Everyone in this story is 18+. Comments are always appreciated.
As soon as I sat down on the couch, the phone rang twice, then stopped. It had to be my grandmother. I stood, hurrying to the phone in the Phipps' foyer, my tights slick against their polished hardwood floors. The phone rang again, its shrill clangor disturbing the peaceful calm of the darkened home.
I grabbed it on the second ring. "Phipps' residence."
"Charlotte." My grandma's voice was a harsh rasp, even through the miles of telephone wires that connected us. "How's the baby?"
"Asleep. She's a sweet little thing. Mr. and Mrs. Phipps really lucked out with her."
The sound of her exhaling tobacco smoke was a static whoosh through the phone. I could picture her tapping her cigarette against the edge of her purple glass ashtray on the counter by the phone as she said, "That's nice to hear. Anyway, there's been a change of plans. Your uncle got held up at the city council meeting. Mr. Corrigan will be there to pick you up around eleven."
A flutter of excitement twisted my stomach into knots. I bit my lip, trying to keep my voice even. "Oh. Alright, then. Thanks for letting me know."
"Uh-huh. Give my regards to the Phipps. I'll see you when you get home."
"You don't have to wait up for me."
"Oh, but I do. I'll see you later, Charley."
"Bye, Grandma." I set the phone on the receiver with a click.
The pink tile walls and floor of the Phipps' hall bathroom were the same shocking pink porcelain as the toilet and the sink. I shook my head at their garish taste, checking my reflection in the mirror and securing loose dark curls in the clip I wore at the back of my head. I should've worn makeup.
I turned away, disgusted, and headed back into the Phipps' surprisingly tastefully decorated living room where I flopped back down on the couch. The Phipps had bought a television a few weeks ago, and after I put the baby down to sleep, I sat in front of it, enraptured by the moving black-and-white images on the screen. But now, I couldn't concentrate. John Corrigan had me on edge.
I fiddled with the hem of my skirt, trying to think of what we would talk about on our ride to my house. If I had known he would be the one to pick me up, I would've worn something sexier, something tighter across my chest. I caught men staring at my breasts all the time. John was no exception.
The kitchen door burst open, jarring me out of my reverie. I clicked off the television, the broadcast had ended and I hadn't even realized it. Mr. and Mrs. Phipps had a wonderful time at their charity auction and they were delighted that their sweet little daughter hadn't given me any trouble. Mr. Phipps handed me newly minted bills and offered me a nightcap when a knock at the front door sent a shiver down my spine.
"Maybe next time," I said.
They walked me to the foyer, startled at the sight of John on their front porch.
Over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, high-cheekboned, and square-jawed John Corrigan took off his cap and nodded politely. "Mr. Fairmont was held up. I'm here to pick up his niece."
"Hi, Mr. Corrigan," I chirped, sliding my boring, beige heels onto my feet. With a smile, I turned to the Phipps. "Mr. Corrigan has worked for my uncle for years. He's more of a friend than an employee."
We locked eyes and a spark of electricity sent a wave of goosebumps over me. God, he was perfect. The jagged scar on his right cheek, courtesy of Nazi shrapnel, only added to his allure.
"I hope everything is alright," said Mrs. Phipps, resting a hand on her heavily pregnant stomach.
John tore his gaze from me and smiled at her, his eyes flickering from her bulging belly to her sweet face. "Of course. Mr. Fairmont just got held up at his meeting."
I pulled my coat over my shoulders, tucking my money into my pocket, ready to get out of there. "Thank you both. I'm happy to watch Little Junie again. She's a doll."
Mr. Phipps laughed. "Don't say that, dear. We'll put your number on the speed dial."
"Thank you so much, Charley. Have a wonderful night," said Mrs. Phipps.
John glanced at her belly. "Congratulations."
"Goodnight," I said, stepping over the threshold.
John gripped my elbow as he led me to his car. "Careful here, it's slick."
"Thank you for coming to get me. I hope I'm not putting you to any trouble."
He put his cap back on and opened the passenger door. "Not at all." He gave my arm a gentle squeeze as I climbed inside. "I'm always happy to see you."
My cheeks flushed hot and I was grateful it was dark. The warmth of his car was a welcome respite against the cold, damp late October night. The inside of his black Buick was upholstered in dark leather. I held my breath as he walked around to the other side, climbing into the driver's seat.
"Sounds like their little girl gave you an easy time of it," he said, pulling the door closed and starting the engine.
I turned toward him, legs crossed and hands in my lap. "She did. June talks quite a bit for being a little over a year. That makes it easier."
"Is that all?" He backed the car down their driveway into a deserted street. "They didn't waste any time making another one."
My cheeks flushed hot all over again and I looked away when he glanced at me. "I guess not."
He braked, putting the car in drive, then stretched his arm over the back of the bench seat as we drove into the night.
The dark houses blurred past and I couldn't keep track of street names, too busy wracking my brain, trying to think of something witty to say. "Do you like to watch television?" I hoped I sounded casual.
He glanced over after stopping at a red light, shaking his head. "I don't have a television."
"Oh," I said flatly. "The Phipps just bought one. I got to watch it. My grandmother won't let my uncle put one in our house. She's convinced they're vulgar."
He nodded and the light turned green.
I cursed myself for being such a dork. I finally got to be alone with my uncle's employee and I clam up. What's wrong with me?
"You gonna play tennis in the spring?" He made a left turn.
Thank God he'd given me something to talk about. "Um, yeah. If I make it. You have to try out every year."
"I wouldn't worry about that," he said. "You're a great athlete. I've seen you play tennis and you're a fast runner."
A surge of pride made me bold. "When have you ever seen me run?"
