Fiona Love (5 page)

“That’s two hou
rs and 50 minutes too long.”

Fiona chuckled, and Dane shifted be
hind the wheel of his boy’s Benz to accommodate a rising erection. “How’s the voice?”

“Shitty. How was the meeting?”

“Good. I think I got a job.” He knew he’d got it. “Whatcha’ doin’?”

“Waitin’
for the doctor to come. I may have to cancel my studio time. My boy’s gonna be pissed.”

“Is this for your next album?”

“No. No album right now. I’m on hiatus from the scene.” This was Fiona-speak for the music business. “I’m just doing a hook for a friend, but my voice is fucked so – listen. I just heard the door. If Cleo catches me on the phone!”

“Can I see you later?”

“If you don’t, I’ll be crushed.” Two kisses into the phone and she was gone.

Cleo knocked and poked her head around the door. “Dr. Shaw’s
here. Were you on the phone?”

“No. No talking remember?”

Cleo snorted. “Here she is, Dr. Shaw.”

Fiona answered a shit load of questions, stuck her tongue out, endured palpations of her throat by the doctor’s soft, fat little hands, gagged over the pen light shone down her gullet and after myriad additional gyrations was finally diagnosed with non-threatening vocal strain. She was given a few days worth of mild antibiotics to soothe her slightly inflamed vocal chords, a long list of foods to avoid, a recommendation for a humidifier, a special kin
d of white tea – to be drunk without sugar – and instructed not to talk at all for at least two weeks.

“Come see me after that, and
you absolutely must stop smoking,” the doctor told her. No one asked him how he knew she smoked.

Cleo snorted.

Fiona glared.

“Well, what happens if she talks a little, doc? She’s got a few
meetings.” Andrea said, standing over the bed where Fiona was propped up like a gangly, braceleted little bird.

“That will just delay her recovery. I will come see you in two weeks, yes? We’ll need to discuss voice habits and come up with some limit
s to avoid further irritation.”

Fiona kissed the good doctor’s cheek and sent the little man off smiling without having said more than hello. The one word was all he’d allow after she greeted him in her throaty rasp. He’d clapped his hand ov
er her mouth and grinned like he was there to celebrate a holiday, not examine a sick patient.

Fiona looked both extremely cuddly and extremely sexy with her hint of discomfort smile and the occasional, unc
onscious hand to her throat, a gesture that drew the eye to a delicate Lucite charm hanging between her plump breasts.

She gestured to Netty when Andrea and Cleo started arguing, and made the universal sign of the smok
er with two fingers.

“AC’s g
on’ kill you.” Andrea and Cleo.

Fu
ck ‘em, Fiona mouthed. Roll up.

“You know this is perverse
, right? The doctor just left.”

Fiona eyed her and Netty rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Since I knew you wasn’t gon’ listen, can you at least wait ‘til they leave before you light this shit?”

Fiona made the okay sign. When are they leaving? She asked. Then – I’m thirsty. Make tea, please.

Cleo and Andrea left 20
minutes later, still bickering, and Sugar, Fiona and Netty sat on Fiona’s huge tumbled bed and sparked one of Netty’s patented slow burners.

“Andrea says we should cancel tonight,” Netty said. “She says it’s not important. She doesn’t tr
ust you not to drink and talk.”

I can do it, Fiona mouthed, exhaling two perfect smo
ke rings and taking a sip of the pomegranate green tea Netty liked. It tasted like dishwater.

It was only a pre-production dinner thing with key staff like Stephen the director, eager to
pick her brain for information. They were shooting most of the movie in Chicago and its surrounding suburbs, and as a native she’d been appointed an expert. She’d cemented her position very early in the location scouting process when she made two excellent recommendations for critical scenes that worked from both a technical and a visual perspective.

While Stephen was mining her for more golden nuggets they’d all drink themselves silly. Fiona would get tipsy, someone would make an oblique pass, and she’d use it as an excuse to leave. Predictable and she supposed not necessarily essential, but it would be better to go and not s
tay than to miss it altogether.

“She can do it,” Sugar agre
ed. “All she gon’ do is drink a brew and bounce.” It was her standard MO.

Fiona gave the thum
bs up. The phone rang.

“Peace,” Netty answered. “Yeah. She r
ight here. No, she’s not smoking! What are you talkin’ about? We gettin’ ready to go for the humidifier now.” She listened intently and hit the joint. “Yeah? Cleo just ran into one of the producers of that show Transplants.”

What? Fiona mouthed.

