This is an original fiction story I started writing two years ago. I'm on the second 'book' of it now but decided to start posting what I've done for book one here. The characters are from the bits and pieces of my consciousness, the setting is my home town. A few liberties have been taken with both.
Comments are greatly appreciated.
Title: Jack & Jill
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wolfie74
Rating: R
Disclaimer: My peoples, my city (TM)
Chapter 1
The pulse of the techno beat flowed through my veins as I danced in the near dark light that was punctured sporadically by the strobe lights hanging from over head. Aimee's was packed tonight with all the lesbians and wanna be's in the Midwest it seemed. All the little baby dikes and mama dikes out cruising or being cruised by all the whatever other dikes out on the dance floor. In the middle of all of it I danced. I danced alone.
I made no eye contact even though others had tried to catch my glance as I flung my head back, closed my eyes and moved in time to the tribal beat. That's the thing about techno, no matter how bad of a dancer you are you can always stay on the beat. It's the human heart beat you see. One-hundred and sixty beats a minute, pounding through your skull, your skin, your soul. It makes you forget who you are for a moment, a brief blissful moment that you exist nowhere in time or space to become one with everything. The line I'd done in one of the bathroom stalls an hour ago wasn't' hurting either.
I could feel someone move up on my right. Another 'eye-catcher' I was guessing. Maybe latter, but not right now. I only wanted to dance here by myself surrounded by all these women and touching no one. Latter, I'd take one of these women home, maybe two who knows, and slam my body against them to that same pulse I was feeling around me right now.
'Eye-catcher' had slipped her arms around me and was beginning to gyrate against the back of my thigh. I turned around to try and tell her to find someone else when I met two of the most bluest eyes I'd ever seen on anyone in my life. It was like looking up at the sky. Bright blue in a round face with smooth skin and pale blond hair. I blinked at the combination before my brain supplied "Minnesota you dumb ass!" But those blue eyes held mine none-the-less.
I had opened my mouth to say something but was stopped by the look in those eyes. Part of my mind, the part that had sobered up a bit when the other woman had started to move against me, could tell that this woman had also done something a bit more than the recreational drink at the bar. The look in her eyes was intense though and she was probably feeling the music like I was.
My mouth closed and I moved to pull her into my arms, figuring that I might as well go along with this and enjoy the ride for a while. I was rewarded with a small smirk as the blond pressed her body further into mine. She wasn't a very tall girl but fit fairly well in my arms as she wrapped herself around my middle.
The heat of our bodies was driving the temperature of the dance floor up a few notches. Or maybe it was just me. Ah, nope. Blondie was tugging at the hem of her shirt so I guessed I wasn't the only one who was getting overly warm. The bodies of the women around us pressed a little more into our little two woman huddle and the temperature shot up a few more degrees.
Blondie moved closer and I could feel my eyes dilate as she stood on her tip toes and whispered something in my ear. I nodded to what ever it was she said since I couldn't fully hear her over the beat of the music. I was fairly sure what she had in mind when I glanced into her eyes again.
I guessed I was still riding the buzz of the hit I'd done since the next thing I knew we were outside the club and making our way down the street. Every so often the world spun a bit and it made me remember that I'd also had more to drink than I usually did. In some part of my mind, that same part probably that made sure I didn't do stupid stuff like go home with anonymous strangers, yelled that this wasn't so good of an idea. The other parts, further south as I like to say, put a strangle hold on that voice of reason and pointed out that it had been a while since I'd exercised some of the more carnal adult rights.
All this chatter was making it hard to pay attention to where we were going, if I could even bring my self to care, so I let every thing fade out and followed the blue eyed woman up the steps to the door of some apartment building. After that, I blissfully forgot.
Chapter 2
A bright light played on my eyelids as I lay there in the very comfy bed. It was much softer than usual and for a moment I started drifting back to sleep, even with the piercing light that was now warming my face. My bed wasn't that comfortable though. It was lumpy and made horrible noises similar to some one beating a cat against a wall while whipping it back and forth by the tail.
My eyes popped open and then slammed shut just as fast as I rolled over and away from the piercing sunlight coming in from the open shades on the window across the room from me. I burrowed my head into the other pillow next to me in the childish attempt to avoid the pounding, and slightly sickening feeling that flooded through me.
