by T. L. Hart
“Screw both of you! I’ve had it, trying to ease back into your life—trying to ease back into my life.” I spun around, flipping her the bird as I walked off. “Bye, you big dummy. I can find some new friends. You two go ahead and write me off.”
I was muttering to the world at large, not caring who was listening or watching me. Maybe I was crazy, but I was rich and crazy, so I could suffer in style and buy as many friends as I wanted. Better caliber of friends than the ones I was trying to hang on to, that was for sure.
“Cotton!”
I heard Aggie yell my name and I stopped automatically. My stomach lurched to hear her call my name again after so long.
I turned to find her standing three feet behind me, tears running down her dark cheekbones.
“Cotton?”
I felt the dampness on my own cheeks and wiped it away, surprised to find I was crying too. Aggie covered her mouth with her hand, stuffing the sobs back where they wouldn’t embarrass her in public. She was tough stuff, and crying—in public or otherwise—wasn’t her style. After a long minute, she reached over and barely brushed my face with a balled-up fist.
“Cotton. Girlfriend, you’re lookin’ a damn sight better than when we buried your ass.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
One down, one to go.
The two touchstones of my life as Cotton Claymore were my best friend, Aggie, and the love of my life, Jo Keesling. Aggie reminded me I had somewhere important to be and I needed to stop sniveling and take care of business. Silver-tongued devil that she is, she was on the money.
“You do know where to go, right?” Aggie looked a little worried, still a teensy bit uncertain that the two of us hadn’t slipped into some parallel universe or were sharing some particularly strange delusion. “You can’t be guessing about this. Jo will be waiting for you.”
“Not if I get there first.” I grinned, confidence growing by the minute. “I’m going to be waiting for her this time. I want to have the element of surprise on my side.”
“You are the element of surprise, stupid.” Aggie gave a raucous hoot of laughter. “Playing Lazarus isn’t enough of a surprise. What are you planning for an encore? Jugglin’? Walkin’ on water?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of pulling something out of a hat. I need your help.”
“Uh-oh. I’m always in trouble when you need my help.”
“No, just a shot in the dark,” I said. “Knowing you, I bet you didn’t throw all of my stuff out of my desk after—as you so delicately put it—you buried my ass.”
“I wasn’t hired as a housekeeper,” Aggie said with a lopsided grin. “Your stuff is in a big box in the equipment storage locker in the gym. What’s in there that’s gonna help you straighten out this mess?”
“Come on. I’ll show you.”
It took half an hour for us to unearth the box. Most of the stuff in it must have been work-related. There was an ancient Palm Pilot left over from who knows when and my wallet. I flipped it open and stared at my driver’s license. Not a bad picture. There were still a couple of twenties in there as well as some photos and two keys tied with a piece of string that intrigued me. I put the keys in with the money and stuffed the wallet in my back pocket.
I dug through the paperweights and coffee mugs and paperback books until I located my old Rangers baseball cap. I snapped the bill of the hat back and looked inside. With a flourish I pulled out a crumpled wad of red tissue paper.
“And abraca-freakin-dabra, there it is!”
I held my treasure in the air like the sword Excalibur pulled from the stone. Aggie’s eyes were practically bugging out of her head, astonished that I really knew what was in there. I think it was solid proof—the icing on the cake that I was back.
“I’m out of here,” I yelled over my shoulder, not bothering to share my find. “We’ll celebrate later.”
* * *
There wasn’t a crowd at the Nasher Sculpture Center this time of day, especially with the heat still breaking records. I paid my ten dollars and went in. Since I had my old wallet and ID, I could have gotten in free with my membership card if they didn’t look too closely at the photograph. I decided not to chance it. No complaints though. Ten bucks was a small price to pay for the reward I hoped was to come.
I loved this place. Located in downtown Dallas, the Nasher held a collection of some of the world’s greatest sculptures on display in a building and garden that were as much art as the exhibits themselves. Today I scarcely saw them as I positioned myself in the trees just behind the Barbara Hepworth Squares with Two Circles sculpture, waiting for Jo. It was one of her favorite pieces so I knew she would come here.
There were a couple of people taking pictures and a small group of what I assumed was an art class, sketching intently. I didn’t have much of a wait. Maybe she wanted to be early too. I watched her walking, thinking how lucky I was to get a second chance to be with her. Lord, I pray I’m going to be so lucky.
She was a knockout, so full of grace and energy that I was certainly not the only one watching her. She wore white capri-length jeans and a pink pullover shirt that stopped just above the low-rise waist of the pants. The toenails peeking out of a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals were an exact match for the shirt. As she got closer, I could see the silver ring in her belly button. Her hair blew across her face, the black strands glinting almost blue in the sunshine.
When she saw me standing there she hesitated, a stutter step, uncertain. I was afraid to move toward her when it was what I wanted so much to do. She came closer slowly, slowly, until I was beginning to think she would never cover the few feet separating us. When we were perhaps three feet apart, she stopped.
“I didn’t know if you would be here,” she said in a near whisper. “How did you know?”
“How could I forget?”
“This isn’t possible.” She stared at my face as if trying to see inside me. “You know this isn’t possible.”
