Calendar Girls

by April Hill

  “That’s ridiculous,” I snapped. “The auto club doesn’t play stupid games with—” I stopped in mid-sentence because Kevin had managed to slip one hand inside my coat, and had now moved his fingers down the front of my dress to fondle my left breast. I’ll have to admit that he was clever about it. I hadn’t felt a thing—until he began to squeeze my nipple.

  I reached inside my coat, extracted his arm, and shoved it away. “Don’t push it, Kevin. I’m not in the mood to play doctor—or chiropractor.”

  “I was just trying to help you relax,” he insisted testily. “You were getting hysterical.”

  “I don’t want to relax,” I said coolly. “I want out of the damned car. Open the door.”

  He took my hand in his and looked into my eyes, just like in a corny movie. “I’m sorry about missing the dance, but I can’t imagine a more romantic place to be stranded, can you. Here, alone in the moonlight?”

  When he leaned over to kiss me again, I pushed the button to lower my window, crawled out onto a four-foot high snow bank— and sank up to my chin. If I hadn’t been wearing four-inch satin heels, I’d have disappeared entirely.

  I flailed around ‘til I got clear of the snow, shook off what I could, and wobbled up onto the road, where, like Kevin, I fell instantly on my ass. As I got to my feet and tottered off toward the Snack Shack on my spike heels, I could hear Kevin screaming for me to get back in the car, that I was going to freeze to death or get run down by a snow plow. At this point, though, either of those possibilities seemed preferable to staying in an overheated car with a jerk like Kevin —and with my guilt. What I wanted most in the world at that moment was to be with Jeff at Dinah’s Diner, apologizing for being a jerk, myself. And having a baked, stuffed potato heaped with sour cream and chives, and dripping with butter.

  We’d gone off the road farther from the Snack Shack than I thought, and by the time I got there, I was so cold I couldn’t feel my toes. I’d managed to lose both shoes in the snow somewhere, and my sexy black mesh stockings were in shreds. Back up the hill, Kevin had stopped yelling at me, and started rocking the car back and forth in the snow, trying to gain some traction. I knew he was probably going to take out the transmission in the process, but lo, and behold, he finally succeeded in getting the front tires free. With a huge crunching sound, the car lurched back onto the road, wheels spinning. I was already standing on Smitty’s front step, with my hand on the doorknob, when Kevin rolled up next to me, gesturing furiously.

  “Get in the damned car,” he ordered. “I’ll take you back to town. It’s too late to make it to the dance, anyway.”

  In my second (or maybe fourth) truly stupid move of the evening, I declined. “Not on your life,” I replied haughtily. “I’m going to wait here for Jeff.”

  “Now, who’s being ridiculous?” he yelled. “That could take hours!”

  What else could a committed feminist do? I gave him the finger. And stuck my tongue out.

  As Kevin drove off, swearing at the top of his lungs, I felt curiously relieved by what had happened. I wasn’t even mad at him any longer. This whole fiasco had been my fault, actually, not his. Now, all I had to do was go inside and call Jeff, and then spend the whole trip back to town telling him how sorry I was for being such a fool. I reached for the knob and turned it.

  Smitty’s Snack Shack was locked, tight as a drum.

  Of course, it is, I thought miserably. Who the hell would be driving on this godforsaken road on a night like this? Other than two city-bred idiots on the way to a dance and truck auction that had probably been cancelled hours ago?

  The lights in the store were on—one light at the back, anyway, and when I peered through the grimy front window, I could see into every corner. There was no one inside.

  I hadn’t brought my cell phone, since the adorable little velvet purse barely had room for a comb, three Kleenex, and an emery board. I knew there was a pay phone at the back of the store, though—near the ladies’ room. It seemed that for my fifth (or sixth?) stupid act of the evening, I was going to have to burglarize a convenience store, and steal enough from the cash register to make a phone call.

