The Traiteur's Ring

by Jeffrey Wilson

  She batted her eyebrows at him.

  “Wanna show me?” she asked her hand on the outside of his leg.

  “Hell, yes,”

  “Rrrrrr,” she used best tiger noise. It always made him laugh.

  Ben kissed her mouth and took her hand.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Agreed,” she answered. “One quick pass through the group to say thanks and see ya, but we gotta go consummate this thing now.”

  That really made him laugh, and he let her lead him by the hand through the group. More hugs and handshakes. Though he ordinarily hated any kind of attention, this didn’t bother him at all. He thought maybe the fact that it meant so much to them both made his discomfort fade into the background. He watched her smile, laugh, and thank their friends. He just tagged along – smiling and hugging when it seemed the right time.

  Yep, me, too – like she said.

  The group followed them down the wooden walkway that led off the dunes and into the parking lot. He would have preferred they just slip away, but not much could really bother him today, he realized. Amy and Reed were conspicuously absent, doubtless still groping each other (or worse) out on the deck, but everyone else stopped at the end of the walkway. There was no rice or bird seed, but lots of waves and cat-calls as they said goodbye again.

  “Are you okay to drive?” she whispered to him as they turned from the small flock of friends.

  Ben didn’t answer but, instead, grinned and gestured towards the parking lot.

  The limousine sat with its quiet engine purring, and the driver, complete in black suit and even a black driving cap, hustled around to get the door for them. Christy stopped, and her hand went to her chest. She squeezed his arm.

  “Oh, God, Ben, what did you do?” she asked. “I thought we said no more money on the wedding after we agreed to the open bar.” But her voice told him Thank you, baby, this is perfect.

  “You look like a princess or a super model or something,” he said. “You should leave like one.”

  He escorted her to the elongated car where the driver stood nearly at attention, his hand on the door. Ben helped his wife into the plush seat and then walked around to the other side quickly while the driver closed her door. He wanted to get in before the driver tried to get his door, he realized. That might be more than he could take. He slid in beside his wife, and she threw her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply.

  “Thank you, baby,” she said. “This is perfect.”

  “Straight to the hotel or drive a bit?” the driver asked over his shoulder as he settled into his seat.

  “Drive a bit,” Christy answered for them both. “Is that okay?” she asked Ben sheepishly.

  “Perfect,” he said.

  “I’ll have you at the hotel in about forty-five minutes,” the driver said. “Does that work?”

  “It does,” Ben responded.

  “Alright then,” the driver answered. “The champagne is already open and chilling in that bucket, and the glasses are in the panel on your side, sir.”

  “Thanks,” Ben answered and reached for two glasses.

  The driver nodded and then disappeared as a dark panel rose up from behind his seat. Then, they were alone. Ben poured them both a glass of sparkling wine, the first glass overflowing over the back of his hand and dripping onto the carpeted floor.

  “Shit.”

  Nice – very romantic.

  Christy laughed, obviously unfazed.

  He held up his glass.

  “To us.”

  “Hooyah,” she shouted, and he laughed out loud at her use of the SEAL mantra.

  “Hooyah,” he answered back, and they drank.

  He decided he preferred the red wine, but the champagne still tasted better than he had imagined. Christy laid her head on his shoulder a moment and hugged herself to his arm.

  “Thank you so much Ben. You made this the best day of my life.”

  She turned her face up, and he kissed her. Her mouth opened, and her free arm snaked around his neck in a passionate embrace. Reed had told him (the only marital advice his best man could come up with) that he should “nail her” in the limo. The kiss nearly made him question his decision to wait – that “nailing her” in the limo might not be the best way to start off his life with his best friend. He stole a glance at the blackened panel between them and the driver and wondered if it was one way glass and the driver watched them at this very moment. The kiss ended, and he chuckled.

  “What?” Christy asked with a knowing smile.

  “Nothing,” he smiled back.

