Valentine Vote

by Susan Blexrud

  Palms and ferns lined the periphery of the room, which was surrounded by windows and French doors leading to an outside porch.

  “As long as it’s sunny outside, this room stays pretty warm, even in the dead of winter,” Eric said. “Speaking of which, we’re supposed to get an icy mix today.”

  “Will that mess up our sightseeing?” Courtney hoped not.

  “The front isn’t moving in until this afternoon, so we’ll get an early start.” He squinted out the window to the bright sunshine. “I made some bacon. Let’s grab a couple of pieces, and I’ll take you for a tour of the house.” Eric motioned for Courtney to lead the way to the kitchen and then they traveled through the dining room to the reception hall.

  Courtney munched on a piece of bacon. “This has to be the best bacon I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Local and organic,” Eric said. “Our farm served as an early agricultural extension office in the last century, and my grandmother was influential in introducing humane slaughtering practices. We eat our pigs, but they have fine lives before they make it to the table. All our animals are free range, and most are grass fed.” Eric took a bite of bacon. “As I mentioned before, this room,” he swept his arms around the huge expanse, “was the site of many village parties in my great-grandmother’s day. And the organ over there,” he pointed to an enormous pipe organ, “was the entertainment. It has more than 2,500 pipes.”

  “Do you play?” Courtney licked her fingers. Noticing that Eric paid close attention, she made a bit of a show of it, sucking on her index finger.

  “Uh, no.” Eric cleared his throat. “Shall we go upstairs?” Eric led the way up the wrought iron balustrade to the second floor balcony. “This is basically one big circle, with two wings of bedrooms and baths. In an age when bedrooms didn’t have en suite bathrooms, my great grandmother insisted on them because of the spread of disease.”

  Every bedroom they walked through had an accompanying sleeping porch.

  “Looks like people were really fond of sleeping in the fresh air,” Courtney said.

  “They thought it would ward off tuberculosis, which was the great scourge when the house was built.”

  Courtney plumped a pillow on a white wicker chair. “I’m amazed that your family was so concerned about health, and yet they ignored the hazards of tobacco smoking.” She bit her tongue, but she couldn’t help the comment. I mean, really, were these people delusional?

  Eric had been walking ahead of Courtney, through a sleeping porch to his parents’ bedroom. He stopped and turned. “It was a different time, Courtney, and they really didn’t know the damage tobacco could cause. Do you watch the series, Mad Men? They smoked like chimneys all day long. Even pregnant women smoked. The dangers weren’t known.”

  “And today they are.” Courtney felt a chill, and she set her coffee cup and saucer on the glass-topped nightstand next to Eric’s parents’ bed. She rubbed her arms. “There’s no getting around the proven dangers of tobacco.”

  “I won’t argue with you on that. The surgeon general’s warning on every pack of cigarettes makes the hazards clear, but we’re a nation of free will. What do you want, Courtney, for tobacco products to be illegal?” He set his cup next to hers and crossed his arms.

  “Well, ultimately, I wouldn’t oppose that. But for now, all I really want is to keep young people from starting the habit.”

  “Kids are going to test the boundaries. The appeal of smoking is that it makes them feel more grown up. Plus, for most of them, they know their parents wouldn’t approve. Seems to me that the Campaign for Tobacco-Free Kids is doing a good job of appealing to young people to think twice before they take up a nasty habit.”

  “Ah, so you’ll admit it’s nasty.” Courtney stood up a bit taller, straightening her back in victory.

  Eric threw up his hands. “Why do we always come back to this?”

  “Because we’re at an impasse?”

  “It’s more than that.”

  “Because you’re a highly intelligent man, and I don’t understand why you can’t see the light?”

  “Your perspective, but still, more than that.”

  Courtney’s breathing hitched as Eric stepped closer to her. He took her hand. Did he feel her tremble? “Enlighten me,” she whispered.

  “Because it’s keeping us apart, and we want to put it behind us.”

