by W E DeVore
He blinked his eyes until he was fully awake and sat up. “You tell me you were attacked. Almost killed. Raped. You tell me this, three hours after I dragged you through a crowded bar and fucked you up against the door of my office without so much as a ‘hello, ma’am.’ And you expected me to what, fuck you again on my kitchen floor like you didn’t just tell me you’d been raped?”
Well, when you put it like that…. Charlie is right. I am an insane person.
“Look Q, I know it was ten years ago for you, but I only found out last night. And you’ll have to forgive me, but when the woman I love tells me she was attacked and almost killed at some point in time in her life, I’m going to need a minute or two to process that.” He laid back down and yelled at the ceiling, “God damn it, I can’t win for losing with you!”
Several minutes of silence passed. Q sat still and Ben continued to stare at the ceiling. She finally said slowly, “I’ve carried this with me for a long time, Ben. It happened to me, not to you.”
He sat up and violently twisted his long hair into a knot at the back of his head. “Q, what happens to you, happens to me. Don’t you get that? That’s what a relationship is. And I’m not going to apologize for just wanting to hold you after that shit storm of a fucking Lundi gras.”
She turned to sit cross-legged on the bed so she could face him, nervously chewing on her lower lip before saying, “There’s more. More that I left out this morning.” She struggled to find the words for several long seconds. “I haven’t been able to get…comfortable since it happened. It’s been hard for me to be with anyone. Even thought I might be gay for a minute.” Ben gave her a questioning look; she shook her head. “I went to therapy for a while after for PTSD, then again after I went two solid years without having an orgasm, even by myself.” He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I know, right? That’s the thing. Therapy only helped a little, but not enough for me to completely let it all go when I was with someone…until you. I don’t know, maybe it was because I thought you were such a womanizer and it wouldn’t go anywhere so you’d never have to know. I could just…I could pretend it never happened.”
“Maybe it’s just because I have skills.” Ben smiled up at her. “Emmy loves giving me pointers.”
“Remind me to thank Emmy.” The tension that had been choking her since she woke up finally started to calm and she exhaled, feeling like she’d been holding her breath for a very long time. “I even got through October a little better this past year, not much, but better. That’s why I was ignoring you back then, by the way. I’m not such a peach to be around. Sorry about that.” Ben shrugged and pulled her to him until she was lying on top of him. “It’s just that the way you are with me, the way you want me, it’s everything. It makes me feel less broken.”
“Baby, everyone’s broken somehow. It’s how you carry it that matters.” Ben wrapped his arms around her and she rested her cheek against his chest.
“You’re not, you’re always smiling,” she corrected.
“You give me something to smile about.” She looked up at him and he winked. “I smile because I like my business to be private. No one tries to figure you out when they think you’re walking in the sunlight.”
She lifted her head and brought her face close to his to study him. He continued, “So here’s what we’re going to do, Miss Toledano. First, I’m going to get you naked and put some of my considerable skills to good use as per your request earlier this morning. In return, you will stop referring to yourself as broken and undesirable, because from where I’m watching, you are the least broken and most desirable woman on this green earth. Do we have a deal?”
Ben pulled off her t-shirt and moved to kiss her. She put her hand on his mouth and teased, “You need to say ‘hello ma’am’ before we go any further? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable about this later.”
He grinned and quickly flipped her onto her back as she let out a little yelp of surprise and started giggling. He leaned in, smiling, and whispered, “Hello ma’am.”
~~~
Q curled on the couch and turned on the TV while Ben busied himself rummaging around the kitchen for more food. She picked up her phone and called Tom.
“Hey girlie, Happy Mardi Gras!” Tom’s very drunk voice said.
“Tom… Is Pete still with you?” she asked slowly.
By way of an answer, she heard Tom and Pete duet, “One, two, three, four, five against one, said one, two, three, four, five, against…”
The phone was evidently snatched away, because a very aggravated Camilla St. John-Wills came on the phone. “Please tell me this is Q.”
Q struggled not to laugh. “What are they drinking?”
