When I’m With You (Indigo)

by LaConnie Taylor-Jones

  Marcel took off his suit coat, tossed it on the back of the sofa and held out his hand. “Come on.”

  She placed her hand in his and looked up with a puzzled stare. “Come where?”

  “Trust me.”

  He led her into the bedroom, then pointed to the bed. “Off your feet, lady, until I get things ready.”

  He took off his onyx cufflinks, rolled back his sleeves and put his watch inside his pocket. Once inside the bathroom, he began to fill the tub. A few seconds later, he peeked his head out the door. “Do you use any kind of bubble bath?”

  She turned in bed until she could see him. “Yes. Right side of the vanity cabinet.”

  A couple of minutes later, Marcel was at the foot of the bed. “Where’s your robe, kitten.”

  She looked to her right. “In the closet.”

  He glanced around the room. “Okay. Baby oil? Towels?”

  “Baby oil, on top of the dresser, and towels are in the linen closet in the hallway. But—”

  “No buts.” He helped her to her feet. “The water’s a little hot, but that’s good for you.” When she hesitated, he gave her shoulder a gentle push. “Go on before it cools off.”

  Walking toward the bathroom, she stopped and spoke over her shoulder. “Where did you—”

  “I grew up around three sisters, remember?” Once Caitlyn began to peel off her clothes, Marcel made a half turn to the door, then stopped. “Let me know when you’re finished, all right?”

  “Marcel?”

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled. “You’re welcome. All right, now lean your head back on that towel.” He turned and quietly closed the door behind him.

  Marcel searched every cabinet in the kitchen until he found several bags of herbal tea. He’d placed a cup of water in the microwave and was waiting for it to heat when he heard Caitlyn call out to him.

  After her bath, Caitlyn slipped on a pair of shorts and another T-shirt and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Marcel walked in with a steaming cup of tea. “I think this will help.” He placed the cup on the nightstand. “Feeling better?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now stretch out for me. I’ll be right back.”

  A few moments later he returned with two large towels. He grabbed the baby oil off the dresser, then pointed toward the bathroom. “Do you keep your medicine in there?”

  “Yes. Second shelf inside the cabinet.”

  He grabbed the bottle, read the directions and took out two tablets. Back at the side of the bed, he held out his hand. “Come on. Take these. There’s no sense in suffering with pain if you have something that will knock it out.”

  Lying on her stomach, she rolled to her side. “But it’ll make me sleepy.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She popped the white tablets in her mouth and washed them down with the tea.

  “What hurts most?”

  She groaned. “My back.”

  “Okay. We’ll start there first.” He spread one of the towels on the bed. “On your stomach for me.”

  With long, tapered fingers, he gently kneaded her shoulders, and in a steady motion, worked his way down her spine.

  “Umm, feels good.”

  “Is the pain starting to ease?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He continued to gently massage the muscles that felt like knots. “Now close your eyes and relax for me.”

  “Thank you.” She fought back a yawn. “I don’t want to keep you from anything. Go on. I’ll be okay.”

  Bending down, he placed a soft kiss at the center of her back. “Go to sleep, kitten. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

  * * *

  After a Saturday mentoring session at the youth center, Marcel accepted a challenge from Jamal, the young boy he’d met on his first day at the center, to a game of one-on-one at the gym a couple of blocks away. Caitlyn decided to work on a couple of reports while she waited for them to return.

  Two hours later, Marcel staggered into her office breathing heavily. Bent at the waist, he clutched his thighs and sweat dripped down his face. Finally, he slumped into a nearby chair.

  “Whew.” Marcel sounded winded.

  “Poor baby.” Caitlyn bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud, but a snicker still managed to escape.

  Opening one eye, Marcel looked at her. “What’s so funny?”

  “You thinking you’re the twenty-year-old version of the NBA’s next superstar.”

  He closed his eye. “I‘ll have you know I can hang with the best of them.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, who won?”

  “It was close.”

  “In other words, you got your butt kicked, right?”

  He leaned his head against the back of the chair and stretched out his long legs as a hard sigh escaped. “Hell yeah.”

