Aunt Felicity and James Dean

January 24, 2010 By L-J
Filed Under: Karoline Barrett, Romantic Comedy, Short Stories

After a two hour plane ride, the last thing I wanted to do was stand in line waiting for a rental car. I tapped my foot and peered around the man in front of me. How long could it take one person to rent a car?

I adjusted my super size sunglasses and tried to determine if I should just take them off. It didn’t seem as if anyone was going to go berserk trying to get my autograph. I reached up to fold them off my face, and noticed a couple standing beside the counter staring at me, and doing a bad job of trying to pretend they weren’t.
“Why would Casey Brand be renting a car here?” the man whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear.
I heard his companion’s muffled reply, but I ignored both of them.
The glasses stayed on. Not only did I not want to confirm their suspicion about who I am, but my upper cheek and eye were a rainbow of yellow, green and purple. It wasn’t pretty.
I play police Detective Casey Brand on the popular Hard Streets TV show, filmed in New York City. I’m not a lead character, but I had enough speaking parts to be recognized quite often. Last week, on the way to work, I was mugged, requiring stitches and the assistance of a real police detective, who bore an uncanny resemblance to my ex-husband. I asked for some time off, and was headed home to regroup.
I loved acting, but at thirty-five I wasn’t a rousing success, and at this stage probably never would be. I missed the quiet of my home town. I was entering the “what if” stage of life.
I finally got my turn at the rental counter, and took the keys from the rental agent, who luckily didn’t recognize me. I drove the hour home to Fairmount, where I wouldn’t be treated with any special attention. They expected success from their natives. Like the legendary movie star, James Dean, and Garfield cartoonist Jim Davis, to name a couple.
I pulled into my parents’ driveway. They were away, so I would have the place to myself. I took my suitcase into my childhood bedroom, which still looked like a shrine to Barbie and friends. Grabbing a Coke from the kitchen, I settled into my father’s favorite chair, and picked up the News-Sun. “Police Looking For Suspect In Missing James Dean Headstone” screamed the headline.
I thought of my great-aunt Felicity, still living in the house she grew up in. She had gone to high school with James Dean, and for most of high school they had dated. He took her to the prom, so Aunt Felicity is sort of a celebrity-by-association. She still has his high school ring and sweater with his letter for basketball on it.
She claims she gave birth to his child back in 1948, when she was seventeen. But even James Dean’s cousin, who still lives nearby, can’t back her story up. Since no one has ever seen this child, or heard from it, the family takes it with a grain of salt.
Every September 30th, the anniversary of his death, Aunt Felicity goes to Jimmy’s grave and places flowers on it.
I put the paper down, took the last swallow of Coke, and walked the few blocks to her house.
She was sitting on her porch, gently rocking in her swing, a pitcher of lemonade beside her. “Jane! You’re home. Good Lord child, what happened to your face? Part of it’s blue and yellow. Or is that green?” She patted the space beside her. “Tell me.”
“What you need is a good self-defense class,” she commented, when I told her about being mugged. “You should take lessons from your Kevin Brogan. He teaches women how to defend themselves. I took his class myself.”
Kevin Brogan, my ex-husband. We had gotten married right after we turned eighteen. It had lasted until I graduated with a bachelor’s degree in English and Drama, and then left him on his own to fight crime in Fairmount, while I fled to the Big Apple in search of fame and fortune. Back then it seemed like the right decision. Did I want to see him again? No. I’d managed to avoid him every time I visited. Well, maybe just saying hi wouldn’t be so bad.
“Is he married?” I asked, realizing I wasn’t sure I wanted to know
“Jimmy? No, he never got married.” My aunt dabbed at her eyes.
“No, I mean Kevin.”
“You still have a thing for him, don’t you?” My aunt’s blue eyes twinkled. “No, he isn’t married. I think he still has a thing for you, too. Like me and James Byron Dean.  I could never marry anyone but him. Remember him in Giant?”  Her eyes grew dreamy.
“I remember, Aunt Felicity,” I answered.  Thanks to her, I knew the entire dialogue from Giant and  East of Eden. Maybe that’s why I was bitten by the acting bug.
“I see Jimmy’s headstone is missing. Are you okay? The whole town must be upset.”
She waved a hand at me. “Oh, it’ll show up. It’s been taken before. Kevin’s at the Y.  You should look into his class.  A woman can’t be too careful. He’s good. The women love him. He’s got more of them than he can handle.”
I bet he does, I thought. I kissed my aunt goodbye, promising to come back later to make dinner for both of us, and left her with her memories of James Dean.
I planned to drive home, take a bath, put on some of my father’s Dean Martin records, and relax before I had to do shopping. The car I was driving had other ideas. Five minutes later, I found myself in the YMCA parking lot. My legs trembled as I walked up to the front desk.
“I’m looking for Kevin Brogan,” I told the receptionist.
“You’re lucky. He’s in the middle of a class now in the gym annex. I’m the only one here and I can’t leave the desk. Can you find it yourself?”
I assured her I could.
Kevin was in front of a room of about thirty women. They were so focused on him, they didn’t even notice me until Kevin did, about thirty seconds later.
“Take a five-minute break, ladies.” He trotted over to me, and the women started whispering. A couple of them waved to me. I waved back.
“Jane. My God, I thought I was seeing things. How are you? What on earth happened?” He gently touched the side of my cheek, and I leaned into his hand. The whispering behind him increased.
His voice hadn’t changed. Neither had the shiny dark brown hair—all of which he still had—and almost black eyes with their impossibly long lashes. His body was even more buff than it had been when we were together. I guess police work agreed with him.
I swallowed. “Hi, Kevin. I was mugged. Aunt Felicity suggested I look into self-defense.”
“The class has been going on for about three weeks already, but I can fit you in. It would have to be privately, though. As you can see, I can’t squeeze another body in here.”
“That would be okay. I’m only going to be here for a week or so.  Can I just take a couple of lessons?”  I couldn’t look away from the way his black t-shirt molded to his chest. I had the urge to lay my head against it.  I could see why women flocked to him.
“Sure. I’ll call you tonight. Where are you staying?”
“At my parents’. 674-”
“-1811,” Kevin finished for me. “I used to call you every night in our junior and senior year in high school. Remember?” His hand was caressing my cheek.
I did. I couldn’t believe he still remembered the number. I smiled all the way back to my car, clutching the piece of paper on which he had written his number as if it were the Holy Grail, or some such thing.  I stopped at Joe’s IGA, the only grocery store in town, and picked up items for dinner.
I was standing in the check-out line when one of the tabloids caught my eye. The one with Myra Lavinski and Cord Coltrain locked in a very friendly embrace, which included a deep lip lock that didn’t belong on a publication that could be viewed by children.
I’m not one to put stock in these “fish wrappers,” as my father calls them, but Cord and I had been seeing each other exclusively, or so I thought, for close to seven months, so I was slightly shocked at his appearance at Joe’s.
I hurried to Aunt Felicity’s, trying to put Cord out of my head while we ate and caught up on things. We were interrupted halfway through dinner by the chirping of my cell phone. I could see it was my agent calling. It couldn’t be good news; he hated talking on the phone.
“What’s wrong, dear?” my aunt asked when I snapped my phone shut.
“I have to be back by Monday, or the part of Casey Brand goes to Myra Lavinski. Do you believe that? Myrna Lavinski. Cord’s uncle is half-owner of Apple Seed. They produce our show, and for some reason dear Uncle wants Myrna Lavinski as Detective Brand. And I didn’t realize my contract was up Monday,” I huffed.  I never have had a head for business.  Obviously, my boyfriend, rather ex-boyfriend, had been busy behind my back.
“Oh, she plays Melinda Pruitt on The Gold Coast, my favorite afternoon soap,” my aunt gushed. “They’re supposed to kill her off soon. Jane, Isn’t your boyfriend on that show?”
“Yes, Cord is on that show. And he’s my ex-boyfriend, Aunt Felicity.”
“I’m sorry, dear.” She squeezed my hand. “Fairmount High needs an English and drama teacher. You could do that. Oh dear, I hate to ask when you’re going through a bad time, but I need a favor.”
I blinked. “Sure, what is it?” Whatever it was, it would take my mind off my uncharitable thoughts about Cord and Myra.
“I’m going out of town tomorrow morning. A couple of the girls I play bridge with planned a trip to Chicago. We’ll be back on Sunday.  I’m sorry to leave you, but we’ve had this trip planned a long time. Can you feed and walk Alice?”
“Sure, I’ll take care of Alice. It’s no problem, I love dogs. I’ll come here and stay with her.”
“Oh no, that’s not necessary. She just needs a couple of jaunts around the block and she’ll be fine. You’ll have more room at your parents’ house. Especially if Kevin comes visiting.” She winked at me. I blushed.
After I saw Aunt Felicity off the next morning, I called Alice, an almost-fifty pound English bulldog, for her walk. Since Aunt Felicity has a fenced in yard, I let Alice out the back door to frolic in the grass, while I called the airline to change my return to New York to Monday morning. I realized the worst part of this would be telling Kevin that, unfortunately, the lessons we had planned were off. I couldn’t bring myself to call him just yet.
My plane ticket changed, I went outside to find Alice frantically pawing at Aunt Felicity’s flower garden. “No, Alice,” I shouted, sprinting over to her.  I pulled her away from the mess she was making, and managed to get her into the garage, where I hoped to find a shovel to put Aunt Felicity’s garden back in some semblance of order.
I spotted one lying against the wall behind some boxes, one of which I tripped over, landing on my knees on the cement floor. Alice came over and offered me doggy slobber. I hugged her neck, my eyes watering and my knees stinging. I noticed I was kneeling at the foot of some kind of stone. My eyes followed the stone upward until they focused on JAMES B. DEAN 1931-1955.
What was Aunt Felicity doing with James Dean’s headstone in her garage? “How did she get it in here, Alice?”  Alice drooled on my pants, and wagged her stubby tail.
My heart pounded as I ran back to the garden with a shovel. One thing at a time, I told myself.  Maybe Aunt Felicity had a perfectly good reason why James Dean’s headstone was in her garage.
I looked where Alice had been digging, and as I started rearranging the dirt, I felt faint and suddenly cold. I couldn’t breathe. I pulled out my cell phone and with shaking hands, hit speed dial for Kevin.
I jogged to the front of the house, and was relieved beyond words when a few minutes later, he arrived in a police car. Instinct took over, and I ran right into his arms, which came around me in a fierce hug. For a moment, I would have been happy to die right there.
“Bones,” I gasped. “Bones in the backyard. She was right. She had James Dean’s baby, and it died. She buried it. In the backyard. And James Dean’s headstone is in her garage.” My words all ran together.
I pulled him to the backyard, where he kneeled in the dirt and picked at the tiny bones. I couldn’t look. James Dean’s headstone was one thing. But burying a dead baby? I shuddered.
“Yep, these are bones,” he announced, rocking back on his heels.
“Well, I knew that, for heaven sakes. How did they get here? Did she really bury them?” I whispered.
Kevin stood up, brushing dirt from his uniform pants. “Why are you whispering? It’s just me and you out here. Seeing that they’re on her property, I would say she did bury them. You want to go to dinner later?” His lazy smile, which was one of the nicest things about him, was grossly out of place at a murder scene.
“Dinner?” I screeched. “My aunt could be facing murder charges and you want to go to dinner?”
“Well, it’s not unheard of. We buried Sam in the backyard when he…”
“Who’s Sam?”  I almost shook him.
“I thought I told you this story. Sam was my dog when I was a kid. He died right after Christmas. We had to wait till spring to bury him, since the ground was so hard. My father stuck him in our garage freezer for the winter.”
I rolled my eyes, and let out a sigh loud enough to be heard for blocks. “What about this baby? Is the statue of limitations for murder up?”
“Calm down, Jane. You play a detective on TV. You letting some bones rattle you?” He laughed, as if he had told the world’s funniest joke. “And it’s statute. These are cat bones, Jane.”
I glared at him, digesting what he said.  Aunt Felicity had had a cat way back when named Cat, after the cat in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. “So it’s not a baby?” I felt limp with relief, although my heart was still pounding.
“No, it’s not a baby. But I do have to place you under arrest.”
“What? Arrest me? Why?”
“For the headstone. You’re the only one here. And it is stolen property.”
He must have taken pity on me, because without warning he drew me to him in a hug, and before I knew it he was kissing me. I kissed him back. Everything else faded, until I came back to my senses.
“But how did she get it in there? And you can’t arrest me. I have to be back by Monday. They’ll make Myra Detective Casey Brand if I’m not back. And I have to take care of Alice,” I wailed.
He laughed so long I thought I might strangle him. “Your aunt takes poor James’ headstone on a regular basis. She hires some kids, pays them, we put it in the paper, and we retrieve the stone. The money she pays the kids goes to charity, she feels important, and no one is hurt. And don’t worry about Alice. I’ll bring her along. Come on, let’s get the yard fixed up, then you’re coming with me.”
I watched, speechless, as Kevin replaced the dirt, got Alice, waited as she did her business, and then shepherded both of us into his police car. Surely, I was going to wake up any moment in my tiny over-priced studio in Brooklyn, New York, and this would all be a dream.
I closed my eyes. I felt the car stop, and opened them a slit. We were sitting in front of my parents’ house. I opened my eyes wider and smiled. “You’re not placing me under arrest?”
“House arrest. And I’m staying with you. In case you decide to flee again.” He reached for my hair, twirling it between his fingers, his eyes growing darker. I remembered that look. My stomach felt all gooey.
“I’m allowed one phone call,” I told him.
“You think so?” he challenged.
“I think so,” I answered, and I knew exactly whom I was going to call Monday. Fairmount High School, hoping they still needed an English teacher.

