Getting It Right!

by Rhonda Nelson

  “What makes you think it’s too personal?” she asked. Frankie had a way of seeing things that other people didn’t necessarily. She was very perceptive, a trait April frequently envied.

  Her friend smiled. “The combination of rules one and three attests to comfort levels and intimacy—but Rule Number Two suggests history.” She cocked her head. “Wanna tell me the truth now, April?”

  Trust Frankie to see past all the sex and seduction and get right to the heart of the matter. Ultimately, April summoned the nerve to confide in her, but it wasn’t easy. There was something about sharing teenage heartbreak that made her feel juvenile and pathetic. Lots of people had teenage loves. They got over them. Clearly there was something wrong with her, because she’d just never been able to let it go. The wound had scabbed over, but it had never fully healed.

  When she was finished spilling the whole sordid tale, Frankie sat in speculative silence for several minutes before speaking. “Your mother’s a bitch.”

  April chuckled. “She is that.”

  Frankie hesitated, seeming to carefully weigh her words. “What you need to be asking yourself is why, babe,” Frankie told her. “A woman doesn’t get that bitter for no reason.”

  April snorted. “She doesn’t need a reason to be bitter,” she told her friend. “She’s just…evil. Seriously. I can’t imagine what my father ever saw in her that would propel him into marriage, much less how he ever got close enough to her to plant me.” April paused. “I asked him about it when they divorced and he just shook his head and chalked it up to temporary insanity. Me, I think he knocked her up. I did the math,” April said quickly, noticing Frankie’s surprised expression. “I came seven months into their marriage. I guess he just couldn’t not do the ‘right’ thing.”

  Frankie shrugged. “Bad luck there, but at least he’s got you,” she said.

  Yeah, but there were times she wondered if that was compensation enough for what he’d had to put up with.

  “So,” Frankie said, interrupting her unpleasant thoughts. “What have you got planned for your beck-and-call session?”

  “I don’t know yet,” April confessed. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I thought you might be able to offer a few suggestions.”

  Back in her element, Frankie tapped a perfectly manicured nail against her chin. “Well, if you want to keep him, my advice is to take him to the voodoo history museum and pick up a penis doll to show him what will happen to him if he is unfaithful.”

  Shocked at Frankie’s typically outrageous suggestion, April whooped with laughter. Since last night, she hadn’t been giving so much thought to keeping him as to making sure no one else had him. Arrogant? Selfish? You bet your sweet ass, but she couldn’t help it. The idea of any other woman getting customized sex from Ben made her blood boil.

  He was hers, dammit.

  The thought of him taking the time to “learn” another woman and the joy that faceless whore would garner from his skilled touch made April’s belly tip in a nauseated roll. The idea had been bad before, but now—particularly after last night—it was downright unbearable.

  Frankie shrugged. “If you don’t want to keep him, then any run-of-the-mill romantic gesture would be appreciated. Men are simple. Flash your tits at him and he’ll pant like the dog that he is.”

  April giggled. Sweet Lord, how did Frankie come up with this stuff? Then another thought struck. “How do you know they have penis dolls at the voodoo museum?” April asked cautiously.

  Frankie laughed. “How do you think I keep Ross in line?”

  She snorted. “You’re insane.”

  “For him,” Frankie admitted with a long, reflective sigh.

  “He’d never cheat on you, Frankie. He loves you.”

  “I know…but it never hurts to have a little added insurance.” She propped her elbows on the table. “You’d be amazed at how effective it can be.”

  “What?” April gasped. “You’ve used it.”

  “Hell, yeah,” her friend readily replied. “Let him look too long at some chick walking down the street and I pull that sucker out of my purse—along with a handy pair of scissors—and it’s amazing how swiftly my baby remembers that he’s only supposed to have eyes for me.”

  April clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, my God. You’re serious!”

