Facile Princeps    comments ... souvlaki ... comments ... tiramisu ...
comments  Facile Princeps  by AC Chapin The tall glass of orange juice
tilted, rocked upright, and then rocked down again, falling on its side
and splashing juice in a sticky tidal wave across the table. Benton
Fraser, sleep still cloudy in his eyes, blinked down at the bright flower
of orange on the center of his chest and muttered thanks that he hadn't
put on his uniform tunic before breakfast. "Oh honey, I'm *sorry*!"
Francesca wailed, quickly righting the glass and running for the paper
towels. Fraser stood up and shrugged his suspenders down. By the time he
had the shirt off, Francesca was cleaning up the mess on the table. She
nearly knocked over the bright cardboard container of milk with her elbow
and winced when Fraser carefully righted it and moved it out of the way.
Gently he took the roll of paper towels from her hand and finished
blotting up the orange juice from under his plate, catching it all before
any could drip to the linoleum. He cleaned off the cereal boxes and the
sticky bottle of syrup and then gathered the soggy pile of orange-stained
towels from the middle of the table and carried them off to the kitchen.
"Just turn the iron back on and I'll make you some more waffles."
Francesca called; he could hear water running and, faintly, the sounds of
frantic scrubbing. Fraser did a quick calculation and realized he wouldn't
have time to eat any waffles she might start cooking now before he had to
leave for work. He pulled out the half-loaf of rye from the bread box and
rummaged in the refrigerator for cheese. He filled a jelly-jar glass with
milk and drank deeply. Francesca finally came racing back from the bedroom
with his tunic and another shirt. She took in the cold waffle iron and the
cheese sandwich. "No time, huh?" He shook his head. Francesca sighed and
carefully hung his clothes over the back of a chair. "I, um, I think I got
the stain out before it could set." She always did. "Good." She already
had her mascara on and it was starting to smear just a little around her
left eye. "I'm really sorry. I mean, I know I always do something like
this, and then you're late to work and --" He stood up, chewed, swallowed
carefully, and then laid two fingers over her lips. "Shh." "I'm sorry."
She repeated behind his fingers. "It's alright, Francesca." He gathered
her in, feeling her silky hair against his bare chest. "It's fine." She
clung to his arms. Her robe slipped off one shoulder, revealing a lacy
strap and the dark marking of a love bite. Fraser dropped his head slowly
to nudge the strap out of the way and kiss her shoulder, her neck. "It's
fine." He was going to be late to work after all. Her arms wrapped tightly
around him and he felt those perfectly manicured nails rake lightly
through his hair before her hands slid down his back. He inhaled deeply --
Passion Flower perfume and strawberry shampoo and hair spray. Very late.
"Benton . . ." Francesca sighed, letting her head fall back, "you're not
listening, are you?" Fraser's head jerked up and he looked across the
table at his lovely wife. "I'm sorry, you were saying?" She fixed him with
those clear blue eyes. "I said I'll be in Ottawa for six days. Please
don't forget to have the grass cut. And see if you can't get this rug
shampooed." Fraser looked down at the thick pile rug under the table, it
looked very clean to him, spotless. "I wont forget, Meg." "I hope not."
She lifted the glass pitcher and poured herself orange juice, not spilling
a drop. "Hurry and eat; we don't want to be late." "Facile Princeps"
copyright 1996 by AC Chapin Just my contribution to the run of benny&meggy
stories.