by Sy Walker
“Angelina, I think your friend is here.”
“Okay, Aunt Kay. I’ll get it.”
Angelina hurried out to the door just as Anson knocked, pausing for a moment to collect herself so she didn’t seem like an over eager teenager. She pulled open the door looking much more at ease than she felt. It immediately dissolved as she saw Anson standing there, looking positively delicious.
“Going to invite me in or just stand there and stare at me like I’m your favorite dessert?”
Angelina flushed red again, realizing that she had been doing exactly that. How transparent she must be to him. She was sure he had this effect on all the women he bedded and she felt a streak of jealousy. Reminding herself that she might not be as special as she hoped, she dialed it back a notch.
“Funny. Come on in, Anson.”
“Thank you. I know you said not to bring anything, but I brought some wine anyway. It’s my favorite. Nothing fancy, just a chillable red. I thought maybe we could put it in the fridge and have it after all the grown-ups go to bed.”
“Sounds good.”
“You sure? You don’t seem very thrilled with that idea.”
“No. No. It’s fine.”
He gave her a puzzled look and she realized she was being a bit of a flake, hot and cold, all that. She wanted to devour him, but she was afraid that if she showed too much interest, he would bolt. That was the last thing that she wanted from him, though she wasn’t sure any other offerings were on the table.
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m just not sure how to behave after today. I don’t usually just do things like that with someone I hardly know.”
“I know you don’t. I’m glad you did. I like that you couldn’t resist me.”
He smiled at her with a crooked grin that only melted her further. She smiled back, a flush creeping up her face once more and he laughed.
“And I love that you have that shy streak that leaves you all flustered like that.”
They were disrupted by her Aunt calling them to the table. Anson followed her in to the dining room where her Aunt and Father were already sitting at the table. Anson looked at her father for a moment and smiled, reaching for his hand to shake it.
“Mr. Thompson! I didn’t realize you were Angelina’s father. It’s great to see you again.”
“Anson Hawthorne? I haven’t seen you since you rolled into town and dropped a wad of cash on the counter for that old hunting lodge. You had that heap plowed under yet?”
“No, no. Just the opposite. I’ve done quite a bit of repair work to it and live there. You should have Angelina bring you out sometimes to see it.”
“Ah, I wish I could. Angelina’s been in New York for quite some time now. I’d love to see her, but she just doesn’t seem to get home like she used to. I miss her so much.”
The sadness in her father’s face was only matched by the confusion on Anson’s. He looked up at Angelina as if to ask a question and then realized the answer on his own. He mouthed the words to her and she nodded. He looked down for a moment and then took a seat near Mr. Thompson.
“I hear you went to the lake today? Were the fish biting?”
“We didn’t fish. My sister just wanted to get out and enjoy some fresh air. I’ll have to remember to take my pole next time she wants to do that. It looked like a good place to catch a fish or two.”
“I’ve heard it’s a great fishing hole.”
Angelina had a feeling that he had heard that from her father, though she wasn’t sure how they had crossed paths or why her father remembered him when he couldn’t remember her. She had to fight back the tears that threatened to surface at any moment. Anson looked over at her and put his hand on her knee, squeezing it knowingly. She smiled through her sadness at him as they began eating their dinner.
“Rose, I’m tired. I’m going to go on up to be, love.”
“Okay, Carl. Sleep well. I’ll help your sister clear away the dishes.”
The words felt tasteless in her mouth. It was so hurtful to have to talk to him as if she was her mother and for him to think she wasn’t coming to visit him, but what could she do about it? Would he have remembered her too if she hadn’t left? He remembered her mother, though he thought she was her. He remembered his sister. He even remembered Anson, who he had probably only met once. Why did he not remember her?
“Aunt Kay, I’ll clear the dishes. You’ve been here long enough. Why don’t you head on home?”
“Are you sure, hon? I don’t mind.”
“You’ve done plenty already. Dinner was delicious. Reminded me of Mom’s cooking, always does.”
“Thank you hon. I’ll head to the house and let you kids talk.”
Anson and Angelina both said their goodnights and walked to the door with her. Anson stood watching until she was safely in her car, though she was probably in the least dangerous place in the country.
“Let me get these dishes up and we’ll relax in the living room.”
“Here I’ll help you. How about I pour us some wine while we work?”
“Sounds good. So, how do you know my father?”
“I met him when I was buying the lodge. He was there visiting the owner and encouraged him to sell it to me while it was still standing.”
“Sounds about right.”
“He invited me to go fishing with him. Said I reminded him of himself when he was younger.”
“Really? That’s surprising.”
“Why? That your father may have once been a rebel of some sort?”
“I guess. I always just see him as my father, calm and peaceful. Never one to cause a stir.”
“It hurts you that he can’t remember you. I could see it in your face when he recognized me and spoke to your Aunt. I could see how it pained you for him to think you are someone else. Rose was your mother, I take it?”
“Yes. I look a good bit like her and he thinks I am her.”
“My grandfather had Alzheimer’s disease. He couldn’t remember anyone after a while. It is a sad ailment for everyone involved. I’m sorry, Angelina.”
“Thanks.”