After a long moment the feeling slid into the background and I felt like I could start piecing the puzzle together. Cracking one eye open carefully I looked out from under the duvet I had buried myself in. That I seemed to be in someone else's bedroom didn't come as a huge shock given my previous notice of it most obviously not being my bed. Taking a chance I rolled slowly onto my back and eyed the rest of the room.
The aforementioned sunlight had dipped slightly behind a building outside while I had been doing my impersonation of an ostrich. I was able to keep my no doubt blood shot eyes opened a bit more so that I could see just how much this did not resemble my bedroom.
For one, I lived in what could be politely described as a more affordable version of student housing. Though it had been a while since I'd been a student the accommodations were, shall we say, more in my bank account range. This place though...
"Wow." I said out loud, the room was big enough to echo my voice back to me
"Umm," Since I didn't hear anyone say anything back I wondered if I was the only one there.
"Or maybe I've been living a dream all of these years and I'm really a rich mama dike with a yacht and everything." I assured myself as I climbed out of the huge bed and searched the floor for some clothes, preferably Gucci something or other in my size.
Finding only my old pair of undies and bra I wondered into the living room in search of a little more coverage. No one was out here either, although what ever happened last night must have been pretty awesome if I had tossed my jeans, shirt and jacket all over the place like this. It took a while to find my boots, they'd ended up behind the large leather couch that dominated the main room.
"Corinthian leather!" I said, rolling my r's and trying to imitate Mr. Rourke.
Still, no one popped out to either offer a cup of coffee or ask what the hell I was doing there. The place was defiantly not in my price range as I looked out the window and got a scenic view of the Mississippi from about six stories up.
"Whoa, a whole lot of whoa I say." Running monologue is something I do, especial when waking up in strange places.
As I buttoned up my shirt and otherwise made myself more presentable, I wondered around the expansive apartment. It was laid out as almost one big room off of the bedroom I had originally come from. The view of the river took up most of one wall that also led out on too a narrow balcony. There was little furniture, or other knick-knacks for that matter. The narrow kitchen look utilitarian as well, though there were a lot more gadgets in there than I'd ever seen outside of my mother's restaurant. Slipping on my jacket I wondered into the pristine looking kitchen.
"Hmmm, what have we here. Ooh, coffee. Why how delightful. Thank you, whoever owns this joint. Or, thank me, if I own it!" I picked up the mug sitting next to a full pot of coffee in the kitchen and poured myself some.
A piece of paper fell to the floor that must have been stuck to the bottom of the mug. I bent and scooped it up to read as I sipped at my morning caffeine.
'Hey, sorry to have to run out on you but I needed to make court early. Help yourself to some coffee and whatever. Here's my number, would like if you called me but no pressure. It was fun last night, I'd like to see you again. P.S. Don't worry about locking up the door locks automatically. - Carrie'
"Ah well, I'm more into lofts anyway." I said as I pocketed the note, taking another sip of the really good coffee to push away the disappointment of not waking up on fantasy island.
I finished up the coffee and gave the cup a good wash out at the stainless steel and granite sink. Everything was so clean and organized I worried about setting the cup down in the wrong place. I pulled out a small pen and pocket note book from my jacket and scribbled down a note, placing it under the clean mug on the counter next to the coffee machine.
After a second I took the note my would be coffee benefactor had left me out and flipped out my cell phone to punch in the number she had left. On the first ring however I flipped my phone closed again and decided to call back later. Preferably when I'd had more time to think about just what had happened last night.
Turning to look out the balcony window once more I tapped the cell phone on my chin and wondered if I shouldn't just give this somewhat anonymous Carrie a call. It felt rude not to acknowledge her kindness of coffee at the very least.
"Mental note, call her when you get home. Be suave, don't be a dork." I told myself and made my way out of the apartment and into the carpeted hallway.
I rode the elevator down to the first floor, thankful for the lack of musicale accompaniment. My head still had the slight pound to the beat of my heart from last night's wild binge. It had been a while since I'd gone out and not only gotten trashed but went home with some total stranger before. I'd definitely never woken up in a strange place without said stranger the next morning. In my experience the woman usually stuck around for a morning dalliance before either kicking me out or getting my number, promising to call back.
