His night spent with Hank had run the gamut from sweaty and passionate to quiet moments of fingers and eyes exploring each other’s skin. Stretches of time punctuated only by the sounds of kisses and sighs and low rumbles of pleasure interspersed with long tumbles of laughter and drowsy conversations about topics Marcus couldn’t remember in the amber-colored haziness of half-sleep. In the dim light, Marcus could see from the longing in Hank’s eyes before and after sex that this was a man who craved his words and thoughts as much, if not more than, his body.
Marcus kept his eyes closed and enjoyed the warmth of Hank’s body curled around him countered by the cool trails of air from the ceiling fan that spilled across the points of bare skin where his arms, legs, and face poked out of the cotton sheet. Just as the darkness of sleep began to envelop him again, Hank’s body suddenly tensed.
“Marcus,” Hank hissed into his ear.
“Hmm?”
“Marcus.” Hank shook his shoulder gently. “Are you awake?”
“Uh-uh. Sleeping.”
“Wake up.”
“Are you that horny?” Marcus mumbled as he rolled over to face the other man, one eye barely open. “I need a little more sleep before we…well, if you insist.” Marcus nuzzled his nose into Hank’s chest, only to have Hank push him away.
“I’m serious.” Hank rose on one elbow and stared at the door over Marcus’s hip. “I think I heard someone come in the house.”
“What?” Marcus’s eyes popped open wide. He searched the other man’s face for any sign this was one of his silly jokes.
“I swear I heard the front door open and shut.”
Marcus rolled onto his back, shifted onto his elbows, and listened for any sound coming from the other room. Hearing nothing but the whir of the icemaker in the kitchen refilling, he shook his head. “I think you’re imagining it. Go back to sleep. Too early.” He lay back down, curled onto his side and draped Hank’s arm back over his waist.
“Sorry.” Hank pecked the tip of Marcus’s nose before easing back down beside him and looking into his eyes. “I must’ve been dreaming. Thought I heard—”
“Shh,” Marcus hissed and abruptly pushed his upper body away from Hank. He sat up in the bed and looked over at the bedroom door. “Now, I heard something.”
“It’s probably just because I put it in your head.” Hank pulled him back to the bed. “Come back and cuddle.”
Marcus began to lower back down, but stopped and sat up as he heard the distinct sound of footsteps in the other room. “No,” he whispered. “There is definitely someone in there.”
“Didn’t you lock the door?”
“I don’t remember. I was rather preoccupied with getting you naked and other stuff.”
Hank jumped naked from the bed and fumbled around on the floor for his clothes. He stepped into his boxer shorts and hiked them up on his waist. “Where is my damned shirt?” he asked in a whisper and he spun around in small, panicked circles. “Do you have something in here we can use for a weapon?”
“I don’t know.” Marcus clutched the sheet and pulled it under his chin, cowering his way toward the headboard. His heart beat began to race and the first flashes of light signaling a panic attack began beating at the corners of his eyes. “Like a gun? Why would I have—”
“A baseball bat. Anything.” Hank tiptoed to the closet and slid open the folding doors. He jerked his head back and forth, searching for anything he could swing at the intruder. “Ah ha!” he said as he stuck his arm into the closet and grabbed something. As he spun back around, Marcus could see the shimmering shaft of a golf club.
“I didn’t know my grandmother played—”
“Not the time,” Hank hissed as he slipped over to the bedroom door. He placed a finger to his lips to signal Marcus to be quiet and then placed a hand on the door knob. He put his ear against the door. “Someone is definitely out there, but it doesn’t sound like they’re walking around.”
“Are you really going to hit someone with that?”
“I don’t want to but… it might be a burglar. Or that asshole.”
“Robert? No, I don’t think he—” A loud thud from the other room made Marcus jump. “Where is your phone? Call 911!”
“It’s in the other room, I think. Where is yours?”