Anson poured them each a glass of wine and they sipped at it while doing the dishes together. Angelina’s stomach had butterflies each time Anson leaned in toward her and placed soft kisses on her neck or shoulders. They finished the dishes and adjourned to the sofa with the remainder of the wine.
“So, what did you do in New York, Angelina?”
“I’m an accountant.”
“And what about now that you are out here?”
“I don’t know yet. I have some savings that will hold me for a while. Maybe just get a part time job somewhere. I won’t need much.”
“Would you consider working for the club?”
“What?”
“I could use a good bookkeeper.”
“You don’t have any books!”
“I have books. Trust me.”
“I don’t know if I should.”
“You can. I promise.”
Anson pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. It wasn’t the heated kiss as earlier, but a lazy, soft kiss that spoke volumes more about what he felt toward her. It wasn’t lust, it was an affection that had developed immediately between them. Perhaps there was such a thing as love at first sight, but what was she getting herself into?
“I’ll consider it.”
“What if I give you some incentive?”
“Like what?”
His kiss intensified, as he pushed her back on the sofa, tangling his fingers in his hair. She felt a tingling sensation all over as she pulled away and looked at her.
“Like that.”
“I’m still not sure. How about we go discuss it in my bedroom?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Their second time was nothing like the first. It was soft, sweet, like two old lovers who knew each other’s bodies instinctively. Angelina found herself shattering over and over as he made love to her so slowly and beautifully
that she wanted to cry, falling asleep in each other’s arms once again. She awakened in the night to find him reaching for her, taking her again just as passionately and exquisitely as before. What she felt was so much more than lust, but it was too soon and she knew so little about who he really was.
Waking in the morning, she rolled over to find him propped up on one elbow, looking at her.
“What are you doing?”
“Just watching you sleep. I love how peaceful you seem when you are asleep. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt quite as peaceful as you look.”
“Never?”
“No. Maybe the closest I’ve ever come was last night, lying beside you.”
“You’re such a charmer.”
“I’m just honest. I could fall in love with you.”
“I don’t think I would mind that at all.”
They were startled by a sound in the living room and Angelina shot up out of the bed, getting dressed. She laughed as she realized she was acting like a teenager that was about to get caught making out by her parent, as she was sure it was just her father up and about. Then, she realized it was worse than that. If he thought she was Rose, it could be worse.
Making her way out quickly to the kitchen, she began making breakfast. A few moments later, she heard Anson in the living room talking to him. It was obvious that her father still recognized him and she found that it made her sad once again to think that he didn’t know her. Putting the food on the table, she called them into breakfast.
“Her Rose, look who stopped by again this morning,” her father was saying as he walked into the room and turned to see her. His expression changed immediately, a broad smile sweeping over his face. “Angelina! You’ve come home!”
Her eyes widened and she almost ran to him, giving him a hug so tight that she thought she might break his fragile frame. She didn’t know how long it would last, but he knew her. He finally knew her! Tears filled her eyes as she pulled away and looked into his pale blue eyes.
“Dad. I’m sorry I’ve been away so long. I’ve missed you! I love you so much!”
“I know kid. I know. I have missed you too. You’re my best girl! Hey, come here, I want you to meet Anson. I think you’ll like him. He’s about your age.”
Her father nudged her in the ribs a bit like he used to when he was trying to fix her up with boys he liked and laughed. Angelina smiled at him, brushing away her tears. It was all the endorsement of Anson she would ever need.
THE END
Date with the Devil
CHAPTER 1
There was nothing pleasant and enjoyable about being on the other side of a bar serving drinks to what seemed like the worst of the pack. But it was paying the bills, and if she was lucky, the tips would add up. At the moment, Trisha’s eyes kept watching the clock, counting down the hours until her shift ended. But as with every other night, the time dragged on, and she labored over her task of satisfying ungrateful and rowdy men one drink at a time.
“What will it be?” she asked the large heavyset man as he crashed his weight onto the stool opposite her. She was often glad of the safety that was afforded her behind the mahogany partition.
“Other than you?” he asked and grinned. She would have probably taken that as a compliment and smiled, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was a member of the Devil’s Disciples Motorcycle Club. They frequented the bar she worked, and this one never failed to make his affections known.
“Does your order come in a bottle?” she asked as she sighed and reached for the gin he would eventually take.
“What is it about you girls that make you think you’re so special?” he asked. He sounded as if he was already drunk, and about to make trouble. The worst combination she could think of at the moment; and she was not in the mood for it. She turned the bottle over and filled up the shot glass before sliding it over to him. He slapped it away, spilling some onto the counter and drawing the attention of some of the other patrons at the bar. “I asked you a question,” he told her and glared at her.
“I wasn’t aware that I needed to provide a response,” she told him. “It sounded like rhetoric to me.”
“What did you just call me?” he asked, further displaying his ignorance. “I’ve been asking you out for the longest while, and I’ve seen the way you look at the other clowns in here. You don’t look at me like that. Do you think they’re better than me?” Suddenly he leaned over and slammed his hand down on hers. She jumped, frightened about what he was thinking to do next.
