Chapter 10

Jessica's turn:

As the Chinese curse says – 'Interesting times'. What a week. Start off by being the victim of an attempted rape, end up sitting in the car beside this GUY with his wedding band on my finger, headed up the road for a quick honeymoon.

Honeymoon? Yep. Jessica Spinetti is now Mrs. Jessica Harris, wife of Barry Harris, and all this happened while I was sober.

From a life of quickies and parties and one-night stands and drunk and drugged to stone cold sober, clear-eyed, and LOVED and ... I glance at the ring, then at the guy sitting next to me, driving us off for a Saturday night together ... My husband.

I know we'll only get to Galveston and I know it's just the ONE night because both of us need to be at work on Monday, being all responsible like that.

His right hand is free. He's playing with my hair, caressing me like I'm a precious artifact.

"Thoughts?"

"Huh?"

"You're quiet. Thinking?"

I smiled. "Yes, a million thoughts. Half of 'em are from the way you touch me like this."

"Hard to resist that. You said it didn't bother you."

"Doesn't. I love it. Nobody ... Not since Mom, when I was a kid ... Nobody touched me like that."

"You're adorable. We're driving. This is nice right here..."

His fingers traced the tips of my hair just above my collar. I shuddered, leaned my head back against the seat's headrest, trapping his hand. "Don't you EVER stop treating me like this, you..."

"Never. I will wake up in the middle of the night, feel you next to me, and congratulate myself on my good fortune."

Okay, we've done Galveston before. It's sort of THE place where I decided that Barry was worth a whole lot more consideration than I'd accord to some random guy I was hooking up with. No, that's wrong. I knew it before Galveston. Galveston sealed it for me.

I think it's more magical now that we're married. We did the touristy things with restaurants and museums and shops and I noted happily that he's perfectly okay with this sort of activity. I know we'll do more of it, change the destinations, go someplace, be happy together.

Late breakfast Sunday morning. Didn't want to get out of bed. Kept him there with me. Lovely. Idyllic. Made me think of the word 'idyllic'. It's like that. Barry. All of a sudden all the good things to which I'd been exposed in my life, with Barry I have a place where they fit perfectly. And the word 'idyllic' doesn't produce a blank stare.

We hung around Galveston until lunch.

"We could eat at that neat place we talked about yesterday," he said.

"I'd love it." Yeah, it was kind of touristy and kind of hipster, but it was also kind of 'foodie' too. Appetizers and sandwiches and a shared dessert.

Then the drive home. More miles. "Barry, I never asked you about the guns in our house."

"They were there when you first moved in. I didn't know you noticed."

"I did. Just didn't give 'em much thought. I know you're used to 'em, army and all that."

"Do they make you nervous?"

"No, but they do pose an issue. I don't know anything about them, like how to use one."

"When we get back, I'll rectify that."

"Not exactly romantic, I know, but this whole Justin thing, I just might have enemies..."

"Enemies," he repeated.

"Yeah, and not the 'don't invite 'er to this party, I don't like 'er' enemies. The 'I wanna pay 'er back' enemies."

"You think somebody might cause trouble? Real trouble?"

"Barry, some of that bunch – most of 'em, really – are not known for clarity of thought."

"I can't help but think that Justin isn't going to be doing anything strenuous for a while."

"He's got some loser buddies. They sort of treat him like a baron or something." I sighed. "I dunno what they might do."

"Then we go to the range tomorrow after work. But that's just around the house..."

"Can't I get, like, a license to carry?"

"Concealed carry permit. Yeah, you don't have a criminal record, you're over twenty-one. We get that started ... Takes a while."

"What about YOU?"

"Got one. Just don't carry much ... It's a problem at work, a lot of places you go, they don't like it. I'll start carrying when we're out together. We'll get you trained and permitted. And we just have to pay more attention to where we are and who's around us."

"I don't mean to be a drag, baby," I said.

Those fingers played with my neck along the collar of my blouse. "Jess, I'd stand between you and a horde of screaming barbarians armed with a straw broom."

"But before me, you didn't have any of this crap. Now you have an irate daughter..."

"She's always irate about something."

"A pissed-off ex..."

"Who might not have been an 'ex' if she knew how to smile..."

"And all the baggage I bring with me..."

"Back to that horde of barbarians and me and my broom. I love you, angel..."

"This crap is because I wasn't exactly an angel, Barry."

"You've told me. I accept that. It's history. That's all. History."

"You sure, Barry?" I said it softly. He looked at my eyes. He does that, like he's reading my heart.

"Jessica Spinetti, I love YOU. The 'you' I found a few weeks ago, the smart, funny, cute, happy thing that shares life with me. You told me that's the real one. I'm not going to back out when things get sticky. You didn't plan this crap. Life dealt it to us. WE deal with it together."

I leaned my head against his arm and told him, "Okay, my love. Let's go home. OUR home."

"Never doubt me, baby," he said. "I chose you."

"You got me, then." I zipped through the playlist and put some good stuff on the stereo.

"Mendelssohn," he smiled.

"Symphony Number Four," I tossed back.

"Italian. You're something above value, Jessica dear."

He makes me feel like that. I closed my eyes, let the music carry me ... found myself wanting him all the more.

