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Never Been One for Wine and Roses
01. Uh-HUH...
Author: OriginalCeenote
Summary: Ororo Munroe has the weight of the world on her dainty
shoulders, and would do anything for the people she loves. James Howlett
wants to show her how to take a load off, and show her that love is a
two-way street. Alternate universe, no powers. These are Marvel’s
characters, but by the time I’m finished with them, they will only bear
a scant resemblance.
Author's Note: For those who enjoy fairy tales as much as I do, this is
my loose (very loose) take on Cinderella. Special thanks go out to
authors such as Darlin and jasmine for writing such great "no powers"
stories like "Dreamin of a Day" and "Life's Surprises," both of which
were by turns entertaining and romantic, and showed me directions that
these characters could be taken. You guys are great.
“Alternatives Women and Children’s
Shelter Network? Can you please hold?” Anna Marie
set down the half a tuna salad sandwich on whole
wheat and hastily wiped her fingers on a Kleenex.
She pressed the beeping red button on her primary
line and barked out a harried “Sorry, shoog, I gotta
motor; I’m cuttin’ my lunch a little shorter today
so I can leave early, an’ I got someone else on the
other line.”
“Coulda fooled me, chere. How’m I s’posedta know ya
ain’t just talkin’ t’yer udder boyfriend, non?” Anna
snorted and rolled her eyes, hearing the smile in
Remy’s voice over the line.
“Dunno, shoog; prob’ly the same way ya might be
holdin’ the pillow over some floozy’s face ta drown
out her heavy breathin’! I gotta bail, call ya after
work!”
“Love you, chere.”
“Love you, honey bunch.” Anna clicked back over to
the other line. “I apologize for the wait. How may I
transfer your call?”
“Er…hi. Um, can I, like, speak to ‘Ro?” Muted
cussing and flustered mutterings assailed Anna’s
ears from the other end of the line, and Anna
pictured someone young and unsure of themselves. “I
mean, can I speak to Ororo Munroe?”
“Certainly, miss, I’ll check her office line and
transfer you in a moment. If you get her voice mail,
you can still leave a message and call the front
desk again, and leave your name with me, if you
like. That way she won’t miss you,” Anna offered
helpfully.
“Ohmigod, thank you so much! Well, this is her
cousin, Kenyatta,” she plundered on, cutting Anna
off when she attempted to click over to Ororo’s
direct line, and she smothered a sigh. This one was
a rambler. “I hate calling her at work, I’m so sure
she’s so totally busy and everything, but I
needed to talk to her pretty badly, and it couldn’t
wait til she got home, I always try to just call her
cell phone, but I figured she turned it off for a
meeting or something, it just rang and rang and
rang, and she doesn’t always go all the way home for
lunch, at least that’s what my mom’s always saying,
she’s always telling me I should be more like cousin
‘Ro cuz she’s got her shit together…”
“Let me go and transfer you, honey,” Anna Marie
apologized, puffing out her cheeks. Dang, home girl
could talk the ears off a brass monkey… Anna pressed
the button on the intercom switchboard and spoke
into it. “Ororo? Have ya got a minute?”
“I sure do, Anna Marie,” a deep, yet very feminine
voice chirped back from the speaker. “What’s going
on?”
“Got a call for ya on line two.”
“I can take that. Thank you, Anna.”
“Any time, hon.” Anna clicked over the call and
paused for another quick bite of her sandwich before
her phone began ringing again. She barely choked it
down along with a hearty gulp of diet Pepsi before
the calls came one on top of another for the next
hour. Ah so loooooove mah job, she chanted to
herself, her usual mantra.
In her office, set behind the large and open maze of
cubicles, Ororo picked up her phone, not expecting
anything out of the ordinary. Her own lunch lay half
eaten in a white Styrofoam takeout container,
filling the space with the scent of leftover beef
teriyaki stir-fry and garlic. She grabbed a yello
steno pad from her desk drawer, considering that it
might be one of her clients calling to set a
meeting. She plucked her favorite purple Pentel
comfort grip pen from the cup and twiddled a lock of
her hair with it. “This is Ororo speaking, how may I
help you today?”
“Damn, girl, is that you? It’s me, Kenyatta!”
Ack…
Ororo sighed. “Hey, girl. What’s going on?”
“You gotta help me out.”
Ororo dropped her accent a couple of notches.
“Whatchu need, baby girl? I just got back from
lunch, so I’ll have to nudge a few things around on
my plate if you need a ride anywhere…”
“I don’t need a ride. It’s not that.” Silence. Then,
“I need some money.”
