“Keith was my golden boy from the start. He was born with a full head of yellow curls. Already in place. Can you imagine that? Quiet too. No bawling bald baby for me. Curtis was gone by the time Keith was two, and that seemed right. Just the two of us against the wicked world.” Amanda was droning in a monotone as if she had been tranquilized.
“He was beautiful. Great baby pics,” Sophia interjected.
“By the time he was five, he was quite the little man. Razor-sharp smarts. He would wash Mummy’s back for her in the tub. Sometimes, he would take the initiative and lay out my clothes. He chose them. Had to use a step stool to reach even though he was a tall boy for his age. When he made his lunch for school, he would make mine too. If I seemed tired in the evenings, he would rub my feet. Always doing things for me. Helping me out. Mother’s little helper.”
Sophia was beginning to find this disturbing but did not interrupt the monologue.
“He was bullied in grade school. The smart ones always are. He would come home and lick his wounds, and Mummy would tell him what a special and wonderful boy he was and how he always showed his mummy he loved her best.
“We didn’t grow apart when he was in high school. His trials and tribulations drew us closer together. I was always his best friend. Sometimes his only friend. When he started bringing girls home, they never lasted long. He was a perfectionist, my little Keith. He would say they didn’t measure up. Too skinny, too tall, too fat, too dumb, too boring, too poor, too rich. Always something.”
Sophia sat back and listened, sporadically tugging on her ear.
“When he went away to college, my heart broke. Our first separation. I had never sent him to camp. He never saw his father once he left. It was just the two of us. He was lonely in college. He couldn’t wait to move back in with me. He tried summers with roommates. He never could get ahead socially or financially. It’s like I overshadowed him. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m not happy he’s a Starbucks barista. Brains, but no ambition. A shrinking violet. Spends most of his free time in a darkened room, obsessively watching old movies.
“In my family, those Petersen women were all strong and dominant, and those men were weak. Weak as water. The iron will and steely nerves belonged to the women. Pioneer stock. That’s why I took my mother’s maiden name after Curtis left. I also changed my birth date. Changed it to my mother’s birth date. I was born in the same month as my father. That did not sit well with me. I didn’t want to continue celebrating my birthday in my father’s birth month. So, I changed it to August, my mother’s birth month. A Leo. Strong as a lion. I was delighted when he was back. Now he’s breaking my heart again.” Amanda finally stopped. She sat there helpless, limp, her martini glass empty.
“Perhaps it’s time for bed,” Sophia said.
“Yes. You’re so right,” she said, dull and lifeless.
And they both turned in. Talk of Lili and Dirk was on hold or maybe not to be shared with Amanda, who was clearly already overburdened, unraveling at the seams.
CHAPTER 17
Barth was frustrated. He had anticipated a happy stay with his friends, Sophia’s absence notwithstanding. He had also thought of stirring up some excitement in his life, looking for casual encounters. When the cat’s away. These thoughts had fired up the blood.
Now his hopes had been dashed. Keith was actually stalking him. Who would have thought it?
He was popping up like a jack-in-the-box. Whenever Barth saw his face, he pictured a Howdy Doody clown face with oversized freckles, mean, beady eyes, blood red-rouged lips, and wild blond corkscrew curls turned a wilder vivid carroty orange.
He must be really screwed up to be doing this, Barth thought. He knew he was a loner in class. His pursuit of Barth had been flattering. The old teacher’s pet routine. Instead of presenting Barth with a shiny red apple, Keith had presented him with a humdinger of a blow job. His dinger had certainly hummed until they had been precipitously interrupted, Barth reminisced with a mixture of pleasure and pain.
Keith had keyed into Barth’s desire, awakening slumbering longings. He had barely noticed him when Amanda had dragged him along with her to their home or a gathering. In retrospect, Keith had been working hard to win over Barth while Barth was just picking up on the casual oral sex on offer.
Barth thought back to the meal at Blue Heaven with Keith. After he had grudgingly acquiesced to eat with Keith, Barth decided to be firm from the start.
