I'm Your Girl (33 page)

“Not about this conversation, right?”

He nods. “I won’t put any of this in our book.”

“Promise?”

He crosses
my
heart, and the girls perk up. “Promise.” He turns to go, but I grab his arm.

“What will you be writing all night about, then?”

He winks. “Our first night of passion.”

“You’re going to put a sex scene in
our
book?” Mama will hate us more for sure!

“Call it…my
plan
for our first night, then. I’ll even let you edit it to your satisfaction.”

That could be fun. “Will there be…ice cream?”

He looks up. “No. Scented oils, I think. And candles. And a foot massage followed by…”

I’m warming up just hearing about it. “Followed by what?”

“Followed by some serious boot knocking.”

“Huh?”

He pulls me to him. “I’m going to knock your boots so long they’ll end up in Tibet, and some sherpa is going to trip over them and smile because he knows in his Tibetan heart that someone is getting a good boot knocking.”

I’m speechless. Mild-mannered Jack
is
Dan Pace when the sun goes down.

“And tonight, I’m going to go on-line to explore all the positions of the
Kama Sutra
.” He smiles. “This is going to be a very long chapter.”

I’m still speechless.

“And even if it doesn’t get into the book, it
will
get into your head.”

It already has! My upper lip is sweating! “Um, size seven, gold, round diamond, you decide the number of carats.”

He rubs on my caboose. “You just make sure you have your boots ready to get knocked.”

I’m nearly out of breath! “I’ll, uh, I’ll shine them up for you.”

His eyes change, softening back to the Jack I love. “You already shine, Diane Anderson.”

Oh, that’s so sweet!

“And I intend to polish you until the sun and moon get jealous.”

And that’s so nasty!

“And yes, I’m putting those two lines in my next chapter.”

Lord, I’m sorry, but this man is making me horny. Please make him go!

He kisses me tenderly, hugs me once, winks, and leaves me…with wet panties. If he can
talk
me into it, just imagine…

Lord, shield Your eyes for about an hour, okay?

And please let me have some fresh C batteries somewhere in this house!

B
ig day, eh?

Another giant step.

How could you sleep after you wrote out that sex scene?

I had nice dreams, didn’t I?

The best
.

I find an empty box in the laundry room and trudge up the stairs one final time with Noël and Stevie’s eyes staring at me from the wall. I start with the family portrait.

That only took one take. Stevie smiled right on cue, even though all those other kids in line were wailing like banshees.

I put the portrait in the box. The next is Noël in her garden. She was the brightest flower in that garden.

And she smelled the best, too.

I put her picture in the box. I try not to think as I remove the others, but it’s hard. It’s as if I’m taking down life itself, and the memories won’t let me be. Stevie is dancing in the surf at the beach, unafraid of the waves, while Noël’s face outshines the sun in an eternal smiling laugh….

Noël’s mother would like these.

Yeah. I’ll drop them off at her house while I’m out today.

What about the ones in your office?

Them, too.

You’ll need a bigger box
.

I don’t have a big enough box…for all these wishes.

Steady now.

I’m not crying. Just remembering.

What about the photo albums?

I have to hold on to something. I’ll keep them. In storage.

What about…the ring?

The one I’m planning on buying or…
that
ring?

The one in your pocket, Jack, the one you roll around in your fingers when you’re nervous, the one you keep in your pocket on dates with Diane, the one you put on the dresser before you go to sleep, the one—

I know which one. I’ll take it to a pawnshop.

You should have buried it with her.

I know.

I drive first to Noël’s childhood home, a Cape Cod in southwest Roanoke with a huge backyard now full of red and yellow roses. Roses must be Sandra’s therapy. They take lots of careful tending. After parking at the curb, I walk to the front door and hesitate before I ring the doorbell. I count to ten. No one arrives. I put the box on the welcome mat.

You should stay and talk to her.

We’ve never had much to say to each other that didn’t involve Noël and Stevie, and here they are all boxed up. I’ll just leave her be.

On the way back to the car, I look up at Noël’s window one last time. She had looked out at the world from that window for nearly twenty years before I gave her other windows to look out. And the last window she looked out of was the van’s….

Think about something else.

I squint at the sun peeking out of a cloud. And now she and Stevie are looking out of heaven’s window on me.

