San Francisco Covens: Crucible

by Manuel Tiger

  “I used to practice holding my breath at the bottom when I was younger.”

  “How deep is this basin?”

  “At least seven foot.”

  “That’s pretty deep.”

  “Indeed it is.”

  Then I remember that I was still wearing my messenger bag. “Oh shit!” I said turning and grabbing the edge of the basin as I hauled myself up. “My messenger bag,” I said dangling one leg over the edge of the basin and the other still in the water. I opened it up and saw that it was flooded. I quickly grabbed my cell phone and sighed. “I’m going have to get a new cell phone,” I said shaking the water from it. “Whenever I get my first pay check that is.”

  The entire bag was flooded, my pens floating to the surface, notepad soaked through and the other assorted culmination of items beginning to float to the surface as well. I upended it on the tiles which surrounded the fountain and sighed heavily.

  “I’m sorry,” he said swimming up to me looking very much so.

  I looked down at him and shook my head. His hair was plastered to his scalp and hanging in wet ringlets on his forehead, his blue eyes sparkling brightly. He looked beautiful wet, then I pushed the thought away.

  “I’ll just get me a new one, at some point,” I said holding a hand out to him which he took and pulled himself up onto the basin behind me. He positioned his legs to either side of mine, surprising me when he rested his chin on my shoulder, but I barely noticed as I looked over the bag.

  “This messenger bag? Did it have special meaning for you?” he asked softly.

  “My late aunt got it for me as a graduation gift from university,” I said. “She um, died last year.”

  “Then I am terribly sorry,” he said his tone indicating as much.

  “I can probably hang it up to dry it out. My cell phone is a wreck though,” I said touching the area on the messenger bag where my name had been stenciled in on the flap. “We should get back to the office. I have that article to write.”

  I leaned forward and stood up, climbing off the basin and began gathering up my items. He joined me in the gathering, kneeling in front of me.

  “I really am sorry. I just wanted to see you smile.”

  I looked up at him, surprised by such a comment. He smiled at me and I gave a half grin in return. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” I said dropping my pens and soggy notepad into the bag. “Honestly? I deserved it after the way I was treating you.”

  “No, you didn’t,” he said. “But it is refreshing to have one call me out on my behavior as you did instead of allowing my behavior to continue for they enjoy it so much.”

  I looked at him and watched as water trickled down the length of his nose. He brought his hand up and placed my glasses back on my face.

  “I can’t decide which I prefer,” he said as I adjusted my glasses. “Them on or off.”

  “Lately I’ve been needing them on more,” I said adding a calculator to my bag. “Think it’s from spending so much time in front of the computer.”

  I stood up and slipped the strap of the bag around my neck then made my way over to the camera. “Just glad this wasn’t in the bag. First thing I bought with my first pay check.”

  “I really am sorry Mister Sullivan,” he said squishing over to me.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Accidents and damages happen and you just move on.” I turned around to face him. “I really do need to get back to the office.”

  “In this state?”

  “I’ve been in worse states than this,” I said. “And showed up to work in them at times.”

  He nodded. “Let me get you a towel at least so you can make yourself somewhat presentable when I drop you off.”

  I nodded and watched him head up the back stairs that were a mirror image of the front stairs. I tried not to notice the way his wet clothing clung to his body.

  My eyes tracked down his broad muscular back, revealed more so with his wet shirt, before dropping down to admire that perfectly shaped ass and I learned one thing right then and there.

  He was not wearing underwear.

  That was all him.

  Damn impressive and as I had this thought he paused at opening the back door, looked over his shoulder at me and gave a wink.

  I quickly flushed crimson.

  Mayfield was the first to see me upon my return. He stared at me as I sloshed by, running my hand through my damp hair as I made my way to my desk in my squeaking shoes. I had managed to dry myself off enough to be presentable, but my shoes were another matter just like my slacks and shirt that were still damp.

  “Henry?” he said.

  “Don’t ask,” I said sitting down in my chair and placing my messenger bag beside me. “Just don’t ask,” I repeated adjusting my glasses as I went back to work on my article.

  Two days later when I arrived at the office Belle Dawn was standing at the reception desk as was most of the office staff. They had been having whispered conversations which stopped upon my arrival.

  “Mister Sullivan,” she greeted and gestured toward my desk. “A gift arrived for you a few a little bit ago. I saw that it was left on your desk.”

  “A gift?” I said shifting my messenger bag to my other shoulder. It was still damp and I feared it would start to mildew. I was hoping that with my first pay check, after I bought more groceries and some other amenities, I could get it professionally cleaned, if it was salvageable. I prayed that it was.

  “Yes, there on your desk,” she repeated.

  I reached up and pushed my glasses further back on my nose, shifted my cup of coffee I got at the coffee shop to my other hand and headed toward my desk to find a large box tied with a blue bow waiting for me. “I don’t understand. I’m not expecting anything.” I looked back at her. “Who sent it?”

  “It arrived shortly after I opened up the office by a delivery man,” she replied. “Perhaps you should open it to find out who it is from.”