Calling back usually meant for another round in the mattress Olympics since most girls weren't turned on by my job past the initial "ooh, that sounds fascinating!" Once they learned that private investigator wasn't all that Jane Bond as they at first thought it was, the late and weird hours, little sleep and periods with lack of funding were in general a put off. Needless to say I didn't have a line up of girls ready and willing to be the next Mrs. Angela Lee.
It took a moment to re-orientate myself when I got out of the apartment but once I figured out where the Metro Dome was I was able to find the right bus stop that would take me at least somewhat close to my apartment in the West Bank. Minneapolis wasn't a huge city, it was just really spread out. Our lackluster public transit system wasn't the greatest if you needed to make your way anywhere off the main grid but it was something. I owned a less than reliable car but knowing how trashed I was planing on getting last night I'd left it parked back at my apartment rather than deal with downtown parking.
It was a short ride to my stop, enough that if I'd been in a slightly more coherent mood I'd have walked the whole way. The late October morning was warm for Minnesota at least. Which meant a balmy fifty degrees with sunshine. Yeah, nice Minnesota beach weather, as they say here.
Making my way up the street I waved at one of my neighbors who was out with two of her youngest kids. She waved back as she scooped up her smallest son and readjusted her head scarf that the little boy was always pulling on. I envied that kind of patients, the type B's of the world who took everything in stride including children. In my limited experience with the small creatures we had a mutual dislike of each other. Probably stemming from my curled lip and growling demeanor that popped up every time I was forced to be around one.
I took out my keys and was fiddling with the old lock when I heard someone calling my name behind me.
"Angela!" Mrs. Anderson called as she shuffled up the walkway behind me. "Are you just coming home, dear? I didn't hear you come in last night."
Moving to take the bags of groceries out of her hands as she gave small protests I walked back up the steps to the double front door and waited while she worked the lock to her side of the duplex.
I had rented from her for about four years now. As far as I knew she and her husband had owned this house since they'd first gotten married in 1948. The young Mrs. Anderson had been a blushing bride of twenty who would have never guessed that a war in the south seas would have claimed her young husband five years latter. They'd never had any children, and as far as I knew she had only a few other distant relatives in Minnesota. She had me over for dinner more times in one week than my own mother did in a year. It seemed she didn't harbor any resentment against my Asian roots and her widowhood. Although her rather own melting pot life may have had something to do with that.
Mrs. Rita Anderson had married Mr. Charles Anderson in a time when such interracial anything was considered, to put it politely, risqué. That was probably why they had chosen this more tolerant neighborhood of the Twin Cities to live, and possibly raise children in. Those children had never come though, and Mrs. Anderson had never remarried. So, I was the adopted child who ate the mounds of black eyed peas, collards, and platters of the best southern food in the mid-west just about every day.
"Yeah, I was out late last night." I said as I followed Mrs. Anderson into her small kitchen that was an exact copy of my own, "A new club opened downtown and I went to check it out."
Mrs. Anderson motioned me to place the two grocery bags on the small kitchen circa 1940's table and the two of us began to unpack.
"I do wish you didn't go to those places alone, I worry about something happening to you." She said as she opened the refrigerator door and placed dark leafy green veggies into the crisper. "You hear the news about people placing drugs and what not in peoples' drinks. I do worry about you, you know."
"I'm careful, besides I don't always go alone. Brian goes with too, usually. He just had to work last night and I didn't want to miss the opening." Brian, a waifishly thin whiter than white boy, ate here for what he termed 'Food as good as Mama use to make!' almost as often as I did.
Mrs. Anderson shook her head in exasperation and put her fists on her hips, "Where is that boy been? I haven't seen hide nor hair of him for over a week!"
"He was here just last Sunday. The new books came in and they have him busy cataloging them this week." It was Tuesday now, Mrs. Anderson did not have the world's best sense of time. Then again neither did I which is why I lived and breathed by my one major expense of my PDA.
"Well you tell him the next time you see him that he best get his but in here and back into my good graces if he wants any of that pie this Saturday."
