You would think these big burly men would help a woman struggling with heavy bags; no it's my tiny mom with her thick mass of reddish-gray hair and freckles who comes to my rescue.
"Oh my love, let me help you. Don't mind the men; you know they turn into zombies when the Cubs play."
I lean in to my mom and whisper in her ear, "Who's with Daniel?"
"I think her name is Jessie or Janie. Definitely something with a J."
I glance over to the couch as we make our way into the kitchen and see the woman curl up on my brother’s arm. Poor woman, she has maybe a week, if she's lucky two more with him until he drops her like old cheese. Stinky old cheese.
My mom insists on putting the groceries away. Which I know is so I don't see inside the refrigerator, because she has a cake hidden in there. This will be the absolute highlight of the evening, my mom's cake. That shit is like crack with extra crack sprinkled on top and then baked in crack.
It could be my utter addiction to cake and cake like products (cupcakes, prepackaged snack cakes, etc.) talking but my mom's cake is the bomb and I plan on being a terrorist tonight! Too much? Yeah, maybe.
Looking around the brown kitchen that looks like it belongs in the nineteen-eighties and not the twenty-first century, I grab a seat on a stool by the tall honey colored table in the corner.
"So, love, what has been going on in..."
My mom is interrupted by someone coming down the stairs.
”How long am I to hide upstairs? I’m bored!” my grandma’s voice comes barreling down the stairs.
I hop up from the stool and run out to the hallway to give her a hug. Her dog, Orly, comes bounding down the steps from behind, ignoring everyone as usual and curling up by the fireplace near the dining room
"Grandma! You’re here! I thought you and Orly were in Yellowstone?"
Her arms encircle my waist as she gives a tight squeeze. The woman has a grip for someone so petite. Her shoulder length cobalt blue hair tickles my chin as I lean into her. That's right; my grandma is cool like that. It's her favorite color and she has been sporting blue hair long before it ever became stylish. My grandpa told me once that her nickname was ’Blue Goose’. I have no idea why she is called Goose, and a part of me doesn't ever want to know.
"That was just to trick you sweets! Your mom wanted to surprise you for your birthday. Did you bring that internet man of yours or that other one? Payne was it, the one you told me about a few months ago? I can't wait to meet him. It is a him right?"
I roll my eyes at her. My grandma has a bet with her knitting group that she meets with online (didn't know that was a thing, but there you go) that she has the most modern, hip family. So, since her kids are happily married, never divorced and her two grandkids, me and my brother, are both typical adults with nothing out of the ordinary happening in our lives, she is hoping I'm a homosexual or at least bi-sexual. Unfortunately for her I am neither, but she is still persistent.
"Yes, Grandma. But he isn't my man, he's my boss, remember I told you that."
"What's this I hear about a man? Morgana you have a man in your life?" My father’s voice barrels over the noise from the baseball game.
There is silence as I hear the television being switched off. I look over and see the men and 'about to be dumped' girl coming toward us. She is pretty with a short brown pixie cut and large gray eyes. They are all glaring at me as if I am a space alien who walked in and said hi.
"The man Grandma is referring to is my boss, Mr. Payne. There is nothing going on with us. The most that is happening is I am going on a trip to London with him next week for business. That’s all."
My father's jaw is twitching and he has raised his head as tall as he can get. Daniel glances at Dad and then mimics his behavior.
"What has this Payne done to you Morgana? Do I need to pay him a visit?"
My father is now cracking his knuckles and my brother tries desperately to do the same with no effect.
"Dad! No, why is everyone acting like I've been attacked? He's my boss. We don't always get along, but that happens a lot with bosses and their assistants."
"I don't think we’ve met, I'm Penny by the way." Daniel's eye candy extends her arm at the worst time as I shake it giving her a crooked smile.
"I could have sworn it started with a J," mom mumbles under her breath, shaking her head. She shrugs her shoulders and walks back into the kitchen.
