Would Annie still love him in the end?
There was a full moon out to night, but Clay didn’t need it, or the Jeep’s headlights, to see. The entire barn and farm house were outlined with Christmas-tree lights. In the front yard was a plywood Santa and reindeer display, illuminated by floodlights. It resembled a farm version of the house in Chevy Chase’s movie National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. He wondered idly who had climbed up on the roofs of the house and barn to put up all those blasted lights. Probably Annie. Or Aunt Liza. Geez!
Clay was so nervous he could barely think straight, especially when he saw the front door open even before he emerged from the vehicle.
It was Annie.
Please, God, he prayed, no big toes this time.
“Clay?” Annie said, coming down the steps and walking woodenly toward him. She looked as if she’d been crying.
Who made her cry? I’ll kill the person who made her cry! Oh! It was probably me.
“Where did you get the Jeep?” she asked nervously, as if that irrelevant detail were the most important thing on her mind.
“I…uh…kind of…uh…rented it.” Clay’s brain was stuck in first gear.
“You came back,” she said then, surrendering to a sob. “I called the hotel all night and Marion said you were gone, and I thought…I thought you went home.”
“I am home, sweetheart.” Clay opened his arms to her and gathered her close. “I’ve done a lot of walking, and thinking, since you left me.”
“I’ve been so miserable,” she blubbered against his neck.
“Me, too, sweetheart. Me, too.” He was running his hands over her back, her arms, her hair, her back again. He kissed the top of her head, her wet cheeks, her lips. He tried to show her with soul-deep kisses how much he’d missed her, and how important she was to him. He couldn’t get enough of her. He was afraid to let go for fear this was all a dream.
Annie leaned back to get a better look at him. Cupping his face in her hands, she gazed at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, with such open love that Clay felt blessed.
“Annie, love, we’re going to work this out. I’ve talked with my legal department in New York, and they see no problem with my setting up a satellite office in Memphis. Could you live with me in New Jersey part of the time, if I’m willing to live here?”
Her mouth had dropped open with surprise. “You would do that for me?”
“In a heartbeat.” It’s either that, or suffer heartbreak. Easy choice!
“How about the hotel?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I called Spencer Modine this morning. Remember, you pointed him out to me at Forever Blue.”
“You called Spencer Modine? But you don’t even know him.”
He shrugged. “Modine certainly has the capital to finance a purchase of the hotel property, and he has the Memphis ties that would make such a landmark attractive to him. But I don’t know if I’m ready to give up the hotel yet. Oh, Annie, I’ve learned some things this week about my mother and father that are going to take me a long time to understand.”
She pressed a light kiss to his lips in understanding. “We don’t have to decide all this right now.”
“We?” he asked hopefully.
“We,” she repeated.
“Will you marry me, Annie, love?”
“In a heartbeat,” she said.
A short time later, they were heading toward the front steps, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, their progress hampered by his limp and their constant stopping to kiss and murmur soft words of love.
Clay couldn’t stop grinning.
“You’re looking awfully self-satisfied, Mr. Jessup.”
“Well, I’m a negotiator, Annie. It’s part of my business as a venture capitalist. I figure I just pulled off the deal of the century. I got you, didn’t I, babe?”
She laughed. “You had me anyhow, babe. I already talked to my brothers about taking over the farm so I could move to New Jersey. Why do you think I was calling you all night?” She tapped him playfully on the chin in one-upmanship.
“Well, you little witch, you,” Clay said. But what he thought was, Wait till you see what I bought at the mall. You haven’t had the last word yet.
Elvis was singing “Blue Christmas” on the stereo, a fire was roaring in the fireplace, the tree lights were flickering, and Clay was enjoying his first ever family Christmas Eve celebration. If his heart expanded with any more joy, it just might explode.
It was almost midnight, but already the family members were opening their Christmas gifts. Clay sat on the sofa with Annie on one side, holding his hand. Aunt Liza was on the other side, keeping an eagle eye on his hands, lest they stray.