“You know! They say it’s the new hot shit.”

“With that green-eyed cat on HBO?” Sug
ar asked, laughing. “The one that looks like Daney?”

“
Cleo says can you be ready for a lunch meeting?”

Fiona nodded. Meeting was a loose term. Cleo would have told the cat she’d be dropping by on their way somewhere. It would
look like a happy coincidence.

“Bet. Get up, bitch!” Netty hopped up, geeked. “She told me sexy sheik. Apparently, pretty boy from the show might show up. He’s in town hiding out from the paparazzi. We could pour you into that
gold strapless I just finished. Whatchu’ think? And before you ask, no. It’s not too much for day when you’re Fiona Love.”

Fiona looked doubtful. N
etty always came up with fabulous things for her to wear, but sometimes her outfits took a little getting used to.

“It’s not shiny,” Netty wheedled. “It’s
matte, a day dress for you. Really! Shower.” She pushed her boss toward the bathroom.

Of course when Fiona saw the outfit later it
was neither matte nor shiny but an attractive hybrid of both. It was a gorgeous metallic fabric, a beaten gold color that felt great. Cotton, Fiona mouthed, and Netty winked.

“
Pima.” She’d bought the fabric over the Internet, which she was addicted to. Thank God she knew how to sew.

Twenty minutes later Fiona was again smoking while Sugar polished her finger and toenails a rich violet so
dark it appeared black.

Different, she mouthed when
Sugar first held up the bottle.

“Switch hands.”

Fiona inhaled – she had imposed a two hit limit on herself, per joint. It wasn’t much but it made her feel better for being weak – and dropped the pinner in the ash tray.

“You shouldna’ smoked that last one. I’ma need toothpi
cks to keep your eyes open.” Sugar put her boss’s hand off to the side. “In front of the fan.”

“Where the fuck are those dark gold platforms with the ank
le straps?”

Fiona turned to look at her friend/assistant/stylist’s round ass
weaving raggedly from side to side. Its owner was buried head first in the floor of her accessories closet.

“I organized this shit perfectly the other day. I told you if you need something, just tell me
,” Netty said. “Now everything’s fucked up, and I can’t find what I want! We may have to change outfits.”

“Dude, you can’t change outfits. I picke
d this color special for this.”

“Sugar, it’s black. Black goes with everything. A gold, strapless, wide-legged vintage-looking fucking pants suit goes with gold platforms with ankle straps. Would you hurry up? Her hair’s not done! I
don’t wanna hear Cleo’s mouth.”

Speaking
of, Fiona pantomimed eye drops.

“And it’s not black, either.
It’s purple.” Sugar caught sight of Fiona’s act. “Yes, Lord! We gon’ need a few applications to hook you up.”

“You know what? I haven’t seen momma’s angel
in days.” Fiona said suddenly. Her voice sounded rusty, gritty. “Netty, call and get my baby.”

The phone rang. Netty snatched Fiona’s sea foam green rotary from its cradle. “Pe
ace,” she said impatiently. “We on our way! Stop callin’. I gotta stop what I’m doin’ to fuck witchu and this damn phone. Beat it!” She hung up with a bang and dialed Fiona’s mother’s number. “How long?”

“Two days,” said Fiona. “I want her all
weekend. Daney will love her.”

Netty nodded
, but Sugar saw her roll her eyes when Fiona couldn’t see, and she moved out of ear shot.

“Hey, Mom. Yeah. How you doin’? For real? Yeah. I know. It’s been a minute, but seems like she got somethin’ to do every time we turn around, you know? You saw that? It looks great huh? Yeah, Sugar did her makeup. Well, she helped. They have designer stuff for that. I’m her everyday look, not so much for special occasions.
But that’s not why I called. Feef wants Flora. Yeah, just a visit.” She’d stop saying what Fiona wanted a long ago to spare her friend the embarrassment. “If she wants her to stay overnight we’ll call you by 10, okay?”

******

“What the fuck are you doing?” Andrea said, busting in like the police. “Is she smoking?”

“No,”
Netty said, and fervently hoped Fiona wasn’t. “Why didn’t you call from the street?”

“Because I wanted to catch her
,” Andrea said, like duh. “This cat is at the restaurant waiting. Can she come on? She picked the fuckin’ place. You should see it. It’s a dump. He loves it. Fuckin’ Soul Veg, can you believe it? Vegetarian bull shit. Christ.”

“Can you not tak
e the Lord’s name in vain in my house?” Fiona asked, appearing suddenly.

