Vision Ch. 06

She looks from the ring into my eyes back and forth for about a minute and some unknown something passes through her expression as she gives a small shake of her head before standing on her toes and kissing me soundly.

"Absolutely not. Now, give the nice man back the ring." I reluctantly slide it off her finger. She drifts off to another counter.

Not a chance in hell I'm leaving the country without that ring. I give him a look and slip him my business card with my credit card# on the back, a risky move but he understands. I'm sure he's seen this before. I watch him place the ring with the card behind the counter and discreetly nod.

I catch her eyeing necklaces.

"We should get out of here before temptation gets the better of me and I end up mortgaging my home." She says.

It's rare that she indulges this side of her nature around me and I'm admittedly liking it and wondering if we can keep it going.

Further down, we pass a lingerie shop.

"I like your little undershirts but . . ."

"You want me in something girly?" She rolls her eyes.

"We're in Paris Lou, like you said."

"Fine."

"It'll be my treat."

She frowns at me. "You can't . . . you don't have to spend money on me like that. La Perla is really expensive."

We need to have the money talk one day soon. She knows what I make and I know what she makes and because she makes more than me she's making assumptions.

She sighs and looks at me dubiously. "Fine, if you buy it, I'll wear it," she shrugs.

Exactly what I wanted to hear. I pick out several exceptionally feminine slips and some things that look outrageously sexy and hurry her off to the fitting room. The sales staff gaze on with blandly polite, seen it all looks.

Parking the bags on the ludicrously small settee on which I refuse to sit, I wait outside the dressing room.

"Hey, Dax?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"You can't seriously expect me to wear this?"

"Let me see?"

She snickers. "You'll have to come in. I definitely can't come out."

I open the door and step into the small room. Tight black corset, tits pushed up to there, elbow length gloves, wisp of thong, stockings and heels. I clearly didn't think this out. Trapped in a 6x8 space with no condom and her looking like sex on toast. Snapping the last garter she looks in the mirror and bursts out laughing.

"I look like a goddamned dominatrix! The only thing missing is a whip. Shit, I feel like Aeon Flux in this get up!"

She's still looking and adjusting. The short wild curls make her look uncivilized. That little wisp of thong, her bare bottom, muscular little hamstrings. Catching the look on my face, she turns to me with a knowing look and I just know she's about to become unbearable.

"You like this, don't you?" She walks towards me and I immediately back up and hit the wall, as there's little to no space.

"Don't touch me Lou. I can't be responsible." I feel light headed as all the blood quickly leaves my brain and lodges elsewhere.

"Why? What are you gonna do Dax? Are you gonna fuck me in this dressing room?"

Her breasts are just grazing my chest. Sinister laughter as she slips her hand inside my pants and grasps me firmly. Dropping to her knees she licks her lips and takes me into her mouth. Jesus. The sight of her luscious lips wrapped around me is hot as hell - as is what's she's doing with her tongue and hands, squeezing and kneading my balls. Slipping my hand into the bustier I roll her nipple between my thumb and forefinger and she moans against me.

Shit, I'm gonna come, and it's gonna be a lot I think.

"Whoa Lulu, stop I'm gonna come." I try inching away from her evil mouth.

She moans again taking me further in and sucking harder and faster. I'm holding her head in my hands using her face as I explode in her mouth, watching with satisfaction as she barely manages to swallow it all, her little throat contracts rhythmically on my tip. Mmmm . . . Paris.

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Laden with purchases we leave the shop, leaning against each other as we stroll along. I feel her body stiffen and she straightens up gripping my arm tightly all of a sudden. Her face is neutral though I can see her heart beating a mile a minute.

"What's wrong?"

"We're being followed. Don't look around."

I manage to turn and lay out the man who grabbed my baby - that's the last thing I remember before a glancing blow and blackness.

I must be hallucinating. Is that Lulu? What the hell is going on?

I'm watching as the second punk charges and she sidesteps at the last moment, before turning and kicking him where it counts dropping him in his tracks. The third would be assailant is sizing her up circling cautiously. Assuming a fighting stance she waits.

He charges forward and she launches a furious attack, fists and feet simultaneously striking and deflecting blows from every angle with effortless speed. With a hitch kick to the chest she flattens him and walks forward to stand over his prone body.

