literal leigh 05 - joyful leigh Read online

“Oh, I’ll thank him. Look at him, Gertie. See how he’s standing over the criminal he knocked out? He’s a million times better than any alpha male book boyfriend.” Part of me was ready to rip his shirt open and go at him like a sex crazed nymph—yes, literally that part of me. The need to lick every inch of his delectable body was almost too much for my will power. I nearly caved!

  Another police officer lifted the villain’s unconscious head by the floppy mouse ears. “Hey, Kovacs, do you know who this guy is?”

  “Um…Isn’t that Jerry? Or is it Tom? I always mix up which is which,” Hunter answered.

  “I know! Me, too!” I added. By that point my hands were helplessly running across Hunter’s chest.

  “No! Not the damn cartoon. The suspect for Christ’s sake. Jesus! You two. They call him ‘The Mouse,’ but his real name is Tom Gatos. Isn’t that ironic? The FBI has been hunting this guy for a while. He’s been eluding traps for months.”

  Chapter Two

  Reflections

  The next day I clipped the newspaper article from the front page of the Tribune. “Hero Rookie Cop Catches Mouse—Saves Fiancée.” A sentence at the end of the story caught my eye. “Gatos, aka The Mouse, dismisses claims that Officer Kovacs was the real hero. He has stated that witches were responsible for his capture.” It was definitely something you’d easily dismiss as the ranting of a demented criminal. When I imagined The Mouse babbling to his interrogators about witches, I had no worries. The existence of witchcraft would remain a secret.

  Personally, my comic bookish brush with death had a profound effect on me. I sat at my desk and wondered what the true spirit of the upcoming holidays was and what it meant to me. I know I can’t be alone in thinking about this topic.

  Remember when you were just a kid and the annual holiday season seemed so magical, so exciting? I closed my eyes and remembered the sights, sounds, smells, and the special ambiance. Everyone seemed to be getting into the joyful holiday spirit, and that made it all seem even more wonderful. A walk in the city during the holiday season was unlike any other time of year. Like a dreary cactus that unexpectedly erupts in showy blossoms, Chicago would suddenly be awash in the glittering, seasonal gush of holiday décor. Perhaps it wouldn’t have seemed impressive to me if it wasn’t such a contrast to the city’s normally faceless crowd that rudely buzzed about between monolithic buildings.

  Even my dad held onto a holiday tradition. We always sat down together as a family right after Thanksgiving and watched the Chicagoland television station staples that have been broadcast every year since the 1950s. The old black and white animated TV shows Hardrock, Coco and Joe, and Suzy Snowflake were special to my parents growing up, and they passed the tradition on to us. I can’t forget the early black and white version of Frosty the Snowman. None of these shows were particularly great, but they were a tradition. They were a holiday rite for the Chicagoland culture. And culture is something I ended up thinking about this year more than ever, but I’ll explain more about that later. Maybe the rest of the country has never seen those old shows, but I’m willing to bet there are millions of kids from Chicago that remember them as the official kickoff to the seasonal epidemic of joyful anticipation.

  Sadly, adulthood comes around and vaccinates you with a little cynicism to offset the childlike, carefree view of the world. Through the jaded eyes of full-blown grownups—those once majestic decorations start to look like nothing more than shabby marketing techniques and worn out clichés designed to make you feel obligated to spend your hard earned cash on a pile of shoddy rubbish. Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, and Christmas all rolled up and churned out into an orgiastic season of excess, American style. Then there are all the family get-togethers. The real winners truly are the therapists. I bet they get more new business out of the holidays than any other time.

  Whether all the commercialism is reality or not, I made a decision to not allow any sort of mature thinking to bring me down. I was ready to celebrate all of the holidays starting with Thanksgiving. It would be called Thankshanukkamas. I vowed upon my magic desk and witch’s broom that the holidays would be filled with childlike joy—for me, my family, and my friends—even if it killed us.

