His warm, soft lips nibbled at my fingers, gently seeking. He laughed quietly when he found what he sought. His tongue darted out, wrapping itself around the grape I held, coaxing it into his mouth. He sighed as its sweetness burst in his mouth.

“There must be a law against this,” he said.

“Against eating grapes?” I asked.

“No, against the decadence of being hand-fed by a beautiful woman. No wonder the Romans prized it so highly.”

“I told you, I’m not beautiful.”

He turned towards the sound of my voice, his gorgeous eyes searching for my face. Searching, but not finding. I looked into their empty beauty, and again wondered what it would be like to live in a world of eternal night.

His hands found my face, brushing over it with a feather-light touch.

“You’re wrong. I might be blind, but I’m not stupid,” he gently chided me. “I can feel your features, your strong cheekbones, delicate nose, full lips. Physically, I know that you are attractive.” He waved his fingers in front of my face. “These are highly trained, professional sensory machines. They don’t lie.”

I lightly nipped at one of his sensory machines. “And they’re always right, huh?”

“Always.”

I wrapped my fingers around his. “I have to admit, I’ve been impressed with their talent so far. They’ve always been very…thorough.”

He feigned outrage as he pulled me close. “Thorough? The best you can say is that they’ve been thorough? I guess they’re going to have to work a little harder.”

A shiver of anticipation ran through me as he took off his necktie. But instead of throwing it over the back of the sofa, he reached towards my face.

“What are you doing?”

He paused. “Trust me.”

“OK.”

I was plunged into darkness as he tied the small piece of fabric over my eyes. I became conscious of each small noise in the room – the clock ticking on the wall, the brush of silk against fabric as I shifted on the sofa, the steady breathing of the man next to me.

Trust me.

I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as I waited for whatever was going to come next.

I jumped at the feel of his fingers on my face.

“You are so beautiful.” Hot breath caressed my ear, then I felt the tickle of his teeth. My body flushed as he deliberately worked his way down my neck.

His fingers slowly unbuttoned my blouse. As it fell away, cold air rushed against my hot skin in almost painful contrast. His fingers ran over my sensitive skin, caressing, teasing.

I blindly reached out, seeking contact of my own. His hair, the hair that I’d stroked a hundred times before, felt strange beneath my touch. I noticed its texture, a hint of curl I’d never noticed. I touched his face, feeling his eyes, his nose, his lips, comparing what my fingers were telling me to my memories. He was clean-shaven – yet the skin was rough beneath my hand, like fine sandpaper. His eyelashes felt incredibly long, flicking lightly against my fingers. His mouth – why hadn’t I noticed his lips before? They were soft, yet firm and full, curved slightly upwards in a small smile.

“Are you having fun?” My question came out as a hoarse whisper. I could feel the smile widen.

Something foreign brushed against my lips.

“Open up.”

I hesitated. The smooth, cool object slid across my lips, tempting me, seducing me.

“Trust me.”

I opened my mouth and the faint taste of grape teased my tongue. I took a bite and flavor burst on my senses. A grape had never been so sweet. I groaned in pleasure.

His mouth closed over mine, probing and invading. The taste of him mingled with the grape. I ran my hands over his body, savoring the feel of his strong body, the ripple of his muscles as our bodies started to move in unison in a cadence older than time.

Piece by piece our clothing disappeared, until all I could feel was the hard flesh of his body pressing into mine. I reached up to get rid of the last scrap of cloth, the small piece covering my eyes.

“No.”

His hands grabbed mine, pulling them away.

I wanted – no, needed – to see him. I struggled in his grasp, trying to free myself. I wanted to see the look on his face, to see if he was at the same place I was.

“No. Trust me.”

I stilled. His arms were wrapped around me, our bodies pressed together. His fingers trailed down my spine, lingering at bottom before lazily skimming back up. I realized how perfectly we fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle. I even noticed his smell – clean and masculine, with a hint of the grape we’d shared. Strange, how I’d never been aware of any of this before.

I gave up my struggle. He said it would only get better – and he was the expert.

“I trust you.”

I sensed the satisfaction that surged through him at my surrender. I gave myself up to go wherever he wanted to take me. He promised it would only get better.

He was right.

“I can’t believe you said that!” The whispered words were almost lost in the slamming of the bedroom door.

“What now?” Bob whispered back.

One of Susan’s shoes flew into the corner, followed by the other. “How dare you imply that about my mother?”

“What did I say? I just asked a question.” Bob’s loafers followed Susan’s.

“’What is today’s illness du jour?’ is not just a question!”

“She answered, didn’t she?”

“You’re lucky she thought you were only being polite. And, thanks to you, I had to listen to a discourse on her latest digestive issue while trying to enjoy my mashed potatoes and gravy. Which, I might add, bore a striking resemblance to what she was describing!”

Bob’s laughter filled the tiny bedroom.

“Shhhhhh!”

“What?”

“They might hear you!”

“Oh no!” He clutched at his heart and staggered, feigning a mortal wound. “They might hear their son-in-law laughing!”

“Stop it!” The pillow Susan had been holding connected with the back of his head. “They’ll think I married a madman!”

Bob’s laughter rose. “Will they call the son-in-law police?”

The pillow smacked him again, this time with a little more force.

