by Manuel Tiger
She smiled and nodded.
Just then a knock came at her office door.
I turned around to see Mayfield standing there, his hand darting down to briefly scratch his crotch as I looked away.
“Miss Merriweather? You won’t believe who just came in through the door!” he whispered in a near stage whisper.
“I’m out of guesses today, Mister Wright,” she said. “Just get it out.”
“It’s Damiano Salvadori!” he replied looking over his shoulder. “He wants to see you!”
“Mister Salvadori is here?” Belle Dawn said. We both exchanged a look but probably not for the same reason. “He’s here? In my office building?” she said looking back to Mayfield.
“Yes, ma’am!” Mayfield said continuing to loudly whisper. “He’s standing at the reception desk right now!”
“I should get to work on this article,” I said by way of excusing myself. Belle Dawn nodded and appeared like someone getting over a shock. She reached up and touched an antique silver locket that hung around her neck before she rose from her desk.
I exited the office first, walking around Mayfield who still lingered in the doorway like a shadow. I glanced toward the reception desk to see the man that had clearly caused a stir throughout the office for people were standing by their desks pretending to read documents in their hands or peeking over cubicle walls looking in the direction of Mister Salvadori.
He was leaning on the counter of the reception desk like he belonged there, flashing a dazzling megawatt smile that made his blue eyes shine that even brighter as the woman who was the object of his attention blushed like a virgin on her wedding night.
He had shed the country boy look of jeans and boots and now sported a blue silk dress shirt tucked into charcoal gray slacks and finished off with oxblood dress shoes.
The shirt clung to his lean upper muscular body, showing a tapering waist that vanished into the waist of the slacks which the fabric molded to his perfectly round ass and long legs.
I bet you could bounce a quarter off that ass, but would have to duck or risk being injured when it shot back at you.
Suddenly he turned his head toward me, those blue eyes fastened on me as they had at Rowdy’s and he grinned directly at me while still paying attention to what the woman at the reception area was saying. As I watched a lock of raven black hair fell upon his forehead.
But that knowing look in his gaze.
Had…had he heard my thoughts?
No, impossible!
But it quickened my steps to make me think he had. I planted myself in front of my desk and got to work on the article, keeping my head down and face buried into the screen of the computer. About five minutes later a pair of shadows fell over me.
I looked up to see Belle Dawn and Mister Salvadori standing above me.
“Yes, him,” Mister Salvadori said nodding his head as he stared down at me. His voice was deep with a faint hint of an Italian accent but everything after that was pure southern drawl. “He’s the one I wish to take photos of my property. Today, if possible.”
I looked over my glasses from him to Belle Dawn and back again.
“He’s just started work here Mister Salvadori,” Belle Dawn said. “As I said, I have other photographers on staff that could assist you in this endeavor.”
“No, I saw him taking photos at the festivities this weekend. He has a great eye for detail and that is what I need,” he said then drifted his eyes upward toward the ceiling. “I heard you were in need of donations for the Gazette? To repair some recent water damaged done to the tiles?”
I drifted my eyes upward to see a few spots of water damage here and there but nothing too noticeable about them.
“And something I heard the other day at the mayor’s dinner about how you are looking to expand the Gazette?”
“I can easily repair the water damages myself,” Belle Dawn replied. “But yes, I did mention to the mayor’s wife how I was thinking of expanding the gazette as we move forward with the times.”
“I would love to donate to such a cause as that if you would be so kind to invite me over to your house sometime this week?”
“I…,” Belle Dawn looked a loss for words. She glanced at me then back to him.
Was I being…was I being pimped out? By my new boss?
I continued looking from one to the other.
Belle Dawn stared at Mister Salvadori for another minute then sighed. “Henry, it’s up to you,” she said turning to look at me. “Do you think you can step away from the article you are writing to take photos of Mister Salvadori’s estate?”
I glanced at the computer screen. I was nearly halfway done with the article. “I…,” I began and looked at Mister Salvadori again who tilted his head, a hint of a smile on his lips.
Was he even at the events this weekend? For I know there was no way in hell I would have missed seeing him for someone like him would stand out even on a busy street at rush hour.
“I believe that I can take the photos,” I at last said. “I’m nearly done with the article anyway.”
“Good,” Mister Salvadori said smiling wider.
“Henry, a moment please?” Belle Dawn said inclining her head toward her office.
I nodded and rose up from my desk, grabbing my jacket and messenger bag as I glanced at Mister Salvadori one more time then stepped into the office. Belle Dawn closed the door behind me.
“You can refuse going with him, Mister Sullivan,” she began, her hand drifting up to finger her locket. “But he seems intent on having you be the one to take the photos of his estate today.”
“Did he say why? That is, for wanting his estate photographed?”
“Something about wanting the photos to be professional and submitting them to a magazine.”
“Well, I have done that before,” I said. “I see no problem in going to his estate to do such. Shouldn’t take me long to do.”
She seemed on the verge of saying something, but instead nodded. “Be careful out there Mister Sullivan. Men like Mister Salvadori enjoy sampling the new blood that comes to town then discarding after use.”
