Rapture's Rendezvous

by Cassie Edwards

  “What.. . ?” he gasped, moving quickly away from her, realizing that she had seen the bulge fattening beneath the buttons of his breeches.

  “Something . . . or . . . someone got you aroused,” she accused, stomping to stand beside him. “God. I can't do it, but thinking about someone else can?”

  She stormed from the room, leaving Michael to stare after her. He kneaded his brow, not realizing what was happening inside himself. First he felt impotent, then the next thing he knew, he was as horny as hell. “Damn. Damn,” he said, hitting the palm of his hand with a fist.

  He tried to refocus his thoughts back on the struggles of the coal miners. He had only succeeded in speaking with a few to explain that the union made coal mining safer and more secure economically. But they had frozen up the last couple of times he had traveled to Hawkinsville.

  Fear had them wrapped in its grasp. He needed an ally. A man who was a miner . .. one who could move among the others … to spread the truth. Michael had to find an ally . . . and . . . soon. It had become dangerous lately. He had feared that someone might even recognize him from the ship and tell Nathan Hawkins, in hopes of getting a reward.

  But Michael had known all along that this was a dangerous game that he had chosen to play. And continue to play it he would! He wasn't going to be like most of the coal miners … docile … afraid. He would get that Nathan Hawkins to treat these people decently. Damn it’ He had traveled clear to Italy in search of the truth. And now that he had it, he had to make things right. If not for the growth of the union . . . then for those beautiful, innocent people.

  The town of Hawkinsville had become a prison. He knew that death threats hung over the ones who talked of leaving. Well, he would eventually see to it that even that changed.

  He swallowed another gulp of whiskey and set his jaw firmly. He knew that he had himself to think of also. He had, this moment, to quiet the urges building up inside himself. He rushed to the door and moved quickly down the steepness of the steps until he reached the walk outside the building. The clanging of the Broadway Cable Car approaching made him step out onto the cobblestone of the street, waiting, feeling the brisk winds of March whip around him. Spring. A time for love. … He almost choked on those thoughts. Spring without Maria? Could he truly bear it? His eyes showed a quiet despair, knowing that he had no choice but to do so.

  When he boarded the cable car, he took a seat with all the other dark-clothed, well-dressed men. Most sported hats and mustaches. But Michael still preferred a clean-shaven face, and he had utter contempt for hats.

  He watched the city move on past him, seeing that this cable car was approaching the arch of gas lamps that gave the street he was now traveling on its nighttime glamour. Portraits of all the presidents from Washington to Cleveland had been attached between the gas lamps and looked down on the noontime rush hour. Michael was proud of this added attraction to the city. He alone had suggested it. He had received nothing but favorable comments about this tourist attraction.

  He settled down into the seat, crossing his arms, watching. Businessmen on their way to their private clubs scurried along the walks, and some women attired in their business costumes of black and white mingled with women attired in their fancy hats and long, flowing dresses of silks and satins.

  Michael usually went to the Liederkranz for his noontime pleasures of sharing business talk and cigars with other businessmen. But this day, Michael had far more important things on his mind. He knew that in a room at the Planter's House Hotel there waited a woman who was paid top dollar by the classiest gents of the city. Maybe she would make him forget. At least for the moment.

  The Broadway Cable Car clattered down the tracks, clanging its bells noisily when horse-drawn carriages got too close to the tracks. A loud whinnying from a horse made Michael glance sideways, tensing when he saw the ugly, almost distorted face of Nathan Hawkins behind the driver of the carriage that was also traveling down this busy thoroughfare.

  “Damn. I can't even put him from my mind for one -minute,” Michael whispered to himself. “Now he's in Saint Louis to stir up trouble.” He turned his eyes quickly away, for fear that Nathan might in the future recognize him as being one of the better-class gents of Saint Louis, not a drunken bum as Michael would continue to profess to being while in Hawkinsville.

  But, Michael had also to remember, so far Nathan Hawkins hadn't made his presence known in the saloons of Hawkinsville. Normally, he would hire someone else to do all his dirty work. In fact, Michael knew that most of the Italian people hadn't ever met him. Only his representatives. No. Nathan Hawkins wouldn't want to dirty his expensive London-bought clothes by entering the town of Hawkinsville … even though it was his own name-given town.

