by Trixie More
“No,” said Allison.
“Yes!” Marley said with gusto. Allison shook her head.
“I meant yes,” she said to the girls. “What would you like Marley to cook for you?” She nodded to Angelo and raised her eyebrows. “If you’ll excuse me? I’ve got work to do.”
He’d had to wait, hanging by his harness until his vision cleared. Then, he’d had to flail around until he could grab the column, and finally, he had to get himself down. Jimmy Little had climbed the other side and unhooked him from the top of the column, and Derrick slithered down. Once on the deck, Ben had tossed him an ice pack. Above him, Jimmy waited for the wind to die down and began connecting the beam. Derrick sat on the deck, holding an ice pack to his head. Ben was pacing the floor watching for Steve. Derrick pushed up, tossing the ice pack into his bag. He jammed an extra hard hat on and turned back to Ben.
“Shit, Derrick. You’re a mess.” Ben looked at him with concern. “Still got your balls?”
At that, Derrick felt a tremor of late-breaking horror. He did still have his gonads, that alone made it a good day.
“Yeah,” he said. “Big as ever.” One of the raising gang laughed.
“Always a good day when you leave work still able to have kids,” the guy said.
Kids. The word suddenly sounded important. Derrick waited for that feeling of a gate closing, but it never came.
“Question is, where’d my bar land?” Derrick looked around, thankful it hadn’t killed anyone when it fell. He didn’t see it.
One of the men turned a serious face to him. “Bounced. O’er the side.”
“No.” Derrick felt sick. “Which side? Anybody hurt?”
Ben clapped him on the shoulder and handed his bar to him. “Here ya go, ya woman.”
Relief flooded him, and for the first time in his life, he felt lightheaded on the job. Just a touch and it didn’t last long, but there you had it. He was beyond lucky. He followed Ben across the deck, feeling the awkward movement of his legs, burning from where the groin straps had pulled. Derrick forced himself to walk normally, adopting the swinging roll he used to allow his long legs to stretch and eat up the ground. In moments, he was passing Ben and heading back to the job, climbing up to the top floor and tying off. If Steve wanted to file an OSHA report, let him get his ass up here and ask the questions. The girder that had almost clipped him had been finished off by another pair of connectors. Ben and Derrick signaled to the crane. Soon they were setting the cross bars, one after the other. Crane, beam, bolt, uncinch. Crane, beam, bolt, uncinch. They worked rhythmically. But Derrick’s thoughts kept trying to drift. What if the beam had hit him? If he hadn’t ducked, it would have been his head that was caught between. No staying alive from the waist up that way.
Everything had changed. He and Ben were short with each other when they used to be so close. Weeks ago, he’d risked the job he loved for a hobby that he knew would never replace the camaraderie and satisfaction he got being an ironworker. He didn’t want to leave this work and build robots all day, and he knew that. What if he’d died? Did he even want his orderly life back? He wasn’t sure anymore. On top of all of that, instead of looking forward to working on his hobby at the end of the day, he was trying to figure out excuses to see Allison. Derrick brought his attention back to the present moment, the bolt before him, the job at hand.
A few minutes later, he caught himself again … instead of thinking about the work he was doing, he was thinking about how it would be to open his eyes in the morning next to Allison. To lift her slender thigh over his and exercise the gift of her trust by waking her, poking the tip of his cock into her and pulling out, rubbing the round, stiffening points of her nipples, running his palm over them, back and forth while he inserted his finger, or prick, into her sleepy pussy. Would she gasp? Would her eyes open up wide and dazed? He smiled. She’d be wet before she was conscious, he knew that. Would she like it or would she twist in his arms like a cat and mount him, take control, try to be the boss even in their bed? He didn’t want to die before he found out. Hell. He had to keep his mind in the game, but more and more, thoughts of Allison rose up relentlessly, steady as waves. What would it be like to come home from a day like this and have her there, tugging on his shirt, asking him what happened, taking command?
