by Ellen, Tracy
Didn’t all mothers dream of a pure, devoted woman whose existence revolved around making three squares a day for their son and getting his whites even whiter? Who proudly birthed and raised multitudes of his offspring with a Madonna-like smile while giving their own life over to making their darling son’s more comfortable? In other words, doesn’t every mother want another mother to be a wife to their son?
I know, and I agree. I was so screwed. Were Luke and I a real couple, his mother would most likely despise me on general principle. The only thing I wanted to do on that list wasn’t even mentioned. I was much more suited to being Mr. Perfect Son’s fancy piece on the side.
‘Holy Hannah, I wouldn’t like me for her son, either, if I was her,’ I admitted with an unrepentant chuckle.
Sighing, I decided that even though Luke’s mom already despised me, tomorrow I’d carry myself with calm maturity despite her negativity. Then hopefully Mrs. Drake will at least leave behind some baklava in her hurry to get Luke away from my wickedly lusting clutches.
Tuning back into the conversation, I smiled to see Stella was exploring the disco-bar nearest her and cajoling Jazy, “Come on, Auntie Jaz, give it up for your favorite niece. Who wants to get in your pants so badly they sprang for this ride for the whole weekend? We checked out the cost for this type of limo for my graduation party last year. It’s two hundred smackaroonies an hour!”
Mac laughingly hushed Stella, but my irrepressible niece only grinned. Anna joined in the cajoling then, too, but Jazy’s refused to spill. I cut a quick glance to Tre J. A small smile barely curved her lips. She was listening while looking unconcernedly out a tinted window at the passing scenery. The Nordic beauty qualified technically as a pure Madonna, but her current smile was all Sphinx.
Jazy threw fuel on the fire when she teasingly said, “I’ll give you just one hint and that’s it. The man who donated this baby does not want to get into my pants.” Looking like a very naughty Pilgrim, Jazy’s laughing blue eyes and big dimples were plainly visible from under the black hat. She loved this kind of torture. My younger sister looked pointedly at me and continued with relish, “It’s that killer lust men have for our Anabel that we have to thank for this limo!”
The drink at my lips, I paused in the act of sipping. “Say what?”
“Tell us who! Tell us who!” Anna chanted with rampant curiosity while pounding her seat in time to her words. Stella, and then Mac, added their chants and pounding to Anna’s. Tribal warfare was about to commence while Jazy only grinned.
Anna laughed at me and teased, “Uh-oh, Junior, what’s your new boyfriend going to say about this latest development in your love life?”
“Should that man ever exist, I’ll be sure and let you know.” I finished my sip while Anna giggled.
Stella grasped Jazy’s arm and, as only an eighteen-year-old can do, entreated dramatically, “Do we know him? Please, please Auntie Jaz, you have to give us more than one hint—that hint sucked! Otherwise, that’s just too mean and I’ll die of curiosity!”
Mac said to Jazy, “You can tell the driver to pull over at the next exit and let me off the bus. I had all the excitement I can take last Saturday when the last Crazy lusted for Anabel.”
Anna patted Mac’s hand in empathy. “I know it’s hard to not get confused over these lusting men, Mac. The Hammer was bloodlust last Saturday. You heard Jazy. This is Wednesday’s man, and he’s horny-dude lust. He wants in Anabel’s pants before he kills her. We’re safe yet.”
Jazy threw back her head and laughed, grabbing belatedly onto her hat. Her voice was adamant when she replied, “You’re all very funny, but I can’t tell. I promised the man to keep him autonomous.”
“Anonymous,” Mac and I corrected automatically.
Jaz frowned. “That’s what I said!”
“No, you didn’t, but let’s not bug Jazy.” I looked around at everyone and shrugged. “If she gave her word, she can’t tell, right?”
“Yes, I did, but that’s right, I gave my word not to tell,” Jazy agreed with a big smile.
Anna grumbled, “What about Girls Rule, Boys Drool? I vote Jazy spits it out—we won’t tell.”
Stella added indignantly, “Yeah, Jazy, it’s easy for you and Auntie Bel to act all cool, you have men wanting in your pants all the time, but we don’t. This is exciting! Tell us!”
