Loving Jilly

by Sylvie Kaye

  "Zack.” Bob climbed the makeshift stairs.

  The line for the cement company was still busy. Zack pushed END.

  "Yeah.” He mopped his forehead with the back of his hand. The smell of sawdust and sweat clung to the stifling air. Beads of perspiration rolled down his forehead. Even the bandana he wore under his hardhat didn't hold back the trickle.

  "Hot as hell, eh,” Bob said none too lively, grabbing a Gatorade from the cooler on the floor. “The cement truck finally showed up and is ready to pour."

  "Great,” Zack mumbled. “It's near quitting time."

  Bob hitched his jeans. His red T-shirt was pitted beneath the arms. The soggy bandana around his neck dripped with water from an attempt to keep cool.

  "Pull the men off their jobs. Put everybody on the cement. Let's get it poured and floated before the day gets any hotter or later."

  "Got you covered. No overtime, eh?"

  "No overtime. I'll be down to pitch in soon as I ream this cement company's butt.” Zack hit redial on the now slick phone he still held, but a recording said they'd gone for the day.

  The job site annoyed him with its dirt and sweat and shouts. Working alone, working with his hands and the wood had tranquility. Soon, he promised himself. Soon.

  Come quitting time, he hit his hotel room and the shower fast. After soaping up, he stood under the pelting, cold water until his skin shivered and rivulets of clear water gurgled down the drain.

  Once he toweled off, he debated whether to hit the sack early, unwind with a beer down at the bar first—even Bob had begged off Betty's Grill for tonight—or forget about calling and canceling with Jilly and enjoy a great meal.

  Jilly won out.

  His wet hair dried on the drive over. Like red and green streamers, the flowers spilling from the balcony signaled an empty parking spot behind a police cruiser.

  As he shouldered open the wrought iron gate with a P for Pejeaud scrolled onto its center, the metal let out a loud squeak. Needed white grease.

  Atop the stairs, he rang the doorbell and waited. Although he stood in the shadow of a small canvas canopy, the humidity and the suffocating scent of the red flowers swallowed him up in no time. He shuffled his toolbox.

  "Hi.” His day took a turn for the better as soon as Jilly opened the door.

  She wore tan shorts, short ones that exposed tall legs, the kind of legs wet dreams were made of. A white tank top covered her breasts, nicely, loosely, mind-poppingly. Words melted on his tongue. His heart tripped like a jackhammer.

  Fluttering lashes aside, she looked sweet enough to eat. Smelled it, too. She smelled like vanilla, like a bakery. He wondered if she had a second job.

  Nah, she didn't have the time with her hands full of aunts.

  "Hi,” she said, with a sparkling smile. In between blinks, her come-hither eyes shot sparks his way. He supposed he could duck, but he wanted to take whatever she had to give.

  Not a solid thought for a solid thinking man. But when he got around Jilly, thinking lost its priority, especially with those blue eyes prying at his soul and those blue sparks zapping him in a much lower place.

  He sure hoped Bob was wrong about her being a quickie. But with all she had going on, Zack didn't hold out much hope for her being otherwise.

  Unfortunately, otherwise wasn't a part of his agenda. He had plans for his future that didn't include construction sites or being some woman's side dish.

  With a rattle, he shifted the toolbox.

  "Come on in.” She fluttered away their eye contact. Like last night, she led the way down the narrow hall toward the kitchen. Unlike last night, he didn't pretend to stare at the mahogany doors.

  Her long, well-shaped, naked legs stopped at tight buns. His heartbeat hammered like the work crew nailing down a roof right before a rainstorm.

  Pulled up into a ponytail, her long blonde hair swayed with the rhythm of her hips and the pad of her bare feet. What a combination.

  If he soon didn't glance away, he'd have to use the toolbox for an unintended purpose, to hide the bulge growing in his Levi's. He'd have to hem and haw a good long while, too, before things returned to normal.

  The hallway ended way too soon. It hadn't seemed so short the night before. Juggling the toolbox, he held it in front of him with both hands, about zipper level.

  "If Aunt Adele's cooking, maybe I should work on the damaged bookcase."

  They backtracked to the parlor. Bad idea. Although this gave him more hallway, it also gave him more Jilly to watch.