The gifts the Fallons gave to each other were simple items, some homemade, some silly, many downright practical. Who knew that people got socks and underwear for Christmas gifts? Johnny raved over his new athletic shoes…the spiffiest in the store, according to Annie. Everyone received new shirts and jeans. The pearl stud earrings that Johnny had bought for Annie, probably from Wal-Mart, might have come from Cartier, for all her oohing and ahhing. And the boys exhibited just as much appreciation over cheap card games or music cassettes.
There were even gifts for Clay from the family, to his surprise and slight embarrassment. When Aunt Liza handed him a suspicious-looking small box, wrapped with Santa Claus paper, he almost choked. She wouldn’t!
Aunt Liza tsked at him till he unwrapped it to find an audio cassette of Elvis’s Greatest Hits.
“Whadja think I bought, you fool?” she said with a chuckle.
Chet, Roy, and Hank had pooled their money to get him a pair of low-heeled cowboy boots. Jerry Lee gave him a Wall Street joke book, and Johnny presented him with a tie imprinted with dozens of Holstein cows.
When it was Annie’s turn, she made much ado over the homemade tree ornament with his name and date stenciled on the back, thus symbolizing his formal acceptance into her family. Finally, with much nervous ness, she handed him what he sensed must be a special gift.
Tears filled his eyes, and he couldn’t speak at first. Inside was a leather album. The words on the front, embossed with gold letters, said, THE WORKS OF GLARE GANNETT. Annie had somehow managed to gather together dozens of photographs taken by his mother. On the last page was a copy of an obituary from a Memphis newspaper, detailing her artistic talent and what she had contributed to Memphis and music history.
“Where did you get these?” he asked when his emotions were finally under control.
“I badgered the museum curator yesterday. When he heard your story, he helped me pull those photos made by your mother, and I duplicated them at a one-hour photo studio down the street.”
“Thank you, love,” he whispered against her hair. Then he decided it was time to reciprocate. “Can you guys help me get some gifts from the Jeep?”
There was a communal awed curse from Annie’s brothers when they saw how the back of the Jeep overflowed with gaily wrapped packages, some in huge boxes.
Aunt Liza could be heard rapping on the kitchen window at that crude expletive. “I heard that, boys. You’re not too old for soap, you know. That goes for you, too, Mr. Jessup.”
After the boys had each made three trips, the living room was filled with his purchases. Hank closed the door with a shiver—it was turning cold outside, and snowflakes had just begun to flutter down in wonderful Christmas fashion—and he asked Clay, “Where’d you buy that spiffy red Jeep?”
“Oh, he didn’t buy it,” Annie explained. “It’s a rental.”
“That sure looked like a new car plate to me,” Hank commented as he hung his coat on an old-fashioned coa-track.
“Clay?” Annie tilted her head in question to him. “Did you buy yourself a Jeep?”
“Well, no, I didn’t buy a Jeep for myself.”
Everyone turned to stare at him then. Clay shifted uneasily, and his eyes wandered over to Hank.
There was a long, telling silence. Then Han
k whooped. “Me? Me? You bought a car for me?”
“Clay Jessup! You can’t go out and buy a car for someone you barely know.”
“I can’t?” he said. “Well, hell…I mean, geez, Annie, Hank distinctly said that first night I was here for dinner that if he had as much money as me, he would buy a fancy new vehicle and be the biggest chick magnet in the United States. I knew you’d be upset if I bought him a Jaguar.”
“Holy cow! I wonder what I get if Hank gets a new Jeep,” Johnny commented in an awestruck voice.
Annie made a low gurgling sound, which he figured was his cue to move on to the other gifts.
Chet’s Adam’s apple moved awkwardly as he studied Clay’s gift…airline tickets for Chet Fallon and son, Jason, to London, dated December 26.
“At least you show some good sense,” Aunt Liza observed. “It’s about time someone pushed Chet in the right direction.”
