A Kiss of a Different Color

by Bettye Griffin

  He sighed a reply, then rolled his head to the right.

  As Miranda watched, the man got out of the car and walked toward her with an angry swagger. He probably possessed the greater strength of most men as compared to women, but he was short, perhaps five-six or seven at the most.

  The man was hurling epithets at her, and she placed a gloved finger on the button to lower the windows to better hear. Strangely enough, she felt no fear. She reached in the back seat for the baseball bat she kept there in case the need arose for her to defend herself.

  “What the…?” Jon, apparently awakened by the man’s loud voice, jerked his seat to the erect position, quickly assessed the situation and got out.

  Miranda also alighted, leaving the baseball bat behind. She smiled in amusement as the man from the other car stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Jon walking toward him. She kept walking until she was just a few yards away from where the two of them stood facing each other, the once-menacing man seeming to cower in the presence of Jon’s nearly foot-taller frame.

  “What’s goin’ on, man?” Jon asked easily.

  “Uh…just a little misunderstanding.”

  “Oh? Why don’t you tell me what exactly was misunderstood? You called my friend some very nasty names, and you were walking toward her. What exactly did you intend to do about this so-called ‘misunderstanding’—” he pronounced the word with exaggerated precision—”when you reached her?”

  The shorter man backed off, holding his right palm out and moving it from side to side. “I wasn’t gonna do nothing, man.”

  Miranda noticed the man’s female companion get out from behind the wheel and tentatively approach.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” the man said anxiously to Jon.

  Jon put his hands in his jeans pocket, looking very much like Gary Cooper. Miranda half expected to hear him say, “Yup.” Or in this case, “Nope,” since she knew Jon didn’t believe the man’s claim any more than she did.

  “I personally find that hard to believe,” he said in the same easygoing awshucks manner. “I think you were planning to get up in her face and give her a hard time, maybe threaten her, maybe even kick her car. You see, I heard the words that came out of your mouth, and they weren’t exactly warm and friendly.”

  “I guess I was a little upset,” the man admitted nervously, taking a step backward.

  Miranda spoke up. “Maybe next time you should let your companion handle the situation and keep your mouth shut. She acknowledged that she made a mistake, I accepted it, and we were both going on our way…until you decided to get rude and act like it was my fault.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Showing off for her, were you?”

  She enjoyed the man’s humble reaction, which she knew would not be evident had Jon not emerged from the passenger side. This man felt he had to show off for his girlfriend by bullying a woman driver, and he was getting his comeuppance.

  “I wasn’t going to get up in your face,” he said quickly.

  “Whatever you say, pal,” Jon said, his tone suggesting he didn’t believe a word of it. “But you owe this lady an apology.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss,” the man promptly said.

  Miranda noted he sounded more scared than sorry. She wanted to point that out, but kept quiet.

  “All right, I guess we can now all go about our business,” Jon concluded. “But I strongly suggest you heed my friend’s suggestion in the future about not jumping into a situation that’s already been cordially handled.”

  The man mumbled a reply, then hastily returned to the car he’d been riding in, with a frantic gesture to his companion to get back in as well.

  Miranda and Jon returned to her car, deliberately taking their time, aware that the other couple couldn’t proceed until they had left the intersection.

  “What a jerk,” Jon spat out. “Personally, I think he’s got a short man’s complex. I see a lot of that.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. But you sure put him in his place,” Miranda replied with a chuckle. “Talk about making a one-eighty.”

  “He’s lucky I didn’t make him kiss your shoes.”

  They shared a laugh.

  “Seriously, Jon, it was real sweet of you to come to my aid like that.” The man had said some chilling words, some of them racially motivated.

  “Miranda, if I have anything to say about it, no one will ever talk to you disrespectfully, whether they use slurs or not. This state has a pretty good reputation for friendly people who are accepting of all nationalities. Incidents like that give our entire state a bad name.”

  His words told Miranda that he considered Bismarck his home. That was something else they didn’t have in common, for to her Bismarck would just be the place where she was living, a place she would one day look back upon as where she’d spent a year or two. She also felt that there were plenty of people for whom race would always be an issue. She thought of horror stories she’d heard about growing backlash in European countries that had previously been havens for persecuted black Americans and Africans, like France and the Scandinavian countries. But she didn’t want to get into a debate about that or discuss anything heavy. Right now she felt grateful to Jon for interceding in what threatened to become an ugly situation, just the type of circumstances her parents had feared she would encounter. She reached across the console to pat his hand. “My hero.”

  To her surprise, he picked up her hand and raised it to his lips. Her driver’s gloves left the upper part of the back of her hand exposed, and she caught her breath in her throat when she felt his lips there, almost regretting it when he released her hand.

  “One more right turn coming up,” he instructed. She steered the car onto a dead-end street. “This is it right here.” He indicated the last house on the right.