  “Let me see if I can make it better.” Caitlyn took a seat on his lap and sniffed. She leaned back and wrinkled her nose. “Oh, baby, you stink.”

  Marcel chuckled. “Jamal smells just as bad.”

  She started to get up but a pair of strong arms held her still.

  “In some countries, women like their men musty, you know.”

  “Sorry to bust your bubble here, but this is the U.S. of A., brother, and this woman likes a good-smelling man.”

  He pulled her closer and rubbed his sweaty face against the side of hers. “You mean good smelling with deodorant, aftershave, cologne—”

  “Right now, I’d settle for soap and water.”

  They both laughed.

  Marcel caressed each corner of her mouth before his tongue slipped inside. He sighed with contentment. “Listen, if we’re going to keep our date, I’d better get going. It’ll take me at least thirty minutes to drive home, shower, change, and drive back over to pick you up.”

  “Do you have a change of clothes with you?”

  “Yeah,” he answered with a hesitant drawl.

  “Deodorant and cologne?”

  He chuckled. “Yes. Why?”

  “Want to shower and change at my place?”

  “You sure?”

  She got up, grabbed her purse and took a single key off the ring. She held it out to him. “I’m sure. I need about thirty more minutes to finish this report anyway. ”

  Accepting the key, he stood and pulled her close and murmured his thanks against her mouth. “Merci.”

  She parted her lips and his tongue slipped inside. When they finally pulled away, she started to say to him “you’re welcome” in English. But her French lessons had improved tremendously. “De rien.”

  Chapter 10

  “Marcel, you’re putting the wrong fork by the knife.” Brie chastened her twin brother as she watched him arrange the antique sterling-silver flatware. She looked closely at the fork again. “Yep, I was right. Boy, that’s a salad fork.”

  “Look, Brie, right now a fork’s a fork, all right?” With a little less than an hour before Caitlyn’s arrival for dinner with his family, Marcel nervously scurried around the dining room table to make sure everything was perfect. His grandmother, Mama Z, had gladly taken charge of dinner and prepared several of her delicious Creole dishes. Earlier that morning, Marcel had ordered his personal housekeeping service to come in and clean his father’s house from top to bottom, even though Alcee told him his cleaning service had performed the weekly task the day before.

  Marcel couldn’t remember how many bottles of wine he’d flown in from his favorite winery in Italy until they had arrived at his house two days earlier. He had spent a small fortune ordering a new set of Waterford crystal because he thought he saw a chip on one of the wineglasses he’d inspected the week before. When the clerk told him she couldn’t guarantee his order would arrive in time, he’d explained to her in no uncertain terms he expected his order by the close of business the next day. The store manager pe
rsonally delivered it before noon.

  His constant appearances in and out of the kitchen forced Mama Z to issue a temporary restraining order against him for the remainder of the evening. She reassured him she had the evening’s meal under control and pleaded with him to go find someone else’s nerves to rattle. With less than an hour before dinner, he found his partner in crime, his ace, Brie.

  His fraternal twin was older by two minutes, and Brie had absolutely no trouble reminding him he was her little brother. He’d shared her pain when she lost the love of her life, her husband of only two years, in a head-on collision. Since then, she’d channeled all of her energies into establishing a successful beauty salon and spa, Taste of Heaven.

  From the opposite side of the table, Brie stiffened her six-foot frame and braced her hands on her narrow hips. She grinned. “Little brother, there’re different types of forks. What if Caitlyn has more sophistication than you appear to have right now and knows the difference?”

  Nervously fingering his beard, Marcel studied the placement of the forks he’d spent the last hour arranging. “Yeah…yeah…yeah. You’re right.” He looked up to see his sister with both hands clamped over her mouth. “Come on, Brie, and help me out here.” He opened his arms wide. “I wouldn’t just stand around and not help you out if you’d made a mistake.”

  “Yes, you would.” Still laughing, Brie switched the forks.

  A worried look crept into Marcel’s eyes, and he slumped in a nearby chair. “God, I hope everything goes well.”

