Spring Feve

by Emerald Wright

  Jeannie and I had been talking about the growly guy – Jake – more or less since he’d walked out the door with that delicious swish in his step, and slid that beautiful ass across the motorcycle’s saddle. “If he was trying too hard,” I said, “he’d... I dunno, wear a bunch of cologne, or have a bunch of chest hair sticking out the top of his shirt. Maybe a big, gold pendant?”

  Jeanette was shaking her head, smiling sadly. “Oh honey, men haven’t done all that at once since Studio 54 stopped being a thing.”

  I picked up my chisel and took off a chunk of clay that had hardened wrong.

  “David Hasselhoff?” I asked. “And he wears sunglasses all the time, too, even indoors. Triple threat.”

  Jeannie looked at me for a long moment, considering what I’d said. “Okay, fine. I’ll grant you The Hasslehoff,” she pronounced his name like it was a title, “and I’ll raise you William Shatner.”

  “Oh,” I said, drawing the word out into about twelve syllables. “She plays the Shatner card. And he even has that. Weird. Way. He. Speaks. Where. Every single. Word. Is. Incredibly. Important?”

  Jeannie grabbed her coffee and took a long pull. I could smell the vanilla syrup all the way across the table that functioned as her desk. I have no idea how she drank those things – just the scent put my fingernails on edge. Then again, I put mayo on steak, so I probably don’t have much room to talk. For a few moments we just sat in silence as the plodding, lazy rainstorm that had been patting the windows with slow, fat drops since about eight that morning grew fiercer.

  Just thinking that word – fierce – put a little twinge in my belly. As usual for the past several days, my thoughts went to Jake. I couldn’t stop myself from daydreaming about the heat in Jake’s fingertips and the goosebumps he raised and... Okay, yeah I’ll admit it, the tingling in my ladyparts; it was enough to distract me from what I was doing.

  I bit my lip, sort of trying to concentrate, but I wasn’t thinking. For one damn second, my mind wandered – and that’s never a good thing when you’re hammering away at a statue that you’re going to be paid God knows how much money for. I thought about that, and then in the next second, my mind turned to that twenty five grand, and then...

  It was like those stories you hear about someone’s heart stopping and their spirit flies up to the corner of the room and watches the doctors and everyone rushing around. Then, they blast them with a defibrillator, and the spirit’s vacuumed back up into the body. Except I wasn’t having a heart attack, I’d just screwed up like four days’ worth of work.

  I watched my mallet swing.

  The tip of the chisel slipped to exactly the one place where it could really do some damage – the delicate joint between the neck and the shoulder.

  I bit my lip harder, for some reason completely incapable of stopping my hand as the mallet connected with the chisel, even though I saw the mistake I was making in a flash before I made it.

  Thunk.

  That ungodly, sickening, horrific sound reverberated through my entire body. I didn’t even hear it so much as I felt it.

  The sound of a thousand nails on a thousand wet chalkboards would not make my teeth hurt any worse. The awful cry of a dying rabbit, or a trapped piglet, had nothing on the sound I heard a split second later.

  The crack opened in slow-motion, like when your toe catches in a crack, you fall and try desperately to catch yourself but end up face-planting on the sidewalk. I saw every single event in the chain, but couldn’t stop any of them.

  I heard Jeannie say “oh no!” with exaggerated slowness. The first thing that sprang to mind was a scene in a Friday the 13th movie where Jason, that hockey-masked lunatic, swings an axe and the whole world slows. The hapless teenager he’s about to dismember raises her arms, screams in slow-mo, and then...

  Thunk.

  It wasn’t the sound of an axe hitting flesh, but at that very second, it was a million times worse. The entire arm, not just a chunk, not just a piece, the whole damn thing fell. I squealed, Jeannie shouted, and then the clay hit the concrete floor and exploded in a supernova of dust, fragments, and lost work.

  When the world sped back up to normal, I looked over at Jeannie, who was gawking at the formerly beautiful biceps and forearm, which was now just a mess on the floor.

