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Dogged Ma; chapter thirteen, part one

Chapter Thirteen; Part One

“Where are you?  Are you still with Ted?  Call me.”

“OK, now I know you’re not still with your boy.  Call me!”

I laughed as I erased Ned’s messages, each increasingly agitated.  I had no idea why he took such an interest in my love life when his was infinitely more complicated and fascinating, but I knew I better call him before he busted a gut.  It was ten in the morning Sunday morning, and I had just gotten home.  Ted had skipped church this morning, but he wanted me to go with him at some later date.  I promised I would, and to my surprise, I was looking forward to it.  It would be a change from the Taiwanese church, that was for sure.  Speaking of, Ned should be there right now, but he didn’t go every week; I had a hunch he’d be home this morning just waiting for me to call.  I called him, tapping my foot as I waited for him to answer.

“Girl, what took you so long?  Did you just get home?”  Ned was at full decibel, which meant I had to hold my cell phone away from my ear.  “Oh, no, you didn’t!”  I could practically see him waggling his neck, even across the wires.

“Yes, I did just get home,” I admitted, a smile playing on my lips.  “You wouldn’t believe the drama.”

I wandered into the living room, sinking onto my couch as I did.  I was wearing a t-shirt and sweats borrowed from Ted.  Of course, the latter kept falling off me until Ted had fixed it with a quick basting.  I was impressed Ted had a sewing kit until he reminded me that he was a bachelor.  I liked wearing his clothes, however, and I wasn’t sure I was going to give them back.  I spilled the beans about Ted’s ex, and Ned was appropriately appalled.  He knew Lucinda, of course, and he couldn’t believe she would cause a scene like that.  When I mentioned that she’d been drunk, Ned hadn’t been surprised.  Seemed it ran in her family.  What a shame.

“Now it’s time to dish the dirt,” Ned announced once we were through analyzing Lucinda’s behavior.  “How was he in the sack?”

“I don’t kiss and tell,” I said indignantly.  “Especially not when it’s someone you know.”  I couldn’t resist adding, “I was completely satisfied, though, I’ll tell you that much.  We used a three-pack of condoms, if that tells you anything.”

“You go, girl,” Ned cheered.  He knew how difficult it was for me to find someone who complemented my libido.  That was the most crushing thing about Gary’s betrayal—he had been making excuses not to have sex with me the last six or so months we’d been together, leaving me frustrated more often than not.  While I was wondering what was wrong with him during that time, he was getting it on with one co-ed or another.  “I want details!”  He knew I rarely talked about my sexcapades unless they were one-night stands, so he wasn’t offended when I declined.  “I’m happy for you,” Ned said, his voice subdued for once.  “You deserve someone who treats you right.”

“As do you,” I replied.  Ned had known his fair share of heartache, so I was glad there was someone who put a smile on his face.  “How’s Alonzo?”  I had to listen to exactly how Alonzo was for the next ten minutes because unlike me, Ned did kiss and tell.  By the time he was done, I knew far more about Alonzo than I’d ever wanted to know.

“Oh, I have a great idea!”  Ned said after his recitation.  “I’m inviting you and Ted to my place for dinner very soon.  I’ll invite Alonzo as well, and it’ll be like a double-date!  What do you think?”

“That’ll be fun,” I said enthusiastically.  “Alonzo doesn’t hate women, does he?”  More than once, Ned had introduced me to one of his paramours only to discover that I was most emphatically not welcomed.

“Nope.  Some of his best friends are women.  He told me so himself.”  With that settled, I got off the phone.  I wanted to clean the apartment—something I did once in a blue moon.  Alas, it was not to be.

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Dogged Ma; chapter twelve, part two

 Chapter Twelve; Part Two

“Margaret, I’m glad you found my place all right.”  Ted’s voice trailed off as he opened the door to his Kenwood home.  His eyes widened when he caught sight of what I was wearing.

“Are you going to invite me in?”  I asked demurely, slipping my wrap off my shoulders and handing it to him.  He took it silently and stepped aside.  I took a second to check him out as well.  He was wearing black khakis, a silver shirt, and a black sports coat.  Black socks and no shoes, of course.  He looked hot as hell, and I had an impulse to skip dinner and go straight to his bedroom.  I reined myself in as I stepped out of my shoes, however.  I didn’t want to appear that forward.

“Margaret, you look indescribable,” Ted said, finding his voice at last.  He ushered me into the living room which was painted a warm marigold.  There were Ansel Adam reprints on his wall—at least, I thought they were reprints—as well as a few Chinese scrolls.  Even though the furniture was clearly expensive, the room was homey due to the color.  He had photos of his family on his bookshelves, and I noticed how uncommonly good-looking both his siblings were.  “Please, sit.  May I get you something to drink?”

“Rum and Diet Coke, if you have it.  A Rolling Rock if you don’t.”  I smiled up at Ted who nodded his head as he left the room.  I watched his ass, noticing how firm it appeared.  As soon as he was out of sight, I went over to the bookshelves to see what he had.  Toni Morrison, David Mura, Asian writers’ anthologies, a few Laurie Kings.  A wide variety, all of it good.  My estimation of him shot up a notch as I realized he hadn’t been bullshitting me at the party.  He did, indeed, have similar tastes to mine.  He also had a bunch of poetry which I didn’t recognize.  I didn’t do poetry, much to the chagrin of Wind who was always foisting this poet and that upon me.  Of course, she loved the Beats, whom I loathed.

“Here we go,” Ted said, returning with two Rolling Rocks.  He handed one to me before clinking the top of his bottle against mine.  “Here’s to a great dinner.  I hope I didn’t burn it.”