  The cable car drew to a halt, releasing many of its passengers out onto the walks of the city. Michael pushed himself up from the seat and joined the milling crowds along the walkway until he found himself standing in front of the several-storied-high Planter's House Hotel. He hurried inside, seeing all reds around him in the plushness of the carpet beneath his feet and the draperies hanging at the long windows. -

  He moved on past the desk clerk. He didn't have to ask the room number. He knew it by heart. He had heard many men talking of Sabrina. “Sabrina.” What a beautiful name. He hoped she would be just as beautiful.

  He began ascending the wide staircase, taking steps two at a time, and when he reached her door, he hesitated before knocking, fearing that another man might be inside. He hadn't called ahead. His needs had caused him to move in haste.

  After taking a few deep breaths, he knocked, tensing. He smiled awkwardly when the door flew widely aside, revealing a lady of about fifty whose wrinkles had only begun to crease what was once a beautiful face.

  “Yes? What can I do for you?” she asked in a low-pitched drone, leaning out a bit to glance up and down the length of the hallway.

  “Uh … you … are you … Sabrina?” Michael asked, stammering. Was this aging person the woman the men gossiped so freely about? His gaze traveled over her, seeing the heaviness of her breasts and how the nipples thrust hard against the pale green chemise she had wrapped around her body. One look further downward revealed that nothing at all was worn beneath this thin material. It revealed a thickening waist and a blonde patch of pubic hair shaped in a sharp vee, to match the short-cropped blonde hair atop her head.

  Michael stared upward at her hair, not having seen a woman with such a haircut as this. It was cropped short to hang just below her ears, and she had straight bangs hanging low to her eyebrows. Her lips formed into a wide, brightly painted oval as she motioned with her hand for him to enter her room.

  “Sabrina is here to make you forget your troubles,” she said, closing the door behind her. She went to Michael and smoothed her fingers over his brow. “You do have problems, yes? Your brow is much too furrowed for such a handsome man.”

  Michael felt a bit awkward in this lady's presence, having expected her to be much younger. He looked quickly around the room and spied the greatness of the mahogany bedstead covered by the sleek shine of flaming red satin sheets and pillow covers.

  The rest of the room was like most other hotel rooms, with a wardrobe that sported a pier glass mirror set into its door, two upholstered chairs of brown horsehair, and a table beside the bed upon which sat a glass Bordeaux lamp. A china basin sat on a stand on the opposite side of the bed next to a long, narrow window where lacy, sheer curtains hung, pulled closed.

  His gaze met Sabrina's and held, discovering her art of teasing with the pale grays of her eyes and the flickering of her tongue that seemed to be continuously wetting her lips. He reached for her, placing his arms around her waist, jerking her roughly to him. “Yes,” he finally answered. “I am in need of someone to help me forget for the moment.”

  His head bowed, grazing her flesh with his lips, nudging the thin material of her chemise aside with his nose, until her breasts were fully exposed to him. Michael reached upward and
squeezed one breast as his lips devoured the other, drawing a moan of ecstasy from deep within Sabrina.

  “Aw, you are so hungry,” she purred. “Come to my bed. Let me show you Sabrina's ways of making a man lose his senses.”

  Michael followed along beside her, hurriedly slipping his suit jacket off, then his collar, shirt and silk cravat. By the time he reached the bed, he had only his breeches and shoes to remove, but he found that he didn't have to use any more of his own efforts in doing so. The eagerness of Sabrina's fingers was already on him, quickly helping to expose his full nudity to eyes that were completely devouring him.

  “Please lie back on the bed,” she said sternly. “I wish to first wash you with my perfumed oils.”

  Michael's eyes widened. “You what?” he gasped, hesitating.

  “It is my specialty,” she said, removing her chemise, letting it cascade to the floor, to settle around her feet. She urged him downward, pressing her fingers against his chest.

