by Dara Girard
He glanced up. “A gross exaggeration. I have a few inches yet.”
“Well, you’re a giant compared to me.”
“A stool is a giant compared to you.”
“Mind your manners. Some men prefer petite women.”
“I know. I’ve met them.”
“But you’re not one?”
“No.”
Jackie sighed. “Brian liked petite women. His ex-wife is four-eleven.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me.” She paused. “Come to think of it, he talked about her a lot.” She chewed her lower lip. “I suppose that was a sign.”
“Hmm.”
“Is brunch ready?”
“In a minute.”
Jackie rested her chin on the top of the broom. “So why don’t you like petite women?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like them. I said I didn’t prefer them.” He pointed to the table with his spatula. “Sit down. Brunch is ready.”
She sat at the table. Clay placed a Swedish pancake with peach slices and blueberries in front of her.
She pointed. “What is this?”
He frowned. “What does it look like?”
“Swedish pancakes.”
“Exactly. That’s what you wanted, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Nothing, but—” She stopped, knowing she was insulting him. She’d been joking about the pancakes, but forgot that men took things literally. Fortunately, having two older brothers helped her to learn how to soothe the male ego. She crooked her finger as though she wanted to tell him a secret. He bent down.
She kissed him on the cheek. “It’s wonderful, thank you.”
Clay only grunted, but she knew he was mollified.
Jackie took a bite, then moaned in pleasure. “This is delicious. I am now officially your love slave.”
He sat. “Have you been drinking?”
She made a face. “Leave me alone. I’m enjoying myself.” She closed her eyes and wiggled in her seat. “Hmm. Absolute heaven.” She pointed her fork at him. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
He shrugged. “I get by. Truth is, I have only seven meals I can cook really well. And I learned them all with one purpose in mind.”
“What’s that?”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “To impress women.”
“And from that twinkle in your eye, my guess is you’ve succeeded. I should be offended, but I’m too in awe of your skill. So what are we to have to drink?”
Clay pointed. “I’m sure you have glasses in the cupboard and can find juice in the fridge.”
Jackie stood. “You’re supposed to supply the drink with brunch.”
“I cooked. The rest is self-serve.”
Jackie crossed the room, took down two glasses, then opened the fridge. “What would you like?”
“Orange juice.”
“I don’t have orange juice.”
“What do you have?”
Jackie looked at the various containers. “Everything but.”
“Grape, then.”
Jackie poured the drinks then returned to her seat. “So when do you usually serve Swedish pancakes?” She handed him his glass. “Is it an after-sex treat in the morning?”
“No. They are not good after-sex food for me.”
“Why not?”
“I end up eating them alone.”
She stared at him. “Why?”
“Because my companion is no longer there.”
“Your women leave after sex?”
“Either they do or I do. It’s a mutual understanding.”
Her eyes widened. “Every time? You never stay?”
He leaned back and thought for a moment. “I find that mornings tend to shine too bright a light on a relationship.”
Jackie wrinkled her nose. “But that isn’t a relationship if you always leave.”
He took a sip of his drink. “You may have a point.”
“So when do you serve Swedish pancakes?”
He lifted a brow, skeptical. “I’m not sure I should tell you.”
“Why not? You don’t have to impress me.” She held up a hand, ready to pledge. “And I promise not to share your secrets.”
Clay thought for a moment, then nodded. “First I begin with the atmosphere. Dim lights and soft music. I make sure to do all the major food preparation before she arrives. When she comes, I finish up the details, a little sautéing or grilling, so that she can see me in action. After she tells me what a delicious meal I’ve made, then I serve the pancakes for dessert topped with powdered sugar and strawberries. It tends to tip the scale in my favor.”
“What if she doesn’t want to have sex with you?”
Clay blinked. “I ply her with wine and have my way with her.”
“That’s awful!”
He flashed a devilish grin. “It’s also not true.” He returned to his food. “I don’t lead women on. Most women who go out with me want to sleep with me. Let’s say I give them a reason to.”
“They’re grateful for a good meal?”
“I have no aversion to a little gratitude. And you’re missing the point. It’s what the meal represents—the time and effort that she hopes will translate to other aspects of my life.”
“But what about a relationship?”
Clay speared a blueberry. “What about it?”
“What if you meet a woman who wants to stay until the morning? What will you give her for breakfast?”
He scratched his chin. “I’d give her an apple and send her on her way.”
Jackie nudged him with her foot. “Be serious.”
“I am. Some people prepare for certain catastrophes. I will take my chances that it will never happen.”
She sawed a peach slice in half. “A woman staying until morning should not be described as a catastrophe. I don’t know why you would think so.”
“Because a woman who stays the night will have questions in the morning.”
“Questions?”
“Yes. Namely, ‘Where do we go from here?’ or, ‘When can I see you again?’ or my ultimate favorite, ‘Do you think I’m better than my sister?’” His grin widened at her expression. “That was a joke.”
