Putty in Her Hands

by Lynn Shurr

  Slick shook his head. “I’ll ask the old man about your lay. Me, I don’t mind bashing a woman, but he has scruples. I know he doesn’t want Patty in his face. Who would? Now, you ready to stop talking and take your punishment?”

  Struggle would only make it worse. The Broussard’s Barn gang secured his arms and legs. Slick blacked one eye, then the other, maybe broke Remy’s nose. He pummeled the stomach, but had the decency not to attack the groin. The worse of it came from NuNu who’d worn steel-toed work boots for the occasion. When Remy sagged to the ground, his cousin lit into his ribs with savage kicks while revealing a litany of hatred.

  “I hate your fuckin’ house and your nice truck and your pretty face and your big deal education.” Through swollen eyes, Remy watched the boot draw back for a kick to the mouth. Slick yanked NuNu away.

  “Nuh-uh, son. As the old man would say, ‘Not the tee’t.’ You do that, and I’ll tell Patty.”

  “Fuck Patty.”

  “She’s your great-aunt. Show some respect. One more kick, and we’re done here.”

  NuNu delivered a good one. When the two ribs cracked, Remy passed out. He came to in the emergency room of a Lafayette hospital listening to Slick tell the doctor that his cousin had fallen down two flights of metal stairs at home. He was in no shape to deny it. Pumped full of some pretty good painkillers, he came around again in the bed of his black tower. Oh, Julia.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  At three a.m., the phone rang next to Julia’s ear. Crap! She’d barely gotten to sleep. Thoughts of Remy and working closely with him on the Queen circled and recircled in her mind, never coming to rest. She’d been too easy, jumping into bed with him early on, trying to have her pleasure and save the Queen too. Now, he expected to have her whenever he wanted because he’d delivered the project into her arms like an orphaned baby who needed nurturing. It went against her policy of not sleeping with coworkers, and enforcing that rule would be difficult if they were together every day.

  Sure, she was still pissed about his throwing Todd under the streetcar, but the sheriff knew better right from the start. Only her intern’s ego had been bruised and nothing else. Because she demanded it, Remy settled that with an apology, insincere and ill-accepted by Todd. They both needed to get over it. And her uncles. What was with them? All that back slapping and saying she’d been too hard on good, old Remy. They’d never approved of a single man she’d gotten involved with, and now they loved Remy. Men!

  The phone continued to demand her attention. Only three types of calls came at this hour: family emergencies, building disasters, and pervs who dialed randomly hoping to say something obscene to women only half awake and not expecting it. Regardless, she needed to answer before voice mail asked for a message. She spoke the salutation she used when conducting business or shutting down pervs, a stern, “Rossi, here.”

  “Joo-ya, oh, Joo-ya.”

  She nearly told the perv to go to hell before she noticed the number belonged to Remy. The voice didn’t sound like his. “Remy, is that you?”

  “Un-huh.”

  “Well, I don’t do booty calls at three a.m. or any other time.”

  “But you could make me feel sooo much better.”

  She considered the silly request from the usually smooth Remington Broussard and asked, “Are you drunk or high?”

  “High on some really good painkillers. Feel like I’m floating a foot above the bed. I need you to climb on top and bring me back to earth.”

  “If you are taking painkillers, it wouldn’t be worth my effort. You’ll be too numb.”

  “That part works independently, don’t cha know. Come be with me.”

  Julia huffed an exasperated sigh into her phone. “I don’t rescue druggies, and I certainly don’t sleep with them. If I’d known you had a problem…”

  “No problem, a—an accident.” He fumbled trying to find the right article. “Been to the hospital. Fell down my stairs. Please, please, pretty please, come make me feel better, Joo-ya. I’m all alone.”

  “How did you manage to get to the hospital and back again?” she questioned, all the while imagining that he’d been entertaining another woman when the accident occurred because she’d been cold to him that afternoon, making it partially her fault. Maybe they’d been drinking heavily which explained why he’d fallen down his own metal staircase.