That’s better
.

I stop at the first of several pawnshops I come to on Williamson Road, only a few blocks from Hooters, which is a strange placement for a pawnshop.

Hey, if you really like their wings, you might need to pawn something
.

I hand my ring to the pawnshop owner, a bald man wearing a lime green tank top and sitting on a stool. “How much?” I ask.

The man weighs it in his hand. “Thirty.”

It cost close to $900!

I shake my head and put out my hand. “Thanks anyway.”

Three more pawnshops later, I still have the ring, fifty dollars the best offer. I put it back in my pocket and head to the mall and Kay’s, where Noël and I had bought our rings five years ago.

You sure you want to go to Kay’s? There are four other jewelry stores in this mall.

I’m sure.

While the salespeople wait on other customers, I stroll through the store, looking at all the possibilities. I’ve already gotten Diane a necklace and some earrings. What’s left?

A toe ring.

A toe ring? Here, at this fine, upscale jewelry store? How would they even size it?

That one says, “One size fits all.”

I doubt that. And what are those dangly things?

“How may I help you today?” A tall flaxen-haired woman stands in front of me, looking down at those dangly things.

“What are they?” I ask.

“They’re for piercings,” she says.

Kinky. Ask her where!

No.

I straighten and look at a poster behind her of a white woman showing off a stunning diamond ring to a white man.

Even jewelry store posters separate the races
.

Yeah.

“I’m here to buy an engagement ring. Round diamond, gold band, size seven, one carat or more.”

You remembered!

In a flash, she whips out a glossy C’s booklet. “Let me tell you about diamonds.”

“I’ve, uh, done this before. I’d like the highest-quality diamond that you have between one and one and a half carats.”

She closes her booklet. “Certainly, sir.”

Oh,
now
she calls you “sir.”

Shh.

“Are you sure about the round cut? We have Marquis diamonds that are just stunning.”

I don’t want to put Noël’s diamond on another woman’s hand. “She prefers round.”

“Okay.”

I look at row after row of gleaming diamonds, afraid to touch them lest my fingers mar their brilliance. “That one,” I say, pointing to the one that hurts my eyes the most.

She removes the ring from the velvet cloth, turning the price tag to me.

With tax, that will come to…five digits!

“This one is one-point-five with—”

“I’ll take it,” I interrupt, taking out my checkbook. “Is it a size seven?”

She slides the ring onto a long metal rod.

I hope they clean that thing occasionally.

“It’s a seven,” she says. “Would you be interested in an extended service plan?”

While she rambles on and on about the benefits of the “ESP,” I think back to the first time I bought rings here. We added ESP to our rings, but we never brought them in twice a year to get them checked and cleaned, because Noël preferred to clean them more often at home.

“Sure,” I say when she’s done.

She smiles. “Okay. I’ll just…ring this up then.”

She’s ringing up a five-digit ring. I’ll bet she didn’t expect to do that today. She just sold a five-digit ring in five minutes.

I start writing out the check.

You may have to go back to work soon.

Yeah.

First the Accord, and now the ring. I can still see the salesman’s face at the dealership. When you said, “Just throw in some floor mats,” he smiled. But when you wrote the check—

His eyes nearly burst from their sockets.

Kind of like this lady here, huh?

“Okay, we’re all set,” she says, displaying the ring one final time before snapping the black velvet box closed and putting the box into a small gray bag.

I give her the check and my driver’s license, for good measure.

“Do you have an account here, sir?”

“No,” I say, taking the bag.

“Would you like me to set up one for you and your fiancée?”

So you can make this lady’s day again and again.

And Diane’s, too. Hmm.

“Not today, thank you,” I say. “But I’m sure I will in the future.”

I put the bag in one pocket and still feel the weight of my own ring in the other.

Now it’s time to surprise Diane, right?

Not yet.

I drive to Evergreen Cemetery, and after sitting in the car for several agonizing moments, I get out and go to Noël and Stevie’s graves.

You’re doing the right thing, Jack.

The graves, festooned with freshly cut red and yellow roses, look immaculate, the marble a mirror to the dark green grass below. I crouch and touch the
S
in Stevie, wishing I had brought Mr. Bear.