"That'll teach you to pick on tourists."

"Are you ok?" She asks as I stand.

"I'm good. You?"

"Yeah I'm fine."

She collects the bags and guides me around the corner to a café. Examining me touching me lightly all over, she pulls my head forward and finds a small bleeding cut on the back on my head. I've had worse.

Fussing, she tends me wincing sympathetically as she cleans the cut. Her cleavage smells amazing, soap, sweat and something uniquely her.

"There's no swelling. How does your head feel? No blurred vision, dizziness or anything?" She's looking in my eyes and making sure I can focus.

"I'm fine, it's just a scratch. Something you want to tell me?"

"What?"

"What was all that?"

She snorts a little chuckle. "That was the ugly side of Paris."

"What's with the moves like Bruce Lee?"

"I think we should get you looked at."

"I'm fine. I'll let you do your little dodge right now but we absolutely are going to talk about this."

She sighs. "Sit tight while I get us a taxi."

The ride back is quiet. Holding my hand tightly, she looks out the window. We arrive and pay the taxi and go in. Head bent, she closes the door and takes deep shuddery breath before turning to face me.

As strong as I am and could probably have kicked my ass a few times already but hasn't. She's my Lulu.

"I'm not upset. I'm just wondering why you felt a need to keep it a secret."

Thinking about it for long moments she finally answers.

"Because I like the way you take care of me and I didn't want that to change. Once men see how strong you are they start taking things for granted." She pauses and then looks at me. "You really don't mind, do you?"

"I've said as much, I don't know how many times now. Look at you? Dax one and Lou two and not a scratch on you, I should hire you as my body guard."

"You may want to rethink that as I'm sure I will have some foot bruises tomorrow. I didn't thing they grew 'em that big here. You held your own though and I am surely glad as that first guy was the biggest of the bunch."

"I thought it was just the one, the second one took me by surprise, before I could do anything you were handling business. Obviously you've trained somewhere. Why didn't you say?"

"If you'll recall, I said when we met 'maybe I know kung fu." She shrugs and gives a small smile.

"I'm not a master, but I know how to handle myself well enough until I can reach a gun or blunt instrument. My parents, especially dad, insisted we know how to protect ourselves. Now Eddie is a master, she's been training since she was very small and is an 8th dan, deadly.

My instincts about Eddie were right.

"You saved me. Again."

She frowns. "I helped, just like you helped me. That man grabbed my bag and almost took my shoulder off and you didn't hesitate just grabbed him and decked him. Let's see that hand of yours." She takes my left hand and examines the knuckles kissing them softly.

"As physical as I've been with you, I'm surprised you let me get away with it. And as mad as you were that day when Lenny grabbed you, I'm surprised you didn't kick his ass."

"I used to get in serious trouble with my parents bouncing him and Lili around too hard. Especially little Lenny he got an unfortunately accurate kick that had me punished for an entire month of summer vacation. To this day I know not to hurt those two."

"I bet you were a terror. But that time in your kitchen when I held you that first time because you wouldn't listen, you could have taken my head off and when I grabbed you arm, why'd you even bother to go for a gun?"

"I've kicked ass for less. I guess I was too tired that day." She chuckles and then a soft thoughtful look comes over her face.

"Honestly it's never even occurred to me to seriously strike you." She looks at me in wonder like she's seeing something for the first time.

"Besides you are mine and those who dare to fuck with me and mine will promptly have the shit kicked out of them."

"I'm yours Lou?"

"You belong to me, yes." She kisses me looking quite serious. Possessive Lou. I like this new development.

"I still can't believe you did that. You were like Wonder Woman!"

"Don't be insultin folk man. Wonder Woman? C'mon she's perfectly ridiculous, she flies an invisible plane. It's stupid. Why not just fly. If anything I'm Batman."

"Does that make me Robin?"

"Nah, Robin is a bitch role, strictly reserved for younger siblings. You can be Superman!" She giggles and kisses my dimple.

"Eddie's going to be pissed."

"Why's that?"

"Because there's nothing sexier than a girl that can kick your ass."

She looks at me and laughs.

"I'm real serious 'lil bit. I want you in the worst way, right now."

"You are insane."

