Hard Candy

by Volley, Rue

  Now Charles took off his tuxedo jacket and draped it around Fiona’s shoulders, where the icy snowflakes melted as they touched her warm skin. In truth, his hand was attracted like a loadstone to a magnet, by the texture of her skin. He could see a crystal float down and form tiny – then large dewdrops on that creamy perfection. He had to do something before it ran down into the depths of her long evening dress – down to spots, which made him feel giddy at the thought. But Fiona was entranced at this gesture from what she thought was her dear, sweet man, who said strange things. She was also quite unaware of the direction his thoughts had taken off in, though she was sure of her own.

  Well, it was an office party after all, and the others were moving back towards the great escalators, back downstairs where the gifts waited. She drew Charles back inside and downstairs to the great tree and the surprises that waited for all of them. Most would open theirs after they had got home, they said. And so the night ended in joy, as most of her colleagues went off with their husbands and wives, to a family day of Christmas on the next day.

  Charles Beaufonte was touched Fiona’s elbow as he guided her towards his Porsche. This time as before, Fiona was again giving herself up to the joys of his touch – slight as it was. Fiona was her own person and knew that she wanted more. However, Charles remembered his promise to the people at Knight who had employed him for this endeavour. After the gifts were done, it was time to go home. Fiona took in the make of his car with aplomb as she stepped daintily in through the open car door that Charles held for her.

  He remembered to be civil as always, and asked if he should drop her to her home, from where he had collected her? But with what the two of them had to have in mind, Fiona at this point conjured up a disturbed image of her housekeeper. She thought of how amazed the elderly lady would be with an uncalled for entrance with the man of her dreams, and the sights and sounds of what might ensue.

  She had to say “no” to Charles. She would have to tell him where she would have them go – “what about your place, Charles?” And so the gallant and handsome Charles Beaufonte drove the Porsche at some speed, home to East 8th Street. They had to have got there in record time, on a night such as this – Christmas Eve. It was late at night, but the streets of Manhattan were still filled with revellers and lovers, people young and old, waiting to usher in the day, come midnight. They passed a still larger Christmas tree festooned with candles and streamers and the star atop out in the open. They passed old stone floodlit churches and the sound of many voices raised in carols and hymns. Charles and Fiona took it all in, in a flash. For in truth, they only had eyes for each other – through Charles, driving, had to be careful of the streets, of cars and people, of crossings and the sights and sounds of a night such as this.

  They got to Charles’ home, and again, Fiona had a fleeting sense of déjà-vu. Or was the familiar feeling too close to a question that may have arisen earlier in the evening when she had marvelled at his tuxedo and his fine leather shoes? Charles’ home was in a brownstone townhouse! For an instant, she could only take in the home. She was looking at it as she had as yet not looked at the man. This had to be built with stone from the Passaic formation over in New Jersey, her construction senses were informing her. It had to be one of the Upper East Side brownstones built late in the nineteenth century. It was the kind of residential home they at Cunningham’s, would not dream of trying to replicate even in today’s day and age.

  Yet, Charles Beaufonte lived here – alone? She asked him. He laughed, drew her close, and said that he lived here with his dog and that she would soon meet his Irish terrier named Green. She would not meet his butler and cook he knew, but he would not tell her about them just now. In fact, he had not told her about a great many matters about himself. All that he knew was that they were meant to get to know each other in the manner they had longed for, over the past couple of hours.

  By now, Fiona Cunningham was thinking that this brownstone was where someone like Charles Beaufonte deserved to live in.

  Chapter 3: Charles and Fiona at Home

  They kissed passionately in the car before they alighted and they kissed a little more sedately on the top of the outside steps before they went in. She felt passion for this man, as she had not imagined possible, for someone she had deliberately hired for the holiday. Fiona prided herself in being in possession of herself, of never letting herself go unnecessarily. Now, she was not sure, but possessed the self-awareness to know this. Despite their obvious passion, Fiona thought back to what Avery had advised her about – that the route she had chosen might just fetch her a man who could match her looks, her brains and maybe even her sort of an old east coast family. Could she have stumbled upon such a wish first time? A brownstone! A day and a half later, Fiona might discover a great deal more than what had already landed, literally, on her lap. For now, she was not disappointed when Charles got out his keys and unlocked his front door.

  It may have been Charles’ turn to remain unaware of what would unfold around him and to him, now, but he, too, would not be fully in possession of all the facts till a day or two. For this particular night, he did what came naturally to him on this especially well starred night. He simply swept Fiona off her feet. He picked her up at the threshold and carried her in. Fiona was enchanted. So was Charles, with her nearness and heady feeling it had afforded him. This home, Fiona had quickly assessed, was something out a society mag, a designer’s delight. But this was not the time to ask about such an establishment. Of course, if she had, Charles might just have truthfully owned up to being the person that he was. And then, he might have been able to shed the guilt of the secret that had begun to hand heavy over him. But clever Fiona was was onto the mystery of the man. As to whether she wished to reveal her information, the answer was “no”.

