Harry was more than a day late when, at six o'clock, the door handle turned and into her suite sauntered her lover, a Hartmann garment bag jauntily slung over one shoulder.
She was pulling a black silk stocking over one knee and did not look up. She simply said, “Howdy, stranger.”
“Stranger than what?” he quipped. She did not smile.
“You’re late,” she said flatly.
“Who says I’m late?”
“I do.”
“Those are frightening words to hear from a woman's lips, lass. I'm horny as hell. Let's go downstairs to Zebub’s, close the place, and ball all night.”
“Can't. I've got dinner at Chloe's.”
“I can think of a better way to spend the evening.” He gave her a vintage smile. “I wonder if we are thinking of the same thing right now.”
“Doubt it,” she answered promptly. “Right now, I am thinking of the winter solstice. I’m invited to spend the night with a beautiful woman. Can't get my mind off it.”
His scratchy voice sounded eager. “Kinky! Shall we make it a threesome?”
“Not so fast, cowboy. Wednesday will be a séance, an Old West tale, and the family ghost. The campfire thing, minus all the belching and spitting.”
“Huh. You'll be missing the best parts then. Nothing is to be gained from hanging out with a psychic. No one tells the truth, and no one gets laid. What’s in it for you?”
Care to bet your life on that, Harry?
The tiny hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up. “Who said that?”
“I didn't say anything.”
“Could have sworn you did, by Mungo.”
Harry scratched his balls, feeling his hard-on recede. He did not like the new game his mistress was playing; it was confusing to have her dominate the play action. Why didn't she shut up and take off her clothes, as she always did?
As though unaware of his displeasure, Marlena chattered on. “Anyway, you're wrong. Cousin Chloe will be in charge, not a medium. Very mysterious matters in the family history will be cleared up and the truth revealed. Not that there won't be a lie or two told. Plato considered all stories to be complete falsehoods.”
“Plato’s coming too? What a bloody bore.”
“Be serious for one minute, will you, Harry?”
He stood up and unbuttoned his shirt, a move intended to encourage her to disrobe. “Why? What's the big deal about a séance, as you describe it?”
“I’ve been waiting twenty years to hear the story of Cassandra Vye.”
“Ohhhh. Cassandra Vye. Heavy.” He whistled. “That is likely to be one strange journey.”
“Chloe said that too. She called her mother's life 'a strange journey.' Is there something you two know that I don't?”
He sat down beside her, dropped his shirt to the ground, and then pulled off his undershirt. The curly hair on his chest was mostly gray, she noticed; when they began their affair five years ago, it had been jet black.
“Well, here goes. Before Chloe became the famous Dr. Vye, she and I would hang out when she came here summers to see old man Vye, her great-grandfather. Chloe never spoke about her mother, whether she was alive or dead, or where she was. She was clear on one point, though. Her mother's maiden name was Zanelli. For the Zanelli women, Drake men are like oil is to water. Never shall the two mix, or else all hell breaks loose. Seems the family history includes a powerful curse that proves the case.”
“Really! A family curse!”
Such a thing had never been spoken of in her family, but yesterday, there was that weird encounter with Letty Brown-Hawker, the most rabid of the local religious fanatics, in the ladies' lounge of the hotel. If it had not been for her old schoolmate Lorna Anderson strolling in, Marlena might have called in security on the hag, whose threats were beyond creepy: “Thou art accursed! Be gone, witch! If you fail to heed my warning, there will be two deaths on your head before the bonfires are extinguished.”
“I wonder why I was never told? My mother is a Zanelli. And, uh, obviously, you're a Drake.”
He chuckled. “Uh huh. Guess that would make us star-crossed lovers, if you believe in such nonsense.”
As a child in Alta, Marlena had heard whisperings about an evil witch in her mother's family, a woman who “vanished into thin air one night. Poof, she was gone.”
When she told Harry this, he confirmed a long-held suspicion.
“The witch was none other than Cassandra Vye, Chloe's mother.” He added, “Chloe has done wonders here, championing children's causes. No one questions her right to stick around, curse or no curse.”