  Michael propped two pillows beneath his head, watching her as she moved toward the basin. When she reached inside and pulled a wet satin cloth from the glistening pool of liquid, his'heart began to pound in anticipation. He could smell the perfumed oils. Was it some sort of aphrodisiac? The moment she placed the cloth against his abdomen and began to move it in slow, easy strokes, he felt a keen sense of sexual desire begin to build inside him. And as she continued to spread the perfumed oils, moving downward, across his thighs and then onto his manhood, he gritted his teeth and stiffened his body.

  “So it does feel good, does it not?” Sabrina purred. She placed the cloth inside the basin, then climbed atop him, positioning herself so that one thrust was all that was required for him to plunge his manhood deeply inside her.

  Sabrina's lips sought out his nipples, sucking, all the while working her breasts over the sleek wetness of his oiled body. He reached down and touched and probed between her thighs with his fingers, then guided himself inside her, knowing that it wouldn't be long before his peak would be reached.

  “You're a skilled whore,” he grunted, moving his hips hurriedly, holding her closer to him, as though she were in a vise. “Worth every damn dollar.”

  “Yes, yes,” he quickly added, thrusting even harder, feeling his heartbeats becoming erratic from the building excitement. “Give it to me, baby,” he groaned. “Show me just how much you are worth.” He heard a low rumble of laughter surface from deep inside her as she reached back and dug her fingernails into his buttocks, making him groan even more loudly as this had seemed to make his completion come in wild, angry spurts inside her.

  His mind left him for those short, pleasurable moments of ecstasy, urging him to whisper, “Maria …”

  His hand reached up around her neck and jerked her lips to his, kissing her fiercely, hungrily. “Maria,” he whispered again. “I love you, Maria. Oh, my God, how I love you….”

  Another low, throaty laugh drew him to his senses. He set Sabrina free, watching her face twist in mockery as she continued to laugh. “You are not as all others I service,” she said, climbing from the bed. “You still speak of another woman when you are with me.”

  Michael tensed. “I… did . . . ?” he whispered, remembering the other times.

  “But I in time will change that,” she purred, pulling her chemise on. She reached inside her wardrobe and pulled a towel from it, then tossed it to Michael. “Yes. In time I will teach you to forget. But for now, wipe the oils from your body and be on your way.”

  She went to the table and slid a drawer open and pulled a cigarette and match from inside it. She lit the cigarette, still watching Michael. “And what did you say your name was, handsome man?” she asked, slouching down into a chair, crossing her legs to swing one outward from her.

  Michael climbed from the bed and began wiping his body with the towel. “I didn't say,” he grumbled, still brooding over the fact that he had once again spoken Maria's name while in the arms of another. . ..

  “You are not going to reveal it to me?”

  Michael eyed her closely, remembering how she had been capable of making him soar to such heights of gratification, even though he had once again been guilty of speaking Maria's name. Maybe this whore could make him soon forget. Then he would be free of all his haunting memories and dreams. “Michael,” he said. “Only Michael.” He hurriedly dressed, then pulled a roll of bills from his inside jacket pocket, handing her two fifties.

  Sabrina went to her wardrobe and reached in, hiding the money. She turned to face him, licking her lips, then said, “And, handsome Michael, I can expect to see you again? Yes?”

  Michael sucked in his abdomen, buttoning his jacket. “Often,” he said, walking toward the door.

  “You had better make a reservation before your next visit,” she said, clinging to the door as he now stood with it open. “Safer that way. I have a good clientele, but yet, some might cause you some trouble if they see you taking up too much of my time.”

  Shadows creased Michael's face, feeling a bit dirty when she talked about so many men always using her body, the same as he had just done. “Yeah. Sure,” he said thickly, then turned and rushed down the hall, stopping to stare down the staircase, checking to see that no one recognizable was in the lobby. He knew that even though he was a man with special needs, he still had to be discreet. His name was becoming more and more influential in Saint Louis. He wanted everyone to continue looking upon him as a citizen one could fully respect and admire.

