by Dana Taylor
"Just one more question."
"What?"
"Would you take her back if she asked you?"
He took a moment. “Well, there is Valerie to consider, but there are some things that get so broken, they can't be fixed."
That sounded like a “maybe” to me. A mental contrast of the elegant, upper-crust Christina and the down-home, fatherless Perse popped into my mind. What in the world was I doing in this guy's living room playing footsy?
I pulled my feet out of his lap and stood up. “I think I should go home."
He yanked my hand and plopped me into his lap. He placed a palm on the back of my head and held me down with his arm across my hips. “You shouldn't ask questions if you don't really want to hear the answers ... I could never talk to her like I'm talking to you. You're a good listener. And you always smell so good."
His face was very close to mine. I tried to stiffen up and not be such a marshmallow in his arms. “I don't think this is a good idea."
He started nibbling my neck. “I think it's a very good idea. I've enjoyed thinking about you all week. You make me smile. I can relax around you.” Nibble, nibble, nibble.
"Funny, you have the opposite effect on me. You make me very nervous..."
He shifted me down on the couch.
"I should be going home,” I said, as I put my arms around his neck.
Well, maybe just five minutes of cuddling, a smattering of Saturday night smooching.
He started kissing me through my dress, heading toward the vicinity of my upper breast. “You have beautiful skin."
"I, uh ... mix up my own lotions."
His tongue teased and tingled. “You taste good, too."
Oh, my. Oh my, oh my, oh my.
He began unbuttoning the bodice and moving on my naked skin. His hair smelled wonderful. My body molded to his. His kisses moved up my neck, while his hand fondled my breast.
Mmm. I was melting down and heating up at the same time. Kiss me like you really mean it.
He raised his head, still caressing my breast, his eyes steely hot. “I've come to a decision."
"You have?"
"I've decided to keep you."
"Don't I have any say in the matter?"
"Not really."
He swooped down. Oh yes, thank God. Finally. He overtook me with one of his expert kisses and he was right, I didn't have much say in the matter.
His hands and mouth roamed over me and he played me like a beautiful instrument, responding to his touch. He awakened feelings and sensations that were both carnal and mystical. He took it slow, leaving my dress on, but rearranging it to touch my primitive places. I was opening up in every way, knowing that I wanted to give myself to him.
I'm falling in love with this man.
The realization scared me to death.
I placed my palms on his chest and gently nudged him away. “I really should be going. I'm sure my cat is waiting."
He put his hands on both sides of my head. He regarded me gravely and nodded. “You're right. This is too important to be a Saturday night fling on the couch."
I smiled weakly and sat up, straightening my clothes. Confused emotions jumbled my mind. Run and don't look back. Wrap your arms around him and never let go.
No doubt he'd sever all contact if I whispered those three little words, I love you. Jason Brooks didn't believe in love. At the moment, I found them terrifying.
Still, Jason understood lust and had worked up a healthy dose of it. “Let me drive you home in your truck. I'll walk back. God knows I need to release this excess energy."
I'd be taking a cold shower myself.
We didn't say anything on the short ride to my house, but I settled into the crook of his arm and he drove one-handed. He turned off the engine, but we didn't make any effort to move.
He gave a little growl and turned me toward him and kissed me deeply again. My hands clung to the front of his chest.
He put his head back and started laughing. “You're a very difficult woman to let go. Do you realize you just fold right into me?"
I gazed up at him. “I guess I'm just putty in your hands."
His eyes roved my face. “You have beautiful eyes, did you know that?"
"I have a crooked smile."
He shook his head. “Women ... When can I see you again? I'll be in Tulsa all week and there's a fund-raiser for the Oklahoma City Bombing Memorial I have to attend next Saturday night."
His face lit up with a new thought. “Say, would you like to go with me? I hate attending those high dollar plate dinners, but this is for a good cause. Having you by my side would make it a much more enjoyable experience."
