by J M Dolan
“It’s lovely,” said Jamee, “and I can appreciate both the sentimental and monetary value. Back in the day, fine china, crystal and silverware were considered an important household item, a measure of a level of culture and social grace. I think it’s a shame newer generations put no stock in it.” Jamee sighed. “I hope one day we’ll see a revival, and that day will be before everyone’s grandmother’s china has made a trip to the local dump.”
“Well this man’s grandma would skin him alive if he ever, even thought, the words “the dump,” agreed Sam.
Sam moved to a small sideboard which held a silver plated chafing dish. He removed the top and brought two filled plates to the table. Returning one last time to the sideboard he scooped up a basket of assorted rolls and pulled a small salad from the mini-fridge.
“It’s a chicken and rice casserole, with salad and buns. The recipe isn’t the fanciest, it kind of falls under the heading of comfort food, but there’s white wine and a bit of orange zest in the gravy. Otherwise,” he said apologetically, “I’m better with a barbecue. Tonight, I wanted something we could sit right down too.”
“It looks and smells delicious,” said Jamee, “and I’m a big fan of comfort food.”
The food was scrumptious and when paired with the full bodied wine it gave the evening a cozy, romantic feel. Jamee asked for the recipe. Sam quoted Best of Bridge – first book, and she laughed. It was so easy between them, so relaxed but still with that current of sexual awareness lingering just under the surface. He was fun. She hadn’t had much fun with a member of the opposite sex, for a very long while. Plus, bonus – they had real chemistry.
Dessert was calorie light. A pouched pear drenched in a yummy balsamic reduction. Sam suggested the whirl pool and they took their Grand Marnier liqueur to the edge for sipping.
“Changing room is that screened towel area,” said Sam.
“No problem, I came prepared,” Jamee replied. She put her purse and the red rose on a lounge chair.
She undid a couple of cleverly disguised snaps and the soft folds of the wrap-around dress fell away, to reveal a simple black bikini. It wasn’t particularly brief, but it hugged her curves. She heard Sam’s expelled breath. He’d likely been anticipating the answer to the birthday suite question.
Jamee stepped out of her shoes and stood bare-legged down to her crimson painted toes then moved with fluid grace to the shimmering, steaming pool, aware that Sam’s eyes never left her. She turned and cast a sultry gaze his way while she slipped into the water. “Coming, mister?”
Sam had remained motionless while she entered the pool, shades of blue reflected on her skin from the whirlpool’s intricate tile work. He moved now to a free-standing Victorian-era pilaster and lowered the pool lighting. Jamee looked up into the satiny blackness of the night and marvelled at the miracle of the stars. Billions of tiny points of light twinkled like a fire burst. A harvest moon ascended in the east and the light show seemed like a once in a life time moment. It was enchanting – moonlight and starlight, just what she’d asked for.
She watched him peel away his shirt and then step behind the privacy screen that concealed a shelving unit, piled high with fluffy white towels. When he reappeared he was wearing swimming trunks. He was a very handsome man, thought Jamee for the umpteenth time. Rugged handsomeness, intense eyes and a passionate mouth she wanted to sample. She hoped she wasn’t staring. It seemed to have become a habit.
“Good grief, Charlie Brown, you’re very…fit,” blurted Jamee.
Sam laughed out loud at the remark and Jamee felt like a naïve school girl.
She could feel her face heat and it wasn’t the temperature of the whirlpool. “How is it you make me feel like I’m in high school, doing something I shouldn’t?”
Sam made no effort to control his grin, but slid into the water beside her. “You think I’m the bad boy type, Jamee?”
“I’ve known one or two.” Her tone was a shade indignant as she moved to make room for him.
“You won’t likely believe this now, but I grew up painfully shy,” his tone deepened to a conspiratorial whisper. “I wish I’d known women were as interested in the opposite sex as I was. I would have gotten a lot more...kisses.”
Sam moved towards her. His hand circled the back of her neck, moving into her hair as he drew her to him. His lips were a soft touch with the citrus taste of liqueur. When he broke off, she licked hers to savour the sweetness. “You drive me crazy,” he moaned.
