A Trashy Affair (11 page)

“Did I upset you by being sarcastic about the—crudités?”

“No, no. Nadia Nixon fired May yesterday over some prank I am sure she had nothing to do with. At least, she let May take her retirement. I’m going to have a retirement party for May here as soon as I can since we can’t do one at work now.”

“Nice of you.” His large thumbs began a gentle massage of her tense shoulder muscles.

“But now, I have to staff the reception desk. I don’t know how I’ll do that and still be able to write my grants or get the recycling program going again if I can’t leave the building to muster group support. I mean, every time the matter is discussed at a council meeting, all the mention it gets in the newspaper is a couple of sentences in the last paragraph no one reads at the end of the article. I have to do something to rally the public, so I wrote a letter to the
Clarion
, but they haven’t published it yet.”

“They won’t print it. Bernard Freeman takes out a full-page ad every Sunday to advertise his realty business. That’s a big deal to a little rag like the
Clarion
. Freeman is against the recycling program, considers it a waste of money. The paper can’t afford to offend him. Besides, he builds a bunch of his developments on old landfills. I’ll bet he already has a deal with Burl Oubre to take over the dump when it closes sometime in the future. Granny said that was good cane land Burl inherited, but he was too lazy to farm it and turned it into a trash heap.”

“You know a lot about local politics.”

“My family has lived here over two hundred years. I think we’ve figured out how this parish works, but you, baby, are a newcomer. You don’t stand a chance.”

“I have to keep fighting. I hate that Bernard Freeman represents my district!”

“Me, too. Don’t you love the way he gets a Cajun accent during election years when everybody in Chapelle knows his folks came from Texas in the Fifties to work in the oil fields?”

“May Robin told me Bernie wormed his way onto the council by marrying old Leroy Mouton’s daughter. Leroy ‘Lambo’ Mouton must have been the town’s most beloved politician.”

“He was a good guy, but I can’t say the same for the son-in-law who took his place.”

“Yet, you bought a townhouse from Freeman.”

“Only way I could keep a piece of Tauzin land.”

“Sorry I bought this house out from under you.”

“Don’t be. I would have lived in it as is. You did better by the house. Look, I can tell this stuff means a lot to you. You are so tense. Your back is all knotted up.” His long thumbs worked on her stiff neck. “Come on, sit down in the living room for a while, and let me give you a massage until that turkey is done.”

“Okay.” Jane caved far too easily in her own opinion. How weak could she be? Merlin steered her toward the comfortable, scarred leather sofa without ever removing his hands and pressed her to sit on the worn cushions. Oh, ecstasy as he worked those thumbs across her back. She needed another diversion right now before she became putty in his hands. Her hand groped for the TV remote.

“I know. We can watch the rerun of the Thanksgiving Day Parade with the big balloons. That will cheer me up.”

“Sure, if it helps you relax, babe.”

She found the channel. Gigantic cartoon characters and their tiny human handlers filled the screen. “Oh, look, my favorite dog balloon. Oooh, you’re very good at this, Merlin.” His fingers ran along her ribs, almost tickling but not quite.

“My mom taught me. She wanted to get a masseuse license but couldn’t pass the written test. The names of all those muscles confused her. Too bad because she would have been good, and it would have gotten her out of Broussard’s Barn. Lie down flat, and I’ll do your legs.”

Not a good idea, but she complied anyway. Sometimes, a girl just needed a good—massage. He used the sides of his hands to chop up and down her calf muscles, slid her dress up to her behind and worked on her thighs. Had she chosen her clothes knowing this might happen, no hose, her green lace panties, slides that simply dropped off her feet as he rubbed her arches?

Earlier when she considered wearing the jeans and shirt she’d had under her apron when serving the poor their dinner, she thought the holiday occasion and maybe Merlin deserved better. Out came the plum-colored knit dress with the cowl neck and long sleeves. Simple and appropriate for the chilly, gray day, the knit did mold nicely to her breasts and bottom, but not in a sexy way certainly. She’d added earrings shaped and colored like autumn leaves and a matching pin locally crafted to the ensemble. Merlin hadn’t told her she looked nice, not that it mattered. What did matter? His magic fingers found all the right spots one after another.

