by Dana Taylor
Brent cleared his throat, but his expression remained cool. “I have a minor interest in the corporation, but I firmly believe in the benefits everyone will receive."
I roved the council with my eyes. “How many other members have a ‘minor interest?’ Shouldn't we look into that? Charlene, does the word ‘collusion’ mean anything to you?"
Her eyes widened and her mouth flapped open wordlessly.
I continued on. “I'll bet your husband, the D.A., could define the word for you. Of course, he may need a reminder of the meaning himself. What with elections coming up, I would think all of you would be taking a long pause to consider how this hog farm set-up looks to the general community."
I paced before the council like Matlock cajoling a jury. “We've got the D.A.'s wife, who happens to be sister to a town counselor, pushing a questionable development down our throats from which all of them will stand to make a hefty profit. Miss Agatha, Betty, Ryan-are you going to let them push this past you without even a month's time to look at the true total picture this hog farm will mean to Peeler?"
Agatha stood up. “Why, I should say not!"
Betty graveled out her motion. “I move that we set aside a decision of the zoning for the hog farm for a period of thirty days pending a report by the council on the pros and cons of such a development."
Charlene protested. “But, I've got contracts in place with deadlines. A month will put us drastically behind.” Her panicked gaze whipped to her brother and the mayor. “Brent! Willie!"
Willie was pragmatic enough to know when to retreat. “A motion has been put before the council. All in favor, say ‘aye.'” Even Brent had to say his ‘aye’ to keep respect. “The ‘ayes’ have it. The motion is passed. Meeting adjourned."
The crowd exploded with talk. Charlene turned to me in the midst of the chaos. Her eyes squinted and her jowls trembled.
"You'll be sorry for this. You always spoil things. You always put your nose in it. Well, this time I'm coming out on top. This is too important to let a metaphysical moron like you ruin it for everyone else.” She sucked up her impressive bosom and majestically departed from the room, an entourage of relatives and lackeys in her wake.
Mavis put her arms around me and squeezed the air out me. “Oh, you were good, girl! Now we've got that Hog Queen on the spit."
Why did I have the sinking feeling I was the one about to be roasted?
* * * *
Wednesday the anti-hog farm troops convened for lunch at the store, which was to serve as the battle headquarters for Operation Pig-Out. Mavis rounded up her neighbors and friends from church to lead the campaign. The best approach to putting the kabash on the whole operation was to push for a citywide election on the issue, rather than letting the city council decide. Charlene had too much influence on the local politicians to allow a fair decision. Brad Beasely, who ran a dog grooming and boarding shop, took charge of putting together petitions to get the issue on a ballot. We needed to get twenty-five hundred signatures.
Mavis planned to try her hand at designing some posters. We discussed the need for advertising, which brought up the need for money. Ethel Barry, queen of fundraisers, suggested a car wash and garage sale. My jobs included researching the subject of hog farming and serving as the general coordinator of the whole shebang.
At church that night, a general air of tension permeated the fellowship hall. Charlene and I kept a wide berth, but neither of us was going to hide out. I received jovial greetings from those in our camp and the cold shoulder from Charlene's allies.
Pastor Martin's blessing before supper got beyond thanking Him for our food and into the area of reconciliation. If things got too controversial for the preacher's flock, I sensed a long fishing trip in his future to avoid being caught in the middle.
Ruth and Valerie once again accompanied me to the mid-week activities. Valerie was dressed in overalls, wearing less makeup than before. She was trying to fit in. We talked about her boring biology teacher and a cute guy in her fifth hour. Ruth had already made a couple of friends from her class and had been in contact with them during the week. She had spent time on the material they were going to study.
"I've got my ammunition ready for those Dispensationalists in the class. Oh, yes, we'll just see if the age of miracles is over,” she'd said before marching down the hall.
By the time I went to bed that night, I was ready for a deep, peaceful sleep. I'd drifted off when the phone rang about 11:30. I groped for the receiver.
