- suburban scrap
Date: Friday, July 06, 2001
- sue hantak <firstname.lastname@example.org>
(permission to 'file', Krebbie)
Suburban Scrap Scene
The disposal choked down the last of the spaghetti. It sputtered
and gagged as if it were as indigestible as everyone else seemed
to think. She took small solace in the fact that at least made
an attempt. She could have easily taken a pizza order from the
kids, but felt she could put together a simple meal. Now he was
the hero, the fun one. Remington played with them before dinner,
saved them from the unspeakable dangers of her cooking, and now
he was telling them stories before bed. And oh, did he know how
to tell a story. Without the aid of any book, he told the most
vivid and entertaining tales. Laura became increasingly annoyed
with each giggle that emanated from the bedroom. It was unfair
to be mad at Mr. Steele, but she couldn't face the truth that
she was mad at herself. Saddened would be a more accurate word.
Laura realized that she was fairly inept in a homemaker role.
But was it really necessary for Frances to write down '911' on
the reminder board by the phone before she left?
She turned out the kitchen light and gathered up the toys in
her path. Mr. Steele, too, had amassed a handful as he walked
down the hall back toward the same room as Laura. He unloaded
his pile in a nearby chair. He took the items from Laura as well
and dumped them in the same chair. She protested, "Mr. Steele,
I don't think that solves anything."
He reached around her to untie the apron from her waist. "On
the contrary, how can we possibly do this..." He removed
the apron and wrapped his arms once again around her body, "if
we are holding all of <that>?
Laura wiggled out of his grasp, "Not tonight, Mr. Steele
I have a headache." She grabbed everything that was deposited
in the chair and walked down the hall.
Remington knew he was still paying the price for the spaghetti
rebellion earlier. With his pizza co-conspirators now tucked
in bed, he now had to overthrow Laura's mood. No easy task. She
hardly said a word during dinner other than an occasional 'fine'
spoken in such a way that was far from assuring him that everything
was 'fine'. When she returned to the family room, Mr. Steele
was waiting with glass of wine in hand. "If you want an
aspirin or something stronger, just say the word, Laura."
"For your headache," he clarified.
She graciously accepted the glass he held out, "We'll try
Remington smiled, thankful that Laura's quick temper was only
surpassed at times by her ability to steer herself out of a skid.
With his free hand he led her to the sofa. He sat near one armrest
and was pleasantly surprised when Laura reclined closely against
After a few quiet moments, Laura sipped her wine then returned
the glass to the coffee table. Remington, too, set his glass
aside and dimmed the lamp. Just as he reached out to pull Laura
back to him, she began to get up, "If you're tired, you
can take the master bedroom, I'll sleep on the sofa."
A bit exasperated at her not picking up on his subtle clues,
he yanked her back to his lap. "Laura, are we ever going
to NOT have the who gets the sofa discussion?"
This time he managed to hold Laura in place.
"As long as we are in my sister's house with three children
nearby, we will."
"Well, I'll gladly sleep on the couch, later...much later."
Remington breathed in a ragged whisper. He lowered Laura against
the cushions, then maneuvered himself on top of her.
"And now?" Laura panted, a bit ragged herself at the
"And now we are going to play naughty babysitter who sneaks
in that sex-starved rogue who mom and dad disapprove of, to snog
on the sofa."
"Snog?" Laura giggled at his choice of words, "What's
"Allow me to demonstrate." Remington kissed her soundly.
His lips and hands roved with a playful aggressiveness.
Remington glanced over his shoulder then back at Laura, then
closed his eyes asking the rhetorical question, "I suppose
we have to get that?"
"I'm sure it's Frances. Can you imagine her hysteria if
we didn't answer?"
Laura pushed Remington up and reached across his body to pick
up the phone from
the end table.
"Hello?...Yes, Frances,(she gives Remington an I-told-you-so
"Everything is fine."
"Yes... well balanced dinner... all the food groups, bread,
meat, cheeses... even fruit."
"Baths... teeth brushed... in bed."
The confident assuredness in her tone in the conversation sharply
changed to one of uneasiness, "Room mother?"
"No...No...You and Donald stay there...Yes, I'm sure...Frances,
I can DO CUPCAKES!"
She returned the phone to its base. Remington knew by the apologetic
"I have some baking to do." She got up from the sofa
and covered herself once again with the apron.
"Cheer up, Mr. Steele, we can snog while they bake."
<cut to commercial>