Mrs. Anderson's sweet potato pie was what I would consider the stuff of legends. Many of our neighbors were trying to wrangle the recipe out of her. It was one of the few secrets she vowed to take to her grave, but being the otherwise kind woman she was she often sent slices or even whole pies home with the neighbors in lieu of the actual recipe.
"Angela! Girl you wool gatherin' again?" Mrs. Anderson's voice broke into my thought and I jumped when I realized I'd been standing in front of the open door to the refrigerator. I must have been more out of it than I thought I was.
"Huh? Sorry, what were you saying?" I asked as I closed the door and turned around. We'd finished with the groceries and I was about ready to fall over. Whatever it was I'd done with Ms. Carrie last night had really wiped me out. I'm sure the blow and booze wasn't contributing to my lethargy at all.
"Girl you best get up to bed. I think you had a little too much fun last night." Mrs. Anderson winked at me and shooed me out of her kitchen and in the direction of her front door.
"I'm a gitin, I'm a gitin." I chimed and got a dishtowel to my backside that had somehow mysteriously appeared in Mrs. Anderson's hands.
Trudging out of the door and over to my own entrance I keyed the lock, getting it on the first try this time, and headed into my one bedroom abode. Both sides of the duplex had single bedrooms and a mirrored floor arrangement. We shared a basement though which had lots of storage space and the usual washer and dryer. I had re-puttied the walls last summer and applied a few coats of sealant to stop the leaks that had started getting through. This year I was planing on putting a new coat of pain on the outside of the house and small garage out back.
My mind was wandering as I striped off my clothes on the way to the bed. I vaguely registered the incessant meowing and made a stumbling detour towards my own small kitchen. Unlocking the baby proof latch on an upper cupboard I took down the box of meow mix and shook some into Sherlock's bowl. I had enough presence of mind to turn slowly and shuffle my way to where I usuals placed the cat's bowl, managing to avoid getting tripped by the leg dance that my tabby was preforming for me.
"Don't choke on it again." I told Sherlock as I stumbled back out of the kitchen and back towards the bedroom once more.
The cat didn't even acknowledge me so I ignored him right back and plowed into the pillows in the middle of the big bed. The last thing I remember is pulling the covers somewhat over me as my eyes slammed shut and I could hear myself start to snore.
Comments are greatly appreciated.
Title: Jack & Jill
Author:
wolfie74Rating: R
Disclaimer: My peoples, my city (TM)
Chapter 1
The pulse of the techno beat flowed through my veins as I danced in the near dark light that was punctured sporadically by the strobe lights hanging from over head. Aimee's was packed tonight with all the lesbians and wanna be's in the Midwest it seemed. All the little baby dikes and mama dikes out cruising or being cruised by all the whatever other dikes out on the dance floor. In the middle of all of it I danced. I danced alone.
I made no eye contact even though others had tried to catch my glance as I flung my head back, closed my eyes and moved in time to the tribal beat. That's the thing about techno, no matter how bad of a dancer you are you can always stay on the beat. It's the human heart beat you see. One-hundred and sixty beats a minute, pounding through your skull, your skin, your soul. It makes you forget who you are for a moment, a brief blissful moment that you exist nowhere in time or space to become one with everything. The line I'd done in one of the bathroom stalls an hour ago wasn't' hurting either.
I could feel someone move up on my right. Another 'eye-catcher' I was guessing. Maybe latter, but not right now. I only wanted to dance here by myself surrounded by all these women and touching no one. Latter, I'd take one of these women home, maybe two who knows, and slam my body against them to that same pulse I was feeling around me right now.
'Eye-catcher' had slipped her arms around me and was beginning to gyrate against the back of my thigh. I turned around to try and tell her to find someone else when I met two of the most bluest eyes I'd ever seen on anyone in my life. It was like looking up at the sky. Bright blue in a round face with smooth skin and pale blond hair. I blinked at the combination before my brain supplied "Minnesota you dumb ass!" But those blue eyes held mine none-the-less.
I had opened my mouth to say something but was stopped by the look in those eyes. Part of my mind, the part that had sobered up a bit when the other woman had started to move against me, could tell that this woman had also done something a bit more than the recreational drink at the bar. The look in her eyes was intense though and she was probably feeling the music like I was.