  “My God,” he muttered beneath his breath when he caught sight of Nathan Hawkins approaching the stairs. No one could mistake that craggy face, with its briar-thicket eyebrows and bushy gray mustache. As Nathan Hawkins stepped onto the bottom step, Michael stood as though frozen, seeing the lights from the ceiling reflecting on this man's bald head. When his narrow, gray eyes shot upward, Michael jumped aside, eyeing the area around him. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found a linen closet door behind him. He would have to hide there. In no way did he want to meet Nathan Hawkins face to face. The time for that was in the future … but only when Michael felt it necessary for the welfare of the union . . . and the coal miners.

  With haste, he stepped inside the linen closet, leaving a crack from which to watch where Hawkins was going. When Nathan Hawkins knocked on Sabrina's door, Michael's face drained of color, thinking of himself having just left Sabrina's room. If he had been slower at getting dressed, he would more than likely have run head on with the bastard.

  Then Michael couldn't help himself. He bent double, muffling a laugh, hardly able to envision the likes of Nathan Hawkins in bed nude with a woman.

  “How could any woman . . .” ?” he said, choking on the words. “Even . . . a . . . whore . . . ?”

  Counting out the last few coins in the palm of her hand, Maria felt a weariness settling around her heart. She knew that Alberto's luck at playing cards hadn't been as good as it had been on the ship. Instead, he had drained the Lazzaro family of the last of their grocery money, meaning that Maria had to find a way to replace the money, or confess this obsession of Alberto's to her Papa.

  “I don't like this responsibility of being in charge of the Lazzaro family's monies,” she sulked, dropping the few coins into a fruit jar, screwing the lid on tightly. “Alberto is better at figures than I. But Papa said it was my duty since I am home all day with nothing besides household chores to do.”

  But she knew that Alberto had taken more charge than she had, taking it upon himself to remove money from the jar whenever he chose to do so, so he could go to Ruby's, which Alberto confessed to frequenting to Maria. “But not for the pleasures of a whore,” he had said. Alberto had explained that there was an upper room at Ruby's house that was used only for gambling. .. that the finest-dressed gents from all over the area made it their habit to visit Ruby's house .. . both for card playing and whoring about.

  Even though Maria had made a brief acquaintance with Ruby and had even decided to like her, the thought o
f Alberto's being a part of Ruby's house had disgusted her. It seemed to her that his personality continued to change. He had become a person with a warped mind. Hadn't she seen the way his eyes raked over her as of late? Hadn't she seen him lurking in the darkness when she made trips to the privy?

  “Alberto, Alberto,” she whispered, rushing to her bedroom. “I don't even know you anymore, Alberto.” She lifted the corner of the mattress of her bed, hiding the jar of coins in the depths of the springs. “If it's not your gambling I'm worried about, it's something else,” she added. “Why can't it be as it was when we were in Italy? Why have you had to change so?”

  The rattling of the paned glass window beside her bed reminded Maria of the type of day it was. She went to the window and stood cross-armed, staring outward into a beautiful windy day of March. It now seemed ages since the frozen water pipes of winter had sent her daily rituals of scrubbing, cleaning, and cooking into a tailspin.

  The community water faucet had only dripped one continuing icicle, growing each day, it seemed, until the icicle had reached the ground and had formed what looked like mounds upon mounds of cut glass sparkling beneath the dull rays of the winter after-noon's sun.

  Many trips with the horse and wagon had been made into the town of Creal Springs by Alberto, to buy small barrels of water, draining even more from the Lazzaro family account. They had used the water sparingly, as though it were an expensive champagne.

  But, finally, the sun had begun to lean its velvet rays of gold closer to the small town of Hawkinsville and the warmer breezes had begun to blow, until the daily trips to the community water faucet had been made possible once again.

  “But, now what shall I do?” Maria fretted aloud. “I have the water I so prayed for, but I do not have the money I need.” She watched the freedom flights of the birds outside her window, envious of them. “I cannot confess to Papa that I haven't enough money to last until his next paycheck. To tell Papa this would be the same as tattling on Alberto,” she whispered, turning to stare at the drabness of the house that continually encroached itself upon her. She hated this house. So far, she hated America. It had handed nothing her way except for the grief of the drudgeries of her everyday existence, and the heartache when she would let her thoughts wander to Michael, who had traveled on away from her to some strange name of a city called Saint Louis.