by AnonYMous
After we’d closed the deli that Friday, I rummaged through the big refrigerator in the back. Sherrie had this policy that if things didn’t sell, we were welcome to take food home. I stuffed a bag with containers of grilled pork loin and asparagus spears with orange zest and ran out to my car.
When Michael came though the door that night, dinner wasn’t on his mind. I could see that right away. “Doll, I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“Me too,” I whispered as his hands slid down to my waist. Yep, no doubt about it, he was not going to want to eat first.
He slid my fuzzy white sweater over my head and unhooked my new pink lace bra, bending his head to nuzzle my neck before working his way down. Before too long, we were in my bedroom. We just seemed so right together, although Michael was definitely the teacher and I followed his lead. Sherrie always said if you could read a book, you can cook. I figured the same for sex, and I sure had read all the books.
“So, are you hungry?” I asked later when were snuggling under my blue cloud sheets. Michael hadn’t said a word about the stuffed animals that weren’t cluttering my bed anymore, but I was sure he’d notice later.
After I’d told him what I’d brought from the deli, he kissed my shoulder. “Hey, doll, why don’t you just rustle it up and bring it in here. We can eat in bed.”
I giggled as I grabbed his shirt and scampered to the kitchen. It just felt so wonderful to have someone that cared about me like this. In his arms, I felt so protected, so secure.
Quickly I fixed a tray, nuking the pork loin and beans in the microwave. As I was moving around the kitchen, I thought I felt something crinkle in the pocket of his shirt. Reaching in, I pulled out a scrap of paper. “Figaro’s, ten o’clock.” There was a phone number on it.
Figaro’s was a new hot spot in town. Maybe Michael had plans for us later. Marissa had said there was a great little dance floor and everyone was into salsa.
Not really knowing why, I jotted down the number and stuffed the paper back in the shirt. Then I padded back to the bedroom with the tray. I’d wait until he mentioned Figaro’s so I wouldn’t spoil his surprise.
After we ate, I put the tray on the floor. I was settling down, feeling very content, when Michael sprang out of bed. He yanked the shirt from the bottom of the bed, wrapped it around himself, and headed for the bathroom. “Mind if I use your shower, doll?” he asked.
“Well sure, but why don’t you shower in the morning? Are we going somewhere?” I was ready to spring out of that bed and jump in the shower with him.
Michael just stood in the doorway, holding the shirt around his waist and his clothes in his other hand. Why was he being so modest now? “Ah, I can’t stay tonight. I have to work on a case tomorrow and my shower’s been funky lately. I can’t get any hot water. Do you mind?”
“Oh. . .sure.” Lying back, I tried not to feel disappointed. Rolling over onto his pillow, I drank in the scent of his cologne.
I’d tossed my mail onto the nightstand when I got in from work, and while Michael was in the shower, I grabbed the three envelopes and leafed through them. One letter had my name printed on it. Had my niece sent me something? Sometimes Nikki drew pictures for me.
I gasped when I unfolded the sheet of paper.
Michael came out of the bathroom, fully dressed, drying his hair with a towel.
Hands shaking, I held out the paper. “Do you think I should call the police?”
Michael read the awful words that had been cut out of magazine letters and pasted on the white sheet. He got quiet and I could tell he was taking this seriously too. “Well, I suppose we should think about it.”
“Think about it? Then you don’t think it’s dangerous? Michael, do you think it’s those brothers, you know, from the trial. Have you heard of any other jurors getting wacko letters like this?”
Michael bent and kissed me on the head, setting the paper on the nightstand. “I’d try to forget it if I were you. It’s just someone’s sick idea of a joke.”
“Joke?” I pulled the sheet up to my chin. “Okay, if you think so.” After all, wasn’t Michael the law? It sure seemed like it to me.
He blew me a kiss and headed for the door. I trailed behind him and made sure the door was double-bolted and that all the windows were locked.
The following day I had to work, but Marissa stopped by at noon and we ran out to get a bite to eat.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see I was upset, and Marissa pulled it from me—the late night calls, not seeing him as much as I wanted.