  Frankie took a sip of her tea and smiled. “It’s good for him to know how much I love him. Believe it or not, I think he likes it. It just reaffirms that he’s not alone in this crazy thing called love.”

  She could certainly see that, April thought. “I stand corrected. You are not insane—you are a genius.”

  Frankie sighed dramatically. “It’s about time someone recognized my superior intellect.”

  “Consider yourself recognized,” April said, still chuckling.

  “I hate to do this to you,” Frankie said, glancing at her watch. “But I’ve got to bail. I haven’t finished my column yet and it won’t be long until Zora will be breathing down my neck. She’s been in one funky mood lately,” Frankie complained.

  April frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “One minute she’s happy, the next she’s weeping. She’s coming in late, saying that she’s having a hard time getting up in the morning. Then yesterday, I heard her puking her shoe soles up in her private bath. Hell, if I didn’t know better I’d think she was—” Frankie’s gaze widened and flew to hers.

  April’s heart had begun to pound and she felt a slow, disbelieving smile spread across her lips. “Pregnant,” April finished, for once on the same page. “Oh, my God!” She leaned forward. “Do you think—Could she—”

  Frankie snorted. “Hell, yeah. You know what that dirty poker is all about.” A soft smile curled her mouth. “That’s it,” she murmured, her eyes aglow with something that remarkably resembled envy. “Zora’s having a baby.” Frankie quickly grabbed her purse. “I’ve got to go tell her.”

  April laughed. “My guess is that she knows.”

  “Then she’s got some explaining to do, dammit,” Frankie said. “Why the hell hasn’t she told us?”

  “You know how she is,” April said. “Always playing her cards close to her vest.”

  “That or she just wanted to wait and see how long it took us to figure it out, the manipulative wench.”

  April cocked her head. “Ah…A more likely scenario.”

  Frankie turned to leave. “Call me and give me the lowdown on your beck-and-call session,” she said over her shoulder as she made her way through the restaurant. “You know how I hate to miss anything.”

  April grinned, promising to keep her friend in the loop.

  “And my money’s on the penis voodoo doll,” she bellowed, much to the shocked dismay of the occupants of the restaurant. Forks stalled at half-open mouths and several people swiveled their heads to look at April.

  Oh, well, she thought, coolly sipping her drink. It was a good bet.

  7

  724 Rue Dumaine. Now.

  NOW, BEN THOUGHT, chuckling as he read the text message. Where did she get off with now? He’d at least given her an hour, the power-hungry witch.

  He hit reply—a simple 10-4, then strolled out of the office. Or tried to.

  “Where are you going?” Claudette demanded. “Have you taken a look at the initial designs for your Web site? Written any of the copy? Updated your bio?”

  Ben paused, casting her a look that implied she worked for him, not the other way around. “Out, yes, no and no.”

  “Out,” his secretary repeated, her brows arched. “Out where?”

  Okay, Ben thought. There was definitely something up. Where was all this…this lip coming from? What the hell had happened to good old Claudette? “I’m meeting a friend.” He frowned. “Is something wrong with you? Are you well?”

  “I’m in perfect health. Why?”

  “You seem different.” He didn’t know how old Claudette was, but he supposed she could be going through the change. He’d heard ab
out other women going off the deep end when that happened.

  She drew herself up behind her desk. “You mean because I’ve decided to quit biting my tongue and speaking my mind? Because I expect you to value me as a woman and as your secretary?”

  “What?” Ben scoffed, flabbergasted. “I’ve always valued you, Claudette. Your Christmas bonus ought to tell you that.”

  “Money’s easy, Ben,” she sniffed. “From now on, I’m demanding respect.”

  Undoubtedly had he not clamped it shut, his jaw would have dropped. “Respect? You think I don’t respect you?”

  She shifted uncomfortably, but finally lifted her chin. “Most of the time, yes, but this is the new me, and since you’re the man I spend the most time around, you’re bearing the brunt of my antidoormat training.”

