Jezebel. Reclining against the plump pillows he had piled against the headboard, Jacob smiled. As he had every night for 20 years, he again studied the face of the angel child in the photograph. He found that he was actually beginning to believe — or at least hope — that this was indeed a picture of Jess as a child.
Remembering how he had imagined her, fantasized her being, Jacob’s smile widened to a wry grin. He had always pictured the beautiful child growing into a lovely, pure and innocent woman. Above reproach. Without sin, as it were. In his fantasies, her name had been Angela, or Mary, or perhaps even Chastity. Definitely not Jezebel! Nor did she have the temper of a fishwife and the vocabulary of a dockworker. In point of fact, the only thing he had been right about was her beauty.
Jacob called into memory the image of Jess in her white silk robe, whirling in the moonlight.What a vision! Now that was more like he had expected. But it was not the real Jess, and he found he was growing quite fond of his new neighbor. Not only was she stunning — even splattered with sauce, with her hair in a tangle — but she was also strong and smart and sassy. Oh yes, and stubborn. Best of all, she loved cats. And since Jacob knew cats to be excellent judges of character, he took Jess’s feline companions as a true indication of her worthiness. He was genuinely looking forward to becoming more fully acquainted with her. The sooner, the better.
Sunday was Jess’s favorite day of the week. True, on Saturdays you had the entire weekend ahead of you, but Jess’s Saturdays were generally spent doing things that were a lot less fun than her weekday job, and paid a lot less money. Actually, paid nothing at all. Things like washing her truck, doing laundry, cleaning house. Boring stuff. There was a damn good reason why they were called chores and not games.
But Sunday, Sunday was different. Sunday was when you laid around in your undies, reading the paper and admiring your nice, clean house. Sunday was when you ate Hershey’s chocolate syrup on your morning pancakes and washed it down with Snapple Pink Lemonade. Sunday was when you didn’t have to shower unless you wanted to, and could spend an hour soaking in a tubful of Pink Carnation bubbles while Tom Waits crooned his reluctance to fall in love with you. If Jess spent the work week in touch with her masculine side, she more than made up for it on Sundays. Sunday was Girl Day.
When the doorbell rang, it did not even occur to her to put on a robe. Jess was not a modest person. She figured her cami top and panties covered more than her bikini did, so what did it matter who saw her in them? She opened the door, and was not in the least dismayed to find Jacob standing there. He was holding an ancient-looking wooden picture frame in his hands, a look of dismay on his face. Taking in her attire, or rather lack thereof, his look changed to embarrassment.
“I beg your pardon, Jezebel. I would have called first if I knew your number.”
“Hey, no problem, Jake! What’s up?”
“I wonder if you might assist me.” He held up the picture frame, which had separated at one corner. “This frame, though of no real value, is very precious to me. As you can see, it has come apart. Given your occupation, I thought you might have some wood glue on hand, and perhaps a clamp I could borrow.”
“Let me take a look.” Jess took the frame from Jacob and examined it. “Nice wood. Ebony. Harder than freaking concrete, though. Hmmm. Don’t think we want to go with glue. It would just loosen and separate again, eventually. I’m thinking a couple of good-sized wood staples should do the trick. Come on in.”
With careless disregard for the effect her scanty dishabille was having on Jacob’s composure, Jess carried the frame to her kitchen and, grabbing a couple of dish towels to protect her granny's table, laid the frame front side down on it.
“I’ll be right back.” To Jacob’s utter astonishment, Jess went out to her truck and rummaged in her toolbox. In her undergarments. Her panty clad rear end was clearly visible as she bent over the toolbox on the truck floor. And quite a pleasant view it was, too.
Finding what she needed, Jess returned to the house with a hammer and several small U-shaped metal objects. After getting the frame positioned with the mitered corner joined, she instructed Jacob to hold it in place while she gently tapped the staples into the wood.
The ebony was indeed hard. The first staple skittered away and went flying without so much as puncturing the surface. Jess frowned, positioned another staple and rapped it more firmly with the hammer. It pierced the wood, but not by much. Further raps only succeeded in bending the staple beyond usability.
“Damn! Guess we had better go heavy-duty.” Another trip to the truck, this time returning with larger, presumably stronger staples. Jacob continued to act as a human clamp. Holding the oversized staple in place, Jess raised the hammer and brought it down forcefully. Smack onto her thumbnail.
"Jesus H. Christ!"
"Actually, his middle name did not start with an H. It was Josephus, after his father," Jacob commented helpfully. Jess gave him a withering glance.
"You knew Jesus, huh?"
"Indeed. Nice guy, if you like that sort. Bit of a deity complex, though."
Her eyebrows came down in a censuring glare.
"You really expect me to believe you knew the Jesus Christ?"
"Well, if we're talking about the same fellow, yes."
"Yeah, well, the one I'm talking about's middle name is GOD. Named after His Father."
Jacob snorted in disgust.
"Oh, please. Not that fanatical pseudo-religious superstitious nonsense again! Does that old wives' tale never die?"
Jess fearfully glanced skyward as if expecting a massive bolt of lightning to strike them dead where they stood. Jacob caught the look, and chuckled.
“Trust me, my friend, you have nothing to be concerned about. The Higher Powers are not without a sense of humor. And nothing amuses them more than the outlandish attempts of mankind to humanize the gods.”
Jess, raised in a Catholic home, looked positively apoplectic, and it had been a long, long time since Jacob had seen anyone look apoplectic.
“Now look, Mr. King of the Undead. If you want to go around believing you’re some 2,000-year-old vampire chef, I couldn’t care less. But DO NOT speak sacriligiously in my home!”
“I am not a king.”
“Queen, then.”
Jacob sighed. “I assume that is yet another snide reference to my supposed homosexuality. As I told you before —”
The force of her anger behind it, the hammer Jess swung drove a staple smartly into place in the damaged frame. Another quickly followed. Jess snatched up the frame and shoved it at Jacob.
“OK, there’s your frame. Now, please leave.”
“Jezebel, I am so sorry if —”
“GET. OUT.”
“Truly, I meant no —”
“OUT!!!” Jess followed the word with a shove in the direction of the door. Shaking his head, Jacob turned to leave.
“I apologize for angering you, Jezebel. Thank you for repairing my frame.”
She glared angrily at him. “It’s your soul that needs the repair, Jake.”
If you only knew how very true that is, Jacob thought sadly. And he left.
