“Damn man, you didn’t just say that did you?” Aaron admonished as he turned sort of sideways in his seat to better face Blaze. “Old and tested! Are you sayin’ that this lovely lady here is old as the hills?” he sputtered!
There was a brief, awkward silence. Blaze’s head shook side to side.
“No…I…that’s not at all what I was trying to say,” he spoke in a chagrined way. Another pause, and then they all four fell into uncontrolled, loud laughter. Tears ran down Clare’s face as she choked on her salad. Food shot from Aaron’s mouth before he could slap his napkin up to his lips. Lynette’s head fell forward almost into her plate. Her long pony tail flopped into her tea, and she came up laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath. Blaze laid his head back against the booth and threw his napkin onto his face. His shoulders shook so hard, the napkin fell off and into his plate. He leaned forward with his elbow on the table and his head in his hand. None of them could contain their laughter. They all knew what he was trying to say. It came out clumsily and comically and they enjoyed the gaff all too much. As Blaze recovered himself, he reached across the table for Lynette. With one hand she dabbed at the wet ends of her hair using her napkin; the other she lifted from her lap and laid it into his outstretched palm. He closed his fingers tightly around her delicate hand.
“M’am, Lynette,” he studdered, “you know I didn’t …that came out wrong…,Oh shit,” he tried to say, searching for some redemptive words. Still snickering and trying to help him out of this really awkward situation, she said, “Blaze, Aaron is just giving you grief. I know exactly what you meant. Actually that comparison was very sweet. Thank you,” she said with gentle grace.
They continued their dinner, but every now and then Lynette would look over at Blaze’s face, shudder with quiet laughter, and have to apologize. Then, they’d all start up again with Aaron poking Blaze in the ribs with his elbow.
“There ain’t a rope long enough to pull you out of that hole,” he periodically teased Blaze, who blushed every time.
“Fossil,” Clare teased her friend, unable to look sideways at her without snickering.
“You know man, it’s gonna take you the rest of the evening to make that right,” Aaron admonished Blaze, in a playful way. “Clare, Lynette, this has been so nice, so much unexpected fun, what’s say we continue this very fine evening elsewhere?” he asked.
“We gotta give this man a chance to make it right,” he said, laughing down in his belly.
“Please,” Blaze implored. “I’m far from ready to end this evening,” he said looking directly at Lynette. “The Hills Cafe has a pretty good DJ and there might be a live band this evening. What’s say we go over there and listen to some music, and continue this conversation?” Blaze asked, still a little embarrassed from his verbal faux pax. Lynette looked at Clare for agreement. She nodded in the affirmative. What could it hurt they both thought to themselves. Besides, it really was nice having dinner with these two men. A treat they’d never anticipated.
While the gentlemen paid the bill, the girls freshened up in the ladies room which was just past the entrance foyer.
“I’m picking up some serious vibes between you and Aaron,” Lynette teased Clare. “I think he really likes you.”
“Like Blaze wouldn’t scoop you up and carry you off to your mountain if you gave him half a chance,” Clare retorted.
“Oww,” Lynette moaned with delight. “I suspect he could take me to the mountaintop with the way his jeans fit, if you know what I mean,” she added with a clearly vulgar smirk, winking in the mirror at Clare. She looked again into the mirror at the face that looked back at her. There was a warm flush to her skin and she realized what an effect Blaze’s attention had on her. Her eyes sparkled as they always did when she was happy. She wondered what it would feel like to be really close to him. She also wondered why this man – this man – of all the men she came daily in contact with, made the stirrings of passion rise to the surface in a way that was pleasurable, yet disconcerting.
The guys had come in Aaron’s pick up truck, so the girls agreed it would only make sense if they followed them in Lynette’s car. Anyway, if the evening didn’t work out they could always excuse themselves and leave in their own vehicle. The Hills Cafe was just up the street in the upper part of Midtown. That was another thing Lynette liked about Crystal Bend; everything was close. A person didn’t have to drive forty-five minutes to go 10 miles, like in Austin.
