Dream Me Off My Feet (Sex, Love, And Rock & Roll)

by Kisner, Stevie

  It was hard to resist the urge to delve further into the albums, but one glance at the clock hanging on the opposite wall told him he was pushing his luck. I still have so many questions, like how did I recognize her old perfume? Why do I know that place in the photo from the wall? But Kori could be back at any time, Mark might awaken, and Zach… well, who knew with kids? I’ll get her to show these to me later. I’m sure all it will take is to ask.

  He slid the baby book back into the stack and rose with a wince, knees popping painfully. Ow. Damn. We’ve got to rent something larger to go back to the airport in.

  And I’d better put Josie back, ‘cause there is just no way I could reasonably explain lugging around this decrepit old bear.

  “Our secret, right, my fuzzy mate?” JT mumbled as he tucked the bear back up on the shelf. He stepped out into the hall and glanced toward the bedroom where Mark was dozing. A wide empty white spot on the wall snagged his attention. That picture. Shit! Where did I leave it?

  He spun back into Zach’s room, a string of mumbled expletives punctuating the air around his head.

  The pieces of the frame were on the bed; the photo sat at the bottom of the pile, still partially covered by the glass. He picked up the mass of frameworks and stepped into the hall.

  Better put this thing back together fast. If I thought explaining the bear would be bad, how could I ever justify this? “Oh, I was just looking for the little tree I knew was there but was hidden by the wood of the frame.” Yeah, that would sound bloody fabulous, JT. So perfectly reasonable and normal.

  JT pushed on the photo, expecting it to slide back into place over the glass. It didn’t. He gave it another gentle shove and, with a loud crackle in the otherwise quiet room, it popped free and smoothly realigned with the edges of the glass.

  Afraid he’d damaged the picture somehow but even more afraid he’d be caught with a half-apart frame in his hands, JT slipped the glass back into the wood and reassembled the rest.

  “Ow!” he blurted, annoyed, as his thumb straightened one of the metal backtabs that held the entire works together. He peered at the flat of his thumb and was surprised to see a jagged cut sealed with a thready red line. Dried blood smeared thinly across the wide pad.

  Before he could take a closer look, he heard the rumble of the garage door as it opened. Hell! She’s back. Just finish the job before she comes inside, Blackwood.

  Quickly he smoothed down the remaining flimsy tabs; one broke off and he tucked it into his pocket. He flipped the frame to rights and took two long strides down to the empty nail to hang it, then paused, feeling momentarily safe. One downward look told him otherwise as he registered the cause of the popping sound from several seconds ago.

  His blood marred the photo, standing out brilliantly against the more muted red of the stone cliff. Now I know where that cut came from. The picture must’ve stuck to the edge that sliced me. Damn.

  The entry from the garage was just around the corner from the end of the hall, and the sound of the opening door jarred his thoughts. He jumped and almost dropped the photo. Oh, that would be just grand. Break the glass, JT, and then come up with a reason you were holding the picture in the first place. He hastily put the frame back on the wall and was edging it straight again when he heard Kori call his name softly.

  He snapped his head to the left, the excuse already forming on his lips, expecting to find her standing at the opening of the hallway. For once he was relieved to not see her face. “Just down here, luv,” he replied, carefully shortening the vowel. “Looking at your photo gallery.”

  He caught a glimpse of her as she went into the kitchen. “Not some of my best work, I know. But some of my favorite people and places.” He heard Kori begin to rustle through the bags of takeout.

  That’s as straight as it’s going to get right now. JT stepped from the hall to lean against the kitchen doorframe and crossed his arms. “Need a hand, luv?” he teased, smirking.

  She glanced up as she took the last container of Chinese food from the bags and met his laughing eyes, returning the smile.

  Her lower lip trembled slightly against her teeth as she fought to keep the smile in place. She bit her lip to stop the quiver. JT knew with absolute certainty that she was remembering a similar conversation from the day before, just as he was. Her emotions twisted through him as acutely as if they were his own.