  He sucked in a deep breath when they reached the parlor, and she settled her shapely bottom onto the needlepoint seat behind the secretary desk. She opened a book and began studying, looking both scholarly and sexy at the same time.

  "Glad to see you again.” Aunt Vinny's rocking chair creaked from the opposite corner of the parlor where she sat working on some lacy doodad.

  No wonder most of the lacy thingys around the house were cockeyed, what with the rocker rocking and her crochet hook hooking both at the same time. Someone should point this out to the sweet, old dame. But not him, and not now.

  Zack seized the excuse to stand and make small talk with her until the stiffness in his jeans relaxed.

  The aunt talked mostly about Jilly. “Our Jilly manages to fit a night course a semester into her busy schedule. She's working toward a degree in business and accounting."

  Big Al would love her.

  At last, Zack felt limp, er, limber enough to start on the bookcase. He knelt down on the green-and-pink oriental carpet to fix the damaged, scrolled woodwork. He dug through his toolbox, coming away with an awl, a screwdriver, a clamp, and wood glue.

  In the background a stereo played an LP, something classical and relaxing. The pleasant atmosphere was very different from the noisy work site or the deadly silence at home in Milwaukee.

  Aunt Vinny rocked and chatted on about different relatives. Zack didn't pay much attention, but the rhythmic sound of her voice lulled him. Every so often, he threw in a “Yes” or an “Is that so?” which seemed to satisfy her.

  When he extracted the piece of wood from the base of the bookcase, his awl hit metal. What a useless place for a screw. It wasn't harming anything, but he grabbed for his screwdriver, wriggling the shaft into the tight, dark corner to remove it. He scraped at the metal a few times, but gave up trying when Jilly's melodic voice piped up. “Aunt Vinny, Zack can't look at the family albums right now. Maybe another time."

  What a lifesaver. The last thing he wanted to see were old pictures, more so if Jilly's naked legs and bare toes pranced out from beneath the desk to fetch them. He'd only recently gotten his mind and a certain unruly body part under control.

  Unless, she cuddled up on his lap to flip through the photos with him, but he knew the idea was a sinker. Even if Jilly agreed, Aunt Vinny who seemed as old-fashioned as the house, despite her colorful jog suits, would certainly voice a shocked objection.

  Just as well. Jilly came across as too fast-paced for snuggling. Or Tantra, a sexual practice he preferred. The art of anticipation and denial took time. Her speed seemed more slam-bam-thank-you-man, if she took time to slam-bam at all. He shook his head. The thought gave him a twinge of disappointment.

  Shaking it off, he started fitting together the chipped pieces of mahogany stored in a dusty, clearly no longer used, cut-glass ashtray. Matching an intricate pattern of carved leaves, he pieced the wood like a jigsaw puzzle until his concentration was broken by the tinkle, tinkle of the dinner bell.

  Aunt Vinny removed her lap robe to reveal a navy blue jogging suit with white racing stripes down the sides. “Please Show Zachary where to wash up, Jilly."

  He knew which door led to the powder room from last night's in-depth study of the hallway, and no way did he intend to follow Jilly's swiveling, sweet bottom again.

  In a sprint to get down the narrow hallway first, he brushed against her soft-skinned shoulder. High voltage seemed to slam through him, the jolt just missing
his vital organs. If any part of her leggy, lower torso touched him, his groin was going to tighten up again, maybe implode. At this rate, he'd never be able to sit at the dinner table. He jammed his back against the plaster wall to let her edge by him.

  Before Jilly even pointed to the door, he darted into the powder room. Soon he was overcome by the smell of girly things. Potpourri, floral candles, scented soaps, and herbal lotions. It wasn't all unlikable. Although none of the scents reminded him of Jilly. She smelled delectable. Edible actually.

  If given the chance to nibble, he wasn't sure where he'd start his oral caresses. Maybe at her pink toes. Or her delicate neck. Or maybe with her lush lips. Her full, round breasts popped to mind. He splashed cold water onto his face and stopped himself right there before he went after her hot creamy center. If he didn't control himself, he'd end up locked in the bathroom during dinner, waiting for his libido to die a slow death.

