Inn on the Edge

by Gail Bridges

  No problem there.

  I studied the furniture. The bed was huge. Probably one of those extra-wide king-sized mattresses. On either side of the bed was a small table, each with a bouquet of the same yellow flowers that had been on the table. They were obviously the inn’s signature flower. An old-fashioned wardrobe stood next to the bathroom door, tall and imposing. Perhaps I ought to hang our clothes in there, later, when I was in the mood. There was an old scroll-style desk on the other side of the bed. Would it have Inn on the Edge stationery? A pen? Postcards? Curious now, wanting in the worst way to roll up the top and see what was hidden inside, I went to the desk and ran my fingers over its bumpy top. It made a very soft wooden-instrument sound that wasn’t unlike the marimba-noise we’d made yesterday. I did it again, careful not to scratch the old wood with my fingernails. How charming! I’d have to show this to Josh. He’d love it.

  On second thought, maybe I wouldn’t.

  I could see it, almost. He would attack this wonderful old desk with misplaced enthusiasm. He’d probably bang on the retractable top. He’d probably run a shoe up and down its ridges to hear the interesting sounds it made. He’d probably whack it with the flat of his hand just to make a hollow echo, then drum on the poor old thing to make different echoes. He’d probably do all of the above, and more. He’d probably drive me insane.

  I rolled open the top—slowly, quietly—and found a leather desk pad, two pens, several sheets of notepaper, a bookmark with a sketch of the inn on it, but no stationery or postcards. At the back, behind the pad, there was a row of tiny drawers. I slid them open, one after the other. The long, narrow drawers were empty, all of them, but I imagined them filled with paperclips and pens and stamps and stationery, as they must once have been. I imagined the elegant middle-aged woman who’d first sat at this desk—I called her Elizabeth—as she wrote long, wistful letters to her grown children off in India, in Egypt, in the Amazon. Elizabeth would have loved this desk. It would have been her pride and joy. She would have been mortified to have it battered just for the sounds it made.

  I pulled the roll-top cover down again.

  The framed painting hanging over the far side of the desk caught my eye. I stepped toward it to take a closer look, then stopped short, surprised. What was this?

  A feeling.

  A feeling of…absence.

  Slowly, I put my foot back down. The feeling came back. I hugged myself. How odd! This patch of floor beside the old desk raised goose bumps on my arms. Was it chillier than the rest of the room? How could that be? When I moved my foot, there was a feeling of stepping into something, or of stepping out of something. Holding my breath, I experimented, moving into and out of the small area, trying to figure it out. It was different from the rest of the room, even though it didn’t appear that way.

  It wasn’t a bad feeling, exactly. Just startling.

  I went back to the bed. I sat on the edge, looking down on Josh’s sleeping face, trailing my finger up and down his arm. Our first full day as a married couple! I felt a moment’s pleasure, remembering the morning. Breakfast…oh! It had been so much more than breakfast! It had been the food we ate. The games we played. The touching. The heady erotic undercurrents. And most of all, the forbidden nature of it all, which made the flirtations all the more arousing.

  I held my breath. Just thinking about it made me tingle.

  Josh shifted at my caress, opened his eyes, smiled sleepily up at me. I leaned over and kissed him, lay down beside him, put my hand on his butt.

  “Honey,” I whispered. “It’s almost time for our Lesson.”

  One of Josh’s eyes opened.

  “Umm,” I said, not sure exactly how to broach the subject, “the Lesson. I think it might involve, ah, you know…”

  “Sex?”

  I nodded. “What do you think?”

  Josh sat up. “What do you think?”

  We stared at each other. Then he smiled. I smiled back. “I think it might be fun.”

  “Me too.”

  “Then…we’ll take the Lesson?”

  I squeezed his butt. “We can always back out. I’m sure nothing will be forced on us.”

  “Deal.”

  “Deal.” I kissed him. A moment later we heard a rapping.

  “Come in,” Josh said.

  Someone unlocked the door. It swung open. Vane entered.

  “Hi,” I said, rolling onto my side, propping my head on my hand. Vane! My heart skipped a beat.

