Page 25

The Wilde Gentleman and the Mysterious Nightgown

P oet groaned when she came to. The birds were chirping outside her window, and long, pale fingers of light curled bright through the curtains. It was like something out of a Disney movie, only she didn’t feel compelled to jump out of bed and talk to forest animals.

She stretched her arms, and her grogginess began to fade away. That’s when reality hit. She recognized she didn’t recall saying goodbye to Kage, let alone climbing up the steps and getting in the bed.

Shoving the thick white duvet off her body, she looked down.

What in the world? She was in a nightgown, her bra and panties from the evening before beneath it.

She never slept with her underwear on. It was either naked or pajamas with no undies.

No exceptions. She rubbed her head, yawned, and tried to sew the pieces of memory together, to make a recollection quilt of sorts.

She came up empty. The last thing that came to mind was feeling soft and cozy in Kage’s truck while an old honky-tonk song played, then fading away.

She headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth, frustrated that everything was still a blur.

I’d only had one glass of wine. So weird.

Once she was finished freshening up, she exited her bedroom and went across the hall to check on Aunt Huni.

She knocked, but there was no answer. It was a few minutes past eight.

Then, she heard it. Humming from downstairs, soft music playing, and the unmistakable smell of frying bacon.

She made her way down the steps and into the kitchen to find Aunt Huni at the stove flipping pancakes. Strips of glistening, crispy bacon sat on a paper plate, the grease draining on a paper towel. The woman was bouncing a bit, dancing to the rhythm of ‘I Want Your Love,’ by Chic.

“Sleep well?” she asked in a chipper voice as she set the spatula down, and reached for the pot of coffee.

“Yeah, I think so.” Poet scratched her head and made her way over to the woman. She kissed her cheek. “How about you, Auntie?” She opened one of the upper cabinets.

“Good!”

“Hey, did uh, did you see me when I got home? I must’ve been dog tired because my memory is kinda blank.” She poured herself a glass of orange juice and took her multivitamin.

“No.” The older woman shook her head. “I fell asleep. I heard you come in, though, ’round eleven. Sit down and eat.”

Aunt Huni poured them both cups of coffee, and added extra cream.

For a split second, she wondered if Huni’s memory was playing tricks on her again.

On the other hand, it was plausible that Poet was just tired beyond belief.

There was no doubt about it; she’d been exhausted the entire week.

Shrugging it off, she drank her coffee. Moments later, Aunt Huni was sitting across from her.

They settled into a nice conversation about going to see a movie soon, when suddenly there was a loud banging at the door.

“Ms. Constantine! MS. CONSTANTINE!” Melba yelled, then banged on the door once again.

“I need you to cut your grass! It’s high as a mountain!

” Melba went on and on, ranting a long list of things that were either untrue, or none of her business.

All of the duties and chores that she wished for her to tend to.

There was no HOA or clubhouse. Hell, it was barely a neighborhood, with the way the houses were stretched for sometimes miles apart.

Expanses of rough road, sprawling fields and the air God gave them to breathe.

Melba kept on ringing the bell, and banging.

“I know you’re in there, Posey!” Posey? My name ain’t no damn Posey. “I know because your truck is out here! I’m trying to settle this without callin’ the police, but you leave me no choice!”

Poet sighed, got up and opened the back door.

She then grabbed a can of cat food from a cupboard, as well as the can opener.

In ten seconds flat, little fury heads began to pop up like popcorn.

As soon as they heard that opener, all bets were off.

The stray cats and dogs, and occasional raccoons that showed up knew that sometimes she’d give out a meal when the mood struck her.

One time she even nursed some orphan kittens before takin’ them to the closest Vet to be checked out, then adopted.

Placing food in little paper bowls, she dispersed them out back, then walked through the living room to the front door, and rang the little chime while Melba was walking around her property like some bucktoothed peeping Tom.

Poet could hear the breaking of twigs and snapping of dry grass beneath the frumpy woman’s gait.

Very quietly, Poet unlocked the front door and cracked it, then pulled the peel back on three different cans of cat food.

All of them were large, could feed five to six cats per container, and came in assorted flavors.

The first serving in the back of the house was the invitation, an appetizer.

The second was the main course. Like before, little heads popped up from the grass, and came runnin’.

Poet placed the food down, then quietly closed the door and locked it back before the ambush.

Before she could even look out of the window to watch the show, she heard…

“OHHHH!!!! JESUS!!! GET THE HELL OFF OF ME!!! I HATE YOU! I HATE CATS!!! AHHHHHH!!!!” the woman crowed, screaming, wailing and flailing. Melba had gotten too close again, and set off the little catnip booby trap that Poet had set.

Poet craned her neck and caught the scene.

The woman raced off, but this time fell face first in the field.

With catnip all over her feet, ankles and knees, the cats nipped, licked and crawled all over her.

Melba’s screams were guttural and urgent—a death rasp.

A call to Glory. Poet stood at the window watching, a big shit-eating grin on her face.

By the time Melba got back on her feet, she was limping, dragging her leg.

The cats kept at her, but some had left after getting their fill.

Melba finally made it to her old Chevy, quickly slamming the door then starting the engine.

