by J. L. Salter
“I want to see you.”
“You disarm me with your frank words, brash requests, and raw emotions. Why are you so crude this day? What manner of man are you?”
After a long silence, “A lonely one.”
“I certainly comprehend loneliness, and have a great deal more experience than you, Mr. Muir. However, I am able to restrain my comments to civil discourse.”
“Well, your portrait shows a little bit of flesh.” Again it sounded as though somebody else were speaking. ”But I’ve never seen anything besides your face and your hands.”
“As it should be.”
“You’re very beautiful, but I want to see more of you.”
She blushed again. “Are you, sir, actually asking me to disrobe?”
He nodded earnestly. “With a human woman as desirable as you, I would want to see everything.”
Danielle’s form moved backward slightly.
Muir held out his hands. “Let me see you.” He pointed toward her bosom.
With tears in her eyes, she responded, “Why do you ask this of me?”
“We’ve kissed and we’ve embraced. But I want more.” His words continued but they sounded hollow and cruel.
“Please desist immediately. If you do not, I shall not be able to continue to visit you.”
He was not deterred. “I felt your arms around my shoulders, your tears on my head, and your breast against my face.”
“All of which comprised a terrible mistake.”
“But I still have not seen the beauty of your body.”
She gasped. “You seem to believe that because I need your assistance, you should be able to have your way with me. But I assure you, Mr. Muir, I am not your chattel.”
Without speaking, he pointed to her bosom.
Tears streaming down her face, Danielle undid two buttons as Muir watched, transfixed.
When she paused, he demanded more.
After three more buttons, Muir moved closer and peered down her cleavage. His hands were positioned as though he might grab for her.
Through sobs, she gasped, “It is not in my abilities for you to touch my form.”
“Yeah. Forgot. Well, let me see your beauty… and press your beauties against me.” His language and tone seemed so foreign.
“Does your carnal curiosity truly have more value than my virtue?”
“You are so beautiful but your beauty has been in prison for a century. I want you to set it free and I definitely want to be here when you do.”
Hands shaking, Danielle removed two more buttons. Looking down, she realized he could now see the swell of her creamy flesh, pressed upward by her corset.
“I could get lost in those…” He moved closer.
“It seems to me that examination should be sufficient for your curiosity, and it certainly is already far too much for my dignity.” Her hands positioned to refasten the buttons.
“No, too brief. My way would be a long journey, with stops at every…”
“Feature?” She certainly did not wish to hear his word choice.
He nodded and smiled. “I need to memorize them.” He peered from different angles.
Her blush deepened furiously and she clutched the loose flaps of her bodice. “I do not comprehend the persuasiveness you exert over me, sir. It seems I will comply with nearly any request you present, until I suddenly come to my senses. I cannot believe what I have done.”
Muir woke from his disturbing dream with a violent lurch as though a dark force had suddenly ripped through him. When he could finally focus, he checked his watch. It was 7:45 a.m. on Saturday.
****
Danielle already knew it took Muir several minutes to get his bearings early in the morning. She monitored as he rubbed his eyes while stumbling about the apartment, searching for her and calling her name. But she would not appear to him that morning.
The terrible dream she’d also witnessed had obviously disturbed Muir as much as it had her. Danielle now knew it was impossibly perilous for them to carry their quasi-physical relationship any farther than it had already gone. Additionally unsettling was her realization that she wanted it as badly as Muir did — possibly more.
But what primarily squeezed her heart was the memory of Neddy’s kind face, loving eyes, and gentle voice as he had once viewed the upper part of her bosom. Their experience had seemed so tender, natural, even innocent — quite the opposite of Mr. Muir’s dream.
Muir had evidently given up on her appearance, because he threw himself into the upholstered chair and broadcast his comments without specific direction. “You promised you’d come back sometime today and I’m holding you to it. I know very little about spirits but you’ve said you’re not allowed to lie.”
Correct, Mr. Muir, I am not allowed to lie… but I can omit fragments of truth.
Not having been present enough for him to sense her, Danielle departed quickly, leaving the aroma of her imported French perfume for him to inhale once again.
****
Saturday midday
Muir had no one with whom he could discuss his bizarre dream, though surely there would be sufficient content for a year’s worth of counseling therapy. Asking — no, insisting — to see a ghostess nude. Good grief, what next? Equally disturbing in the dream was Danielle’s willingness, though reluctant and mortified, to accede to his demands.
And what was that dark force inside him? Or the cruel way he spoke to Danielle? None of it made any sense and he’d felt depressed for the several hours since he woke.
If he thought he could return to sleep that early in the day, he would have, because to keep pondering this would drive him nuts. Yet, if Muir were to sleep again, perhaps he’d resume that dream and continue treating Danielle as a voluptuous slave instead of his lovely ethereal companion.
He vigorously rubbed his face, as if that could freshen his mind. His only friends were Lucy and Danielle. And, in his dark dream, he had just coerced Danielle to undress!
But he and Lucy were still okay — right? His recent revelations had staggered her, but if he could get the buzz out of his noggin, maybe he could make it right. He picked up his phone.
