Courted by Karma (The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod) (37 page)

We all kn
ew Celeste and Misty were pumped to experience small town life and meet Minnesota men. Old towns in Florida were much different than a historical frontier town in the Midwest, and I got the excitement of meeting new men whatever town you visit. We’d invited people to join us later tonight and give the girls a friendly welcome.

Closing my eyes to the soothing background of laughing, chattering women, I fe
lt jaded and full of a nameless anxiety.

The
jaded was because while I got their excitement, my twenty-ninth birthday was in December. It’s been years since the idea of meeting new men in a bar excited me, if it ever did. I considered it more of an extension of my day job and a test of my endurance. These last couple of years, I’ve alleviated some of my boredom by using men, and sometimes women, as guinea pigs. If a person hit on me and I wasn’t interested, it was a perfect opportunity to test out a new customer service technique. If the technique employed was successful in rejecting, without bloodshed, a person determined to hook-up in a bar; I could later demonstrate it as a tool for my staff at Bel’s. It was a harsh fact of retail life; you would have to deal face-to-face with disappointed or even angry customers. The armory of disarming weapons could never be too large or too varied.

I understand the jaded
feeling but the last time I felt this anxiety, we got rammed off the road by the Hammer.

Thankfully,
I didn’t sense any ominous threats of that nature looming on the horizon, other than meeting Luke’s parents tomorrow at dinner. I shelved that thought, since it probably wouldn’t matter in the long run what they thought of me anyhow. Not once Svettie cried and filled them with tales of An-a-bel the Cow, and John told them his gospel that I’m the Slut of Northfield, and they saw for their own eyes that Luke and I don’t have a real relationship, but just a really hot sex thing going on.

A father may
secretly appreciate this for his son, but not a mother.

I’ve never wondered if a mother would like me
, or want me for her son’s girlfriend. It was an amusing, if sobering concept. Mike’s mom liked me before I started dating her son because I knew her from the store. Since then, worrying about a mother’s love was the farthest thing from my mind with the men I’ve dated.

Didn’t all
mothers dream of a pure, devoted woman whose existence revolved around making three squares a day for their son and getting his whites even whiter? Who proudly birthed and raised multitudes of his offspring with a Madonna-like smile while giving their own life over to making their darling son’s more comfortable? In other words, doesn’t every mother want another mother to be a wife to their son?

I know
, and I agree. I was so screwed. Were Luke and I a real couple, his mother would most likely despise me on general principle. The only thing I wanted to do on that list wasn’t even mentioned. I was much more suited to being Mr. Perfect Son’s fancy piece on the side.

‘Holy Hannah, I wouldn’t like me for
her son, either, if I was her,’
I admitted with an unrepentant chuckle.

Sighing, I decided that even though
Luke’s mom already despised me, tomorrow I’d carry myself with calm maturity despite her negativity. Then hopefully Mrs. Drake will at least leave behind some baklava in her hurry to get Luke away from my wickedly lusting clutches.

T
uning back into the conversation, I smiled to see Stella was exploring the disco-bar nearest her and cajoling Jazy, “Come on, Auntie Jaz, give it up for your favorite niece. Who wants to get in your pants so badly they sprang for this ride for the whole weekend? We checked out the cost for this type of limo for my graduation party last year. It’s two hundred smackaroonies an hour!”

Mac laughingly hushed Stella, but my
irrepressible niece only grinned. Anna joined in the cajoling then, too, but Jazy’s refused to spill. I cut a quick glance to Tre J. A small smile barely curved her lips. She was listening while looking unconcernedly out a tinted window at the passing scenery. The Nordic beauty qualified technically as a pure Madonna, but her current smile was all Sphinx.

Jazy
threw fuel on the fire when she teasingly said, “I’ll give you just one hint and that’s it. The man who donated this baby does not want to get into my pants.” Looking like a very naughty Pilgrim, Jazy’s laughing blue eyes and big dimples were plainly visible from under the black hat. She loved this kind of torture. My younger sister looked pointedly at me and continued with relish, “It’s that killer lust men have for our Anabel that we have to thank for this limo!”

