by Ingrid Fry
‘Amazing!’ the Maestro said. ‘However, I’m sure rocks like that one aren’t a dime a dozen. Are you sure it’s not the Professor’s?’
‘Pretty sure,’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it in his rock, or should I say, mineral, collection.’ Dad hated people calling them rocks.
‘But Ash has got one,’ Jason said. ‘Maybe they’re a dime a dozen.’
The Maestro sat up straight. ‘Who’s got one?’
I glared at Jason.
‘A friend of ours who collects rocks, but his is not exactly the same, really,’ Jason mumbled.
‘The Professor told me his crystal was given to him some years ago by an Aboriginal in the outback. During an exploration of the Bungle Bungles, a man came out of nowhere and handed him a ball of red clay, within which was the crystal. The Aboriginal gave the Professor a message, which he wrote in one of his notebooks. Do you happen to have the Professor’s notebooks? It would be interesting to know what the message was.’
‘They’re under lock and key at the university,’ I said.
‘Is that right?’
‘Yes,’ I said, knowing she knew I was lying. Damn it. I had to get better at lying.
‘You don’t happen to have any more of those crystals hanging around, do you? I’m a collector you know.’
‘No, sorry we don’t,’ Jason said.
‘It appears Boo and I have something in common,’ the Maestro said, changing the subject.
Boo cocked her head and listened raptly.
‘I love feathers. And birds. Particularly raptors, birds of prey.’
‘Another shared interest with the Professor then,’ Jason said.
‘Yes, in fact I carry this one around with me for luck.’ She fished around inside her cape.
I was betting her cape had a few secret compartments.
‘Here it is,’ she said, taking out a long feather with black and grey stripes. ‘A harpy eagle feather.’
What happened next was not to be expected. Actually, that statement was more suited to my old life. Now, I expected the unexpected.
Using turbo-powered haunches, Boo launched herself through the air, whipped the feather out of the Maestro’s hand, and captured it delicately in between her front teeth. Her momentum was such she continued in a belly slide across the kitchen table, her front and back legs extended like some super dog in a western bar scene, sending cups, glasses, pizza boxes, plates and cutlery flying in all directions.
Jason yelled and resembled a frantic soccer goalie valiantly trying to save the airborne items. A pizza box found its way onto the Maestro’s lap, closely followed by a glass of champagne. I ducked out of the way of torpedo Boo. She flew off the end of the table, hit the wall, and knocked the mirror off the wall. The mirror sent the lamp flying, a vase, our gold bounty, and two picture frames, one of which Frisbeed across the room taking out the four crystal glasses good old Jason had neglected to put back in the cupboard. Arrgh!
Boo skidded across the floorboards, legs extended, and came to a gradual halt near a rug at the end of the room. She carefully placed the harpy eagle feather on the rug and flipped over onto her back, where she proceeded to roll methodically back and forth on the feather, legs moving rhythmically in the air.
Seated amongst the debris, watching this performance, were three silent, open-mouthed humans. Well, two anyway. I wasn’t sure about the Maestro yet.
Boo leapt to her feet, gingerly picked up the feather, which still seemed in remarkable condition given its treatment, and trotted over to her collection bowl. She placed it alongside her other feather, then turned and stared intently at us for a moment, her eyes dark and insistent. With a flick of her head she gave a loud ‘Phffft!’ and rocketed out through the dog door leaving it swinging in her wake.
We stared speechless, mesmerised by the to and fro motion of the door flap as it squeak, squeak, squeaked slowly back and forth. Simultaneously shaking our heads to awaken from our door flap induced trance, we surveyed the devastation around us.
‘Bloody hell!’ we said together.
Jason brushed pieces of broken glass into a pizza box. ‘I didn’t realise she liked feathers that much.’
‘Oh, Maestro, I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘Look at you. You’re covered in pizza toppings and champagne. Here, let me take your cloak.’ It pleased me to have an excuse to take the damn thing off and see exactly what was underneath it, and possibly inside it.
The Maestro didn’t protest as I unclipped the gold clasp securing the cape around her neck. She stood so I could pull it free of her. It weighed an absolute ton, with endless yards of heavy, velvet fabric.