  Her voice was as flat as my pulse as she announced, “His arm fell off.”

  The plaster dust hit my nose, my eyes squinted up involuntarily and I unleashed the most savage sneeze of my life. It felt like my brain rattled in my skull. If getting a concussion from a sneeze was possible, I’d never be able to play football again after that sneeze.

  “Uh,” Jeannie broke the silence, and with it, chipped away slightly at the tension in the air. “I guess you can make it a Venus de Milo?”

  I snorted, thankful for the laugh, but still sick to my stomach. “Better get started on the seashell then.”

  We looked at each other for a moment longer before another voice intruded, one that I hadn’t realized was there until the owner stepped out from the shadows at the front of my studio like some kind of weird vampire cliché. I looked at him for a second before I remembered that he was talking.

  “Whatever he’s paying you,” this new guy said, “I’ll double it.”

  “Huh?”

  Jeannie and I exchanged a glance. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  The stranger tipped his head toward the busted statue. “Him. Whatever he’s paying you for that ridiculously gaudy piece of self-aggrandizement, I’ll pay you double to turn him down.”

  I shook my head. “Why? Although actually we haven’t finalized the cost yet. Er, not like I would tell you anyway. Client confidentiality,” I added hastily. I’m not sure why I thought he might be some kind of lawyer, or some kind of test, but there it is. I can be a little paranoid from time to time.

  “You’re not a doctor,” he said. His voice was smooth, even and slightly delicious. Jake’s had more of a gravelly touch to it, but this new guy – who was also really damn big, come to think of it – was sharper, more intense. This wasn’t the sort of person who makes jokes unless they’re really pointed ones.

  “That’s true,” I said, not really sure what that was supposed to mean. “I’m... confused as all hell. Who are you and why do you care if I make a statue of someone? Seems kind of strange to get all worked up about someone else’s commission.”

  The stranger, whose name I still didn’t know, narrowed his eyes in a vaguely threatening manner. “Who I am doesn’t matter,” he growled. “Just know that I’m dangerous. Very, very dangerous. Don’t make that statue, and if you know what’s good for you, forget about my brother, too. He’s trouble.”

  When I get uncomfortable, I laugh. I started laughing. “Your brother? Is this some kind of joke?”

  He’s not the kind to make jokes, I thought.

  “I don’t joke,” he said. “Especially about serious matters. My brother isn’t worth your time. You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?”

  “Well sure,” I said, “I can guess. I just don’t understand, if he’s your brother, then—”

  With so much speed that I hardly saw him move, even though he crossed the entire studio, the stranger had one hand on the back of my neck and the other over my mouth. Heat emanated from him, just like it had from Jake. “No games,” he hissed, dangerously into my ear. It was a little excited, I’m ashamed to admit, but at that moment, all I wanted was for him to get the hell off me. I struggled a little, but he held me tight.

  “When my brother comes back, you’ll tell him you changed your mind. Make something up. Tell him you don’t have time, or you have other things to do, or...” he closed his eyes. “I don’t care. Just make something up.”

  I nodded, just to get him off me. That tinge of excitement had turned sour – really sour. I felt a gurgle in my stomach as the heat. “Okay,” I squeaked.

  He let go and immediately I felt blood rush to
my head. My thoughts swam around in my skull, confusion mixed with anger mixed with fear. “But why?” I finally gathered myself enough to ask. “Why does it matter? And if you’re going to come in here and manhandle me, you can at least tell me your name.”

  “It matters,” he was still hissing, “because if you don’t do what I said, I’ll ruin you. Do I seem like I’m playing?”

  “I... no,” I said, swallowing hard. “Not at all.”

  “Good. Because I’m not. He can’t be allowed to do what he wants to do. I’m the rightful heir, and when I take you for mine, you’ll be rich beyond your wildest dreams. You’ll be pampered, cared for, but,” he turned his eyes back to me, narrowing them again. “If you cross me, you’ll wish you were dead.”

  I couldn’t respond, even if I wanted. My nerves were all shot, my brain surged. It wasn’t until he was gone that I realized what he had said. When reality struck, it sent a shiver crawling down my spine.

