Jinxed

by Inez Kelley

He pulled back from her and stood, the weight of responsibility heavy on his marble shoulders. Swallowing hard, he shook his head. “Dave’s making travel arrangements now. We’ll fly up on the first flight we can get, try to sort things out.”

  “Dave? Did I meet him at the party?”

  A faint smile lifted one corner of his lips and he cupped his hand around her neck, sliding his fingers into the back of her hair. “You could say that. He’s my lawyer and you sat on his lap, remember?”

  “Santa Dave?”

  “Santa Dave.”

  The phone in his hand sang out and Jinx answered before it finished one chirp. Giving him privacy in his bedroom, Frannie went to his closet and found an old black garment bag. His brown leather suitcase was sitting in the corner of her bedroom across town, she realized with a start. Efficiently, she gathered jeans and socks, shirts and underwear. Knowing he would be attending a funeral, she added his dark charcoal suit. Three ties in hand, she turned and held them up for his choosing. He tucked the phone tighter to his chin and pointed to a dark red striped one.

  Jinx scribbled furiously on a discarded pink message slip as she went into the bathroom for his toiletries. The cold black window shocked her. She was too wide awake for it to still be nighttime. The ominous oppression that accompanies a traumatic event hung in the air like smoke at a barbeque—thick, choking and pungent. Strangely, the night seemed more hushed than normal. The click of the cabinet latch releasing sounded like a gunshot. She closed the mirrored medicine cabinet and caught her reflection. Her hair looked like a smashed mushroom. Her nose was pink and her eyes shadowed. Not exactly a calming sight. The bright red plastic tube in her hand drew her attention and her heart skipped a beat.

  What am I doing? She stared at his deodorant and her fingers tightened. Clarity shone on her like a bonfire. She was acting like a wife. He hadn’t asked her to pack for him, she just did it. Wives, not casual lovers, fetched deodorant and razors and toothpaste. She was getting too comfortable with him, too at ease. Slipping into the caretaker wifely role was becoming second nature. They were becoming more than lovers. They were evolving into a stable couple. It scared her. No, it terrified her. Legs shaking, she sat heavily on the closed toilet and hung her head between her knees. It was too much. She had to end this. It was no longer a sexual fling. They had crossed some invisible boundary.

  He had commandeered a drawer in her bedroom and she had taken over a shelf in his medicine cabinet. She slept with him now for the simple smell of his skin and the touch of his body next to hers as much as the orgasms he created. She recognized his footsteps before he appeared. She could tell by the set of his mouth whether he’d had a good or a bad day long before he spoke. Even his employees saw this intimate connection and called her by his name. Not Frannie, but Mrs. Sullivan. The other half of Jinx. The yin to his yang. The black to his white.

  If she wasn’t careful, she would find herself moved in, gold band on her hand, before she knew what happened. Then, when it all fell apart, she would have to pick up the pieces from a much weaker position. She had to remain apart, separate, whole. Severed parts never healed completely. Phantom pain, they called it—a painful, aching agony on a limb no longer there.

  Escape, her head screamed.

  Stay, her heart bellowed.

  A sob shook her chest and she realized she was softly crying. Blowing her nose on some toilet paper, she stood and scrubbed her face with a cool washcloth to soothe the redness. What a bad time for selfish realization. A lump settled in her throat and she forced it down with a strained gulp.

  She was weak. She knew it. A magazine article she’d once read claimed nicotine and cocaine were the hardest addictions to break. The article had never loved Jinx Sullivan. Her logical mind knew the best course. For self-preservation, she needed to walk away now, to hold her head high and lie through her teeth. But she knew she couldn’t yet. She was too greedy, too selfish, too in love with him. Each minute she spent with him was one more precious memory to hold. One more dream to bring out and savor when she was alone.

  Soon enough he would force her hand with a proposal. Even he had said he would walk away when she turned him down. She lived in fear of it. Freaking out over the music box was a prime example of how pathetic she had become. But she had been spared the pain. For now.