Now that the show was over, Poet returned to the kitchen.

Aunt Huni had dozed off. She smiled at the sight, then ate the last of her breakfast as she washed the dishes, leaving her aunt right there at the table.

Once she was all done, she gently woke the lady up and helped her to her room for a morning nap.

Back in her own bedroom, she grabbed her phone to call a coworker about a work project, but noticed a text message with a video attached, from Kage. The message had been sent in the wee hours of the morning, but somehow she hadn’t noticed it:

You were asleep when I brought you home, and I didn’t have the heart to wake you. I carried you up to your room. Didn’t want to wake Huni, either. Your keys are in your purse on your bedroom dresser. I’ll talk to you soon.

A simple message that explained it all… well, most of it.

Then, she played the video. Kage had recorded himself taking her out of his truck.

She squinted and paid close attention. He’d attached his phone to his jacket some kind of way—perhaps placed it in a pocket.

It was like watching a movie, but in his POV.

He placed her over his shoulder, then fished her key out of her purse, opened her door, and came inside.

In the darkness, he maneuvered as if he knew the place by heart, and then, light shined upon them as he crossed the living room, entered the hallway, and switched her to a cradled position before making his way up the stairs.

Holding her just like a baby. The whole time, his low, deep voice was humming a soft tune…

Each step he took to the upstairs was slow, easy and careful.

She looked like a doll in his arms. Her eyes watered at how he embraced her—as if she were the last person on earth besides himself, and he had to keep her safe at all costs.

He kept on humming, and then, he got to her bedroom.

She had no idea how he knew which room she stayed in, but he went right to it.

He pressed her closer to his chest, turned the doorknob with his big hand, and shoved it open.

They went inside, and he gently placed her down onto her bed.

Silhouettes danced with slivers of light as he moved around her abode, then turned on the lamp.

A dull, peaceful canvas of yellow filled the space, shining light on the situation.

He kept on humming, then kneeled at her feet. He removed her anklet. He set her sandals aside that he’d apparently had under his arm during the journey, neatly, next to the bed. Then, he set his phone down on her nightstand.

Now the video wasn’t so shaky. Everything was still.

Quiet. He paused, just looking at her. Softly brushing her hair from her face with his hand.

Seconds later, he turned his head real slow, and looked into the camera.

Bright blue, striking eyes gazed at the phone—an icy gawk that made her blood run cold.

He was looking at his phone as if it were an intruder, as if it had somehow interrupted his good time.

Soon, his facial muscles relaxed. He moved closer to the phone as she lay in the background, sound asleep.

“I’m usin’ this as proof that I ain’t try nothin’ fresh with you tonight. You’re tired… like I told you that you were,” he whispered. “I’m gonna take off your clothes, put somethin’ on ya, tuck you in, and leave.”

He turned around, sat on the bed. She could feel her own heart thumping as he worked, ushering her skirt down her legs.

Folding it, he set it on the floor. He ran his hand in slow circles along her thigh as he looked at her face, his expression dreamy.

Abruptly clearing his throat, he then removed her shirt.

He was so tender… so meticulous. She didn’t feel a thing.

When her bra strap fell from her shoulder, he slipped it right back into place.

He then stood and went into her master bathroom.

Even though he was off camera, she heard what sounded like him turning on the faucet. He returned with a washcloth and gently went over her face with it, removing her makeup. He started with her eye makeup, working it down to her lips, then flipped the cloth over and went over her entire face.

He began talking again, but his voice was so low, she could barely hear him. Poet paused the video, rewound it, and turned it up so she could listen…

“Look how beautiful you are without makeup… Not every woman can say that. Now, don’t get me wrong, darlin’.

I ain’t never been the kind of man that felt compelled to get into women’s business with things such as that.

I say, let a woman be a woman, but sweetheart, with a face like yours, I’d try stop a runaway train with my bare hands if it meant I could get just one pretty lil’ kiss from you. ”

Once he was finished, he seemed to admire his handiwork, satisfied that she was clean.

Then, he stood and kissed her forehead. He walked to her wardrobe and dresser, and began rummaging through her drawers, finally selecting a black nightgown.

He turned it to and fro, as if working on deciding if it was nice enough for the likes of her.

Poet was in complete shock. Kage was one of the most interesting men, if not the most mysterious and intriguing fellow she’d ever met.

Most men would have shaken her ass awake, or knocked on the door and asked Huni to help if their date fell fast asleep on the drive home.

No, Kage had decided to take care of the issue himself, and he did so in such an inexplicable, yet utterly enchanting way.

He made his way over to her with the gown and gently slipped it over her head, down her body.

It caught around her hips, and he fixed that problem, too.

At one point she sort of groaned as he completed the process, but quickly fell back to sleep.

He placed her neatly in the middle of the bed, plumped the pillow behind her head, pulled up the sheets and duvet around her waist, and tucked her in.

Leaning forward, Kage placed a soft, lingering kiss against her lips, grabbed his phone, and left her room. Just like that.

He filmed himself locking the door so that when it closed, it would lock, and once he was back in his truck, the video ended…

…Now, there was no sense in denying it. The video may have ended, but her falling for him had just begun…