  She looked at him coyly and ran her hand up the inside of his thigh.

  “We can if you want,” she breathed into his ear, and the stirring in his pants said “Hell yeah”. Fortunately, it was in Reed’s voice which just made it funny. He kissed her deeply and then touched her cheek.

  “Or we could wait forty five minutes and make the first time as married people last for an hour,” he offered.

  Christy seemed to consider for a moment and then took a long pull of champagne. Then, she shuffled her way to the front of the limo’s cabin and rapped on the black panel. The panel lowered slowly.

  “Yes, Ma’am?” the driver said.

  “How about you make it more like twenty minutes to the hotel?” she said, looked at Ben, and raised her eyebrows three times in rapid succession.

  Ben laughed as she worked her way back to him, her champagne held high and her other hand holding the top of her dress to keep the “twins” from spilling out. She collapsed next to him, her head in his lap, and she closed her eyes.

  “Kiss me, husband,” she commanded.

  “Of course, Mrs. Morvant,” and he obeyed.

  Seventeen minutes later by his watch (and two more glasses of champagne which, it turned out, got better as you went along) they slid out of the limo as the driver held the door. Ben handed him a twenty and gave him the patented male of the species thank-you nod. The driver nodded back and handed him a plastic swipe card.

  “Your room key, sir, and your buddies checked you in, your bags are already in the room, and they upgraded you to a suite…top floor, room eighteen-twenty-two.”

  “Thanks, bro,” Ben said and shook the man’s hand.

  “I’m supposed to tell you two things,” the driver leaned in with a red faced grin.

  “Okay,” Ben said slowly.

  “Well, the first is that your airline boarding passes for the morning are already printed and in the front pocket of your backpack in the room.”

  “And, the second?” Christy asked with a good-natured smile.

  The driver sighed. “The second is from Reed, and he said to tell you ‘I knew you wouldn’t nail her in the limo.’”

  Christy and Ben both laughed, and the driver relaxed a little.

  “Thanks,” Ben shook his hand again.

  A few minutes later they were in the largest hotel room Ben had ever seen (two rooms in fact – a bedroom with a little living room and kitchen). The balcony looked right out onto the ocean, and on the small table sat a huge basket of cheese, cookies, crackers, nuts – all kinds of things. Beside it sat another bottle of champagne with two long-stem glasses on which “The Morvants” had been etched, a vase full of yellow roses, and a card. Ben picked up the card. Christy went for the champagne and started to wrestle out the cork. It popped loudly and smacked into the ceiling as she giggled. Ben flipped open the card.

  For a long and happy life together.

  Best of luck.

  SEAL Team Two

  “From the unit,” he said.

  Christy wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her tip toes to kiss his chin.

  “They’re such nice boys,” she nibbled his neck. Ben looked down at her. “Take me to bed, Ben,” she said with closed eyes.

  He kissed her and fumbled his way into the back of her dress which came off with great difficulty. She stayed in his arms, her mouth locked on his, naked as he helped h
er tear off his service dress uniform.

  They made love for over an hour, all of it slow and gentle. Soft words of love muttered between moans and sighs. Their eyes stayed locked on each other the whole time, no matter how many times they rolled around to new positions. They ended with her on top of him, straddling him with her hands on his chest, his hands on her hips as she finally lost all control and bucked her way into an orgasm that left her crying out, tears running down her cheeks. As she tightened around him in the throes of her own finale, Ben stopped trying to wait and exploded with her, his own cries joining hers.

  She collapsed on him, spent and sweaty, her face nuzzled into his neck.

  “God, I love you so much, Ben.”

  “I know,” he said and realized tears had run down his cheeks, as well. “I love you, too. Maybe more than you can ever know.”

  They lay that way for a long time as his hardness wilted inside her. She finally slipped off of him and cuddled into the crook of his arm, her own arm and leg draped across his still tingling body.

