by Edward Lee
“What difference does it make!” Cristina almost yelled.
Paul put his arm around her. “Calm down, honey. Britt’s right. There’s a logical explanation. Do you really believe you’re psychic? That’s the only other explanation.”
Cristina sighed, sitting back. “I don’t know. I just can’t believe I’m the only one who thinks this is really nutty.”
Paul spoke softly. “Honey, didn’t you say that you’ve talked to the priest several times, the guy from across the street?”
Cristina looked oddly at him. “Yes. Twice. Yesterday I invited him in for coffee. What’s that got to do with it?”
Paul swept a quick glance to the others. “He used to look after this house; the church has owned it for decades.”
“What are you getting at?”
Britt stepped closer. “Isn’t it possible that the priest told you that thing was buried in the basement? And maybe even described the color of the stones set in it?”
Cristina tensed again. “No, it’s not possible, Britt, and you know that. I’ve been dreaming about that bowl for a long time, and I didn’t meet the priest till several days ago.”
“Sure, honey,” Paul kept on, “but maybe you met him that first day I brought you by the house right after I bought it. Maybe you met him back then…and maybe he told you about that bowl. Back then.”
Now Cristina looked infuriated. “What? So I’m lying? I’m making it up to be dramatic?”
Paul hugged her and chuckled. “No, no, that’s not what I’m saying at all. But, look, your memory’s not exactly the greatest—”
“And you are a little absentminded at times,” Britt added.
“—and you have had a blackout, right?”
Paul continued, “So I’m just suggesting that maybe it was something like that. The priest told you about the bowl and you simply don’t remember. I forget stuff all the time, we all do.”
“Yeah,” Jess piped in, “like last month when I worked my ass off on the titles for the Manera deal and you forgot to overnight them.”
“And Jess forgets to put the toilet seat down every damn day,” Britt said.
Paul nodded through a smile. “We all forget stuff, honey, and I’m sure that’s what happened here. You’re getting way, way too worked up over this.”
Cristina slouched against him. “I guess you’re right.”
“Objectively speaking, what happened? We found this funky thing in the basement and it happens to look a little bit like the bowl your nun doll is holding. Big deal.”
Now it was Jess’s turn to add some levity. “And, Cristina? If you really are psychic…the lotto’s up to twenty-two million, so if there are any numbers floating around your head, how about laying them on us?”
Even Cristina smiled, now that the incident had softened. “All right, so I’m a nut job.” She rose from the couch. “Let me heat up the Chinese food.”
“I’m dying for some of the Hunan-style ostrich steak.” Britt went to the kitchen with her. “Let’s get this party started.” Paul and Jess followed them, to get more beers.
“But what do you think that thing really is?” Britt posed.
“Like you said, probably just some old church relic, a centerpiece of some kind, and the dog skull? Probably some bishop’s pet from a hundred years ago,” Paul answered.
Cristina withdrew some plates from the cupboard. “What ever it is, I guess it’s not really even ours. We should give it back to the priest.”
Paul and Jess looked at each other, brows raised.
“There they go doing their lawyer look again.” Britt asked, “It must still belong to the church, right?”
“Not in this state,” Jess said. “It’s considered abandoned property.”
“Anything the church left in the house,” Paul added, “whether by accident or intentionally, becomes the property of the buyer after thirty days.”
Jess swigged his beer. “And I’m sure we’re all wondering…what are those stones? Could be a black diamond, an emerald, and a ruby.”
“Can’t hurt to get it appraised,” Britt said.
“Ann, our secretary, sometimes dates a woman who’s a jewelry importer,” Jess said. “I have to go into the office for a few hours in the morning, and Ann’ll be there. I’ll show it to her.”
“She dates a woman?” Britt asked.
“Women,” Paul corrected, “and, yeah, I do remember her saying that. Maybe she can get it appraised for us. Wouldn’t it be funny if those stones turned out to be worth a lot of money?”
