Title: Burlesque
Author: Rocket J
Email: rocketj@x-men.comSummary: What do we really know about Logan's life between World War II and Team X/Weapon X?
Rating: NC-17, there's sex in this one kiddies and lots of it!
Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox. I don't make money from writing this (or at my job either so don't bother to sue ;-)) Don't know who "All The Things You Are" belongs to but whoever it belongs to, it belongs to them :-). Profound, eh?
Feedback: Fugu me, man!
Archiving: Obviously the list. WXF has it. If you want it, feel free. I'd just love a note letting me know!
Notes: Thanks to Dekie, LT and especially Victoria for their beta help! Victoria has given this the "Original Character is not too Mary Sue" endorsement - ROFL! BTW, lest you think "Burlesque" a lame or simplistic title, burlesque is a satirical imitation of life. Now on with the show!
1945
Snow wafted gently out of the gray November sky to settle on his shoulders. Logan glanced up, a slight smile playing on his lips. It was the first time he'd felt comfortable since coming to this Godforsaken burg almost two weeks ago. He'd been at loose ends since being discharged from the army, so when his transport ship had docked in the Hudson River and he'd looked up to see the impressive skyline of Manhattan looming over him, he decided this was as good a place as any to hang around. Now he was wondering if it was such a good idea. His separation pay was almost gone and he still hadn't been able to find a job. He didn't even have enough money to get back to Canada!
He clutched the want ads a little tighter in his hand and crossed Union Square Park on his way to Irving Place, a few short blocks away. He turned into the short street that ended at Gramercy Park and stopped in front of the address in the paper. 17 Irving Place. He double-checked the ad; yes this was the address but.this was a burlesque house. The marquee out front read "The Poor Man's Follies Bergere. Not A Family Show!" The sandwich boards and showcases to either side of the entrance were filled with 8x10 glossies of scantily clad women with luridly exotic names.
He walked up to the box office. The bored, middle-aged attendant looked up from filing her nails. "Fifty cents." She intoned in a high-pitched, grating voice.
He held up the newspaper. "I'm here about the ad."
"Go back around to 15th Street. You'll find the stage door in the first alley on your left. Ask for Joe, the manager," she directed him desultorily and went back to filing her nails.
He walked back to the corner to find the stage door. A burlesque house was not what he'd been expecting when he decided to answer the ad in the New York Herald looking for "Strong men for manual labor. Long hours. Decent Pay."
The war had been over for six months now and so many soldiers were being mustered out and returned to the States on a daily basis that both jobs and living accommodations were extremely difficult to come by. He was lucky to find a crummy room in a downtown Single Room Occupancy hotel, but it was a considerable drain on his meager resources. He really didn't want to have to dip into his bank account back in Canada just yet. He hoped this job worked out.
He entered the stage door, taking a second to let his eyes adjust to the dark interior. He could hear the sounds of the performance on stage. A comic was doing a bit and going down pretty well judging by the volume of laughter he was evoking from the audience. The same scantily dressed women from the pictures in front of the theater were strolling around in spangled costumes or silk bathrobes.
Many of them were a bit long in the tooth and some even downright homely! Even so, he knew beauty and youth weren't always the attributes most highly prized in burlesque.
There was an old man seated at a desk right inside the door. He put a finger to his lips and pointed to the "Silence Please When Performance In Progress" sign hanging above his head. In a whisper he asked, "Can I help you, son?"
Logan gave him an amused look. He held up the newspaper and whispered back, "I'm looking for Joe."
The old man held up a palm to indicate Logan should wait where he was and disappeared into the murky recesses of the wings. He came back a few minutes later leading a middle-aged man of medium height wearing a ragged sweater and a beat up trilby hat. The second man, he assumed this was Joe, motioned for Logan to follow him back out to the alley.
"You answering the ad?" he asked in a voice that was all business but not unfriendly.
"Yep."
"So what're your qualifications," Joe asked with a twinkle in his eye.
"Well let's see. I just spent the past six years kicking German butt, jumped out of a plane on D-Day and, oh yeah, I can drink anyone under the table," he answered wryly.
Joe clapped him on the back. "Congratulations! You're my new stagehand. Can you start now?"
Logan held out his hand to the other man. "Absolutely!"
"You been around burlesque houses before?" Joe asked.
Logan grinned. "Only on the other side of the curtain."
Joe nodded. "Your job is mostly to set the scenery and props between scenes and keep the stage and the wings clean. Sometimes, though, we need to run interference if the girls are being bothered by a masher or eject one of the 'raincoat' crowd, if you know what I mean, but fortunately that doesn't happen often.
"We've got a pretty simple system here. All the flats, flies and props are color coded by scene and their places on the stage are marked with the same color paint. I'm sure you'll pick it up fairly quickly, but if you have any questions ask any of the fellas. You can stand in the wings and watch for the rest of this show and I'll get you started on the next one."
Both men re-entered the dark theater and Joe motioned Logan to a spot behind the wing curtain where he wouldn't be in the way. Logan peered out and saw that the singing act was just finishing. He knew that meant it was time for the soubrette, or second-string stripper to appear. The soubrettes were the support to the headliner who closed the show.
He watched as Joe took microphone in hand. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the Irving Place Theater is proud to present that Goddess of the Terpsichorean Arts, the Ballerina of Burlesque, Miss Brandy Alexander."
Logan looked over to the other wing where a spotlight picked up the entrance of the performer in question. A young blonde woman burst onto the stage in a flurry of white pleated chiffon and an enthusiastic response from the audience. She smiled insouciantly into the glare on the other side of the footlights then flung her hands back and kicked her pointed toe way over her head before proceeding to strip one long white glove from her right hand.
It was obvious to Logan she was what was known as an ingénue stripper. Like he'd told Joe, he spent enough time at burlesque houses to know the different kinds of strip acts that comprised a burlesque show. It was unusual for the soubrette to also be an ingénue -- that type of act was usually reserved for a headliner.
Logan watched as the left glove got tossed into the wings. He saw the chorus girls scramble to retrieve it. Miss Brandy Alexander then executed a stunning arabesque, her nose practically touching her knee, her legs almost forming a vertical line. She lowered her leg slowly and teasingly removed the pleated chiffon skirt exposing fishnet and spangle clad legs and sequined dancing trunks.
He reflected on how she seemed to be an amazingly talented dancer and found himself wishing he could get a better look at her face. Because of the lights shining into his eyes from the other side of the stage, he could only see her in silhouette. She performed a stunning triple pirouette before reaching back to slowly and teasingly unzip her satin and sequined bodice. She gently shimmied her petite shoulders causing the straps to migrate several inches down her arms, letting them pause there for several moments before whipping it off completely and exposing the spangled brassiere that matched the dance trunks.
A few more ballet steps and the trunks were gone and then the moment that everyone in the theater waited for with bated breath, Logan included, the moment when the brassiere was removed and Miss Alexander stood before them in nothing but flesh colored tulle illusion adorned with strategically placed rhinestones. The music crescendoed, the move was completed and the audience and Logan erupted into thunderous applause, which the stripper demurely acknowledged through several curtain calls with dainty curtsies and inclinations of her head.
He watched as she exited stage right, opposite him, and began toweling off before donning her dressing gown. Joe stood at his side.
"That's Brandy, my best stripper. Wish I could convince her to headline but she doesn't want to. Says she's perfectly happy being a soubrette! Says she'd have to tour and work more if she was the headline and she's got a kid to take care of."
"She's fantastic. Really talented." Logan commented.
"Sure is. And a real class act too. Not like some of the trash you find around burlesque houses if you know what I mean. Not that we get much of that kind around here. We may not be as well known as Minsky's but we're still pretty respectable," Joe told him proudly.
Logan looked around him. He'd been to Minsky's once and he could tell this place wasn't as fancy, but everything was clean and in good repair; from what he could see of the patrons, they were solid working class individuals out for an afternoon of entertainment.
Joe went on to tell him how they didn't tolerate drunken patrons in addition to mashers or perverts. They wanted to maintain a respectable environment for the benefit of both the audience and the performers.
"I should probably warn you about Rosie, though." Joe continued.
"Rosie?"
"Rosie Le Fleur. She's the cooch dancer. She's tried to make every guy between 18 and 60 that has worked in this theater. The only one she hasn't made a pass at is old Pops over there." Joe gestured to the old man at the door. "Now I'm not gonna tell you what to do if she does make a play for you but my advice would be to steer clear, she's bad news. I wouldn't even keep her on but she's popular and brings in a lot of repeat business."
Joe teamed Logan up with a big guy named Gus so he could learn the ropes during the next performance. By the time the shows were over at 11:00 that night Logan had the process down to a tee. He and Gus were busy sweeping up and the performers and musicians were loitering together in small groups before heading out the door to their homes.
Gus took him over and introduced Logan to a few of them. He found himself scanning the groups to see if Brandy was among them.
"Hey, Logan," Gus called to him. "A few of us are going around the corner to Pete's for a coupla beers before heading home. Wanna come?"
