Sweet Talking Man

by Liz Talley

  “Yeah, ol’ Georgie boy is an accountant over in Mississippi. Jackson area. Bilked his daddy out of every dime in order to get through school, so I don’t think much of ’im. Let me grab my book and see if I got his number. Might still be in there,” the new owner said, hitching up his work pants and moving heavily to the garage office.

  “Thanks,” Leif said minutes later when Willie handed him a slip of stained paper with a number written on it.

  “What you want with him again?”

  “Just need to ask him something. No big deal.” Leif held up his hand and moved toward his motorcycle, which the big man had already asked about. The gleam in Willie’s eyes told Leif taking the bike to the shop had gotten him instant respect and the number he needed. Which was a relief since Big Willie had eyed his blond locks and hemp hoodie with suspicion when he first walked in the garage.

  “Aw-w-right. Later, man,” Big Willie said, tugging his ball cap down on his head and walking away.

  Leif hurried to his motorcycle and dialed the number.

  “George Dominique,” the man said. His voice was smooth, if rushed.

  “Hi, Mr. Dominique. My name’s Leif Lively and I’m doing a biography on an artist who once lived in Magnolia Bend. Several folks around here said you knew her. Calliope—”

  “Oh, yeah. I remember her. She came to town when I was a freshman at Ole Miss. Met her that summer.”

  “Yeah, well, according to a few of my sources, you two were an item.” Leif waved at a woman who stuck her head out the door of the dry cleaners. She gave him a questioning look before waving and returning inside.

  “We went out one time, and that’s only because she felt sorry for me.”

  “Then the report someone gave me was wrong?”

  “Yeah, she was such a fox. I asked her out, but I could tell she said yes only because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings. We went to a place in New Orleans in my new Trans Am. Hot little car.”

  “So no romance, huh?”

  “Not even a good-night kiss. Try Meat Grommet. I think she hung out with him some, and I heard Finch sniffed around a little, too.”

  Leif froze as the image of the bird on his mother’s hand popped into his head. “Finch? I didn’t have him on the list.”

  “Well, back then everyone called him Finch. Now everybody calls him Senator Orgeron. Finch was his middle name or something.”

  Leif swallowed the excitement. Nothing but a hunch. Meant nothing at this point. But still. Maybe. “Great. I’ll check him out. Thanks for the information.”

  “So when’s it coming out?” George asked.

  “What?”

  “The book you’re writing. I want to get a copy.”

  “Oh, I have to sell it to a publisher first, but I’ll let you know.”

  Leif hung up after thanking George and immediately typed Everett Orgeron in the internet search engine on his phone. The man’s official biography popped up immediately—Everett Fincher Orgeron III. Sounded pompous. Leif enlarged the screen and studied the picture.

  Hmm. Did the good senator look like him?

  Leif couldn’t tell. The man had a prominent chin, close-cropped silver hair and light colored eyes. His brow was heavier than Leif’s but Leif knew he’d inherited most of his looks from his mother. Oh, and Everett was listed as a Republican.

  A Republican?

  Leif gave a wry laugh and jammed his helmet on his head, firing up the engine and reversing out of the parking spot. He’d need to check out Clyde “Meat” Grommet before he became too fixated on the senator. But until then, he had a beautiful woman to occupy his time…and some grading to do. The shooting star centerpieces were painted and ready to go for the banquet at school. He’d also closed submissions for the Golden Magnolia last week. The submitted forms were organized into five categories—there weren’t as many as past festivals but hopefully word would spread and they’d get more next year.

  A tiny pang of regret struck at the thought that he wouldn’t be here next year. Maybe he could visit? Or not. Somehow the thought of returning after he and Abigail were done didn’t seem like a good idea.

  A bigger pang hit him at the thought of him and Abigail being over. She’d become such a part of his life in such a short time, and he couldn’t imagine not having her teasing him, laughing at his impressions of his fellow teachers or wrapping her arms around him and making him feel like he was the only man in the world.

