Walk a Straight Line (13 page)

“Lord, I lift your name on high . . .” Francine sang and lifted her hands in the air. “I just love to sing your praises . . .” she hummed the rest. She was in such a good mood. Thanksgiving was fast approaching, and Francine had already prepared her huge shopping list and made arrangements with the butcher to get first pickings with the turkey. Yes, sirreee! Terence was going to lick his fingers this year. She'd found a new recipe on the Internet that she was about to try out. She dutifully washed her hands. “I'm so glad you're in my life . . . hmmm . . . hmmm . . .”

Francine wiped her hands on her apron and bent over to look under her sink. Where did she put her big sterling silver bowl? She rummaged around, not the least bit bothered by the clamming and banging, until she found what she wanted. “Aha! I found you!”

She always looked forward to Thanksgiving and enjoyed the early-morning preparations and time that such a huge meal required. For over two decades, Francine would be up before the crack of dawn to begin her feast. She painstakingly prepared every single dish—candied yams, baked mac and cheese, collard greens, rice and beans, potato salad, pot roast, and, of course, the turkey.

It was a lot of hard work, but Francine was methodical and always got everything done. Her strategy had always been to do the seasoning, mixing, and cutting the day before Thanksgiving.
Now where did I put my recipe for the candied yams?

After looking here and there, she found it by the computer under the mouse. Francine was mulling over the ingredients when the telephone rang.

“Hello?” she answered the telephone distractedly.

“Mom?”

Francine smiled at her son's voice and said, “Hey, what's up? I'm just going over my usual Thanksgiving list for the big day. I'm actually about to try out a new recipe for my candied yams.”

“Oh, sounds interesting . . .” She heard a light pause before Terence continued. “Well, ah, that's kind of what I'm calling you about.”

“Yes?” Francine queried, quizzically.

“Well, the thing is . . .” Terence paused again. “The thing is that Colleen and I were thinking of doing things a little bit differently this year. You know, we figured that since you've always been slaving over the Thanksgiving meal, that we would take the burden off your hands this time.”

Francine could not believe her ears. “What? Did I just hear you right? You figured? Figured what?” She had escalated to a yell, and by now, Francine was seeing red.

“Come on, Mom,” Terence urged, “don't be like that. Colleen thought that you might need a break, and I agreed with her.”

“Colleen thought!” Francine snapped. “Colleen thought! What right does that . . . that woman have to suggest anything?”

“She has every right,” Terence said, sounding annoyed now. “She's my wife.”

“Well, I tell you what,” Francine shouted, “you and your wife can spend this Thanksgiving without me!”

“Mom,” Terence urged, trying to smooth her ruffled feathers, “you know you don't mean that.”

“Yes!” Francine hollered, “Yes, I do!”

“Well, okay then,” Terence said, calmly, “if that's the way you want it, we will.” And with that, Terence hung up the phone. Francine looked at the receiver in shock. Her son had just hung up the phone on her. She couldn't believe it. He'd never done anything like that before. Francine slowly put the receiver back on the hook.

Belatedly, she realized that she still held the recipe in her hands. In a fit of rage, Francine tore the paper into shreds and tossed the contents into her garbage can. “Where does she get off? Colleen thought . . . Imagine the gall . . . the nerve of that little . . .”

She would fix that little tart soon enough. If her plans went through, the
wife
was about to have a rude awakening. She would get that tramp for stealing her son away from her and turning him against her. She would fix things between them before her son's ordination service. That was for sure.

 

 

Michael swiped his card to enter his penthouse. It felt like ages since he had been home, instead of mere weeks. Thanksgiving was a few days away, and he wanted to make sure Karen had sufficient funds to tide her through the holidays. For the umpteenth time, he questioned his wisdom in letting her stay at his place. Keith pleaded with him to kick Karen to the curb or put her up in a hotel. He cautioned Michael several times that he was taking a big risk and predicted that this was all going to end badly. To Keith, Michael keeping her there didn't make any sense. But Michael didn't heed the warning.

He stepped inside and looked around. It was surprisingly clean. Karen must have finally learned how to clean up after herself, he thought. He doubted that, though. She had probably called housekeeping. Michael went into his bedroom and paused. “Oh no, she didn't!” Karen was slowly taking over his room, even though she had her own.

Michael sighed and walked over to his bed. It was unmade and various types of negligees hung over the chair. Methodically, he removed Karen's belongings out of his bedroom and back into hers. He had five bedrooms. Why she insisted in taking up his space was beyond him. He then made his bed and walked into his closet to retrieve more clothes to take back with him to Keith's house.

He'd left his laundry with the carryout service.

Michael glanced at his watch. He figured he had a good hour or two before Karen came home. He was not trying to run into her at all. He had been doing a good job so far of eluding her. But he just wanted her gone. He wanted to bring Gina into his home and had thwarted her hints long enough.

Michael walked into the kitchen and placed several hundred-dollar bills on the kitchen counter.
She could get a real good rental with that money.
Obstinate, Michael shooed away the thought.
Something is different.
He scrunched his nose and investigated. A minute or two later, he figured it out.

“Cows,” he said aloud.

He looked around. Karen had added feminine touches everywhere. She had replaced his imported Italian floor mat with a cow-shaped mat. His top-of-the-line potholders, salt-and-pepper dispensers, were replaced with cow motifs. There was even a cow-shaped cookie jar and a cow-shaped refrigerator magnet.

Something else caught his eye.
What is that?
Michael hunched his body and crept over to the stove. He shook his head as recognition dawned. A cow-shaped kettle.

Michael decided to leave everything the way it was.
Maybe I should just give Karen this place. Naw.
It was prime real estate with an amazing view. New York City was all about location—and this was the crème de la crème.

