie’s emotions, however, were running high, her self-esteem was at an all-time low, and she misread his intentions entirely. She equated his carefully impartial tone with indifference, thought this was his way of humoring her. She jerked back from him furiously. “Don’t you patronize me, James!”

  Every defense he’d built over the course of two decades threatened to slam irrevocably into place, and his temper, which up until that moment he had managed to contain, flared at the way she’d repudiated his sincerely offered overture. “Patronize! Jesus, lady, I’m bending over backward here to be a New Age sensitive guy by letting you set all the rules! This is my kid we’re talking about if you’re pregnant, but it appears to me that I’m just spinnin’ my wheels because you’re determined to be pissed no matter what I say. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. Just what the hell do you want from me, Aunie?”

  Aunie plunged both hands into her hair and raked it off her forehead with such vigor her eyelids stretched. “I don’t know! Maybe I’d like, just once, for you to define the terms of our relationship! Every time there’s been a move to be made, I’ve had to make it and I’m tired of pushin’ myself in where I’m not even sure I’m wanted. I want to know if you are willin’ to take any risks in this, this … Gawd, I don’t even know what to call it! Love affair? Shack-up, what?”

  “Risks?” James roared. “You want risks? Fine, I’ve got one for you that’ll make your hair curl!” He grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her along behind him, pulling her through his apartment door and slamming it shut behind them.

  He dragged her over to his drafting table and pressed on her shoulders until she sank down onto the secretarial chair in front of it. “Here! Look at my stuff. Explore my apartment. Do what you want … just don’t leave. I’ll be right back.” He rummaged through the desk while she stared blankly at his work in progress. Locating his wallet, he checked his cash supply, picked up his checkbook, and stuffed both in his pocket. He collected shoes and a pair of socks from his bedroom; but not trusting her not to bolt, he brought them into the living room where he could keep his eye on her while he donned them. He hurriedly brushed back his hair and whipped a rubber band around it. Then he gathered his keys and came to collect her. “Let’s go.” He hustled her out of his apartment again. “And tonight you’re sleeping here. I’m sick of having my performance judged by that roomful of steroid-fed beefcake.”

  Aunie stumbled the combined length of their arms behind him, hustled along by his grip on her wrist. She had to practically trot to keep up with his ground-eating stride. Dazed by the implications of being told she would be sleeping in his apartment that night, she only spared enough mental energy to wonder where he was taking her.<
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  James was just reaching for the doorknob on the building’s front entrance when the Jacksons’ door opened. Lola looked out. “Oh,” she said dully, “You’re goin’ out.”

  The static aura of supercharged emotions that surrounded James and Aunie subsided somewhat as they looked down the hallway at Lola. Their expressions became concerned, for her characteristic energy was absent as she slumped against the door frame and her creamy brown skin was overlaid by an unhealthy tinge of grey. Aunie twisted her wrist out of James’s grasp and crossed over to her friend.

  “Sick again?” she asked her sympathetically. Lola nodded, then suddenly slapped her hand over her mouth and ran for the bathroom. They could hear the sounds of her being ill behind the hastily closed door and met each other’s eyes uneasily. “I don’t understand this,” Aunie said. “How can one person go up and down the way she’s doin’? She was so sick yesterday. But when I stopped by before Mary picked me up for our final this morning, she was feeling great. Now she’s sick again. I’m goin’ to call her doctor.”

  “Good idea,” James agreed. He squatted down to peer at Greta-Leigh through the mesh in her playpen. “Hello, sweet thing,” he murmured. “Your mama’s not feeling too perky right now, but it’s nothing for you to worry about. Ol’ Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Magnolia are gonna see to it she gets fixed up.”

  Greta-Leigh stared up at the overhead light.

  Lola emerged from the bathroom just as Aunie was hanging up the phone. She collapsed on the couch in exhaustion and watched as Aunie began gathering baby items and stuffing them into the diaper bag. “What are you doin’?”

  “Packin’ up. Dr. Woo had a cancellation and can fit you in, but you have to be there in twenty minutes. James will drive you, won’t you, Jimmy?” He nodded. “I’ll take Greta-Leigh up to my place.”

  “Oh, but,” Lola protested, “she hasn’t had her bottle yet and it’s almost time for her—”

  “No buts,” James interrupted and handed Lola her purse. “Aunie can handle it. C’mon, now. We’ve gotta get going.” He helped her to her feet. Aunie trailed them to the front door where James suddenly turned back and wrapped his hand around the base of her skull. He pulled her onto her tiptoes and gave her a rough kiss. Raising his head, he stared down at her intently. “Don’t think I’m gonna be sidetracked by this,” he said. “You want me to take a risk in our relationship and I’m plannin’ on taking one. This is a postponement, Aunie, nothing more.”

  “Where were you takin’ me?” Five minutes ago it hadn’t seemed important. Now she was consumed with curiosity.

  His face creased with his smile. “Ah, now,” he whispered, sliding his thumb down the side of her throat. “That’d be tellin’, wouldn’t it?”

  “Jimmy!”

  “Okay, okay. The King County Administration Office.”

  She stared at him blankly. “Whatever for?”

  He slipped his fingers out from behind her neck and stepped out in the hall. “To apply for a marriage license,” he said and closed the door in her face. By the time Aunie collected her wits sufficiently to yank it open again, he and Lola were gone.

  Slumped low on the seat of a rental car on the next block, Wesley folded down a corner of his newspaper and watched as a muscular, long-haired blonde and a tall black woman left the apartment house. The man escorted the woman to a Jeep parked near the corner, helped her in, stood and stared a moment up at the apartment they had vacated, and then walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in. They drove away.