  I don’t know why or how, perhaps since this place is so filled with her, or maybe because I’ve suddenly recalled all we’ve shared and just how long we’ve really been tied to one another, but it’s all back like it never ended at all. Oh, love, difficult as this will be to live with right now, I’m going to enjoy the hell out of it.

  JT tilted his head and, with a disarming grin, tossed her a wink.

  Kori’s eyes rounded as the smile fell away from her face. Her thoughts bullhorned into his head; JT’s eyes narrowed as he resisted the impulse to wince at her sheer volume.

  ** I’m dead meat. I’m not sure what’s changed, but I’ll be lucky to get through the holiday now. Dammit, JT, what are you up to?

  He’d anticipated this sort of response and his grin only broadened.

  Should I? Ahh, why not? Give her a little warning, that’s only sporting.

  JT held out his hand and ambled closer, saying nothing but thinking broadly.

  – Give me the keys, sweetheart, and I’ll empty the trunk.

  Kori fished the keys from her coat pocket and dropped them into his outstretched palm. “Cut it out, JT.”

  Her voice was low and edgy, a cover for the fear he felt ripple through her thoughts. Her emotional broadcast dimmed to a low hum; JT realized she was trying to shut him out. It won’t work, sweetheart. I’ve found the key, and it’s Cherri-red.

  Without warning, he grabbed her right hand and flipped it palm-side-up to look closely at the middle finger. Old knotty scar tissue marred the soft skin close to the first knuckle. “I thought so,” he murmured, running his thumb tenderly over the raised surface.

  JT looked up and caught her staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. He glanced back down to her hand and raised it to his lips, landing a gentle kiss on the ancient wound. “Finally got to do that,” he said under his breath, then released her hand again and went out the door into the garage.

  The remains of the evening were mostly a blur; they’d all retired fairly early. JT tossed and turned on the couch. It wasn’t uncomfortable, was even rather wide once the loose pillows from the back were tossed to the floor. Still, it was a couch and not a bed and was somewhat short; his feet hung over the arm, getting cold and falling asleep when he stretched out his legs. He finally fell asleep with his feet tucked under the edge of the last cushion, the only position that allowed his knees to be nearly straight.

  Zach had begged to put up the Christmas tree almost as soon as he’d tumbled out of bed the next morning. Kori balked at first, wanting to take the day to settle in and relax. JT, stiff from the night on the sofa, welcomed any opportunity to move about or even simply to stand; he said he’d gladly get everything from the attic in the garage and put together the artificial tree as long as they all participated in stringing the lights and decorating it.

  It turned out to be a more onerous task than he’d anticipated. Mark and Zach, knowing what a pain their tree was, sidled out of the living room as soon as the swearing started. By late afternoon his forearms boasted angry red scratches and he was ready to give up in frustration as the tree stubbornly refused to stand up straight. Kori stood in the living room doorway and snickered, watching him.

  “What is so bloomin’ funny?” JT snapped, standing back and assessing the definitively leaning tree.

  “You put the trunk in the stand crooked.” She stifled a giggle.

  “I did what?”

  “There’s a trick to it. This particular tree’s trunk screws into the stand, and you threaded it in a little cockeyed.”

  JT scowled at her, then at the tree, grumbling a string of unin
telligible expletives at the thought of taking all the branches back out of the trunk to set it to rights. He took a step closer and wished again that he’d worn long sleeves to protect his forearms. He sighed and pulled the top of the tree from the trunk.

  “I can fix it, you know.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “I can fix it without taking it all apart.”

  He angled an eyebrow at her. “Be my guest, then. I’m completely stymied.”

  Kori got down on her hands and knees next to the tree, then turned her head to look up at him. “I’ll need your help, though.”

  “Okay, Kori. Just tell me what you need me to do.” Now there’s a loaded statement. Just keep your eyes off her ass, JT. Don’t want to get caught staring, or worse, sporting trousers that are too tight in the zipper.

