The Crossover

by E. Clay

  John opened the rear passenger door.

  “Hey, beautiful,” I said to her surprise.

  Monet was tongue-tied but was quick to slide next to me and give me one of her patented kisses.

  John started the engine and drove off.

  By the time we broke our embrace we were cruising on the M25 headed northbound.

  I was so glad to see Monet. I had started counting down the days and it seemed it took forever for this day to come. I hired a chauffeur because I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her for the 90-minute stretch.

  John complimented Monet on her accent and it took a second for her to realize she was a foreigner in England.

  For about twenty minutes Monet admired England’s beautiful countryside. She commented on one of her initial observations.

  “Honey, I heard the black cabbies were striking outside the airport.”

  “Yes, it’s been two weeks now. It’s all over the News,” I replied.

  Monet shook her head in disappointment. She responded, “Baby, as a people we need to get with the program. I was hoping that Blacks in England would have a better disposition.”

  John quietly laughed at Monet’s commentary. I offered some clarification.

  “Sweetheart, that’s the name of the company, Black Cabs. Their drivers are called black cabbies.”

  I knew her experience in England would be enlightening and I looked forward to introducing her to English culture. After living in England for over a decade, I was familiar with English customs and beliefs. However, there was one exception. There is one belief held by many English people that most Americans find disturbing. This trip would be our indoctrination.

  I was proud to have the Bentley pull into my drive. I was in a three-hundred thousand dollar car with a million-dollar girl at my side. A few of my neighbors gave me a friendly nod.

  “Clay, who is that woman?” Monet asked, peering out the passenger window.

  “Oh, that’s Jo. I wonder how she’s doing?”

  Monet was checking Jo out head to toe.

  “Jo should be getting a call real soon,” Monet whispered.

  “From who?” I asked.

  “From 1966, they want their clothes back.”

  “Jo is kinda quirky, but once you get to know her she has a heart of gold. But don’t hold your breath; I don’t think she will come around.”

  “Why not?” Monet asked on our way in.

  “Jo is a little socially challenged. She’s shy. Very shy.”

  As soon as Monet dropped her bags in my hallway she gave me another one of those world famous kisses, the kind you never want to end. In just a few moments I would have her pinned against the wall in a frenzy. Monet unzipped my trousers and I hoisted her skirt above her waist as fast as I could.

  “Clay, I think there is someone at your door.”

  “Damn! I’ll get rid of them. Hold that thought.”

  I zipped up my trousers and Monet adjusted her blouse and skirt.

  “Jo?”

  “Clay, hope I’m not disturbing anything. Am I?”

  Monet approached the door and introduced herself.

  “Hi, Jo. You didn’t interrupt anything. Come on in. My name is Monet.”

  This is not happening, I thought to myself.

  I had one thing on my mind and it would have to wait.

  Monet went to the bathroom to freshen up and I took the opportunity to tell Jo not to mention the book because Monet didn’t approve.

  “Clay, I think the session worked. I struggled at first about coming over but I just took control. I did it. This is huge!”

  My insatiable passion for Monet completely overshadowed an obvious milestone for Jo.

  I gave Jo a hug and told her I was really happy it worked out.

  “Clay, just one question about the session that’s been bugging me. I remember being on an elevator and I pressed a button with red letters. The letters were A M C. What does that mean?”

  I led Jo into my living room and we sat on the sofa. I explained.

  “Jo, A M C stands for Absolute Mental Clarity.”

  “Hmm, now I know why I was so afraid to meet people and make friends.”

  “Was it something that happened in your childhood?” I asked.

  “No. When I was diagnosed with cancer years ago I think I made a subconscious decision to cut the world off. New friendships would make it harder to leave. I think I deliberately made introductions uncomfortable and awkward. When I passed away, I didn’t want anyone to mourn for me or miss me.”

  “That makes perfect sense. So, your shyness was merely a symptom of a more complex issue. I had no idea it would be linked to your medical condition.”

