Aye, I am a Fairy

by Dani Haviland

  And now that JB had the map, he had the letters, and Niner had the old broad, they were sure to find out where the treasure was hidden.

  **33 Leah’s Shower

  August 8, 2013, 11:15 AM

  “I don’t care if it is the middle of the day,” Leah said aloud, as if trying to convince herself. “A cool shower taken when the sun’s still shining never hurt anyone, and it’s fat-free and environmentally friendly. Well, at least it is when you live in a town with a capable water treatment plant, adequate rainfall, and plenty of reservoirs.”

  She wasn’t in the desert anymore, where she had always felt guilty about taking long showers. “Yeah, guilty and poor,” she grumbled. She started the shower and remembered how her Dad had almost hit the roof the first time the water bill hit $200.

  “What the hell is this?” he bellowed. “I’m going to call the City right now and have them read that meter again.”

  She had heard his side of the conversation, but it didn’t really mean anything to her until later. His emotions were high—that part she recalled. He was generally a very mellow person, but when he felt that he had been wronged, watch out!

  “No, I don’t have a pool or a lawn, and the garden is dormant now. You’d better get someone out here right away. If you read the meter correctly like you claim, then I’ll bet there’s a leak in the water main or hose or whatever it is that goes up to the house. Okay, water line, whatever. Just get someone out here right away. I’m not going to pay for what I didn’t use.”

  Well, the utility man came to the house and checked the meter on site. No, they hadn’t estimated this residence in months. He checked the integrity of the line to the house with some sort of metal detector apparatus, and that came up negative too; no breaks or leaks. It was at that very moment—the two men figuratively scratching their heads, trying to solve the dilemma—when she came outside with the towel wrapped around her head, fresh out of the shower. She walked nonchalantly up to the mailbox, retrieved a bundle of letters and the latest issue of her favorite fashion magazine, waved to the two slack-jawed men, and went back inside the house.

  “How old is she?” asked the meter man.

  Dad gritted his teeth and said, “Fifteen,” huffed in disgust, then apologized to the man.

  “Yeah, mine’s sixteen now, and male. If she’s anything like he is, you’d better put a timer on her or start making her pay the bills herself. I doubt that it’ll get any better unless you find some way to curtail it, I mean her.”

  She remembered how excited she was when Dad told her that he was increasing her allowance from $20 a week to $200 a month. She gave him a big hug, did a little ‘money dance,’ then stopped when she saw his face. “Okay, what’s the catch?” she asked, realizing that if it sounded too good to be true, then it probably was.

  “You have to pay the water bill. Anything left after that is yours. I’ll go ahead and pay this month’s bill—it was $200—but you’d better time your showers if you don’t want to start owing me your allowances for the next six months.”

  Leah stuck her hand behind the shower curtain to test the water. It was just right. If she had a thermometer, it would probably read two degrees cooler than body temperature. If she got it too warm, it was uncomfortable, and if it was too cool, her body would overcompensate and her core temperature would rise in self-protection. Yes, tepid was just right.

  The guilt-free, unrestricted stream of water running down her warm, sweaty body—overheated from the late morning run—felt extra sweet. She leaned into the high-pressure water stream and felt its coolness penetrate her thick hair. She ran her fingers through her silky, saturated tresses, indulging her tactile senses, then stepped out of the flow and poured the entire bottle of motel-provided shampoo-conditioner blend onto the top of her head, working the pearly matrix into thick suds from her scalp to the ends. Her whole body tingled at the sensual richness of the foamy bubble cascade as it slipped down her wet curves. Back under the shower nozzle, the water pushed the lather off her head. The mass slid down between her breasts, forming a little eddy at her bellybutton, then flowed over and around her belly mound to the juncture of her thighs. She crouched forward just a bit and spread her legs to let the sudsy water wash away the muskiness of her period. She snorted. Mom had told her the best part about being pregnant was not having a monthly—that and not having to worry about getting pregnant! Well, pregnancy would come later—she hoped. First, she had to get exposed!

