by C. S Luis
The singer sang. I sang along with her…
The same feeling was there again, it crawled inside me, eating at the very core of my soul. Fuck! Was I dying?
She’s our link! Our link to what?
I pulled up to the house, and I parked in the front on the side of the street like I always did. I jumped out of the car and came around and opened the car door. I grabbed the items from the passenger seat and closed the door. I began my walk up to the door with a bouquet in one hand and the bottle of Concannon in the other. You’d think I was picking up my date. It sure looked that way.
I climbed up the steps and walked to the door, putting the bottle of Concannon in my other hand with the bouquet behind my back so that I could surprise Claudia when she opened the door.
I leaned against the door with my best smile forward and lifted a hand to knock, but before my hand even touched the wood of the door, Claudia pulled open the door and was staring right at me.
“You’re late,” she declared. Perplexed, I gazed at her.
She fell speechless when I rewarded her with an intoxicated smile; the smile spreading my bright green eyes caught her off guard. I dreamt of you, I wanted to say.
Dreaming of her doesn’t make it right, John, and it’s not helping us!
Had she been waiting for me, my loyal beauty waiting for me by the door? My heart skipped a beat. I couldn’t help but laugh. Claudia seemed paralyzed as the smile on my face grew, and I pulled out a stem of red roses from behind me.
"Will you forgive me?" I merely asked and winked. She seemed oblivious to my attentive smile.
Her eyes lit up. “Ah, okay,” Claudia, whispered, grinning, and she took the roses immediately and put them to her nose. I walked in behind Claudia. Michael glanced over at me from the kitchen where he was cooking. I saw the food, and my mouth just about watered.
“You’re late,” he said as well. I folded a lip and nodded.
“A lot of work?” He asked as I looked at him from the kitchen entry. Was that a joke? I guess it was because he started smiling at me.
“You could say that,” I tried to say.
He seemed to smile just the same. Claudia was busy putting the roses in a vase; I saw her by the sink putting water in the vase. She came back into the dining room, passing me with a smile on her face. I winked at her, and she set the vase in the center of the dining room table.
"They're beautiful. Thanks, Mr. Slater," Claudia softly said.
“I saw them in the checkout line when I stopped for the wine, and I thought Claudia likes roses," I said with a smile, but that was not true. I meant to get them for her. I felt compelled to get them for her. She deserved them.
Claudia came forward and reached out and hugged me tightly, then she gave me a little kiss on cheek like she had before. I panicked, and I was worried Michael might notice something.
“Ah, that was so thoughtful of you, Mr. Slater.”
I was speechless for the first time, and whatever would have come out of my mouth made no sense at all. But the way she did it was so innocent: a quick hug and then a single kiss on the cheek. I blushed for the first time. My hands were trembling. I wish she hadn't done that.
I excused myself and locked myself in the bathroom. "Come down, boy. Get it together, John," I whispered to myself, looking at the desperate man in the mirror. My insides were swelling and on fire; you’d think my little encounter with Denise would have put me in check. But nothing could do that when the aura between us was growing stronger and I couldn’t stop from becoming its victim. She must be using some kind of power or spell against me.
Really, John? A spell. Is that the best you can come up with? There is something seriously wrong with you, my man. That’s what I’ve been saying all along.
I took a breath, facing the bathroom mirror with my hands on the sink, and I splashed some cool water on my face. I glanced towards the shower and thought of jumping in but shook my head with a smile. And then something caught my eye on the hamper, a white robe with a rose imprint.
“Claudia.” Her name escaped through my lips.
I picked it up. It was hers. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine her face and her kiss on my cheek and didn't even realize I had brought the robe to my nose until I could smell her, and I was suddenly hard. The scent of lavender and fresh cut flowers with a hint of sweet candy hit my nose. It was the fragrance of adolescence.
John, get hold of yourself. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?
Why was this happening to me? What kind of spell had she put on me? This had never happened to me before.
