Jorja & Malcolm (Toffee Kisses Book 1)

by Shelley Siddall

“Pastry?” Malcolm asked, pushing the plate towards Jesse.

  “Implants.” Jesse said, tapping his front teeth. “With these babies, I could take a bite out of an apple, no problem.”

  While Malcolm muttered something about special skills to be put on a resume, Jorja smiled up at Jesse and said gushingly, “What lovely fine teeth you have!”

  Jesse leaned in close to Jorja and said, “The better to nibble you with, my dear.”

  Malcolm drummed his fingers on the table and whispered loudly “Ah, Miss Double R Hood? Don’t we have some pressing family matters we wanted to discuss?”

  Jesse started laughing and slapped his hand on the table. “Family matters? Oh I get it, he’s your brother! But seriously, you guys don’t look anything alike; one or the other of you must be adopted.”

  “We are!” said Jorja and Malcolm jointly.

  By this time, Jesse had pulled out his phone and was scrolling through his photos. He shoved the phone under Jorja’s nose, while declaring the many manly features of himself and his brothers.

  “Look, we all have the same strong jawline, dark eyebrows, large noses, but manly, you know?” he asked.

  “Oh, definitely manly,” Jorja cooed.

  “My Mom always says, we’re like a matched canister set! Matched canister set! Mom’s a riot!”

  Jesse picked up the pastry and attacked it, biting off a large hunk and showing Jorja the result. She grimaced and closed one eye, while saying “Erm, not your best look there balcony man. I’m sure your new teeth are like, super-efficient, but I really don’t need to see them in action!”

  “Wow, like I didn’t think about that,” he said.

  “And now we have talking whilst chewing; definitely an etiquette violation, wouldn’t you say, Malcolm?” Jorja asked as she reached across the table to tap Malcolm’s hand.

  Malcolm, however, was deep in conversation with the waitress. The merits of prune Danish over apple fritter were being discussed.

  The waitress was also inquiring about Malcolm’s level of fitness as she confidently stated, “Look at those biceps; you must be a gym rat!”

  Twisting back to Jesse, Jorja enthusiastically asked, “And what wild and exciting thing have you got planned for this afternoon?” She then punched him in the bicep for good measure, noting that it too, was solid.

  “Well, they have the most fantastic show down at the Art Gallery. Forgeries of Old Masters! Our little town wouldn’t be on the tour for some of the more well-known collections of originals; but this exhibit, it’s remarkable! And each piece, although fake, is quite valuable! Who knew?” Jesse finished while picking up the empty dish and licking up the crumbs.

  Jorja gasped. “Beltracchi?” she squeaked.

  Jesse turned the dish over. “No, just ceramic, I think. It says ‘made in China’.” He surveyed the table top for crumbs then gave Jorja that all powerful smile. “So, coming with? They have a nice selection of wines set up; meet you there say, seven?”

  As the waitress dropped off Malcolm’s Danish, her hand rested on his shoulder at the exact moment Jorja looked over.

  “My brother is working tonight, at seven,” she said loudly, “so he won’t be able to have any extra-curricular activities tonight or even any time in the foreseeable future!”

  Jesse tapped her forehead, smirked, and said, “Hello, he’s not invited!”

  Jorja took another look at Malcolm and the waitress, and said with a fractured smile, “Sure, that would be lovely.”

  “Crawford, this is serious,” Jenny admonished as she walked into her husband’s studio.

  Miss Stein looked her way by dropping her head back and extending one paw. The cat lay in a cardboard box that sat on top of some half-finished canvasses. Crawford was under the work table, trying to find a particular painting he had done years ago. When his wife came in and made her announcement, he seriously attempted to stay absolutely still.

  “I see you Crawford. You can’t hide that cute butt. Not in those plaid pants. Nice try, though.”

  The painter went back to his search while telling his wife, “Just wait a minute Jen, I know it’s here somewhere,” he muttered while flipping through his canvasses.

  After patiently waiting for approximately five minutes, Jenny said “Are you pondering, what I’m pondering, Pinky?”

  “I think so Brain, but how are we going to make pencils taste like bacon?”