  This weekend her brother was getting married and the following weekend was the festival gala at Magnolia Bend. Maybe they could take their relationship public. He loved spending time with Abigail, but he hated feeling as if it were tawdry. He wanted to be able to stand beside her, hold her purse when she went to the restroom, fetch her a glass of wine.

  Then again, he wasn’t sure why the secrecy bothered him so much. He’d never been one to be insecure. But obviously living in a small and somewhat conservative town meant he had to give a little more forethought to his relationships. He’d never lived in a town where something like this mattered. Hell, maybe it didn’t matter to anyone else but Abigail. Maybe keeping him hidden was her hang-up.

  But that hang-up didn’t stop her from coming over almost every night after Birdie went to bed. Some nights they got busy quickly before she hurried home. Other times they’d hang out and talk. And he’d draw her.

  Just as he did that night.

  Abigail lay on his bed again, twined in his sheets. Candles flickered on his bedside table, permeating the air with a spicy intimacy and bathing Abigail in a soft glow.

  “I bet this is how Rose felt when Jack drew her,” Abigail said, stretching her arm above her head.

  “Who?” Leif asked, narrowing his eyes, trying to get the shading perfect. He was nearing completion of the piece and felt it might be one of his best. It was as if his feelings for Abigail had leeched from his body and dripped down his hand to become one with his creation.

  She made a face. “You know. The Titanic movie.”

  “Never saw it. I don’t watch much TV.”

  Abigail smiled. “I love TV. It’s always been my escape.”

  “Mmm,” he said, readjusting the sheet over her hips, lingering a bit longer than needed and taking the opportunity to brush the underside of her breast. He wanted to make love to her again but knew she’d have to go soon. Abigail was a stickler for being at the B and B by eleven o’ clock, which was her standard lockup time.

  “Any luck with talking to Bart?”

  “He won’t return my calls. I implied I wanted to talk to him about the festival, but still nothing.” His usual endless supply of patience was running low.

  “He might be a dead end anyway. Bart didn’t live here then, I don’t think,” she said, stretching and messing up his line. “What about the guys Carla mentioned?”

  “Well, I know my father is not George Dominique. They had one date. He gave me a few leads and I’m in the middle of checking them out.” For some reason he didn’t want to mention Everett yet. The senator actually seemed like a good bet—Leif kept seeing that little bird tattooed on his mother’s hand, the name Finch echoing in his mind. “Next on the list is a guy named Meat Grommet.”

  “Does he work at the dairy?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to stop by his office tomorrow and talk to him.”

  “Who’s the other guy?”

  “You know what? I don’t want to waste time talking about my potential sperm donor.” He set the tablet aside and pulled her to him.

  Her eyes flew open in surprise but then she smiled. “I wouldn’t call talking about something that’s important to you a waste of time. I like being here for you.”

  “Oh, you do? Well, I like you being here for me, too,” he said, sliding his hands down her rib cage to the hollow of her hip. He dipped his head and dropped a kiss on the sweet spot beneath her hip bone.

  Abigail sighed. “Oh, man, I love being your booty call.”

  “You’re not my booty call. I’m your b
ooty call.” He peppered kisses along her jaw, working his way toward her mouth.

  Abigail groaned. “It’s late. I have to go.”

  “Let’s make out a little while longer,” he said, brushing his mouth against her lips. She sighed and he took that as a yes and kissed her thoroughly.

  Her hands tangled in his hair before one slid down his back. Abigail broke the kiss and looked at him. “I’m so getting addicted to you.”

  That made him smile. Mutual addiction. Nice.

  Abigail’s eyes reflected exactly what he felt— sublime happiness in the time they spent together.

  Damn, she looked so fine with her tangled dark hair falling across her bare shoulders, those sleepy green eyes shining at him and those bee-stung lips beckoning. He lost himself in this woman.

  He dropped a kiss on her nose. “Making love is a great addiction. Fabulous upside.”

  “Unless you get genital warts…or pregnant. Could be a very uncomfortable downside. College is expensive,” she quipped.

  “There’s that,” he laughed, giving her a little squeeze, knowing she had to go.

  Abigail shifted, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “Birdie woke up last night and I wasn’t there. She said something sarcastic this morning at breakfast. I shifted the conversation, but I know she suspects. I feel like at any moment she’s going to point a finger and condemn me as a whore.”

