by Tiana Laveen
But the room’s temperature dropped further, waking him. Opening his eyes, he sat up and rubbed his bare arms first and then, his eyes. He watched the cool breath escape his mouth on the seventy-six-degree evening. His gaze drifted to his bedroom window, and he realized it was frosted over.
“Jesus Christ, what the hell?”
He cursed and clumsily got to his feet. The coolness seeped through his feet with each step as he made his way down the creaking steps, to his thermostat. Feeling around in the darkness, his long fingers glided over the hard dome protecting the gauge. He flicked the light to the side of it; one eye blinked as he tried to adjust to the sudden brightness from the overhead chandelier.
Forty-three degrees! How the hell did this happen? I didn’t turn the air conditioner up high.
He immediately pushed the air conditioner dial and realized it was set at seventy-five degrees. He looked around his house in confusion. The long hallway he stood in rasped as he adjusted his weight.
It’s not cold right here. The windows aren’t frosted. It feels fine down here…
He turned the light off and made his way back up the steps into the master suite. He immediately looked at the large bedroom window across from his bed; it was wide open. The curtains swayed frantically, like large bird wings, blanketing the window, and then revealing it suddenly, as if playing peek-a-boo. Mark ran his fingers through his hair as his eyebrows knitted and bewilderment flooded him. He marched over to the window and reclosed it, locking it firmly and checking it. The curtains immediately fell, swaying slightly at they rested in position.
I know I closed that…Oh, hell, I’m exhausted. Maybe I didn’t…
He climbed back into the bed, pulling the sheets securely over himself. About twenty minutes later, Mark’s eyes flew open. His eyes zoomed from side to side as his lips slowly parted. He felt his heart accelerating as another burst of cool air wafted across his body. His teeth clenched as he shot up and looked around the room in confusion. He had felt something like the touch of a finger delicately and distinctly tracing the outline of his face. He quickly reached for his nightstand lamp light. Looking around in all directions, he flung the sheets off his body. His chest heaved back and forth. The room remained cold, but the temperature appeared to be warming. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
I’m losing my mind. Too many hours, worked entirely too long. I need a vacation.
He turned the light back off, bundled up under the sheets and fell back to sleep. As he drifted into a new dream, he saw red fabric and black veils swaying under the moonlight. The sound of soft weeping played like music in the background. He tossed and turned for the remainder of the night and when he finally awoke, he felt more tired than he had in weeks…
* * *
Two weeks later…
Mark looked up at the dark sky while his friends continued to tell raunchy, albeit entertaining stories and lifted their cold beer bottles in the air for the eighth toast of the evening. He leaned over the winding back patio, and watched a couple kissing each other sloppily under the backyard white gazebo, aglow with violet and indigo dragonfly shaped lights. He rubbed his nose and squinted, unable to take his eyes off of the long, wavy blonde-haired woman and her dashing, clean-shaven boyfriend.
“Hey, Mark!” his friend Dustin called out. “You want another drink? Another stiff one?” The other four men burst out laughing. Mark rolled his light eyes and took another swig of his beer.
“The mortician and funeral jokes never get old to ya, do they Dustin?” he smirked and shook his head as he turned back towards the erotic couple, now into the active throes of public displays of borderline soft-core porn.
“OK.” Dustin’s dark brown eyebrows ruffled as he pointed at Mark, his 6’2” muscular body clinging to the pale yellow, button-down Polo shirt. “I have no idea how you can stand it, man. I know it’s your thing, and Taylor tells me you do really good work…but shit man, that’s just creepy.”
Mark shrugged and continued to exert his voyeuristic curiosities. “Everyone has to die. It doesn’t bother me. My job is to make sure things run smoothly. Sometimes I do have to get my hands dirty. I just try to make sure things go right for the families. It’s an art form, actually.”
“Yeah, like taxidermy,” Marcel, another mutual friend, joked, causing others to snicker along with him.
“At least I have a job, mooching Marcel.” Ohhhs and ahhhs began with a bit of cackling and ribbing one another. “All you can do is sit around talking about who isn’t cool, while you live off of women and beg all of us for your rent money once the last day of each month arrives. I may have to walk around in a suit, occasionally paint the faces of the dead and prepare them for their final hour, but I like it. It helps people, you know, helping people? Something you never do.”
“Oh, get off your high horse!” Marcel shot back, waving his bottle in the air while he smirked. “You act as if you are a fireman or something. The shit is disturbing and weird!”
“Not as disturbing as a thirty-two year old man listening to Justin Bieber.”
Everyone except Marcel burst out laughing.
“I don’t have to depend on other people to take care of me,” Mark continued, “And you call yourself a man.”
Mark felt the alcohol kicking in. He had a deep dislike for Marcel, borderline hatred. Marcel’s face twisted in anger and he stood there, with his disheveled blonde hair, perfectly trimmed mustache and white button-down shirt, slouchy jeans and a diamond earring shining in his left ear. His green eyes narrowed as he licked his bottom lip. Everyone knew of their inexplicable disdain for one another, but it always ended the same way, with a friendly loose handshake at the end of the night.
