A Kiss of a Different Color

by Bettye Griffin

  When the game ended, Brian offered to buy Jae and Miranda a drink, and Miranda realized here was an opportunity to see what went on in the bar after she went home.

  A late-night all-male league poured into the bowling alley as their group changed footwear and packed up their bowling balls and shoes. Those who stuck around moved to the separate bar equipped with two pool tables, where they had first met to discuss the rules, elect officers, and organize into teams. Corinne and the other women, apparently satisfied that Miranda represented no rival to them for Jon’s affections, practically trampled on each other to sit next to him at the bar. Miranda told herself that none of the plump older women with outdated eye makeup and teased hair were his type, but nevertheless her eyes kept focusing in that direction from the table where she sat with Brian and Jae. She feared she would see the brunette from the other league who had captured Jon’s attentions.

  Brian returned from the bar, a wineglass in each hand, his right hand also grasping a bottle of Sam Adams by its long neck. Miranda happened to be looking over at Jon and saw him recognize that his friend was in the bar. A moment later he sauntered over to their table, carrying his Coors.

  “It’s about time you guys decided to stick around for a change,” he said as he took the fourth chair at the table. “We have a lot of fun after the third game, and tomorrow’s Friday, so no big deal if we’re a little tired in the morning.”

  “That’s what I say,” Brian drawled. “Of course, Jae is usually anxious to get home to me, but tonight I’m here, so there’s no rush.”

  Jae playfully rolled her eyes.

  Jon turned his attentions to Miranda. “It’s good to see you here, Legs.”

  She found she liked him calling her that. “I would think you see enough of me, between dance classes on Tuesdays and here on Thursdays.”

  He leaned in, his face dangerously close to hers. “I could never see too much of you.”

  Miranda poked him in the arm, conscious of the women at the bar watching their interaction.

  The song on the jukebox ended and another one began. Jon began tapping the table to the beat of the zydeco-flavored rock song Cherry Bomb, recorded by John Cougar Mellencamp.

  “How about you two showing us what you learned in dance class?” Brian suggested.

  “We haven’t covered this type of music in class,” Miranda replied.

  “No, but let’s wing it,” Jon said.

  The next thing Miranda knew he had pulled her to her feet and led her to the open area in the center of the room. All eyes were on them as they fell into step to the music.

  Miranda found it simple to follow the zydeco beat, which she quickly realized was just a variation of the salsa they had done so well, and she then lost herself in the joy of dancing with Jon. When the lyrics mentioned holding hands, he increased the pressure on her hand, and she smiled at the private joke. They danced with their usual coordinated precision, and as always she soon forgot they had an audience, concentrating on nothing other than Jon. She trusted him completely as he led her in ad-libbed steps, swinging her hips with abandon freely and enjoying his proximity. When they were done the entire bar cheered. She grinned broadly as he led her back to her seat.

  Jon felt pretty pleased with himself. He was pretty sure that Miranda had seen him talking with Angie from the legal department at work, who bowled with her mother in the all-female league that used the lanes on the far side of the alley. He made it a point to seek her out, because chatting with her at the bar kept her from coming to the lane where he was bowling…and getting a clear look at his bowling partners. Since Angie was also an employee, he thought it best if she didn’t see Miranda. He found it amusing that Angie, who was about ten years his junior and right out of college, was flirting with him. He’d reminded her about the corporate rule against fraternization when she suggested they get together one night, and gently pointed out that he was a little old for her as well. She’d accepted his reasoning, but still liked to chat with him. That was fine with him, once he’d established that he wasn’t leading her on. While he did hope that Miranda’s curiosity had been raised about what might be going on between them, he also hoped that Jae wouldn’t recognize Angie and tell Miranda she was another coworker. Sometimes all it took to nudge a woman was the thought of another woman replacing her in a man’s affections.

  He still had a vivid memory of how gorgeous Miranda had looked on salsa night. The waistband of her skirt showed off her trim waist, the snug fitting off-the-shoulder top had displayed beautiful shoulders he longed to kiss. And her hair, freed from its usual restraints…he’d pictured her lying supine in his bed with her hair fanned out around her head, and the image made his groin ache. She’d felt so incredibly luscious wrapped in his arms, and her lips had been warm and pliant, her tongue so willing to mate with his. He’d had to break off the kiss, for the knowledge that it would go no further made him feel he was being tortured.

  Yes, Miranda might think he had a thing going on with Angie, and maybe that was for the best. It wouldn’t do for her to know that he spent his weekends alone, working around his house…missing her.

  Chapter 10

  The aura that had surrounded Jon and Miranda ever since their first night of dance lessons suddenly disappeared the night they learned the fox trot. Miranda’s feet weren’t cooperating; she was tripping all over the place.

