I’ll move to Virginia. I’ll work on a goddamn tobacco farm if I have to! But I never want to spend another day away from you.
Ever.
If I do lose him, if he does go, my only regret will have been not spending every moment of every day with him.
A doctor storms past. Layna stops him. His eyes are frantic. “Sorry,” he says, “I can’t talk.” And then he’s gone.
She looks for a nurse. Emergency all around us. Everywhere. People running. “...cardiac arrest...!”
Oh, god.
More people running! “Take him to the ER now!” A man on a gurney!
Oh, god!
Nurses behind him! Pumping air into his lungs! People using medical terms I don’t understand. They’re running toward us! “Out of the way! Out of the way!”
I see him, that dark, leathery skin. An old face, white hair, lidded eyes. Dying. Quiet.
Aaron.
-75-
The funeral is held a week later. All the farm staff attend. It’s a sad time. The main house is almost completely gone. Aaron’s house is gone. Some of the tobacco plants are gone, from when Randolf’s lit torch fell, setting Ace’s lower leg on fire. But Aaron, in his old age, with lightning speed, smothered the leg so that the flames didn’t lick up Ace’s body fast enough.
Aaron saved his life.
In their macho-ness, none of the boys who’d attacked Aaron and Ace had bothered to check if Aaron was carrying any weapons on him. Why would he?
Aaron carried a switchblade strapped to his wrist for easy access, and a revolver at his ankle.
Always. Every day. Not a single day lost.
Betty.
He cut his bindings. And then, when those goons were taking the unfair fight to Ace, Aaron pulled out his gun. And he fired. And he fired again.
And again.
He killed them all.
And those that didn’t die immediately, were consumed by the flames that had been intended for Ace and Aaron.
The farm is still intact, not too many plants were destroyed.
I think they will rebuild the houses. The insurance will pay enough for Ace to settle bills with the IRS and cover at least some of the outstanding debt, and keep things going at the farm.
It’ll be tough going, but if anyone can do it, it’s Aaron.
I’m so glad he’s alive.
Ace is moving out. He doesn’t want to be in the tobacco business. And now that there’s money to ease the pressure, he’s deeding the entire thing to Aaron Johnson, to keep the ship sailing.
Aaron’s two daughters are at the funeral as well. Janice, too. She’s a beautiful girl of blonde hair and striking green eyes. Eyes like her mother’s.
The funeral is for three workers who got burned in trying to put out the fire. One of them, Violet—the woman who taught me how to make a Brunswick Stew.
My heart is completely shattered.
It’s a sad day. A very sad day.
Ace is on my side. His burns were minor, no major scarring, and just on his ankle. Thanks to Aaron.
The weather is cool. Tears are pouring, but the two-hundred-plus people here are a family—the staff, the Travers family, Aaron’s family. Many of their friends.
There’s a bite of possible rain in the air, that scent of electric ozone before it falls. Black clouds move up ahead, and the coolness is refreshing, like a new beginning.
Layna’s here. But she’s heading back tomorrow because she’s got Kenny Ray for the day. Alone.
I won’t be heading back. Not for a while.
I’m gonna hit the road with Ace, maybe we’ll perform, maybe we’ll wash dishes or make food. Him, with his cooking skills learned over several years in New York. And me, with the little cooking skills I learned in the galley of his massive house, taught to me by one of the women being interred right now.
A tear breaks loose from my eye. And so does a drop of rain from above.
“...a new beginning...,” says Aaron, delivering the eulogy. “...A dark past, forgotten. We made errors, we turned our eyes. But them days is over. This here is a new beginning. We ain’t goan turn our eyes again. This is a family. All of us! We done been on this farm tagether through rough times, good times, sad times—and don’t fuhget the happy times. Those times goan be better now. We’s all goan be better now. We goan build this thing up again, keep our jobs, live our lives and ejjucate our children! Justice is a funny thing. There ain’t no justice in the world except for that justice you exercise yo’self. So, Violet, Jeffrey, little Martin, go in peace to the Lord. Know that we will keep justice alive here for what you did. By yo actions, much of this farm is still here. By yo actions, these hunnert or more people here, can still work, can still feed their children. By yo actions, some of the very people standin and sittin here, wouldn’t even be here if it hadn’t been for yo bravery. And you lost yo lives in the process of savin others. You have proven these words to be true: ‘In fear or shadow, I will be your Justice, when no one else can.’”
