Black and Blue Ivy

Shelter From the Storm

If I hadn't had Bentley to cling to, I'd have never made it to three blocks down the parkway to the high-rise. My feet became wet instantly. I slipped several times with Bentley pulling me from disaster and nearly lost one of my shoes. He used the light from his cellphone as a torch to guide our way, and by the time we entered the building's lobby, we both looked like sugar-coated doughnuts.

"Some night," Bentley said to the sleepy doorman behind the front desk.

"You got that right," the man said.

A lighted Christmas tree brought some cheer to the modern architecture. Generic holiday tunes piped out of a hidden speaker. I wondered if the doorman was sad he had to work Christmas eve.

Bentley leaned on the desk and said to the doorman. "My sister and I got caught in the storm."

What? Sister? That was the first time I heard him refer to me that way. It felt weird.

"And I was wondering if I could get the key to our parents' apartment?"

Bentley's tone was polite, but also entitled. I guess that's how you get what you wanted in this world. I had a lot to learn from him. If I were here alone, I'd be stammering and nervous and this doorman would probably have me arrested for trespassing.

Or a violent assault on a city judge. Don't go there!

"You may call my father if you'd like," Bentley added.

The doorman shuffled through some drawers and produced the key. "Here you go," he said. "And Merry Christmas."

Bentley swiped the key from the top of the desk.

"Merry Christmas!" we both chorused as we practically ran to the elevator. The wetness of my shoes was making me shiver all over again. I hoped the Robinson's apartment was a sauna.

On the elevator ride up, Bentley brushed the snowflakes still clinging to my hair and eyelashes. "What a cute mess you are," he said.

"If you say so, brother."

He laughed and said, "Come here."

He pulled me toward him and we kissed again. I realized in that moment that I'd had been playing with fire that suddenly my tiny match flame had found a source of fuel. Would this explosion consume me?

The elevator doors opened with a ping and we jumped apart like two criminals caught in the act. I guess I was a criminal, just like Morningstar.

Just like Morningstar...

Bentley led the way down a tastefully decorated hallway: thick beige carpeting, gold and white striped wallpaper. On each door we passed hung a cheerful holiday wreath.

"We we are," he said, thrusting a second key into an elevator door.

"What's this?"

"A private elevator leading to the penthouse."

"Penthouse?" I whistled.

"Yes. It's a shame it's empty most of the year."

He stepped aside so I could enter first, and again his arms went around me in a way that felt possessive, but comfortingly so, as if we had stepped over a new threshold of our relationship, and that now there was no going back.

My heart beat with anticipation. Somehow I knew this would be a night I would never forget. Was I ready to make that step? My body, shivering beneath my wet clothes, screamed "YES!"

The penthouse took up most of the top floor in the building. Through a wall of glass was a balcony with plastic covers over furniture and a few empty planters. Beyond that a golden haze penetrated the snow, which I guessed was the lights from the art museum.

Bentley lowered the chandelier light till it glowed with a soft amber. Then he picked up a remote from the glass coffee table and clicked on the gas fireplace.

"Nice," I said.

He shuffled out of his leather jacket, shook the snow from it, and hung it in the closet. "Your coat, madam." He held out his hand.

I slipped off by coat, handed it to him, and drifted toward the fireplace's warmth. "This place is incredible. Do you ever have any wild parties here? You know," I tossed a glance to Bentley over one shoulder. "When the Robinsons aren't around."

He volleyed a wary glance back a me and approached me slowly. "No," he said, running his fingers gently through my damp hair. "I don't have any wild parties."

For a moment he cradled my face in his hands and gazed into my eyes. "Is that what you're into?"

"What?" I whispered.

"Wild parties."

"Nope," I answered honestly. "I'm into you."

"We better get out of these wet clothes," he said, his voice the texture of corduroy.

Did he seriously just go there?

Why did I feel like we were playing a game with each other now? A dangerous one.

"You go first," I said.

His head dropped back with a laugh. "If you insist." He pulled his sweater over his head. Beneath it he wore one of those Oxford shirts he was fond of, or did Gardenia make him wear those pretty things just like she made me. Who was Bentley really?

"You're next," he said.

"All right." I held his gaze as I slowly unbuttoned the pink cardigan I wore over a silly Peter Pan collared blouse. I could see the bob of his Adam's apple when I tossed it to the floor.

"Your turn," I said.

Bentley eyes shifted nervously to the front door.

"Are you sure you locked it?"

He looked back at me with a smile. "Come here, you minx."

Suddenly he lifted me into his arms, and I was weightless, trembling. Kissing me hard, using his tongue, he carried me across the living room and down a dim hallway. When he reached what I assumed was the master bedroom, Bentley kicked open the door, banging it into the wall. The room was dark, but the bed formed a rectangular shadow in the room. He threw me onto it and as I fell into its soft contours, I felt myself surrender to what I knew was going to happen.

He stood at the foot of the king-sized bed. The window behind him filled with falling snow shot with lavender moonlight. I watched as his dark silhouette began to undress. "Are you sure this is what you want, Ivy?"

"Yes," I whispered.

I thought I heard a button pop as he ripped off his shirt.

"We can stop this at any time," He said.

"Will you just shut up and get on with it?" I said in a voice that was pure Philly.

He laughed then, quickly shucked off the rest of his garments and dove on top of me. The rest was a blur of trembling, warmth and wetness boiling to fire, a stab of pain that made me cry out and cling to him like a child. But when it was over, and he folded me in his arms, I counted each heave of his chest until I could tell from his breathing he had fallen asleep. Before I joined him in slumber, I looked out the window at the clearing sky, now blanched with moonlight, and although warm tears cascaded down my cheeks, I felt more happiness than I had never known in my life.

In fact, I felt like my life had only just started and I threw out a silent prayer of thanks to the moon, to God.