Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  In the parking lot, Season patted Pearl on the hood before unlocking the door and climbing behind the wheel. She knew what her problem was, and it came in the form of a six-foot hunk named Rann Brogan. He’d be back in Chicago now, up to his duplicitous eyeballs in shady land deals. So why couldn’t she stop thinking about the incredible thrill of his mouth on hers, the lure of his hypnotic smile, and the blue-spoked eyes? I’m toast, screwed to the max, Pearl.

  When she pulled into the driveway, Duna gave her a wave and returned to weeding the flower bed near the shed. After tossing her backpack onto the kitchen table, she slapped a ham and cheese sandwich together, grabbed a Coke from the fridge and bounded up the stairs to her bedroom. Maybe she could muster up enough interest to finish her essay on Product and Fashion Photography this afternoon.

  She opened her laptop and pushed the power button. Since procrastination was one of her strong suits, she decided to hang out on Facebook for awhile, add a few photos to her Tumbler page and check her emails. Nothing new on Facebook and the new images she took in the woods the other day looked great on her Tumbler profile. Arabians galloped in her chest when she opened her email and saw the handle: surveyyourdreams@gmail.com. She clicked on the message.

  Rann Brogan

  To: naturefreak94@gmail.com

  Hope school is going well.

  The Red-tailed hawk I promised.

  Enjoy!

  ps: What does Veshengo mean?

  She opened the attachment and tears brimmed in her eyes. Not from the image of the most beautiful hawk in flight she’d ever seen, but because seeing his name flooded her with thoughts and memories she’d rather forget. Correction…had to forget.

  She tapped her foot against the wood floor and took another bite of her sandwich. She had to acknowledge the email, thank him for the photo. Didn’t she?

  Season Scrimshaw

  To: surveyyourdreams@gmail.com

  School is fine. Essays suck.

  He is a beauty. Thank you, I did enjoy it.

  I forgot about Duna calling you Veshengo that day.

  Veshengo = Romani word for man of the forest

  She hit send and imagined him seated behind an enormous mahogany desk with floor-to-ceiling windows and Chicago’s skyline as a backdrop. Oil and water. Urban elite and country bumpkin. Fire and ice. She slammed her laptop shut and decided to join Duna in the garden, take out her frustration on the weeds.

  “Hey, ghel, glad you decided to join me. There’s another pair of gloves in the shed.”

  “Thanks, but I need to feel the earth between my fingers today.”

  Duna caught her out of the corner of his eye but kept on yanking stranglers from the ground. “How’s school going?”

  “Choking me, like the wild Sarsaparilla and Hoary Alyssa at your knees.”

  “What’s that about, do you reckon?”

  She sat back on her haunches and emitted a puff of air. “Wish I knew. Maybe I’m chasing an elusive dream.”

  “You’ve wanted to be a photographer since you were twelve.”

  “I know, but now I want to be the best photographer in the world and I’m not sure I have it in me. Some days I think my camera broke for a reason.”

  “Hmm.”

  “That’s it…hmm, no prophetic words of wisdom? Your Romani arsenal out of ammo today?”

  Duna laughed, and she felt better. She’d always loved the deep, rich rumble of his laughter. And the wild swirl of tattoos inking his large, sure hands. “You want a quip, ghel?”

  “Well give me something.”

  “All right. How about this one: Burn your enemies' caravans and you burn your future.”

  She tipped her head to the side as if by doing so, she could better process the words. The seconds ticked by. “What does that have to do with my dilemma about school?”

  “Nothin’.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You did that on purpose, switched topics on me.”

  “Nope. You asked for words of wisdom. I gave you ones that are pertinent to your troubles.”

  “How so?”

  “School isn’t your problem. That’s a caravan you can walk away from and join again later.” He stopped plucking weeds and looked into her eyes. “He’s not the enemy, Season. You walk away and you could be burning your fate, your destiny. That’s something you can never recapture.”

  “A kiss, Duna, that’s all it was. Yes, maybe he likes what he sees, but that’s not what I’m looking for.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Real love, half a dozen kids, a dozen cats and dogs…the whole enchilada.”

  “That’s what Veshengo is looking for too.”

  “Stop calling him that. It makes it sound as if…well, like you have a real fondness for him.”

  “I do.”

  “Worship him all you want but you have no idea what he’s searching for.”

  “I’ll say it again, ‘I do.’”

  “You’re letting your gypsy intuition overrule facts here.”

  “Am not. My dear old Day, God rest her soul, said I came into the world at night but not last night. I know because I saw the way he looked at you.”

  “How?”

  “As if you were the only woman in the world who can make him be the best version of himself.”

  A tear slid down her cheek. “I want to trust him but I don’t know how to.” She sniffled. “And now I’ve gone and messed it all up.”

  Coming to his feet, he stepped forward and embraced her. She inhaled his familiar scent, surrendered to the shelter and strength she’d always found in his arms. His quiet mumble against the side of her head calmed her. “I s’pect you’ll hear from him again.”

  She jerked her neck back. “You suspect or you know?”

  “What am I now, a soothsayer?”