The End

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Beauty and the Geek

May 2, 2010 By L-J
Filed Under: Contemporary Romance, Short Stories, Tess Earnshaw

We all checked out of our various hotel rooms and piled into the cars.  A bunch of us, loosely from the same dorm, had driven down from the U to watch the men’s basketball team in the finals.  We won, so that morning everyone was laughing and joking and in good spirits.  I was in the front seat of Scott’s car, and his sister Renee and our friend Heather were in the backseat.  We were one of a caravan of cars headed home.
We were laughing and joking in Scott’s car.  Most of the jokes centered on Scott being a geek.  I remember him saying “You’re just lucky this geek has a car.”  Scott wore glasses and was an Engineering major, but other than that he seemed like a regular guy.  He laughed with us easily and seemed not the least bit uncomfortable having three girls in his car.  He wasn’t skinny, but actually fit.  He wasn’t strikingly handsome, but more the kind of guy with average looks that could grow on you.  His sandy brown hair was cut short and he was clean shaven and had clear skin.  He was more nondescript than anything.  Then Heather got a text on her phone from Mel in the car in front that said some folks in her car wanted to stop at the Renaissance Fair for which we had just seen signs.
Scott’s face lit up. “Cool!  I love Renaissance Fairs.  That would be awesome.”
“That’s because you’re a geek,” said his sister Renee.
“If you mean because of the sci-fi fantasy books I read, then yeah, you’re right,” he shot back with a sheepish grin.
“What is it like at a Renaissance Fair?”  I asked, because as an English/Journalism major I had had my share of Renaissance literature classes, and actually thought I might like to go.
“It’s awesome.” answered Scott immediately.  “It’s like going back in time.  People walk around dressed in period costumes.  They put on jousting shows and demonstrate industries like blacksmithing.  There are also tons of booths where you can buy clothes, pottery, weapons; all sorts of stuff.”
“Sounds like a blast,” returned Renee as she rolled her eyes.
“No, really, it is,” said Scott.  And then just to me he said, “You should go, really.”
I was silent after that.  Did he think I should go because I was interested or because he wanted me to go with him?  Did he like me?  How would I feel about it if he did?  Was I attracted to him?  Well, I wasn’t not attracted to him.  I decided it was best to assume he meant nothing by it.
When we stopped a few miles later for gas, it turned out most people wanted to go to the Fair.  With a little rearranging, Renee and Heather got a ride back with some folks continuing on home.  Scott and I got back in his car and followed the others towards the fair.  It was not awkward at all and the laughing and joking continued even though it was just the two of us.  Scott, it turned out, was just an incredibly funny and easy-going guy.
When we got to the Fair, we all started out as one big group but it soon broke into a boy’s group and a girl’s group, as the guys got hung up in the weapons tent and the girls gravitated over to the jewelry.
After an hour or so, I let myself get separated from the group and started wandering around on my own.  I was browsing through a period clothing tent, eyeing the bustiers for some reason and sizing up if they had ones large enough to fit me.  They did.  As I turned to leave, there was Scott at the entrance to the tent peeking in.  We noticed each other at the same time.  His face broke into a grin.  Had he been looking for me?  Had I been looking for him?  I couldn’t really say, even to myself.
“So, see anything interesting?” he said.
“I’m trying to decide what would suit me.  Shall I dress like a tavern wench or a royal lady?”
“The wenches had more fun.  But I think your teeth are too straight.”
We both laughed.
It was then, standing just inside the entrance to the clothing tent that my cell phone rang.  It was Mara, my best friend from high school.  She attended State college, closer to our hometown so we didn’t see each other as much.
“Lacey, what are you doing?  Can you meet me for dinner?  There is someone I want you to meet!”
“Dinner?  Maybe.  Where are you?”  I looked at my watch.  It was almost 3:30.
“I’m actually just south of the U.  I didn’t think I’d be nearby, but Dave surprised me and took me to Engleton’s.  I told him I wish I’d known because I would have invited you.  But he said to just call you up.  We’ll hang out nearby at the dam until you can get here.”
“Who’s this Dave?” I asked, laughing.
“That’s why I’m so desperate for you to come.  We’ve been seeing each other for about a month now, and I’m dying for you to meet him.”
“Sounds like fun.  I’d love to meet Dave.”
“So can you come?”  I had turned away from Scott to take Mara’s call and was staring blankly at a clothes rack, but I could sense that he was still right there.  I was starting to feel a connection, like maybe he had come to find me.  Did he like me?  Did I want to just leave before finding out?  Did I want him to like me?  I still had no idea.
“Well, listen, I’m not home.  I’m actually at a Renaissance Fair in South Orange with a bunch of people from my dorm.  I’m not that far from Engleton’s, but I didn’t drive myself.  Let me see what I can do and I’ll call you right back.”
“Okay.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
I turned to face Scott and was startled slightly to find him right there.  I mean right there.  Close.  Looking at me.  Leaning in.  And then he was gently kissing me.  I responded, kissing him back.  So he kissed me harder.  His mouth was cool and fresh and as our tongues touched I felt a thrill of electricity shoot through me.  Then we had our arms around each other.  Now there was definitely attraction.  I felt tingly all over.  Actually there were waves of tingly rippling through me.  He was a fantastic kisser.  I had been kissed before but not like this.  This was not dutiful prom date kissing.  This was not I’m young and bored and want to explore kissing.  This was kissing that said I want you and only you.
I realized that I had been looking for him after all, hoping this would happen.  And I realized he had been looking for me.  Only me.  Because he liked—me.  After a few minutes we stopped kissing, but just pulled back a little with our arms around each other.  He was smiling.  His eyes were twinkling like he’d just told a great joke.  Mine probably looked the same.
It was me who spoke first.  “I really do want to leave and go meet Mara.” I said.  “Would you like to come with me?”
“I was hoping you would ask.” he said.
“Did you think kissing me would up your chances?”
“Something like that, yeah” he said.
I reluctantly let go of him and pulled out my phone.
“Mara.”  I said, after she answered.  “It turns out I have someone for you to meet, too.  His name is Scott.  I just met him yesterday and it turns out he’s a great kisser.”
I held the phone out from my head so Scott could hear Mara’s laughter.
“About five then?” I said, back into the phone.
“Okay, then, bye.”
I put the phone away and said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Scott took my hand and kept it all the way back to his car.
“Did you want to tell anyone we’re leaving?” he asked.
“Nah, they’ll figure it out when we are both missing!”

The End

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Aunt Felicity and James Dean

January 24, 2010 By L-J
Filed Under: Karoline Barrett, Romantic Comedy, Short Stories

After a two hour plane ride, the last thing I wanted to do was stand in line waiting for a rental car. I tapped my foot and peered around the man in front of me. How long could it take one person to rent a car?

