A Marvelous Monday Read online

I’m planning the honeymoon and paying for it.

  If he hadn’t already arranged that as well.

  He probably has.

  The man has thought of everything.

  Adding shower gel to the sponge, Zelda scrubbed her arms and neck, staring at the wall as she absently washed her breasts, thighs, and feet. The clearing of a throat could be heard as she looked up to see Scott through the fog of the glass encasement of the shower door.

  “Good morning, Big Guy,” she said, giving him a smile, he couldn’t see through the condensation of the glass.

  “Can I join you?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said, rinsing off. “I’m pretty much done, but I’d be happy to wash your back.”

  “I’d love it if you washed the front, too,” he said, stepping out of his boxers to join her under the stream of hot water. It hit him in the chest, surprising him with the heat. “Ooochie, ouchie, ouchie. That’s hot!”

  “Wimp,” she said, adjusting the cold water to bring down the heat and steam.

  “No, I just don’t want to have my wiener boiled,” he said, backing up into the corner until the water cooled down. “How are you this morning?”

  “Oh, fair to middlin’,” she said truthfully. “I didn’t sleep well. Lots on my mind.”

  “Anything you care to share?”

  “Not really,” she said, thinking better of the fear she was tamping down. “I was just thinking...you know, the car, the ring, the funny looking kids. Little hairy kids with Asian eyes, big feet, bucked teeth. The honeymoon.”

  “Oh yeah, about that,” he said, reaching for a washcloth and the soap. “I didn’t plan anything yet for the honeymoon. Is there somewhere you want to go?”

  She watched the lather build in the mound of hair of his chest. The water beaded on her bare skin and goose pimples rose along the fleshy parts of her arms. “Dear God, I love you, but you avoided the comment about the kids,” she said softly.

  “I know, but will it be enough when those hairy, bucked toothed kids with Asian eyes arrive to still love me? Our kids will be adorable if you ask me, and the most intelligent, beautiful little people I’ve ever seen,” he said, looking down at her.

  “Those children will be ours,” she said, touching his hairy chest, feeling stupid for making the comment out loud. Zelda’s eyes met his.

  “Woman, you keep touching me like that and I will give you one of them funny looking kids this morning,” he said. “No words, just me and you on that bed making a little Berger.”

  Zelda laughed as she took his cloth. “Turn around,” she said, scrubbing the back which had started to grow back the hair.

  “Zee, what time did you want to leave for New York?” he asked as his hands pressed against the shower wall.

  “I guess about ten, so we can get checked into the hotel before I head over for my early interviews,” she told him. “The Con starts at about two. I can cover what I need, and then we can have a nice dinner.”

  “Saturday, I have to send the plane to Mexico to pick up my parents, but will you have time to shop for a wedding dress?”

  “I should,” she said, thinking of a simple dress from maybe Kleinfeld Bridal. The one thing she didn’t want to be was the stereotype and insist on having a Vera Wang wedding dress. In her opinion, she could become Mrs. Berger wearing a potato sack and he wouldn’t have cared, but the aesthetics of the photos would be all off. “I’m thinking Kleinfeld’s for the dress.”

  “What? You don’t want to be married in a Vera Wang?” he asked, turning in the shower to face her.

  “I think it would be kind of pretentious to wear a ten-thousand-dollar dress to get married in a church that’s only worth that much,” she said. “If the church members are the community and I’m to be a part of it as well, the last thing I need to do is show up in a dress that is worth more than annual revenue collected in the Sunday trays.”

  “Thoughtful,” he said, rinsing away the suds.

  “Well, honestly, as much as I love the car, a Honda probably would have been better. I can’t see driving up to the bake sale in a Porsche, carrying my pound cake that everyone is going to swear I bought at the grocery store,” she said, with one hand on her bare hip.

  “You have it backward, Darling,” he said with a crooked grin. “If you showed up at the bake sale driving a Honda, they would think I was broke. Expectations versus reality shifts in this part of the world. As my wife, you will be expected to be above the crowd.”