"Sure, Gus. Just let me grab my coat."
When Logan and Gus got to Pete's, Logan was disappointed to find Brandy wasn 't with the group from the theater. He asked Gus about her.
"Oh, Brandy doesn't hang around long after the last show. She usually goes straight home to her son as soon as she's done."
Logan found himself mildly disappointed; the Ballerina of Burlesque intrigued him.
"Her husband lets her strip?" Logan asked incredulously.
Gus shook his head. "Brandy's husband was killed in the war. She's a widow. That's why she strips."
He was standing at the bar with some of the other stagehands exchanging war stories, many of the men had also been stationed in Europe, when he felt a hand run up the back of his thigh and a pinch on his butt.
Scowling, he turned to see who the culprit was and found himself looking into a pair of dancing black eyes. Upon further inspection the black eyes belonged to a woman. He cocked his eyebrow and looked her up and down. She was tall and slender with dark olive skin and the brassiest red hair he'd ever seen. She also had about the biggest rack he'd ever seen on a woman, shown to advantage in her low-cut sweater. She was leering at him quite suggestively as well.
"Hello, guapo," she said in a deep silky voice tinged with a slight accent. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Rosie Le Fleur."
Logan cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, you're Rosie," he said.
The beauty in front of him pursed her lips. "Joe mentioned me, did he?" Logan nodded. "Yeah, well don't believe everything Joe says."
She inched a little closer to him causing one of her bountiful breasts to brush his arm. "Why don't you buy me a beer and we can go sit down and get acquainted?"
Joe's warning that she was trouble briefly echoed in Logan's head but he dismissed it. Logan had spent plenty of time without women in the past six years and here he was confronted by a gorgeous and obviously willing stripper and he wasn't about to say no. Playing it safe wasn't in his nature.
He secured two beers from the bartender and she took his arm and led him to a dark booth.
"You know, I'm the cooch dancer," she said seductively, emphasizing the last two words. Logan could hear the knowing chuckles from the men behind him at the bar. The cooch dancer was the stripper who did all the gyrating and acrobatic dancing. He glanced over his shoulder and smirked knowingly at the other stagehands, who smirked right back.
At 2:00 am, Logan and Rosie stood on the sidewalk outside Pete's. Rosie was weaving slightly. Logan was only pleasantly buzzed; he seemed capable of drinking larger amounts of beer than most people without getting drunk or ever having a hangover.
In the last four hours he'd learned that Rosie was Puerto Rican, drank like a fish and had long red fingernails that she knew how to use very well. He hitched in a little breath at the memory of them raking lightly over his thigh and crotch.
"So, Logan. My place or yours?"
He eyed the redhead's generous curves under her sweater and tight skirt appreciatively and sighed. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd made love to a woman in a clean bed. Hell, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd made love to a woman at all. His last leave had been months ago and now this beautiful woman was standing in front of him propositioning him quite openly.
He slipped his arm around her slim waist. "Better make it yours, darlin'." Logan never took women back to his place. Then you never had to worry about how to get rid of them in the morning.
She rubbed her generous bosom against his chest, eliciting a low growl from the object of her attention. "Whatever you want, lover."
Rosie's place was on the Upper West Side off Amsterdam Avenue in the 60's, an area which had become a haven for the many Puerto Ricans who were moving to New York. She had a nice one-bedroom apartment in the basement of a brownstone.
"There's beer in the ice box, Logan. Or you'll find a bottle of rye on top if you like. Why don't you pour us both a glass?" Rosie suggested. She switched on the radio and fiddled the dial until she found music and then disappeared into the bedroom.
Logan found the bottle in question and began opening cupboards until he found two glasses. Returning to the living room he was brought up short by the sight of Rosie in a very sheer red negligee that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. His eyebrows crept up into his hairline as he took in her slim waist, full round hips and abundant breasts topped by large dark nipples. He smiled a lopsided grin and handed her a glass.
"You don't waste any time do ya, darlin'?"
"I don't believe in wasting time. If I see something I like, I take it."
He grinned lazily and sipped his whiskey. "Does that mean ya see something ya like?"
She placed a hand to his cheek. "Yes, guapo, I like it very much."
Logan took her drink from her and set both of them aside. Sliding his arms around her waist he gazed down into her smoldering black eyes and whispered, "I like what I'm seeing too."
He could feel her nipples burning into his chest through the gossamer fabric of her negligee and the cotton of his shirt. She pulled his face to hers and began greedily sucking on his lips. He felt himself harden instantly. He was so ready for this. He began walking her back to the couch pushing her down onto it when he felt her legs hit the edge.
He started unbuttoning his shirt and she reached up to undo his belt buckle and fly. "I see I'm not the only one who doesn't believe in wasting time," she panted breathlessly as she pushed his trousers down his muscular hips. He kicked off his shoes and removed his pants completely. Before he could remove his boxer shorts, she had her hands inside and was stroking his penis.
"Ay, papi," she groaned. "Loganito esta muy gigante. Rosie needs him NOW, Logan." She pushed his boxers roughly down around his ankles. He scarcely had a chance to get them off and regain his balance before she was pulling him atop her and wrapping her legs around his waist. He was a little bowled over by her urgency. Sure he was horny as hell but he would have liked to go a little slower. He was always willing to indulge a lady though.
He knelt between her open thighs and brushed his penis against her opening. He was surprised to find her already wet. She squirmed beneath him.
"What are you waiting for?" She demanded. "Do it! DO IT!"
He thrust into her in one fluid motion. She began moving against him immediately and he knew if she kept it up he wouldn't last long at all. He grabbed her hips to still them.
"Rosie, darlin', I'm sure ya wanna enjoy this as much as I do. If we don't slow down a bit I'm gonna be finished before ya know it and yer gonna be pretty angry with me."
"Pero.but, Logan."
"Shhh, darlin'."
She smiled up at him prettily and he began thrusting slowly and evenly into her again. Closing his eyes he let out a ragged breath, relaxing into the sensations. He gave a contented sigh but it rapidly turned to a frustrated growl as Rosie began moving against him frantically once again. She raked her nails across his back and Logan lost any semblance of control he'd managed to garner and he came with a great shudder. Rosie shrieked his name in his ear as she came.
He quickly caught his breath and was about to apologize for his lack of control, but Rosie gave a deep, sated breath. She kissed him, rolled into his arms and was asleep within seconds. Logan gave a bemused chuckle. Pulling the quilt off the back of the couch he covered them both and then he too went to sleep.
***
Logan was sitting up against the headboard of Rosie's bed smoking a cigar. The early morning light was just beginning to creep through the small window high up on the wall. He looked at the redhead curled up next to him, her face burrowed into her pillow, red hair fanning across her back and arms. They'd had sex several more times throughout the night and she'd been as overeager and demanding as she'd been the first time. While Logan was certainly feeling more relieved physically, he couldn't actually say it had been one of his most memorable evenings with a woman.
He looked at the sleeping woman again. She was insatiable and she'd damn near worn him out. Many women had told Logan he was insatiable, that his sexual stamina was exceptional. He'd never thought about it much, just taken it for granted. But then there were the usual bull sessions when men got together and even though bragging and embellishing was expected on these occasions it soon became clear that he was unique.
Logan sighed and contemplated a sunbeam that was slowly moving across the wallpaper. There were other things about himself that he knew were unusual as well, like the fact that although he'd been born before the turn of the century he didn't look a day over 30. He might have just dismissed that as luck or heredity but then there was the fact that he'd never been sick a day in his life. Not even a sniffle or a bruise. There had been several wounds during the war that should surely have killed him, would have killed anyone else, but he'd survived them. There was one particular recovery from an abdominal wound the army doctors had categorized as nothing short of "miraculous."
It troubled him sometimes because he knew he was different than other people, that there was something about him that wasn't "normal." He just didn't know what it was. And he tried not to dwell on it.
He glanced over at Rosie drooling peacefully on her pillow. Yes, it had definitely been an interesting night but not something he wanted to repeat again anytime soon. A quick glance at the alarm clock told him he had just enough time to run back to his room downtown to shower and change before he had to be at the theater.
Quietly he slipped his clothes on and crept out the front door. He hoped Rosie wouldn't be too angry that he hadn't said goodbye.
Refreshed from his shower and a quick breakfast at a greasy spoon, Logan whistled as he entered the theater. He nodded to Pops, checked-in with Joe and made his way to grab a mop and bucket from the utility room. The stage was thoroughly mopped each day before the shows started and today he'd pulled duty.
He noticed a young woman standing by the announcement board pinning up a notice. Her back was to him but he could see she was petite and slender, dressed in a white and navy striped wool dress and matching spectator pumps. Her honey blonde hair hung down her back and when she turned he saw the front was pinned up in fashionable rolls that framed her heart-shaped face. Sapphire blue eyes shone out from under dark eyebrows and Logan couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her. His eyes took in her figure again. The dress was demure with a high neck but it didn't conceal her alluring curves and he guessed she was one of the strippers, a guess confirmed when she began climbing the stairs to the dressing rooms.
