The Odd Ballerz

by Ruthie Robinson

  “Hey. Sorry it’s late,” Z said into the phone.

  “No problem. I’m up playing shotgun father to daughter number two, who’s out on a date tonight,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve turned into that dad.”

  “Nope. As long as everybody keeps their hands where I can see them, nobody gets hurt,” he said, chuckling.

  “I need some information about one of the agents that works for your company.”

  “Who?”

  “Memphis Jones? You know her?”

  “I do. She’s a top performer, consistently.”

  “What do you think?”

  “What do I think about what? You looking to replace me?”

  Z laughed. “No, I’m training her to play football, maybe even for the Ballerz next season,” he said.

  “Okay… so…”

  “In exchange for my help, she’s going to help organize a few things for me.”

  “Your office would be a good place to start,” he said, chuckling.

  “Yep. Have you heard anything negative about her?”

  “Nope. In the insurance business, she’s as sharp as they come. That’s how you get to be one of the top agents in the state. She’s a hard worker, wouldn’t have gotten as far as she has without a large level of drive. We have a district manager’s position open and I’m not excited about having to compete with her. You like her? If I remember correctly she’s built the way you like them built.”

  “This is strictly a business arrangement. You remember last year,” Z said.

  “I do.”

  “So, no, I’m only checking here, looking for red flags.”

  “If she has them, it’s not with her work.”

  “Good to know.”

  “You could talk to her sister about her. I’m sure Alex knows more than I.”

  “I know, but I’d like to keep my personal life personal, you know me.”

  “I do. You don’t need two women angry with you if things go south.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Sure it isn’t. So, how’s the art?” Yancy said, in his teasing way.

  “Picking up. I have an installation due at the end of the month, my first major one for the lighting business. Otherwise it’s work as usual,” Z said, eager to drop the subject of Memphis as it was turning into more questions, and he wasn’t ready for that at this point.

  “Venison is the meat for Sunday, right? We still on?

  “Yep.”

  “Well, let me know if your thing with the insurance lady makes a turn toward the interesting,” Yancy said.

  “And what’s interesting?”

  “Long term.”

  “Not sure if I’m up for that again,” Z said, chuckling, not ready to talk about the other parts of his Jones plan, and there wasn’t much to it anyway. Wait and watch for now was all it was.

  “We’ll see. You’ve haven’t met the right one yet, that’s what I think. Later,” Yancy said.

  “Yep,” Z said, disconnecting from the call.

  #

  Saturday, early morning

  It was early Saturday morning and Z stood in the shower of his newly remodeled bathroom. It and the kitchen were the only two rooms he’d made substantial changes to. He’d enlarged the shower space, made it big enough for a family to fit inside if they wanted. He’d also added multiple showerheads, one directly above him, to replicate a favorite outdoor waterspout from his childhood. He and his family had used it daily to bathe under. He’d placed two additional showerheads into the front wall.

  He was up early to prepare for Jones and his class. Glassblowing for Beginners was what he taught Saturday mornings, depending on the demand. A three-hour introduction to the basics of glassblowing for those that wanted to test the waters of their interest, or wanted to spend a Saturday morning doing something unique. Nine-thirty was the start time. Eleven-thirty was the end of two hours in which most students produced a basic paperweight and an ornament. Both were easy to make and a good introduction to the heat and work that went into glassblowing. This morning he had three students, a couple and a single woman. At one hundred and fifty dollars per person, it was easy money doing something he loved.

  He was tired and dragging more than his usual. He and Meredith had put in some serious time in his studio last night, late into the night actually, working on two ceiling treatments. As he’d told Yancy, his first major non-friend-generated commission was due to a restaurant in Austin by the end of July.

  Meredith would be in town for a while, doing whatever she wanted. A hiatus from her life, a break from creating was what she’d said visiting him in Austin was about. A freer spirit he’d yet to meet, and one committed to her art first and her independence second. She and her silver Airstream trailer crossed the country in search of art fairs.

  Theirs had been a long history of on and off again, until they’d given up on being anything other than great friends with the occasional benefit. Meredith was also a gaffer—another word for a glassblower—like him, and an excellent assistant when she felt like assisting.

  He’d expanded his glassblowing business to include ceiling treatments and lighting, under the heading of Sloan Artisan Lighting, a year ago, and his business model was different from his other Sloan Glassworks business, more expensive and with hopefully larger profit margins.

  He felt rather than heard Meredith enter the shower behind him, her arms around his waist from behind was his clue. He smiled, looked over his shoulder into eyes filled with mirth and desire, a dangerous combination for Meredith. She reached past him, grabbed the shower gel, and poured some into her hands, before placing it back on the shelf.

  He smiled too and closed his eyes. He knew what was in store for him, had been here before, enough over the years for both to know each other’s preferences and stimulants. He spread his hands on the shower wall in front of him and leaned forward. She kissed his back before her hands found him, hard and waiting. He caught his breath, and gave himself over to the ministrations of her hands, concentrating on nothing but this, the feel of her hands, calloused from years of her art, made soft by the gel, moving over him, stroking, softly twisting and turning, touching the places she knew were sensitive as the water ran over his skin, relaxing in a different way.