  Miss Stein sneezed disgustedly at this quote and then let out such a forlorn yowl that Crawford crawled out rapidly and rushed to her side. Jenny and Crawford patted the cat of ill-repute, and looked worriedly at one another.

  “Do you think she is in labor?” Jenny asked.

  “Maybe, look at her belly.”

  “Oh, all the little kitties are tumbling around in there! We better make her a nest! Gosh, that’s funny Crawford; I want to make a nest for a cat!”

  “You know Jen, with recent events; this reminds me of the night Jorja was born. That’s what I was looking for, the painting I did of Cydney holding her.”

  “That was a beautiful painting, Crawford. I was so sad when my little Sister gave it back to us; I thought she would cherish the painting because it captured such a wonderful moment. I guess I always held out hope that she would tell Jorja that she was her birth Mother.” Jenny started to tear up and said sadly, “As much as I wanted to never let Jorja go, I was hoping in a weird way that Cydney would claim her.” She looked up at her dear husband and said, “Stupid, eh? I couldn’t wait to get her, but wanted to let her go.”

  Crawford hugged her tight. “You are not stupid, Brain! Now if our knees bent the other way that would be stupid! I mean, how would we ride a bicycle?”

  Jenny laughed and picked up the box with Miss Stein, and started down the stairs.

  “She still hasn’t returned my calls; I really feel she should be here when we tell Jorja who her birth Mother is; I mean, I doubt if our dear daughter will let this go…”

  “We could try to make up a few postcards from the band…”

  “She’s not going fall for it, Crawford. And don’t dare tell me you’re going to include a coupon for 20 percent off!”

  After Jorja left the Bistro, she drove over to the Nursing Home to visit. The Staff greeted her with hugs and warm hellos.

  The Nurse in charge asked her to drop in on Mrs. Beetle. “She seems a little off, today; maybe a little down. I’m sure a visit from you will cheer her right up,” she said encouragingly to Jorja.

  Mrs. Beetle had her usual grin and held out her arms for a welcoming hug.

  “Oh Jorja girl!” she said excitedly, “Just what my heart needs! Tell me all about your week! Any, um, progress with Malcolm?”

  Jorja raised her eyebrows up and down. “Well, we did spend the night together,” she said provocatively.

  The elderly lady clapped her hands together with glee. “Oh you wicked girl!” She leaned forward in her wheelchair and whispered conspiratorially, “Now tell me every little detail.”

  Jorja laughed and held her hands, “Now who’s the wicked girl? Every little detail? No. This girl doesn’t kiss and tell!”

  Mrs. Beetle looked at Jorja and then said knowingly, “You haven’t even kissed him yet. Girl, you have to re-think your master plan. At this rate, you’ll both be sporting dentures before your first kiss, and well, where’s the fun in that?”

  “Actually, Mrs. Beetle, there may never be a first kiss. I think I rather blew it today. You know I tend to bubble over…”

  Mrs. Beetle patted Jorja’s knee. “That’s what I like about you, Jorja girl; you’re so animated and alive! Now, what do you think you did that Malcolm will never recover from?”

  Jorja went on to explain about finding out she was adopted and being so impatient to tell Malcolm, but he needed his morning coffee and then she flirted with this Jesse guy and then made a date with him; but at this point Mrs. Beetle interrupted.

  “You made a date with Malcolm or Jesse?” she asked.

&nb
sp; “Sadly, Jesse. I think I suddenly got jealous because Malcolm was paying more attention to the waitress than me; I’m usually the center of his universe when we’re together. I was a tad miffed and agreed to meet Jesse at the Art Gallery tonight,” Jorja confessed.

  “Hmmm,” said Mrs. Beetle as she fidgeted with the seatbelt on her chair. “Look Jorja, I want to tell you something, but I’m a little worried you might take it the wrong way. I usually don’t give advice; I just skim the surface, so to speak, in conversations…”

  “No no, Mrs. Beetle, I value our friendship and would appreciate your advice. You’re always so positive and happy when I visit; I would love to hear what you have to say.”

  “As I said, Jorja, I usually just skim the surface. I never complain; have you noticed that?”

  Jorja thought back over their many visits. “That’s true”, she said wondrously, “I have never heard you complain about anything!”