At that moment I was inclined to follow him to the black hole of Calcutta or any other place he might mention.
"Sure. I'll break my date with Tom Cruise."
Chapter Six
-
The next week went by in a blur. Jason called me late every night just to wind down. We set aside the tensions of the day, pushing them far away. He didn't want to talk about the trial and I didn't want to think anymore about hog farms. We had philosophical discussions, revealed secret desires, and bemoaned all the potholes in the roads around Peeler. I fretted over what to wear to the soiree on Saturday night. He wasn't any help.
"I'm sure you'll look fine. Just grab something out of your closet."
"Oh, right, early Salvation Army."
"Just be sure to wear your hair down. I like it that way."
"You're such a man."
During the day I was caught up in store activities and the pig farm campaign. Mavis had done a fabulous job on posters that had to be totally rejected. She'd drawn sows that bore a striking resemblance to Charlene Foster, complete with the gummy smile. The caption read, This Town is Going to the Hogs!
Shaking my head with regret I said, “Mavis, we can't use these. They're too mean. We need to take the high road and not get personal. Stick to the issues.” I stared at the insulting posters with great relish. “It wouldn't be right to slam Charlene like this."
Mavis wasn't ready to give up. “Listen girl, we need to remind people who's trying to shove this hog farm down our throats. These posters say it all."
"I know, but we all go to the same church. Her children are in your Sunday school class. How can you face them after you've ridiculed their mother like this?"
Mavis’ face fell. “I guess you're right. It's not exactly the Golden Rule, is it?"
At that moment Brad Beasley came in the door. “Look what I took off the wall at the drug store.” He waved a large, slick multicolored poster of a witch with auburn hair, a gauzy gown, and a pointed hat riding a broomstick. A headline proclaimed, "Don't Be Bewitched! Support Peeler Prosperity." Then various positive aspects to the pig farm were bulleted below.
I raised my eyebrows at Mavis. “So much for the high road."
Handing the Piggy Charlene poster back to her I said, “Go for it. Plaster these all over town."
Mavis shook a fist and danced ala Muhammad Ali. “Yes ma'am, we're going to float like a butterfly and sting like a bee!"
* * * *
Brad organized an army of volunteers to get signatures supporting an election. I walked the downtown area with my petition. That didn't take too long, for the truth was there were a lot of closed down buildings once you got off Main Street. Peeler's population had ebbed and flowed with the gas and oil industry. Big malls and Wal-Mart had killed much of the downtown shopping trade.
Val worked after school at the store addressing envelopes for a mailing we were sending out to all the town residents. She also volunteered to paint a mural on my front window. At first I was skeptical of her abilities, but as her ideas came alive on paper, her hidden talents impressed me. She designed and painted a glorious vision of plants and sunshine for all the world to see as they passed my store. Did Jason know what a diamond-in-the-rough he had in his daughter?
One afternoon I found her sketching the face of a beau
tiful woman. “Who is that?"
"Oh, that's my mom. I was just thinking about her. I got a post card from her today. She's in the Alps.” Her tone was wistful. No one can replace your mother.
Ruth had Mrs. Wilson bring her into town in the afternoons, just to join in the fun. She helped stuff some envelopes, drank my herbal tea, and went into the back room to watch her soaps and Oprah. Every once in a while she would update me on the latest advice of Dr. Phil.
It was natural for me to drive Val and Ruth home and join them for dinner. I got so I knew my way around Jason's state-of-the-art kitchen as we enjoyed the meals Mrs. Wilson left for us. She added more with vegetables knowing I was included.
Val got better at finishing her homework with me to nudge her along and Ruth just needed the company. I heard about Jason's escapades as a little boy and her earlier memories of growing up on the farm.
I was on the computer on Thursday afternoon downloading more damaging pig farm info when a new customer came into the shop. He was a thin, thirty-something man wearing a baseball cap and an OU T-shirt. I asked if I could help him.