The drink at my lips,
I paused in the act of sipping. “Say what?”

“Tell us who
! Tell us who!” Anna chanted with rampant curiosity while pounding her seat in time to her words. Stella, and then Mac, added their chants and pounding to Anna’s. Tribal warfare was about to commence while Jazy only grinned.

Anna
laughed at me and teased, “Uh-oh, Junior, what’s your new boyfriend going to say about this latest development in your love life?”

“Should that man ever exist, I’ll be sure and let you know.” I finished my sip
while Anna giggled.

Stella
grasped Jazy’s arm and, as only an eighteen-year-old can do, entreated dramatically, “Do we know him? Please, please Auntie Jaz, you have to give us more than one hint—that hint sucked! Otherwise, that’s just too mean and I’ll die of curiosity!”

Mac said
to Jazy, “You can tell the driver to pull over at the next exit and let me off the bus. I had all the excitement I can take last Saturday when the last Crazy lusted for Anabel.”

Anna patted Mac’s hand
in empathy. “I know it’s hard to not get confused over these lusting men, Mac. The Hammer was bloodlust last Saturday. You heard Jazy. This is Wednesday’s man, and he’s horny-dude lust. He wants in Anabel’s pants before he kills her. We’re safe yet.”

Jazy
threw back her head and laughed, grabbing belatedly onto her hat. Her voice was adamant when she replied, “You’re all very funny, but I can’t tell. I promised the man to keep him autonomous.”

“Anonymous,” Mac and I corrected automatically
.

Jaz frowned
. “That’s what I said!”

“No, you didn’t, but let’s not bug Jazy.” I looked around at everyone and shrugged. “If she gave her word, she can’t tell, right?”

“Yes, I did, but that’s right, I gave my word not to tell,” Jazy agreed with a big smile.

Anna grumbled, “What about
Girls Rule, Boys Drool? I vote Jazy spits it out—we won’t tell.”

Stella added indignantly, “Yeah,
Jazy, it’s easy for you and Auntie Bel to act all cool, you have men wanting in your pants all the time, but we don’t. This is exciting! Tell us!”

Jazy laughed
at our niece while I murmured, “Oh, I think you’re holding your own on that front, Stella.”

Mac snickered
at my comment while Anna rounded on Stella, “Hey, I’m not exactly chopped liver here. I have men wanting in my pants, too!”

Stella
’s face wrinkled in repugnance. “Yeah, excuse me if I don’t think of my own uncle as a man, Anna.”

Tre J
glanced at me and we shared a little smile. As much as I love to be disrespectfully objectified as a strange man’s very expensive sexual fixation, I diverted the girls to a much more important subject.

“Mac, did you
happen to notice that under her coat Jazy’s wearing illegal fringe? Isn’t that in direct violation of the Roanoke Colony Indian Treaty of 1585? I say we sack and burn her farm. All in agreement say Aye!”

Squabbling, drinking, laughing, and
sliding down the dividing window to torment our limo driver dressed in pink and black livery named Boyd, we arrived in one piece at the Hubert H. Humphrey Terminal of the Minneapolis-St Paul International Airport. On a bustling holiday when the airport was a zoo, it was very convenient to get dropped off by the baggage claim at this smaller terminal. HHH was used primarily by Sun Country Airlines and Delta puddle jumper planes from nearby cities.

Incredibly,
Layla’s plane was fifteen minutes early landing, but we were ready for action. We set up behind a round, cement pillar near the carousel where their luggage was scheduled to be delivered.

Stella
was the lookout for the Florida girls while Mac and Tre explained our harmless prank to a nearby security guard. They could be promising to detonate a nuclear bomb in the airport for all he cared. The short guard couldn’t pry his attention away from Tre J’s magnificent curves encased in a T shirt staring him in the eye.

Stell
a scouted the three girls approaching out of the crowd of milling people, and she started doing a countdown with her fingers to let her mother know when to turn on the music.