Suddenly I am being pulled into a suffocating bear hug by my dad. He leans down to whisper in my ear, "If that man ever hurts my baby girl you let me know and I will speak to him."
I manage to break free from his death grip and nod.
"Fine Dad."
"That goes for me too, Sis." Daniel hits me on my back knocking the wind out of me for a few seconds. He isn't touchy-feely like my dad. The most I will get from Daniel is a slap to the head or wrist burn to show he cares.
"I'm going into the kitchen before I die," I squeak out, trying to catch my breath.
Sitting back on the bar stool I watch as my grandma pushes my mom aside to take over with the mashed potatoes.
"Annette, please let me help. You go spend some time with your daughter."
That is my grandma's way of telling my mom that she is doing it wrong. Mom’s a baker, but hates cooking, so she doesn’t mind grandma taking over. Makes no sense to me, but that's how she is. She comes and sits beside me trying to push some loose tendrils behind my ears.
"Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are Morgana?"
"All the time, Mom."
"Well, it's true. If that Mr. Payne can't see that then he isn't worth your energy."
It's going to be like this all night isn't it? Just focus on London, oh and your date tomorrow, and you will make it through this night.
"It doesn't matter about Mr. Payne, Mom, because I met a guy online anyway."
Her green eyes light up and she grins, transforming into a thirty-something right before my eyes. “Details Morgana! Tell me all about him!”
I blush and look down at my clasped hands.
"His name is Ric and he works retail, so we work in the same industry. He loves comedy movies like me. He is a big Coen brothers fan, and we are meeting tomorrow for coffee."
She is nodding her head.
"Yeah, so what does he look like?"
"I find out tomorrow. We haven't exchanged pictures yet. We want it to be a surprise."
She claps her hands together and looks over at my grandma who is still focused on the pots in front of her.
"How romantic. How will you know each other? Are you both going to wear carnations or something?"
"Umbrellas."
My mom scrunches her brow.
"How do you wear umbrellas? Is that new lingo for something else?"
"No, he's going to bring a blue plaid umbrella and I am going to bring my red umbrella."
"Oh I get it. I am so excited for you, love. You will have to tell me all about it. Did I tell you about how your father and I met?"
She looks dreamily off into the distance and I know there is no point in telling her that yes she has told me a hundred times how they met. So I just shrug in response.
"It was thirty five years ago and James and I worked together. We were just co-workers, but it was very frowned upon to have interoffice relations, especially in the military. Then one day we got trapped in the supply closet. Only we weren't trapped, he purposely locked us in there to be alone with me."
My mom sighs while I hear my grandma snort.
"Let's just say there was no going back to being just co-workers after we got out. Sooooo romantic."
I shake my head at my mom.
"How is that romantic Mom, he held you prisoner in a closet and then lied about how you both were in there?"
"Well, I thought it was romantic. I am sure you will one day look back on how you and your future husband meet as the most romantic time of your life."
"No you won't," Grandma pipes into the conversatio
n.
Grandma, ever the realist.
"Sweets, your grandpa picked me up at a bar and we went home and had a one night stand. The most unromantic meeting a couple can have. I happened to get pregnant from that night and your Uncle Jackson was born nine months later. Needless to say it was a shotgun wedding. Very little romance for us, but we did grow to love each other. I mean, sure, we humped like rabbits because your granddad was hot, but we didn't fall in love until many years later. So, you never know."
Both my mom and I have plugged our ears as we rock ourselves in comfort. Leave it to my grandma to ruin a moment.
Chapter 5
Morgana's Problem: Her Date
There is a light drizzle with thirty mile per hour winds on Sunday. It prevents me from using my umbrella, though I bring it anyway. I resemble a human banana—yellow rain hat with matching coat and boots.
I enter the warm, dry coffee shop, Beans, Beans, & more Beans, promptly at ten and look around. The aroma of coffee and chocolate is the first to assault my senses. My eyes dart over the large barrels of coffee beans next to the gray slate counter. Quickly I remove the offending yellow and run my fingers through my hair to give the appearance of some maintenance. Thankfully I wore waterproof mascara today.