He walked over to see what the notice said. "Efficiency apartment available in downtown Brooklyn. Quiet neighborhood, nice building. $10 a week. Won't last. See Brandy!"
Logan mentally slapped his head. Brandy! No wonder she seemed so familiar. Looked like he could kill two birds with one stone. He could get out of his hotel, which was costing him considerably more than $10 a week, and introduce himself to Brandy all at the same time.
He climbed the stairs and knocked on the door that said "Brandy Alexander and Windy Gayle." The brunette known as Windy answered the door.
"Oh, hi!" She said. "The new stagehand, right? What can I do for you?"
"Is Brandy here?"
At the sound of her name the blonde got up from the dressing table and came to the door. She was wearing a silk dressing gown that clung to her skin in a way that told Logan she hadn't put on the tulle illusion just yet.
Windy retreated to continue getting dressed.
"I don't believe we've met yet," Brandy said holding out her hand. "I'm Brandy Alexander."
Logan took it in his. "I'm Logan. I'm new on the stage crew."
"Yes, I'd heard Joe hired a new hand yesterday. How can I help you, Mr. Logan?"
"Just call me Logan, and I was wondering about the room in Brooklyn."
She smiled. "'Just Logan?' Don't you have a first name?"
Logan looked surprised that she asked. "Well, yeah. It's James, um Jim, but everyone calls me 'Logan.'" He shrugged.
"Ok, 'Just Logan.' I'll call my landlady and ask her to hold the room. Can you meet me there before work tomorrow? You can take a look at it and she can meet you. It's 110 Park Place, apartment 2A. Come around eight o' clock."
"Great! I'll be there."
Just then Rosie came around the corner eyes flashing.
"There you are, mi amore." She said silkily, although Logan could hear the admonishment in her tone and he mentally braced himself. She slithered up to him, molded her body to his and clasped her arms around his neck. Logan noticed that Brandy wasn't missing any detail of this. Her sapphire gaze slid between Rosie and himself. "You were a very naughty boy and left Rosie without saying goodbye this morning."
Logan gently disengaged her hands and took half a step back. Rosie's black eyes snapped dangerously.
"I apologize, Rosie. You were sleeping so soundly I didn't want to disturb ya," he said.
The redhead smiled coolly and ran her finger across his lips. "Well, guapo, just make sure it doesn't happen again. Comprende?"
She turned to Brandy menacingly. "And you, puta, make sure you stay away from my man or I'll rip every hair out of your bleached head."
Brandy's sapphire eyes blazed fire but her voice was steady when she said, "Don't worry, Rosie. You know me better than that. I'm not the one around here with the reputation, after all."
Rosie raised her hand, ready to smack the smaller woman, but Logan caught her wrist in an iron grip.
"Rosie! What the hell do you think yer doin'?"
"Teaching this bruja a lesson!"
"For what? For talkin' to me? I think you'd better behave yerself."
She pulled her arm out of his grip. "Just make sure that you don't talk to her again, or there will be trouble, guapo!" She turned on her heel and angrily stalked off.
Logan turned sheepishly to Brandy.
"I'm sorry about that, darlin'."
"Listen, Logan. I live in a family building in a nice neighborhood. I have a small child to think of. If you're going to take this room, Rosie can't be part of the equation. I can't stop you from seeing her but she absolutely can't come home with you. I can't have any trouble starting where I live and as you can see there's no love lost between Rosie and myself."
"Understood, darlin'. I'm beginning to think that last night might have been a bit of a mistake on my part."
"Oh, I know it was, Logan," Brandy said laughingly.
"Hey, Logan!" Joe called from below. "You mopping here or what? Curtain is in 45 minutes and there's scenery to set!"
"Sure, sure! Coming!" Logan called over the railing. "Gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow at eight."
Logan watched Brandy's act avidly at every performance that day. It was clear to him that she was a trained and talented ballet dancer and he wondered what had happened besides being widowed that had sent her to burlesque rather than the ballet or Broadway.
He couldn't take his eyes off her when she danced. She was so lithe and graceful. She was also incredibly beautiful and like Joe had said, very classy. She wasn't as blatant as some of the other strippers, either in presentation or in figure. While some of the other girls, like Rosie, where almost unnaturally well endowed, Brandy had small perfectly formed, full round breasts and a slim waist that tapered down to slender but well-rounded hips. He found himself wondering what her nipples looked like under the rhinestones and mentally scolded himself as his breathing sped up.
He didn't get another chance to talk to her when the shows were finished for the night and he was disappointed. He finished up and pulled on his coat. He was almost out the door when he heard Rosie behind him.
"Logan, mi amore," she purred. He turned to face her. She was standing jingling her keys. "You aren't sneaking out without escorting me home, are you?"
"No."
"Good." she began only to be cut off when Logan began speaking again.
"No, I'm not sneaking out and no, I'm not escorting you home."
Her mouth fell open and the black eyes snapped fire. "What??" She shrieked.
"You heard me, Rosie. I'm not going home with you." He sighed and ran his fingers through his thick hair.
"Look, darlin'," he began gently, "last night was very nice. I enjoyed it very much and you're a swell kid but it's probably better if we don't get involved. You understand."
"No! I don't understand! It's that Brandy puta, isn't it?"
"No, Rosie. It has nothin' to do with Brandy. I just don't think we're suited for each other, that's all."
"Don't do this, Logan." She said in a threatening tone.
He shook his head. "Sorry, darlin'." He put on his hat and gloves on and walked out the door, her shriek of frustration echoing down the alley.
At 8:00 am the next morning he was knocking on the door of Brandy's apartment. He pulled his hat off when she opened the door. When she threw it back to let him in he saw she wasn't dressed. She stood just inside the doorway in a pair of men's striped flannel pajamas; her hair was wrapped up in rag curlers. He grinned at the picture she made.
"Oh, gosh, Logan. I'm running so late, I'm sorry." He followed her through the apartment as she raced to get ready. His gaze trailed over her feet, the only part of her besides her face and hands that were exposed in the pajamas. She had the most delicate ankles and a beautiful instep and he felt a stirring in his groin. He shook his head in amazement but then decided it must because he saw so much of her body on a regular basis that seeing her all covered up with just her feet exposed was a novelty.
He followed her into the kitchen and stopped in the doorway when he spied the little boy sitting there eating his breakfast.
Brandy stood behind his chair and smiled up at Logan.
"Logan, I'd like you to meet Michael, my son. Michael, this is Mr. Logan, a friend of mommy's from work."
Logan smiled at the boy. "Hi, Mike."
The little boy smiled shyly. Logan guessed he was about three or four.
"Have a seat, Logan. Mikey can take care of himself, but could you keep an eye on him while I get dressed? There's some fresh coffee on the stove. I don't have any sugar I'm afraid. Mike likes to use a lot on his oatmeal and I'm out until next month's ration book comes."
She ran into the bedroom, pulling the rags out of her hair on the way.
Logan poured himself some coffee, sat down at the table next to the little boy and watched as he proceeded to get more oatmeal on his face than in his mouth.
"So, Mikey. You like oatmeal?"
The little boy shook his head vigorously in the negative and Logan chuckled.
Logan took a sip of his coffee and noticed Mike looking at him very intently. Logan smiled at him.
"Were you in the war?" the boy asked quietly.
"Yes, Mikey, I was."
"Mommy says Daddy was in the war too and he got hurt bad and that's why he can never come home to live with us."
Logan ruffled Mike's hair. "A lot of daddies got hurt in the war, Mike. I' m sorry yours did and that he can't come home."
The little boy scrambled down off the chair and ran into the living room, coming back with a picture frame. Logan took it from him. It was picture of a good-looking young man in an army dress uniform.
"This is my Daddy. Mommy says I look like him."
Logan looked at the handsome little boy and then back to the picture.
"Yep, ya sure do, Mike." Logan told him.
Brandy came back in. She was dressed and her hair was done. Logan noticed she wore very little make-up when she wasn't at the theater, just a little powder and some lipstick. He watched as she fastened an earring and saw that there was a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
"Mikey, what are you doing with Daddy's picture?"
"He was just showing it to me," Logan told her. She took it from him and placed it back in the living room.
"Mike. Mommy has told you to be careful with Daddy's picture before, didn't I?"
Mike looked at his little feet and scuffed his sneakers along the kitchen floor.
"Yes, Mommy. I'm sorry."
Brandy wet a rag in the sink and wrung it out, then bent to wipe off the boy 's hands and face.
"Ok. But don't let it happen again. Now get your things, I'm taking you to Mrs. Lieberman's now."
Mike skipped out of the kitchen.
"I hope he wasn't bothering you too much, Logan."
"Not at all, darlin'. He was just askin' me if I was in the war."
Brandy pinned on her hat and then put on her coat and gloves.
"Logan, I forgot to mention. Around here I'm Nina. That's my real name. People here don't know I'm a stripper and I'd like to keep it that way."