  “Hi yourself,” Vane said, winking at me. Was he remembering his hand on my breast? Cleaning the blueberry from my lip? My hand in his lap? Because that’s what I was remembering. Muscles straining, he lugged a chest into the room, a lovely, old-fashioned, leather-covered thing with brass corners and rows of rivets and a huge rusted lock—but what at this inn wasn’t old-fashioned? He dragged it to the foot of our bed. He patted the top of it, his eyes glinting. “Wait until you see what I have in store for you two!” He looked so happy, so excited. As if it was his favorite thing in the world, to teach these Lessons.

  Maybe it was.

  Josh swung his feet over the edge of the bed. “Dude. What’s that?”

  “Equipment. For your Lesson.”

  Equipment? Ah. Okay. That explained everything. Actually it made me curious. I scooted across the bed and perched cross-legged next to Josh. We watched Vane’s every move from front-row seats as he struggled with the lock.

  Josh frowned. “I hate locks. I feel you, man.”

  “There,” said Vane, sitting back, grinning up at us. “It’s all good. I got it open. Ready for your Lesson? I promise you’ll like it.”

  Josh and I looked at each other. Werewe ready for Vane’s Lesson? Obviously we had an idea what sorts of lessons might be taught here—we’d just talked about it. We were ready. I was equal parts excited and nervous.

  Well, not equal. Mostly excited.

  I shifted on the bed. Leaned closer to the trunk, and to Vane. Smelled his delicious piney man-scent, so different from Josh’s. I felt light-headed. I turned to Josh. “What’s in there, do you think?” I asked, stalling, not looking at Vane in case I said or did something stupid. I ran my hand over the smooth rounded surface of the now-unlocked trunk, so different from the top of the desk.

  “Hell if I know,” said Josh. He leaned in closer too. He jiggled the bed with the drumming of his fingers, the bouncing of his knee. His breaths came in shallow puffs. His skin had turned pale, so pale.

  He looked like I felt.

  Vane reached for the opening catch. “I’m going to show you, just wait a sec—”

  “No!” I said, waving Vane into silence. “Don’t show us yet!”

  Vane frowned, confused. His hands hovered over the trunk. Even frowning, this man was handsome. I had a feeling I’d like what he was planning to teach us. Very much indeed.

  “It’ll only take a minute,” I explained. “It’s this…thing Josh and I do. We like to make up stories.”

  Josh laughed. “She likes to make up stories! I like her, so I play along.”

  I made a face at him.

  “A game?” said Vane, “I’ll play along too.”

  “You can’t,” I said, “It’s a guessing game and you already know what’s in there.”

  Josh nodded. “She’s right. You’ll just have to listen.”

  “So I’ll sit out,” said Vane. “Maybe I’ll play next time?”

  I nodded. “Next time. Sure.”

  “Okay,” said Josh, watching me, watching Vane, still drumming his pant leg. What a bundle of nervous energy! I knew my husband. He was turned-on by our promised Lesson, just as I was. Maybe more so. He rested his lovely Ultramarine Blue eyes on me, and they were just beginning to show gold flecks. “You’ll play next time, then, Vane,” he said, his voice husky. “Angie, show him how we play. Show him how we do it. You start.”

  I tilted my head and squinted my eyes. “Mmm. There are costumes in there. Old costumes. Capes. Veils. Dresses. With fea
thers and sequins and masks. You know.”

  Vane laughed. “Costumes? You’re kidding, right?”

  “Don’t say anything!” I squealed. “You’ll ruin it!”

  “Costumes. No way. That’s ridiculous,” said Josh. “What a pathetic guess.”

  I swatted at him.

  He caught my hand, kissed it. “It’s still ridiculous.” He glanced at me, then at Vane. Took a deep breath. “I’d say the case was full of whips. Whips and handcuffs. Stuff like that.”

  I’d never even seen whips and handcuffs. Jeez.

  Vane was trying not to laugh. He wasn’t doing a very good job.

  “Sex toys!” I said.

  “Giant dildoes! A blow-up doll!” yelled Josh.

  Vane erupted in laughter.

  I slapped my knee. “That old man’s porn collection!”

  “A miniature sex slave who will fulfill our every need!”

  “Oh my god, you two!” snorted Vane, swiping his hand across his nose. “You guys are something else.” He blinked rapidly, clearing tears from his eyes. “You do know that, right?”