  “Had guests, Slick ’n NuNu ’n some of the gang. Drove me to Lafayette and brought me back again. Gone now. Safe to visit.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone.” She’d heard of people taking falls, being discharged, and dying of a blood clot. Remy isolated in his black tower, she couldn’t bear the thought.

  “Thass what I saaaid. Didn’t I?”

  “I’m on my way. Can you buzz me in and get to the door?”

  “Nope. Doubt if my pals locked up though. C’mon in.”

  “Right away.” She didn’t bother with the niceties like a bra or underwear, simply pulled up her jeans and threw on a T-shirt, finger-combed her hair, and shoved the sneakers on her feet. Scooping up her keys, Julia eased out of her bedroom and quietly shut the door.

  Despite her care, Marv, clad in black silk pajamas, appeared in his doorway. He didn’t sleep well, he claimed. Now she believed him. “Is there a problem? Has the Queen been attacked again?”

  “No. Remy took a fall down his stairs and had to go to the emergency room. He’s all alone, so I’m going over to his place to make sure he’s okay.”

  “How on earth did he get to a hospital and back?”

  “Some of his relatives were there.”

  “Then, I’d say Remy didn’t tumble down that staircase on his own. Be careful, Julia.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be back in the morning early.”

  She went on her way, climbed into the truck, and edged it slowly past the darkened motorhome. Once on the road, she gunned the engine and sped toward the nearest bridge, crossing to Remy’s side of the bayou. The gate stood open as well as his door, letting in the mosquitoes, wood roaches, and moths. She put an end to that, locked the two of them inside, turned on a light, and started for the stairs. A half-empty wine bottle and two glasses sat on his desk. He’d definitely had company, but while climbing the stairs, she noticed no splotches of blood on the metal treads or landings. Could he be faking simply to lure her in the middle to the night?

  Remy heard her coming and emitted a pathetic, “Joo-ya?”

  “Yes, I’m here.” No, he wasn’t faking.

  She barely recognized the person propped up in the king-sized bed with the black satin quilt thrown over his legs and the zebra hide bunched at his feet. The area of his chest not bound by white bandages bore purple blotches. A sling held up one arm, but the worst of it was his face. His dark eyes merged with the black rings under them, bridged by a swollen nose. A split and puffy upper lip stretched into a painful white smile to welcome her. At least, he hadn’t lost any teeth. However, his deep dimples were obscured by the facial swelling. Only a table lamp lit the room. How much worse would he appear in broad daylight?

  “Joo-ya,” he said again and held out his good arm, the wrist ringed in bruises.

  Julia went to him and lifted the unkempt hair off his brow, touching him in a maternal gesture. “All this happened from a fall down the stairs?”

  “Thass the story.” He lifted the spread and patted the mattress.

  “Really, with a broken arm you want me to sleep with you? You are high.”

  “Not broken. Dislocated shoulder. Few cracked ribs. But you’ll be fine.”

  “I think you mean I’ll be fine.”

  “What I said. Make me feel better.”

  “You want a reward for being clumsy?”

  “Not for what I did. Mostly, I want your hot body next to mine.”

  “That sounds like the Remy I know, always hitting on me.” She sat on the side of the bed, and he lost no time running his hand under her T-shirt and fondling her breast.

  “Yo
u made it easy for a sick man. Thanks.”

  “Not my intention. I drove here in a hurry.”

  He tried the zipper of her jeans, but snagged it halfway down. Julia completed the maneuver herself, kicked off her shoes, and slid in beside him. “Only to keep you warm. You’re shivering.”

  “It’s the drugs. Honest, I’m fine below the waist. Wouldn’t want the famed Broussard fertility messed up, now would we?”

  “You’re talking nonsense. Snuggle up and try to sleep—unless I can bring you an ice pack or something.” Julia turned out the light on the night table, rolled on her side, and spooned her rump against his hip.

  “Or something is what I want. Wide, wide awake.”

  “I might hurt you.”

  “No, no. I’ll just lie here and enjoy it like a woman. Let you do all the work.”

  “If your ribs weren’t already broken, I’d crack them for that remark.” Remy worked one of his legs between hers and used his left arm to lever her over onto his pelvis. “I’d fight you on this, but you’re already beat up—and hard. I cannot believe you’re hard.”

