My luggage was starting to show some serious wear and tear. Tiny rips, worn edges, a broken zipper across the front, and now noisy wheels, squealing as they bounced over the linoleum floor of the Atlanta Airport, a place I seemed to be frequenting despite my almost desperate fear of flying. So many things were happening away from home, things I couldn't possibly miss, so if the choice was to miss something important or grit my teeth the entire flight, I'd choose to grit my teeth. That didn't make the flight any easier.

Just outside the sliding glass doors of baggage claim, the Georgia heat seared blazing hot. The summer was shaping up to be a scorcher and I was already missing the relatively moderate temperatures of the Mile High City, where I had spent a week with my mom's family and the weekend with my... what did I even call them, Charles and Regina and her parents? Family? Are people family because you are related to them? I wasn't really sure, yet.

Chipping paint and rainbow sticker on the fender announced Melissa's arrival like a bullhorn. She rounded the corner of the pickup lanes twice before I could get her attention. Once she spotted me, she pulled to the curb and I heaved my suitcase into the back seat. I finally climbed in next to her, panting from the heat, grateful for cooler air.  

"Oh my God, it's so hot!" I fanned myself, frantically turning up the a/c.

"How hot is it?" She smirked at her own joke as she pulled away from the curb and into the slow circle of traffic leaving the airport and heading to the freeway. "So, how was it?"

"It was pretty good. Vail was fun."  I adjusted the vents in the dash, pushing the flow of air directly on me. "Aunt Grace is still a riot. Uncle Edward still has a stick up his ass. It was the usual."

"And then Denver?"

"Awkward." I turned a little in her direction, getting comfortable. "Charles' daughters all look like their mom-blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin. I, of course, look more like him, so hello. Big damn reminder, there. They were all really quiet for like, the first hour . It was so... forced.  I was almost ready to just get up and go, but then his wife asked a question and the girls piped in and then it was fine. I ended up spending most of yesterday out at their house, just hanging out. It was okay. I don't have sisters, so... it's different. But okay."

"Regina, George Ana?  Everyone still doing well?"

I nodded, catching her nosy glance and her way of asking if Regina was still on the right track.  "I stayed at the house, with them. Ate a lot of Greek food.  And then Regina graduated from her GED program Friday. It was so cool to see her walk across that stage. It's like the first really good thing she's done with her life, you know? I could have lit up the auditorium with the smile on her face."

Melissa beamed as if Regina was her own mother. "You must be so proud of her, honey."

I squinted into the setting sun, the thick smoggy air contributing a rosy haze to the horizon, watching the city roll by my window at breakneck pace. "I am. Lately, I am really proud of her."

My driveway beckoned as we turned into the cul-de-sac, the sun behind the house giving it an ethereal glow. I always felt a pang when I came home after a trip. I loved my house, with its nooks and crannies and turn-of-the-century, antebellum design and construction, big trees in the yard, picket fence that was quaint but needed mending and painting, nosy neighbors who always seemed to know the best neighborhood gossip. It pained me to think of giving it up-I wasn't even sure how long I'd still have it.

Melissa must have sensed what I was thinking as I stood in the driveway, arms crossed and staring aimlessly into the yard.

"You're really leaving, huh?" 

Her arm across my shoulder both jolted me from deep thought and offered comfort. "Eventually," I answered. "Have to find a job."

She guided me toward the front door, my suitcase in tow behind her, wheels squeaking as they rumbled over uneven pavement. "Any luck yet?"

I unlocked the front door and dropped my keys and purse on the table just inside the front hallway. Time was marching on, more quickly than I really wanted it to or thought it would. I expected weeks and months to drag by before I got any attention in LA, but James Barker was true to his word. Not long after I called to discuss his offer, he made good on his promise and forward a page long list of company names, contact information, and industry bios. I sent my resume and portfolio to every contact on the list.  

Melissa followed me to the kitchen and climbed up onto a bar stool. I opened a cabinet and pulled down two glasses, filled them to the rim with ice and water and climbed up into the chair next to her.

"Four or five replies, already. I'm back in LA the first week in July to meet with Qwest so I'm hoping to sneak in a couple of interviews."

"You think they're serious? Or just humoring Barker?"

"They better be serious. I have a lot riding on it. I'm serious."

Cubes of ice bobbed and melted slowly. My finger caught a bead of condensation as it rolled down the outside of the glass.  "One company has an opening for my dream job. They manufacture green materials-you know, environmentally safe? It seems like the hip new industry to get involved in. A lot of government money tied up in it, lots of oversight by the EPA. Like that club in New York that we went to, that was all earth friendly."

"You could be a prettier Al Gore."

"Yeah, something like that, I guess. Anyway, that's my first interview, if I can swing it." Melissa didn't seem to be really listening, but sipping her water, her eyes fixed on the muted design in the countertop.  "You okay, Mel?"

She nodded slowly, her expression sort of sad and melancholy. She wasn't a wildly outgoing person but sadness wasn't her style. "You know," she said, "I'd feel better if you, like... got mad at me or something."