  * * *

  Ben dozed. The nap felt deeper and more refreshing than any sleep he had enjoyed in years – a gentle, dreamless sleep. He woke to a knock on the door and opened his eyes to see Christy lying with her head on his chest, her eyes open and bright. Her hand stroked his shoulder.

  “Room service,” she said to explain the knock. She let her hand drift downward. “I figured you would need your strength.”

  Ben smiled, kissed her, and then slipped out of bed to get the door. He looked around for something to cover himself with, and Christy tossed him a heavy terry cloth robe just as he noticed she had one on, too.

  “Found them in the closet,” she explained. “Rich people must have a truck load of robes at home from these suites.”

  Ben laughed and pulled the robe around him as he headed for the door in the other room.

  “How long was I asleep?” he asked. “What time is it?”

  “Time to watch the sunset, that’s all I know,” Christy called after him.

  Ben looked out past the balcony and saw the sky had just begun to turn a soft pink as the sun slipped gently into the Atlantic Ocean. His mind considered a moment his deep – and more luxurious dreamless – sleep. It didn’t feel like he had returned to normal to have good sleep. He hadn’t slept well with any regularity in his entire adult life. But it still felt like a step toward normalcy. If he could have a few bad dreams about Gammy without any demons from Africa intruding, he thought he might feel fully recovered. Strange that familiar bad dreams should define normal for him. He flung open the door and greeted the young lady who stood beside a push cart.

  My wife must be hungry.

  The cart held five different covered plates and a bottle of red wine.

  “Congratulations, sir,” the woman said. “Where would you like this?”

  “On the balcony,” Christy answered for him as she joined him at the door. “Oooh, yummy,” she said and rubbed her hands together.

  “You sure, baby?” he asked. “Might be a little chilly for you.”

  “Nah, you’ll keep me warm.”

  The woman rolled the cart onto the balcony. He signed his name on the ticket she handed him, and she left.

  “Jeez, what did you get?” he asked.

  “Everything,” she answered and plopped into one of the two chairs, kicked her feet up onto the balcony rail, and grabbed the wine bottle and a corkscrew.

  Ben sat in the other chair and started to pull the silver lids off the oversized plates on the huge cart. Then, he took the glass of wine she offered him and popped a shrimp into his mouth. He suddenly felt half-starved now that he saw the unbelievable collection of hot appetizers Christy had ordered for them. He began to wade with her through the collection of seafood, meats, and cheeses. He took a swallow of the wine his wife handed him which tasted heavier than the others he had tried. He liked it better, he decided.

  “That’s good, what is that?” He kicked his feet up on the rail like Christy and chuckled at the show they would be giving if they had not been on the eighteenth floor.

  “I bumped you up a level,” his beaming wife said as she popped a piece of bread covered with tomatoes and feta cheese into her mouth. “You have graduated to Cabernet. Congratulations.”

  Ben held it up to the setting sun. Darker than the others – just like it tasted.

  They chatted and fed, grazing on the food he doubted they would finish but felt no surprise when they nearly did. Ben heard the mumbling voices, a blend of soft sounds like whispers through thin walls. He thought of them as voices, but really they were just soft sounds. They didn’t really bother him anymore. He realized they had been there nearly constantly since he got home; now that he let them fade into the background of his life, they didn’t distress him at all.

  He even began to imagine that perhaps they had been there all along and the events in Africa had somehow just made him more aware of them. Either way, he decided, they weren’t worth thinking about anymore. In fact, the less he thought about them the more that proved true. Now and again a sound would stand out above the mumbling whispers as a clear word and grab his attention, but with a little work he managed to ignore those, as well.

  “Ben?”

  He looked over at Christy who touched his hand and furrowed her brow.

  Maybe he had a bad dream before.

  That voice was clear as a bell and belonged to his wife.

  “What are you thinking about, baby? Did you have a bad dream before?”

  Ben took her hand and squeezed it. He gave her his best everything-is-cool smile (easier than ever because everything really was cool for once).

