The Achilles Heel (18 page)

“Un-fucking-believable!” I proclaimed, scooping it up and guarding it tightly, shielding
it from anyone who could be hiding out among the five-foot tall lemon grass planted
on either side of the door.
Very cloak-and-dagger.
I rushed inside and began to rip the paper off the box, but there was so much goddamn
tape on it, only tiny pieces fell to the floor.

“Fucking UPS,” I snarled, as I pawed at the box like a five-year old at Christmas.

Every drawer in the kitchen got opened until I found the one storing the knives. The
tape couldn’t come off fast enough; finally, I was in! I set the box down on the counter
and sucked in my breath, holding it until the lid was off and the main item accounted
for. The black Halloween kitty had a smug and taunting look on its face, so I ripped
the ass clear off that cat, the threads popping violently. My fingers made contact
with the passport in the belly of the beast, and I gave little kitty an enema that
would make a grown man cry. I needed to have another look at Andrea Bozeman.

Not so smug now.
I thought, tossing the cat back into the box and taking the passport into my room,
throwing myself onto the bed. One by one, each objective was being accomplished; excitement
was an understatement, but I couldn’t lose sight of the mission. Salt began clumping
and chafing underneath my arms, forming hardened sweat balls sticking together and
scraping across my skin the longer I delayed a shower. Locking the passport in the
safe with my other documents, I carefully stripped off my clothes and shut the bathroom
door.

The open air shower in my bathroom was modern and luxurious, but the steam easily
escaped and that was what my muscles craved. I leaned up against the marble wall and
let the hot water from the rainfall showerhead run down my legs in hopes of reliving
the cramps that were already settling. A walk on the beach was a necessity in keeping
my muscles loose or I’d be clomping around like Frankenstein by nightfall.

I threw on a cotton maxi dress, slapped a piece of grilled chicken on a bun and went
outside to take a slow walk on the beach and stretch my legs while eating my sandwich.
Purposefully, I walked in the opposite direction of Kess’s house, but not before shamelessly
sneaking a peek at his patio to see if he was outside.

The sand squished between my toes with every step and the tide then quickly washed
it away; nature’s own exfoliation. The bottom of my dress had collected a number of
sentiments from my walk. I waded ankle deep into the ocean to rinse the hem, and that’s
when I saw him walking towards me.

He had on loose fitting linen pants, a T-shirt that read “TABASCO” across the front,
and his beloved cowboy hat pulled down tight on top of his gold-rimmed aviators. It
didn’t matter he was still too far away for me to clearly see his face, I knew it
was him. Instantly, butterflies replaced the bottomless pit of sad inside of me.

“Hi, Annie!” he called out as he walked up, looking gorgeous as he took off his shades.
“You don’t have a washer and dryer at your house?” he asked me.

“What? Oh, this,” I stuttered as my face flushed. “I was trying to get the sand off
the bottom of my dress, but I’m assuming it’s in vain, because it’s everywhere and
I’m already finding it all over the house. Are you coming or going?” I asked, while
tying a knot in the bottom of my dress so it didn’t drag anymore.

“Both, I guess. Hope and Wade left this morning; it was too quiet at the house so
I thought a stroll would be relaxing. Would you like to join me?” he asked grinning
so wide that the dimple on his right cheek was pronounced.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. The silence can be deafening; it always takes a little
while to adjust to the quiet,” I noted.

“Why do you say that? Do you live alone?” he asked as we started walking.

“I do. My husband died six months ago, and I recently gave my wiener dogs to my niece
and nephew, so it’s just me now. You?”

“Jesus, I’m sorry. You seem so young to be a widow. But yes, I do live alone; been
divorced for eight years.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that, too,” I repeated, as we lapsed into an uncomfortable
silence.

“Do you want to talk about this?” he asked, as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Not at all,” I said, both of us relieved. “How about music? I had a great time listening
to you play last night, and it so happens you guys played my favorite song: AC/DC’s
“Long Way to the Top.” Great song and hands down, the best concert I’ve ever seen.
They did a show in St. Paul last year, and I actually peed my pants when they did
“TNT.” I’m not sure why I told you that, it just slipped out, but sadly it’s true.”