  From the bathroom doorway, she watched him. Seated in the wing-backed chair, his fist pressed lightly to his lips, he stared out the window. She approached and he held his hand out to her. She only hesitated a second before crawling onto his lap. He was warm against her skin and she snuggled close. Firm lips pressed to her head, he spoke into her hair, his breath tickling her temple.

  “Ray was the first person I hired up there. He has two teenage daughters and a wife. I went to their twenty-fifth anniversary party last year. Oh God, Frannie, what do I say to Joyce? What do you say to someone who’s just had half their heart ripped out?”

  That was an answer Frannie desperately wished she had.

  Chapter Eight

  “You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.”

  —Robin Williams

  The grey metal filing cabinet was frigid against her forehead. Frannie leaned there so long she knew she had the letters N-S imprinted in her skin. Only the cessation of the copier’s rhythmic drone pulled her from her exhausted slump. She couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, her mind slipped into overdrive. Basically, she looked and felt like hell. Maybelline and CoverGirl were working overtime to hide the smudges under her eyes and a worry-line had developed between her brows.

  Trudging back to her office, her arms laden with hundreds of copies, she almost ran into the office mail boy, although boy was a subjective term since Claude was every bit of sixty years old. He grinned broadly and tossed a dark manila envelope on top of her stack before pushing his cart on down the hall. Exercising her new forehead wrinkle, Frannie frowned. What’s this? She fumbled with the stack of still warm paper, shifting it from arm to arm before she managed to snag her nail under the envelope flap.

  The copies hit the floor with a SPLAT, individual loose sheets fluttering in a featherweight dance. She gripped the check with both hands and stared. There had to be a mistake. Quickly and sloppily, she gathered the copies and held them tight to her chest as she scurried to her office. Pausing only long enough to drop the bundle on her desk, she whirled and headed straight to the inner office door.

  “Steve, look at this. Someone made a huge mistake.” A gasp of astonishment slid out as her mouth fell open.

  Tracey ripped her lips from Steve’s and jumped off his lap. She turned to the window and Frannie could swear she was rebuttoning her blouse. Her boss cleared his throat and shifted in his chair before he wiped his lips with his hand.

  “What can I do for you, Fran?” His voice was steady and professional but he refused to meet her eyes. Confused and embarrassed, Frannie handed him the check with shaky fingers. Tracey mumbled something about faxes and disappeared, never once looking at them.

  “No mistake,” Steve handed the slip back to Frannie. “It’s the standard finder’s fee for a new account plus a bonus McGee said he promised you. You made his year bringing Buddies’ on board and he wanted to make sure you knew it.”

  Her eyes flew once more to the amount. She swallowed. “I didn’t do anything, though.”

  Steve shrugged and scrolled his mouse through computer files. He had yet to raise his eyes to hers. Puzzled, she noted the dull red flush on his neck and cheeks. “Doesn’t matter. You were a means to an end and he wanted to say thank you.”

  Still perplexed and unable to process what she had seen, Frannie nodded and turned to go back to her office. After two steps, she stopped and turned back around. She tapped the check against her chin. “Steve?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Uhm…” She made circular finger gestures towards him and the door Tracey had exited. “I thought you were gay?”

  Steve closed his eyes
and blew out a long, low sigh. Inclining his head toward a chair, he wordlessly invited her talk. She slipped into the chair in front of his desk and waited for him to speak. He swallowed several times, tugging at the knotted tie around his throat.

  “You’re one of the very few people who’ve never asked. You’ve never judged or—well, you just accept me for me, no strings attached. And I appreciate that. I’ve always considered myself bisexual, but I haven’t been interested in a woman in a long, long time. After Tracey and I spent time together when I got sick…well, I don’t know, things just took on a life of their own.”

  Frannie knew him well enough to stay silent, to let him work this out in his head. A myriad of emotions played over his face and he absently fingered the scroll button on the mouse. The chair creaked when he leaned back and spoke to the wall, his hands steepled beneath his chin.

  “It’s like, I woke up that Saturday and there she was. And the piece I never knew was missing had been found. Does that make sense? I didn’t want it, I sure as hell didn’t encourage it but it was there anyway.” He looked at Frannie, a delightful grin erupting on his face. Eyes bluer than cornflowers twinkled and he seemed more animated, more alive, even though he had barely moved.