  “Not getting any better with her, huh?”

  “There’s definitely a wedge between us. I keep thinking time will fix it, but I don’t know.”

  “She’s at a difficult age. It’s what tweens do—ride a wave of lunacy.”

  She pulled on a pair of faded jeans and an old Henley shirt that had likely been Cal’s. Leif didn’t like thinking about that fact. “Yeah, I knew this stage would be hard, but I’d really rather she revert to eating crayons and flushing my socks down the toilet. Birdie still holds on to the delusion of her daddy and me waking up to sunshine streaming into our bedroom window and her bringing in a tray of toast and juice. A freaking commercial for happy-family-after.”

  “She’s a kid. They all want the Beaver Cleaver experience.”

  “Yeah, and Cal’s being ‘present’ in our lives isn’t really helping. Yesterday, I came home to him on the porch with a hammer and nails fixing a loose board. Birdie had cookies and milk on the swing. Another commercial-worthy moment.”

  Leif tried to dam the jealousy coursing through him. He had no right to Abigail. At the very beginning they’d made it clear—they were friends and lovers with no ties. He had to remind himself. Constantly. “Consider it free labor.”

  Abigail nodded. “That’s a good way to look at it.”

  Leif didn’t say anything as she slid into her UGG knockoffs, looking, for once, like a teenager instead of a mom. Abigail didn’t care about fashion when it came to getting to him, though he appreciated the lace and satin waiting beneath her mom jeans or sloppy pajama pants. “Will I see you tomorrow?” He always asked.

  “Probably not. We’re having a small wedding shower for Shelby.”

  “Damn.”

  “And not Saturday, either. That’s the wedding and I’ll be busy all day.”

  Something inside him sank at the thought of not seeing her for several days. He craved having her with him. Holding her made his day complete. “You don’t need a handsome man to escort you to the wedding, by chance?”

  She glanced up, a flicker in her eyes. “It’s not a date thing. The wedding is really small with just family and a few close friends.”

  “Is Cal going?” He hated himself for asking, but nasty jealousy had already knocked down his veneer of not giving a damn about what Abigail did or didn’t do.

  “Are you jealous?”

  Hell, yeah.

  But he didn’t say that. He remained quiet, his insides reverberating with hurt at the thought she didn’t want him to meet her family. Didn’t want him beside her as a close friend. It made him feel small, dirty. Hadn’t they grown beyond a hookup? He’d thought so. He’d hoped so. “I’m not jealous because I have no right to be, right?”

  Abigail’s forehead wrinkled. “Look, if you want to go, you can.”

  But she didn’t sound convincing. It was as if she were throwing him a bone she didn’t want to give up.

  “No. It’s not about the wedding. No guys want to go to a wedding. I just want to be with you. We don’t have to advertise the fact I screw your brains out nightly.” As soon as he uttered the words, he wanted to kick himself. He sounded like a needy bitch.

  “Come on, Leif,” she said, sliding a hand onto his bare shoulder, stroking him in a motherly fashion that annoyed the crap out of him. He shrugged her touch away. “It’s not that I don’t want you there, it’s just that I can’t open myself up to speculation. You’re going to leave Magnolia Bend, shaking the dust from your shoes, but I’ll still be here…with a shredded reputation.”

  “Who gives a shit?”

  “I do. My dad’s a pastor and well-respected community member. I have a daughter.”

  “Oh, I forgot. I’m the son of a slutty murderess.”

  “That’s not what I implied. Don’t put words in my mouth.” Her tone had hardened and he hated that his insecurity had brought this between them. He couldn’t seem to help himself.

  “Why are you so worried about what people think? Is it because I’m too weird? Too young? Too much a man whore? Is that it? You don’t want people to suspect you’re doing the wacky art teacher?”

  “Leif…”

  “No, I get it. They’d talk about you, and you can’t stand anyone seeing you as human. Would mess up the whole Perfect Abigail thing you have going.”

  “People don’t judge men. They judge women. You’d leave and I’d be the same pathetic loser who couldn’t keep a man…except this time I’d also be a whore. I don’t want to be that woman.”