At 5’9”, she was taller than all of them in
her bare feet. In 4-inch black, white and blue fabric stilettos with a gold corkscrew heel, she dominated the room. Any room.

“Nice work, girl,” Fiona said
to Netty.

Indeed.
The gold suit hung perfectly on her long legs and shapely hips. Her belly, despite having given birth fairly recently, was nearly flat. Netty had cleverly disguised the remaining baby fat with a casually looped belt in thick white-colored straw with an odd-shaped buckle made of bleached white stone. The top of it seemed to point lazily to Fiona’s cleavage. Her chest had gone back to normal quickly since she hadn’t breast-fed long, but there was that added bit of lush that comes with any baby/weight activity. And titties would always be one of Netty’s favorite accessories.

“How come Momma’s angel ain’t got no toys over here? I’ve been slackin’. Where the hell were you guys w
hile I was slackin’? Slackin’?”

“You want me to get her a few toys?” ‘Cause
Netty wasn’t about to explain the baby never stayed long enough to make them necessary.

“Please.
Just a few ‘til I can get out and shop for her tomorrow. They don’t need to be fancy. I think they have Fisher Price at Kmart. Just read the label to see what’s age-appropriate. She’s advanced so you can get up to a year.”

“Done. Sugar,
tell Cleo to keep an eye on the tape over the nipples, and if she drinks, periodically remind her not to move around too much.”

“I’m not
drinking. It’s a work meeting.”

“It’s
an early dinner work meeting with New York actors and writers. You gon’ drink.”

“Why are you fuckin’
talking? Didn’t the doctor say shut up for two weeks? Can we go? Do we have a purse? Sunglasses? A wrap? You know she’s gonna freeze in the restaurant,” said Andrea.

Netty had each item ready accompanied by an eye roll. “The air in that joint ain’t even that
good. Bring me some food back.”

Chapter four

The Transplants actor was even yummier in person than he was on TV.  If he hadn’t
smelled pleasantly of Dial, Fiona’d have expected him to reek of cigarettes and sex. He was earthy, and she knew without knowing that he smoked weed.

Their tastes magically collided over the menu. They ended up getting everything the same: the bread and butter, the salad with its yogurt-based dressing, the candied yams and BBQ tofu. Fiona enjoyed it all, blithely ignoring
Cleo’s pointed eyebrow-raising and pursed lips when she ordered dessert.

She’d already pulled her much taller cousin to the side and read her the riot act for showing up shit-faced since, in true Hollywood style, Fiona insisted on holding court with her sunglasses on.
At least they were sitting in full glare of the sun. Who the hell told these people to have outdoor seating in the hood? The paparazzi would probably be here any minute.

By the time Fiona and Tino shared the peach crumble, with its heavy, nut-flavored crust, they were talking like old friends. After the food was gone, Fiona excused them from Cleo and the agents and publicists and in
vited him into the back of the car for an illicit smoke.

“So, you hidin’ out.
”

“Yeah.” He
flashed big, gorgeous white teeth. They might even be his. “I can’t even take a shit without somebody offering’ to wipe my ass out East, and the paparazzi are nuts out West. They’ll fuckin’ run you off the road to get a good picture! You live here, right? Chicago’s a nice town.”

“Born and bred.”

Tino inhaled thoughtfully as he watched her.

Fiona s
at patiently while his eyes traced her natural hair. Sugar had mixed one of her potions added hot rollers and wah-la, soft, shiny curls. Then, tongue in cheek, she’d wound several formerly unassuming white, grey and baby blue terry cloth head bands together with a scrap of black silk to tie her hair back. Surprisingly effective and unassumingly low brow, typical Sugar.

She wore her trademark gold hoop earrings. These were dusky vintage with silver knots, an impromptu gift from her mother that matched her outfit perfectly despite being 30 years older than everything
else she was wearing. Her makeup was flawless, though Fiona never wore much. Her lips were always the exception. She kept them tinted red and shiny.

Tino saw the gloss on the edge of the perfectly rolled joint she’d offered him, a
nd thought she was beyond sexy. He’d seen pictures of her before her baby. He couldn’t see all that much difference. She just looked riper, he thought, unknowingly echoing her assessment of him. She was succulent, like some advertisement for the perfect after-baby body. Lush, firm curves everywhere, she looked strong, healthier than many of her contemporaries whose beauty faded off camera like old makeup in the sun.