  “Yes, but I want to be accepted. I can’t make friends and be neighborly with the locals if I show up acting as if I am better than everybody else,” she said. “Part of my charm is being able to blend in. I like blending in.”

  “I like you standing out from the crowd,” he said.

  A sinking feeling hit the bottom of her stomach. A showpiece. Am I his showpiece for the community and friends? The one thing she hated more than anything was the feeling a being a trophy for any man. She sure as hell didn’t plan to be one for Scott Berger. Angrily, she stepped from the shower. Snatching the towel from the rack, she rubbed her skin briskly, fettering the anger through rapid hand movements.

  The shift was subtle in her mind, but in Scott’s, he heard everything she didn’t say. Her body language told him she was bordering on getting pissy and doubt crept into his thoughts for the second time. He would address it head on to clear up any confusion. If she still wanted to be pissy, then he would take another approach.

  “Zelda, I don’t think of you as a trophy wife and that is not what I want nor need,” he said. “The Berger’s have a long-standing role in the community and as my wife, there are certain obligations and responsibilities you will need to undertake. You can perform some of those in a Honda or your Porsche. Your call.”

  “You saw that, huh?” she asked, feeling silly.

  “I notice everything about you, but we can’t have a great marriage if you are unwilling to voice what’s on your mind and in your heart. I will never hesitate to tell you what’s on either of mine, and it is only fair that you reciprocate,” he said softly. He turned off the taps and stepped out of the shower.

  Zelda handed him a large white fluffy towel. He wanted her to voice what was on her mind, so she would voice what was on her mind.

  “Okay,” she said, standing nude before him. “The whole rushed wedding thing makes me feel weird like there is a hurry, but it’s cool, in a lot of ways. It is done. My Grandma can’t interfere and go nuts, but Wilke won’t have a tux.”

  “Call him and tell him to bring his best black suit,” Scott said. “What else?”

  “Buying me a car,” she said. “I have my own money, Scott. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Fine, give me back half,” he said.

  “What?”

  “See, it sounds stupid when you say it. It is a gift for my wife. Accept the gift. If you feel weird about being indebted to me, give me back half or drive it and know that you are loved,” he said.

  “Are you telling me to shut the fuck up and drive my expensive car?” she asked.

  “Your words, Zelda, not mine,” he said with a lopsided grin. “What else?”

  “The job, the pay raise, you don’t even know what I made at the magazine,” she told him.

  He dried himself with the towel and looked up at her. For this answer, he didn’t need the calculator, he’d already run the numbers.

  “You made fifty-five with per diem. Most of it you didn’t use because of the points and miles for hotel stays. You barely used the food allotment, so roughly fifty-five for a circulation of 80,000 subscribers is about standard,” he said. “The side hustle with the other agencies and stories, netted maybe another ten to fifteen, so me offering you sixty-five for a built-in audience of over one hundred thousand loyal readers is fair, especially considering location, cost of living, and the rest.”

  “Damn,” she said looking at him.

  “Yeah, sexy as hell and smart, too,” he said doing a sexy hip grind into the air, making his junk swing in a circle. “All of this is yours as well.”

  “Scott, I don’t know what to say,” she said.

  “Say you love me and we are going to have a great life,” he replied, halting his stripper boy moves.

  “I love you and we are going to have a great life,” she responded. “You make it seem so easy.”

  “That’s because loving you is easy. It’s when we overthink things and get in our own way that life becomes difficult. I’m your life partner, and we make it a great life or we can make it a hard one,” Scott said. “I vote for great.”

  He held his hand up like a kid in the classroom voting for the field trip. She held hers up as well. The stupid tears were back but she didn’t have time for them.

  “Let’s get moving. I have to go to work,” she said to him.

  “Yes Ma’am,” he said. “Hey, Zelda. I have a Conan the Barbarian costume in the closet. Can I wear it to ComiCon?”

  “What in the fuzzy hell, Scott?” she said. “I don’t even want to know why you have a Conan costume, but as crazy as things have been, I don’t see a reason you can’t.”