  She felt especially frustrated after the flawless way they danced last week at the bar at the lanes. That had served as an ice breaker between her and the other bowlers, and from that point on, she truly felt like one of the group. The four of them ended up staying until after eleven o’clock, and she’d yawned constantly the next day at work, but she’d had fun, dancing with Jon a few more times before the night was out.

  When he saw her to her car he was polite but noncommittal, and she was convinced he had started dating the pretty young dark-haired woman and was no longer interested in her. She just didn’t know why it bothered her so much. What did she expect? He’d made it clear he wanted to get to know her better, and she’d put him off. He wasn’t about to spend a cold winter alone while he hoped she’d change her mind. And just because she might have convinced herself that working from two different locations within the company would be sufficient for an affair to go undetected, she’d been kidding herself. No matter how good the cover-up, people always found out. She’d made the right decision.

  So why did she feel so gloomy about it?

  The following week at the bowling alley Jon seemed withdrawn and quiet. Christine asked him what was wrong.

  His fingers toyed with his throat. “I’ve got a bit of a sore throat. I think I might be coming down with something.”

  Mononucleosis, Miranda thought immediately. From kissing his new girlfriend.

  “I started not to come,” he added, “but I knew that Jae needed to skip tonight because of preparations for the Halloween party she and Brian are giving this weekend, and I didn’t want to let the team down.”

  As the three league games were played, Jon seemed to be feeling better. He began spending time at the bar and perked up a bit.

  One of the youngest members of the league, a young, bearded red-headed man named Dillon asked Miranda if she would show him a few dance steps after bowling “because my girlfriend says I have two left feet.” Miranda agreed, and after she packed up her gear she bid Jill and Christine good night, then casually asked Jon if he was going to the bar.

  “Are you?” he countered.

  “Yes, for a little while. I had a request to help someone spruce up their dancing skills.” She deliberately didn’t say who had made the request, instead she flashed him a sly smile and headed for the bar, not waiting to see whether he would follow.

  The jukebox contained a variety of music: rock, both current and from the Fifties, R&B, and standards, reflecting the tastes of a clientele whose ages ranged from twenties to seniors. Miranda was dancing with Dillon to Paul Anka’s long-ago hit Put Your Head on My
Shoulder when she noticed Jon at the bar, watching them with a broad grin. Apparently he already knew what Dillon shared with her during their dance…that Dillon was engaged. She doubted Jon would consider this young man as a serious contender for her affections anyway. A gregarious, friendly young man, Miranda put his age at twenty-five tops. She wouldn’t have a problem with a younger man in another five years or so—by then she’d probably still be single and ready to expand her options—but at this point in her life she had no interest.

  She kept an eye on Jon as she continued dancing, watching him shake his head as various women asked him to dance with them. After dancing through a few more songs, Dillon insisted on buying her a drink. All the bar stools were taken, but Jon waved her over. “Take my seat, Legs,” he said. “I’m gonna head on home.”

  Miranda couldn’t know for sure, but her instinct told her that Jon generally hung around the lively bar longer than the half hour he’d been there tonight. “You’re really not feeling well, are you?” She instinctively touched her palm to his forehead.

  “No, not really. Unless I feel a whole lot better when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll probably call in.”

  “You don’t seem feverish, and that’s a good sign. I hope you don’t miss Jae and Brian’s party.”

  “I should be okay by Saturday.”

  “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do…maybe come by and bring you some chicken soup or something.” Miranda realized after the fact how silly that offer would be if he was seeing someone. His girlfriend would be the one to nurse him.

  “Thanks, but I’ll be all right. I just want to kick this before it blows up into something that’ll knock me off my feet. I’ll see you Saturday at the party, huh?”

  “I hope so,” she said pointedly. She certainly hoped he’d feel up to going to the party. It would present the perfect opportunity to see if he was dating anyone or not. Surely if he was he would bring her with him to a Saturday night party. Seeing Jon with another woman would be difficult, but at least she would know…and once she did she could forget about him.

  That part would really be hard.

  “Feel better, Jon,” she said softly.

  “Thanks. G’night, everybody,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  A chorus of voices returned the greeting.

  Miranda felt perfectly comfortable at the bar, even without the presence of the two people in the league she knew the best. Part of moving to a new place included spending time with new people. She gladly answered the others’ questions about dancing and about Gina and Anthony’s studio.

  She was up dancing with Dillon again when she thought she recognized Jon’s tall figure back in the bar. How could that be, she wondered. Hadn’t he left a few minutes ago?

  When the song ended she approached him with a quizzical expression. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yeah. My car won’t start. I tried the jumper cables and still no go.” He sighed. “Everything seems to be going wrong today. I was wondering if you could give me a ride home.”

  “Well, of course.”

  “Hey, Miranda, you promised me a dance,” someone called out. “This one’s for us.” The man held out his hand to her.

