by Sylvie Kaye
"She loves me, unconditionally.” Assurance warmed his voice.
"Because you're so lovable.” Jilly couldn't resist reaching over and tweaking his cheek. “I'm sure your friend is a doll."
Eric almost choked on his straw. “Ken would love to hear you say that."
"I'll make a point to tell him. Maybe we can stop by your place later and you can introduce us."
The waiter served their food and they dug in. Aside from muttering over the fluffy but chewy pizza crust and the hint of citrus in the balsamic vinaigrette, they barely talked.
"I haven't eaten since I wolfed down a donut this morning.” Eric's excuse got swallowed up with his salad fork.
"I was too nervous to eat, with the test and all."
More silence and chewing. After the pig out, the bill came. She grabbed; he grabbed. She grabbed; he grabbed. Hand over hand, until his hand covered the bill and she couldn't finagle her fingers underneath.
"I have a bigger income and fewer aunts,” he reasoned.
"And a bigger hand. Next time the treat's mine. Promise?"
Once he agreed, she shuttled herself off to the ladies room and met him at the exit a few minutes later.
"Now you're a living doll just like Ken,” he teased, eyeing her coral lips and fresh combed hair.
Ken turned out to be a doll, all five feet of him. From the moment Jilly entered the apartment, he fussed. “Let me take that.” He stuffed her handbag in the closet. “Sit here.” He pulled up a chrome chair for her at the kitchen table. “Coffee.” He brewed her a fresh cup.
He was trying really hard for her to like him, probably because of her tie to Eric through Hannah. But Ken didn't have to knock himself out. How could she not like him? He was such a friendly man. A neat housekeeper, too. Eric and Ken's apartment was spotless, but masculine, so unlike the frills and lace at her aunts’ home. Plaids and bold strong blues, greens, and yellows accented the white living room. The stark black kitchen gleamed with lots of chrome.
"What great rooms you have. I love the colors."
"Ken does it all,” Eric said. “Cooks, cleans, decorates. I'm ignorant when it comes to that stuff."
"Or so he says.” Ken turned to Jilly. “It's selective, if you ask me."
Eric shrugged, good-naturedly.
Jilly sipped the aromatic coffee in the shiny, silver ceramic mug. “Hmmm, delish. I wish somebody would show my aunt how to brew coffee this tasty. You haven't had hers yet,” she warned Eric. “Better take a Tums when you come over to visit. You too, Ken."
"I think I've been invited over for coffee.” Ken wriggled his brows at Eric.
"Of course. You're always welcome,” Jilly said. “You should've come along tonight. The pizza was great."
"I'm chef as well as proprietor of The Tarnished Angel and handled both the breakfast and luncheon shifts today. Believe me, the last place I wanted to be tonight was in a restaurant.” He washed his exhaustion away with a big gulp from his coffee cup.
"I haven't heard of The Tarnished Angel. But then I don't eat out much. My Aunt Adele is a wonderful cook, despite her awful coffee. What type of food do you cater?"
"A little bit of everything. Cajun, Creole, French, down-home for Southern boys like Eric.” He grinned.
"So what do you think of my friend, Ken?” Eric winked at Jilly. She knew what he wanted her to say.
"Gads, don't ask her in front of me,” Ken yelped.
"I think he's a doll."
"Oh no.” Ken covered his face with his hands and shook his head. “He put you up to that, didn't he?"
Jilly felt the color drain from her face. She'd horrified the man. How could Eric do this to her, to Ken?
"Tell her.” Eric nudged Ken's elbow until he looked up.
"I've been ragged about being a Ken doll since forever."
"Eric,” she squeaked and slapped at his arm.
"It's okay.” Ken held her hand to stop her from swatting Eric again. “I'd rather the Ken doll references than the GI Joe doll ones."
They all laughed. Ken was such a good sport.
"Besides.” He stood up and wiggled. His baggy black cotton shorts, slung low on his hips, swayed like a hula skirt while he did the bump and grind. “This Ken doll is anatomically correct."
"Oh, no.” Now Jilly covered her face and howled. “Eric told me you were shy."
"He's only shy until he decides whether he likes you.” Eric's grin widened. “I think he likes you."
"Eric, I've embarrassed your new friend.” But Ken kept right on bumping and grinding.
