Southern Comfort Ch. 07

"The people who are calling, I gave the number to, and if I gave them my number, it was because they are people who give a shit about me, Roger. Your friends call day and night, and I've never heard you complain about that. You told me to find my own friends. If my friends calling is bothering you, why don't you just unplug it?" I asked.

"I thought about it, but then I thought better of it. Five days is a long time, Cindy. I didn't know if something might really have happened to you. Daniel has been to every bar in the city. No one has seen you.

Daniel even went to see your friend, Jon. Jon claims he hasn't seen you since New Years. Some guy named Robert has been calling every fucking hour on the hour. I don't have a clue who that is," he complained.

"You know him. His name is Bob. He's the one who was at the Cypress on my birthday. You remember, the night you were trying to fuck my best friend?" I snapped.

He ignored my comment. "Ivan has called. Christina. Some guy named Sonny, who says you are supposed to be going to Mardi gras with him? He said you stood him up earlier in the week."

"Sonny is Jon's brother. We were supposed to go shopping," I explained. "Christina, Katherine and I are going with Sonny, Ivan and Jon to the Endymion Extravaganza at the Dome."

"Sounds like fun," he shrugged. "I've taken several messages from someone named Lee. Who is that?" he asked.

"An old friend. I knew him when I lived with my sister in California. He's probably just calling to say Happy New Years. We've been together two years, Roger, and you're just now bothering to ask who my friends are?" I challenged.

"Well, I've never heard you mention him before, so I didn't know. I told him I'd give you the messages. Your mom has called several times, too. I told her you were really busy working right now."

He sighed again. "Look, I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I didn't come here to interrupt whatever you're doing. I would like it if you would bring the girls home. I don't mind paying rent on a big place if you and the girls are there, but if not, then I'm going to look for a smaller place. It's up to you. The house is too quiet without the kids."

"They're with David's mother. Do you really think that little of me, Roger? I'm not going to keep you from seeing the girls. If you want the kids home, then go get them. I'll call and tell them you're coming," I sighed. "But, I want one thing from you in return."

"What? I don't care what it is, just name it. I want the girls back home," he said eagerly.

"Don't tell anyone this is where you found me. You asked me to leave you alone two years ago, and I have. Now, I'm asking you for the same thing. Leave me alone, Roger. It shouldn't be that hard for you to do."

He paused for a moment and then nodded. "Alright. I won't tell anyone I've even seen you, if that's how you want it. I'm going to go get the girls now. You'll call and let them know I'm coming?" he asked.

"I'll do it now," I replied dully. "Tell them mommy will see them at breakfast."

He emptied his glass and slid from the booth. "There's one thing more," he said looking down at me. "Call Jon. He said if he didn't hear from you tonight, there would be trouble. I don't need any shit from him, Cindy. Let him know you're okay."

I shook my head sadly at him. "So, that's why you're here? Because Jon told you to find me?" I asked. He stood there and stared silently at me. "I'll be sure to thank him for both of us."

I wasn't completely sure if Roger would keep his promise, but he did. My whereabouts remained private and life began to return to normal, one small step at the time.

**********

After Roger left, I decided to go to Jon's rather than call. When I stepped outside the club, the weather had turned pure winter and I had not worn my coat. It was windy and at some point it had begun to drizzle. Before midnight, the rain was steady and it was mixed with sleet. My car wouldn't start.

I got out and raised the hood, certain that the problem was somehow electrical. I was no mechanic, but I'd listened to enough men talk shop that I had a few ideas what the problem might be. Chris came to my rescue and he worked diligently to resolve the issue, but to no avail. I was soaked to the skin when I slammed the hood down one last time with disgust.

"Cheer up, honey. If it's the cables or the ground like you think, it's an easy fix. We'll just have to wait until day to see. Come on, Duchess, I'll give you a ride," he offered.

I shook my head at him. "No. It's okay, Chris. You've done more than enough already. Besides, I'm just going across the parking lot. I'll walk," I informed him as I locked my car and slung my purse over my shoulder.

"You're already soaking wet, Cindy. You'll have pneumonia by morning. Let me give you a ride," he insisted.