“I don’t know,” Marcus whined, his voice rising in pitch from his fear. “God, I thought I convinced him to leave town. Oh, shit. Oh, Shit.” Marcus buried his face in the sheet crumpled in his fists. “I honestly thought—” Marcus stopped as a loud glissando from the piano cut through the quiet. “Oh, my god!” Marcus threw his head back and began to roar with laughter. “It’s Miss Annie.”
“Miss Annie?” Hank knitted his brows and pressed his ear against the door. “Is that ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’?”
Marcus threw the sheet toward the foot of the bed and flung his legs over the edge of the mattress. “Wonderful Miss Annie!” Marcus hopped up and bounced over to the door, dancing to the rhythm of the rousing hymn banging through the closed door. “Come on. Let’s go say good morning.”
“Fiat, stop.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, don’t go out there—”
“It’s fine. She’ll play a song or two and be on her merry way.” He turned to Hank and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Then we can come back in here and maybe go for… what round were we on?” Marcus began to yank the door open.
“No.” Hank placed his hand on the door and slammed it shut. “I don’t think Miss Annie particularly needs to see this side of you.” Hank lowered his head and ran his eyes down Marcus’s body. “I mean, it’s a beautiful sight, but let’s not give the old woman a coronary.”
Marcus glanced at his naked body. “Oh, my god.” He looked at Hank and began to giggle. “Can you imagine?” He snatched his discarded underwear from the floor. As he stepped into it, he said, “You might want to find some pants too.”
Hank propped the golf club against the wall beside the door and crossed to the far side of the bed. He turned from left to right searching for his clothes before dropping to his knees and crawling around on the floor, looking under the bed and the chair in the corner for any sign of has discarded clothes. He stopped when he found a solitary black sock and plopped onto his backside to slide it onto his foot. Marcus continued to giggle as Hank resumed scurrying back and forth on the carpet, one foot bare and his backside jiggling under the taught fabric of his boxer briefs. Hank stopped and rocked back to sit on his heels. “Where the hell is my shirt?”
“I think I threw it somewhere in that direction,” Marcus gestured toward the far side of the room as he dropped to his hands and knees and began to search the floor for his clothes. When he felt a wad of fabric next to his hand, he scooped it up and let it unfurl in front of him. “I think this is yours,” he said as he tossed a black sock across the room toward Hank. “At least your feet won’t be naked.”
“Crap, Fiat.” Hank slid the sock onto his foot before hopping up and standing beside the bed with his hands on his hips and his head thrown back in frustration. “My pants.”
“What?”
“I’m pretty sure you got those off me somewhere in the kitchen. Right after you tossed my shirt over the sofa.”
“Yeah, we did have each other pretty much naked by the time we got in here.” Marcus stopped scrounging around the floor and sat up to look at Hank across the bed. He rested his arms on the mattress and looked at the nearly naked man across the room. The sunlight streamed through the half-opened blinds and created an aura around Hank as it illuminated the dark hairs on his chest, arms, and legs. “Yep. Getting you naked was a good idea.”
“But that means my clothes are out there.” Hank pointed toward the door. “With her.”
“So are mine.”
“Yes, but you’ve got clothes in here.”
“As if I could get into your scrawny-butt jeans.”
“Fine.” Marcus stood and walked over to his duffel bag. He unzipped the top and began digging inside, choosing a pair of sweats and the first T-shirt he found. “I’ll go out and get your clothes.”
“Or you could ask her to leave.”
“Oh, hell no. After Miss Annie’s help yesterday, she can come in and play all the muzak she wants as long as this house is mine.” He stepped into the sweat pants and pulled the T-shirt over his head. “You just hang out in here and I’ll bring your clothes back. Or you can wait until she leaves. No one ever has to know you were here.”
“Okay. Just go.” Hank pulled the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders.
Marcus crawled across the bed and squatted on his knees. He grabbed the edges of the sheet and pulled Hank in for a kiss. As he moved away, he winked and said, “I’ll be right back.” He swatted Hank on the backside before hopping off the bed and walking out of the room.