He slid his hands under the knit of her dress and drew her panties down over her buttocks. Her bra clasp opened and fell to the side.

“You’ll enjoy it more this way. Usually, a person would only have a towel on at this point unless you’re getting a massage at the airport.”

“We’re not at the airport.”

“Nope. You’d be naked beneath that towel and my hands would be under it.”

He removed her panties, spread her thighs, and moved one of his legs between them. The other stayed on the floor as he smoothed her hind cheeks over and over. His hands moved upward taking her dress with it to the sides of her breasts, then over her head and onto the floor. Jane shivered.

“Cold?”

“Not at all. Merlin, are you enjoying this, too?

He pressed his erection against her buttocks.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Would you turn off the TV? I can’t do this in front of the entire Beaver Springs High School marching band.”

“You have the remote.”

“So I do.” Jane unclenched her fingers from the instrument, stopped the parade, and tossed it aside. Suddenly, she felt one of Merlin’s long fingers in an unexpected place and tensed around it.

“Just seeing if you are ready.”

“Right now I’m juicier than that turkey in the oven. It’s been a while for me.” Heck, she’d almost come around that single finger.

“Me, too.” He didn’t pause to suggest they remove to the bedroom or roll onto the rug. One hand got his belt buckle open and his zipper down while the other continued to stroke the side of a breast. He shoved his uniform pants and underwear down to his knees and mounted her from behind. His shaft slid easily into her wetness longer, harder, deeper than any finger could. Odd position, but curiously arousing—as if she needed to be more stimulated. Neither of them took very long. Her orgasm arrived with explosive fireworks more appropriate for the Fourth of July than Thanksgiving, but she was giving thanks for this, absolutely.

Merlin followed with an aaah of great relief. He collapsed over Jane but kept his arms braced to keep from crushing her into the cushions. After a couple of minutes, he set his clothes right and turned her naked body over to hold against his chest. Inhaling the clean scent of his starched shirt and natural male musk, a great combo for a new masculine cologne, Jane burrowed against him hiding half her body against his side. One breast refused to tuck in. He fondled it.

“You have great breasts. Sorry I didn’t get to see more of them this time.”

“I come from a long line of big-busted women. I have to watch my weight to keep them a normal size. Eat a little too much and it goes right to the boobs.”

“And that is a problem? Um, speaking of problems, I didn’t use a condom. Should have, didn’t. Got carried away. But I’m clean. I had a full physical before I got my discharge from the army, and, well, I haven’t felt much like doing this since I got back from Afghanistan. There hasn’t been anyone else.”

“Not even Wanda?”

“Who?”

“The hootchie mama at Mulates. You didn’t call her and set up a date?”

“Nope. I forgot about that napkin and washed it with my jeans. It shredded all over my laundry.”

“What a pity.”

“I don’t think so. Jane, I was careless. How about you?”

“No worries. I’m on the pill and haven’t been with anyone in a couple of years, since college to be honest.”

“But you are still prepared like a good boy scout.”

“More like an eternal optimist. You never know when something good will come along to enjoy. Boy scouts prepare for disasters. Were you ever a boy scout?”

“Hell, no. I guess I just proved that.” Merlin hung his head a little.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

“The turkey is ready, but I’m not so sure I can get up.”

“I’ll get it. I’m dressed. Take your time and don’t feel you need to put your underwear back on for me.” Merlin eased her off his chest and onto the sofa cushion.

Jane watched him go tucking in the tails of his sky blue shirt as he went. She took a minute, stretched, finally found her feet and stood to gather her clothes. Tempting as it might be, at least for Merlin, she intended to wear a bra and panties to dinner. She straggled into the bathroom, washed the important place, and dressed again. Fortunately, knits didn’t wrinkle. Her makeup remained unmarred. They hadn’t even kissed and yet every inch of her felt satisfied. But now, the aftermath. Could she face him across the silly turkey centerpiece? Only one way to find out.

Jane entered the kitchen. Merlin had his back to her as he worked a carving knife on the turkey. He’d lit the candles, poured water and wine, and centered the pear salads on both plates. The microwave dinged, and he set down his carving tools to remove the casserole dish holding the green beans and onions. The cranberry-orange relish sat ruby red and ready to eat on the table. He looked her way, green beans in hand, and saw her staring.