  She flattened herself to the carpet and scooted underneath the lowest branches, the ass he was trying so hard to ignore wriggling enticingly as she moved. JT stifled a groan and focused his eyes on the artificial tree limbs right below his hands.

  Her muffled voice floated up through the branches. “Can you lift the tree up by the trunk? I need about six inches to work with.”

  Six inches? I’ve got more than that for you to work with.

  Kori released an exaggerated sigh. “I heard that. Stop it and just pick up the tree, will you, please?”

  JT chuckled lightly, hardly noticing the new scratches as the spiny bristles raked over his arm; the denim-clad view down below, right next to his feet, sent all thoughts of trees, glass balls and tiny light bulbs far away.

  Jeans were made for an ass like that. God, what I’d like to do right now…

  “Ooof. You’re dropping it.”

  Startled from his reverie, JT couldn’t fathom what she was talking about. “What?”

  “I said you’re dropping the tree. I can’t spin the base around to unthread it and put it back on when you’re holding it so low and moving it around. Honestly, JT, if this is too much for you, you can just take out all the branches and do it yourself.”

  “Oh. Sorry, Kori. I lost my grip for a moment.” On my self-control. Jesus, JT, you’re worse than a randy schoolboy. He raised the trunk a few more inches. “Is that better?”

  “Yeah. Just keep it steady. And JT?”

  “Yeah, babe?” JT realized too late that the little endearment had slipped out; it felt so natural to be doing household tasks and bickering good-naturedly.

  “Stop looking at my butt. I don’t want a face full of tree when I’m trying to screw the base back on straight.”

  JT laughed softly at the smile he could hear in her voice, then wrapped both hands tightly around the tree trunk.

  I haven’t decorated a Christmas tree with family in years, matter of fact, my mum and dad were holding off on doing theirs until I was to get there. And decorating with my former wife never really felt like I was doing it with family. She was always so concerned about how everything appeared, how showy it could be to other people. Every year, the tree, hell, the entire house, had to have a different theme or some new color scheme. One year, ugh… I remember it was pink and purple. Pink and purple! What do pink and purple have to do with Christmas? It was like living in a shopping mall.

  And nothing was ever allowed to carry over into the next year. It all had to be new. Nothing with any meaning, any sentiment, any memories.

  I think I heard the story behind every single decoration today.

  Even Mark participated. Somewhat. He’s not looking any better since we got here, but I do think sleeping in his own bed has made some difference. His mood’s been a bit better and he had the energy to beat me soundly at darts twice today. For all of their sakes, I hope this upswing lasts through Christmas. We all know it’ll be their last one together, and it honors me that he invited me to share it.

  JT scooted down from the pile of pillows and tossed the extra ones to the floor, trying to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. His feet were stuffed under the armrest and his slightly bent knees flopped to rest against the sofa’s back. And so I shouldn’t feel ungrateful about this eternally damned couch. It is, after all, better than being God-knows-where and all alone. Still, if it weren’t for having to sleep on this too-short piece of furniture, I would be thoroughly enjoying this holiday.

  ****

  Kori was finding it difficult to drop off to sleep despite her familiar surroundings and total exhaustion.

  He’s the same and yet different somehow. Connecting at will, no doubt about that. And I don’t know what I’ve done, or worse, what he might have done, to cause it. If it’s not something I did, then he’s found a way to make this run both ways. It’s too soon for him to be able to do that. Isn’t it? Or maybe it’s just that I’m not ready for that.

  And what was with that kiss on my finger yesterday? I’m certain I heard him say, “Finally,” too. Finally what?

  She ran her thumb absently over the knuckle, feeling the slightly raised knot of scar tissue she’d had since forever. I remember how I got this. I was on the swing in the backyard, wondering where my invisible friend was, and I was swinging too high and too fast. I had my eyes closed, waiting for that split-second of free-fall before the chain snapped tight again. I wanted to soar even higher, so when he came back… what was it I used to call him? Josie? No, that was my old bear. I can’t remember… Whoever he was, I’m sure has no recollection of our very special childhood friendship. Besides, I found JT somewhere in a dream a few years later and didn’t need that little childhood friend any more.

