Time's Hostage: The dangers of love, loss, and lus (Time Series Book 1)
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Soon the music and the bubbly worked their charms on the pair, and they were restored to a loving mood, relaxed enough to make love to seal the deal.
They kissed, both beginning to undress each other. Once completely naked, they admired each other’s bodies, caressing more and more ardently. Soon their lovemaking was at a fever pitch, and they collapsed together after they both climaxed, screaming with pleasure.
As they lay together in a spent embrace, they breathed in each other’s reassuring scent. Chanel put a light blanket over them, their cooling sweat beginning to chill them.
“Let’s drink some more of this wonderful elixir and enjoy Gotan. Then we can do it again but much, much more slowly,” Lili murmured, sipping the Moët, savoring the taste and feel of it.
“Lentement,” Chanel agreed, and they clinked glasses one more time.
CHAPTER 15
The next morning, Sophia, disheveled, hungover, and generally disheartened, stumbled out of a cab and into her living room where she spotted Barth’s hastily penned note. She had left Jack without disturbing his snoring slumber.
Barth probably just left, she thought. I’m glad I didn’t run into him. Tuesday, everything was business as usual, then I stumble upon his nasty little secret, and by Friday, everything is chaos. Chaos can work in my favor too, she mused, feeling spiteful as she headed for the bathroom, stripped off her clothes, and stepped into the shower.
After she had sloughed off the Deuce dirt, she decided to indulge in a long, leisurely, aromatic bath. She had this German forest-green bubble bath, Vitabath, which was transforming. The aroma transported her deep within the clean, cool, dark forest or wherever else her sparked imagination might meander. Add a few neroli-scented candles, a cup of Moroccan mint tea with honey, and some Ravi Shankar instrumentals, and she would be in relaxation heaven.
After all, she was off for the next two weeks. Barth was gone until next Sunday, and all she had to worry about was exercise, Christmas with Jack, dinner with Amanda, and lunch with Sonya. Refreshing. No catering to Barth. She would call them all later. Except Barth.
Damn, she had been neglecting Lili. She had barely texted her since Monday, and her few calls had not been returned. She checked her phone. Nothing from Lili. They usually spoke every day or at least texted or emailed each other. In a way, she was relieved because she did not know whether to say anything about Barth.
However, this uncharacteristic silence was beginning to worry her. If she had had no word by later today, she might just go over there, use her spare key, and see what was what. Maybe Lili had gone out on a date, and the handsome young stranger was a serial killer who had left her in a pool of blood after having his way with her and then butchering her. She had to get a grip. Hopefully, there was a more benign explanation. Her imagination ran wild, fueled by her anxiety.
She told herself to relax. Then she thought about how to approach Dirk while preparing for her ablutions. The music was on, the candles lit, the tea prepared, and the rich green gel was working its magic. She submerged herself in the perfumed bubbles. She felt as if her own personal masseur were waiting for her. No, wait, she thought. She had no such masseur. On the contrary, she was Barth’s personal masseuse. Fuck him.
Sophia turned her thoughts to Dirk, feeling a lusty ache. She thought of touching herself, but it was so much more satisfying with a man. She would save herself for Dirk. By the time he touched her, she would burst like an overflowing dam.
Why did she always complicate things? She would simply call him and invite him over for Sunday. She would show him Barth’s art and play it by ear. If it suited her, she could tell him Barth was out of town, and if it suited her otherwise, she could say Barth had been called away but would be back soon.
She could wait no longer. She bounded out of the tub, trailing fragrant bursting bubbles, wrapped a towel around her, and rummaged through her bag until she found Dirk’s card. “Aha,” she exclaimed, grabbing her cell before again ensconcing herself in her watery pleasure palace. She tapped out the numbers on her keypad before she could change her mind.
Dirk answered right away. His hoarse, gravelly hello was music to her ears.
Dirk bypassed all hackneyed pleasantries and cut to the chase. “I was wondering when you would call, Zophia.” His faint accent thickened, becoming more pronounced as he said her name. He already had her at Zophia. Truth be told, he had already had her the minute he swooped in on her at Van Dyke’s.