  “God, you have some major esteem problems, don’t you? Do you think everyone in this town is concerned about what you do? Life’s too short to worry about this shit,” he said, rising and slipping on his drawstring pajama pants. Inside, his anger grew and being naked felt more vulnerable than normal. He needed pants on for this conversation.

  “I don’t think everyone’s watching and waiting for me to mess up. It’s not just about my image. I have heart problems. Love has never worked out for me,” she said, her words falling like the first flakes of snow, a stinging harbinger.

  For a moment he felt regret. Abigail had been hurt and embarrassed. Still, her past was no excuse for avoiding a future. She wanted to protect herself, hiding what she felt from the world because if no one saw her vulnerability, they couldn’t see her world fall apart when love didn’t work out for her.

  That was a chickenshit way to live. Sure, his relationships hadn’t worked out so well to date, but at least he jumped in with both feet expecting them to work out for the best.

  Leif stared at her, trying to figure out how to shelve his hurt and help her through her insecurities. But he couldn’t stop the emotions rollicking through his body.

  Her attitude about him hurt.

  Abigail released a pent-up breath. “Look, I don’t want to leave like this. Maybe I am being selfish but I like what we have. This has been good. Why change it?” She waved her hand, turning her head to look around their exotic getaway that cloistered them from reality and tucked them into the fantasy they’d created just for themselves.

  On one hand he was an enabler. On the other he didn’t really care because being with Abigail had been so easy. “So you like sneaking around, screwing me and then showing up at church the perfect mother, daughter and sister?”

  She recoiled as though he’d slapped her. “Is that what you think?”

  The tangled sheets and sweet intimacy they’d experienced moments ago evaporated. Suddenly this thing they’d avoided for weeks was out there. The idea that Abigail wanted to keep getting action from the resident—what had she called him the night Cal
had come home? Lothario. Yeah. In Abigail’s mind he was good for one thing…but not good enough to stand beside her in public. “Well, babe, the old adage of ‘actions speak louder than words’ comes to mind.”

  “I’m not using you. You know that. We agreed on this arrangement from the beginning, so why are you upset now?”

  “I’m starting to feel dirty from this. You come over, under the cloak of darkness, to sleep with me. We had one date that might be considered halfway public. The rest of the time we’ve spent together has been strictly on the down low. Which, hey, is cool. I mean, I like getting laid.”

  Abigail’s eyes grew icy. “It’s more than some sordid rendezvous. We’re friends, too. You know that.”

  “Do I? You seem pretty comfortable with what’s going on between us. Slightly more than acquaintances on the surface but getting nasty every time the lights go out.”

  “Leif, why are you doing this?” Abigail asked, her voice trembling.

  “Because I’m beginning to understand the way my mother might have felt. Am I really that different from the other men in town? Are you embarrassed of this?” He lifted a hank of hair brushing his shoulder. “Or because I play the ukulele, dress differently and meditate?”

  “You’re twisting this around. If you want to come with me to John and Shelby’s wedding, you’re welcome to. I just didn’t think you’d care. I thought this was what you wanted, too—the whole ‘let’s hang out and have a little fun’ thing.”

  Leif shook his head. He didn’t believe her. “Know what? It’s fine. I don’t care about the wedding. I just wanted you to treat me as something other than your plaything.”

  He couldn’t seem to take the hurt from his voice. Honestly, up until he’d uttered the words, he hadn’t known he felt this way—or at least, not so strongly. The past few weeks had been sweet and intimate as they’d gotten to know each other, enjoying the hell out of each other’s bodies but also finding laughter and commonalities.

  Maybe looking for his father had brought these feelings to the surface. Inside he felt about as stable as gelatin, wriggly and messy. He’d thought it would be so easy—find his father, tell the man he had a son and then move on in life knowing he’d carried out his mother’s last wishes. But this? This was complicated. He’d grown too attached to the community, too attached to Abigail. And deep down he worried about what his father would think of him. What if he, too, rejected him? Leif had never felt so needy or out of control before. He hated what he’d become.