Rescue Mission

"I am," Kennedy said proudly.

"That was quite a spectacle," the reporter said.

"How's that?" Kennedy asked her.

"Well, you invited the homeless to eat here." She showed her a flyer she had in her hand. "Then when they come in, you run them off and tell them to get out."

Kennedy did her best to explain her reasoning but that didn't stop the paper from the story on its front page the next day. "Local Restaurant Evicts Homeless" was the headline.

"Oh, my God!" Kennedy said. "This is terrible! And it's so...one-sided and biased!"

The article was just the tip of the iceberg. The next day a small crowd started gathering out front when a familiar-looking van pulled up. Then...he...got out and started handing out signs just as Kennedy stepped onto the sidewalk. She saw the name on the van first which said Columbia Rescue Mission, then she saw him. She walked straight up to him and said, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Just taking a stand for the poor because of what you've been doing. Have you no shame? Throwing these people out of your restaurant after you invited them in?" He kept passing out signs which were protest signs. Some called for a boycott while others had an image of the homeless leaving the Jewel the day before.

Kennedy was fuming. "You know what? You said you weren't a bigot, but you are most definitely ignorant. I'd say 'stupid' but I like to think there's hope for you."

"Say whatever you like, rich girl, but I'm on the side of poor folks."

Kennedy was shaking. She picked up her phone and hit #1 on her speed dial. "Dylan? Hey. Does your sister still work for the Columbia Tribune? Can you pull some strings and get her to the Jewel as soon as possible? You can? Oh, thank you so much! I owe you—big time." He told her he loved and she'd completely forgotten about the ring on her finger, the proposal, and that she was supposed to say it back. She'd already hung up when it hit her and it would just have to wait.

And hour later, Dylan's sister, MacKenna, was sitting down at the Jewel interviewing her brother's new fiancee as the protestors chanted slogans about how mean and unfair the Jewel was to the poor.

The following morning there was a new headline that read, "Orphaned Restaurant Owner Raises Kids, Runs Business Alone." The story explained how she didn't come from money, never had anything handed to her, and how she was singlehandedly raising her younger siblings while running The Crown Jewel.

At around the same time as the day before, the same van showed up and the same man got out. He came inside and looked around he found Kennedy.

"You've got a lot of nerve," she told him.

He sat the newspaper on the counter and said, "You were right. I can be ignorant, but I'm not stupid. I always try and learn from my mistakes and I'm man enough to admit them. I read the article and honestly, I had no idea. I'm more than a little bit embarrassed and I'm here to apologize. You're not a spoiled princess by any means and you haven't had anything handed to you. I was wrong and I'm sorry."

Kennedy was so taken aback by this heartfelt apology she was speechless.

"This is where the other person normally says something like, 'I forgive you.'"

"Wow. Um...I do forgive you. It's just that that was the last thing I ever expected to hear from you."

He smiled and said, "You should go to school on my mistake and learn not to stereotype people, either. I'm not normally such an ass. I just get spun up by rich folk who don't know what it's like to be poor or hungry."

"Maybe we can call a truce. I've been thinking it might not be that much extra effort to set our uneaten food out each night."

"Really. Well then, I guess it's my turn to say 'wow.' That was the last thing I expected to hear from you." He paused then said, "No, that's not true. After reading about your life, maybe that's not so hard to believe. Regardless, I've got some empty containers in the van I can give you. Just put breads in one, veggies in another, meats in the third and desserts in the fourth. Just don't put jello with cake or ice cream, okay?"

"No, that wouldn't be a good thing," she said smiling back.

He brought in the plastic containers and set them in the back for her. "I'll be by every day around midnight for them if that's cool with you," he told her.

"I'll make sure they're ready to go and sitting just outside the back door for you."

"All right, sounds good. And again, I'm really sorry, Ms. Cooper."

"I'd like it if you called me Kennedy," she said politely.

"Kennedy. You named after the president or something?" he asked.

"Yes, indeed. My parents loved JFK and Jackie and the whole Camelot thing."

"Yeah, except it wasn't exactly Camelot with Marilyn Monroe and all those other women hanging around. I'm not judging, just sayin'."

"I I suppose it's not my place to judge, either. I mean, I guess most men have um...special needs, right?" she said.