  “Damn closest thing I ever saw to one.”

  “If I tell you I know you’ll hear from again, will you help me finish weeding the flower bed?”

  “Only if it’s the truth.”

  “You will hear from again.” He shook his head. “Now start at that end,” he pointed. “I’ll meet you in the middle.”

  Her heart lighter, the tears swiped from her cheeks, she walked to the end of the sunflowers, asters and coneflowers and dropped to her knees. “I love you, Duna,” she called out.

  “Love ya more,” he said without missing a beat.

  Chapter 9

  Go in God's name--so you ride no witches.

  “Thank you, Mr. Carlson, for staying after class to speak with me.”

  “Wish it wasn’t for this reason. I hate to see you drop out.” He exhaled a solid breath. “You’re my top student, Season. I’m not just talking this year; I’m talking since I started teaching photography at the college.”

  “You’re a great teacher. I hope you don’t think it has anything to do with that.”

  “No, it happens sometimes. Young people start questioning who they are, where they’re going, and it overwhelms them.”

  “I’m coming back, I promise.” She dug through her backpack, retrieved the camera and handed it to him. “Thanks for the loaner.”

  “Why don’t you keep it until classes start up again? Purely selfish motivation on my part.” He winked. “Number one, it will remind you to get out there and take a few pictures this summer, and number two, I’ll have another chance to talk you into enrolling for the fall semester.”

  She placed the camera into his hand. “You won’t have to talk me into enrolling. I want to get my degree.”

  On the way to the car, she questioned her decision. Duna hadn’t tried to dissuade her for quitting school, and for the first time in weeks, the constant tension in her head and neck evaporated. She slid behind the wheel and ran her hand over the dash. “Did I make the right choice, Pearl?”

  Seeing Duna chase his new baby ducklings around was the most comical thing she’d seen in days. Pearl stopped near the garage and she exited the car. “What happened?” she shouted
, clutching her abdomen.

  “Tarnation! One escaped through a small opening in the chicken wire and the rest followed suit.”

  “Need some help?”

  “Nah, might take some time but eventually I’ll chase ‘em back in.”

  “You forgot to open the gate.”

  Cupping a hand over his ear, he hollered, “What?”

  “The gate on the pen.”

  Duna slapped his head. “So I did.” Ironically, when he walked to the pen to open the gate, the ducklings all lined up behind him and followed him in. He gave a thumbs-up. “Package came for ya today. I put it on the table.”

  A package. She hadn’t ordered anything online. Curious to see what had arrived, she pushed the backpack off her shoulders near the kitchen table and heard a clunk when it hit the floor. A UPS box stared back at her when she leaned in. Return address…Chicago. Her heart banged against her ribs. Grabbing a scissor from the hutch drawer, she cut the tape from the top and flipped opened the flaps. A box marked Canon sat amid a flurry of foam chips. She grabbed the white envelope taped to the box and opened it.

  In case you run into another mountain lion or see a Red-tailed hawk soaring across the sky.

  RB

  Next, she opened the Canon box and then fell into a kitchen chair.

  Duna shuffled into the room. “What’s in the package, ghel?”

  “Oh, my God. Pinch me, Grandfather, tell me I’m not dreaming.” She held it up. “I can’t keep it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t ogle it for an hour.”

  “A camera?”

  “Not just any camera, a Canon EOS.”

  A puzzled expression crossed his weathered face. “Why would you want to stare at it for an hour?”

  “We’re talking continuous shooting feature at fourteen frames per second. We’re talking megapixel sensor and dual memory cards.”

  “You’re grinning like a goose so I’m going to assume those are good things.”

  She felt her mouth curve downward. “We’re talking five thousand dollars.”

  “For a camera?”

  With the utmost care, she placed the Canon back into the box and then nestled it into the foam. “This is a problem. Why would he send me a five thousand dollar camera knowing I can’t accept it?”

  “Who…Veshengo?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, your beloved Veshengo.”

  “Why can’t you keep it? He wants you to have it.”

  “No, just no. He can’t buy me.”

  “He’s not trying to buy you; he’s trying to buy you a camera.”

  “I’m not a whore, Duna. Holy crap, I’m not even his girlfriend.”

  “Accept the gift and then you will be.”

  “What!”

  “Do you want to be his girl or not? If not, send it back. If so, call him and say thank you.”

  “Why is everything so black and white with you…so easy?”

  “Life is easy, people make it complicated.”

  “Besides, I can’t call him because I don’t have his phone number.” She tapped her forehead. “I do have his email address though.”

  Duna shook his head.

  “Keep your eye on that box; I’ll be down again soon.”

  “What…you expect a rhesus to sneak in and steal it?”

  “A rhesus?”

  “Monkey.”

  Without answering him, Season scrambled from the room and bounded up the stairs, her mind racing to compose an email to Rann. She wore out a path from window to desk, staring at the laptop as if it were a loaded weapon. Her emotions vacillated between anger and elation. Does he think he can buy me? Is this a ploy to get to the land? Or does he want me? She picked up her pace and continued the internal argument. He wants to have sex with you; that’s all. You’re a conquest to him, nothing more. He’s probably slept with one hundred women. She groaned. As opposed to my two.