“I know.” I didn’t have any answers that would make sense to her. “But I’m here anyway.”
“It really is you, isn’t it? Inside your mind.”
I nodded.
“How?”
“I don’t know the answer to that, honey.” I didn’t move, not wanting her to bolt and run. “I know I’m here. I know I love you. It’s been a long battle to find you again.”
“So what took you so long?”
“Jennifer had a bad head injury—”
“Jennifer? Who’s Jennifer?” A sudden snap of jealousy sharpened her voice.
“It’s a long story, but it’s thanks to Jennifer that I’m here talking to you right now.” I thought the proprietary moment was a good sign. “Trust me, you can put the green-eyed monster back in its cage.”
That made her smile, which made me smile. We stood there, the two of us, not touching, just grinning at each other. It wasn’t the first time the green-eyed creature had made an appearance. Jo had been jealous of little old ladies in the supermarket when the planets all lined up just right.
“It is you, Cotton,” she said, still smiling. “And whoever this Jennifer is, I’d give her a kiss myself to say thank you.”
“Then I’d have to be jealous.” I laughed. “Or would I? This is very confusing and I know more of the story than you do.”
Neither of us had moved so much as an inch closer, and it was beginning to feel strained. I wanted to grab her and hold her, but there were too many people close by. The world is changing, but this wasn’t one of the places where a public display of affection would go over big, even after a trip back from the dead.
“I’m kind of scared of you.” Jo took one step, then another toward me. “I can feel it’s you in there, in that body, but it’s not the body I know.” She reached out and cupped my chin lightly with the tips of her fingers, so delicately it tingled. “This isn’t the face I’ve missed every second you’ve been gone.”
Too much, too much, too much.
�
�Jo, baby.” I pulled myself back one step. “If you make me cry like a sissy, with all these people looking, I’m not going to give you your present.”
“Present? Now that’s what I like to hear.” She blinked back her own tears and rubbed her palms together in mock greed. “When did you get me a present? It’s not my birthday.”
“I missed your birthday.” It had been a week after I had been killed. “I had this made for you.”
It was still wrapped in the crumpled twist of tissue paper. She grabbed it and shook it next to her ear as if it were in a box.
“What can it be? Not a CD. Not a harmonica.” She tore it open and held it in the flat of her hand. “What…?”
It was a brass ring, smaller than the one from the carousel, with two keys attached. I took it from her and dangled it from my finger.
“Let me explain. This one—” I held up the first key. It was made of shiny gold-looking metal and had a custom-designed grip, with our initials engraved in it in fancy swirled letters. “I had this made to give you before; it was the key to my apartment to celebrate our new life together. I was sure you’d take it.”
“In a heartbeat,” she whispered.
“And this one—” I held up the second key, a plain cheap silver one I’d had copied in ten minutes at a hardware store. “I had this one made today; it’s the key to my apartment to celebrate our new life together. I’m sure hoping you’ll take it.”
“In a heartbeat,” she whispered.
Then she was in my arms, all juicy and warm from the Texas sun. She kissed me, full on, no holds barred, right in front of God and everybody.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
There are worse things in the world than routine. It wasn’t something I had ever really valued, tending more toward faster, newer, shinier. Being settled down had seemed like settling. After all I’d been through and all I’d fought through to get back to my life, settling into a routine was a dream come true.
Jo and I were happy. True, it wasn’t easy at first. I felt like Lucy when Ricky said, “You’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do.” While I had benefited from many sessions with two shrinks guiding me through the psychological and metaphysical maze, Jo had to get a crash course from me.
She seemed to accept it more easily than I had, but then again, she was a genuine believer in anything too good to be true. She had half a warehouse of stuff she bought on late-night infomercials. Amazing Spot Remover, Peanut-shell Pillow, Sunless Tanning Tablets—she bought them all. And when she got holes eaten in her carpet, a stiff neck and two weeks’ worth of carrot-colored skin, she never even asked for the guaranteed nineteen ninety-five refund. I was a shoo-in deal—The Remarkable Recycled Girlfriend.
The new house key worked just fine, but we were still keeping two separate apartments. I wanted us to move in together right away, sort of being in the making-up-for-lost-time mode—lost time in ways I never knew time could be lost.
Jo was the voice of reason, which, in itself, struck me as a little strange. I never knew her to be all that reasonable. “Impulsive” had always been her middle name. Sort of like Lola from Damn Yankees: Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets. Delayed gratification wasn’t a concept Jo found appealing. But now she starts being reasonable—go figure.
“Sweetie,” she drawled. “I think it’s too soon to start living together full-time. We don’t want to be the tagline of that old joke.”
“What joke is that?”
“You know the one—What does a lesbian bring on her second date?”
“Flowers and a U-Haul,” I answered, but I wasn’t amused. “That might be funny if we hadn’t been together long before this week.”
“That’s what it looks like to other people though. They think we just met. They don’t know I live with a walk-around.”
“Walk-in,” I reminded her. “I explained Andrew’s theory to you.”
“Kidding,” she said with a laugh. “You are so easy.”