"I appreciate it, Chris, but I'd rather walk. I'll be fine," I assured him as I gave him a kiss goodbye. "I'll get the car tomorrow." I would have rather accepted his offer, but I had no clue how Jon would react if Chris dropped me off at his front door.

He watched me make my way across the parking lot and down the grassy hill. By the time I reached the apartment complex lot, Chris had disappeared back inside the club. My hands were numb when I knocked on Jon's door. I was dripping wet and near frozen. I could hear him cursing as he fumbled with the locks.

"Where in the hell..." he snarled as he flung the door open. He took one look at me and changed his tone. "Mais la! Get in here,Cher," he said pulling me through the door by one arm. "My god, you're like ice," he hissed as he wrapped his arms around me.

"My car wouldn't start," I said lethargically. He stepped back and grabbed the throw from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around me.

"I've been looking everywhere for you. I even called that worthless piece of shit you call a husband. I told him if he didn't have you call me by tonight, I was coming over there. Where the hell have you been?" he demanded. He was rubbing my hands briskly to get the feeling back in them.

"Around," I replied vaguely. "My car won't start," I repeated.

"We'll worry about the car later,Cher. Get out of those clothes before you catch pneumonia. Go get in a hot shower,se rechauffer, while I make some coffee," he ordered as he began pulling the blanket from my shoulders. I dropped my purse to the floor and stepped out of my shoes. He was headed to the kitchen.

I emerged from the shower ten minutes later, warmer but still suffering the effects of exposure. Jon was standing in the doorway with a warm robe in his hands. He took the towel from me and began drying my hair while I slipped on the robe. He grabbed a brush from the counter and led the way to the bed.

A moment later, he was detangling my hair while I sipped the laced coffee. We were silent for a long while.

"Are your kids okay? That husband of yours didn't seem to know where you stashed them," he said breaking the silence.

"The kids are fine. He picked them up earlier. And, why is everyone suddenly so worried about my kids? I've seen them everyday."

"I didn't say you haven't. It's just that a woman doesn't usually stray too far from her children. No one seemed to know where any of you were. Your kids aren't really the point, Cindy. Where have you been,Cher?" he asked.

"I was at home. The kids were with my friend's mother. She takes them for a few days sometimes. She didn't see them over Christmas so I took them to visit her."

"They've been with David's mom?" he asked. I was surprised he remembered about David's mom. I nodded. "Okay, so I'll ask you again. Where have you been?"

"I just told you.Mon chez moi."

"You weren't at home. I talked to Roger. He said he hadn't seen you in nearly two weeks."

"Just because he didn't see me doesn't mean I wasn't there. I was in the guest bedroom. He never goes in there. No one does. I was at home all day, except when I went to see my kids every afternoon. I only went out alone to have a few drinks in the evenings after he came home from work. It's a big house. I can't help it if he didn't hear or see me. Maybe he just didn't want to, did you think about that?"

He suddenly threw the brush across the room. "Goddamn it! Are you fucking telling me that you were athome this whole time and your fucking husband didn't even know it?" he bellowed.

"That's what I'm telling you, Jon. I was at home," I repeated quietly.

He stood up and began to pace the room. "Did anyone know where you were? Did you talk to anybody that knows you were there?" he demanded.

"Are you asking me for a fucking alibi?" I snapped in disbelief. "Because, the last time I checked I hadn't done anything that required a witness to corroborate my movements. Since when isn't my word good enough for you, Jon? Have we really come so far that you don't trust me at all anymore? You tell me one time that I have ever lied to you, or kept anything from you. Then we'll talk about the things you have kept from me."

"Do you know how worried I've been about you? You walked out of here on New Years Day and no one has seen or heard from you since. Did you know that Bob is back? Do you have a fuckingclue how worried he's been? He tried to file a missing persons report on you. Especially after he told me that someone has been following you around town. When were you planning to tell me about that,Cher? Don't fucking sit there and tell me you don't keep shit from me, because lately, that's all you do."

"When were you planning to tell me thereal reason you won't marry me? I'll make you a deal, Jon. You stop keeping shit from me, and I'll tell you every move I make from now on," I snarled at him. "When are you going to talk to me, Jon? Do you really think I can't see what's happening with you? When are you going to tell me the truth?"