"I'm not going to get mad at you." We'd had this exact conversation several times since I'd come home from New York. When JC and I had finally straightened out all of our issues, I had to admit that her advice was ruining our relationship and I couldn't afford to depend on it, anymore.  Revealing this bit of news to her was one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do-we'd been sharing life and love for so many years.

"You're never mad when it matters."

She pushed her glass across the counter with a sigh, her shoulders sagging in a sulk.  "Remember when we were in college and we'd sit around the Quad and talk about boys and girls? I always used to give the best advice. At least I thought so. People always wanted to know what I had to say about something."

She straightened and squared her shoulders. "I just don't get it. If I say don't do something -- he gets mad because he'd prefer it if you did. I say do this-- he really doesn't respond to it." She shrugged, her shoulders nearly reaching her ears. "It's like he does the exact opposite of what men are supposed to do, by nature. And it's hard to not be the person butting in, telling people what they should do because men are basically all the same. So now my advice is bad, because he's so weird."

"You don't give bad advice, silly." I draped an arm across her drooped shoulders and tried to console her with a friendly squeeze. "He's... JC.  Not really different from any other man, he's just quirky. Keeping things from him because I think it will scare him or tick him off... ticks him off. That's just a JC thing. He'd rather just know everything and find a way to deal with it. Keeps things simple."

"I think I'll just play the supportive friend from now on. You know what you're doing. I guess."

That was pretty much the ultimate in compliment from Melissa. She didn't often admit to people being better off not listening to her words of wisdom. "Well, I appreciate hearing that."

She slid her glass across the counter again, creating a wet streak that disappeared in the heat of the room. "I can't promise I won't be snarky about you moving, though."

"Well, you wouldn't be Melissa if you weren't snarky about something." We laughed together for a few moments and settled into a comfortable silence.

"He's coming, tomorrow," I said quietly.

"He is? I didn't know that. Special, just to see you?"

I leaned forward onto my arms, wilting in the heat. I just needed it to cool down a few degrees, so I could breathe, and think.  "He has all these plans and ideas of getting the house ready to sell. I don't have a job yet, but he's trying to sell my house. He makes it sound like this place will be the Taj Mahal when he's done with it."    

"It'll keep him busy. And with all the men folk in your family, maybe you won't have to do anything. Unlike me," she added with a sigh, and climbed down from the stool. "Annette is digging up some weeds in a plot of dirt behind the house. She thinks she's planting something."

I looked at her, puzzled, as we walked to the door. "In June?" 

"See?" She pointed, shaking a finger in my face. I laughed and smacked it away. "There's the Serena I know and love. Want to come over? Tell her she can't plant stuff once summer starts?"

"Nah," I said, waving her off. "I need to unpack and do laundry and get ready for the office and JC tomorrow. Thanks though."

"Suit yourself. Have fun this week-hey, we should do something this weekend, if you guys are up for it?"

"Mmmhmm, maybe." I leaned against the doorjamb, in the middle of a bright ray of setting sun. I already had a long list planned for JC's visit. "We're up at the Lake this weekend but I might take him to The High Museum on Friday night. They have an acoustic Jazz Band playing. I think he would like that."

 "Oh, really?" Her face softened into a bright smile. "He would like that. We could tag along if you want company. I've gotta run, I'm five minutes away from a Car 54." Annette and Melissa still used a series of text message codes from our college days, when all we had were pagers. Car 54 meant ‘where are you?'-- fashioned after the old black and white TV show of the same name.

Melissa slipped out the front door, the jingling of her keys growing fainter the further she got away from the house. I heard the car door slam and the engine start and the car back out of the driveway. I shut the door and sighed into the quiet, the absolute quiet of the house. No ticking of clocks or dripping of faucets or whining of pipes. Just quiet.

I wasn't used to quiet.

The next day, in the middle of a day that was full of weeding through the work that had piled up in my absence, the phone rang.  I almost jumped out of my skin when it did, even though I was expecting it. Anticipating it, even. It meant JC had landed, that we were in the same city, breathing almost the same air, nearer to each other than we'd been in over a month. I finished the rest of my day in a daze, watching the clock, counting the minutes. At the stroke of 4:59 I was locking my office door and on my way to the car, to the freeway, to home, to my man. I couldn't wait to see to him.

The more time I spent with JC, the harder it was to get on a plane and leave him behind, or drop him off at the airport and drive off without him. I was getting used to him-- his presence, his scent, his way. He was quiet and always thinking. His eyes moved around a room and took it in way before he spoke, if he spoke at all. Then there were the times when he was a fountain of words and questions and stories that made me double over in laughter or shake my head because he was just so funny, most of the time without meaning to be.

Mostly-- and not so secretly-- I loved to hear him say my name. Whether he was calling to me from another room, or whispering in my ear, or groaning in passionate outburst, I just liked the way he said it. I craved attention from him, loved to listen to him talk to me or sing to me. I sped home, not as fast as I wanted to go, but just fast enough to get there before I went out of my mind.

A mid size black SUV rental sat in my driveway as I turned into the cul-de-sac. The garage door lifted slowly as I pulled into my spot, noting that the door leading to the backyard was open. My heartbeat sped up double-time as soon as I saw him, leaning casually against the fence, deep in conversation with my favorite neighbor. 