  “Awesome!” he said with his eyes wide and filled with excitement.

  She was glad he was excited. On Monday, she would be his wife, much to the surprise of her small family. He was right. Why drag it out. Tomorrow she would buy a dress. Monday she would wear it and say I do.

  Easy. Peasy.

  IT WASN’T EASY. ZELDA walked through the conference center, wearing a black suit, carrying a Prada bag, and sporting her press credentials around her neck. She was followed by Scott dressed as Conan the Barbarian, wearing fur covered underwear with a leather codpiece. The fur boots, strapped to his well-formed calves with leather straps, thankfully,
were several shades lighter than his leg hair. If not, it would have looked as if the boots came up to his kneecaps, which were the only things on the man not covered in black, thick hair. He carried a real metal sword and wore the headband from the movie, and as he walked through the Con floor, people stopped him to take photos. The necklace of his enemies’ teeth hung about the thick neck.

  Zelda arrived at the press room, flashing her credentials but Scott was stopped at the door. The leather wrist cuffs tightly wound around his wrist, as black as the hair on his arms, drew the attention of the door guard for the press briefing. The door attendant stared at Scott and the giant sword he wielded as if it were an everyday thing.

  “Hold on there, Conan, press only beyond this point,” the man told him.

  To Zelda’s surprise, from the furry underwear, he whipped out a press badge for the magazine she would soon be taking over.

  “Conan – Press,” he said in a horribly mimicked Celtic accent.

  “Okay, Big Fella, but the sword stays by the door,” the man said.

  “Conan’s sword goes with Conan,” Scott said, taking an intimidating stance.

  “Whatever, I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” the man told him. “Just don’t cut anyone, okay?”

  “Conan only cut down his enemies,” Scott said, grunting at the man, who made a wide berth to let him pass.

  “You scare me sometimes,” Zelda whispered to him.

  “Conan,” he started and stopped himself. “I’m going to put a real fright into you tonight when I bed you, wench, wearing the boots and nothing else.”

  “Oh, dear Jesus,” she said as he sauntered off to find them seats, the muscles on his back flexing. He pointed the sword at a guy on the front row who jumped up and moved. His eyes came up from the two chairs from which he had forcefully evicted the tenants and waved to Zelda to come over. Everyone in the room watched them as they took the two front seats, Scott sitting with a man spread that caused the panelists sitting on the stage to gawk in disbelief.

  “Close your legs, Conan,” Zelda whispered to him.

  “Conan need to let balls breath in fur panties,” Scott said, staring at a well-known actress on the stage, tossing his chin upward at her. The woman blushed like a school girl spotting her first crush. Zelda covered her mouth with her hands to keep from laughing as the lights dimmed and a trailer featuring the cast on the stage displayed in the background.

  The trailer was followed by a series of Q & A, during which Scott, in his Conan's voice, asked questions and got quotes for the magazine for his father to use.

  “Conan going to destroy buffet table,” he said, moving towards the food display. She watched him, amused, entertained and feeling a giddy sensation coursing through her as he immersed himself in his role as the barbarian. He picked up a handful of meatballs and finding they were hot, dropped them back on the table. One by one, he ate them with sauce dripping from his hands like a heathen let loose on the masses. Several producers approached him, and to her amazement, he stayed in character.

  He is going to immerse himself in this marriage as well. His role as husband, provider, father...complete immersion. The actress from the stage made her way over to Scott with Zelda also watching the interaction. The woman reached out to touch the large bicep bulging as he shoved meatballs in his mouth, but Scott, in his role as Conan, held up the sword to stop her hand from contacting his skin. What she said next may have bordered on inappropriate because the barbarian’s facial expression changed from slightly amused at his own antics to back off lady. Zelda took that as her cue to come to his rescue.

  “Honey, there are plates and napkins,” she said, looking at his mouth covered in sauce. “If you want to conquer the wench tonight, you need to clean up.”

  “Conan conquer,” Scott said. “Bed wench real good. Then we steal gold.”

