Ogreness, Black Lake-book5

Chapter 42
~

Grand was mumblin’ something to Wizper about having not felt so alive in fifty years. Something about the time he took out six armed cow rustlers by himself.

I’m used to an empty house when I get up. Not one full of almost strangers. And definitely not used to Darshee and Wizper already being here. They don’t normally start harassin’ me until I’m in the office. And why was Nuel sittin’ there, without an angry scowl on her face?

Jam, the troll I didn’t meet until we got home, was stretched out in an armchair he must have pulled out of one of the spare rooms, near my center court, facing the swimming pool. He snored softly.

Frip and Ponwr stood in the kitchen sippin’ tea. Grand’s two guys sat at the dining table against the wall, had split the newspaper between them, seemed very content.

Definitely not used to a talkative grandparent flirtin’ with three hens a fourth his age in my dining room.

“Well, it was excitin’,” Wizper gushed, always the positive one.

Darshee shot an irritated look to the trolls sittin’ to her right. “I wasn’t exactly ready to leave.”

“Ya still gonna make those appearances up North?” Wizper asked.

My phone had never stopped vibratin’. To avoid answerin’ Wizper for a moment while I gave her question some thought, I checked the face. My attorney. Maybe a call I really should take.

“You have time right now?” she asked.

I hmmed a, yeah.

“You’re on speaker. Find a comfortable place to sit, and give Jeannie, say hi to Jeannie, she’s our court reporter, your story. I’ll remove any statements you shouldn’t make. And don’t be blabbing to anyone else.”

I said hi to Jeannie as I walked to sit out by the pool.

Forty minutes later my attorney asked me if there was anything important I needed to add. I told her no. “This should be the last you should hear about this matter. If a cop calls you, direct them to me. If the media calls, don’t answer. If you screw up and answer, hang up as soon as you realize they’re the enemy.”

“Enemy?” I asked.

“You doubt me?”

I told her I didn’t.

“And tell the others to pretend it never happened. Zip up. Never tell anyone a thing. It never happened as far as they’re concerned.”

“Gotcha.”

The ticker on my phone stopped tickin’. The vibratin’ started anew. It would be easy to hate my life. I slid my phone into my pocket. I was thinkin’ about food when the gory sight of that pretty-much-severed head came to mind.

Reminded me how our ancestors made up stories about eating human brains right out of their skulls, to provoke fear, back in the day. As far as I know, there was no truth behind the stories. Just part of the war talk.

Took a lot to live that down I imagine, when the races worked to compose the Covenant, and later.

Had anyone ever translated the Covenant from the ancient Standish? I should do an Internet search.

I jerked. Nuel loomed five feet away.

“Sorry,” she said. “May I join you?”

Why would she want to join me?

“I can leave, if you want. Your grand made a thing about me being a coward, so that’s pretty much the only reason I’m out here.”

Made sense.

She lowered into the chaise next to me. I should tell her to leave. Us gettin’ friendly served no purpose in the least.

She wore a dark-red-mauve-patterned billowy skirt today that brushed across her shins. Her toenails were a shade of red-pink I didn’t think particularly went well with the skirt. Not many ogre hens paint their toenails. Kind of a human pastime. Mama always asked, what was the point, since walking barefoot is hard on the paint. But this moment, I realized the color drew me to those well-tanned feet. Made me want them in my lap, where I could caress them.

Very odd thought. Don’t think I’ve ever fantasized about touchin’ a hen’s feet before. Pretty certain, never.

She wore a white, cotton blouse, sleeves nearly to the elbow. Shirt tail, maybe it would've been called the hem, didn’t quite make it to her waist, so two inches of flesh peaked out. Oh.

Oh.

That was really sexy.

Grand had said she was really sexy. He has a pretty good eye, for an old goat.

Her dreads were all pulled over her right shoulder, and dangled across her right breast. As though pointing it out.

Do not look at her breasts.

The red and gold highlights of her hair glowed in the early morning light.

“Do ya want me to leave?” she asked.

Had she started usin’ ogreish pronouns since being around Grand?

“Yar company is pleasant,” rasped out of my tight throat.

“As long as we don’t talk politics,” she murmured.

“Or motorcycles,” I said.

Her toes wiggled. A tingle worked its way from my sits bone up my spine. A sense of dizziness swept through my noggin.

“My papa loved ’em,” she said. “But promised me he’d never ride again, after.”

Her toes stilled. I shifted my weight in my lawn chair, and the wicker screeched funny. I think she smiled. I didn’t pass gas, if that’s what she was thinkin’. I moved around a bit more to make that obvious, but the chair didn't cooperate..

“You’ll be at the HBC studios Friday?” she asked.

I nodded. There’s no secrets in my house any longer.

“Just down the street from my office,” she said. “I don’t suspect you’re driving.”

I shook my dreads.

“I could, maybe, help you get around.”

I opened my lips to say taxis weren’t so bad, but her toes started wiggling again, pretty much wigging me out of my thoughts. What had she said?

“Ya called me an arrogant butthead,” I mumbled.

Her hands fluttered in her lap. “Well. Yeah. All bulls are, though, so I don’t hold that against you.”

“Kind of ya.”

“I can be kind,” she said.

“Really?” I asked.

“On occasion. But don’t let the secret slip. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Wouldn’t want to soil a hard-earned rep,” I said.

“I’d have to kick your butt the distance of the Range,” she said.

“That’s a fair piece. Ya’d get tired.”

“I have plenty of energy.” Her toes wiggled again, and that sensation startin’ about where I sit worked its way up my spine again.

“Ya don’t wear any rings,” I mumbled. Maybe nervous for something to say.

She looked down, lifted her hand and took a peek, as though she had no idea. The toes wiggled.

I said, “My mama wears a diamond on all five fingers of her left hand and third finger of her right. She says they represent the six decades of hell she’s survived livin’ with my papa.”

“He’s such a sweetie,” she said. The red-tipped toes wiggled again.

“No. Not so much. When ya get to know ’im.”

A sound a little bit like Sissy’s bark erupted from the hen, and repeated five times. It was either a series of belches, or a nervous laugh. We ogres don’t laugh all that much. Growling is more our thing. I think ogres who spend a lot of time with humans pick up their habit.

“I know the ogre restaurants,” she said.

That confused me for a moment.

“I’ll see you don’t get lost. Give me a call when you get in town.”

“I thought ya were staying until the weekend?” I said.

“Think my hosts are getting tired of feeding me. They maybe forgot about our appetites.”

“Well, uh.”

She waited. It was a really stupid idea. I should swallow it down.

“Were you gonna say something?” she asked.

“Uh. A plane’s comin’ from down South to shuttle me to the city, in the mornin’. If ya’d like to join me?”

Her toes wiggled. The tingle repeated.

“A puddle jumper just for ya, huh?” I think it was a tease.

“The company Lear jet. I’ve bummed a ride on it a few times. Kind of a sweet ride.”

“How could I turn that down?” she said.

“Then it’s a date.” A sensation about ten times the Richter magnitude of that repeating tingle followed the same route but shot out my temples. I might have tittered a bit in my chair.

She asked if I was okay.

No. Not really. “Dandy.”

~ Nuel ~

He offered to fly me home in a Lear Jet. So maybe we’re friends. It scared the poo out of me to think about some angry malcontent holding a gun on sweet Grandpa Klow. Maybe a little, for Ike too. He’s frustrating, but I’d prolly feel bad if someone killed him.

~