  Leah turned around and rinsed the rest of the shampoo out of her hair. As the water raced down her back, she bent forward and presented her backside to the main force of the water spray. She spread her legs further until the rapid river of water raced down her butt crack forward to tickle her pleasure spot. She gasped at the intensity, and recalled the first time she had experienced the quick elation of gentle water pressure down there. She grinned; no stinky fingers this way. She bent over further still, accelerating the rate of water flow with her splayed position, her head on the opposite wall for stability. She crossed her arms and gently fondled her water-slickened nipples, circling each one, gently working up to mild tugging and twisting. She wasn’t completely ambidextrous, but was able to excite both sides at the same time.

  Now it was time for dessert: the mental image. She could almost feel James’s soft hair beneath her hands as he suckled her, his tongue working the rosy brown erectile tissue in his mouth. She gasped at the reality of her shower fantasy. Phew! It probably wasn’t as good as the real thing, but it was what she had, and the sensation it produced was real enough.

  She stood up straight and turned the water temperature down just a tad to recover. He couldn’t be gay, he just couldn’t be. He was such a good kisser! Well, maybe men kissed each other, but that wasn’t the only thing. There was something else… Oh, to hell with it. She could stand two in a row. If he got back before she was done with her second dessert, he’d just have to wait for her to be finished with the bathroom.

  Leah enhanced her memory of leaning up against him as she removed the shirt. He had only put it on because he wanted to belong to her, and it wasn’t just for the journey back in time. Mmm. She recalled how firm and muscular his arms were, his skin soft with the downy covering of fine hair. She touched herself again and visualized his body next to hers. She had taken her time in removing his shirt on purpose, so she could memorize the nuances of his muscle groups, the exact firmness of his biceps, the sharpness of his elbow, his musky aroma. And it wasn’t sweat that she had smelled; it was male readiness musk.

  Her eyes popped open as concrete certainty landed in front of her like a hundred ton boulder—immovable and hard to miss. He had been in such an all-fired-up hurry to strip off his shirt, to don mine as a cotton polyester claim that he belonged to me. I can’t image Billy doing that… Well, yes, I can, but he’d have the look of a court jester in his eyes, waiting for me to laugh. James wasn’t waiting for appreciation or applause, though; he had the look of lust. No, more than just the look. I could feel it when I leaned into him to take off his shirt. He was firm and wanted me!

  She rubbed herself faster now, more vigorously, getting closer to a second orgasm with the thought that he was truly a gentleman, her gentleman. He had not taken advantage of her sleeping next to him, had let her touch and tease him without returning the pawing. And that ‘one on the books’ kiss. It was fantastic! He wanted her, had agreed to marry and take care of her, but it was because of how he really felt about her, and not from guilt or obligation to be her escort back in time to visit her mother. He had money and a title, but she was who, and what, he wanted.

  And she wanted him, too.

  She spurted with the image of consummating their wedding night, the night he would admit his sexuality. She sighed deeply as she relaxed into her joy and the tub, the cool water raining down on her head, dribbling past her closed eyes. Yes, I’m certain he’s straight, but I won’t let him know I’m onto his secret yet; at least until my period’s over. Hmm, countd
own number two—only three more days...

  Knock, knock, knock. Leah was brought out of her afterglow by the rapid, insistent knocking on the door. Shoot! She had the key and James was locked out. "Coming," she hollered loudly. "I've already come," she sang softly, “Twice.” She wrapped one towel around her head and grabbed another one to hold in front of her. She'd treat him to a butt shot, at least.

  She opened the door with a sly grin, nothing but the barely decent hand towel in front of her. "Come on in," she trilled when she saw James’s shocked face. She turned around, flashed her bare fanny at him, and bounced back into the bathroom.

  "Um…um…" James mumbled, shocked and stunned, unable to compose a coherent sentence. "Crap." He stared at the bathroom door. She was standing on the other side, just inches away—naked and apparently frisky. He slowly started banging his head on the door's molding. "Why? Or why now?" he groaned.