“I’m not really interested in being anyone’s amusement, Belle Dawn,” I said. “I’m here to work and do my job.”
She smiled and nodded, reached out for the doorknob and opened the office door. “I’ll see you later then, Mister Sullivan.”
I exited through the door and saw Mister Salvadori was already waiting by the entrance. He smiled and stepped out into the late morning light as I followed after him, very aware of all eyes upon us.
Only my eyes zoomed in on what was parked in front of the office – a black seventy-seven Camaro SS. I simply stared.
“You like?” he asked. I turned around to find us standing mere inches from the other, which due to this extreme proximity, I became aware of several things at once; he was an inch taller than me, more muscular than I thought, smelled very nice and was flawlessly beautiful.
A slow smile began to appear on his lips, once again making me wonder if he was a mind reader.
I felt a sudden warmth start to spread to my cheeks as I swallowed and quickly cleared my throat. “I-I nearly bought one as my first car,” I hastily said taking a step or two back to put a few inches of space between us, yet he still loomed over me, his presence that strong.
“Would you like to drive it?” he casually asked as he dug the keys from one of his front slack pockets. He extended his hand toward me, the keys catching the sunlight and sparkling like a temptation.
I nearly said yes, but instead shook my head. “No, I barely know you and you barely know me Mister Salvadori.”
“Damiano,” he corrected. “And perhaps we will come to get to know each other better today.” He held his eyes on me and I found myself unable to look elsewhere, to just simply stare into the depths of those warm blue liquid pools.
“W-We should get going,” I said clearing my throat again, feeling my cheeks beginning to dot with heat.
“I have an article to write up for the paper due at the end of the day.”
“Of course, after you,” he said moving around me and toward the passenger side door which he opened for me. “Your carriage awaits Mister Sullivan.” He gave a flourish of his hand, that easy smile once more on his lips.
“Uh, okay, thanks,” I said slowly approaching the car. I couldn’t get it out of my head how he had looked on the dance floor the night before, how predatory that gaze he had stared at me had been. Now it was like an entirely different man was in front of me.
I climbed in, placed my messenger bag into my lap and pulled the seatbelt across my chest. He closed the door before I could then jogged around the front of the car, slipped in and started it up. The engine gave a throaty growl before he revved it with a roar that filled what had otherwise been a quiet street. Several birds took flight from a tree nearby screaming their protest at the sudden disturbance.
“So, were you warned about me?” he asked looking over at me.
“Warned about you?”
He flicked his eyes toward the office building. I looked to see Belle Dawn standing at the window staring back at us. Her expression was one that could be called the concerned look of a mother.
“Uh, no,” I said to which he responded with a short chuckle before whipping the car out so fast I swore I got a whiplash then shot it forward.
“She always warns people about me,” he said shifting the stick shift quickly, picking up speed through the old streets, the old homes appearing as ghostly suggestions of houses.
“Due to your driving?” I nervously asked, pressing myself down into the bucket seat, clutching it with my ass. God damn! Had he not heard of a damn speed limit?
This earned me another laugh from him, this time a deep throaty purr of his own as he downshifted again, slowing the car as we drove through residential streets, the world returning to normal around us but only for a few minutes.
Once we had exited the town, and were going down the same road that I had taken the night before to Rowdy’s, did he quickly shift again and the car was racing down the road.
We zoomed by Rowdy’s which was a vague outline in my peripheral vision as we hit the bridge. The steel work glinted in the sun and the river below shimmered like molten silver.
And it was all over in a seconds as we made the other side of the bridge.
“So tell me Mister Sullivan,” he said as he slowed the car, the road ahead now one that looked to have been modeled on the crooked motions of a snake. “Are you enjoying Heaven Falls so far?”
“I, I only been here for a few days,” I said unclenching my ass from the seat.
“Then in those few days of your arrival here? What is your opinion of the town?” he asked glancing at me.
“I think it’s a quaint town that will take me some getting used to.”
“Different from Boston, yes?”
I looked at him, arching a brow. “Yes,” I replied, puzzled as to how he knew. Did word really get around that fast in Heaven Falls?
“I heard your accent,” he said returning his gaze to the road.
“Oh. I, ah, I’ve tried to lose it with some voice classes when I was attending university,” I replied. “It sounded too much like my father’s and…,” I trailed off. “Italian?” I asked looking over at him.
“Born and raised in Italy till I was ten then moved here at the age of eleven with my parents and siblings.”
“You’ve…You’ve been here ever since?”
“Yes,” he said looking at me. “Why?” he arched a perfectly shaped brow at me.
“I was under the impression that you had only recently moved here.”
He shook his head. “As much as some people in this community would wish me to be a recent addition? Afraid that I’m not. I have lived in this area since I was eleven.”
“Then that would explain the mix of Italian and Southern drawl then.”
“I have a southern drawl?”
“Slight, faintly there,” I said as he grinned and looked over at me. “It’s nice, pleasant on the ears.”