Dirk continued in his distinctive growl. “I have been thinking about what I’d like to do to you.” He strung out the words.
Do to me? Sophia thought. Isn’t he skipping twenty steps of social niceties? But she could not deny this brutal direct approach was having the desired effect. She was excited. Sophia surprised herself by going along with him.
“Funny. I’ve been thinking of what you would do to me too,” she said, breathily. This was no Marilyn Monroe act. She was breathing hard.
“First, I would undress you very, very slowly so I could savor your body, your big breasts, your skin, your hair, your smell,” he said, hypnotizing her with his lust. “Then,” he continued slowly, “I would take you over my knee and spank you because you are being a naughty girl, and Daddy likes to spank his naughty girl. Every red mark from the five fingers of my left hand imprinted on those enticing cheeks would bring you closer to ecstasy. Do you want me to continue?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” she acquiesced, becoming highly, unbearably aroused.
“Good girl, my little Zophie,” he crooned roughly, using the nickname that no one had used for decades. Her father called her Zophie when she was a child. He’d been gone for only a decade, but he’d stopped calling her that when she became a young adult.
“Once you’ve been properly spanked, I’ll tie your wrists and ankles to the bedposts. This is irresistible and will increase your desire. Shall I continue, Zophie?” he repeated.
“Yes, please,” she panted.
“In order to experience real pleasure, there has to be some pain. While you are bound to the bed and completely helpless, I will nip at your erect nipples until I have drawn your rich ruby red blood, and there is a faint trickle staining your white skin. Just a slight trickle. Nothing more,” he whispered. “That is all for now, Zophie, you bad girl. There is much, much more to come to delight us,” he said, still speaking in rough hushed tones. “Oh, and one more thing…” He paused midsentence.
His pause was so long that Sophia could not contain herself. “What, what one thing?” she asked. Her panting had slowed to hard breathing.
“You must promise not to touch yourself. Until we meet, hands off. I want it all for me. Do you understand, Zophie?” he barked, the severity startling her after his previous dulcet tones.
“Yes, Daddy,” she whimpered. “Can you come Sunday? What time?” she entreated.
“Five. I’ll bring everything we need, including the food.” And he abruptly ended the call.
Sophia emerged from the tub as if on automatic pilot. She felt as if she had tumbled down the rabbit hole. She could barely register what had just transpired. Was Dirk a Svengali who had effortlessly hypnotized her? She was tired. Exhausted. Drained.
She dried off, flung on a nightshirt, and barely made it to her bed before she fell into a deep slumber. She dreamt a Rousseau dream of a majestic black leopard, actually dark brown with his black leopard spots barely visible, loping sinuously through the humid jungle night, which was alive with a multitude of sounds and smells and illuminated by a full moon. His gleaming flashlight eyes cut through the curtain of murk where the luminous moon could not penetrate as he approached her where she lay tiny and naked, curled up in a fetal position beneath an enormous shiny green-black rubber tree. She was shivering despite the nocturnal swelter.
The dark beast sniffed her, probing her with his moist velvet nose. He picked her up oh so delicately with his carnivorous yellowed ivory teeth, grasping her by the scruff of her neck. She could smell his me
aty, musty breath hot on her and feel the barest tug of his dangerous teeth where they held her. He trotted through the undergrowth, coming to a clearing where four perfect yellow leopard cubs cavorted by their lair.
The mighty animal deposited her among the eager cubs, who sniffed and nipped her. She began rolling around the jungle floor with them, laughing and playing without a care in the world.
Sophia awoke disoriented and confused. The dream was gone. Glancing at the bedside clock’s glowing blue numbers, she noticed it was ten past five. “Five a.m. or five p.m.?” she asked herself. Then abruptly she remembered the conversation with Dirk and how it had deteriorated into kinky sexuality. Sunday would be soul changing.
Then everything fell into place. Her morning arrival from Jack’s, Barth’s note, obligations to Amanda, Sonya, and Jack. And where was Lili? She checked her cell. No word. She was determined to go over there. Enough was enough.