He nodded. Nina, "Little Girl." It suited her, he thought. She couldn't have been more than 23 or 24, which meant she was very young when she was married, when she was widowed, when Michael was born. His heart went out to her. It must have been hard losing a husband and becoming a mother when you were still only a child yourself. The war had made everyone grow up very quickly.
A new admiration was dawning for her. So she stripped. Well, it was very good money. She had a nice home and provided for her son very well. Nina.Brandy. both of them actually, seemed to have the situation well in hand. It seemed like she was a born survivor, something he could well identify with.
She gathered up Logan, Mike and sack full of his toys and ushered them both out the door. Their first stop was next door where a plump matronly lady with a Yiddish accent answered the door and took Mike into her apartment. Then Brandy took Logan downstairs to meet her landlady.
She knocked on the door. A thin lipped, stern looking woman answered the door and Logan knew why Nina didn't want anyone to know she was a stripper. This one looked like she didn't take any garbage from anyone.
"Hi, Mrs. Di Sicco," Nina greeted the grumpy looking woman. "This is Mr. Logan, the man interested in the efficiency apartment."
Mrs. Di Sicco eyed Logan up and down. "Let me get my keys and I'll show it to you." She reached behind the door and came back with a large key ring. She pulled the door shut behind her. "It's in the basement so we have to go back outside."
She led them out the front door, and around the stoop to the basement door. Unlocking it, she stood aside to let them both in. The apartment was a small, sparsely furnished room. There was a tiny bathroom and a kitchenette area with an old icebox and hot plate.
Mrs. Di Sicco walked over to the wall and pulled down the Murphy bed. "It's small and since it's an efficiency you can't really do much cooking but it's a nice neighborhood and a good building as I'm sure Mrs. Dillard has told you," she said indicating Nina.
Mrs. Dillard? Nina Dillard. Logan smiled at her and she blushed and looked away. Mrs. Di Sicco cleared her throat and Logan realized she was waiting for his answer about the room.
"I'd love to take it, Mrs. Di Sicco. Would tonight be too soon to bring my things over? I'd like to get out of the hotel I've been staying at right away."
"That will be acceptable. I'll need the first week's rent in advance and I' ll expect it every Monday morning on the dot."
Logan handed the landlady $10 for the first week and took the keys.
When he and Nina were out on the street again she turned to him.
"She likes you," she told him.
He gave her a dubious look. "How can you tell?"
Nina just giggled.
They rode the subway together to the theater and had just entered when they were both ambushed by Rosie.
"AHA!" She shrieked. "I knew it! I knew I'd find you with this puta!"
Brandy's eyes flashed angrily. Logan gave a long-suffering sigh and ran a hand through his hair.
"There's nothing going on, Rosie. I took the room in Brandy's building. We 're going to be riding in with each other from now on, so you'd better get used to seeing us together."
"Pull yourself together and start acting like an adult, Rosie," Brandy told her in a steely voice. "I'm not going to go through a scene like this every morning. And get your mind out of the gutter! Just because you sleep with every man you see doesn't mean the rest of us do." She turned on her heel and strode away leaving a seething Rosie to gape after her.
The redhead spun to face Logan. "You haven't heard the last of this, Logan. You'd better keep an eye on your new girlfriend," she said significantly. Reaching down she pulled up the hem of her skirt to reveal a stiletto neatly concealed in her garter, then she too turned on her heel and stalked off.
Logan shook his head. Dammit, this was going to be at the best annoying and at the worst dangerous for Brandy. He had no doubt that if Rosie jumped her she'd fight tooth and nail, but the other woman was bigger and, from the looks of it, ruthless. He was going to have to keep an eye on her from now on, or at least until Rosie found herself another boyfriend.
Everyone in the theater except the chorus girls had one rotating day off per week besides Sundays, when the theater was closed. Logan decided to go to Joe, explain the situation and make sure his day was always scheduled the same day as Brandy's.
When a week passed and Rosie hadn't made any moves against Brandy or started any scenes with him, he began to relax a bit, but he was still watchful. He and Brandy settled into a companionable routine. They rode to work together every morning and home on those nights when he didn't go out drinking with the rest of the cast and crew. When he did go out, he made sure to put her in a cab right outside the theater. She thought he was being ridiculous and over protective but he wasn't one to take any chances in a situation like this.
One day as he and Gus were setting the scenery for the first performance, he heard an angry shriek from the dressing rooms.
"Rosie! Show your face, you two-dollar slut!" Logan turned with alarm. It was Brandy yelling, and he'd never heard her use language even remotely like that. She was never anything but a lady.
She came rushing down the stairs in her dressing gown, her face flushed, hair flying wildly behind her.
Joe came running up to her, as did Logan.
She stopped in front of them both and looked from one to the other, chest heaving. She held up the shredded remains of her costume for both of them to see.
"Look at what Rosie did! Joe, you know how much these things cost! Not to mention the fact that I've got to go to the black market just to get enough fabric! No one can make a strip costume with only two and a half yards of fabric!" She said referring to the rationing still in place despite the end of the war. "She destroyed it completely. What am I going to wear now?"
"Can't you borrow from someone else, darlin'?" Logan asked.
Joe shook his head. "Even if someone would lend her something, she wouldn't wear it. No stripper would be seen dead in another girl's rig. Brandy, honey, you're not gonna like this but you're going to have to wear your costume from the last show until you can make something else. I'll give you the money for the materials, okay?"
They all turned at the sound of a clucking tongue behind them.
Rosie smiled beatifically at all three of them. "You really should take better care of your belongings, dear," she told Brandy.
Brandy tensed like a cat ready to spring. Logan surreptitiously placed a hand on her elbow to hold her back.
"You witch, this is all your fault!" she spat at the other woman whose smile only became wider.
"I really don't know what you're talking about," Rosie said nonchalantly. "I simply happened to be walking by and I heard the uproar."
Logan narrowed his eyes at her and for a second her smile wavered but then it was right back.
"Rosie, I don't know what game you're playing but it had better stop right now or you're out of here. Am I understood?" Joe said in a tone that brooked no argument. Rosie merely shrugged and walked away. The three of them watched her go warily.
Logan turned to Brandy. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, this is all my fault."
"Oh, forget it, Logan. You had no way of knowing how crazy she is or how much she hates me," Brandy told him.
Joe just gave him the "I told you so" look over her head.
Brandy left them to go looking for Anna, the wardrobe mistress, and have that woman dig out her costume from their last show. She sighed deeply. She was going to have to do the old routine as well because the skirt wasn't cut full enough for her to do the current one. This was absolutely unheard of!
"Poor kid," Joe said as she walked away. "She's never been anything but an asset around here and this is what she gets in return; trouble from that crazy frail." He shook his head.
"How much is it going to cost her to replace her costume?" Logan asked.
"Since she sews them herself, probably not as much as having one made but I' m guessing at least a grand."
Logan whistled low through his teeth. He never even guessed they were so expensive. There was so little to them, but then again they were very elaborate and highly adorned with jewels, beads and feathers. He knew that every girl's was unique and that copying either costumes or routines was considered an unforgivable faux pas.
He resolved to keep a closer watch on Brandy from now on.
She sank down wearily next to him on the subway that night.
"Now I'm going to have to spend my whole day off tomorrow remaking that costume! I was going to take Mikey to the park if it was nice!"
"I'll take him for you, darlin'," Logan said contritely. He felt really terrible about having been the cause of the trouble between her and Rosie. "I'll even cook dinner for ya so you don't have to spend time doing that."
She looked at him in mock surprise. "You cook? I'm not going to get something boiled in a helmet, am I?"
"Very funny. Yes, I cook and while I can't promise Paris cuisine, I guarantee you it will be tasty and edible."
"Well, how could a lady refuse and offer like that?"
Three o'clock and Logan was completely exhausted! He'd been watching little Mike since eight o'clock in the morning when Nina had gone out to buy all the fabric and supplies she'd needed for her new costume. He'd taken Mike to the park, to a show, to the ice cream parlor and then back to the park. The kid was inexhaustible. Now they were in Logan's apartment. Mike was curled up on the Murphy bed for his afternoon nap and Logan was finally relaxing with the afternoon paper and a beer.
He'd stuck his head in upstairs on his way in. Nina was still bent over her sewing machine working hard and he told her he'd be up at five to start dinner. He walked over, snapped on the radio and put on one of the mindless soap operas they featured during the day. Pretty soon he was dozing in the chair with the paper in his lap.
He was awakened by Mikey tugging on his sleeve.
"Hey, Mike. You been up long?"
"No."
Logan checked his watch and ruffled the boy's hair. "Well, we better get upstairs and start cooking dinner for your mommy. She's been working hard all day and I'll bet she's hungry."
He went to the icebox and pulled out two paper sacks full of groceries he'd bought for dinner.
Nina looked up from her work when they came in. Mike ran over and she gave him a big hug.
"Did you have fun with Logan today, Mikey?"
"Yes, Mommy." He paused as if considering something. "Mommy, I want Uncle Logan to be my daddy."