Another time. Mr. Bear is too good of a listener to leave out here with no one to listen to.

What do you say to dead people who are still alive in your memory? I’m sure they already know my intentions. Why am I here?

To talk to them.

“Such a peaceful place,” I whisper. “Um, I’m sure you already know that I’m planning to remarry.” My voice catches. “It doesn’t…it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you anymore.”

Love is infinite.

“I know I’ll see both of you again.”

In the infinite.

“And, uh, Stevie, I’ll be sure to make you some brothers and sisters to play with in heaven.”

You’re crying.

As I should be. “Noël, honey…” Oh, God, this is so hard! “You’d like her, Noël. She’s down-to-earth and exquisitely patient with me, like you were.” Why is this so hard?

Say good-bye, Jack
.

“I’ll…I’ll try to visit more often, but…” I bow my head. “It’s been so hard without you two, so hard.”

You’ve made it through, Jack.

“I’ll always remember you two as happy. Always.”

Say good-bye.

I take my ring from my pocket, pushing it into the soil until it disappears. “Good-bye.”

Go see Diane.

Not yet.

Then rest here a while. Feel the peacefulness of this place.

I’m done resting. I need to go to the grocery store.

For Kleenex?

No. For something much better.

E
ven though I’m working the circulation desk, I’m smiling because…I’m engaged!

I
am
engaged.

I am engaged to be
married
.

I now
officially
get to think this. I just wish I could
say
it to someone. I can’t tell anyone here. If Mama and Daddy come in Saturday morning, Francine and Kim will bust me out. Kim might start interrogating me today, though, because I have let every single fine slide. I am a genuinely, totally happy librarian working the circulation desk.

The patrons must think I’m crazy! I need to settle down…but I can’t!

I’m engaged!

I could be thinking about Mama and how she’ll try to dismantle us this weekend. She’ll probably pick with me and with Jack here and there and make lots of strange faces, looking for what she thinks will be the wedge that drives us apart. She’s sitting in the backseat for sure on our drive up the Parkway. I might use the vanity mirror on the visor to spy on her. Daddy will probably fall asleep or just sit back there humming while Mama fumes.

I look at the clock. Twelve-fifteen already? Lord, time sure does fly when you’re engaged.

And I ought to know, because…I’m engaged!

And in fifteen minutes, I’ll be an
engaged
woman sitting down to eat an
engaged
woman’s leftover salad and a peach, marveling at an
engaged
woman’s flatter stomach…and sighing at her empty finger. Two weeks. I can wait two weeks. I
know
I’m engaged, and that’s all that really matters.

Though a ring
would
look nice—

“Hi.”

I look up. “Jack?” How did he sneak up on me?

He pulls a long flower box from behind his back. “For you.”

I blush. “For me?”

“For you.”

“Just because?”

He nods.

I untie the ribbon, open the box, and see…lots of orange. “Carrots?”

“Count them,” he says.

I count…ten. I roll my eyes. “Ten carrots. Funny.”

He touches my hand. “Open the card.”

The card is a little…lumpy? I pull out the flap, and a ring—
yes!
—slides out into the palm of my hand! Lord, forgive me, but
damn!
I close my hand. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

I open my hand to make sure it’s still there.
Damn, that’s a diamond!

“Put it on.”

“But, Jack, I said—”

He strokes the back of my left hand. “Put it on, Diane.”

I look up at him. “You’re supposed to do it.”

He takes the ring from my palm—
give it back!—
and slides it gently onto my ring finger. It slides on just like golden butter, and it fits like a dream! I am never taking this off. Never never never—

Oh no. Here comes Kim bouncing down the stairs. I drop my left hand under the counter. “Hi, Kim.”

Kim stands next to Jack, putting her hand on my man’s arm! “Jack, it’s so good to see you.” She’d better not—She squeezed his arm. Why does she have to touch people like that? “What have we brought Diane for lunch today?” She looks at the carrots. “Carrots?”

“For my salad,” I say quickly. “I told you I only needed one, Jack.”

Jack throws up his hands. “I’m such a scatterbrain.”

Kim taps the counter. “Francine will be down in a jiffy.” She squeezes Jack’s arm
again
and wanders off. He’s mine, you wench! Go feel up some homeless man’s arm!