“Wow! That’s an interesting tidbit of information, but don’t worry, I’m positive you
aren’t the only adult to recently pee their pants,” he laughed. “I’m glad music does
that for you. Who else do you like?”

We walked through the remaining daylight hours, up and down the stretch of beach in
front of our houses, talking about life and music in Nashville and Kansas City. We
stayed on safe subjects, nothing too personal, just scratching the surface type topics.
As soon as I told him about my girlfriends coming, the wind picked up and started
pelting us with sand, so we had to make a run for it to the closest shelter. Tiny
grains stung my bare legs and arms as I cupped my hands around my face, shielding
my eyes as I ran. We ducked behind a row of boxwood hedges that flanked the path to
Kess’s back door, crouching down until the wind died. Our faces close and breath heavy
from the run, both of us obviously avoiding eye contact; I didn’t know what to do,
what to say, or how to act, the Junior High School dance was more comfortable than
this. I would speculate that he’d agree.

When the bushes stopped swaying and the sand laid back on the ground, we stood and
quietly began the walk back up the path. “Well, you’ve met my closest friends, so
it’s only fair that I get a chance to meet yours. Why don’t you bring them by the
Soggy Bottom if y’all don’t already have plans? I play two nights from now and usually
go on around eight, but should finish up about ten if y’all get a late start,” Kess
said, airing nervousness through his words.

“I’d like that,” I answered, as we walked back up the grassy path to the gates that
separated our backyards.

We stood at the gates and had another awkward high school moment. His hands were plunged
deep into his pockets and mine fumbled with the knot on my dress; neither of us wanting
our walk to end.

Again he broke the silence. “Thanks for keeping me company. Besides peeing your pants,
you seem pretty normal,” he teased.

“Well, you caught me on a good day,” I replied, as we both laughed.

“Since neither of us have plans, would you like to have dinner with me tonight? We
can eat out on my patio and keep it casual,” he assured me.

Oh, my God, is he asking me out? Does dinner at his house count as a date? Am I going
on a date? Should I change? Does he mean right now?

I could actually hear the plane in a downward tailspin as I’m screaming from the cockpit,
“
Pull up, pull up! Mayday, mayday, I’m a fucking idiot!”

Take a deep breath and get ahold of yourself. He said casual, so don’t over-analyze
his every word. Set your tourettes aside and just try to be normal.

“Casual, huh? Well, what are we having?” I asked, relieved my voice was relaxed.

“I have no idea, but we can figure that out together,” he replied, making his dimple
pronounced again.

KESSLER

H
er scent of washed cotton fresh from the laundry was intoxicating, and I found it
difficult to concentrate on the job of cutting vegetables and boiling pasta. My coolness
continued to escape me while fumbling my actions and words, as if I’d never been alone
with a woman. She, on the other hand, seemed mellow, gliding around my kitchen oblivious
to the fireworks going off in my head. I kept fading into the daydream of our arms
around each other, but she’s a widow, so out of respect, she would have to make the
first move. I was more than willing to wait.

“Beer or wine?” she asked, as she comfortably scrounged through my fridge.

“Always beer. I don’t even know why the wine is in there; it’s probably expired.”

“So you like beer, you’re from Louisiana and you live in Nashville, but I haven’t
asked you what you do or even your last name,” she said, as she pulled the bottom
of her dress up to her knees and used it as a bottle opener for the beer, which I
found incredibly sexy.

Shit, I knew this was coming. I like this girl and don’t want to lie to her, but I
have to know she’s interested in me and not the lifestyle my money can provide for
her. If this relationship goes further, she’ll just have to understand and forgive
me when I tell her the truth.

“My last name is Kroy,” I lied, blurting it out without any forethought as to how
ridiculous the whole name sounded.

“Wait, your name is Kess Kroy?” she asked with raised eyebrows, immediately picking
up on the stupid.

“Kessler. My first name is Kessler, but my friends call me Kess. I worked for River
Rock Records on Music Row, but you could say I’m unemployed, or will be shortly. My
job isn’t as fulfilling as it once was, so come January, I’m ending my employment
with the company.”