Mrs. Rhodes was an elderly lady, a widow well into her 80's with a full head of white hair and all of her teeth (something she was proud of) who spent most days tooling around in her backyard garden in a floral print housedress. She wasn't head of the Home Owner's Association, but she was quick to tell you if your leaves needed to be raked or if your car needed to be moved. She had lived in the house next door to mine for about 60 years and always had a story to tell about the hussy down the block or the hunk around the corner. She made it her business to know everyone-and everything about everyone. I couldn't even imagine what she was saying about me. Or to him.

I dropped my bag just inside the door and walked through the garage, out into the ankle deep, lush green grass of the backyard. It had been a rainy spring and with traveling and work I hadn't had a chance to mow. JC was intently listening to one of Mrs. Rhodes' stories, so much so that he must not have heard me pull up or walk out. He jumped when I stepped next to him and linked my arm in his.

"Aw, honey, you scared me." He clutched his chest and giggled a little. "Your neighbor was just telling me this story about somebody that was murdered around here. Did you know about that?"

"Mrs. Rhodes," I said, chiding. "That was 30 years ago. She told me the same story when I moved in."

"Well, still," she protested, laughing and blushing as she waved a spotted, pasty hand. "It happened. We were just talking about how nice the neighborhood is. Well, first I wanted to find out why this young man was in your backyard, but then I realized I had seen him around here before."

She gestured to us with her tiny garden shovel, our arms linked and leaning against one another. "You two look very cute together. He's a handsome fella. Brings my Paul to mind."

"Thanks," we both said. Mrs. Rhodes nodded, her smile fading as she glanced around her garden full of flourishing roses and fragrant bushes of lilac.  She looked as if she was about to launch into another story, which I hoped to avoid, or we would be stuck in the heat, out by the fence for hours, but she thought better of it and gave a tight lipped grin. Her husband, Paul, had been dead for going on twenty years, but she still choked up when she talked about him.

"Well," she said, perky but forced, "I will let you get to your young man. He said you're going to do some work around the place this week?" She gave a disapproving look to the length of the grass. "Almost too long. The Jaynes', two houses down? Got a fine last week."

"Yes ma'am, I plan to mow. I promise." I pulled JC by the arm toward the house, trying to escape before she changed her mind and started another story. Gossip always prompted a session of ‘I remember this one time...'

"Nice to meet you," he called over his shoulder.

"Likewise. Enjoy the heat."

"She's a bit of a busybody," I whispered as we neared the garage door.

"Yeah I figured that out. She was all Young man! Young man!" His spot-on imitation was impressive. "Scared me a second but uhm... yeah, I was out there looking at your lawn, too."

I led him through the garage and into the house, stopping to kick my bag toward the stairs and then headed for the kitchen.  "Hey, don't complain, young man, or it'll be your job tomorrow."

"I was thinking I might do that tomorrow. Before it gets hot. Shit, it's hot here." He swiped at a few beads of sweat that had collected near his hairline and mindlessly wiped his hands on his jeans.

"It's summer in the south, baby."  I tipped my head up and leaned into him, pushing him up against the counter. "Hi.  Kiss me, hug me, tell me you love me."

"Oh. Well, hi," he said, a smile brightening his face before he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, humming happily and ending the kiss with a loud smack. "Love you."

"You, too. How was your flight?"

"No one freaked out on me or anything, so... uneventful."

"I consider that a good thing, since you hit on girls that freak out on you on airplanes." I dug a few bottles of water out of the refrigerator and handed him one. "So, it's too hot to cook. We can go out, or I make a mean PB&J. My nephews rave about them."

"Whatever works for you. I'm not picky," he said, and then tipped his head back, closed his eyes and took a long pull off of the bottle of water. A simple, regular, everyday gesture that fanned the flame burning in the pit of my stomach. I exhaled a happy sigh. I'd missed him.

JC was a creature of habit, almost ritualistic about how he spent his days, nights, weekends. He wasn't against doing new things, trying a new restaurant, going to a new club, but mostly, he did the same things, all the time. That allowed us to fall into a predictable pattern that would be boring with anyone else but with him, it was comforting, especially if we hadn't seen each other for awhile. Falling into the same routine felt like home, to me. There was Wednesday dinner and Sunday morning breakfast and coffee and bad movies on cable. 

Monday nights was Intervention, a weekly profile of addicts and families desperately offering help. He was a fan of the show and I'd never seen it before watching it with him. Truthfully, I watched it because he wanted to, more out of fascination than entertainment. Most of the people profiled on the show hit too close to home, dredging up memories of Interventions staged on Regina's behalf. It was hell on earth just trying to keep her alive one more day.

We had our sandwiches and chips in the living room, snuggled up on the couch. I halfway paid attention to the show, really just waiting for it to be over so we could go upstairs and get comfortable. After I yawned a few times, he took the hint, snapped off the TV and motioned for me to lead the way upstairs. Happily, I obliged.

Since he was staying longer than a weekend, I'd made room for him-there was space in the closet, a few empty drawers, and room around the double sinks in the bathroom for him to put his things, unpack a little, and get comfortable. It almost felt like he was moving in. I allowed myself to indulge in the fantasy for a brief moment.

