Dawn Autumn (2 page)

A glance at her calendar confirmed her fear. Yes, indeed. It was a Wednesday.

“You’ll go out with me tonight?” he asked, disbelief in his tone.

Whoa! She quickly raised her hands. “As buddies! Friends. Just so you can meet the poet chick.”

“I won’t be comfortable in there by myself,” he said stubbornly. “I know what those feminist types are like. They dress all in black and look down on any guy who doesn’t have pierced eyebrows. Please say you’ll come.”

The hopeful look in his eyes was Jay’s undoing. There went her peaceful night of moping. She sighed. “Okay, but if you don’t get her phone number, you owe me a whole pint of Stone Cold’s cookie dough ice cream. I don’t work cheap.”

He grinned. “Deal. What time do I pick you up?”

She blinked. Pick her up? “I’m five seconds from your door, and we’ll be taking the bus, unless you’ve been hiding a Moped in your apartment. I don’t think they make skateboards for two.” His usual mode of transportation would see her flat on her butt in about two seconds.

“Cole will let me borrow his car.”

Jay laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Cole’s not going to lend you his baby.” Their neighbor was a massive African with long dreads and a soulful, deep voice. Though she didn’t know him well, knew little of his relationship with Fred, she doubted he was going to part with his low rider. If Fred was lucky, the man might let them ride in it while he drove. Maybe.

Though he always wore baggy, “Africanesque” tunics and soft cotton pants, Cole could always be seen on Friday nights with his ‘63 Impala full of laughing ladies on the way to a hot club. He had a quirky sense of humor and a build that seemed to drive women wild, though to her knowledge he rarely left his room. Someday she was going to work up the nerve to borrow his CDs, though. She loved the deep drumbeat she often heard seeping though his door.

Fred grinned. “We’ll see.”

* * * *

Fred left Jay’s apartment walking on air. He’d been trying for months to get his green eyed darling to notice him, and the best he’d managed so far had been a few doubtful looks and polite refusals. At least he had the comfort of knowing he wasn’t the only one barred from her inner sanctum. She rarely had guests, and none of them were male, except for the occasional Jehovah’s Witness or vacuum cleaner salesman.

It was hard to fathom why a trim, cute little brunette like her didn’t have guys knocking on her door night and day. Well, maybe the nights could be excused. She spent long evenings playing with her band. He’d snuck into a bar or two and lurked in the back just to listen to her, and he always waited up until he heard her come in, sometimes at two or three in the morning. Then there was her part time job at the coffee house.... Maybe it was understandable that she didn’t have much of a love life.

He wasn’t kidding himself, though. She was a good looking woman with a nice attitude, and it wasn’t going to be long before some guy snapped her up.

Fred wanted to be that man.

By sheer luck, he met Cole as he was locking his apartment, and didn’t have to brave the wilds inside to find him.

Cole smiled when he saw Fred’s expression. “You look like you just stumbled from the sultan’s harem. Did you get hit on the head, or did our little chili pepper downstairs spare you a smile?” he asked in a rumbling bass.

Exhalation swelled Fred’s chest. “She invited me to a poetry meeting at the library.”

For a moment, Cole just stared at him, and then he burst out laughing. “There’s a girl there she wants you to meet, right?” At Fred’s scowl, his grin grew wicked. “Betcha there’s a scrawny, pale faced man eater there she just can’t wait to hook you up with. Poor boy. Maybe I should put in a good word for you. At least this is a novel way of getting rid of you.”

Unimpressed, Fred crossed his arms. “Laugh it up, Casanova, but loan me your car first. I can’t take her out on the bus.”

Strangling on his laugh, Cole started to cough. When he cleared his throat, he shook his head franticly. “No, Fred. No way!”

“You owe me.”

“Don’t make me do this,” Cole pleaded, looking as stricken as if Fred had demanded his first born child. “I’ll rent a limo for you. Yeah! Let me just go find the phone.” He turned, ready to bolt.

“Cole.” He didn’t have to recount the details of the favor owed. It was a doozy, and wouldn’t be repaid with a simple car loan, no matter how beloved the car.

One hand on his doorknob, Cole’s shoulders sagged. “All right, man. All right. Just promise you’ll ride her easy. She’s temperamental, and she needs special handling, you know? Maybe I could drive you...” He trailed off at Fred’s look, and then slowly dug the keys from his pocket, looking at them regretfully as he placed them in Fred’s hand. “My poor baby.”

“Thanks. I‘ll take good care of her.” Quick as thought, the keys disappeared into Fred’s pocket. He had a hot date to prepare for.

Chapter Two

Jay opened the door without looking through the peephole, recognizing Fred’s jaunty knock. The sight before her made her blink. It was an improvement...sort of.