This time when their lips met, it was a searing kiss that deepened into a something so much more. She opened her mouth to take him in and her body ached for complete intimacy. She couldn’t get close enough though she was pressed from breast to thigh against him. His hands stroked the places he could reach, driving her excitement, drowning her in passion while she clung to him.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” she said, breaking off the kiss. “Lay with me, Samuel Craig.”
“Aye lass, but we should move to a more private place.”
Sam’s powerful arm encircled her waist and unwilling to break contact, he stood. Keeping a tight grip, he rose with her pressed to his body, stepping onto the ledge and onto the deck. In Jamee’s opinion, the move was swoon worthy, and indeed, she felt her head swim slightly. If he’d tried to take her right there on the edge of the pool, she probably would have let him. She was that far gone but Sam had other plans.
He grabbed a couple of one size robes from the privacy screen and helped her wrap into one. She scooped up the rose, her dress and clutch and slid into her shoes while he retrieved his clothes.
They rode the elevator the two floors down to his condo. He held her close, and only made a quick detour now to the kitchen, to fill a couple of water glasses. He handed her one, took her hand, and led her to the master suite.
The room was dim. Jamee sipped at her water while letting her eyes adjust to the lighting. Sam nibbled at her neck, sending delighted shivers across her shoulders.
“Why Sam, you’re a romantic,” said Jamee as she took in his bedroom. She could hear classic rock ballads on a loop, adding background ambiance. White candles glowed in groups of three. The slim scent of vanilla and cinnamon mirrored the colours in the room and lingered enticingly in the air. The bed was already turned down – another rose across the cover edge. Jamee was amused by his confidence. Plump pillows sat on brushed, Egyptian cotton sheets and a billowy down comforter was folded at the end of the bed. He took her rose and the one from the bed and slid them into a waiting, rose-filled vase.
Jamee offered a provocative smile. “Been awhile. I’ll let you lead.”
“You’re a sassy wench,” he teased gruffly. “Should I get out the whip and leather chaps?”
She sensed him reaching for her.
“We can whip and learn together?” she quipped.
Despite the humour in his voice there was fire in his eyes and it gave her pause to reconsider her flippant remark. But, when he gathered her in his arms and took her mouth, it was with gentle pressure.
The kiss was sultry, intoxicating to the senses. His hands smoothed across the muscles of her back, down into the arch and over the rise of her bottom. She sighed. Sam brought those magic hands back up along her sides and she raised her arms to his shoulders, her hands threading into his hair. When he reached her breasts, he stroked the sides, alternating stroking and cupping simultaneously. A little moan escaped her throat.
She brought her tongue into the kiss. Seeking the heat, he was willing to give. It was his turn to moan when she thrust with her tongue and then ran it along the softness inside his lip.
Sam undid the belt of her robe and pushed the plush material off her shoulders, giving himself access to honeyed skin from the slope of her neck down to the tops of her breasts. He nuzzled and kissed, using his lips to knead her flesh. Jamee arched into him. Her head back, her breasts straining at the material of the bikini.
“More,” she said. It came out like a moan but he moved to unclasp the
bikini top. Sam cupped her breasts with his hands, holding their weight and using his fingers to caress and fondle. A throaty little purr started up in that pulsing spot under her chin. It changed to a groan when he pulled first one erect nipple into his mouth then shifted his ministrations to the other. Using lips to rotate and tongue to lave, he suckled each nipple in turn, a motion that had her hips pressed and sliding across his.
Sam had pulled back, looking at her. She could hear her breath in shallow pants. Her eyes felt wide like deep sinking pools. She could feel her hair, skimming across her forehead was mussed and tousled. Her cheeks warm from his caresses and the rise and fall of her breath, brought exciting motion to her full breasts as they teasingly grazed his chest. Oh, sweet mother of God, how she wanted him.