"A plain old, typical marriage doesn't work for everybody. I'm cool with whatever works for folks, you know what I'm sayin'?"

"I think so. I've always considered myself a pretty traditional girl, but I suppose if one of these um...alternative arrangements...works for both people, then that's their business."

"Okay, guess I better get goin'. It's not like I got a lot of free time. Just had to come by and say I'm sorry. Hey listen, if you ever need help with anything, I'm pretty good at fixin' stuff." He pulled out a business card and handed it to her. "Just call my cell number and I'll swing by and see if I can take care of it."

"Thank you, Mr. Williams," she said sincerely. "I may just take you up on your offer."

"And I go by JQ. At least that's what my friends call me. We are friends now right, JFK?"

She laughed and said, "I hope so. But my friends don't call me JFK."

"Of of them does," he said as he turned to head out. "I'll check you later, JFK."

"JQ? I was just curious. You were talking about marriage and alternative arrangements and what not. Are you by any chance married?"

"Me? Naw. I tried it once but like I said, I learn from my mistakes. I'm not the marrying kind, you know? I like women too much to settle down with just one of them ever again. That doesn't mean I don't respect women, it just means I know who I am and what I want and don't want."

"Oh, okay. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. I'm trying to figure out exactly what it is I want myself."

He looked at the ring on her finger and said, "It's none of my business, but it seems like it's a little too late for that."

"Oh, that? No, I'm not married. Not yet anyway. I'm engaged." She paused then felt the need to add, "To a really great guy. He's a lawyer and he's really steady and dependable."

"Steady and dependable. A beautiful young woman can't go wrong with a man who's got all that goin' on in her man." He smiled to mitigate the sting of his words but she felt it just the same.

"Well, you'd have to meet him and then you'd know what a really great guy he is," she said somewhat defensively.

"You don't have to convince me, JFK. But it sounds like you might just be tryin' to convince yourself."

Kennedy was thoroughly rattled. She didn't have a comeback for him so she forced a smile and said, "Well, bye, JQ. And thank you." He smiled back and thanked her, as well.

She couldn't help but notice he had a very nice smile. She'd grown up in South Carolina and seen black people all her life. She'd never thought about them one way or the other and that included dating. She'd never been out with anyone who wasn't white and frankly, the thought of dating a black guy had never even crossed her mind, but he was actually kind of cute.

Thinking about it reminded her of something her best friend's mother once said where her friend's older sister started dating a black guy in college. Kennedy overheard her mom telling a friend, "My God. What is wrong with my daughter? She may as well be laying down for a gorilla. It just sickens me!"

Kennedy remembered how uncomfortable hearing that made her feel, but she'd never stopped to question it. In fact, she'd probably internalized a lot of that kind of attitude growing up where she did. Bigotry was no longer practiced openly, but prejudices managed to stubbornly hold on, buried somewhere deep inside of people.

When she thought about JQ, she couldn't help but think of one of the guys on the original CSI. She couldn't remember his real name off the top of her head but he had those amazing green eyes. Warrick something-or-other was all she could come up with. She'd been so angry at him the first two times they'd talked she hadn't even noticed, but he was actually more than just cute. He was a very attractive man. She looked down and once again saw the huge diamond ring on her finger and this time she sighed as her mind started replaying the same old tape: If only Dylan was a little nicer looking. If he was just a little bit athletic. If he was only better in bed. Even just a little better. That would make such a huge difference. But he wasn't. He was...Dylan. Plain, predictable...boring-but-very-well-off, Dylan.

Kennedy sighed again before getting back to work but she couldn't stop thinking about those eyes or that smile or that athletic body of sculpted dark chocolate. In fact, she thought it about to the point where she was so horny she called Dylan and asked if he could come over around midnight. Initially, he complained about how late it was and how early he had to get up, but when she said, "Do you want to fuck me tonight or not?" he promised he'd be there but only after letting her know he wasn't comfortable with that kind of coarse language.

When they finished, a whopping seven minutes after their first kiss, Dylan was laying on his back looking at the ceiling. "That was...nice," he said. "I believe that's the first time you've ever initiated a sexual liaison between us."