The worn leather bag that he dragged everywhere was stuffed full of things that he proceeded to dump out onto the bed. A thick, heavy package flopped out and landed near me. I glanced at it, paid it no attention, and then looked again-it was a thick stack of pages bound on one end, like a book but wasn't.

"What's that?" I pointed to the bookish looking thing.

"Something I wanted to talk to you about," he said, digging further through the bag, nodding toward it with his head. "Check it out."

I picked up the heavily bound package and read the cover aloud. "Company One. A screenpl- Is this a script?" I flipped through the pages of neatly organized type. One role in particular was highlighted on every page, and JC's neat scrawl filled the margins next to a few lines. My eyes shot up from the page to his face.

"JC. This is a script." 

"Yep, it is." He picked up his toiletry bag and took it into the bathroom and then came back out.

"So, what... you're doing movies, now?"

"Sure," he said, finally looking at me straight on instead of sideways glances while doing something else. "Why not?"

I could give him a thousand reasons why not-namely that he was not a very good actor-but chose not to. The back and forth and yes, maybe, no indecisiveness about his return to music was aggravating and frustrating. As far as I was concerned, acting was another stall tactic keeping him from what he could really be doing, and doing well. I dumped the script back in the middle of the bed where I found it and went back to putting away piles of freshly laundered clothes.

He breathed long, tired, frustrated breath and sat on the edge of the bed. "Serena. You're mad? Seriously?"

"No," I replied, in all truthfulness. Disappointed is not mad. Not hardly, anyway. "Not at all."

"Well...you want to hear about it? You know, in the spirit of telling each other everything?"

‘Supportive. Be supportive. You think it's bullshit, but support him.'

I pushed the drawer closed, then sat next to him on the edge of the bed, tucking a leg under me. I picked up the script again and flipped through it. He had a lot of lines-a major part. "Sure. Tell me about it. What's your character like?"

"So, I'm the typical best friend, wingman kinda guy." His hands were a flurry of motion, his face animated with excitement. He was cute when he got excited.

"It's sort of a comedy, sort of a drama. This dude is like, a loser. You know the type, sits around all day, bums off his parents, does nothing with his life. He and his buddy-me, also a loser-decide it'd be fun to join the Army cause, you know, we're bored and we want to travel on Uncle Sam's dime. We kinda joke our way through basic training and whatever and then we get sent off to war. So, it totally becomes less of a 'wow that sounds like fun', and more of a ‘shit, we could get our heads blown off'."

I glanced up from the script as he laughed. "Your head doesn't get blown off, though. Right?"

"No, no, sweetie, it's not that kind of movie. It's not like, gory or anything. It's cool because for part of it, they're apart and they keep in touch, and then they meet up again, in the same Company, Company One. And-- well you have to read it or see it to find out what happens. And a bunch of stuff happens back at home and it's like... life changing." His hands dropped in his lap and he shrugged, but he was still grinning that cute, excited grin. How could I deny that grin? "You know? You get it?"

I nodded, slowly, hoping my expression was somewhere near ‘cool, honey'. "So, best friends helping each other through the horrors of war, kind of thing."

"You got it."

"And you're excited about doing it."

"Well, yeah," he answered with a light, nervous laugh. "Honey, I know you hate the idea of me acting..."

I blew out a frustrated huff and glared, my eyes narrow. "I wish people would quit saying they can read me. You just assume I hate it because it's not music."

"No, you hate it." He laughed for a few seconds, my disappointment verging on anger. "I can read you. But don't worry. I'm still working on the music thing. That's the other part I wanted to tell you."  

I perked, suddenly feeling like an ass. My heart flopped around in my chest, the rapid beat echoing in my ears. Please be good news, please be good news, PLEASE be good news!

"So, uhm..." He stalled flashed a nervous smile and continued. "So, MTV is sending the final teams from Season 1 and Season 2 out on the road." He paused, waited for a reaction, then continued when he didn't get one. "And... they need an opener for some West Coast dates. I need some time in the spotlight. Put two and two together..."

"So... you're... going... on tour?" This news didn't make any sense. Unless he'd skipped some important news, he still had no recording contract. He never let me hear anything, always claiming it wasn't finished, it wasn't ready, it needed this or that added to it. He was touring with what songs?

"Well... remember the Nothing Meeting, up in New York? Might turn into something-- the latest is whether or not I still have an audience or even a fan base and uhm... besides you, what fans do I really still have, out there? So I'm telling this to Randy, and he's like, you know, the Dance Show Tour is coming up. We'll send you out there, open up some shows.  It might be me and some other people and it might not be a whole concert, but at least I'd be on the bill."

He said some other things, rambling around a fingernail shoved in his mouth, so calm and nonchalant, as if he wasn't telling me it was possible that he could be on a stage again, soon. I knew that once he was there, he'd remember how good it felt and never want to leave again.

"You're going on tour!" Giddy and excited and uncontrollably happy, I clawed at him and peppered him with questions. "So, wait, you're serious? You're not kidding, right? When did you hear?" I smacked his arm, loudly. "And why didn't you call me?"

