by S. Swan
“I’m sorry, Ms. Cassie, I wasn’t here when he came in. Jane let him in your office.”
“It’s alright, Nessie, I just don’t want him questioning the residents.”
Jimmy and I left. Nessie followed to lock the front doors behind us. Once out in the lot, Jimmy took my hand. He laced his fingers in mine without a word. I looked up at him. A broad smile brandished his face. I saw the deep dimples on his cheeks. I swooned a little. I felt insecure at my appearance. My looks didn’t compare to Jimmy’s. I can’t believe he’s with me.
At the car, Jimmy let out peals of laughter. “What?” I demanded. I didn’t like being on the outside of and inside joke.
“You have an admirer.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Cassie, no wonder you’ve been single so long. The stunning Detective King.” Jimmy laughed. “Really, are you that oblivious?”
“Jimmy, people in Ohio felt the male bravado rumbling between the two of you.” Jimmy opened the car door for me. I could get used to this treatment. “Is he the one?” I asked, confident of the answer from Jimmy’s light mood.
“I can’t tell, but I don’t think so.”
“Why can’t you tell?” I asked. “Can you read him?”
“Not everyone is an open book Cassie,” Jimmy said. He turned the key in the ignition and his car stereo came on playing an old jazz song. He backed out of the space. “Super stud, has a huge wall around him.”
“A wall?” I asked.
“He keeps much of his life deep inside,” Jimmy said. “It’s not uncommon for cops.”
“So you can’t read him?”
“I didn’t say that. I said he is harder to read. I don’t have to be psychic to see how he feels about you.”
“And how’s that?” I asked.
“Let’s just say,” Jimmy said, “he wouldn’t mind patting you down for dangerous weapons.” We both laughed.
“So it’s not him?”
“Like I said, I don’t think so.” I relaxed. “I could be wrong.”
“Jimmy!” I shouted. “Either he is or he isn’t?”
“If I thought he was, I would have split.”
“How long were you standing there?” I asked.
“I walked in just in time to see the flight of the wounded flamingo.” Jimmy flapped his arms mockingly.
“Oh!” I huffed exasperate.
“I wish I’d recorded it with my phone,” Jimmy laughed, “it was YouTube funny.” I blushed with humiliation. “It was kind of cute.” Jimmy said, flashing a flirty smile. “You can fall on my like that.”
I punched his arm playfully and said, “Not unless you stop talking about it!”
“Seriously, why was Mr. Hot Cop there?”
“Oh yeah.” My spirits suddenly dropped. “They found Skye.”
“Oh man!” Jimmy smacked the steering wheel.
“Everything you saw was dead on.”
“You know, sometimes being right is the worst part of having the sight.” Jimmy often called his ability the sight or the gift. In the months following the Carson Kittheridge incident, Jimmy called it the curse. “Do the police have any leads?”
“No and they found another girl with her,” I said.
“Three women.” Jimmy said, shaking his head.
“The other girl was still in her teens. She wasn’t even and adult. Jimmy it’s so sad.”
“It is.”
“You haven’t had any more visions have you?”
“No. I’ve played Saturday’s vision over and over trying to remember something else.”
“Like what?”
“Something I missed. Something that could have saved Skye, but I guess it’s no use now.”
He began to accelerate as he merged the BMW onto I-465. The interstate became gridlocked at rush hour. I feared we wouldn’t make our reservations. “We did what we could to warn Skye,” I said, although I felt the same.
I wondered if I could have done something more to save Skye. The conversation became somber as we sat in traffic. I changed the subject to lighten the mood. “What’d you do today?” I asked.
“I did readings all day,” Jimmy said. “You know that.”
“I do, but did anything unusual happen?”
“Why?” He asked, skeptically.
“Boy, you call me oblivious,” I said, frustrated. “I’m trying to change the subject. I want to enjoy our evening, not talk about the sadistic murders of innocent women.”
“Sorry,” He said. “Let’s see.” Jimmy tapped his chin as he searched for an agreeable anecdote. “Well, there was this one funny thing that happened.”
“Really? What?” I urged, pleased to move past conversation of murder.
“I have a client that I see on a regular basis. She’s pretty wealthy.”
