For Centuries More

by Ethan Johnson

  It didn’t help that Annabella had been drinking. She tempered her wine consumption with sips of water, but she got giggly as the night wore on, which Gracie blamed on the wine. Annabella flirted with her at intervals, provoking her with comments about “all of her broken-hearted exes” and “her stable of derby girls” but Gracie read such tweaks as she’s just not into me.

  “Hey, you,” Annabella said, reaching over and swiping Gracie’s cheek with her outstretched index finger at a stoplight.

  Gracie smiled and heaved a heavy sigh. “Hey… Trix.”

  Annabella winked and put her finger up to Gracie’s lips in a shushing gesture. “That’s not my name, silly.”

  The stoplight turned green, and Gracie stepped on the gas a bit too hard. Annabella fell backward into her seat, then laughed as she checked her wig. She slid her fingers underneath it and pulled it off, exclaiming “Whee!” as she flung it into the back seat. “Damn, that thing itches after a while. Hope I didn’t ruin the fantasy for you.”

  Gracie swallowed hard. “No… it’s cool.”

  Annabella ran her fingers through her short brown hair. “Thank God for that. Lots of people… they just want Trixie. I like to give them that fantasy, having a pin-up babe style their hair with my boobs in their face, but I want somebody who wants to be with me, you know?” She gave Gracie a sidelong glance.

  Gracie nodded, and felt a twinge of relief. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Oh, turn right at the light, then about halfway down. That’ll be my place.”

  Gracie nodded. “I’ve only seen you as Trixie.”

  “Yeah? Well, tonight was strange, in that I didn’t have time to dress like myself, so you got the best of both worlds.” She gave her a sly smile. “Lauren.”

  Oof, Gracie thought. She made a point of telling her that her friends called her “Gracie”. She took the right turn a bit too hard and leaned into the driver’s side door. Annabella leaned into Gracie and cried out, “Whoa, take it easy!”

  “Sorry.” Gracie stared straight ahead and counted down street numbers. One and done. She hated being right, tonight of all nights. She scraped her tires against the curb and pulled up to Annabella’s apartment building.

  Annabella waved her on. “Go around to the parking lot.” Gracie rolled her eyes and obeyed. She pulled up to the walkway leading to the building diagonally. Annabella looked out her window, then at Gracie. “Maybe park like a normal person?” Gracie pulled the car into reverse and found a parking spot to back into. She wasn’t concerned about accuracy, just making a quick getaway. She slid the gear shifter into Park and looked down at her lap.

  “Thanks for dinner. I had a good time.”

  “Yeah? Why does that sound like you’re going to go find the first ramp into the lake?”

  Gracie started to tear up. She hoped to hold it back until she was safely on her way home, alone. “I really blew this, bad. I’m so sorry.”

  Annabella leaned over, and wiped Gracie’s cheek with her thumb. “Good grief! What kind of pedestal did you put me on, anyway? We had a lovely dinner, and a wonderful evening, and that means you blew it? Gracie, we’ve got to work on that self-esteem, because that isn’t going to work for me. And besides, if you leave now, you won’t get to meet my best friends.”

  Gracie looked up into Annabella’s eyes. “Huh? Who…?”

  “Are you saying you’d like to come over?”

  Gracie shut off the ignition, leaned over, and kissed Annabella. “Hell yeah.”

  They walked hand-in-hand to the apartment building. Gracie’s heart began to pound, and her chest tightened. The private office at the salon was one thing. This was beyond her wildest dreams. Annabella slid her key into the main entry door and led Gracie up two flights of stairs to a plain brown door marked 3D. Gracie looked down at the brown commercial-grade carpeting and Annabella’s black welcome mat, adorned with a red rose design on the right side. Annabella slipped her key into the deadbolt, then turned to Gracie. “Their names are Marti and Lucretia.”

