Happy birthday Kharisma Rayne! It's her birthday and we're all celebrating! Best of all, you get a shot at all the presents including a Kindle Fire!
Rain came down again on Saturday,
summer showers drenching everything and left behind puddles. Grounded because
of the weather, Guy showed up before she even thought about heading out to the
airfield. He rapped at the front door and Angel, tidying up the house on her
mother’s say-so, opened it to find him in his shirt sleeves, soaked.
“It’s raining pitchforks out
here!” he groused as she let him in.
“Can I get a cup of java?”
“You bet you can,” Angel said,
offering him a smile and a towel. “I
just put on a fresh pot. I thought maybe
you’d come by since we can’t fly.”
He rubbed his hair dry but his shirt dripped
so she hollered at Frank.
“Whatcha want?” he said, emerging
from the small back bedroom where he slept. “Oh, hi, Guy. I didn’t know you were here.”
Angel cleared her throat and
tapped an impatient foot. “Do you got a
clean shirt Guy can borrow till that one dries?”
“Yeah, I’ll get one since it’s
for him,” her brother said, in a teasing tone. “I like Guy.”
“Just lay off and get the shirt,”
Angel said. “Come on in the
kitchen. The coffee should be about
ready by now. You want something to
eat?”
He nodded, “Yeah, I’m running
empty but I don’t want to be any trouble.”
She snorted. “Says you! Is eggs
and toast okay?”
“It’s great,” he said as he sat
down at the table and took the cup of black coffee she handed him. “Do you mind if I strip out of this shirt or
will it shock the kid?”
As the lard melted in the
skillet, she nodded, “Go ahead, if it’s wet.”
From the bedroom, both heard
Frank holler, “I ain’t no kid!”
They both laughed at that.
She served Guy breakfast in his
A-shirt, feeling very daring. She liked
the way he looked in it at the kitchen table, just like he belonged there and
she decided she could wake up to this every morning just fine. Both Guy and Frank cleaned their plates and
her brother, who said nothing about Guy’s lack of proper clothing, headed off
to his delivery job, leaving them alone.
If her mother ever found out, she’d be angry and if the neighbors knew,
they’d be shocked but Angel didn’t care.
Such polite niceties were old-fashioned in her book and besides, there
wasn’t anything they might do they hadn’t already done.
Guy sat sipping his third cup of
coffee, his galluses hanging down, so after she finished the dishes, Angel slipped
behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. She ran one hand through his
hair, ruffling his curls.
“That feels nice,” he said, and
added, “Scratch my back, would you? Just watch over on the right. I think I got a piece of shrapnel coming up.”
Delighted he felt the same comfortable intimacy she did
and shared the sense this was their house, a safe place, Angel raked her nails
up and down over his back. His burn
scars stood out, sharp and obvious, the white ridged flesh stark against the
unblemished part of his skin. She rolled
up his A-shirt the rest of the way to find the place where one sharp edge of a
tiny scrap of metal poked through the skin.
She knew better than to touch it.
“I see it,” she said, “I wish I
could just pull it out for you. Maybe I
could put some drawing salve on it.”
He grunted but not in an
unpleasant way. “It’s all right. Just scratch a little more.”
She obliged him and after a few
minutes she put her head down on his shoulder. Angel enjoyed the feel of his
solid flesh beneath her and rested there for a few more moments, savoring
it. She inhaled the fresh clean scent of
the soap he washed up with and the bay rum he must have splashed on after
shaving.
“Whatcha doing, doll?” he asked,
his voice thick with contentment.
“I’m just thinking.”
“About what?”
“I was thinking how much I love
you,” she said, without any attempt to be coy.
“You know?”
“Yeah.” His voice softened until
it sounded like velvet to her ears. “I
do know, Angel, because I love you too.
Come sit on my lap, baby girl.”
