Page 38 of Love Bank
Ethel let out a loud hiss from Bain’s feet where she was rubbing against his leg like some shameless hussy pussy. Guess that made for two of us. The sound cleared the fog and brought back the angry. He’d sabotaged me on purpose and then had the audacity to look at me like he wanted to devour me. Hell no. I may not have had extensive experience with men—or any experience really—but even I knew he’d crossed the line. Danced right over it and mocked it while he wreaked his havoc.
“Oh no you don’t, mister! Get out of here with those bedroom eyes.” I gave him a final push with both hands. His belt buckle of weapons and handcuffs and whatever else wardens carried clanked against the metal doorframe.
Instead of leaving like I wanted him to, he grabbed my arms and took me with him. He pushed the door open, twirled me around, and next thing you know, I was standing outside on the sidewalk with him, his chest pushing me against my own storefront.
He leaned in real close and every endocrine gland I possessed squeezed out more hormones, sending my blood pumping and making my head woozy. I didn’t have time to worry about clients or peers catching sight of the two of us. As far as I could tell, it was just me and Bain alone in the big wide world.
“I’ll leave, but you and I aren’t done here, Lucy. Take some deep breaths, realize a little birdseed isn’t much compared to blackmail, and then we’ll have a chat. A real nice neighborly chat.”
He rubbed his nose against my cheek. My eyelids fluttered shut and there went the hot flash again. God help me, I wanted this man.
It wasn’t menopause after all.
* * *
Clyde was kind enough to drop off my Ghia to me at the clinic that afternoon. He had a service feature only seen in small towns: if he towed your broken-down car for you, he’d also pick it up from the mechanic and return it to you. She’d needed a new part the mechanic thankfully had a healthy supply of on hand, so she was back to running like a sleek panther.
I slipped out the clinic door, locking it quickly, and firing up Ghia before certain people next door in the prison might catch sight of me. Bain said we’d be talking again, but how did I know what timeframe he was thinking? I needed some space first. Some time to figure out why I was so turned on by the big buffoon of a man.
And what I was going to do about it.
Needlepoint, a glass of wine, and quiet. That’s what I had in store for my night. It would be just what I needed to wrap my brain around the conundrum of years of repressed sexual desire making its presence known at the most inopportune time. Definitely no beach bonfire in my future. I needed to calm the flames of passion, not spur them on.
I hit the button clipped to the visor in my car and watched my garage door slowly inch its way up. I mashed my foot down on the brake as the garage door revealed another car in my garage. My mom’s car.
“What in the world?” I muttered.
My plans for the evening just went up in smoke.
I parked in the driveway, set the brake, and turned off the engine. Why did relationships have to be so conflicting? While I was excited to know my mom was home for a bit and I’d be able to chat with her, I was also a little irritated that she just came and went as she pleased. Never here for me when I needed her, and here when I wished she wasn’t. Almost as confusing as my relationship—or whatever it was—with Bain.
I went in through the garage, hanging up my tote bag and keys on their respective hooks in the laundry room. Mom hadn’t been back for over six months.
“Mom?” I called loudly.
I could hear the television blaring from the living room, but no one answered me. Walking into the living room, I grabbed the remote and turned the program off, blessed silence my reward.
“Lucille, sweetheart, is that you?” Mom called down from the top of the stairs.
“Who else would it be, Mom?” I hollered back.
She came down the stairs in a hurry while I waited. We’d done this song and dance a few times before, so I knew my role. Polly Eureka in all her glory, stood on the landing with a big smile on her face as she made her grand entrance. Her hair was dyed a dark brown this time, the fluffy curls she got from a quarterly perm and hot rollers a little lopsided like she’d taken a nap earlier today and forgot to refluff.
“Oh, Lucy! I’m home!” Her singsong delivery of the famousI Love Lucyline used to irritate me to no end. Somewhere around my mid-twenties I let it go, knowing she’d never stop. One didn’t make Polly change, you changed your attitude to endure Polly. Besides, contrary to the teasing I gave Bain earlier today, I loved that show. Knew every episode by heart. My feminist mother had approved of the show, and pretty much nothing else, based on the groundbreaking work Lucille Ball did in the advancement of women in comedy. The references to the old black-and-white show were a cross I’d learned to bear over the years.
“Welcome back, Mom.” I came forward and gave her a hug, trying and failing to reach my arms all the way around her middle. My mom was bigger than life and wasn’t afraid to eat with that same gusto. While I worried about her health, I loved how she didn’t care about being a certain size to fit the modern perception of beauty. While a hippie by nature, she did still wear a bra and for that I was grateful. Size triple Ds took on a life of their own if left unharnessed. Ever been whipped by a flying boob?
“Come sit with me.” Mom hooked her arm through mine and tugged me over to the couch. She went to Russia last year when she turned sixty-five, saying she preferred to check out Russian art than have a big party full of drunk locals thrown for her here at home. Don’t let the age fool you. She was feisty, strong, and would probably outlive me.
She plunked down on the couch and I sank down next to her, catching a whiff of her perfume, the one she’d been wearing since I was a child. Despite the intrusion on my plans, I melted into her side and let my head rest on her shoulder. Girls never stopped needing their moms, no matter the age.
“You never called me back.” Mom pouted.
I lifted my head, confused. “When did you call?”
Mom’s eyes went wide. “Over a week ago, honey! I left you a voicemail to call me back and you didn’t. So I hightailed it back here to see what was going on with my baby.”
I scrunched my nose, guilt chipping away at my irritation. “Mom, you didn’t need to come all the way back just because I didn’t call.”