After closing the bedroom door behind him, Marcus stepped out of the small hallway and into the living room. He paused at the piano and said, “Good morning, Miss Annie.”
The woman looked over at him and smiled broadly. She nodded a greeting as she continued to plunk out the notes of the song. She wore a periwinkle sundress over a rainbow-striped turtleneck and a wide headband covered with fake sunflowers. She looked at the piano keys and rocked from side to side in time with the music she played.
“Have a good time at the dance last night?” Marcus asked as he crossed over to the kitchen to flip the switch on the coffee maker. On the kitchen island, he noticed all of his and Hank’s clothes folded into two neat piles side by side. “I see you straightened up for me.”
Annie played the last few notes of the song and then swiveled around on the bench to face Marcus. She nodded again and sat looking at him. Not knowing what to say, Marcus turned to continue around the island into the kitchen. When his back was turned, he heard the woman clear her throat. Marcus looked back to see her jerk her head first toward the pile of clothes and then toward the bedroom door. She raised her eyebrows and hands in an inquisitive manner.
“Um, yes. He’s back there.”
Annie clapped her hands rapidly in front of her face and then spun back to the piano. Holding her hands above the keys, she closed her eyes before launching into another boisterous song.
Marcus shook his head and grinned as he flipped the switch on the coffee maker. As the water began to drip out of the basket into the carafe, he began to tap his foot and hum along with Annie’s playing until he realized what the tune was. He turned on his heels and asked, “Miss Annie? Is that ‘Oh Happy Day’?” She nodded her head and hunched forward to strike the keys harder and play louder. “Why, you old softy.” As Marcus opened a cabinet over the coffee pot to look for two mugs, the doorbell rang. “Who the heck is that?”
“Yoo-hoo?” a voice called through the front door as someone opened it a crack. “Anyone home?”
“Yes, Helen. Come on in.” Marcus hollered across the room, trying to be heard over Annie’s loud song.
“It’s not just me,” Helen said as she pushed the door open and peeked around the edge. “Are you decent? We all wanted to catch you before you left town to say our goodbyes. We were worried if we came after church, you might be long gone.”
“Y’all come on in. I’m just in here listening to Miss Annie play. And you know good and well I wouldn’t skip out without saying goodbye to all the Do-Nothings.”
“Annie! I told you to come over to my house for a ride to church. Not to come interrupting whatever Marcus might be up to.” Helen craned her neck to peer around the room, clearly looking for anyone else who might be inside.
“Is he in there?” Marcus heard Inez half-whisper over Helen’s shoulder.
Helen glanced back over her shoulder and said, “It appears, except for Annie, Marcus is alone.” Helen stumbled through the door as Inez pushed her in from behind. “Inez, there is no need to shove.”
“Well, quit lollygagging in the door.” Inez burst into the room and strolled over to the island. She pulled out a barstool and hopped onto it. Placing her elbows on the counter, she dropped her head into her hands. “So, Marcus, how was the rest of your night?”
“Inez, that’s none of your business.” Priscilla stepped around Helen and into the living room, tugging Francine along behind her. She waddled to the counter and pulled out the other bar stool. She grunted as she rested one hand on the back of the stool and the other on Francine’s shoulder so she could hop onto the stool; her chubby legs swung far above the floor as she landed with a heavy plop. “What he did when he abandoned us at the dance is none of our business.”
“Even if I still didn’t get to dance at our party because I had to cover the food tables, yet again.” Francine shot a dirty look at Marcus. “We didn’t interrupt something, did we?”
“No.” Helen shrugged. “It appears Marcus was just listening to Annie play the piano.”
“Well, with the way he and that Hudson boy tore out of the dance last night, I thought for sure—”
Helen swatted Francine on the arm and turned to walk into the kitchen and pinched Marcus on both cheeks. She patted him softly on the side of his face and then tapped the tip of his nose with her finger. “As Priss said, that is really none of our business. Even if he did run off and leave the party way before he was supposed to be finished serving the food.”