  The actress, shocked, stepped back.

  “Yeah, sorry. I promised him he could bed me when we leave here,” Zelda told her. “However, can I get a photo of you and quote for Hobbyist magazine?”

  “Sure,” the actress said. “Only if I can get a photo with Conan.”

  “We have a deal,” Zelda said.

  The rest of the afternoon played out the same way. Scott stayed in character and in exchange, Zelda’s time on the job as a reporter at large was cut in half. Famous actors, actresses, and producers came to them as he held court and people took pictures. Not once did he break character even when an assistant to one of the largest movie producers in Hollywood brought the man a smoked turkey leg that he gnawed on like Henry the Eighth at supper time.

  For nearly four hours, he maintained the façade until finally he stood up from the large chair wheeled in from heaven knows where and lifted Zelda and tossed her over his shoulder like a rag doll, and waved the sword. People moved out of his way.

  “Where you going. Conan?” a Hollywood A-lister asked.

  “Time for Conan to bed wench,” he replied, carrying her to the elevator. She thanked the nice people as he growled at the few others waiting for the arrival of the elevator car. He didn’t want to share the ride up to their floor. “Conan’s!!!”

  The nice nerds waiting for the elevator moved out of his way. Zelda hung over his shoulder like a dirty carpet as he carried her down the hall after the elevator reached their floor. The sword leaned against the door as he used the leather codpiece, pumping his hips against the magnetic key card opening to make the red light turn green. Securing his blade, he opened the door and dropped Zelda on the bed like a sack of potatoes.

  “Scott,” she said softly as he removed the headpiece and the fur underwear. He was ready for her. Proud. Rigid. Engorged. “Never mind.”

  Zelda barely made it out of her pants before his mouth found her delicate parts, wetting, lubricating, and preparing her for the assault of Conan as he bedded his wench. She clung to the muscles as the hair on his chest grazed over the silk of her blouse. The thin barely-there bra was no barrier against the assault of coarse hairs as she moved under him, enjoying the aggressive approach while he claimed her body.

  In a tangle of arms and legs, they moved with each other until the passion consumed them both, spiraling them over the cliff of pleasure. She cried out his name as her nails scored his back and the necklace of animal teeth pressed into her skin. Soundless, he brought them both to a lusty finish, and he rolled his weight off her, pulling her by the arm onto his chest. Zelda, exhausted, lay upon the broad expanse, listening to the rapid beating of his heart.

  “Scott, you are my everything,” she said, as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Six – A Sensual Saturday

  The appointment at Kleinman’s went faster than Scott expected. He wasn’t allowed to see the dress she picked, but at $1500, she seemed happy with the bag with the company’s logo. He placed his credit card on the counter to complete the purchase.

  “Scott, what are you doing?” she asked. “I will buy the dress.”

  “Nope,” he said.

  “I can buy the dress,” she said, reaching for her wallet. The sales clerk excused herself to allow a private conversation between the fiancé and his bride-to-be. “You have done enough. I can purchase the dress myself.”

  “I seem to recall a conversation in your bedroom that if I continued sexing you like I was, that, and I am using your words, ‘a bitch might have to go pick out a wedding dress’.”

  Zelda’s mouth was open wide at his verbatim recollection of her words. He smiled that lopsided grin that she loved, and she knew he was also going to come back with his own rejoinder.

  “And I said to you, Zelda, that if you continued doing what you were doing to me, that you could have my credit card and buy any damned dress you wanted,” he said, placing the card on the counter with a definitive click. “Any moferking dress you want, lady. Any car you want. I would buy a bitch an island if she asked me for one.”

  She pressed her lips together as he said the last part in a whisper.

  “You and I are going to have a serious talk when we get back to the hotel. I have gone from being a wench you wanted to bed to a bitch. Tonight, am I going to be your whore?” she asked in a joking manner, but his face said he didn’t find it funny.

  “No, you are going to be my wife. I only used the term because you did. I meant no offense, Zelda,” he said in all sincerity.