I adjusted my super size sunglasses and tried to determine if I should just take them off. It didn’t seem as if anyone was going to go berserk trying to get my autograph. I reached up to fold them off my face, and noticed a couple standing beside the counter staring at me, and doing a bad job of trying to pretend they weren’t.
“Why would Casey Brand be renting a car here?” the man whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear.
I heard his companion’s muffled reply, but I ignored both of them.
The glasses stayed on. Not only did I not want to confirm their suspicion about who I am, but my upper cheek and eye were a rainbow of yellow, green and purple. It wasn’t pretty.
I play police Detective Casey Brand on the popular Hard Streets TV show, filmed in New York City. I’m not a lead character, but I had enough speaking parts to be recognized quite often. Last week, on the way to work, I was mugged, requiring stitches and the assistance of a real police detective, who bore an uncanny resemblance to my ex-husband. I asked for some time off, and was headed home to regroup.
I loved acting, but at thirty-five I wasn’t a rousing success, and at this stage probably never would be. I missed the quiet of my home town. I was entering the “what if” stage of life.
I finally got my turn at the rental counter, and took the keys from the rental agent, who luckily didn’t recognize me. I drove the hour home to Fairmount, where I wouldn’t be treated with any special attention. They expected success from their natives. Like the legendary movie star, James Dean, and Garfield cartoonist Jim Davis, to name a couple.
I pulled into my parents’ driveway. They were away, so I would have the place to myself. I took my suitcase into my childhood bedroom, which still looked like a shrine to Barbie and friends. Grabbing a Coke from the kitchen, I settled into my father’s favorite chair, and picked up the News-Sun. “Police Looking For Suspect In Missing James Dean Headstone” screamed the headline.
I thought of my great-aunt Felicity, still living in the house she grew up in. She had gone to high school with James Dean, and for most of high school they had dated. He took her to the prom, so Aunt Felicity is sort of a celebrity-by-association. She still has his high school ring and sweater with his letter for basketball on it.
She claims she gave birth to his child back in 1948, when she was seventeen. But even James Dean’s cousin, who still lives nearby, can’t back her story up. Since no one has ever seen this child, or heard from it, the family takes it with a grain of salt.
Every September 30th, the anniversary of his death, Aunt Felicity goes to Jimmy’s grave and places flowers on it.
I put the paper down, took the last swallow of Coke, and walked the few blocks to her house.
She was sitting on her porch, gently rocking in her swing, a pitcher of lemonade beside her. “Jane! You’re home. Good Lord child, what happened to your face? Part of it’s blue and yellow. Or is that green?” She patted the space beside her. “Tell me.”
“What you need is a good self-defense class,” she commented, when I told her about being mugged. “You should take lessons from your Kevin Brogan. He teaches women how to defend themselves. I took his class myself.”
Kevin Brogan, my ex-husband. We had gotten married right after we turned eighteen. It had lasted until I graduated with a bachelor’s degree in English and Drama, and then left him on his own to fight crime in Fairmount, while I fled to the Big Apple in search of fame and fortune. Back then it seemed like the right decision. Did I want to see him again? No. I’d managed to avoid him every time I visited. Well, maybe just saying hi wouldn’t be so bad.
“Is he married?” I asked, realizing I wasn’t sure I wanted to know
“Jimmy? No, he never got married.” My aunt dabbed at her eyes.
“No, I mean Kevin.”
“You still have a thing for him, don’t you?” My aunt’s blue eyes twinkled. “No, he isn’t married. I think he still has a thing for you, too. Like me and James Byron Dean.  I could never marry anyone but him. Remember him in Giant?”  Her eyes grew dreamy.
“I remember, Aunt Felicity,” I answered.  Thanks to her, I knew the entire dialogue from Giant and  East of Eden. Maybe that’s why I was bitten by the acting bug.
“I see Jimmy’s headstone is missing. Are you okay? The whole town must be upset.”
She waved a hand at me. “Oh, it’ll show up. It’s been taken before. Kevin’s at the Y.  You should look into his class.  A woman can’t be too careful. He’s good. The women love him. He’s got more of them than he can handle.”
I bet he does, I thought. I kissed my aunt goodbye, promising to come back later to make dinner for both of us, and left her with her memories of James Dean.
I planned to drive home, take a bath, put on some of my father’s Dean Martin records, and relax before I had to do shopping. The car I was driving had other ideas. Five minutes later, I found myself in the YMCA parking lot. My legs trembled as I walked up to the front desk.
“I’m looking for Kevin Brogan,” I told the receptionist.
“You’re lucky. He’s in the middle of a class now in the gym annex. I’m the only one here and I can’t leave the desk. Can you find it yourself?”
I assured her I could.
Kevin was in front of a room of about thirty women. They were so focused on him, they didn’t even notice me until Kevin did, about thirty seconds later.
“Take a five-minute break, ladies.” He trotted over to me, and the women started whispering. A couple of them waved to me. I waved back.
“Jane. My God, I thought I was seeing things. How are you? What on earth happened?” He gently touched the side of my cheek, and I leaned into his hand. The whispering behind him increased.
His voice hadn’t changed. Neither had the shiny dark brown hair—all of which he still had—and almost black eyes with their impossibly long lashes. His body was even more buff than it had been when we were together. I guess police work agreed with him.
I swallowed. “Hi, Kevin. I was mugged. Aunt Felicity suggested I look into self-defense.”
“The class has been going on for about three weeks already, but I can fit you in. It would have to be privately, though. As you can see, I can’t squeeze another body in here.”
“That would be okay. I’m only going to be here for a week or so.  Can I just take a couple of lessons?”  I couldn’t look away from the way his black t-shirt molded to his chest. I had the urge to lay my head against it.  I could see why women flocked to him.
“Sure. I’ll call you tonight. Where are you staying?”
“At my parents’. 674-”
“-1811,” Kevin finished for me. “I used to call you every night in our junior and senior year in high school. Remember?” His hand was caressing my cheek.
I did. I couldn’t believe he still remembered the number. I smiled all the way back to my car, clutching the piece of paper on which he had written his number as if it were the Holy Grail, or some such thing.  I stopped at Joe’s IGA, the only grocery store in town, and picked up items for dinner.
I was standing in the check-out line when one of the tabloids caught my eye. The one with Myra Lavinski and Cord Coltrain locked in a very friendly embrace, which included a deep lip lock that didn’t belong on a publication that could be viewed by children.
I’m not one to put stock in these “fish wrappers,” as my father calls them, but Cord and I had been seeing each other exclusively, or so I thought, for close to seven months, so I was slightly shocked at his appearance at Joe’s.
I hurried to Aunt Felicity’s, trying to put Cord out of my head while we ate and caught up on things. We were interrupted halfway through dinner by the chirping of my cell phone. I could see it was my agent calling. It couldn’t be good news; he hated talking on the phone.
“What’s wrong, dear?” my aunt asked when I snapped my phone shut.
“I have to be back by Monday, or the part of Casey Brand goes to Myra Lavinski. Do you believe that? Myrna Lavinski. Cord’s uncle is half-owner of Apple Seed. They produce our show, and for some reason dear Uncle wants Myrna Lavinski as Detective Brand. And I didn’t realize my contract was up Monday,” I huffed.  I never have had a head for business.  Obviously, my boyfriend, rather ex-boyfriend, had been busy behind my back.
“Oh, she plays Melinda Pruitt on The Gold Coast, my favorite afternoon soap,” my aunt gushed. “They’re supposed to kill her off soon. Jane, Isn’t your boyfriend on that show?”
“Yes, Cord is on that show. And he’s my ex-boyfriend, Aunt Felicity.”
“I’m sorry, dear.” She squeezed my hand. “Fairmount High needs an English and drama teacher. You could do that. Oh dear, I hate to ask when you’re going through a bad time, but I need a favor.”
I blinked. “Sure, what is it?” Whatever it was, it would take my mind off my uncharitable thoughts about Cord and Myra.
“I’m going out of town tomorrow morning. A couple of the girls I play bridge with planned a trip to Chicago. We’ll be back on Sunday.  I’m sorry to leave you, but we’ve had this trip planned a long time. Can you feed and walk Alice?”
“Sure, I’ll take care of Alice. It’s no problem, I love dogs. I’ll come here and stay with her.”
“Oh no, that’s not necessary. She just needs a couple of jaunts around the block and she’ll be fine. You’ll have more room at your parents’ house. Especially if Kevin comes visiting.” She winked at me. I blushed.
After I saw Aunt Felicity off the next morning, I called Alice, an almost-fifty pound English bulldog, for her walk. Since Aunt Felicity has a fenced in yard, I let Alice out the back door to frolic in the grass, while I called the airline to change my return to New York to Monday morning. I realized the worst part of this would be telling Kevin that, unfortunately, the lessons we had planned were off. I couldn’t bring myself to call him just yet.
My plane ticket changed, I went outside to find Alice frantically pawing at Aunt Felicity’s flower garden. “No, Alice,” I shouted, sprinting over to her.  I pulled her away from the mess she was making, and managed to get her into the garage, where I hoped to find a shovel to put Aunt Felicity’s garden back in some semblance of order.
I spotted one lying against the wall behind some boxes, one of which I tripped over, landing on my knees on the cement floor. Alice came over and offered me doggy slobber. I hugged her neck, my eyes watering and my knees stinging. I noticed I was kneeling at the foot of some kind of stone. My eyes followed the stone upward until they focused on JAMES B. DEAN 1931-1955.
What was Aunt Felicity doing with James Dean’s headstone in her garage? “How did she get it in here, Alice?”  Alice drooled on my pants, and wagged her stubby tail.
My heart pounded as I ran back to the garden with a shovel. One thing at a time, I told myself.  Maybe Aunt Felicity had a perfectly good reason why James Dean’s headstone was in her garage.
I looked where Alice had been digging, and as I started rearranging the dirt, I felt faint and suddenly cold. I couldn’t breathe. I pulled out my cell phone and with shaking hands, hit speed dial for Kevin.
I jogged to the front of the house, and was relieved beyond words when a few minutes later, he arrived in a police car. Instinct took over, and I ran right into his arms, which came around me in a fierce hug. For a moment, I would have been happy to die right there.
“Bones,” I gasped. “Bones in the backyard. She was right. She had James Dean’s baby, and it died. She buried it. In the backyard. And James Dean’s headstone is in her garage.” My words all ran together.
I pulled him to the backyard, where he kneeled in the dirt and picked at the tiny bones. I couldn’t look. James Dean’s headstone was one thing. But burying a dead baby? I shuddered.
“Yep, these are bones,” he announced, rocking back on his heels.
“Well, I knew that, for heaven sakes. How did they get here? Did she really bury them?” I whispered.
Kevin stood up, brushing dirt from his uniform pants. “Why are you whispering? It’s just me and you out here. Seeing that they’re on her property, I would say she did bury them. You want to go to dinner later?” His lazy smile, which was one of the nicest things about him, was grossly out of place at a murder scene.
“Dinner?” I screeched. “My aunt could be facing murder charges and you want to go to dinner?”
“Well, it’s not unheard of. We buried Sam in the backyard when he…”
“Who’s Sam?”  I almost shook him.
“I thought I told you this story. Sam was my dog when I was a kid. He died right after Christmas. We had to wait till spring to bury him, since the ground was so hard. My father stuck him in our garage freezer for the winter.”
I rolled my eyes, and let out a sigh loud enough to be heard for blocks. “What about this baby? Is the statue of limitations for murder up?”
“Calm down, Jane. You play a detective on TV. You letting some bones rattle you?” He laughed, as if he had told the world’s funniest joke. “And it’s statute. These are cat bones, Jane.”
I glared at him, digesting what he said.  Aunt Felicity had had a cat way back when named Cat, after the cat in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. “So it’s not a baby?” I felt limp with relief, although my heart was still pounding.
“No, it’s not a baby. But I do have to place you under arrest.”
“What? Arrest me? Why?”
“For the headstone. You’re the only one here. And it is stolen property.”
He must have taken pity on me, because without warning he drew me to him in a hug, and before I knew it he was kissing me. I kissed him back. Everything else faded, until I came back to my senses.
“But how did she get it in there? And you can’t arrest me. I have to be back by Monday. They’ll make Myra Detective Casey Brand if I’m not back. And I have to take care of Alice,” I wailed.
He laughed so long I thought I might strangle him. “Your aunt takes poor James’ headstone on a regular basis. She hires some kids, pays them, we put it in the paper, and we retrieve the stone. The money she pays the kids goes to charity, she feels important, and no one is hurt. And don’t worry about Alice. I’ll bring her along. Come on, let’s get the yard fixed up, then you’re coming with me.”
I watched, speechless, as Kevin replaced the dirt, got Alice, waited as she did her business, and then shepherded both of us into his police car. Surely, I was going to wake up any moment in my tiny over-priced studio in Brooklyn, New York, and this would all be a dream.
I closed my eyes. I felt the car stop, and opened them a slit. We were sitting in front of my parents’ house. I opened my eyes wider and smiled. “You’re not placing me under arrest?”
“House arrest. And I’m staying with you. In case you decide to flee again.” He reached for my hair, twirling it between his fingers, his eyes growing darker. I remembered that look. My stomach felt all gooey.
“I’m allowed one phone call,” I told him.
“You think so?” he challenged.
“I think so,” I answered, and I knew exactly whom I was going to call Monday. Fairmount High School, hoping they still needed an English teacher.