He opened the blinds to see the city. Gina would love it up here. If she were here, he would make love to her while the city bustled beneath them
. I have to get Karen out of here! I want her gone!

The problem was that he needed to keep things amicable between himself and Karen. Michael feared that Karen would do something crazy like commit suicide or tell Gina. He poured himself a drink and went to sit on his couch. Maybe he just needed to confront Karen and let her know that she had to leave. Maybe that was the best thing to do. Keith had warned him again that very morning to get rid of her before Gina found out. Michael closed his eyes, trying to figure out exactly how to do what he had to do.

 

 

A huge clap of thunder rolled across the sky. Michael jumped up off the couch in surprise, and then groaned when he saw Karen. This was just not what he wanted. What was she wearing? Karen was dressed in the sheerest, skimpiest nightgown he had ever seen. He was in serious trouble, he thought, as she purposefully advanced toward him.

She walked up to him and greeted him. “Hi, Mikey. You gave me a fright. It's been awhile since I've seen you.”

“Hi, Karen, I must have overslept,” Michael explained, stepping away from her.

Karen stepped forward again, not bothering to hide her desire.

Michael tried to get the image of how Karen was dressed out of his mind. He closed his eyes . . . and still saw her. He took two more steps backward. He could kick himself for falling asleep here. Now Karen was onto him like a leech about to suck his blood dry.

He hated his male reaction and felt like a mouse caught in a trap once Karen noted it. Michael quickly circled around her, but Karen grabbed onto his tie.

“Let me go, Karen,” Michael dictated.

“Is that what you really want me to do?” she asked him seductively.

The old dog began to wag its tail. But Michael was not about to feed into that. He shrugged his body away from her. “Yes,” he stated, firmly. “I want you to let me go.”

Surprisingly, Karen released him. He sighed with relief.

“She must be something,” Karen said, referring to Gina.

“She is,” Michael agreed. “And that's why, even though you are . . . fine, I can't go there with you.”

“Okay,” Karen said. “I'll leave you be. But please don't rush off, okay? It's going to get real bad out there.”

Another boom of thunder sounded through the room, validating her point. Michael looked outside the window and noted the darkened sky and heavy downpour. Still, he was skeptical. He knew from past experience not to be fooled by Karen's seemingly agreeable nature. She could be waiting to pounce on him.

“I'm not going to touch you, Mikey,” Karen said in a convincing tone. “I really just do not want you getting hurt or something, because you were trying to escape me. Besides, I want to take the time to thank you for the job you got me and for the money you have been leaving for me. I'll be right back.”

Michael relaxed, trusting her. Karen sounded sincere. He was going to give her the benefit of the doubt. As if to prove her words, she went into her room to change her outfit. This time she was fully covered from head to toe. He couldn't help the laugh from escaping his lips, but he felt relieved.

He saw her head into the kitchen to continue working on a meal. He sniffed. Something smelled good. She must have been back for a while.

“What're you cooking?” Michael asked. “By the way, the place is immaculate. Did you hire someone?”

“Chicken Alfredo,” Karen replied as she placed the pot on the stove for the pasta to boil. “And to answer your second question, no, I didn't. I do know how to clean, you know. But, thanks, it feels good to come home to a clean place. Do you want some food? Don't worry, it's not poisoned.”

That thought hadn't occurred to him, but the fact that she needed to point that out... “Sounds good,” he voiced. He was hungry. He supposed there would be no harm done in staying overnight. This was his place, after all.

Karen came over and sat on the couch next to him. “Mikey, I met someone.”

Michael's head drew back in surprise. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Karen admitted shyly.

“So, why were you trying to make a move on me then?” he asked, more than a little peeved at her comment.

“Because,” Karen replied, “I don't know. I've always had this thing for you, you know. And this thing with Arthur—that's his name—well, it's kind of new, and . . . I just met him about two weeks ago, and we've been talking.”

“Has he been here?” Michael asked, dreading the answer. He didn't relish the thought of Karen entertaining some strange man in his place, and possibly, in his bed.

“No,” Karen replied, with a blush. “It's nothing like that.”

Something in her tone of voice told Michael that Karen really liked this guy. “You sound like you like him,” he offered.

“I, ah, I think I do,” Karen said. “But, I'm just not sure, Mikey. He's different.” Karen paused, and then confessed. “I feel weird talking to you about this . . . considering.”

“Don't,” Michael assured her. “We might not be together anymore, but we can still talk as friends. Besides, I prefer this to trying to pry you off me.”

Karen laughed. “Am I really that bad?”

“Yes,” Michael answered her, laughing. This moment felt surreal. He had never had a conversation like this with any of his ex-girlfriends.

“I don't mean to be,” Karen assured him.

“Tell me more about Arthur,” he asked. He'd noticed some changes in Karen and was curious to find out if this Arthur guy had something to do with it.

“Well,” Karen began, with a relaxed demeanor, “he's nothing like you. He's short and chubby and baldheaded.”

Michael laughed and inquired, “Where did you meet him?”

“At work. It was during my lunch hour, and I was walking to the diner when I noticed this guy following me. At first, I thought he was a creep, and I attacked him with my purse.”

“Wait a minute. No, you didn't.” Michael interrupted. Then, he counteracted his own words. “On second thought, I believe it.” He slapped his thigh and howled with laughter.

After a moment, Karen joined in. “I guess I deserve that. Well, you know I'm crazy! So, I was getting ready to kick some, you know what, when he started yelling that he wasn't trying to do anything to me. He just wanted to take me out to lunch. So I asked him, what're you following me like that for? And, that's when he said that he just wanted to see where I planned to eat before coming over.”

Karen stopped to take a breath. Michael used that moment to process her comments. When Karen was excited, she spoke so fast that it was hard to hear everything that she was saying.

“So, after that, he apologized, and you two started talking,” he deduced.