“I know he’s busy, Marissa. Besides, I have other problems. I opened yesterday’s mail and got this.” I pulled out the letter, if that’s what you could call it.
Marissa’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “This is bad stuff here, Brooke. What weirdo would do this?”
“That’s what I’m asking. Maybe it is those brothers from the trial. I mean, the prosecutor read our names at the beginning. Wouldn’t take much to find us.”
Marissa got bug-eyed. “What did Michael say? He should know about this kind of stuff.”
I sighed, “He said it was probably just a bad joke.” I could tell from the worried look on Marissa’s face that she didn’t think so.
I decided to change the subject. “So, have you been to Figaro’s? I think Michael’s planning on taking me there.”
Marissa smiled. “I was too beat last night, you know? Madison had something at school, so I cut Gavin loose. He went with some of the guys from work.”
“Oh,” I said.
I went back to work but I couldn’t get that darn letter out of my mind. I didn’t even see Noah standing in front of me that afternoon until he spoke up.
“Hey, Brooke.”
“Hey, Noah. What’s up?” I felt a little guilty. Noah had been my best friend forever and I’d been dodging him ever since my jury duty.
“I brought you something.” He put a small package on the counter. The deli was empty, so I picked it up and unwrapped the delicate blue tissue.
“Oh, Noah! He is too cute!” Noah had given me a pink baby elephant with a curly nose and big eyes.
“For your collection,” Noah said, looking really pleased. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was over toys like this. I mean, totally over it.
“So, what are you doing tonight?” Noah asked. “I thought maybe we’d catch some dinner.”
What if Michael called? “Maybe some other time, Noah, okay? I’ve got plans.”
Noah just nodded, but we’d known each other too long—he’d always been able to tell when I wasn’t quite telling the truth.
That night I rented a sad movie. Maybe I just felt like crying.
I almost didn’t hear the phone ringing the following morning. I cocked one eye at the clock. Maybe it was Michael. Maybe he wanted us to spend the day together.
“Hello?”
“Hey, doll.”
It was starting to bug me that Michael hardly ever used my name. At first I thought “doll” was sexy, but when we made love, it didn’t make me feel great. But that voice. I just melted. “How are you doing?”
“Great, just great. I can’t get you off my mind. Maybe I could stop by for dinner. What do you think?”
My mind flicked back to Friday’s dinner. I got crazy just thinking about it. I ran my hand over his pillow. “Okay. What time?”
We made our plans and I got busy in the kitchen, trying out some of Sherrie’s most popular recipes.
The phone rang. I hoped Michael wasn’t going to cancel.
“Brooke?”
“Hey, Marissa? What’s happening? I thought you and Gavin would be spending the day together.”
Silence.
“Marissa?”
“You know, I don’t know how to tell you.”
I swallowed. “Tell me what?” What was she so serious about?
“Last night we stopped at Figaro’s.”
“Was it fun?”
“Yeah, we liked
it, but we didn’t like what we saw. Michael was there, Brooke. He was with Roxanne, you know, the babe with the flying fingers. Well her fingers were all over him all night and he seemed to like it.”
I pressed my hand on my chest. “That’s not true, Marissa! That just can’t be true. Michael wouldn’t do that.”
Marissa was quiet. “Brooke, I’m so very sorry. I just think you should know.”
“Well, thank you very much.” I punched out each word. I was mad. “You can tell Gavin that he has no right to run around bad mouthing another guy.” I slammed the phone down.
I was steaming. This was so irresponsible! A million people jammed on the dance floor and he decides he sees Michael? I was still fuming when I got dressed in my tightest jeans and my softest blue sweater.
But I couldn’t keep still. I must have picked up that phone number I’d found in Michael’s pocket a hundred times. But I trusted him, didn’t I? I sat on the arm of the couch and when I heard Michael’s footsteps, I flung open the door.
“You look good enough to eat!” Michael swept me into his arms, and I buried my face in his neck.