I look up at Jack. “But I don’t want anyone to know yet.”

“I know you don’t.” He tries to look over the edge of the counter to see the ring, but I hide it farther in the shadows. “It looks good on you, what I saw of it.”

I look down, and there it is, shining in the shadows. “Did you bring a peeler for the carrots?” Which is a
stupid
question to ask when I have this ring!

“No.”

“Then how am I supposed to—Oh, here comes Francine. Act natural.”

Jack leans on the counter, his chin jutting high into the air.

“With your chin down, Jack.”

“Oh.” He drops his chin.

Francine comes over and looks at the carrots. “Some lunch,” she says.

I stand, my left hand sliding under the box. “Best lunch I’ve ever had,” I say, then carry the box around the counter to Jack.

Francine takes my seat. “Has it been busy down here today?”

I look at Jack, and he’s looking at me like he was last night with blue-eyed animal passion. “Uh, yeah, pretty busy.”

But not nearly as busy as we’re going to get when we get to my house!

“Um, Francine, I’m not feeling very well.”

Jack nods.

“I’m going to take the rest of the day off. You’ll tell Kim for me, won’t you?”

Francine looks at me with a pursed-lip smile. “Sure, Diane. I’ll tell her you’re sick—
again
—but you owe me another one.”

I’m almost out of breath by the time we get to my car. “Follow me home, okay?”

He grabs my caboose right there in the library parking lot! But instead of getting angry about it, I get right horny and make a sound something like “ah-uh-huhnnnn.” I have never made this sound before in my life!

“I’ll race you,” he says.

“You’re on.”

Some race. I hit every single light on the way home, and Jack is standing beside his car in the driveway. I park behind him and smile because…now he can’t escape because my car is blocking his.

When we get inside, I take his hand and march him directly to my bedroom.

“We might do something we shouldn’t,” he whispers, his breath so hot on my neck.

“That’s what I’m hoping for….”

Several frenzied moments later, zippers and buttons flying, we’re in bed hugging and squeezing and kissing and touching and feeling and—

He stops.

He just…stops.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, pulling him on top of me.

“I, uh, nothing’s wrong, Diane.”

I pull him as close as I can, and…oh yes, he’s ready! And I’m ready, too. I hope. “Then why’d you stop?”

He rolls off me and gets out of bed, sweat glistening on his chest. “Diane, I’m practically a virgin.”

What? “So?” I reach for him, taking a moment, you know, to look at my ring again. So many sparkles!

“So…I want our wedding night to be glorious.”

“It will be, Jack. I know it will be.” I rip off the covers and sit on the edge of the bed. Though, technically, a man who fathered a child isn’t a virgin, but I don’t want to discuss any of that. “But doesn’t the first time, um, hurt?” And won’t it make me bleed? Hmm. I don’t want to discuss that part, either. “If we do it now, I’ll be, um, more ready on our wedding night.” I just said “more ready” instead of “readier”? Sex must make your grammar go all to pieces.

“I went to my wife’s grave today.”

And now, my plumbing down there has completely dried up.

“I hadn’t been there since the funeral.”

I pull the comforter around me.

“I, uh, I left my ring there, and, uh, before that, I dropped off all those pictures, the ones in the hall? I took them to Noël’s mother.” He kneels in front of me. “I’m not in my right mind today, Diane, not for this.” He looks down at his stuff, and he’s still right rigid. “My, um, appearance to the contrary.”

Jack has had quite a day, quite an emotional day. “You want me though, right?”

He nods. “I dream about you, Diane, and we, um, we really go at it.”

I smile. “Yeah?”

“You, um, you’re pretty voracious in my dreams.”

“I can’t get enough of you, huh?”

“No.” He laughs. “And I wake up exhausted.”

I pull him to me. “I have a feeling we’ll both be waking up exhausted a lot.”

“I’m sorry about this, Diane. I keep—”

I put a finger to his lips. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I want to, God knows I want to.”

I look down. “I can see that.” And, so can God. I immediately feel guilty and cover up more of my body. “Did you, uh, did you write out our love scene?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Well, where is it?”

“I’ll have to e-mail it to you.”

I lick my lips. “Is it hot?”

He nods.

“Is it nasty?”

He nods.

“Is it downright vile?”