The End

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I’ve Been Here All Along

October 14, 2008 By L-J
Filed Under: Contemporary Romance, Elle Fredrix, Short Stories

He’d expected this.  He’d even hoped for it.  But he still felt a twinge of — pity.  She’d been stood up.  Again.  Here she sat, alone in an upscale restaurant, dressed in her favourite little black dress.
Kevin watched her reflection in a mirror and saw the sigh that gusted out of Catherine’s mouth and ruffled her hair as she sat back in her chair, closing her eyes.
It was time to make his move.
Before she became aware of his presence behind her, he cupped the back of her neck, his thumb caressing her just under her left ear.  He felt her pulse leap, saw a smile burst across her face as she turned to look back over her shoulder.  Kevin stepped up beside her and watched as her smile died.
Yanking herself away from his touch, she frowned at him.  “What’re you doing here?”
Kevin just gave her a long-suffering look.  Then, jerking his head, he said, “Come on.  Let’s go.”
Catherine hunched a shoulder and turned her head away.  “Get lost.  I don’t need you to rescue me.”
He glanced at the two empty water bottles sitting before her and pulled a bill out of his wallet to leave on the table.  Then he stood there for a moment, gazing at the top of her head, his mind juggling the usual spank her or kiss her debate.  Under his breath, he said, “Yes, you do.  And this time I’m going to do it right.”
In one way or another he’d been rescuing her since they were kids, and she’d always resented it.  Whether as a pre-pubescent tomboy or the swan she’d evolved into, she’d been diving headfirst into catastrophes and he’d been reeling her out.  And though until just recently — he hoped — she’d viewed him as nothing more than a bothersome big brother, he’d never considered her a sister.
Kevin’s problem was that every time he’d tried to tell her how he felt he’d muck it up, the result being she’d never believed him.
He reached down and started to pull her chair out from the table, the muscles of his arm flexing.
She didn’t surprise him.  True to form, Catherine was stubborn and tried to dig her feet in, but after a brief struggle she must have realized it was pointless.  With a sigh, she let him help her up and followed him out of the restaurant.  They walked for a block without speaking, but he had no problem reading her thoughts.  She had an expressive face and he’d been translating it for years.
Before long he was unlocking the passenger door of his car.  “Come on.  Get in.”
She pulled away from him, then turned and lifted her head and looked into his eyes, still not saying anything.
Kevin felt his lips twitch.  “What?  Still mad at me?”
She settled her butt back against the side of his car and shook her head, a sad look on her face.  “I’m not mad at you.  I’m mad at Mark.  Mad at myself — or at least disgusted with myself.”  His heart clenched as tears began to roll down her face.  “What’s wrong with me, Kevin?  Why is it so hard for me to find someone who will care about me once in a while, instead of thinking only of himself?  Someone who can remember which night of the week is my night, and which night is the night with the guys.”
Taking a step forward, she settled herself against his body, her arms around his waist, the side of her face resting on his throat.  His chin came down, and using it, he gently rubbed the top of her head while his arms surrounded her in a gesture of comfort and protection.  Their movements were fluid and natural, as if they’d stood like this many times before.  They had.
Catherine mumbled into the bare flesh beneath her mouth, “If you crack a joke or make fun of me, I swear I’ll bite you.”
Kevin cupped the back of her head, pulled back, and dropped a kiss on her forehead.  “It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?  All right, no jokes, no making fun.  Come on.  Get in the car.  Everything will be okay.  I promise.”
Frowning up at him,  Catherine said,  “I have my own car here.”
Lightly squeezing her head, he said, “Kitty Cat, I told you to get in the car.  Now get in!”
Wrenching herself out of his hands, nearly hissing like the cat he’d just called her, she said, “Don’t call me that!  And how many times have I told you, you are not the boss of me!”
Grinning, he replied, “I’ve lost count.  But I do remember that you were six years old the first time you said it.”
Grumbling, crossing her arms over her chest and staying her ground, she said, “For all the good it’s done me.”
Exasperated, Kevin said, “Fine, I didn’t want to do this here, but you leave me no choice.”  With that, he pushed her back against the car, using the weight of his pelvis to hold her there, letting her feel one facet of his desire, but knowing he had to make her understand the extent of it.  With a deep breath, he said, “You’ve been a part of my life since you were six, and I was eight.  So I can speak with authority and say there is nothing wrong with you, Cat.”  He paused.  “I wanted to drive you to the park near where we lived when we were kids.  I was fourteen years old the first time I told you I wanted to marry you, and that’s where we were.  Since then I’ve told you four times.  And each time, it was in that park.”
He felt her gasp and heard the wobble in her voice as she said, “I told you no jokes.  You’re making fun of me again.”
Kevin leaned his forehead on hers.  “Sweetheart, it’s never been a joke.  But the way I feel about you scares me, so every time I tried to tell you I deliberately made it sound like I was teasing.  But I was serious, even when I was fourteen.  Every time, I was standing there with my heart in my palms, offering it to you.”
Catherine put her hands on his chest and pushed him away, looking up into his face.  “What are you saying?”
He swallowed around his heart, which had taken up lodging in his throat.  “I guess I still haven’t said it, have I?  I love you, Cat.  I want you to be my wife.  And lately I’ve been thinking that, just maybe, you love me too.”
She punched him on the shoulder and then yelled in his face.  “You moron!  Of course I love you.  Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Laughing, Kevin grabbed her fist, and then pulled her tightly to him.  Lowering his mouth to hers, he said, “I’ve been asking you to marry me since I was fourteen!  What more do you want?”

The End

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I’ve Been Here All Along

October 14, 2008 By L-J
Filed Under: Contemporary Romance, Elle Fredrix, Short Stories