  The front door slammed shut, metal rattling hard against metal. “Did he just say that he was going to take me and make me his?” I asked Jeannie, who had her mouth opened even wider than she did when I broke the statue.

  She just nodded, and then clapped her mouth shut. “I think... uh,” she had started shaking her head. “I think I’m real glad I’m not you right now. But then again... damn girl,” she said in a distant voice. “You’re caught in a feud between the two hottest guys I’ve ever seen. Maybe it is worth it. I’m gonna... go do a crossword.”

  Jeannie left without waiting for a response. I gulped again, and kicked at a hunk of plaster that was right beside my toe. On the one hand, I was terrified.

  On the other?

  Shit, she was kinda right.

  -5-

  “This is just all too much.”

  -Delilah

  Wednesday came and went without word one from Jake. As I was leaving my studio to head home, I had just gotten to my old Cadillac – which I absolutely do not drive for the prestige or the luxury as it was born before I was – and had to get the stupid thing going. For most cars, that would involve just putting a key in the ignition and turning it, right?

  Oh but if you know anything about me, and I hope you do by now, you know that nothing in my life is ever as simple as it seems. Twenty-five thousand dollar doggie statues, being caught between growly, warring brothers; those are nothing compared to getting this eight ton wad of metal going when it’s cold.

  Holy shit it’s cold, I kept thinking. I’m not built for this.

  You’d think that with the extra padding I seemed to carry eternally on my ass, cold wouldn’t bother me quite as much as it does. As soon as the thermometer dips below, say, sixty-five? I’m an icicle. I shiver, I quake, and God help you if you’re sleeping with me, because my hands and feet are going to be in the warmest places on your body, sucking the heat out like a thermal vampire.

  I’m relentless in my search for body heat, which is probably why the way Jake’s fingers, his lips on my wrist, fascinated me so much.

  As I sat there in the non-running, black Cadillac, I imagined being wrapped up in a blanket with Jake, his naked body radiating heat through me, warming me down to the bones. I shivered, but not from the chill. The last of the remaining warmth drained out of me and into the leather seat, which convinced me that it was probably about time to get up and start the arcane, extensive process of getting Bertha – that’s what I named her when I got her partway through college – running.

  Oh, that’s the thing about Bertha – there is no ignition. I bought her for five hundred bucks in 1998. Yeah, she’s that kind of car. The third time I turned the old boat on, the key turned way too easy, the entire mechanism rotated and then promptly fell out. Ever since, I got to hot wire my own car. Still, she worked like a charm, more or less, once she got going, so I hadn’t worked up the gumption to replace her yet.

  And anyway, who needs a car payment they don’t need? With the bills from the studio piling up, even with the twenty five grand, which put us back in the black for probably a month or two, dealing with more financial bullshit was approximately the last thing in the universe I needed to deal with. That’s not to say that I didn’t worry about it every single time I started the car though.

  Worry. Yeah, that’s a good word for my personality orientation. Worried, anxious, panicky.

  It wasn’t usually obvious, because I learned when I was a little girl to bottle all that up and never let the world see me be weak. It sounds very stiff-upper-lip, but for me it was survival more than anything. I didn’t have the option of trusting people very often. Hell, it took me like five years to tell Jeannie when my period was.

  I opened the door and Bertha sighed in hopeless resignation. God that sounds dramatic, but hell, when I’m as old as she is, being able to sigh in resignation will be a blessing, like taking a shower without my back wrenching, or being able to – I dunno, touch my toes without hearing fourteen different body parts pop.

  I sighed, but with irritation. The packed dirt parking lot was uncomfortable a I knelt on my spread out towel, but at least there was no gravel biting into my knees. I reached underneath the dash and found the wires. As my trembling fingers wrapped around the exposed ignition wires, I started thinking how nice it would be to have someone else do this for me.