"Sexual liaison. Are you freaking kidding me?" she thought to herself but didn't say anything out loud.

He turned over on his side and told her, "You know, I actually prefer it when you take the initiative."

Kennedy was still very sexually frustrated and wanted to be able to finish herself off in the worst way. She decided not to bring that sore subject up—again—and simply said, "That's interesting. Most guys like to be the aggressor."

"I guess I'm just different in that regard," he told her. "Not every guy is the same, you know."

Yes, she knew. Oh how she knew. And right now, it didn't matter how many pros Dylan had on her pro/con list, this one con was all she could think of. If this was the best he could do, how could this ever work?

"That's true, I suppose," she said. "Some guys are aggressive, some are more passive, some are..." Should she say what she was thinking? Would it change anything? Would it do it anything but upset him? Was it even worth it?

"Are what, my love?" he said as he brushed her hair back from the side of her face.

"I don't know," she began. "I guess...you know...some guys are really...attentive...and thorough...and other guys, you know, kind of miss things."

"Oh, okay. I thought for a moment you were hinting about, you know...size. But as they say, it isn't the size, it's what you can do with it right, darling?" He smiled then even laughed. Kennedy didn't see any humor in it whatsoever.

"Well, size isn't everything if the guy really does know what to do with it, but size most definitely does matter. How much it matters is an individual thing to be sure, but it definitely does matter."

Neither one spoke for several minutes. Finally, Kennedy said, "Dylan? Do you think people can have...I dunno...alternative marriages? You know, like JFK or a more recent president who had regular um...trysts?"

Dylan had no idea where she was going and answered her in a totally serious way. "Mistresses have been a part of the fabric of marriages for as long as people have been married. There are endless accounts of the rich and famous in which the man has had a lover on the side and there are also many cases where the woman has cuckolded her husband."

Cuckolded. Jesus! Who talks like that in 2015? Who even uses words like that any more? The only word Kennedy could think of was 'dweeb' and it was spelled out in huge neon lights for her with Dylan's name next to it. This dichotomy was tearing her apart. He was essentially the perfect husband with a couple of very big (or small, as the case may be) exceptions. He was a real geek in the truest sense of the word and he wasn't much of a lay, but everything else about him was pretty great. So the question remained. Was that enough?

"Would you ever have a mistress? Or...want one?" she asked him.

"Oh, heavens no! I have a hard enough time just keeping up with you, my dear. I can't imagine having the interest or the energy to do this with another woman. Why do you ask? Are you concerned I might one day cheat on you?"

Keeping up with her? Seriously? Were it not so serious, Kennedy would have laughed. That aside, she had no concern he'd ever cheat on her let alone take a mistress. Her real concern was whether or not she could be faithful for a lifetime to Dylan. "No, that's not a concern I have," she told him.

"In fact," he continued, "I almost sometimes wish I could be relieved of the burden of having to perform so often."

Kennedy looked at him to make sure he wasn't smiling because he had to joking. He couldn't be serious. Even he had to realize how absurd that sounded.

"Dylan, we're lucky to make love twice a week. People our age typically have sex at least once a day when they're...exclusive. You know, at least until after the honeymoon. Do you see this as having 'a lot' of sex?"

"Well, it seems like we're doing it rather often to me," he said in completely seriousness. "But if twice weekly isn't adequate, I believe I could manage a third time. Either that, or we'll have to look into finding you some um...outside assistance."

This time he did smile but she had to ask herself who in his right mind would say something like that unless maybe she was wanting it twice a day, every day. Maybe then, even a super stallion might want some relief. But twice a week was close to his upper limit and cause to call in reinforcements? No, this was not good.

He rolled back over and said, "Since you broached the subject, I wanted to tell you I've actually contemplated such an arrangement. I mean, I'm rather well aware I'm not exactly a human dynamo in bed. I think I'm more than adequate, if I do say so myself, but I could see where a beautiful young woman might need some um...additional attention."

Kennedy's frustrations were reaching a boiling point until he made that particular comment. She sat up and looked him then asked, "Is that something you've seriously considered or is it just a passing thought you've had?"

"Well, I am, above all things my love, a realist. People have needs and no one man can possibly meet all of them, right? I have my strong points and my weak points, and I'm man enough to know the difference."

