LaVyrle Spencer - The hellion

When they reached Liz's house he walked her to the door, their spirit still bright, feeling relaxed and easy with each other.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Gentry. The dinner was delicious and I had a wonderful time."

"That goes double for me, but you could drop the formalities and call me Tommy Lee."

"It wouldn't seem right to call my boss Tommy Lee."

"But tonight I'm not your boss… just a friend, okay?"

"Well, in any case, good night, and thank you again." She was already turning away toward the door when he captured her arm and swung her back to face him.

"Hey, not so fast there."

"Tomorrow's a workday and I wouldn't want to be late," she replied perkily. "The boss might get upset."

"I guarantee he won't."

Though she gave the expected chuckle, he sensed a change in her the moment he touched her. The smile fell away and she dropped her eyes. Her arm was soft and bare, and she wore a familiar cologne whose scent he readily associated with her after having smelled it all these years around the office. He realized again that much of his attraction for her stemmed from the fact that she was every inch a lady, the kind who very naturally commanded a man's respect, the kind who probably didn't do this kind of thing often or lightly.

We've both wondered for a long time, he thought. So let's find out.

Her blue eyes closed and her pink lips opened as he dropped his mouth over hers in a soft, undemanding kiss. She was honest enough to allow herself to sample him-just as he sampled her-before pressing a hand to his chest and backing away.

"No, I don't think so," she answered quietly, as if he'd asked her a question.

He raised his head in surprise. "You don't think what?"

"This isn't really what you want."

"It isn't?" He was baffled by her unusual response to the kiss-very different from what he'd expected.

She shook her head. "Uh-uh. I know you've wondered, and I'll admit I have, too. But what you really want is someone else, I think."

He was still smitten by surprise as he asked, out of curiosity, "Who?"

"Rachel Hollis."

Oddly enough, he didn't even think of denying it. "How did you know?"

"How did I know? I've worked for you for six years. On more than one occasion, I've watched your eyes follow her when she walked along the street to the bank. There's a certain way a man looks at a woman that tells it all, and you can't even watch her pass by without giving yourself away."

He'd never realized it showed. He felt rather like a schoolboy caught cheating on a test.

"I've also seen you talking to her on the street lately. When you come back into the office afterward, you're a bundle of frustration."

Tommy Lee hung his head and tried to think of something to reply.

"Oh, don't look so guilty, all right? It was high time you and I did what we just did, just to get it out of our systems and clear the air. But I'm only a substitute, and I'd rather be a good secretary than a poor substitute."

"I never realized before how perceptive you are, Liz."

She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall. "Do you want to talk about it? I've got a willing ear."

So, to his surprise, he ended up telling her nearly the whole saga of Tommy Lee Gentry and Rachel Talmadge Hollis. It felt wonderful to discuss it with someone who was impartial, who neither made demands of him nor judged him.

When the story ended, she asked him matter-of-factly, "Well, you aren't going to give up now, are you?"

He was slightly taken aback by the question. "I don't want to, but she seems dead set against seeing me."

"Do you think she loves you?"

Why should it be so difficult to answer that simple question? He'd asked it of himself countless times and had always come up with the same answer, the one that made him wonder at Rachel's stubbornness. Answering Liz now, he felt rather timid.

"Yes. Sometimes… yes."

"Well, then… she's scared, don't you see? And she's got a perfect right to be. Why, look at your record! What woman would willingly take on a man with a record like that?

You've got to assure her you mean it when you say you've changed. But whatever you do, don't give up on her. If she loves you, believe me, it's the last thing she wants."

"It is?" The idea was stunning. Women were strange birds. Why did they do one thing when they wanted to do another?

"Take my word for it."

He carried the idea away with him, and it stayed on his mind throughout that sleepless night. The following day he thought about it again, and wondered how he could show her he had changed and was so much happier with the new Tommy Lee that he wouldn't dream of backsliding. That afternoon he was jogging past the end of his driveway when he stopped and eyed the kudzu vine tangled across the ditch. He pondered for some time before finally picking up three rocks and flinging them in, to clear the area of snakes. Then he forced his way through the thick vines to the place where he always used to toss his empties.

As he moved through the ditch, he grew amazed. Lord o'mercy, did I drink all this?

He picked up a can, tossed it up absently, and caught it. Then his eyes narrowed and he stared off into the distance. All right, Rachel, I'll try one more time.

The following day Rachel came home from work to find a huge black plastic trash bag on her front step, bound at the top by an outsized red satin bow. She approached it cautiously, surveyed its lumpy exterior, touched it with a toe, and heard a metallic clink. Gingerly she untied the bow, peered inside, and found it filled with aluminum beer cans. She also found a note: "All right, Rachel, you win. I'm cleaning up my act. What else do I have to do to get you to say yes?"

What the hair dryer and flowers had failed to do, the sack of beer cans accomplished. Rachel pressed four fingertips to her lips and burst into tears. Oh, Tommy Lee, you crazy, off-beat, irresistible hellion, can't you see it would never work?

Callie Mae was immediately concerned to find a tearful Rachel dragging a huge black bag into the house.

"Why, Miss Rachel, what's wrong?"

"Everything!" The bag sent out a mysterious sound as Rachel dropped it and dissolved into tears on Callie Mae's shoulder.