Stepping further into the shop I look at the one person in line, a man with no umbrella. I walk up behind him and peer around the room. The walls are covered with odd knick-knacks of figurines holding coffee cups and various children’s art work framed in sleek metal and white frames. Most of the black tables and dark booths are taken by couples. There is a lone man who is about sixty sitting in an overstuffed leather chair staring at me with a big grin. Oh God is that him? He lied! He's not thirty-four!
My eyes dart around him and see an umbrella but it's one of those big black golf umbrellas. Maybe he's planning on using it to knock me unconscious or kill me. Those things can be weapons. I know someone accidentally stabbed me in the boob with one once in college. I had to get three stitches.
I look around the room again in desperation and see a hand cradling a blue plaid umbrella. It's a man's hand but he is in a booth with his back to me, so I can't make him out. Oh thank God it's not the sixty year old. Some people may be into the older guy thing, but not me.
My gaze falls back to the older man and notice he is now leering at a group of women at a table near him. Perv!
After a few moments I'm next and recite my order to the bored barista as he stands in front of a wall of coffee beans encased in glass. When I get the warm latte I take a deep breath and casually walk across the light bamboo flooring to the booth that holds the plaid umbrella. As I turn to face him I stop dead and drop my coffee.
"Mr. Payne?"
His eyes look over me in confusion until he sees the red umbrella in my hand and his eyes go wide.
"Morgan...Morgana?"
Oh SHIT!!!
We just stare at each other for a while. I finally move to sit in the booth when one of the baristas comes over with a mop to clean up the spilled coffee.
"So you're Ric, huh?" I glare at him wondering if he knew it was me all along. That must be why he didn't want pictures. God, I am such an idiot! Trying to be romantic my ass! I don't think I could be angrier at this moment!
"Obviously Morgan! Did you know who I was? Is that why you were pressuring me for a picture, so you could do God knows what to my career?"
"What? No! You are the one who knew who I was; don't turn it around on me. You have a sick problem, playing games with me like this. And to think, I almost let you sex-chat me" I huff at him, appalled.
He raises his eyebrow at me. Yeah, the sex-chat would not have been the worst we have done together, but I’m still mad. I try to get out of the booth, my rain gear getting hooked on the table. I yank until I hear a rip. Mr. Payne tries to get up to help me but I push him away.
"Don't you even think about it. Haven’t you already done enough?"
"Morgana, I am just trying to help you with your coat."
I manage to get my jacket free and inspect it, noticing a small tear on the back, near the bottom hem. With much anger and clumsiness I shrug on the raincoat and hat to make my way to the exit. I feel a hand on my arm tugging me back.
"Morgana, let's at least talk about this."
I wrench my arm from his grip and turn to face him. He is gracefully putting on his trench coat along with a black scarf, looking his usual debonair self. This just pisses me off even more; I look like a cartoon, and he looks like he walked out of a Burberry catalog.
"You may be the boss of me Monday through Friday, Ric, but not on Sunday! Not on Sunday," I repeat as I push open the door and into the howling wind. Turning I take a left walking straight into the gale force. Realizing I should have taken a right to get back home I continue walking straight so I won't run into Mr. Payne again. About a minute later when I have finally made it to the corner, despite almost being knocked over a few times by the gusts, I come to a halt as I am almost run over by a black Lincoln town car.
The back passenger door opens and I glance into the car to see Mr. Payne waving me inside. My face is so raw at this point I would get into a shipping crate if one appeared.
I climb inside to the warm tan leather interior and shut the door. Buckling myself into the car as it starts to move away, I glance over at him to find him staring at me.
"What?"
"You really had no idea it was me Morgana?"
"No Ric, I really didn't. How could I have possibly known with the screen name, Hi-Ed-Junior. You said you worked retail, so do a quarter of the people in this city."