  Wesley’s nostrils flared and his mouth curved up in a sneer. Now, if that wasn’t just typical! The little bitch had found the least acceptable accommodations possible. According to the nameplates he’d read last night, there were only three apartments rented in that building and they were inhabited by niggers and hippies, for Christ’s sake. Trust the slut to pick such a place; she never had possessed an ounce of social discernment. Every damned time they’d gone out, he’d needed to brief her on who was important and who wasn’t.

  It was fortunate for her she was a beauty, for she’d sure as hell never had a brain in her head. Well, the free ride was over. By the time he was done with her she wasn’t even going to have her looks to rely on.

  He’d give those lowlife tenants fifteen minutes to ascertain they weren’t just running a short errand, and then he was going in. Wesley smiled to himself.

  He’d waited a long time for this.

  “Come on, sweetie pie, we’re goin’ up to Auntie Aunie’s apartment.” She picked up Greta-Leigh, snagged the strap to the diaper bag, and let them out of the Jacksons’ apartment. She hadn’t thought to ask for a key to lock up, but it shouldn’t matter. The outside door was secured.

  Greta-Leigh started to fuss the moment they crossed over the threshold of Aunie’s apartment. Aunie kicked the door closed behind her and walked directly to the kitchen, where she put a bottle in the microwave to warm. She changed the baby and then collected the bottle and a clean diaper to use as a burp cloth. Testing the formula’s temperature on her inner wrist, she sat down, arranged the infant in the crook of her left arm, and popped the nipple into her mouth. Greta-Leigh began to suck on it enthusiastically. Aunie watched her drink but her thoughts kept returning to James’s last words.

  Marriage license? He had been on the verge of dragging her downtown to apply for a marriage license? God above! He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he’d take a risk that would make her hair curl. Aunie removed the bottle from Greta-Leigh’s mouth, sat her up, and gently rubbed her back until she burped up an air bubble. She returned the bottle to the baby’s mouth.

  And she smiled. Not the most romantic proposal, was it? More of a declaration of intent, but that was Jimmy. And it wasn’t as if she actually gave a rip how he worded it. The important thing was that he apparently wanted the same thing she wanted. He wanted to marry her. Oh God, she was in heaven!

  The distant sound of breaking glass jerked her out of her daydream. Had that come from the basement? Oh, surely not; it must have been out in the street or perhaps from the neighbor’s yard.

  Greta-Leigh, who had dozed off, started violently at Aunie’s own startled movement. Her eyes flew open and her little hands flew up in reflex panic. Aunie made soothing noises and the baby took some comforting pulls on the nipple in her mouth. Then her eyes drifted closed again and a moment later her milky mouth went slack. Aunie set the bottle on the end table and stood, carrying the infant into her bedroom, where she gently laid her on the bed and propped pillows around her. She tiptoed from the room and closed the door.

  She was in the kitchen heating water for a cup of tea when her front door opened. Surprised James was back so soon and suddenly shy, she smoothed her hair nervously. Licking her lips, she took a deep breath and stuck her head around the corner.

  Wesley was disdainfully inspecting her apartment. He picked up the telephone on the end table by the couch, looked at it a moment, and then ripped it out of the jack.

  She jerked back into the kitchen, gripping the countertop with white-knuckled fingers and breathing hard. He had been looking in a different direction and hadn’t seen her. But it would take about three minutes to search the apartment and …

  Greta-Leigh! Oh, God, she had to think. She’d have to show herself before he searched the bedroom. She couldn’t let any harm come to the baby, and Wesley was just insane enough to do her serious harm if it suited his purposes.

  Aunie’s mouth was devoid of all moisture and sweat pooled clammily in her armpits and between her breasts; it trickled coldly down her spine. Her heartbeat pounded deafeningly in her ears. But James’s self-defense lessons hadn’t been the nerve-wracking waste of time she’d thought them to be after all; thanks to them, she wasn’t in a complete state of panic. She picked up a sharp paring knife and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans. Sparing a longing glance at the pan of boiling water, she momentarily considered throwing it in Wesley’s face. But if she missed or if she hit her mark but
failed to disable him, he would be enraged beyond her ability to control. And if he should discover the baby …

  No. Delaying tactics were her best bet. And for that, she would need every drop of guile she possessed.

  She turned the heat down beneath the pan of water and stepped into the doorway dividing kitchen from dining area. Praying she could pull this off, she made her voice as calm and welcoming as possible as she said, “Why, hello, Wesley. How nice to see you.” She gestured into the kitchen. “I was just making myself a cup of tea. Would you like one?”

  To her own ears, she sounded as phony as a three-dollar bill. But Wesley, who had expected fear and rage, was obviously thrown off stride by the warmth of her greeting. The psychotic coolness that she had dreaded to see in his eyes was momentarily clouded by confusion. All he said, however, was, “No. Come out here.”

  She edged into the living room, frantically trying to judge a proper distance to keep between them, one which would protect her physical safety, yet at the same time prevent setting him off by appearing to be too obviously avoiding him. Casually, she made her way to the end table with the alarm button and flipped it on. Not that there was anyone to hear, but on the off chance she could stay in one piece long enough for James to get home … With regret she eyed the unobstructed path to the front door. There was a good chance that if she made a run for it Wesley would give chase—and there was every possibility she could lose him once she was outside. But if he didn’t follow her, God, if he didn’t …

  She simply could not risk Greta-Leigh that way. And when it came right down to it, she couldn’t leave the baby unattended. She had promised to take care of her.

  At the same time she was calculating possibilities, she prattled mindlessly. Calling on the years of experience she’d spent forcing vivacity where none had been felt, she smiled, chattered, flashed her dimples, and radiated Southern charm.