  “I like her a lot, Fran, on a deeper-than-friendship level. Maybe I even love her, I don’t know yet. All I know is she makes me happier than I have ever been.”

  Frannie nibbled the lipstick off her bottom lip. “Good. Tracey’s been pretty happy lately, too. Just be careful, Steve. I don’t want to see either of you hurt. Take things slow, okay?”

  His laughter was short and loud but not unkind. Both elbows on the desk, chin in hand, he smiled at her. “Practice what you preach, Fran. You’ve known Jinx, what, a couple weeks? Already you two are like peas in a pod. When love hits, it doesn’t always need to grow. Sometimes it explodes.”

  “And sometimes it blows up in your face,” she shot back. He had hit too close to home, touched on emotions that were too raw, too fresh to be poked. She hated the tears that sprang to her eyes and rapidly blinked them away.

  Immediately, concern washed over his face and he frowned. “Want to talk about it?”

  “No.” Her voice sounded frail and pitiful to her so she tossed her head back and forced a grin. “Same old, same old.”

  Steve leaned back and studied her. Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, she fidgeted, crossing one leg and then the other before he finally spoke. “You do realize Jinx is not Mark, right? You aren’t screwing yourself over because of your divorce?”

  “Of course not. I’m not planning on making the same mistakes twice.”

  She stood to leave and he rose with her. At the doorway, he put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead loudly. Always a big brother. She smiled and nudged him back playfully. “You take care of my best friend, both of them.”

  “Take care of you, Fran. Take a sleeping pill or something. You look like shit.”

  {

  “Mad at me?”

  Tracey slipped the question into conversation without missing a beat. The long wooden spoon never even slowed as she shoveled the margarita mix into frosty, salt-rimmed glasses. Frannie paused while pouring chips into a huge Tupperware bowl. Tracey’s chin worked like a piston as she gnawed at her lower lip and avoided looking at her.

  “Now why would I be mad? Let’s see, you’re one of my best friends. You’re boinking my boss, who’s my other best friend, and you forget to tell me about it. What’s there to be mad about?”

  “It isn’t like that! I just didn’t want to share yet. What was it you said about loverboy? Too new and tender to talk about? I felt the exact same way.”

  Frannie bumped Tracey’s hip and slushy pink liquid dribbled onto the counter. “I know that. But if I can’t tease you about it, then what kind of friend am I? If I were really mad, do you think we’d be getting ready for a marathon chick-flick session?”

  Shoving her shoulder into Frannie’s, Tracey grinned but her voice was uncharacteristically soft and hesitant. “I like him, Frannie. Really, really like him. Like scary like, ya know?”

  The lump in Frannie’s throat slid halfway down her chest before getting stuck. “I know the feeling.”

  He sounds tired. Frannie’s heart ached at the weariness in his voice. The fire was contained to one section and they wouldn’t lose much time getting back up, he’d said. But facing Ray’s widow was gut-wrenching. The phone lines carried her low words of ease and soon she heard a smile creep back into his tone.

  “Steve and the spitfire secretary? How cliché.”

  “Be nice,” she warned with a laugh. A quick peek in the living room showed Tracey still absorbed in the movie but Frannie lowered her voice anyway. “It just took me off guard. I never imagined, you know?”

  “It doesn’t sound so strange to me. They’re both a little offbeat.”

  “Says the quack.” His chuckle carved her smile in the dark kitchen. Lawd, how I miss him. Just picturing the way his mouth moved when he spoke turned her knees to pudding.

  “It’s a guy thing. I have to rib him about it or I’ll get kicked out of the Man Club.”

  Frannie snorted. “The Man Club? Puleez. Since when did you and my boss become such bosom buddies?”

  “Well, what do you think I did when you were off gallivanting with Little Miss Mouthy? I had a couple beers with Steve.”

  “What? You never said anything. What’d you talk about?” Frozen in place, she had a brief flash of panic thinking of all the things Steve knew about her. Embarrassing stuff. Stuff she would rather Jinx never hear about.