"He's trying to shock you.” Eric clapped in time to Ken's dance.
"Having grownup near Bourbon Street, it would take a lot more than a dance.” Jilly snorted and quickly covered her mouth. “I'm sorry. According to Aunt Gloria, it's unladylike to snort. Not to mention how unladylike it is of me to watch you dance.” She laughed and snorted again.
"What's a good snortin’ laugh between friends? Betcha pigs do it all the time. I know, we'll call you Ms. Piggy."
"Like the Muppet.” Jilly snorted louder. “The kids at the preschool center would love that. They love the videos."
"I luv the Muppets. I watch them in rerun every Saturday morning while I dust."
"Is that who you sing along with?” Eric laughed, snorted, and they all broke in laughter.
Jilly wiped the tears from her eyes and honed in on her Seiko. The burnished silver watch had been a graduation gift from her aunts and kept her on schedule. “Look at the time."
Eric jumped up. “I better get you home before your aunts put out a hit on me or something."
"They abhor violence, but they do like a good voodoo hex every now and then."
"Great they'll stick pins in Ken doll and doom me to drink your aunt's coffee for eternity."
"Oh, you two are too much,” she said. “I had a great time."
While Eric grabbed the doorknob, Ken handed Jilly her handbag. “I'll admit the way Eric gushed on about you had me jealous.” Ken kissed her cheek. “But now that I've met you, I'm sure the three of us will be—” He paused.
"Friends,” Jilly finished for him.
"Thick as thieves,” Eric said.
"Bosom buddies,” Ken announced.
"Bosom Buddies, isn't that the TV show where the men are gay?” she asked. Aunt Gloria watched the reruns regularly.
"They aren't, but we are,” Eric said.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twelve
Jilly didn't answer the door the next day after work. She wasn't in the parlor when Aunt Gloria let Zack in either. Disappointed, he didn't bother trying to pry any information out of the tight-lipped aunt, just ambled down the hall with his toolbox in hand. Suddenly, there she was, all blonde and vanilla-scented, helping Aunt Adele knead biscuit dough.
Jilly greeted him with a warm smile and a bat of her lashes. She had on white shorts, and her cute butt bobbled a bit with each knead. His toolbox clunked against his knee as he came to a dead stop.
The cold look Aunt Adele tossed him warned him to keep his eyes where they belonged, on the white kitchen cabinets and not on Jilly's white shorts.
He tried to concentrate on unloading the tools for the project, his saw, power screwdriver, hammer, plane. But he couldn't resist touching base with Jilly.
"How have you been?” His tone was low. “I've missed you."
He hadn't meant to say that last part. It sort of popped out, and in front of Aunt Adele whose gray brows had furrowed into a single line.
"I've missed you, too,” Jilly said, frankly, taking no mind of her aunt's disapproving scowl. “I've been busy studying for a tax accounting exam, which I'm pretty sure I aced thanks to Eric's tutoring."
"Great,” he said, curious as to what else Eric had tutored her in besides taxes and apparently Undressing 101.
"Eric is marvelous, isn't he?” Aunt Adele's frown disappeared with her praise for Eric, and she began humming happily to some imaginary tune.
<
br /> While Jilly kneaded and rolled, Zack hammered away, first at the shelves he'd removed from the cabinets, then at himself. He'd forgotten to kiss up to the old ladies again. Tomorrow he'd bring flowers all around, for Jilly and each aunt. Hell, he'd even bring them for Eric if it helped his cause.
He was innocent of getting Jilly drunk. There had to be a flower that professed innocence. He'd ask the florist.
After lugging the new oak for the cabinet shelves up from his truck, he measured and sawed and planed and sanded. Lost in the magic of working with the wood, he was startled by Jilly's voice. “Can I get the hand vacuum for you?"
He looked up past her long legs, toned from all the walking she did, to her flushed cheeks, pink and rosy from kneading dough in the warm kitchen, to her lush mouth that he ached to kiss, possess. For the longest moment, he was mesmerized until she repeated the request. “The hand sweeper."
He glanced down. He'd forgotten a drop cloth. His mind wasn't this scattered on the biggest, most complicated construction jobs.
Sawdust and wood curls swirled as Jilly drew her toe through them to spell out ZACK, in capital letters. Capitals were important. More important than lower case. Her toe seemed to be on the right track. His track and not Eric's.