  Not that I need anyone. Not really. I just... I don’t know, outside of Jeannie, I didn’t really have anyone to depend on, to trust. And laying all my bullshit on her wasn’t fair, so I was once again just bottling. Bottling it up until something, somewhere, popped. I knew it would happen, it was just a matter of time. And just like that, the cork began to slip.

  Some road noise from behind pricked my ears, particularly because there was hardly ever any road noise out this far from the schools, especially in the middle of winter, and especially after dark.

  I’m not normally a nervous person. I’m not normally insecure or afraid of the dark, but for some reason – probably my run in with Jake’s brother – I had become hyper aware of everything around me. I hated the twist in my stomach and the little tinge of fear in the back of my mind. “Get this car going, Dilly. Stop panicking and just do this.”

  My awareness shifted from the harmless road noise back to the

  The familiar thrum of nervous energy in the back of my skull struck up. That’s how my anxiety makes itself known. I get a little hum of tingling in the back of my head, and then I start with the heavy breathing and sometimes sweating. Although in this cold, if I started sweating, that’d be bad.

  Gritting my teeth, I very consciously held tightly on the wires.

  “Why does this have to happen right now?” I asked the universe. I bit down on my lip, trying to force myself to keep steady just long enough to get the damn car going. “Just get it started, Dilly, just get the damn thing started. You can sit in there and warm up, and forget about how unless you make some wild ass sales in the next couple of days, you’re gonna have to seriously think about Waffle House.”

  The thing is, it wasn’t true. I had some socked up, I owned my building, owned my tools. There was nothing reasonable for me to be afraid of, but there I was, crouched down on the dirt, and my goddamn hands were shaking like I was detoxing.

  The wires touched, just long enough for one spark to shoot through Bertha’s ignition. With a heave, the engine turned over once, and I let go of the wires, thinking I’d managed to get her going. After the one crank, the vigor in Bertha’s voice started to falter, her strength began to fade. I tried to catch the wires, but one of them had recoiled back under the dashboard.

  I reached for it, but lost my balance – somehow I’d managed to trick gravity into letting me go. My chin popped against the leather bench seat, clacking my teeth together smartly

  Prickly cold in the back of my head began to swirl around and before I knew it, the little points of darkness poking through my vision were starting to take over. I forced myself back to my knees and got one foot undernea
th me before I felt the hand.

  “Delilah?”

  It was like buttery maple syrup on a piece of bacon. Those burning hot fingers wrapped around my arm, and then when I fell backwards, he caught me. “Are you okay? Talk to me,” Jake urged. “Say something.”

  His voice was caressing me, lulling me into a weird sense of security. “Something,” I managed weakly, and smiled. I looked up at him, those burning, iron-colored eyes and his shaggy hair cascading along the sides of his face as he stood over me. He laughed a little, probably more out of wanting to calm me down than because it was actually funny. Which, thinking about it, given the context and the timing? Not too bad a one-liner really.

  “Let’s get you up,” he whispered before effortlessly hauling me to my feet and depositing me inside of Bertha’s maw. “Shit, it’s cold in here. Here, this should help.”

  Opening his jacket, Jake guided my arms inside and underneath his. He held me tight, apparently unconcerned with Dilly the thermal vampire leeching off all his heat. Never – not once in my life – have I ever gone from freezing too comfortable in less than, like, four hours. But that time, with myself wrapped around Jake?

  “There we go,” he whispered. It was like his voice was inside my head he spoke so softly. “All better. Or at least you aren’t shaking so hard anymore.”

  I gulped and looked up at him. “Th-thank you. I don’t know what happened. I was just trying to get...”

  With the tip of one finger, he touched my lips, quieting me. He shook his head. “Whatever happened, I’m just glad I was running late. You’re okay.” Jake was petting my hair, calming me more with each passing moment. “Everything is fine. Although... you have to hotwire your car?”

  I snorted a laugh because that’s all I could do. I nodded. Something in his gaze was fierce, feral, protective, and even possessive. He held me closer against his body, his heat burning through the shirt he was wearing, which I just realized was flannel. I opened my hands, flattening them against his muscled stomach, until my fingertips trembled and I had to pull away so he wouldn’t notice.