He mocked at fighting me off and then gave up and laid back onto the mattress, an arm behind his head. He looked so relaxed and rested and excited to be sharing good news for once. "I just heard about it yesterday, but you were on a plane. These things happen fast, like in an hour," he said, snapping his fingers. "I wanted to tell you in person. And here I am. In person."

I climbed him, straddled him, clasped my hands in his and bent over his face, my hair hanging down around us like a curtain. "So, you're doing this, right? This could be big for you-just get out there, baby. You need tons of exposure."

"Thank you, Marketing Chick," he said, his tone sarcastic. "I'm thinking about it. It's a big reason why I'm here. I've got a bunch of half finished, half mixed stuff, good tunes that I want to get out there. This would be a good way, while they don't belong to anyone but me."

"Okay." Breathless from bending over, I climbed off of him and laid next to him. "So... what about publishing? People will buy new music from you. Trust me on this, I know you don't get that, but people will want it. They've been waiting a long time."

"I get it, I'm just... I don't know." He rolled to his side and propped himself up on an elbow, his face clouded by serious thought. "I'm thinking I might self publish. I don't need a big ass label. Right? Maybe after I'm out there for awhile and get some attention..."

"...you'll catch the eye of some enterprising record label that doesn't treat its artists like shit."

He rolled his eyes and the start of a lecture began. "Honey..."

"I have opinions," I interrupted, a finger on his lips. "You can't stop me from expressing them. I hate Jive for what they did to you."

"Jive is paying some bills, right now. I'm alright with Jive."

JC had a look, when he was done talking about something. I knew it well, and it was right in front of me. I pressed my lips together and made a zipping motion across them, saving the rant for another day. He smiled an apology, wiggled his brows, brushed his lips across mine. When he pulled back, he heaved a sigh. Not a tired, forlorn, sick-of-life sigh. One of those content ones that I hadn't heard in a long time.

"So, ya happy now?" He poked at me, his fingertip digging in under my ribs. "Is it okay for me to audition for a movie as long as I am doing something in music?"

I blushed, swatting his hand away, then reaching for it again to wind my fingers between his. "What are you asking me for? It's your career."

"Mmhmm," he said, nodding. "Yeah, that's why you get an attitude when I talk about doing anything but music. I knew you'd flip out at the script. It's okay, though. I need you to think I suck at it, so I can get better. You'll read through some lines with me, right? Tell me everywhere I'm bad?"

"Of course, whatever you need. I'm here for you." My sentence ended in a long drawn out yawn. "I'm still so tired from last week. I need to get in the shower." I dragged myself up from the cool, comfortable bed next to him and slowly gathered my items for the shower. 

"Let me know if you uhm... need some help, or anything. I'm pretty good at the showering thing."

A glance back at him almost made me whimper. How he could look so sexy in simple t-shirt and jeans, I would never figure out, but God, he was hot, sprawled across my multi-colored bedspread. I wanted to crawl back onto the bed, push him down, undress him and have my way with him. I maintained control.... barely. There would be time for that later.

"I might need some help," I choked out finally, then ducked into the bathroom, towel in hand.

"I'll be right there," he was saying as he rolled off of the bed and followed me into the bathroom, shedding clothes on the way. "So, we're not meeting your parents tomorrow, right?"

I shook my head, my arm in the shower and adjusting the temperature. "That's this weekend. Why?"

I watched him roll his briefs down slender hips, pelvic bones jutting out at sharp angles, a thin line of dark hair leading from his belly to a thicker patch of hair and ... and then I had to look away, otherwise we weren't going to make it into the shower.

"I don't want to show up with that ‘I've had sex with your daughter' look on my face."

I blinked and gave him a sideways glance, kind of speechless at him, kind of amused. "Proud of that one, aren't you?"

A silly, stupid grin crossed his lips, apparent through the thick mist building in the room, fogging the mirror, warming our skin. "I thought it was a good one."

I stepped into the shower, the cascading fall of hot water already soothing the day away. "Get in, dork."

###

 "Mkay, so. You'll be alright by yourself, all day?"

JC ignored my question and instead opened the refrigerator and stared into it, mindlessly picking at hairs in his light beard.

"What are you looking for?"                                                                                        

"I don't know...I'll know when I find it."

"Well you're wasting energy. Here in Atlanta, we pay a power bill. Close the door and think."

He sighed and closed the door, then moved to the counter and leaned against it, watching me stuff items into a bag for lunch. "I pay a power bill. I bet you didn't know that."

"Really. You pay the bill yourself? You don't have someone do that for you?"

"Hell no," he said, shaking his head, his forehead creased with his mock look of irritation. "That's the fastest way to get money stolen-trusting other people to take care of your money for you. I have a Business Manager, of course, but I watch my money as closely as he does. I sign every check. I see every bill. I check my accounts and make sure nothing weird is happening."

"Hunh. I guess I just figured you had someone take care of details like that."

"Maybe you don't know everything about me." He tapped the end of my nose with his fingertip. "And some stuff I don't go around bragging about. No one cares about my accounting system." He snatched the vinyl, Velcro closure bag from me and peeked inside. "What do you have in here?"

"Uhm, a sandwich and some fruit and some chips. Nosy." I took the bag from him and rose up onto my toes to kiss him. "I have to go. Be good, okay? Don't... reorganize anything."