  “As quick-setting concrete since you climbed into bed. Ease my pain, Joools.”

  “One wince, and we’re done.” She carefully lowered herself on his erection, going slow which only made him grin and split open his swollen lip again. “Your mouth is bleeding.”

  “Not much. Really don’t feel it. All my blood is rushing somewhere else.”

  Julia leaned forward and positioned her arms carefully on either side of his bandaged ribs. She arched her back and pumped gently up and down. A good enough start though it did little for her—but this was for Remy. Too slow for him, also, as he surprised her with a matching hip thrust as she lowered. Then, they were in tandem, moving in the darkness, experiencing the build, the lift, the climax together. She felt that more than sex connection again, the rightness of their being as one.

  He did go on longer than usual thanks to the drugs, but Julia had no complaints. By the time he bucked inside of her, she’d come twice and was ready to dismount. Cuddling would have been nice if he’d had any place left on his chest that didn’t seem painfully sore. As his eyes, what she could see of them, closed in sleep, Julia resumed her spoon position and rested too. She’d done what he’d asked and all she could for the moment.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Always an early riser, a must in her profession where they often tried to beat the heat of the day, Julia tugged her T-shirt over her head at dawn and padded down to the kitchen. Scrambled eggs she figured would be best. Maybe some toast cut into strips and well-buttered. She started coffee, beat the eggs, and rejoiced to find a wedge of parmesan in the fridge and dried chives in spice rack to give the bland breakfast more flavor. Orange juice, probably not a good idea with his sore lip, but she poured some for herself while the coffee brewed and the eggs jelled in the pan. Finding a tray stored sideways in a nook of the kitchen, she loaded the breakfast for two and climbed to the bedroom. No Remy in the bed either awake or asleep.

  He’d made his way to the bathroom. As he claimed, his legs worked, all of them. Julia tapped lightly on the door. “You okay in there?”

  “Fine. No blood in my urine. That’s good news.”

  “I made breakfast. You get to eat in bed today.”

  “Sounds good.” He emerged stark naked and moved toward the covers. Though his legs and taut, slim buttocks showed no damage from the rear, he held himself stiffly trying not to aggravate his ribs. Working his way under the spread again, he held out his hand for the plate.

  Julia hung onto it. In the light of day, he did look worse. The handsome Remy she’d come to love—no, too soon, make that like very much—might never be the same again. Still, the man on the inside counted more, confident and vital and willing to take a chance on saving the Queen. That’s what mattered. “Better take a couple of these pain pills with your food. Want me to make an ice pack?”

  “Maybe later on the ice. Only one pill. They make me loopy.”

  “Yes, I noticed.”

  “Do you plan to feed me? I think I can manage with my left hand.”

  Julia handed over the food. He spilled some of the eggs on the spread, managed the toast strips fairly well, and held out his hand for the coffee mug as desired, drinking the brew with careful sips. Julia finished her plate and loaded the tray for the return to the kitchen.

  “I really should leave, but I’ll call you today and see if you need anything. Stay in bed and rest. Anything else I can do for you before I take off?”

  “A sponge bath? I’d really like a sponge bath.”

  “Considering how well you ate breakfast, I think you can manage with one hand.”

  “Lots of places I can’t reach. Don’t go.”

  While she suspected he really wanted more physical contact, his request still tugged at her heart as she gazed on his poor, battered face. “Okay, I’ll wash your back. Let’s go over to the sink, and I’ll fill it.”

  Julia put one of his thick, black towels on the floor and ran warm water in the basin. Retrieving his bath gel from the shower, she squeezed some on a washcloth, and gave it slight sniff, pure Remy, a clean, sharp scent with a spicy tang. He faced the mirror as she washed above and below his bandaged ribs, under his arms, across his rear and down his legs. He lifted his feet like an obedient horse, allowing her to clean between his toes. When she came up, he made a special request. “Clean behind my balls, would you? Gets musty back there.”