The caskets go into the ground, in the family cemetery.
I lean my head on Ace’s shoulder. He grimaces, holds his ribs. Then hugs me.
I’m thinking of death. I’m thinking of life. Ends, beginnings.
I hold my stomach, rub it, wishing, hoping...
One day.
~ GIN ~
-76-
The reception afterwards is held in a large weatherproof tent. I finally meet Janice and talk to her. She’s a buoyant and spirited girl of nineteen, almost twenty. She tells me Ace stopped something from happening to her when she was younger and, if “it” had happened, she wouldn’t be who she is today.
She’s majoring in Law over at Columbia.
I can only imagine what “it” was.
I don’t want to imagine it.
Fiona, his other sister, isn’t here. I can’t say I’m upset about that.
I meet “Aunt Nola,” Christa’s half-sister. Whereas Christa is all Southern, Aunt Nola is all Northern. She apparently moved to New York when she was quite young. She’s a wild one. Not the kind of person you’d want to mess with.
Ace and I take a walk afterwards, through some of the forest around the house. We look out at the tobacco field. That the fire department was already here means they caught much of the fire there before it got too out of control.
Randolf’s plan backfired. It actually ended up helping the Travers family and all the workers of this farm, rather than destroying it. They’ll build a small home for the family, and use the saved-up costs to cover much of their debts.
Justice. A poetic one.
I don’t know how many people attended Randolf Berkeley’s memorial service. I don’t want to know.
Ace and I sit at a tree. It’s late twilight now. Ace leans back, still tender from his beating.
Leaning on the tree with our backs, feet ahead of us, I say, “That thing Aaron said, about Justice. Is that his or yours?”
He looks left of us at the reception tent, way in the distance, maybe a mile out from where we are. “He used to say something similar to me when I was a kid. But he knows the tattoo I got on my arm, so maybe he liked it and uses that exact wording now.”
I put my hand on his jeans. The temperature drops suddenly, and a quick wind gusts across us. My hair, getting longer now, tickles my ears. “Looks like a storm’s coming,” I say.
“Nah, storm’s over, babe. Storm’s over.”
I rest my head on his shoulder. He turns, kisses my forehead.
Oh, my, when was the last time we kissed? I mean, really kissed.
It feels like several months, even though I kissed him when he left the hospital.
He pecks me some more, and warmth covers me, even though the temperature is definitely much cooler now.
His fingers press up against my chin. He pushes my head up. My eyes close before our lips meet. Soft and bruising. His tongue glides out, and I feel his excitement like the electricity of the storm. He trembles, and he pushes
me back against the tree and kneels in front of my legs, lifts up my dress so I can widen them, and he kisses me.
A cool wind gusts against us and stray leaves and debris get into my hair. I press my knees on either side of him and say, “Take me here.”
He stands, puts his hand out to me. “Not under a tree, babe.”
I grab his hand, and he lifts me.
We walk over into a small clearing, wind howling now. A small rumble of thunder overhead. A brief flash of sheet-lightning. “It’s gonna rain,” I say.
“I know.”
In the clearing, his hands go over my waist. I don’t know how he does it, but every muscle in my body collapses. I fall onto him, snuggle my head into his chest. He kisses my head, the top of my ear. Moves his hands up my dress, bringing it up over my thighs.
Sexy thighs, I believe. I do believe this now. Are they sexy to others? I don’t care. Because they’re sexy to him. To my Ace of Spades. And that’s all that matters.
He gets down on his knees. Darkness engulfs us. There isn’t a soul to be seen for miles around us, the tent now hidden by a small hill since we made it into the clearing. Dark clouds surround us.