I look down at my hard dick. "I've got a situation here."

"I've got just the thing for that." She pulls out 3 condoms from her jeans pocket.

"How in the hell? I don't even want to know how you got those." She's not been out of my sight all day. For all I know she picked their pockets when she kicked their asses.

"Bathroom vending machine, Ladies room, right next to the feminine products." She grins and wiggles her eyebrows at me and winks.

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We tramp around two more days taking in the sights and eating, Fettuccine in Montmartre, Moroccan in Pigalle.

"I want you to meet my Mormor. My grandmother."

In all the excitement I almost forgot. I need to tell her and knowing her it wont be pretty

"You never talk about your grandparents. Why didn't one of them raise you guys?"

"Well my father's father died when I was three so I never really knew him just vague impressions are all I have. His mother though, othermama we called her. She didn't like the term grandma and she was no Nana. I still have memories of her braiding my hair as a little girl, bearing down like she was taking out 400 years of oppression on my poor scalp. This is the one with the frying pan. She was a pistol to say the least.

She wanted to move us to North Carolina. I said no, which led to a huge fight. I won. We stayed."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"She passed away a few years ago."

"What about your mother's mother?"

"My Mormor. I call her MM. I can't wait for you to meet her. She found the racial situation in the 60's unbearable and basically fled to Demark of all places. She's never been back. Hell, she won't even speak English if she can help it.

She married a man who was of African and Danish descent and they had my mom.

Mom moved stateside when she was 15 came for summer vacation with Uncle Leonard and never went back. She'd met my smooth talking father and they eventually married. We'd visit biennially when I was young, which was interesting to say the least, black people in Denmark wasn't as common a sight then as it is now, especially with the influx of Muslims.

They're starting to have issues there like we have here - racial and political. Still, it doesn't hold a candle to Jim Crow South in the sixties. She's at peace now and completely intractable about returning. Not for a visit. Not to be buried.

We've tried to get her home on many an occasion but she's never forgiven the United States. Wouldn't even come to see her daughter buried. Everyone was thoroughly put out with her, but I can't say I blame her. She won't talk about it and all I've ever been able to find out is that she was in love with a man whom she lost to racial violence while they were out crusading.

They were Freedom Riders I think. Heartbroken, she boarded a ship and worked her way across as a cook and maid. Talking to a kindly young Danish girl who was also working her way home, she quickly picked up the language and so when she finally landed in Demark in late 1963 she applied for and received asylum.

She's 73, but very spry - sharp as a tack. She bikes and when in Copenhagen takes the metro around. Her husband had a bad car accident and so at 60 she took up weight lifting, to be able to physically help him until he was able to walk again, which took a while. She liked it so much that she's pretty much kept doing it, she's pretty buff.

I try to visit every other time I'm in Europe being as she's recently widowed. It's not easy though, it's pretty far.

At the top of the world she lives - in Skagen (pronounced Skain) - in a large yellow cottage and makes the softest handmade cotton pajamas and sells them to upscale shops in Copenhagen and France.

She gardens at a feverish pace in her little geothermal greenhouse out back. We're always sending each other pictures of what we're growing. We have a little competition going but truthfully she's trouncing me. I don't help my cause by smuggling heirloom tomato seeds to her from the states so that she can have ripe tomatoes year round.

I don't have time. I'm never home. Most of the hard work is done by Lenny and the girls and the gardener. I select the plants I like and am able to do a little weeding every now and then, but she far surpasses me. She too has a greenhouse where she grows all sorts of things that one can't normally grow in Denmark's often-dingy grey climate. She spends a lot of time in the greenhouse these days.

We're fortunate that she marvels at and completely embraces the information age. We've really gotten to know her with the advent of the internet, it's like we have her with us again. She's always online, she tweets and instagrams, she's very funny."

"Is that who you've been chatting with?"

"Yeah. I've been telling her about you. She likes you already."

I'm so pleased I can't help but grin which makes her roll her eyes.

"So you speak Danish?"

"A little German too. It's all in there somewhere I guess," she says shrugging.

"A life spent diligently avoiding flighty Creole women only to end up with one anyway. You make me question everything woman."

"I should probably call her first and let her know, especially if I want her to have time to make Kringle, and some frikadeller." She closes her eyes and rocks back and forth excitedly.