There was plenty of parking at the Hills Cafe, a local night spot, and the DJ’s music was blaring with an incredibly loud BB King number. “The thrill is gone…the thrill is gone a-a-away…,” BB moaned through the loudspeaker outside. Lynette picked up the song, repeating and singing the lyrics, as Blaze held her car door open, “the thrill is gone…the thrill is gone…,” she sang.
“Maybe it’s just starting,” he said, almost inaudibly, as he took her hand and helped her from the car. The comment was intended only for her, and she heard it. She definitely heard it.
CHAPTER 2
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The Dance
In most places the Hills Café would be considered nothing more than a dive. It was a restaurant, biker bar on occasion, and the food was considered pretty good, if all a person wanted was a burger, fries and maybe some tongue-searing chili. But it had a dance floor, a reputable disc jockey who came up on occasion from Albuquerque, and it was the only venue in town that played music for the late night crowd. The lighting was bad, the furniture old, the ventilation system needed an overhaul, yet the local populace flocked to its huge wood planked-floor because it was somewhere they could dance without being all gussied up.
The DJ changed the mood from Blues to Country ‘n Western. A slow number by Brooks and Dunn released its pacifying sound from the loud speakers. Blaze turned his head slightly and looked at Lynette. He was forming a question and wondering if he’d like the answer.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked her politely.
“Ahh…,” she said almost in a whisper, exhaling the word. “I’m not a very good dancer, and…”
He cut her off in mid-explanation as he reached over and gently took her hand.
“Come on,” he said with a reassuring kindness.
She rose reluctantly. Holding her hand, he guided her past dozens of couples, deep into the dance floor as if to protect her from judgmental eyes. When he put his left hand up, she slipped her right into his but it was his right hand that caused a shiver to move down her spine. It was so warm; it felt almost like a tentacled heating pad as he spread his fingers wide. He stood motionless until she positioned herself uneasily in his hold, then he moved ever so slowly, guiding her body into motion. The first few steps were awkward, and she apologized.
“I haven’t danced in a man’s arms in over five years. I’m pretty rusty,” she said.
“It’s Ok,” he assured her, “just relax and let me do the work,” he spoke softly. His words were reassuring and somehow made her feel that her awkwardness would not be exposed as long as she was in his grasp.
They began to move rhythmically to the strong sounds of the steel guitar and Lynette found that he was easy to follow. He guided her in small, slow circles, then in a back and forth motion, almost like a waltz. She was doing it – dancing western style. She’d watched others do it over the years, but hadn’t been asked herself. Concentrating on the technique, she was careful to avoid his feet. It had been a long time since she’d enjoyed this art. She let herself relax in his arms and he instinctively pulled her just a tiny bit closer to him.
“That’s better,” he said softly.
With the smoke oppressively thick in the club, at least for her, she pressed her nose downward and against his chest, trying to draw a breath of unpolluted air. What she got was the smell of freshly laundered cotton and a warm manly smell of soap beneath his shirt. She drew in another deep breath and recognized the faintest aroma of a good man’s cologne. Aramis, she thought it was Aramis, but it h
ad been so long, she wasn’t sure. He might have mistaken her purpose for burying her face in his chest, but he surely felt her inhaling him. She lifted her head back up. He was looking down at her with a smile. She smiled back demurely and laid her head against his solid chest.
“Thought you couldn’t dance,” Aaron’s voice came out of the darkened and smoky room, as he and Clare glided by. Lynette looked up, a bit sheepishly, and grinned back at him. When the record was over, Blaze loosened his grip but didn’t completely let her go.
“Let’s see what the next one is,” he said.
They stood for just a second and then booming from the DJ’s speakers came the pounding drum beat of Country Charley Pride’s Kaw-Liga.
“Shall we,” Blaze asked, as he stepped back and bowed in a mock-chivalrous manner. “We Indians dance well to the drum beat,” he laughed unabashedly.