"Hello?"
A whispery voice was on the other end of the line. “You'd better back off on the hog farm if you know what's good for you."
"What? Who is this?"
Click. The line buzzed.
I lay there in the dark with my body suddenly tense, gut punched, my back seized up. Well, that was just great. Taking deep breaths, I imagined white light flowing through my body dispersing the tension.
Peace almost prevailed when the phone rang again. Wishing I had a whistle to blow in the caller's ear, I picked up on the third ring and decided to take a clue from Val's vernacular.
"Bite me!"
"Any particular place?” The smooth tones of Jason Brooks soothed my ear this time.
"Jason!” Now my heart took on a different kind of racing. “I thought ... I just ... How are you?"
His voice sounded tired, but in a nice lazy way. “I was just trying to get my mind away from the trial I'm working on and your face came into view. How is your week going? Why are you imitating my daughter's favorite phrase?"
I sat up and plumped up the pillows. “Oh, I had a prank caller. It's nothing. My week has had its ups and downs. How about you-fighting for truth, justice and the American way?"
"My client is an idiot, but being locked up for twenty-five years because you're stupid is going overboard. The assistant D.A. here is trying to make a name for himself. He's being unreasonable and ridiculous. The judge is decent. I think the jury will see through the baloney.” Jason yawned. “What's new with you? Have you found anything growing in the woods that's a cure for cancer?"
"No, but there may be something developing on my shower walls."
"Have you recovered from your plane ride?"
"I'm thinking of suing you for inner ear damage. Know any good lawyers?"
His chuckle warmed my blood. “I've almost polished off those cookies you sent home with me. What're my chances of getting more?"
"Fair to middlin'. You've corrupted me, you know."
"How so?"
"I have white flour and white sugar in my pantry because of you."
"There're other ways I'd like to corrupt you,” his voice smooth as fine whiskey.
My pulse sped up. “Sounds interesting, tell me more."
I could hear him changing positions. “I keep thinking about that walk in the woods."
"The kiss on the porch was nice, too."
"What are we going to do about it?"
My throat developed a golf ball size lump. “Are you asking me to bed, Mr. Brooks?"
"That is the general idea, Miss Jones."
I had the impression he was testing the waters more than seducing me with phone sex.
"Hmm, I'll admit to a passing, mild attraction to you..."
"If I were there right now I'd show you a ‘passing, mild attraction.’”
I decided to get serious. “Jason, let's get something straight. You need to understand how I feel because somewhere down the road I don't want you to think I've been a tease. I take sex seriously. I've only had one intimate relationship in my life and that's because I believe sex is more than just a mingling of body fluids."
My fingers worried the frayed edges of my blanket. “When I make love, I'm giving myself to that person, body and spirit. I absorb a part of him and he takes away a part of me. If I had sex with a lot of different people, it would be like losing pieces of myself that I can't ever get back. If I'm making love with the same person over and over, then we're becoming close
r and closer, becoming spiritually and emotionally bonded. If I went to bed with you, it would be because I'd fallen in love with you, and I don't think that's in our agenda, is it?"
Several moments of silence passed. Say something, say something. Have I just made a fool of myself?
He finally spoke, all teasing gone. “Scott was a very fortunate man. I respect what you just said. It was a bit like getting a splash of cold water in the face, but I'm glad you told me."
I thought we might say goodnight and mean goodbye, but he said, “I still want to see you this weekend. May I take you out to dinner?"
I snuggled down in the covers, happy that he wasn't dumping me-yet. “Actually, I had something else in mind. Can you polka?"
* * * *
The Peeler Octoberfest celebrated the German heritage of the town. Main Street was blocked off and craft booths set up. German beers and foods filled the air with tantalizing aromas. People came out dressed in lederhosen and brought their own fancy beer steins to add to the atmosphere. Guest musicians performed on a makeshift stage while people danced in the streets. Peeler's traditional polka band got its one big chance to shine. Other groups offered a hodgepodge of country western, barbershop harmony, blue grass, and jazz.