  When his hands moved to her waist, she wrapped her arms around his neck. And when he bent to kiss her, she savored his soft lips and gently probing tongue. Her fingers tickled the prickly hairs on Eric’s neck. He shuddered and hugged her tighter. She nipped at his lower lip when they ended the kiss then stepped out of his embrace, keeping her hands on his chest.

  “Tobacco? What’s tobacco?” She smiled up at him.

  “Don’t even think the word.”

  “Okay, truce.” No tobacco talk. She could stick to that rule. Although, truth be told, tobacco wasn’t the only thing keeping them apart. His fantasies were also a dubious area. Would Eric bolt if he found out what she wanted from this man was a gentle touch and some old-fashioned romance?

  • • •

  As Eric considered what he’d show Courtney in his hometown; he didn’t want to overload her with the Roark/Morrison legacy—though it was tough to avoid. Even without pointing out the landmarks, the Roark and Morrison names adorned so many big edifices that short of blindfolding Courtney through town, there was no way to sidestep them. Heading into downtown in Eric’s Range Rover, Courtney remarked about the Roark Memorial Hospital and the Morrison Library, as well as the Adelaide Powell Roark Cancer Center, named after his great-grandmother.

  “Is there a nook or cranny around here that your family hasn’t touched?” She asked. While the statement itself reeked of sarcasm, her tone didn’t. She laughed. “Anything ordinary, like Morrison’s Dog Groomers or Roark Beauty Parlor?”

  “I think there’s an Eric’s Laundromat on the north side, but I can’t lay claim to it.”

  “Seriously, your family has had a huge impact on this area.”

  “We’ve been here since the Civil War, so our roots run deep.”

  “It’s not just that you’ve settled here, it’s the good you’ve done.”

  “We’re not unique, Courtney. We just give back.”

  “You’re being modest, Senator. There are many rich … and greedy … people in the world who wouldn’t dream of parting with any of their money.”

  One side of Eric’s mouth turned up in a small grin. He was accustomed to praise, but Courtney’s kind words really bolstered his spirit. He took a deep breath. As he blew it out, he pointed out the window. “Well, enough of my family. I thought we’d spend some time roaming around the historic area, Old Salem.”

  Eric pulled into the Frank L. Horton Museum Center. “See, there are a few buildings with other people’s names.” He chuckled. “We’ll stop here at the Center for our tickets, which will get us into the exhibit buildings.”

  They began their exploration of Old Salem at the Museum of Early Southern Decorative Arts. They joined a tour that had just begun, and while Eric wasn’t surprised at Courtney’s intense interest (it takes a lifelong learner to know one), he was impressed with her depth of knowledge about Southern furniture and crafts. She identified Charleston craftsmanship and a couple of the renowned portrait artists from the American Revolution.

  Not to disturb the tour, Eric whispered in Courtney’s ear as they moved through the exhibit to an eighteenth century dining room, “I didn’t realize a Florida girl would know so much about the Deep South.”

  “I love history,” Courtney said. “I once got lost in the Smithsonian, and they almost locked me in for the night.”

  “Wasn’t there a book about that?” Eric asked.

  Before Courtney could answer, the tour guide gave him a stern look and then went into her spiel about early tobacco plantations in the area. Not willing to re-visit a sore subject, Eric steered Courtney to a side exit.

  “Wha
t, we’re not going to finish the tour?” Courtney asked.

  “I doubt there’s anything she can tell you that you don’t already know.” Eric opened the exit door and peered into the overcast sky. “Besides, I don’t want you to miss the shops in the village, and it doesn’t look like the icy mix is going to hold off much longer.” He took her hand, which warmed immediately in his, and began walking north on Old Salem’s Main Street. Breathing deeply, he realized how good it felt to have Courtney here with him. As many times as he’d walked the village of Old Salem, he didn’t remember another time that he’d had such a spring in his step.

  “Hey, slow down,” Courtney said, tugging on his arm and pointing to Timothy Vogler’s Gunsmith Shop. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

  And they didn’t. From the shoemaker shop to the apothecary, they immersed themselves in life as it had been in the early 1800s. When the Moravian Church bell clanged the noon hour, they stopped at the 1816 Tavern for lunch.