  After another splash of cold water, he toweled off and slipped out of the washroom, smack into the object of his desire. A squished up Jilly felt soft, yet firm and tantalizing. His mouth salivated, then went dry. His heart pulsed near his throat.

  Before any of his more manly body parts started throbbing he squirmed by her and hotfooted toward the dining room, almost bowling over Aunt Vinny, who stood waiting at the end of the hallway with a disapproving look on her face.

  Once they were all seated and Graced, Aunt Adele no sooner passed the red beans and rice than the telephone rang.

  "It's bad manners to call during the dinner hour,” Aunt Gloria said, but Aunt Vinny thought otherwise. “Perhaps it's an emergency."

  "Someone should get it,” Aunt Adele agreed.

  Zack would eat his steel-toed boot, crusty as it was, if the caller was still on the line by the time the aunts made up their minds.

  He glanced at Jilly for guidance, unsure whether to offer assistance or not. She kept right on eating so he followed suit, but couldn't help but keep an ear on the outcome.

  Since Aunt Adele's blood pressure couldn't handle an emergency, and Aunt Gloria refused to break with protocol, it was decided Aunt Vinny who sat nearest the hallway would answer the phone.

  Amazingly, the party had waited for someone to pick up. Aunt Vinny returned with grave news. “Cousin Neville has joined his mother, father, sister, brother, and two wives into the great beyond."

  "How sad.” Jilly's soft eyes reflected her concern.

  "I'm not surprised,” Aunt Gloria said. “Why only this morning, Cousin Emma telephoned to say the picture of her and Neville at Mardi Gras in sixty had fallen from her living room wall."

  "No, sister.” Aunt Vinny clutched the collar of her jogging suit.

  "Whenever a picture falls from the wall you can believe someone you know will die,” Aunt Adele said to Zack.

  With a determined nod, he decided not to hang pictures of anyone he knew on his walls any time soon.

  "Neville met his Maker at the Half Moon Motel while with a female who wasn't related.” Aunt Vinny blessed herself and her elbow knocked her cane to the floor. Zack reached down and propped it back up next to her. “I imagine that's why his wife has rushed both the wake and burial."

  "How impolite.” Aunt Gloria hrrmped.

  Zack wasn't sure if she meant Neville's rude departure in nudus operandi or the last minute call announcing his expiration and viewing.

  "Cousin was always inconsiderate.” Aunt Vinny relaxed the grip on her jog suit collar.

  Zack glimpsed Jilly, who was shoveling her food in faster than the ditch digger down at the job site. Looked like a definite ulcer in the making for Boo. Whatever a boo was.

  The aunts continued to cluck with speculations over Cousin Neville. Which wife he'd rest next to, if indeed, the old codger could rest in peace after his latest caper? Which cemetery? Which family vault? On and on.

  Zack gave up on keeping up. He followed Jilly's lead and dug into his zesty pork and sausage jambalaya.

  Between bites of her dinner, Aunt Gloria interrupted in a pitched soprano, but Aunt Vinny appeared to have the last word on who was where when it came to gravesites.

  "What about Zachary?” Aunt Adele asked.

  He peeked over the top of his fork. What about him?

  "Zachary will have to take his dessert with him again,” Aunt Gloria said.

  "I'm leaving?” Zack's jaw hung open. “I'd hoped to bond the trim on the bookcase and measure the kitchen cabinets tonight.” And spend some time getting to know Jilly better.

  "Adele, can't the kitchen wait until after the funeral?” Aunt Gloria turned to her sister.

  Aunt Adele fidgeted with the strap of her yellow bibbed apron. Her face flushed red. “Zack can't keep coming here without payment for his time."

  That remark swooped Aunt Gloria's bird ornaments, and she pursed her thin lips into a tight bow.

  Jilly finished eating, then said, “Excuse me,” and began stacking dishes.

  Zack's eyes wandered over to her short shorts and her long, toned legs. Every time she brushed by him his heart wavered between cardiac arrest and defibrillation. He'd be joining Cousin Neville if he didn't keep his eyes and heartbeats where they belonged.

  But practical thoughts like kitchen cabinets and carpentry flew off to join Aunt Gloria's hummingbirds. Until Jilly disappeared into the kitchen, carrying an armful of plates and glasses.