He eases my underwear right, exposing me.
And then his warm tongue finds me, and my whimper seems to echo beyond the trees, followed by a rumble of sexy thunder.
He licks me slowly, passionately, weakening me, making my legs shudder and shake.
I’m in heaven.
Eventually I can’t stop the build-up. I start grinding into him instinctively, pushing down, feeling the sting of his lips on me, in me, around me.
I start to shake. I can’t stand. Can’t stand.
I move back, stumbling. He keeps hunting me, moving his tongue and lips forward, his eyes lidded, as if my scent is his drug.
Almost in one motion, I’m falling back onto the ground, spreading my legs, and his mouth is there again, inside me, pushing me. It’s frantic, needful, desperate.
It’s been too long.
The cool air scrapes my arms, and hot fire shoots up through the middle of me, from below, up, up, up, and—“Oh, god!”
The sound echoes back, reverberating with the wind and bursting with the roaring thunder.
It starts to rain.
And I go into an orgasmic explosion.
It begins at my hips, shuddering, trembling, detonating, chemicals firing—Oh, hell, this is so amazing!
Every raindrop is a sting of screaming pleasure. My body burns, and the rain cools it down. I burst several times, the shock galvanizing every muscle of mine.
And then, eventually, it’s just the slightest shiver of relaxation.
And a stupefied smile.
ACE
-77-
I climb on top of her, her knees around my waist, rain starting to pour.
She’s laughing, smiling. I’m beginning to tremble.
She tries to get my shirt off, but it’s sticking to my skin. Wet. I get on my knees, pull it off myself. She licks her lips, grins.
She sits up, legs still on either side of me, starts lifting off her dress.
“You’ll get cold,” I say.
“I’m cold already.”
She takes her dress off, then unclips her bra in one smooth movement. Her breasts drop out, making my mouth water. White and pink fleshy deliciousness. Nipples erect and hard from the cold.
I cup the left one, devour it, but she doesn’t let me do it for long. “You can do that later,” she says. “But I want you inside me now. I’ve missed you too much, Ace.”
I kiss her lips, slide my hand down to take her underwear off.
The wind picks up and rain pours harder.
She lifts her butt, laughs. The raindrops on her face sparkle in the moonlight. “This is crazy,” I say.
She nods enthusiastically.
I get up on my feet to remove my jeans.
Her naked figure on the floor is not helping my resolve to stay calm. There’s a burning itch inside me, to have her, to fill her, to take her forever and to never let her go.
I get my buckle off, struggle with the wet jeans. They get stuck at my ankles.
Her makeup drips in black lines from her eyes. It’s erotic. Sexy. Oh-so-bad.
I take my boxers off and she gets on her knees, clasps me with her fist, and pulls, fast, up and down. Oh, god, Gin. You gotta stop that...
She has me, completely.
I’m hers now. Totally hers.
She tastes me once, just teasing me, then licks me bottom to top; holds me tight. Tight! Tight enough to know who’s boss.
She pushes down the length of me, opens her mouth again...
I can’t look, because looking gets me too horny. And if I get too horny, I’ll burst.
I pull away. What she’s doing is amazing, but it’s not what I want now. I want to be inside her, below.
I push her back by the shoulders, gently, her eyes looking up at me seductively.
She lies back on the ground, spreads her legs for me. Ready. Open. Welcoming.
I get on my knees, start bending down above her. Rain tickles my back and falls in rivulets down my temples. She’s laughing, enjoying every minute of this.
“Wait,” she says. She pushes me off her. Grabs her dress, puts it under her on the grass. “The grass tickles!”
It’s a simple statement, but my heart dances madly because of it. I lean back to grab my wallet, open it up and search for a rubber.
“No!” she screams. The roar of rain is too loud to talk quietly anymore. “No rubber, Ace. No rubber.”
“What if you get pregnant?”
“I’m on the pill. I started taking it after...well...you and I...”