Jamee slid her hands into the front of his robe and pushed it off his shoulders. The belt had come undone and it slid to the floor. His excitement was obvious but she had other waters to chart first. She ran her hands across the dark hair that covered his chest, moving over his shoulders and down powerfully built arms. How sexy it was that the luxurious silken hair on his chest contrasted to the smoothness of his skin and the roughness of raised nubs. Her fingers found the convex molding of pec muscles, and lower, the rippling abdominal ridges. She traced where the hair on his chest narrowed in a path to the edge of his swim trunks. She ran the back of her hands lightly over his hip bones and down the long thighs before sliding them up to grasp a well-defined butt. He was stunning and machine gun ready. Wanton desire swirled and smouldered. She pulled him to her. Then lifted her lips for a searing kiss that dragged her under, drowning in sensation.
“Take me there,” she whispered.
“Sweet, Jamee,” he sighed.
Keeping his lips to hers, with clever hands he removed what was left of her bathing suit and shed his own. Then gathering her into his arms he placed a knee into the center of the bed, lifted her with effortless ease and laid her down into the pillows. Sam pressed his body against hers taking the weight on his arms. She was unable to draw her eyes from Sam’s. It would be a long time before she would forget the look on his face. Hunger and need, yes, but something more. His pounding heart, fierce and determined spoke to her. It was such a sweet thing, like the end of a song.
And in that moment, it came to her mind that passion, intimacy, desire were all components of love. Oh yeah — now that scared the hell out of her.
***
Marge sat in a back booth of the restaurant with her coat on, nursing a gin and tonic. Designed modern classic with lacquered black surfaces and chrome accents, the atmosphere of intimacy was generated in the narrow tiles and a slate covered fireplace. The location gave her an unobstructed view of the entrance to the attached hotel and was conveniently adjacent to the ladies’ washroom. She glanced at her watch. It was nearing nine thirty, rendezvous time.
A stir of cold, outside air signalled the opening of the door to the parking lot. A man and woman stepped through the doorway. He hustled the woman inside, his movements efficient. It drew her eye. The man’s arm was around the woman’s waist and he held her to his side. His black dress coat looked expensive and warm, her dress and high heels a noticeable contrast. Marge recognized Sofiya. She was seductively attractive in her little black dress.
Never leaving her side, her step-son doctor, moved Sofiya quickly into a booth, two up from where Marge sat. Marge studied their body language. The doctor slid in beside Sofiya, crowding next to her, bodies touching. His arm went over the back of the bench and encircled her shoulder, his hand rested around her upper arm. He angled his large frame towards the woman obscuring her from the other patrons. Sofiya remained facing forward. Relaxed but conservative in her response.
The waitress arrived, and the doctor ordered drinks for them both.
Discretely, Marge studied the pair. Sofiya was making progress. She certainly had the doctor’s attention. He laughed and turned toward her a bit more. Pushing Sofiya’s long, light brown hair aside, he grinned as he spoke into her ear. Sofiya smiled and dipped her head allowing the hair to fall back like a curtain across the paleness of her face. She softened her lips, answering back but did not turn her head.
Marge could see recognition the moment Sofiya’s saw her. The shuttered gaze cleared, replaced by acknowledgement and clarity. Sofiya, continued to smile her half smile as the doctor played with her hair and kept up a continuous monologue.
The appearance of the waitress with a pair of lime-wedged Coronas took his attention. He ordered a second and slammed back the first. Sofiya sipped at hers.
Scanning the room over the rim of her glass, Marge swallowed back the last of her drink. With an easy movement she exited the booth and slipped into the bathroom. It was fortunate that the doctor had money and at least a small measure of class. The bathroom and restaurant had been recently renovated and the rooms of the hotel were mid-level. The few hours Sofiya would spend in one wouldn’t be a total sacrifice.
Marge heard the door open and perched herself on the edge of the vanity. Wishing she had a cigarette she unzipped her jacket and palmed a small vial from her pant pocket.
“Reynaldo,” Sofiya’s greeting was eager.
Marge peered at her taking in the swallow skin and mild eczema.
“Is the doctor helping you out with something for your nerves?” Marge asked.