Zack made a grab for her barefoot. Her big toe felt soft and warm and kissable, of all things. “Your foot-writing is as beautiful as your handwriting,” he teased. Not to mention as beautiful as her big toe and other coral-tipped digits.
With a giggle, she pulled away when he ventured to tickle the soft-curved arch of her foot. Just then her aunt shadowed over them. “Jilly Boo, it's time to wash up for dinner.” She shooed Boo off with a swat from an orange-checked kitchen mitt.
Zack eyed the apple-shaped clock above the stove. Only twenty to seven. Jilly didn't need twenty minutes to wash up her small hands. He didn't even need that long for his big paws. Aunt Adele was definitely still miffed at him.
In silence, the aunt handed him the small sweeper. He vacuumed both the floor and his jeans before he lathered up in the powder room with some girly soap.
Even the steamy, savory chicken potpie and hot, yeasty biscuits didn't warm up the cool, polite dinner. But, Aunt Adele did serve dessert tonight, banana bread pudding with a rum content easily a hundred proof. He figured her for both giggles and humming tonight.
"I don't need help,” she said after dinner, banishing Jilly from the kitchen and Zack's sight.
Aunt Adele proceeded to hum, loud, until it broke his concentration and he tried small talk to tone her down. But she kept it just that, small. She became a woman of few words and too much humming. He gave up and put away his tools.
On his way out, he got a peek at Jilly, writing out recipe cards in the parlor. “'Night,” he called to get her attention, and she padded over to see him out. But so did Aunt Adele—only she didn't pad on bare feet, she waddled after them in sensible shoes.
Damn. He hadn't gotten to exchange one private word with Jilly about Eric or himself or exploring the possibility of getting to know each other better.
A normal man would give up. He guessed he wasn't normal. Tomorrow was canasta night, and if he played his cards right, he'd have a chance to get Jilly alone.
The next evening, he stood on the stoop juggling his toolbox and an armful of flowers. The florist had assured him, “Daisies mean innocence.” Clipped to each of the three bouquets, a card explained that exact sentiment, which should get the message across to her aunts once and for all.
Jilly's bouquet didn't take much explaining. Basically, the white camellia meant, “You're adorable.” He'd thought the sentiment perfect when he purchased the flowers, but now, standing here in the heat, hoping someone, anyone, would open the door and soon, he felt kind of awkward. No, he felt outright nerdy.
He'd begun feeling nerdy when the cop who lived downstairs chuckled as he held the courtyard gate open for Zack and his pile of posies.
He felt more of a nerd when Aunt Gloria answered the door. “Zachary, is that you behind all the flowers? Did someone die?"
"Nope.” Only his dignity.
He elbowed his way through the door and plopped his toolbox onto the floor. “These are for you Aunt Gloria.” He shuffled a bouquet free from the bunch and flopped it into her arms. “There's a card."
She looked as out of place holding the daisies as him, like a man with a grievance. “This wasn't necessary."
He wanted to blurt out, “I know,” but he held back.
Through the petals tickling his nose, he glimpsed Aunt Vinny in her rocker and strode across the Oriental rug, fumbling free another bunch. He set the spray on her lap. “Please accept my apology for the other day."
"I do declare, Zachary.” She stopped rocking, sniffed the daisies and sneezed.
"Bless you, sister,” Aunt Gloria said.
"Achoo.” Aunt Vinny sneezed again.
"Vinnia, take your nose out of the flowers.” Aunt Gloria didn't bless her this time.
A faraway look came into Aunt Vinny's eyes. “Reminds me of when my beau came to propose. Blossoms in one hand and a diamond ring in the other."
Aunt Adele and Jilly rushed from the kitchen to see about the fuss. Zack waited as Aunt Adele wiped her hands on her pink striped apron before presenting her with a daisy bouquet.
"There's a card.” He wanted to add that it states I'm innocent. But if they didn't get the message and forgive him after all this hoopla, why bother pleading?
"Oh, my word.” Aunt Adele flustered over the sprigs like a beauty queen awarded long stem roses. “I have to find the crystal vases.” With the flowers in hand, she scuttled from the room.
Jilly stood there smiling at him, pleased, her blue eyes gleaming.