‘The gold embroidery is exquisite,’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. The way it catches the light is almost magical.’
‘It is magical. It’s sea silk, byssus, priceless. It was a gift.’
‘Where can you buy it?’ Jason asked, always interested in marine related topics.
‘It can’t be bought.’
Jason was going to reply, but then thought better of it.
‘Luckily your cape seems to have avoided being soiled, but your pants and shirt came off second best,’ I said.
‘No matter,’ she said offhandedly. ‘I’ll clean up in the bathroom.’
‘It’s through there, third door on the right. Plenty of towels in the cupboard. Let me know if you need anything.’
Jason stared as she strode away, apparently transfixed by her super tight black leather hipster pants, threaded with a black leather belt and large gold buckle. They were slung so low on her hips she just needed a holster and a gun to finish the look. She probably had those items tucked inside her cape. Ultra-tight, over the knee patent leather stiletto boots embraced the black pants, and on top she wore an extremely tight, perfectly fitted white shirt, under which I could glean a hint of expensive lace lingerie. All the leather and lace covered a lithe body which exuded grace, sexuality and sheer animal magnetism.
‘You right there?’ I said to Jason. ‘Put your eyes back in your head.’
‘Don’t have a go at me. You should’ve seen your face. You looked like you wanted to eat her.’
‘Not so, that look’s reserved only for you. It’s amazing she doesn’t squeak when she walks, with all the leather.’
‘She’s one hot mama. Probably got a whip and cuffs in her cape somewhere.’
‘Yes! Yes! Quick. Let’s look!’ I hooked the cape on the coat rack and patted it down.
‘You want cuffs and a whip?’ Jason said, sounding hopeful.
I found something and turned the cape over to try and retrieve it. ‘There’s definitely stuff in there.’ I examined the stitching. ‘Jeepers, there’s hundreds of quilted pockets, but I can’t work out how they open to get to anything. It’s like the trunk, but made of fabric.’
Jason glanced anxiously along the hallway. ‘You’re running out of time.’
‘Damn! I’ll have to leave it, don’t want to get sprung.’ I let go of the cape as the bathroom door opened.
The Maestro strode into the kitchen, sans shirt.
I was right—she was wearing expensive lingerie. A satin, ivory bra. An underwired little number, quarter cup style with strips of filmy, intricate lace across the bust, provocatively displaying flashes of skin in between. The bra was obviously chosen for its structural ability to create maximum definition and uplift, not that she needed it.
Jason also seemed to share my interest in the structural integrity of this flimsy, yet perfectly engineered piece of cloth. He seemed more than interested actually, but who could blame him faced with this rampant exhibitionism.
‘My shirt is too stained,’ she said, holding it between thumb and forefinger. ‘Would you have a T-shirt or something I could borrow?’
‘Nice bra,’ I said.
‘I enjoy beautiful lingerie. Honey Birdette.’ She ran her thumbs under the lacy straps and let them go with a snap. Jason visibly started, as though a spell had been broken. He flushed
red realising he must have been staring unashamedly.
‘I’ve got a new white T-shirt you can have, still in the packet,’ he said, probably relieved to be able to beat a hasty exit from the room.
‘Bless him,’ the Maestro said. ‘He’s so sweet.’
‘Ah, yup. I’ll help him find that tee.’ I hurried to the bedroom. Jason was standing at the open window, fanning himself with the T-shirt packet.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, you’ve got to be kidding me. It’s like you haven’t seen a pair of breasts in lingerie before. You’re like a school boy!’
‘Well, holy shit Maggie; I was kind of taken by surprise. There I am minding my own business, and hey presto, a Salma Hayek lookalike appears in my kitchen.’
‘Did you think you’d died and gone to heaven, in a scene from Desperado?’ I giggled, pulled up my top, and thrust out my chest.
Jason’s arms were around me, holding me tight against his body. He grasped the back of my head and brought my face forward to his for a deep, passionate kiss. My knees went weak. I clung to his shoulders as his right hand found my breast, and his left hand slid inside the front of my jeans.
