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Full moon's rising, and a young werewolf can't do it alone.
We'll be together soon, John. I love you. 'Bye!"
I looked at the calendar and realized it really wouldn't be that much longer. I started to compile a list of things I needed to do before Deirdre's release date. High on the list was to make sure she had outfits to wear on release day, jewelry and hair ornaments included, and a full makeup case. Clothing would not be an issue, for I had lots to choose from. A trip to the cosmetics shop Tasha had clued me into with Deirdre's photograph and makeup case in hand would take care of that. I made a note to get that done the next time I went to the city, and to start packing for both of us, for a trip to Texas sometime in the spring.
Between the new projects we had starting up, adding to Deirdre's wardrobe, assembling her release bag and teaching visits from Cleo, time was flying by. Before I knew it we were into April and coming up on the rottenest day of the year for working people, Tax Filing Day. Deirdre had news that made even that gloom-laden week sunny and bright in her weekly Sunday call.
"It's official, darling! I was called in to see the Warden last Friday. I'm at T minus 30 days and counting! It won't be much longer before we can be together!"
"That's wonderful, Deirdre! I can hardly wait! But it does mean that I'll have to speed up a couple of projects I have going on here at the house so it will be ready for you when you get here. And I guess it means it's time for me to brave the curious looks of nosy women and visit the cosmetics shop so I can stock your makeup bag. I've been putting it off." I made a note in my daily organizer to get it done tomorrow evening and I paused. "I really hate going into places like that."
"Two reasons. One, if a woman sees a man at the cosmetics counter, she always assumes that he's up to no good. They assume it's either hanky-panky with a girl or something to get his wife to let him into her pants, the way they act; all broad winks and the 'Uh-huh, now tell me why you really want this' look."
"What's the other reason?"
"Cosmetic counters play merry hell with my sinuses. Just walking past one in a department store will give me a headache. Having to go into a shop and deal with the full spectrum of women's makeup is going to turn me into a pain-filled ogre. "
"Poor baby. And I can't even be there to rub your head and make the pain go away. If it hurts that much, why don't you just skip it?"
"No. Anything worth doing is worth doing right, and you are very much worth doing. I just hope I pick out the right stuff. Once I have the bags stocked, I'll ship them down to you so you'll have them waiting for you."
"You take such good care of me, John."
"Not half as well as I hope to, baby." The conversation shifted itself to a much lewder level for the time remaining on the call before we had to say goodbye.
The next day at work, I collared Johann, one of my lead plumbers. A few years older than me, he had escaped from East Germany during the Cold War by the novel method of sailing a small wooden boat he'd built across the Baltic to Sweden. An uncle who had emigrated after World War II sponsored him to come here, his training as a plumber standing him in good stead. When I'd started up JM he was the first man I'd brought on board.
I'd helped him obtain American citizenship and had winced when he took up with a trailer park tramp.