That was a cryptic message, she thought. Perhaps Harry would prefer she were more circumspect in her behavior (like Chloe) rather than dawdling at the hotel over the holidays, wishing and hoping her lover would take her away.
He was regarding her suspiciously. “Say, you haven’t been telling stories out of school, have you, lass?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I have matters to discuss with the family besides our secret love life.” Yeah, she thought, like the imminent demise of our beloved pink house, thanks to the greed of Drake Enterprises!
She rapped her knuckles on her head. “Knock on wood. I hope I live to see 1978. Things are getting kookier than I bargained for when I signed on for this family reunion.”
“Nothing kooky about me, hon. I’m just horny.”
“Do you want to hear how my brunch with Mama went today?”
“Right. Mrs. Bellum came in last week on a bus from Chicago. How's that going?”
“Faith arrived yesterday evening on the train from Cleveland. We had brunch here today, just the two of us. I told her…about my legal separation…from Coddie…and uh…and uh….a little about us.”
Harry said crossly, “I wish you hadn't done that, lass. Is she staying with us?”
“No, at Ho Jo’s.”
“I hope she finds the aroma of fried clams appealing.”
What a big prick you are.
Harry growled, “Less so now, thanks to you.” He gestured at his wilting cock.
“What are you talking about? All I said was that Mama's staying at Ho Jo's.”
“Must be the acoustics in this room. I could have sworn you called me a prick just now. Check it out with the GM tomorrow, will you?”
“I'll get right on it, sir. But are you sure it wasn't your conscience speaking?”
The question uppermost in Harry's mind was, am I getting laid or not? But when he pulled Marlena toward him and began to fondle her breasts, she made no responsive movement. Her eyes were downcast. She did not want him to see how much she desired him inside her. Quickly pressing her finger to her breastbone for luck, she asked for a small favor. “You can wait a couple of hours for me tonight, can't you, Harry?”
He looked at her askance.
“I promised Chloe I would be at Mill’s Creek no later than six thirty. I should help out with the preparations. Annie, her companion, is getting older.”
“So am I, more so by the second.” Then he looked deeply into her eyes. “Feel that, my love?” Despite herself, her hand automatically went toward his crotch. “I have an appetite. Don't you, lass?”
Did she ever! It had been four weeks, two days, and thirty minutes since they had last made love. Her panties were getting hot and wet. But she would lose steam in the power struggle underway if she gave in now.
His erection was making a tepee of his boxer shorts, and Harry was watching for a telltale quiver of her upper lip. Though tempted, Marlena stiffened her resolve. Sensing something new in the vibe, Harry drew back.
“It has been ages since I spent time with Mama and Chloe,” Marlena quickly explained. “It is our first reunion, after all.” Again she looked away, so Harry would not see in her eyes the tumult of emotions she felt in resisting him.
He sighed. “Have it your way, lass.” He stood up and casually strolled across the room, where he opened his briefcase.
She felt herself panicki
ng as he continued to be silent, his back to her. What would happen now? Suddenly, she lost control. She burst out, almost shouting: “I don’t even know if we are having a Christmas together!”
There, at last, she had said what she felt! Despite being hot and agitated, she shivered after venting, already regretting the outburst.
Harry stared coldly at her, the pupils of his light brown eyes constricted to pinpoints.
“I can quickly put you out of your misery, Marlena. You and I will not be having a Christmas together. I will be at Drake's Roost with my wife and houseguests. After the welcome I've received here, I may not be darkening your door again until Easter!”
She swallowed hard, working up the spit to speak. When the words came out, it seemed as if someone else were voicing them in a dry, alien tone.
“Thank you for the clarity, Mr. Drake. But I don't believe I'll have any desire to see you ever again. I won’t make love to you in the current circumstances. I swear by all that is holy I won't.”
“Holy?” he scoffed. “When did anything holy mean a fart in a windstorm to you?”