‘You make me hot. I love you, Magster,’ he whispered in my ear, pushing me against the wall. I yanked his T-shirt out from his jeans, and ran my hands over his taut muscles, over the body I loved. His hot breath was on my throat.
‘How are we going with the T-shirt?’ The Maestro stood in the doorway.
We jumped to attention, clothes awry.
She entered further into the room. ‘Don’t mind me. I’m getting a bit chilly is all.’ Her violet eyes scanned us picking up every detail. ‘Is that it on the bed?’
‘Yes. Yes!’ Jason said. Grabbing it, he threw it at her like a Frisbee. It landed between her feet, and she performed a straight leg bend to pick it up, ensuring we received maximum exposure to her voluptuous cleavage. Rising slowly, she turned on her heel to walk out of the room. Before she left, she said, ‘Thanks Jason. Let me know if you need a hand.’
We listened to the click, clack, click, clack of her heels moving back along the hall.
‘She’s unreal!’ Jason said. ‘What’s with her? Seriously?’
‘I didn’t hear her,’ I whispered. She must’ve tip toed up—an exhibitionist and a voyeur.’
Jason cradled my face in his hands and gave me another kiss. ‘To be continued. Let’s get rid of the broad.’
‘That was an interesting diversion,’ the Maestro said when Jason and I returned to the dining room. She was collecting broken crockery from the floor.
It pleased me—though not so sure about Jason—to see she was fully covered in his new, white T-shirt, complete with nice, sharp packet creases.
‘Never a dull moment around this house,’ I said. ‘It seems your harpy eagle feather is still in one piece.’
‘Good. Do you think Boo will let me take it?’
‘I’m sure she will,’ I said, not having a clue as to Boo’s intentions.
The Maestro lifted our big mirror and hung it back on the wall.
‘Amazing this survived Boo’s onslaught,’ she said, standing back to see if it was correctly aligned. ‘It’s still in one piece.’
Picking up some broken glass we’d missed, I went into the kitchen to put it in the bin. When I came back, the Maestro was still standing in front of the mirror. She’d removed the clip from her ‘do’ and was shaking out her long black tresses, pushing her fingers into her hair to create body and form after the severe restrictions of her French Knot.
Oh, for God’s sake, she looked even more like Salma Hayek, and I felt even more like a frump. She must’ve been sixty something, and still her natural beauty outshone everyone’s. I felt a severe decline in my self-esteem.
Jason stood partially hidden behind a cabinet, watching her. Transfixed, he stared with an intensity I’d never witnessed before. My self-esteem plummeted to new depths of fifty fathoms below.
Dragging herself away from her reflection, she turned and tossed her head, flicking lustrous locks over her shoulder.
‘It’s awfully late. I think I’ll take my leave. A car will collect me in fifteen minutes.’
Boo was nowhere to be seen, so I said, ‘I’ll get your feather.’ Of course, as soon as I said the words, Boo trotted in.
‘Would you like some tea while you wait?’ My politeness and hospitality amazed me.
‘Lovely, thank you,’ she said taking a seat at the table.
‘Oh, and here’s your feather back,’ I said, handing it to her.
I ambled into the kitchen to make the tea, leaving Jason and the Maestro to chat about the weather.
As I returned with the tea, the Maestro had moved to sit next to Jason in my chair. Cozied up to him, she chatted softly, and he seemed enthralled. I plonked the tray on the table clattering the cups and saucers, and they both jumped.
I didn’t know why I’d bothered to dust off the fancy tea cups for this floozy.
‘Here’s your tea, Maestro.’ I gave her the stink eye and placed the cup on the opposite side of the table. Her violet eyes latched onto mine and her mouth twitched. She was going to say something, but perhaps thought better of it. Standing, she ran her hands along her body and smoothed out the T-shirt, before moving to the other side of the table.
We sat quietly sipping our tea in awkward silence. Boo was on the rug behind the Maestro. She brushed the feather backwards and forwards against her cheek. Boo didn’t seem concerned about her repossessing the feather.