Nina blushed and looked a little surprised. "But, honey, it doesn't exactly work that way. Besides, don't you think Mommy might want to have some say in who your new daddy will be? Now, why don't you go get your coloring books and color while Mr. Logan cooks dinner for us."
Mikey nodded and ran off to his room to get his crayons.
"He's a good kid, darlin'. You've done a real good job with him."
She brushed a stray hair out of her eyes. "He's a handful, that's for sure."
He walked over to where she was sitting and looked over her shoulder at the work in her lap.
"You're almost done! That was fast." He fingered the pleated chiffon; pink this time because she had decided to change the color.
She held up the feathered headpiece for his approval. "Just have to put some sequins and rhinestones on the hat and it's all finished!"
He looked duly impressed. Talking to her over his shoulder, he moved to the kitchen. "Joe said you do work for the other girls to make extra money."
She followed him. "Yes. These costumes usually cost several thousand dollars but if the girls buy the fabric I can usually make it for them for a lot less." She moved to the sink and washed her hands. "I've saved quite a bit of money so far. I want to buy a house for Mike and myself soon. There's all kinds of building happening on Long Island and I'd like Mike to grow up with a yard and dog and other kids around. And one day when I'm too old and decrepit to strip, I want to open a dancing school."
He had to admire her for her spirit and her dream. He didn't want to disillusion her by telling her that no matter how much money she'd saved, he didn't think a bank would ever give a widow a mortgage.
She watched as he began snapping string beans.
"Logan, isn't there anything I can do to help?"
"Yes you can go sit down in the living room and relax," he told her with a big smile. "Oh, and you can tell me how you like your steak cooked."
Her eyes widened. "Steak? You bought steak? Oh my gosh, Logan. I can't tell you how long it's been since I've had a real steak dinner. You must have used all your ration coupons to get it!"
"Not really, darlin'. Fabric isn't the only thing you can buy on the black market, you know." He gave her a roguish grin.
"Oh, Logan. I don't know what to say. They must have cost a fortune. This is much too extravagant." She went into the living room, coming back purse in hand.
"You have to let me give you something towards dinner. It's not right for you to be spending that kind of money on Mike and me."
He took her purse from her and set it down on the kitchen table.
"Absolutely not, darlin'. It's the least I can do after all the trouble ya went to to get me the room and for all the trouble I've caused ya with Rosie."
She opened her mouth as if she was about to protest but he shushed her and turned back to peeling. She stood for a moment watching him expertly peel the potatoes. She figured that must be a skill they all pick up in the army doing KP.
Running her fingers through her hair she turned and went back to the living room. Mikey was lying on his stomach on the floor quietly coloring. Nina walked over to the radio and switched it on.
"Mike, look at the time." She said pointing to the clock on top of the radio. "The little hand is on the five and the big hand is on the three. You know what that means."
The little boy sprang up and began jumping around. "Lone Ranger! Lone Ranger!" He started cheering excitedly.
She giggled and tuned in the show for him. He sat down on the carpet mere inches from the radio and stared at it in rapt fascination as the narrator began recapping last night's show.
She sat down in the armchair next to the radio to start putting the finishing touches on her headpiece. Logan came in and sat down on the couch to finish reading the paper.
She glanced over at him and then at Mike on the floor. Anyone looking through the window would have thought they were just an ordinary family relaxing before dinner. Nina felt her throat constrict. She looked at Logan through lowered lashes. She'd only known him a couple of weeks but she could tell he was a good man. He was certainly a kind man. And he was definitely a good-looking man. She'd never really taken the time to look closely at him so she indulged herself now.
He had thick, dark hair slicked back with pomade and, although it was slightly longer than was fashionable, it seemed to suit him. His eyes flicked over the paper and she caught her breath, noticing for the first time their vibrant hazel hue. His face was strong and handsome and completed to perfection by an aquiline nose. Brandy's pulse raced slightly.
Logan glanced over at her and she quickly cast her eyes back down to her work.
"I have to go check on the vegetables and put the steaks on, darlin'. Dinner will probably only be another fifteen minutes."
The meal was pleasant. Logan set about trying to teach Michael how to use a knife and fork and his comical attempts at cutting his steak had Logan and Nina in stitches, especially since Nina would only allow him to have a butter knife. Logan finally took pity on the boy and cut his meat for him.
After dinner, Nina gave Mike his bath and got him ready for bed while Logan cleared away the leftovers and did the dinner dishes.
"Mommy, I want Uncle Logan to tuck me in," the little boy said plaintively.
"Aw, Mike. Uncle Logan has worked very hard today. Don't you think we could give him a break this once?"
She heard a chuckle and turned to see Logan leaning in the doorway.
"It's alright, darlin'." He came in, sat on the other side of the bed and began tucking the covers around the edges of Mike's shoulders. "So, Big Guy, did you have fun today?"
The boy nodded. "Yes."
"What did you like best? The park or the movie?"
"The ice cream!"
Logan laughed out loud.
"Well, if your mother says it's okay, maybe I'll take you out for ice cream again next week. Now it's time for you to go to sleep, tiger."
Mike held his arms out and Logan gave him a hug. Nina kissed him on both his cheeks and his forehead, and then shut off the light. They went back out to the living room, leaving the door ajar.
Nina began packing up her costume to take to the theater in the morning. She made a pretense of concentrating on her task so that Logan wouldn't see all the different thoughts and emotions working through her.
She looked up when he cleared his throat.
"Well, I know you probably have a lot to do before bed and to tell the truth, I'm pretty exhausted after chasing after Mikey all day, so I'm gonna go turn in."
She walked him to the door.
"Logan, I really can't thank you enough for everything you did for Mike and me today. I never could have finished what I needed to do if I'd had to watch him and I really appreciate the dinner you made for us."
He smiled down into her face and brushed some stray hairs off her cheek. For a moment she thought he might kiss her and was inexplicably disappointed when he reached to pull the door open instead.
"It was a pleasure, Nina," he said softly, using her real name. "You get a good night's sleep. I'll see you in the morning."
In the blink of an eye the door closed and he was gone. Nina released a breath she hadn't even known she was holding.
Quietly she made her way through the house to the bathroom, shutting off lights on the way. She turned on the taps and ran water for her bath. Absently she put her hand to the place on her cheek where he'd brushed it with his fingers. She shivered. She felt a little flushed and hoped she wasn't getting ill.
When the tub filled, she shed her cotton housedress and under things, pinned up her long blonde hair and stepped into the soothing water. Her muscles were stiff from sitting all day long and she relaxed into the heat as some of the tension eased. It would be good to dance again tomorrow.
She always felt so stiff and confined on the days she didn't get to stretch and bend and dance at the theater. Dancing had been her love ever since she was a small child and her mother had taken her to Miss Belle's Dancing School back home. Nina had dreamed of being the next Shirley Temple and tap dancing her way to stardom. But then Miss Belle had given her a small ballet solo in the class recital and from that day forward her dream had changed to being a Prima Ballerina like the great Anna Pavlova.
She'd studied hard. Practicing hours every day after school, determined to make her dream come true. Grant, Michael's father, had been her high school sweetheart and everything had been perfect until the war came. Then her whole world had turned upside down.
Grant was drafted, she became pregnant with Mike and then Grant had been killed shortly after being shipped out to Europe. She had taken her son and come to New York after all, determined to salvage something from the ashes of her dreams. She'd fallen into stripping as a way to dance and make a living.
She was ambivalent about it at first. She'd been raised in a religious household and the thought of taking one's clothes off in front of men for money seemed sinful, but eventually she'd come to enjoy the feeling of power it gave her. And it allowed her to express herself creatively in so many ways; she was responsible for creating all aspects of her routines, from designing her costume to choosing the music to choreographing the steps. There were no men to tell her they knew better than she did. She obviously knew well enough, since she was very popular and very successful.
She'd been perfectly content in her life with her memories of Grant and had never missed male companionship...until now. Logan was so kind to her and good with Michael and he had her wondering about things she'd never wondered about before.
She sighed. The water in the tub was cool now and her fingers and toes had turned to prunes. She opened the drain and rose to towel off and slip her pajamas on.
Walking barefoot to her bedroom, she pulled the covers back and crawled in. It would be another long day tomorrow and she had to be up early. She punched her pillow and got comfortable, but sleep would not come. Every time she closed her eyes, Logan's face danced in her head. What was the matter with her anyway? She'd only known him for a few weeks. She'd known Grant her whole entire life and she'd never lain awake at night thinking about him.
She got up and made herself some warm milk. While it heated, she stood with a hand on the back of a kitchen chair and did some plies and releves, hoping the activity would ease some of the tension.
She drank her milk and went back to bed. Finally falling asleep in the early hours of the morning she dreamt strange dreams that featured both Grant and Logan. When the alarm went off, she awoke groggy and irritable.
Logan, too, had lain awake long into the night, staring at the ceiling. He felt things for Nina he hadn't felt for a woman in a very long time. She was beautiful and delicate and he wanted her badly, but it was more than that. He wanted to hold her and never let her go, protect her from all the terrible things he knew existed in the world.