  There were signs of her date’s pet – the Irish terrier. There was a chewed bone on the first reception sofa, and a squeaky toy by the fireplace. And enchantingly, the mantelpiece held but two great and one tiny stocking waiting to be filled by Santa. Charles said that Green was out in his kennel in a heated yard. This too, added up in the list of matters to admire about him. Fiona knew now that she had met her dream man. In fact, Fiona’s feet had still not encountered the floor of Charles’ brownstone. That was because Charles had not set her down. Fiona was being given a quick view through the entrance above floor level, held securely in his strong arms.

  They entered what might have been a very large sitting area, except that it was Charles’ bedroom. There was a bed, not too large, in the far corner. Fiona was exultant. “So you really are single, Charles?” And then she sank into it. “What about my unwrapping my gift?” Now, it was Charles who did as he was asked. They were to match each other body to body, and mood to mood. They were to match each other not only in instinct, but in intellect, possibly in what one knew or did not know about the other – and, of course, in the industry they had chosen for themselves, in careers and positions held in those careers, even if this was to be something which Charles considered to be known only to him up until then.

  They took their time. Charles could not believe that he had tasted that delicious skin, skin which he had desired beyond all else earlier this evening. Fiona had the most arousing manner of giving herself. For she had not held back at any point. She had reason to wish to make him, Charles, want her, and she wished to satisfy him in ways he had not earlier thought possible. She was his woman now. If it had been her external assets that had first attracted him, he was surprised at the hidden secrets of her body. Fiona was luscious. He grew conscious of his earlier thought out on the office balcony. If he had imagined her then, she was much more, in reality, as Charles could not help but think.

  As for Fiona, she knew that she had literally fallen into his bed, she had been that hungry for her man…despite the array of Christmas goodies she had seen and sampled earlier. This was the only gift she had wanted for Christmas, and now she had had him. He was every bit as wonderful in his house
and in his bed, as she could have asked for. He was considerate of her own needs…not one of those men who took their pleasure and then were done. She would not get enough of those kisses and caresses, those loving words he murmured in her ear, and she would not get enough of his body, or he of hers. Of the rest of where they would go, she would have to plan as carefully as any of her work drawings and implementation, she told herself.

  After they had loved a great number of times, he suggested that they move out to near the fireplace. There was one in this room, as no doubt, there may have been in every room. He laid out the mock bearskin rug and lit a blazing Yule log fire. He did so with some expertise, she noticed. She was also beginning to notice that he undertook everything with some expertise. Everything? Maybe not. After the fire was lit, Fiona and Charles could hear the peal of church bells from afar, and what sounded like distant music, growing closer. Charles had also remembered to turn on his audio system to the music of Aida. Fiona however felt that she had heard these chimes of joy, the culmination of the libretto just a little while ago, when they had been somewhat busy with each other on the bed…as they were beginning to be, again now, atop a bearskin rug in front of a blazing Yule log.

  After both more than a few times, after a night of sounds of love and of endearments they did not think they had in them, Charles covered her in a silken velvet duvet, and said he had something to do, that he would go down to the kitchen for a tiny bit. Fiona was instantly alert as to what he might have in mind, but Charles got into his pyjamas and left the room, to come back with Christmas cake, orange juice and champagne. Surprisingly, Fiona realized that she was hungry…and thirsty. She cut thick slices of cake for both of them, and poured the orange juice into the champagne glasses. She ate heartily, and was now sure that she had more questions to ask. No known patisserie around town… or out, would have made Christmas cake such as this, she could say, and she could say this for sure. This cake had to have seen a master craftsman’s efforts, which only a very special chef would possess.

  This Christmas cake was dark. It was crumbly-moist, and appeared to be unleavened. It had a holly sprig of marzipan on top. She laughed as she ate, knowing that her mouth was smeared with the delicious chocolate icing. Charles was proceeding to wolf down an entire marzipan fir tree that he had plucked from the top of the cake. Love of Marzipan! She told herself that that was one more taste they shared. He would’ve helped himself to the chocolatey mess across Fiona’s lips, but stopped short when he saw the query in her eyes. “Who could have baked – and decorated this deliciously different cake, Charles?” But Charles was wincing. He had just bitten into a coin which cook had buried in the cake for his pleasure. Coins were another personal touch, which the cakes, which came off the shops, would not have. He looked at Fiona, his amber eyes muddy for the first time since they had met.

  Charles would have to level with Fiona sometime, if he had to tell her about cook. He had acted on instinct when she had suggested that they come to his home last night. From his side, it was where he wished to bring her. He had wanted her to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas day with him in his home. He also knew that he wanted her to be with him for a long long time now – and that the fact of this home may have led to what she was obviously asking him about now, words or no words. If someone who excelled in the art of cakes and of cooking had especially made this cake for their pleasure – for his pleasure, who was that person? And if it was a cook (as she had guessed) who had crafted the one delectable Christmas cake she had partaken of, in his home that appeared as mysterious as the many questions she may have had about him, who was this man she had sought to hire for this holiday?