“Girl, what aren’t they drinking? I’m just waiting for those two fools to pass out. They’ve been at it solid since they got back from Pete’s apartment,” Camilla sighed.
“I take it Pete fell off the wagon,” Q said, disappointed.
“Mmm. Dragged off by my idiot husband is more like it.” Q could almost hear Camilla shake her head and gaze her eyes heavenward for assistance. “They’re in for a world of hurt in the morning, though. I’m dragging their two sorry asses to a sunrise service down by Bayou St. John to get their ashes. Nothing brings about spiritual growth better than a hangover.” Q burst out laughing and Camilla’s voice softened. “Look, Q, why don’t you and that new man of yours come by the house around eleven tomorrow morning for brunch.”
“You’re not going to make them fast?” she asked, mischievously.
“Who said anything about feeding them? The Baptist and the Jew are going to eat my delicious food and drink mimosas." Q could hear the laughter in Camilla's voice. "The fallen Catholics can fend for their own selves.”
“See you tomorrow then. Good luck,” she said.
“Ah, baby, it’s all good. After what Pete went through last night and today, I expect being numb is the best thing for him right now. He can start recovery over again tomorrow. That’s what Lent’s for, isn’t it?” Camilla sighed and paused for a minute before saying brightly, “We’ll see you and that sexy new man of yours tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow, Camilla. Thanks for looking out for my boy.” Q hung up her phone and set it on the table next to Ben’s. She picked up the remote and scrolled through the channel guide on the screen. Finally landing on something appealing after humming ‘Nobody Home’ for at least thirteen channels, she called out, “Star Trek: The Undiscovered Country is coming on after the news.”
Ben came to the door carrying a tray of cheese, crackers, and a sliced apple. “Don’t toy with me, woman.”
“What?” she asked, reaching for some cheese. “Klingon blood floating in zero-G and Iman as a shape-shifter? What’s there not to love?”
He set the tray on the coffee table and joined her. “Not much from where I’m standing,” he said leaning over to kiss her.
“Crap!” She pointed to the TV and turning up the volume. The front door of Lafitte’s Cove was on the screen, crisscrossed with Crime Scene tape. The tagline under the image read ‘Brutal Murder at Local Hotspot.’
“That’s going to be great for business,” Ben said sarcastically.
“…Lafitte’s Cove was closed for a private Lundi gras party hosted by Senator Multer and his wife. But what started out as a festive celebration, ended tragically when the body of a young woman was discovered strangled,” said the voice over.
The image flipped to a live video of the Senator standing beside a Rex float, still wearing his golden robes and saying, “Having only just learned of this senseless tragedy, I’m hesitant to comment. I assure you that Marianne and myself will assist in whatever manner necessary. Violence such as this must be stopped in our communities and I am horrified at the lack of security provided for our guests’ safety by the management of Lafitte’s Cove.”
Ben grabbed an apple slice.
“Motherfucker,” he grumbled, popping the entire piece in his mouth and chewing forcefully.
; The screen cut-away to a perky twenty-something reporter with curly red hair wearing a white blouse with a ‘happy Mardi Gras’ scarf around her neck saying, “The owner of Lafitte’s Cove could not be reached for comment.”
“You didn’t call me!” Ben scolded the screen, raising his phone and showing it to the TV.
Unfazed by his chiding, the reporter continued, “This is the latest in a series of problems plaguing the Senator’s re-election campaign. Senator Multer still remains embroiled in allegations of official misconduct with his rumored connection to a local prostitution ring during his first campaign. Police still have no suspects. This is Marissa Rivers, Channel 4 news.”
Q muted the TV. “Multer was involved with hookers?”
Still seething from the coverage, Ben drained his glass. He stalked over to the bar and brought the wine bottle back with him, filling his glass and topping off Q’s. “Girl, where have you been? They found his name in some Baton Rouge madam’s little black book. Multer denied the whole thing, saying it was a ‘liberal conspiracy concocted by his political enemies’ or some shit. It’s been in the news for months.”