  “He didn’t say anything. He definitely didn’t tell me any stories about you and the school mascot.”

  Groaning into the phone, Frannie covered her face. “That never happened. It was a body double, I swear it.”

  He teased her for a few more minutes but when she heard him hide a yawn, she tried to say goodnight.

  “When do you think you will be coming home?” Home? What I really want to know is when are you coming back to me?

  “I’m not sure. We have to meet with the insurance adjuster and the fire marshal. The funeral’s set for Wednesday, I think. I should have a better idea in a few days.”

  “Anything I can do back here?”

  “Just miss me. I miss you like crazy.” Exhaustion could not hide the gentle longing in his voice and the pudding moved from her knees to her tummy. “I miss the way you hug the pillow and sneak your cold feet onto my legs. I even miss the damned cats.”

  She ran her tongue along her lip, trying to find the words to say. The dangerous words sizzled in her mouth. I miss you, I love you. Come back to me. I need you.

  The safe words were what spilled out. “Take care of yourself.”

  After hanging up, she laid her forehead on the phone. Tracey’s loud voice made her jump. “You better hurry up. It’s almost to the good part in here.”

  Bittersweet, she straightened and murmured, “Yeah, almost to the good part in here, too.”

  {

  A bomb could not have frightened her more. It sat there, smack in the middle of her desk, looking innocent and cheery. But it wasn’t. It was a messenger of doom. It had the ability to blow her tidy little uncomplicated life way off course.

  “Stop staring at it and open it.” Frannie jumped at Tracey’s command and bumped her elbow against the office door. Stinging pain shot up her funny bone and she rubbed it briskly. But she couldn’t take her gaze off THAT THING on her desk.

  “Open what?” Steve strode in, looked at her desk and whistled.

  “It’s not what you think it is.” Frannie wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince, but she failed anyway.

  “Looks like a ring box to me.” Tracey gave her a little shove in the direction of her desk.

  “I’m going, I’m going,” she muttered as she hesitantly stepped closer. Small and square, in a plain white box, it could have been anything really. Anything round and sparkly and signifying th
e end.

  Jinx had been sending her daily tokens of his affection. Yesterday it had been pink roses. The day before that balloons. The day before that had been a stuffed bear holding a mug of coffee mixes. All came from the same florist, so she never expected anything this dramatic. Since when did florists start delivering diamonds?

  Stop it, she ordered and drew a deep breath before snatching the box with a shaking hand. The top flipped open and small gray-blue box slid out. Yep, definitely a ring box.

  Totally winded and sweating, Frannie sat and shoved the box away. I won’t open it. I’ll pretend I never received it. It’s not fair. He shouldn’t do this when he’s away. He should have done this later, when we were together. This has to break some unwritten rule. I need to check Dear Abby.

  “Well? Don’t leave us hanging. Open it.” Steve tried to pull Tracey out of the office but she shook off his hand. “No way, bossman. I wanna see this.”

  Frozen by fear, Frannie flexed her fingers and reached for the small box. Three times she commanded her arm to move before it listened. The box mocked her, daring her to open the hinged top. It seemed to pulse with malevolence in her frigid hand. She quickly snapped it open and slammed her eyes shut. Two deep noisy breaths steeled her nerves and she cracked one eye. A slash of silver made her whimper and she allowed the other eye to pop open.

  A kiss.

  A silver Hershey’s Kiss rested on a sapphire bed of velvet. Not a ring. Chocolate. Inside the box was a tiny scrap of pastel paper, folded and tucked up in the concave lid. She pried it out with one pink fingernail.

  A kiss to remember me by. J

  “Damn him.” Sapped by the scare, she collapsed into her chair with a whoosh of air. Steve and Tracey rushed forward. Spying the candy, Tracey snorted.

  “Cheap ass. Dove has better chocolate.”

  “Shut up, Trace.” Frannie blew out another sigh and Steve frowned.

  He waited until Tracey sauntered back to her desk before picking up the jewelry box. “This scared you.”