Guy scooted back the chair to make room and
she came around to settle down on his lap. His arms encircled her and she
relaxed into them, letting him hold her. He could’ve kissed her but he held
back and she didn’t mind. The embrace
made her feel good within, almost holy and it reminded her of the way she felt
right before Communion if she paid attention during Mass. It warmed her and yet
it sent shivers of anticipation down her spine along with a sense of
belonging. Maybe he felt the same, she
didn’t know for sure but he liked it.
That much she couldn’t doubt at all.
When he did get around to kissing
her, it tasted sweet, his lips warmed by the coffee and she responded, her body
charging to his touch. Angel savored the feel of his mouth over hers, his
roaming tongue darting into her mouth,
and started feeling a now familiar prickling rush of something imminent in the air.
Just when she got into the mood, Guy drew back.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“I ain’t going to do it in your
ma’s kitchen,” he said, his tone light but she could tell he meant it. “That wouldn’t be right and on her birthday
to boot. We need to skedaddle anyway. We got stuff to do.”
“Like what?” She knew they
couldn’t fly so she wondered what he had in mind.
“You said you’d bake your ma a
cake, right?”
“Yeah, I did, so?”
“So I thought we could do one better and make
her an entire dinner, really put on the Ritz.
What do you think?”
Angel thought it was just about
the most sentimental and kind thing she’d ever heard but she teased him instead
of saying so. “I think you’re sweet on
my mama.”
“So what if I am?”
“Then maybe I’m jealous.”
“You don’t need to be, kid. I do like your ma, though. So what’s her favorite thing in the world to
eat?”
She had to think about that ‘cause Mama
usually bought what was cheap or on sale, then made something that tasted good
from what she got.“I think she likes a big, fat roast chicken and dumplings.”
“If I buy the fixings, can you
cook it?”
Angel looked straight into his
eyes. “I can cook anything, mister. I’ve been cooking since I was about eight, I
think. Don’t let the flapper look fool
you.”
“Is that banana oil or do you
mean it?”
“It’s the truth!” She didn’t know
if she should be mad or proud.
Guy shifted her onto one knee and
bussed her hard, quick.
“Then tell me why you never
cooked me anything?”
“What do you call the toast and
eggs you ate, flyboy?”
Guy smiled until the corners of
both eyes crinkled with mirth.
“Breakfast.”
Angel giggled. She might not be able to name
it but she got their banter offered an
outlet for their sexual tension. In any other location, they’d have been locked
in the most intimate embrace possible but their teasing vented the heat radiating
between them.
“All right, all right,” she said when she
could breathe again. “So we’re having a
big supper party for Mama and you’re buying the goods?”
“That’s about the size of
it. Get a list made and we’ll go do some
grocery buying.”
By the time she found a stub of a
pencil and a scrap of paper, then made a list, Guy’s shirt dried so he changed
out of her brother's. Outside the rain slacked before it stopped
altogether. As they got into his old
car, the sun peaked through some clouds with radiant beauty and Angel saw a
glimmer of color streaking the sky.
“Hey, look!” she exclaimed. “It’s
a rainbow.”
He nodded. “It’s a promise things will just keep getting
better.”
“Have things been so bad?” she
asked, curious.
Guy turned to her with everything
he felt written in his face. “They were
right up till the day I met you.”
She scooted across the seat so she could sit
close to him and they were off.
First they went downtown and did
a bunch of window shopping. Guy pretended he was a millionaire and could buy
anything she wanted. Angel pointed at a real flapper dress, an evening number
in stark black fancied up with hundreds of jet beads and then at a brilliant
red dress with a skirt with a hemline way above the knee of the mannequin. She
also pretended to choose a cabinet Victrola from a music store window, multiple
pairs of shoes, and three diamond rings in the jewelers’ windows. After their fantasy moments, they went to the
stores where they could really buy a few trinkets, United’s, Woolworth’s, and
Kresge’s.
At Kresge’s, all the girls gathered around
Angel and her ace, chattering like a bunch of squirrels quarrelling over acorns.