“Not a very funny one. Your sense of humor is lost on me.”
“That’s because you’re not a man. You can’t help but see a possible relationship every time a woman and man meet. It’s understandable. We need women like you out there. Otherwise we wouldn’t have families. Fortunately, there are certain types of women who suit men like me.”
“Commitmentphobics?”
Clay took no offense to the term. “I’m not hurting anyone and I find my situation preferable than women turning psychotic over being dumped.”
“You’re right,” she admitted reluctantly, glancing around the room. “He wasn’t worth it. But I still have hope for the future.”
“As you should.”
“So you believe in marriage?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“Just not for you?”
“Not presently, no. Maybe not ever.”
Jackie rested an elbow on the table and tugged on her earring. “So you don’t mind being alone?”
“In my profession that’s almost a necessity.”
“Private investigators can marry.”
“Sure they can, but can they stay married? There are long hours, things you can’t share, things you don’t want to.” He sighed, his face becoming grim. “I doubt I’ll do it much longer, though.”
“Getting old?”
He sent her a quick glance. “Yes, I suppose to you I am.”
“I didn’t say you were old, just—”
“I know what you meant, my feelings aren’t hurt. You needn’t apologize for making an honest statement. I’m not sure if it’s my age or that I’m getting restless.”
Jackie studied him, aware of the controlled energy and
vitality that belied his age. “I’d say you were restless. Are you going to eat that peach?”
He pushed his plate toward her. She ate the peach then set her utensils down. “Fruit salad.”
Clay glanced at her, confused. “I’m sorry?”
“Fruit salad.”
“What about it?”
“That’s what you should serve the woman who stays the night.”
He slowly grinned. “No woman is going to stay the night.”
Jackie ignored him. “It’s best to be prepared. Make it the day before so you can eat it in bed. And if she doesn’t stay, it’s a nice food to eat alone with yogurt.”
“Why does my sex life interest you?”
“It’s not your sex life that interests me. It’s your after-sex life.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “I just imagine some poor woman staying with you and having nothing to eat in the morning.” She patted him on the hand. “Follow my advice, you won’t be sorry.”
“Hmm.”
After eating, Jackie went back to cleaning; Clay sat on the couch watching TV. A few minutes later the phone rang. “Could you get that?” she asked.
He glanced at the phone next to him. “No, this isn’t my place.”
“Just pick it up, nuh.”
“Let the machine get it.”
She kissed her teeth and reached across him, purposely blocking his view of the TV, grabbed the phone, and put it to her ear. “Hello? Yes, I’m fine. I know. Uh-huh. Right. I’ll see you Monday.” She hung up. “That was Faye. She wanted to know if I was okay. I told her about Melanie and she knows I’m concerned, but she doesn’t know about you.”
Clay stared up at her, trying to ignore that her breasts were at eye level. “I didn’t ask.”
“Well, I’m telling you anyway.” She straightened, then looked down at her blouse. “So did you like the view?”
“There wasn’t much to see.”
Jackie narrowed her eyes.
“You did ask.”
She folded her arms. “I know I have no breasts, but you could have pretended.”
“My imagination doesn’t stretch that far.” He pushed her aside so he could see the TV. “Stop trying to flirt with me to make yourself feel better. You’re an attractive woman. You’ll find somebody else soon enough.”
She picked up her duster.
A news flash came on the screen. Senator Heldon’s niece Amanda, a student at George Washington University, had been missing since yesterday. They posted her fresh, lovely face on the screen. The sight of it depressed him. He turned the TV off.
Jackie noticed his grim expression. “Do you think they’ll find her?”
“No.”
“Why not? It’s only been a day. Must you be so cynical?”
“I’m being honest. She wouldn’t be the first woman to disappear in this city.”
“I hope they find her.”
“They probably will, with her legs missing.”
Jackie picked up a pillow and hit him on the head. “You’re revolting.”
He tossed the pillow aside. “If they don’t find her soon they’ll be looking for a body. That’s a fact.”
“No, it’s not.”
“What do you think they’ll find?”
“She could have gotten disoriented or kidnapped. Perhaps she’ll find a way to escape and show up wandering somewhere. Why are you smiling like that?”
“It’s amazing to find people who still believe in fairy tales.” He glanced around the room at the fuzzy blue rug and circular purple cushy chair. He wasn’t quite sure what color the couch was but it matched the reddish-blue tint of the drapes on the window. The mirrored hooks with etched designs complemented the light-up tulips on the window ledge. Her place was like nothing he’d ever seen before and it fit her completely. She was the most unfathomable thing in the room. A creation from any fairy tale. For a moment he felt like a giant who’d had the misfortune of falling into one.
Chapter Three
“I prefer my fairy tales to your book of constant purgatory,” she said.
He shrugged and lifted a picture off the floor. “Is this Brian?”
“No.” She shifted awkwardly. “He came with the frame.”
He sent her an odd look.
“A girl can dream,” she said defensively.