She shrugged. “When your dad’s an ADA, you’re all newsed out by the time you’re sixteen.”
“Bet your dad loved that.”
She gave him a look letting him know it was exactly the opposite. “Pete said that Veronica Denton used to turn tricks, maybe that’s how she knew the Multers.”
“Well from what I saw, they were most likely acquainted.” He reached for a piece of cheese. “How do you think she came by all that money?”
“I’m not too familiar with such things, but ten thousand dollars seems like an awful lot for a blowjob.”
“Depends on the blowjob.” He winked at her and she blushed in spite of herself.
“Well, obviously, she brought the money to help Pete.”
“I don’t think so, Q. If she had that kind of money, why not bail out Pete before he pissed off Urian in the first place?”
“Good point. Unless she was trying to stop him from leaving.” Q munched on a cracker for a minute. “I wish I knew who paid off his debt.”
Sensing the wrong gears turning in her head, he said, “No way. You are not asking him, not talking to him. Period. You see Urian Galanos coming, you cross the street. Burnt bridge, remember?” He looked at her, making sure she was listening. “I mean it. I’m putting my foot down.”
Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the Klingons, but somehow Q couldn’t bring herself to get indignant. “You’re putting your foot down, huh?”
“That’s right,” he said pointedly, not backing down. “Let it go. You don’t have to know everything all the time.”
She feigned shock. “Who me? Know everything? Never.” She smiled. “There is one thing I am going to find out and that’s why that idiot lied to the police last night.”
“Which idiot? You or Pete,” Ben teased.
“Better watch it, or you’re not going to get any more carnal sinning in before Lent, mister.” She stuck her tongue out at him and nudged him with her toe.
Ben slid his hand slowly up the inside of her leg and back down to her foot. She shivered and bit her lower lip waiting for him to continue. He brought her foot to his mouth, kissed her ankle, and then moved to kiss the inside of her knee. Q sighed in anticipation. His tongue traced a circle around her bellybutton and she pulled off her shirt. She tried to bring him to her, but he resisted, taking one of her breasts in his mouth instead. Q’s back arched as she cried out. Ben slowly kissed his way to her neck.
His gravelly voice rumbled in her ear, “How many sins do you think we can get in before the sun comes up?”
Q wasn’t sure, but she was definitely willing to find out.
~~~
After a quick detour to her apartment for a change of clothes and to pack enough for the remainder of the week, Q and Ben pulled up in front of Tom and Camilla’s house in Bucktown. The St. John-Wills lived in one of the few remaining single shotgun houses near the shores of Lake Pontchartrain. Camilla had rebuilt it from the inside out after Katrina, refusing to abandon her grandmother’s home or the neighborhood she grew up in. Rubble and ruin gone, today the house sat behind a neatly trimmed yard framed with a chain link fence. Two crepe myrtles guarded the steps to the porch.
As they got out of the car, Tom opened the screen door, letting it slam behind him as he walked down the steps to greet them. A long, horizontal, grey smudge sat squarely above the bridge of his aviator glasses.
“You got something, just there,” Q goaded, pointing to her own forehead.
“You and my wife can burn in hell. She tells me you were in on this morning’s trip to redemption.” Tom put his hands on his hips and nodded to Ben. “Women ain’t nothing but trouble, brother. I suggest you leave now while you still can. Now I got to go get the ice for the damned shrimp fucking cocktails.” He stalked to his jeep in the driveway, muttering a myriad of curses directed at his wife.
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine!” Q called after him.
Tom peeled out of the driveway backwards, flipping her off out of the driver’s side window. ‘Tom Sawyer’ shrieked from the inside of his jeep, shattering the serene, lakefront neighborhood. He sped off and around the corner. Q could still hear Geddy Lee singing about Tom Sawyer’s choice of friends, and how it reflected on society at large, as they walked towards the porch.
“I take it Tom’s not a morning person?” Ben asked as they walked the rest of the length of the walkway and up the front steps.
“Tom’s not a liquor person,” Q corrected. “He’s super fun to be around if you get some in him, but kind of the opposite the next day.”