Guy bought a bluebird figurine for Angel’s mother, a packet of hair nets, and a
crimson lipstick for his girl. Then they wandered off to Townsend, Wyatt, and
Wall, the swanky department store but they headed down to the bargain basement
where Guy insisted on buying a pretty scarf as another birthday gift for her
mama.
By the time they finished their
real and pretend shopping Angel complained she was hungry. Guy took her over to the John Joseph Café on Edmond
Street for a quarter hamburger apiece and a nickel soda. After, they hoofed it
back to where he parked the car and drove up back to the neighborhood, to
Prospect Market on Prospect Avenue, just blocks from Angel’s house.
“You sure you don’t want to go to
Crabb’s on Second?” he asked, “That’s where I usually trade.”
She shook her head. “No, they
know me here. I’ve been coming here to
buy my candy and get stuff for Mama since I was tiny.”
Inside, the clerk greeted her by
name.
“Hey, Lorraine, what can I get
you today?’
“I got a list,” she said and
handed it over. “Today’s my Mama’s birthday and we’re putting on the Ritz.”
He whistled, low and sharp. “Yeah, I’d say you
are. Let me get it all put together for you.”
When they came out, both carried bundles
of the groceries and he drove Angel back to Poulin Street, even helped her put
most of it away.
She donned one of her mother’s
old aprons to start the cake and once it was in the oven, she joined Guy in the
small front room where he sprawled in the old Morris chair, eyes shut. At first she thought he might be asleep so
she moved with silent steps across the rug but he wasn’t. Before he knew she was in the room, he lifted
his open right hand and brought it down over his face.
“Hey, sugar?”
Guy opened his eyes in response.
“Yeah, Angel?”
“What’s the matter?”
A faint smile flirted with his
lips before fading away. “Aw,
nothing. I’m just tired. I don’t get much sleep.”
She hadn’t noticed before but he
looked weary and worn. “Why don’t you sneak
a little shut-eye? There’s hours until time to pick up Mama and before Frank
will be here. I’ll be cooking for awhile
and I’ll be quiet.”
His eyes sparkled with
appreciation and something more, relief, she thought, maybe mingled with
trepidation. “Promise you won’t give me
the bum’s rush for sleeping?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,
I won’t,” she said, moving in close enough to put a light kiss on his
forehead. “You look beat. Go ahead, take a nap.”
“Thanks, doll,” he said.
“Don’t mention it,” she sassed
and sashayed back into the kitchen.
As she washed the hen and plopped
it into the roasting pan, she listened. When she heard his breathing shift into
a slower, easy rhythm she knew he must’ve drifted off and soon after she
grinned to hear faint snoring. She seasoned the bird with sage, thyme, salt,
pepper, and onion. After adding water to
the pan, she covered it with the lid. In
a saucepan, she used some of the fat she trimmed, the neck, and other giblets
to start a broth. By the time she had that started, she pulled the cake from
the oven, holding her breath so it wouldn’t fall. She put it to cool and stuck
her head into the front room.
Guy snored just a bit, head down
so she retreated back to the kitchen. Angel adjusted the oven and after checking
the clock, put the hen in to roast. She washed up the few additional dirty
dishes, keeping as quiet as she could. After that she had just started to sift
some powdered sugar to make icing, when Guy yelled.
His outcry startled her into
dropping the sifter into the bowl which almost slid off the kitchen table but
she caught it. As soon as she moved it to a safer position, she hurried into
the living room but he remained asleep. She watched as he twitched, his face
contorting with what looked like pain, and then he yelled,
“Boche bastard, try that on
again! I’m bringing this bird around and
I’m mad now! Say your prayers and get
ready to meet the Devil ‘cause you’re going to hell! Shit, shit, shit. There’s fifteen more coming my way. Damned if I’m not screwed.”
His hands moved as if they
controlled a joystick and she realized he dreamt about the war. His body
mimicked his mind’s memories as they replayed in his mind with what must be horror.
