Remembering, she felt her body ready itself for more, and she moaned and stretched with restless need.
He stirred behind her, breathing deeply and rolling to his back before settling into sleep again. Bibi mourned the loss of his arm around her.
But then she thought of her face and hair. Oh, hell’s bells, she knew without a mirror that she looked a mess. She’d seen her post-club self gaping blearily back at her over the sink more than enough times to know the horror.
Peeping over her shoulder, she saw that Hoosier was really out. The sheet slanted across his belly, and she paused for a moment and stared at that chest. The hair over it was black and not too heavy. Like Tom Selleck on Magnum P.I. Just right. A narrower swath ran down his belly, leaving the contours of his abdominal muscles totally exposed for lecherous ogling. Tattoos covered his arms, but his chest and belly were unmarked, except for a thick scar a couple of inches under his right nipple.
He was sex on a plate.
Shaking herself out of her lechery, Bibi eased carefully out of bed and grabbed her chenille robe off the back of the door—just in case Gina had come home and not alone.
The coast was clear, though. The front rooms were empty, and Gina’s bedroom door was open. Bibi was alone with Hoosier. She went into the bathroom.
After she peed and brushed her teeth, she picked up the pliers from the window sill under the painted-shut, frosted-glass window, and turned the broken hot-water knob on tub faucet.
The claw-foot tub was ancient, the cast iron showing through an assortment of chips and cracks, flowering rust in all the faults. The shower was a jury-rigged contraption connected to the tub faucet, enclosed by two shower curtains suspended by a metal ring. The air pressure from the steam of the hot shower, or something like that, made the shower curtain pull inward and attach itself to the body inside.
Showering was an exercise in overcoming claustrophobia. But after two years, Bibi was used to it. She waited while the pipes groaned and rattled, and then she finally got the water finessed to a bearable temperature—today, a little too much on the hot side, which was better than the occasional cold showers she got stuck with.
Bibi stepped in, and by the time her hair was fully wet, the shower curtain was clinging emphatically to her legs. Far past the days when she fought fate, she ignored it and washed her face.
She’d just gotten her hair fully shampooed when the shower curtain left her legs and instead billowed outward. The door had opened. With her hands in her hair, she froze. “Gina?”
A deep, masculine chuckle. “No. Need to take a piss. That okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Go ‘head.” The door closed, and the shower curtain eased back inward.
For a moment, she stood exactly as she was, shampoo oozing down her face. When it hit her eyes, she snapped out of it and turned, leaning her head backward so that the water ran over her face and down her hair.
When she looked up and blinked her eyes clear, Hoosier was watching her. He’d opened the curtain a few inches.
They stared at each other.
Finally, Bibi felt naked and exposed—because she was—and she took hold of the curtain. “You need somethin’?”
He smiled, and her insides fluttered. Cause and effect. “Yeah, I do. But first, not sure if I can flush without boiling you.”
Oh, good point. If he’d flushed, she would have definitely been Bibi Thermidor. “No. Just put the lid down. Thanks.”
He moved away, and she heard the lid drop onto the seat. Then he was back. “Can I join you?”
She didn’t even bother to think about it. She simply nodded.
In bed last night, as much of him as had touched her, she hadn’t gotten a good, clear look at all of him, and she hadn’t had much chance to touch him, either. He’d been in charge of everything they’d done. And that was good, because Bibi had figured out last night that there was a lot about sex she still didn’t know, no matter if she’d lost her virginity at sixteen.
Now, as he stepped into the tub with her, she stared. And she felt like she could honestly say that, until last night, she’d never been with an honest-to-goodness man. A real man. He was lean, but he was covered in muscle. His shoulders were much broader than his hips. And there were muscles on his hips that were…well, mercy, they were sin itself, pointing right to a magnificent...dick didn’t seem like enough of a word for what he had. Cock. She liked that better. Boys had dicks, she decided right then and there. Hoosier had a cock. The best one she’d ever seen, in person or otherwise.
The curtain had wrapped them up together, closing them into a pink cone, and the world seemed to fall away.
His hands rested on her shoulders and then swept down her arms, and she looked up from her examination of his body to find him smiling down at her. “I like to look at you, too. You are a fine, fine young Southern belle, Miss Bibi. Without all that circus makeup on, you are beautiful as any woman I’ve known.”
She liked the compliment, but she still felt some umbrage at his critique of her style. “Why’d you even talk to me if the way I looked disgusted you so?”
He shook his head. “It didn’t disgust me. But it doesn’t suit you. Maybe it’s why I noticed you. You didn’t seem like you fit in last night.”
She took more umbrage at that. “Fuck you. That’s my scene.”
A skeptical eyebrow came up, but he didn’t push the point. “Sorry. I’m just saying you stood out from that crowd. And then I saw you tie that cherry stem and tease the bartender, and I wanted to know you.”
“Why? Because I’m a tease?”
“No, because you’re a smartass. But a sweet one. And you’re beautiful. Made me curious.”