  It was the right time and the right chime for Charles to come clean. Charles was saying something. “Fiona, my Christmassy love,” he was saying, “I think I have to talk to you,” in truth, all he wanted for Christmas and beyond was her. And this was as good a time to level as any, he may have decided. But whatever the truth, he was not going to get at it right now. For Fiona sprang at him, as dishabille as she was. In fact, the only strands she sported right now were her long dark hair.

  Charles licked the remnants of the cake off her mouth. What could he do now but give in? If he had not done so adequately enough earlier, he completely gave in now. Charles, in fact, did not have an option. At this point of time, all he could think of was his woman, his Fiona. Somewhere in a corner of his mind, he also felt weighed down by his secret – that he had deliberately arranged to be Fiona’s escort the evening before because he had an axe to grind, – because he was her family's and Cunningham Construction’s, fiercest business rival. Somewhere in that corner of his mind, Charles was feeling a trifle miserable for having led this girl to believe a lie.

  He could not very well tell her at this instant. At this instant, all Charles could think of was to call out Fiona’s name in ecstasy. It filled his world and it filled his home. In this, as in most other matters, Fiona was with him.

  But was Charles aware of all the facts? Was it really the local library that he had to unburden himself about? What about the lady who had always made it a point to stay in control of her life? Perhaps Charles’ one failing had been in underestimating the lady he was swearing to love.

  Chapter 4: Fiona at work

  For Fiona was not half as preoccupied by her company’s arch rivals Beaufonte and Latymer, Architects and Construction Company. That for now, was the one major difference out in the world, between Fiona and Charles. She was too concerned with this day and even the night before, about this special man who happened to be a Beaufonte. All she wanted was Charles. The rest, and Charles’ professional needs and requirements – could go hang, or be presented to him on a platter, as far as she was concerned. She had her heart and profession agree over most matters, and it would not deviate, for now. The one factor she could have added on this day was her single-minded erotic interest. It would be Charles Beaufonte. If he belonged to something other than the good offices of Knight Male Escorts, so be it.

  Fiona had not wasted a great deal of time honing up on her professional interests in the few days before the Christmas party. She had taken the call from the gentleman receptionists at Knight Male Escorts soon after she’d got home, and soon after she had put in the request for her requirements for the date on Christmas Eve, for the office party. She had done this in person, at their office reception. Any other reservations she may have had about the level of professionalism at the office was dispelled by the very prompt manner in which they had handled her request, her requirements. When they called later, in just a little while, she had gone into all the details of the person on offer, especially since the gentlemen at the other end had first and foremost offered their own services. She knew that she had managed to emphasize to them why she had turned them down – they were not remotely her type, and she had to have some things in common with a man, to be able to take him into the office on her arms.

  Little did she know that the two had managed to come up with a perfect match, even when they had rung through. Fiona was busy trying to remind herself of what her friend Avery Haakensack had said – had she said something to the effect that she could be more than lucky through and through, in being able to find the perfect date? Well, she’d said something to that effect. And so, carefully cautious Fiona had taken down all the details and been clever enough to present them to her very capable assistant Mervin.

  Mervin would’ve surmised the truth anyway. If Fiona had not informed him to the extent she had, he would’ve guessed. How else could she have come up with such a perfect solution in the time immediately after he had had the good sense to remind her about the Christmas party, and indirectly, about a date for the Christmas party? Fiona did not want any conjectures from Mervin’s side. Besides, he had always levelled with her, and there was no reason why she should not, with him. It would also add up to completing the picture for herself. Fiona always liked to know what she was getting into, even if it needed her assistant to remind her,
and a good friend (Avery) to help her to complete the picture and come up with a very obvious solution.

  And so it happened, that the next morning in office – Mervin and Fiona always arrived early, to discuss matters for the day, Fiona gave Mervin the name of one Mr. Charles Beaufonte, registered with Knight Male Escorts, a man of no mean looks, as the agency photographer had been able to capture, and the man to be her date on the night of the Christmas party. Mervin went off with a slight frown. “Beaufonte, you say? Fiona, that name rings a bell alright, but I have to be sure,” was what he had said as he exited the glass door of her office room.

  Mervin had all his facts on the table in time for his morning meet with Fiona the next to the next day. He was even concerned when he told her that her date arrangement was a partner at Beaufonte and Latymer, Architects and Construction Company, and a man who normally earned his high flying lifestyle through professional architectural consultancy and construction, as did Fiona. Then, he proceeded to fill her in about the other details (unwritten) on his Curriculum Vitae. Charles Beaufonte was a man of some intellect, with looks to match, Mervin had said. But Fiona knew this about his looks, from the photograph she had been sent. She had even heard extremely complimentary remarks about the man’s professional ability in the world of architecture and construction – an adversary to be reckoned with, when they competed on a contract.

  Then, Charles told her that he was much sought in the industry and without, by ladies mostly of the uppermost class who seemed to extol his knowledge in various matters of interest to them. They spoke of his encyclopaedic knowledge in matters of American history, of matters in operatic music and of fine foods. When she saw the list Charles Beufonte’s accomplishments, Fiona thought that he could have very well been in the publishing industry, had he not been with the architects and construction agency who were Cunninghams’ arch rivals.