He’d expected this.  He’d even hoped for it.  But he still felt a twinge of — pity.  She’d been stood up.  Again.  Here she sat, alone in an upscale restaurant, dressed in her favourite little black dress.
Kevin watched her reflection in a mirror and saw the sigh that gusted out of Catherine’s mouth and ruffled her hair as she sat back in her chair, closing her eyes.
It was time to make his move.
Before she became aware of his presence behind her, he cupped the back of her neck, his thumb caressing her just under her left ear.  He felt her pulse leap, saw a smile burst across her face as she turned to look back over her shoulder.  Kevin stepped up beside her and watched as her smile died.
Yanking herself away from his touch, she frowned at him.  “What’re you doing here?”
Kevin just gave her a long-suffering look.  Then, jerking his head, he said, “Come on.  Let’s go.”
Catherine hunched a shoulder and turned her head away.  “Get lost.  I don’t need you to rescue me.”
He glanced at the two empty water bottles sitting before her and pulled a bill out of his wallet to leave on the table.  Then he stood there for a moment, gazing at the top of her head, his mind juggling the usual spank her or kiss her debate.  Under his breath, he said, “Yes, you do.  And this time I’m going to do it right.”
In one way or another he’d been rescuing her since they were kids, and she’d always resented it.  Whether as a pre-pubescent tomboy or the swan she’d evolved into, she’d been diving headfirst into catastrophes and he’d been reeling her out.  And though until just recently — he hoped — she’d viewed him as nothing more than a bothersome big brother, he’d never considered her a sister.
Kevin’s problem was that every time he’d tried to tell her how he felt he’d muck it up, the result being she’d never believed him.
He reached down and started to pull her chair out from the table, the muscles of his arm flexing.
She didn’t surprise him.  True to form, Catherine was stubborn and tried to dig her feet in, but after a brief struggle she must have realized it was pointless.  With a sigh, she let him help her up and followed him out of the restaurant.  They walked for a block without speaking, but he had no problem reading her thoughts.  She had an expressive face and he’d been translating it for years.
Before long he was unlocking the passenger door of his car.  “Come on.  Get in.”
She pulled away from him, then turned and lifted her head and looked into his eyes, still not saying anything.
Kevin felt his lips twitch.  “What?  Still mad at me?”
She settled her butt back against the side of his car and shook her head, a sad look on her face.  “I’m not mad at you.  I’m mad at Mark.  Mad at myself — or at least disgusted with myself.”  His heart clenched as tears began to roll down her face.  “What’s wrong with me, Kevin?  Why is it so hard for me to find someone who will care about me once in a while, instead of thinking only of himself?  Someone who can remember which night of the week is my night, and which night is the night with the guys.”
Taking a step forward, she settled herself against his body, her arms around his waist, the side of her face resting on his throat.  His chin came down, and using it, he gently rubbed the top of her head while his arms surrounded her in a gesture of comfort and protection.  Their movements were fluid and natural, as if they’d stood like this many times before.  They had.
Catherine mumbled into the bare flesh beneath her mouth, “If you crack a joke or make fun of me, I swear I’ll bite you.”
Kevin cupped the back of her head, pulled back, and dropped a kiss on her forehead.  “It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?  All right, no jokes, no making fun.  Come on.  Get in the car.  Everything will be okay.  I promise.”
Frowning up at him,  Catherine said,  “I have my own car here.”
Lightly squeezing her head, he said, “Kitty Cat, I told you to get in the car.  Now get in!”
Wrenching herself out of his hands, nearly hissing like the cat he’d just called her, she said, “Don’t call me that!  And how many times have I told you, you are not the boss of me!”
Grinning, he replied, “I’ve lost count.  But I do remember that you were six years old the first time you said it.”
Grumbling, crossing her arms over her chest and staying her ground, she said, “For all the good it’s done me.”
Exasperated, Kevin said, “Fine, I didn’t want to do this here, but you leave me no choice.”  With that, he pushed her back against the car, using the weight of his pelvis to hold her there, letting her feel one facet of his desire, but knowing he had to make her understand the extent of it.  With a deep breath, he said, “You’ve been a part of my life since you were six, and I was eight.  So I can speak with authority and say there is nothing wrong with you, Cat.”  He paused.  “I wanted to drive you to the park near where we lived when we were kids.  I was fourteen years old the first time I told you I wanted to marry you, and that’s where we were.  Since then I’ve told you four times.  And each time, it was in that park.”
He felt her gasp and heard the wobble in her voice as she said, “I told you no jokes.  You’re making fun of me again.”
Kevin leaned his forehead on hers.  “Sweetheart, it’s never been a joke.  But the way I feel about you scares me, so every time I tried to tell you I deliberately made it sound like I was teasing.  But I was serious, even when I was fourteen.  Every time, I was standing there with my heart in my palms, offering it to you.”
Catherine put her hands on his chest and pushed him away, looking up into his face.  “What are you saying?”
He swallowed around his heart, which had taken up lodging in his throat.  “I guess I still haven’t said it, have I?  I love you, Cat.  I want you to be my wife.  And lately I’ve been thinking that, just maybe, you love me too.”
She punched him on the shoulder and then yelled in his face.  “You moron!  Of course I love you.  Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Laughing, Kevin grabbed her fist, and then pulled her tightly to him.  Lowering his mouth to hers, he said, “I’ve been asking you to marry me since I was fourteen!  What more do you want?”

The End

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I’ve Been Here All Along

October 14, 2008 By L-J
Filed Under: Contemporary Romance, Elle Fredrix, Short Stories

He’d expected this.  He’d even hoped for it.  But he still felt a twinge of — pity.  She’d been stood up.  Again.  Here she sat, alone in an upscale restaurant, dressed in her favourite little black dress.
Kevin watched her reflection in a mirror and saw the sigh that gusted out of Catherine’s mouth and ruffled her hair as she sat back in her chair, closing her eyes.
It was time to make his move.
Before she became aware of his presence behind her, he cupped the back of her neck, his thumb caressing her just under her left ear.  He felt her pulse leap, saw a smile burst across her face as she turned to look back over her shoulder.  Kevin stepped up beside her and watched as her smile died.
Yanking herself away from his touch, she frowned at him.  “What’re you doing here?”
Kevin just gave her a long-suffering look.  Then, jerking his head, he said, “Come on.  Let’s go.”
Catherine hunched a shoulder and turned her head away.  “Get lost.  I don’t need you to rescue me.”
He glanced at the two empty water bottles sitting before her and pulled a bill out of his wallet to leave on the table.  Then he stood there for a moment, gazing at the top of her head, his mind juggling the usual spank her or kiss her debate.  Under his breath, he said, “Yes, you do.  And this time I’m going to do it right.”
In one way or another he’d been rescuing her since they were kids, and she’d always resented it.  Whether as a pre-pubescent tomboy or the swan she’d evolved into, she’d been diving headfirst into catastrophes and he’d been reeling her out.  And though until just recently — he hoped — she’d viewed him as nothing more than a bothersome big brother, he’d never considered her a sister.
Kevin’s problem was that every time he’d tried to tell her how he felt he’d muck it up, the result being she’d never believed him.
He reached down and started to pull her chair out from the table, the muscles of his arm flexing.
She didn’t surprise him.  True to form, Catherine was stubborn and tried to dig her feet in, but after a brief struggle she must have realized it was pointless.  With a sigh, she let him help her up and followed him out of the restaurant.  They walked for a block without speaking, but he had no problem reading her thoughts.  She had an expressive face and he’d been translating it for years.
Before long he was unlocking the passenger door of his car.  “Come on.  Get in.”
She pulled away from him, then turned and lifted her head and looked into his eyes, still not saying anything.
Kevin felt his lips twitch.  “What?  Still mad at me?”
She settled her butt back against the side of his car and shook her head, a sad look on her face.  “I’m not mad at you.  I’m mad at Mark.  Mad at myself — or at least disgusted with myself.”  His heart clenched as tears began to roll down her face.  “What’s wrong with me, Kevin?  Why is it so hard for me to find someone who will care about me once in a while, instead of thinking only of himself?  Someone who can remember which night of the week is my night, and which night is the night with the guys.”
Taking a step forward, she settled herself against his body, her arms around his waist, the side of her face resting on his throat.  His chin came down, and using it, he gently rubbed the top of her head while his arms surrounded her in a gesture of comfort and protection.  Their movements were fluid and natural, as if they’d stood like this many times before.  They had.
Catherine mumbled into the bare flesh beneath her mouth, “If you crack a joke or make fun of me, I swear I’ll bite you.”
Kevin cupped the back of her head, pulled back, and dropped a kiss on her forehead.  “It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?  All right, no jokes, no making fun.  Come on.  Get in the car.  Everything will be okay.  I promise.”
Frowning up at him,  Catherine said,  “I have my own car here.”
Lightly squeezing her head, he said, “Kitty Cat, I told you to get in the car.  Now get in!”
Wrenching herself out of his hands, nearly hissing like the cat he’d just called her, she said, “Don’t call me that!  And how many times have I told you, you are not the boss of me!”
Grinning, he replied, “I’ve lost count.  But I do remember that you were six years old the first time you said it.”
Grumbling, crossing her arms over her chest and staying her ground, she said, “For all the good it’s done me.”
Exasperated, Kevin said, “Fine, I didn’t want to do this here, but you leave me no choice.”  With that, he pushed her back against the car, using the weight of his pelvis to hold her there, letting her feel one facet of his desire, but knowing he had to make her understand the extent of it.  With a deep breath, he said, “You’ve been a part of my life since you were six, and I was eight.  So I can speak with authority and say there is nothing wrong with you, Cat.”  He paused.  “I wanted to drive you to the park near where we lived when we were kids.  I was fourteen years old the first time I told you I wanted to marry you, and that’s where we were.  Since then I’ve told you four times.  And each time, it was in that park.”
He felt her gasp and heard the wobble in her voice as she said, “I told you no jokes.  You’re making fun of me again.”
Kevin leaned his forehead on hers.  “Sweetheart, it’s never been a joke.  But the way I feel about you scares me, so every time I tried to tell you I deliberately made it sound like I was teasing.  But I was serious, even when I was fourteen.  Every time, I was standing there with my heart in my palms, offering it to you.”
Catherine put her hands on his chest and pushed him away, looking up into his face.  “What are you saying?”
He swallowed around his heart, which had taken up lodging in his throat.  “I guess I still haven’t said it, have I?  I love you, Cat.  I want you to be my wife.  And lately I’ve been thinking that, just maybe, you love me too.”
She punched him on the shoulder and then yelled in his face.  “You moron!  Of course I love you.  Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Laughing, Kevin grabbed her fist, and then pulled her tightly to him.  Lowering his mouth to hers, he said, “I’ve been asking you to marry me since I was fourteen!  What more do you want?”

The End

Read More

I’ve Been Here All Along

October 14, 2008 By L-J
Filed Under: Contemporary Romance, Elle Fredrix, Short Stories