  In case any of you are thinking of taking up a life of crime, allow me to advise you that it’s not as easy to break into a convenience store as you might think. Especially when you’re dressed like a flimsily outfitted hooker, stumbling around in your stocking feet, with nothing but a plastic comb and a bent emery board for burglary tools. (I had lost both my red satin shoes in my stumbling trek across the ice, and the little gold box with its three precious chocolates.)

  Smitty was apparently not a very trusting soul. He’d covered every fucking window with steel mesh, and installed a metal fire door that would have prevented even Godzilla from helping himself to a bag of stale Cheeze Doodles.

  I don’t know exactly how long I sat huddled on the side porch of the Snack Shack, shivering under an enormous heap of empty burlap bags of unknown origin. (Maybe chicken feed, maybe horse manure. That’s the great thing about having your nose freeze. You’re spared the full environmental effect of your surroundings.) I was calculating how long it would be before my fingers and toes started falling off when I heard the unmistakable sound of a powerful car engine. It was coming up the hill, fast, and when I peeked out from underneath the bags, I could see the flash of blue and red lights reflecting off the snow. Seconds after that, the car skidded into the parking area alongside the shack, scattering snow and gravel over my pile of bags. The next thing I heard was the most beautiful sound in the world— Jeff, shouting my name. And for the first time since I’d met him, Chief McConnell sounded frightened.

  * * *

  It took less than a minute for Jeff to pull me out from under the burlap bags and do a quick check of my extremities, all of which were numb with cold, but apparently still intact. I was too stiff to walk, though, so he simply swept me up into his arms and carried me to the car, and set me (stuffed me) into the front seat. The interior of Jeff’s patrol car was blessedly warm and dry, and the heater was obviously on high. After he’d bundled me under a heavy, hooded parka and several wool blankets, and shoved my feet into two pairs of socks and a set of fur-lined boots, I was still colder than I’d ever been in my life.

  “How did you know where I was?” I muttered, through chattering teeth.

  “On bad nights, we monitor calls to the auto club, and to all the area wreckers. A car like Kevin’s isn’t common around here, so when I heard the call, I came up to be sure they’d gotten here to pull you out.” He grinned at me. “When my headlights caught the red shoes and the assortment of fashion accessories lying in the road, I figured Cinderella couldn’t be far away.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Besides, with my cheeks frozen and stiff, doing either one would have hurt like hell.

  On the way back to town, after I told Jeff the whole dismal tale, he called into his office and spoke with his aging deputy, Charlie King. “I’m taking Emma back to my dad’s place for the night. Do me a favor and check around town for Kevin Rivers. And when you find the sonuvabitch, I want him locked up for the night.”

  “What’s the charge?” Charlie asked.

  “Make one up. Being a louse and an irresponsible asshole, for a start. And if he happens to end up with a black eye or a broken nose, I’ll make sure it doesn’t go in your file.”

  I could hear Charlie laughing in the other end of the line. “Emma okay?”

  “She’s fine. A weird shade of bluish-purple, but the color’s fading fast. It seems she crawled out of a car window and went for a stroll.”

  “She did what?”

  “Dr. Rivers was in a romantic frame of mind, and the lady wasn’t.”

  Next, I heard Charlie’s snort of derision, or maybe disgust. “And she couldn’t think of anything better to do about it than climb out a damn window in the dead of winter? Next time, tell her to use her head, and whack the SOB in the balls with her fist. That usually cools off these would-be Rom
eos in a hurry. You ever thought maybe that little lady of yours needs her behind walloped when she does dumb stuff like this?”

  “It’s crossed my mind,” Jeff answered wearily.

  “Well, if you’ve got any sense, you’ll do it quick, before she goes and gets herself in real trouble.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement, Charlie. Now, get out and look for Rivers. If you need me, I’ll be at my dad’s place. Otherwise, I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”

  Jeff turned to me. “Well,” he said, “the consensus among two members of the Mountain Lakes police department seems to be that you should pay for your little frolic in the snow by having your butt blistered.”

  “And here I was, thinking police brutality was illegal,” I mumbled.