Below him, he heard sounds of the other men dragging up, breaking down their tools and packing it in for the day. The holes in the deck that led to the floor below them would be uncovered, and the ironworkers would head down, jovial and tired, another day complete.
The last cross beam was connected, and Derrick headed down from the steel beams. The deck was shaking as the men walked to the hole. The sound of the plywood scraping on the deck made the hair on his neck prickle. The plywood should be lifted by two men. If it was scraping … He didn’t have time to finish the thought. A sickening crash behind him shook the deck, and a man’s guttural cry, cut short by a muffled thud from the floor below had Derrick on his feet and moving to unhook from his tether. He was turned around and heading for the hole before the men standing closer had figured out what had happened. Someone had uncovered the hole by himself. An action so simple and seemingly harmless that it was impossible to get the men to stop doing it.
“Damn it,” he cursed as he stepped over the plastic bars between the green cones meant to prevent these accidents. He looked down through the hole to see Jimmy, lying on his back on the deck below, the hardhats of the men around him bowed as they gathered to see if he was all right. He’d lifted the wood, pushed it ahead of himself, misjudging the positioning of the hole and walking right into it. A classic mistake was what it was. Anger and fear. That’s what he felt. The whole thing was stupid and infuriating, and he damn well would get an earful from Ben on the ride home. As if on cue, one of the hard hats lifted and the man below him looked up and into his eyes. Ben’s face reflected everything that Derrick felt inside. Around Ben, the men let out a collective murmur of relief and good-natured ribbing as Jimmy sat up and felt around for his hard hat.
“Worthless thing,” Jimmy said, and the relieved laughter broke the tension.
Derrick looked over his shoulder. “Joe, come help me lift this damn thing.”
Once the deck was cleared, Derrick grabbed his duffel and then headed down to the ground. Another day over, thank God.
Chapter 17
On the way home, Ben was uncharacteristically silent, and that was worse than the lecture Derrick had been expecting. They parked the truck in the silent garage, George’s absence like a splinter in their friendship. Ben’s biceps bulged as he pulled down the metal door and locked it. Together, they walked, their boots silent, their strides rolling, tool bags hanging from their outside hands, like bookends, except what they were holding between them was an accusation and an answering guilt.
They entered the loft without speaking, and Ben passed by Derrick’s worktable on his way to his end of the loft. As he passed, he sighed. Stopping for a brief moment, he didn’t bother to turn back to Derrick.
“Should clean this shit up.” Ben continued and the next sound was his bathroom door closing. The end of the sentence was implied. If Derrick wasn’t going to do something with his robots, he should pack it in. Derrick turned his back on the table and headed into his own private rooms, but Ben’s opinions followed him just the same.
It was six o’clock when Derrick decided he wasn’t going to stay around for whatever would come out of Ben’s mouth once he’d had a few beers.
“I’m going out,” he called. There was no answer from the living room, and he didn’t expect one. The stairs were silent under his sneakers as he left his friend behind.
He didn’t feel like dealing with parking tonight, so he took the subway to Mastrelo’s, but it wasn’t his grandparent’s bar he entered once he turned into the alleyway. He raised his fist and stopped himself. He didn’t need to pound on the door like his grandfather. His ensuing knock sounded civil to him, and that was good. Inside, he felt an
ything but, and for a moment, he wondered if he should be here tonight. Allie wasn’t likely to be a quiet, soothing presence. His lips twisted in wry humor at the thought.
Light spilled into the twilight as the door opened, pushing aside the inch of puffy flakes of snow that had accumulated sometime in the last hour or so. Allie’s head appeared, the individual strands of her curls picked out by the glow of the kitchen.
“Hi?” she said hesitantly. What was that about? It should sound glad or normal, not a question.
He didn’t answer since he didn’t like the way she said it. Instead, he opened the door farther and pushed his way inside, pressing into her space. A part of him wondered if he were picking a fight with her, but no, that wasn’t his style, was it? Confused, he put his hands on her warm, firm waist and bent close, brushing his lips over hers and relaxing a bit as she responded. She kissed him slowly, opening to him and then closing, backing away.