He’d heard she had an ungettable reputation. He didn’t. It was an industry joke that his big break had come from playing himself, an immigrant who’d been discovered selling oranges and ended u
p a handsome and spoiled actor.

Fiona had tripped mildly over the eerie similarities between his background and Daney’s. The similarities in their looks were
less so up close. Tino was handsome, but scruffy, less overtly sexy and picture-ready than Daney. He looked as though he’d spent time recently playing video games on a couch drinking beer. He was two inches shorter too. Daney looked like he ate fish and rice and worked out four days a week for over an hour – probably because he did.

“So
, what are you thinking? You wanna do the show?”

Fiona smiled slowly as sh
e reached out to pat his thigh. Her breasts looked so enticing he actually leaned forward before he drew himself up.

“Yeah. Baring some bull
shit I’m down. I’ll have to live in New York for a minute, but I might make it. I gotta be there anyway for this other lil’ thing.” Though Daney was not in fact a little thing.

He laughed. “I got you. Don’t worry about
a thing. You can stay with me.”

Fiona just smiled.

******

Netty made it home about an hour after Fiona. She’d gone toy hunting at Kmart and grocery s
hopping at Jewel since nearly eight-month-old baby girls didn’t as a rule enjoy frozen pizza, bagged salad, beer or frozen cheesecake bites. Netty didn’t mind; it was a pleasure being out with the baby.

Wit
h ridiculously curly black hair exploding from two pigtails on top of her tiny head, and several pearly teeth, Flora Gene Love was as sweet and pretty as an Annie Lee picture. She used the teeny white chips to great effect grinning in a near mirror image of Fiona at the same age. They made friends wherever they went.

“Here comes your girl,” she called out, dro
pping her bags inside the door.

F
lora began to jump in her arms.

“Is Momma’s angel here?” Fiona rasped, appearing suddenly around the corner
. “Hey, puddin’! Momma’s funky boodie.”

Flora fell into her mother’s arms wit
h an exuberant grin and chuckle and a bit of drool that Fiona cheerfully kissed away.

“Momma missed you! Whatchu been doin’? Big Momma got you hair lookin’ so pretty. Did she pick out you dress? You look so smart in you
little jumper, Momma’s angel.”

Fiona played contentedly with Flora for the next hour. Then she brought the baby out to Netty and Sugar who played with her for another hour and fed her a small snack. When she grew sleepy Fiona settled her in the bed for a nap. She surrounded the baby with pillows in case she should roll, t
hough Flora was a tidy sleeper.

When she was certain the baby was safely asleep, she
lit a pinner and sat in front of a tiny fan in front of the window. She turned music on low, then a little higher when the baby didn’t stir. After a while she forgot about the window and started dancing as she cleaned. She got so into it she didn’t notice Flora was awake and watching her.

Intrigued by her mother’s behavior the baby crawled toward the edge of the bed. She reached out and began to slide. Fiona saw Flora’s reflection falling in the mirror and turned, somehow managing to scoop the baby up just before she hit the
ground, but too late to avoid bumping her back on the bed’s wooden frame.

“You okay
Momma’s rat?” Fiona gasped, rubbing furiously at her daughter’s back and causing Flora to whimper in alarm rather than pain.

Fiona’s heart
was beating so fast she felt nauseous. She kissed Flora’s satiny cheek repeatedly, squeezing her daughter and cradling her head fearfully. Not surprisingly the baby began to cry.

Netty poked her head in to say, “Daney just called. He said he’s bringing you a reduced calorie masterpiece from – what’s wrong?” she as
ked when Fiona advanced on her.

“Can you take the baby home, Netty? It’s almost time.” Obviously it wasn’t. It was only a little after eight o’clock on Friday, not Sunday evening, the baby’s scheduled departure time. “I don’t want my mom to stay up late waiting on us. You know how she is about my little flower’s routine
.” It was total bull shit. She couldn’t even look at Flora as she handed her to Netty and shut the door.

“Just a cat nap, pretty girl?” Sugar asked taking the baby when Netty walked
by.

“Could you call Cleo? I gotta go pack up her stuff real quick. Tell her I’
ve gone to take the baby home.”

Sugar looked confused, but she nodded as she cuddled F
lora against her pillowy bosom.

When Cleo arrived from her bar dinner with Andrea at the Tavern on Rush, Fiona was sitting in
the dark, smoke curling around her head. Transplants was playing on the TV.

“You know what?” she husked. “I’m gonna do the show. It’s really good. Maybe that one cat, the fine ass actor who executive produced will come th
rough so we can fuck with him.”