Camilla joined them on the porch, shaking her head. “He’ll be fine as soon as I let him have a beer and a nap.” She gave Q a quick hug then stood back to take an appraising look at Ben. “Now I see why Q had to avoid you. Bet you don’t hear ‘no’ a lot.”
Ben blushed and instinctively reached for Q’s hand, entwining his fingers in hers and absent-mindedly stroking her wrist with his thumb. Q suddenly wished they hadn’t left the cool confines of his four-post bed, thinking about all the times she couldn’t say ‘no’ over the past year. Camilla launched into an animated tirade about Tom’s lack of responsibility and general sensitivity. Q’s mind drifted down to Ben’s hand on hers and she momentarily lost the ability to understand anything but his constant pressure on her radial artery. Abruptly, she realized Camilla had asked her something and she was ripped back into reality.
Before Q could formulate an answer, Camilla rolled her eyes and turned back into the house swinging the screen door open wide enough for Q and Ben to follow her inside.
She walked ahead and continued to talk without caring, apparently, if they heard her or not. “Good lord, people act like they're the first ones to ever have it on for each other…may as well keep my own self company with y’all two makin’ googly eyes at each other…couple of lovesick, horny teenagers…”
Q called out, “We can hear you, Camilla.”
Camilla stopped to usher them into the sunny kitchen at the back of the house. “I know you can hear me.” She gestured for them to sit down at the long table against the window. “Bloody Marys and Mimosas are in the pitchers. Pour yourself a drink and cool off for heaven’s sake.”
She took a long sip of her iced Bloody Mary and watched Q pour Ben and herself a Mimosa. Camilla St. John-Wills was one of the most beautiful women Q knew, the winning combination of the Creole genetic lottery. Her dark skin enhanced her vivid, pale gray eyes and auburn streaked hair. How Tom Wills had managed to seduce her, let alone convince her to marry him was a mystery to Q.
Ben sat down at the long table and pulled Q onto his knee. They sipped their drinks quietly while Ben complimented Camilla on her house and she fixed her gray eyes on the two of them. He began to absent-mindedly stroke Q’s thigh, making it difficult for her to context shift out of the erogenous zone bubble she’d been inhabit
ing for the past twenty-four hours and back into a world where both she and Ben must remain fully clothed at all times.
Camilla listened politely before she finally shook her head and said, “My lord, y’all are so hot for each other, I’m going to have to hose you both down.”
Ben self-consciously removed his hand from Q’s leg and leaned his arm over the back of the chair with a sheepish grin, keeping his fingers a safe distance away from temptation.
“Q, go on and check on Pete. He’s been in the bathroom for too long,” Camilla ordered and Q obliged, leaving the kitchen without turning back to Ben, afraid she’d embarrass herself further if she did.
She walked down the bright hallway that was a new feature thanks to Camilla’s redesign of her family’s home. Normally a sequential system of rooms with no privacy other than the door at the front and the door at the back of each, Camilla had solved the shotgun conundrum by creating a hallway that ran the length of the doorways so that each room was secluded from the other; the exception being the kitchen at the rear of the house and the living room at the front. Q walked to the second door and knocked firmly.
“Pete, you ok in there?” Q called out. She heard something crash loudly to the floor and knocked forcefully on the door with the palm of her hand. “Pete, answer me.”
She tried to open the door, but it was locked.
Pete finally opened the door and said, “Hold on, hold on. Christ, Q, where’s the fire?”
Q’s jaw dropped. Pete’s notorious cornrows were gone and his hair was neatly trimmed and slicked back. His permanent four-day growth of patchy red beard and the three rhinestone studs in each ear were also missing.
“Look, I can’t get this damned nose ring out. Knocked over the plant on the vanity and made one hell of a mess. Give me a second, will you?”
She nodded mutely and he closed the door. She wandered back to the kitchen and stood in the doorway. Ben and Camilla were deveining shrimp over the sink and having an animated discussion about Q’s romantic history or lack thereof.