“You don’t have some kind of Pygmalion fetish, do ya?”
“No. I’m not the kind of guy who wants to fix anybody or make them be somebody they’re not. I am the kind of guy who likes people who don’t run with the crowd, though.”
Frankly, Bibi’s knees had gone weak at the fact that he’d known Pygmalion. She had intentionally used the name of the play instead of My Fair Lady, because she wanted to feel a little superior to this man, and she hadn’t expected a biker to know a George Bernard Shaw play. But he had.
He smoothed a hand over her wet-slick hair. “You ever fucked in a shower before?”
She shook her head, lost in his smile, lost in his dark, lively eyes, now lost in his mind, too. Just lost. She was lost.
Having that thought, Bibi knew it was true. Oh, hell.
He bent his head and kissed her, turning them both out of the way of the hot shower spray. With his lips still brushing over hers, he murmured, “I want to fuck you here in this shitty shower. I’ll pick you up and put you on the wall, and I’ll fill you so full your eyes’ll bulge. Then I want to hear those sex sounds you made last night bouncing off these tile walls. I want to sink my fingers into your sweet ass and hold you tight while I fill you and fill you and fill you until you bite down into my shoulder again and scream.”
“Holy Moses,” she whispered.
He laughed and picked her up.
FOUR
Way down yonder, in the meadow,
There’s a poor wee little lamby.
The bees and the butterflies pickin’ at its eyes,
The poor wee thing cried for her mammy.
Hush-a-bye, don’t you cry,
Go to sleep little baby.
When you wake, you shall have
All the pretty little horses.
While Bibi hovered over her crib, singing her to sleep, Lana sighed and rolled to her belly, hooking a chubby arm around the pink stuffed unicorn she always kept close.
She was such a pretty baby, almost ten months old now. Her flaxen hair was coming in with a soft curl, and Bibi reached into the crib and, very gently, let some of those curls circle her fingertips.
“Those are different words than the ones I know,” Faith said, quietly, standing at the open door. “They’re a little dark, aren’t they?”
/> Bibi smiled over her shoulder at her. “My mama used to sing it to me. Even when I was older, she’d sing it when I was sick or couldn’t sleep. I sang it to Connor when he was little. I never really thought about the words. I only think about the love.”
Faith walked in and stood next to the crib with Bibi, watching her daughter sleep. “She’s getting so big. Did Michael tell you she stood on her own today?”
“About the first thing out of his mouth when I got back. I’m glad he was here to see it. I thought he was gonna bust open with pride.”
“Yeah, he was. Her, too—she applauded herself. Stood up, let go, looked around at us grinning like a fool, then clapped so hard she knocked herself back on her little booty.”
Bibi laughed quietly and patted the little booty in question. “This girl is gonna run y’all ragged, you know that?”
Lana stirred, and both women stepped back quickly. In unspoken agreement, they tiptoed to the door and let the sleeping baby lie.
In the hallway, they could hear the low, happy sound of Demon telling Tucker a bedtime story, and Tucker interrupting repeatedly to ask his questions. Once he’d found his voice, that little guy had discovered that he liked to use it. Bibi and Faith smiled at each other.
This was a happy house. Even though she was only a guest, even though she no longer had a happy home of her own, Bibi took great comfort in the contentment and love surrounding her.
She needed it. The past week or so had been agonizing. Hoosier had taken ill, brought low by a virus, and it had been days since he’d even looked at her with recognition. For the first time since he’d woken, she was truly afraid she’d never get him back.
Faith put her hand on Bibi’s back. “Got a minute? I have something to show you.”
“Sure, darlin’.”
“Cool. I’ll meet you in the dining room. I need to run out to my studio for a sec.”
Curious, Bibi nodded. She stopped in the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine from the box in the fridge. Demon came in and walked up behind her, kissing her cheek and taking the fridge door from her as she was about to close it. He leaned in and grabbed a beer.
“You have a beautiful family, Deme. I’m so proud of you.”
He blushed and beamed. “I don’t know how I got so lucky. I never had luck before.”
“Ain’t luck, honey. It’s what you deserve finally comin’ to you.
He didn’t look comfortable with that, but he shrugged without disagreeing. “Tell Faith I’m out in the garage working on Hooj’s bike.” All of Hoosier’s bikes had been destroyed in the fire, including his first bike, the one he’d still been riding when she’d met him. A 1970 Sportster custom chopper. A few weeks back, Demon had found the same stock bike at an auction and was working on restoring it and replicating the customization.
Biting back tears, Bibi nodded. “I’ll let her know. You’re a good man, Michael.”
He cocked his head at her use of his name. Only Faith called him Michael, and Bibi couldn’t recall the last time she herself had. But it had felt right in the moment, so now she only smiled.
He went out the back, and she headed to the dining room to wait for Faith.
Who was carrying a cardboard box, about medium-size, when she came in. “Michael in the garage?”
Bibi nodded. “Yep. What you got?”