He’d expected this.  He’d even hoped for it.  But he still felt a twinge of — pity.  She’d been stood up.  Again.  Here she sat, alone in an upscale restaurant, dressed in her favourite little black dress.
Kevin watched her reflection in a mirror and saw the sigh that gusted out of Catherine’s mouth and ruffled her hair as she sat back in her chair, closing her eyes.
It was time to make his move.
Before she became aware of his presence behind her, he cupped the back of her neck, his thumb caressing her just under her left ear.  He felt her pulse leap, saw a smile burst across her face as she turned to look back over her shoulder.  Kevin stepped up beside her and watched as her smile died.
Yanking herself away from his touch, she frowned at him.  “What’re you doing here?”
Kevin just gave her a long-suffering look.  Then, jerking his head, he said, “Come on.  Let’s go.”
Catherine hunched a shoulder and turned her head away.  “Get lost.  I don’t need you to rescue me.”
He glanced at the two empty water bottles sitting before her and pulled a bill out of his wallet to leave on the table.  Then he stood there for a moment, gazing at the top of her head, his mind juggling the usual spank her or kiss her debate.  Under his breath, he said, “Yes, you do.  And this time I’m going to do it right.”
In one way or another he’d been rescuing her since they were kids, and she’d always resented it.  Whether as a pre-pubescent tomboy or the swan she’d evolved into, she’d been diving headfirst into catastrophes and he’d been reeling her out.  And though until just recently — he hoped — she’d viewed him as nothing more than a bothersome big brother, he’d never considered her a sister.
Kevin’s problem was that every time he’d tried to tell her how he felt he’d muck it up, the result being she’d never believed him.
He reached down and started to pull her chair out from the table, the muscles of his arm flexing.
She didn’t surprise him.  True to form, Catherine was stubborn and tried to dig her feet in, but after a brief struggle she must have realized it was pointless.  With a sigh, she let him help her up and followed him out of the restaurant.  They walked for a block without speaking, but he had no problem reading her thoughts.  She had an expressive face and he’d been translating it for years.
Before long he was unlocking the passenger door of his car.  “Come on.  Get in.”
She pulled away from him, then turned and lifted her head and looked into his eyes, still not saying anything.
Kevin felt his lips twitch.  “What?  Still mad at me?”
She settled her butt back against the side of his car and shook her head, a sad look on her face.  “I’m not mad at you.  I’m mad at Mark.  Mad at myself — or at least disgusted with myself.”  His heart clenched as tears began to roll down her face.  “What’s wrong with me, Kevin?  Why is it so hard for me to find someone who will care about me once in a while, instead of thinking only of himself?  Someone who can remember which night of the week is my night, and which night is the night with the guys.”
Taking a step forward, she settled herself against his body, her arms around his waist, the side of her face resting on his throat.  His chin came down, and using it, he gently rubbed the top of her head while his arms surrounded her in a gesture of comfort and protection.  Their movements were fluid and natural, as if they’d stood like this many times before.  They had.
Catherine mumbled into the bare flesh beneath her mouth, “If you crack a joke or make fun of me, I swear I’ll bite you.”
Kevin cupped the back of her head, pulled back, and dropped a kiss on her forehead.  “It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?  All right, no jokes, no making fun.  Come on.  Get in the car.  Everything will be okay.  I promise.”
Frowning up at him,  Catherine said,  “I have my own car here.”
Lightly squeezing her head, he said, “Kitty Cat, I told you to get in the car.  Now get in!”
Wrenching herself out of his hands, nearly hissing like the cat he’d just called her, she said, “Don’t call me that!  And how many times have I told you, you are not the boss of me!”
Grinning, he replied, “I’ve lost count.  But I do remember that you were six years old the first time you said it.”
Grumbling, crossing her arms over her chest and staying her ground, she said, “For all the good it’s done me.”
Exasperated, Kevin said, “Fine, I didn’t want to do this here, but you leave me no choice.”  With that, he pushed her back against the car, using the weight of his pelvis to hold her there, letting her feel one facet of his desire, but knowing he had to make her understand the extent of it.  With a deep breath, he said, “You’ve been a part of my life since you were six, and I was eight.  So I can speak with authority and say there is nothing wrong with you, Cat.”  He paused.  “I wanted to drive you to the park near where we lived when we were kids.  I was fourteen years old the first time I told you I wanted to marry you, and that’s where we were.  Since then I’ve told you four times.  And each time, it was in that park.”
He felt her gasp and heard the wobble in her voice as she said, “I told you no jokes.  You’re making fun of me again.”
Kevin leaned his forehead on hers.  “Sweetheart, it’s never been a joke.  But the way I feel about you scares me, so every time I tried to tell you I deliberately made it sound like I was teasing.  But I was serious, even when I was fourteen.  Every time, I was standing there with my heart in my palms, offering it to you.”
Catherine put her hands on his chest and pushed him away, looking up into his face.  “What are you saying?”
He swallowed around his heart, which had taken up lodging in his throat.  “I guess I still haven’t said it, have I?  I love you, Cat.  I want you to be my wife.  And lately I’ve been thinking that, just maybe, you love me too.”
She punched him on the shoulder and then yelled in his face.  “You moron!  Of course I love you.  Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Laughing, Kevin grabbed her fist, and then pulled her tightly to him.  Lowering his mouth to hers, he said, “I’ve been asking you to marry me since I was fourteen!  What more do you want?”

The End

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I’ve Been Here All Along

October 14, 2008 By L-J
Filed Under: Contemporary Romance, Elle Fredrix, Short Stories

He’d expected this.  He’d even hoped for it.  But he still felt a twinge of — pity.  She’d been stood up.  Again.  Here she sat, alone in an upscale restaurant, dressed in her favourite little black dress.
Kevin watched her reflection in a mirror and saw the sigh that gusted out of Catherine’s mouth and ruffled her hair as she sat back in her chair, closing her eyes.
It was time to make his move.
Before she became aware of his presence behind her, he cupped the back of her neck, his thumb caressing her just under her left ear.  He felt her pulse leap, saw a smile burst across her face as she turned to look back over her shoulder.  Kevin stepped up beside her and watched as her smile died.
Yanking herself away from his touch, she frowned at him.  “What’re you doing here?”
Kevin just gave her a long-suffering look.  Then, jerking his head, he said, “Come on.  Let’s go.”
Catherine hunched a shoulder and turned her head away.  “Get lost.  I don’t need you to rescue me.”
He glanced at the two empty water bottles sitting before her and pulled a bill out of his wallet to leave on the table.  Then he stood there for a moment, gazing at the top of her head, his mind juggling the usual spank her or kiss her debate.  Under his breath, he said, “Yes, you do.  And this time I’m going to do it right.”
In one way or another he’d been rescuing her since they were kids, and she’d always resented it.  Whether as a pre-pubescent tomboy or the swan she’d evolved into, she’d been diving headfirst into catastrophes and he’d been reeling her out.  And though until just recently — he hoped — she’d viewed him as nothing more than a bothersome big brother, he’d never considered her a sister.
Kevin’s problem was that every time he’d tried to tell her how he felt he’d muck it up, the result being she’d never believed him.
He reached down and started to pull her chair out from the table, the muscles of his arm flexing.
She didn’t surprise him.  True to form, Catherine was stubborn and tried to dig her feet in, but after a brief struggle she must have realized it was pointless.  With a sigh, she let him help her up and followed him out of the restaurant.  They walked for a block without speaking, but he had no problem reading her thoughts.  She had an expressive face and he’d been translating it for years.
Before long he was unlocking the passenger door of his car.  “Come on.  Get in.”
She pulled away from him, then turned and lifted her head and looked into his eyes, still not saying anything.
Kevin felt his lips twitch.  “What?  Still mad at me?”
She settled her butt back against the side of his car and shook her head, a sad look on her face.  “I’m not mad at you.  I’m mad at Mark.  Mad at myself — or at least disgusted with myself.”  His heart clenched as tears began to roll down her face.  “What’s wrong with me, Kevin?  Why is it so hard for me to find someone who will care about me once in a while, instead of thinking only of himself?  Someone who can remember which night of the week is my night, and which night is the night with the guys.”
Taking a step forward, she settled herself against his body, her arms around his waist, the side of her face resting on his throat.  His chin came down, and using it, he gently rubbed the top of her head while his arms surrounded her in a gesture of comfort and protection.  Their movements were fluid and natural, as if they’d stood like this many times before.  They had.
Catherine mumbled into the bare flesh beneath her mouth, “If you crack a joke or make fun of me, I swear I’ll bite you.”
Kevin cupped the back of her head, pulled back, and dropped a kiss on her forehead.  “It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?  All right, no jokes, no making fun.  Come on.  Get in the car.  Everything will be okay.  I promise.”
Frowning up at him,  Catherine said,  “I have my own car here.”
Lightly squeezing her head, he said, “Kitty Cat, I told you to get in the car.  Now get in!”
Wrenching herself out of his hands, nearly hissing like the cat he’d just called her, she said, “Don’t call me that!  And how many times have I told you, you are not the boss of me!”
Grinning, he replied, “I’ve lost count.  But I do remember that you were six years old the first time you said it.”
Grumbling, crossing her arms over her chest and staying her ground, she said, “For all the good it’s done me.”
Exasperated, Kevin said, “Fine, I didn’t want to do this here, but you leave me no choice.”  With that, he pushed her back against the car, using the weight of his pelvis to hold her there, letting her feel one facet of his desire, but knowing he had to make her understand the extent of it.  With a deep breath, he said, “You’ve been a part of my life since you were six, and I was eight.  So I can speak with authority and say there is nothing wrong with you, Cat.”  He paused.  “I wanted to drive you to the park near where we lived when we were kids.  I was fourteen years old the first time I told you I wanted to marry you, and that’s where we were.  Since then I’ve told you four times.  And each time, it was in that park.”
He felt her gasp and heard the wobble in her voice as she said, “I told you no jokes.  You’re making fun of me again.”
Kevin leaned his forehead on hers.  “Sweetheart, it’s never been a joke.  But the way I feel about you scares me, so every time I tried to tell you I deliberately made it sound like I was teasing.  But I was serious, even when I was fourteen.  Every time, I was standing there with my heart in my palms, offering it to you.”
Catherine put her hands on his chest and pushed him away, looking up into his face.  “What are you saying?”
He swallowed around his heart, which had taken up lodging in his throat.  “I guess I still haven’t said it, have I?  I love you, Cat.  I want you to be my wife.  And lately I’ve been thinking that, just maybe, you love me too.”
She punched him on the shoulder and then yelled in his face.  “You moron!  Of course I love you.  Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Laughing, Kevin grabbed her fist, and then pulled her tightly to him.  Lowering his mouth to hers, he said, “I’ve been asking you to marry me since I was fourteen!  What more do you want?”

