A Kiss of a Different Color

by Bettye Griffin

  But she now realized that the rehab center wasn’t the only place she’d seen this woman, and that realization put her in a bad spot. She personally disapproved of the rule against employee dating, considering it to be an infringement into the employees’ personal lives, but she was a corporate officer, and as such she had an obligation to fulfill.

  She’d have to give this one some thought.

  Angeline Lawson also stared at Jon, who looked more handsome than ever in a black suit that looked as if it had been tailored just for him. The red shirt and snowy scene depicted on his tie was a change from his usual white or pinstriped shirts and professional ties. And wow, could he ever dance!

  Her eyes went to his partner, a tall black girl a few years older than herself she hadn’t seen before…or had she?

  Hadn’t she seen this girl at the bowling alley? Yes, sure she had. There were only a few African-Americans there, this girl and a couple about the same age as her parents, in their late forties. Did this girl bowl with Jon? Maybe it was a coincidence that they both belonged to the league.

  No, it wasn’t, she realized, remembering how she’d seen Jae from Accounting there as well. They probably all bowled together, all three of them.

  Her lower lip protruded as she continued watching them through narrowed eyes. Jae Gallagher was married; her husband was here with her tonight. But the black girl was here alone.

  Angeline personally didn’t believe she was too young for Jon. To listen to him talk, anyone would think he was a generation older than her instead of a mere decade. She’d convinced herself that Jon used that as an excuse because he didn’t go for brunettes and just didn’t want to say so. So many people in Bismarck were blond, or with very light brown hair, that sometimes she felt like she lived in Stockholm or Copenhagen. Now she felt foolish…and angry. Jon hadn’t taken the bait she dropped so openly that they get to know each other better because he was already seeing the girl he was dancing with. From the smooth way the two of them were moving, this couldn’t be the first time they’d hit the dance floor as a duo. If they bowled together and danced together, it was a cinch to figure out what else were they doing together.

  Angie’s face turned hard as stone. Jon had fed her a line about the rule against employee fraternization as an excuse not to go out with her, and all the while he was dating this other employee. He’d probably told her about her overtures to him, and they’d probably laughed at it…and at her.

  Well, she’d find out who this girl was, and more importantly, what she did for the company. Chances were she didn’t hold a job on the level as his.

  She’d just see what management had to say about that.

  “Who’s that dancing with Lindbergh?” Ralph asked one of the nurses he supervised, who sat at the table with her husband.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen her before. She must work off site. But they dance together really well, don’t they?”

  Too well, Ralph thought. He doubted this woman, whomever she was, was a director; most of mid-level management worked out of the corporate office. He doubted the racial thing, which he personally disapproved of, would concern anyone these days—no one so much as blinked at that Chinese girl having a white husband—but Jon Lindbergh could be fired if he was having an affair with a woman whose job ranked lower than his.

  “You’d think those two have been dancing together for years,” his co-worker’s husband marveled. “They’re putting poor Al and his wife to shame.”

  His wife murmured agreement, but Ralph said nothing. These two knew each other and had danced before, of that he was certain. They moved together too skillfully to be strangers, unlike Jon’s boss Kate, who had stumbled a time or two when doing the tango with him. Of course, it would take more than coordinated dancing to prove an affair, but somehow he’d keep a close watch on the situation, and the moment he had proof he’d pass it on to the Integrity Hotline…anonymously, of course.

  He gave his first genuine smile of the evening. He might have just found Jon Lindbergh’s Achilles heel.

  Chapter 19

  Miranda removed her wheeled suitcase from the back seat of her car and went inside to get her claim ticket before getting in the complimentary van to the terminal. She was excited to be going home; she hadn’t seen her family since moving to Bismarck nearly four months ago.

  It had worked out better than she’d dared to hope. She and Chelsea, although not as chummy as classic TV characters Lucy Ricardo and her landlady Ethel Mertz, got along quite well and indulged in occasional girl talk and outings. Jae and Brian had become wonderful friends, the type of people Miranda felt she could call upon if she ever found herself in a situation where she needed assistance. She belonged to a lively bowling league, she had taken up skiing, and she was living her lifelong dream of learning ballroom dancing…best of all, with Jon as a partner.

  Meeting him had been the high point of her new life in Bismarck. For one magical night, or portion of a night, he’d also been her partner in bed. The memories of that night, of how divinely sexed he’d made her feel, crept into her thoughts every Thursday night when they bowled, plus every Saturday morning when they went to the mountain to ski. At her request they never spoke of it, but a strong sexual undercurrent continued to run between them, more prominent than ever. This was especially remarkable when she considered that their physical contact became non-existent after their last night at dance class. Since the terms of her lease with Chelsea stated she was free to entertain prior to ten p.m., Miranda had thought of maybe inviting him to the house and cooking breakfast for him after their ski Saturdays. That ever-present flow of unspent sexual tension stopped her from doing so.

