Page 191 of Duty and Desire
“Mo, get her in here,” Marte ordered right back. “Mom wouldn’t let us touch the hors d’oeuvres until Lottie arrived and she made mini-corn muffins and smoked salmon sandwiches. You know Taylor isn’t into fancy food, but he’s into eating, and since he hasn’t since lunch, he’s getting cranky. As for me, if I don’t eat something soon, I’m gonna kill somebody.”
“Right then,” Mo returned, and now we were standing on the welcome mat in front of her. “You wanna get out of the door so we can actually come in?”
“’Course,” she replied, but didn’t do that. She pushed a hand my way and said, “Hey, I’m Marte. And I’m the least annoying one, no matter what Mo says to you.”
“That’s a lie,” Mo muttered.
I took her hand, smiling because this night was starting a whole lot different than I expected.
“Hi, I’m Lottie.”
“Jeez, Marz, what’s with the bar-the-door routine?” another tall, blonde, built woman asked, doing this while physically shoving Marte out of the way only to take her place. “Hey, I’m Lene and I’m just gonna say right now, Rick brought his poster of you. And if you don’t want to sign it, just don’t. I told him it was rude. Not at the first dinner. Not when Mom’s making us dress up and demanded we get babysitters. More like when Paul has his Columbus Day barbeque. And heads up, Paul uses every excuse to barbeque. So that’s not weird,for him. Labor Day, Memorial Day, Veterans Day, totally Fourth of July. Even Halloween. He tried to barbeque a turkey for Thanksgiving once, and Signe lost her mind.”
I couldn’t help but stare at her, but when she stopped talking, I asked, “Your husband has a poster of me?”
“Don’t be nervous,” she advised quickly. “He’s not a stalker or anything. He’s just a huge fan of thoseRock Chickbooks. I swear, I nearly had to take him to the hospital, he was laughing so hard at the part where your sister goes to the poker games with her girls.” She leaned toward me. “He’s gonna ask you to ask them to sign his books. Don’t feel weird about telling him to shove off about that either. I got you, girl.”
I kept staring at her.
They knew who I was.
They knew what I did.
And she was okay with her husband having a poster of me.
I had a variety of posters from back in my Queen of the Corvette calendar heyday.
And inmostof them I was clothed.
Albeit scantily.
“Do you mind if I actually take my womaninthe house?” Mo requested, sounding beleaguered. “Or does one of you wanna bring a plate of corn muffins out here?”
“Oh, right, sorry,” Lene said, then grabbed my hand, and I could do anything in heels, but I nearly tripped at the strength of her dragging me inside, inviting, “Come in, come in.” She barely got me a foot into the living room when she yelled, “Look everybody! Lottie’s here!”
There were no children, and I would realize later this was about Mo’s mom not wanting to bombard me with all that was her family.
What was in that living room was enough.
At first glance, it was innocuous. Women in lovely dresses. Men in trousers and shirts, like Mo. Classy platters of elegant-looking food. Candlelight. Sinatra on low in the background.
She’d gone all out.
The whole thing was the shit.
And every Morrison sister had the same look, so much so, they didn’t appear to be just sisters, but quadruplets.
They also had the same type.
Their men were all tall and huge (if not bald), like their brother Mo.
I met Signe, Trine, Paul, Taylor, Rick, and finally, Ingrid, Mo’s mom.
She folded my hand in both of hers and gently moved me further into the room, saying, “It’s so lovely to have you here, Lottie. Thank you for coming.”
“Really, my pleasure,” I murmured. “Thank you for asking me here.”
She nodded charmingly, giving me a graceful smile, and asked, “Now, what can Mo get you to drink?”