“But to keep—”
She rested a hand on her hip. “Do you have the latest Playboy?”
“No.”
Her hand fell. “Oh.”
He put the frame down. “Penthouse is better. Less airbrushing.”
“Why do men have to look at naked women?”
“Why do women have to go to the toilet in pairs?”
Jackie rested the broom against the wall. “To rate men, why else?” She winked at his startled expression. “That was a joke.”
He leaned back. “I think you should be relieved I like naked women. There are plenty of men who prefer Playgirl.”
Jackie didn’t reply.
He stood and set a side table to right. “So, do you cause this kind of destruction after every breakup?”
“No.” She looked around the apartment. It was beginning to look normal again. “I guess Brian was the last straw. Every relationship I have ends on a sour note.” She knelt down and gathered her CDs. “One guy wanted me to have cosmetic surgery, another wondered if I’d ever consider wife swapping.” She held the CDs to her chest and sighed, resigned. “And then there was Josh.”
He fixed the other side table. “What about Josh?”
“He liked to dress in women’s clothing. Not in public, just around the house, but that turned me off.”
“Yes, I can imagine.”
Jackie shook her head. “No, I doubt you can. Picture coming home one day and finding your boyfriend in an orange cable-knit cardigan and fitted skirt.”
Clay cleared his throat, trying to keep a straight face. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. What can you say?”
He winked. “You look lovely?”
She giggled then straightened her features. “No, I shouldn’t laugh. At the time it wasn’t funny. I just stared. He explained that he felt comfortable in women’s clothing. I tried to make it work.” She held up a hand and shook her head. “But when he wore the stretch lace top and jeans, I had to end it.”
“And then there was Brian.”
“Right. Who seemed ideal—respectful, good job, great personality.”
Clay nodded. “Absolutely perfect except for the tiny flaw of being in love with his ex-wife.”
She placed her CDs in her entertainment system.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Very much.”
“I don’t think I like your sense of humor.”
“I wasn’t being funny. Have you ever wondered why you choose men who end up being such disappointments?”
Jackie’s eyes widened in outrage. “Oh, so you’re saying this is all my fault?”
“No, I’m suggesting that perhaps you’re playing the same game I am.”
Her voice tightened. “I don’t play games.”
“ ‘Game’ is the wrong word.” He thought for a moment. “Agenda. You want companionship, but you don’t want the commitment.”
“I want to get married someday.”
Clay knelt beside her and picked up a book. “Just not yet and that’s okay. However, you think you should be looking because you’re getting older.”
“Are you a part-time psychologist?”
He shoved the book on the shelf. “This is just a theory not a diagnosis.”
“Well, you can keep your theory to yourself.” She tapped her chest. “I invest a lot in my relationships. I really care for the men I go out with. I’m loyal.”
He glanced down at her with a smug look. “I met Martin the wife swapper, remember? Thanksgiving dinner.”
“So?”
“He was obsessed with the seventies. He talked about threesomes constantly.�
�
“1 thought he was a trivia buff.” She rested against the wall and sent him a cool look. “For a man whose idea of a relationship is making sure he has enough condoms and money for a taxi, you have nothing to say.”
“You don’t have to be in a relationship to give advice. Do you know how many married people smugly talk down to single people about the dating scene, then five years later—when they’re newly single—have no idea what to do?”
“You still don’t know what you’re talking about. You have no idea how hard it is to find a normal, decent, upwardly mobile man who has to meet the Henson brothers’ seal of approval.”
“They want what’s best for you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Naturally you’d be on their side. You’re as bad as they are.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“Drake told me about your pre-wedding advice.” She narrowed her eyes. “That you would use his intestines as a noose if he ever hurt Cassie.”
Clay smiled, pleased. “I love that line.”
She shook her head, defeated. “I can take care of myself and choose my own men. Drake would arrange a marriage for me if he could. He has the perfect man in his mind.”
“He wants someone to take care of you.”
She knew Drake couldn’t help it. Her eldest brother had raised her since she was seven. Their parents died shortly after they’d emigrated from Jamaica. She would never trivialize all that he had sacrificed so she could have a better life. Unfortunately, she had yet to convince him she could make it on her own. They had come so far from poverty; she knew he had a secret fear that she would marry someone who would take her back there.
“I can take care of myself,” she said.
“Then why am I here?”
“I wanted company.”
He raised a brow. “You can’t have it both ways.”
“What?”
“You can’t play the role of the independent woman and the little sister at the same time. They don’t mesh. I’ve seen you at work with your brothers. You’re very good.” He glanced around the room and scowled. “Hell, you got me to stay.”
She sighed. “You’re right. It’s a hard habit to break.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Especially when it works.”
“Hmm.”
They finished cleaning the apartment, then Jackie went through her mail from yesterday. Brian had dropped by and given her the wedding invitation; he hadn’t wanted to spend money on a stamp. When she finally opened it, her face turned to thunder.