by J. J. Murray
He dug in a closet and found two long duffel bags, packing them with his cell phone charger, most of his clothes, all of his shoes, several jackets, another coat, the suit, towels, and even the thin washcloth. He emptied his mostly empty refrigerator into an old laundry bag. He took his “new” sheets and comforter off his bed and put them high up in a closet where he hoped little Joy couldn’t reach them.
Anything else, she can have.
He stared at the easy chair.
She’d never take that, would she?
Hmm. She would. She’d probably set it on fire on the Williamsburg Bridge.
I will have to make two trips.
He looped the laundry bag over his neck, slung the two duffel bags over his shoulders, and trekked over chunks of ice and deep snow back to Angela’s, wondering how much to tell her.
All these women seem to want a piece of me, but I only want Angela, now and forever. I thought the process of elimination was over. Maybe this is the last step of that process. Do I want to be with any of them again? No. No way. But should I tell Angela? Would I want a woman to tell me that six men have been filling up her answering machine? I don’t think so.
Matthew banged through the door, letting the duffel bags clunk to the floor. That was loud. Now everyone’s looking at me, Angela most of all. He took a deep breath and hoisted them back to his shoulders, walked through the dining area nodding his head at customers, eased around the counter, and headed toward the kitchen.
“What took you so long?” Angela whispered.
“I’ll explain once I drop my load,” he whispered.
He found the stairway door open and left the bags on the landing. After emptying his refrigerator’s contents into Angela’s, he returned to the counter.
I can’t lie to her. “I had a few messages on my answering machine.”
“From potential clients?” she asked.
“No.” He sighed. “From a few women.”
Angela climbed up on her stool. “How many?”
“Twelve.”
“Twelve women?” Angela asked.
“Twelve messages from six women and Michael, who used to be my best friend.” She’s neither frowning nor smiling. Is this a good or a bad thing? “Do I need to name them all?”
“Do you?” Angela asked.
She wants me to name them all. “Well, let’s see. The first one was from Michael.”
“What did he want?” Angela asked.
“To set me up with Victoria again,” Matthew said, “but I’m not returning his call.”
Angela nodded, pulling at her fingers. “Who else?”
Who’s the next safest? “A couple calls from jail. That would probably be Jade.”
Angela blinked. “You were barely with her, Matthew.”
“I seem to have a lingering effect on women,” Matthew said. “Monique, Mary, Allison, and Joy also called.”
Angela counted on her fingers. “All of them called you?”
Matthew nodded.
“What for?” Angela whispered.
“Except for Joy, they called to, um, to ask me out, but I don’t want to have anything to do with any of them,” Matthew said quickly. “I’ve made my choice, and I’m sticking with you.” He stepped close and kissed her cheek. “If you’ll still have me.”
Angela shook her head slightly. “Why did Joy call?”
“Oh, she needed me to wire her some money. She’s back from her tryst with Carlo.” He put his hands on her knees. “Carlo was married.”
Angela smiled. “No way. How stupid was she?”
“Her baleadas were smarter,” Matthew said. And that makes me look stupid for being with stupid Joy. “Oh, she also wants her clothes.”
“She didn’t take them with her?” Angela asked.
“She was in a hurry.” Oh, but she did have time to soil my bed first.
“Well, give them to her,” Angela said.
“I can’t.” Matthew winced. “They’re at the Salvation Army Thrift Store.”
Angela laughed. “You gave them away?”
“I know I shouldn’t have done that.” He rubbed her thighs. “But it sure felt good to do at the time.”
“That’s cold, Matthew,” Angela said, still smiling.
“And so is she. Most of them were winter clothes. I’m sure I’ll see some of her outfits walking around Williamsburg once they clear away all this snow.” He took her hands. “I’m sorry about all this.”
“Don’t be,” Angela said. “You didn’t call them. They called you.” She squeezed his hands. “I know why they all wanted to see you again. After what we did last night, they’d be insane not to call you.”
“But we never . . . I never did anything with them.” Except for Joy. I hope Angela wasn’t listening too—
“You and Joy didn’t . . .”
She was listening. I’ll hand it to women. They can hear what you don’t say, too. “Yes, but nothing like what happened last night. You’re not worried, are you?”
“Should I be?” Angela asked.
Matthew shook his head. “No. I’ve found the one for me.” He kissed her.
Angela looked at the door as several customers came in. “You really know how to pick ’em.”
Matthew backed away. “I’m done pickin’.”
After carrying his bags upstairs and putting his toothbrush in Angela’s medicine cabinet, he went to his office booth and plugged in his charger. He then tried to set up an appointment for Timothy with Dr. Wick.
It was a lost cause.
“Hi, I talked earlier to Dr. Wick about—”
“Dr. Wick is unavailable,” the secretary interrupted. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
No. “When will Dr. Wick be available?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” she said.
And you’re obviously not at liberty to help me either. What happened to your heart of gold? “If I left my number for him to return my call, would you give him the message?”
“I’m not at liberty to say, Mr. McConnell,” she said with attitude. “You lawyers are all alike. Nice trick you pulled the other day. It nearly got me fired. Have a nice day.”
Click.