  Gracie gasped. Annabella pushed her apartment door open, and two cats padded over to the door, meowing expectantly. “Yeah, mommy was out at dinner. No, I didn’t bring you anything. No, I ate it all up. I’m not sorry. Oh, this is Gracie.” She pointed to a black cat that rubbed up against her legs. “This is Marti. And that one,” she pointed to a gray cat with a white patch of fur around its left eye, “is Lucretia. I usually call her Lucie, though.” The gray cat meowed loudly at Gracie. “Oh, you’re saying ‘hi’ to Gracie?” The cat swished its fluffy tail around, making question-mark patterns at intervals.

  Gracie bent down and let Lucie rub against her palm. “You’re not who I expected.”

  Annabella cocked her head. “Oh?”

  Gracie smiled sheepishly. “Bad dream. This is much better.”

  Annabella pulled off one of her heels, then the other, and let out a low moan. “Speaking of better. Ooh, that’s more than enough of those for one day.” She wiggled her toes into the carpeting.

  Gracie stood up and looked around. The apartment was sparsely decorated, in sharp contrast to Annabella’s salon. She expected a haunted house decorating scheme and felt pangs of disappointment to see family photos on a cheap bookcase, and a second-hand loveseat in the living room. There was no television, and something stood in a corner covered with black fabric. Maybe a zombie king on a skull throne hid under it, she hoped.

  Annabella followed Gracie’s gaze to the corner. “Curious much?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s where I get my kicks, when I’m not cutting hair.” Gracie wondered what could possibly be under the fabric cover. Annabella leaned over, and asked her breathily, “Want to see?”

  Gracie shivered. “Sure…?”

  “You’ll think it’s weird.”

  “I don’t know, my sister is pretty weird. I think I can take it.”

  Annabella padded over to the corner and grabbed the fabric with both hands, and pulled it away carefully, revealing a wooden apparatus with a large wheel on one side, and a wooden chair backed into the corner.

  Gracie scrunched up her face. “What is that thing?”

  Annabella beamed. “It’s my pride and joy. It’s an antique spinning wheel.”

  Gracie frowned. “What’s it for?”

  “Making yarn.”

  “Don’t they sell that at the store?”

  Annabella’s shoulders sagged. “Yes, they do, but I like to make my own. I like that personal touch.” She walked her fingers up Gracie’s arm and squeezed her shoulder.

  “That’s cool.”

  Annabella looked at her hopefully. “Want to see how?”

  Gracie shrugged. “Sure.”

  Annabella carefully placed the fabric cover on the floor, then took her place on the wooden chair behind the spinning wheel. She reached down and collected up a bunch of red puffy material onto her lap. Gracie couldn’t quite follow what she was doing, but after a few minutes the wheel began to turn, as Annabella pushed down gently on two thick wooden pedals in her stocking feet. She pulled bits of the red material away in clumps, like cotton candy.

  “What is that stuff?”

  “Wool.”

  “I didn’t think wool was red. Isn’t it from sheep?”

  Annabella glanced up and smiled. “Yes, silly. This is dyed red.”

  “Neat.” Gracie watched the hypnotic movements of her love interest as she worked the wool into a spool of yarn. After a few moments, Annabella stopped the wheel and asked Gracie to sit on her lap. Gracie awkwardly made her way back behind the spinning wheel, and situated herself onto Annabella’s lap, but it became clear that she had to spread her legs to allow for the pedals to be worked.

  Annabella reached around and gave Gracie a tuft of wool to hold, and she guided her hands as the wheel resumed its rhythmic motion, making her an accomplice to the creation of her handspun yarn. Gracie enjoyed the sensations of Annabella’s legs working the pedals, and her breath in her ear. As if al
l of this wasn’t heady enough, Annabella sucked in a deep breath and trembled a bit as though she was about to unburden herself of a closely guarded secret. In that moment, she did.

  She sang a traditional Irish folk song softly and sweetly to her as they spun the yarn together. Irish folk songs weren’t in any of Gracie’s playlists, and she was unaware that Annabella had made some tweaks to the lyrics to make them more Sapphic, in that the “true love” that the young maiden hears a-calling through the window is also a “she”. At the end of her acapella tune, she kissed Gracie on the ear, which burned bright red.