“I’m making it clear, Keith, I don’t want an act two. It was a one-time fling. I was being foolish and weak. I take all the blame. I’m the older man. An authority figure to you. From now on, I want you to think of me as a father figure. Someone there for you for advice, mentoring, or modeling any time you need help. And just like a father, I make the rules.”
As Keith parted his rosebud lips to respond, Barth held up a hand. “Wait. Let me finish. Let the old man speak his piece.” Barth fixed Keith’s yearning eyes with his earnest ones. “I love Sophia dearly. I love our life together, and I have no intention of doing anything to ruin what we’ve built together. I do have every intention of making it up to her, mending the fissure the incident caused, and moving on. She’s reassured me she won’t mention anything to Amanda. So, are we ready to move on?” Barth asked.
“But Barth, I’m in love with you. You beguile me, you intrigue me, and you turn me on. I never met anyone like you. I saw the way you looked at me in class. Sometimes, you only had eyes for me. I was haunted by your eyes. You spoke to me with those candy-bar eyes. I wanted to take them right out of their sockets and eat up the sweet chocolate. I would feel like we were the only two people in the room, our eyes locked. I wanted you to come over to me, grab me, lift me up, and dance with me in your arms, holding me tightly, waltzing me out of the room and into our own special wonderland. Dance me to the end of love,” Keith said dreamily.
“Keith, I hate to wake you from your trance, but you couldn’t possibly be in love with me. I never gave you any signals. You’re confusing sex with love. You’re confusing childish infatuation with love,” Barth protested, becoming alarmed at Keith’s ardent off-kilter outpouring.
“But Barth, it can’t be any other way. We can carry on, and you can stay with Sophia. I’ll stay with Mummy. I’m not asking for marriage,” Keith pressed.
He would be asking for marriage in no time, Barth thought. “Okay. Let’s agree to disagree. I’m still adjusting to even seeing you here in town. We’re at an impasse. Let’s enjoy this meal and part as fast friends,” Barth said.
As if to reinforce his message, he took a few hearty bites of his dish. It was tasteless. His appetite was long gone. Keith, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying his shrimp dish. Professions of love had fueled his appetite. That eye-eating metaphor sent shivers up Barth’s spine and made him twitchy.
As Barth called for the check, Keith asked, “When will we be seeing each other? Tomorrow?”
“Now, Keith. Be reasonable. I’ve made lots of plans. I’m here to be with my two old friends. It’s a Christmas-week tradition. I do this every year. You’ve come to town with friends. I can’t make other plans.” Barth acted calm but was ready to shriek with frustration and annoyance.
There really is no such thing as a free lunch, he thought. This kid sticks like Elmer’s glue. There I go again, calling the twenty-five-year-old a kid.
“You don’t do this alone every year. Usually Sophia is with you. You must have some free time for little old me. The sweet candy man,” he beseeched.
“You’re not winning any points with that candy-man routine,” Barth shot back.
“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to get closer to you. That’s all,” Keith protested.
Barth paid the bill and got up from the hot seat. “I told you how we could get closer. Father and son. But not here and not now. Back in Miami. Now, I’m overdue for a meeting with my friends. Take care, Keith,” he threw over his shoulder, strolling away, restraining himself from making a dash for it.
> He was relieved to discover that Keith did not get up and come after him like an eager puppy. He remained seated, whimpering, “But Barth…” to his receding backside.
And so the nightmare began.
A relentless Keith materialized wherever Barth went.
When Barth visited the library the next morning, sitting down at a table to look at art books, there was Keith across the room, immersed in a book, not looking his way.
When Barth went to the Tropic Cinema for a double bill of the Coen Brothers’ The Big Lebowski and Barton Fink, there was Keith, lingering across the street from the movie theater.
When Barth visited the Little Room Jazz Club, there was Keith in the audience, already ensconced with a beer in his hand.
When Barth was barhopping, there was Keith. Whether it was the Green Parrot, Garden of Eden, Smokin’ Tuna Saloon, or 801 Bourbon Bar, there was Keith, either in the establishment or outside.