For the entire family, Clay had bought a high-tech computer system that would allow them to program in all the statistics on their milk production. Aunt Liza got a micro wave, which she pooh-poohed at first, stating, “What would I do with one of those fancy contraptions?” But she was soon reading the manual, exclaiming, “Didja know you can do preserves in a micro wave?” By the time Jerry Lee went ballistic over his laptop, Roy had gone speechless over the bank envelope showing a trust fund passbook covering his entire vet school tuition, and Johnny was in tears over a new entertainment system for his bedroom, complete with portable T V, CD player, and game system…well, by then Annie had given up on her protests.
“It’s too much, Clay,” she said on a sigh of frustration.
“No, it’s not, Annie. Generosity is giving till it hurts…like you and your family do every Christmas. This is just money I spent here…money whose loss I won’t even miss.”
“But I still think you should take back—”
“Annie,” Aunt Liza cautioned in a stern voice, “shut up.”
They all laughed at that.
“So what did you get for Annie?” Hank wanted to know.
She gazed at the ring on her finger. “I have my gift.”
But Hank ignored her. “With all the great gifts he gave us, he must have bought you at least…a new barn. Ha, ha, ha!”
Annie folded her arms indignantly over her chest at the teasing, and Clay’s face heated up in a too-telling fashion.
“Well, actually…” he admitted, handing her a gift certificate from a local contracting firm.
“You didn’t!” Annie scolded.
He did. It was a purchase order for a new barn roof.
She punched him lightly in the stomach, but he didn’t care. He could see the love in her eyes.
A hour later everyone had gone to bed, except him and Annie.
“I love you, Annie,” he said for what must be the hundredth time that evening.
“I love you, too, Clay…so much that my heart feels as if it’s overflowing.”
“It’s hard to believe that so much has happened to us in the five days since we first met.”
“Maybe you were destined to come to Tennessee…for us to meet. Maybe there is an Elvis spirit looking over Memphis.”
Clay wanted to balk at the idea, but the words wouldn’t come out. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps Elvis really does live,” he finally conceded. “Oh, I forgot. There’s one more gift I bought for you.” He reached behind the sofa and handed her the package.
“Clay, this is too much. You’ve already given me too much.”
“Well, actually, this gift is for me.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
Hesitantly, Annie unwrapped the package, which came from a costume shop in the mall. Annie laughed when she lifted the lid. It was a Daisy Mae outfit—a white off-the-shoulder blouse, and cut off jeans that were cut off real high on the buttock. “You devil, you.”
“So, are you going to try it on for me to night?”
“Here?”
“Hell, no. In the hayloft.”
There was an old legend that said that on Christmas Eve on a farm, the animals talk.
One thing was certain. On Christmas Eve, 1998, on Sweet Hollow Farm, the animals in the barn, under the hayloft, had a lot to talk about.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
If you believe the spirit of Elvis is still alive, you’re not alone.
It’s been more than twenty years since the King died, but almost six hundred Elvis fan clubs still flourish around the world. No one disputes the fact that Elvis had a profound impact on the music industry, but his magic lives on not only in his own songs, but in those of the many musicians influenced by his talent.
So, if you are one of those people who can’t help singing along when an Elvis tune comes on the radio…or if a smile breaks out when you hear “Blue Suede Shoes”…or if you believe some people “live on” after death, then please look for my December 1998 release, Love Me Tender. I n that book, there is a fake Spanish prince, a Wall Street princess…uh, trader known as “the Irish Barracuda,” and a secondary character named Elmer Presley, who thinks he’s Elvis reincarnated.
Maybe he is. And maybe he isn’t. But one thing’s for sure: the legend does go on.
NINA BANGS
Man With A Golden Bow
For the past and present members of Houston Bay Area
Chapter-Thirty, thanks for all your years of support and
encouragement.
CHAPTER ONE
She wanted a bad man in the worst way. Bad as in hot and hard. A man able to steam up car windows with his kisses and make her dance naked in the street. A man with wicked hands who’d touch her in places that would make her scream.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t here. She’d already checked under the couch. All she had was this video Carole had loaned her.