  The spinning wheel stopped, and Annabella rested her hands upon Gracie’s thighs. Gracie squeezed them, enjoying the nearness of her, and being entirely present in that moment. This was nothing at all that she could have imagined, and she wasn’t at all convinced that she deserved any of it. Agnes was suffering at home with some strange malady, and Gracie was out in her dream woman’s apartment, sitting on her lap, being sung to, and bracing for the inevitable: the part where Annabella draws in another breath, leans forward, and says—

  “Stay with me tonight.”

  Gracie gulped. “Are you sure?”

  “Would you like to?”

  “Oh, God yes.”

  “Then stay.” Annabella kissed Gracie’s ear again.

  CHAPTER 22: SECOND KINGDOM

  Tobias sat upon an ornate golden throne, looking out upon what was once a warehouse space devoted to the collection and temporary storage of residential garbage, with the intent of converting it into clay bricks, which in turn were changed once more into gleaming piles of gold bars, by his own hand. His kingdom was coming along slowly, but steadily. Inanna crouched beside him and rubbed his hand. She spoke softly in their shared tongue.

  “Is my king not pleased? How have we failed you? Speak, and may your will be done.”

  Tobias frowned, and pulled his hand away. “I am no king.”

  “No? Do you not sit upon a magnificent throne? Are these not your devoted servants, who toil for you night and day? Do the walls of your kingdom not stretch further with each passing day? Why do you sulk thus?”

  Tobias smiled and patted Inanna’s arm. “I am too impatient, you know me well. But I wonder, where are my armies? Where are my people? And how does this give me my revenge upon cruel Nineveh? These are different times, with different customs. What does this rabble know of my vengeance?”

  “But, Tobias, these are your people! They are sworn to serve you. They shall bring glory to your name, and fear across the land, upon the walls of dread Nineveh. From here, your enemies shall not see your approach, and from here, you shall amass an army the likes of which have never been seen. All will shudder in fright at the sight of it, your golden kingdom, your golden armies, and you atop your golden throne.”

  Tobias smiled once more. “Calling out all praise to Inanna, who makes all things possible.”

  “Not all things. Just the best things.” She crinkled her nose and smiled.

  “Yes, the best things. Together we shall remove Nineveh from the land and build a mighty temple to Ishtar upon its ashes, may she be ever just.”

  Inanna winced, but feigned a sneeze. “Yes, a golden temple, worthy of the highest goddess.”

  Tobias leaned back, thoughtfully. “I have not seen your Marc in many days. Is he not well?”

  “He is quite well and watching over the expansion of the western walls. Shall I call for him?”

  “No, leave him to his labors. Does he still wish to return to his home?”

  Inanna kissed his hand. “No, my king, he desires only to stay here with us, and bring glory to the new empire of Tobias, long may it reign.”

  Tobias nodded contentedly. “He serves me well. I shall make a point of rewarding him.”

  “Of course, my king. I will go to him and pass along your kind words.”

  Tobias raised his hand in a dismissing wave. “You may go.”

  “Thank you, my king.” Inanna walked lightly down the sandstone steps and rolled her eyes. She left the throne room and passed a group of workers transferring a load of clay onto a pallet for transport across the compound, which was framed out in sandstone blocks and illuminated by torches. All electrical wiring was methodically removed and discarded in favor of an ancient Assyrian aesthetic.

  The warehouse and adjacent office building were being replaced, bit by bit. The street-facing façade was left intact so as not to attract attention, but sandstone walls butted up against the main building to seal off walk-up access to the remainder of the compound. A nearby factory building had stood abandoned for several years, and the western wall that Marc was said to be supervising would soon annex the property, without regard to who might have a claim of ownership.

  Inanna’s green dress fluttered as she walked along the sandstone halls, and she paid no mind to the workers who glanced at her as she passed by. They took care not to linger over the sight of her; One particularly vocal admirer vanished shortly after making a big show of appreciation for her form, and no satisfactory answer was given as to his whereabouts. He called himself Tex, and his name became synonymous for the consequences that faced any worker who dared deviate from his or her instructions. “You’re going to get Texed,” they admonished each other, in hushed tones.