There'd only been one other woman in his life that made him feel tender emotions like this, Silver Fox. She had been his childhood sweetheart, but they'd lost touch while he was in France fighting in the First World War and when he returned to Canada, he couldn't find any trace of her.
He'd never wanted to protect anyone the way he wanted to protect Nina. It was ironic, since she seemed to be doing a good job of taking care of herself, which only made him want to take care of her more - so she wouldn't have to do it on her own. He'd seen and been a part of so much death and evil in the past six years; surely it was time for him to find some goodness and happiness in life.
He closed his eyes and began to meditate, hoping to find some peace, at least, if not rest.
Nina looked in the mirror as she pinned on her hat. She had shadows under her eyes and she was so exhausted she had no idea how she'd make it through four shows today. She snapped at Mikey, who was dragging his feet, and instantly regretted it. It wasn't like her to be short with him no matter how bad she felt.
Kneeling down, she gave him a hug. "I'm sorry, Mike. I didn't mean to yell. Do you forgive Mommy?"
He nodded sullenly and pouted all the way out the door to Mrs. Lieberman's apartment. He went inside without even saying goodbye to her.
"So," Mrs. Lieberman said brightly, "I see you and that nice Mr. Logan are keeping company."
Nina blinked. Keeping company? Mrs. Lieberman continued, oblivious.
"Such a nice man, so good with Mikey, too. And so handsome." She winked at the younger woman. "If I was only twenty years younger, I could go for him. You know I was quite a looker, too, in my day."
"Mrs. L, it's not like that. Logan is just a friend."
Mrs. Lieberman's eyebrows crept up into her hairline. She clucked her tongue. "And I always thought you were more sensible than that," she said shaking her head.
Nina's mouth dropped open. She called goodbye to Mike, who as already sitting on the living room floor rolling around one of his little trucks, and then went downstairs to meet Logan.
"You alright, darlin'? You look a little pale," he commented as she descended.
"I'm alright, just didn't sleep too well last night."
Lot of that going around, he thought wryly.
He allowed himself the small pleasure of admiring her. Her hair was in the usual intricate rolls along the sides and front while the honey-blonde tresses fell to just past her shoulders in the back, curling gently against her graceful neck. She was wearing a Russian blue wool coat with velvet collar and cuffs that was fitted to her shapely torso and flared out below her waist. She wore a matching blue wool hat with small silk flowers edging the veiling over her eyes. The color made her eyes burn bright sapphire and her cheeks were flushed from walking in the cold. Logan fought the impulse to take her by the shoulders and plant a hot kiss on her full lips.
She turned and found him looking at her. She smiled self-consciously.
"What?" She asked.
He quickly turned his gaze towards his wingtips. "Nothin'."
They settled next to each other on the train for the short ride to Manhattan. Brandy looked at Logan out of the corner of her eye and wondered if he would be offended if she asked him about himself. Taking a deep breath she plunged ahead.
"So, Logan. Where are you from? Originally, I mean."
He gave her a slightly amused look. He had just been wondering the same thing about her.
"Northern Canada," he told her. "Served in a joint US/Canadian intelligence corps connected with the OSS during the war, which is how I wound up here instead of home. Got shipped back with the GIs instead of with the Canadians. Decided to stay for awhile." He didn't add that he wasn't completely out of the Army, either. He was a "reservist", completely at the mercy of Intelligence, if they decided they wanted him back. For now, though, he was John Q. Public.
"I'm from Nebraska," she told him. He noticed she twisted her gloves between her hands before going on and wondered what she was so nervous about. "I moved to New York after Grant, that's Michael's father, was killed. I-I n-needed to get away from home. We'd both grown up together in the same small town and everywhere I turned there were just too many painful memories."
She suddenly became very interested in the subway car window, which Logan found strange considering they were in a dark tunnel and there was nothing to see. He could tell she wasn't being completely honest with him about why she left home, but he decided not to push the issue.
"How long have you been here?" he asked her.
"Four and a half years. Michael was born here." She flushed and hoped she hadn't told him too much. To cover, she went on quickly. "I began stripping about two years ago. Before that I waited tables at Junior's, but the money wasn't nearly as good. We were living in a dingy one-room apartment underneath the Manhattan Bridge. I was able to move to the building we're in now once I started stripping. It's much better."
"You said they don't know what you do."
She looked horrified at the thought. "Absolutely not! They think I'm just a seamstress. You've met Mrs. Di Sicco. How long do you think I'd last in that building if they knew what I really did?"
"You've got a point there, darlin'. Well, don't worry, I won't tell." He gave her a disarming smile that caused her heart to leap to her throat.
"You know, I almost forgot to tell you. I'm having a few people from the theater over for Thanksgiving dinner next Thursday and you're invited, of course," she added with a shy smile.
"Thank you, that sounds nice. We don't celebrate Thanksgiving quite the same way in Canada. It's not even the same day. But I've had a few bad U.S. Army Thanksgiving dinners over the years and it'll be nice to have a real one for a change. Who else is coming?"
"Oh Windy and Jewel. Jewel is dating Gus so he'll be there. It's really just the people who have no family or won't be going home. I guess I shouldn't have assumed you didn't have anywhere else to go."
"Well, I don't and I'd be honored to spend the day with all of ya." He mentally made plans to head for the tailor's on their dinner break. He had very few civilian clothes, just the twill work pants and shirts he wore every day and a few of his beloved Pendleton wool plaid shirts that he'd taken to Europe with him. He'd need a suit for dinner and he should probably get some nice trousers and a sport jacket as well.
The theater was quiet when they got in and they both went to their separate tasks. Brandy went to the wardrobe room to steam out her new costume before heading to her dressing room. When she climbed the stairs she saw Rosie closing the door quietly behind her and tiptoeing down the hall in the direction of her own dressing room. Brandy immediately went to open the door and carefully looked around the room.
Strangely, nothing appeared to have been disturbed or destroyed so she wondered what Rosie could have been doing snooping around. She had a niggling suspicion she'd find out one way or another but she pushed the thought aside and began preparing for the first performance.
She didn't think about it again until the shows were finished that night. She realized she'd made it through the day without a major disaster and heaved a sigh of relief. She reached for her cold cream jar and began slathering it over her face to loosen her make-up. She wiped it off and rinsed her face in the small sink.
Dressing quickly, she ran downstairs to see if Logan was riding home with her. He met her at the door.
"Hi," she said. "You going out tonight?" She reached up and scratched her cheek.
"I'm still pretty tired after running around with Mike yesterday. Think I' ll ride home with you and call it a night." He looked around and sniffed at the air. He smelled something odd on her but didn't mention anything. His acute senses of hearing and smell were just another one of those odd things he took for granted but knew instinctively was unusual.
She smiled and rubbed the palm of one hand against the back of the other before pulling on her gloves.
"You know what, Logan. I'm pretty exhausted too. What do you say we splurge for a taxi ride tonight?"
"I like that idea. My treat, ok?"
"Absolutely not. It's mine. It's the least I can do to thank you for you buying and cooking dinner last night."
They walked up to Fourteenth Street and hailed a cab.
"The Monday after Thanksgiving, we start rehearsing the new show. Joe wants to have it ready to debut for New Year's Eve," she told him. "It's going to mean longer days for everyone and probably Sundays." She reached a hand up to scratch her cheek again but he grabbed her wrist.
"Why do you keep scratchin'?"
"My face and hands are itchy. My face is starting to feel hot, too."
"Hey," he called up to the cab driver, "can you turn the dome light on for a minute, please?"
The cabbie gave an annoyed grunt but flicked the light on.
"What?" Brandy asked with alarm when she saw a flicker of surprise on his face. She reached up to scratch again.
"Listen, bub," Logan told the driver, "if you get us home in the next ten minutes there's a fin tip in it for ya." He hoped the promise of a five-dollar tip would be enough to induce the fella to floor the accelerator.
By now Brandy was scratching her face with gusto. "Ow, ow, ow! What the heck is going on?" She reached into her purse for her compact and peered at her reflection in the dim light. "Oh my God!" She screamed in utter panic. Her face was bright red and rapidly swelling up with angry looking hives. Pulling off her gloves she could see her hands were breaking out as well.
"Darlin', don't scratch!" Logan warned as her hands reached up again. "You' re only going to make it worse." He reached over and took both of her hands firmly in his. "We'll call a doctor as soon as we get home, okay?"
He continued to hold her hands but noticed her legs bouncing up and down with the effort of trying to control herself.
"Oh! Ow! Logan, it hurts!"
"I know, darlin', but ya can't scratch." The cab pulled up in front of their building. "Look we're home. Come on, let's get you inside."
He paid the cab driver and led her upstairs to her apartment. Mrs. Lieberman let them in. In the evenings, she put Mike to bed and then waited until Nina got home.
"Oh my goodness," Mrs. Lieberman exclaimed. "Nina, dear, your face looks terrible."
"Mrs. L," Logan told her, "I need you to call a doctor and get him over here as soon as possible. Nina, go change and get into bed. Do you have any calamine lotion?"
