Native Affairs (40 page)
Authors: Doreen Owens Malek
“When is he due back from his trip?”
“About eight.”
“Big doings tonight, then. What will you say? How are you going to tell him?”
“Well, once he starts seeing me turn green at the sight of his breakfast, he’ll know. He’s been in Japan for two weeks promoting
Renegade.”
“Is that his new book?”
Marisa nodded, taking a sip of her milk. “A thinly disguised account of our romance, I’m afraid. He was already writing it during the trial in Florida. Do you believe that?”
Tracy giggled. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. His hero falls for a lady lawyer, a New Englander who goes up against him in a complicated legal case. Sound familiar?”
“Am I in it?” Tracy asked eagerly.
“Well, the lady lawyer has a pal named Cindy who works as her researcher .”
“A beautiful, seductive, brilliant pal named Cindy,” Tracy corrected archly.
“Of course.”
“Who is responsible for bringing the lovers together in an act of friendship and generosity unparalleled in human history.”
“Right.”
“I still can’t get used to having Jack here all the time. Has he sold his condo in Oklahoma yet?”
“The real estate agent thinks she has a buyer but she isn’t sure if he’ll qualify for the mortgage,” Marisa said.
“I don’t think this town has recovered yet from the idea of Jack as a full time resident. Did you see the ad Mr. Faber ran in the newspaper, describing the ring Jack bought for you in his store?”
“You mean ‘Come to Faber’s, Jeweler to the Rich and Famous?’” Marisa asked, closing her eyes.
“That’s the one,” Tracy responded, cackling.
“Mr. Faber has never been known to pass up a lucrative business opportunity.”
“I think everybody in this town is secretly disappointed that you haven’t razed this tired old place and erected some sort of palace in its stead.”
“Jack really isn’t the palace type and neither am I. We did buy the house in Florida, though. For sentimental reasons. And I’ve ordered vinyl siding to be put on here in May.”
“My, you are getting frivolous. What next? A new fence? Painting the shutters? The neighbors will be talking.”
“What were they expecting, for heaven’s sake?”
“Well, you know how it is. A bestselling author moving into a seventy-year-old Cape Cod is not their idea of a luxurious lifestyle. At the very least, Jack should be driving some expensive Italian sports car. That 4 x 4 of his just doesn’t cut it.”
“But he’s from out West. There are mountains and foothills and the terrain is rough. A vehicle like that is practical.”
Tracy stared at her.
“I’m sorry we’re so dull,” Marisa said, sighing.
“But not in the bedroom. I’m sure you’re not dull in the bedroom,” Tracy observed wickedly.
Marisa threw a napkin at her.
“I suppose Jack could do a rain dance on the front lawn,” Tracy suggested. “At least that would satisfy their curiosity about his Indian background.”
“I’ll mention it to him.”
“And now I have to go,” Tracy said, rising. “I have a paper due next week that’s still in the notecard stage.”
“Okay. Good luck with the work.”
“Give my best to Jack. And to junior in there.” She patted Marisa’s tummy.
“I will.”
“I’ll see you at the office on Monday morning.” Tracy sailed out the back door.
Marisa put their dishes in the sink, feeling once more the secret elation that had become part of her inner life ever since she realized that she was pregnant. Jack would be so thrilled. She was preparing a special dinner, all of his favorites, but if she knew her man they would be in bed before they had a chance to eat it. She was getting very good at wrapping leftovers.
Marisa went to get her doctor’s office number to make an appointment.
* * *
Jack swept through the door at eight-ten, carrying a stack of parcels and drenched with a cold rain. Marisa was waiting for him in the living room, sitting next to the roaring fire and holding a glass of his special Napoleon brandy.
“Woman!” he shouted and threw the boxes on a chair.
Marisa put down the drink and ran into his arms.
“Oh, God, you feel so warm and good,” he murmured, his mouth moving in her hair. “I missed you terribly. Why the hell didn’t you come with me anyway?”
“Jack, we discussed it before you left. I had that ease going before the Superior Court and...”
“Never mind,” he said, holding her off to look at her. “I’m back now. Is it possible that you got more gorgeous while I was gone?”
“Jack, you were gone two weeks,” she said, laughing and smoothing his wet hair.
“Two weeks prettier, no doubt about it,” he said and kissed her lingeringly, his face wet with rain.
“Jack...” Marisa whispered.
“What?” he replied distractedly, steering her firmly toward the bedroom.
“Don’t you want your drink?”
“Not as much as I want you.”
“Wait a minute” she said, as he started to unbutton her blouse.
“Yes?” he said innocently.
“Jack,” she said, more urgently.
He slid his hand up her back to unhook her bra.
“Jack!” she protested.
“Yes?” he said again, grinning.
“What did you bring me?”
He burst out laughing. “You really don’t want me to answer that question.”
“I meant, what’s all that stuff in the boxes?” Marisa amended, blushing.
“Later,” he said, pushing her blouse off her shoulders impatiently, his fingers chilly against her skin.
Marisa closed her eyes.
Jack trailed his tongue across her collarbone and down into the valley between her breasts.