My bag hefted onto one shoulder, I grabbed my lunch and keys and headed toward the garage. JC followed me around like a loyal puppy.

"Don't reorganize anything?"

I stopped and turned to look at him, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the garage in jeans but no shirt. Dammit. I reminded myself that I absolutely had to go to work and kept walking toward the car.

"No, please don't. Some of that stuff I have to sell and I already have it sorted."

"Okay. So, don't alphabetize your lingerie drawer?"

I bent to set my bags in the backseat, and reached for the driver side door.  "What? Go back to bed."

"Not tired. You know, ‘A' for ‘appetizing', ‘B' for... ‘bootylicious', ‘C' for-"

"I am leaving, now. Rest. Watch TV. Leave my DVD's alone. Mow the lawn, if you have to."

"... ‘T' for ‘tantalizing'..."

"I love you. Goodbye."

I slid into the driver's seat and inserted the key into the ignition. A knock at the passenger side window startled me-JC was standing outside the car, motioning me to roll the window down. I resolved myself to not laugh at whatever else he was suggesting, and rolled it down. It wasn't good to encourage him.

"Yes? I'm gonna be late, messing around with you."

"I love you," he said, leaning into the window. I stretched across the seat and kissed him, and he backed out again. "Call and check up on me, later."

"Uh, definitely. Have a good day. Step back before I run over your toes."

I pulled out of the garage, the door sliding closed on JC leaning out of the kitchen and waving. I imagined him wandering about the house like the kid on Home Alone, doing all sorts of things he thought I'd never let him do if I was home, like stand with the fridge open. I amused myself with that thought on the drive to work to distract from the feeling that I really wanted to stay home with him.

In time, Serena, I told myself. Hopefully, in time.

###

"You look nice."

I padded barefoot through the bedroom in a sleek black wraparound dress with plunging neck and back lines, my newly pedicured feet sinking into the recently shampooed carpet. After a week of fixing and painting and cleaning carpets inside, and mowing and clipping hedges outside, I deserved some pampering and JC deserved some rest. He was a champ, up every morning to see me off to work and spending his days doing little things that were supposed to make the house more marketable. We took a well-deserved night off and were headed to A Night of Jazz, an attempt to show him my appreciation and a good time.

"Thanks, sweetie."

"You have a dress on, though. Should I change?"

The sparkling gems from my birthday trip sat in their box on top of my jewelry case, still unworn. On a whim, I put them in, twisting the backs onto them and turned to look at his attire.

"No," I answered, glancing at his dark jeans, dress shirt, and jacket. "You look hot. Every guy there will look exactly like you do. Serious."

JC gave himself the once-over in the mirror, arranging his hair, checking his shave job. I kind of wished he hadn't have shaved. I was getting used to the beard and the longer it grew, the softer it felt.

"If you're wearing a nice dress I should have slacks on though. I think. Shouldn't I?"

"No, you look fine. I promise." I screwed the last earring back in and stepped into the sandals I had set out to wear. "Melissa will be here any minute, are you ready?"

"You're sure?" I headed down the stairs, JC behind me, the scent of his aftershave and cologne creeping over my shoulder. "I don't want to look like an ass."

"Yes, I'm sure. Girls have different fashion rules. You're fine. This dress is new, so I'm wearing it."

Just then, headlights turned into the driveway, announcing the arrival of Annette and Melissa, in Annette's Lexus. "I told you. Let's go, come on."

The High Museum of Art boasted itself as one of Atlanta's most prestigious venues, home of classic and contemporary art and the location of choice for events like ‘An Evening of Jazz'. The large ballroom sized lobby of the gallery was about half full of people milling about, toting glasses of colorful drinks in eclectic glassware or small plates of appetizers from one of the sponsored restaurants. Small crowds wandered from piece to piece, exhibit to exhibit, nodding and murmuring appreciatively and checking price tags as if buying a piece from the High was not only feasible, but easily done.

In the corner of the room, the band was warming up, and after we migrated to that side of the room and claimed a table, they struck up a tune that was sultry and sweet, filling the room with sound. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched JC bob his head slowly to the beat. His eyes never left the band and his foot tapped along under the table.  Melissa jabbed at me with her elbow, nodded her head toward JC and grinned.

45 minutes later, the band took a break and JC finally sat back in his seat. "That was pretty awesome. I want to pick up one of their CD's. I'll be right back."

He weaved through the tables to the edge of the room and browsed the small selection of materials. Members of the band made their way over from the stage, making conversation about the items for sale. I was chatting with Melissa over the din of conversation in the room when a strong vibration shook the table. I picked up my purse and dug JC's phone out, the device buzzing in my hand. The display said ‘Dallas'. I picked it up.  

"Hey, Dallas, it's Serena." I had to yell a little, over the noise in the room, and the noise in the background on the phone. "What's up? JC is across the room right now."

"Serena, baby!" Dallas had a smooth, rich voice that almost crackled over the phone line. "You gonna let me have JC for a little while?"

"What, next week?"

"Naw, baby. Well, yeah but no, tonight! The boys are out on the town, I wanted to see what he was doing, but it sounds like you guys are out, too."

"Yeah, we're at The High. I'll tell him you called, though and tell him to call you back."