He smelled so good, different, but good.
“New cologne?” I whispered.
He was kissing my hair and stopped for a second. “Yeah. Like it?”
“I like you,” I whispered as he swung me up into his arms and my legs hugged his waist.
“Dinner will be ready in a second,” I whispered, raking my nails slowly down his back as he arched it.
“Food? Doll, first things first.” This time we didn’t even make it to the bedroom. Michael spilled me onto the sofa. He pulled, tugged and unzipped, while I worked on the buttons of his shirt and unbuckled his belt. Our lips and hands were everywhere. It was kind of crazy.
The springs of my bargain basement sofa creaked beneath us, and I thought I’d never be able to watch another movie on this sofa without thinking of this night.
How could Marissa have said what she did? Wasn’t this proof that Michael loved me? Although I had it in my head to mention Marissa’s call, every coherent thought deserted me as I plunged into another one of those deep dives.
Later we lay breathless on the sofa, our legs entangled. My fingers traced circles through the springy golden hair on his chest, and I was following the hard lines of his abs when I saw it.
“Hey, don’t stop,” Michael murmured. “That feels great.”
I pushed myself up, my eyes glued to his thigh, just above his right knee. He followed my eyes and quickly got his shirt from the floor to cover himself, but it was too late.
Turning, I searched his eyes, trying to find some truth. I didn’t like what I saw in those blue eyes—not one bit.
That red pepper tattooed on his thigh, the last minute calls, well, it all started to add up. I shot up from the sofa.
“Really cute, Michael. Matching tattoos? So, how is Roxanne?” I asked. “I heard you had a great time last night.” By this time, I was throwing his clothes at him as he backed toward the door. “Like to dance, do you? And was your girlfriend the one who sent me that sick letter? Is that why you didn’t want me to call the police?” My voice was getting really loud, but I didn’t care. In fact, it felt good. All my suspicions came tumbling out.
I unlocked the door and started to open it, not caring that I didn’t have a stitch of clothing on.
“Brooke, doll!” Michael hobbled out the door, pleading. “At least let me get my clothes on.”
“Nope, the jury just came in on this one, Michael. You’re caught in the act and are found guilty!” Using my whole body, I shoved him out the door and quickly locked it behind him. As I bent to retrieve one Italian loafer, I heard a shrill scream in the hall and started to laugh. This would keep Mrs. Parsons on the phone with the other neighbors for quite a while. Quickly I opened the door, tossing the loafer at Michael’s head.
“Geez!” he howled.
I laughed as I closed and locked the door again. Then I went to the phone and dialed that number. I’d never heard Roxanne’s voice but it didn’t surprise me that it was sultry as heck.
“Michael’s on his way over, doll,” I said and hung up.
You know, it’s hard to be taken for a fool. Sure, it felt good to kick Michael out, but I cried plenty that night. I mean, where had my head been? Marissa forgave me and was a big help. Gavin had told her the nasty truth about Michael—he was a player and he hit on all the women who came through the courts. Apparently, however, he always went back to Roxanne.
On Wednesday, Noah stopped in the deli. I looked up and there he was in his jeans and T-shirt, with his baseball cap on backwards. Noah was a computer programmer and he worked from home. He looked so sweet and comfortable. Now, I knew what Noah was, plain and simple. In his hands was a huge bouquet of pink roses and he held them out.
“Oh, Noah! You shouldn’t have done this. These must have cost a fortune.”
“Some women are worth it, know what I mean?” Noah grinned, and suddenly I wanted to hug him. He was everything Michael was not, although it had taken me a while to see it.
“So, how’s everything?” he asked. I wondered if Sherrie had told him that I’d phoned in sick on Monday. Sometimes you just need a day to cry and get yourself together.
I fingered the tissue paper and the velvety soft pink petals. “Fine, I’m fine. But I kind of need a favor.”
“Name it.”
“I need you to go to Good Will. I got crazy one night and gave them all my stuffed animals.”