For once, Fred’s famous hat was missing. To her surprise, she discovered he had long, straight hair that went to his shoulders. The dark, slightly greasy locks were clipped back by a plain barrette at the back of his head. He was dressed in a baggy white t-shirt with the slogan, “Elvis Lives” printed on the front in bold black letters. An extra-large, black fanny pack was strapped to his hips over the t-shirt, making it bag.

In honor of the occasion, he’d changed his pants. Instead of stripes, he wore a pair of paint stained jeans that looked like someone had stomped on them, left them out in the rain, and then tossed them to a pair of junkyard dogs to fight over. They slopped over his unlaced high top sneakers, pooling on the floor around his feet.

“Hi,” she said faintly, unable to quite believe his ensemble. Her eyes remained glued to his shoes for long seconds as she tried to overcome her horrified laughter.

“Hi.” His voice cracked on a high note. He dug in his pocket and jangled a set of keys with a dice key chain in front of her. “Cole let us have the car.”

Jay let her gaze rise to his huge, wraparound sunglasses. Sheer will enabled her to swallow her choking laughter. “Yeah. Great.” She took a gulp of air and turned to lock her door, taking her time. When she turned around again, she’d regained some of her composure, maybe enough to keep from insulting her companion.

Fred held the door for her, and then offered his arm with a flourish as they descended the concrete steps. Cole’s pink low rider was there waiting with the top down.

Suddenly the ludicrousness of it got to Jay. She started laughing.

Fred stopped and looked at her, smiling. “What?”

“I...” She looked at his face and tailored her words. “It’s just that I feel like a princess in a very odd fairytale.”

His lips quirked. “Hello, Rapunzel. Let down your hair tonight.” Before she could object, he reached out and snatched her hair-stick out of her hair.

“Hey!” she reached for her hair, but it was too late; the long mass had already tumbled down. “It’s going to get in my way.” She reached for the hair-stick, and then frowned as he tucked it in his belt pouch.

“One night won’t kill you,” he said teasingly as he opened the car door for her.

Rolling her eyes, she slipped on her cropped leather jacket and slid her jean clad bottom into Cole’s white leather seats. She frowned at the mat under her blue suede boots, a shadow outline of African dancing girls with wild drummers. A pair of fuzzy white dice dangled from the rear view mirror.

Fred grinned as he flexed his fingers and gripped the pink leather steering wheel cover. “I’ve been looking forward to driving this.”

He started it up and threw it into gear. The car lurched forward, and then slammed to a stop.

Jay gripped the seats and stared at him, grateful for her safety belt. “You do know how to drive a stick, don’t you?”

“Sure.” He frowned in concentration and lurched forward again, narrowly missing a fire hydrant. “I’ve had a couple of lessons.”

Jay gulped and opened her mouth, but by then he’d pulled out into traffic and it was too late to make a break for it.

By the time they arrived at the library, she had a white knuckled grip on the door frame and seat.

“Are you all right?” Fred asked in concern as he came to open her door.

“Fine. I’m fine.” She gave him a smile that was all teeth and forced herself to pry her fingers from the leather. Hopefully Cole would forgive her for the permanent nail marks, but if not, she was going refer the bill to Fred.

How was she ever going to find him a date? A steady girlfriend was out of the question, though it might help if she sent him to hang out in the metaphysical stacks. Yiee! She’d thought they’d never survive the ride.

She was either catching a cab or driving on the way back. Her nerves couldn’t stand another close encounter with the grim reaper. She’d swear he’d been staring at her though the windshield the whole time.

The poetess—Rainbow Star, as it turned out—was delighted to see Jay. She looked rather more doubtfully at Fred. “Oh, is this your boyfriend?”

“No! No, just a friend,” Jay said hastily, with perhaps less than flattering force. Her nerves were still strung too tight for tact. “He’s an artist.”

Rainbow pursed her bright red lips and stared at Fred doubtfully.

Fred returned the favor, taking in her unrelieved black outfit with ill concealed misgiving. Turning aside with a dismissive air, he helped Jay off with her coat and pulled out her chair.

Thrown off balance by his courtesies, Jay took her chair and checked out the rest of the group. There were five other women there, counting Rainbow. Jay counted one kaftan, complete with turban; one nose ring, two anti-men t-shirts and a quasi-military blond with army boots, orange and black camouflage pants and a skimpy black halter top. Breasts the size of Mount Rushmore threatened to burst out of the fabric at any minute.

The blond gave Fred the evilest look of all.

To his credit, Fred averted his gaze and managed not to drool. Jay began to think that he might get lucky after all, if she could just get the man eaters here to quit looking at him as if he were Stalin.

Rainbow canted her head and looked at Jay. “Tell me, as a female musician, do you encounter a lot of opposition from male artists?”

“Dare we even say ‘oppression’?” the blond cut in.