Jazy laughed at our niece while I murmured, “Oh, I think you’re holding your own on that front, Stella.”
Mac snickered at my comment while Anna rounded on Stella, “Hey, I’m not exactly chopped liver here. I have men wanting in my pants, too!”
Stella’s face wrinkled in repugnance. “Yeah, excuse me if I don’t think of my own uncle as a man, Anna.”
Tre J glanced at me and we shared a little smile. As much as I love to be disrespectfully objectified as a strange man’s very expensive sexual fixation, I diverted the girls to a much more important subject.
“Mac, did you happen to notice that under her coat Jazy’s wearing illegal fringe? Isn’t that in direct violation of the Roanoke Colony Indian Treaty of 1585? I say we sack and burn her farm. All in agreement say Aye!”
Squabbling, drinking, laughing, and sliding down the dividing window to torment our limo driver dressed in pink and black livery named Boyd, we arrived in one piece at the Hubert H. Humphrey Terminal of the Minneapolis-St Paul International Airport. On a bustling holiday when the airport was a zoo, it was very convenient to get dropped off by the baggage claim at this smaller terminal. HHH was used primarily by Sun Country Airlines and Delta puddle jumper planes from nearby cities.
Incredibly, Layla’s plane was fifteen minutes early landing, but we were ready for action. We set up behind a round, cement pillar near the carousel where their luggage was scheduled to be delivered.
Stella was the lookout for the Florida girls while Mac and Tre explained our harmless prank to a nearby security guard. They could be promising to detonate a nuclear bomb in the airport for all he cared. The short guard couldn’t pry his attention away from Tre J’s magnificent curves encased in a T shirt staring him in the eye.
Stella scouted the three girls approaching out of the crowd of milling people, and she started doing a countdown with her fingers to let her mother know when to turn on the music.
The Let’s Embarrass Layla plan went off like clockwork. Celeste and Misty fell back slightly as they approached our location. Layla was leading the trio when she passed the pillar towards the luggage carousel. All her focus was on the suitcases sliding down the ramp.
The women each dragged a wheeled carry-on and were all dressed casually for travel in jeans and jackets. Contrary to popular belief, people living in the Tampa area not only own winter jackets, they actually wear them when the temps get down in the fifties. Southerners were thin-blooded wimps. I have worn my bikini in Florida and gone swimming at the same time they’re in turtleneck sweaters and shivering. We’re a strong breed up here in the North Country. Maybe that will count for something with Luke’s disapproving mother.
Layla has been friends with Celeste and Misty since junior high, so we’ve met them over the years when traveling to Florida. The three girls were all brunettes, but that’s where any resemblances ended.
Cousin Layla and my sister Jazy share a strong likeness in facial features and body type, but their coloring was totally opposite. Layla’s mom was Jewish. My cousin was a monochrome of brown from her dark hair and brown eyes, to her tanned skin. Her natural expression was serious, so when she displayed her startling white smile, the self-deprecating humor and deviltry reflected was unexpected and charming.
Our cousin calls herself Bush Woman. Layla’s dark hair was thick and luxuriantly curling. She considered it the bane of her existence, especially living at sea level in swampland. I think her hair was beautiful, but extreme humidity and curling thick hair could be a maddening test of a girl’s sanity. Loving how her hair relaxed and behaved was one of the primary reasons Layla chose to visit Minnesota regul
arly in November, and I could respect that. Most women’s moods were decided for the entire day by how their hair behaved in the morning.
Celeste’s hair was medium-brown, thin, and hangs straight to her waist. She’s softly pretty with gray-blue eyes and a wide, full mouth. She’s tall, small breasted and has coltish legs a mile long. She looked deceptively sweet, but was surprisingly profane. When she and Jazy got going, the F bombs started flying. They were a terrible influence on us all, and our vocabularies degenerated in direct proportion to the length of time we all spend together during a Women Weekend. CeCe, as we call her, was fun, ditzy, and always in an upbeat mood. Nothing got her down for long.
