Chapter Six

Jake helped himself to a single glass of tap water from Lacy’s kitchen faucet, washed the glass after he’d taken a full drink, dried it with the towel draped at the edge of the sink, and replaced it on the lowest shelf of her side cabinet exactly where he’d found it. After double-checking that the apartment door was still secure, he made himself comfortable on the floor where he could keep an eye on everything—the window, the door, Jamaal. With his back to Lacy’s bedroom wall and sitting cross-legged, he prepared for a long watch.

He knew it was Lacy’s bedroom behind him because the only other door in the place opened to her bathroom. Unless she slept on the couch every night, that made the room behind him a bedroom, and he wouldn’t betray her trust in him by opening the door and looking around. No way. A woman’s bedroom was a damned scary place.

Jamaal had grown more and more restless. It wouldn’t be much longer before he jumped up and commenced to swearing and screaming, but until then, Jake planned to take it slow and easy. Maybe Jamal would overreact. Maybe he wouldn’t.

The place seemed okay, especially since it had a good-sized window. Lacy kept the glass cleaned and polished. A man could actually see outside. Craning his neck, he looked upward to the brick masterpiece. It did have some fancy artwork along the wall, done with recessed bricks, cutouts and carvings. What’d they call guys who laid bricks like that—brick masons? Brick artists? It didn’t matter. Whoever’d created that wall had done a good job. It made for a nice view. A safe view.

The solid reddish, dirty canvas soothed some of his panic away. The wall gave him one less point of entry to have to watch. No way could anyone get up high enough to get in through there.

Easing out of his denim jacket, he folded it once and laid it across his thighs. He was warm enough for a change. He used to carry a heavy pistol on his hip and enough ammo to always be prepared, but now all he had was a plastic case of peppermint breath mints in his pocket and a pocketknife. His shooting days were behind him.

The bathroom door was wide open and the damned commode sparkled like a porcelain throne. His nose detecting a pleasant flowery fragrance mingled with a twitch of pine cleaner. She must like to clean things. Clean was a good thing, but here he was sitting in her place with a dried up, bloody nose and filthy hands. He lifted his palms off her carpet, half-afraid he’d already left a dirty mark. Oh, good. He hadn’t.

The bathroom beckoned. If he was careful, he could grab a warm shower and be half-presentable by the time she got off work and came back. She did smell clean. The thought translated to Jake’s tapping nervous fingers. Bathrooms were small places with only one exit. Showers were smaller, and a woman’s shower was a minefield full of fancy things he might break if he turned around too fast or if he had to run. Still....

If he was quick about it...

Jamaal arched his back, let out a belch and went back to snoring. It might be hours before he woke up.

Jake’s eyeballs strayed back to the immaculate tiled bathroom floor. His fingers tapped another hundred rounds of should I, or shouldn’t I? At last, he lifted his butt off the floor and ventured forth. He owed it to Lacy to man up, clean up, and remove some of the grit from his grubby body before she returned, especially since she was probably bringing food even though he said he didn’t need any.

He didn’t guess she’d listen to him, but she was a lady and she most certainly deserved a respectable guest. She wouldn’t mind if he cleaned up. He’d be quick. If he could find one of them little fingernail scissors, he might even hack a few inches off his beard.

With one last analytical glance at the kitchen/living room, he licked his chapped lips and jumped to. The bathroom door didn’t even squeak when he closed it behind him, but the second he turned around, Jake caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Holy shit. He looked worse than he’d thought.

One eye was black and puffy. That would be where Rocky Rabbit had landed a punch, but the dried blood in his moustache and beard looked just plain disgusting. Lacy invited me in looking like this? He shook his head. That woman. She shouldn’t have, but he was glad she had. He was, after all, an honorable man. Maybe a little forgetful sometimes, and maybe a little bit grubby most of the time, but he’d never hurt her, not in a million years.

Very carefully Jake slipped out of his clothes, folded them neatly and set them on the top of her white wicker hamper. They were scroungy, but they were all he had. Turning the shower faucet to warm, he took one last look around the feminine bathroom.

She liked red. There was no clutter of make-up and fancy bottles on the vanity, only a red glass bottle in the shape of a Christmas tree with a gold star on top that was a bottle cap in disguise. Probably hand lotion or soap. A single red plush rug lay at the foot of the cabinet. Two folded bath towels hung off the rack behind the door. Both red. It contrasted nicely with the white walls and counter top. But wow. Lacy really liked red.

He lifted one of the towels off the rack and came face to face with a red nightie. A nightgown. A pretty, silky, red nightgown with black lace trim at the hem and neckline, and skinny little black straps. Spaghetti straps. Very carefully Jake avoided touching her gown. Lacy was clean and pure. He wouldn’t defile her, not even her pajamas by laying one grubby finger on them.

What a sight though. She must look beautiful every night if that was what she wore to bed. His mind wandered to her body beneath the covers. Lacy. Red gown. Maybe red panties. On. Or off. Warm and soft. And—

ARGH! He scrubbed a quick hand over his scruffy face to banish the image. Nope, nope, nope. Not going there. I’m here to lose a pound of dirt. That’s all.