“Arrrr, so it’s a fight you want, aye matey? Then ‘tis a fight you’ll get!” With a mangled pirate oath, he lunged for Susan.

The pillow flew into action, but the room was too small to stop him. He swept her up in his arms.

“Now I’ve got you, my beauty,” he cackled.

“Grow up.”

“Arrrr, the wench has wounded me!” He stumbled and fell onto the bed, pinning her underneath. Susan pushed ineffectually at him.

“Get off,” she whispered.

“If you insist.” Before she could respond, his mouth closed over hers. She forced herself not to react.

“Mmmmm…going to make me work for the treasure, huh?” He nibbled her lip, gently pulling it into his mouth. She could feel the slightly rough texture of his tongue slowly caressing it, as if savoring the lingering taste of the wine they’d had with dinner.

“You taste like wine,” he groaned.

“Stay out of my mind,” she muttered.

He laughed quietly. “Before the night is over, I’m going to be in more than your mind.”

He renewed his assault on her mouth. The kiss changed and deepened, his tongue darting in to invade her mouth, only to retreat too soon. She tried to ignore him, tried to remember why she was mad. But the sensual attack was having a devastating effect on her memory. She had to do something to distract him – and quickly. She nipped at his lip.

“I think the wench needs to be taught a lesson.” He pulled away from her and grabbed both of her hands, pinning them above her head. Susan struggled beneath him.

“Let me go. I’m still mad at you.”

“Ah, but the pirate is still looking for his hidden treasure. Lucky for you, he’s decided to take you along on the hunt.” Avoiding her teeth, his lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear. She stifled a moan.

“The map starts here...”

With gentle bites, he worked his way down her neck. She tried to stop the exquisite torture, but he had her pinned. By the time he got to her shoulder, she’d given up trying to ignore him. Her body twisted beneath him, desperate for more contact.

“If I let go, do you promise not to bite?” he asked softly.

“Yes. Please, yes.” Susan hardly recognized the husky voice that responded.

He let go of her hands and they flew to the front of his shirt, struggling with his buttons. He disappeared from sight as she was lost in a cloud of silk, then her blouse drifted across the room to join her shoes. Clothes flew across the room as they removed the barriers between them. He groaned as flesh touched flesh, her softness still pinned beneath him.

“The treasure is so close…” he whispered. He resumed the search where he’d left off, kissing her shoulder. But his hands drifted lower, stroking, tracing a trail to his final destination.

The tension was too much. She gently ran her fingernails down his back and was rewarded when his hands faltered. She laughed quietly at his response.

“Time to claim the treasure.” She shifted beneath him. The motion was small but effective. He stifled a groan.

“Shhhhh…they might hear you,” she whispered.

A wicked smile appeared as he moved within her. “Hmmmm…that would be terrible, wouldn’t it?”

If she hadn’t been so distracted, she might have worried. Instead, she was wholly focused on the tension that was slowly building between them. She ran her hands over his back and felt his muscles shifting beneath her hands, bunching and rippling in time to the motion.

Soon they were both lost in a wave of pleasure. When it crested, he covered her mouth with his, swallowing her soft scream. When she opened her eyes, she was greeted with that same smile.

“Thought you didn’t want them to hear anything?” he teased.

She blushed at the thought of her parents sleeping down the hall. Then she smiled.

“This treasure is worth it.”

Bare feet paced quietly across the wooden floor of her century-old home as Caroline made her way through its corridors. The silken cloth of a delicate crimson chemise whispered against her skin as she walked, its hem kissing her porcelain thighs with every step. Matthew had always loved the way she looked when she wore red. He once told her that it reminded him of Roma tomatoes and when she began to question the metaphor, he quickly offered his reasoning.

"The Roma is the most succulent of tomatoes," he explained. "When the fruit is perfectly ripened, the orb is firm and beautifully flushed with a rich color of passion. The skin is taut and smooth to the touch, its scent is sweet and irresistible. It should be devoured in that moment, for there is no better time to enjoy all of the textures and flavors it has to offer."

Caroline had never known another man who could speak so passionately about something as simple and mundane as a piece of fruit. It was in that moment when she fell completely in love with him.

She walked toward the open window of the living room and peered outside for any sign of headlights along the private road that lead to her door. The night had found its glory as the last remnants of the setting sun disappeared beyond the horizon, leaving an infinite veil of stars behind to lend their sparkle to the sky. The air had cooled when darkness came, and the breeze that caressed her bare skin sent a chill through her body. She felt her nipples harden beneath the silk of her gown, an involuntary reaction that only served to further agitate her hunger. As their tightened skin brushed against the finespun material, her heartbeat quickened and flutters of arousal teased her aching sex. She felt her skin flush in response. Intoxicated by the exquisite sensation, Caroline moved her hands with slow deliberation across slender thighs, over graceful hips, and inward along the sensual contour of her waist. She gasped when her hands reached the rounded curves of her breasts, their heavy flesh torrid beneath the scarlet damask that concealed them.

For a moment, she imagined herself alone with him, that the hands which so deftly touched her body were not hers, but Matthew's. As her fingers wandered, she closed her eyes and felt his mouth on one taut nipple, sucking and licking it in playful circles. Every flick of his tongue brought with it a dizzying sensation of pleasure and excitement that poured through her body. She couldn't wait to be ravaged by him.