“Where’s Flora? I thought she
was staying for the weekend.”

Fiona’s face crumpled
. “Don’t look at me,” she whispered, voice cracking as the first tears fell. “I almost dropped her. My baby almost fell off the bed, and I was right there in front of her.” Tears flowed like water as Cleo held her. “I’m such a bad mother. It doesn’t seem fair. It’s like I’m three bad mothers in one I’m so bad.”

Cleo stroked her cousin’s soft, fluffy hair gently. “You’re not a bad mother. You’re just not a constant mother, and you smoke. Weed and parenting don’t mix
, as a rule.”

“If I was a
good mother I’d quit smoking.”

“Maybe. And if you were a bad mother you wouldn’t want to see Flora at all.
How did the movie meeting go?”

Fiona had gone there early, right after she left Tino, and left befo
re any of the others got there.

Fiona shrugged. “Fine. I talked a little shit
with the director, let him gush and ask me a dozen dumb questions, then I left.”

“Baby, why are your girl’s tryna keep me out? Why is it so dark in here?” Dane
asked, switching on the light.

“Shit,” Cleo muttered as Fiona yanked away and
buried her head under a pillow.

“Get him out of here!”

“Daney,” Cleo began, walking toward him.

He shook her off, advanced on the bed and yanked the pillow from Fiona’s head. He he
ld her arms away from her face.

“Don’t look at me,” she wh
ispered, turning her face away.

“Why? Because you’ve been crying? I don’t mind, goofy. Just tell me what’s wrong. Stop acting like Scarlett from Gone
with the Wind, and let me help you.”

Fiona peeped at him, and when she saw his gentle smile she melted into his
arms with a truly pitiful sigh.

Cleo just rolled her eyes, and as the door closed behind her said
to Netty, “Well, that’s over.”

“You’re silly,” Dane whispered, after she’d rasped out her story. “You’re having a fit, and the doctor just told you this morning to relax and not to talk.”

Fiona grinned and pulled nervously at her hair.

“I’ve been
thinking about you,” he said softly, tracing the curves of her face with the back of his hand. “Wondering what I could do to you and still have you remain silent. I never would have guessed you’d be here crying like a mope from an almost accident. Flora’s perfectly all right, and you’re acting like she had a finger chopped off. My uncle Darcy says that’s what having a baby is like. It’s all one big game of, ‘Okay. It’s your turn to try not to kill the kid.’”

Like most sensualists Fiona knew instinctively when her mate wanted to dominate.
So she pouted and flirted with him beneath her lashes.

“I thought about you on and off all day today,” he repeated, leaning to nip at that poked out bottom lip. “You
haven’t even kissed me hello.”

Why is it most men never think to play these kinds of games? Fiona wondered, pressing herself against his broad chest. She knew he was trying to distract her, and
she was more than willing to let him, so she kissed his plump pink mouth in thanks. She forgot being grateful as she licked her slow, catlike way between his lips and sucked until he thrust his tongue into her mouth and moaned.

Daney rolled her under his body, pushing her up by the arms until their dangling legs were on the bed. He nuzzled the cleavage spilling out of a sexy black bra. Web thin and lacey, it did absolutely nothing to conceal her succulent brown flesh. His mouth actu
ally watered.

“Take that off,” he ordered. “
If I touch it, it’s done.”

Fiona tried to hide it but a smile stretched slowly across her face as sh
e wiggled out of her underwear.

“Hurry,” he whispered, licking his lips as he watc
hed her flesh tremble as she moved.

“Y
es,” she whispered back. “Yes.”

She doubted he was aware of the way he was looking her, the way his hands clenched and unclenched, but it excited her so much she was shaking.

Calm down
, she told herself, tossing her panties over the side of the bed.

“Get inside me, please.”

“What?” he whispered, hungrily kissing his way around her neck and ears.

It wasn’t enough. “Please, pretty. You can tell me what to do as long as I stay in this bed, and I’ll do it, but come here first.” She leaned back and rubbed herself between the legs, watching him with sultry
, half-closed eyes. She was so wet her clever fingers slipped, rhythm interrupted and just as quickly picked up.

His scowling mouth suggested he wanted to resist, but the way his dick jumped at her words gave him away even
before he moved to put on a condom.

“You’ve got
10 seconds to get on before I take over.”

Fiona yanked his clothes out of the way, clambered on and managed to lower and raise herself like nerve-filled lightning twice before he flipped
her onto her back and sank in.