by Dana Taylor
My hands shook as I fumbled in my purse for the key. He took it from my hand, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. We walked into my dimly lit entryway, my heels clicking noisily on the hardwood floor. The sweet smell of potpourri and mulberry candles permeated the air.
I dropped my purse down on a small table nestled next to the stairway. His body brushed my back as his hands gently rubbed up and down my arms. My chin fell to my chest.
His breath caressed the nape of my neck as he spoke. “I was dreading tonight, but having you there helped me through it."
"You did a wonderful job. I know it wasn't easy for you.” I turned in his arms and gazed into his eyes. “You had them eating out of your hand, Mr. Brooks.” My hand automatically went up in a gesture of supplication.
He held it and brought it to his mouth. His warm lips brushed my palm, the first flick of fire igniting.
"The look in your eyes makes it very difficult for me to leave, Miss Jones."
"I don't want you to leave.” My arms wound around his neck as he encircled me with his.
"You better tell me right now you had a lovely evening and show me the door or we'll be at the point of no return."
"We're past the point of no return,” I whispered.
His hands slipped to cup my bottom and pull me up against the full length of his body. We kissed deeply, warmly-a welcoming beginning to a lovers dance. The swish of my chiffon and satin dress played in his fingers to the rhythm of our pulsing mouths and undulating hips. I breathed deeply as we slowly parted.
We both jumped as a furry creature wound his way around our ankles. Orion saying hello.
Jason's mouth quirked. “I think he's jealous."
I tugged on Jason's hand and led him up the stairs as Orion trailed behind us. “He's used to sleeping with me."
"Sorry cat, you're on your own tonight.” He shut the bedroom door in Orion's face.
A breeze ruffled the curtains at the cracked windows. The bathroom nightlight cast a small glow into the room. My antique four-poster, covered with a down comforter and an abundance of frilly pillows filled the majority of the space. I hesitated at the foot of the bed, not knowing how to make the next move. He crossed behind me and gently touched my shoulder as he tugged the zipper down my back.
His hot breath brushed my ear. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?"
My insecurity reared its ugly head. Had I blended into his posh crowd? Were they even now whispering about Jason Brooks’ odd “weed woman” date? “I didn't want to embarrass you. I wanted to be sophisticated and smart, but didn't quite make it. I wasn't wearing black."
He turned me around to face him and pulled me toward him. His eyebrows knit together. “Don't ever wear black. You're like an oasis of color. There's too much black and gray in my life."
Was he born knowing how to say the right thing? I smiled and kicked off my shoes and stepped out of my dress.
His hands covered the soft cups of my bra, circling his thumbs lightly over the material, eliciting my immediate response. A low moan bubbled up through my throat. Following the urge to touch his bare skin, I pushed off his jacket. My clumsy fingers attempted unbuttoning his shirt. He stilled them and took over the process.
I leaned against a bedpost enjoying the sight of him emerging from the shell of his clothes. He tugged on his shirt to release it from the confines of his trousers as he finished removing the garment. The belt came next, making a clicky, whipping noise as he undid the buckle and then pulled it free from the pants. He watched me with a small smile and I broke into a full grin. Such a beautiful, exciting man.
God, I'd fallen crazy in love with him. I didn't care about tomorrow. Didn't care about consequences. I'd been valiantly making a success of a lonely existence, but tonight I wanted to give away all the love that had been unused in my heart.
We tossed aside the myriad of pillows-big ones, little ones, heart shaped, embroidered.
"I'm never buying you any pillows,” he growled.
He whipped back the comforter and pulled me down. He was fully naked, while I still wore my bra and panties. We explored the tastes and textures of each other. Skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, I wanted him all over me, everywhere. Taut and warm, his heady scent aroused my senses. His hands teased my breasts through the bra until I was aching for more intimate contact.
Closer, closer, remove all barriers.
He released my bra with a flick of the front clasp and covered first one breast and then the other with his mouth. Oh, yes. Warm, wet, tugging-languid longing gushed in my womb. His hands circled on my tummy, fingers tracing the edges of my panties, tickling and tantalizing.