“It wouldn’t be funny to the monsignor!” Jess railed. “Ouch! Ripped off again!”
He and Paul laughed hard.
The previous mishap forgotten now, the four of them resumed their get-together, though none of them were aware that the basement door stood ajar, and if any of them had looked at that precise moment, they would’ve seen an ear in the gap…
All but Cristina had imbibed enough to get tipsy, and the Chinese food, even reheated via microwave, had been delicious. When they all turned in at about one a. m., the entire situation made Cristina think of her college dorm days—or nights, actually—when the muffled sounds of sexual frolic could be heard through the walls. She and Paul got started even before the bedroom door could be closed, though it was more Cristina’s initiation than his. Her spontaneous urges overwhelmed her, as it had been so much of late. I just can’t help it, she thought, kissing him and feeling his body through his clothes at the same time. Paul was hard in his pants at once, which delighted her; even half-drunk, it seemed, she could always rouse him. Still fully clothed, she sat him down in the chair and whispered, “That’s right, I promised you a lap dance.” And that’s what she presumed to do even though she wasn’t really sure what that was. First she straddled him, and didn’t even remove her blouse when she braced his face in her cleavage, all the while her jeaned hips squirming over his. She could feel him through the denim, his flesh beating. He kept trying to open her blouse, disrobe himself and her, but she wouldn’t let him yet. She wanted him titillated first. She held his head and urged him to suck her unbra’d nipples through her blouse, a notion that seemed kinky in some way, a forced restraint that would only make him crave her body more. “Like that, like that,” she breathed as he sucked wet circles into her blouse. Her fingers fiddled up his crotch but only in snatches. The teasing made him hold her tighter, suck her nipples harder as she let herself, too, be titillated but not relieved.
“Baby, I can’t stand it anymore,” he panted, covered in sweat. He suddenly tore her blouse open and began to crudely lick the orbs of her breasts. “You’re teasing the hell out of me to night.”
She let but one finger dawdle at his groin. “If you want me…you have to take me.” And with that he rose, hoisted her over his shoulder, and turned to the luxuriant black-sheeted bed. She squealed like a child on a carnival ride when he flung her on the mattress.
She didn’t help him; she simply lay there with the catlike grin. Evidently, Britt and Jess were in their own throes of plea sure, for Cristina could easily hear them through the walls, and for some reason that only stoked her desires further. Paul roughly rolled her jeans off her legs, then one fist yanked off her pan ties to leave them dangling off a foot. The other foot teased his crotch to deliberately interfere with his hasty effort to unbuckle his belt but when his pants were finally down, he shoved her knees to her shoulders and lay right into her.
Cristina had asked to be taken, and that’s what she next received, waves of plea sure spiraling upward with each primitive thrust. The bedposts knocked against the high-priced wallpaper, but she didn’t care. All Cristina cared about was that he lasted long enough to satisfy her own lust.
He throttled her more, as Cristina’s pants turned to something close to shrieks, and she let every lewd image spill into her head. Both were racked by climaxes nearly at the same time, and then he collapsed on her as the wet heat he’d put inside her began to trickle. It just keeps gettin
g better, she thought. Her fingers toyed in his hair. Soon he fell asleep, so she slipped out from under him and turned off the light.
She snuck out of the room to the dark kitchen, wearing nothing more than the ripped blouse, and then opened the fridge.
“Raiding the leftovers, huh?” Britt surprised her from behind. She came through the darkened kitchen in just bra and pan ties. “You read my mind. Any of the ostrich left?”
“I think so.” Cristina found the proper white carryout box and passed it to her.
Britt sniffed the aromas from the box. “Just the way this stuff smells drives me nuts. I love classy Asian cuisine.”
“Me, too. This is just what I need after…”
Britt grinned in the white refrigerator light. “After mongo sex? Oh, we heard you in there.”
Cristina blushed. “Yeah, well you and Jess weren’t exactly low-key either.”
“It was great,” she said with a mouthful of ostrich. “He definitely got the job done.”