Her hands had nearly coaxed her breasts out of the confines of her dress when she heard the distinct sound of an approaching vehicle. Breathless, she swiftly moved away from the window and toward the front door, where she paused to fluff her hair and arrange her dress to better accentuate the supple form of her body. Caroline could feel her cheeks flush uncontrollably and she tried to calm herself as she anticipated hearing the sound of his footsteps on the porch. When it came, her breath stalled in her chest for what seemed like an eternity before a knock on the door forced it back into rhythm.

When she opened the door, she found herself at the mercy of a beautiful Greek Adonis. Piercing blue eyes and hair that was the color of onyx, Matthew's effortless charisma could make any woman swoon. Caroline was completely smitten.

"It's been a while," he began, smiling at her. "You look lovely, as always. You're a vision in red."

Caroline felt herself blush at his compliment and smiled back. "Thank you. It's so nice to see you again. I couldn't wait much longer for you to come."

It was his turn to blush. The air around them became warmer than it had been just a few moments before, and Matthew knew that he wasn't the only one who sensed it. The penetrating silence between the pair seemed to go on forever as they looked upon each other, their raging attraction held in suspended animation.

"I'm so sorry about that," he finally said, his apology sincere. "My last delivery forgot that they needed to pay me with actual money. Since it took me over thirty minutes to get here, this one is free."

"Oh, you should still keep this," Caroline replied, handing him a twenty-dollar bill. "For your trouble."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied. "I like you, Matthew." She tried to mask her excitement over the thrill of feeling a brush of his hand against hers as he accepted the money. More than you know, she thought to herself.

"I'll see you again soon," Matthew said, his voice was hopeful as his eyes consumed the enchantress one last time.

"You will," she replied as she relieved him of the white cardboard box he brought to her doorstep. Matthew nodded before he turned and walked away slowly, still smiling to himself as he made his way back to the car. Why didn't you make a move, you fool? An inner voice chastised his cowardice as he thought about the beautiful woman in the red silk dress.

After Caroline watched him drive away, she gently closed the door behind her. Letting out a heavy sigh, she wistfully hoped that upon their next meeting, she could finally muster enough courage to ask him inside. For this particular night, however, her smoldering fantasies of Matthew and one cold, extra-cheese pizza were all her appetite would be granted.

I sat quietly at the kitchen table, closing my eyes against the early morning sunlight that filtered through the window. The soft percolation of the coffee machine on the counter mingled with the melodic song of the birds in the trees outside. This familiar morning symphony always brought a welcomed feeling of comfort and peace.

The warmth of the sun caressed my skin and I found myself becoming lost among my thoughts. Flashes of blue sky and dense, green foliage entertained my mind's eye, recalling days long since passed. My youth was still alive there amid the dappled light of the forest, spirited and unrestrained by responsibilities or obligations. It was to this place that Scott and I would flee when we wanted an escape from the steel and concrete of the city where we lived.

Scott was a good man. Honest. Intelligent. Handsome. Responsible. The epitome of a soldier in the US Army. He stood only a few inches taller than I, with an athletic build in peak condition. His straight, black hair was worn close-clipped and it complimented the rich umber shade of his eyes. His lips were full and inviting, even their softest kiss could rouse my body into a state of desire. Scott may not have been the love of my life, however he held my undivided affection for a great length of time.

On one especially memorable summer day, we hiked through familiar woodland together until the shade of the forest surrendered to the midday sun that flooded a brilliant meadow beyond the trees. Stepping out into the light, we stood for a few moments to allow our eyes to adjust to their fulgent surroundings before we sought a place of rest. Scott settled himself beneath a small, flowering tree nearby; an audible and satisfied sigh escaped his lips as he stretched his body along the ground. I slipped the shoes off of my feet and allowed my toes to mingle with the cool grass as I joined him there. Our surroundings were splendidly peaceful. The wind gently rustled the leaves of the trees that so generously offered our seclusion; a fragrant aroma of wildflowers and warm earth drifted along the same breeze.

The sense of having complete isolation from the rest of the world as we laid beneath the wide expanse of a bright, blue sky became a strangely intoxicating aphrodisiac. He and I were alone in this vast place, and I felt a familiar stirring deep within. I caught his gaze and smiled playfully as I slid my body over him until my legs straddled his hips. My hands moved lightly across his chest as I leaned down to kiss his parted lips. His scent was a virile combination of salt, sweat, and earth. Our tongues met softly at first, lingering caresses that were warm and yielding. My own defenses slipped effortlessly from my body as the kiss deepened, our bodies pressed closely together.

I felt his strained arousal as my hips nudged against him, a low moan rose from the depths of his throat as his hands slid around my waist. My mouth abandoned his and I sat up as I pulled my tank top over my head and tossed it to the ground. His eyes grew wide.

"What are you doing? Anyone could be walking around out here!" he said in an exhilarated whisper, as though he might have somehow quelled his excitement.

"Relax," I said. "There's nobody else for miles. And even if there were, does it really matter?" My reply was followed by a grin that the Cheshire cat would have envied.