No, whatever he would try to explain should be done in person. And since he couldn’t comprehend himself, why should he imagine he could explain it to Lucy? Lucy — kind, smart, beautiful, and presumably available. Yet, after a promising start with her, he’d bungled everything.
He tapped his phone’s photo album and easily located the picture she’d snapped of them both. He’d joked about kidnapping and they’d both been so full of enjoyment. They’d seemed so natural together that he’d finally started to relax and actually think of a new relationship as possible.
Was it still?
Not sure. When the photo was taken, it was. But what about now?
I can’t talk to Aunt Martha about this. She’d be totally lost.
If Muir had any local male friends, perhaps he could hit a few balls on the driving range or maybe blast some targets at the gun club. But he didn’t feel like doing either alone.
Sometimes when everything else failed to clear one’s head, the best course was a stiff drink, so Muir searched through his desk for the very general town map which Lucy had carefully marked with selected building identities. No bar indicated downtown and he certainly didn’t want to drive after ingesting alcohol, no matter how small the amount.
Nobody he could call for information, because if he had a buddy to ask, he’d just talk to the buddy and wouldn’t need the bar. Muir pulled on his shoes and walked across Magnolia Avenue to the square — presumably a non-threatening location in which to ask questions of strangers.
First passerby was a woman he didn’t bother — no more female trouble today. Then two teenaged boys ambled along. Couldn’t ask them in case they recognized him from school. Finally he saw an older man in a much heavier coat than one would expect for late August in south Alabama. This guy will know.
“Excuse me, can you tell m
e if there’s a bar within walking distance?”
The wizened man looked at Muir like he was an angel sent in answer to fervent prayer. “It so happens, I do, buddy.” He licked his lips. “But since you’re obviously unaccustomed to these parts, it’s better I just show you instead of handing out instructions. You start following directions in a town like this and you’re likely to end up in the swamp.”
Muir knew where this was heading, but didn’t mind. He’d be out a couple of bucks, but information is never cheap. “Sure, lead the way.”
When the old man smiled, he showed more gums than teeth. “Name’s Tacket. I know all the buildings downtown.”
“Levi Muir, and I know about four buildings. So where’s this bar?”
“It’s the General Lee and I’ll deliver you safely right to the door.” Big grin, mostly toothless. “Folks say that the good general himself stopped off here for a drink during the big war, but I don’t believe it myself. Lot’s more likely that a man named Lee owned the place originally and figured his name would sound better with a bit of southern charm and military rank.”
Muir nodded occasionally but had nothing to add. In fact Tacket’s running discourse continued until they’d traveled a block and a half south on Bridge Street. Turned out the bar was right across from the community hospital. Though Muir could easily have found it with verbal directions, he held no grudge against Tacket. The man wanted refreshment and Muir needed a temporary companion.
When they entered the dark space, its cool air hit them agreeably and the soft, low juke box music felt soothing. Tacket pointed toward a corner which was obviously his favorite, but stopped at the bar. “My usual please, and my new friend here will have your finest.”
“Finest what?” The dour bartender dried two glasses from the rinse rack and clacked them to the counter. He poured a draft beer for Tacket.
“Same for me, and I’ll cover his.”
Tacket flashed a broad smile and slapped Muir on the shoulder. “Much obliged, Muir. I could tell you were not only new in town, but you’d brought with you the generous spirit which unfortunately departed the local folk some time back.”
When the bartender slid the glasses forward, he didn’t let go right away. “You starting a tab?”
Muir nodded and took his beer toward the far corner.
Tacket scurried to arrive first and marked his own spot with the glass before inspecting the other three chairs and pulling one away. “Busted. I keep telling him about it, but nothing gets done. He doesn’t own the place, just serves drinks.”
“I understand.” Muir pointed toward the defective chair. “Thanks.”
“Thank you.” Tacket took a long swig, smacked his lips loudly and wiped them on a wrinkled sleeve. When the sleeve rode up, it revealed a faded tattoo — the eagle, globe, and anchor.
“You were a Marine?”
Tacket nodded proudly. “One tour in ‘Nam… most of it near the DMZ.” He took another short sip. “Each generation of my family has had somebody in uniform, even though I don’t recall every one anymore. Great-grandfather in the Civil War. Grandfather and great-uncle in World War One — both in the 81st Infantry Division, the Wildcats. Daddy in World War Two on a battle wagon in the Pacific. I didn’t want Army or Navy, so I went to the Corps.” He paused and eyed Muir carefully. “You served too.”
Muir nodded. “Infantry brigade combat team, one tour in Afghanistan.”
“Did you come back kinda… messed up?”
After a deep breath and a slow exhale, Muir replied, “Worse for the wear. It wasn’t the conditions so much as the constant awareness that any civilians could be innocent victims or might have bombs strapped in their robes. That included the women and children.” His hand trembled slightly when he took a drink. “Some of the guys couldn’t handle that uncertainty and tended to shoot at anybody who moved suddenly. Occasionally it was an innocent civilian.”
“You didn’t.”