“Oh!  That reminds me.  Here.”  I thrust a bottle of port out to him.  I didn’t normally drink wine, but port was an exception.  “For dinner.”  I had no idea what he was making—though it smelled like Italian—but we could have it with dessert if nothing else.

“Great.  I love a good port.”  Ted set it on the coffee table, shifting from one foot to the next.  It occurred to me that he was waiting for me to sit down on the black suede couch, so I did.  I sank into it was more like it as it was impossibly buttery.

“This is one nice couch,” I said, patting the seat besides me.

“A little gift from my parents,” Ted said dryly, sitting besides me.  I could feel the heat even though he wasn’t touching me, and I hastily gulped at my beer to cool down.

“Something smells delicious,” I said brightly.  “You must be a great cook.”

“I’m all right,” Ted said, shrugging his shoulders.  “I had to cook for my brother and sister when we were little.  I learned to be creative pretty quickly in order to please those two.  Edgar would only eat meat and potatoes whereas Tina had a taste for haute cuisine.  Imagine trying to cook for those two at the same time!  As a result, I’ll eat anything.”  He didn’t say why he had to cook for his siblings, but I guessed it had something to do with his alcoholic mother.  “It’s chicken parmigiana, the Italian way.  A Caesar salad on the side and garlic bread, of course.  I made tiramisu for dessert.”  My mouth watered as he ran down the menu.

“You’re hired,” I said jokingly, patting him on the arm.  “We need a good cook at the alternative school where I teach.  The food is off and on right now, depending on our cook’s mood.  Given that she is bipolar and doesn’t always take her meds, it’s more off than on.”  I shook my head.  I looked at Ted who was gazing down at me.  Without seeming to, we moved towards each other, meeting in the middle.  When his lips touched mine, I knew without a doubt that we’d be having sex tonight.  Before or after dinner was an open question, but we were going to have it.  Ted leaned into the kiss, gently pushing me down onto the couch.  I was about to give in when I smelled a whiff of something acrid.

“Ted, your food.”  I pushed him off me, alarmed at missing a home-cooked meal.  Hell, I could have sex any time.  How often did I get a guy to cook for me?

“Shit.”  Ted jumped up from the couch and rushed to the kitchen.  I whipped out my lipstick carrier which had a mirror in it and reapplied my lipstick.  Ted must have wiped his mouth as well before returning because he was lipstick-free.  “Dinner is served.  Would you like to adjourn to the dining room?”  He motioned for me to follow, and I did.

“Good Lord,” I murmured, looking around me in awe.  This room was forest-green with abstract art on the walls.  I was beginning to think that the paintings were real and not prints, but that would be astronomical.  Then again, his family was filthy rich, so perhaps dropping a few million on a painting wasn’t such a big deal to them.  The table seemed to be made of mahogany, and I bet it’d been in the family for quite some time.  The china looked ancient, and the silverware was real silver.  Antiques Road Show would have a field day with this house.  Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind meeting the twins.

“Sit, sit,” Ted said, coming out of the kitchen with a steaming-hot dish in his hand.  It smelled heavenly, and I assumed it was the sauce.  “I slaved all day making you this.”

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Trip on This: Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

I am still simmering and don’t want to even be in the same room as Greeley, let alone brainstorm with him.  Who the hell died and made him god?  How dare he intimate that I have done something to bring this upon myself.  That’s like telling a rape victim that she shouldn’t have worn that outfit or shouldn’t have been walking in that area at that particular time when the bottom line is, she shouldn’t have been raped.  I was simply trying to do my job.  Period.  What this asshole doesn’t understand is that I don’t have the same options that he has, and now that I’ve finally found something I’m good at—that doesn’t include me spreading my legs for hours on end—I’m not going to let some assholes stop me from doing it.  I will never be the president of the United States or CEO of a fucking corporation or even an executive secretary for the CEO of a fucking corporation.  I have neither the education nor the skills for such lofty jobs.  What I’m good at is repossessing possessions that shouldn’t have fallen into the wrong hands in the first place.  It’s ironic that it’s my skills as a repo man that have gotten me into this mess, but perhaps it will be the same talents that help me get out of it as well.

“We need a plan,” Vandalia says, snuggling next to Greeley.  She is idly stroking his leg which causes him to look at her as if to jump her bones right there in front of Mowgli and me.  “I’m worried about what Blanche told the assholes before they killed her.  I mean, if she told her coworker about meeting with you, then maybe she told them where you guys met.  And the coworker described us, too!”  Her eyes open wide.  “Are we going to have to go around in disguises, too?”

“No one can tell it’s you guys from Melody’s description,” I reply.  “I think she did that on purpose, by the way.  Only wants to fuck me up, not you guys.”

“I don’t know,” Vandalia says.  “It would make more sense to describe us completely to get closer to you.  I think she only really paid attention to you.”

“Shit, this is getting too complicated,” Mowgli mutters, rubbing his forehead.  He doesn’t look as fresh as he normally does, which is understandable under the circumstances.  “Why can’t we find them?”

“I wonder,” Greeley says slowly.

“What do you wonder?”  I ask sharply.  I haven’t forgiven him yet, but this isn’t the time for retribution.

“What if Andretti isn’t his real name, either?  I think we need to concentrate on O’Reilly.”

“I wonder if there’s any way of getting close to the mayor,” Vandalia adds.  “Maybe volunteering or something?  I really think he’s the key to this whole thing.  Even if he’s not the one handing out the orders, he has to be aware of what’s going on.”

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