  Josh and I looked at each other. “Maybe,” he said.

  “Could be,” I said.

  Ignoring our guest, we kissed long and deep.

  I finally came up for air. “We’re ready. You can show us now.”

  Chapter Ten

  Vane lifted the lid.

  Josh and I leaned closer, our thighs pressed together, tight and warm. We perched on the very edge of the bed, peering into the dark trunk. It was lined in rich jewel-toned velvet—Viridian Green, although it might have had a touch of Sky Blue—and I badly wanted to feel the fabric, to run my hand over it, to write my name in its nap with my finger. But I didn’t.

  “This trunk,” said a suddenly somber Vane, “is referred to as a ‘Tool Box’. It’s yours for the duration of your stay. See? It has ‘North Tower’ heat-pressed into the velvet.” He sat back on his heels, regarding us as we studied the fuzzy words. “It’s yours. For now. Each couple has one just like it. The trunks belong to Mr. Abiba, and they’re…special. Very special. The four Tools within them are special too.” Vane reached into the trunk, pulled out a black pouch tied with a cord. He untied the cord but didn’t open the pouch. “Listen up, now. These Tools are infused with something powerful. They’re infused, charged, like a rechargeable battery is charged. Understand? Kind of?”

  I nodded, kind of.

  “Infused with what?” asked Josh.

  “I have no idea. Only Mr. Abiba knows,” said Vane, “and maybe Zettia.” The pouch was flat, innocent-looking, about the size of a three-ring binder. Vane held it carefully, reverentially. “Mr. Abiba takes care of them. He infuses each Tool, keeps them in working order, tops them up after each use.”

  “Really?” said Josh.

  “Oh yes. Most definitely.” As he spoke, Vane ran his finger in languorous circles around the opening of the pouch, making me squirm. Then he slowly slid his finger inside. Rubbed the interior lining. Took his finger out again. Worked it in again. Wiggled it. He looked at me. Looked at my open lips, my half-closed eyes, my slightly parted knees. He winked at me. “Yes,” he continued, “Mr. Abiba knows it all. When a Tool has been used. How it’s been used. How often. For how long. Everything.”

  Josh pressed his leg so hard into mine that he shifted me two inches to the left. “Really?” he said again.

  “Josh,” I said, “I’m about to fall off.”

  I was about to fall. Off a cliff! Off my rocker! I was about to self-implode, and I hadn’t even seen the Tool yet.

  Vane ran his hand over the pouch. “The trunks and the Tools must never leave the premises. Never. Do you agree?”

  “Sure,” said Josh, leaning back. He had an erection.

  I had the female equivalent of an erection. A cauldron of molten silver in my middle. An overflowing cauldron. “Yes,” I whispered, “I agree.”

  Vane raised an eyebrow and studied us. “The Tools are…erotic enhancers.” He patted the pouch. “This is an erotic enhancer.”

  We nodded. We weren’t idiots.

  “And I,” Vane said slowly, “am going to teach you how to use it. Okay?”

  “Okay,” said Josh. His thigh rubbed against me, twitching.

  “Yes,” I said, twitching back at him.

  “All right, then,” said Vane, nodding. “It’ll take you right over the edge! You’ll feel as if you’ve died and gone to heaven. Here we go. This first Tool is called the Invisa-Lover.” Vane pulled a carefully folded rectangle of thin fabric from the pouch, held it lightly in his hands. Then he shook it and the gauzy, colorless packet fell open into a bath-towel-sized rectangle. It shimmered. “It’s stronger than it looks. You won’t tear it.” He held it out to us. “Here. Feel it. See? It won’t rip.”

  I fingered the almost-not-there fabric, holding my breath. It was cool to the touch, slick-feeling, unlike anything I’d ever touched before. I felt something. A slight tingle? Like static electricity? I took my hand away and held it to my cheek.

  Vane rose to his feet, the Tool in his hands. “Shall we?”

  Josh gave me a long, searching look.

  “Yes,” I said, for both of us.

  Vane closed the trunk and shoved it out of the way. Then he spread the Invisa-Lover on the center of the bed, smoothing it with his hands until it almost disappeared into the bedspread. Satisfied, he kneeled on the far side of the bed, facing us. “Angie,” he said softly. “Come here.”