Ororo’s nape felt itchy and tight. “How much money
is ‘some money?’ Let’s just say things are tight
right now.”
“Please, please, don’t say no, I can pay you back, I
promise –“
“How MUCH, Kenyatta?”
“A thousand.” Ororo dropped her pen back onto her
desk blotter with a clatter.
“Shit!” Ororo’s lunch rolled in her stomach
and a faint sheen of clammy sweat collected on the
crowns of her cheeks. “That much?” Ororo gathered
herself together and stared at the framed photo of
herself and a few of her cousins, Kenyatta included,
sitting by her pen cup for easy viewing. It was her
daily reminder of why she worked so hard. Every day,
without fail. If she didn’t do it all, who would?
“Fess up, girl, where are you really calling from,
jail? A grand? You need a full grand? Like, TODAY?”
“Uh-huh.” Kenyatta’s voice held a meek and
apologetic note that did nothing to keep Ororo’s
nervous sweat at bay.
“Wait, ‘Uh-huh, you’re calling from jail, Uh-huh,
you need the money today, or Uh-huh, both answers
apply?’”
“Uh-huh, I need the money today. All of it,” she
said with mind-boggling finality. Ororo fanned
herself with a loose manila envelope. “And I’m not
the one in jail,” she explained, as if to put
Ororo’s mind to rest. Ororo rubbed her temples.
“Please don’t tell me this is one of your
irresponsible little friends that you’re always
hanging out with.”
“Not quite.” She could almost picture Kenyatta
picking at her fingernails, something she always did
at times like these. “It’s Leon. He was heading to
work and got caught going through a four-way stop.
He was running late,” she added, as though that was
supposed to explain everything.
“And…?”
“…and he got pulled over, which wouldn’t have been
that big of a deal. He pulled over,” she reasoned,
her voice plaintive. Ororo nodded and shrugged on
her end of the line, rolling her eyes to the
ceiling, knowing, just knowing there was a “but”
coming along. “But he already had a few points
against his license for those speeding tickets he
didn’t go to class for.”
“How many tickets, for cryin’ out loud???” Ororo’s
voice rose in disbelief. Then she reminded herself,
This was Leon.
“Three. The third one was kinda pricey,” she hedged.
“Like, eight hundred dollars.”
“Gah!”
“Uh-huh! Like people don’t need that kind of money
to live!” Ororo slapped her forehead and let her
palm rub down the whole length of her face.
“The whole point of a hefty ticket is to keep people
from speeding,” she reminded her.
“Folks still gotta eat!” Kenyatta carped. “And it’s
not the bail itself I need the money for, ‘Ro. I
paid that myself,” she reassured her.
“But?”
“I used this month’s rent.”
“Aaaarrrggghhhh…girrrrrlllll, I don’t know what to
do about you.”
“Please say I can borrow the money?” she suggested.
“You know this goes against everything I’ve been
telling you, right, girl? That this isn’t something
I can just do all happy-go-lucky like I’m made of
money? That I’m working full-time and then some just
to manage an apartment, a car, and giving my own
mama some money to fill the gap of her Social
Security check, right?”
“I know, I know,” she agreed, but Ororo could hear
the relief sneaking into her voice. She knew she
couldn’t turn her away.
“I want you to pay my money back when you can.”
“I will!”
“Better yet, have Leon pay me back!”
“Definitely!”
“For that matter, I could use some help putting a
new alternator in my car, the one I have now is
acting up, and I don’t feel like getting jacked for
the cost of a new one at the Pep Boys down the
street.” Honest mechanics, my ass, she
cursed.
“When do you want me to send him over?” Kenyatta was
ready to spit-shine every pair of leather pumps in
Ororo’s closet at this point if it would secure her
the cash.
“Come over for dinner tonight. I’ll give you the
money.”
“Can I meet you at the bank?” Ororo pictured her
picking her nails again. “I need to put the money in
before the rent check clears.”
“Dang. That gives me all of twenty minutes to fiddle
around through rush hour traffic once I cut out of
here.” Ororo looked at her company-issued wall
clock. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Luv you, cuz!”
“Stinker! Don’t try to butter me up!” Ororo warned.
“Luv you, too.” She hung up and shook her head, her
wavy white ponytail dusting her back.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. Ororo took
calls from clients for the better part of the
afternoon, looking up grants already approved for
that quarter’s funds, emailing budget projection
sheets to the Director, and fielding inquiries from
Betsy at the main shelter in the Bronx, wondering if
it was okay to place that order for new bedding.
“If they need it, they need it.”
“We’re running low on funds.”
“I’ll tell Scott. You guys already paid the utility
bill and got the food shipment from Sysco?”