“I hope those boots have steel toes,” Lynette replied, shaking her head in amusement. And so they were off. The quick two-step which once was foreign to her, came with a limited amount of ease and Blaze didn’t have to lead much. She was in step and responded in sync with his every move.
“I swear, I want to holler Yeee haaa,” she exclaimed after awhile, her head tilted up at him. It was a crazy, impetuous thing to do; something she certainly wouldn’t have done with her more conservative, multi-cultural, urbane friends. For some minorities, particularly in the south and rural areas, that sound struck fear in their stomachs. But the wild side of her was on the loose, and right now, she didn’t care what it sounded like. It just felt like something she wanted to do.
“So do it,” he said, looking down at her in a charming and accepting way.
She threw her head back, grinning, and shouted, “Yeee Haaa,” but in a really subdued way. She didn’t want to sound like one of those hillbillies about to jump out of a pick-up ready to shoot something!
“This is so much fun. I thought I’d forgotten how,” she admitted as he guided her enthusiastically around the floor.
After a bitter and protracted divorce, the breakup a few years later with her live-in, Robert, twelve hour work days up until her retirement and continued efforts to rear her college-educated, now adult daughters, Lynette had eaten on the pounds. Rationalizing that the food was to compensate, or maybe it was more to keep up her strength for the next battle, she kept telling herself it wasn’t all that bad. The weight was not instantaneous, it crept on slowly. She’d gained over 40 pounds. When her clothes became too snug, she just purchased larger size suits and more loose fitting blouses. In time she blossomed up from a size 10 to a size 16. It made her self-conscious and it was an excuse she used to avoid seeking out male companionship, so going out on a date and dancing had been out of the question for a long time. In some ways the weight on her was inconsequential. She didn’t have time to pamper another insecure partner or cater to his needs. Her singleness was deliberate and well thought out. She made other major forward-looking decisions in her life also. As she was planning her second career – owning her own training and consulting company - she decided to revamp her self - body and lifestyle. The 40 pounds would have to come off. It wasn’t healthy and she wanted her old body back. In younger years, she was stacked! Shapely, small breasts that didn’t need support, tiny waist, hips that moved like two monkeys playing in a croaker sack and thighs firm as a ripe melon. The careful and slow loss brought her down from a size 16 to a size 12. She reasoned that if she was taller, she’d be a size 8 or 10, but at 5 foot 3 inches, there wasn’t a lot of height over which to stretch the pounds. Size 12 was good though. She had regained quite a nice figure and had a discernibly curvy waistline again, which she checked every day in her mirror. Lynette was proud of the loss. She had much of her self image back – not that she’d ever lost it completely. She just loved food, and sweets were her downfall. Growing up in a family where there were always home-made desserts, dripping with butter, sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, proudly created by her 259 pound grandmother, she’d developed a penchant for high calorie sweets. She remembered all those mornings in the office when she showed up with Round Rock donuts, and washed three or four of them down with chocolate milk!!! What was she thinking? She hadn’t had a donut in six months, but the nice thing about loosing the weight the way she did, slowly and methodically, was the fact that she could eat anything she wanted, she just ate in moderation now, careful of portion control. She could eat a donut – or two –if she wanted. She could drink low fat chocolate milk. Just not every day! Exercise, well that was her downfall. She hated it. She started walking to the mailbox instead of driving, and though it was not good for her knee, she often took stairs instead of an elevator. What she found was that after the knee surgery and the weight came off, the knee was no longer a problem. Damn those doctors who’d been telling her for years to eat a little less and move a little more!!! Damn them for knowing the simple secret!!! She could use some toning up, but then, what were the stairs at the condo good for? That’s how she used them. Since they came with the condo, the compromise in her mind was that they would be put to use. She found on one visit that after about five days of running – or walking – up and down them several times a day, her thighs felt tighter and her buttocks was clearly firmer. She liked her new shape.