“We’re really busy tonight,” she stated as if that meant something other than what he expected. He expected to be welcomed. He expected to be able to help, to put his hands in hot water and clean the dishes for her and Marley. He expected to be able to move around the kitchen, enjoying food and company, enjoying just working with her. Tonight, more than any other night, he expected that.
Allie, on the other hand, was on a different page.
“Marley and I have everything lined up, we have only a few minutes, and the temp waiter will be here. I don’t have a minute to spare.” Her face was flushed, she appeared to be both rushed and happy. He raised his eyes, looking around, searching out every detail. There was a cake on a board that looked like it had been made by the most expensive bakery in the city, pink and green flowers tumbling over a perfectly smooth white covering, small yellow pansies, only a few, creating the perfect contrast. She had her stainless steel chafing pans with the roll back covers, stacked in boxes. A crate of high-end disposable glassware, plates, and utensils all sat by the door, their contents protected by enormous clear plastic bags. From the stove, complex aromas blended in the kitchen, making his stomach growl. This was a whole other level of catering here. Certainly not her usual family-friendly Italian comfort food.
“What’s this?” he asked.
Instead of answering him, she was already headed back to the ovens, her tightly braided hair, pulled through the back of her cap, oven mitts at the ready. She bent over and opened the oven. Golden puffs lined the silver trays, and she reverently brushed them with what looked like butter. The smell was heavenly. She closed that oven and turned to her worktable where there were piles of tiny pansies and little bundles of chive flowers lying on damp towels. She gently rolled them and put them in plastic, her pretty face serious and focused. Derrick leaned against the wall. Marley blew past him and down to the basement, returning quickly with boxes of frilly toothpicks, whipped around the worktable and went to town, jamming them with vigor through water-chestnuts wrapped in bacon. It would have been funny but her damn face was so serious, he thought she might jam one into him if he laughed. From the front of the shop, the bell tinkled. Marley and Allie both tossed their hands in the air and howled ‘Oy!” in unison, and then Marley slammed out of the kitchen, the door hardly swinging once before she stepped back in, a polished looking man in black and whites in tow.
“Oh my God, you’re here. Why the hell are you late?” Allison practically launched herself at the guy. For his part, the bloke turned a frightened eye toward Derrick as if looking for assistance.
“Not me, Buddy,” was all he said but he felt a little better himself, just having another person with testosterone in the room. The women’s grim focus had him on edge, and although Derrick felt prickly, the last thing he wanted to do was upset Allie on what was obviously an important night. Never mind that he’d fallen from a beam, been hit in the head, watched yet another Ironworker get hurt on the job and fought with his best friend in what was, quite frankly, the quietest disagreement in the history of the world. Never mind that he’d come here looking for affection and forgetfulness. Never mind that his daydream of putting just the littlest bit into her wet pussy and then holding it there had him in a state of mind-bending arousal. He’d been replaying the scene in his imagination all day, not letting her get another inch, holding her right on the edge and holding himself back, until they both broke the spell, and he fucked her into next week, her eyes glazed, her torn feet scrabbling for purchase on the sheets. Never mind that he was purposely keeping himself on edge. He jerked his head to the side, looking for some way to kill time from now to the minute he could be himself, wholly, with the entire woman who was Allison.
Marley was instructing the new guy on what was to be carried to the van, ignoring the fact that Derrick was right there and ready to help. From across the kitchen, Allison raised her head and stared at his face, freezing still for a moment, eyes wide. What she had seen, he didn’t know, but he made up his mind. He was staying with her until this night was over until she was all done with her important event until she had a moment for him and he wasn’t leaving without getting his. With that decided, he turned to the first case by the door.
“Where do you want this, Marley?