The polka band was going strong at four p.m. when I closed up shop. Jason, Valerie, and Ruth met me at the bandstand. Jason looked a little askance at all the corny activity. Ruth tapped her toes to the music while Valerie worked hard at appearing bored. I came up behind them and touched Jason on the shoulder.
"Care to dance, counselor?” I shouted over the music.
His dignity was affronted. “No."
I tugged on his hand. “Don't be a stick-in-the-mud. I went up in that death machine with you. This won't kill you."
"Wanna bet?"
By then I had dragged him to the dancing area, put my hands in dancing polka position, and started moving my feet. 1, 2, 3 ... 1, 2, 3. I peeked over at Val and Ruth, who sat down at a small table. Valerie laughed freely and Ruth wore an angelic smile as she caught my eye. Jason concentrated on his feet. His gaze moved to my face. His expression remained stony even as his rhythm improved.
"That's it, counselor,” I cajoled. “Loosen up, dance your troubles away. You're a man of hidden talents.” I made plans to sneak a “Born to Polka” bumper sticker on his Lexus.
The stiff lawyer relaxed, smiled, and then laughed out loud. His transformation was something to see. We hopped bouncier steps as the music swept us away. The tuba oom-pah-pah rumbled through the ground. We slammed into other dancers, but it didn't matter. We were having fun.
Finally, huffing and puffing, we had to stop. The polka is really only suited for people who can do an hour of uninterrupted aerobics or those who've recently completed army boot camp. We held hands and strolled to the table.
He held out a chair for me to sit down and said, “Thank you, Miss Jones for that cultural experience."
Valerie stood up, grabbing her father's hand. “I want to dance."
He shot me an accusing glare. “See what you've started?"
Trudging back to the dance floor, he said, “All right, sport, but just a couple minutes and then you gotta let the old man rest."
Ruth and I watched the two of them cut a rug, or at least try to. Jason really didn't have much of a sense of rhythm. Val stomped on his feet and they both laughed.
Ruth spoke up. “Well, my dear, you're just a miracle worker. Jason and Val doing the polka together. Have you cast a spell on him?” Then she leaned closer and whispered, “I've heard the rumors."
"What rumors?"
"That you're a white witch. I think it's exciting.” Her china-blue eyes sparkled.
Oh, criminy, I'd been fighting those ridiculous rumors all my life. “Ruth, just because I'm interested in the healing properties of herbs, does not make me a witch. Just forget whatever you've heard. There are still a lot of superstitious people around here."
She gave me a knowing glance. “Whatever you say, dear."
It was hopeless.
Jason and Val returned to the table with flushed faces and in need of refreshment. We had a fun afternoon and evening, eating ethnic foods and buying trinkets. Val hooked up with Alisha and begged to go spend the night at her house. Ruth swiped someone's beer when we weren't looking. She got too sleepy to hold her head up. Time to go home.
Jason put her into his Lexus and walked me to Lizzie. As he opened my door he said, “Follow me back to my house. It's too early to call it a night."
I didn't want to say goodbye either. I followed him home.
* * * *
I explored his living room while he perked coffee in the kitchen. I'd kicked off my shoes to sink my toes in his plush, white carpet. Lord, I hoped I didn't spill a drop of coffee on it. My fingers ran across the cool, black marble that made up the mantel. My head craned back to see how high the gleaming rock wall above the fireplace rose to meet the ceiling. Wandering to the picture window, I glimpsed a postcard-worthy lighted pond and waterfall in the backyard.
Money, money, everywhere. A tasteful, masculine enclosure, complete with pictures of vintage airplanes on the walls. It was hard to imagine Val feeling comfortable on the leather furniture, zoning out with her friends. For all the square footage of the Brooks estate, I'd bet both Val and Ruth spent most of their time in their separate bedrooms where they could make a comfortable mess.