Angel wasn’t sure if she should wake him or not. As she deliberated, his
agitation increased and he mumbled more. Without any warning, he shot to his
feet and shrieked as if he must be in agony.
“Cock sucker!” he shouted, his
voice hoarse and thick. “Fuck you, they
got me!”
Angel’s mouth drooped with
shock. His coarse language included
things she’d never heard before out loud, just whispered in the school yard but
her stunned surprise faded in her sweeping concern for him. Just as she realized he must be reliving the
moment when his plane got shot down, he collapsed in a heap onto the floor. The
impact awakened him with a jolt and as he trembled, the same way he had the day
in the hangar when the thunder spooked him, he looked up at her, upset. Anger
and something close to terror warred across his face.
He wasn’t really awake, though,
something she didn’t realize until he said, “Go away, bitch, go back to
Valhalla empty handed ‘cause you’re not taking me with you. Get away from me!”
“Guy, it’s me,” she cried. “its
Angel!”
“Valkyrie cunt!” Guy shouted. “Go
on, go!”
He drew back his arm and made a
fist as if he meant to strike out. Fear
clawed inside her chest but her desire to help him come back to reality
overrode caution.
Angel dropped to her knees beside him, alarmed
and a little afraid. “Wake up, Guy. It’s me, Angel, your Angel. I’m your
girl. Hey, Guy, it’s okay. You just had a bad dream. Come on, snap out of it.”
Just when she thought she might
not get through to her, he blinked twice, shuddered and looked into her face
with full recognition.
“Jesus, Angel, I’m sorry,” he
said, his voice low. “You must think I’m
a total nutcase, huh?”
She stroked his cheek. “No, Guy, I think you’re an ace who gets
nightmares about bad things that happened.
My cousin Ed fought in the trenches over there and he does, too. Aunt Bessie told me so. Want some coffee or something?”
He shook his head. “I got what I need right here.”
Guy pulled a pint bottle from one
of his pockets and uncapped it. The rank
smell of the bootleg whiskey roared into her nose, potent and so strong she
thought she might cough. He knocked back
a long shot of it and sighed, eyes closed.
“There, that’ll help in a minute.”
As he sat there, spread-legged on
the floor, he passed his hand over his face just like he had before he went to sleep.
Then he buried his face in his hands for a moment.
“Sweetheart,” she said, using the
endearment for the first time. “What’s
wrong? Are you sick?”
He nodded, still shuddering. “I’m alright, just got a headache. I almost always do after a nightmare like that.
I had a headache for a month after I crashed from the concussion and that was
on top of everything else.”
Angel offered him a hand up, he
accepted it, and came to his feet.
“Come on into the kitchen with
me,” she said. “I’ll get you some aspirin and then I’ll finish icing Mama’s
cake.”
Guy followed her back and sat down on a
kitchen chair turned backwards. While she frosted the two-layer yellow cake
with chocolate frosting, he nipped from his bottle. Once the cake rested on a
plate over on the kitchen counter, she peeked at the chicken and then came
around behind him.
Angel put her hands on his shoulders.
He was so tense his body felt as hard as wood beneath her fingers and she began
to rub the taut muscles with slow, gentle circular movements. He sighed and
made a small sound almost a groan but
not quite. Taking it as agreement, she
continued, using her thumbs to work some of the stress away and allowing her
hands to ease the tightness. Sometimes she did this for her mother when she
came home weary and longer ago, she recalled doing it for her daddy. As she
rubbed his shoulders and neck, she began Guy began to relax and after more than
a half hour, hands numb, she felt his flesh softened beneath her ministrations.
He exhaled, hard.
“Better?”
She felt his nod. “That helped a lot, Angel. My head’s almost quit hurting too. I’m sorry about earlier, the things I said
and did.”
“You don’t have to be,” she told
him, her voice soft and quiet. “Is that
why you don’t sleep much, the nightmares?”
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Great excerpt. Happy Birthday Kharisma!!
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