by Dana Taylor
"You're a good sport,” he said.
I backed away slightly. He had a way of making me feel he was ready to pounce even when he looked relaxed.
"Listen,” I said, “I really am sorry that I let Ruth overdo it with the wine. I should have been paying better attention."
"No.” He turned to the oven and took out a large roasting pan. “You had no way of knowing the tricks she pulls. She enjoyed a cocktail hour for fifty years and doesn't want to give it up. I was a little rough on you. How about I make a peace offering of dinner? Our housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson, makes a mean pot roast."
"I don't think so. I really should get home and do some work on the computer...” About that time he lifted the lid on the roaster to reveal a steaming meal of pot roast, carrots, and potatoes. Now ordinarily I live a vegetarian life style, but my mouth watered at the aroma and I looked up to see his appealing grin. “Of course, a girl has to eat..."
He hopped to it. “Good. I can see from the trail of dirty dishes that Val has already eaten, so you set the table for two and I'll put the food on. But one thing. Wipe off that God-awful dark lipstick and white face powder. Leave the eyes though. They make you look more like a ‘Persephone'. Why would your mother give you a name like Persephone Jones? Did she hope you would be a stripper?"
Discussing my dubious lineage always made me a bit twitchy. When Mother returned home from a fling in San Francisco pregnant and unwed, she'd dared anyone to look down upon her. She and my grandparents always treated me like their special blessing. Still, school yard taunts had made me aware of my unorthodox upbringing. What would Mr. Pedigree Lawyer say if he knew he was dining with such a mongrel?
Finding plates and silverware I said, “I guess she figured with a name like Jones she had to do something. Actually, Persephone is the Greek Goddess responsible for the change of seasons. She spends half the year in the underworld and half the year on earth. When she's above ground, the world blooms and brings forth fruit. See, I was destined to work with seeds, twigs and such."
Dinner was delicious and I enjoyed watching his body language as he recited lawyer war stories-a stupid thief who tried to hide in the attic ductwork while the cops were checking the premises; the felon who fell through the ceiling on top of the officers; a bank robber who wrote a stick-up note on the back of a laundry receipt that had his name and address on it.
I got over my nervousness being around the mighty Mr. Brooks and became mesmerized by the timbre of his voice and the manly way he moved. His hand gestures were precise and strong. When he got up and went to the fridge he took long strides even in the limited space.
In a lull, I asked where he'd gone to school. Only the best for the heir to the Brooks Law Firm-private, pricey schools all the way. Trips abroad in the summer, castles on the Rhine, gondola rides in Venice. Contrast that with my summers waiting tables in Branson to pay state college tuition. You are so out of your league here, girl.
Finished with his dinner, he pushed his plate aside, leaned back in his chair, and gave me an examining look. “Let me ask, do you really think you're doing people any good selling supplements and snake oil?"
I raised my eyebrows. “Do you think you're doing people any good letting thieves and murderers off on technicalities and loop holes?"
With a steely expression, he said, “I don't do that."
"And I don't sell snake oil."
His lips revealed the hint of a smile. “I'll strike the question. Why should I go to your store and buy a lot of expensive supplements and health foods when I can just go to the grocery store and buy regular food?"
Always ready to mount that soapbox, I replied, “Because modern grocery stores are full of processed, negative foods that require more energy to digest than they give in nutritional value. Even the produce is low in vitamins and minerals because of modern fertilizers. We are a nation of overweight, nutritionally deprived people."
Now he smiled broadly. “Pretty passionate about this, aren't you? I like that. So how do you know which formulas to sell people? Why not just sell one broad vitamin and mineral supplement?"
"Because everyone has different needs and health challenges. You, for instance, are a man."
"I certainly hope so.” He leaned forward, studying my face.
"You would have different needs from, say, a menopausal woman."
"I certainly hope so,” he repeated in a whiskey tone, now staring intently at me, making me extremely self-conscious.
Don't blush, don't blush, I thought as I endeavored to maintain a business-like tone. “I might study your eyes or look at a drop of your blood in my dark field microscope and see you were developing some heart disease and give you products for a healthier heart like ginkgo biloba and vitamin E.” He was staring at my mouth, but I wondered if he understood the words coming out. “Are you listening to me?"