"In the medicine chest," she told him, all the while bouncing around, trying not to scratch.
He went to the bathroom and started rooting around. Grabbing a washcloth off the rack on the wall he placed it into the sink and ran cold water over it.
He rapped sharply on her bedroom door. "Are you in bed?" Her muffled affirmative reached his ears through the closed door.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and pressed the cold washcloth gently to her flaming cheeks. The cool compress offered her little relief and her eyes were red with unshed tears. With a second washcloth, Logan began dabbing pink calamine lotion onto her face and hands.
Mrs. Lieberman appeared at the door of the room.
"Dr. Carlson said he'd be here in ten minutes. My goodness, Nina, what happened?"
"I'm not sure," she stopped as a thought occurred to her
"What?" Logan asked her as he saw comprehension dawn on her face.
"Mrs. L. Would you mind making me a cup of tea?" Nina asked the older woman.
"Not at all, sweetheart. I'll be right back."
When she'd gone to the kitchen, Nina told Logan her suspicions.
"I saw Rosie sneaking out of my dressing room this morning. Nothing seemed to be missing or out of place so I didn't think anything of it. She must have put something in my cold cream. I was fine all day until I took my make-up off!"
Logan cursed vehemently under his breath. "Sorry," he apologized. "Looks like I'm going to have to have another little talk with her. This is ridiculous." He ran a hand through his thick hair; now he knew what it was he smelled on her earlier. It must have been whatever Rosie put in the cold cream.
Mrs. Lieberman reappeared at the door with a cup of tea and the doctor. Logan moved aside for the doctor.
"Hmmm, Nina, it looks like you're having a severe allergic reaction to something." She glanced at Logan whose lips were pressed together in annoyance.
"I put a cold compress on it and then the calamine lotion," Logan told him.
Dr. Carlson glanced curiously over at him. "Well, I'll leave a prescription for some ointment. You can have it filled tomorrow. Don't scratch, Nina, or your skin could become infected. You may want to wear gloves so you don' t scratch in your sleep." He smiled indulgently at her. "And I know how vain you ladies can be, so you're probably not going to want to leave the house for two or three days."
He turned to Logan and Mrs. Lieberman. "Would you please step out of the room? I'd like to give her an injection."
He joined them several minutes later in the living room.
"I gave her a mild sedative so she'll sleep, hopefully through the night." He tore a page off his prescription pad and placed it on the table by the door as Mrs. Lieberman saw him out.
Logan went back to check on Nina. She was dozing lightly as the sedative began taking effect. Her hands, encased in a pair of white cotton gloves, were resting on top of the covers. He bent down and brushed a kiss on her forehead. A slight smile curled her lips.
"I'll stay with her tonight," he told Mrs. Lieberman when she came in. "Will you be able to stay with her tomorrow while I'm at work?"
She agreed and said good night.
His eyes rested on the sleeping woman. She shifted a bit and reached up to her face. Logan was glad the doctor had made her put on the gloves. He reached over and began stroking her hair, the unfamiliar wave of protectiveness washing over him yet again. After tucking her covers more tightly around her he took the spare blanket from the foot of the bed, snapped off the light and made his way out to the couch, settling in for the night.
***
Rosie gave the man beside her a glance to make sure he was still sleeping before quietly slipping out of bed for a drink of water. She smiled triumphantly to herself, certain she had seen that puta, Brandy scratching her face and hands before she and Logan hastily left the theater. The memory was bittersweet. She had once again exacted a small bit of revenge from the bruja but it was obvious to her the two of them couldn't leave fast enough to get home and have each other and the thought of the other girl enjoying her lover made her sick with rage.
She sat on the couch where she had first made love to Logan and looked out at the soft snow that had begun falling sometime during the night. He was a magnificent lover and the most beautiful man she had ever seen, his body all corded muscle and barely restrained animal power. Up until that night she'd never seen anything like it. She thought of the man lying in her bed that very moment. He was big and savage and as beautiful in his own way but he wasn't Logan, although he suited her purposes for now. And she suspected she suited his and that was just fine with her.
His voice carried from the bedroom. "Hey, Rosie! Where'd ya get to? C'mon back to bed, I ain't done with you yet."
She smiled jubilantly. Oh yes, it suited her just fine. "Coming lover," she called, and made her way back to bed.
Nina awoke and lay quietly listening to the muffled sounds of movement in the kitchen. Her face still stung terribly and her eyelids had swollen so much overnight she could barely see through the slit. The low rumble of a masculine voice told her that Logan was out there. He'd obviously spent the night and was making breakfast for Mike. She blinked back unexpected tears. He'd been such a good friend to her in the weeks they'd known each other; it would be so tempting, so easy to just let her burdens go and lean on him. She wanted to so badly. She wanted to be loved and cared for by this man. She loved him. Oh my God, she loved him. When had that happened, she wondered.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock on the door and Logan entering with a tray. He looked alarmed when he caught a glimpse of her face but quickly covered it.
"Good morning," he said brightly. "Did ya sleep? Did the sedative the doctor gave you help?" She sat up against her pillows and he carefully placed the tray on her lap. "Made ya a little breakfast." He said indicating the plate of eggs, bacon and toast.
He continued. "Mrs. L is going to stay with you and Mike today. I'll tell Joe you won't be in for a few days." She nodded and set to eating her breakfast. It was a little difficult getting her mouth open with her face so swollen.
"Logan, it's really not that bad." She spoke stiffly, movement difficult. "I mean it's uncomfortable but I can take care of myself. You two don't have to go to all this trouble."
"I know you can take care of yourself, darlin'," he said humoring her, "but who's going to take care of Mike? Think about it. If he saw you the way ya look right now you'd probably scare the bejeezus out of him."
"Oh, you're right."
"Mrs. L will be here in a few minutes. I'll drop off the prescription the doctor left and have the pharmacy deliver it. Tell Mrs. L to call me at the theater if you need anything." He bent over and placed a light kiss on her forehead. "I'll see ya tonight."
Her hand went to the spot on her forehead where she could feel the imprint of his lips and she watched him go.
Logan stalked angrily into the theater. Red clouded his vision and his terrible temper was beginning to surface. He took a few deep breaths and pushed it back but it took all his meditative powers to do it. He quickly went to Joe and told him Brandy would be unable to make it into work for the next few days; he made no mention of the real reason why.
After that he went to find Rosie. He knocked on the door to her dressing room and entered without waiting for permission.
She stood from her dressing table in surprise but quickly recovered. "Logan, mi amore," she purred seductively. "What can I do for you?" She slithered over and rubbed up against him.
He sniffed at her; positive he smelled something familiar but it was so faint he couldn't be sure.
"You listen to me, you vicious bitch. If you do one more thing to hurt Brandy I'll pick you up and throw you bodily from this theater myself. I didn't tell Joe what you did this time so you've got one more chance to straighten yourself out, but the next time, you're out on your pretty little rump. Do we understand each other?"
She turned away from him so he couldn't see her face. "I have no idea what you're talking about, lover. What happened to the little slut anyway?"
Logan strangled an enraged snarl and spun her to face him once again. "You know damn well what I'm talking about. She's lying at home, her face and hands blown up like red balloons. You're damn lucky she didn't go into allergic shock from whatever you laced her cold cream with or I'd be breaking you into little tiny pieces with my bare hands right now! I've tried to be nice about this. I know I'm partly to blame for the situation, but I'm telling you this garbage ends now, or I won't be responsible for my actions."
Rosie looked unimpressed with Logan's threats. She merely pulled her arm away and went back to arranging her hair.
"Can I help if it the little idiota is accident prone?"
Logan ran his hands through his hair in exasperation and turned to go.
"Just remember what I said, Rosie. You don't know me well, but I'm telling you, I don't make idle threats." He slammed the door behind him.
***
Standing in front of the tiny bathroom mirror in his apartment, Logan tied his new hand-painted silk tie in preparation for Thanksgiving dinner with Nina and the others from the theater. He ran a comb through his hair one more time, trying without success to smooth down the cowlicks that grew into points at the sides of his head. No amount of pomade tamed them completely, to his eternal frustration. Crossing to the small closet he pulled out his suit jacket and slipped it on, grabbed the bouquet of flowers he'd bought for Nina, took a deep breath and went upstairs.
Nina's eyes widened at the sight of him when she opened the door. He looked unbelievably handsome in a charcoal gray flannel, double-breasted suit. The snow-white shirt accentuated his dark skin and was complemented by a pink and gray silk tie. Her heart started pounding in her chest when he smiled at her.
"Happy Thanksgiving!" she greeted cheerfully.
"Happy Thanksgiving," he answered handing her the flowers. She looked gorgeous in a black crepe dress with long pointed sleeves, a square neckline and huge velvet bow on one shoulder. Her legs were encased in a near-priceless pair of black nylons and he wondered just how long she'd saved them for an occasion like this. Despite the end of the war many things were still being rationed or were hard to get, nylons being one of them. Her face was almost completely back to normal but he could still see a hint of redness under the powder she used.
