Kaleidoscope

by Chariss K. Walker

  Pleased with the turn of events for the previously planned morning, the time flew by as we sat in Cavenders chatting and drinking more coffee. We talked about our travels, interests, and obsessions. Before I knew it, the hour grew late and the research was forgotten. As if on cue, Casey seemed to know I had something else planned, and we stood up at the same time.

  “You know, darling,” Casey said, “I find you quite unassuming for such a ruggedly handsome man. Although I doubt you know it, you’re rather sexy with an animalistic quality, like a lion or tiger. It’s a tangible sensuality. I do declare, it makes me want to reach out and stroke your fur,” she purred as a slender hand stroked the inside of my forearm. “I find those qualities irresistible in a man. It’s something that’s severely lacking in the eligible bachelors my father tends to introduce,” she paused to giggle. “He can be insufferable at times, though I love him dearly,” she hesitated briefly, “at any rate, I’d love to meet you for a late lunch tomorrow or perhaps dinner tonight.” It was a statement, but perfectly arched brows lifted in a quizzical pose to accentuate the unasked question.

  Again, struck by the unusual verbiage she employed; I suppressed a smile. It’s rare in today’s society of slurred speech and slang to use such precise English even if it was from a different era. Casey produced her card, and in response, I scribbled my numbers on the back of the coffee receipt. We laughed and then I walked her out onto the sidewalk. A car pulled up; Casey got in, waved goodbye, and then the car pulled away.

  Somehow, Cavenders wasn’t all that inviting after she left, so I went back home to do the planned research there. On the walk, I smiled for the entire ten blocks as I thought about the chance meeting with such a delightful and remarkable woman. Later that afternoon, Casey called and I agreed to meet her for dinner that night.

  Casey arrived at Fleur-de-lis by limousine while I took a checkered cab. She wore designer clothing while I wore jeans, a turtleneck, and leather sports coat I’d bought in Italy five years earlier. We’re as different as night and day, salt and pepper. Casey was delectably beautiful and polished while she’d described me as ruggedly handsome and sexy.

  One thing we had in common was a love for the spicy, exotic cuisines of the world. We’d both traveled abroad more than the average person had. Casey’s overseas trips were mostly for pleasure while mine were nearly always for business, although when on assignment, I managed to see the nearby attractions, cities, and towns. Our tastes had matured from the many different food choices available in other countries. If nothing else, discussing favorite restaurants around the world put us a step ahead of most couples having their first casual date. If that’s what this was.

  The dinner was light and relaxed. We flirted and drank a nice burgundy wine from southern France with the main course of boeuf bourguignon, a savory wine-based beef stew. We had a dark chocolate silk pie for dessert and rich black coffee that I took with frothed cream. Casey eyed me seductively as she licked the last bit of silk pie from the spoon. I grinned. Then, it was a whirlwind in the cab back to my humble abode as we kissed passionately in the backseat.

  I was right when I’d fantasized about her in the coffeehouse; she had the body of a goddess underneath the polished clothing. Sleek and smooth in all the best places, firm and lean in form. Making love to Casey was about as good as it gets. She was the first lover I’d had who could keep up in stamina and appetite. Moreover, with Casey, I didn’t have to be overly cautious. She had no inhibitions; she held nothing back when it came to intimate pursuits. She wanted all of me, and that’s what she got. She was proud to have multiple orgasms, whereas this had frightened most other women. It was something else to remember about Casey that was refreshing. An exhausted sleep gave me very little time to see the images.

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning, Casey had showered and was wearing one of my lightly starched white shirts and nothing else. Her hair, previously coiffed and smoothed, was now soft and wavy from the shower. It was very becoming, and I found her more beautiful than before. She smiled and then set a steaming cup of coffee on the nightstand before leaning over for a morning kiss.

  “Let’s take our coffee on the deck, love,” she purred. “It’s quite nice and private out there.” Casey lightly teased after I raised a questioning brow. “Yes, I’ve been investigating your home while you slept. Come on, up and at ‘em.”

  Once more, I hid a smile at her peculiar verbiage, but took her command seriously and rolled to my feet. After a quick shower and a fresh pair of boxers and tee shirt, I joined her on the deck. A longing washed over me—it’d be nice to have someone to wake up with in the mornings. My parents had a relaxing, honest relationship, and it was what I craved. They’d had an easiness with each other that was felt by others. I’d always wanted that, but never found it.

  I recalled coming home one Friday night during junior year at Columbia to tell my parents I was in love. I’d been dating Janelle, a grad-student, for almost six months. It was my first real relationship, my first trip down lover’s lane. I’d wanted to ask permission to bring Janelle over for the family’s traditional Sunday dinner. I’d wanted my parents to meet her. As I pushed open their bedroom door, I found them asleep in the middle of their king-size bed. The bedside lamp was still on, but my father had nodded off with mother curled against his side, her head on his shoulder, and her hand placed over his heart. The image of them in this casual and loving pose stayed with me, and it reflected badly on the relationship with Janelle.