"I knew this was about what Ivan said. You're just trying to get me to do something I don't want to do. I'mnot going to marry you,Cher. So, forget it! And, if you know what I know, you'll leave that sleeping dog lay. Don't bring it up again. I love you, but I will throw your ass out of here and never look back if you raise that subject ever again." He turned his back on me and rubbed his forehead in frustration.

"Don't threaten me, Jon," I warned as I stood up to confront him on equal ground. "You're not going to throw me out. You tried that once and it didn't work then. It's not going to work now. You didn't throw me out when youthought I was sleeping with Ivan. You didn't throw me out when you tried passing me off to your brother. And, you haven't thrown me out when youknew I began sleeping with Bob.

You're not going to throw me out. You can't, not anymore than I can walk away from you. If you don't want to talk about it, then we won't. But, don't preach to me about honesty or trust, Jon. And, don't fucking threaten me with bullshit. I know you too well." I tucked my arms around his waist and lay my cheek against his back.

He was silent for a while. He suddenly sighed and patted my hands. "Mais la! What in the hell am I ever going to do about you,bebe?" he asked tilting his head back and gazing up at the ceiling.

"You could start by taking me to bed and making love to me. We've wasted too much time arguing already," I suggested quietly.

He spun about to face me and he leaned down to kiss me. He loosened the belt on the robe and removed it. His hands were warm and gentle when he cupped my face in them and he continued kissing me until I was completely breathless. I ran my hands up his chest and through his hair. It had been over a year since he had cut it. I was totally entranced by the silkiness of it; the blacker than night soft curls that framed his face, and fell wildly about his neck and shoulders.

I ran my fingers through those errant curls and straightened them, then stroked his beard that was equally as soft to touch. We played a game of dueling tongues before I began to suck at his as if it was a replica of his penis. He made a sound of impatience and I knew he wanted to feel my lips on his cock.

I didn't delay in taking him inside my mouth and sealing my lips around him, sucking him deep into my throat. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he made a sound of unadulterated pleasure. He used one hand on the back of my head to guide my movements, and with the other, he gently gripped my throat so he could feel the depth of his strokes.

Jon could be very vocal during sex, often talking to me, offering praise or instructions, or even just making soft sounds that told me what he liked. This time, he didn't offer any words of encouragement. The only time he spoke at all was to say, "I didn't bring a towel." When I didn't bother to respond, he knew that it didn't matter to me. I was concentrating solely on his pleasure and he was not inclined to interrupt again.

His movements were leisurely and fluid. It allowed me time to enjoy the sensations and his flavor between each lingering caress. We spent a good deal of time exploring one another; he, with his cock, testing the extent of my tolerance for swallowing him repeatedly, and I, with my teeth, tongue, and lips testing those things which gained the most intense responses.

We were so attuned to one another he didn't feel the need to warn me of his climax. His body was so relaxed that one might assume he was nowhere close. He didn't tense, or pull my hair. He gave no indication at all that he was on the edge of orgasm. I simply swallowed hard one time, and his penis surged as it released a spate of warm, heavy fluid that flowed down my throat.

Only then did he sigh and say, "Pic kee moi! I love how you do that,Cher."

I withdrew my lips slowly and lay my cheek against him, hugging his hips to me while he stroked my hair for a moment.

I heard the sound of his pager going off. He gently pushed me back on my heels and reached down to retrieve his jeans still bunched around his ankles. He was fumbling with trying to remove the pager from its sheath.

"Jon, don't answer it," I urged.

He sighed at me and said, "You know I have to, Cindy." His hand was still poised on the pager, but he was undecided for a moment.

I stood up and put my hands against his chest. "You don't have to, Jon. Please don't answer it this time. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning. Please?"

"Alright. Just let me check the number," he responded.

I put my arms around his neck and pleaded with him again. "No, Jon, please. Don't even look at it. If you look at it, you'll be thinking about it all night. The last three or four times I've tried to stay the night with you, the pager went off and you had to leave. I never get to spend time alone with you anymore. Either turn it off, or just let it beep, but don't answer it."