  “Why wouldn’t it?”

  “Brie, you know how crazy this family is.”

  She took a seat next to him and patted his shoulder. “You really like her, huh, little brother?”

  Marcel didn’t answer.

  Brie leaned over and whispered in her brother’s ear. “I know you, and that’s a yes. Boy, I ain’t seen you this nervous in my life.”

  “I’m not nervous.” Marcel proceeded to fold the linen napkins in front of him at the wrong angle.

  She chuckled. “Yeah, right. You haven’t been this excited about a female since you told me that Kennedy what’s-her-face let you kiss her back in the seventh grade.”

  “What?” He laughed at the reminder.

  “You heard me.” Brie placed a soft kiss against his cheek. “Everything’s going to be fine. At least Ray isn’t here.”

  Marcel sighed with relief. “Thank God for small favors, huh.” Ray, their youngest brother, was touring with his jazz band, but had promised to be back home by the second week in October when the family celebrated what they referred to as Baptiste family week.

  They both laughed.

  With a gleam in her gray-green eyes, Brie casually offered Marcel her usual assistance. “Don’t worry. I’ma help you run interference tonight.”

  “Brie.” Marcel’s voice had a warning tone.

  “What?” Brie scooted her chair in closer. “No, now listen, petit frère. You know this crew as well as I do. Moni will be asking fifty million questions.” She shook her head and sighed. “Heaven knows what kind of mood diva Aimee will be in when she gets here.”

  Marcel pinched the bridge of his nose and faced Brie. “That’s what I’m worried about. I asked Caitlyn to join us for dinner, not come and witness a three-ring circus. You know, sometimes all of you people can be as uncontrolled as animals in the wild.”

  She cut her gray-green eyes at him. “I know you’re not talking about me.”

  “You included.” He smiled and thumped the end of her nose. “At least I can count on you controlling yourself better than the rest of them.”

  She slapped the table. “See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve always had your back. Now just leave all inquiries to me.” Without hesitation, she pointed her thumb at her chest. “I’ll field all questions tonight.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Marcel had known since they were teenagers that Brie always tried to run interference between him and the women he dated. God love her, but more often than not he had to remind her he was perfectly capable of handling his woman.

  He chuckled and stood. “No.” He placed a kiss on both her cheeks.

  “Why not? Look, you need me to at least—”

  “No.” He really wanted to tell his sister her interference in his love life was wearing on his last nerve. At the moment, the only thing he was interested in was making a good impression on Caitlyn and getting through dinner without her feeling she’d spent half the evening in a psych ward.

  “Marcel?” Brie followed him toward the kitchen.

  Marcel turned in mid-stride. “Brie, stay out of grown folk’s business.”

  * * *

  Everyone was seated at the huge dining room table enjoying Mama Z’s red beans and rice, chicken-and-okra gumbo, jambalaya and Creole cornbread. For dessert, she’d made beignets.

  Alcee and Mama Z sat at each end of the table. A.J., his daughters Taylor and Tyler, and Aimee, the youngest sibling, sat on one side of the huge dining room table while Brie, Moni, Moni’s husband Zach, Marcel and Caitlyn sat on the opposite side.

  “Unca Marcel,” Tyler giggled.

  Marcel looked across the table at his niece. “Yes, cupcake. What is it?”

  The four-year-old looked at Caitlyn. “She pretty.”

  Marcel smiled. “Thanks, sweet pea.” He glanced over at Caitlyn and gave her a loving look. “I think so, too.”

  Caitlyn offered a soft smile. “Thank you, Tyler.”

  Tyler bobbed her tiny head up and down. “Welcome, Caitlyn.”

  Mama Z softly cleared her throat and whispered to Tyler who sat next to her. “That’s not right.”

  “Oops, I soorie.” Tyler formed a huge O with her mouth. She stood and cupped her hand next to her great-grandmother’s ear. “What I say again, arrière grand-mère?”

  Mama Z smiled and whispered back. “Ms. Caitlyn, sweetheart.”