  “No bad dreams,” he said. “In fact,” he took another sip of the wine which seemed to stimulate taste in his whole mouth, “I was actually thinking about the fact that I didn’t have a bad dream. That cat nap was the most relaxed sleep I’ve had in my life, I think.” He kissed her chin. “Apparently being married works great for me.”

  Christy smiled at that. He had found the perfect words, apparently, because her forehead smoothed.

  “You are a lucky, lucky man,” she sipped her own wine. “Very lucky.”

  “Very lucky,” he agreed. Then he ran a hand up the inside of her robe. “You wanna get lucky again?”

  “Maybe,” she answered coyly over the rim of her glass and let her legs fall open.

  They made love again. This time they started on the balcony and ended up on the floor next to the couch in the sitting room. When Christy’s panting slowed to soft sighs, her head on his chest, he shifted around awkwardly to pick her up and carried her to the huge bed. She threw both arms around his neck and nuzzled against his chest, now only half asleep.

  I’m the lucky one, her voice said in his head, and she hugged him tightly.

  He tucked her gently in and slipped under the covers beside her. He set the alarm on his watch to allow them time to get ready and get to the airport for their flight. Then, he reset it for an hour and a half earlier – they might want time for a little something more before getting out of bed, he decided with a smile. Besides, his watch showed it was barely after nine p.m.. He felt either completely exhausted or completely relaxed despite the early hour and closed his eyes, his arms around his wife.

  As he drifted off, he felt a strong sense of someone waiting for him, just on the other side of closing his eyes and felt anxious. But whoever it was must have decided to let him alone on the night of his wedding, because he had his second deep and dreamless sleep of the day.

  Chapter 20

  The voices first started to get bad on the flight to New Orleans. Ben sat in the aisle seat, Christy’s hand soft in his as she spoke excitedly about the things she wanted to do over the coming week. He found the sounds impossible to ignore. Overnight he had gone from a vague awareness of soft mumbles a few rooms away to suddenly sitting in the dead center of a crowded room at a party. The specifics of the speaker’s words were no clearer than
before. But the volume had been turned painfully up, and the frequency of recognizable words had also increased. This didn’t make the voices any more understandable, of course, just way more distracting and for some reason a little more frightening.

  Ben also realized he could now identify individual voices that repeated themselves in the din of competing inner dialogues he eavesdropped on. He heard a young woman, excited about something, perhaps someone she would be meeting in New Orleans. There was one old man (at least he thought of him as old) who seemed terrified, and Ben wondered if he might be sick with something bad, like cancer. Another man, much younger he thought, was just annoyed and angry, though Ben got no sense at all about what had him so pissed off.

  He wondered if the close proximity of all the people packed into the confines of their steel tube hurtling above the Earth explained the change. He had noticed a little bit in the airport (which was also quite crowded, of course) but nothing like this. He also wondered if his fear that he might actually meet the old Cajun from his dream in New Orleans could be a factor (assuming the voices really were all in his head – figuratively not literally). Perhaps his paranoid worry that the man from his dream could be real and waiting for them was worsening his admittedly baseline paranoid musings.

  Thanks for all of this, Gammy. Just another crazy Cajun from the swamp.

  For a moment, Ben had a short burst of clarity that maybe he didn’t really have Gammy to blame. Maybe all of the insane “memories” from his childhood were products of the same chemical imbalance that had created the nightmare fantasy he currently plowed through. Maybe poor Gammy just died from the stress of raising a kid with a serious mental disorder who had now somehow found a way to control his psychosis just enough to barely function.

  Ben felt a chill at the thought.

  He closed his eyes and with all of his might demanded the voices shut the hell up, at least for a few moments, so he could collect himself. Amazingly the voices did fade a bit into the background.

  “Tired?”

  He looked over at Christy and felt relief she didn’t have her I’m-so-worried-about-you forehead furrow.