  He took a deep breath to compose himself, then called through the door. "Leah, we have a problem. Could you throw on something quick? We have to go to the hospital."

  "What?" she screeched, and poked her head out the door. She couldn't believe what she’d heard, but just the tone of his voice was enough to tell her that there was an emergency.

  "I said we have to go to the hospital. The ambulance just took Clark to the emergency room. I found him on the floor when I went to pay the rent. I…I…I think he was drugged."

  Leah popped out of the bathroom, her hair a tangle worthy of Medusa, clad only in her sports bra and white cotton panties. James turned his head back to the wooden doorframe and continued his head banging, ultimately rolling his forehead side to side in disbelief and frustration. He couldn't even appreciate her near-nude appearance!

  Leah had thrown on a dress and was calling him, probably for the second time since her voice was loud and adamant. "Come on! I've got all the keys. Tell me what happened on the way. They're taking him to my hospital, aren't they?"

  James nodded as he held open the room door for her, remembering at the last moment to grab a couple of water bottles and his bag. Poor Clark. First Leah, then him. Why all these attacks? Modern day chemicals, pfft! I wonder if they had poisonings back in the old days. Of course, dummy—remember Socrates and hemlock? It's just that back then they didn't have 911, ambulances, and stomach pumps.

  Leah quickly opened the car door for herself rather than wait for his gentlemanly deed. He saw that she had, nodded that he understood, and walked around just in time to catch the passenger door as she pushed it open from the inside, sparing his fingers the solar-heated door handle.

  She sped out of the parking lot, got onto the highway, then turned to him and gave him the ‘look’ to start the story now.

  He began without preamble. "I walked in to pay Clark, but he—nobody—was around. I called out and heard a moan. Clark was on the floor, covered with toilet paper and tissues." Leah frowned in disbelief. He clarified his statement, "I mean, rolls of toilet paper and boxes of tissues—the supply shelf had collapsed on top of him. He was disoriented, but let me help him up and guide him to the front counter. I noticed his eyes were dilated and well…just not right. I don't think he does drugs; at least not while working. He looked sick, collapsed again to the floor, and started puking. I turned him on his side so he didn't choke on his own vomit. That's when it hit me: the smell. It was the same as when you and I first met at the airport. But why him?"

  "Yeah, and why me?" Leah echoed his unspoken question. "I think there was more to that bartender wanting me than just for a good time. Hey," she popped up like a sharp spring in her seat cushion had just poked her. "Your bag—is everything in it? Do you think someone could be after the letters? I mean, they were nearby in both instances."

  "And so were you. I don't think I want to leave you alone again, ever, even for a quick shower. I can live without the letters, but I couldn't live without you. Oh, that sounded sappy, but damn it, I don't need the letters. Hell, they survived for 230 years without me, but what I'm trying to say is now that you're here with me, well, you're flesh and blood, and joy and hope, and sass..."

  "And ass," Leah finished. "Thank you…really, thanks. I think I get the picture, because I feel the same way about you. Although, I haven't seen your ass..."

  "Well, you've seen my... Hey, we're here," he said, glad for the opportunity to change the subject about her seeing his boxer short’s ‘pop out' the first day they had shared the motel room.

  "Saved by the emergency room sign," Leah crowed. She knew what he meant, though, and that was enough.

  **34 After 911

  "We're here for Clark MacLeod," James told the woman at the admissions window. "No, I'm not next of kin, but I am the one who found him and maybe saved his life." Since he didn’t get even a blink of acknowledgment, he asked, "Doesn't that count?" not really expecting an answer. He looked up and saw that Leah was attempting an end run, standing by the big potted plant beside the security door, waiting to sneak in with the next person with this week’s access code.

  "I'm sorry, sir. You'll have to wait out here until they call you. Please have a seat."

  But James stood resolute, his feet planted like a Doberman pinscher protecting his home. He had grown fond of the mop-headed kid, and if it was him all alone in an emergency room, he'd want someone, anyone, to come check on him.

