Tonya Muir - Exposure Season 1

So the sofa it is. Kelsey has good taste and it’s not horribly uncomfortable for a sofa. I’ve slept on a hell of a lot worse, with and without company. The pillow came off of Kels’ bed and I have to admit it’s got me so distracted I can’t sleep.

I’d know the smell of her shampoo anywhere and this ain’t it. Susan must have been the last one to use this pillow. I toss it to the end of the couch. Rolling up one of the two blankets, I place it under my head instead.

As I turn back over, I glance at the bedroom door and notice a light is still creeping out of it. She left it slightly cracked when she went to bed. I look to my watch. One-thirty in the morning. Hell, she went to bed hours ago.

I get up and move to the door, knocking softly. "Little Roo?"

No answer. I push the door open and find her sleeping. She’s curled up tight under the blankets and as I approach the bed I can tell she’s been crying. God, she must be terrified.

While I’m not wild about Susan, some part of me feels guilty that she’s not here to offer Kelsey the comfort I can’t. Well, that she won’t let me give her. God knows I want to.

There is a book laying next to her, "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil." At least her reading tastes are excellent. Nothing better than a book set in the deep south. However, maybe not the best choice for her at the moment.

I take the book and place it on the night stand as I let my fingers brush through her hair just once. It’s as soft as I remember and my touch lingers a moment longer than necessary. "No one will hurt you while I’m around, Kels. I promise."

Snapping off the light, I leave her room and close the door behind me.

<fade out>

I hear the incessant knocking on Harper’s office door and I glance over to see a messenger holding an envelope. I finally get up from my desk and move to my doorway.

"You know, it doesn’t take a mental giant to figure out after five friggen minutes that she’s not in there."

The pimply face messenger with the headsets still doesn’t hear me. Maybe it’s the heavy metal music he’s listening too, full blast, on his cd player that’s rusted his ears shut. I step forward and tap him on the shoulder. He jumps forward and bangs his head on the door.

Dipshit.

I smirk as he rubs his head and turns around holding out the thick yellow envelope to me.

"You wanna sign for it?" he asks as he chomps his gum.

No, you stupid little turd I want to smack you into the middle of next week.

Instead I take his pen and sign his book so he will take his purple spiked head out of my immediate viewing area. Jesus, I remember a time when clean-cut got you the job.

As I turn the envelope over in my hands I see it’s from a travel agent. Harper must be going somewhere for the holidays. I wonder who the lucky girl is and what waters of the Caribbean they’re gonna be scaring the fish in.

I return to my desk and my paperwork, tossing the envelope down on the corner of my desk. Some people have all the luck.

An hour or so later, as I lean back in my chair and stretch, I see her come in.

"Hey, Tabloid!" I call as I wave her into my office.

She sticks her head in and gives me a wide, ornery grin. "Yeeesssss…."

I can’t help, but laugh at the silly look on her face as I gesture toward the envelope. "Messenger from Heavy Metal Hell delivered that about an hour ago."

She practically bounces into my office.

"Oh goody!" She snatches the envelope from the corner of my desk.

"Somebody hit you with a giant happy stick today?"

"Yeah, well." She opens the envelope and gives the contents a quick check. "I haven’t been home in almost four months…."

Oh, a whole four months? Christ, Tabloid, I haven’t been home in ten years. Except, of course, for the occasional court appearance.

Then it hits me: home. She’s going home for Thanksgiving and not to some tropical island with the catch of the day. I am both surprised and pleased. "Have fun. Enjoy," I offer as I lean forward and close the file.

She plants herself on the corner of my desk staring down at me. "So do you and Dr. Feel Good have plans?"

I take a deep breath and lean back. "Umm, no, actually, we don’t. Susan will be home with her family."

"And she didn’t ask you?" Harper looks pissed.

"Harper, here’s a tip, my friend." I lean forward and grin just a little. "Not everyone can be as open as you are. We all don’t live in a perfect world. Susan’s parents don’t know about her so she can’t take me with her."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Hey, no problem." I wave it off as if it doesn’t bother me.

"Erik’s gonna be home though, right?"

Jesus, Harper, when did you become so interested in what I do for the holidays?

"No. He won’t be home until the following week. He’s still shooting in North Carolina. And, before you ask," I offer as I hold up my hand, "I’ll be going to a Bogart and Bacall movie marathon. Decked out in baggy sweats and ballcap. It’s become a tradition I’ve been pretty happy with over the years. Last year it was Clark Gable marathon."

Another convincing lie about my life.

"Un-huh. Old movies and stale popcorn on Thanksgiving? Come on, Kels."

Okay, maybe not so convincing.

"No, actually, they have really good gourmet popcorn at this place, thanks. Very ummm," I leer as I look at her, "buttery. You know, the kind you gotta lick off your fingers after?"

To make sure I get my point across to my partner, I insert the first two fingers of my left hand into my mouth to the second knuckle and close my eyes. I very slowly start to bring them out of my mouth, but just before they are clear, I suck them back in and then remove them with a little smacking noise. I give the end of my thumb a little lick with the very tip of my tongue.

When I open my eyes, Harper is gone.

* * *

Sometimes, in a war, the best thing you can do is a tactical retreat.

That’s what I’m telling myself as I sit in my office and try not to think about Kelsey’s fingers in her mouth and the soft sucking sounds coming from her throat and …

Oh God. I groan and shift in my chair.

Why is it so fucking hot in this office today?