Damn Caller-ID. I try to be a completely honest lawyer and get shut out.
Later that night, after closing, Matthew coaxed Angela out to the sidewalk to help him build a snowman for the snowwoman.
“Hey, I’m outside,” Angela said.
“Yeah.” Matthew tried to block his latest handiwork.
“Stop that.” She knocked off the snowman’s penis for the fourth time. “You are a child sometimes.”
“Snow brings out the child in me,” Matthew said. “When we’re done, we could walk to Snacky for some hot dogs.”
Angela removed some snow from the snowwoman’s cleavage. “Snacky serves hot dogs? Isn’t that a Chinese place?”
“Yes,” Matthew said.
“I don’t know.” She stood beside the snowwoman and turned side to side.
“Your booty is nicer,” Matthew said.
Angela backed toward the door. “Stop looking at my booty.”
“I can’t help it,” Matthew said. “We could walk down to Twenty Sided Store on Grand to look at some old-school games. It’s only two blocks away.”
“I’m not sure,” Angela said.
“It’s barely two blocks,” Matthew said.
“Maybe another night, okay?”
How do I convince her? “Okay, the winner of whatever game we buy gets to decide what kind of bliss we’ll have later tonight.”
“How old school are we talking?” Angela asked.
I have her attention. “Oh, something like Trouble, Yahtzee, Operation . I used to like Hungry Hippos.”
“I never played that one.” She formed and threw a snowball across the street, and it banged off the dark La Estrella sign.
“Nice shot,” Matthew said.
She looked at the door to her shop. “I had a Simon.”
“I didn’t,” Matthew said. “I was heartbroken.”
“I wasn’t very good at it.” She blew out a smoky breath. “It’s getting cold.”
Matthew took her hand. “Then we need to go for a walk to warm us up.”
Angela tried to twist her hand away from his.
Matthew gripped her hand more tightly. “Two blocks.”
“Okay.” She locked the door and took a giant step toward Grand Street.
Matthew tugged her back. “Not yet.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Can we try to walk at a reasonable pace this time?” he asked.
“I’ll try.”
Angela didn’t try.
They sped down Driggs and through the first block of Grand past The Lucky Cat bar dodging cars and snowplows spraying snow, graffiti trailing behind them on construction site plywood. They flew past two more bars and a store called Fugedaboutit in the second block.
Angela stopped at the corner of Grand and Havemeyer. “You said two blocks. Where is this place?”
“It’s at the end of the block on the other side.” Matthew pointed to the right.
“That’s Marcy Ave. right in front of us, Matthew,” Angela said. “We’re practically at the Expressway.”
“I miscalculated,” Matthew said.
“You think?” Angela shouted.
“Sorry,” Matthew said. “It’s only one more block, Angela.”
Angela sighed. “All right. Come on.”
Matthew let her drag him across Grand to Twenty Sided Store, where several tables contained people playing board and card games. Games Matthew had never heard of, like Dark Ascension, Dominion, and Defenders of the Realm, stocked the shelves.
Angela called him to a shelf of vintage games.
“We’re not playing Parchesi or Monopoly,” she said, catching her breath.
“How about . . .” He pulled out an ancient Sorry! game. “This?”
“Whatever,” Angela said. “Let’s get it and go.”
Matthew took it to a counter. “How much?”
“Nine,” the guy said.
Matthew turned the box around. “This box is taped up, man. It might fall apart before we get home. Six.”
“It’s an antique,” the guy said. “Eight.”
“Come on,” Angela whispered.
“Seven,” Matthew said.
“Cool,” the guy said.
As they hustled out of the shop, Angela turned and said, “You paid too much.”
Angela dropped Matthew’s hand, throwing out her hands as if clawing the air, glaring into every alley, and leaning around corners to look before proceeding. She tried to avoid, step over, or skim the deeper snow, leaping to rare clearings on the sidewalk whenever she could.
It’s as if she’s running through a minefield, which is more of a mind field. She seems to be reliving her escape right in front of me.
At the Sweet Treats entrance, she shook off her shoes, hastily opened the front door to the shop, and jumped inside.
“I thought this was your hometown,” she said flatly.
Matthew stepped inside and took off his shoes. “I was only off by one block.”
Angela kept walking toward the counter. “You tricked me.”
“I forgot. Really. It’s not a store I go into that often.” He caught up to her in the kitchen.
Angela opened the stairway door. “How do you know it even exists?”
“I got corralled into going to a Magic tournament there once.” With a very freaky girl who was tattooed from head to toe and thought Carlos Castenada was God. That “date” ended when she decided to play Magic with some Gothic dudes instead of going back to my place.
“I won’t ask what a Magic tournament is.” She leaped to the landing and started up the stairs.
“Am I welcome or should I get my bed booth ready?” Matthew asked.
Matthew heard Angela sigh. She’s thinking about it.
“You can come up,” she said.
“You sure?”
“Come on.”
Matthew bounded up the stairs, but then he sat on the couch for ten minutes waiting for Angela to come out of the bathroom.
Too soon, too soon. Why am I rushing her? I can’t rush her. I did, and now I’m paying for it.
Matthew set up the game on the coffee table and shuffled the Sorry! cards at least fifty times.