  Setting my messenger bag down on the floor and my coffee on the desk I picked up the box. It had a slight weight to it, but was not immensely heavy. There was no writing or stickers on the box nor was there any card attached saying who it was from. I pulled the ribbon off and set it aside then placed the box back down on my desk. I glanced up to see several co-workers watching me who then hurriedly went back to work, head down but throwing glances my way. I smirked and removed the lid and blinked at what was inside.

  It was a new messenger bag, or in this case, a leather satchel.

  A very expensive satchel as I recognized the Italian fashion house brand stamped on the strap.

  And stenciled on the flap like my other messenger bag was my name.

  I brought my hand to my mouth, not believing what I was seeing. Who could have sent this? I removed the satchel from the box and ran my fingers over my engraved name before flipping the flap open.

  There was more waiting for me inside.

  I pulled out the brand new cell phone and that of a card that resided at the bottom of the satchel. I stared at the phone first. It was the latest smart phone on the market and very, very expensive. I was nearly afraid to handle it and carefully set it aside before opening the card.

  Mister Sullivan,

  Please accept these gifts as my apology for our impromptu swim the other day. I know this satchel may not replace the one given by one you held dear, but please accept it as a reporter of your caliber deserves only the best. Also I hope you will join me for dinner this evening at 7 sharp. I look forward to you being my guest tonight.

  Sincerely,

  D. Salvadori

  PS

  I took the liberty of programming my number into your cell phone.

  PPS

  Please don’t call to decline the dinner invitation.

  I lowered the card.

  He had bought me this satchel and cell phone?

  He…he barely even knew me!

  “A very expensive satchel that is,” Belle Dawn said. She had quietly approa
ched my desk while I had been reading the card. I looked at her as she arched a brow and fingered the key rings that were attached around the strap. “Dolce and Gabbana?”

  “It’s a mistake,” I said. “I don’t think it was intended for me.”

  “It has your name beautifully stamped on the flap, Mister Sullivan.”

  “Perhaps another Sullivan named Henry?” I said feeling flustered. I snatched up the phone and turned it on. The moment the screen lit up I went to the contact list and found D. Salvadori listed. “Excuse me as I have to make a phone call right away.”

  “Of course Mister Sullivan,” Belle Dawn said with an amused expression.

  I hurried outside and selected the call option, for a moment dazzled by the sleekness of the phone. “It is a very pretty phone,” I mumbled before lifting it to my ear.

  One ring and he answered.

  “Mister Salvadori,” I began. “I cannot accept these gifts that you sent me! Why did you send them to me?”

  “I’m sorry, but Mister Salvadori is busy at the moment with ensuring the lobster from Maine is promptly here in time for a dinner he has planned.”

  “He is?” I then realized I was speaking to him. “This is you! You’re Damiano Salvadori!” I hissed into the phone.

  “I cannot confirm or deny that Mister Sullivan.”

  “I cannot accept the gifts!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said and I could hear his smile in his voice. “Reception seems to be bad here at the moment. I’m afraid this phone call will have to be cut short. He will see you promptly at seven tonight.”

  “Daman!” I exclaimed. “Don’t you hang up on me!”

  “Daman, eh? That has a nice ring to it. Please use it tonight will you?”

  “What?” I was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. “Listen here Daman! I cannot accept these gifts! They are nice but I do not deserve them! I will be seeing you at seven to be returning them!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “The phone is fading in and out here. You did just confirm the dinner date at seven?”

  “Date?” I pulled the phone away and stared at it for a moment. “I didn’t say date!”

  “You just did and he accepts this date. Good day Mister Sullivan. Until seven.”

  The phone call ended.

  “Oh, am I going to give you a piece of my mind!” I shouted at the phone.

  “Mister Sullivan? If you are done confirming the dinner date you’re having this evening? I need you to come back inside to start on another article for this weekend’s edition of the Gazette.”

  I looked up to see Belle Dawn leaning out the front door of the office building.

  “Oh, yes, sorry,” I said shoving the phone into my slack pocket and combing my fingers through my hair.

  “And might I offer some advice?” she asked blocking the way for a moment.

  “I was careful around him, Belle Dawn. I don’t know how to explain the gifts.”

  “If you done nothing to receive them? And they were given as a gift? Even I myself would not turn them down. That is a very nice satchel.”

  I sighed. “It is, but I can’t accept it and will be returning it tonight and that of the cell phone.”

  “Continue to heed my advice, Mister Sullivan. Thread carefully around Mister Salvadori for those that come onto his radar? Tend to never leave it.”

  That night I arrived five minutes before seven to River Haven.

  I had taken extra time in dressing for this evening even if all I was going to do was return the satchel and cell phone. I had selected a sky blue dress shirt, khaki slacks and a pair of dress shoes I had not yet broken in that I had purchased with my last pay check while still in Boston.

  I took up the satchel and cell phone which resided on the passenger seat and exited my car, giving myself a once over in the side mirror before starting across the walkway and up the stairs with heavy steps. I approached the door and knocked while what I was going to say to him ran through my mind in various scenarios.