  “Season!” Duna’s voice crept up the stairwell. “Stop pacing and pick your poison.”

  Opening the door, she lifted her nose in the air and looked down on him. “Poison? You think Rann Brogan is poison?"

  "No."

  "Then what do you mean?”

  “Burn his caravan or face your destiny. According to you, they’re both toxic.”

  The door slammed with a reverberating shudder.

  I’ll choose my poison all right.

  Seated at the desk in her room, she opened her laptop and logged in to her email. Her fingers trembled when she clicked compose.

  Season Scrimshaw

  To: surveyyourdreams@gmail.com

  The camera arrived. Thank you but watch for it in the mail. I’m sending it back.

  SS

  She hit send and then waited…and waited. This is stupid. He probably isn’t even online.

  An email floated in. From him. She drew several deep breaths and counted to ten before opening it.

  Rann Brogan

  To: naturefreak94@gmail.com

  No you’re not…sending it back, that is. You’re going to need it when you visit me in Chicago next weekend.

  RB

  He’s mad, nuttier than a squirrel turd.

  Season Scrimshaw

  To: surveyyourdreams@gmail.com

  Have you been drinking? I’m not coming to Chicago, not next weekend, not ever. No doubt hundreds of women have fallen at your feet in the past, would froth at the mouth over such an invitation but I’m not one of them.

  SS

  Rann Brogan

  To: naturefreak94@gmail.com

  Put on your big girl panties, Season. I want you; you want me. Own it.

  ps: I don’t recall any frothing-mouthed women.

  RB

  What does that mean? He doesn’t recall any women frothing at the mouth but he remembers women falling at his feet? 'Put on your big girl panties and admit you want me?'

  Slamming the laptop shut, she scooted from the chair to resume her earlier pacing and listened to Mumford and Sons blasting on her iPod, Well, I came home, like a stone, and I fell heavy into your arms. These days of dust, which we've known, will blow away with this new sun.

  She chewed on her fingernail while trying to compose an answer six ways this side of Sunday but words failed her. Minutes later and back in the chair, she flipped open her laptop determined to put the arrogant bastard in his place. The next stanza of I Will Wait For You echoed in her ears. Now I'll be bold, as well as strong, and use my head alongside my heart. So tame my flesh and fix my eyes, a tethered mind freed from the lies.

  Her email lit up.

  Rann Brogan

  To: naturefreak94@gmail.com

  What are you doing, Season, pacing in your room? Trying to convince your mind we’re all wrong for one another? Look, I don’t give a shit if you cut your teeth on The Lion King or The Girl Next Door. You think I’m a wealthy snob who preys on the weak and lives only to fatten his wallet. I get that because of how we met. All I’m asking for is a chance to prove I’m not that man.

  Hell, I don’t know anything anymore except I want you, want to be with you. If you want me then don’t say no. Say yes.

  ps: Aren’t we a little old to be playing email tag? Send me your phone number…please.

  RB

  Tears fell from her eyes. She reached for a tissue and blew her nose. The steps leading upstairs groaned and then Duna pushed the door open. “Anyone in here need a hug?”

  “I think I need to be slapped.”

  “Can’t help you there.”

  “He wants my number, wants me to visit him in Chicago.”

  Her grandfather beamed.

  “I take it you approve then?”

  “Ghel, you can’t go through life thinking everyone will leave you. Your parents died, and that was a terrible thing to happen to a little girl of ten. But it was an accident that took them from you. They didn’t choose to leave.”

  “I know. But this land is my last tie to them and he means to take it away from me.”

  “N
o, child, once he met you, he switched horses.” Duna walked over to the desk and stroked the side of her head. “Give him your number, give him a chance.”

  She wiped the snot from her nose with the back of her hand and nodded. “All right.”

  “When you’re done talking to him, holler down and I’ll put supper on the table.”

  Another nod.

  She opened the laptop, went to her email and hit compose.

  Season Scrimshaw

  To: surveyyourdreams@gmail.com

  218-447-3290

  SS

  And then she hit send.

  Chapter 10

  In the hour of your greatest success are sown the seeds of your own destruction.

  For the next five days, Season wondered if the clouds fell from the sky and took up permanent residence beneath her feet. She lost track of the hours she spent talking to Rann on the phone. There wasn’t a topic they hadn’t covered from their childhoods to the present. And there was still so much more she wanted to know about him. Had to know before she stopped wondering if he was like the fox circling the hen house.

  He had their entire weekend planned, meet up with his friends Friday night, catch an art exhibit Saturday at the Chicago History Museum featuring award-winning wildlife photos from the Serengeti Plains, the Old West and rural America, and dinner Saturday night at the newest hot spot called Girl & The Goat. He mentioned lunch at a place called Good Stuff Eatery on Sunday, but that depended on what time she decided to head home.

  Friday couldn’t come soon enough, but it did. She scrambled from bed, took a shower, packed her overnight bag and found Duna putting breakfast on the table.