Get hold, John!
I dropped the robe on the hamper and gathered myself before exiting the bathroom. When I came out, Michael was preparing the table with all sorts of delicious dishes.
“We’re ready,” he said as I took a seat at the opposite side of the table; we waited for Claudia who came from the kitchen, and she parked herself right next to the seat beside me. I wasn’t expecting that, and I shuddered a little.
“Shall we?” Michael said, and he pulled the lids off of the dishes he had created for our dinner. The table looked beautiful with its Mexican theme. I gazed at Claudia who innocently smiled back up at me. I felt a shiver run down the side of my arm.
Check, John.
Michael had opened the wine and set it on the table; two wine glasses were set aside for both of us. I poured myself a glass and looked at all the good food. Michael had made Mexican rice, charreo beans, tortillas, and chiles rellenos, which were large sweet peppers stuffed with any choice of meats and a lot of cheese. He had also made some chicken and beef fajitas, as well as Guacamole, pico de gallo, and of course, Claudia’s chocolate cake.
“This all looks great, Michael,” I said, examining the table and ready to dig in. “Wow, you’re quite the chef,” I said. Michael seemed to blush.
12
Claudia
Mr. Slater looked a little distracted when he took his seat. I wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that Michael had not allowed me to keep the necklace. I very much wanted to, but for some reason I knew what Michael said made some sense. Perhaps the others would get jealous, others like Ms. Stephens who would make a big deal about it. Maybe that’s what Michael had meant.
God, was I starting to see what adults meant? Or had it been that call Mr. Slater had received when we left the restaurant earlier? He hadn’t meant to tell me about it. Was he now telling me the truth? I was starting to read him, even though I still could not hear him. God, I hated that.
“This all looks great, Michael,” Mr. Slater said. “Wow you’re quite the chef.”
“Claudia helped,” Michael offered, and I managed a shy smile. Mr. Slater glanced over at me.
“My mom taught me a few things,” I added. “She loved to cook.”
Mr. Slater looked impressed.
“I’m not as great as her or Michael. I just know a few things,” I softly said, feeling embarrassed that Mr. Slater’s eyes were staring over at me.
“Wow, Miss Belle. Have you been holding back on me? I thought you said you didn’t know how to cook.”
I tried not to turn red when he said that, and he winked and smiled.
“Just the rice and beans,” I timidly added. “And the cake, of course.” I smiled.
“Well, it looks great, and I bet it tastes just as nice,” Mr. Slater added, helping himself to some Mexican rice and charreo beans. Then he motioned over at me for my plate. I nodded as he took my plate and put charreo beans and Mexican rice on my plate for me.
I thanked him as he handed me the plate. He then lifted the platter with the chicken and beef fajitas and offered me some. I nodded, taking a few strips of chicken, and he did the same. He lowered the platter and lifted the basket holding the flour tortillas; Michael had made some good homemade flour tortillas. I hated to admit it, but they were just like the ones mom used to make. God, I missed them both, but I didn’t want to think of sad things right now. I just wante
d to enjoy Mr. Slater’s return dinner.
Mr. Slater offered the basket first to me, and I smiled up at him, taking a few tortillas onto my plate. He took some himself and lowered the basket back onto the center of the table.
He now motioned to the chile relleno, and I nodded, and he put one on my plate. He put one on his own plate just the same and lowered the platter back on the table again. He then took the napkin from the side table, as I’d watched him do in the restaurant, and he placed the napkin on his lap very properly. I watched for a moment as he sat up straight, elbows off the table. He took a small sip of the wine. God, he was such a gentleman.
I guess I thought it was only right to follow his example. I mean, I didn’t want him to think I didn’t have any manners. I had often seen my parents do the same at fancy restaurants; Father would take the napkin from the side of the table, put it on his lap, and give me a warm smile.