To make my point undeniably clear, my hands slid behind my back to unfasten the closure of my bra. In one fluid movement, the delicate straps slipped from my shoulders as my fingers tugged at the soft-spun material in a way that snapped the lacy cups from my breasts, revealing their porcelain skin to what felt like the entire world. I had never before known such a profound sense of unbridled freedom in my entire life. The whole experience was incredibly sensual and ferociously primal as passion consumed us underneath that boundless, summer sky.

In the wake of that memory, I swore that I could taste the salt of his skin on my lips as my consciousness unwillingly returned to the reality of the present morning. I had been so deeply immersed in my past that I scarcely realized the coffee had stopped brewing several minutes before. It was in that same instant when the felicity of my idyllic regression was replaced by an overwhelming sense of sadness and a terrible heaviness that welled inside of my chest. My fingertips lightly rested on a handwritten letter I had received from a close friend barely one day ago.

"Karen told me his troop was stationed in Baghdad when it happened. She said none of them survived the bombing. I'm so sorry. I know you and Scott haven't spoken in years, but I thought you would still want to know. They say the attack happened so quickly that none of them had any time to react, and it was over before he would have felt any pain..."

I had read that passage so many times that the words were burned into my memory, yet I could not bring myself to believe that they spoke the truth.

“Well, guess the husband and wife act didn't fool anybody.” Kyle said, as Paige opened the door to her apartment.

“What was your first clue, when the bomb went in your window, or when you were sitting around picking glass out of your hair?” Paige answered tartly. “Obviously your killer can smell cop,” she gestured to him, “or maybe insurance investigator,” she indicated herself, “a mile away. We need a new plan.”

Kyle grimaced. “That's an understatement. Still, we almost had him.”

“We?” Paige cocked an eyebrow at Kyle.

“All right, you.” Kyle paused and then added, admiringly, “You've got the moves, no doubt about that.”

“There's only one shower,” Paige continued. “You first. You need it more than I do.”

“Actually, I was kind of hoping we could take one together.”

“Nice try,” Paige said, grinning in spite of herself at his predictability. “Almost getting killed might get your hormones racing...”

“You going to tell me your hormones aren't racing?” Kyle asked, stepping closer to her. “We make a great team, you and me. And you know, we never consummated our 'marriage'...” He stroked her cheek, and it was all she could do to keep her eyes from closing instinctively at his touch.

Mustering up her self-control, she shoved him toward the bathroom. “Go.”

“Just promise you'll think about me naked in the shower,” Kyle called as she shut the door.

The man was infuriating. And yet, Paige thought, as she pulled off her blouse and rummaged through the closet for something less soot-stained, he was right, they did make a good team. Kyle didn't make her feel different – he accepted her, her talents, her smarts. He never seemed to be threatened by what she was capable of, in fact, in his competitiveness he seemed to encourage her to push her limits.

And of course he was incredibly sexy. Paige paused as she shucked off her slacks, listening to the water run, thinking about that shared shower idea, about wet tiles slick against her back as Kyle pinned her to the wall. Water running down their bodies, her legs wrapped around his hips. She let out a small moan. He could never know she'd had that kind of thought. He'd never let her live it down.

“You are thinking about me, aren't you?”

Paige whirled around, embarrassment and fury warring for top spot on her face. Kyle was leaning against the doorway, shirtless, but completely dry.

“Left the water running,” Kyle informed her. “Oldest trick in the book. But no matter what happens next, seeing you like this was absolutely worth it.”

Paige was suddenly aware that she was standing before him in...well, not much. “This is low even for you,” she said, turning around and trying to hold on to whatever dignity she might still have. “Don't you have any decency?”

“I don't think 'decency' is what you want from me.” Kyle said in her ear. She almost jumped. When had he gotten so close? His hands were on her bare shoulders, caressing them. From anybody else that kind of intimacy would have earned them a sock in the jaw, but the touch of Kyle's fingers sent a different kind of heat than anger through her. This heat melted her insides and made her hunger for more.

Kyle buried his face in the curve of her neck, kissing her gently up and down its length, marveling at the softness of her skin. He was delighted when she rolled her head to the side to make it easier for him, and the sound of her gasp as he gently nipped her ear was enough to get his heart pounding. Paige was the most incredible woman he'd ever met, and it thrilled him to see her moving like this beneath his hands. He wanted to make this a night she'd never forget.

“You really think you're hot stuff, don't you?” Paige managed, desire thickening her voice. “In case you forgot, I'm the one who's got the moves.” She ground her body against his, wanting to make him groan for a change, feeling the rough material of his jeans through her own thin clothing, and underneath, the length of him straining the fabric to press against her.

His grip tightened on her and she heard his breathing go ragged. “Yeah, you do...I'd have taken a cold shower if I'd known it was going to be this good.”

She turned around to face him and the need in his eyes would have taken her breath away if she didn't want him as badly. They stripped each other's last remaining clothes off in record time, and pulled each other down to the bed. Kyle's mouth moved across her body, sending waves of pleasure washing through her. She arched her back, whispering yes, oh, yes as he stroked her face, her side, her thighs. He lost himself in the sweetness of her body, the scent and warmth of her, the feel of her muscles moving in rhythm with his actions.