"Yeah, I had a friend tell me that you really helped her with her problems. I tell ya, I've been to so many doctors and none of them have been able to do anything for me."
"What's bothering you?"
"It starts out in my stomach and then travels around to my back and sometimes I get the worst pains in my shoulders. They've given me prednisone, pain killers. I feel bad all the time. Can you help me?"
He didn't have the moon-face that many people on steroids experience and his skin didn't bear the lines of someone who experiences chronic pain, but sometimes people just like to get some attention.
"Well, I'm not a doctor, but I can test you for some nutritional needs."
"Oh, I'd really appreciate that. I may just be rundown."
I went through a series of muscle testing and iridology on him. He asked a lot of questions as we went along. I didn't think he had any major problems. I asked him about his eating habits, which sounded like a steady diet of drive-through burgers and convenience stores sandwiches. Most people would feel so much better if they would just eat plain, whole food instead of processed fake foods. I gave him a lecture on nutrition and its direct effect on disease, offered a few ideas to broaden his nutritional base with a couple of supplements. He was curious about the tinctures on the shelves. Most people need to ease themselves into a healthier life style. I made him a wheat grass smoothie and sent him on his way. He seemed happier when he left.
Working with him gave me a feeling of accomplishment. It was a good day.
* * * *
Saturday was insane. Ethel had a bake sale set up on the sidewalk in front of the store. Brad and Mavis were in a tizzy over the number of signatures still lacking to bring the hog question to a ballot for Tuesday's meeting. I was secretly sweating the fundraiser that evening with Jason. He'd assured me it was only a buffet and schmoozing affair, but I felt the need to prove myself to him. I longed to be sophisticated, instead I felt like an insecure teenager. Would I look cool if I took up smoking?
I'd purchased a new cocktail dress at the boutique across the street. The basic black numbers just weren't me, but a tea-length, teal chiffon frock over satin caught my eye. I bought some uncomfortable, but adorable, pumps to go with it. I needed to dash to Wal-Mart for pantyhose.
I stole away from the store about two o'clock to pick up the hose. God was not on my side, because Charlene, in the amble flesh, was there also. Expecting unbridled hatred from her, it was a surprise to receive a big smile instead.
"Perse! I thought you were chained inside the health food store until 5 o'clock."
"They let me out for good behavior. How are you, Charlene?"
"Couldn't be better. Listen, I want to apologize for my behavior at the council meeting. I was having major PMS that day. I know you have some genuine concerns about the hog farm and we're going to do our best to address them Tuesday night."
She smiled so big I was blinded by the exposure to all that tooth enamel.
"Well, I know we both love this town and only have its best interests at heart,” I said magnanimously.
"Exactly. Oh, I'd better be getting along, Bill and I are going out tonight. See you in church."
She lumbered off, trailing a heavy scent of Estee Lauder in her wake.
* * * *
I made it back to the store to wait on some customers and count out the register by four o'clock. I'd turned the closed sign on the door and was locking up when the phone rang.
"Mt. Olympus. How may I help you?"
A familiar covert voice hissed, “Watch the channel 9 five o'clock news. You're going to be a star."
Click.
I recognized my “friend.” What now?
After dashing home I hopped into the shower, pondering the phone call. It was probably a story on the hog farm debate. But why hadn't anyone called for an interview?
Curled on a pillow, I sat on the bed, dressed in a robe, brushing out my dripping hair while Orion sprawled his yellow body across my comforter. I switched on the TV. The familiar hard-hitting news theme introduced a cherub-faced anchor team and the craggy sports guy. A brief teaser of upcoming stories was announced including the promise of an expose of a local medical fraud and my face popped up on the screen!
"It looks like an innocent place to purchase vitamins and food supplements, but is it ‘Healthy or Harmful?’ Ray Williamson goes undercover to show you how this health food store owner practices medicine without a license in a small Oklahoma town."
My hand froze in mid-air, brush in hand, while my lungs forgot to breathe.