  Miranda pulled partially into the driveway so she could turn around after he got out. The street lights were dim on this street, and as she tried to get a look at his house, her first impression was that it looked larger than she expected it to be, with huge windows in the front that extended all the way to the second floor. Somehow she’d imagined Jon, the confirmed bachelor, living in a house with one huge bedroom, but she supposed one-bedroom houses had to be custom built.

  “I hope your throat feels better tomorrow, Jon,” she said, feeling almost shy. “I’m sorry I got hung up on dancing and made you wait.”

  “I’m sorry I acted so aggressively to get you out of there.”

  “I understand. I can tell you don’t feel well. And thanks again for coming to my defense. It means a lot to me. Um…can I do anything to help you get your car fixed tomorrow?”

  “No. The only thing you can help me with is this.” He began to lean over the console in her direction. Miranda saw him coming closer, and suddenly it seemed as though time had suspended and he was moving in slow motion. Without realizing it, she, too leaned in toward him, her chin lifted in expectation.

  As their lips touched she thought she heard music, not the Eighties rock currently playing on the radio station, but something soft and romantic. She realized it was all in her head, that she had longed for this moment for weeks, and her desire to kiss him had intensified with his heroic actions tonight.

  He pressed his lips against the sides of her mouth, first one, then the other, before kissing her mouth fully and lingering over it. “I’ve been wanting to do this since forever,” he whispered against her lips. “And if I didn’t have a bad throat I’d kiss you the way I really want to.”

  Miranda kept her eyes closed as he moved to her jaw, the hollow behind her ear, and down to the top of her throat before returning to her mouth. This had been one of the sexiest kisses in her memory, and she was embarrassed by the excited squeals that escaped from her mouth each time he pressed his lips against hers. By the time he stopped, her vocal cords felt paralyzed.

  She didn’t know what to say to him. She’d spent the entire evening convincing herself that it was just as well that he seemed
to have forgotten about the idea of pursuing a relationship with her, and then what did he do but swing her over his shoulder, display an act of chivalry, and now manage to turn her into a quivering mass of Jell-o with a kiss that did the impossible, being both chaste yet erotic.

  Out of nervousness she changed the subject.

  “Your house looks lovely, Jon.” Her voice sounded strangely high-pitched to her ears.

  “Why don’t you come in and I’ll give you the tour? I know it’s snowing, but I think it’s just going to be flurries. They didn’t say anything on the weather report about any accumulation.”

  Miranda swallowed hard. “No. It’s late. I really should be getting home, and you need to get some rest.”

  “I can’t deny that,” he said, his voice now sounding a little hoarse. “Why don’t you come over for brunch Sunday morning? I should be feeling fine by then, and you’ll probably feel safer coming inside when it’s light outside.”

  “I don’t know why people think that daylight makes them safe,” she muttered. She’d be drawn to Jon at high noon.

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t make out what you said. My ears are starting to get clogged.”

  “Nothing,” she said, too quickly. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Sure. Why not? That’s the night after Jae and Brian’s party. It’ll be nice not to have to make my own breakfast.”

  Chapter 11

  “Wow! What a party!”

  Miranda had to agree with Chelsea’s sentiment. The guests at the Gallagher home made for quite a sight. A pigtailed Dorothy Gale from The Wizard of Oz was dancing to Party Rock Anthem with an open-robed, bare-chested heavyweight boxer, and Mr. Spock of Star Trek held court with an apron-wearing, red-wigged Lucy Ricardo. She thought she recognized Dillon from the bowling league dressed as a pirate. Jae and Brian’s friends had gone all out for Halloween. She estimated there were at least sixty people present, all of them in costume.

  Miranda looked for Jon in the crowd of costumes, knowing his height would make him stand out. Unfortunately for her, she saw at least half a dozen men in his height range. There didn’t seem to be any shortage of tall men in Bismarck. It would have helped if he’d told her what he planned to wear when she called him yesterday to see how he was feeling and to inquire if she could bring him anything. He told her he expected to be recovered sufficiently to attend the party, and she asked him if he had his costume. He replied in the affirmative but did not elaborate, and she refused to ask. Let him find her if he wanted to.

  That had been her attitude yesterday. Now that she was here at the party, she was eager to find him. With everyone in costume, she’d be lucky if she could identify her hosts. Some of the costumes involved face coverings, like the Abominable Snowman currently dancing, someone dressed as the Phantom of the Opera who had answered the door when she rang, and a man who appeared to be dressed as a fireman in what looked like an asbestos suit.

  Miranda leaned to one side as she tried to get a better look at that last costume. Surely it couldn’t be a fireproof suit; it would be suffocating in a room warm with body heat.

  A large gray headpiece covered his entire head and neck, flaring slightly on the shoulders to blend in with the bodysuit. A black horizontal strip of fabric across the area of where the eyes would be appeared to be sheer to allow the wearer to see through it. Arms clad in a long black-sleeved shirt protruded from a red knee-length tunic with some writing on it that she couldn’t quite make out through the people crossing in front of him. A big silver button protruded from its center like a huge belly button. The overall effect reminded her of a familiar object, but she couldn’t place it.