"I take it that's food?"

"Like Swedish meatballs but better, Frikadeller are rich but delicately seasoned meatballs. MM makes hers with foie gras. I know it's wrong and I don't care. Besides they don't force feed their geese like the sadistic French. Foie gras, paté, ground milk-fed veal, ground pork and ground venison.

Served with her homemade ligonberry jam. Not that ghastly sweet stuff from Ikea but something with bite and tartness to it, and dilled potatoes with cream sauce on the side. And the pickles!! Oh my god, so good! And then there's the Kringle which is a pastry, kind of like a pretzel and a cinnamon bun made sweet sweet love and Kringle is the result, it just melts on the tongue.

She does hers with pecans, I send her Georgia and Texas pecans by the pound, maple syrup and apples. I'll call ahead, it takes a while to prepare. I've been known to eat a pan by myself."

I laugh at her and I have to ask, even though I know the answer. "Are you planning on sharing?"

She gives me the side eye. "I think you should butter her up to make you your own pan."

I shake my head at her, such appetite. "Greediness is nothing to be proud of Lulu." She smiles naughtily and shrugs.

I'm looking forward to meeting MM it's a big move. But first . . .

"I have a strange tale to relate. Is your grandmother's name Annelle Edwards?"

"Annelle Edwards Hildr. " She's giving me the look. "How do you even know that?"

I pull out my phone and show her the picture of my uncle and her grandmother and launch into the story that my parents told me. When I'm done she's so stunned that she sits for a few moments shaking her head.

She goes to the mini bar and makes a martini and comes back and sits, still shaking her head.

"Practically family, exactly what I said. My parents say you look just like her. Pop kept saying from the moment he saw you how familiar you looked; it was Mom that put it together. I said something smart-ass about how you hypnotize people, evidently uncle Junius had the same complaint about your MM, she was or is famous for her powers of persuasion as well."

"Your Uncle Junius, he's alive?" Her distress is slowly escalating.

"He's a chain smoking, chicory drinking, anti-government, anti-technology, crotchety old gentleman bachelor, very much alive. He practically raised my father and his brother while my grand-daddy was off in the service. Pops is at a loss as to how to tell him Annelle's alive and living in Denmark no less. They all thought she was dead."

"We run the risk of possibly giving these people heart attacks or strokes or both if we spring all this on them." She's looking distressed.

"Don't freak out, it's just meant to be is all."

"You know I don't believe in that fate, pre-destiny bullshit, it smacks of self-fulfilling prophecy. Shit just happens man."

The eternal cynic. She takes my phone and stares at the picture. "A few pounds heavier with glasses and you'd look exactly like him."

"And you look just like your MM."

"Lou, I have to ask. Was your MM pregnant when she left the states?"

"I'm not sure, though the time line would fit. In fact now that I think about it I'm pretty sure she was. That would make your great Uncle Junius my grandfather. So now we are family? Jesus, Dax!"

"I was freaked too. Mom gave me a good talking to though and this clinical genetics handbook to read. I think we'd be something like 2nd cousins - which is no cause for alarm."

"I'm Virginian, not West Virginian! Shit Dax!"

Cupping her hand to her forehead she says, "Feels like the top of my head is going to come off."

I rub her shoulders which are suddenly knotted with anxiety. "Breathe baby."

"Don't touch or speak to me for a few minutes here man. I need a moment to process."

She finally calls MM and carefully explains everything.

"I'm going to give you half an hour or so to process this information and I will call you back. Have a sit down and drink some tea, eat some pecans." Lou frowns and cracks a smile and chuckles before ringing off.

"So how is she?"

"I get it honest I guess. My MM actually said - in English - and I quote "Fuck the pecans and tea I'm having Aquavit - a bottle of it."

Even I have to laugh at that.

"At least we aren't related. I don't think I could deal with that on top of everything."

"Should we maybe postpone this for another time?"

"No way, she knows we are coming and I am more than a little scared and concerned for her right now. We are absolutely going."

Lou books the various trains we will need to take to get us there and mails off various parcels and packages bound for home and with many emails and faxes - ties up final loose ends at the office. We find a sweater shop and purchase a few for each of us and leave Paris.

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