Cristina’s eyes drifted to Britt’s bare stomach and legs but she dragged them off after a moment. Britt obviously noticed but didn’t say anything. Suddenly Cristina broke away and loped for the living room. “I want to look at it again…”
“Look at what?” Britt came after here.
“You know. The thing. The bowl.”
“Centerpiece,” Britt said. “Bowls aren’t lopsided, little sister, but—”
At once Cristina was frantic. The coffee table was empty save for several beer bottles. “Britt! It’s gone! I know I left it here!”
“Calm down, you nut!” Britt almost raised her voice. “Jesus, you’re always such a live wire!”
“It’s gone!”
Britt sighed. “Jess put it in the trunk so he doesn’t forget it tomorrow. You heard him, he has to go to the office for a little while.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Cristina slumped. Overreacting again. “So the secretary can show it to her jeweler friend.”
“You’re always on pins and needles, Cristina.” She padded back to the kitchen for more tidbits. “You’d think that after getting laid, you’d have simmered down.”
She’s right…as always. Again she caught her gaze lingering over Britt’s well-toned body. “But it is weird, isn’t it? Sure, maybe I did meet the priest briefly months ago, but why would I dream about that bowl to the extent that I’d incorporate it into my next figurine?”
“Because it’s all subconscious imagery,” Britt nearly snapped. She was obviously getting tired of her foster sister’s obsessions. “Everybody has fucked-up dreams.”
“And the dog skull? Come on. Lately there’s been a dog in the nightmare.”
“So what! Stop with all this! You’re going to drive everybody nuts. A fucking animal skull in a hole in the ground. Who knows why it’s there and who cares?” Britt looked at Cristina with some scrutiny. “You know, a little Prozac would do you a world of good. Stop obsessing.”
Cristina gave a sheepish nod. “And what was the design? On the cement patch? What do you think that is?”
“How the fuck do I know?” Britt flared.
“Maybe I should ask the priest.”
“Well then do that. Nobody gives a shit, Cristina. It’s just some stamp in the cement with some Latin on it. It’s some church seal.”
“Well…” Cristina fidgeted. Why can’t I let it go? “Isn’t there something that neither of us told Paul and Jess?”
Britt’s eyes narrowed as she tried to rein her anger. She whispered, “What, that we both got a wild hair last night and made out? We can never tell them that. Are you crazy?”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant last night. It was you and I who broke that cement up, and we didn’t even remember it. I’m not the only one who had a blackout. You did, too. Last night.”
Britt grabbed her shoulder and shot a fierce whisper in her ear. “I know that, Cristina. And it probably is some flashback shit from the Goldfarb days, but we agreed to ignore that. If we don’t, it’ll screw both of us up in the head. The past is past. It doesn’t matter! After what we went through, we can’t let it matter, otherwise we’ll never have our own lives. We’ve been through this and through this. So just stop!”
“I’m sorry,” Cristina offered, a tear in her eye now. “It just…bothers me.”
“Don’t let it. And we can never tell the guys about last night. It’s none of their business anyway.”
Cristina fidgeted some more. “Let’s go down in the basement, just to look around. Maybe there’s more stuff in that hole.”
Britt glared. “Cristina, if you go back in that fucking basement, I’ll kick your butt. I’m not kidding. I don’t care if Davy Jones’s Locker is in that hole. We’re not going down there. The place is bad luck.” She squeezed Cristina’s shoulder. Hard. “You hear me?”
Cristina nodded.
“Good. We’re going to have fun this weekend. No more of this bullshit. And don’t be talking to that priest, whoever the hell he is. With all the shit you read about priests these days, who knows what kind of weirdo he might be. Let’s go back to bed now.”
Cristina knew it was the best idea but, still, she hesitated.
“Look, Jess is going to the office tomorrow.” Britt put the leftovers away. “What’s Paul doing?”
“I think he’s playing golf.”