  The Assyrian aesthetic was not confined merely to the appearance of the physical structure of the compound. The workers had traded their heavy coats and black work wear for black robes and thin sandals. The men began to grow beards, and the women wrapped scarves around their heads. Concerns were raised of a forced conversion to Islam, however assurances were made that no such conversion was in effect. No prayers or Quran readings were ever mandated or practiced by any of the principal figures that oversaw the compound.

  Beards became practical in that shaving gear was not necessary to provide and trimming them involved the use of a communal knife or pair of scissors. The women wrapped their heads in scarves to keep their long hair from getting caught in anything that provided a pinch point or getting singed by the many torches that burned throughout the fledgling kingdom. Inanna wore no such scarf, but she was in no way involved in any hands-on labor.

  She found Marc with his hands on his hips, monitoring the construction of a sandstone brick wall. The third layer of stones was being placed, and a rope-and-pulley system was used to hoist each brick and set it down. She was impressed with how well he had adapted to his role of overseer. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek into his back. He slid his hands over and rested them on her forearms.

  “Hey.”

  Inanna’s English had improved in a few months. She didn’t let on how much she actually knew with the right blend of rudimentary fluency and misuse. “I miss my Marc. Will he not come to bedroom?”

  Marc smiled. “It’s ‘to bed.’ Give me just a few more minutes.”

  “But Inanna misses her Marc now.”

  “Just let me finish this row, and then we’ll all knock off for the night, okay? I haven’t forgotten about you.”

  Inanna pouted. “Marc does not desire Inanna.”

  She enjoyed the stifled look of frustration on his face. Quite the contrary, she observed, he desired her very much. Enough to forgo any more talk of leaving the compound and returning to his home or attempting to contact his family. His pestering sister had tried to reach out to him, and Inanna had put a stop to it. His sister would be laid low with crippling depression and anxiety for the rest of her life. She’d require a caretaker, as she would no longer be able to function normally. Marc’s family would be too occupied with caring for her to concern themselves with Marc. As for Marc, his primary focus was on Inanna and her attentions, followed closely by the construction of Tobias’s kingdom.

  “Um, no, it’s not like that at all. Please, just a few more minutes, and then we’ll go to bed, okay? Please?”

  His piteous look disgusted her. “More powerful than a goddess,” he told her once, in the throes of passion. He was
no god, and not much of a man either. He was a useful idiot, to her. Stoking his passions took little effort and kept him firmly in thrall. She decided to demonstrate this by frowning and pulling her dress off. She stood naked before him and his platoon of workers. Marc turned pale, eyes wide, and he stepped forward to pull her against him. “Please, not here, not like this.”

  “Why, is Marc ashamed of Inanna? Does another man desire Inanna more than Marc?”

  The workers looked down and tended to their labors. Nobody wanted to be Texed, never mind the temptation. Marc looked over his shoulder, embarrassed. “Hey, can you finish up here? I need to get her to bed.”

  A worker named Gerald looked up from the freshly placed brick and winked. “Yeah, you do. Hot damn, she’s fine.” The closest worker shushed him with a terrified look.

  Marc tried to get Inanna to slip back into her dress, but she refused. “I am unashamed of my body. Let them see.” He kept her close as they marched toward the front building, which had been converted into living quarters for most of the workers. Tobias had a grand bedroom close to the throne room.

  Gerald watched the pair walk away. “That ass, though.”

  CHAPTER 23: FALLOUT

  Richardson put his hands to his forehead in disbelief. “Just like that? You’re off to… where, Chicago? I can’t believe you’d just book a flight out of here without discussing it with me first.”

  Jacqueline looked up from her overnight bag. She ran her fingers along the edge and said, “I recall quite clearly mentioning it on several occasions. Now was the time to trade the talk for concrete, positive action.”