  The moment they walked through the heavy oak door, Courtney said, “Oh … my … God, it smells so good in here, like a chocolate chip cookie married beef stew, and they gave birth to bread pudding and chicken pot pie. I’m on olfactory overload.”

  “You have to try the sweet potato fries,” Eric said.

  “Gladly,” Courtney replied, and then she proceeded to order the pot roast soup with spoon bread as well as peach cobbler for dessert.

  A light drizzle began tapping on the mullioned windows of their upstairs dining room just as Eric took a bite of Courtney’s peach cobbler. He leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “If I made a habit of finishing your food, I’d be the size of a sumo wrestler.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You’d worry it off.”

  “You think I’m a worrier?”

  “I think you care deeply about your community and your constituents. You probably lie awake at night worrying about how you can do right by them.”

  “I do.” He reached across the table and took Courtney’s hand. “And I’m sure you’re just as much of a worry wart.”

  “Totally.” Courtney finished the last bite of cobbler.

  Eric looked out the window where the drizzle had turned into sleet. “I guess we’re holed up for a while. Want some coffee or tea?”

  “I’d love some herbal tea.”

  • • •

  They stayed in the tavern for another hour, waiting for the sleet to subside.

  Walking back to Eric’s car through the meadow behind the tavern, Eric wrapped his arm around Courtney’s shoulder as they crossed the cobblestone street to the parking lot.

  She looked up at him. “Thanks for bringing me here. I had a wonderful day.”

  “Me, too,” he said, opening the car door for her, “and it’s not over yet.”

  Eric drove just a few blocks north of Old Salem to the center of downtown Winston-Salem.

  “Where to?” Courtney asked.

  “I want to show you the Children’s Museum. It’s been my mother’s favorite project for the past five years.” Eric parked on Liberty Street, and they walked two short blocks through drizzle to the museum.

  The woman at the welcome desk immediately recognized Eric and sprang from behind it to shake his hand. “Senator Morrison, I am so pleased to see you here. Your mom was just in this past week.”

  “Yeah, I understand she practically lives here. She told me not to miss the new bird’s nest exhibit.”

  “Absolutely, it’s a must,” the gray-haired woman, whose name tag read “Clare Dunwoody,” pointed down the hall. “It’s in the garden, through those double doors. Since the weather’s not great today, it’s a bit wet out there for the kids. You’ll have the place to yourselves. Climb away!”

  “Now, I’m really curious,” Courtney said as they headed to the double doors.

  Once outside, an interactive, crocheted playscape greeted them. Suspended on cables, the structure loomed over a grassy plot.

  “Meet the bird’s nest,” said Eric. “It’s the world’s first crocheted jungle gym, kind of a Baltimore Oriole’s nest for humans.”

  “And it looks like we have it to ourselves,” Courtney said. She climbed into one of the entrance holes. “Come on in. It’s damp, but what the heck.”

  Eric followed her in, and the weight of two adults in the dynamic gourd collapsed them together. They rolled on the knitted floor like two marbles at the bottom of a bag. Eric took the opportunity to pull Courtney close. They laughed and hugged, their legs intertwined. Eric rolled Courtney on top of him, her hair loosed from its ponytail, tickling his face. He tugged on a strand, bringing her lips to his. “For most of my life, I haven’t wanted girls to read too much into a kiss. This time, I don’t want you to underestimate what’s behind it.”

  He closed his lips on hers. Before he could nudge hers open with his tongue, she’d already started a slow explore, running her tongue inside his bottom lip. He moaned, deepening the kiss and pressing his hand into the small of her back.

  “Mommy, there are grownups licking each other and rolling around in there!” A little girl’s voice shrieked.

  Eric and Courtney abruptly ended their kiss, juggled themselves to sitting and clamped their hands across their mouths so they wouldn’t laugh out loud. Eric motioned for Courtney to exit through a hole on the opposite side of the bird’s nest, hopefully away from the child and her mother. Eric eased himself out then turned to help Courtney. They both smoothed down their pants once they were standing and nonchalantly walked around the contraption and back to the double doors, avoiding eye contact with the little girl and her mother.