My story followed the tale of a two-headed calf born in Briggs County. The undercover reporter was the thirty-something customer from the previous day. His baseball cap had been home to a miniature black and white camera. The storefront of Mt. Olympus flashed prominently, while sinister sounding music played in the background. Williamson whispered in the voice-over.
"I approached the store owner, Miss Persephone Jones. She seemed friendly in her homespun way, and just like the village medicine women of years ago, she gave me herbal remedies, some made up in her own shop. There's no government regulation of her activities, no laboratories testing the safety of her formulas. And just see the way she performs her ‘diagnosis.’”
As the segment unfolded I came across as a bizarre charlatan. One of the ways I diagnose people is through a system called Contact Reflex Analysis, CRA, which is used by chiropractors and alternative health practitioners throughout the country. It involves touching various pressure points, while the client holds out his arm. I push down on his arm and sense the change in strength as I test his various systems. It's noninvasive and gives me a quick reading of someone's overall state of health. It does look odd to an uneducated observer and through a distorted television lens, I looked ridiculous.
Parts of our conversation had been skillfully edited.
"You really make those formulas up yourself?” He focused on my formula bottles.
"Yes, I blend the herbs and essential oils into these tinctures."
"Where did you learn how to do this?"
"My mother taught me."
He cut out the parts about going to the Homeopathic School or anything I said about nutrition. It was all focused on diseases and his voice over hinted at phony cures.
"She made me up a horrible green concoction she called a wheat grass smoothie that tasted like dirt. It made me think of a witch's brew.” The camera focused in on the glass, making the drink appear like sludge.
"Ray, have there been any serious incidents reported from people taking supplements from health food stores?” Jennifer asked.
"Yes, Jennifer, there are some weight loss products that carry the herb Ephedra, which is a natural amphetamine like the drug ‘speed.’ Some teenagers reportedly suffered heart attacks when they overdosed on products purchased in a health food store. People may go to someone like th
is Miss Jones when they need real medical help and suffer serious consequences."
A final fuzzy still close-up of my face, crooked smile prominent, froze on the screen while perky anchor Jennifer thanked Ray for warning the viewing audience about this public menace-Buyer Beware!
I punched off the TV, but continued to stare at the screen. A mild tremor started somewhere in the vicinity of my stomach and traveled up and down my body. My hands shook and I leapt to my feet, screaming. Orion's ears went flat and he dashed out of the room. The phone rang. It was Mavis.
"Did you see that trash on Channel 9?"
"Yes,” I said, hyperventilating.
"Well, I'm gonna call that skunky Ray and tell him where he can put his hidden camera!"
"No, no, no. Don't call anyone. Don't do anything. I've got to think this out. I can't talk right now.” I hung up on her and threw the receiver off the hook.
I dashed down the stairs to the kitchen, pulled open the refrigerator door and yanked out a jug of wine. The bottle rattled against the wine glass as I poured.
Air, I needed air. Rushing to the front door, the screen banged open as I stumbled outside. I paced the porch like a caged panther.
Jason found me there-dressed only in my robe stomping across the front porch, gulping wine, damp hair drying wildly in the chilly wind. Thoughts chaotically ricocheted in my mind. Tumbling emotions pumped my stomach into full acid reflux. The world was spinning out of control.
He bounded up the steps, the tone of his voice casual. “Can I have your autograph? I didn't know you were so notorious."
He walked to me, took the wine glass out of my hand, placed it on a table, and gathered me into his arms. His soft sweater and classy aroma acted as healing balms. I buried my head in his chest. My whole body quaked from pent-up hysteria.
"Let it out.” The timbre of his voice encouraged my angry tears to start rolling.
I indulged in a satisfying crying jag.
"I looked like an idiot ... It wasn't fair at all ... They twisted everything I said..."
Blubbering on, my tears soaked his sweater as he put his arm under my knees, lifted me off my feet, and carried me into the warmth of the house.