We got home without hassle. Oh, there's a hassle, to be sure. The real hassle is that I want a month of days like Saturday and today, me and him, no schedule past the schedule we decide, no deadlines, just hold hands and traipse off into whatever catches our fancies.

"Two or three weeks," he says when I broach the idea. "We need a summer week and a winter week and an autumn or spring week."

"Winter week?" I said.

"Yeah. Nasty, rainy, blustery days where it makes sense to stay inside and make soup and lounge around and read and watch old movies and make love whenever the mood strikes."

"Okay, mister," I say. "What do you have in mind for summer?"

"Someplace where we can swim, maybe skinny-dip, go sit in the shade and have a few drinks and listen to a horrible band and laugh..."

"And then I will drag your drunk ass back to the hotel and wear you out," I giggled. "Matter of fact, this whole line of conversation's making me extremely horny. Get to the house. No clothes. You. Me. Screaming may be involved."

That's part of the new Jessica, you know. WANTS it. Not 'puts up with it' or 'goes along for the ride' or 'whatever'. WANTS this guy behind the steering wheel. I honestly don't know how it works for others. I took a couple of psychology classes on my way to my degree and I suppose that there are people who can approach sex as happy and gratuitous and not be encumbered by old social mores. I guess that somewhere along the line I missed that boat.

Oh, sure, I had plenty of sex, but frankly it just wasn't that good. Now? Good. No, 'good' misses what I'm trying to say. Something about the way it works between me and this guy – he's caring and considerate and 'OMG where did he learn THAT about me?' And it's not something that's the all too frequent part of the progression from the beginning to the end of the party or the natural outgrowth of 'girl, you NEED to try these jello shots' or whatever.

Nope. Jessica's riding along, planning things and yes, there's definitely sex involved and she finds her panties getting moist. Really moist.

Other thing, though. When it's over, I don't want him out of the way. I want to BE there with him. We match. Fit. Get along together. New set of feelings. That's why there's a ring on my finger now.

I rushed Barry into the house when we got home. The bags didn't make it past the entranceway. Our clothes didn't make it into the bedroom. We wore each other out. Lying there catching our breath afterward, Barry turned to me. "Well, that was intense."

"Talking about vacations makes me horny," I said.

"You're kidding."

I rolled him over and trapped him for kissing. "Almost. We were riding along after we talked about what to do with our weeks and I was listening to the music and thinking about you and me, how I changed – my life changed – since I met you. The more I thought, the more I realized how you got ALL of me going."

"You are so easy to adore, Jess," he said.

"I'm still too short," I said. Yes, I'm playing a game we've played before.

"And you'll never, ever grow taller," he countered. "I am forever mated with a real life pixie, my very own dark-haired Tinker Bell."

"Mmmmm. I can live with that. And I like the way my magic works for us."

"You bring me life, little one."

I can love this. We cuddle for a bit, then finally get up, do a quick shower because THAT episode got us sticky in a lot of places. Finally we retrieve the bags from our brief honeymoon, then have a little discussion about dinner. I know a place that's kind of a hipster joint that does a really good assortment of salads. We settle on that.

I wasn't expecting trouble. Got it anyway. Like I said, I know a lot of people in several different circles. Justin, well, some of the same circles. A friend of his works at that restaurant.

I didn't spot him until we got seated. I mean, it's not like I know where everybody works. Further, a lot of people my age are not noted for sticking with the same job for long. I catch him heading into the kitchen.

"He knows Justin," I told Barry. "I've seen them hanging out together." And no, this guy wasn't on the all too long list of people I've fucked.

Barry's face hardened. "Do we need to go somewhere else?"

"Baby," I said, "just about anywhere in town we're gonna have this issue."

"Let's see what happens, then. Maybe he won't..."

That idea faded quickly as Roddy worked his way through the tables toward us.

I decided to try a pleasant approach. "Hey, Roddy. How've you been?"

I was hoping for a smile. Didn't get one. "I heard about you 'n' Justin," he said. "Bogus shit, Jess."

I touched the patch on my cheek. "This ain't bogus. It's where he slapped me."

"He's in jail..." His voice rose. By this time a manager saw what wasn't a) a business-related conversation and b) sounded just a bit strident. She headed towards us.

"Uh, Roddy, we just want to have a meal," Barry said. "That has nothing to do with this."

"Shit, bubba," Roddy spat. "You stay outta this. She got my buddy in JAIL!"

"Roddy," the manager said, "GO to my office and wait for me."

Roddy bowed up. I saw Barry tense.

"Roddy. Go!" the manager commanded.

"You'll get yours, bitch," he said over his shoulder. He left.

"He's outta here, folks, the manager said. "I'm soooo sorry..."

"We are, too," Barry said. "Jess said this was a good place to eat. We thought we'd try it. Didn't mean for there to be this..."

"I'm sorry. He's gone. Fired. It's hard to get good help sometimes," she apologized, clearly confused by the incident. "He knew you?"

"We ran in some of the same circles," I said. "I had trouble with a mutual acquaintance. Roddy apparently takes the other side of the dispute."

"Look, all I can do is apologize..."

"Not your fault," I said. "Really."