  Chapter Three

  The Best Laid Plans

  “Hey, Hunter? We only have eleven days until Thanksgiving. I was thinking about having Thanksgiving dinner here for both of our families. You know, a traditional feast with a turkey and all the trimmings. After all, we’re finally all moved in and the house is pretty much ready. It’s time we brought everyone together and made a statement. ‘We are engaged to be married! So maybe we should start getting to know each other a little better!’ What do you think?”

  “Em…Um…sure, baby. Sounds good. Real good. My parents…turkeys…nice.” It felt so good to have his warm naked body against my back. I stroked his muscular arm that was wrapped lovingly around my waist. The little red glowing digits that looked like they were suspended over my nightstand told me I had completely lost track of time. “Is it really three in the morning? Wow! Thank God we don’t work in the morning. Wasn’t it amazing how quickly Kelly’s uncle, Carmine, was able to get that whole crew in here?”

  “Yeah…quick...wise guys.”

  “I’ve been fending off my friends on a daily basis. All they want to do is dive into the insanity of wedding planning. I’ve told them to wait until the holidays are over. I don’t want to add a whole new layer of drama and madness to it. I can only handle so much crazy.” I waited for a response. I waited some more and poked him.

  “Are you still awake?” His breathing was slow and steady. He was snoozing hard.

  Now, I ask you: How can a guy, who was so vigorously wide awake only ten minutes ago, suddenly fall into such a deep sleep? When I say vigorously, I’m talking about making the bed bounce across the floor like it was being carried by four methed up clowns hopping on pogo sticks kind of vigor.

  “I suppose I could cut you some slack for falling asleep on me. You were going for the Olympic gold medal or something tonight. Anyway, I was only going to talk about our wedding, Thanksgiving dinner, the color of the kitchen blinds I picked out, and if you wanted to shop for some new bathroom rugs tomorrow.” I poked him again and after no response I relented to the late night and fell asleep.

  I woke up to a micro massage of my ass cheeks courtesy of Luna’s cold, kneading paws. “It’s freezing in here, Luna.” I blew out a few puffs of air and I was pretty sure I saw my breath. The old window in our room is beautiful and I love the way the morning sun glints off of the old beveled glass, but all it’s good for is looking at. The cold air came in around it with a devilish fury that made our little curtains visibly flutter. “So this is what an ice cave feels like. Great! Except, I’m not a fucking polar bear.”

  It was still early, so I let Hunter sleep while Luna led me down into the freshly painted living room. “Don’t worry, Luna. I’ll just turn up the furnace.” Some things really are easier said than done. Moving into an old house while getting it fixed up at the same time made me lose focus on finding out some of the very basic necessities. For example, the location of the thermostat was a complete mystery to me. I had no idea how the place was even heated and there was no way I was going into the basement to find the furnace. I opted for a heavy sweater, a thick blanket, a warm cat, and some hot tea.

  It wasn’t long before I could imagine the old house full of happy guests enjoying a Thanksgiving feast. Luna seemed to have read my mind.

  “Meeoow.”

  “Oh I’m sure I can handle it. How hard can it be? There’s got to be a million recipes for cooking a turkey and all the other stuff like...well, whatever else you serve with a turkey. Sweet potatoes and yams and…wine.” Yes, it would be my first attempt at a big holiday meal, but I was excited. I wanted to prove to myself that I was not only a successful woman with a promising career but also one that could go toe to toe with the best of the traditional domestic goddesses out there. I have to admit that my imagination i
ncluded all of my awestruck guests gushing out streams of praise for my fabulous cooking abilities. I planned to take it in stride. “Oh, you’ve never tasted anything that good? Thank you, but it was nothing, really.”

  “You’ll see, Luna. It’ll be great.”

  To follow up on the conversation I had with Hunter, I decided to call his parents and invite them over.

  “Hi, Millie. I’m calling to see if you guys would like to come over here for Thanksgiving dinner. Would that be okay with you?”

  “Sure. Did you already talk to Hunter about it?”

  “Yep! Just last night. He said it sounded good to him.”

  “And did he mention anything about a turkey?”