  All that changed at the company Christmas party, when it rose to the surface, so potently that she felt they might combust into a ball of fire. She wanted to throw herself into Jon’s arms and kiss him, have him sling her over his shoulder like he had that night at the lanes, except with them going home together and indulging in lovemaking that would make the sex they had in Bottineau tame. After their dance to two numbers she abruptly retrieved her coat and left, afraid that her desire for Jon showed on her face, as well as possible questions from her co-workers about him that she had no answers for. When questioned Monday morning, she explained that he was a friend of Jae Gallagher and her husband, and that she’d met him at their home and they found they danced well together.

  The Snowball had taken place the following Saturday. Couples who’d taken dance lessons earlier in the year, as well as prior years, put on their holiday finery and danced the night away to music provided by a small orchestra. The studio had been transformed into a holiday fairyland, courtesy of huge cardboard cutouts, twinkling lights, and cloth-covered tables. The tickets cost forty dollars apiece, and Gina and Ralph made it worth every penny.

  Miranda had consented for Jon to pick her up, even though she insisted on purchasing her own ticket, and she wore her hair pulled back, pinned at the crown and then let it hang loose from that point, because she knew Jon liked it that way. The full-skirted, simple maroon velvet dress with a V-neckline in front and an even deeper one in the back swirled around her legs as they floated across the floor in all types of dances…the waltz…the salsa…that tricky fox trot…all the steps they’d learned during their course. Miranda felt like a movie star, and even less skilled dancers seemed to be floating in perfect symmetry in the dimmed lights. She and Jon beamed at each other—he’d rented a tuxedo for the occasion and looked incredibly handsome. Miranda savored the professional photograph they posed for that night, and when he brought her home he told her again how beautiful she looked, told her he’d had a wonderful time dancing with her, and gazed into her eyes, gently tilted her chin, and wished her a Merry Christmas just before he kissed her lips lightly…three times. No demanding tongue, no embrace…just three simple meetings of lips. Miranda hadn’t known that simple kisses could leave her weak-kneed and trembling.

  She hadn’t seen him since, and she found she m
issed him terribly. The league had shut down for three weeks for the holiday, and like her, Jon was also going home for Christmas. Miranda’s own flight to Milwaukee made a stop in Minneapolis. Was Jon already there, she wondered. He’d called last week to wish her a good trip and ask when she was traveling. She’d told him, but he’d been rather vague about his own plans, which had only served to incite her curiosity. Did he plan to look up an old flame or hook up with a new one while in Minneapolis? What about his plans for New Year’s? Would he still be in the Twin Cities, or would he be back in Bismarck, where she would be? Would he call her?

  Of course he wouldn’t. Whatever Jon’s plans for New Year’s, they didn’t involve a chaste good night kiss at the door like he had with her after the Snowball. There’d be sex, sex like she and he had in Bottineau, except lots more of it. It made her ill to think of him enjoying another woman’s body the way he had hers. She’d had every chance to be the woman in his life, and she knew he’d waited for her, hoping she would change her mind. But he wouldn’t wait forever, and the events of recent weeks told her it was futile to try to ignore her yearning for him, which had grown so strong it nearly consumed her.

  Miranda found she could think of nothing else but Jon as she checked her bag, then settled in at the gate. She opened the Subway turkey breast and Black Forest ham sub she’d stopped to get for an early dinner, since she’d skipped lunch. The sandwich crunched with every bite she took, since she’d had it loaded with pickles and other fresh vegetables.

  Jon had probably been right about them being able to evade public knowledge of their relationship. The winter solstice had just passed, and it was already shaping up to be a brutal one. Miranda hadn’t seen grass since the second week in November; the parks and lawns of Bismarck had been covered with snow. Like James Taylor said in his famous song, she didn’t want to be lonely another night.

  Her sandwich, generally one of her favorites, seemed to lose its flavor as she tortured herself with thoughts of Jon spending romantic evenings in front of the fire with a pretty companion while she sat at home alone.

  “Nice day for traveling.”

  The male voice came from behind her, and even though she told herself the speaker probably directed his words to someone sitting next or across to him rather than someone whose back faced his, the voice sounded familiar to her, so she turned to look.

  Directly behind her sat a man whose blond hair grazed his collar and was partially covered with a navy Ascot cap.

  She swallowed. “Jon?”

  He turned around. “Hey! I hope you don’t mind. I spotted you there and thought I’d have a little fun.”

  “I didn’t know you were taking this flight.”

  “I was originally on another one, but when I talked to you last week and confirmed you were leaving today and on this airline, I saw that the flight to Milwaukee stopped in Minneapolis, so I changed my reservations to this one. I really wanted to see you, Miranda.” He stood up. “I’d better come around and sit on that side with you, or else both of us are gonna develop neck strain.”

  Miranda used the few seconds it took him to walk around to the end of the row and then back again to say a silent prayer of thanks. She felt as if she’d just been given a Christmas present.

  Surely this was a sign from above, just as her bagel had popped out of the toaster at the very second Chelsea said she hoped she’d find a dance partner.

  On the plane they managed to swap assigned seats so that they could sit together, Miranda in a window seat and Jon on the aisle. The DC9 plane featured asymmetrical seating, two seats on the side of the aisle where Miranda and Jon sat and three seats on the other side.