Impatient, eager to feel him everywhere, she guided his hand down and moaned again as he made contact with her. “Is this what you were imagining earlier?” he said teasingly as his fingers played back and forth.

Paige grinned at him. “Actually, I was thinking more about this.” Her own hand reached out.

“That works,” Kyle answered when he got his breath back. And then he was moving above her, and Paige gave up on words and attitude and competition altogether, crying out as he held her, for the first time ever completely comfortable with losing control, if it meant feeling so full and complete, and happy.

Gabe. Short for Gabriel. He’s got the name of an angel. And he’s my angel. I hold the door for him as he makes his way to the elevator. He smiles nervously, then shifts to face the closing doors with his back turned to me.

I can’t help myself. My eyes are drawn to his shoulders, pressing against his white and green-striped polo shirt. I could look at them all day. Faster than I’d like, the elevator stops, the bell dings, and the doors start to open. I pretend to look for something in my briefcase as an excuse to hold back the second and a half it will take for him to walk far enough away for me to get a good view of his backside. At the last moment I stop myself.

‘Get a hold of yourself, Brent! He’s an intern. You can’t lust after him like this, it’s ridiculous!’

I force myself to look at the ground the whole time I’m walking to my office. My face is probably a bit red. I’ve barely logged on to my email account before I hear a knock on my door.

A voice follows the knock: “Mr. Miller?” It’s Gabe. Why does Ilene keep sending him to me for errands? Does she know I’m gay? I try to keep my private life out of the office. I didn’t think anybody knew.

I’m being paranoid. Even if she did know, it’s not like she’d foist her intern on me. He’s only been here for two weeks, she can’t possibly know whether he’s gay or not.

“Come on in,” I say.

He only opens the door partway. There's just enough room for the kid and the clipboard he’s clutching to squeeze through. “Mrs. Goldman says she wants a printout of the results from the flight tests.”

Ah, work. I know this realm. My mind switches tracks, and I mutter in disgust, “Bah, public funding.” Our lab only has enough money in the budget for one printer, and it’s in my office.

As soon as I click “print” though, my mind goes back into panic mode. The printer takes a while to warm up, and I’m stuck feeling like a caged rabbit with Gabe just standing there. I start talking to myself in my head, ‘Do I do small talk? What do I say that he won’t misconstrue as flirting? Anything I say to him, subconsciously, I’ll be flirting. It doesn’t matter what he misconstrues, I’ll think I’m flirting. I shouldn’t be flirting with him. I have no reason to believe he’s gay. I mean, I’m probably not quite old enough to be his father, but I’m old enough to have gone to school with his father.’

My mouth starts working on its own. “So, Gabe, you’re one of Ilene’s students over at Georgia Tech?”

“Yessir.”

“Didn’t I hear Ilene say you’re from Boston? Why’d you come here instead of MIT?”

”My dad’s an alum.”

My last train of thought takes hold of me and I ask, “Oh? What year did he graduate?”

Gabe takes a few hesitant steps towards my desk. “Well, he finished his BS in eighty-seven. I just know that because mom and--”

I don’t hear the rest of his explanation. Eighty-six was my freshman year at Tech. I had gone to school with his father. I don’t believe it. It just puts it in such clear perspective how inappropriate my thoughts about him have been. He’s a kid, he’s suggestible, he’s-- the printer starts working, and interrupts my train of thought.

”—Boston when I was in middle school.” he finishes.

I had barely heard anything he said. Unsure what to do, I manage to throw together a thought, “You know, I started here in eighty-six. I might have bumped into your father at some point or another.”

“Oh. Cool.”

We stand there on either side of my desk for a bit, staring at each other like idiots. The printout finishes, and I hand it to Gabe. He puts it on his clipboard, but pulls off another sheet of paper from underneath and puts it on my desk. It’s a drawing of a guy in a gladiator’s uniform, with the words “Brent Miller” written underneath.

“What’s this?” I ask.

He sort of shuffles a little, looks to the floor, and says almost to himself, “I’ve been romanticizing you.”

My breath gets caught in my throat. It feels like my heart isn't beating. “What?”

“Oh, I romanticize all the time. See, look at these.” He takes out two more pages, one with a man in a toga labeled “Al Gore,” and another with a woman in a tunic labeled “Judy Garland.”

I pick up the Judy Garland one and mumble, “So you’re into, um, musical theater?”

Gabe smiles at that. “No, no. I just have a lot of respect for her. She was a star, but she suffered for it. All she wanted to do was make people happy.”

The adrenaline drains, and my breath returns. It’s just a sign of respect. I’m stupid for thinking it’s anything more.

Gabe takes back the drawings and says, “I notice you take your lunches at the Starbucks across the street. Do you mind if I join you today?”

OK, Ilene definitely knows, and she’s trying to set us up. I hold back my anger at her and smile at Gabe. “Sure. Just, could you tell Ilene that next time she can email me instead of sending you?”

Gabe turns as he walks out the door. “Oh, Mrs. Goldman hasn’t come in yet today.”

She said she was going to be there. That was before the fight though, that was before last Thursday, her cheeks red as she yelled at him angrily. He regretted his nonchalant attitude now. She had shrieked at him as he stood there calmly, boiling with anger below the surface and pretending he didn’t care.