“What? I washed my hands first.”

“Somehow, I expected to find you seated with knife and fork in hand waiting to be served. I never would have guessed you’d be so handy in a kitchen.”

Now, he grinned. “Granny,” a one word explanation. “She would wait on the men hand and foot if they spent all day in the fields, but if a guy was just lying around the house, he’d better know how to set a table and carry a dish from the stove. The rice dressing is still in the oven, and I put the rolls in to warm.”

“Do you cook, too?”

“Some. Not lately. I’m hell on dirty dishes though. This bird should be ready to eat in a minute.” He laid a severed leg to one side and began carving slices off the breast.

“Oh, I was going to put it on a platter with pretty garnishes.”

“I ate two of the radishes already because I’m starving. Get the platter.”

Jane took down the old Spode plate with a big brown turkey at its center, a treasure from the Episcopal Church garage sale. Merlin turned the uncarved half of the turkey sideways, tucked a radish rose under its wing, another under its butt, and the last where its head should have been. He placed the platter on the table.

“There you go. If someone walks in right now, they could take a picture of the perfect Thanksgiving.”

Jane took a couple of bunches of parsley from the fridge and stuffed them under the beautifully browned carcass, then turned off most of the kitchen lights to allow them to enjoy the candles. “Now they could. We are ready to eat. But first we should say what we’re thankful for.”

His face troubled in the candlelight, Merlin held her chair, then went to his own. Jane began the ritual.

“I am thankful for this beautiful land that deserves to be preserved for future generations and for the company I have with me this evening.”

“Amen,” said Merlin, crossing himself. “Let’s eat.”

“It isn’t a prayer. Your turn.”

“I’m thankful for what I shouldn’t mention at this table even though it looks like I won’t get dessert.”

“Of course, you will. I made a pumpkin pie.”

“Not that kind of dessert. You put your underwear back on.”

Jane waited a beat, and here came his smile, rolling out slowly at first then expanding. She got up, went to the oven, took out the tray of rolls, and lobbed one at him. Merlin caught it mid-air and placed it primly on the little dish intended for that purpose.

“Turkey?” he asked.

“White meat for me.”

Putting the pear salad to one side, he placed several slices on her plate and added a mix of light and dark meat to his own. She brought the basket of rolls to the table and the dish of rice dressing, passing it to him. Merlin took a hearty amount. He tried the bird.

“So this is what natural, free-range turkey tastes like. Almost as good as my mother’s Butterball.”

Jane waited for a teasing smile, but it did not arrive. She frowned. “You know those turkeys aren’t natural. Their breasts are so big if they fall in a water trough, they drown.”

“I did notice this one is a little skimpy in the chest, unlike you.”

“It isn’t skimpy. It’s natural. This bird ate wild grains and roamed free.”

“And still ended up on our dinner table. I don’t see the difference.”

“It died happy, okay?”

“If you say so—though it is hard to tell if a turkey is happy.”

Jane glanced up from a bite of pear salad, and there gleamed the delayed grin across the table. “Turkey truce?”

“Sure. Jane, this is the best Thanksgiving I ever had.”

“Yes, the holidays don’t usually come with sofa sex.”

“Granny would say that is not proper table talk, but yeah. More than that.”

“Thought your mom was a good cook.”

“She is, but big, fancy meals fluster her. Harley drinks a few too many. She burns or breaks something. He gets on her about it. Granny weighs in on Mom’s side. Brittney tries to sneak out to meet one of her skuzzy boyfriends, gets grounded. Grandpa is in the bedroom dying slowly and quietly. Doyle just keeps his head down. I hope he’s doing that in the war zone tonight and eating a real dinner in the mess hall, not sucking down a turkey and gravy MRE in the middle of nowhere like I did my first year over there. ”

“I’m sure he is. Where would you be in all that family turmoil?”

“Out on the porch swing waiting for it to blow over. Like Merlin the Magician, I vanish. You. What does your family do for Thanksgiving?”

Jane broke open a roll and watched the steam rise like it held a vision of Thanksgivings past. “Not bad, but maybe kind of quirky. We always have wild game, geese, maybe turkey or ducks. Mom can tolerate hunting if all the meat goes to feed someone. No trophies at our house.”