Free Chapter and Verse by Jo Willow, Sharon Gurley-Headley Page B

sound?”
    This time the smile was genuine and I relaxed and took a bite of muffin.
    “ It sounds like something I need in my life.  You’re a righteous chick.  You know that Dorothy Lincoln?”
    “ I do indeed Deacon Sloan.  You feel like answering some questions today?”
    “ You gonna take a shower first?”
    “ Are you implying I smell funny?”
    “ Nope.  Just asking the question.”
    “ Then probably.  You goin’ home or hangin’ out?”
    “ Hangin’ out I guess.”
    “ Good.”
    “ Good.”
     
    We ate our muffins and drank our coffee and it was.  Good I mean.
     

Chapter Five
     
    At this point in my story, I could tell you that I had some life changing epiphany during our day together, but that would be a lie and I’m not about to start telling porkies now.  I’m not a big fan of lies.  They tend to grow hairs and it never ends.  The truth is what it is and you never have to wonder later on what you said in the first place.  Truths can be verified.  Lies have to be justified.  So we’ll stick with the truth.
    I showered and he cleaned the kitchen which involved washing two cups and wiping down the table.  No biggie, but I had to wonder how many times the CEO of a major corporation had performed that simple chore.  In all fairness, he did it like a pro.  When I emerged twenty minutes later fresh as a daisy and ready to roll, his shoes were near the door and he was draped casually across my sofa, flipping through my TV channels.  I took a minute to study him.
    My folks hired a decorator to do their house.  It’s beautiful and had been featured more than once in architectural and decorating magazines.  It’s an old but remodeled Connecticut estate-slash-farmhouse (yeah right) on twenty acres of land in the Connecticut countryside.  The whole thing was fenced by this immaculate white picket fence that looked impressive when driving by, but would hold nothing back should it try to escape.  That’s why we never had pets.  The reason I’m mentioning this, is because I always wanted something that felt like a home and not a decorator’s dream.  I wanted something that reflected me.
    I may own an apartment in the city, but I picked out every stick of furniture, every piece of art, every rug.  If you spent any time at all in my apartment, you’d know enough about me to claim me as a family member.  I’m that transparent most of the time.  It’s probably a character flaw, but I prefer to think of it as an asset.  There’s no guesswork where I’m involved.  I say what I think and tell you how I feel.  Unless I decide that you’re not worth the effort.  Then you’re looking at a black hole folks.  I’m as good as gone.
    The reason I’m bringing this up now, is that I never really noticed if other people were as comfortable in my space as I am.  I mean I know that Melody is, she makes herself at home every time she’s here and I like that.  It proves that I’ve created a comfortable place for others as well.  But I don’t have any friends to speak of and although that may be embarrassing as a whole, I blame my blistering schedule.  I have downtime, but not much and that doesn’t lead to sustainable friendships.  Living on the fourteenth floor with only one neighbor that I’ve seen twice since I moved in, doesn’t help either.
    My sofa is the color of mahogany and the fabric is a tight weave that projects warmth.  It’s large, deep and overstuffed.  It’s perfect for napping or lounging.  It’s a couch potato’s dream sofa.  There’s a matching armchair that would seat two people comfortable and a matching ottoman that you could do a jigsaw puzzle on.  It’s placed at a jaunty angle next to the sofa, with a beveled wooden end-table in between.  The matching end-table is on the other side of the sofa and both tables have one shallow drawer.  I’m a huge fan of drawers and theories (the theory part you probably guess by now).  I store remote