  He sighed. “Why is it that people never see the positive side of police brutality? Speaking of which, do you want me to charge Rivers with something? Being what my grandmother used to call a masher, maybe?”

  I sighed. “No. Nothing really happened. I just got mad. Not as much at him, as at myself, I guess.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” I croaked, “when my lips thaw out.”

  He looked over at me and grinned. “I could be wrong, but after the night he’s about to have, I don’t think Dr. Rivers is going to be asking you out again real soon.”

  I groaned. “You think?”

  A few moments later, he pulled up in the driveway of a house I’d never seen before, and helped me out of the car. I was still too cold, and trembling too violently to pay a lot of attention to anything but my own misery.

  Once we were inside, when I began to defrost, the real misery began. While I yelped and moaned, Jeff stripped me to the skin, dumped me in the cramped stall shower, and turned on the warm water. Five minutes later, he pulled me out and rubbed me to a rosy, painful glow with a stove-warmed towel, tossed me a pair of heavy flannel pajamas and a fresh pair of wool socks, and disappeared into the hallway.

  The bedroom I was in was small, but immaculate. The décor was simple, cozy and comfortable, and even through my sniffles, I could tell that the interior of the house had been freshly painted. Once I was dressed, I wandered down a newly carpeted hallway lined with family photos, and finally into the living room, where Jeff had prepared dinner. There was a pot of coffee, a bowl of tomato soup with crackers, and a prettily decorated chocolate cupcake with a red plastic heart on top. Slightly crushed. How nice, I thought, feeling mildly bitter. He hadn’t forgotten about Valentine’s Day after all, meaning this whole disastrous evening had been a stupid waste of time. He settled me on the couch, with the tray of food in front of me, and a cheerful fire blazing in the big stone fireplace.

  “Just the coffee,” I said, rudely, pushing the soup bowl away. I’d been starving all night, but now, the food looked unappetizing. Except for the cupcake.

  Jeff shoved the bowl back to me. “Eat the soup.”

  “I’m not hungry, and I despise tomato soup,” I replied sulkily.

  “Tough luck. We’re all out of pheasant under glass. Eat, or I take Charlie’s advice and whale the tar out of you first, and then force feed you.”

  I gave him an appraising look, and decided to eat the soup. I had the distinct feeling that now that I’d been found alive and well, Jeff’s mood had gone from worried to something else. For a few minutes, while I choked down the soup, we didn’t talk.

  At this point, I glanced for the first time into the adjoining room—the dining room. The table was set. Dinner for two, with a white Damask tablecloth and candles, two wine glasses, and flowers. I got up, walked to the table, and stood there for a long moment, taking it all in. There was a crystal vase of long-stemmed red and white roses, a bit wilted now, but still lovely. And on one of the plates, a small, square box, wrapped in white paper with a red ribbon. A box of that familiar size and shape that all women recognize.

  “I don’t understand,” I said softly. A lie, of course. The table setting said it all.

  Jeff sighed. “Dinner. It was supposed to be a surprise. You know, for Valentine’s Day?”

  I touched the little box. “And this?”

  “You needed a set of snow tires,” he replied. “Gift wrapping the damned thing was a bitch, though.”

  “Should I open it?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Not yet. We need to talk, first.”

  My heart sank. So, the box wasn’t what I thought, after all. Here it comes, I realized. The break-up. The kiss off. The not-so-gentle letdown.

  “You scared the hell out of me, tonight,” Jeff said quietly. “Do you know that?”

  I flushed. “I’m sorry, Jeff. I thought…I should never have agreed to go to that stupid dance with Kevin. The whole thing just sort of…mushroomed.”

  “What mushroomed?”

  I hesitated. My pride was on the line here, and a lot more. But Jeff deserved an honest answer.

  “Okay,” I admitted. “The truth is, I was hoping to make you jealous.”

  There was a very small pause. “Did I have reason to be jealous?”

  I shook my head glumly. “No. Never.”

  “So, you risked your life and nearly froze to death trying to make me jealous?”