Touch me, fill me.
This driving sensuality, the urgent need for fulfillment was new, unexpected. My early college days of sexual exploration with Scott had been a slow awakening, with a pleasant fulfillment. Now the primal urge to touch and feel and entwine overloaded my senses.
Jason murmured appreciation of my skin, my scent, my response to his touch. I didn't talk, but my lover's sighs told it all. I had to feel the satiny length of him. He grew firm in my hand, hardening in answer to my strokes.
His groans matched mine. He kissed the top of my head nestled in his chest. How I wanted him. My body blossomed-opened, ready, and ripe. Stroking, kissing, moaning.
I'm yours, only yours.
I gasped when he entered. In seconds, his presence inside me felt so good, so tight. His rocking rhythm delved deeper and deeper, closer and closer, faster and faster. He captured my heart, my body, my soul.
I wrapped my legs around him for the lovers’ finale. We cried out and exploded in trembling completion. Fireworks burst inside, powerful and jolting. Tremors continued like cascading sparks drifting back down to earth.
Pricks of white light twinkled behind my eyes as we held each other, waiting until our breathing returned to normal. We moved into a comfortable entanglement of arms and legs and I suddenly felt overwhelmed by the wonder of it all. Whether we would be together just one night or many years, a part of me would always belong to him and he would always be in my heart.
Afterward, I snuggled in the crook of his arm. “That was ... mmm."
His arm pulled me closer. “Yes, it was.” He kissed my temple. We lay together, enjoying the quiet contact, not wanting to sleep and miss anything. He put one thigh over my legs and stroked up and down. “Do you know what I'd like to do with you right now?"
Gosh, there was more! “What?"
"Eat. Can you cook? Do you have anything downstairs besides tofu?"
I grabbed a pillow from the floor and bashed him lightly in the chest. “This is where you're supposed to tell me the earth moved and I'm Aphrodite come to life."
He moved over me quickly, putting his hands at the side of my head. “I'm hoping more for Julia Child.” Then he bent low and whispered, “And the earth didn't just move, it quaked."
* * * *
I managed to whip up a nice Spanish omelet with whole-wheat toast. He sat in his briefs and an extra large T-shirt that read “Earth Day 1999” that I'd found at the top of my closet. I wore my flannel robe, as I was fresh out of sexy, post-coitus attire. We sat in the breakfast nook, relishing the late night snack.
Still in the stage of relationship discovery, I asked about his favorite foods which turned out to be typical Oklahoma dishes like chicken fried steak and Tex-Mex. He wanted to know more about my world of alternative medicine. I told him about diagnosis through muscle testing, using acupuncture points. I explained the power of essential oils. We stayed away from politics to keep things friendly. Our discussion moved on to Valerie.
He sipped his coffee. “I appreciate the time you've been spending with her. I call her every evening to get an update. She says you're letting her design a window painting."
"She's good. She's got a lot of creativity under all that attitude."
He grunted. “It's that attitude I get most of the time."
"Maybe if you
weren't laying down the law all the time and just enjoyed her, you'd get along better. Maybe if you'd stay in town, you wouldn't have to phone in your parenting."
His eyes flashed with irritation. “I'm working toward changing my schedule to be home more. She's going to have to adjust to the facts of her life. Her father is a busy attorney and her mother sends her postcards and presents. I know it's not a perfect situation."
I stirred my coffee, contrite. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound critical. I think you're remarkable-single parenting and taking care of your mother. You could have just shoved Ruth into a nursing home, but you chose to accommodate her into your life. People think you're only about building your career and projecting the right image, but there's so much more to you than that."
"I do what I have to do and take care of my responsibilities, that's all.” He stood and walked to the coffee pot and poured another cup, steamy Columbian scent wafting into the air.
I sat with my legs crossed into the room, out from under the table. Our relationship had shifted to a new level tonight. At least it had for me. Where did Mr. Brooks stand on the issue of “us"?