“Do I know her?” I asked.
“Maybe.” He replied, with a shifty smile. Whenever I asked about his clients, Jimmy always responded in a furtive manner.
“Go on,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“As you can imagine, she always looks glamorous. In my mind I kept seeing her look like a peasant. She wore tattered overalls, boots, and a straw hat. Her hair was a mess and she had mud all over her. The funniest thing was that she had thousands of frogs all around her.”
“Is she getting ready to lose all her money?” I asked, concerned.
“That’s what I thought. I stressed over how to tell this woman, who’s dripping in diamonds, that she’s about to go broke.”
“What happened?” I asked, intrigued.
“I was quiet for a long time and finally the woman said ‘Jimmy, Darling, I know its bad news so just say it!’.” Jimmy said, in an exaggerated voice. He laughed. “So I told her exactly what I saw.”
“Did she freak out?”
“No, she started laughing.”
“Laughing?”
“Yes! ‘We are going to save the frogs!’ the woman exclaimed. I guess she’s working with some environmental group going to South America to save some kind of endangered bull frog.” I laughed. People, me included, searched for answers about life. They used Jimmy for validation.
I wasn’t a deep theological thinker, but with Mom and Jimmy around, I couldn’t help thinking about things such as destiny and fate. Over the last four years, Jimmy and I engaged in many deep discussions. He understood life so well. I valued his insight. Before Mom, I staggered through life not caring about what it all meant, but Jimmy opened my eyes to purpose and destiny. “You’re meant to be a healer,” Jimmy once said. “You’re a nurturer.”
Mom agreed. “She brought home every stray and injured animal as a kid. She’s still trying to bring home strays, but this time they’re stray people.”
“You know, that’s why we’re together.” Jimmy said, breaking my thoughts.
“To save the South American frogs?” I asked.
“No,” he said “because I get the pictures, but I can’t always interpret them.”
“Just like with the frogs,” I said. And Carson Kittheridge. I thought, but didn’t verbalize.
“Yes. I thought it was bad news, but it was good news to my client,” he said. “I realized that maybe I have misinterpreted the picture of you and him…or at least I hope so.”
“I do too,” I said.
We finally arrived at Blaine’s. Jimmy found a front row parking spot. He put the car in park, and turned the engine off. “Cassie,” he said.
“Yes.”
“No matter what happens, I’ll always care about you,” Jimmy locked his green eyes on me. “You know that right?”
“I’ll always care about you too,” I said.
Jimmy leaned over the gearshift. “Come here.” he whispered. I leaned in. Jimmy kissed me. As his tongue probed the inside of my mouth, my hand found the front of his pants. I felt Jimmy’s hardness. It aroused something in me. I held on to Jimmy. What am I doing? We are in public, quit touching him!
“Stop,” Jimmy breathed, “before I
rip your clothes off right here.”
“I don’t think I’d mind,” I said. I’ve waited years for this.
“I don’t want to rush into this,” he said and pulled away from me. I frowned. “Come on, let’s eat.”
Blaine’s imitated a trendy New York style restaurant. The design assaulted my eyes. The darkly lit interior added to the effect. Cobalt blue abstracts danced on the walls. Oddly contoured tables and V-shaped blue velvet chairs jutted up from the mosaic tile floor. The wait staff zoomed to and fro causing a chaotic atmosphere. The dishes looked more like art creations than actual food. Sauces dotted and circled the plates creatively.
I read about the art deco style in the Star News. They gave it great reviews. I mentioned it to Jimmy several months ago. “Oh, it’s alright,” he said.
“You’ve already been?” I wanted to try the restaurant, but couldn’t afford the expense.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t that great,” Jimmy said.
“With who?” I asked.
“Some friends,” He replied, “mostly local artists.”
I realized that Jimmy and I traveled in different circles. Actually, I had no social circle. While Jimmy ate at fashionable restaurants and went to gallery openings, I sat at home eating lean cuisine and talking to my dead mother. I suddenly felt uncomfortable and out of place.
Was I really the girl for Jimmy? Of course not, I already knew my future. What would my soul mate be like? I wondered. I thought about the woman who’d be Jimmy’s soul mate. I bet she would be stylish, and up with the latest in fashion, not sitting in a dress she bought in college.