Jenny Saunders wasn’t too sure about the video. She chanced another glance at the couple on the screen, then picked up her phone and called Carole.
“Carole’s Baskets and Gifts. How can I—”
“Carole, about this video—”
“Jenny! You’re watching the video? Is it seriously hot or what? Puts you in the mood, doesn’t it? I love it when they—”
“I don’t believe real people do it in those positions. Okay, maybe in New York, but not here in South Jersey.”
“Listen, girlfriend, you’ve gotta get into a different mind-set. Anything is possible when two people are carried away by passion. Billy and I did it five times last night. That video inspired us.”
“Five times?” She was twenty-eight years old and missing out on one of a woman’s greatest experiences while her friends left her in their dust. What if she died to night? She’d never know.
“Of course, maybe things’ll settle down after we’ve been married a few more weeks. Wait just a sec.” Jenny could hear Carole talking to a customer. She watched the video while she waited. Hmm. That position had possibilities. “Okay, I’m back. Look, if you’re going to lose the big V, then you have to be willing to experiment.”
“The big V? Virginity isn’t a disease, Carole.”
“Don’t know about that. Anyway, it’s all set with Sloan. He’s on his way, and he doesn’t suspect a thing. The rest is up to you. Are you wearing that little black bra I bought you?”
“Sure.” She’d never wear that bra. There wasn’t enough of it to wear. “Are you sure Sloan will show up?”
“Hey, have I ever lied to you? I can’t believe you don’t love that video.”
“If I were a chiropractor, I’d love it.” She turned her head sideways to see if she could catch any fleeting expressions of passion on the faces of the couple now in a new pretzel position. Nope. No passion. A little pain, but no passion. “I don’t know about this plan, Carole. A lot could go wrong. I haven’t seen Sloan in ten years. We’ve exchanged a few letters, a few phone calls, but that’s it.”
“So whose fault is it you were away the other times he came home? Sloan’s my cousin. He’s family. Nothing will go wrong
.”
“But—”
“Don’t you dare back out. I will not let them carve ‘She Died a Virgin’ on your tombstone. You think too much.”
“That’s what I do, Carole. I’m an accountant and accountants think. And right now I think I might’ve made a—”
“Uh, gotta go. Another customer just walked in. Talk to you later.”
Jenny stared at the phone. Just like Carole. Her friend set the trap, then ran for the hills before the tiger arrived. Not that Sloan was a tiger. He was a comfortable friend from high school, someone she’d grown up with, someone who wouldn’t make her nervous. Someone you haven’t seen in ten years.
She flicked off the TV. Carole was right. She couldn’t back out. She wanted this. Jenny Saunders wouldn’t spend another Saturday night alone with only her lustful thoughts for company. And no way would she come home one day to find the state putting a historical marker outside her door—The Last Living Virgin in New Jersey.
Besides, no one would ever believe it. She could talk the talk, think the thoughts, but she’d never managed to walk the walk.
It wasn’t as though she hadn’t tried. She’d scoped out men until her eyes crossed. Sue her for being picky, but Lenny who owned the bagel shop down on Broadway and whose date conversation centered around which cream cheese tasted best on his raisin bagels did not make her heart beat faster. Besides, she couldn’t get physical with a guy who was as soft and doughy as his bagels.
Jenny smiled. Sloan had called after that horrific date. He was funny, comforting, and talking with Sloan was a laser light show compared to the Lennys of the world. Maybe he wasn’t long-term-relationship material, but…
Jenny’s doorbell interrupted more in-depth analysis.
She put her eye to the door’s peephole, but all she could see was a giant basket. At last. Her Christmas basket, delivery man, and the possibility for one glorious life-fulfilling fling had arrived.
Jenny opened the door only as far as her security chain would allow. “Yes?” The basket was beautiful. Now if she could only work up the courage to look at the delivery man.