  As she studied the unidentifiable costume she noticed a woman dressed like Holly Golightly from Breakfast at Tiffany’s staring at her. She wondered if it was because the olive-skinned woman, maybe a Latina, was fascinated by the appearance of another person of a darker hue. Miranda’s brown fuzzy puppy costume included a headpiece from which brown floppy ears hung, but her face was exposed.

  She looked over at the costume that had intrigued her, and suddenly it came to her. The wearer of the costume was impersonating a fire hydrant!

  Just as quickly she wondered if that was Jon. She’d told him weeks ago that she was going as a puppy. Could he have chosen this costume because of hers?

  She turned to Chelsea, who had dressed like Olive Oyl in a black wig, red sweater, and black miniskirt with the trademark white strip near the hemline, to see if she wanted to go with her to approach the fire hydrant. Five minutes here, and Chelsea had already made a new acquaintance, a dashing gangster in a black suit, black fedora, and white tie who was obviously taken with the shapely legs protruding from the skirt.

  Miranda left Chelsea otherwise occupied and slowly made her way to the fire hydrant, but the tiara-wearing Holly Golightly approached her with her right hand extended while her left held a long cigarette holder complete with fake cigarette. “Good evening,” she said. “I am Dr. Monthani Sanya.”

  “Miranda Rhett…uh, physiotherapist,” she replied. It seemed way too formal to mention one’s profession at a social function, but she felt she should follow the doctor’s lead.

  “Very nice to meet you, Miranda. Are you a friend of Jae’s or Brian’s?”

  “Actually, both of them. We have a mutual friend.” Miranda was pleasant, but she was still trying to figure out why this woman had approached her.

  Now that she stood closer to the woman, Miranda saw that she wasn’t Latina but Asian, her olive complexion suggesting someplace closer to the Equator than the fair-skinned Jae’s Korean roots. Miranda’s knowledge of the geography of that part of the world was limited. Her first guess was the Philippines, but most people there bore names reminiscent of their country’s colonization by Spain.

  “Are you one of our staff physicians?” she asked Monthani.

  “No. I’m a professor of psychology at the University of Mary. I’m a friend of Jae’s, and I know many of her friends. I hadn’t ever met you before and thought I’d say hello.”

  That explanation struck Miranda as false on several counts. For one, she now stood close enough to tell that Monthani, despite her slim figure, was a generation older than Jae, probably in her late forties, which made their being girlfriends unlikely. For another, Miranda felt that Monthani couldn’t possibly know all of the people here tonight. Would she introduce herself to Chelsea? Miranda doubted it. No, this woman had a specific reason for walking over to her, and knowing she had been singled out made Miranda uncomfortable. She wanted to get away as soon as she politely could.

  Luckily, she had the perfect excuse to accomplish this. “Hey, can you tell me what Jae and Brian are dressed as? I’d like to say hello to them, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to recognize them.”

  “Surely. Jae is dressed as Marie Antoinette, and Brian is King Louis the Sixteenth.”

  “Thanks. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll try and find them now. I really should let them know I’m here.” Now that Miranda knew how her hosts were dressed, it should be pretty easy to locate them. All she had to do was look for two elaborate wigs. “It was nice meeting you, Monthani. Great costume, by the way.” She gave the woman a warm smile, then made her way toward the fire hydrant, who had now moved and, if his slight bow was any indication, was proudly accepting a compliment about his costume. The group he was talking with included a blue-haired Marie Antoinette.

  “Well, hello there,” said an obviously disguised voice from under the fire hydrant hood after she greeted Jae. “You’re about the cutest pooch I’ve seen. You can hang around me any time.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t have to, uh, ‘go’ right now,” she replied, joining in the laughter that met her response.

  He reached up and removed the hood from his head, and as she suspected, Jon’s handsome face came into view. He winked at her before replacing the hood. She was close enough to read the writing across the front of his tunic: Property of the Water Department.

  “
I thought that might have been you!” she exclaimed as the two of them moved slightly away from the rest of the group, branching off into their own conversation. “What an imaginative costume!”

  “Well, you did say you were coming as a puppy. I wanted to wear something that would…” he spoke the rest of the sentence in a low, seductive voice—”draw you to me.”

  Miranda smiled. His illness had apparently passed, and he was his old flirtatious self. “You succeeded on that front. Your costume caught my eye as soon as I came in. When I got a better look and saw it was a fire hydrant, I wondered if that was you.”

  “And now that you know it’s me? What happens now?”

  For a few moments they merely stared at each other, and in spite of the dark strip through which Jon’s eyes were barely visible, Miranda felt them fixated on her. She never would have believed she could feel such a strong sexual gravitation toward a man in a crowded, noisy room. She was tempted to jump into his arms, wrap her legs around his back, toss that hood off of him and kiss him, not caring who saw.