Once seated, Jimmy ordered our meals. It offended me. Was I so defunct that I didn’t know how to order? “What?” Jimmy asked.
“You ordered for me.”
“Do you mind?” he asked, concerned. “It’s just they have this great artichoke and spinach chicken. I know how you love that dip you get at the store.” Everything he said made me feel passé. It sounded like he meant: “You eat that store bought crap, but I eat the real stuff.”
“I do like spinach and artichoke dip,” I said.
“You’re uncomfortable, aren’t you?” he asked.
“No.”
“Cassie, we can go somewhere else,” Jimmy said. “I thought you wanted to come here.”
“I did, but I suddenly feel outmoded like Eliza Doolittle in Pygmalion.”
“For you to even make that analogy means you’re not outmoded.” He laughed. “Cassie, I like you for you. I don’t want some shallow hipster.” Jimmy gestured referring to a woman seated across the room. Her smile was force. She appeared as if she smelled something bad. Her salon hair and manicured nails did nothing to hide her superficial demeanor. “Honestly, we live in the Indiana, not London. These people are hacks, pretending they live somewhere else.”
I felt better. “Are you a hack too?” I asked.
“Certainly,” Jimmy said, “how do you think I’ve built up such an A-list clientele? I move in their circles and I’m a hack like them.” He clasped my hand. “You’re the genuine thing. Don’t let these fakes get to you.”
Our meals arrived. Jimmy was right, I did enjoy the chicken. I enjoyed it so much that I ate part of his too. The food tasted delicious, but sized equivalent to a McDonalds Happy Meal. Obviously, Jimmy ate a bigger lunch. He barely took a bite before I snatched his plate away. It may not be chic to eat two plates of food, but I wasn’t a waifish model wannabe.
Jimmy drank a dry martini as he watched me eat like a farm hand. “Do you want a drink?” he asked.
“Sure, what do you recommend?”
“Do you want something hard or sweet?” Jimmy asked.
“Sweet,” I said.
Jimmy called the waiter by snapping his fingers. I noticed others doing it, and considered it rude. I didn’t understand this mod etiquette, but he did. Jimmy didn’t wait for the maître d' to speak. “Get this lady a Dr. Seuss,” he said. The man promptly disappeared without a word.
“Is it chic to be rude?” I asked Jimmy, chastising him for his discourtesy to server. I didn’t know the cool Jimmy. I didn’t like him. My Jimmy was sweet and courteous.
“It is,” Jimmy said, smartly. “I do it to fit in.” He reminded me.
Seconds later, the server appeared with an insane looking drink in a huge martini glass. The glass stem bent back and forth in an angular pattern. Aqua blue liquid resembled the Cat in the Hat book. A red and white striped straw came out and jig-jagged all around the glass. Unquestionably, the drink mimicked its namesake.
I looked at the monstrosity in front of me. “I feel like reciting Green Eggs & Ham,” I said.
“Trust me, you’ll love it,” Jimmy said.
I closed my eyes and took a small sip. Delicious! I took a bigger sip, then another, and another. Before I knew it, my drink disappeared. “I want another!” I shouted.
“Oh no,” Jimmy said, “that drink has eight different alcohols in it and it creeps up on you.”
“Creeps up on you?” I asked. It tasted like Kool-Aid.
“You’ll know what I mean when you stand up,” Jimmy said. “We both have work tomorrow. I don’t want to be up all night holding your hair while you puke.” Once, Jimmy and I spent several hours on his veranda drinking shots of tequila. After about eight shots, I became violently ill. Jimmy, bless him, spent the entire night taking care of me as I puked my guts up in his toilet. That night I fell in love with Jimmy Kim. It’s true love when a man holds your hair while you puke.
“You’re status has elevated to boyfriend so you don’t have to sit up all night holding my hair. That’s reserved for just friends,” I said, a little tipsy.
“If I’d known that I wouldn’t have delayed our relationship!” Jimmy laughed. I loved when Jimmy laughed. My heart skipped a beat.
Jimmy paid the tab and we started to leave. When I stood up, I abruptly felt lightheaded. “Whoa!”