He continued on with a slight smirk, “A nature like yours don’t go against instinct, lass. Your instincts belong to me. I am at your cervix, eternally.” He bowed with comic exaggeration.
Doesn't his insolence enrage you, make you want to snarl and spit?
Who said that? This time Marlena had heard the alien voice clearly, but there was no time to think about it, because her own anger had suddenly escalated to the boiling point. She tossed her hair back, scattering fiery glints in the sultry light. She seemed to grow taller as the pent-up emotion of years erupted.
“So…this…is…my…thanks…for…five…years…of…kissing…
your…ass!”
His grin slowly faded.
“Let me tell you something, Harry. I have done without you before and I can do so again. You may control a real estate empire, but you don’t own me.”
“Heh, heh. My dear, the point is I do. You can't get enough of me. You are addicted to our affair. You have said so yourself.”
Despite the bravado, he was both turned on and also feeling unusual emotions. He moved toward her and pinched the exposed flesh on her buttocks cheek, followed by a smack. An angry sob escaped through her compressed lips, and she slapped his face.
“Fuck you! That hurt!” he grumbled, rubbing his cheek.
Marlena stood away in a haughty pose. The interchange was another unpleasant surprise for Harry, who dropped his arms and stood silent, dwelling on his own frustrations. At last he said, “Shall we resume this interesting contest later?”
Was he toying with her? Her blazing eyes narrowed, and when Marlena opened her mouth to speak, a stream of foreign words pressed against the back of her throat, compelling her to speak. The words exited her mouth before she could stop herself.
“Only if you admit you love me best. Say it! Say you love me, not Lila.”
Harry's eyes met hers, then slid away from the powerful current flowing between them. He took a step back. She could read his mind: here was unexplored, alien territory, more unpromising than Hatter's Field, and a zone he didn't want to enter.
He cleared his throat. “I don’t think that would be good policy, lass. The businessman in me says that gives you too much leverage.”
“Admit it!” she cried.
“You know it already.”
“That is a dodge.”
Turning away from her blazing eyes, Harry strolled to the open briefcase, where he pulled out a red velvet case and sauntered back with it.
“Here is a peace offering. Will this trinket tide you over until after the weekend?” He took a pearl-and-aquamarine bracelet from the Cartier case.
“These stones are the same color as your eyes, my love. Why are you behaving in this mulish way? You know I can't make it through the holidays without making love to you. So, can we now get on with it?”
While Harry was fastening the bracelet around her wrist, Marlena's pulse was racing. Then she heard again that strange voice, so surreal and yet familiar. Rule of thumb, dear: always take the jewelry.
Who is hearing things now? Was it the same voice she had heard in her dreams? Was the woman who sang to her the same one coaching her now—no, dragging her through this divisive scene? The simplest thing was to swallow the crumb her lover had thrown her.
She murmured, “Well, I guess we have time for a quickie.”
“That's my girl!”
Pulling her onto the bed, Harry caressed the tops of her thighs over her silk stockings.
“What do you want? Tell me, lass.”
What she wanted was his passionate commitment to their escape and, beyond that, an explanation for what was going on. But she resigned herself, for the moment, to saying what he wanted to hear: “Put your big cock in me, please.”
“Not so fast.”
Crouching on the bed and looking directly into her eyes, her lover placed his sensual lips on her labia, flicking the protruding clitoris with his tongue until it grew hot and hard. Then he lowered his shoulders and his head until his curly, black hair brushed her vagina. He lapped at her until she came the first time.
Later, as he rolled away from her, Harry said, “Keep that bauble out of sight downstairs, will you, lass? I don't want to hear about it from Lila.”
That night, Marlena dreamed she was in the parlor at Mill's Creek. A strange young man, a miner covered in coal dust from head to foot, was on one knee before her with his cap in his hand. He begged her to end her affair with Mr. Drake.
She awoke alone and in a sweat, her heart palpitating.
“I'll never give up Harry,” she muttered fiercely. “No matter what happens. Never.”
But we elder sirens are not about to give up either. Game on.