My mouth closed and I moved to pull her into my arms, figuring that I might as well go along with this and enjoy the ride for a while. I was rewarded with a small smirk as the blond pressed her body further into mine. She wasn't a very tall girl but fit fairly well in my arms as she wrapped herself around my middle.
The heat of our bodies was driving the temperature of the dance floor up a few notches. Or maybe it was just me. Ah, nope. Blondie was tugging at the hem of her shirt so I guessed I wasn't the only one who was getting overly warm. The bodies of the women around us pressed a little more into our little two woman huddle and the temperature shot up a few more degrees.
Blondie moved closer and I could feel my eyes dilate as she stood on her tip toes and whispered something in my ear. I nodded to what ever it was she said since I couldn't fully hear her over the beat of the music. I was fairly sure what she had in mind when I glanced into her eyes again.
I guessed I was still riding the buzz of the hit I'd done since the next thing I knew we were outside the club and making our way down the street. Every so often the world spun a bit and it made me remember that I'd also had more to drink than I usually did. In some part of my mind, that same part probably that made sure I didn't do stupid stuff like go home with anonymous strangers, yelled that this wasn't so good of an idea. The other parts, further south as I like to say, put a strangle hold on that voice of reason and pointed out that it had been a while since I'd exercised some of the more carnal adult rights.
All this chatter was making it hard to pay attention to where we were going, if I could even bring my self to care, so I let every thing fade out and followed the blue eyed woman up the steps to the door of some apartment building. After that, I blissfully forgot.
Chapter 2
A bright light played on my eyelids as I lay there in the very comfy bed. It was much softer than usual and for a moment I started drifting back to sleep, even with the piercing light that was now warming my face. My bed wasn't that comfortable though. It was lumpy and made horrible noises similar to some one beating a cat against a wall while whipping it back and forth by the tail.
My eyes popped open and then slammed shut just as fast as I rolled over and away from the piercing sunlight coming in from the open shades on the window across the room from me. I burrowed my head into the other pillow next to me in the childish attempt to avoid the pounding, and slightly sickening feeling that flooded through me.
After a long moment the feeling slid into the background and I felt like I could start piecing the puzzle together. Cracking one eye open carefully I looked out from under the duvet I had buried myself in. That I seemed to be in someone else's bedroom didn't come as a huge shock given my previous notice of it most obviously not being my bed. Taking a chance I rolled slowly onto my back and eyed the rest of the room.
The aforementioned sunlight had dipped slightly behind a building outside while I had been doing my impersonation of an ostrich. I was able to keep my no doubt blood shot eyes opened a bit more so that I could see just how much this did not resemble my bedroom.
For one, I lived in what could be politely described as a more affordable version of student housing. Though it had been a while since I'd been a student the accommodations were, shall we say, more in my bank account range. This place though...
"Wow." I said out loud, the room was big enough to echo my voice back to me
"Umm," Since I didn't hear anyone say anything back I wondered if I was the only one there.
"Or maybe I've been living a dream all of these years and I'm really a rich mama dike with a yacht and everything." I assured myself as I climbed out of the huge bed and searched the floor for some clothes, preferably Gucci something or other in my size.
Finding only my old pair of undies and bra I wondered into the living room in search of a little more coverage. No one was out here either, although what ever happened last night must have been pretty awesome if I had tossed my jeans, shirt and jacket all over the place like this. It took a while to find my boots, they'd ended up behind the large leather couch that dominated the main room.
"Corinthian leather!" I said, rolling my r's and trying to imitate Mr. Rourke.
Still, no one popped out to either offer a cup of coffee or ask what the hell I was doing there. The place was defiantly not in my price range as I looked out the window and got a scenic view of the Mississippi from about six stories up.
"Whoa, a whole lot of whoa I say." Running monologue is something I do, especial when waking up in strange places.
As I buttoned up my shirt and otherwise made myself more presentable, I wondered around the expansive apartment. It was laid out as almost one big room off of the bedroom I had originally come from. The view of the river took up most of one wall that also led out on too a narrow balcony. There was little furniture, or other knick-knacks for that matter. The narrow kitchen look utilitarian as well, though there were a lot more gadgets in there than I'd ever seen outside of my mother's restaurant. Slipping on my jacket I wondered into the pristine looking kitchen.