“It’s just a bit of anxiety and never much. Just takes off the edge.” Sofiya reply was purposefully nonchalant. “Do you have it. I need a hit now and enough for the rest of the week.”
“You’d better make it last,” Marge warned. “If you start using more, you’ll be hurt’n.” She paused for effect. “I have no authority to increase the amount.”
Marge opened her clenched fist to reveal the cork stoppered vial. Sofiya fastened her eyes on it and reach out her hand, hungry for the hit. Marge ignored Sofiya’s unspoken demand to release the vial to her. Instead she poured a measured line of fine white powder onto the surface of the vanity and handed Sofiya a narrow straw.
Sofiya grasped the implement and let out a small whimper as she held it to her nose. Tracing the straw across the line of powder, she sniffed deeply. Marge watched as Sofiya’s eyes drifted closed and a look of euphoria took hold.
“You’d better watch yourself. This job requires you to keep your wits about you. If you cease to be of any use to us, your presence here won’t keep your family safe. It can all change on a dime. Easy come, easy go.”
“I’m good.” Sofiya was quick with her assurance. “Just stressed. The old man is at me all the time and the doctor isn’t happy about pilfering seconds, though he’s overcome his reluctance tonight. It takes constant energy to dodge the one and entice the other.”
“Well you’re going to get a break. We’ve had to move up our schedule. You need to start targeting the son. Polonius says you can start sending the geriatric to his eternal rest.” Marge laughed at her lame joke.
“I’ll remind you to stick to what you’ve been instructed. Don’t overdo the increased dosage on his meds or you’ll arise suspicion. Initially, it won’t be enough to make him seriously sick, but he should be off stride enough to leave you alone.”
Indulgently, Marge watched the coke take effect and wished she had a cigarette. Sofiya was brightening, her face relaxed.
“How long?” Sofiya smoothed down the front of her dress and catching her image in the mirror executed a little pirouette.
“I’d think maybe ten days – then you can give him enough Fentanyl that he ODs. Polonius’s call of course but he mentioned the grieving widow will be our best bet to secure the operation.”
Marge made a mental note to tell Polonius about the additional drug use. Detox and retraining might be required. Marge handed Sofiya a casino chip and a white bottle of Oxycodone. There were enough pills in the bottle to last her a week and by then, she’d be looking forward to their next meeting. Sofiya grasped up the elixir and coin, stuffing the contents into her purse. She turned to leave
the bathroom but not before Marge clasped her by the arm, peering intensely into her face.
“Quit picking at your face,” said Marge sharply, squeezing the fingers of her hand like a vise. “You’ll ruin your looks and the doctor might guess you have a drug problem.”
She let her go, propelling Sofiya towards the door.
Marge turned to the sink and washed her hands. She sang to herself, Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star — proper hand washing technique. The song exercise gave Sofiya time to join her date, and Marge didn’t want anyone to connect seeing them leave the bathroom together.
When Marge stepped from the room, Sofiya’s booth was vacant except for three clustered Corona’s and a single, off to one side, all empty. She looked towards the interior restaurant door leading into the hotel and caught a glimpse of them. Sofiya was laughing up at him as they swung through the door. He had one hand on her butt, holding her against his hip and the other on her breast.
Marge angled her steps to the parking lot exit and pushed outside. It was raining and there was fog on the river. She stood back under the eave, fishing for her cigarettes. The traffic was minimal but out of long habit she crowded against the wall. In the flare of the flame she sucked heavily, the tobacco vanishing in a fast-moving glow.
A passing car caught her attention as she relaxed in the nicotine haze. When the late model sedan cruised beneath the street light, the driver’s face was illuminated. Marge could have sworn it was Franie Le.
Chapter Twenty-One
She could hear birds and opened her eyes a slit. Light from outside was indirect, shadowed by a bordering mountain ash. This time of year, the tree made for a pretty view with its leaves ranging from yellow to orange, the clusters of red berries still hanging. Jamee straightened her legs and indulged in a full body stretch. The farmhouse was quiet. Kids must be at school. She burrowed back down into the covers as thoughts from last night’s date drifted back to her.