He kissed me again. "It's the busiest time of the year,catin. The Superbowl is in two weeks," he reminded me. He must have seen how disappointed I was, because he gave it a moment of thought and said, "Okay, honey. This time, you win. I'll just ignore it. Are you happy now,Cher?" he asked as he laid the pager on the dresser.

He turned back to me and held me in his arms. I was indeed ecstatically happy. An uninterrupted evening alone with Jon was my reason for living. I climbed onto the bed and waited while he undressed again. He joined me there and I lay against his chest while we took a few minutes to simply enjoy the comfort of one another.

Jon didn't speak fluent French. Not many of the younger generations did. While he grew up in a household where French was the native language, both his and his parents' generations were discouraged from speaking it. In fact, when Jon went to school, it was forbidden to speak French at any time on school grounds. Like most people, he could read and comprehend some written French, and he spoke it in broken phrases.

He had days when he would lapse into speaking that sweet Cajun mix of English and French with a slow southern drawl. When he and Sonny would converse directly about something they didn't want me to understand, they instantly became more fluent than expected. I could always tell when he and Sonny had been polishing their linguistics on one another, because it spilled over into his conversations with me.

It was to my advantage that many of my regular customers would speak to me in both languages. They would speak first in French, and then repeat themselves in English. I picked up an understanding of much of it, but speaking it proved more difficult. Many times, when Jon would address me in Cajun, he would expect me to answer him in the same language.

"Que voulez-vous, bebe?" he asked. "En Francais, s'il vous plait?"

"Tiens-moi?" I replied as I snuggled against him.

"Pour ce soir, c'est tout?" he teased.

"Pour toujours. Coucher avec moi, s'il vous plait."

"Coucher avec toi, ou pic kee toi? Say what you mean," he said with a laugh. "There's a difference, you know."

"I said, 'please'. Doesn't that count for anything?" I chided him.

"Voulez-vous en haut?" he asked sounding hopeful.

"Mais oui, pour l'instant," I shrugged as I rolled to my knees and straddled him. I had hardly settled myself astride him when he gave me one of his fiery looks.

"Toucher toi meme, pour moi," he demanded.

"Like this?Comme ca?" I asked as I slid one hand between my legs and began to massage my clit.

"Yes,Comme ca. Exactly like that,Cher." He ran his hands over my breasts as he watched intently. I played only long enough to make myself wet for him. After several minutes had passed, I placed my slippery fingers to his lips. He tasted them and declared, "C'est bon."

I leaned down and kissed him, tasting myself on his tongue. "P'us, p'us! Now, stop with the French lesson and fuck me, please?" He ignored my request to speak English. But, I didn't have to ask again for him to fuck me.

He rolled me onto my back and entered me with one flowing motion. He slid one hand under my hips and supported my weight while he thrust deeper. "Je t'aime pour toujours," he whispered softly before he covered my mouth with his and kissed me deeply.

"Voulez-vous plus?" he asked as he teased me with only brief thrusts of his hips. I nodded eagerly in response. "Beau coup plus?" He changed his rhythm and the depth of his strokes, and very soon after my body began to tense.

"Ahh! Mais oui plus, bien sur. Comme ca! Ahh, c'est bon. Me faire jouir maintenant!" I guess I didn't or couldn't hear his pager going off with regularity across the room at that point, but Jon most certainly did. He also knew that for the first time in our sexual relationship I was on the verge of orgasm without the assistance of his tongue or fingers. He continued to ignore the pager and concentrate on me.

If the pager wasn't enough of a distraction, the phone simultaneously began to ring. For the first couple of rings, we both ignored it. After that, it was impossible. He began to curse as he stretched his free arm across me to reach for it.

"Jon, no," I protested. He was trying to maintain a regular tempo with me, while at the same time his fingertips dislodged the receiver from its cradle. It both answered the call and ended it abruptly. The phone went silent, but only momentarily. He went back to whispering sweet nothings in my ear and urging me to cum with him.

Both the phone and the pager sounded again. "Fuck!" he snarled loudly before he dropped his head on my breast and stopped fucking me. He reached for the phone and snapped at the caller, "I'm fucking busy!" There was a brief pause as he listened.