“Hey, what’s going on?” some other guy further down the line leaned over and asked. “Johnny, leave the girl alone!”
“Mind your fuckin’ business,” he spat.
Trisha tried to ease her hand away while the man was distracted, but she was too slow. He folded her small hands in his and held onto her tighter. The fear she felt was now visible on her face, and she looked around wildly for someone to rescue her.
“Johnny!” A voice came over the din. The man tensed, and ever so slightly his grip on the girl loosened. He turned around to face Calvin Walker, leader of the Motorcycle Club. Trisha pulled her hand back sharply and quickly went to tend to her other customers.
She wasn’t that far off that she couldn’t overhear the conversation. “What the fuck is going on?” Calvin asked Johnny.
“Nothing,” he said and attempted to get up, but the man blocked his path. Johnny was bigger in mass than Calvin, but the power he wielded commanded greater respect, and the man shrank before him like a midget. “I was just having some fun.”
“Is that what you call it?” he asked. “Get your shit together man!” he told him.
Johnny wasn’t too pleased about being reprimanded in public and he shoved past the audience he had created and disappeared, obviously embarrassed. Calvin remained and took the seat Johnny had occupied earlier. He rapped his knuckles on the counter to grab her attention, and slowly she returned to take his order.
She wasn’t a fan of the motorcycle men, and she avoided them as much as possible. For obvious reasons. “What can I get you?” she asked him.
“White Russian,” he told her-a combination of Kahlua, cream and vodka.
She went about preparing his order, and he sat there, alarmingly quiet. She was not accustomed to a biker who was not rowdy, and she snuck peaks at him as she went about his order. “Here you go,” she said and placed the glass on a napkin. She was about to move off when he started speaking.
“Sorry about that mess earlier; my boys can be…unruly at times,” he said as if choosing his words carefully.
“No sweat,” she said and attempted to move again. She got the rag from under the counter and began to wipe water marks from the wooden surface.
“I can’t help but notice that you seem different from other bartenders I’ve seen before. What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” He put the glass to his lips and sipped, leaving a white moustache in its wake which he quickly swept aside with the back of his hand.
“Nothing wrong with the place; just the people who come here,” she replied cheekily.
He smiled at her response and drank some more. “You just seem too good for it,” he told her.
“The tips are good,” she added. She really wasn’t in the mood for a conversation, especially with him, and she was grateful when someone else called for her. She quickly walked away and left him to his drink.
By the time she got back to where he was, he had already gone. But he had left her a twenty dollars’ tip. She smiled as she slid the bill into the pocket of the tight jeans she wore. At least he had some class.
She didn’t see him again that night. Nor did she see Johnny again. But a bar was a bar, and when it wasn’t one thing, or person, it was another. By the time the night came to a close, she was weary. She called a cab and slumped into the seat of the yellow and black vehicle that would take her to peace.
“Rough night?” the driver asked as he moved off.
“You have no idea
,” she replied as she rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes.
But then again, neither did she.
CHAPTER 2
It was some minutes past one when Trisha pushed the door to her apartment open. It was a small place she shared with her mother-now too old to work. But it turned out to be more of a convenience for her since she wound up with live in help for her two-year-old son. She was surprised to hear his voice when she stepped into the dimly lit room, and even more so when she heard the pitter patter of his tiny feet as he ran to her.
“Hey,” she said as she scooped him up into her arms. “What are you doing up? Hey ma,” she said and threw her bag onto the chair.
“Here mama,” he said and handed her a piece of paper he had in his hand. He gave her a smile and she hugged the toddler to her. That in itself constituted the best part of her day.
“Thanks sweetheart,” she said and pulled him around to her hip as she went into the kitchenette.
“I hate to see you coming home this late,” Martha said to her daughter and pulled her robe tighter around her.
“We’ve had this discussion ma,” she said, sounding exasperated as she did. “It’s not like there is anything I can get at the moment.”
“That’s not the place for a good woman,” she told her, echoing what Calvin had said to her only a few hours before. “I can talk to Brother Cedric down at the church. He has some connections he can use to get you out of that place.” She disliked that her daughter was working in a place she considered the devil’s play pen, and she made her opinions heard as often as she could.
But it didn’t make things any easier for Trisha. “I have tried to get a job before, and Brother Cedric already gave me all the leads he could find; they were no good, remember? I have to work, to pay these bills and keep things on the up for Aiden and for you.” She shifted the infant to her other hip and poured some milk onto the raisin bran cereal she was about to eat. She took up the bowl and went to sit around the small table in the corner of the room.
Her mother was quiet for a while, and Trisha sighed as she spooned cereal into her mouth and rocked her child. She gazed on him, and saw how content he was just to be there with her, and in that moment, as with so many before, she envied his innocence and his simplicity. And at present his lack of understanding of her current situation. She had gone to a decent school, and she was primed to be more. Until she found out she was pregnant. Aiden’s father was non-existent after that, and she was left with a baby to raise on her own, and an elderly mother. Work had been hard to come by, and she had been grateful when her uncle had offered her work in his bar. It was not the ideal job, but it would pay the bills, and as much as she hated it, she had had no other alternative.