  “The strangest part is I don’t feel sick anymore. I haven’t felt this normal in a long time. My appetite for life is coming back with a vengeance. I have another scan coming up. I wonder what it will read.”

  There was one part of the session that puzzled me and I had to inquire.

  “Jo, I have a question for you. I’ve been thinking about it ever since our session. It’s about The Lord’s Prayer. You recited it in trance with me aloud.”

  “What’s so strange about that?” Jo asked.

  “I said it in my head.”

  Monet came downstairs. I think she overheard part of the conversation.

  “Clay, I think I just heard Tom Jones singing,” Monet commented.

  “Oh, that’s my phone,” Jo replied before booting the call into voicemail.

  Monet put her hands on her hips and then pointed towards Jo.

  “Please tell me that’s not your real phone, Jo.”

  “Yes, it’s my real phone. Why?”

  Monet sat between Jo and me on the sofa.

  “It’s a flip phone. My grandfather ditched his flip phone in the nineties. Jo, don’t take this the wrong way but you need a makeover, okay. You’re a pretty girl and you need to flaunt it.”

  “That sound nice but I am who I am. I don’t know how to be anything else. But sometimes I wonder how it would be to have someone to want me like Clay wants you.”

  Monet and Jo were bonding. It was like I was invisible.

  Monet stood and told Jo to follow her upstairs. I was told to stay downstairs. I felt like a puppy that was told to sit and stay. I stayed, for a little while.

  Monet and Jo went into my study and shut the door.

  All kinds of strange ideas floated through my mind. It was a little too quiet up there so I tiptoed upstairs trying to avoid the stairs that creaked. I listened in.

  “Monet, this is all new to me. I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Jo, a lot of women are into this now. Just open your mind.”

  “But what if Clay finds out?” Jo asked.

  “He’s not gonna find out. This will be our little secret, okay?”

  What the f...? I thought.

  “Okay, what do we have here? I’ll keep going down till you tell me to stop, all right?,” Monet said.

  “Keep going, keep going. Stop right there. Ahh, that’s the one,” Jo replied excitedly.

  I couldn’t bear it anymore, I stormed in.

  Monet was angry, Jo was embarrassed.

  “Clay, really!” Monet complained.

  What I imagined and what I stumbled upon were millions of miles apart.

  Monet was introducing Jo to internet dating. Monet was scrolling down to view profiles of eligible men.

  “Clay, what did you think we were doing?” Monet asked, standing inches away from my face.

  I couldn’t apologize enough to the both of them. I felt pathetic.

  Monet and Jo continued scrolling through profiles. Monet had a few words of advice.

  “Jo, never choose someone local, and one more thing... we gotta find you a new phone.”

  Phones 4u Store

  Huntingdon, Cambridgeshire

  “Welcome to Phones 4u, how can I help?” asked the assistant.

  Monet whispered to th
e assistant just loud enough for Jo and I to hear.

  “My friend here has a flip phone. We need to bring here into the new millennium. Can you hook us up?”

  “Sure, not a problem. We have a wide range of phones from mild to wild. We have a slimline Nokia on offer at the moment. It’s our top of the line. Here, take a look.”

  The phone was sleek and ultra-thin. I was impressed, until I saw the sticker.

  “Wow, that’s almost five hundred dollars in US money,” I said.

  The assistant wasn’t finished with her spiel.

  “Well, the phone has some amazing features. You can take pictures underwater, you can record conversations, and calls to the US and Canada are free for one year if you buy today.”

  While the three of us were checking out this high tech phone the assistant pressed a couple of buttons and played back the last few minutes of the sales pitch. The clarity was amazing.

  “Wow, that’s cool,” I said.

  Jo had wandered off and found a cheaper pay-as-you-go phone.

  “This is more my style. It’s a Samsung.”

  Monet took charge.

  “In that case, we will have both,” Monet said as she presented her VISA.

  “Babe, what are you doing?” I asked.