  A doctor—or intern or whoever—in green scrubs approached the door and punched in his pass code. Leah smiled familiarly and followed in behind him like she belonged. James saw that his family proxy had been admitted, so backed off in his stare-down with the receptionist, retreating to a front row seat in the waiting room. She smirked at him; she had won the confrontation. Although she was sporting the victor's grin, he had his person in behind the lines, checking on their friend. He may have lost the eye to eye contest, but had won the territorial battle. The bossy administrator just didn't know it yet.

  While he was waiting for Leah's report on Clark, James decided to check out her theory about his bag and the letters it contained being the ultimate target of the attacks. He opened up the leather satchel and looked for them.

  All of the letters were missing!

  Stop stressing, Melbourne, breathe. They have to be in here somewhere. You must have moved them from the side pocket to another section.

  He pressed on the innocuous black thumbprint-lock button and the bag 'click-clicked.’ The steel bar that secured the rods released, and the center section opened up. He pawed through the limited contents. The divorce papers, his little motel stationery notebook, passport, and the cigarette pack of jewels were still in there, but not the blue ribbon-tied bundle of letters.

  He clutched the bag to his chest and sank back into the padded waiting room chair. His heart dropped to his stomach, and his stomach rose to his throat. Now he felt like he was going to puke. “How and where?” he asked aloud softly, as if some ethereal being was going to answer his question.

  He was sure the letters had been there this morning. He closed his eyes and went back over when he had last seen them. No, he didn’t remember locking them away. They were going to read them this afternoon. They weren't even hidden, just shoved into the side pocket. Someone knew what he was looking for.

  "Yeah, or they fell out onto the floor, Mr. Paranoia," James mumbled. He pulled back from the situation emotionally to assess it like Billy would. Okay, letters verified in bag before breakfast. The bag was in my possession the entire meal and at the shopping trip to the fabric store and at the library. Check. It was locked in the car when we went on our spontaneous late morning run at the park. Check. Bag was in Leah's hand when she went into our room by herself. Yes, but… Hmm, she was in the shower while I was tending to Clark in the lobby. Hmm, hmm. Clark couldn't be the culprit, but could he have faked an incident and had an accomplice sneak into the room and grab the letters while Leah was in the shower? Well, yes, but most likely, no. Clark wouldn’t poison or drug himself in order to…well, in order to do anything. And he definitely
wasn't faking the dilated eyes, puking, and passed out position under the supply shelf. The motel was pretty much empty. Someone would need either our key or a pass key to get into the room.

  No, the motel wasn’t empty he recalled with a flash. He had seen, or thought that he had seen, someone in the room next to theirs just before he went to pay the bill. It was possible, probable, that the mystery person did something—gave Clark a spiked drink, perhaps—then took his pass key. That person could have sneaked into their room while he was tending to the fallen clerk and calling 911. And if the culprit had been hiding out next door, he would have seen him leave, heard the water running, and known that Leah was occupied and therefore out of the picture. He then could have let himself in, grabbed the letters, and sneaked back out while she was still in the shower.

  He sighed heavily with gratitude. The letters were gone—who cared, not him—not really. But the thief had been decent enough—no, wrong word; smart enough—to listen for the shower, so he wasn't caught in the act. He paled at the thought. Leah catching a thief in her all-together or dressed as she was when he came into the room to get her: nothing but a bath towel on her head and a hand towel over her breasts and…oh, crap!

  James raced to the water fountain, closed his eyes, held his breath, and put his face in the stream of chilled water. Hopefully, the cold face wash would keep his fear-fueled bile from coming up. He brought up his head and swiped his forearm across his face, squeegee-ing the excess droplets with the back of his forearm. Terror induced regurgitation averted. Now what?

  He had to call Billy was what. This was his specialty. But what could he tell him had been stolen? The truth: old, priceless, antique family heirlooms, historical documents maybe? But he knew it wouldn't matter to Billy what was stolen. What would matter to him too, he realized, was that Leah had been in the bathroom, one unlocked door away, naked and vulnerable, when the unforced break-in occurred. They were no longer safe where they were.