"Hmmm, what have we here. Ooh, coffee. Why how delightful. Thank you, whoever owns this joint. Or, thank me, if I own it!" I picked up the mug sitting next to a full pot of coffee in the kitchen and poured myself some.
A piece of paper fell to the floor that must have been stuck to the bottom of the mug. I bent and scooped it up to read as I sipped at my morning caffeine.
'Hey, sorry to have to run out on you but I needed to make court early. Help yourself to some coffee and whatever. Here's my number, would like if you called me but no pressure. It was fun last night, I'd like to see you again. P.S. Don't worry about locking up the door locks automatically. - Carrie'
"Ah well, I'm more into lofts anyway." I said as I pocketed the note, taking another sip of the really good coffee to push away the disappointment of not waking up on fantasy island.
I finished up the coffee and gave the cup a good wash out at the stainless steel and granite sink. Everything was so clean and organized I worried about setting the cup down in the wrong place. I pulled out a small pen and pocket note book from my jacket and scribbled down a note, placing it under the clean mug on the counter next to the coffee machine.
After a second I took the note my would be coffee benefactor had left me out and flipped out my cell phone to punch in the number she had left. On the first ring however I flipped my phone closed again and decided to call back later. Preferably when I'd had more time to think about just what had happened last night.
Turning to look out the balcony window once more I tapped the cell phone on my chin and wondered if I shouldn't just give this somewhat anonymous Carrie a call. It felt rude not to acknowledge her kindness of coffee at the very least.
"Mental note, call her when you get home. Be suave, don't be a dork." I told myself and made my way out of the apartment and into the carpeted hallway.
I rode the elevator down to the first floor, thankful for the lack of musicale accompaniment. My head still had the slight pound to the beat of my heart from last night's wild binge. It had been a while since I'd gone out and not only gotten trashed but went home with some total stranger before. I'd definitely never woken up in a strange place without said stranger the next morning. In my experience the woman usually stuck around for a morning dalliance before either kicking me out or getting my number, promising to call back.
Calling back usually meant for another round in the mattress Olympics since most girls weren't turned on by my job past the initial "ooh, that sounds fascinating!" Once they learned that private investigator wasn't all that Jane Bond as they at first thought it was, the late and weird hours, little sleep and periods with lack of funding were in general a put off. Needless to say I didn't have a line up of girls ready and willing to be the next Mrs. Angela Lee.
It took a moment to re-orientate myself when I got out of the apartment but once I figured out where the Metro Dome was I was able to find the right bus stop that would take me at least somewhat close to my apartment in the West Bank. Minneapolis wasn't a huge city, it was just really spread out. Our lackluster public transit system wasn't the greatest if you needed to make your way anywhere off the main grid but it was something. I owned a less than reliable car but knowing how trashed I was planing on getting last night I'd left it parked back at my apartment rather than deal with downtown parking.
It was a short ride to my stop, enough that if I'd been in a slightly more coherent mood I'd have walked the whole way. The late October morning was warm for Minnesota at least. Which meant a balmy fifty degrees with sunshine. Yeah, nice Minnesota beach weather, as they say here.
Making my way up the street I waved at one of my neighbors who was out with two of her youngest kids. She waved back as she scooped up her smallest son and readjusted her head scarf that the little boy was always pulling on. I envied that kind of patients, the type B's of the world who took everything in stride including children. In my limited experience with the small creatures we had a mutual dislike of each other. Probably stemming from my curled lip and growling demeanor that popped up every time I was forced to be around one.
I took out my keys and was fiddling with the old lock when I heard someone calling my name behind me.
"Angela!" Mrs. Anderson called as she shuffled up the walkway behind me. "Are you just coming home, dear? I didn't hear you come in last night."
Moving to take the bags of groceries out of her hands as she gave small protests I walked back up the steps to the double front door and waited while she worked the lock to her side of the duplex.