  When the door opened I opened my mouth as what I was going to, but those words died on my tongue. I could only stare at him as he arched a brow, tilted his head then glanced down at himself and back to me.

  We were dressed exactly alike.

  Even right down to our nearly matching dress shoes in the same color.

  “Well,” he said with a grin. “I need no mirror tonight to tell me how I look.”

  I just stared, blinking behind my glasses.

  “Please, come in Mister Sullivan,” he said stepping aside.

  I did so, still staring at him when I caught a whiff of cooking food which drew my attention briefly.

  “Is that cherry pie I smell?” I asked, my stomach betraying me as it growled and made food more of a concern then my real reason for being here.

  “Your nose does not lie,” he said closing the door behind me. “May I take your coat Mister Sullivan?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Wait! No!” I said turning around. “I’ve just come to return the satchel and cell phone to you Damiano.”

  “Daman.”

  “Daman?”

  “That’s better,” he said. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about. I sent no such gifts.”

  “Yes you did!” I said following him down the immense hallway, noticing the rooms to my right and left. The first room on the right was a large spacious parlor filled with tasteful antique furniture, a marble fireplace and painted in a soft light green. The room across from it was that of a private office done in masculine tones and heavy oak furniture. “Is that an original Spanish chest from the late sixteen hundreds?” I said pausing at his office door to admire the hand carved chest.

  “Late seventeen hundreds to be exact,” he replied. “This way to the kitchen and dining room please.”

  I nodded and winced. “Look Daman, I only came here to return the items you sent me.”

  “Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You sent a card!”

  “Did I?”

  “You signed it!”

  “Maybe someone has gotten skilled at my copying my signature.”

  “Do you have an excuse for everything?”

  “I’m told it’s one of my best qualities, among others,” he said turning around, walking backwards for a brief moment to gift me with that ever charming devilish smile of his before turning around. “Would you like a drink?”

  “I don’t drink while working.”

  “You’re not working. Unless Belle Dawn has become more of the slave master than I thought she was.”

  He had me there and at the moment I was dazzled by the kitchen that took up half of the back portion of the house before merging with the equally large dining room.

  I noticed there were two plates already set out; one at the end of the table and one in front of the seat beside it.

  “Let me take your jacket,” he said slipping up behind me.

  “And these items!” I said holding up the satchel with the cell phone inside.

  “I don’t see any of these mentioned items. Have you been in the sun quite a bit today Mister Sullivan?”

  Before I knew he had my jacket off and draped over his arm handing me a martini.

  How on earth had he managed to take off my jacket while I was still holding the satchel?

  “Take a drink and tell me what you think.”

  I looked at the martini and plucked out the olive on the toothpick and took a sip. It was surprisingly good, sweet but not overly so, with a hint of a citrus aftertaste.

  “It’s very good Daman,” I said as he grinned wider. “What?”

  “That you selected to call me Daman. I never thought of it myself to be honest. It was usually some version of Damiano like Nio, Aman, which was quite clever to be honest. Or “bastard” which never set well with me for I obviously wasn’t one, but I played along to avoid hurt feelings.”

  “Then you may call me Henry,” I said taking another sip of the martini
. “Mister Sullivan reminds me too much of my father.”

  “And you rather not be compared to him?”

  “As little as possible,” I said moving into the kitchen and eyeing the pie. My stomach began to rumble again the sight of it.

  “I say that means dinner should commence,” he said moving around me and draping my jacket on top of a stool. He moved toward a large pot on the stove, took up a cloth and removed the lid as steam rose upward. He picked up a pair heavy looking silver tongs and poked around within the pot. “I made baked potatoes, mashed potatoes, and scalloped potatoes as I was not sure which you preferred.”

  “You cook?”

  “I am more than a pretty face, Henry,” he said looking over his shoulder at me. “We had a dear sweet maid that taught me the ins and outs of cooking and around the kitchen. I haven’t cooked in a while as it’s only me here and I typically nuke my food.”

  “Well then, I’m glad that I could bring about your cooking abilities for the evening.”

  “You bring out a lot more than that,” he said.

  I did a double take and stared at him for him to only hold my gaze for a few breaths before he returned his attention back to the pot.

  “If you don’t mind, Henry? Could you take those wine glasses there and set them on the table beside the plates? I was in the process of readying the table when you arrived.”

  I sat down the martini on the counter and took up the two wine glasses. They were etched with a floral design and rimmed in gold. “These look old and expensive.”

  “They have been in the family for generations,” he replied. “But only used once at my parent’s marriage. This will be the second time they will be used.”

  “You don’t need to go all out for me, Daman,” I said studying the glasses.

  “Nonsense,” he said retrieving a large platter from the counter. “Let me just get the lobsters and you never did say which style of potatoes you preferred.”

  “Mashed,” I said doing as requested and walked into the dining room, placing the wine glasses by each plate. I looked over to the antique sideboard and spotted silverware already set out atop it which I gathered up and arranged around each plate. “Is it just you that lives here? No servants?”