He nods and then looks straight ahead. After a minute he speaks again, "You called me an ass and a few other names too."
I turn my attention to the window and watch as we pull into the garage of one of the skyscraper buildings.
"Well, you are an ass, and I mean that in the most professional way possible Ric."
I turn to look at him and he's chuckling.
"Stop calling me Ric. It's Henrik. Come on inside. I can make us some hot chocolate and we can figure out what to do."
Noticing the car has come to a stop I look around to see Henrik's driver running around the car.
"Just take me home. My pants are now soaked and I just want a warm shower. Forgive me if I am not in the mood for talking right now."
The door opens and before Henrik steps out he reaches a hand to me.
"I got those things too."
"You have a ... a pair of women's jeans?"
He smirks and shakes his head. “No, but I can get a pair brought to you once you are done with your shower.”
A shiver just ran up my spine. I could be naked in Henrik's home. Hmm.
"I don't know Henrik, perhaps it’s best if I go home."
"Look Morgana, we are going to be in a foreign country next week, living and working side by side. It is best if we work out any issues now so things aren't strained over there."
He's right. I know myself; I won't even be able to look at him tomorrow let alone for an entire week, not to mention the flight later this evening. I nod and give him my hand. He directs me to the elevators.
Once we are inside the light wood paneled lift, he inserts a keycard into the wall and the elevator immediately begins moving up with no further instructions from him.
"What are you with maintenance?"
"No, I have to have a key to get to my apartment."
I look at him and tilt my head.
"You mean your floor, Henrik?"
"No, Morgana, I mean my apartment."
Just at that moment the doors of the elevator open and we step into his apartment. Henrik Payne has the penthouse of the building. His apartment is the entire floor. My mouth falls open as does my purse, falling to the ground and various items roll out.
I watch as a man I don't know bends down to grab my lipstick, mints, floss, and tampon to put back into my bag. He stands and hands me the purse.
"Ah, thank you."
I blush knowing that everyone saw the tampon.
"You are quite welcome Miss." His British accent causes me to giggle and I suddenly feel like I could be in one of those period dramas on PBS. Please let his name be Jeeves, or Coleman! Or Higgins!
"Morgana this is Winston, my butler."
I jump up and down clapping my hands.
"Oh God! That is perfect. Winston it is a pleasure, I'm sure."
The last line I try to say in my best British accent, but it comes out Jamaican. Every time I try to do an accent it sounds Jamaican.
Winston smiles and nods his head at me.
"Pleasure to meet you Miss." He turns his attention to Henrik.
"Winston, Morgana would like to take a shower and we will need to get her a new pair of jeans."
"Very good sir. There is hot chocolate in the living room and I started the fire for you and your guest."
Winston turns and I watch as his silver hair sways from a short ponytail as he retreats down a hall.
"That was so cool! I have never met a British butler before. Oh, and we are going to London tomorrow, will Winston be coming with us?"
Henrik moves around me and waves for me to follow.
"No, Winston will be staying here. I think I can manage a week without a butler."
"But can I, Henrik? I think that is the point. Now that I know of his existence I must have him bring me tea and crumpets, and say 'very good miss' and all that stuff."
His laughter fills the large room we have entered. There are two tan sofas with a huge brown suede chair facing a fireplace so big I could walk into it. I now want to live in that fireplace -- provided no one ever starts it up again. On either side of the massive fireplace is a wall of windows overlooking Lake Michigan.
I press my face to the glass and stare at the misty fog and choppy waves below.
"Can I marry your apartment? I promise to let you have visiting rights but I think I want to put a ring on it."
I watch his reflection come up beside me in the glass and feel the vibration from his laughter as he leans on the window.
"For what it's worth Morgana, I did look forward to our online chats. You always made me laugh, not many people can do that. As for marrying my place I thought you said once you were marrying cake. Are you two-timing now?"
Cake Love: All Things Payne Page 4