"Every word. You really believe in what you're doing. It's refreshing."
"Yes, well, a woman, uh, your mother's age, might be dealing with osteoporosis and..."
He reached over and started lightly fingering the goofy hairstyle Valerie had given me. The silky tenor of his voice sent shivers down my spine. “I liked your hair the way you wore it that day in the store. Soft on your shoulders.” His finger trailed down my neck. “You're such a contrast to the women I see everyday. They're either uptight and demanding or nervous as mice."
He studied me as if I were some new discovery. My pulse rate accelerated under his scrutiny. “They're just reacting to the energy you're releasing to them."
He leaned his chin on his palm. “And what kind of energy am I sending you?"
"Very yang energy, full of male domination. Are you hitting on me, Mr. Brooks?"
"You intrigue me. There's something about you..."
With a possessive air, he pulled a few bobbie-pins out of my hair. His big hand shook my curls free and combed them out with his fingers. God, that felt good. My mouth went dry. His warm body radiated heat in my direction.
"Oh, yeah,” he said. “That's a big improvement."
"I should go home. My cat is probably hungry,” I stammered, not moving a muscle away. Somehow his chair had gotten very close to mine. Our knees touched. His fingers lingered, cupped at the base of my skull, kneading a tingly, light massage.
"Poor little kitty. What's his name?” His hypnotic, steel-gray eyes held me in place.
"Orion.” My voice squeaked. Since when had I forgotten how to breathe?
"Ah, the hunter.” His gaze riveted on my mouth again.
Slight pressure on my neck reeled me closer and closer. My God, he was going to kiss me if I didn't break away right this second. You can't handle this guy. He eats little girls like you for lunch. Remember Little Red Robin Hood and the Big Bad Wolf.
But he smelled really good and I hadn't been kissed in a very long time. And I believe in following my feelings and I certainly felt like kissing him. It wasn't just my lips responding, either. My whole body surged with a release of hormones.
Oh good lord, kiss me already.
Soft lips brushed mine, a preliminary hello. Oh, yes, hello. Butterfly kisses, daring me to ask for more.
I should go. Pull away now. My mouth didn't respond to the demands of my mind. In fact, my lips drifted apart. Just a moment longer, just a little deeper, just...
Ring! His cell phone shrilled. Saved by the proverbial bell.
"Jason Brooks.” His business-like, abrupt greeting.
It was a woman. The demanding tone of her voice reverberated, even if I couldn't quite make out the words.
He replied with barely concealed irritability. “I haven't forgotten about Friday night. I hate those finger food buffet receptions. Yeah, I know. I remember..."
Reality check, Perse. Time to go back to your world. I stood up and cleared the table while he listened to his caller.
"Seven thirty. Right. I'll be there."
I left the dirty dishes in the sink and made a beeline for the door.
; "Thank you for dinner, Mr. Brooks. I really need to get home."
He followed me out to the truck.
"Call me Jason. Thanks for spending time with Valerie.” He reached across me and opened my driver side door. “And me."
I climbed inside. “I forgot to mention that I invited Valerie to church on Wednesday night. Is that all right with you?"
He put one foot up on the floorboard and one hand on the roof, filling the doorway.
"Sure. She'll probably enjoy it. Let me guess. You attend the Tree Hugger Holiness Church."
"How did you know? It's right up the road from your congregation-the Parish of St. John the Rationalist."
He chuckled, tugged down the seat belt, and buckled it into place, thereby brushing my body. Darned if my breasts didn't tingle. I straightened my blouse, hoping no body parts appeared pointy. He wore a half-smile as he tucked a strand of hair behind my left ear.
"Good night, neighbor,” he said.
"Good night, Mr. Brooks."
He frowned a little at my formality and firmly shut the door. I drove rusty Lizzie through his elegant circular driveway, glanced at him in my rearview mirror. Silhouetted against the porch lights watching me drive off, hands in pockets, head tilted back, he stood in a pose worthy of the cover of GQ.