  “Honey, we have five grand to spend remember? Compliments of Ms. Deveraux. I am getting you the Nokia because it has unlimited calls to the States for a year. I’m getting the Samsung for Jo.”

  Jo was very appreciative of Monet’s generosity. After we left the phone store the girls went shopping for Jo’s makeover. I wandered into the Thomas Cook travel store for some advice on sightseeing.

  I browsed most of the brochures but the packages were mostly cruises and holiday packages. I wanted something a little more local.

  The sale rep gave me an excellent suggestion.

  “If you’re looking for something close by then you might consider Stonehenge in Wiltshire.”

  Stonehenge is a mysterious boulder formation that predates Christ by over 3,000 years. I had seen it on the Discovery Channel years back but had forgotten the backstory.

  “Stonehenge is one of the great wonders of the world. Some researchers say that it is a burial ground for the elite. Others say aliens put the boulders there. Some swear it’s haunted by a young boy.”

  I was fascinated by the folklore behind Stonehenge and I calculated I could get there inside three hours. Monet explicitly told me she wanted to see more than the four walls of my bedroom. Stonehenge was my answer.

  I met Monet and Jo at Pizza Express for lunch and we headed home from there. On the way home I kept thinking about making love to Monet. I couldn’t wait to see Jo off and disappear for a few days with Monet. Unfortunately, there were more pressing issues at hand. When we arrived home Monet and Jo bolted to Jo’s house to begin the makeover.

  To say I was disappointed was an understatement. I went upstairs to write a few more chapters in my latest book featuring Monet. Before long, I realized that two hours had passed. I called Jo’s landline. There was no answer so I walked over to her house to see what was taking so long. I knocked on the front door.

  “Hi, I’m the next door neighbor. I’m looking for Jo.”

  “Clay, it’s me, Jo.”

  “Wow!”

  EIGHTEEN

  * * *

  The Serenade

  Al Motorway to Stonehenge

  Later That Day

  I hope you aren’t mad because I wanted to see some sights before we made love. You do know why, right?” Monet said.

  “I know. The Johnny Gill concert right?”

  In 1991, Monet surprised me with tickets to see Johnny Gill in concert. Ten minutes before departure time we decided to squeeze a quickie in. That quickie lasted two whole days and we missed seeing our favorite R&B artist. The venue was on base less than fifteen minutes away.

  “So where are you taking me, Clay?”

  “To see one of the world’s wonders. I haven’t been myself so it will be a treat for me as well.”

  “Clay, you haven’t said a word about the new Jo. She looks stunning doesn’t she?”

  I turned the radio down and gave Monet a suspicious look.

  “My dad never commented on another woman’s looks in front of my mom. Is this a trick question?”

  “Clay, I spent a lot of time and effort with Jo’s makeover. You are complimenting my work, not her personally. She’s beautiful isn’t she?”

  “Okay. Yes, you did a great job with Jo. I didn’t recognize her when she answered the door. The transformation was extraordinary. I’m sure she won’t have a problem finding dates online.”

  That was an understatement; Jo was now in a league of her own. But more important than her new look was the look on her face. She was happy. My sister was happy.

  Monet brought the Huntingdon local paper to read on the way. She read the headlines aloud.

  “Parking Fines Soar. Wow, it really must be a slow day at the office when your headlines talk about parking fines. It’s nice to know that the crime rate is low, especially if I get a job here.”

  I opened up to Monet about the recent killing spree in London. I also told her I might get my shot at hypnotizing a survivor. Although she was happy for me she was unnerved about some lunatic targeting women and taking their lives.

  It was getting dark and my Sat Nav was on crack giving me bogus directions. I decided to find a nice B&B, have a meal and head out to Stonehenge in the morning.

  “Welcome to the George Hotel. Do you have a reservation?”

  “No, ma’am, we are just passing through. Do you have any vacancies?”

  Monet was still excited about the cobblestone pathway that led to this cozy manor house. Monet wandered off and stared at the dated, framed pictures on the wall.