Setting the box on the table near Bibi, Faith said, “This was in my mom’s stuff. When we were moving her and selling the house, I opened every single box, so I thought I knew what was in here. But I just actually went through it a couple of days ago, and it’s different from what I thought. I thought it was family photos—and it is. But it’s your family. I don’t know why Mom had it, but this is all you and Hooj and Connor. Some of us, too, but with you guys.”
She unfolded the flaps of the box, and pushed it toward Bibi. Peering in, Bibi could see that it was full of photos, framed and loose, and even a couple of albums. “What the…?”
Then she saw a glittery silver envelope, and she remembered. “Oh, stars. I remember what this is. This is the stuff I gave Margot when she threw us a twenty-fifth anniversary party. God, that was almost eighteen years ago.”
“You gave her all these family photos and she never gave them back?”
Bibi shrugged. “Honey, you’ve seen our house, I got pictures to spare. They’re everywh—” Remembering that she had nothing, nothing, she cut off abruptly and put her hand over her mouth to block the sob that had threatened to explode from her lips.
Faith reached out and put her hand over Bibi’s. Only that touch, no words.
When Bibi was in control again, she nodded at the box and whispered, “This is all I have left now. Oh, God, Faithy, I’m so glad you found this.”
Together, the emptied the box, spreading everything across the table. When the box was empty, without saying a word, they both began sorting the photos out. Faith picked up the envelope first. She opened it and slid out a pearly-white card. The party invitation.
“Wow. This is fancy.”
“It was a fancy party. Your mama loved to throw parties, and she did that one up big. At a hotel and everythin’.” Bibi laughed, remembering, and took the invitation from Faith’s hands. Embossed silver script on pearlized paper. “We got thrown out of the hotel around…two in the mornin’, I think? When the boys started to get rowdy. We finished the night at Denny’s and all crashed at the Motel 6 next door. That was a great party.”
She set the invitation down and picked up a square, badly-framed color photo. From her old Kodak 110 camera. Her and Hoosier and Gina, in the living room of that grungy apartment. The wall in the background was covered in band posters, stickers, and LP covers. They’d done that like wallpaper over that room, stapling and nailing new things up all the time, right over what they’d put up before. Like the walls of the clubs they hung out at.
She remembered the day that picture had been taken. Blue had been the one behind the camera.
Faith leaned over and looked. “Is that you? Oh my God, that’s you! You were totally a punk! When were you a punk?”
Bibi looked up to see Faith goggling at her. “Hooj never got it, either. But I liked that scene. I really did, for the most part.”
Faith pulled an old eight-by-ten in a cardboard folder frame from a stack she’d made. She opened it. Bibi recognized the photo from the frame and cringed. When Faith held it out, Bibi knew what she was going to say.
“This girl is not a punk. She’s adorable, though, with her Dorothy Hamill hair.”
It was a homecoming dance photo. Standing under a white wicker arch covered with plastic ivy, Bibi wore an electric-blue taffeta dress, cocktail length, with sleeves so big and puffy they brushed her earrings. And dyed-to-match pumps. Joel, standing behind her with his arms stiffly around her waist, wore a white tuxedo, with tails, and a ruffled shirt in the same electric blue as her dress. They’d thought they were the bee’s knees. Oh, God, the late Seventies.
She was wearing a gardenia wrist corsage, too. Mercy.
“No, she wasn’t a punk. She was a good girl. More or less. Except for the fornicatin’, that is.” She grinned and winked, and Faith laughed.
“I have to say, Beebs, I don’t see you in either of these. I mean, it’s you, and you’re gorgeous. But that’s not how I know you.”
“People change.” She shrugged. “I guess maybe I changed more’n most. Most of my life, I was kind of…well, you know how a mushroom don’t really have a taste of its own? It just tastes like whatever you put it with. That’s what I was like. When I was little, with three big brothers, I was a tomboy. I wanted to fit in with them, so I did the stuff they did. Then I got to middle school and started noticin’ boys that weren’t my kin, and wantin’ ‘em to notice me. They liked girly girls. So I started likin’ pink and wearin’ pretty clothes. My mama and daddy liked it better when I ‘acted like a lady,’ too. It made me feel good that I was doin’ what people wanted. It made me feel funny, too, but I never could
understand what that funny feelin’ was, so I ignored it. Then I came out to California with Joel”—she tapped the photo, and before she could continue, Faith cut in.
“Wait. Are you saying you got to California because you followed a boy? You?”
Again, Bibi shrugged. “Like I said, honey. I changed. A lot. The girl who left Natchez was just a girl. In love with a boy, and couldn’t see anythin’ but him out in front of her.”
“What happened with Joel?”
“Exactly what you’d expect. Didn’t work out. The girls in California turned his head, and then I was just the same ol’ Bibi he’d known his whole life and been with since the ninth grade. That’s how I ended up meetin’ my friend Gina, and she was a punk, so I picked up her flavor.”
Dream & Dare Page 4