  “Where’s Stormy?” she asked just before takeoff.

  “I boarded her while I’m away. If I was driving I would bring her with me, but I don’t want to make that drive in the winter.”

  She nodded. “I don’t blame you for that.”

  They fell silent during takeoff, and once they were airborne for the short flight—just under an hour from gate to gate—Miranda asked, “So, what are you going to do while you’re home with your family?”

  “Oh, probably have a snowball fight with my niece and nephew and spend some quality time with Mormor.”

  “With who?”

  “Mormor. My grandmother. That’s what I call her. It’s a Norwegian word.”

  “Norwegian? Is that your ethnicity? Somehow I thought Lindbergh was Swedish.”

  “My father’s people were from Sweden, but my mother’s people came from Norway. My great-great-grandparents, actually.” He grunted. “The last ones in the family whose marriage lasted.”

  Miranda nodded. “So that’s why you were so familiar with the menu of that place up in Bottineau.” Then she recalled what her mother had told her about her co-worker’s family tradition. “So do you guys eat lutfisk?”

  He looked at her in surprise. “What do you know about lutfisk?”

  “One of my coworkers was complaining that her grandmother makes it every year and she hates it.” That was her mother’s situation rather than hers, but Miranda didn’t want to tell Jon that her mother had attempted to paint an unpleasant picture of Scandinavian cuisine to talk her out of moving to Bismarck.

  “Well, my grandmother used to make it, but she didn’t like all the work involved. Since we could take it or leave it, we usually have salmon stuffed with crabmeat instead.” He chuckled. “That’s my absolute favorite. I actually help her out in the kitchen as she makes it.”

  Miranda poured the remainder of the contents of her can of V8 into her plastic cup. “Is that where your enjoyment of cooking comes from?”

  “Probably. And as you know, my specialty is breakfast. What you don’t know is that it’s usually served after a night of passion. You should come back and try the full menu,” he hinted.

  She took a sip of the juice and placed it back on her tray table. “I’d love to.”

  “You would?”

  His voice cracked with surprise, striking Miranda as comical.

  “Yes, I would,” she replied calmly.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what made you change your mind?”

  She linked her arm through his on the armrest. “Two weeks without seeing you. I missed you something awful, Jon. It just wasn’t the same.” For a moment she allowed herself the comfort of resting her head on his shoulder, then returned to sitting straight. “You know, sometimes when people repeatedly say they want something, when they get it they don’t know what to do with it. I hope that won’t be the case with you,” she said sweetly.

  He placed his lips close to her ear. “That night in Bottineau should alleviate any concerns you have about that.”

  Miranda’s hips twitched against her seat. Here it was, the start of her Christmas break when she would see the family she’d missed so much, and she could hardly wait to get back to Bismarck. Only one thing would satisfy the ache in her groin for more of what she and Jon shared in that ski lodge near the Canadian border…more of the same. Lots more.

  Miranda was salivating over that thought when without warning, the plane violently lurched downward. The passengers let out a collective cry of panic, and many of them, Miranda included, clutched at their stomachs, which felt as if they had been left a hundred yards above their current altitude. The plane continued to thrash in all directions, up, down, and to the sides, taking frightening dips. Miranda’s cup went flying up, splashing tomato juice over her chest, as did other loose items in the cabin…books, magazines, and several laptop computers, one of which hit Jon in the shoulder with a sickening thud. Several people who hadn’t been wearing their belts were thrown from their seats. Some hit the ceiling with loud cracks, and others flew into the aisle or beyond. One woman actually landed in the laps of passengers on the other side of the aisle. Passengers screamed, and strangers seated next to each other held hands and prayed loudly.

  Above the din the captain’s voice came over the PA system, his speedily spoken w
ords indicating the perilous nature of his message. “Ladies and gentleman, we’ve hit some very sudden and very severe turbulence about thirty minutes outside of Minneapolis. At this time I ask the flight attendants to take their seats and that everyone fasten their seat belts. It might get rough the next few minutes, but we should come through it fine. Please don’t panic, we should be on the ground within forty minutes.”

  “Jon!” Miranda cried out, reaching across him as he grimaced, his left hand clutching at his injured right shoulder. “You’re hurt!”

  “I’ll be all right.” He took her hand and squeezed it, but his facial expression couldn’t mask his pain.

  The bouncing of the plane had subsided for a bit, but then became worse. Passengers cried out in fear as they rocked in their seats. A sharp pitch to the left sent Miranda’s head slamming into the side wall, followed by another rapid drop so severe the oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling. The co-pilot’s voice on the PA instructed them to fasten the masks and breathe through them. The severity of the drop, along with the constant lurching to the left and right, caused bags stored under the seats to spill out into the aisles. Miranda heard a rumbling from within the bowels of the plane, and she realized it was the luggage in the compartment below them being tossed about. As the plane shook and lurched like an amusement park ride, Miranda had a terrible foreboding that the plane would break in two. Tears ran down her face, and she screamed through the pain in her head. She felt Jon’s strong arm pulling her close, heard him whisper, “Hold on to me, Miranda. Just hold on.”