“Don’t come back,” he had yelled, as she stormed out.

He couldn’t even really remember what had started the argument, just that it had ended up being about everything.

He walked in during the support band. It was dark and smoky and he couldn’t see her right away. Then he spotted her best friend, and there she was, sitting at a table. One finger drawing in the condensation on
her glass. Her long, dark hair, parted in the middle, hung down in braids. Sitting there in her tight blue jeans and a Ben Folds t shirt. The red one he had bought for her at the first concert they went to together. After the show they had walked back to his place laughing and singing “Brick” loudly and out of tune.

She looked up for a second. Her large brown eyes caught his and then she looked away. She turned to her friend then and said something, rolling her eyes.

“Too late,” he thought. “She saw me looking.”

He kept his eyes on the band, tapping his fingers to the beat against his thigh. Now and then he turned to look at her and a couple of times she was looking back at him. Each time she turned away but not before presenting him with the most murderous look she could muster.

She was animated, talking to several people sitting with her at thetable. A guy came up, someone he had never seen before. He watched as she kissed him on the cheek, pulling up a chair for him to sit beside her. His stomach flip flopped as he saw this and he turned away quickly, pretending not to care.

Waiting in the queue for ten minutes to order a beer, he saw some of his friends come in and waved them over. High fives all around. They all laughed and took turns buying rounds, but inside he was a storm cloud ready to burst. Miserably, he glanced over from time to time. She was in deep conversation with the guy who sat next to her. She ruffled his hair and whispered something into his ear. He felt sick and sipping at his beer, he looked for her again, but she was no longer there.

“She’s probably left with that guy,” he thought.

He mumbled something to his friends about fresh air and walked towardsthe outer bar, still carrying his beer. It was a relief to step out of the dark, smoky room, his feet no longer sticking to the grimy wooden floor. He spotted her right away, sitting on the small red couch in the corner. She was smiling at a text message on her phone.

“Hey,” he said softly. He felt slightly drunk now and swayed a little on his feet.

“Oh…hey,” she replied casually but he sensed her nervousness, the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Nervous, he rubbed his hands along his thighs smoothing out the denim and sat down. He took a deep breath and looked at the carpet. Stained with years of spilled beers and cigarette burns, the red and black of the design was sporadically showing. He anxiously scuffed his foot against one of these burns now, avoiding her eyes.

“I missed you this week,” he exhaled slowly.

She didn’t reply, merely placed her hand next to his leg on the couch. When he looked up at her, her velvety brown eyes looked back at him sadly. He didn’t want to hear what she was going to say. He started to feel sick again. It was best to just get it over with.

“Who is he?” he asked softly. He kept his eyes trained on the dirty, red carpet.

“Who?” she asked, sounding perplexed.

“The guy you’ve been all over tonight,” he replied, looking at her again.

She rolled her eyes then and shook her head, a hint of a smile playing at her lips.

“That’s my cousin from London that I told you would be visiting.”

He felt a huge weight lift off his chest, and suddenly found it easier to breathe.

“Oh, I thought….” he smiled sheepishly.

“Yeah, I know what you thought,” she replied.

He caressed her hand then, interlocking his fingers with hers.


Soft lamplight casts long shadows on the wall. They kiss, slowly at first, tentatively, as if unsure. But quickly it becomes more urgent. The air is heavy with moisture as whispers echo the sound of rain on the
roof. Coarse hands drift across soft, smooth skin. Soft fingers caress and tease, then dig deep as heartbeats begin to pound. Two people reconnect in the dance of love, their lips and tongues tangled in their insistent need for each other's pleasure.


Later that night, they lay apart on the bed, bathed in the golden lamplight sparkling on beaded sweat. Each recovering from what has happened, wondering what will happen and when. His hand reaches for her breast and she arches and rolls to meet it. Once again, their lips
meet, their bodies intertwine and the dance begins anew.

“I’m sorry baby,” he breathily whispers in her ear, smelling gardenias as his finger curls in a lock of her hair.

“Me too,” she murmurs.

The shadows on the wall move slower this time, but the whispers remain.

I touched my lips to the velvety soft skin of the inside of Lady Sarah’s wrist. I could feel the rapid beating of her heart through my lips. Gradually I worked my lips up her arm.

“Oh please, I mustn’t,” she simpered. Then she grabbed my ears and delivered a kiss that was almost pulled my eyes out through my mouth. I fumbled and tried to push her away, but my hand landed on an overly soft part of her anatomy that just encouraged her to greater efforts.

My sight was saved by the arrival of a blond man with a cleft chin and an apostrophe in his name.

“Away you cad,” he shouted, “Unhand that woman.” Waving a sword that dealt a mortal wound to a pillow and almost decapitated the woman he was rescuing, he chased me out the window.

As I limped away, he was pulled back into the room by the woman I had heated up for him. I gave it a week before they were posting the banns - another happy customer.

That’s me, Arthur Shillingsworth, professional bounder. I was left at the orphange in a basket with three shillings and a face that even the kindest nun could only describe as ‘shifty’.

I arrived at my room to find a note pinned to my door.

“Gone playing cousin.” That was my true love and partner in crime Penny. From stealing treats out of the priest’s pantry to fleecing blue bloods we were a team.