The
Let’s Embarrass Layla plan went off like clockwork. Celeste and Misty fell back slightly as they approached our location. Layla was leading the trio when she passed the pillar towards the luggage carousel. All her focus was on the suitcases sliding down the ramp.

The
women each dragged a wheeled carry-on and were all dressed casually for travel in jeans and jackets. Contrary to popular belief, people living in the Tampa area not only own winter jackets, they actually wear them when the temps get down in the fifties. Southerners were thin-blooded wimps. I have worn my bikini in Florida and gone swimming at the same time they’re in turtleneck sweaters and shivering. We’re a strong breed up here in the North Country. Maybe that will count for something with Luke’s disapproving mother.

Layla has been friends with Celeste and Misty since junior high
, so we’ve met them over the years when traveling to Florida. The three girls were all brunettes, but that’s where any resemblances ended.

Cousin
Layla and my sister Jazy share a strong likeness in facial features and body type, but their coloring was totally opposite. Layla’s mom was Jewish. My cousin was a monochrome of brown from her dark hair and brown eyes, to her tanned skin. Her natural expression was serious, so when she displayed her startling white smile, the self-deprecating humor and deviltry reflected was unexpected and charming.

Our cousin calls herself Bush Woman. Layla’s
dark hair was thick and luxuriantly curling. She considered it the bane of her existence, especially living at sea level in swampland. I think her hair was beautiful, but extreme humidity and curling thick hair could be a maddening test of a girl’s sanity. Loving how her hair relaxed and behaved was one of the primary reasons Layla chose to visit Minnesota regularly in November, and I could respect that. Most women’s moods were decided for the entire day by how their hair behaved in the morning.

Celeste
’s hair was medium-brown, thin, and hangs straight to her waist. She’s softly pretty with gray-blue eyes and a wide, full mouth. She’s tall, small breasted and has coltish legs a mile long. She looked deceptively sweet, but was surprisingly profane. When she and Jazy got going, the F bombs started flying. They were a terrible influence on us all, and our vocabularies degenerated in direct proportion to the length of time we all spend together during a Women Weekend. CeCe, as we call her, was fun, ditzy, and always in an upbeat mood. Nothing got her down for long.

Misty
was a slightly built Cuban girl--maybe an inch taller than me, but with a big attitude. Her wavy dark hair has streaks of red that matched her dramatic lipstick, and her nose was sharp and long. She’s more striking than pretty, spoke her mind bluntly, and was a strange combination of left-brain practical and girlishly boy-crazy. Misty’s father owns several iron works in the state, he’s filthy rich, and if the stories were true—mobbed-up. She has the confidence of a girl that knows her dad would definitely beat up your dad if you gave her any problems.

Once the
three girls passed us, Mac hit the switch and the music blared “LAYLA” and Eric wailed, along with the six of us women.

Caught by surprise, Layla
jumped most satisfactorily high in the air at the musical onslaught and whirled around. We did our crazy dance to the music in our Pilgrim and Indian get ups. Onlookers stopped and gawked, laughing and pointing our way. We laughed and pointed our lettered signs at Layla while she stood stock-still in shocked disbelief. Our cousin covered her red face with her hands, but watched through her fingers as she laughed and groaned at our wild dancing. Celeste and Misty danced on either side of her while whooping, hollering, and singing along.

As the music drew to a close, I did my
special somersault and ended up in the Chinese splits with my fringe wildly shaking and the exclamation point held high over my head. The girls positioned themselves all around me in various Charlie’s Angels-type poses while we all screamed, “Cousin Layla!”

Layla stood
blushing furiously and laughing helplessly, as my family and friends went running to her with hugs and greetings. Celeste and Misty were like puppies in their boundless excitement. Before I was up from the splits on the carpeted floor, they dove on me. Laughing and giggling, they mauled me.

“We are so happy to
finally be here!” Celeste exclaimed, hugging me and kissing my cheek repeatedly.