Allison looked up from the hors-d’oeuvres. Derrick was standing directly across the kitchen, by the wall that ran from the kitchen door by the sink to the back alley wall. He had on a black polo shirt, the ever-present faded jeans and black kicks. His back was pressed to the wall, one knee bent, with the foot resting easily against the molding strip. She stopped for a moment, her breath caught in her throat, her heart thumping in her chest, stunned into stillness by a double-pronged realization. First, the sheer magnitude of her attraction to him floored her. Her mind went back to that first night, when David had stepped to the side and revealed his brother, dark and beautiful, getting ready to launch a dart at the board in Mastrelo’s backroom. That first night, she’d wanted to douse herself in cool liquid while her blood ran like molten lava in her veins, hot and relentless, igniting small blazes throughout her body as it passed. This moment was that times ten because now, she knew him. He was the man who’d gone into her shop for her father when he smelled smoke. He was the man who’d been here, in her kitchen, dozens of times, quietly helping, laughing with Marley and giving Allison broiling hot stares. Now she knew him to be loyal and strong, born to a father who couldn’t see the brilliance that was the son he’d created.
Second, and just as strongly, she saw there was something wrong. He wasn’t himself, or since this was Derrick, a man who was almost never himself, perhaps he was more himself than she’d ever seen before. She froze, and for a crazy moment, he looked like a fierce warrior, the kind of man who other men followed, like Washington or Churchill, a man willing to carry the heaviest weight. He looked at her with his frank gaze and then jerked his head to the side, looking away. The breath flooded back into her, and she shook her head, refocusing on the work before her. Inside her, emotions held court, announcing their royal presence, and letting her know, she was subject to their will.
The sounds of the kitchen returned, and she heard Marley telling Derrick that everything should go into the white van, on loan once again from Dorothy’s father. She didn’t look up from her work when she heard him grunt and then heard the door opening. After that, things in the kitchen returned to normal, at least normal for this night. There was so much to get right, so much to not screw up. The four different entrees, elaborate dessert, the fine linens and fancy serving dishes. Bread, butter carved into fanciful little patties, each shaped like a daisy, all needed to be at their own precise temperature, all arriving at the buffet table perfectly. All getting there just right, even though there was no kitchen to use at the site, no way to correct anything once it left her kitchen. And the waiter, she was paying a fortune for him, seemed no more invested in this than if this were a birthday gig for four-year-olds at a burger joint.
Something was going to go wrong. Allison could feel it in her bones. She packaged the l
ast of the items, as Marley directed the two men in their carry and pack exercise. Allie hurried out to her office and slammed the door. She had her black and whites in here, black knit pants that would allow her to bend and move, with wider legs so that people might not notice that her shoes were black work boots. A very starched, pin tuck blouse, blinding white, that was cut to stay out over the waistband of her pants and a black vest. She removed her hat, bent over and began re-braiding and twisting her hair until it was almost done and then she stood up and finished the end off. A wide, black band secured it, little jet beads making a subtle sparkle there. She dug in her purse, found some mascara, smudged it around her eyes a bit and then applied it to her lashes, dragged a deep magenta lipstick across her mouth and went into the bathroom to wash her hands and make sure her nails were short and precise, her cuticles appearing healthy and not ragged or dry. She glanced in the mirror and gave herself a moment to hurry back to her purse, returning with two earrings, long, dangling gold chains. She put them on and checked out her appearance again. She wasn’t sure how it happened, but she looked pretty good, her eyes smoky, the sparkle of the earrings gleaming against her neck. Already curls were escaping the braid, but today, they looked stylish. Done and done. She burst from the restroom, grabbed her purse and the van keys, streaking back through the kitchen to find the other three standing there.
“We ready?” she asked.
“As you are ever gonna be, muchacha.” Marley crossed her arms over her chest. “Want me to stay here?”
“Yes, can you?” Allison looked at the temp. “What’s your name?”
“Er, Ted.”
“OK then, Er Ted, it’s you and me. Come on.”
“Ted, it’s Ted.”
“I know. You’re Er Ted now, dude.” With that she headed out, stopping at the door. “Meet me at the van.” She watched him walk ahead of her and turn the corner. Allison let go of the door handle and walked back inside. She stopped and looked at Marley. “Thank you, Marley. For all you did today, and for all that you’ve done since your first day with me.”