A sympathetic hand patted the back of Rachel's head. "Now, you just tell Callie Mae everything."

"I can-can't."

"'Course you can. You want to start with what's in that bag that set you off?"

"Oh, Can-Callie Mae," she wailed, "it's a go-gift from Tommy Lee."

Over Rachel's shoulder Callie Mae gave the bag a second look. "So that's it."

Rachel drew back and mopped her eyes, still sniffling. "He won't stop people-pestering me, and I… we…" Her words trailed off and ended with a woeful look of misery and renewed weeping.

"You don't have to explain nothin' to Callie Mae. I see how it is with you two. I always seen."

"How it is between us two is impossible." Rachel threw her hands out and began pacing agitatedly.

Callie Mae pursed her mouth and grunted, "Hmph." Then she asked, "You mind if I take a look at what he brung you?" Rachel shook her head and Callie Mae opened the sack and peered inside. "Well, now, what do you know about that!" she exclaimed softly, then asked, "He the one sent you them flowers, too?" Rachel nodded while Callie Mae noted her crestfallen expression. "Jus' when he call you skinny?"

"Don't you go getting that… that look in your eye, because it isn't going to work. He isn't going to sweet-talk me into making a fool of myself. Not with a philanderer like him."

Callie Mae crossed her hands against her stomach and affected a sober, judgmental expression. "Yup, he's a wild one, that Tommy Lee."

Rachel paced. "And he couldn't make a single one of his marriages work."

"Nope. He sure couldn't."

"And he hasn't gone to church in years." It wasn't exactly true, but it felt reassuring to heap blame on him.

"At least ten, fifteen."

"And he still drives like a maniac."

"He's one crazy white boy, for sure."

"And you should see the way he lives." Rachel threw up her hands. "Why, his house looks like a pigpen!" Suddenly she came to a halt, looked up, and felt herself color.

Callie Mae cocked an eyebrow and said, "Oh?" But she wiped all expression off her face and busied herself unnecessarily dusting a table with her apron while advising softly, "And you mustn't forget, there's the fact that Mr. Owen, he's only been gone a few months. And your daddy would have a conniption fit if he was to find out Tommy Lee been nosin' around his daughter again. And o' course we all know what the Good Book says about honorin' fathers, no matter if they're right or wrong. But there couldn't be no question about your daddy bein' right. After all, he's got one o' the best heads in this county. Why, he runs that bank over there like them Yankees run the war- merciless. You know he always gonna end up winnin', and though he don't always smile a lot, people got respect for him, and there's them that say he's a mite cold and calculatin' at times, but he seems to get along just fine without a lot o' friends since your mama died. Yes, ma'am, your daddy, he's one smart man, got the respect of everybody in this county. And folks say you're turnin' out just like him. You want I should put this sack of junk out for the garbage man to pick up tomorrow?" Callie Mae looked up innocently, holding the sack of beer cans now.

Rachel glanced from the sack to Callie Mae's face, then back again, trying to think of a reply. But she was too shaken to know what to say, and finally Callie Mae trudged off through the house, dragging Tommy Lee's offering with her while mumbling something about it being worthless and wondering what that crazy white boy was thinking to drop such trash on people's front steps!

Rachel remained where Callie Mae had left her, round-eyed and stunned, digesting what the woman had just said, quite horrified at the thought that she might be turning out just like her father. Was she really all those things? Merciless? Cold? A person who'd rather have the town's respect than smile a lot? She swallowed convulsively, closed her eyes, and bit her trembling lip, wanting to deny it.

But that made two people now who'd told her the same thing, for hadn't Tommy Lee called her a smug, supercilious socialite?

And if it wasn't true, why was she crying?

To Rachel's utter surprise, Tommy Lee showed up at church the following Sunday morning. He was standing on the steps when she arrived, and she realized her mistake the moment her feet stopped moving. Their eyes met, and her first thought was that he had new glasses, styled like the old ones, except that these had clear lenses through which she could clearly see him taking in her white and brown linen dress and matching spectator pumps.

She felt herself blush but could not tear her eyes away from him. He looked magnificent! His skin was brown and healthy looking, and he appeared thinner, dressed in a pale blue suit with a rich navy shirt. The midmorning sun caught the black and silver strands of his hair and threw chips of gold off his tie clasp and the rims of his glasses while a light breeze lifted the end of his tie and gently turned it back, then settled it into place again.

She wasn't certain how long she stood staring before becoming aware of the girl at his side. She was tall and lanky with dark shoulder-length hair, and from the way she took his arm and gazed up at him, there was no question she adored him. Just then the breeze furled the girl's hair and blew it back from her temple, and as Rachel caught sight of the red button earrings, her heart sank.

Oh, no, she thought, not again. This one's young enough to be his daughter.

Just then the girl turned, revealing Lily's cupid's-bow mouth and brown eyes that might easily have belonged to Tommy Lee himself at age fourteen. Rachel stared, transfixed, feeling her composure slip as she confronted the girl who, had circumstances been different, might have been her own daughter. Her eyes were helplessly drawn to Tommy Lee again, and they stood like a pair of marble statues. Move! she told her feet. Half the town is watching you gape at him, including his daughter and your own father! For in that horrifying moment Rachel realized Everett had joined her, after parking the car, and stood watching the silent tableau with growing disapproval.