“Well, thank you Mister Sullivan.”
“And these photos you wish me to take of the estate? For a magazine I was told? Am I to do more outdoor or indoor photography?”
“How about I let you decide what you wish to take photos of? We are coming up on the estate now,” he said giving a slight jerk with his chin.
I looked ahead and saw a white shell turn off on our right. Residing to either side of it was that of large brick columns topped with large marble balls upon which ivy had decided to settle on. He swiftly whipped the car between those columns and onto the road without so much as slowing down. The action sent up a cloud of dust behind us that enveloped the car but not before I saw a brass plaque attached to the right column which read in fancy script, River Haven.
“Is there a river near the estate?” I asked glancing at him as we traveled beneath tall oak trees draped in Spanish moss that brushed the top of the car. I felt, more than noticed, that the road began to turn and it was like we were traveling through a jungle so thick was the foliage to either side of the car. I caught a few cardinals take flight at our approach.
“A mile away, but part of the property. My mother chose the name,” he replied. “And behold, my home.”
We made a turn around a bend in the road and suddenly the most beautiful house I had ever laid my eyes on appeared.
There, on a verdant rolling lawn dotted with oak, pecan and sycamore trees, resided a French colonial plantation house built of wood and brick support columns painted in a soft tan coloring. Intricate black iron scrollwork posts, with curling vines and flowers, served in the place of traditional porch posts, and ran the perimeter of the wide wraparound porch.
A black iron staircase rose from the ground up to the porch, its hand railings and balusters continuing with the floral theme, the hand railings in the shape of vines, the balusters that of flower stems. Before the stairs resided cast iron planters filled with an abundance of sweet potato vines that swept the ground while a brick pathway led from the circular drive to the base of the stairs.
Residing at the top of the house like that of a crown was a cupola. Its windows lit with the sunlight that washed the entire plantation house and grounds around it in a soft glow that made it seem otherworldly, as if time had ceased at a particular hour on the clock and the world beyond these boundaries had left it behind.
Even before he brought the car to a stop on the circular driveway I was already undoing the seatbelt, getting out of the car and retrieving my camera from my messenger bag. I knelt at the beginning of the brick pathway, removed the cap from the lens and began snapping away.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered for I was afraid to speak any louder than I did for fear this was a dream world I had been dropped into and any noise would shatter that illusion. I rose quietly and moved to take another angle of the front of the house.
“I take it you like my residence?”
“I would live here in a heartbeat,” I admitted and blushed slightly, throwing him a quick glance before taking another photo. “I mean, it’s a beautiful place to call home. You are lucky to live here.”
“Thank you,” he said. “You should see the gardens,” he said coming to stand beside me. “My mother planned them out and I have, hopefully, faithful kept them as she would have liked.”
“Your mother has passed?” I asked rising up and turning to face him. “My condolences then.”
“She’s been gone for a very long time now,” he said scratching at his chin with his right hand when I noticed the ring finger had a circular shaped tattoo that looked, well, like a ring. He noticed me looking and held his hand out. “This occurred long ago as well.”
I stepped closer and to get a better look took his hand into mine, turning it this way and that way. “It looks Celtic?” I looked up and found he had a smile playing at the corners of his lips.
“Close,” he said. �
�A mix of Celtic and Italian.”
“Does this,” I said touching an area of the tattoo with my thumb that looked to contain writing. “Translate into something?”
“Fear not the sun but walk boldly within it.”
“Live not in shadows for one shall not thrive,” I said as he arched a brow, a look of surprise on his face. “I studied obscure poets at university as a past time,” I said releasing his hand.
“Very obscure for thought only I knew the saying.” He seemed genuinely impressed. I offered a shrug of my shoulders.
“Shouldn’t judge a book by its cover,” I replied to which he once again smiled. “Do I follow the walkway that leads around the house to the garden?”
“Yes, but would you like a drink first before we continue?” he asked gesturing toward the front of the house.
“I’m only here for a little while,” I said. “And I don’t drink while on the job.”
Okay, a lie. It was one of the reasons that led to me now working here.
“Of course, this way,” he said leading the way across the lawn which I wondered if it looked as soft as as it appeared.
Japanese yew lined the right side of the walkway as well as that of red crepe myrtle bushes that broke it up at intervals. The lower floor of the house had the same styled windows as above and I could glimpse what looked to be a library and guest rooms through the windows that were now curtained.
“You are the first person I’ve brought here in a while,” he said looking at me.
After the performance on the dance floor he had put on last night? I somehow found that hard to believe. “I’m sure,” I said without thinking, the words slipping from my mouth.
“You don’t believe me?”
Great. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. “It doesn’t matter what I think as I’m only here to take photos.”
He stopped mid-step and turned to face me. “So you do believe that I am lying to you?”
“Mister Salvadori – ”
“Damiano.”
“Damiano,” I said. “I’m not here to judge you as I’m the last person that should be tossing stones. You seemed to be enjoying yourself last night. That’s all that matters.”