  Tyler’s doe-brown eyes lit and she nodded, then shifted her gaze back to Caitlyn. “Welcome, Ms. Caitlyn.”

  Caitlyn nodded and smiled.

  A pregnant Moni was seated to Caitlyn’s left and turned with her elbow propped on the table. “So, Caitlyn, how long have you lived in Oakland? Where are you from? How long have you and Marcel been seeing each other?”

  “Moni.” Zach, Moni’s husband, spoke somewhat forcefully as he reached for a second helping of red beans and rice.

  Moni turned to him. “What?” When he didn’t respond immediately, she innocently shrugged. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Brie peered around Zach. “Yeah. You asked the woman a zillion questions without coming up for air. I’m sure if there’s something Caitlyn wants us to know, she’ll tell us.”

  Moni looked at her sister with her hand up defensively. “Listen, Brie, I was just trying to make friendly conversation. That’s all.”

  All the adult family members countered back as if on cue, “No, you weren’t.” Afterward, a few of them mumbled under their breath their displeasure at Moni’s questioning.

  “Son, ya needs to get a handle on ya woman there.” Mama Z nodded to Zach while she looked sternly at her granddaughter. The family matriarch’s skin tone was as smooth and rich as butter, but the deadpan expression on her face was as hard as cement.

  A smiling Caitlyn intervened. “Moni, to answer your questions, I’ve lived here about nine months. I’m from Newark, New Jersey, and I’ve known Marcel a little over three months.”

  Moni clapped gleefully. “Okay, now, let me ask you this—”

  “Monique Desiree Baptiste Tate.” Zach’s tone was crisp.

  Moni straightened up and didn’t utter another word.

  Marcel lowered his head and chuckled. He’d always gotten along with Zach, even before he and Moni married six years ago, but at the moment, he loved him for whatever techniques he’d employed to curtail Moni’s propensity to gossip. He figured those skills came from Zach’s job as a lieutenant with
the Oakland Police Department.

  Aimee gasped in amazement. “So, Zach, is that all we need to do to keep her quiet?”

  Zach continued eating and tossed Aimee a quick wink. “Requires a little more than that, sister-in-law.”

  Brie chuckled. “Well, let us in on the other half of your secret, brother.”

  After dinner, Mama Z served the beignets, and Alcee helped her serve coffee. While they were eating, Aimee looked over at Marcel. “You’re still keeping your promise to help me move Saturday, right?”

  Marcel lifted his brow in surprise. “Aimee, I never made you that promise. Besides, Caitlyn and I have plans for Saturday.”

  Aimee poked out her ruby lips. “Well, how am I supposed to move my stuff?”

  Brie rolled her eyes. “Girl, stop whining, please.”

  Aimee snatched her napkin from her lap and tossed it on the table. Brie, I’m not whining. Marcel said he was—”

  “No, you said that,” Marcel shot back. “Not me.”

  Caitlyn smiled as she glanced back and forth between the squabbling siblings. She finally knew what family was all about. She patted Marcel’s hand. “Don’t worry about Saturday. I think we should help Aimee.” She looked over at Marcel’s sister. “Perhaps some of my kids from the center could help you as well. We try to encourage volunteerism, and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

  Aimee snorted. “I don’t know any of those people.”

  Caitlyn’s smile quickly faded. “They don’t know you either.”

  Brie leaned over and looked down the table at Caitlyn. “G’on, girl.” Looking over at Aimee, she taunted, “Hmph. What you got to say now?”

  A.J., Marcel’s second youngest brother, fingered the diamond stud in his right ear. “Listen, Aimee, I work with those kids on Saturdays, and they’re a good bunch. Besides, I think it was generous of Caitlyn to offer you the help in the first place.”

  Aimee glanced around the table at angry eyes. “Listen, I wasn’t trying to be rude. It’s just that I’m not used to having a bunch of people around my stuff. I don’t know…”

  Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed. “Aimee, I can assure you my kids won’t take any of your things, if that’s what you’re worried about. They’re not looking to steal, just searching for a chance.”