Made from Scratch

by Shawn McDaniel

Bright and early, Percival was standing and staring out the window, as his office door opened and his morning appointment walked in. He turned and gazed in unabashed admiration as Jocelyn Ratham, third cousin by marriage, walked in and stood before him. Full-figured, almost Rubenesque, she was dressed in a short skirt and blouse cut to enhance her natural assets and draw the observer’s eye to the exquisite curves of her legs and ample bosom. He knew he had picked the right relative when, after his slow appraisal of her body, he met her gaze and saw the sly glint of satisfaction in her eyes before it was hidden behind an artfully-shy smile.

  “Mr. Ratham,” she said, offering him her hand.

  “Call me Percival, please, my dear,” he said, taking her hand in his and squeezing, allowing the contact to linger for a few moments before letting go. “Mr. Ratham is so formal. We are family after all.”

  She smiled at him again. “Percival, then, but only if you call me Jocelyn.” She sat in one of the plush chairs that stood in front of his desk, crossing her legs with a measured precision that gave him ample time to appreciate the flow of muscle beneath silken flesh. Percival caught another flash of satisfaction in her eyes as he obliged her. He leaned against his desk, smiled, and launched his attack.

  “Think you can seduce a few dollars from the old bastard, eh? Maybe go further and blackmail me for a good deal more?” He waved away her sputtered protests. “Now, now, none of that. As I said, we are family, and family should be honest with one another.” He paused a moment to look her up and down. “To be frank, I admire you for even considering it. You certainly have the assets for it, but my tastes run a little differently than you imagine.”

  “Oh,” Jocelyn said, as her cheeks started to color, “I understand.” She stood. “I am so sorry, Mister…Percival. I’ll let myself out.” She turned to the door.

  Percival laughed. “Sit down, Jocelyn. I’m not offended and I’m not gay. Indeed, to be completely honest, your figure is one of the reasons I had my secretary set up this meeting.”

  Jocelyn sat again, legs on full display, and gave Percival a dubious look. “Look,” she said, “I’m sorry if I came on too strong, but I’m afraid I am utterly confused. Your secretary called and said something about an inheritance; but that it was important nobody knew I was coming here, not even my husband. I can’t believe you just called me here for sex, though I admit the thought is…intriguing.”

  She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, and Percival began to suspect that she was a one-trick pony. Not that it mattered. She was definitely the right choice, and he knew that things would work out perfectly. He sat in the chair next to her, their heads level, to better create a sense of shared conspiracy as he spoke.

  “No, I didn’t call you here just for sex. And I don’t really pay too much attention to the comings and goings of my family; I’m a busy man, as I’m sure you know. But I do try to put in an appearance every now and then, and it happened that I was free of obligations the weekend of your wedding. So when I got the invitation, I decided to put in an appearance and meet the woman my cousin had managed to convince to marry him.” Percival paused a moment. “Don’t take offense, but I wasn’t expecting much before I saw you. I had no idea that Richard could win the heart of such a magnificent creature as you.”

  Jocelyn’s cheeks colored again, and that gleam of satisfaction was back in her eyes, naked and undisguised. This was going to be easier than he thought.

  “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind in the three years since. You have come to, well, to haunt me. I know everyone thinks I am a complete bastard, but even I knew that stealing you from Richard would be wrong. I’ve tried to put you out of my mind, but apparently I am the bastard everyone says I am. I must have you.”

  Percival was amused to see Jocelyn actually lick her lips at the thought. Not overtly, true, just the faintest pink tip of tongue peeked from parted lips for a brief moment, but Percival caught it nonetheless. “Percival,” she breathed, “Are you saying what I think you are?”

  Percival knelt in front of her. “Yes, Jocelyn, I’m asking you to run away with me. Marry me, be mine and mine alone. Provide me with a son and heir to carry on my name. A son to inherit all I have attained, in money and wisdom.”

  “Jesus. Percival, this is so much, so sudden. I thought…well, I thought you’d try to seduce me, wine and dine me, use me up and try to throw me away. I never really thought that this is what you wanted.”

  “There will be plenty of time for wining and dining after you say yes,” Percival said. He closed his eyes and his voice filled with longing. “Dining such as has not been enjoyed ever before. A feast for the soul.” He opened his eyes and looked deep into Jocelyn’s eyes. “Please, say yes. If you say no, I don’t know that I could go on living.”

  Jocelyn embraced him, cradling his head against her breast. “Of course I’ll say yes, Percival! Only,” she pulled back to look at him, “Only, what about poor Richard? Oh, my God, what will the rest of the family say?”

  Percival stood. “I will take care of Richard and the others. Trust me; they will give us their blessings. A little money, a little charm, and they’ll all ask why I took so long to make you mine.” He smiled down at Jocelyn. “Gather your things and return here. Tell no one. I will hide you away until I smooth things over.” He paused a moment. “Do you mind being cooped up in my place for a few days? I promise, no more than four or five days, a week at most, and you will be free--we will be free--to go where we please, together, as man and wife.”

  Jocelyn leapt from the chair, smiling and crying. She had seen pictures of Percival Ratham’s home. It had long been a source of family pride and envy, which is probably why Percival had bought it in the first place.

  “Oh, yes,” she cooed. “Yes, Percival, I’ll leave right now to gather a few things; just some clothes and keepsakes I can’t part with. I can be there and back before Richard gets home. He won’t know until you talk to him, I promise.” She leaned into Percival, pressing her body tight against his, and kissed him long and hard. “I will only be a few moments,” she said as she slipped out the door.

  “I will count each he one,” Percival called to her retreating form. He took a handkerchief and wiped at the lipstick on mouth as he walked back to his desk. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, the image of magpies swooping and diving over a banquet table filled with meat playing through his mind.

  She might not be twelve and twenty, he thought, but she certainly was one plump blackbird. He grinned at the thought, and whether his lips glistened with saliva or the waxy remains of Jocelyn’s smeared lipstick, it mattered not at all.

  ***