Noah’s eyes got wide and his mouth hung open.
“Yeah okay,” I admitted. “I got more than just a little bit crazy. And that’s not all. Do you think you could help me take my sofa to Good Will next Saturday?”
The nicest thing about Noah is that he never asks questions. Now, giving my stuffed animals to Good Will was huge—he knew how much they meant to me—but he never asked me why I’d done such a stupid thing. When he got there, some had already been sold, but he bought back most of them and told me he’d only paid ten dollars for the whole bunch—which I knew was a total lie. But that’s Noah.
He didn’t even ask me about the sofa. Marissa and Gavin showed up to help get that big, old sucker into the elevator and out into a pickup Noah had borrowed.
“Now, what are you going to do without a sofa?” Marissa stood in the middle of my living room, hands on her hips, looking at the bent wood rocker and the overstuffed chair that were left. “Was that sofa poisoned or something?”
I just looked at her. The great thing about girl friends is that they can read your mind.
She held up one hand. “No need to give me the details. Too much information, even though I might be dying to ask.” Then she hugged me. “What a trial this has been.” We both burst out laughing.
For a lot of people, doing their civic duty is probably a lesson in how our government works, but I guess I had some things to learn about men, and that jury duty led to a lesson in love. I found out that that’s one subject on which you can never have enough classes. THE END
Something Blue
I WON’T WEAR A BLACK EYE ON MY WEDDING DAY!
That’s why I may have to walk away from the only man I’ve ever loved
I sat on the hardwood floor in the living room, looking at the pile of wedding invitations I’d just completed.
Forty-seven.
Forty-seven of our best friends and relatives, plus their spouses, minus any children. Lonnie didn’t want children at our wedding. Children, he said, were too disruptive, too troublesome.
Will he place our future children in those same categories? I wondered. The thought gave me chills, but I immediately dismissed the idea. Lonnie wanted loads of children, all perfectly trained little soldiers standing in a rigid line. . . .
I went rigid myself, wondering where that thought had come from. Forcing myself to relax, I leaned back against a chair, stared at the living room wallpaper, and tried to think of any incident that might’ve suggested t
hat Lonnie would act like that. Lately, several troubling visions of my world with Lonnie had given me pause. But when I couldn’t think of anything specific, I pushed the thought away.
“You’ve got pre-wedding jitters, April,” I muttered to myself as I gathered up the invitations and placed them in a shoe box. Stepping outside in the sunny Saturday afternoon, I took the box to my compact car with the intention of dropping the invitations in the mail. I was just about to place them behind the driver’s seat, when Brenda, my next-door neighbor, came walking over with her dog.
“Hey, there,” Brenda said. Bourbon, her Irish setter, gave me a friendly lick before examining some odor in the grass. “I never get to see you anymore. What’ve you got there?”
“Invitations to my wedding!”
“Am I invited?”
I looked up, surprised at the question, as well as the hostility in her voice. Brenda and I had lived next door to each other forever, shared the same box of diapers when we were infants. Our parents were best friends and had once even taken off together for a two-week cruise in the Caribbean, leaving Brenda and me alone in our homes. Our lives were filled with so many wonderful times together, including playing brides as children, each always planning to be in the other one’s real wedding someday.
Lonnie had other ideas. He felt we should keep the wedding party restricted to relatives only—his sister and cousin, and my little niece.
“Of course you are.” I leaned over, thumbed through the box, and pulled out her invitation. “Here.”
“Thanks,” she said, glancing at the envelope. “Anyway, aren’t you a little early? Isn’t the wedding still three months away?”
“Yes, but Lonnie. . . .”
“Oh, right. He’s so afraid you’ll back out that he wants the invites out a month early.”
“Why are you so hostile?” I demanded suddenly, straightening and turning to face her. “What did Lonnie ever do to you?” For some reason, they had never gotten along.
“It’s not what he did to me, April. It’s what he’s doing to you. Don’t you see it? He’s managing your life. You can’t see your old friends; you’ve given up all the things you like to do.”