“Sure did, chief.”
“Order what you can for now, even if it’s just new
towels. I’ll lean on a few people in this office to
get a check placed into the account by Friday.”
“You’re an angel.”
“I wish. Maybe then I could get more done!” Ororo
clucked a few more well wishes for Betsy and her
plight into the receiver before she hung up.
An hour later:
“Damn, girl, what took you so long to park?”
“It’s called rush hour, Kenyatta, give a woman a
moment to catch her breath, ‘kay?” Ororo’s hair
whipped behind her on the light evening breeze, and
she was grateful for the breath of fresh, or at
least mostly fresh air. Okay, fresh enough if you
ignored the UPS truck exhaust and subway fumes. At
least it wasn’t the stifling, recycled air of her
snug office suite. Ororo didn’t want to contemplate
how often the building facilities staff changed, or
didn’t change, the air filters in the vents above
her desk each season.
The two young women hurried into the back through
the double doors just ahead of the security guard
locking it behind them. “Just in time, we can handle
your transaction, but we’re about to close.”
“Thank you,” Ororo tossed over her shoulder,
managing a harried smile. She turned and practically
ran into the line between the velvet ropes leading
to the cashier’s counter, whipping out her check
book on the way. She missed the appreciative leer he
shot her backside with its undulating sway, outlined
so nicely in the well-cut gabardine slacks.
“Please tell me you already have some deposit slips
for this,” Ororo muttered.
“Got my ID. That’s all you need, these days.”
“Do you know your account number?” Ororo lifted her
arched, tapered brow and cocked her head toward her
cousin with a belabored look.
“Yes, yes, got it, let’s go, LET’S GO!”
“Heifer, I know you ain’t up here fanning me along
and tellin’ me to hurry up,” Ororo sniffed, shooting
Kenyatta a head-trip. “Hmmmph.”
“May I help you ladies over here?”
“YES!” Kenyatta dragged Ororo by the elbow, no mean
feat in light of the height difference between the
two women. Kenyatta’s mom, Ororo’s aunt Ruth, was
fond of telling her “All of the boys always knew not
to mess with you, baby girl, they turned tail and
ran when you grew just as tall as all of ‘em and
then some, right about when most girl’s would’ve
stopped.” At five-eleven, Ororo towered over her
cousin by a good five inches and was solidly built;
she wasn’t about to get knocked over by a strong
breeze. Her bust line was always in the neighborhood
of a D and kept her in a size nine dress, even
though she was a seven on the bottom. Oh, well. Half
of New York City wore a size seven, so that left
more nines for her.
Ororo began writing out a check with more zeroes
than she wanted to part with and signed it with her
usual flourish, making the “O” in her name slightly
curly.
“You’ve got checks with Wonder Woman on them?”
“Yup. Batman, the Flash, and Superman, too.”
“You’re weird.”
“Hey, don’t talk smack about Wonder Woman, she’s
paying your rent.”
“Mmmmph.” They completed the transactions with a few
more clicks of the teller’s mouse, and Ororo
contented herself with snagging a cellophane-wrapped
lollipop from the candy dish on the counter. The
hard candy was almost as blue as her eyes.
“Have a nice evening, ladies.”
Half an hour later:
Ororo juggled her shopping bags on her hop as she
sorted through the keys on her ring, the fluorescent
pink key chain winking up at her with its cheeky
“All Hail the Goddess” spelled out in tiny
rhinestones. She stuck her mail kep unto the narrow
slot, yanking open the sticky aluminum door. Bill,
bill, junk mail, credit card offer, JC Penney
catalog, Spiegel’s catalog, Victoria’s catalog –
dang, it was the “This is the last issue we’re
sending you if you don’t buy anything” copy.
It couldn’t be helped. The last time she’d had
anyone to even show her pretty underwear off to was
two years ago. All of her photos has phantom white
spaces where Jon’s head had been cut out. Anna Marie
had come by one day with sticks of sandalwood
incense and they had lit them up, waving them around
Ororo’s bedroom and over her couch to ”chase away
the evil spirits” that lingered in the wake of their
break-up.
Ororo wasn’t going to have any spare change to drop
on the teddy that Tyra was wearing on the cover, not
after today’s little mercy donation. Ororo had
pushed her cart slowly down the aisles of Stop ‘n
Shop, planning a sparse menu that would have to
stretch the whole week. She’d come back with
pitifully little, and she hoped her neighbors didn’t
mind the smell of boiling red beans, since those
were going to be lunch and dinner for the next two
days.
Ororo’s sandals thumped up the stairs beneath the
weight of the shopping bags as she made her way to
the second floor. She heard the familiar creak of
unit 2C’s door hinge across the hall from hers.