I arrived at the estate shown on the back of the note to learn that the game was well out of hand. Usually my dear Penny shows up and seduces whatever likely thick noble son is available. Just as he is ready to propose she lets slip something that makes it clear to the family, that she is NOT SUITABLE. Penny is paid off for quietly disappearing and we eat real food for a few more weeks.

This time it looked like she had actually fallen for the big galoot. She simpered at his lame attempts at poetry and smiled prettily up through her raven black hair. She was acting exactly like one of the Lady Whatevers who fell in love with my bad boy image.

I settled in as Penny’s brother who was visiting from the north. I ignored the dagger looks from both Penny and the galoot.

After a light supper, we retired to the terrace to listen to the nightingales and some truly awful poetry written by the galoot with the chin.

“Darling Jenny, with eyes so clear
Your beauty makes nightingales sing
They come from the forest to alight
On your shoulders so white and dear.
To the heavens their song they fling
To show you.....blast that’s not right”

The chin muttered and scribbled on his crumple paper. I looked to see if Penny was doing her secret laugh, but she was making eyes and sighing at him. I looked for disapproving family, but other than rolling their eyes no one looked worried.

“Perhaps, while the poet works his craft you could show me the garden” I asked Penny. Her look could have fried me on the spot, but she just stood and walked off the terrace and I followed her.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed through clenched teeth as soon as we were a safe distance from the rest of the group.

“You left me a note. Remember?” I pointed out.

“Well go home.”

“Why, so you can marry that chin?”

“Why not?” she said and walked away from me down a path. “I am tired of depending on the lust and hate of people who look down their noses at me.”

“So you are going to marry one of them?”

“Why not?” I was sure I caught a glimpse of tears on her face. “Then I won’t have to think about you making love to those flaxen hair floozies.”

“I don’t make love to them.” I growled, “I seduce them, then the clients come and throw me out, then they finish what I started.”

“You have all the fun.”

“FUN?” I shouted, “Do you think it’s fun to be running away from a constant stream of sword waving chins? Do you think it’s fun to jump from a second story balcony? Do you think I like acting the coward?”

I was waving my hands and forgetting all about how sound travels at night.

“Then why don’t you stay and fight?” screamed Penny. I guess she forgot too.

“Because I don’t want them.” I said, “I want you.”

“Hey,” said a third voice. “I thought you were her brother.” We both spun and looked at the big blond man who was quietly crushing a poem laden paper into a ball. Penny and I just stared at him our mouths open.

I will never know what we might have said because the next thing I knew a great meaty fist smashed into my face and knocked me flat on my back.

I am a weakling and a coward. Penny is neither. I had just formed the idea of getting up and fighting when I heard a couple of thumps and the Chin was curled up cross-eyed on the ground.

Penny helped me up.

“Are you sure you don’t prefer the ladies with their big...” She waved her hands in front of her.

I looked at her trim figure.

“The last one tried to suck my eyes out through my mouth.”

Penny laughed, and she gave me a kiss that set me on fire. “Let’s find somewhere more...private.” she whispered and led me away into the moonlit grove.

They call me Mambo, Mambo Erzulie Racine. I work as cook at the chateau of Marquis Bois de Duc, lately deceased. My story is of the Marquessa. An unfortunate fate has developed for one so young. Her husband, the Marquis, died on their wedding day, leaving her sole possession to his lands and fortune, an enormous amount by anyone’s standards and an unconsummated widow at the age of 17.

Madame le Marquessa, Aurore, was originally to be the bride of the Marquis’ son, Lauren. At 22, he was lost in the slave rebellion of French Haiti in 1791, a devastating loss to the Marquis of his only son and heir. The only remains returned to France were some personal items and a portrait, apparently painted just before he died. The Marquis thought to marry the girl himself and thus beget another son and heir.

Madame, stricken with so much grief for one so young, took to her rooms and rarely came out. She was all alone in her new world. The maids say she rarely spoke to them and just picked at my cooking. Her parents had been guillotined by Napoleon eight years before and she was left an orphan; raised in a convent with the aid of her guardian/benefactor, the Marquis, an old friend of her father.

Gradually, Madame came back to life and wandered the halls and rooms of the chateau. Everything was maintained perfectly by the staff of the house, so there were no complaints heard from her about dusty, moldy rooms or torn curtains and broken windows. One day she found the room the Marquis had kept locked, entrusting the key only to me; the one who had brought him his son’s effects and the portrait from Haiti. A young girl’s curiosity and a Marquessa’s power soon had me upstairs unlocking the room and opening the door. A normal room, windows overlooking the ornate garden at the entrance to the house and no decorations, save the portrait of the son on one wall.

“Who is this, Mambo?” she asked.

“The dead son of the Marquis, lost in Haiti two years ago, Madame,” I replied.

She became lost in thought and I retreated back downstairs and to my duties, only to be recalled a half hour later, along with the maids. They were to move the Marquessa into this room, and I was to tell her all I knew of the circumstances of his death, which I could never truly reveal. I made up a tale of slave rebellion and violence against their plantation masters.