“Good. Tomorrow, let’s you and I get dressed up and go to lunch at the Four Seasons, or maybe D’Amato’s, okay?”
“I’d like that.”
“I brought some killer dresses with me, and you can wear that red dress I gave you last Christmas. We’ll turn some heads, girl!”
Cristina smiled, knowing that Britt had probably only suggested it to get her mind off these other things. Britt’s arm slipped around Cristina’s back; she urged her toward her and Paul’s bedroom.
“Sorry I’m such a pain in the ass,” Cristina peeped.
“Forget it. Now go to bed.”
In the dark, then, they joined in a “sisterly” peck on the cheek but after a moment…
Was it Cristina who refused to let go?
Cristina’s mouth drew to Britt’s, and she pressed her breasts forward. She had no awareness of her intent yet she found herself doing it anyway. Their tongue tips touched; Britt paused breathless, but when Cristina sought to kiss her more deeply, it was Britt who nudged away.
“We can’t. It’s not right.”
Cristina kept her hands on Britt’s hips.
“What happened last night was just a fun accident,” Britt whispered almost inaudibly. “But I love you. You know that, right?”
Cristina nodded in the dark.
“Go to bed.” Britt smiled, let her fingers trail down Cristina’s arm. “See you in the morning.” Then she returned to the guest room where Jess could be heard snoring.
Cristina remained in the dark hall a moment. Did she shiver? She thought of the basement again, but cringed. I have to try to be better. She went back to bed and fell into what would be a very welcome dreamless sleep, and she was happy by her final resolve. She had never burdened Britt with her final worry: that maybe the house was haunted.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
(I)
Mark Funari was the security account and personnel manager, a bristly man with dull dark eyes and steel-wool hair, short in height and temper. He didn’t like site calls unless it was an emergency. But this?
Laura Eastman stood sleek at the front glass doors, tapping her foot. “Finally,” she said when Funari debarked from his company car.
“Did you knock?”
Lines creased Laura’s pretty face when she frowned. “No, I yodeled. Of course I knocked. I’ve been knocking for a half hour.” She pointed through the glass to the security desk. “His stuff’s not on the desk, and neither is the Detex clock.”
“He probably fell asleep!” Funari barked, grimacing at the desk. “Did you call his—”
“Cell phone? Of course,” she sputtered. “Just voice
mail. I think he split.”
“Split as in quit, you mean.” Funari had never liked her; she was too snooty like so many women with the right looks. He liked her even less after she’d twice had sex with him in return for a buck-an-hour raise. They’re all whores, all of them. “What about his car, brainchild? Is his car here?”
She shot him a look that could kill. “Mark, Gemser doesn’t have a car, for the same reason I don’t and damn near everyone else who works for you. You don’t pay enough.”
“Watch that.”
“Anyway, I knocked for a half hour; then I called you,” she said, and the way she stood, at a slight angle, allowed the nipple of one perfect breast to be half-seen in the loop between two buttons of her security shirt.
Bitch is doing it on purpose. Funari was so mad he could barely get the keys in the door, but eventually they opened and after a quick search of all the desk drawers, he realized that Gemser probably did quit without telling anyone. His knapsack was gone, along with his bag lunch and thermos. The site keys were gone as well but at least Funari had duplicates.
“Gemser’s got his shit together too much to quit,” Funari asserted. “He’s worked for me ten years.”
“And… how many raises?” Laura made the snide remark.
Funari leveled his gaze. “You better watch it, sweetheart. Your company record ain’t exactly setting the world on fire. You need this job.”
Laura laughed and sat down sloppily behind the desk. She put her feet up. “You’re gonna fire me for making honest comments? Go ahead. I’d sue you for sexual harassment, and you know I’d win. I’m a minority, a downtrodden woman in a man’s world, forced to subject myself to sexual debasement to keep from starving.”
Funari felt like he was broiling.
Laura grinned. “And if you want another go, for another dollar an hour…” She parted her legs on the desk and winked.