With trepidation, I headed into unchartered waters. “Why are you spending your time with me? I won't further your career. We don't have anything in common. I'll bet my life you're a Republican."
The impact of the evening's consequences smacked me in the face. I'd let myself be overcome by this high-powered guy who might drop me like a rock. He needed someone who could do the cocktail parties and the symphony fund-raisers. I was never going to fit in with the Junior League. I couldn't be a phony socialite.
He turned at the counter and studied me. “Actually, Perse, I've asked myself the same things. I can't see you with the women at the country club. I'll bet you can't golf to fill out a foursome. You probably won't flirt with a fat client to bring in a new case or serve filet mignon for a dinner party of ten."
I nodded in agreement. “And you probably won't be in the next Earth Day parade or give up red meat."
He plunked his cup down, walked to me until my jiggling foot bumped his calf and pulled me up by my upper arms. “It must be a case of opposites attract. You aren't like anyone I've ever known, but I like being with you. Let's just enjoy each other and not worry about the future."
Run, you idiot, run now. You heard the man-no future. Then he kissed me and the future didn't seem important at all.
The now-familiar melting response kicked in. “I'm just a fool for love, I guess. I do love you, you know."
His eyebrows knit together in a worried expression. “Perse, I..."
The telephone startled us with its untimely interruption. I glanced at the clock. It was 1:30 am. Oh Lord, was it my whispery friend? Just what I needed. I walked to the counter and picked up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Perse? This is Valerie. Do you know where my Dad is? He isn't answering his cell. He needs to come home right away. My Mom just arrived here. John was killed in an accident."
The ghost of Christina past had come for a visit.
Chapter Eight
-
I wasn't surprised when I didn't hear from Jason on Sunday, but disappointed nonetheless. In a short period he and his dysfunctional little family had become a part of my life. Lord, how I missed hearing his voice on the phone and the banter to end my day. Fortunately, I had a hog farm to fight and forced myself to put my energy on that front.
Monday was full steam ahead on Operation Pig Out. Brad, Mavis, and Ethel rounded up a few more volunteers to keep canvassing for signatures on the ballot petition. Fervent activists accosted shoppers in the Wal-Mart parking lot. We distributed buttons picturing ugly pigs captioned, “No hogs, no way!” Mavis even made one of her teenagers dress up as Porky the Pig, passing out flyers.
Mt. Olympus had more traffic than usual. Faithful customers who had seen the TV report stopped by to give me their support. A few new people came in because they were intrigued by the piece. Maybe Jason was right about there being no bad publicity. I made light of the whole episode with anybody who brought it up.
I burned the midnight oil at home on the Internet gathering all the negative information I could find on hog farms. Even though the council was supposedly conducting their own investigation, I wanted all the ammo I could find. About 2 a.m. I got my brilliant idea.
I picked up the phone and dialed. “Mavis who do you know who actually has some pigs?"
She yawned. “Girl, what are you still doing up?"
"What do you think? I asked you who has some pigs?"
Froggy voiced, she replied, “My cousin Samuel has some out to Poleyville. Why?"
"I think we need a dramatic demonstration tomorrow night."
She gave me instructions to the Poleyville farm, a good hour's drive. We also needed about fifty more signatures before the meeting. I planned to spend Tuesday in Lizzie visiting Mavis’ cousin and gathering signatures from outlying farms.
It was getting down to the wire.
* * * *
I pulled into my driveway at six p.m. on Tuesday after a grueling day of driving and cajoling people into signing the petition. My truck was coated in red dust from bumping along unpaved country roads to track down trailers and farmhouses. Dogs barked at my arrival and nipped my heels when I crossed pot-holed driveways. Once, I was attacked by guard geese. Bad smelling, brown-toothed men and overweight, friendly women had offered me iced tea, coffee and even a swig of moonshine.
Many places resembled junkyards more than homes with rusting cars, trucks, and appliances set off in the fields. Most signed my petition, but many clearly couldn't have cared less whether a hazardous hog farm came to town or not. By the end of the day I had garnered thirty signatures, and a big jar of wonderfully smelly and disgusting hog droppings from Cousin Samuel.