* * *
“So, John, I was going to ask you something,” Michael suddenly said as Mr. Slater began eating his dinner, and I placed the napkin on my lap as he had. Mr. Slater looked over at me, catching sight of the napkin on my lap, and he smiled and then gazed over at Michael who was cutting through his chile relleno.
“How do you feel about Christmas?” Michael asked, getting a forkful of his stuffed chile. I remembered when mom used to make those too. Dad loved them, and now Mr. Slater was enjoying one just the same.
Mr. Slater blinked up at Michael, taking another drink from his glass of wine.
“Do you celebrate it, is what I’m asking,” Michael rephrased his words. Mr. Slater smiled, almost laughing as he continued to eat.
“Ah, planning a Christmas party, Michael?” He asked. “I’m not Jewish if that’s what you’re asking or a Jehovah’s Witness. Yes, I celebrate it. Why do you ask?”
I wanted to laugh at his answer since he always had the best ones. Mr. Slater was quick with his words; he always had an answer for everything.
“Well, it’s not really a party but more of a get together with family and friends,” Michael said. Mr. Slater stopped eating, briefly put his fork down as he looked over at Michael. He picked up his napkin and slowly wiped at his lip. He looked surprised by Michael’s words, and I wondered why.
“We would like it if you joined us at our home for Christmas Eve,” Michael very politely said. “You are family, John. You realize that, right?” Michael asked over the sudden silence in the room. A smile spread on Mr. Slater face; he looked really touched, but was speechless.
“I haven’t been to a Christmas gathering in a long time,” he finally offered for his silence. “In fact, I can’t remember the last time I had such an invitation to one, or a birthday party for that matter.”
This was a sad thought, and I took his arm and leaned forward towards him, and then I looked at him as he glanced over at me.
“Never?” I asked, and he shook his head. “Not even a birthday party?” I again asked.
Mr. Slater smiled. “No, Miss Belle. I don’t think I ever had the time for such things.”
I couldn’t believe it. The idea of no celebrations was a horrible one.
“Then you have to come,” I said. He looked taken aback, and he smiled.
“I would love that, Miss Belle,”
“Then it’s settled; you’ll spend Christmas with us,” Michael said, taking a spoonful of Mexican rice. Mr. Slater merely nodded. Why did I sense he had something else on his mind as he took a sip of his wine? Michael then raised his glass just the same to toast.
Mr. Slater glanced and smiled at Michael and then motioned for me to join them.
“Come on, Claudia; get in here,” he said. I picked up my glass of lemonade and lifted it along with their wine glasses.
“What should we toast to, Mr. Slater?” I asked, and he smiled, glancing at me and then at Michael.
“To family and good friends,” he said, and I grinned. Like I said, Mr. Slater always had the right answer for everything.
“I like that,” Michael said as our glasses then came lightly together in a toast.
“To family and good friends,” we repeated and then drank.
After dinner, and while Mr. Slater stepped over to the restroom, I helped Michael clear off the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. I came into the kitchen looking towards the other end of the house where the bathroom was.
“Michael,” I whispered as I placed the dishes in the sink. Michael rinsed them and put them into the dishwasher. He turned as I came close enough to whisper again: “We have to throw Mr. Slater a birthday party.”
He blinked over at me. “Claudia, I think the invitation to Christmas will be fine.” He offered, “Besides, I doubt Mr. Slater is the kind of person that cares much for birthday parties.”
What did he know? God, didn’t he care for the poor man who had never had a birthday party? Michael was being slightly insensitive.
“Michael, didn’t you hear him? He’s never had a birthday party. Don’t you think that’s so sad? I think it’s our responsibility as his friends to do this,” I said, but Michael continued putting the dishes in the dishwasher, and it looked as if what I had said had no effect on him at all.
“Michael?” I firmly said until he stopped briefly with a dish in his hand. We had to do this. We were going to do this.
“Michael!”
