After more than a week of working together, Blaine and Marie enjoyed a comfortable camaraderie despite their myriad differences. He was a (somewhat) wet-behind-the-ears black college kid and she a fifty-two year old white wife and teacher.
By the middle of the second week, Blaine sensed something had changed between them but he wasn't exactly sure what it meant. He became more confident around Marie and the thrusts and parries of his conversation often showed it, especially when the unusual pair ate lunch together.
Marie, too, noticed the change in Blaine's demeanor and it unnerved her. Despite the significant edge in seniority she maintained, he was physically more able and he enjoyed showing her his prowess. He deliberately picked up heavy objects flashing his shiny onyx coated sinew and muscle.
"Blaine, that's too heavy," she'd protest even as her eyes feasted on his flesh. It wasn't that she wanted him physically; she knew that was out of the question. He did, however, rekindle memories, or a certain memory anyway, and Marie took the heat of that memory home with her.
"I have to get into shape for football," Blaine would tell her, letting her know of his youth and athletic gifts.
Their relationship took another, more dramatic shift one morning when the assistant superintendent in charge of the project caught up with the pair in an old storage closet housing mostly books. His remark was off handed, natural, but it brought out recollections as dusty as the textbooks.
"See you, Blaine. See you, Mrs. Brady," he'd said as he hurried off.
Blaine let the comment fester for more than an hour until the two sat down in an empty classroom next to the closet to eat their lunch. He'd seen Marie stick her tongue out at their boss for his comment like her reaction was borne of the same familiarity as his aside.
"Do they still call you that?" Blaine asked.
Of course Marie was completely confused. She hadn't been playing that "Mrs. Brady" reference over and over in her mind for the last 75 minutes like Blaine had.
"Call me what, dear?" Marie asked. She'd taken to referring to Blaine as "dear" like she was talking to one of her students.
"Mrs. Brady."
Marie Provost looked a lot like Florence Henderson. When Blaine was still a student in the elementary school where Marie taught, one of his friends mentioned that fact to him. He hadn't a clue who Carol Brady or
The Brady Bunch
were but he went home that afternoon and found the show in re-runs on TV. He knew he liked Marie even then.