  Mrs. Beetle leaned forward again to confide in Jorja. “There’s no use in complaining; nobody listens anyway. And if I had a spirit of complaint and a habit of offering criticism, why, soon nobody would visit me and I need my visits! But today, I’m going to make an exception. Here we go, Jorja girl, have you ever considered that maybe you aren’t the center of Malcolm’s Universe? Maybe he is just a gracious fellow?”

  “Sure,” Jorja said quietly, “That’s possible.”

  Mrs. Beetle continued, “And maybe, with you being an only child, maybe your parents have, well, indulged you a bit, and you’ve grown accustomed to being the center of their universe and now you rather demand that particular type of attention from everyone else?”

  Jorja pursed her lips and said “Why Mrs. Beetle, for someone who doesn’t normally criticize, you’ve taken to it quite well.”

  Mrs. Beetle rested her chin on her left hand, while her right hand twirled the seatbelt. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Jorja girl; everybody’s got to grow up sometime. And part of growing up is trying to, as Robbie Burns once penned, “see ourselves as others see us!”

  Jorja sat, not saying a word. Mrs. Beetle rolled over to her desk and brought out a glorious black velvet painting of a horse’s head.

  “Look, this is what you need to buy for Malcolm. He’ll love it and will immediately accept your apology.” She placed the paint by numbers painting on Jorja’s lap. “It’s going cheap today,” she laughed, “only ten dollars!”

  Jorja started laughing too. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I was busy mulling things over.” She held up the artwork, and enthusiastically agreed with Mrs. Beetle. “He will love it!”

  Jorja said again, “He will love it!” as she placed the painting on the ledge above the mailboxes in Malcolm’s apartment building. She was running a bit late, so she just left her gift there, knowing that Malcolm would see it when he came home. She opened the door for a woman, with a bandaged hand, who was struggling with her keys.

  “There you go!” Jorja said as she held the foyer door open.

  “You’re a life saver hon, thanks!” said Amanda Sinclair, as she attempted to return the keys to her purse, but then dropped them. Jorja picked up the keys and while tucking them into a side pocket of the woman’s purse, she noticed the key fob had a photo of two adorable little girls.

  “Twins!” Jorja shrieked.

  “Maisy and Sasha, my little darlings,” Amanda said fondly.

  Jorja knew she had to get home and change, as she figured a construction vest wouldn’t be quite apropos at the art show, but she stopped to invite the woman and her girls to the blackberry festival on Saturday. “You will absolutely love it; everything blackberry! The girls can paint a picture in blackberry juice at my stall. And if you love pie, there are about four thousand and thirty two merchants selling blackberry pies! Well, maybe not that many. But it would be awesome if you could come; I’ll be handing out the aprons for the blackberry juice paintings…but I’d wear old clothes anyhow if I were you guys.”

  “You mean tomorrow? The twins are at their grandparents for the weekend, but sure, I could pick them up. Yes, I think we’d all love going. I’m Amanda by the way, Amanda Sinclair, I’m just visiting my…”

  Jorja interrupted, “Sorry, I’ve really got to run; you can check the community website for times of events; see you tomorrow!”

  At home, Jorja’s parents were not around. She figured they were probably in their respective studios, her Dad painting and her Mom, “throwing mud around” as Jenny called her pottery endeavors. Her family had a penchant for vintage and as such, still had a landline, complete with an external answering machine that was currently blinking. Jorja pressed play and went over to inspect the nest that had been built for Miss Stein. Aunty Cydney’s voice burst into the living room, “Oh God, NO! Jenny! NO! Do not tell Jorja I’m her birth Mother. She’ll flip! She’ll never forgive me! She’ll ask who her Father is and how do I tell her? For the love of God, Jenny, do not tell Jorja I’m her Mother!”

  The click at the end of the message seemed extraordinarily loud. Jorja started blinking rapidly. “Oops,” she whispered to the empty room.

  Chapter Four:

  Or the incident at the art gallery and

  several postponed deliveries

  A red carpet led the way to the exhibit room where Jesse was sipping red wine and chatting with a group of women. Jorja heard him say, “And a side effect of breast reductions is that the breasts actually become perkier!” He then continued enthusiastically, “Here’s the best part, or should I say, the breast part, the surgery is completely covered by medical!”