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure he did. He said it would be nice.”

  “Really? That’s wonderful. Max and I will bring the turkey that morning then. We can prepare it together.”

  “Awesome! See you on Thanksgiving morning, Millie!”

  After I was off the phone, I had to share my joy with Luna the cynical cat. “Super great news, Luna! I won’t even need to buy a turkey. I really don’t think it takes too long to cook one if she is planning on bringing it over Thanksgiving morning. Oh, Luna. I know this sounds cheesy, but I can just picture myself with my future mother-in-law, bonding together in the kitchen as she shows me her age old recipes.”

  “Meow. Meow.”

  “No, I don’t feel bad for not sharing the experience with my mom. Hell, the only thing I’ve ever seen her make on Thanksgiving was a martini.”

  “Meow.”

  “Keep your negative thoughts to yourself, cat. This will work out great. Who knows? Maybe it’ll become a new Epstein-Kovacs tradition.”

  “Meeeeooow.”

  “No, not a tradition of calling 911 on Thanksgiving. You always expect the worst case scenario. You know that, right? Well, you can just kiss my ass. My Thanksgiving Day feast is going to look like a fucking Norman Rockwell painting.”

  Luna scampered off and I leaned my head back. I could pull this off. I went through my contacts list and made a flurry of quick calls. By the time Hunter was awake, I had confirmed that my parents, my sister, Bill and the kids, Lindsey, Kelly, Luke, Derek, Brad, Esmeralda, and Marie Laveau would all be coming. Gertie and Randy happily agreed to come the day before. Our house desperately needed some personal touches. I have to be honest, I lack any sense of décor. I mean real décor, worthy of an old historic house like the Schlitt house. You know the kind of décor that makes people walk into an old house and say, “Wow! I didn’t know this old place was a museum or an art gallery now.” If someone came in right now, they would see the empty boxes and dusty remnants of a major home improvement strewn about. They would be more likely to say something like, “Oh. So this is where you live.” As if they were visiting you in a rundown flop house.

  “Good morning!” Hunter called from the stairs that came down into the foyer next to the living room. I turned around just as he walked in through the door, wearing only a pair of gym shorts. “Christ, it’s freezing in here!” Hunter pulled his arms up against his bare chest and rubbed them together.

  “I know. I was going to turn on the heat, but I don’t have a clue where the thermostat is. And there is no way in hell that I’m going down into that spooky old basement alone to check on the furnace.” I had to be warm compared to Hunter. The only part of me showing was my face. The rest of me was completely hidden, buried under a pile of blankets. Hunter swiftly came over and joined me in my cocoon. “Um. Aren’t you going to turn on the heat?”

  “Oh no. I’d much rather be under here sucking up whatever heat you have left.” He laid back and pulled me on top of him. I was sure to keep the blankets over both of us. “You know, the number one cold weather survival technique is to share body heat with skin to skin contact.”

  “I don’t think that applies when one of those bodies is already a block of ice.” I poked his hard chest. “See. Frozen solid.”

  “No, no. The idea is to rub the bare skin together, to transfer heat and get the blood circulating. What if we were stuck in a snow cave after an avalanche? Wouldn’t you want to know what to do?” Hunter teased.

  I pulled the blankets over our heads and reluctantly slipped off my sweater. I gave it my best attempt at sensually rubbing my bare breasts against his chest. I was so cold that I acted more like a caterpillar trying to wiggle its way over a twig. “Okay, I’ve received my winter survival training. Can you please turn the furnace on now?”

  “Hmm. I think you could try to persuade me.” Hunter arched his hips and pressed an unmistakable hardness against me.

  “You’re really pushing it, buddy! Since I’m so cold, I’ll play along. Now, let me show you a sample of what I’ll give you in exchange for some goddamn heat in this place.” I fumbled around and managed to pull his shorts down to his thighs. I knew something that would motivate him. I slowly slid down his body until his engorged erection was nestled between my breasts. My movements were slow and deliberately executed to provide the ultimate tease. I allowed just enough of his hardness to touch my neck and the side of my face.