“Oh! Ororo!”
“Hi, Irene.” Ororo smiled, hoping the older blind
woman could hear her expression in her voice. Irene
Adler and her roommate, Raven Wagner, had been
living in the old brownstone for a year longer than
Ororo, so they were already privy to some of the
best gossip in the building.
“Old Man Lensherr’s grown twins came to visit him
this week,” Irene had mentioned one Saturday over
tea and bakery cookies. She poked Ororo’s elbow
knowingly, adding “He still hasn’t told them about
their half sister.”
“Apparently he had a girl in every port during the
war. His wife never knew,” Raven explained, her
walnut brown eyes dancing merrily over her cup. “His
youngest daughter has GREEN hair. If not for that,
she’d be his spitting image!”
“Are you just getting back from work, dear?” Irene
leaned on the door frame now, peering with unerring
precision at Ororo; beneath her rose-tinted
sunglasses, her eyes met Ororo’s as though she saw
her perfectly.
“I stopped at the store.”
“I’m glad. I hate to think of you working so late,”
Irene tsked.
“Can’t be helped, sometimes. This is the beginning
of a new fiscal year. I’m up to my neck in budget
meetings.”
“Sounds positively dire.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Care to join Raven and I for dinner? We’re having
pasta,” she offered. Ororo knew from experience that
“pasta” meant some pre-packaged fettuccini with
sauce from a packet.
“How about if I bring over some chicken to accompany
it?” she suggested. Raven and Irene admitted to
neither of them liking to cook much. Ororo actually
enjoyed it.
“As long as there’s no garlic. Gives poor Raven
gas,” she said, leaning in close to whisper this
last confession quite loudly. Ororo stifled a
giggle.
“No garlic. I promise.” Ororo crossed the corridor
and set down her bags. “See you in a bit,” she
promised.
“Looking forward to it!” Irene’s door clicked shut.
“Ororo kicked off her shoes and set the bags on the
pine dinette table of her little one bedroom unit.
She leaned over and pressed the message button on
her phone machine.
“Ororo, it’s Betsy. We got the shipment of bedding,
but that small TC that was bolted onto the rec room
wall was stolen today. Hate to be the beared of bad
news.” Ororo snorted.
BEEP…
“Hi, ‘Ro, it’s Leon. Let me know when you need me to
come by and look at that alternator.” Ororo smiled
as she pulled a pack of chicken legs from the
freezer, popped them into the microwave and hit
thaw. At least her cousin’s boyfriend meant well,
she mused.
BEEP…
“Ro? This is your auntie Ruth, baby.” Her aunt’s
syrupy southern accent trilled at her from the
machine, and Ororo found herself listening to it
with her hand on her hip, out of old habit. She
never called unless she wanted her to do something.
No small wonder where Kenyatta had gotten it from…
“Shoog, I was wondering when you could stop by this
weekend to tend your mama’s roses, their overgrown
and covered with aphids. This is that time of year
when we usually go out to your father’s plot, God
rest his soul.” Ororo could picture her aunt
crossing herself as she uttered the blessing into
the phone. “It sure would be nice to have some fresh
cut flowers to take out there for the headstone.”
“The roses should be just about dead by now,” Ororo
muttered in reply, knowing her reasoning was falling
on deaf ears. “We can take him some of the
begonias.”
“You know how your mother is about her begonias,
child,” Ruth chuckled. “She wants you to clip a few
of those, too. And Ororo, if your cousin Kenyatta
calls you up asking for money, don’t give that child
any, she’s got to learn to fly on her own. I already
told her no this morning when she called me in a
lather about it.”
“NOW you tell me,” Ororo glared. “Grrrrrrrrr…” She
banged around in the cupboards, looking for her
favorite Teflon frying pan. She pumped out some
Crisco corn oil into it and turned the burner on
medium high.
BEEP…
“Ororo, it’s Emma Frost from Inner Circle
Management, calling to get a time that we can meet
with you about the shelter network’s fundraiser. We
had some ideas for a costume ball that we wanted to
run by you.”
“Gads,” she grimaced. “Costumes. Great. Just what I
need.” She was only slightly relieved that it wasn’t
a luau-themed Hawaiian barbecue like last year’s;
she’d just about been ready to scream if she had to
untangle one more cheap string of silk flower leis
from the huge box of them that she ordered from the
Oriental Trading Company catalog from the petty cash
fund.
END OF MESSAGES…BEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPP…CLICK! Ororo
deleted all of them and made herself a note to call
Emma tomorrow morning when she got into the office.
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