That evening she ate heartily for the first time in a month, but in her room as always, seated at a table looking at the portrait. She was up late, but I was up even later and in the morning she awoke to an old stained envelope lying on her bed, addressed to Aurore. Night after night this happened and her voice could be heard through the door, reading the letters aloud and answering them, talking to the portrait as if it were alive; for as she later revealed to me, the letters were from him, the one in the portrait, the Marquis’ son.

“Oh, Mambo, I love him, I know it sounds crazy, but I do! Somehow he’s alive, he writes these beautiful letters to me, he knows I’m here! Here, read this.”

I took the familiar yellowed parchment from her hand. . .

Mademoiselle - my dream, my cherie Aurore

Lauren

“But, Madame!”

“How can I help him? Mambo, you are from that country, how could this happen to him? Is there no way to save him from this fate? I want to be with him, terribly. I cannot go on like this.”

“There is a way Madame. For my freedom and the price of passage back to Haiti, I can make it possible for the two of you to be together. There are certain herbs and articles that must be found or purchased for use first.”

Orders are immediately given and trusted members of the household staff are designated to find and bring the required items to the house. Aurore grows impatient waiting, but at last, all the items are obtained. All the servants and staff are dismissed for a week so that none may witness what takes place.

My plan had worked perfectly. I, Mambo Erzulie Racine, voodoo high priestess, was gone of course when the servants returned. But I can tell you that they found the two lovers upstairs, gazing into each others eyes, locked in an eternal embrace in the painting.

Together at last, together forever.

I looked up at the board with the digital time schedule hanging from the ceiling. The 2 just changed into a 1, indicating that the subway train would arrive in a minute.

A burst of wind was coming towards me, pushed ahead by the coming train. In the far corner of the platform a news paper tumbled up in the air. I walked towards the other end of the platform and passed a bench on my right. Someone was sitting there, face hidden behind a newspaper. When I looked up at the board again the symbol of a subway train was blinking.

The person on the bench had lowered the newspaper. I looked at her curiously and swallowed. Somewhere in my head I heard a faint voice "Dude, you're staring, and you're making a fool of yourself". But it was too faint to decipher. Moments passed. The girl smiled. And that faint voice again “Dude, if you don’t stop staring you will miss your train!”

The loud ding-dong of the closing doors brought me back to reality. As the train increased speed and disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel I only barely managed to refrain from cursing a passionate “CRAP!!” I looked up at the board and saw that the blinking symbol had changed into a 10.

I passed back and forth for a minute. My eyes were drawn to the girl continuously. She was gorgeous! But I had no clue what to do. I was eighteen, shy as hell, and - with no previous experience with girls - had no idea how to handle a situation like this. I heard the faint voice in my head “So what? You don’t know her, she doesn’t know you. There’s no one on the platform, so what’s the problem?” I thought this over. It sounded plausible, but I knew I most likely didn’t dare. What if she had a boyfriend? The faint voice in my head pushed me “You have a no, you can get a yes!”

I walked towards the bench. The girl's hands were resting on the newspaper in her lap. Her fingers clearly showed no ring. That didn’t mean anything, but it gave me a bit of courage. I sat down next to her. She looked up and smiled at me. I smiled back, or at least tried. I got a bit more courage and took a deep breath.

“Excuse me...?”
She looked up again, still smiling.
“Yes?”

That thing in my throat again. I swallowed, but in vain. It felt like I couldn’t breathe. She was so beautiful. Flawless skin, and her eyes were stunningly green. I let out a silent sigh and a very loud voice in my head snapped me back into consciousness. “DUDE!!” And at the same time

“Are you ok?”
“Huh? Oh! Yes, yes, I am.”
“You wanted to ask something?”
“Umm… Actually, yes…”
Silence...

She looked at me, a little sparkle in her eyes.
“What did you want to ask, then?”
I stuttered.
“Oh! Ummm… Well…ummm… You’re the beautifullest girl I’ve seen in my life!”

That voice in my head, very clearly “Beautifullest?? Dude, that is the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard. And that opening sentence the lamest one since the opening sentence was first invented!” I felt blood rise to my head. If only I would not get a red face. But there was no escape possible. And no turning back.

“And I was wondering if you’d want to go out with me?”
She smiled at me again. I figured she was quietly laughing at me.
“I’m really sorry, but I can’t.”
“That’s ok, I understand.”

I stood up and looked at the board. I noticed the 1 change into the blinking symbol and I felt the wind, being pushed ahead by the coming train, bounce against me. It felt good. It cooled me down a bit. These had definitely been the longest 10 minutes of my life.

The train came to a halt and the doors opened with a ding-dong. Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. When I turned around I felt two warm hands on my face and two soft lips on mine. It took me a while to realize what was happening and I let it. The world slipped away from around me and for a moment there was only me, those two hands on my face and those lips on mine. I felt the blood rise to my head again and when I opened my eyes I looked straight into her eyes.

“Here’s my phone number. Tonight’s not good, but I’d love to go out with you this weekend. Call me.”
She stuffed a piece of paper in my hand, but my mind barely registered it.
“You’re cute”, I heard her say still.

I didn’t register the ding-dong of closing doors, nor did I notice the train disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel. The next thing I did register was the board with the digital time schedule hanging from the ceiling. The 1 had just changed into the blinking symbol of the subway train, indicating that it would be coming any second.