Marisa sighed. “Later,” she agreed.
They hit the bed hard and did not resume the conversation until some time had passed. Marisa was propped against Jack’s shoulder, thinking how perfectly and utterly happy she was, when she said drowsily, “So how was Japan?”
Jack chuckled softly. “Lonely.”
“I’ll bet. Did you meet any geishas?”
He kissed the top of her head. “Counselor, it’s clear you’ve never been on a book junket.”
“True.”
“Even if I’d had any desire to expand my horizons in that direction I was too busy to do it.”
“Hmmpf,” she said disbelievingly.
“It’s true. Publishing houses do not sponsor these trips for authors to visit the tourist attractions. They expect you to flog the book twenty-four hours a day.”
“And did you? Flog the book?”
“Relentlessly.”
“Good. You had quite a few messages from the NFN while you were gone. They want you to appear at a rally to raise money for Jeff Rivertree’s legal defense.”
“Okay. I’ll get to them in the morning.” He tightened his arm around her. “Tonight is for us.”
“May I see my presents now?”
He sighed. “You’ re like a six-year-old.”
“Come on, I’m curious.” She slipped out of the bed and into a robe, padding barefoot into the living room. Jack followed, pushing back his still damp hair.
“I should warn you, they’re not all for you,” he said, dropping onto the sofa and taking a deep swallow of the drink Marisa had gotten for him earlier.
“What!” she said, feigning disappointment.
“I got something for my mother and for Ana,” he said, leaning forward to remove those boxes from the pile.
“That’s permitted.”
“Thank you.”
Marisa tore into the first package, discarding the wrapping and lifting the lid.
“Sorry about the makeshift packaging. I had to have them wrapped after customs and...”
“Jack!” Marisa cried in delight, lifting a royal blue robe of heavy fuji silk from the box and holding it aloft. Emblazoned across the back of it was a golden imperial dragon, and it was encrusted with sapphire bugle beads at the collar and cuffs. The dragon’s head swirled down one arm and the tail trailed down the other, the gilt embroidery contrasting sharply with the smooth silk.
“This is gorgeous,” she breathed.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “It’s really for me.”
Marisa looked at him.
“Just kidding,” he said.
Marisa stood, dropping her tired chenille robe to the floor and then wrapping herself in the satiny folds.
“How do I look?” she said, striking a pose.
“Like the first blonde empress of Japan,” he said, saluting her with his glass.
“Too bad I can only wear this at home,” Marisa said sadly, fingering the lapels.
“I don’t recommend wearing it to the office. Charlie Wellman will have a stroke.”
Marisa grinned.
Jack took another sip of his drink and added, “Open that small one next.”
Marisa tore into the wrappings greedily and came up with a jeweler’s box.
“You’re spoiling me,” she said, opening it.
“I’m trying.”
“Pearls,” she said, lifting a string of perfectly matched lustrous gems from the bed of cotton wool.
“I thought that necklace would match your earrings pretty well,” he said.
“Oh, it does, thank you, thank you so much,” she said, running to embrace him.
“Hey, hey, you’re not finished yet,” he protested, disentangling her arms from his neck. “There’s another one.”
Marisa glanced over her shoulder at the last package, forgotten on the floor.
“Dinner’s been warming in the oven. I should take it out before it ossifies,” Marisa protested.
“It can wait a minute. Open that.”
Marisa knelt obediently and opened the last package. Marisa lifted it, puzzled at first.
“What?” she said.
“Look at it closely,” Jack advised.
Comprehension dawned.
“This is an Indian baby board,” she said, examining the flat back and front bundling used to hold a papoose.
“Right.”
“You didn’t get this in Japan.”
“Right again. It’s Blackfoot, my mother sent it. I picked it up on the porch on the way in. It must have been left by the parcel service earlier today.”
“You knew it was coming.”
“I had an idea.”
“Is this a family heirloom?”
He nodded.
“Am I jumping to wild conclusions, or is this a hint?”
“That’s my mother, world famous for her subtlety.”
Marisa put the carrier on the floor and walked over to sit next to Jack, slipping her arms around his neck.
“Jack?”
“Uh-huh?”
“I have something to tell you.”
– THE END –
MEDICINE MAN’S AFFAIR
Doreen Owens Malek
–
Originally published as
Native Season
(1983)
–
Published by
Gypsy Autumn Publications
PO Box 383 • Yardley, PA 19067
–
Copyright 1983 and 2012
by Doreen Owens Malek
The Author asserts the moral right to be
identified as author of this work
All rights reserved. No part of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, scanning or any information storage retrieval system, without explicit permission in writing from the Author or Publisher.
First USA printing: 1983
All of the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Dedication
For Anne Baldwin Freiberger,
companion of my childhood,
lifelong confidante.
Blessed are the peacemakers.
Chapter 1
It was a beautiful midsummer morning in Philadelphia, still cool at this early hour, the sky a cloudless, pale blue. Jennifer pulled her car into the company lot and showed her pass to the security guard, who waved her on to her assigned space. She drove into it mechanically, her mind on the business of the day. It would be a long one.