I had rented from her for about four years now. As far as I knew she and her husband had owned this house since they'd first gotten married in 1948. The young Mrs. Anderson had been a blushing bride of twenty who would have never guessed that a war in the south seas would have claimed her young husband five years latter. They'd never had any children, and as far as I knew she had only a few other distant relatives in Minnesota. She had me over for dinner more times in one week than my own mother did in a year. It seemed she didn't harbor any resentment against my Asian roots and her widowhood. Although her rather own melting pot life may have had something to do with that.
Mrs. Rita Anderson had married Mr. Charles Anderson in a time when such interracial anything was considered, to put it politely, risqué. That was probably why they had chosen this more tolerant neighborhood of the Twin Cities to live, and possibly raise children in. Those children had never come though, and Mrs. Anderson had never remarried. So, I was the adopted child who ate the mounds of black eyed peas, collards, and platters of the best southern food in the mid-west just about every day.
"Yeah, I was out late last night." I said as I followed Mrs. Anderson into her small kitchen that was an exact copy of my own, "A new club opened downtown and I went to check it out."
Mrs. Anderson motioned me to place the two grocery bags on the small kitchen circa 1940's table and the two of us began to unpack.
"I do wish you didn't go to those places alone, I worry about something happening to you." She said as she opened the refrigerator door and placed dark leafy green veggies into the crisper. "You hear the news about people placing drugs and what not in peoples' drinks. I do worry about you, you know."
"I'm careful, besides I don't always go alone. Brian goes with too, usually. He just had to work last night and I didn't want to miss the opening." Brian, a waifishly thin whiter than white boy, ate here for what he termed 'Food as good as Mama use to make!' almost as often as I did.
Mrs. Anderson shook her head in exasperation and put her fists on her hips, "Where is that boy been? I haven't seen hide nor hair of him for over a week!"
"He was here just last Sunday. The new books came in and they have him busy cataloging them this week." It was Tuesday now, Mrs. Anderson did not have the world's best sense of time. Then again neither did I which is why I lived and breathed by my one major expense of my PDA.
"Well you tell him the next time you see him that he best get his but in here and back into my good graces if he wants any of that pie this Saturday."
Mrs. Anderson's sweet potato pie was what I would consider the stuff of legends. Many of our neighbors were trying to wrangle the recipe out of her. It was one of the few secrets she vowed to take to her grave, but being the otherwise kind woman she was she often sent slices or even whole pies home with the neighbors in lieu of the actual recipe.
"Angela! Girl you wool gatherin' again?" Mrs. Anderson's voice broke into my thought and I jumped when I realized I'd been standing in front of the open door to the refrigerator. I must have been more out of it than I thought I was.
"Huh? Sorry, what were you saying?" I asked as I closed the door and turned around. We'd finished with the groceries and I was about ready to fall over. Whatever it was I'd done with Ms. Carrie last night had really wiped me out. I'm sure the blow and booze wasn't contributing to my lethargy at all.
"Girl you best get up to bed. I think you had a little too much fun last night." Mrs. Anderson winked at me and shooed me out of her kitchen and in the direction of her front door.
"I'm a gitin, I'm a gitin." I chimed and got a dishtowel to my backside that had somehow mysteriously appeared in Mrs. Anderson's hands.
Trudging out of the door and over to my own entrance I keyed the lock, getting it on the first try this time, and headed into my one bedroom abode. Both sides of the duplex had single bedrooms and a mirrored floor arrangement. We shared a basement though which had lots of storage space and the usual washer and dryer. I had re-puttied the walls last summer and applied a few coats of sealant to stop the leaks that had started getting through. This year I was planing on putting a new coat of pain on the outside of the house and small garage out back.
My mind was wandering as I striped off my clothes on the way to the bed. I vaguely registered the incessant meowing and made a stumbling detour towards my own small kitchen. Unlocking the baby proof latch on an upper cupboard I took down the box of meow mix and shook some into Sherlock's bowl. I had enough presence of mind to turn slowly and shuffle my way to where I usuals placed the cat's bowl, managing to avoid getting tripped by the leg dance that my tabby was preforming for me.
"Don't choke on it again." I told Sherlock as I stumbled back out of the kitchen and back towards the bedroom once more.
The cat didn't even acknowledge me so I ignored him right back and plowed into the pillows in the middle of the big bed. The last thing I remember is pulling the covers somewhat over me as my eyes slammed shut and I could hear myself start to snore.