The End

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Lights Out

July 11, 2011 By L-J
Filed Under: Contemporary Romance, Luanne French, Romantic Comedy, Short Stories

Marsha treated her thick, dark hair to a home body permanent once a month with great success—except for tonight.  Halfway through the perm process the electricity went off.  What went wrong?  This had never happened before in her apartment at Dodge City, Kansas.
As she pawed through her kitchen junk drawer for a flashlight, she remembered the batteries were dead.  Sifting through the litter for candles, she found none.  She stabbed her finger on an unseen pointed weapon as she probed.
Now what?  She still had to apply solution to each curl and wait specified minutes before rinsing.  It was a complicated job with double mirrors in the bathroom.  There was no way she could manage with a wounded finger in a blackout.
Blood dripping from her finger, she reached for the first thing she could find in the dark—the crocheted dishrag her niece had made her.  It hung on the side of the refrigerator because it was too pretty to use and also because it was useless, having been made with extremely find thread.
Her first thought involved going to the apartment next to hers to ask the old biddy who lived there for candles or a flashlight or maybe even batteries.  She was apprehensive because Mrs. Schultz always stared at her as if she expected to discover sin on Marsha’s twenty-five-year-old face.  Marsha had given up saying hello if they met in the hall, because all she ever got from Schultzie was a frown and eyes staring into hers as if she were the antichrist.  She didn’t need that tonight.
Annie, a friend who rented the other apartment on the second floor, had gone away for the weekend with her latest male conquest.  Lucky dog.  Marsha wished she had someone special.  Schultz was her only hope.
Still holding the pitiful dishrag around her finger, she jammed her hand into a rubber glove she found while fumbling on the counter near the sink.  At least she wouldn’t drip blood as she searched for the door to Mrs. Schultz’ apartment.
Whoops!  Her bare foot connected with blood on the kitchen floor and slid out from under her.  She grabbed the junk drawer to steady herself, accidentally pulled it out, and heard the debris scatter.  She lost her balance and fell, hitting her nose on the edge of the refrigerator.  Blood spurted out, ran down her face, and dripped on her tee shirt.  She stripped off the shirt, wadded it up and pressed it to her nose to to stanch the bleeding.
When the bleeding stopped, Marsha wiped her face with the clean part of the tee shirt.  She carefully slid her fingers along the furniture and walls until she reached her bathroom.  She pulled her Sponge Bob shower cap over the perm curlers and wrapped her short, pink bathrobe around her to replace the tee shirt.
In the hall, just as Marsha summoned enough courage to knock on Mrs. Schultz’ door, she heard, “Come on in.  It’s about time you got here.  Did you tour the whole town first?”
“How did you know I was coming?” Marsha said.
“You’re not Riley.”  A suspicious voice.  “Who are you and what do you want?”
“I’m Marsha Hood from Apartment 2 B.  I’d like to borrow a flashlight.  Were you expecting someone else?”
“I sure didn’t expect you.  My son is on his way with a flashlight.  Ought to be here soon.  Find a chair and sit.  Can’t do nothing ’til he gets here.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Schultz.”  Marsha decided to fill the silence with light conversation.  “What were you doing when the electricity went off?”
“I was sitting here embroidering quilt blocks.  Scared me half to death.  I dropped all my embroidery floss on the floor.  There’s Riley at the door now.  Cone on in,” she yelled.  “We’re just sitting here waiting.”
Her son opened the door and put his flashlight on the table.  It was a huge monster that faintly lit up the whole room.  Marsha watched his eyes turn to slits as he stared at the floor then at her.
“What have you done to my mother?”
“Hold on, Riley.  She didn’t do nothing.  I dropped my sewing when the lights went out.  Did you bring more than one flashlight?” his mother said.
“I brought three,” he said as he turned a flashlight on Marsha and gasped.
Looking down at herself in the light, she saw one rubber-gloved hand with a frilly dishrag drooping out the top of it.  The other hand was bloody, as were her shorts, bare feet, and the bathrobe she had hurriedly put on—inside out.  She could only imagine the blood smeared on the silly shower cap and also crusted under her nose.
And there stood Riley Schultz, the first male she’d encountered in months whose knuckles didn’t scrape the floor when he walked.  He had brilliant blue eyes and wavy, blond hair—a Greek god—and Marsha realized she must look like the aftermath of a nuclear attack.
“I had an accident and did my best to clean up in the dark before I came over from my apartment to your mother’s.”
“I’d better see that you get back home.  I’ll give you one of the flashlights,” Riley said.
“She looks like she was in trouble over there.  See if she needs help, Riley.”  Kind words from Mrs. Schultz.  Marsha felt low for being unkind behind her back, so low, in fact, a backhoe couldn’t get down to her level.
When she and Riley reached her apartment, he flashed the light around exposing bloody hand smears on the walls and the floor littered with treasures from her junk drawer, some of which soaked in a puddle of blood.  He studied the trashed kitchen a moment before he frowned and said, “Care to explain?”
Before she could think of a reasonable answer, a heavy knock sounded on the open door.
“Police.  Put your hands up, both of you.”  A male and female officer, savage frowns on their faces, came into the kitchen.  They each carried a flashlight and a 9mm Glock pointed at Marsha and Riley.
“I’m Officer Plains and this is Officer Stucky,” the policeman said, indicating the female next to him.
“What do you want?” Marsha said in a tiny voice, hands raised high, one trailing the lacy dishrag from a rubber glove.
“We had a call about this apartment.  Who are you?” the policeman barked at Riley.
“I’m Riley Schultz.  My mother lives next door.  I came over to help this young lady and bring her a flashlight.”
“And who is she?” the uniformed male hulk asked, pointing to Marsha.
“I don’t know her name.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”  Marsha’s hands came down, the dishrag fluttering.  “I’m Marsha Hood, and this is my apartment.  I tried to borrow a light from Mrs. Schultz.”
“What’s that awful smell?”  Officer Stucky’s nose puckered, as she interrupted the conversation.
“I was giving myself a perm when the electricity failed.”
“Can you explain where all this blood came from?”  Officer Plains asked.
Marsha said, “I’ll do my best.”
Step by step she told about probing in the junk drawer in the dark, her wounded finger, her nosebleed, blood-smeared walls and her costume.  Before she finished, the officers’ savage frowns had turned into amused stares.  Riley just looked dazed.
Officer Plains said to him, “You’d better report back to your mother and let her know there’s no problem here—at least there’s no police problem here.  Your mother’s the one who called us.  We’ll be over to talk to her as soon as we get some more information from this unfortunate young woman.”
Officer Stucky pointed her light toward the bathroom and pushed Marsha before her.  “I’ll help you get cleaned up and put something on your hand.”
She soon had Marsha’s face clean and a bandage wrapped around her finger.  She even applied the perm lotion to the curlers while Marsha held the flashlight.
Shortly after the police left, the electricity flipped back on.  By the time Marsha removed the curlers, washed and blow-dried her hair, and donned a clean pair of jeans and a pink tee shirt, she felt in charge of her life again.  She scooped the refuse from the junk drawer into a box and mopped the kitchen floor.
After a deep breath, she grabbed the borrowed flashlight and knocked on Mrs. Schultz’ door.  Riley opened the door and smiled at her.  “Hey, there.  You clean up nice,” he said.  His appreciative gaze slid from her hair to her tee shirt to her shoes and back to her face.  “Come on in.”
“Thank you.  I came to return the flashlight.  I’ve written myself a note to get batteries for mine.  And I want to that you, Mrs. Schultz, for being concerned enough to call the police.  I had no idea how much blood I had spread around until I saw myself in the light.”
“You were a mess.  I figgered someone tried to kill you and you fought back,” Mrs. Schultz said.
“I can see how you might have thought that,” Marsha said, nodding thoughtfully.
Riley spoke up, “I didn’t know what to think when I saw how you were dressed and all covered with blood.  I couldn’t wait to get to your apartment to see what happened.”
Marsha drew another deep breath.  “I know it’s ten o’clock, but I made a fresh pot of coffee, and I have homemade brownies, if you’d both like to come over.”
“You go ahead, Riley.  It’s my bedtime and I’m tired.  Thanks anyway, but I’ll take a rain check,” Mrs. Schultz said.
Riley said, “Coffee sounds good to me, and I never turn down brownies, especially homemade.  I’ll call you tomorrow, Mother.”  He stood up, prepared to follow Marsha.
“Good night, Mrs. Schultz.  You definitely have a rain check coming,” Marsha said with a radiant smile.
As she opened her own apartment door to the aroma of coffee and the brownies she would soon be sharing with Riley, Marsha thought, “There is a God!  I must make time to get better acquainted with that dear little old lady who lives right next door to me.”

The End

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Ice Rink Romance

October 17, 2011 By L-J
Filed Under: Contemporary Romance, Larry Hammersley, Short Stories