  "I'll order flowers for tomorrow's funeral service.” Aunt Vinny excused herself from the table, but halted in the doorway. “The usual?” she asked. The ladies nodded. “I'll give Hannah a call and the convent, too. Sister Maria Louisa can pick Hannah up on her way to the funeral home."

  The two remaining aunts worked out an elaborate schedule in Jilly's absence. “If Zack and Jilly drive us to the funeral home, drop us off, and return to the house, Zack can finish his work while Jilly studies for her final exam.” With a nod, Aunt Gloria and her birds advocated the plan.

  Apparently, the aunts still didn't trust him alone in their home. Granted there were a lot of antiques, and he did drive a truck big enough to haul them off, but he didn't think he looked like a thief.

  Aunt Vinny cleared her throat. Having returned from her phone calls, she stood listening from the doorway of the dining room, her trembling hand on the head of her gold-tipped cane. “Jilly always signs the family register for us. She has such lovely penmanship."

  Again with the penmanship. Zack promised himself to get a gander at Jilly's masterstrokes.

  "Jilly Boo always fetches water for the fainthearted and Kleenex for those without the good sense to carry a handkerchief.” Aunt Adele plucked her lace hanky from her apron pocket as if to prove her common sense.

  Zack made a mental note to find out what exactly a Jilly Boo was.

  As they chattered on, the round robin of Jilly's duties made him dizzy. At last he held up his hand like a cop stopping traffic. Instead of offering to go home, he found himself saying, “Why don't I just wait in the car while Jilly signs you ladies in and hands out water and tissues?"

  The aunts must've approved. Like startled starlings, they scattered. Zack sat back, content, waiting for Jilly's short shorts to come back and finish clearing the dining table.

  Instead, Aunt Vinny poked her head into the room. Her voice recriminating when she said, “Please, make yourself comfortable.” She gestured toward the parlor.

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  Chapter Four

  Zack paced between the fringed floor lamp in one corner of the parlor and Aunt Vinny's empty rocker in the other. Logic told him to skip out and stop complicating their arrangements to attend Cousin Neville's wake.

  But his every nerve was fired up to be alone with Jilly to explore his nagging attraction. With every step, he wanted her. He'd seen the extent of her love. It had no bounds. Otherwise, her three demanding aunts would be in a nursing home across town where miles of traffic hampered visitation.

  "My aunts will be out in a moment,” Jilly said in a breathy rush as
she entered the room. “I'm usually the first one ready."

  He smiled. No surprise there. She was faster than a speeding bullet, could probably do a quick change in a phone booth like Superman.

  "I'm in no hurry.” He noticed she no longer wore those tantalizing tan shorts.

  That was probably for the best. Those shorts provoked images of things he'd like to do with her in a phone booth between changes of clothes. Things that made his head soft and his hammer hard. He continued pacing.

  "Are you sure you don't mind the inconvenience?” She fluttered her lashes at him as she sat down on the blue tufted chair next to the lamp.

  He tripped, but her blinking didn't make his feet fumble. That happened when she crossed her lanky legs, and he caught a quick peek of her thighs before she tugged down the hem of her black dress.

  "I don't mind a bit.” His feet righted themselves but refused to move beyond her chair.

  She rested her elbows on the doilyed arms while her long, delicate fingers smoothed out the lace. She had the kind of fingers that could play piano or strum a man's flesh into screaming for satisfaction. He preferred the scream.

  "My aunts and I don't believe in shirking our family obligations.” She looked up at him, but he couldn't tear his attention from her fingers as they continued to stroke the lace.

  "Neither do I.” That's why he wouldn't leave Bigatowsky Construction in the middle of the hotel job. Regardless how much his father pissed him off.

  He sucked in a deep breath and raised his eyes, focusing on her face. She seemed distracted. She was probably pondering her aunts’ plans for her, him, a horse-betting friend, some nun, heck, everybody.

  When her hand touched the creamy pearls at her neck and rolled them between her fingers, his gaze followed. An image of her nimble fingers touching her nipples in that exact way flashed through his mind and beads of sweat broke across his brow, despite the coolness of the air-conditioner humming in the opposite corner. His lower chakra, the energy point in his body dealing with his baser human needs, sped up, spinning out of control.