A walk to Lili’s would be just the ticket. She dressed hurriedly, walked to the closest Starbucks for a grande soy cappuccino, and sipped the foamy bitter brew, sauntering along Collins Avenue lost in thought. No sense in hurrying and increasing her anxiety. If Lili were lying in a pool of blood, ten minutes more or less wouldn’t make a difference, she thought.
When she reached Lili’s flimsy gray door, she unlocked it, her heart pounding. Entering the quiet gloom, Sophia knew the place was uninhabited. Dusty silence enfolded her in its heavy arms.
She flipped on a standing lamp next to her, gasping at the shambles confronting her in the living room. At first she thought there had been a robbery or a struggle. She began pulling frantically on her left ear. Then, after a few moments of adjustment to her surroundings, she realized that Lili had been packing. Either for a move or a significant trip.
Where could she be going? Sophia thought, trying to puzzle out some sort of solution to this mystery. I just saw her on Monday. She said nothing. Everything seemed status quo. Today is only Friday, and there’s been a revolution in her plans. What is going on, she mused, becoming aware of her ear tugging and abruptly stopping.
Sophia tried calling Lili, who at that moment had just finished proposing to Chanel. She might as well have been on the moon.
When Sophia received no reply from Lili, she began to look around, searching for clues. All the clothes out of her closet. All the books out of the bookcases. Two suitcases in the middle of the bedroom floor. She returned to the living room and scanned the surfaces. Next to three large candles on the coffee table sat a black box of matches from a place called, “The Honey Pot,” with a graphic of black-and-yellow bees swarming around a brightly glowing honey pot. “One lick and you’ll be back for more,” read the tiny yellow letters under the golden pot oozing honey.
She turned it over and read the address on the back. Nearby. She took one more thorough look around, found nothing more, left the apartment, closed and locked the door behind her, and headed for the Honey Pot.
The patrons were swarming like bees around the Honey Pot. After all, it was Friday night on South Beach, and everyone was partying. Sophia struggled through the group outside the bar to reach the entrance. Looks nice, she thought. Red, yellow, and black décor. Cozy red-leather couches, a well-stocked gleaming mahogany bar, red-framed film posters, yellow walls.
She realized all the patrons were female. True, some of them did look mannish, some were dressed in macho leather or lumberjack plaid, but they were all female. Then she noted that some were making out on those cozy leather couches. Women tonguing each other. Women groping each other. Women dancing slow slinky dances, holding each other close.
Sort of nauseating, Sophia thought. An injudicious relationship from long ago reared its head, breaking through the repression. She pushed the uneasy memories away. Her walk on the wild side had ended badly.
She would never have felt uncomfortable sitting with a lesbian patient. But being smacked with the unrealized reality of her daughter’s sexual predilections up close and personal was a different matter. Then she sat down abruptly on one of those cozy couches, close to two women gazing into each other’s eyes.
Her buried past burst through and hit her square in the face. A memory of a misguided affair spinning out of control fifteen years ago burrowed up from its hole.
Oh, Lili. I had no idea, she thought, feeling as if someone had punched her in the gut and knocked the wind right out of her. Lili must sit on these couches kissing or gazing at another woman just like these women are doing now.
Sophia needed a drink. She stood up, shaky, made it to a barstool and ordered a Courvoisier VSOP from the feminine bartender. The pretty bartender, seeing Sophia’s distress written all over her face, asked, “You want to talk about it?”
“No, no, I’m fine. Thanks for asking. You’re very kind,” Sophia said.
That would be perfect, she thought. “Tell this nice lesbian you just became nauseated as you surveyed the lesbian scene and repulsed as you realized your daughter was among their number. And that the past, long laid to rest, unearthed itself.
“I just inadvertently discovered that my daughter is gay,” she found herself blurting out in spite of herself. “Why didn’t she tell me?” she moaned. “I would have understood. I’m a therapist, for god’s sake,” she declared, on the verge of tears.