Logan Miller sat in his college dorm room staring at his online lecture notes from Professor Crandall’s organic chemistry class.  He groaned to himself at his low C grade.  His roommate, Tyler, had already left on his Friday night date.  Who was it?  Hannah, Emily or was it Savannah?  He couldn’t keep them straight but apparently Tyler could.  Before Tyler left he gave his usual lecture about Logan needing a girl friend.  What he needed was an understanding of organic synthesis, starting materials and how to get the final products.  Ugh!  He hated rote memorization.
He switched off his computer and closed his thick organic text with its cheap glossy cardboard covers and hundred dollar price tag.  He looked out his second story window and saw the lights come on at the outdoor ice rink two blocks away.  The rink opened at 7:30 and closed two hours later.  He needed a break despite being faced with the organic exam the next morning at 9:00.  What a horrible class schedule he had: organic chemistry on a Saturday morning.
The January night cold bit at him but his ski-style gloves, new jeans, two layered socks, black ear muffs and The North Face running jacket his older brother, Brandon, had given him for Christmas, kept him protected.  The stars above gave their intense pin points of light despite the street lights as he carefully avoided patches of ice on the sidewalk.
The peppy organ music reminded him of the old roller rink back home.  Sadly, it closed four years ago, preempted by other, more modern activities for the school kids.
Logan could see the rink was already crowded, numerous skaters of all ages sliding around at differing speeds.  He picked up the rental skates and found a spot on the bench at the edge of the ice.  As he laced up his skates, he heard a whistle blow.  At the far end of the rink he saw two skaters shouting at each other, one a woman with a whistle around her neck, the other a man who stood three or more inches taller than the woman.  Logan could tell she was winning the argument, her voice loud and angry above the din of music, skater conversations and ‘slice, slice, slice’ of the multitude of skate blades.  From her gestures he surmised she was telling him to slow down or she’d throw him out.
Logan wouldn’t have to worry about breaking her speed rules.  He was good on roller skates but with ice skating he would have to take it easy.
He waited for an opening and then launched himself into the crowd.  At first his ankles buckled slightly but he finally overcame that wobbly stance as he picked up a little speed.  Still skaters were passing him and Mr. Speedster went back to his fast mode as long as the woman wasn’t watching him.  Logan felt his wind as he came dangerously close on his fast trip around the rink.  Logan hoped the whistle woman did throw him out.
He paid close attention to nearby skaters.  What he didn’t need was a fall and associated broken bones.  A boy, probably seven or eight, cut across his path at a slow pace and Logan barely missed him.  An elderly couple with arms locked passed him, giving him a good margin.  He admired their fluid motion as they slid through narrow gaps of the skaters.  Mr. Speedster nicked his elbow on his blinding speed around the ice oval.  The
rink sergeant lady was at the opposite end helping a teenage girl regain her feet.
Logan almost reached her when she skated away.  It was the first time he’d seen her up close.  Her long black hair flowed from under her toboggan as she gained speed by her flawless action, leaning forward and swinging her arms gently.  She wore a short dark blue coat with a fur collar.  Her legs were covered by a black tight fitting material.  Below her coat and reaching to her knees was a fully-flared woolen skirt that fluttered in the wind as she picked up speed.  Logan shook his head at her striking appearance.  He finally saw her face just for an instant as she turned near him and skated backward a short distance.  She jumped and landed frontward to continue.  Her lips were full, turned in a scowl, her dark eyes piercing, and her upturned nose delicate and the high cheekbones spoke of a possible American Indian connection.  As beautiful as she was, Logan figured she was the female counterpart of his roommate, having a date with a different man every week.
A pre teen girl cut in front of Logan and he had to veer right to avoid hitting her.  He managed to avoid a collision but the turn was too sudden for him and he went down.  Sliding a few feet, he managed to avoid injury but he was in Mr. Speedster’s wild path.  The fast skater jumped over him but his skate caught Logan’s forehead causing him to see stars.  The speeding man never bothered to stop and check on him.
Logan touched his forehead and was relieved there was no blood.  The whistle blew and the woman yelled.
“Everyone slow down.  A skater is hurt.”
Through a cloud of pain, Logan watched her skate toward him and then make a sideways skidding stop, a shower of ice chips covering him.  She went to one knee, her hair swaying forward, her brow creased with worry furrows.
“Oh, sorry about the ice shower,” she said, grinning and then continued as she gingerly touched his forehead.
“There’s no cut but you’ll have a goose egg if we don’t get an ice pack on it.  Let’s get you over to the bench.”
She helped him up and Logan relished her gentle touch and marvelous strength as she hoisted him to his feet and led him to the bench. Once safely there she laid her hand on his shoulder.
“Stay here, I’m going to get an ice pack.”
He watched her skate away toward a box mounted on a pole and return with the ice pack.  She took his hand, placed the soft ice pack in his palm and steered hand and pack to his injured head.
“Hold that against your spot.  I have some unfinished business and then I’ll be back.”  As she looked at the speedster Logan saw her gritting teeth and rippling jaw muscles.  He decided he wouldn’t want to be in Mr. Speedster’s skates right now.
The speedster was going faster than ever but she easily overtook him.  Logan was amazed at her speed and even more amazed when she grabbed his coat collar and did her sideways skid bringing both of them to an abrupt stop.  The man looked down at her as she pointed for him to leave. He seemed to ignore her but that didn’t last long.  She grabbed him more firmly and actually dragged him off, handling him like a rag doll.  He wasted no time removing his skates and putting on his shoes while she stood with hands on her slender waist glaring down at him.  That done, she returned to Logan and sat beside him.
“You’d better get checked at the infirmary to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”  She removed the ice pack and peered at his bruise.  Their eyes met and Logan gave her a feeble smile.
“Thank you for helping me.”
“It’s my job.  I’m sorry you got hurt.  I should have thrown that guy out at the start.”
“I hope I never get on your bad side,” Logan said, managing a weak chuckle.
“Oh, I don’t see you doing that.”  She returned his smile.
“By the way, I’m Logan Miller.”  He offered a handshake but she
got up and started to leave, before adding another comment.
“You’d better set the rest of this session out and if the headache continues don’t wait until the infirmary opens in the morning.  Get to the hospital tonight… Logan.”
She skated away.  Logan watched her another ten minutes and then removed his skates.  As he slipped his shoes on he glanced her way one last time.  She was on the far end of the rink and he thought she was looking at him but he wasn’t sure.
He returned his skates and the attendant told him to keep the ice pack and then pointed toward the rink.  She had stopped at the entrance to the rink.
“How do you feel?”  She asked.
“Still hurts but I don’t seem to be dizzy.  No widespread headache.”
“Good, but you’d still better get checked out.”  She turned to skate away and Logan started for the sidewalk.
“Brittany Crandall.”  He looked back and she had stopped, and then turned away as their eyes met one last time for the night.

*****

            Logan couldn’t stop thinking about Brittany despite their meeting being so brief.  He couldn’t restrain his thoughts from reading all sorts of positive implications from a simple thing like her giving him her name.  Those pleasant assumptions helped him sail through the organic test next morning.  He was confident that he scored well and Tuesday during organic lecture that was verified by a B+ in Professor Crandall’s choppy writing at the top of his test paper.
That euphoria carried him through to Friday night when he returned to the ice rink.  He almost hoped Mr. Speedster would injure him again.  The weather wasn’t quite as cold as the week before as he got the rental skates.  A home basketball game had taken most of the crowd.  It wasn’t difficult to see that Brittany wasn’t working tonight.  A man sported the whistle and Mr. Speedster must be at the ballgame.
Disappointment pierced Logan as he skated toward the man who was working.
“I thought Brittany worked tonight.”
“She only fills in for me when I’m out of town.”  He put the whistle in his mouth and skated away.
Logan started a slow lap and felt someone was keeping pace with him from behind.
“Did I hear you mention my name?”
Logan risked a daring move on skates and turned to skate backward.  He made the maneuver successfully and stared into Brittany’s face.  He tried to hold back his jubilation, fearing he made his feelings too obvious.
“I . . .I just wondered why you weren’t here.”  Logan knew that didn’t fly with her.  She subdued her smirk, wrinkled her nose and skated away.  His shoulders sagged as he watched that woolen skirt flap.  She glanced back.  He bowed his head, did a few more laps and headed for the bench to sit awhile and watch Brittany do several jumps and spins.
Brittany headed his way, made her typical stop and gracefully sat beside him.  She glanced at him and spoke, making direct eye contact.
“I can tell when someone doesn’t give me a straight answer. Want to try again?”
“Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“I’m always sure.”  Logan tried not to squirm and hoped his blush wasn’t visible at the night rink session.
“I wanted to see you again.”
“There, now that wasn’t so hard was it?” She said.
“I guess I feared your reaction.”
“I’ll let you off the hook and not ask you why you wanted to see me again.”  Logan subdued his sigh, but hoped for the opportunity to answer that unasked question.  He felt awkward and launched to another subject.
“I can roller skate better than ice skate.”
“You do rather well on ice skates.’
“Thank you.  I enjoy doing the circle waltz on roller skates but that would be out of the question on ice skates,” Logan said, dreaming of doing that waltz with Brittany.
“Oh, I don’t know.  You could learn.  Say, how did you do on your organic chemistry test?”  Brittany reached down and checked one of her shoe laces.
“How did you know I had an organic test?”
“Well, Dad talks too much, especially to me.   I mentioned you getting hurt and he recognized your name.”
“Crandall.  I should have made the connection.  I’ve been struggling but managed a B+ on the last test.”
“Let’s get some more skating in.  There’s not much of a crowd.  I can give you some instruction on that waltz if you’d like.”
He inwardly bit his lip to keep from coming out with a resounding, “Oh, I’d like that very much.”  Instead he said, “I’m afraid I might cause you to stumble and get hurt.”
“Oh, come on.”  She extended her hand and expounded on how he could turn more effectively.  Logan wasted no time in accepting her hand.
They made several rounds and Brittany took care of him, keeping him vertical instead of horizontal on the ice.  It reminded him of the roller rink owner’s daughter keeping him from falling.  He was flawless, thanks to Brittany and enjoyed the contact with her.
Their eyes met as they faced each other.  He knew he swallowed several times to accompany his smiles.  Her expressions mirrored his but without the swallowing.  His heart melted and he wanted this night to go on forever.
It happened when he was going backward during a turn.  Their skates got entangled and they went down.  He fell on his back, sliding, and Brittany tripped and landed on top of him.
“Oh, Logan, are you alright?”  She asked as they slid to a stop, her still on top of him.
“Knocked . . .the breath. . .outta’ me is all,” he managed, as he began regaining his breath.
Time seemed suspended as he stared into her beautiful face.  Her hair fell forward from under her lose toboggan and touched his face.  The soft silky strands took his recovering breath away.  She centered her gaze on his lips and he pulled off his right glove and moved her hair to her ear and gently pulled her to meet his lips.  She responded by resting her gloved hand on his cheek during the kiss.  Tender, yet passionate was that union.  When they parted, numbness took Logan as he feared he’d stepped way over his bounds.
“Oh, Brittany, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have. . .”  She touched his lips with her forefinger.
“Shhh!”
She initiated another kiss, this one stretching longer.  That was interrupted by cheers and clapping from skaters who had formed a ring of observation around them.  Brittany rolled off him and they both laughed as they helped each other up.  They stood face to face with hands clasped.  Skaters resumed their circuits around the rink, whizzing by them.
“I guess this removes all doubt that I’m crazy about you,” Logan said.
“You broadcast that the night you got hurt.  You shouldn’t make such quick judgments about somebody you don’t know.  Maybe I’m a spoiled brat,” Brittany said.
“I know better than that.  Okay, hypothetically let’s say you have feelings for me.  I’d also have to say you don’t know me at all.  I might be a rotten scoundrel.”
“Based on my first impressions, I know you’re not a scoundrel.”  Brittany’s smile shined to his very core, but her remarks called for a warning from him.
“Many times first impressions are wrong.”  Logan tugged on her arm and they skated toward the bench.  It was close to quitting time for the night session.
“True.  That’s where my gabby dad comes in.  Based on his and teaching assistants in the lab, they speak very highly of you.”
“But I’ve not done anything outstanding that I know of.”  Logan searched his mind even after he stated that.  They reached the bench and sat down.
“I’ve heard terms to describe you.  Courteous, kind, honest, hard-working for starters.” Brittany reached over and squeezed his hand.
“I’m not worthy of those compliments.”  Logan looked down at her gentle gesture.
“Oh, I forgot humble in that list.”
“Now, you’re really making me blush.”
The man with the whistle skated up and informed them it was closing time.  Logan hoped the conversation would continue after the rink closed.  He followed Brittany to the rental counter where they deposited their skates.  Outside the rink they faced each other again.
“You must have a whole string of boyfriends.  You’re so nice and so pretty.  Where do I fit in that string?”
“No string for me.  What about you?”  Brittany turned Logan so that she could thrust her arm through the crook of his arm.
“No.  Would you give me a chance for you to get to know me?”  Logan stopped their walking and dared to cradle her head in his hands.
“Yes, we need to dispose of the spoiled brat and rotten scoundrel assessments.”
Brittany pulled him down for a kiss.  Everything felt right to Logan.  He tingled inside and out, hardly noticing a frigid wind had started.

THE END

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