“I’m so sorry! I totally didn’t mean to leave all of that work for y’all,” Marcus said and rested his hands on each of Helen’s shoulders. “I got so caught up in… well… anyway.” Marcus dropped his chin and tried his best not to blush.
“And before he got paid,” Francine added as she stuck a hand into her blouse and pulled a white bank envelope out of her bra. She dropped it on the counter and slid it toward Marcus. “He’s going to need that if he is skipping town today.”
“Well, he can’t leave before he hears the grand total for the night,” Priscilla added.
“Oh, that’s right!” Marcus said. “How’d we do?”
“We raised twice what we expected, and I think we can thank you for it.”
“Oh, who cares about that shit,” Inez said and banged her hands on the counter. “Spill it, boy. We want all the details and you aren’t leaving town until we get them.”
“Inez, you know a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Marcus said and shot her a crooked grin.
“So there was kissing!” Francine crowed as she leaned over the counter toward Marcus. “Come on, Shoe Button, we want all the—”
A loud banging on the front door interrupted her, and everyone turned to look at the door as it swung open.
“Marc? Are you… oh, good morning ladies,” Skeet said as he swept into the room with a stack of papers in one hand and a tube of cookie dough in the other. He set the papers and dough on the island before folding his arms across his chest. “I swear; you old ladies need to pay Marc rent since you’re over here so much.”
“Perfect timing,” Marcus said as he looked at the stack of papers, realizing it was a pile of mail. “And you know, since I can’t seem to get anybody to come to look at this house to buy it, maybe I could rent it.” He turned to the group of women gathered around the island and added, “I should rent it to you to use as the official clubhouse for the Do-Nothings.”
“No,” Francine said and smirked, “the Do-Nothings meet at the Tammy Dinette. That’s our home.”
“Actually,” Skeet said, “that’s why I’m here. My mama has been trying to call you all morning. She’s got someone interested in looking at the house today.” He looked at Helen and added softly, “Sorry, Nonnie. Mama says she can’t steer people away any longer. Her boss is thinking she’s lost her magic touch.”
&
nbsp; “Why are you apologizing to Helen?” Marcus glanced over to see Helen cowering into her shoulders and stepping behind Inez.
“Let me explain,” Helen said and raised her hands in front of her chest in a defensive manner. “I just told Katie Nell not to be in any rush to show the house. I was thinking that if you stuck around here and actually got to know the town that maybe… well, I don’t know. But there was no harm in it. And I wasn’t the only one. Inez told that one couple—”
“You stool pigeon!” Inez said and turned to Helen with a shocked look. “I suwanee, Helen. You say I’m the gossip but you can’t keep a damned thing—”
“Inez, what did you do?” Marcus asked and put his hands on his hips.
Inez squirmed and stared at her shoes. “Well… I might have told someone who was wandering around the yard that a woman died in here and it might be a little bit haunted.”
“Inez!” Marcus said and rolled his eyes.
“Well, they were damned fools to believe it.”
The room fell silent as the women each stared off into a different direction to avoid eye contact with Marcus. He pushed a few of the letters around on the counter top, surprised to see they were addressed to him at his former Atlanta address. Marcus noticed the return address on one of the envelopes—Atlanta School of Culinary Arts. He slid it out of the pile and opened it. “Skeet, where did this mail come from?”
“It was in a stack on the porch,” Skeet replied and shrugged. “Anyway, there’s someone who wants to see the house today. Mama wanted me to come over and make sure it was clean and to see if you could be out of the house this afternoon. She also wants me to bake these cookies in here for some reason.”
“That’s the oldest trick in the book,” Helen noted and shoved the dough across the counter. “The least your mother could do is bake something from scratch.”
“Oh, I have a recipe for an RC Cola cookie that smells heavenly when it’s baking.” Priscilla offered.
“You have to share that with me,” Inez said.
Marcus tuned out the women’s prattle as he unfolded the letter and read the opening lines.
Lunch with the Do-Nothings at the Tammy Dinette Page 21