“Just because I can be had doesn’t mean I’m easy.”
“That’s exactly what it means. And I have enjoyed having you.”
“If you moved in, you could have me all of the time.” Subtlety was never my strong suit.
“You need some time to yourself, baby,” she cooed.
She did a lot of cooing lately. And singing, which—as much as I loved her—I never encouraged. Jo has many talents, domestic and otherwise, but she couldn’t carry a tune if you put it in a bucket. Fortunately for someone with no ability to stay on pitch, she was also blessed with a tin ear. Thank goodness she never knew she was singing so badly that people thought she was doing it as a gag.
When she’s happy, she sings. When she is happy, I am happy. I am very good at tuning out anything I don’t want to hear. A couple put together by the Fates, no doubt about it.
“I don’t need time to myself. I’ve been isolated for months. Enough quality alone time to last a lifetime or two.”
“You haven’t had a chance to get settled into your new place,” Jo said. “I don’t think all of my things will even fit in here. Besides, it’s fun to have two apartments to play in. Romantic.”
“This is plenty romantic. C’mon Jo. You’ve got a million reasons for us not to live together,” I pressed. “A girl could think maybe you’ve had a change of heart while I was out of the picture.”
“Not a smart girl like mine.”
“Why not put me out of my misery and move in then?”
“Well, technically, you are still a married woman. This Gregory person—he could use this against you in court.” Jo waved her hand, stretching an imaginary banner in the air. “I can see the headlines now: ‘Loyal Husband Abandoned While Wife Frolics in Lesbian Love Nest.’ We are tabloid material, no doubt about it.”
“Puhlease,” I scoffed. “That whole husband thing’s about to change. Besides, Gregory said I needed someone to move in here and take care of me.” I arched my eyebrow and gave her my best suggestive leer. “And you do a great job of taking care of me, if you know what I mean.”
“You are bad.” Jo burst into laughter. “So bad. Do you suppose the pay is decent? This could be a sweet deal for me if Gregory is interviewing for the position. Move in with his wife and get paid for it.”
“I’ll ask him about benefits next time we have lunch.”
“You need to stay away from him.” Her laughter subsided. “If he finds out about us, he could be dangerous.”
“Gregory hasn’t got the balls to be dangerous. He doesn’t care about Jennifer, just her money. Unless there’s a buck to be made or a snob to be impressed, he’s not interested enough to turn off his laptop.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Jo said. “I lost you once because of a jealous husband—mine. I don’t want it to be because of yours this time.”
“You really think your ex could be a killer? He seemed like a fairly nice guy,” I said. “Full of himself, for sure, but a murderer?”
“I know he did it. He always said he wouldn’t let anyone else have me.” She pointed her finger at me for emphasis. “Cotton—you—wouldn’t listen when I said I was being followed. Listen to me now. I sure the hell don’t want Max to know I’m with another woman after what happened before. He got away with it. He got away with murder.” She was as indignant as she was frightened. “There’s nothing to say he wouldn’t try it again.”
“Max wouldn’t kill me,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “First of all, it would look really suspicious if you had two girlfriends in a row get knocked off. Secondly, and most important, he can’t afford to kill anyone who buys four cars in one day. I’m his best customer.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
There are four seasons in Dallas, Texas: early summer, summer, late summer and winter. Late summer was upon us. Instead of broiling every day, twenty-four seven, we were down to merely hot, with an occasional coolish day and evening. The whole city was giddy with the break in the heat.
Occupancy at the Outreach was way down. The cooler
temperatures had a calming effect on the hot-tempered creeps who took their discomfort out by pounding on their wives and kids. Everyone here was happiest when we were needed least.
The whole staff took the opportunity to use the big kitchen and dining room to get together and eat and visit. The people who worked here were dedicated beyond belief. They sure weren’t in it for the money. Aggie was in her element, working the crowd, making certain everyone was getting plenty to eat and taking time to talk to people in a more relaxed way than was possible when everybody was doing a full workload. She was popular with everyone and had a natural gift for making them forget she was the boss.
I had been welcomed into the Outreach, if not like a long-lost child, at least like a distant relative. I guess they’d figured out I was hanging around for the long haul, instead of playing do-gooder for a week or two before disappearing back to the more rarified air of the snooty rich.
I had more or less slid back into making center decisions, sometimes without remembering that officially I should clear them with Aggie. She knew this place was my baby, my creation. Now that I was back, if something needed to be decided, she happily let me ramrod the situation. Everybody else put up with my slightly bossy attitude because Aggie put up with it. If I was okay with her, they figured I had to be okay.
I walked up behind Molly Rayner and put my hand on her shoulder.
“I heard someone has been out painting the town in my old ball gowns.”
“Yeah. I figured since you were taking over my territory, I’d even the score.” She patted my hand and gave me a warm smile. “I’m thinking about putting in a few hours at the gym though. Some of these society ladies are a lot tougher than I gave them credit for.”
“You can’t always judge a book by its Monique Lhuillier, can you now, Molly?”
“Not even if I could spell it.” She snapped her fingers. “I forgot. The other day some guy came by the delivery dock asking about you.”