He smiles. “Let’s just say it’s…involved.”

“Hmm. I like an intricate plot.” I sigh. “Jack, we have to get married soon, okay? I’m aching for you.”

He frowns. “Me, too.”

I run my fingers through his hair. “Come on. Let’s take a shower or something.”

“You’re not mad?”

I close my eyes. “No. I’m still horny, but I’m not mad.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

I kiss his forehead. “I know you will.” I look into his eyes. “For the rest of our lives, right?”

“Right.”

I stand, but he doesn’t, his face millimeters from my stomach, and he starts kissing me hard, his hands gripping my caboose so tightly. I start to pant almost immediately. “Is…is this in our love scene?”

He nods his head, but he doesn’t stop kissing on me.

“Do I…I scratch the back of your neck?” I dig my nails into his neck as he nods. “Do I start to moan?”

He nods his head, his nose rubbing just below my belly button.

And in a moment, I’m moaning…and groaning…and lying back on the bed…and gripping the comforter.

“Jack?”

He doesn’t answer, but I don’t want him to. He’d have to use his tongue to speak, and I only want him to keep on doing…oh, Mr. Tickler, you’re about to be replaced….

“Keep talking to me, Jack, just keep talking to me….” And right as I’m about to get my happiest happy on, I think,
I am going to save a fortune on C batteries!

Jack
almost
spent the entire night with me, but it’s just as well he left as the April sun started to warm up the horizon. If he had spent another second with me, I probably would have died. My death certificate would have read: “Death by Orgasm.”

I would have died happy, but the mortician would have had quite a time getting my mouth to close again.

And now this…
sex
scene in front of me. It’s not a love scene at all. This is far too erotic. I didn’t make it through the first page as the other pages were printing out before I started to sweat. Jack could be writing erotic fiction under another name and making lots of people sweat. He has such a vivid imagination, and while I read, I ride the whirlwind.

And I’m horny again.

I can’t go to work at a library horny! So, I call in sick—luckily, Francine answers the phone—and just sit around my house naked until I realize something: Mama is coming tonight.

I have some stuff to hide.

And you can’t be sneaky when you’re naked. I throw on a robe and flutter around the house, straightening, dusting, and wondering how to hide things that will give Mama a heart attack.

I can’t leave these pages in the house. Mama will snoop around, find them, and die. And what will I do with this ring? And what will I do with Mr. Tickler, whose days are surely numbered anyway? Where
won’t
Mama look? Think!

I could take it all to Jack’s house.

No. You don’t take Mr. Tickler to your fiancé’s house. He might get jealous.

I could put it in the glove compartment of the car. No!

The freezer behind the ice cube trays? Yuck!

Bury it in the yard? For the neighbor’s dog to dig up? Never!

How do you hide a vibrator from your mama?

Hmm. I look around my bedroom first. I could put it under the mattress in the middle, but they’ll be sleeping in here while I sleep on the sofa! What if it turns on in the night? Mama might actually like it, but…

Oh, man, and I have to wash these sheets, too! They are so funky and—

The trunk of my car! Yes, in the trunk under the spare tire. I don’t care if Mr. Tickler gets a little greasy. Oh, and I should remove the batteries first. One bump, a little hum, and then Daddy’s tearing the car apart looking for the problem.

Vibrator problem: solved.

As long as I don’t have a flat tire.

The pages…I can hide them in plain sight in my library. Just stick them in a book…that Mama has already read? Hmm. That might work, but…No, I’ll just burn them. I can print them out again after Mama and Daddy leave.

Nasty-ass sex scene problem: solved.

That only leaves this…glorious ring. I should simply wear it with pride, and I’ve already vowed never to take it off. On the other hand, I’ll be wearing it for the rest of my life, so a few days won’t hurt. I slide it to the middle of my finger, but I can’t make it go any farther!
It
doesn’t want to come off, either! I slide it back down. I’ll just…I’ll just make that decision when the time comes.

I look at my alarm clock. Shoot. I’ll have to make my decision in less than six hours; their flight arrives at 6:45.

I know I’ll make the right decision. Until then, I have to air the funk out of this place. I look back at that naughty stack of pages.

Okay, one more time. I’m young. I can handle it.

And before I set it on fire, I know it will set
me
on fire.