Barth was contemplating sharing the nightmare with Ginty and Jess, omitting the original catalyst. He needed to get this off his chest. He thought of calling Sophia. She was a psychologist and probably knew a fair amount about stalkers, he reasoned. However, that would probably infuriate her since she would most likely blame him for bringing this upon himself. Or, even worse, tell him he deserved it. Better keep mum for now.
He was beginning to hide out at his friends’ shop, spending inordinate amounts of time there, avoiding Keith’s omnipresence.
“You’re missing Sophia so much that you’re staying close to home, Barth?” Ginty asked one day. “Don’t worry. We’ll have a companionable Christmas Eve on Tuesday. You’ll get our undivided attention. We’re looking forward to closing early,” Ginty reassured him.
Barth smiled weakly in response. You have no idea, he thought.
At least he had hit upon an escape plan for Sunday. He planned to take the two-hour ferry ride to the Dry Tortugas National Park, hang out there for the four hours, maybe do some bird watching in honor of Sophia, and then a two-hour ride back.
He didn’t expect Keith for that one.
The next morning, he left for the dock to pick up the ferry, looking forward to a day without the jack-in-the-box popping up.
The ferry ride was a relief. The park, dominated by the massive but incomplete Fort Jefferson structure, was wonderful. The island was a haven for bird watchers. And Barth had his binoculars and a modest camera. Tired, ready for the return ferry, and relieved to have had a Keith-free day, Barth almost screamed with furious frustration when he spied a smug Keith, grinning at no one, looking off into the distance, sitting alone in a remote corner of the ferry.
This has got to stop, Barth thought. He’s terrorizing me. I refuse to acknowledge him. That’s what he wants. A reaction or a recapitulation.
He moved far away from his stalker, trying to relax. Once home, he decided to stay put. He couldn’t face another sighting.
Showered, dressed in sweats, Barth was relaxing in the living room, opening a bottle of wine, when he noticed an envelope on the floor just inside the door. He was certain it hadn’t been there earlier. He crossed the room in two long strides, his heart pounding in his ears, ripped open the envelope with clammy fingers, and pulled out a yellow piece of legal-pad paper with “redrum” printed crudely in red crayon.
Barth recognized “redrum” from the film The Shining. “Murder” spelled backward. The disturbed young son chanted it a lot—usually while barreling down the haunted halls of the eerie hotel on his bicycle.
That cocksucker, Keith fumed, is trying to scare me. Into submission?
Barth looked outside and saw no one near the house. That underhanded squirrely brat! He’s mad as a hatter.
Jess and Ginty wouldn’t be home for hours. These Key West shop owners had to keep long hours to make ends meet in this ultra-expensive town.
A growling stomach reminded Barth he hadn’t eaten for hours. He had no appetite, but his body demanded food. Besides, he was drinking wine on an empty stomach.
He made a mushroom omelet and a salad while sipping his wine, and eventually, he began to relax. Adolescent tactics. Nothing to really worry about, he reassured himself.
But as he settled in the living room with his food and drink, he felt that familiar depression. The black dog was beginning to nibble on his fingers, lick his face, and stare into his eyes. He was feeling helpless. A slow descent into numb paralysis was beckoning to insulate him from the threats.
He didn’t have the energy to turn on the TV or choose some music. After a few bites, he realized he could not eat the food. He continued to drink the wine with grim determination. He needed to shut down.
He was becoming more and more absorbed in his darkening depression, which was sweeping over him like menacing storm clouds. While he was tumbling into that black hole, he heard a subtle swish on the tiles and looked up to see a second envelope sliding over the threshold.
He held his heavy head in his hands for what seemed like an eternity before he could muster up the energy to retrieve the envelope. Shuffling to the door like a spent old man, he bent down to retrieve this “love message.”
Ripping it open, he slipped out the same yellow lined paper and puzzled over the word crisscross in the same crude red crayon lettering in the middle of the page. It was a mystery to Barth.
What could that possibly mean? And why was he giving it his attention? Was Keith still out there? He couldn’t be bothered to look this time. What difference did it make? He was doomed.
Tomorrow he would call Sophia and hole up in bed all day waiting for Tuesday and Christmas Eve with his friends. Sophia might be furious or take pity on him. But the consequences be damned. He needed her. And maybe she would even be able to decipher crisscross. He would Google it tomorrow.