  Antidoormat training? What the fu—

  “My last three relationships have failed,” she said, her voice throbbing with something akin to hurt. “You wouldn’t know this because you’ve never been interested in my personal life. So long as I answer the phone and keep your office running like a well-oiled machine, you’re happy. But you haven’t noticed that I’m not. That’s going to change, and it’s beginning here. I’m a good worker. I deserve your respect.”

  At a complete loss, Ben set his hands at his waist and shook his head. Naturally he valued and respected Claudette. She was a crackerjack office manager. Her skill freed him up to do more in-the-field work and he truly appreciated that. Evidently, he hadn’t done a bang-up job of letting her know it. Ben swore silently.

  “Well, Claudette,” he said with what he hoped was an appropriately contrite voice, “I am truly sorry that you have felt undervalued here.” He cited her many attributes. “For what it’s worth, I promise to make a concerted effort to be more—” he cleared his throat “—respectful.”

  She nodded primly. “Thank you. I would appreciate it.” That settled, she promptly picked up the previous inquisition. “So you have looked at the initial design?”

  “I have,” Ben said. “Very impressive.”

  “I thought so, too, which is why I’ve been hounding you to get the copy to her. The sooner you finish, the sooner she can.”

  Yes, dammit, he knew that. But who had time to ready copy for April when he was too busy planning her seduction, contemplating Rule Number One and fantasizing about Rule Number Three. To think that she was somewhere in town right now waiting for him with no underwear on…Ben let out a broken breath.

  Last night on the boat had been the mother of all exercises in restraint. The burning need, the all-consuming drive, to unzip his pants, lift her dress and bury himself to the hilt had been almost more than he could bear. Though he’d kept telling himself to be patient, that she deserved nothing less than the full-fledged seduction he’d put into motion, keeping his pecker in his pants was proving to be damned harder than he’d ever thought it would be.

  He should have known better.

  This was April, for chrissakes. He had a decade’s worth of lust and longing built up. He couldn’t simply turn if off now—or ignore it—just because he knew it was the right thing to do. That she deserved better.

  Furthermore, to make matters worse, she was equally impatient. Had he been willing to move things to the next level last night, she would have been an eager participant. But despite the fact that he knew he could please her, intuition told him that the time was simply not right. She needed more wooing, more love.

  Let me love you, he’d told her. Truer words had never been spoken. He wanted to love her with everything he had—heart, soul, mind. With every breath in his body, every last ounce of energy he possessed.

  And to think that her bitch of a mother had thought that an angry visit would take that away from him. How gratifying it had been to thwart that mistaken assumption.

  This time it was he who threatened to call the police and have her escorted from his premises if she didn’t leave.

  It was he who made her impotent with rage.

  It was he with the power.

  And it had felt damned good.

  She’d played her trump card the first time she’d warned him away. This time, she had nothing. Marcus had left her and moved in with Ben’s father. And to be fair, Ben knew that Marcus had cared for his dad. When he thought about it, he supposed their relationship had lasted longer than any other he’d ever known.

  In addition, April was no longer dependent on her mother for anything. She’d succeeded in getting out from under Morgana’s thumb, making her own way—quite successfully, too, if her business was any indication.

  Morgana had nothing…aside from a healthy fear that Ben would tell April about their fathers’ relationship. If he had his guess, Morgana was waiting for Marcus to spill the beans—her first choice, he was sure because that would maximize his humiliation. And if that didn’t happen, then she’d gleefully do it for him herself. Ben arriving on the scene definitely threw a wrench into her evil, vindictive plan…which explained her rabid anger this afternoon.

  He mentally shrugged. Frankly, he liked being the fly in her ointment. Served her right for all the horrible things she’d said to him, the awful conclusions he had to live with all these years.

  “So when are you going to get to the copy and bio?” Claudette asked yet again. Geez, she was like a dog with a soup bone. What? Was she taking assertiveness training along with the antidoormat session?