“You’re not better than me, Mark.” Marcel stepped closer to him, his chest jetted out from his 5’9”, stocky frame.
“Man, you are pathetic!” Mark grunted and placed his beer bottle down on the ledge of the porch. “Dead presidents…that is what this is about. I don’t see you snubbing those, though. If you made your own way then…”
Marcel stuck his finger in Mark’s face. “I lost my job, man! Hey, since you’re better than me, why don’t you explain to everyone why you came here from Miami, huh?” His intoxication caused his words to slur.
“Enough man,” Kyle spoke up, a tall, rail-thin dark redhead with porcelain skin. His eyes, bright blue and not a freckle on his face, made him almost appear to be made of wax. “We already know Mark was having some family problems. Don’t get mad at him because he called you out, Marcel. Jesus…just take it like a man.”
“You stay out of this, carrot top!”
The two men began to argue, causing a stir until three women stepped outside onto the porch, joining them and immediately clearing the air with their presence. The five men stopped arguing and looked at the three feminine angels that seemed to drop right out of Heaven. One stood in front. Her short, black pixie-cut hair drew attention to her large, slanted dark brown eyes. When she smiled, her white teeth seemed to glow against her dark mahogany skin. A white T-shirt clung to her B-cup breasts and taut stomach which pooled into a set of long, tight jean covered legs and red, sparkling stilettos.
“Hello, boys.” Her deep, sexy voice broke the tension. “It’s nice to see ya, Dustin. Sorry, I’m late for your party. I had to pick up my girls here.” The four men rubbernecked, checking out the other two women like hawks.
“Oh, no problem, Destiny. Lacey was out here a while ago. I think she went upstairs for a minute. I can go get her.” He turned to walk back inside the house. Destiny grabbed his arm, “Oh, don’t worry yourself. I’m sure she’ll be down soon.” Destiny quickly turned her attention to Mark, who was now leisurely leaning against one of the porch pillars, trying desperately not to smile. It was too late, for now he was looking right through Destiny, at the woman with the slight grin behind her.
“Bijou…” he said softly, causing Destiny and their friend, Kim, to look back at the object of his attention.
There she stood, in a V-neck black tank top, straight-legged jeans and flat black sandals, a far cry from her previous vintage look several days ago. Her long, wavy hair flowed over her caramel shoulders; the screened-in open kitchen door allowed just enough light to filter out, and highlight the naturally crimped strands. Bijou continued to smile and looked away, down at the ground.
Destiny smiled precociously. “Oh, so you know this man, huh?” she asked, a slight knot in her voice as she shot a look between Bijou and Mark, repeating the observation several times over.
“No,” Bijou responded, raising her head slowly and staring Destiny in the eye. “I don’t know him personally but he…took care of Rhine. He works at the funeral home.”
Destiny nodded, a smirk still spread across her face. “I thought he looked familiar. He’s a funeral director?”
“Yes.” Mark leisurely picked his bottle back up and placed it to his lips. “I do a bit of everything.”
Destiny crossed her arms over her breasts and nodded. She looked at Bijou and leaned in close to her, whispering, while the men stood and watched. Marcel loudly cleared his throat.
“Uh, ladies,” he smiled coyly, rubbing his palms together like a fly. “Dustin didn’t let us know that any of his wife’s beautiful friends would be in attendance this evening. Can I get any of you a drink?”
Kim, a rich coca-cola brown, deep dimpled cutie with natural, tightly curled shoulder length hair, pulled up her falling yellow spaghetti strap from her sundress. “Yes, I’d like a wine cooler please.” She winked at Marcel, causing him to smile even wider.
“Sure thing.” He made his way towards them. “Anything for either of you?” He stared Bijou up and down, his lust almost tangible.
“I’ll take one too,” Bijou responded, her eyes still glued to Mark.
Destiny wrapped her slender fingers around her waist. “Nah, I’d like a beer.”
Marcus disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the men still standing there, jaw dropped.
Mark cleared his throat and moved closer to Bijou. She looked up into his eyes and placed her hands behind her back. Destiny observed them and made her move towards Kyle, who appeared to be panting like a dehydrated canine.
“So.” She crossed her arms over her chest, those mysterious, enchanting dark eyes once again grabbing his attention. “Small world, huh?”
“Yes, most definitely.” He grinned, trying hard to not stare at her cleavage. “I had no idea you knew my friend.”
“Oh, I don’t know Dustin or his wife. I just know Destiny. She’s my best friend. Her friend is Dustin’s wife, Lacey; they work together. I’ve been kinda…keeping to myself and she wanted me to get out of the house. You know, get some fresh air.”
“Well,” he looked deeply into her eyes, “you’ve been through a lot. That’s understandable.”
Bijou shook her head. “You look…different,” she said reticently, a smile extended across her lovely face.
“Hmmm, is that good or bad?”
Bijou laughed lightly, looked away at Destiny and Kyle who appeared heavily engaged in conversation, and back up at Mark. “It’s good, I guess.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Not that you looked bad before. It was just a bad day…so I guess I really wasn’t paying attention.”