  He leaned his head into the wall after a time and felt her mouth take over where her hands had been mere seconds ago. He opened his eyes and looked down at her, nestled in between his thighs, at her moving over him, and thoughts of someone else fluttered through his brain. He moaned.

  It went on like this for a time, until he wanted more, and then it was her turn to face the wall, and he was entering her and it was her time to moan… and squirm as she’d made him do a few minutes before.

  #

  Memphis made the turn into Z’s home, prepared to work. Last night and the talk with her sisters had helped to push him as anything-other-than-coach to the back burner of her mind. Wow, she was still unpacking all that Alex had told her.

  She pulled up to the gate. It was closed, locked up tight with a chain wrapped around it. A lock sat at the end of the chain, all secured tightly to a pole attached to the rest of his fencing and blocking her entry.

  She checked the clock on her car’s dashboard, and yep, she was on time. Eight-thirty was what they’d agreed to, and now what? Maybe she should back up and park in one of those parking spaces at the front base of his home. It made sense, now that she thought about it. No need to drive all the way around to the back. She’d be working in his home office after all, so through the front door it would be.

  “Hi, Jones,” Meredith shouted, as soon as Memphis stepped out of her car. She was seated on the deck in one of his lounge chairs, robe on, feet bare, and quite at home. More confirmation, if she needed any more confirmation, that she was Jones the trainee and Z her instructor.

  “Hey, Jones,” Z said, standing on the front porch. She ran her eyes over him, a quick scan up and down as he walked way down
the porch steps. Nice, was her thought, always with this one. He was dressed in jeans, the old worn ones that covered his hind parts and legs in all the right places. T-shirt on top of the chest she so admired and boots on his feet, and of course he wore his favorite badger baseball cap on his head.

  “I thought I would have to drive around and park in the back but the gate was locked. Should I park in front on Saturdays?” she asked when he reached her.

  “You can if you want to, but I had planned to give you the code to the gate. That way you can let yourself in if I’m running late or whatever,” he said.

  “Sure,” she said, wondering if Meredith was the whatever. She followed him, soaking up the rear view picture, just as nice as the front, as he walked toward the gate.

  “The combination to the lock is 8119. If you’re here and it’s locked, feel free to open it,” he said, and proceeded to input the combination. “Once that’s done,” he said, moving the gate as he talked, “pull it back and wrap the chain around this pole.” She watched as he secured the chain around said pole. “If you park behind the house, then there’s a small lock box over the back door. It has two keys inside, one to the back door and another to the office. I change the combination periodically, FYI, in case you go left on me or something,” he said, smiling.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “I have a class that starts at nine-thirty, so I need to get moving,” he said, looking at his watch.

  “Okay,” she said, following him back to his home. “There’s Meredith.”

  “Yep,” he said, and that was it on that subject.

  “Help yourself to water in the refrigerator or coffee, whatever you need,” he said over his shoulder as they moved to the back hallway that led to his office.

  “I don’t know how to work your coffee pot. I could ask Meredith, I guess,” and yes, she was fishing for information in spite of all of her talks to herself.

  “I use a smaller pot. It’s faster. It sits next to the big one on the counter. Meredith doesn’t drink coffee, and I think she’s leaving for something later on this morning. I’ll be back to check on you before class starts if you haven’t figured it out by then,” he said, and then he was gone, out the back door, leaving her alone with his office.

  She opened the door, surprised again at the state of this room. “It isn’t going to organize itself,” she said aloud, stepping inside. She dug her headphones out of her purse, plugged them into her iPhone, selected the playlist she’d put together for when something required her utmost physical exertions, and got started, deciding to look around first, see if there was any rhyme or reason to his filing system or if this would be a start-from-anywhere venture.

  #

  Setting things up for his class didn’t require much from him: lifting the garage doors, turning on the fan, laying out the crystals for color choice purposes, and turning on some music. He had to have music. Years of daily cleaning up behind himself had become ingrained habit. The furnaces were never turned off so there was nothing to do there. All that was left was a check of emails. He was mostly looking for last-minute class cancellations, but if he had time he’d go through more. Twenty minutes later it turned out to be before he was done with everything. He glanced around the shop one final time. It was good. Everything was where it should be. He had a little time left to go in and check in on Jones, a quiet lure if ever there was one.

  Jones dressed up in her work clothes was special enough; however, Jones in jeans was another thing altogether, he thought, watching her move around his office, her back to him. He blew out a breath and knocked on the side of the door hard, wanting to get her attention. She jumped, so maybe he’d knocked a little too hard. He fought back his smile at the picture of a startled Jones. Entertaining all the time, he thought, watching her as she turned to face him.

  “Hey. You’re back. You have time for questions?” she said.

  “One,” he asked.

  “Are these stacks arranged in any particular order?” she asked, moving her hand around to indicate the whole of his office.