“Started dating?”
She smiles ear to ear. “Dating. Yeah. Nice to officialize it.”
Electric charge embraces the air, and thunder and lightning crackle above us.
“We’d better do this quick, Ace. It might be too dangerous to stay out here much longer!”
I can hardly hear her.
“I don’t want it to be quick!”
She sits up, clasps her hands around my neck. Yanks me down! And I’m on top of her.
Desperately, as if it’s the last thing she’s about to do before she dies, she whispers in my ear: “Fuck me, goddamnit. Don’t make me wait for you anymore. I love you. Now fuck me. Fuck me like you love me.”
I melt. Grab my shaft. Maneuver it to within her folds.
I stop there just a moment, an intensity of human warmth surrounding me; a different moisture to the one on the rest of our skins. A slick moisture. A welcoming, inviting moisture.
And then, I thrust in for dear goddamn life.
GIN
-78-
Maybe lightning struck at the same time as he pushed himself into me. Maybe. It felt like it. But it probably didn’t.
As of that moment, I was elsewhere, floating, dreaming.
I guess that’s what love is, giving yourself completely to someone. Trusting him, relaxing. Letting go.
I know I was tight, because he felt huge inside me. Huge. Stretching me, sizzling my nerves.
I remember orgasming twice. The first one was immediate, at the moment he thrust up inside me. A tingle formed, and then an all-engulfing shatter.
He kept thrusting. Pumping.
I held him.
The storm raged, exploded, howled, whirled. The air thrummed with electric fire and coolness.
But my skin was hot, Ace’s chest on mine was hot.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
And, still, he thrust.
The second orgasm came much later, after he’d been pushing inside me for so long that physiology gave way. How long had it been?
I don’t know.
I’d been elsewhere, in that world of love where there’s nothing. No storm. No grass. No cold. No heat. No pain. So suffering.
Just love.
Just him.
Inside me.
The se
cond orgasm was the best thing I’ve ever experienced. Because it wasn’t all physical. It was an emotional connection. And I didn’t put myself down for feeling it. I let myself feel it. Let myself get taken away by the emotion completely.
Let myself trust.
I let him in, in all ways possible.
I trust him.
I love him.
By the end of the second orgasm, I was more relaxed. Back down to earth. I could feel the shiver of the rain, and the heat between our bodies.
I could also look at him.
So that’s what I did.
I watched him, grimacing occasionally because of his ribs. I ran my hand over the mat of his hair. Watched his eyes tighten and squeeze as he worked me violently below, trying to get release himself, but it never came.
He moved in a blur, in and out of me, desperate, yearning, needing.
His taut muscles glowed under the rain. Drops of water fell from the top of his head, his nose, down his chain.
And onto my bouncing breasts.
He roared. Thumping. His arms on either side of my ears. His chest hard and masculine.
I kept my legs up, felt him move inside me. Felt him comfort me.
I ran my fingers down his chest, then on the tattoo on his right arm, down to his abs.
He pumped. And pumped. And pumped.
And then he stopped pumping, held himself deep inside me. His eyes opened. His lips parted just slightly. “Oh god.” It was a whisper. “Oh yeah.”
“Come in me, baby. Come inside me. Come inside me.”
I wanted to feel him in me. All of him.
And then, a long and protracted sound: “Oh...yeeeeeeeah.”
And I felt his warmth.
-79-
He fell on me, raged wildly into me, wouldn’t stop.
Not caught in the stupor of pre-orgasmic delirium, I experienced all of it awake and alert.
It was beautiful, feeling him shatter in my arms, just like he had shattered all that time ago, outside the Blues Bar.
That had been a low moment.
This was a high moment.
I held him, rubbed his hair, let him pump and slam into me. His warmth filled me, and I felt the pulsing throbs of his sudden hardness as he thrust and held himself deep inside me while it all escaped him. I said, “Yes!” every time he entered me. “Yes, baby. Oh, yes. Oh, yes!”
Red Hot Blues Page 16
