each other. Anderson struck a right-left fist volley to the striker’s head. She thought she saw blood splatter above and below the man’s mouth, but couldn’t be sure.
Oooh. A bent knee landed in or near Anderson’s groin and shoulders collapsed. The striker pounced forward pounding two fists to the crown of Anderson’s bowed head. Anderson’s left arm flashed upward to deflect a third blow. He dived straight into the striker’s midsection with observable force although distance didn’t allow Melanie to hear any uttered groan.
Both twisted and crashed to the ground, the striker prone with his face eating dirt. Anderson rose first and stomped. His swinging boot toe struck above the striker’s belt near a kidney.
Six fanned-out semi-trailer rear bumpers thudding into loading docks momentarily distracted Melanie. She steeled abdominal muscles to Chesterton’s tickling fingers to glimpse Jonas sprint across the gate entrance. With flying elbows he burst between two men; the ring expanded. Jonas responded to Anderson’s extended arm point. The Sheriff lifted striker by grabbing plaid shirt collar at the neck’s nape, forced striker’s nose into the link security fence, and, with a knee to the small of the back, clamped on wrist handcuffs, spun man around, and with baton pinned neck to the fence.
Anderson picked up his baton and preceded Jonas and prisoner to Paul’s squad car. The sergeant’s strength and resilience impressed Melanie. He’d bought her a drink or two at community fund-raisers, but she concluded by the lack of follow-up he acted polite to create goodwill for a run against Jonas in the upcoming election. She hoped the knee that landed hadn’t damaged his fatherhood future. If Jonas proved uncooperative, a lawman alternative existed.
Chesterton nuzzled her neck. With the strike, normal business office attire abandoned in favor of sweats or blue jeans. Who knew when executives would be required to unload trucks? Her prior forklift joy ride stained a pantsuit with black grease smeared into a cushioned cloth seat. His fingers on skin under Melanie’s sweatshirt tickled above and below an “outee” belly button.
“It’s been a long time,” Chesterton’s coarse guttural voice whispered into Melanie’s right ear.
“It’ll be even longer once you’re transferred.”
“Between you and me, it’s not going to happen.”
Melanie gulped. She counted on the transfer to succeed him as president. If not transferred, he’d have to be fired, a convoluted process. He’d get credit for all her hard work in humiliating the union. She couldn’t rely on profit loss because of the strike. The investors would surely credit him if Local No. 1 decertified. The long-term priceless value of devised efficient scheme to hire minimum wage non-union replacement workers nullified. “But your plans? A bigger operation.”
“On hold. But let’s not discuss that.”
Her left hand clasp halted his stomach tapping. “What about someone at the door?” Neck pores absorbed his hot, panting breaths. While the clerical bargaining unit honored the picket line, staff still roamed the three floors, especially computer technicians manning the large IT center at corridor end. A creaking elevator door jolt probably meant one or two in the hall this very moment.
“Fixed that. New deadbolt installed. Only keys are in my pocket.” His hand slipped from her stomach, and warm fingers cupped Melanie’s chin. Her sneakers squeaked as he rotated head and body towards him before joining lips. He kissed long and hard until elongated tongue parted her moist lips to slide in. His knee nudged Melanie to the security guard’s bed.
When he faced her, bulging manhood strained against denim fabric. She knew he invigorated a six foot, one inch lean body by three morning jogs a week. She reached forward, undid belt, pulled snap apart, and separated zipper teeth. Like a warehouse pallet jack, his handle sprang free with tension for the task ahead. “You want a ride bareback?”
“Why no condom? You always insisted.”
“Got an after pill.” Melanie lied. “Will allow me to give you a hotter ride.”
Previously she insisted upon a condom to collect his sperm, never fearing pregnancy. Puberty for her lasted until the day the cold stainless steel of the operating table joined with the glaring lights that branded fear into ever-present memory. In the dim shadows beyond an open surgical room door a masked nurse handed her mother a paper to sign for she’d been but fourteen.
“Here, let me help you.” Chesterton lifted sweatshirt high above her head. “What, no bra?” His raised bellybutton-toying fingers lowered to two grapefruit-sized former playmates.
At fourteen, soft teenage nipples were centered in undeveloped breasts as she lay in a hospital gown on the operating table. Knees separated; two steel rings compressed goose-bumped skin to elevated anklebones. A mask suffocated normal breathing. Her whole world dissolved into black. Not until two days later, with entire abdomen hurting, did Melanie overhear her mother telling mother’s latest boyfriend Melanie’s ovarian cancer required surgery. Not until high school did she realize the hysterectomy’s sterilizing consequences. Not until adult years did Melanie suspect her mother overreacted to the unwed pregnancy births of her and brother Zachary. He died at age seventeen, his scooter struck by a drunken male driver. Melanie shunted the memories to the mind’s recesses and unbuttoned Chesterton’s shirt. Undid jeans, zipper, and wiggled hips to have faded denim she wore pool at bare ankles.
Chesterton couldn’t remind Melanie of a picture-less father never known. Mother wouldn’t speak of him; slapped Melanie’s face when she tried to ask. Nor would mother speak of the man who’d impregnated her with Melanie’s brother. Both men, mother said, unverified by Melanie, skipped town once pregnancy visible. Melanie’s mother habitually cursed all men until early death.
Chesterton stretched naked on the bed, chest up, and ramrod straight in both directions.
Melanie diverted fingers from following cot gaze and a repeated delightful tease to stretch the elastic Victoria’s Secret waistband, crumple the cotton, and slip the powder-blue panties to jeans, and then both past blue painted toes. Casual business wear didn’t require nylons or folding. She fully understood no domestic future unfurled with Chesterton.
Not one drop of concern would be sweat for his wife. He reached for right hand. While she might not be able to leap into the air and click heels, she’d physically absorb and pulsate his virility before she crushed his ambitions.
* * *
Noel stretched out on apartment futon after effortless double shift picket duty. He endured Hunter’s jabs and Dino’s flak for not answering union’s cell phone alert two days earlier. McNamar visited the picket line that morning sporting black eye and facial bruises. By Bill’s account, he won.
Noel munched lukewarm fries, a half-eaten fast food hamburger in coagulated grease on the floor. Boring six p.m. news broadcast encouraged him to channel surf halfway through. The cell phone in front jeans pocket buzzed and he answered with an unenthusiastic hello.
“Please don’t hang up. It’s Melanie.” Noel pressed phone to left ear. “I want to apologize for I obviously angered you at my house.”
He’d been simultaneously aroused and uncomfortable when Melanie’s fingers touched him, not upset, as he would define it. Too complicated to explain, he could only say, “I’m not angry.”
“Maybe you don’t like spaghetti. There’s two steaks in the refrigerator we can grill outdoors if you’ll visit tonight. Say, eight o’clock.”
Noel heard a commotion behind Melanie’s voice. Dino told everyone at pre-strike meetings to be on guard. Unsure if prior visit remained a secret, he said, “I can’t.”
“If you’re worried about job.” She coughed. “Don’t be. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
He hesitated. How would she impact his college dream? He needed job, now and after the strike. No others in the county paid as well. “Okay, but if I’m not there at eight, don’t expect me.”
Before he wrestled