Pretty close to the truth
. I thought, trying to justify my lie.

“Your turn,” I said.

“My full name is Andrea Whitman, but as you know, people call me Annie, and honestly,
I haven’t done much since Jack died. Kind of pathetic, huh?” she asked, looking up
at me with large chocolate eyes while continuing to stir the pasta.

“Well, I haven’t been in that position, so I’m really not one to judge,” I reassured
her.

We agreed on The Black Crowes for our listening pleasure, and took our food and conversation
to the table outside. While balancing our plates and drinks through the sliding glass
door, I noticed Annie was limping on her left leg and trying her best to disguise
it.

“I actually have a physical therapy degree from LSU; it’s been a long time, but I
can take a look at that ankle for you. In fact, if you’re already limping, you should
be alternating ice and heat,” I said, sounding official.

“It’s nothing that won’t go away. I just ran too far today, but I’ll let you know
if I need something. Besides, I’m hungry. Let’s see how we did on this pasta. Cheers!”
she said, holding her fork out in front of us.

We dove into likes and dislikes about everything except politics, and I stole glances
of her when she was busy scooping pasta onto her fork or taking a swig of beer. Her
smile needed to be branded in my head, so when I went to bed tonight, I could see
it like a picture. We talked through the sunset, and she laughed at all of my stories
about Wade, so I just kept telling them. After another beer, she got up to go to the
bathroom and her ankle had doubled in size; it was too painful for her to walk on.

“Listen, I really should go, but thanks so much for inviting me. The cooking and the
conversation were really nice. Next time, I’ll host,” she said, while quickly getting
up.

“Wait, you really shouldn’t walk on that ankle; at least let me help you to your door.”

“No, no. Really, I’m fine.” She hobbled down the stairs, holding tightly to the railing.

I followed her down, making sure she didn’t fall, but it was obvious she was in pain,
and I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t let me help her. Once she got down the stairs,
she would have to make it across the pool deck to the gate without something to hold
onto and there was no way that was going to happen; her ankle was too swollen.

“At least hold onto my arm so you can balance yourself.”

“Nope, I’ve it got.” She rejected me again as she started to hop across the concrete
floor towards the railing that separated our backyards.

“Just let me help you,” I said as I followed behind her; my tone becoming sterner
as my frustration grew.

“I told you I’ve got it!” she snapped, her voice becoming louder as she hopped.

“Jesus, what’s your problem?” I yelled as I bent down and scooped her up; her arms
hung around my neck and her legs dangled to the side as she let out a groan, but I
just kept walking to the gate.

“Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because I’m afraid I’ll kiss you!” she exploded back at me, quickly covering her
eyes with her free hand.

I stopped and set her down on the wide concrete railing, our faces close enough to
exchange breath.

We stood in silence staring at one another in our own Mexican standoff, gaining composure‌—‌or
in my case‌—‌balls. As I prepared myself for her “Why we should just be friends” speech,
she completely surprised me‌—‌and I think herself‌—‌when she suddenly filled her hands
full of my hair and pushed our lips together. Our noses and teeth bumped as she slightly
opened her mouth. Breathing became heavier when her fingers tightened around my curls
as she pulled me close to her, smashing our shirts together. I ran my hands up her
neck, squeezing it gently, then down her back; desperately wanting to cup her ass
in my hands, but stopping myself. Apart, together, apart, together; the pressure of
the kissing became stronger, until I couldn’t hold back any longer. I plunged my tongue
into the sweetness of her mouth and her legs instantly wrapped around my waist, suffocating
the space between our bodies. Through closed eyes, a soft light filled my head and
a sensual state of relaxation came over my body; everywhere but my dick, my dick was
another story. With every tug of my hair my erection got bigger, until Annie had him
at an embarrassing length which I was unable to conceal. We stood at the fence kissing
and touching each other’s skin while the breeze rattled the palm trees above us. At
one point, I tried to remind her that we needed to ice her ankle, but she just softly
shushed me, and I was happy to obey.