  Ben sucked in a breath. Respect, he reminded himself. “Tonight, possibly.”

  “But—”

  His cell chirped at his waist with another message from April. What? Was NOW not clear?

  What was with all these impatient women? He hit a quick reply, telling her he was on his way, then calmly informed Claudette that they’d have to continue this conversation later.

  Thankfully Rue Dumaine wasn’t terribly far from his office. He found a parking space, then started scanning address numbers until he found the right one. Or, what he suspected was the right one, Ben thought with an uneasy laugh.

  The Voodoo Museum?

  He checked her message again. Yes, it had said 724 and this was…724. A broken laugh erupted from his throat.

  The door opened and April peeked her head out. “Are you going to stand out there all day, or are you going to come in?”

  He looked up at the sign once more, casually noted some of the displays in the windows on either side of the arched door. “Er…I guess I’m coming in.”

  April stepped forward, took his hand and tugged him inside. “Come on,” she chided. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

  No doubt that was unpleasant, Ben thought, looking at a display of what appeared to be shrunken heads. “Sorry. Now wasn’t doable.” He paid their admission.

  “And why not?” she asked loftily.

  “Because my secretary has turned into a bossy marine in support hose,” he said grimly. “We were having a discussion about ‘respect’—or the lack of what she apparently thought she deserved,” Ben clarified.

  April looked away and her lips twitched with what he could have sworn was knowing humor, as though she was privy to some secret. “Do you treat her with respect?”

  Ben shifted uncomfortably. He’d always thought so, but…“I treat her like an employee.”

  She led him into the gris-gris room. Bones, animal skin, dried herbs and small statues were displayed in various cases and attached to the walls. “How long has she worked for you?”

  “She’s been with me since I started.”

  April peered closely into a display case. “Oh. A long time then. When’s her birthday?” she asked lightly.

  Ben blinked. “What?”

  “When’s her birthday?”

  He passed a hand over his face. Shit. “I, uh, I’m not sure.”

  “You’ve worked with her a minimum of six hours a day for the past—”

  “—eight years,” he said, reluctantly filling in the blank.

  “Eight years, then, and you don’t kn
ow her birthday?”

  Well, when you put it like that… Ben thought, pretending to study a grisly voodoo doll. “Yes, well…”

  April cocked her head, giving him a significant look, but thankfully let the subject drop.

  “So,” he said, relieved. “The Voodoo Museum. What brings us here?”

  “Oh,” April said, as though suddenly remembering the purpose for their visit. “I need to pick up a penis voodoo doll and I don’t know your size.”

  PREDICTABLY, Ben’s eyes bugged. “P-penis voodoo doll?” he choked.

  “Yeah,” April said, suppressing the almost overwhelming urge to grin. “I had a chance to look at them while I was waiting for you. It seems, though, that they only come in one size, so technically, you didn’t have to be here.” Feeling distinctly wicked, she strolled out of the gris-gris room into the hall.

  Ben followed along behind her. “You’re—” He drew up short, waited for other visitors to pass by. “You’re buying a penis voodoo doll for me?” he whispered gruffly.

  She shot him a mysterious smile over her shoulder. “Given your nickname, I thought it would be prudent.”

  “Prudent?” he repeated. “Why?” Ben pulled her into another cramped room, then propelled her around to face him. “Before you purchase a doll for me,” Ben said, seemingly struggling to take it all in, “I think we should discuss it.”

  April shrugged. “What’s there to discuss? So long as you don’t wander off the straight and narrow, I won’t have to use it. For evil purposes, at any rate,” she added.

  For the first time since she’d mentioned the doll, Ben finally got past the shock of possibly having needles sticking in his figurative privates and considered the sentiment behind her impending purchase. He paused, considered her, and ultimately, his unnerved expression gave way to a shrewder one.

  A slow smile slid across his lips. “Wander off the straight and narrow, eh? Does this mean you want exclusive rights to my penis?”