Jason arrived with the coffee and we sat on the couch in front of the gas log fire. He'd been recounting his week for me and talked about the upcoming trial scheduled in Tulsa. His client was an abused woman accused of killing her husband. We discussed the pros and cons of putting her on the witness stand. If she came across sympathetically, she would sway the jury in her favor but she'd be open to damaging questions by the D.A., and she wasn't exactly a saint. He brooded into the fire, thinking about the case and I could see it was time to change the subject.
"What were you like as little boy? Did you carry a little briefcase to school?"
He pulled my bare feet onto his lap and started massaging one. “I'm a lawyer, not a nerd."
"There's a difference?"
He pulled my big toe.
"Ow, I take it back."
He worked on my foot and considered my question. “What was I like as a little boy? I don't know. Normal as a person can be with the parents I had. Dad was always pushing. If I got all A's and one B, he'd ask why I got the B. He had a brilliant mind, but wasn't much on affection. No free rides. In some manner, I earned every tricycle, bicycle and car I ever received from Dad."
"No surprise gifts from the goodness of his heart?"
Jason frowned. “Not that I can recall."
"No wonder you're so out-of-touch with your feelings. Doesn't sound like your father offered unconditional love."
"Quite the armchair psychologist, aren't you?” He switched his attention to the other foot. “We had our ordinary family moments. We ate fried chicken every Sunday. I rode my bike with my friends around the neighborhood. We played baseball and football, the usual stuff."
"Did you always want to be a lawyer?"
"I don't think I ever had any choice. I was trained from the cradle to deal with facts and make rational decisions. Dad had me working at the firm from the time I was fourteen. It's what I do.” His foot rub sent chills up my spine.
"Well, if you ever decide to retire, you can give foot massages at my store."
His clever hand moved up to my calf, making me want to purr.
I endeavored to keep organized thoughts. “How did you meet Christina? Were you madly in love with her when you married?"
"There you go again thinking ‘love makes the world go round'."
"Okay, Mr. Rational, why did you marry her?"
"You're a nosy wench."
"I have an inquiring mind."
"You have a female mind. All right-you want to know about Christina. We met in college. Actually, I saw her in a play. I was a third year law student and she
was an undergrad. She was in ‘Hedda Gabbler.’ I took another girl there as a date under duress. I'd have much rather gone to see a Stallone movie. Anyway, Christina was ‘Hedda’ and she was beautiful. I made up my mind I was going to meet her and I was a Stagedoor Johnny the next night after the show. She had a childlike charm that appealed to me."
"I'll bet she had other charms, too."
He pinched me. “When I passed the bar, we'd been dating for a year and a half and marriage seemed like a logical move. She'd only gone to college to get a husband, so we were both getting what we wanted. I didn't want a wife with a competing career."
"Were you happy?"
"I was busy. I knew what I wanted and what I expected from her. We had a busy social life, but we didn't ever share a real meeting of the minds. She wasn't interested in my business and I wasn't interested in her charities or shopping sprees or the latest gossip about her friends. We didn't have much to say to each other, but she liked sex and so did I, so it worked out for a time."
"Doesn't exactly sound like ‘Father Knows Best.’ How about Valerie? Did she make things better or worse?"
He heaved a sigh. “Valerie ... Christina enjoyed her starring role as expectant mother and she even enjoyed having an infant, but she was clueless as to discipline. Christina pretty much gave into Val at every turn. She enrolled her in a lot of activities, just to keep her busy."
He lifted his coffee mug from the end table and took a meditative sip. “I think Christina got bored with being Val's chauffeur and my wife. She did some community theatre and got a new circle of friends that didn't include me. I thought they were a bunch of flakes. Then John joined the Board of Directors of the little theatre group. I think that's where they really cultivated their relationship. Pretty soon he started volunteering to escort her to some of the social functions I detested. He was a partner and was representing the firm—"
"For a smart guy, you're pretty dumb,” I interjected.
"Yeah, tell me something I don't know. Can we stop talking about my ex-wife now?"