Resolutely, he took two steps to the tub, stepped inside and pulled the shower curtain closed. And everything went from bad to worse. There were intimates hanging on a metal rack inside the tiled enclosure just below the showerhead. Only now they were soaking wet and his heart was a throbbing beast in his chest. It had been so damned long since he’d had anything to do with a pretty woman’s pretty underwear, much less an underwire padded bra, a thong, and both of them in hot-damned red.

They’re just clothes, his brain told him loud and clear.

Yeah, but they’re underwear and they’re hers and they go over her naked body and…

Politely, he lifted the rack off the showerhead and set it outside the tub enclosure. A man could only take so much, and by hell, he needed a bare minimum of five minutes of uninterrupted scrub time. He’d wring those items out later and reinstall the rack, and Lacy would never know.

The water was hot. The liquid soap smelled good, but his mind was lost in the heady world of desire. As much as he cleaned and lathered, his body perked up, ready for another activity all together because of those red under-thingees. His pulse quickened. He concentrated on diversionary tactics like litter patrol while he shampooed with some kind of flowery smelling shampoo that smelled like her.

Lacy. Lacy. Lacy.

He focused on Jamaal.

His heart rate chanted, Lacy. Lacy. Lacy.

Every touch of his fingers became hers, the slippery feel of soap more than just a shower. I’m a Marine, damn it.

Lacy. Lacy. Lacy!

Jake stopped scrubbing. Clean was one thing, but this was more like foreplay, and foreplay alone was just plain sad. As sexually frustrated as he hadn’t allowed himself to become in a long time, he was now. He leaned one forearm to the tile below the shower spray and buried his face in the crook of his arm. It happened again. He wasn’t in Anacostia. He was in the dirty streets of Paris looking down. Look down. Look down. Look down… The beggars’ chorus filled his head with anguish from another time, anguish that fit the tenuous state of his mind.

But that would make Lacy, Fantine, and me… Jean Valjean? Not hardly.

Swallowing his own peculiar brand of angst, Jake doused the water, slapped the shower curtain open, and lifted the red towel from the counter where he’d left it.

He dried quickly, but stalled getting back into his dirty clothes. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he wiped a clear path through the steamy mirror. It was nice to be clean for a change, but the same heathen stared back at him. Shaggy. Disheveled. Clean or not, he still looked like the devil. Lacy should’ve never let me in. She should’ve never touched me. Jamaal either. What am I going to do with that girl?

Swallowing hard, he inspected his face, scrunching his lips to one side and then the other. He needed a shave and a few stitches, but thoughts of what he could do for that girl—with that girl— danced through his head.

I could fix dinner for her. Oh wait, she’s bringing take-out back.

A couple stitches wouldn’t hurt, either. His eyes were both on their way to black and blue. He’d look like a raccoon by morning.

I could fix the front apartment door, maybe the front door lock. At least she’d be safe.

Rocky Rabbit had landed a lucky punch. The one-inch cut across Jake’s left orbital bone still oozed, but at least his nose had stopped bleeding. It hurt, but he was used to living with a crooked nose. It wasn’t the first. He tapped his swollen lip and his mind went straight to Lacy’s perfect mouth. Her lips.

I could kiss her. Jake froze. Would she entertain the notion of swapping spit with a bum like him? A has been? A wannabe? A man who looked just plain ugly and was rough as a board? He ran his fingers over the coarse growth of two long months on his face. It had been early October since he’d been clean shaven, the last time he’d been over to Maryland visiting his buddy Zack if he remembered right.

Zack had a family now. Three little girls. Two dogs. A wife who thought Zack walked on water. But the guy was solid, always had enough beer in the house to get a man sleepy and comfortable, and always offered a change of clothes to send Jake home in. That little cutie-pie, daughter, LiLi, had made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich the last time he was there. It was kind of gooey. She’d used too much peanut butter and extra raspberry jam.

His tongue slipped over his bottom lip as if still tasting the best sandwich ever. That was why he’d shaved that day. He hadn’t wanted to scare Zack’s baby girls, LiLi, Song, and MiKi. Wouldn’t think of it. Yet here he was with another pretty little girl, in her apartment, and he was as scary looking as all get out.

I’d like to kiss her.

A pretty pink razor rested in the shower soap dish, but he needed a pair of scissors first, and he wasn’t about to rummage through her drawers looking for anything. No, sir. Who knew what he’d find? With a deep breath followed by a laboriously slow exhalation, he let the foolish notion of being clean shaven go. It was better this way. His beard could be his last line of defense to keep his mind where it belonged and off Lacy.

Jake doffed the towel and hung it to dry on the shower curtain rack so she’d know he’d used it, that it was dirty. Stifling the foolish wish for cleaner clothes, he donned his smelly attire once more. With nerves of steel, he lifted her soaking wet bra and panties to the sink, wrung them out, and put them back on the rack where they belonged. Out of sight and out of mind.

When that tidy little chore was done, Jake swallowed his pride and the truth along with it.

What am I dreaming about? I’ll never kiss her.