He had to go to bed and black this all out. Drained, he could barely clean up his plates, throwing out most of the food, before seeking sweet oblivion, an escape from his nemesis.
CHAPTER 18
Amanda took off without a word before Sophia awoke. Sophia decided she would check on her in a day or two. Hopefully, given a bit of time, she would stop unraveling and shore herself up. After all, she wasn’t losing Keith to a woman, whom Amanda would view as competition. She couldn’t compete with Barth. Different parts. And it was not as if they were about to run off together. Boy, talk about going for a father figure.
Now Sophia’s thoughts swooped to Dirk’s impending visit. She would take a nice, long walk to get the blood flowing. No phone calls. No visits. This Sunday, everything was on hold for Dirk’s visit. A new beginning. A new chapter in her life. It was all about her for a change.
After her walk, Sophia showered and dressed for Dirk, her lover. It had a nice ring to it. She was taking a lover. She felt so French, so naughty, so excited. He was taking care of everything. She didn’t have to do a thing. For a change. She was usually such an instinctive caretaker. Leaving everything in his hands was such a turn-on.
Sophia dressed in a kimono-style dress, navy blue with a wide red obi, red Japanese slippers, and large dangling ruby earrings as her sole jewelry. Geisha girl. Sophia surprised herself by her lack of anxiety. “I’ve been waiting for this all my life. Where did that come from?” she wondered aloud.
At five, a prompt Dirk rang her bell. She pulled the door wide, smiling graciously, and invited him in.
Dirk looked like a cross between a food deliveryman and a doctor making house calls, weighted down as he was with a strange purple igloo-shaped contraption that was holding the food and a black leather doctor’s bag as well as a wine bag large enough for two bottles. It distracted Sophia from savoring his good looks. With flaring nostrils, however, she did drink in his intoxicating scent.
“Here, let me help you,” Sophia said, taking the doctor’s bag and the wine bottles. “I didn’t know doctors still made house calls,” she couldn’t resist remarking.
“Only love doctors still make house calls,” Dirk responded.
Sophia’s
face pinkened with anticipation. I’m ripe for the picking, she thought, a little bit ashamed but mostly aroused.
“Lead the way to la cucina,” he said, taking charge. “Your ass looks lovely in that kimono. I love the way the cheeks are just rippling along like swelling waves on the water,” he sighed. Depositing his bundle on the kitchen island, he turned to Sophia and relieved her of the wine and bag. He embraced her, moving down to grasp her buttocks, massaging them tenderly and deeply.
Sophia gasped with surprise at his swiftness. Then she gave herself over to the waves of pleasure he was generating.
“I can’t wait to spank you, Zophie.” He breathed the wet sizzling words into her ear, his compelling accent buzzing the “S” in Sophie as usual. He broke away just as swiftly, growling, “First we have to eat before we move on to other delights. Get some plates, white wine glasses, an ice bucket,” he ordered. “Oh, and some virgin olive oil. I am going to delight your senses with this food and drink. I have Mussels Josephine, crusty sourdough bread for dipping into that delectable sauce, and an asparagus, golden raspberry, and white truffle salad,” he declared, unpacking the food. “And if that doesn’t make you go weak at the knees, for the wine I have a 2006 William Fevre Grand Cru Chablis that will make you swoon.”
“You love food and drink as much as I do. You thought of everything. I’m impressed, Dirk,” she cooed.
His chest swelling, expanding with her praise, he looked like a rooster, cock of the walk, poised to crow cock-a-doodle-doo. “Of course I love food and drink. I’m not an American. If you have a decent champagne, that can be dessert,” he added, his sultry eyes hot with anticipation.
“I happen to have a 1998 Veuve Clicquot La Grande Dame,” she said. “I must have been saving it for this occasion.”
“Absolutely, utterly perfect!”
As Sophia set the kitchen table—she saw no reason to go into the dining room—Dirk used Sophia’s corkscrew to lift the cork on one of the Chablis bottles.
Time's Hostage: The dangers of love, loss, and lus (Time Series Book 1) Page 12
