She took a kick boxing stance, readying herself for an attack. “Don’t come near me. I thought you were different. I really hoped you were, but you are just like all the other morons out there, who think with their privates. Don’t touch me, or I swear to you, I’ll break your other leg. Goodnight, you can sleep by yourself!” She whirled around, storming toward the second bedroom, slamming the door.
Deflated and ashamed, he limped over to her door, knocking softly. “Kacy? Kacy, I’m sorry, it was an awful thing to say. I had no idea you’d get so upset. I am just a crass, common man, who’s not used to talking to a lady. Kacy?” He tapped again, but only silence reverberated from the room.
Sighing deeply, he made his way slowly to his room, where he struggled into the Jacuzzi. The jets felt wonderful on his sore, aching muscles, the bubbles playing along his body like a lover’s hands. He leaned back, closing his eyes, and thinking of Kacy.
Why had she reacted so badly to his statement? He had meant for it to be a compliment, not an insult, and he hadn’t thought it through. It was the kind of thing he’d said to Frieda. She was coarse and common herself, and found statements like that sexy. Besides, with her it had been true. He had seen Frieda and all he had wanted was to get into her pants. It was a goal he accomplished with agility and ease, because she had the same thoughts about him.
Drying off, he put on some silk boxers Frieda had given him as a gag gift, for Christmas last year. They were covered with flames and said Hot to Trot on the waist band. He dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt. Taking his cane, he moved slowly to the office carrying the set plans, then decided he wanted a cup of coffee. Limping back to the kitchen, he made a pot and decided to offer some to Kacy. Her light was still on. Tapping on the door, he spoke calmly, although he was anything but serene.
“Kacy? I made some fresh coffee if you want some. I’m gonna be up late working on the set. Night.” He didn’t expect a response, but he had been sure this time he heard her and it sounded like she was crying.
“I am such an asshole,” he muttered ruefully. “I’ve just trashed the best relationship I ever had.”
Deacon shut the door to the office with a soft click and sat down to work on the rendering. He found paints and expensive colored pencils, pastels and other art supplies in a cabinet, and set to work on a watercolor. He worked in close detail, putting the hands of the grandfather clock on with gold paint.
He thought he heard her door open and close, even thought he sensed her outside the office, but she said nothing and he kept silent. He didn’t know what to say to her. Maybe she didn’t know what to say, either.
Around two, he put the supplies away and then had a silly idea. He took half a sheet of watercolor paper, folding it in half. On the front, he drew a picture of a donkey’s behind, the head turned to the side, showing blue eyes with long lashes. Inside, he hand lettered a short note and slipped it under her door. The light was out, but he was pretty sure he’d seen it click off when he had opened the door to the office.
Leaning against the wall, he sighed again and stumbled back to his room with fatigue and pain finally becoming too much even for his stamina. He’d left his cane in the office and just didn’t have the energy to make his slow, weary way back there. He fell into bed, stuffed a couple pillows under his sore leg and turned on the TV.
It was all info-mercials and porn movies at this time of night. The former were annoying in the extreme and the latter made him think of what an jerk he’d been, so he turned off the lamp and tried to sleep.
Drifting off, after tossing and turning about half an hour or so, he heard the door to his room open. At first he was startled and then he caught a whiff of her cologne. Feigning sleep, he lay still, slowing his breathing, making it even as if he were in a deep sleep. She tiptoed across the room and stopped by the bed. He didn’t dare to open an eye, but he felt her movements with every fiber of his being. She didn’t get in with him, but set something on the bedside table and quietly went out again, the door clicked with finality.
Oh God, I’ve lost her.
When he heard her door shut, he turned on the lamp. On the table was his card. She had kissed it. Bright pink lips adorned the donkey’s behind. Inside, where he had written, “I’m sorry, Kacy. I’ve been a real ass.” She had penciled in the corner, “Me, too.”
Deacon had to force himself to swallow, not knowing if he should go back to her room or not. He didn’t want to risk upsetting her, but he wanted her back so much he could taste it. It wasn’t just the sex, although that was fantastic. It was her, only her. She was what filled that void he’d had in his life. Having her wrenched out again, by anger, was more than he thought he could bear.
Fighting a silent battle within himself, he deliberated what to do. On the one hand, he had made progress, she apparently wasn’t angry with him anymore. But she hadn’t woken him, so maybe she didn’t want him back after all. Or maybe she felt so guilty, and she was afraid he was angry with her, so she left him alone. She was worried about his leg….
“By damn!” He told himself loudly, “I’m going to go crazy lying here not knowing!”
He rose so quickly, he nearly fell over. Groping for the wall, he stumbled from one piece of furniture to another until he reached the doorknob. He turned it rapidly, afraid he would lose the impetus which had brought him so far. His face set in determination, he jerked the door open, face to face with a shocked Kacy. She recovered herself first, and flung her arms around him, nearly knocking him to the floor.
©2021 Dellani Oakes