"Sure, you will," he said, an undercurrent of laughter and teasing coming through his voice. "Tell JC I'll see him next week, alright?"

I rolled my eyes and clicked my tongue. "Dallas, I will have him call you."

"Sure, sure. Bye."

I hung up and said aloud, "Like I control him, or something."

Melissa snorted a short laugh. "Don't you?"

"Hell, no. That there is a grown man," I said, pointing at JC coming back to the table, CD's in hand.

"What's up?" He took his seat next to me and slid the CD's inside my purse. "You don't mind carrying those around, do you?"

"Dallas called," I said, handing him the phone. "Call him back;. The boys are out, he said. He wants you to do something with them."

"Okay, thanks." He slid the phone into an inside pocket in his jacket. "You answered my phone?'

"Only because it was Dallas. You're not calling him?"

"Maybe later."  He lifted his beer bottle and took a swig, then pulled the phone back out and scrolled the call log.

"I'm serious--if you want to go hang out with him, go. You're not in town for that long, and possibly very soon I will be in LA, all up under you."  He smirked at the comment and tipped his head as if he was imagining the possibilities.

"Figuratively speaking," I corrected. "Sweetie, it's been a long week. Go. I'll hang out with my girls and meet you back at the house."

JC glanced up at me, then down to his phone, and back up at me. "Really? I just haven't seen him yet, or any of the other-"

"Go."

He eyed the phone again, and then looked back up at me, as if he expected me to say I was joking. I wasn't. "You can't be mad at me, later if I do."

"I'll be mad if you don't. Call."

A quick phone call, some fancy logistics, and 20 minutes later, a jet black, shiny stretch Hummer slowed and then stopped in front of the museum.

"Hey, Serena, baby. How you doin'?" Dallas leaned out of one window, waving JC down to where he was sitting.

JC laughed, looked at Dallas, and then glanced back at me. "Wait up. I don't think I'll be out late. This looks like trouble."

"Uhm..." I peeked into the car, noting several men and open bottles of alcohol. The interior smelled like weed and cologne. The mix of the scents was sickening. "Call me if you want me to pick you up. I'll be up."

"How late can he stay out, mommy?" Dallas cackled and leered as he hung out of the window.

"Grown men don't have curfews. Just take care of him, for me, alright? Not too wild, now."

I winked, and kissed him, then pushed him toward the car. He seemed almost reluctant to get inside. "Be good," I said as the door closed behind him and he settled into a seat between Dallas and another large, burly man wearing all black, smoking a cigar.

"You be good," JC called out of the window as the long vehicle pulled away from the curb and into traffic.

"Okay," said Melissa, appearing beside me, looking very confused. "So. You want to explain what all that was about?"

"God, I love him," I said, watching the elongated Hummer navigate Atlanta traffic as if it owned the road. "But I need five minutes where he's not looking over my shoulder or following me around. Let him be Dallas' problem for a few hours." I laughed an evil laugh and looked around for Annette. "Let's go. I'm sick of these people already."

"Your chariot awaits," she said, pointing toward Annette's car coming to a stop in front of us. I settled into the back seat, exhaling as I sank into the smooth leather, then stretched out, relishing having the entire seat to myself.

Melissa turned in the passenger seat so she could see me. "So, he's meeting the folks tomorrow. Ya'll nervous?"

I glanced out of the window as we passed club after club, flashing lights blinking into the night, entrance lines wrapping around buildings and down city blocks. It was, most definitely, not my scene. And it was okay if it was JC's scene. I liked knowing I could put him in a car and send him off to have a good time and not sit at home and feel lonely and neglected. I felt autonomous-such a different feeling than before. I liked it.

"I'm not," I replied. "He might be. He already met Garrett and Chris, though. Those two are the hardest to impress and they really like him."

Annette flipped her visor down, caught my eye in the mirror, and asked, "You plan to tell Terry and Donna the good news?"

"Good question. We haven't really talked about what we're telling them. It'll make great conversation for the two hour drive out there."

"For sure. Well, good luck," she said, and flipped the visor back up. The sleek car sliced through the night, weaving through traffic and two-lane highways until we reached my subdivision and then finally home.

Within minutes I was in yoga pants and one of JC t-shirts, slouched in a corner of the couch with a drink in one hand and the stereo remote in the other. I halfway watched the clock and the phone while we lounged and talked, watched TV and listened to music. The phone never rang and the hours waned on.  

At 1am the couple stood, yawning and stumbling toward the door.  I never wanted to go bed so bad, but I was sure that as soon as I crawled into bed, the phone would ring. I camped out in the living room in front of the TV, my eyelids growing heavier by the second and sleep rolling over me like a fog.

I was in a garden-my garden, except I didn't have a garden, so it looked more like Mrs. Rhodes' garden-- full of bright, colorful flowers and butterflies, everywhere-the sky was full of them. A few landed on me, sweet and light and soft, wings glinting in the wind, flapping in my face. I waived one away, but another came. I waived it away, and then another and another and another came and kept coming, over and over, flitting around me, landing on me. I flailed, trying to wake myself up from what was becoming a nightmare. I felt something odd-skin and hair and fabric-and then a tight grip around my wrists. I yelped, forcing my eyes open and jerking myself awake.