  “By dates, I think. It’s been a while, but I think that was my original plan. I’m not sure where I stopped keeping track.”

  “Okay. When did you start the date filing system?”

  “January of last year, I think,” he said.

  “And where did you start?”

  “Behind the desk, maybe?”

  “Thanks, it’s a start.”

  “I’m usually done around eleven-thirty, if you have any other questions. I’m going to check on Meredith, then I’m out until after class,” he said, pushing away from the doorway.

  “Okay,” she said, listening to the sound of his footsteps taking him down the hall.

  ELEVEN

  Done with his class, it was back inside and he stopped at his office door again, watching Jones with her earbuds, going through a stack of something, absorbed in the work of sorting through his papers, completely unaware of his presence. She’d made plenty headway in such a short time, he thought, taking in the cleanliness that was his desk now and the floor surrounding it. She looked up.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, leaning against the doorjamb, nicely filling out the space in the middle of the doorway, she thought.

  “Good. I’ve made progress as you can see. The piles came about after several false starts. I’ve settled on sorting your piles into piles of like things. The color-coding helped, but not everything is color-coded, by the way. I still have questions and I’ll need storage containers to box some things up. Most of it needs to be thrown away. After that I can open up and check out the boxes, all eight of them. You’ve been busy… lots of business you’ve done.

  “Anyway, I’m narrowed it down to five categories: Sloan Glassworks, Sloan Artisan Lighting, Turnkey Relocations, another pile for your Elite Football Camp, makes four.” She pointed to them as she spoke. “The last pile is for miscellaneous stuff. I’m good, I think, for now,” she said, kind of breathless at the end of that. “The number one question I have for you is what do you want your room to look like when I’m done?” she asked.

  “Clean,” he said, and chuckled. She made a face at his response. “I need a shower, and then I usually make lunch; nothing major, a sandwich or something quick. You want one?”

  “Who, me? What? A sandwich?”

  He laughed. “Yes, you and yes, a sandwich.”

  “You don’t have to feed me. That wasn’t a part of our deal.”

  “It’s simple, Jones. You want to eat or not? Are you hungry or not?”

  “I am hungry. I can eat, or I can eat in here if you want. The desk is cleaned off now.”

  “Jones,” he said in that way of his, “you can ask me your questions over lunch. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

  “Fine, if you’re sure. Thanks,” she shouted, ’cause he’d moved off, away from the doorway. She stood listening, could hear his footsteps carrying him down the hallway and then to the right, where the bedrooms were, and now in the room next to this one. The shower started up, and nope, not even going to suppose what he looked like wet and nude. He showered for fifteen, and then off, and then the sounds of his feet moved around his room and then down the hall.

  He sang or hummed in the shower and then the kitchen, all mentally cataloged by her as she went about organizing his office. Yeah, yeah, she still had this thing for him, and it was growing still. Meredith hadn’t reduced that desire at all, only what she would do with it, which was nothing.

  Thirty minutes later he was back, standing in the doorway again, wearing another t-shirt, more jeans; the loose comfortable-fitting kind he so favored, with feet free of shoes. Even his feet were nice.

  “Lunch’s ready,” he said, watching her check him out. She’d done a quick scan of his person, and one very interested woman was Jones; all of which he knew. “In the kitchen,” he added.

  He was standing by the refrigerator when she entered. Two plates holding sandwiches were placed in front of
two chairs across from each other.

  “I hope you don’t mind turkey. It’s all I have left,” he said.

  “Beggars can’t be choosy,” she said, taking a seat in the chair closest to her. “It looks great,” she said. Better than anything she could whip up, she thought. “Homemade?” she asked, pointing to the bread that sat atop thick slices of turkey, cheese, tomatoes, and lettuce oozing from underneath.

  “Yep,” he said, watching her. “What would you like to drink?”

  “Water is good.”

  He opened his fancy refrigerator and out came a clear glass pitcher filled with water and a combination of mint leaves, lime and lemon slices floating around the top of it. He snagged two glasses from the drainer that sat next to his sink and handed one to her before settling himself on the stool across from her.

  “Okay, questions?” he asked, watching as she bit into her sandwich. He grinned in response to the face she made, to the pleasure he read on it. He wondered at her responses to other types of stimuli.

  “I kid you not, this is the best sandwich I’ve ever had. Nothing I’ve cooked tasted anything like this,” she said.

  “Thanks. I’ll remember that if I’m ever invited to eat at your place.”

  “Ha ha, and you’re welcome,” she said, smiling around her next bite. She chewed for a bit. “I love this kitchen, and the deck outside. This was all remodeled?” she asked, looking around the room.

  “Yep. I added the French doors, inserted more windows into the back wall of the living room and had the side deck connected to the front porch. The master bathroom was the only other room I made changes too. The house is otherwise the same as it was when it was originally built.”

  “It’s nice.”

  “It’s home,” he said, waiting until she looked his way again, which was a bit, as Jones really liked his sandwich. “My insurance agent is Yancy Yarborough. He’s works for Foundation Insurance Company. Do you know him?”