Jason flicked on the sound system, and after a couple of minutes the Maestro seemed to relax. Triggered by the music, she chatted softly about her love of Mozart and David Bowie.
Behind her, Boo rose slowly off the rug, floating upwards, still in a lying position. Boo continued her levitation until she reached a point slightly above and behind the Maestro’s head. There she hovered, looking straight at us, grinning, as dogs do when they’re particularly happy with themselves.
Jason was staring into his tea, so I pinched him to get his attention. Boo began a slow, clockwise barrel roll, pausing to hover upside down, legs stretched up straight, ears and tail dangling, pink tongue out to one side, and cheeks relaxed into a silly puffy grin.
Jason, who’d taken a mouthful of tea, coughed and spluttered it all over the table.
‘Oh, dear,’ the Maestro said. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine,’ he wheezed, wiping the spillage.
‘You two look rather shell-shocked,’ the Maestro said, as behind her Boo continued her rotation, and then slowly floated back to the rug, landing just as the Maestro turned around.
Boo cocked her head, and chose her most innocent and endearing expression.
‘Such a sweet, darling dog,’ she said to Boo. She stood and held Boo’s head in her hands. ‘You are a clever girl, aren’t you?’
Boo looked smitten, unless it was just another selected expression.
‘I will leave you to digest my incredible story,’ the Maestro said. ‘Here’s my phone number. I’d very much like to keep in touch. I loved your father, and I hope perhaps we can solve the mystery of his disappearance together. I do have considerable resources at my disposal, if you need my assistance. Perhaps we can meet again next week? At my place?’
Despite her ‘out there’ eccentricities, and my insecurities, I suddenly experienced a surge of warmth and affection towards this strange woman.
‘Yes, it’s a mind-boggling lot to think about,’ I said. ‘Thank you so much for sharing your story, we appreciate it. And I’m sorry for the havoc Boo caused. Let me get your cape.’
I lifted the god-awful heavy cape from the coat rack and stood on my tiptoes to place it over her shoulders. She turned around, and I gently moved her shining tresses aside, fastening the cape around her neck with the gold clasp. She resembled a goddess from centuries past. No wonder Dad fell for her.
‘Au revoir, dear Maggie.’ She enfolded me in her arms and held me tight against her body in th
e warm velvet depths of the cape. My cheek rested on her generous chest, and she kissed me softly on the top of my head. My knees became instantly weak. This woman radiated a powerful sexual energy. It was heavenly, and wanted to stay in her embrace forever.
Ding Dong! Ding Dong!
That damn doorbell. Boo barked madly.
‘It’s my driver,’ she said, releasing me and striding to the door.
‘Goodbye, dear Maggie. Goodbye, Jason. Bye, Boo.’ And in a whirl of velvet, she was gone.[13]
Chapter 14: The Attack
‘For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.’ — Ephesians 6:12
‘We need to debrief,’ Jason said. ‘What was that about?’
‘What was what about? At this rate, we may as well debrief on a daily basis, or minute by minute. Jason, I’m too bone weary to think now, let alone speak. I can’t do it.’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘I need to go to bed.’
‘You seemed pretty cozy with the Maestro just then. What was going on there?’
‘What do you mean what was going on there? You’re kidding, right? You should talk! I saw you skulking behind the cabinet staring at her like you wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her against the wall.’
‘Maggie! No, you’re wrong. It’s not true! Let me explain.’
‘Don’t give me that crap. I saw you. Pathetic. She could be your mother. Of course, a goddamn MILF. Duh. How stupid am I? You’re such a bastard!’
Rage. Jealousy. Envy. Anger. Hatred. Pain. Insecurity. Bitterness. The essential essences of those emotions melded, magnified and ignited. They erupted in my body like a volcano. A blood red haze enveloped the room. My limbs jerked and burned with the ferocity of the feelings exploding through my body. The emotions tasted bitter, like bile in my mouth. Poison and venom condensed. My heart was in rapid fire—a beat so fast and loud it was all I could hear. Thunder cracked through my skull. Blood seeped through my fingers as I crushed a Royal Albert bone china cup in my hand. He couldn’t treat me so badly and get away with it.