“A lot of us find it difficult or impossible to tell our families,” said the bartender, whose nametag declared her to be named Maria. “We even keep it from ourselves. Who wants to be an outcast?” she continued. “A freak, a carpet-muncher.” She was warming up to the topic. “How old is your daughter anyway? What did you say your name was?” Maria delivered a rapid one-two volley of questions.
“Thirty-five. Lili,” Sophia replied, feeling more and more disheartened. She had to adjust to a new Lili. She was still working on adjusting to a new Barth. “She went to school in New York and also Paris. So I guess it was easy to lead two lives. But once she was back here, she was secretive and private.”
Sophia’s eyes were beginning to glaze over. Not from the brandy she had been sipping but from the revelation that kept hitting her in waves and rearranging her ideas about Lili and their relationship.
“Well, don’t be too hard on her,” Maria continued as she swiped at the bar’s surface with a damp towel. “We are used to putting things in different compartments so life is less messy and painful. It’s just that sometimes the compartments break open and the contents spill out, making life a mess but more real,” she concluded philosophically.
“Wise words, young lady.” Sophia smiled. “I love her no matter what. She should know that.” Sophia realized how noisy the bar was with the combination of loud music and the voices of so many lesbians calling out to be heard one way or another in the safe surroundings of The Honey Pot.
“Want another?” she heard Maria say from the depths of the bar.
“No, I’m good. Nice talking to you, Maria. I need some air,” she said as she slid off the barstool, paid her bill, and hurried out of the bar.
She felt like a deflated balloon as she trudged back home. Spent. When she reached her front door, she realized that she didn’t remember walking back home. Sophia decided not to try Lili again tonight. She was probably with her lesbian lover, getting up to all sorts of things. She didn’t want to think about it. It brought up a lot of unwanted visuals. That movie Lili had gone to see when Sophia had to call off dinner floated into her head. Blue Is the Warmest Color, she remembered. It was a lesbian film. Graphic sex, Lili had said. Maybe she’d go see it tomorrow if it still happened to be playing at the Cinematheque.
After getting ready for bed, Sophia checked her cell instinctively. Nothing from Lili. Nothing from Barth for that matter. But five missed calls and messages from Amanda. Persistent skinny bitch, she thought. A quick call or I’ll never hear the end of it.
Amanda answered, launching right in. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. You know tomorrow is Saturday, and we have plans we need to finalize.”
What would she tell her? Barth and Keith? Dirk? Lili? It all seemed too dangerous. Amanda couldn’t take much. She had erected impenetrable fortifications around herself, and there was a moat too. “Listen, Amanda, do you want to see an offbeat film at the Cinematheque and then dinner on Washington at that great, inexpensive Italian place? Escopazzo?” she asked before Amanda could blather on with recriminations. “I need you to do me a favor and check on the movie times if it’s still there. It’s called Blue Is the Warmest Color. Then make dinner reservations. Please Amanda. I am beyond beat and have to turn in now. I’ll get the particulars from you tomorrow,” she concluded, not giving Amanda a chance to agree to her plans. “Call you tomorrow.” She ended the call, leaving Amanda spluttering some nonsense or other.
Sophia expelled an enormous sigh and collapsed onto her bed, eager for oblivion. However, the arms of Morpheus were not prepared to embrace her just yet.
As the sound and smell of a firm clove of garlic being rubbed across a charred piece of hard rye permeated the air with its pungent rasp, Sophia succumbed to a hallucination filled with so much sound and fury, she put her hands to her ears in a vain attempt to muffle the furious noise.
Kristallnacht. November 9, 1938. The sound of breaking glass filled the air. Civilians and SA and SS men alike were shattering Jewish shop windows.
Formidable centuries-old synagogues were being smashed and burned while Sophia witnessed the holy contents being thrown on bonfires. The air was heavy with the acrid odors of the flames.
All of Germany was a conflagration. Inanimate objects were burning. Actual flesh was not burning yet, but the atmosphere was filled with ash, smoke, and an unspeakable odor, transforming the air into a miasma of death.
Hershel Grynzspan, unable to bear the news of his family’s deportation from Germany to Poland, shot vom Rath, a German assistant ambassador in Paris.