  She turned to Jon. “Can you give me just a minute? I did promise him.”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  The current song gave way to a particularly catchy dance tune from the Sixties, a little ditty that was rumored to refer to marijuana smoking that resonated with the middle-aged crowd, and Miranda’s one song dance turned into two. For the next song Dillon returned for one more dance. Miranda could already see improvement in the way he moved…his somewhat stiff movements had loosed up some. She couldn’t refuse him, but when she stole a look at Jon he wore a scowl.

  To her dismay, the song playing, Rick James’s dance classic You and I, was the extended version, not just the regular single. This thing would go on for six or seven minutes…which probably seemed like an eternity to Jon, who’d already been waiting much longer than the three minutes she expected.

  She caught Jon’s eye and mouthed the words “Be right there” to him, noticing that he didn’t look happy. To Dillon she said, “I’m definitely leaving right after this song.”

  “Well, let’s make the most of it,” he said, grabbing her hand and spinning her.

  The spin put her back to Jon, and she told herself it was probably just as well that she couldn’t see his glare.

  It felt good to indulge in plain old R&B dancing, and Miranda became caught up in the loss of inhibitions that was clearly affecting others on the dance floor. She followed Rick’s instructions and shook her booty down.

  Her back hit a firm surface, and her first thought being that she had bumped into someone, that maybe her movements had gotten a little too fluid. But then she felt firm arms sliding under her hips and around her back. She was being lifted, and before she could form the words to ask what was happening, she found herself draped over a man’s shoulder, her legs dangling down his back, her torso hanging over his chest.

  “Good night, everybody,” Jon said as he moved toward the door with Miranda draped over his right shoulder, stopping long enough to pick up her bowling bag and her jacket.

  “Whoa, baby!” somebody exclaimed, as everyone else hooted with laughter.

  “I guess he wants what he wants when he wants it,” Miranda heard someone else say.

  “Jon!” Miranda demanded, banging her fist against his thigh. “Is this necessary? You’re acting like a caveman, for crying out loud. It’s so…Neanderthal.”

  “Miranda, I feel crappy, and I want to go home. This was the only way I could get you off that dance floor.

  A blast of cold air hit her as he carried her outside, and she felt precipitation at the same time she noticed a dusting of white on the ground. “It’s snowing? But it’s only October, for heaven’s sake!”

  “Welcome to North Dakota,” he replied with a laugh.

  “Fine. It’s freezing out here. Jon Lindbergh, if you don’t put me down right now I’m going to start screaming.”

  She had barely expressed the words when she felt herself sliding down the back of his body, and then she was on her feet. He held out her jacket, and she slipped her arms into the sleeves and quickly buttoned it, then turned up her collar.

  “My keys are in the pocket of my bowling bag,” she said, and he held it up so she could unzip the pocket and remove both her keys and her compact wallet. She pressed the button on her remote twice in rapid succession to unlock both the driver and passenger doors.

  “I’ll put your bag in the back seat,” he said.

  “That’s fine,” she replied crisply.

  He glanced at her in the darkness. “You upset about something?”

  Miranda hesitated before letting out an annoyed breath. “Jon, you’re sure to have everybody gossiping about what kind of relationship we have by carrying me out of there like that. It looked like…it looked like you were carrying me to the nearest bed, and I’m sure that’s what everybody thinks.”

  He grunted. “I’m not sick enough where I don’t wish that’s where I was taking you.”

  Once in the passenger seat, Jon promptly pushed it back as far as it would go, then reclined and proceeded to give her directions based on street names. He seemed to doze off in between turns, and she felt terribly guilty for keeping him waiting. He really wasn’t feeling well.

  Miranda came to a stop at a stop sign. Another car arrived at the intersection a few seconds after she did. She had started to make the left turn Jon had instructed her to do when the other car, after barely stopping, entered the intersection.

  She pressed her horn and braked to a stop. The street lights at the intersection paired with the moonlight allowed her to see the other driver’s sheepish expression as she quickly stopped and waved Miranda through.

  Miranda waved back. Apparently the woman’s mind hadn’t been on the road. She understood, having occasionally found herself bei
ng inattentive when behind the wheel. They could both consider themselves lucky that a collision had been avoided. As her foot switched to the gas pedal, she saw movement from the passenger side of the other vehicle and focused in time to see a man’s face contorted with rage as he gestured for her to get out of the road, his mouth forming what Miranda was certain were uncomplimentary phrases.

  His reaction angered her. She and the driver had both acknowledged the woman’s error and had moved on. There was no excuse for this man’s rude reaction. She slammed on her brakes and simply sat there, effectively blocking the narrow residential intersection. She didn’t know what to do next. Maybe count to fifty slowly, long enough to noticeably hold them up, and then move on?

  “Wha’s going on?” Jon murmured sleepily.

  “Nothing. I just want to teach this butthole a lesson.”