  My heart skipped a beat. Or two.

  Josh kissed me again. “Go,” he said.

  I went.

  “No,” said Vane. “Don’t get up. Stay on the bed. Scoot onto the Invisa-Lover. On your knees.”

  “But shouldn’t I, um, get undressed first?”

  “No. Do what I say. Come to me.”

  I went to him. I kneeled on the Invisa-Lover, facing him. The molten silver in my middle was seeping upward, toward my breasts. And downward, into my legs.

  Vane smiled tenderly. He reached out a hand, touched my cheek. “Am I your friend, Angie?”

  “Yes. You are my friend.”

  “Do you, as the user of this Tool, invite me to play?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, “I do.”

  Vane turned to Josh. “Now you.”

  “Am Iyour friend, Angie?”

  “Yes, Josh!” I said, “You’re my friend! My best friend. You know that. You don’t even have to ask!”

  “Yes, he doeshave to ask,” said Vane. “He has to ask, or the Tool won’t work.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” I shifted my weight from knee to knee.

  “Now ask the second part, Josh.”

  Josh made a face. He didn’t like taking directions. “Um. Do you, as, um, the user of the…Tool…” He looked at Vane, who nodded. “Do you invite me to play, Angie?”

  “Yes.”

  Vane put his hand on my shoulder. He motioned for Josh to put a hand on my other shoulder, which he did. “Now, just wait. Be still. It’ll happen. It can take a few seconds.”

  “What will happen?” asked Josh. “I don’t see anything.”

  But I did.

  I gasped. Then I shrieked. I was going crazy! I must be crazy because Vane was getting fuzzy around the edges and—and—

  Josh!

  Josh’s face! As I watched, within the space of two or three seconds, it went through a lightning-quick series of changes, a loosening almost, a fuzziness that got softer and softer until I couldn’t recognize him, until I could barely even see him.

  I bit my knuckle, horrified and enthralled at the same time.

  Vane leaned forward, giving me a view of the wall behind him. Through a saucer-sized holein his shoulder. A growing saucer-sized hole. A hole whose edges were eating away at the rest of him. “Is it happening?” he asked, excited. “Angie! What’s going on? Tell us.”

  “Yes!” I breathed, daring to lean forward. Invisa-Lover! So this was what it meant! “You and Josh—you’re disappear
ing! My god! You really are!” My thighs trembled. My head spun. “I can see through you! You’re almost gone! Holy shit! You scared the crap out of me. How is this possible?”

  “I have no idea, but isn’t it fun?” laughed Vane. “Are we invisible now?”

  I took a ragged breath, glad for their steady hands on my shoulders. “Yes. Yes! You’re…gone. Both of you!”

  “What? Can’t you see me?” asked Josh, aghast.

  “No! I can’t see you at all.” I stared at where I knew he was, even though I couldn’t see him. Where Josh had been just a second ago was only a shimmering outline of his form. He was gone. I saw the roll-top desk. I saw the picture hanging on the wall. I saw the bed. But I couldn’t see him except for where his weight pressed downward into the bed. His hand was still on my shoulder, so I knew he was there. I reached out a tentative hand and touched his chest with my fingertips. So odd, feeling something I couldn’t see! I traced the contour of his ribs with my index finger, shuddering. “Josh, You’re invisible! I can’t see you at all! I can’t!”

  “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  I shook my head, feeling half panicked and half… I don’t know! I don’t know! What does a person feel when her husband has just freaking disappeared, when she knows she’s about to have erotically enhanced sex with one, maybe two, invisible men?

  “Angie!” prodded Josh. “How many fingers?”

  “One?” I guessed, still gasping. “No! Wait. One…but it’s not your finger!”

  “This is bullshit. She can see me.”

  “She can’t,” said Vane’s voice from my other side. “You and I can see each other just fine, Josh, but she can’t see either one of us. Isn’t that right, Angie?”

  “Yes. It’s like you’re not even there.”

  “Are you okay?” asked Josh, “You sound strange.”

  A touch on my right arm, light, comforting. Invisible fingers walking down from my shoulder, reaching for my hand, holding it tightly. Josh.