"These are for you.” He handed her the camellias.
Taking them in her arms, she cradled them, smelled them, and opened the small envelope. Her slender fingers trembled briefly as she read the card, and then her smile widened.
He wasn't a nerd after all. He was a hero.
That night more crystal vases glinted beneath the ancient brass chandelier than glassware and china. The aunts flashed gracious smiles at him, but they didn't fool Zack. Their eyes were cold, not murderously so, but on a gauge of one-to-ten, from scratch-your-eyes-out to stone-cold-dead, he'd say he rated a maimed-for-life. A shiver tickled his spine, and it wasn't from the air conditioning or the cold asparagus soup.
"How is the itching problem with your ear?” Aunt Vinny asked, while all the other aunts stared at him hopefully.
"Better.” The itch ceased after he left the aunts’ house. A Miller beer at bedtime had numbed the problem caused by imagining Jilly with another man.
The ladies lips drooped. Evidently, the daisies hadn't worked.
"Are you having any other itches? Perhaps your right foot?” Aunt Vinny's words sounded wishful.
"Not that I'd noticed.” His jaw tightened. They were onto another superstitious old wives’ tale.
Jilly stopped spooning up her soup. “Did you step in poison ivy out at one of the plantations?” Her tone sounded caring. “I'll fetch the calamine lotion.” She rose from her chair, worry crinkling the corners of her pretty blue eyes.
As much as he enjoyed having her concern directed at him, he waved his hand for her to stay seated. “No, I'm fine."
She settled back onto her chair.
"If your right foot itches, you're going to take a long trip.” Aunt Vinny's tone said she'd gladly pack his bags or, better yet, if he took that really long trip, she'd sing at his funeral wearing her red jog suit.
The twinkle in her eyes and that of her sisters assured him they'd tote his posies along to the cemetery and toss them onto his grave to boot.
"Nothing itches,” he insisted.
"There's a voodoo spell that stops itches.” Aunt Gloria raised an eyebrow. “All kinds of itches,” she stressed.
He caught the message in her stern eyes. Manly itches, the kind he felt around Jilly that made his skin
hot and his clothes tight.
The ladies went back to eating their soup, all but Jilly. She touched his hand from across the table. “I'm glad you're fine,” she said before turning to her aunts. “What time am I dropping everyone off at Hannah's for the card game?"
Zack's heart pounded. He'd finally get his chance to get Jilly alone. To talk to her, maybe touch her and kiss her.
"I'm not going,” Aunt Vinny said.
Zack's pulse base-lined.
"Why not?” Jilly asked in unison with her other two aunts.
A note of sincerity was missing from the aunts’ voices. Zack would bet his and Bob's job bonuses that the dear old ladies had this planned.
Last night Aunt Adele had stayed glued to his elbow. Tonight it seemed was Aunt Vinny's turn to keep him and Jilly apart.
"A touch of indigestion. Nothing a bromo and a night in my rocker won't cure.” Aunt Vinny grappled for her cane.
"Maybe you should lie down,” Zack suggested.
"No,” all three elderly ladies chorused.
"I feel better when I sit up.” Aunt Vinny frowned at him over her shoulder before she and her sisters slipped out of the dining room like sly, old foxes.
Aunt Vinny, her rocking chair, and a long night looked like a sure thing. If only Hannah's bookie would take the bet.
Much later, he packed up his tools and called it quits. He hadn't gotten a glimpse of Jilly since dinner. Apparently, the instant she strayed from her aunt's eyesight, the woman called out, “Jilly, dear,” in a none-too-feeble voice.
Zack stopped by the parlor before leaving, and Jilly walked him to the door. “I'd like to talk to you alone,” he whispered.
Before she could answer, Aunt Vinny coughed. “Jilly, dear, please fetch me a glass of water.” More coughs followed.
Zack sighed. Since when did indigestion cause a coughing fit? He held onto to Jilly's arm, hoping for an answer.
"Another time.” She touched the hand resting on her arm and he nodded.
But another time was damn hard to come by around the Pejeaud household. If he'd figured out the old gals’ scam for keeping them apart, why hadn't Jilly? She knew them longer.
The next night when he arrived, the red blooms in the window boxes were drooping. He had a feeling they set the mood for the next few hours.