Misty was a slightly built Cuban girl--maybe an inch taller than me, but with a big attitude. Her wavy dark hair has streaks of red that matched her dramatic lipstick, and her nose was sharp and long. She’s more striking than pretty, spoke her mind bluntly, and was a strange combination of left-brain practical and girlishly boy-crazy. Misty’s father owns several iron works in the state, he’s filthy rich, and if the stories were true—mobbed-up. She has the confidence of a girl that knows her dad would definitely beat up your dad if you gave her any problems.
Once the three girls passed us, Mac hit the switch and the music blared “LAYLA” and Eric wailed, along with the six of us women.
Caught by surprise, Layla jumped most satisfactorily high in the air at the musical onslaught and whirled around. We did our crazy dance to the music in our Pilgrim and Indian get ups. Onlookers stopped and gawked, laughing and pointing our way. We laughed and pointed our lettered signs at Layla while she stood stock-still in shocked disbelief. Our cousin covered her red face with her hands, but watched through her fingers as she laughed and groaned at our wild dancing. Celeste and Misty danced on either side of her while whooping, hollering, and singing along.
As the music drew to a close, I did my special somersault and ended up in the Chinese splits with my fringe wildly shaking and the exclamation point held high over my head. The girls positioned themselves all around me in various Charlie’s Angels-type poses while we all screamed, “Cousin Layla!”
Layla stood blushing furiously and laughing helplessly, as my family and friends went running to her with hugs and greetings. Celeste and Misty were like puppies in their boundless excitement. Before I was up from the splits on the carpeted floor, they dove on me. Laughing and giggling, they mauled me.
“We are so happy to finally be here!” Celeste exclaimed, hugging me and kissing my cheek repeatedly.
“Yes, girlfriend, we’re so happy!” Misty agreed, hugging me from the other side and also kissing me.
Then they were off whooping again while I was caught in the middle of their playful puppy sandwich. They rolled with me on the floor, hugging exuberantly and talking a mile a minute. They often finished each other’s sentences, like two opposite halves of a whole. Caught in their affectionate embrace, I was helpless to do anything but laugh.
“Luke, vill you look! Now An-a-bel is on the floor! Vat is she doing being kissed by vomen on the floor?”
The airport was busy with people scurrying to and fro. It was filled with noise and confusion. I thought I was hallucinating when I heard that damn voice. I only wished it were true. When I made it up on my elbows, despite the two Florida girls clinging to me like human barnacles, Luke and Svettie were staring down at me. Next to them stood a smirking John, and an older couple that could only be Luke’s parents.
Chin up; I kept my eyes steadily on Luke’s expressionless face. Unfortunately, crawling away on my hands and knees was not a viable option. “Hello, Luke, fancy meeting you here. Let me introduce my friends visiting from Florida. This is Celeste,” pushing back the drooping pink plumes from my eyes and with the fringe dancing merrily on my shirt, I motioned to the girl on my right, “and this is Misty.” I nodded my head at the circle of women looking expectantly towards us with big, curious smiles. “And that is my cousin, Layla Axelrod. Florida girls, this is my…” Stumped, I didn’t know how to introduce Luke. My fake boyfriend? My Hero? My sexual addiction? I muttered, “Luke Drake.”
With flirtatious eyes and smiles, the playful puppies at my sides simpered and called out together, “Hi, Luke Drake!”
Luke nodded in return while his cool glance took in their hands petting me absently. Celeste had me around the shoulders and Misty had an arm around my waist. They both have a leg pinned across my legs that were sprawled out straight on the carpet.
My cousin Layla, who looked so much like Jazy, yet nothing like me, sent him a quiet, little wave and said nervously, “Hi there, Luke.”
Luke smiled over at her. “Hey, Layla.”
Eyeing our group, he added, “I didn’t have any idea you all would be performing a Flash Mob at the airport tonight,” he turned and cast me a reproachful look, “or I would have arrived in time to see the whole act.”
A giggling Anna and Stella greeted Luke while talking over each other to tell him what he’d missed. When he answered, Misty said out of the side of her mouth to me, “My God, I want to flash and mob this man, who is he?”
In her throaty voice, Celeste echoed near my ear, “Yeah, who the fuck is he? He looks mean, Bel. I like that. Do you think he’s into spanking? Do you remember me telling you about Scott? He spanked me and…”
Misty interrupted in a firm whisper, “It wasn’t Scott, it was that other dude from Miami you’re thinking about.”