Mark licked his upper lip and nodded. “Yeah, well, I know this might sound bad, but I did notice you. I do that for a living, so I don’t have the – ”
“Emotional attachment, I get it…” She looked down at the ground and rocked on her heels, seeming to disappear into deep thought.
“Right.”
He rubbed his chest lightly and looked quickly over his shoulder, peering into the night at the gazebo. The making-out couple was now gone. He gently took Bijou’s hand and led her down the deck steps, out onto the cool grass towards the gazebo. Just then, the kitchen screen door slammed shut, bounced then slammed again.
“Hey!” Marcel called out. “Bijou! I have your cooler!”
Mark detected an irritated tone to his voice. It made his newborn smirk all the more enjoyable.
Bijou turned back towards him as he waved on the porch.
“Wait right here.” Mark whispered lightly in her ear, tickling her, causing her to smile in earnest.
What a beautiful smile…
He sprinted like a bolt of lightning towards the house and quickly grabbed the bottle out of Marcel’s hand, winked at him antagonistically and jaunted back off the porch – but not before he could hear Marcel calling him a “motherfucker,” causing their friends to snicker.
“Here you go.” He handed Bijou the strawberry wine cooler as they finished their descent to the gazebo.
“Thank you,” she grinned, twisting the pre-loosened cap off and inserting it into her pocket.
Mark watched as she put the bottle to her lips and slowly let the alcohol race down her throat. Then she moved it away, smiled and took another sip, her moist, soft pink lips wrapped around the chilled open neck, slowly taking the sweet buzz-causing liquid into her body.
“So.” He took a seat on the white gazebo bench and rubbed his hands casually across his upper thighs. “How have you been holding up?”
“Oh.” She leaned up against the side of the gazebo, and stared off into the long backyard. “It’s been hard. They say it gets easier with time.” She smiled sadly and shifted her gaze to the ground, “I’ve never had a loss like this before, though. We were sisters, in every sense of the word.”
There was a brief silence.
Mark leisurely scanned her from head to toe. His initial pleasure in her physical appearance was being added upon and expanded at an exponential rate. He liked her demeanor, the way she moved, her aura, her confidence; yet she had a slight shyness at the same time. Though dressed in modern day fashion, she still exuded old-time allure. To him, it made her extremely likable and attractive. The fact that she was a knock-out surely didn’t hurt.
Bijou caught his stare and grinned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You two definitely favored. I was not surprised she was your sister.” He stretched his left leg out further as he kept his eye on her. Bijou turned away and looked back at him, a smile on her face.
“Yeah, we were told that quite often.”
“Do you have any other sisters? Or brothers?” He looked down then back up at her as he shuffled his feet. “I’m sorry if I’m asking too many questions.”
“No.” She waved at him and shook her head. “It’s fine. It was just she and I. I feel…guilty though.”
“Why is that?”
Bijou sighed. “Grief and guilt seem to go hand in hand right about now.”
“They often do. Why do you feel guilty?”
“Because once again, we were arguing before she died. That morning before she went into work, I…” She looked at him, her forehead winkled and lips drawn downward. “Why am I telling you this? I don’t even know you.”
“Maybe, because you think I might be easy to talk to and you want to get it off your chest.” He offered with a smile as he leaned back, placing his arms in back of his head.
Bijou lifted her chin and seemed to be examining him. She took another sip from the cool bottle and walked towards him until she was sitting right beside him. Mark watched her cross her long legs and play with the strap of her sandal.
“We were arguing about Mama.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “It was so stupid, over whose turn it was to take her to the grocery store, of all things.” She placed the wine cooler bottle down by her feet. “Then Rhine went into work and…that damn storm came and knocked the power out, rattled the building to shambles. That happened all the time, but…this time, the building was shaking so badly it just fell apart.” Bijou quickly rubbed her eye. “And then, before we knew it, I saw it on the news. I was at work on my lunch break…and I found out from some stranger, some newscaster on the damn news saying that people had died in the school where my sister taught her third grade class.
When I saw it…Mark, I knew she was one of them.”
Mark reached over and rubbed her arm. The light caress of his fingertips traced her brown flesh, providing complete comfort and empathy. “I’m sorry, Bijou, really, I am.” He looked at her, his lips slightly parted. “Things like this can really put things in perspective. Funny though, I bet she isn’t thinking about that argument.” He gently turned her chin towards him as he looked deeply into her eyes. “I bet she is just glad she had a sister like you – and that none of that, the silly stuff you feel guilty about, means much at all now.”
Bijou smiled and nodded. “I hope so, really I do.” She cleared her throat. “I’m not a religious person. I’m not even sure there is a God, quite frankly. But after she died, I was hopin’ that there was, so I could get a message to her, to tell her that I miss her and I’m just sorry about anything I ever did to hurt her.”
Mark gently rubbed her back. “It’s OK.”
“Thanks for listening. I hope…I hope she really did hear me. What I’d do for just one more hour with her, just one more…”
They sat in silence for several minutes. Bijou looked up at Mark and met his gaze as the moonlight and violet dragonfly bulbs illuminated her face just so.
“So, what’s your story?” she asked as she leaned back onto the bench, comfortably placing her head next to his shoulder.
Mark looked down at her, smelling her perfume now that she was only inches away.