Back at the table, Lynette took long sips of her soda through the straw and then blew out a breath of relief. “The old girl’s still got it,” she bragged breathlessly, slapping the table. Laughter all around! Blaze’s face reflected real satisfaction as he smiled over at her. Now what was dangerous was when Lynette just let loose - when the sometimes reserved, professional woman took a back seat to the wild child which peeked out occasionally from within her. Frankly it scared Clare some, because she’d seen her high on Mexican food. The carbs evidentially went directly to her blood stream, and there was no telling what she’d do in that condition. Whatever came up, came out. Once when she and Lynette were training down in the Rio Grande Valley, someone impertinently asked Lynette on her birthday how old she was. Instead of taking offense, her retort was, “I’m one year older than my bra size!” She straightened her posture, lifting her ample chest and let them quietly guess if they wanted to.
Aaron beckoned the waitress over to the table and ordered chips and salsa and a round of beers for the guys and whatever the ladies wanted to drink. “I’m still stuffed from dinner,” Clare insisted.
“Well, we’ll just hafta dance that down now won’t we,” Aaron joked, patting Clare’s hand in a warm, familiar way.
The four new friends watched intently as an old couple, who’d obviously been dancing together for forty years, showed their stuff on the floor. They were so smooth and entertaining that everyone gave them a hand when they finished.
“It’s sure nice to see a couple like that,” Clare spoke up. There was something wistful in her voice.
“Let’s try this one,” Aaron said to Clare, taking her hand and leading her away from the table. The DJ played I Wanna Know What Love Is by the group Foreigner. It was one of Lynette’s favorite recordings. There was a point in the early part of the song where the instruments and a voice simulated what Lynette often thought of as a musical orgasm. She shivered noticeably, closed her eyes, let the feeling flow through her body and smiled. Blaze was watching her as always. He scooted his chair closer to her so they wouldn’t have to talk loudly over the music.
“What was that?” he asked, as she continued to smile.
“Can’t tell you, yet. Maybe one of these days,” she replied, a little embarrassed. “Yet…One of these days,” what did that mean?
Both were very sentient beings. Blaze was becoming ever aware of her subtle body languages. And languages was plural. Lynette said a lot with her body; with her hands; with the intonation of her voice, her facial expressions, and the way she turned to Blaze to talk.
“I do love your last name, Blaze Snow Comes Down,” she said softly.
“Why?” he asked her, with his chin propped up on h
is fist, leaning on his elbow toward her.
“I grew up in the mid-west. We had long, hard winters. The thing I enjoyed most about winter was the snow. It covered everything that was ugly with a resplendent blanket of white. It made everything equal. In the moonlight, it turned blue and shimmered like billions of tiny diamonds. It was clean and just plain beautiful. I could walk in it and leave my foot prints, then come back later and try to find them under the newest layer. I liked to look at the neighbors’ yards where no one had trod. It was pure. It was silent. Have you ever listened to snow coming down? It makes no sound; it lays gently and softly over everything, concealing and protecting everything,” she finished. Speaking of snow, sounded sensual. She was back there, feeling the flakes on her face, tasting the wet, coldness on her gloves, listening for the crunch of her boots, watching her breath go into the frigid air.
Blaze looked intently at her. He saw more than a woman who wasn’t a stranger any longer. In this moment he felt as if he’d known her for a long time. If he hadn’t, he felt he should have. He wanted to draw closer to her, to kiss her, but propriety required a certain amount of acceptable distance. He waited to hear her voice begin again. She changed tones as she shared intimate moments about her life.
“I remember how excited I’d get when the first flakes really started to fall. Often I’d sit by the windows. You know how the windows fog up when it’s so cold outside and really warm inside? Well, I’d take my hand and wipe the fog away and just watch it cover everything, millions of flakes at a time,” she reminisced. “The cold air from the window pane was in sharp contrast to the heat coming up from the furnace in the basement, and I’d press my nose against the chilly glass.” Lynette paused, looking down for just a second at her beautifully manicured nails and small hands. “You know, I’ve had the condo a number of months, but I’ve never been here when it was actually snowing,” she remarked, as if she’d missed something really precious.
Thunder In Her Body Page 3