When I entered my kitchen, the answering machine blinked on the counter, but I ignored it. It would have to wait until after the meeting. I called Mavis to check in. Brad was still out getting signatures. Orion meowed and circled my feet as I covered last-minute details on the phone. A whole cheering section for our side was being carefully orchestrated.
"Anything else?” I asked.
"I think that's it, honey. Oh, that Mr. Brooks called you about five times today."
A warm flush whooshed over me at the mention of his name. “Really? That's interesting. I'll have to call him later. Bye.” The clock was ticking and I needed to feed the cat and take a shower.
Time slipped away as I attempted a quick makeover. The showdown called for a bold, dignified look. A don't-mess-with-me look. It wouldn't do to go to battle against Charlene in pastels. A royal blue dress, scarf and gold jewelry provided the best power outfit I could muster. My hair was tamed into a sedate French twist. My reflection reminded me of Kim Novack in “Vertigo.” Hoped I could keep my cool as well as Kim.
The fellowship hall was packed when I finally arrived with a ream of paper and poop-in-a-jar. It was easy to figure out who was on which side. The anti-piggers sat behind Mavis carrying signs, wearing hog masks (resembling Charlene) that eventually got shoved on the top of their heads. The noisy bunch followed Mavis’ lead, groaning and booing with aplomb. They were in danger of being thrown out of the hall.
The pro-piggers sat quietly in dark clothes, suits for the men, tasteful dresses for the women. They all had on buttons that said, “Support Economic Development for Peeler.” Pinched looks of disdain came over their faces at the antics on the other side of the room.
Charlene, a black-clad battleship, had the floor. She used a flip chart on an easel to show a layout of the proposed farm. The council sat at the front dais facing the crowd. Willie, Hodge, and Brent were dressed in their Sunday-best suits. A bad, but predictable sign. They were undoubtedly pro-pig. Agatha had a “No Pigs, No Way!” button on. One for our side. Cherry, Betty and Ryan appeared neutral. Two long tables sat courtroom style facing the council. Mavis and Ethel had saved two seats for me and, presumably,
Brad, who was still a no-show. The table on the other side of the aisle seated the opposition.
My eyes focused on Charlene in front of our table where she used a pointing stick on gorgeous multi-colored plans. The painted greenery around the birthing sheds and the blue of the waste lagoons made the farm appear like a hog resort. In reality, I knew it would be stark buildings set in the dusty red dirt next to algae-covered scummy waste lagoons.
I eased my way down the aisle and slipped into a seat next to Mavis. She gave me a big wink and an eager smile. I set my paraphernalia on the table. Charlene glanced my way, nodded with smug superiority.
She continued her presentation. “As you can see, this will be a high-quality operation, using modern technology and state-of-the-art equipment. But I don't want you to just take my word on it. I've asked one of our major stockholders to come and tell you why he has invested his money in this project. When we learned he would soon be a resident of Peeler last year, we took our proposal to him. He saw the value of the operation and became a major investor. He's a busy man who wanted to be a silent partner, but when we asked him to come speak to you tonight on behalf of the benefits this will bring to Peeler, he graciously accepted our invitation."
Charlene's piggy eyes zeroed in on me with unmasked glee. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the well-known attorney and one of Peeler's newest residents, Mr. Jason Brooks."
My head snapped toward the other table. He sat at the end in all his lawyerly glory. My attention had been so riveted on Charlene's chart, I hadn't noticed him.
He stood and glanced at me with an expression I couldn't read. Probably because I was seeing red. A hot flash burned instantly over my body. He stepped to the front of the room in what seemed to be slow motion, like a car wreck-that same feeling of time slowing down as disaster struck.
He flexed his arms and pulled on his cuffs in an unconscious gesture of dignity. He appeared above all the hoopla and his cool manner immediately took some of the wind out of the sails of the more exuberant anti-piggers.