Celeste asked doubtfully, “Are you sure? You mean, Chuck?” She giggled. “Chuck didn’t spank me, Misty; he was the one that wanted me to spank him…”
“Not Chuck.” Misty made a harassed face at me and then leaned across my reclined form to say to Celeste in a scolding undertone, “That dude was seriously strange, CeCe, and I told you not to give him your number, but you did…”
“Bel, what the fuck was I supposed to say when he stopped me in the mall and asked so nice?” beseeched Celeste in a whisper, her eyes wide and looking to me for answers. “I couldn’t be mean and just say no!”
Misty rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue in disgust at Celeste, but luckily I didn’t have to answer since Luke came over to us. He held out a hand to me with a grin, but his eyes were doing that glinting thing that could mean he wasn’t happy.
With him in motion, it was harder to be sure. In the past when I’ve made my Hero disappointed, he was standing still and there were other physical tells. Often he had his arms crossed, he drummed his fingers forcefully, and maybe he even snapped his panther tail and showed his sharp, alpha fangs. Plus, when he was disappointed, Luke didn’t just look hot and mean like normal, he looked mouthwateringly cruel.
‘He better not be disappointed in me!’
I’d no idea he’d be here to pick up his parents. Thinking about it now, I was sure it never crossed my mind to mention we were coming to the airport tonight. I have a long standing rule to avoid complications by never talking about my entertainment plans to the men I was dating, not unless they were my plans. I’d assumed his folks were driving up from Chicago. What were the damn odds of us seeing each other at a busy airport? HHH terminal wasn’t that small of an airport, so talk about bad timing.
I glinted my eyes right back at him. ‘Geez Louise, I don’t know what he’s got to be so upset about, anyway.’
Could Luke be embarrassed to have me meet his parents for the first time dressed like an Indian go-go dancer? Or could his disappointed glint be caused by his parent’s first impression of me being that of a woman rolling on the airport floor while being mauled and kissed by two girls? The same two girls who still were hanging onto me, even as they drooled lasciviously over my fake boyfriend?
I agree, that was just tough if he’s ashamed of me. These are the kinds of things I do!
My voices cheered me on to not let Luke shame or intimidate me into changing.
‘Heck, he’s disappointing ME, if this is the kind of rod he has stuck past his sphincter!’
I did take Luke’s ha
nd and let him pull me, along with the girls, up off the floor like we were fish caught in his cargo net. Stella came over and hugged Misty and CeCe while Luke steered me to the silent couple standing and observing us all with polite expressions.
John was still smirking, but I ignored him to pay attention when Luke said “Anabel, these are my parents, Damaris and Paul Drake. Mom, Dad, this is Anabel Axelrod.”
As Luke introduced us, my smiling glances at each of his parents confirmed that his dad was just as I imagined. Paul’s an attractively fit man near sixty with a thick head of graying, blonde hair. He has a friendly air about him that immediately put you at ease. The only thing unexpected was seeing Luke’s dark green eyes smiling back at me, albeit not with the black lashes and slashing, black brows. My polite smile turned into a grin at that recognizable twinkle in his eye. I laughed when he waved off my extended hand and pulled me in for a squeeze. Released from his bear hug, I smiled at Luke’s mother.
Luke’s dramatic dark coloring comes from his coolly elegant mother. Her Greek heritage was evident in her dark eyes and olive skin. Her hair was pewter gray and worn at a sleek bob length. The pewter color was stunning against her complexion. Damaris was tall, slender, poised, and dressed beautifully. She was very attractive in a strong, handsome way.
Damaris was regarding me with a smiling, polite expression, but not with the warmth of her husband. That’s okay, though. I was usually the last woman to want to share cuddles with strangers. Svettie was clinging to Luke’s mother’s arm and smiling at me with venom, but I was not letting any of her communist craziness deter me.
I am who I am. If that’s not good enough for Mr. Tricky, or his mother, or their little dog, well then, that’s too damn bad for them.
Luke watched us in that observant way he has while we shook hands and exchanged polite greetings.