  Julia reached between his legs and did a thorough job, massaging each one in her hands. A glance in the mirror told her Remy had another part eager to be washed, stroked, coddled. Pressed against his rear, she reached around and wrapped the cloth over his member, worked it up and down, up and down, until the head reared back, and spread its semen on his belly. “That’s what you really wanted, right?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “The pain pill kick in yet?”

  “Not quite, but my mind isn’t on pain anymore, thanks to you.” He turned and took the cloth to clean himself. After he tossed it into the sink, he gave Julia the lightest of kisses. “I wish I could do better than that. You deserve more.”

  “Damn right, I do. Can I borrow one of your shirts? I can’t return to Alleman looking like I won the wet T-shirt contest on spring break.”

  “You’d get my vote. Help yourself to anything I have.”

  “Get back into bed. Sleep, play games on your phone, whatever, but rest today.”

  She put on her rumpled jeans and sneakers, found a T-shirt advertising Broussard’s Barn, and hung the one she’d worn to dry on his balcony railing. “I’ll return after work, make sure you get fed, and are taking it easy.”

  “Don’t go,” he said again.

  The incessant wasp-like buzzing of someone desiring entrance to the Black Box interrupted anything else he might have said to persuade her to stay. “Get that for me, would you?”

  Julia trotted down the stairs and spoke into the box with a mock-serious inquiry. “Who goes there? Mr. Broussard is too ill for company today.” Her formal voice did not fool the person on the other end.

  “Exactly why I’m here, Julia Rossi. I received a call this morning from T-Fats that Remy had been in an accident and might need my help. Let me in at once.”

  “T-Fats? Who is that?” He’d mentioned Slick and NuNu, but no T-Fats.

  “My disreputable brother-in-law, his nickname before he turned into Old Broussard. He might be old, but I am not. I demand entrance.”

  “Right away, Miss Patty. I’ll leave the door unlocked.” Julia charged up the stairs to warn Remy he had an anxious granny on the way. She broke the news immediately.

  He leaned deep into his pillows as if trying to disappear. “They really do hate me. Quick—briefs, running shorts, any top with no sleeves in the bureau drawers. Easiest stuff to get on. I can’t cope with her if I’m naked.”

  “Hey, you didn’t dress up for me!”

  “No desire to
sleep with my granny. Help me get them on right now.”

  He might have been able to manage his underwear and shorts one-handed, but the top was more of a struggle involving the removal of his arm from the sling, an easing into the armhole, and the restoration of his arm support. The top covered his bandages, but not all of his bruises.

  Meanwhile, Remy seemed to keep an ear cocked for the slam of a car door and the relentless tread of his grandmother on the way up the stairs, closer, closer, closer. His forehead beaded with sweat. He sank into a side chair, and held out his feet for his running shoes right before the champagne-blonde head and chubby body overfilled the doorway.

  Patty breathed heavily from her climb like a dragon working up steam to shoot blasts of fire. Julia hadn’t seen Remy’s grandmother other than fully dressed and completely made up. Even chained to an oak tree, the woman had squatted on a cushion so as not to dirty her short-sleeved pantsuit, every hair in place, and full-face putty troweled on her aging skin. Though she certainly slept with a hairnet to preserve her coiffure between weekly salon visits, this morning many of her lacquered curls had escaped around her head, standing up like spiral macaroni. She’d failed to prime her face with foundation, or brighten it with blusher and appeared very pasty. One button on today’s yellow pantsuit had missed its hole and gaped open over a plain white cotton bra. Inexplicably, Patty held a covered saucepan in her grip.

  Crossing the bedroom, she raised the lid and shoved the pot under Remy’s nose. “Cheese grits, your favorite. I was making them for Gid’s breakfast, but he can scrounge for himself today. As soon as T-Fats called, I took them off the stove and came right over here, my baby, my poor, poor baby. In a minute, I’ll go downstairs and fry an egg to go with them. You can break the yolk and mix it around in the grits just like you did as a boy.”

  Julia thought Remy’s face registered more pain than she’d seen up to this second. “Maybe for lunch. I don’t have much appetite. Julia made scrambled eggs for breakfast, so I’ve eaten. You don’t have to stay,” he said.