  “How old is this place?” Monet asked.

  The young receptionist was eager to comment on the history of the manor house. Her name was Jenny.

  “This was once owned by the Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell in the mid-1600s. He bought this place for his daughter Mary but she never resided here. The home was placed in the care of Lady Margaret and she looked after it until she died in the late 1600s. That’s her picture on the end.”

  Lady Margaret looked beautiful in her day and her eyes followed you from all angles, kinda like the Mona Lisa. She had long, flowing, jet black hair and wore a gold locket around her neck.

  “We have loads of available rooms.”

  “We’ll take the most expensive room,” Monet said as she approached the counter.

  The receptionist did a stutter step.

  “Are you reporters?” asked the receptionist?

  Monet and I were confused by her remark.

  When Monet signed the credit card receipt she noticed the room we selected was twice as expensive as the rest. There were no extra amenities and I couldn’t see the extra value for money. I didn’t want to sound too money conscious in front of Monet so I remained silent.

  The room looked like it belonged in the 1600s. Candle holders were mounted on either side of the large canopy bed. It had period furniture which looked very authentic. I looked out the window and there was a small cemetery out back which gave me the creeps. The wind blew leaves across the headstones. I quickly drew the curtains. The room had an eerie feel to it. It almost felt like we were trespassing.

  “I wonder why she asked if we were reporters?” I asked Monet as we unzipped our suitcases on the bed.

  “I don’t know, honey, but I think I know where we’re going in the morning,” Monet said.

  “So you’re psychic now? Tell me.”

  “Stonehenge. I saw the sign 40 miles to Stonehenge just before the last exit. Clay, speaking of psychics. Did you ever figure out the message Winnie relayed from your dad?”

  “No, I’m still scratching my head on that one. What could Hold up the light possibly mean?”

  Monet felt an instant chill and I could see her breath. I searched high an
d low for a thermostat but I couldn’t find one. Monet began to shiver so I decided to go downstairs to ask about the heat.

  Jenny assured me there was central heating. She accompanied me upstairs to our suite at the end of the long corridor.

  As we approached the suite we could see our breath. I walked in first and the smell of pungent perfume was prevalent.

  “Baby, easy on the perfume. I can smell it from outside.”

  Monet was sitting on the bed with her back toward me. She was hunched over sobbing.

  I told Jenny to wait at the door while I checked on Monet. I sat next to Monet and put my arm around her. She seemed distressed.

  “Baby, tell me what’s wrong. What happened, sweetheart?”

  It took a while for Monet to gain her composure. Jenny entered the room and offered Monet Kleenex. She sat on the other side of Monet.

  “Clay, she was here. I saw her,” Monet revealed.

  Jenny stood and asked Monet one question.

  “Did she sing to you?”

  Monet nodded in between sniffles.

  “Yes, it was beautiful,” Monet replied.

  Somewhere logic got lost in the conversation and it was frustrating as hell.

  “Timeout, timeout. Who was here?”

  In a very caring tone, Jenny explained.

  “Mr. Thompson, Lady Margaret was here. This was her room. We routinely rent this room out to reporters who are doing a paranormal documentary. Last year she appeared during a ghost walk outside near the cemetery. She sang a few high pitched notes before vanishing into the fog. Lady Margaret is great for business.”

  Monet calmed down. Her tears were not from fear they were tears of joy.

  “Clay, I wasn’t scared. She sat next to me on the bed. She was white all over but her eyes were hollow. I couldn’t see them. She smiled at me. Then she sang the most beautiful song I’d ever heard. Her voice was angelic. Then she vanished moments before you walked in.”

  If Monet wasn’t so serious I would’ve thought the whole thing was a joke.

  “Maybe jetlag is kicking in and you were hallucinating?”

  “Mr. Thompson, I know Americans struggle with the concept of spirits but here in England it’s nothing new to us. Most English folk believe,” Jenny commented with authority.