I nearly pounced on her. I want her. I want her like I’ve never wanted another woman in … well, ever, truth be told.

She’s infuriating. Exciting. Smart. Gorgeous. Funny. Damn good at her job. Sexy. Sensitive. Alone.

God, I hate that she’s alone. She shouldn’t be. She should have more than Erik and their sham relationship. More than Susan and their casual … whatever. She deserves someone who will be willing to be proud to be at her side as her lover. Who will tell the entire world to piss off about morals clauses and other such nonsense.

My parents didn’t raise me to roll over and accept the status quo and suffer injustice quietly. Nope. Not the Kingsleys.

Truth be told, I can’t wait to see my family. Four long months of not having decent food and music in my life. And not playing touch football with my brothers. And I haven’t even seen Robie and Rene’s little baby Clark yet. My own nephew and I haven’t even seen him after three months of being in this world.

Mama isn’t pleased, I know that. I got an earful of sour French last time I called home.

Hmm.

I think I know how to get Mama off of my back. Give her a new cause. Always worked for Papa before.

I stand up and straighten my shirt, for no reason other than to give my hands something to do. Come on, Harper, stop acting like a nervous teenager. Which, if I need to remind you, you never were before. Just go ask her.

I find myself standing in Kelsey’s office, not quite sure how I got here. She’s staring at me, waiting for me to speak. "Why don’t you come home with me for the holidays, Kels?"

There. To the point.

She is surprised at my invitation. I think. Either that or she just swallowed a fish.

"Uh, well, Harper … thanks for the invitation. But, really, I couldn’t intrude."

"It’s not intruding if you’re invited."

"That’s really sweet, but … No. You go on home and have a good time. I’ll be here when you get back."

Then it hits me: What if she isn’t? What if the fucking stalker does something to her while I’m gone? After I promised her earlier this week that I’d take care of her. After I’ve been sleeping on her couch for the last couple nights.

"Come on, Kels. You know you want to. It’ll just be me and my family. A small gathering of about twenty insane Cajuns having a wonderful holiday. Mama is the best cook in all of Louisiana, even Emeril Lagasse calls her for cooking advice." I can tell she’s not yet persuaded, so I try pulling out the big gun. Well, I hope it’s a big gun. "Besides, I promised to protect you and I can’t do that if we’re in different states. And my Mama will absolutely kill me if I don’t come home for Thanksgiving. I’m already standing hip deep in gator shit for not going home when my nephew was born. So …."

Kelsey laughs. It’s a wonderful sound. "Okay, okay. If I can get a ticket at this late time, I’m yours for the holiday."

God, if only that were true.

* * *

We’re sitting in first class on Delta flight 1816 about to take off from Dallas. Next stop New Orleans. I was able to purchase Kels’ ticket for a mere $2500 at this late date. But, at least, she’s with me.

Take that, Susan. I’m not ashamed of her. Or myself.

Kelsey is gripping the armrest as if it’s her last, best friend in the world. We went through this when we took off from LAX earlier this morning. She really hates to fly. I’d give her something alcoholic to drink, but Omaha is a bad memory.

"All right, are you ready for the cast of characters?" I ask, trying to distract her.

"What?" She blinks mossy green eyes at me.

"My family. Ready to learn all their names?"

"That many?"

"Well, I have twenty immediate family – mom, dad, brothers, sisters-in-laws, nephews and nieces. All of them will be there for Thanksgiving. And then I have forty-nine other relatives – aunts, uncles, cousins, Nonny – who you may or may not see this time. This gives me a total of sixty-nine relatives, which I find inordinately pleasing for some reason."

She snickers, "Right. For some reason."

"Dirty mind," I chastise. I hear my New Orleans accent coming out stronger as we head home. I like it. It feels right to speak to Kelsey this way. "All right, Mama and Papa are Cecile and Jonathan Kingsley. Then my brothers are Gerrard, Jean, Lucien and Robie."

Kelsey is amused. "How in the hell did you end up with Harper then?"

"Well, I am called Leone by the Cajun side of the family. But my brothers and parents know better."

"Which side is Cajun?"

"Chér, with a last name like Kingsley, what you tink?" I slip right into the way I’ve spoken with my mother’s family all my life.

"Your mama’s?"

"Tres bien. She was Cecile Boudreaux before marrying my daddy."

"So, what are your brothers’ non-Cajun names then?"

I laugh, wondering what her reaction will be to them. "Well, now remember, my parents were big in the civil rights movement. So, we have Medgar, John, Martin and Robert."

She shakes her head, getting all of the references. "Medgar Evers, JFK, Martin Luther King, and RFK. And then Harper Lee of ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ fame. Jesus, they were serious about it, weren’t they?"

"Still are. I come from a very passionate family. We all just focus our passion a bit differently."

"What do your brothers do for a living?"

"They’re all attorneys. Well, Gerrard’s a judge, actually."

"Sixties civil rights activists gave birth to four attorneys? Somehow that doesn’t seem right."

"Actually, Papa always said the best way to change the institution was to infiltrate it. He came from a very wealthy and influential family in New Orleans."

Kelsey’s small hand releases the armrest and travels over to rest on my forearm. "Thanks for inviting me, Harper. I’m really looking forward to meeting your family."

"They’re gonna love you, Kels. It’ll be the best Thanksgiving you’ve ever had. I guarantee it."

Or I’ll kick their ever-lovin’ butts all the way down St. Charles.

* * *

We make the right turn on St. Charles and drive the final leg to my family’s house. Okay, house isn’t quite the right word.