  She stopped mid-stride to see how the women would react. They continued to buzz around Jesse, engaging him in further discussion.

  “And we’re done,” she thought. Jorja hailed a circulating waiter and grabbed a white wine; after all she had just walked over from home, so she could indulge. Besides, she was still processing the Mom is my Aunt; Aunt is my Mom thing.

  The little painting in front of her was so absolutely ridiculously good that Jorja started laughing out loud. It was a copy of “Two Monkeys” by Bruegel. Sure it had the chained monkeys on a window sill with Antwerp in the background, but instead of their freedom being bought by hazelnuts, there was a distinct metallic candy wrapper in the foreground. “A gold Ferrero Rocher chocolate!” Jorja giggled. Now this was painting!

  She wandered slowly by the other canvasses; some she knew, others she looked up the original on her phone. Here was the self-portrait by Ghirlandaio, but instead of a dour looking individual perhaps feeling the early effects of gout, there was a rakish lad with a prominent cheek piercing and a spider tattoo on his neck. Correggio’s take on the myth of Leda and the Swan was gloriously demure as all the naked folks had either sports bras and biker shorts, or pastel onesies. Mona Lisa was now working in a fast food joint, as she was wearing a hairnet and vinyl gloves. But try as she might, Jorja could not find the forger’s signature.

  Jesse, however, was not hard to find. He was still holding court as Jorja searched out the host for the event. Jorja carefully by-passed the group and found a petite redhead with a large name tag that pronounced “Manager, Connelly Art Gallery”.

  “This is awesome, we can see eye to eye!” Jorja said to the Manager.

  The little man actually sniffed and said frostily, “Can I help you?”

  “Who painted these beauties?” Jorja asked, “I’ve searched and searched and can’t find a signature, or a brochure with the painters name.”

  The entire demeanour of the official Officiant changed. “The painter choses to remain anonymous…as some people view his paintings as, um, desecrations of the originals. But, you like them?” he asked hesitantly.

  “Like? I love them!” Jorja shouted as she threw her hands up in the air and did a little twirl. She thought suddenly, “Good thing I’m walking home.”

  “The artist’s name is Elmer, Elmer Frew”.

  “Great, thanks”, Jorja said, taking a few steps towards a modernized Botticelli
wherein a sign above the Centaur indicated that Pallas would cut his hair for twenty euros; conditioning, of course, would be extra. She then turned, a little slower this time, and yelled “Hey Elmer!”

  The Art Gallery Manager turned to her and they locked eyes. Jorja tapped the side of her nose with her finger while placing her empty wine glass on a tray. Elmer Frew breathed a sigh of relief and disappeared into a side room marked “Employees Only”.

  Jorja too let out a big sigh. She supposed it was time to join Jesse and his crowd of adoring females. As she approached them, Jesse hollered out “My darling, Jorja! Here she is gals! The smart Detective I’ve been telling you about!”

  She viewed the collection of little black dresses and thought “I’m glad I cleaned up for this event.” Jorja, of course, was not wearing a little black dress. She wore a short, poppy red dress. She felt entirely decadent, knowing that her late Grandma would have never approved. Often Grandma Connelly would admonish her, “Never wear a red dress; you know what sort of woman wears a red dress!” Well now she was that woman, and she liked it!

  “Fascinating paintings!” she said as an opener to the group.

  “But kind of weird though,” said one, “I didn’t quite get the gold covered rock in the monkey one”.

  “That’s a chocolate,” said another.

  “Wow!” said yet another, “Old masters…I didn’t realize the chocolate company had been around that long.”

  Jorja did a quick search on her phone and informed the gathering, “1562 Bruegel; 1982 Ferrero Rocher.”

  “Interesting,” Jesse and his flock murmured.

  Jorja spoke a little louder, “So the chocolate was invented over 400 years after the original Bruegel painting was finished.”

  The women remained quiet, while Jesse said “So interesting! Am I right?”

  Jorja tried one last time. “These paintings are all forgeries, remember? So the original painting had a hazelnut, but this translation, if you will, has …

  Jesse grabbed her by the hand and pulled her over to a corner.

  “I so glad we could finally be alone”, he said.