  One of the links of the chain was bent open and snagged the edge of my finger and tore a giant chunk out of it. God, how it bled! I was so terrified that when the swing reached close to the ground I just bailed onto the dirt on my butt. I remember that I didn’t start crying until the plastic seat came back down and whacked me on the head.

  My mom always said I was a great screamer, and that day I’m sure they heard me downtown. And it wasn’t from the blood or my finger or even from the lump on the back of my head.

  It was okay to be sad, angry, even moody when her friend appeared, but physical injuries were not. Imaginary friends couldn’t really get hurt, and that’s what she was to him, imaginary. Even at seven years old, gut instinct told her it was best that she didn’t break that illusion. Something changed that day between us.

  At first too stunned to make a sound, she let out a surprised yelp when the bright yellow plastic seat of the swing smacked her skull. Stars speckled her vision and she blinked hard to clear them, then looked down at her hand. Blood dripped steadily from two fingertips. She opened her mouth and screamed mightily, all the while hoping that it was still too early, wherever he was, to come calling to play.

  She wanted to get up and run inside to her mother, but her legs wouldn’t obey. Certain now that the knock on the head had somehow made her paralyzed, she filler her lungs to bursting and howled, hoping it would bring someone running to help.

  It did, but not who she’d hoped for. In a heartbeat, he was there. Her Josie. ( I did call him the same name as the bear, I remember that now.) She sensed his comforting warmth, felt his wish to actually pull her in his arms, heard his soothing murmurs that whatever it was, it would be okay, he’d see to it always and forever that she’d be all right.

  She didn’t think much of it at the time, the meaning behind his words. His calm strength without even knowing yet what had happened kept her from screaming again.

  It was only a moment later that her mother arrived, breathless and worried; by then he had her calmed to a sniffle and was begging to know what was wrong. As she turned to the gentle touch of her mother, she told him that she’d cut her finger deeply on the chain of the swing, then found something in herself she didn’t know she had; the ability to break their connection. The warm solace of his heart was suddenly gone, only dimly replaced by her mother’s open arms.

  They’d both learned something new that day. She felt his suspicion rising that maybe she wasn�
��t imaginary after all, and she’d learned how to shut him out.

  Why in the world am I thinking about all of this now? No more musing, Kori. Get some sleep. Maybe you’ll get lucky and for the second night in a row, you won’t get pulled into a dreamsex movie in JT’s head. Maybe his being uncomfortable on the sofa has its merits after all.

  She rolled onto her stomach and punched her pillow to fluff it, her eyes drifting closed as sleep came to claim her at last.

  Twenty-Two

  JT thanked blind luck as the opportunity to pry without appearing to presented itself a few days later.

  He’d asked in passing if their passports were up-to-date and Kori responded that they didn’t have any. He suggested they apply for them as soon as possible, as the tour was drawing to a close in little more than a month and travel to England would probably be necessary shortly after.

  Kori printed the forms from a government web site, noting that their photos had to accompany the applications. Although Mark protested his need for a passport, she took several shots of him anyway.

  The information for the applications, however, was rather daunting.

  “Why do they need my parents’ birthdates?” she grumbled while hunting for anything that might contain them. “They’ve both passed away, anyhow.”

  “I don’t know, Kori, but I can tell you that if you don’t have the dates, they’ll reject it,” JT replied. “It’s beyond me why half of what they ask for is considered required information.”

  “This is hopeless,” she groaned. “I don’t remember what years they were born. Maybe I could just improvise and make something up.”

  “I’m fairly certain they check, luv.”

  “Then I’m sunk. I know the dates, but not the years. I haven’t the faintest clue.”

  JT thought for a moment. “You don’t have any sort of a family tree anywhere?”

  She cocked a brow and stared at him for a long moment. “Uh, no, JT. Genealogy never did make it to my list of burning desires.”

  “And it’s not on your birth certificate?” he wondered. “It’s on mine, but that’s British, so it could be different than yours.”