  I laughed nervously. “Not too bright, huh?”

  He shook his head. “This isn’t funny, Emma. I get the feeling you haven’t learned the right lesson from what happened tonight.”

  (Oh, have I mentioned before that I hate being lectured? Especially when I already know I’ve been a complete idiot and when I’m hoping everyone will just forget the whole thing and never bring it up, again?)

  “And exactly what might the right lessons be?” I demanded. “According to you, that is?”

  “For starters, you need to recognize good advice when you hear it. But what I’d like most is to feel that you’re genuinely sorry.”

  “How many times do I have to say it?” I exclaimed. “I’m sorry I screwed up, okay?”

  “That’s not what I mean,” he said quietly.

  “Then, what?”

  “I’d like to believe that you genuinely regret not trusting me enough to tell me—the man you say you love—what was bothering you. I wish I were psychic, Emma, but I’m not. I thought you understood how I felt about you, and about our future together.”

  Okay, this was getting way too complicated for a half-frozen woman to deal with when she was already racked with guilt and about to cry if she hadn’t been too proud and stubborn to admit how bad she felt for not trusting him. So, I reached for the only comfort food in sight—the crushed cupcake—and shrugged my shoulders. “Whatever.”

  Jeff began to unbuckle his belt. “Wrong answer, kiddo.” As he folded the belt in one hand, there was a kind of sad, weary smile on his face. I began babbling a mile a minute, trying to take back my smart-ass remark, and find the words to explain what I really felt. But before I could get the words out, he took the cupcake from my hand and led me back to the living room.

  “Take down your pants,” he said quietly.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Pull your pants down and bend over the arm of the couch. Now.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I cried. I was hoping he’d attribute the slight quiver in my voice to my still being cold.

  “Someone needs to teach you the rules, and for now, it looks like it’s up to me to do it.”

  “What fucking rules are you talking about?” I hissed.

  “The basic rules about boundaries, and about trust. You overstepped those boundaries by pulling a dangerous, dishonest prank. All because you didn’t trust me enough to come and tell me what you needed from me. I love you, Emma, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Where I come from, loving a woman comes with a few rights, and a lot of responsibilities. One of the most important responsibilities is to do your best to take care of her, especially when she can’t—or won’t—take care of herself.”

  “I don’t need to be taken c
are of,” I shot back. “And I sure as hell don’t need to be spanked like some little kid.”

  “You need both. You know that I’d never really hurt you, but right now, you are going to get spanked. Hard.”

  I glared at him. “So, you just lied to me. This so-called spanking is going to hurt, right?”

  He nodded. “You’d better believe it’s going to hurt. I want you to come away knowing what can happen when you cross the line, and to never forget it. Now, the question is, do you trust me to do that, or not?”

  “Why should that matter?” I asked coldly. “You’re a hell of a lot stronger than me. You could do anything you fucking wanted to right now, and there wouldn’t be a bloody thing I could do about it.”

  “You could agree to it,” he said softly.

  I groaned. Because I had just begun thinking exactly that. Not liking it, but I was thinking it—if that makes any sense.

  And so, I agreed. I wasn’t totally sure what I was getting into, but I knew that Jeff would work it out. And more than anything else, I wanted him to know that I trusted him. Besides, I said to myself, how bad could it be—one lousy little spanking?

  I got the answer very quickly.

  Since I didn’t know what to expect, I also made a snap decision to try to be positive about the experience. I imagined that the worst thing about being spanked would be the embarrassment. I was an adult woman, after all, and according to Dr. Elliot Friedkin, (my dentist) I had a very high tolerance for pain. Ergo, the discomfort of even a very hard spanking would be unpleasant, but certainly tolerable.

  I still believed that as I leaned over the arm of the couch, and only began to get nervous when I felt my pajama bottoms being pulled down—and when I felt Jeff’s hand on the small of my back, holding me firmly in place. Like he knew for sure that in a very short time, I would be trying my level best to get up again.