  “Yeah. Oh yeah,” Hunter groaned. That was my cue. I popped right back up to his face. “There’s more where that came from. You just have to turn on the heat. Now, go on.” It was just on time, too, because now I was really turned on myself.

  “Um, Leigh? I may have forgotten to tell you. The furnace is broken. I called around Friday and we’ll be lucky if we can get someone in here to fix it next week with it being Thanksgiving and all.”

  I pulled the blankets away from our faces. A strange sound came out of my mouth. It was sort of an “ah” and a little of an “eh.” I really didn’t know what words I tried to form.

  Hunter was sincerely apologetic when he said, “Sorry, baby. We can go out today and pick up a couple of space heaters.”

  “Wait. Just wait. You knew you couldn’t turn on the furnace, yet you used our need for life-giving heat for some sexual favors. That’s quite manipulative of you.” I had just a few drops of playfulness added into my tone of voice, but not quite enough for him to know if I was actually upset or not.

  “Yeah, I suppose you could say that. Let me put it this way, you are just so irresistibly cute and sexy that I just couldn’t help myself…” Hunter paused to gauge my reaction, but I kept a good poker face. Then he tried a little harder. “It’s because I love you so much that I have lost all control over my passion.”

  “Hmm. Well said, well said.” I put my hand to my chin and tapped my index finger on the side of my face. “Now I have to think about this. Am I upset? Or am I still turned on?” Tap, tap, tap went my finger. “You’re lucky I love you so much. I just can’t control myself.” I grabbed the sides of his head and kissed him before diving back under the blankets. I went about finishing what we started.

  Chapter Four

  Her Again

  Monday seemed to be off to a good start, until lunch. My phone buzzed. “Hi, Hunter! Did you find anyone to come take care of the furnace?”

  “I called around when I had a break. I’m starting to think it’s the house. Once I tell them the address, it seems like their schedules are suddenly overloaded. I don’t get it. I won’t be home until later this evening, and I don’t think I’ll have time to call anyone else. You want to try your luck with getting ahold of someone?”

  “I should be home early enough. I’ll charm them into it if I have to. We really need some heat. Otherwise, our Thanksgiving dinner guests will be greeted by our frozen corpses.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Did you already call my parents?”

  “Yep! Yesterday before you came downstairs. Everything is set.”

  “Did you talk about the turkey?”

  “Yeah, your mom said she’s going to bring the turkey along when they come over.”

  “And you’re good with that?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? I love your parents. I’m glad your mom wants to share her traditi
ons with me.”

  “That’s very cool of you, Leigh. Hey, I have to be going. I’ll see you this evening, I love you.”

  “Love you too, baby. Hey, be sure you’re wearing your uniform when you get home. I could use a little heat, if you know what I mean. I’ve been very, very bad and may have broken the law. Only a bad cop like you will be able to take me down.” I ended the call and imagined Hunter in his uniform. I’m pretty sure I growled out loud.

  “Hey there, Leigh. I couldn’t help but overhear you. Are you having some self-esteem problems? And you said something about being harassed by a police officer?” It was Carrie, the first grade teacher now in her second year at the school. I took a deep cleansing breath. The last time we talked she had given me a grotesque sympathy card created by her class that displayed carnage of biblical proportions. I had hoped a teacher year of dealing with a crew of malicious little goblins would have taken the edge off of her buoyant optimism.

  I need to digress a bit here. I should probably explain what a teacher year is exactly. Most people aren’t aware that there is a secret Teacher Years Algorithm. Yes, you have to figure teacher years just like dog years. The way it works is that you take a year spent in a class room freshly stocked with a diverse assortment of students. When I say students, I’m talking about the kids seemingly handpicked by Satan to carry on his work on earth. Then you multiply those years by the grade level you are teaching. The answer is the equivalent to the psychological wear and tear a normal person would endure if they were locked away in a North Korean insane asylum. So in other words, Carrie hadn’t experienced anything more than the occasional migraine yet.