She gave him a delighted grin and his breathing sped up. When she moved aside to let him in he saw Windy, Jewel and Gus seated in the living room. Windy was bending over Mike and helping him choose crayons to color with. They all glanced up and said hello. Through the kitchen door he could see Mrs. L puttering on the stove.
Brandy excused herself and went to stir the gravy.
Logan went into the living room and shook Gus' hand. The big man was obviously playing bartender and he offered Logan a drink, which he readily accepted.
Everyone chatted amiably for a few minutes until Nina called them all in to dinner. She pointed out everyone's seats, placing Logan and Gus in end chairs.
"Logan since this is your first real American Thanksgiving, would you do us the honor of carving?" She held the carving knife and fork out to him.
"Thank you, Nina." He smiled down into her beautiful blue eyes, allowing himself to sink into their depths for a second until the sound of throat clearing and knowing giggles brought him back to reality.
Dinner was lively and everything was delicious. They all ate too much and Windy and Jewel offered to clear up while Logan and Gus went to the living room to listen to some football before dessert.
Mrs. L and Nina sat down to play a game of Candyland with Mike.
It was eight o'clock when Brandy sent Windy, Jewel and Gus home with bags of leftover turkey and pie. Mrs. Lieberman was back in the kitchen cleaning up. Logan and Nina sat together on the couch sipping coffee.
Mrs. L came in and took Mikey's hand. "Michael, how would you like to sleep over at my house tonight?" The older lady asked him. "We can pitch a tent in the living room and make hot chocolate and tell ghost stories! It will be great fun."
Mike looked at his mother with wide excited eyes. "Can I, Mommy? Please?"
Nina looked hesitant. "Welllll."
"Of course you can, sweetheart," Mrs. Lieberman told the little boy. "Nina, you've worked very hard today and you haven't been well the last week. Let me take him for the night." She winked over Nina's head at Logan.
He chuckled quietly to himself. The little matchmaker was doing this so they could be alone. He'd have to remember to get her something very nice for Chanukah.
Nina smiled at Mikey. "All right, go get your things and you can go with Mrs. Lieberman tonight."
When the little boy came back with pajamas and blankie in hand, Nina rose to see her guest out. "No, no," the older woman said. "No need to show me to the door, I know where it is." She held her hand out to Mike and they both left.
Nina went to the kitchen to get Logan some more coffee. As she leaned over the end table to pour, Logan placed his hands on her hips and gently pulled her into his lap. "I owe Mrs. L for the favor she did," he whispered against her ear, pleased when he felt her shiver.
"L-let me put the coffee pot back in the kitchen," she said in a husky voice.
"Don't be too long," he told her with a smile.
She came back in and sat down shyly next to him, her eyes focused on her hands. Logan gently placed his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. He sighed contentedly when she placed her head down on his shoulder. Turning his head he nuzzled his face into her silky hair, inhaling its fresh scent.
The two of them were happy to just sit like that for a few minutes until Logan reached up and turned off the lamp behind him, leaving only the one at the far end of the couch to illuminate the room. Slowly he slid his free arm around her tiny waist and turned his body towards her. Tenderly, he began brushing light kisses across her forehead and cheeks before claiming her lips. He swallowed her involuntary gasp and pressed her closer. Her arms went around his neck and he slid his mouth across hers, coaxing her to open up to him. When she did, he slid his tongue between her lips. Her eyes flew open in surprise but he teased her gently until she relaxed and was answering his playful tongue tentatively with her own. He slid his hand up her waist to lovingly cup her breast. She gasped and pulled away.
"I'm sorry, darlin'. I guess I was a little forward."
Nina put her hands to her flaming cheeks. "No. No, Logan it's not you. It 's me." She turned her head and chewed on her lip thoughtfully.
"Logan," she continued, "there's something I have to tell you. You probably won't want to have anything more to do with me when you know, but I have to be honest with you." She hesitated a moment before looking him straight in the eye. "Grant, Michael's father, and I w-weren't married." She searched his face for any sign of disgust or rejection but all she saw was curiosity and compassion. It emboldened her to go on.
"We'd known each other all our lives. We were childhood sweethearts and planned on getting married and moving to New York so I could try to be a professional ballet dancer. Then the war came and we wanted to be married that much sooner, but my parents wanted us to wait and wouldn't allow it no matter how much I begged them. The night before Grant shipped out I.I slept with him. He left the next day and was dead three weeks later, before I even knew I was pregnant with Mike. When I found out, I left my folks, my town, everything I'd known my whole life and came here to start over. It was easy to get lost in New York and not hard to get people to believe the story of a war widow with a small child. It's a common enough occurrence these days."
He pulled her close to him and held her tightly.
"Darlin', why on earth would you think I wouldn't want to have anything to do with you anymore? Just because you weren't married to Michael's father? Aw, honey," he stroked her hair soothingly, "you've been through even more than I thought. Leaving your home and the parents who cared for you, coming here and building a life for yourself and your child and keeping this secret all these years. Some people might say what you did was a sin but I know you did it out of love. I could never hate you for that. If anything I admire you for it and," he looked down into her brimming eyes, "I love you even more than I did before."
She looked up into his shining hazel eyes, smiling through the torrent of te ars. "Oh, Logan, I love you too!"
He smiled and brushed her tears away, bending down to place a gentle kiss on her lips.
When he pulled away she continued, "But Logan, I just don't know if I'm ready to be.physical with another man just yet. I want you, very much, but the last time I wanted, it got me nothing but heartache. I hope you understand, I just need some time."
"I understand, sweetheart. I'm willing to wait until you're ready. And if you wanna wait until we're married, I'm willing to do that, too."
Brandy's heart swelled to bursting with the love and gratitude she felt for this amazing man. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever hoped to find anyone as wonderful as him after Grant was taken from her.
"Why, James 'Just' Logan, are you proposing to me?"
He looked as pleasantly surprised as she did. "Yes, Nina darlin', I guess I am. So whaddaya say?"
She threw her arms around his neck and planted a big kiss on his lips. "I say, YES!" He gave her an enthusiastic kiss right back, leapt up and began swinging her around the room in his arms.
They held each other until the early hours of the morning, sharing kisses and gentle caresses, making all the plans that couples in love are inclined to make. Nina told him more about Grant and growing up in Nebraska. Logan shared stories of his life in Canada with her. At sun up, when they finally went to their separate beds, it was to sleep the contented sleep of young lovers.
One of the serious things they decided the night before was to try to keep the change in their relationship as quiet as possible since the knowledge would only infuriate Rosie further. Even so it was hard to keep their happiness completely under wraps.
Windy walked into their dressing room after the second performance only to stumble on Logan and Brandy in a passionate clinch.
"Oh, excuse me! Am I interrupting something important?" she asked dryly.
Brandy looked up pretending annoyance. "Hmph! Isn't it customary to knock on the door of the dressing room of an engaged person?" She smiled waiting for the other girl's reaction.
"Hot dog! It's about time! You two have been making goo-goo eyes at each other for long enough!"
Logan frowned. "Hey, I don't make goo-goo eyes!" he told her.
Windy gave a very unladylike snort. "That's what you think, bub!"
"Windy, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this kinda quiet. Rosie and all..." Brandy said.
"Oh sure, sure! But c'mon guys, give with the details. When are you going to tie the knot?"
"Well," Logan began, "we haven't really talked about that yet." He looked down into Brandy's eyes. "Soon, I hope," he said smiling at her.
She smiled back.
"Aww, aren't you two just sooo cute," Windy said, wiping away an imaginary tear.
Brandy swatted at her playfully.
"While I'm all choked up by the news and this tender scene," Windy continued, "some of us do need to get changed before the next show so if you can tear yourself away from this gorgeous hunk of man long enough to get him out of the room, I'd appreciate it."
"Alright, alright," Logan said. "I get the hint. I've got to go work on few things myself before the next show. The sink is backed up in Wally's dressing room and I got elected to unclog it."
Brandy rolled her eyes. Wally was their "Top Banana," the headlining comic, and even more of a Prima Donna than the headlining stripper.
"Well then by all means, get out of here! The last thing I need is Wally holding a grudge because I kept you from snaking the hair out of his sink," Brandy said sarcastically, pushing Logan out the door. He ducked his head back in to give her one last kiss and loped down the hallway.
Windy sighed and shut the door behind him.
"I envy you," she said, waggling her eyebrows. "What was it like?"
"What was what like?" Brandy said, deliberately misunderstanding her friend.
Windy rolled her eyes. "You know what I'm talking about, missy. 'It.' The big 'I-T,'" she added for emphasis.
Brandy heaved an exasperated sigh. "We haven't done IT yet."
The brunette looked at her incredulously. "What? Are you out of your pea-picking mind? If he was my man I'd never let him out of my bed!"
Brandy smiled sweetly at her friend. "But he's not your man, he's MY man so what you would do doesn't matter."
"Bitch!"
Brandy giggled and began getting ready for the next show.