When I got home, Orion greeted me in the driveway, yowling his displeasure at the tardiness of his dinner. Feathers from a dispatched sparrow littered my front stoop.
I fed him his food, turned off the kitchen light, and wandered into the cluttered living room, drawn to the pictures on the mantel. Family and friend photos all representing special people in my life gazed at me with their perpetual smiles. I stopped before the picture of Scott and me. For the first time I realized how much older I had grown. Scott was forever twenty-four, but I was no longer the girl in the picture with the close-cropped hair and the preppy college clothes.
I touched the edge of the frame. “Oh, Scott, we should have started a family by now. You'd have been a great Dad."
A flash of unexpected emotion surged through me. Uncharacteristically, I wanted to throw something. I was angry. Angry with Scott for dying and angry with Jason Brooks. Brooks had played me like a sex-starved spinster. And I'd responded like one. My insides felt jumpy; my nerves jangled.
What was going on? Peace and serenity were the hallmarks of my current existence. I led a well-ordered, productive life. Being with Brooks had thrown me off-kilter. He was probably laughing over his little flirtation with his hick neighbor.
If he thought he could go slumming next door, he had another thing coming. He exuded money and social status, was seen at the ballet and symphony fund raisers. Contrast that with illegitimate little me, known in all the best thrift stores. There was so much more than a property line that separated us.
You stay on your side of the fence, Mr. Brooks, and I'll stay on mine.
Chapter Three
-
After spending a fitful night, I dragged myself into the store. As I methodically unloaded a box of supplements on the counter, Mavis gabbed about the comings and goings of her children and her husband, Charles, manager of the local Wal-Mart.
"Charles was all ready to kill the guy!” she said, dusting the shelves.
I hadn't been paying attention. “What guy?"
"The kidnapper they caught at the Wal-Mart last night."
That caught my attention. “I'm sorry. What happened?"
"Like I told you, a lady was looking for a new rug. She had her eighteen-month-old daughter in the cart. She pulled a sample to see it laid out and when she turned around, her baby was gone. She started screaming ‘my baby, my baby!’”
"That's terrible.” My fingers clutched a bottle of herbs.
"You said it, girl. Anyway, the assistant manager got to her first and called a Code Adam. Charles ran to the front and locked all the doors and they didn't let anyone out of that place. Charles found the man and the little girl in a stall in the men's restroom. He'd already changed her clothes and cut off half her hair. When they hauled him off he was yelling for his lawyer. Guess who?"
"Who?"
"Your friendly neighbor, Jason Brooks."
A queasy sensation rolled in my stomach. “Brooks defends kidnappers?"
"Yes, they caught that creep red-handed. I think they should lock him up and throw away the key. Yes I do.” Mavis was on a roll.
Our conversation ended with the arrival of the Jeremiah Ross family. Jeremiah and Rachel looked like they had stepped out of the American Gothic picture, except he sported a full beard, and always the dour expression. Rachel wore plain dresses, had never cut her hair, and was totally in her husband's control. They home schooled their eight-year-old boy, Isaac. They came into my store for spelt flour, sea salt, unrefined sugar, and other unadulterated things not available at the Busy Bee Market.
"Good morning,” I greeted them. Jeremiah nodded and headed to the back of the store. Mavis helped him with the flour.
"Good morning, Miss Jones,” Rachel replied quietly.
"And, Isaac, how are you today?” I asked.
He clung to Rachel's side and mumbled, “Fine."
Isaac favored Rachel with his brown eyes and sweet spirit. He generally displayed exuberant curiosity for life, often asking probing questions for a child his age. Today he seemed listless.
I looked at Rachel and saw the worry in her eyes.
"Isn't he feeling well?"
"He's been puny lately. Always complaining about his stomach. Do you have something I could give him?"
I knelt down and smiled at him. “Have a tummy ache, Isaac?"
"It's better. Pa and me prayed this morning."
"That's good."
I felt his forehead, definitely feverish. His irises indicated abdominal distress.
Standing, I addressed Rachel, “Could be a virus. I'll fix you something to settle his stomach and strengthen his immune system, but if he keeps running a fever, you should take him to the doctor."