Kennedy laid back down and rolled over on her side and looked at him. "How would that make you feel? If, you know, your wife needed, as you put it, some additional attention?"

"This gets into an area I'm a bit hesitant to discuss because, well, it's um...unconventional and well, rather embarrassing, to tell the truth."

"Dylan, we have to be able to tell each other everything. We can't have secrets. So please, tell me."

"Well, okay. It's just that I've never told anyone about this and I'm not sure how you'll react."

Kennedy sat up and listened to him as he talked non-stop for the next five minutes. "How long have you felt this way?" she asked him.

"I first started contemplating such an arrangement after reading a romance novel in which the woman did that very thing. I hope you won't think less of me, but I then began looking on the internet to find examples of that sort of thing to um...fuel my fantasies, as it were."

"Porn sites?" she said without being accusatory or judgmental.

"Well, yes. It was just such a huge turn on for me to see people actually living that way."

"But porn is fantasy. Life is reality," she reminded him.

"I'm well aware of that, my darling, but like humor, all pornography has its basis in reality. A joke is only funny if some aspect of it is real. And unless some people engaged in the things people view on...porn sites...it wouldn't be of much interest. So perhaps it's rare or even very rare, but it most assuredly does exist and I would love nothing more than to live that kind of life." As he spoke, she saw him growing hard. His four-inch cock was close to six inches long. It was also very um...thin. It looked for like a large index finger than a penis but it was definitely attached to his body at the correct place so...

Kennedy reached out and stroked it and said, "So would you be happy with that kind of arrangement? With me?"

She'd never seen Dylan so aroused before. His eyes were closed, he was moaning and groaning and clearly visualizing this fantasy of his and it was obvious is was really turning him on.

"Yes...I would be very happy," he grunted. Seconds later, he shot several weak streams of goo onto his chest and all over her hand. "Thank you for that," he said panting heavily. "That was truly amazing, my love."

Truly amazing? Really? Sex had been just nice for him but this two-minute hand job had been amazing. Wow. Kennedy had a lot to consider. A whole lot.

For the next several days, Kennedy felt like she was watching someone else live their life through her eyes. She went to work, she spent time on the phone with her mother-in-law-to-be and the wedding planner discussing guest lists and flower arrangements, but she couldn't stop thinking about their talk. Every time she tried to push it out of her mind it came back to take center stage. Just when she thought she'd go crazy, the front door opened between the lunch and dinner rush.

"Hey, there JFK!" he said. Among all the other things she'd fail to notice about him, JQ didn't really talk in stereotypical black-speak. There was just a hint of it in his voice. He was mostly smooth and articulate and again she couldn't help but think of the actor she'd remembered who was named Gary Dourdan. She'd looked it up on line then spent some time looking at photographs of him and it amazed her how much alike they looked and sounded.

"You're a little early for a food pickup," she said pleasantly.

"I'm not here to pick up food. I just stopped by to give you these." He handed her a pair of tickets.

"Columbia Blues Festival. Nice! What are these for?" she asked him.

"I thought maybe you and your fiancee might like to go," he said as he nodded at the rock on her left hand.

"It's very thoughtful of you, JQ. I'd enjoy going, but I'm afraid my fiancee is, you know, really busy and everything so we probably won't be able to make it. But thank you, though. It really was very sweet of you."

She went to hand the tickets back and he said, "Oh, no. Keep 'em. I already have my own ticket. I mean, if you're playing in a band or a group or if you've got a solo gig, you don't need a ticket."

"Oh, my goodness. I had no idea. What do you play?" she asked.

"Tenor sax. Been playing since I was a kid. My mother worked a second job to pay for music lessons. Kept me off the street all those years and as I got older I realized how much I love playing just for playing's sake. Anyway, if you get a chance, it'd be great to see you stop by."

"Well, you never know. I just might surprise you."

JQ laughed and said, "JFK? You're full of surprises. Catch you later, all right?"

The Festival was on Friday, just two days down the road. She was supposed to meet with Dylan and choose their wedding cake, but she told him they'd need to reschedule and he was fine with that. His only question was, "Are you by any chance working on setting things up?" She told him she would try but having no experience with that kind of thing, she warned him to keep his expectations low.