"Sweetie, it's me. It's me."

I blinked, my blurry vision clearing. JC was leaning over me, a smile on his lips, just on the verge of laughter, his hands still gripping my wrists and holding them down in my lap. "It's okay. I'm sorry. I was trying to wake you up. You almost clocked me."

I groaned and sat up, yanking my wrists out of his grasp and stretched. "I dreamt I was in my neighbor's garden and..." I shook my head as the dream faded in my mind. "Butterflies... "

"I was kissing you, trying to wake you up, and then you started with the windmills." He laughed and imitated my arms flapping around. When I was swatting at butterflies, I must have been swatting at him. I yawned and leaned into him, relaxing against his strong frame. He closed his arms around me, settling back against the couch. I welcomed the kisses, since I was awake, across my forehead and down my nose, finally landing on my lips.

"Time's it?"

"Um, it's about 3."

"I could have gone to bed," I mumbled into his neck.

"I forgot I was going to call you. I figured you went to bed. I saw the light on when we pulled up and felt bad." 

"You stink. Need a shower." I sniffed and wrinkled my nose against the stench from the car-pot and cigar smoke and alcohol and cologne and sweat combined into one ball of bad smell. I wasn't sleeping next to that.  

"You should come up. Help me out."

"No." I grinned against his warm skin and chuckled. "Too tired to help you shower. You go, though and I'll meet you in bed and try to wake up a little."

"Alright." His arm lifted from around me and he got up, heading toward the stairs.

"Did you guys have fun?"

He stopped at the bottom step, leaning against the banister. "You know," he said, glancing off to the side. "Sort of. It was sort of fun."

"Only sort of fun?"

"I think... I think I'm getting older. You know? Maturing or something. Used to be a time when I couldn't wait to hit the streets with Dallas. It was cool. I really would have rather been here with you. And that kind of freaks me out, a little." He trudged upward, his heavy shoes clumping up each step.

"Maybe you're growing up. I'll be up there when you come out of the shower."

When I heard the high pitched whine of hot water coursing through the nearly century old pipes in my bathroom, I got up from the couch, turned off the TV and slowly climbed the stairs, turning off lights on my way.  I sniffed, following the trail of musky, earthy scent to the bedroom, where the hint of Varvatos deepened. It wasn't overpowering, but I could definitely tell he was there. When he left, his scent would linger in the closet and the drawers and the bathroom. The carpet would still bear an imprint of him. My pillows would still smell like his shampoo, and when I missed him most I would curl up with the ones he slept on, hug them close to me and bury my nose in them and wish it was him I was curling up next to.

‘Soon, I won't have to wish. I hope I won't have to wish.'

I stepped over a pair of dress shoes kicked haphazardly next to the bed, and sat on the edge of the mattress, yawning and trying to wake up, just a little. I wanted to spend some time with him, all the time he would give me before he went home. Pieces of a song, softly and beautifully sung, wafted through the room from under the bathroom door. I smiled to myself, slipped out of my clothes and opened the door. Billows of steam hit my face as I stepped in and closed the door behind me.

JC's head poked out from behind the shower curtain, wet hair plastered to his head. "Hey. Change your mind?"

I twisted my hair up and out of the way and offered a shy smile. "Your voice is a siren song. Too irresistible. Got room for me in there?"

"I'll make some."

He stepped back and opened the curtain, allowing me to step inside under the spray of water, and then slid the curtain closed behind me. I moved close to him, wrapped both arms around his waist, and leaned my head on his chest, listening to the rhythmic thump-thump thump-thump- thump-thump of his heart beat and the shallow sounds of breathing in and out. His arms circled me tightly and we stood there for a few minutes until his hand moved under my chin and he angled my head up with the tip of his finger.

His lips were warm and wet as they gently landed on mine, softly at first and then with power and urgency, his tongue prying my lips open and taking full possession of my mouth. I was more than awake by then, and well aware of hands traveling south, one arm wrapped around my waist, one hand working quickly, thick and nimble fingers teasing, my voice involuntarily crying out and rising higher. The faster his fingers moved, the faster I moved in rhythm with them, until I felt the sweet release approaching and then hit me like a brick wall. I came in a loud burst of moans and flurry of spasms squeezing and releasing and then squeezing again. I clung to him, desperately holding on for dear life--otherwise I was going to pass out.

"Shit. I can't...."  I panted and fought my weak legs to get my footing in the slippery tub.

"Relax," he said, gathering me to him, muttering in my ear. "Relax, I gotcha. I won't let you fall."

I waited until I could catch a breath and stand on my own to let go of him, finally. I reached for him, but he stopped me, and then leaned around me to turn off the shower. "Let's get out of here. It's too cramped and we're losing hot water."

It was nearly four am by the time we crawled into bed and snapped off the lamps on either side of the bed. We gravitated toward each other like magnets-lips found lips, arms and legs intertwined, chest heaved on top of chest.

"You know you're meeting my parents tomorrow," I said, teasing him as he hovered over me.

"I'll have to take my chances," he said, laughing, and then exhaling a long, slow sigh as the weight of his body lowered onto mine.

###