Chapter Four
Chloe's Secret
Alta, Wyoming
Wednesday, December 21, 1977
“Why all the secrecy about your mother, Chloe?” Marlena asks as they prepare to move inside.
Chloe pauses at the French doors. Her platinum bob is dusted with newly fallen snow. She wonders whether there will be a storm. On last winter's solstice, a thirty-nine-inch snowfall was recorded on Hatter's Field overnight.
“Basically, I promised mother I wouldn't tell her story until after she passed away.”
“Well, that makes sense. Looking forward to tonight?”
“Somewhat.”
“Usually the patient talks and you are on the receiving end of confessions. I'll bet it will feel strange, sharing your deepest, darkest family secrets after all these years.”
“You don't know the half of it,” Chloe murmured.
In mentally preparing for the long night ahead, Chloe has spent hours in meditation, forcing herself to revisit a well-concealed story in her own life. She had a short, but life-changing involvement in 1942 with eighteen-year-old Austin Bellum in California. It had happened before Austin became engaged to Faith Zanelli and went off to war.
The family curse her mother so often warned her about forbade a connection between a Zanelli woman and a man with even a drop of Drake blood. The Bellums of Alta and the Drakes of Scotland shared a common ancestor. Angus Drake was a horse thief and roustabout who came to the territory after disownment by his Scottish clan. He became a man of property by hooking up with William Stewart, a perspicacious Scot who foresaw a future in Wyoming for big-game recreation. Angus married into a nondescript family of Alta homesteaders, the Bellums, who originally were goat herders.
But despite the prohibition against a Zanelli-Drake pairing and whether through chemistry or the machinations of the family curse, Chloe was inexplicably overcome by an urge to end her chastity streak and copulate with the younger man who sometimes handled horses for her in Alta. She succumbed to impulse on a spring night in a San Diego parking lot after she and Austin met up quite by chance. Austin was at training school, preparing for war deployment in the Army Air Corps, and Chloe was st
aying with theatrical friends of her mother. Under the stars, Austin's eager voice seemed to vibrate with the timbre of an angel's. But the organic sounds of sex, as the airman lost his virginity to the older woman, were embarrassing to them both. Neither was looking forward to a second act.
Then Chloe's second cousin, Faith Zanelli, entered the picture. Faith had written to Chloe that she was stationed in San Diego with the Women's Marine Corps. Chloe tracked her down and added her to their company. Arm-in-arm, the three strolled through Balboa Park and drank copious amounts of beer.
The night before going overseas, Austin impulsively proposed marriage to Faith. Impressed by the sky warrior, but more keenly motivated by a desire to impress her brilliant older cousin, Faith accepted. There were conditions: Austin must travel to Saratoga after the war, formally get permission from Tomas Zanelli, and promptly convert to Catholicism.
Two months later, having discovered she was pregnant, Chloe could see no alternative except to end her pregnancy. She sought an abortion from the friend of a friend, whose clumsy work cost her the ability to bear more children.
As Chloe and Marlena take up their respective positions in Cassandra's old bedroom, Chloe, though not religiously inclined, is praying to whatever forces govern the universe that she will not be obliged to share this particular story with Marlena. It is the one secret she has kept from her mother, who always believed her daughter's childlessness was a perverse choice, a rationalist's desire to put an end to siren births.
Cassandra's old bedroom holds more charm than the two larger guest suites down the hall put together. The whimsical touches to the wainscoting and sheer draperies are complemented by a lovely view from the window, which overlooks the dried creek, small pond, horse paddock, and Chloe's vegetable garden, protected with large sheets of plastic from the ravages of winter storms. Annie Witherspoon, Chloe's Native American housekeeper and companion of many years, has engineered the furnishings into a state of fanciful comfort. There is a cozy old horsehair armchair for Chloe to perch on. The radiator hisses merrily, working over-time to heat the frigid air, while in the background is an indistinct plink-plink-plink as the ghost strums the strings of her zither.
The Siren's Tale Page 5