He sighed. I gazed at him with a twisted lip and a frown. He was looking back at me. I tilted my head slightly, waiting, questioning his slow response.
“Claudia, we don’t even know when his birthday is, and it could have passed for all we know.”
I blinked up at him.
“Michael,” I scolded again, knowing he could easily figure out Mr. Slater’s birthday. He again sighed, putting the dish in the dishwasher and then stopping the faucet from running. He looked over at me.
“Okay, okay I’ll look at his transcripts and find out what day his birthday falls on. And if it’s passed, we’ll leave it alone and settle for the Christmas get together. Okay?”
“Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes.
13
John Slater
When I stepped out, I caught Claudia in the kitchen with Michael; they seemed to be whispering. I stepped forward into the dining room and picked up my glass of wine and appeared at the kitchen entrance. They stopped and looked up, seeming guilty. Had their whispering been about me? Claudia blushed, and I merely smiled. She looked guilty, so perhaps I was right.
“Well, Michael,” I said very naturally. “That was a great meal.”
I looked over at Claudia. “Miss Belle, I really enjoyed the desert. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much food,” I said. “I think I’m gonna have to go for a quick run tomorrow to get the extra pounds off after that meal.” I smirked and winked at Claudia.
“You run?” She asked me.
You think John looks this good just by genetics alone, Miss Belle? They make you run in the academy, right John?
I don’t know how many times Bryce pushed me as a child to give him laps or run the track. But I always impressed the motherfucker, and that only made him push me harder. But why was I thinking of him now? Perhaps for the simple reason they had invited me to spend Christmas with them. And I would have to leave. I had about one week, not two as I had wanted or even three, not after hearing Jason’s disturbing message. I knew that after the end of this week, I would be gone again.
I hated to think about that, and to think I had lied to her. She would hate me, and that bothered me more. I didn’t want her to hate me.
“Whenever I can, Miss Belle,” I answered with a smile.
“By the way, I completed those documents you needed, Michael,” I said, and he looked back at me, surprised.
Michael stepped out, cleaning his hands. “It usually takes Mr. Claypool the whole week,” he said, and I blinked, folding a lip back, unable to respond.
“I could go through them again if you want me to, but all the numbers are there,” I offered.
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“No, no, that won’t be necessary. I’m just impressed,” he said once again; now he examined me. Perhaps he was starting to realize I wasn’t an ordinary person. The stare in his eyes said it all.
“I’ll get to those evaluations tomorrow morning,” I offered, grabbing my coat jacket from the back of the chair where I had placed it earlier during our meal.
I noticed the table had been nearly cleared, and it seemed all the dishes were now sitting in the dishwasher. Claudia stepped out into the dining room. I drank the remaining wine in my glass and made a motion to walk back into the kitchen to put the glass in the dishwasher, but Michael kindly took my glass and set it upon the counter of the kitchen, and then he came back out and stood behind Claudia.
“Do you need help tomorrow, Mr. Slater?” Claudia politely offered, and Michael put his hand on her shoulder.
“I think Mr. Slater can handle tomorrow by himself, young lady. One day of slacking off is enough,” he said before I could say anything to her. I guess I wasn’t quick enough to get her assistance.
He blinked over at me as if to get me to agree. But I wasn’t going to offer that. And instead, I said, “I’ll find something you can help me with, Miss Belle, and if I need you I’ll come looking for you.” I winked, and Michael frowned, but I believed he thought I was joking, which of course I wasn’t.
“Don’t encourage her,” Michael said with a smile.
“Well, as much I’d like to stay, I have to be up early,” I said. Claudia looked disappointed to see me go, or did I just want to believe that?
Vain motherfucker.
“You’ll see us tomorrow, John. By the way,” Michael said as we walked to the door; Claudia slowly followed behind us. Michael pulled me to the side, putting his arm over my shoulder.
“I wanted to mention this before…I know that you and Ms. Stephens might have had something going on back then, but well…”