“No, thank God. But I came really close one time when a man ran toward our Humvee waving his arms and yelling.” Muir started to take another sip, but the glass wouldn’t stop shaking. “He was trying to warn us about something. If we hadn’t had an interpreter in the vehicle behind us, that civilian would’ve had about a dozen holes in his torso.” He gulped. “It changes a man.”
“Civilians don’t understand.” Tacket’s hands were steady. “I lost a few pals to the Cong, but the one that hit hardest was my buddy who bought his body bag from friendly fire.”
Muir nodded. “You seem to have worked through a good bit of it, Tacket.”
The reply began after a long pause. “I was pretty messed up for a good while. Lucked into a really good counselor at the VA and things eventually got better. But even after all these forty years or so, the darkness still comes back occasionally.”
“I’m still looking for that good counselor — combat stress reaction.” He stubbed a thumb to his chest.
“Next time I’m at the VA in Mobile, I’ll ask around.” Tacket took a noisy slurp, apparently satisfied they’d closed the topic. “So what’s really on your mind today, Muir?”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Oh, young stranger in town looking for a bar in the middle of the day. Something’s on your mind besides Afghanistan, I’ll wager.”
“Just wanted to clear my head a bit.”
Tacket eyed him closely. “I’ve got you figured for an educated man. Not many jobs around here where that makes much difference.”
“Teacher. High school. English, as a matter of fact.”
“English the language? Or English the reading?”
“A bit of both, actually, but my main focus is on literature and writing.”
“Oh, okay. I had you confused for those who teach foreigners how to speak American.” Tacket smiled and took another long drink. “So lit’s your game. I studied some of that back in the day.” And he proceeded to recite a few mangled lines from Robert Frost. “Poems were my favorite. Didn’t take as long to read as those boring books.”
Muir nodded. “Can’t argue with that.”
“So what’s a lit teacher got on his mind that a few drinks will help with on a Saturday afternoon?”
The disturbing dream was what he wanted to explore, but Muir feared any dream interpretation from an old Vietnam vet barfly might not be particularly helpful. So he shifted to the topic that nearly every male in bars has expert proficiency in — females. “Well, I’m involved with two women…”
“Female problems? Why, you’ve come to the right man for advice. I could have my own TV show except they’re too concerned about me missing a few teeth.” His big smile revealed at least seven long gone. “Which one do you like best?”
“Well, that’s the thing — I like them both.”
“Brand new in town and already two girlfriends.” Tacket whapped Muir’s shoulder again and took another draught. “So what’s the problem? Do they know each other?”
“Well, they both know about each other, but they aren’t actually what you’d call acquainted.”
“That simplifies things considerably. It’s always best to keep your female folks separated. The less they know about the other one, the better.” After another loud slurp, he dabbed his lips on a frayed cuff. “And you don’t never, ever, let them get together to talk about you.”
“Yeah, I’ve already figured that part out, but each seems intensely curious about the other. I’m afraid one day soon they’ll hook up, and that worries me.”
“As well it might. Hold them off as long as you can, Muir. Keep them separate as much as possible.” He eyeballed the diminishing contents of his glass and took another swig. “So what’s the first one like?”
Muir wasn’t planning to reveal any names, of course, but he didn’t think mentioning general information would breach confidentiality. “One is a colleague of mine at school.”
“You know, I was thinking just the other day, the female teachers these days are a lot prettier t
han those old spinsters who taught me in school. Fact of the matter, some of them are flat out gorgeous.”
“This one is really cute. Plus friendly, smart, and kind. Great teacher. Lots of terrific qualities.”
“But you haven’t gotten very far with her, have you?”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s all over your face.”
“We went out to eat a few times, but something started interfering.”
“That other female, I’ll wager.” Tacket nodded eagerly.
“Actually, yes.” How does this guy know so much? “And things have been a bit fractured with my teacher friend since the other woman entered the picture.”
Tacket nodded sagely, as though he’d been counseling hurt relationships for years. “Number Two bumped Number One aside, but you still want to get close to Number One. And now Number Two wants all your attention.”
“Yes, exactly. Danielle doesn’t even like me thinking about Lucy.” Oops, the names slipped out.
“So Number Two’s named Danielle. Sounds French.”
“Uh, no, don’t think so. Local, I believe.” Muir had only taken a few short sips of his brew, but remedied that with a long gulp.
“Both local? Well, that does complicate things.”
“Now Danielle might not be considered truly local anymore, but the Gregg family was big in local society when she was alive. They lived, for a while in the Whitecliff building when it was still a hotel.”
Tacket’s mouth hung open. “Did you say Gregg?”
Muir nodded hesitantly.
“There’s some bad blood between my clan and the Greggs.”
Muir didn’t really wish to know any detail. Wealthy men usually made enemies as part of acquiring their riches. “Well, this was the daughter, Danielle.”
“Danielle Gregg? The suicide lady from a hundred years ago? That’s girlfriend Number Two?” He hurriedly drained his glass and signaled the bartender for a refill.
“But she says it wasn’t suicide after all. Her dress got caught somehow and she couldn’t get off the track in time.”