When Angela returned, she sat in the wingback chair instead of on the couch next to him.
She has sent a message.
“Okay,” Matthew said, setting the deck on the board. “Here are the new rules. Any time you send me back with a Sorry! card, I remove one article of clothing. Any time I send you back—”
Angela flew out of her chair and came back five minutes later wearing shoes, two sweaters, a coat, a hat, and a pair of fuzzy mittens.
“I’m only wearing five pieces of clothing,” Matthew said.
“Home field advantage,” Angela said. “What do I win when I win?”
I am being manipulated. “Whatever bliss you decide to have later.”
Angela smiled. “Let’s play.”
Angela lost only two shoes and a sock and had Matthew naked and shivering in no time. Once Angela had all four of her pieces “home,” she said, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“I used to be good at this game,” Matthew said, doing his best to keep his package warm. “What kind of bliss do you want? And, if I might add, could you decide quickly what that bliss might be? Parts of me are apt to turn blue.”
Angela stood. “We have laundry to do.” She went to the bedroom and came back with a pile of sheets and pillowcases.
Matthew stood, his hands folded carefully below his waist. “You find bliss in doing laundry?”
“I hope to,” she said.
Angela removed her only sock, tossing it and the sheets into the washer and adding detergent. Then she removed her hat, mittens, coat, sweaters, and jeans.
“Don’t stop,” Matthew said.
She pulled her shirt little by little over her head and removed her bra.
“More, more!” Matthew cried.
She peeled her underwear down her legs before flipping them into the washing machine.
“Do it again!” Matthew shouted. “Encore! Encore!”
“Hush.”
Angela closed the lid and set the controls. As the water began to fill the tub, she climbed up on the washing machine, dangling her legs. “I want to go for a ride while we do the wash. It should take exactly seventeen minutes to do this load. You have seventeen minutes to give me some bliss.”
There’s a naked woman on a washing machine, and I have seventeen minutes to turn her on.
This will not be a challenge.
He started with her toes, kissing them lightly while massaging her feet. He ran his hands up to her hips while he kissed her calves, her knees, and her thighs. He lightly touched her clitoris with the tip of his tongue before kissing her stomach and breasts, earning him a single “Oh.”
Yep. That’s what I was going for. I have plenty of time.
He returned to and kissed her clitoris repeatedly until Angela began to slide closer to him as she tried to wrap her legs around his head.
“Stop teasing me,” she whispered.
“I have at least ten more minutes,” Matthew whispered.
He held her booty in both hands and went to work, his tongue flitting while Angela panted and raked his back with her nails.
Angela only lasted another thirty seconds.
“Damn, man,” she whispered. “You can even make a chore less of a chore.”
He squeezed her feet. “How do your feet feel?”
“I don’t feel my feet right now,” she said. “But you can still massage them.”
When the spin cycle stopped, Angela hopped down and put the sheets, clothes, and pillowcases into the dryer. “Your turn.”
“You won, Angela,” Matthew said. “I should be giving you more bliss
.”
“Maybe what I plan to do to you gives me bliss.”
Matthew hoisted himself onto the dryer. I won’t need that heavy cookbook tonight. “What should I set the dryer setting for?”
“Energy preferred,” Angela said.
He turned the dial and started the dryer. “How long will that be?”
She moved her hands up his legs. “From the looks of thing there, not very long.”
While Matthew massaged her shoulders, Angela used her hands, lips, and tongue to bring Matthew to the brink of ecstasy.
Then, she stopped.
She looked up. “Is your load almost finished?”
Matthew nodded. “Oh yeah, it’s ready . . .”
Angela bit her lower lip and gave one, gentle squeeze . . .
As Matthew held Angela close to his chest later that night, he decided that he and Angela would do a lot of laundry in the future.
Chapter 26
Streams raced down Driggs Avenue, and customers streamed into Angela’s all day on Saturday to get their coffee and sugar fix after three days of going without.
Matthew had no clients, potential or otherwise. Couples were cooped up for nearly three days inside. You’d think I would have at least one divorce case by now. He added nine months to the time of the blizzard. Maternity wards are going to be full this coming Christmas.
“I need your help,” Angela mouthed around noon.
That line hasn’t thinned all day, and she needs my help. I feel so privileged. I hope I don’t mess things up again.
Matthew left his office booth and came around the counter.
She handed him an apron. “Put this on,” she whispered.
It barely fit him, as usual.
“You pour and bag, I’ll cook.” She pointed at a price list taped to the counter. “Follow this.”
“What if Bet shows up again?” Matthew asked.
“Charge her regular price,” Angela said.
“Do I get to keep my tips?” Matthew asked.
“You don’t have a tip jar yet,” she said, fading quickly into the kitchen.
I need to get a tip jar. He smiled at the first customer. “How may I help you?”
“Large Jamaican blend and two apple turnovers.” He handed Matthew a ten.
Matthew snatched some plastic gloves from a box under the counter, wrapped and bagged two turnovers, and poured the man a large cup, snapping on a lid. Let’s see. Three for the coffee, a buck-fifty for each turnover. He rang the man up and gave him four crisp ones.