“Are you alright?” Jimmy asked.
“Yeah,” I replied, but wasn’t so sure. I hoped that I wouldn’t spend the drive hanging out the BMW’s windows. I teetered as I walked. Jimmy wrapped his arm around my waist and guided me out.
Once in the cool autumn air, I felt better. The breeze from the passenger window (Jimmy had it all the way down “just in case”.) felt great on my face. The radio played Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get it On”. I sung with it. “Let’s get it on...” I crooned. I ran my fingers through Jimmy’s hair and sang seductively in his ear.
I was tipsy and probably made an idiot of myself, but Jimmy didn’t seem to mind. He turned quickly and kissed me. He adjusted his pants twice, aroused. “Let’s get it on...” I whispered in his ear. I ran my hand seductively down his muscular chest. Thank God for liquid courage! Normally, I wasn’t aggressive. Jimmy smiled so big his eyes all but close. I played with his hair. Jimmy had the softest hair.
Jimmy didn’t say anything during the drive, but he leaned in for a kiss at each stoplight. He forced himself focus on driving. About a block from my apartment, his lust intensified. Jimmy alternately grouped and kissed me. I wanted Jimmy too.
Jimmy held in the lust just long enough to get to my door and open it. We pushed through the door and immediately started kissing and caressing each other. Jimmy kicked the door shut with his foot. The slam echoed down the hall. I vaguely heard Mr. Johnson bang on the wall in disapproval.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Jimmy said, pulling at my clothes. Too busy kissing my neck, Jimmy didn’t notice a cold breeze pass by.
Mom! I did a quick glance around. I didn’t see her. “Where’s Mom?” I asked, cautiously. I didn’t want to lose the moment, but I couldn’t to be in the throws of passion and Mom appear. I’d freak out.
“Gone,” Jimmy said.
“How do you know?”
“I saw her and she vanished when she saw us,” Jimmy said, his hand in my undergarments.
“In the bedroom,” I said, pulling back towards my room.
Jimmy t
hrew me on the bed and began undressing. I slid my dress off and laid back, waiting. I didn’t know what to expect. I could count on one hand the number of sexual experiences I had. I wanted to please Jimmy, but felt self-conscious about my experience. Jimmy slowly pulled my under pants off. He unhooked my bra, and caressed my breasts. I shivered.
Jimmy stood naked before me, fully erect and well endowed. The size of his organ intimidated me. I tensed when Jimmy mounted me. “Relax,” he whispered in my ear. “I’ll be gentle.”
My lover placed two fingers on the spot between my legs. Softly and gently he circled. Electricity shot through my body. I spread my legs for him to enter. Jimmy moved slow trying not to hurt me. When he slid inside, I flinched. I forgot the sensation of sex. It felt uncomfortable. “Are you okay?” Jimmy asked, tentatively.
“Yeah,” I said. Jimmy gently pushed deeper. As Jimmy steadily pumped, the sex became pleasurable. “Yes!” I cried out. Jimmy’s breathing grew heavy in my ear. Our bodies exploded in ecstasy at the same time. I writhed with delight as Jimmy slowed his rhythmic pumping. The sex didn’t last long, but felt wonderful. Jimmy was a tender lover.
“That was wonderful.” Jimmy said and rolled beside me. Together we lay silently content. Jimmy wrapped his arms around me. I snuggled close. Hot and sweaty from love making, Jimmy said, “I need a shower. Do you want to join me?”
“Sounds good,” I said.
Jimmy ran the hot water. He pulled me close and gave me a loving kiss. “How safe are we?” he asked.
“Safe?” I didn’t know what he meant.
“You know, safe from making a baby.”
Holy crap! I hadn’t even thought about birth control, safe sex or any of it. I counseled women daily about safe sex. I should have considered it for myself. I even had a box of condoms in my nightstand.
“You’re not on some kind of birth control?” Jimmy asked. You’re the psychic! Why didn’t Jimmy think of protection?
“No, why would I be? I haven’t had sex in over four years.”
“I just thought...well, you didn’t mention using protections so I assumed.” I sat on the toilet with my head between my knees. How could I have been so stupid? “First thing Monday make an appointment with the doctor,” he said.