Rachel frowned. “Oh, Jeremiah doesn't believe in doctors."
I remembered Rachel from grade school. Her mother had been a waitress at the local greasy spoon, her father gone to parts unknown. Marrying the strong and sturdy Jeremiah had given her security. He loved her too, in his way. But I wondered if she really bought into all of his beliefs.
"We believe the Lord heals all our afflictions.” Jeremiah's reedy voice reverberated throughout the small store. “He gave us the herbs and plants to be our medicine. We don't believe the Bible teaches us to use modern drugs or allows for surgeries or blood transfusions."
Even though I advocated alternative health methods, I believed there's a time and place for all types of medicine. Jeremiah's Biblical interpretations seemed extreme to me, but to each his own.
"I'll make him up some peppermint tea and you can give him a little Echinacea and Goldenseal and see if that helps. I'll slip in a little of the organic licorice that somebody likes so much.” I winked at Isaac.
He returned a weak smile.
They paid for their goods in cash and brown eggs. Another busy day was in full swing. I did three massages, counseled people on nutritional needs, and got in a shipment of supplements from Utah. Mavis was busy at the juice bar whipping up wheat grass smoothies and various concoctions we had dreamed up. I was too busy to think of Jason Brooks more than a dozen times.
* * * *
On Wednesday evening I pulled up to the Brooks’ gate at six o'clock as promised and announced myself into the black box. The gate swung open. Ruth and Val were ready on the front steps as Lizzie sputtered to a stop.
Valerie wore skimpy clothes, but her makeup was toned down. Ruth was dressed in a blue flowered dress that brought out her eyes. She carried a navy patent leather purse and sported matching shoes. The girls clambered into the truck with excitement.
Valerie scooted next to me. “Hi, Perse! Let's escape before Dad and Barbara can catch us!"
Ruth piped in as she shut the d
oor. “Yes, dear, step on it unless you want a lecture."
Too late. I looked over my shoulder to see Brooks tapping my window. Still dressed in an expensive suit after a long day of litigation, he looked great. A sophisticated blond in a tailored, purple, business suit came down the steps behind him. I thought her blunt cut coif a little severe and her skirt a little short, but who was I to comment on fashion? I glanced in the mirror and noticed my hair had sprung wild curls in the humidity.
I rolled down my window. “Good evening, Mr. Brooks."
"Miss Jones.” He nodded and turned his attention to Valerie. “Now you watch your manners and stay where you're supposed to. Mother, did you take your evening medications?"
Valerie rolled her eyes. Ruth heaved a sigh. “Yes, Jason, and I washed behind my ears and today is Wednesday."
He looked at me and continued his cross-examination. “What time will you have them back?"
At that point Barbara tugged on his arm. He remembered his manners.
"Persephone Jones this is Barbara Phillips.” We said our hellos and Barbara asked again, “So what time will you be back?"
"Around nine thirty,” I answered.
Barbara beamed. She was probably calculating all that time alone with Mr. Super Defender of Kidnappers.
Brooks scowled and leaned toward Valerie. “Did you finish your homework?"
She reached over and started cranking up the window. “Yeah, yeah, let's go!"
I waved and peeled out.
"So, is Barbara your housekeeper?” I asked facetiously.
Ruth and Valerie burst into laughter. Valerie spoke up first. “Dad calls her his ‘business associate'. She's another lawyer. She tries to act really cool, but I think she's like really stressed out. She bites her nails down to the quick."
"I never trust a nail biter,” Ruth agreed.
Val popped her gum. “She's always trying to cross examine me. ‘What did you do today? What did you learn in school today?’ She's a dweeb."
Ruth echoed, “A dweeb."
* * * *
The Peeler Community Church was ready for its Wednesday night ritual. Originally of Baptist origins, the congregation had gone non-denominational, meaning we went where the spirit led us. The carrot sticks and Jell-o were in their proper places and various homemade casseroles permeated the fellowship hall with the aroma of redemption. Surely heaven has the scent of church potlucks. The hall was filled with folks visiting, children running, and the hospitality committee putting the last touches on the food line. I brought in my sliced five-grain bread, as everyone expected.