  “Was it fun?” A woman’s voice rang out.

  Eric turned slowly and faced the woman, who didn’t register that she knew him. “More fun than a barrel of monkeys.”

  They raced out of the Children’s Museum, holding their sides and laughing all the way to Eric’s car.

  • • •

  As Eric pulled out of the parking space, Courtney said, “What if that woman had recognized you, or worse, been a reporter?” Her heart beat wildly in her chest. She wasn’t sure if it was from the run to the car or the near-miss from the spectators … or Eric’s kiss.

  “I can see the headline now, ‘Senator Morrison Resorts to Childish Ploy for Votes.’”

  “More like, ‘Senator Morrison Regresses as Tobacco Vote Nears Senate Floor.’” Courtney winced. “Sorry, I promised not to bring up the ‘T’ word.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  Courtney couldn’t believe she’d mentioned tobacco. She studied Eric’s profile, intent on the road ahead. She may not have upset him, but she definitely broke the spell. What could she say to make up for her faux pas? Before he’d kissed her, he asked her not to underestimate his intent. What was his intent? “How about this headline, ‘Self-Destructive Lobbyist Snags Senator in Love Nest.’”

  Eric glanced briefly at Courtney. “I’m all for the love nest snag, but what makes you think you’re self-destructive?”

  Courtney looked out the window, just in time to catch the imposing Morrison Library on the way back to Eric’s family estate. She’d never encountered a family that had invested more in their community. “Helen would say I can’t leave well enough alone.”

  “We have the potential for better than ‘well enough,’ Courtney.”

  “Think so?”

  “Hope so.”

  Chapter Twelve

  While Eric showered, he thought long and hard about how Saturday night might proceed … or unravel. What he really wanted was to take Courtney to his bedroom and become intimately acquainted with various luscious parts of her. Then he’d offer a post-coital dinner of wine, cheese, and French bread … and some chocolate-dipped strawberries. They’d eat naked and then they’d make love again. Nope, he decided as the hot, pulsating water from the showerhead beat reality into his addled brain, he knew he’d have to shelve that dream. Before he could, in good conscience, make love to her, he needed to tell her once and
for all that he would not vote for the tobacco tax. But they’d made a truce not to discuss tobacco this weekend, and if he brought it up, she’d probably launch into lobbyist mode and any hope for lovemaking would fly out the window.

  He was in a catch-22—damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. And this was about more than sex, much more. He was falling in love with Courtney, and one false move could ruin more than a roll in the hay. Sure, they could make love … and then mosey back to D.C. where the shit would hit the fan when he voted against the tax. On the other hand, he could tell her tonight that his position was intractable, she’d rant and rave, and they’d fly back to D.C. looking out of opposite windows of the airplane. After a curt handshake, they’d say goodbye … forever.

  On the plus side, maybe her stance had softened. She seemed sympathetic to the plight of the farmers and impressed with his family’s philanthropy, but how far did that go? Would she forgive him for voting against the bill that meant the world to her?

  Well, he couldn’t take her to his bed under false pretenses.

  So, they’d go to one of his favorite restaurants in the village. Being in public would at least keep temptation at arm’s length. He’d go light on the alcohol because there’d be nothing better than some heavy petting in the library when they got back to the house, and he didn’t want to get carried away. He’d have to play it safe.

  In a perfect world, they’d have a future beyond the vote. But this was not a perfect world. And even if she forgave him, they’d still need to come to terms with what they wanted from each other physically. Beyond the fantasies they both enjoyed—in their heads—could love survive?

  • • •

  Courtney soaked in the deep, claw-footed tub. She paid special attention to shaving her legs, even to the little hairs on her hot-pink painted toes. What did Eric have in store for tonight? She’d hoped he’d want to stay in because an evening curled up on the couch with him would be her idea of heaven, but he’d seemed a bit wired on the way home from downtown, like he had some energy he needed to expel. Shoot, he could expel it on her!