  Joe had tried to warn me. He’d said Janelle was bad news, but I didn’t want to hear it or see the signs of impending disaster. Janelle never allowed me to hold her after making love, and she called making love ‘having sex’ or ‘fucking.’ We didn’t have dates; we only got together at her apartment whenever she called, which was usually after she’d been out with friends. She constantly criticized the way I dressed and complained that I was too smart and too thin.

  In all the years I’d observed my parents, I’d never heard either one criticize the other. I’d never seen a lack of acceptance for any behavior in each other or me. In essence, Janelle’s small, caustic barbs were words of rejection. Her criticisms were attempts to make me into someone else. She wanted a jock available to scratch her itch, but free from attachments. After that private moment in my parents’ bedroom, the reality of the relationship with her became obvious. It wasn’t only the image of my parents so comfortable and at ease together in their king-size bed; it was the many years of watching them. They’d taught me the true definition of love by example. I’d only needed a reminder.

  I left their bedroom that night without disturbing them, quietly closing the door. I finally understood that Janelle didn’t love me, and in all honesty, I didn’t love her, not like that. It was at that moment that I knew with certainty I wanted the same love my parents had and wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less. I knew I’d never have that with Janelle.

  The realization caused our relationship to fizzle and diminish. Soon, I stopped going to her apartment. Shortly after that, I quit returning her calls entirely. It was done. I was grateful to Joe for not saying, ‘I told you so.’ Now, I pushed the memory away and took a cigarette out of the metal tin. Casey looked up and smiled.

  “Hmm,” she said, “tobacco. I love the smell of good tobacco.”

  I grinned at her. She was full of surprises. Today, I didn’t have any complaints. The coffee was good, and the company was great. What more could a guy want?

  There were bagels in the fridge and, after a light toasting and a spread of cream cheese with lemon marmalade, we ate them with more fresh coffee. Then, we returned to the bedroom, locked in each other’s secret spell, where we spent the rest of the afternoon. We made love, and we fucked, and although most people don’t know the difference, it was restorative to be with a woman who did.

  It was almost dark when Casey went back to the shower to ‘freshen-up’ as she called it. I shaved and then watched her shower as s
he generously scrubbed her body with a washcloth and soap. There wasn’t an inch she didn’t wash from the tip of her head to the soles of her feet. I was intrigued. Most people jumped in and out of the shower in only a few minutes, but apparently, bathing was a ritual for Casey. We laughed about the elaborate care she took.

  “Oh, darling, if you only knew what it takes to keep this body in its polished condition. I’m a very high-maintenance woman. Once a week, I’m professionally waxed, salt-scrubbed, and buffed. It’s like detailing a car. You can run it through a carwash or you can give it the extra time and attention by removing all signs of wear and tear! I prefer the latter,” she explained with a wicked grin and wink.

  After dressing, we walked the few blocks to my favorite Indian diner and had a bite to eat. Casey showed appropriate appreciation for the restaurant as we ate with our fingers, sitting around a low table in a curtained-off booth. First, there was chokha, a delicious roasted vegetable dish, and biryani, savory mutton slices that we rolled up in chapattis and dipped in a fine curry sauce. Later, we had laddu, a tasty round cookie rolled in sweet syrup, and coffee for dessert. The meal was memorable and eating with our fingers an aphrodisiac, not that either of us needed one. I didn’t need the gym that night because the evening was once again filled with tantalizing and tantric sex.

  Friday we repeated the events of the previous day: bagels and coffee on the deck, Casey’s long, ritualistic shower, and Indian food eaten with our fingers. Our senses were heightened and impassioned. We returned to the brownstone and I carried Casey up the flight of stairs to the master bedroom. In a rush, she tore at my clothes in lusty excitement. We made love again and then again.

  Afterwards, we lay in a tangled heap with legs intertwined while Casey divulged what she liked most about our lovemaking sessions. She was open about sex in general and described our positions in detail while grinning at my surprise. I wasn’t accustomed to such explicit pillow talk. The conversation lasted a long while, and it felt right to be here with her.

  Later in the evening, Casey called for a car. Not long afterwards, a driver arrived and handed her fresh clothing. She dressed in the living room and laughed uproariously at my surprised expression. The car took us to El Gatos Bistro where Casey ordered Salmone Gerusalemme, a tasty dish of fresh wild salmon baked with artichoke hearts and served with couscous. I had the Saltinbocca, a dish of tiny veal medallions served over garlic-mashed potatoes. We sampled each other’s meal and savored the dishes. For dessert, there was Crème Brule and rich dark coffee with frothed cream. The driver took us back to the brownstone after we’d dined. It had been a wild three days.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, Casey was gone. My stomach lurched slightly and my heart seemed to stutter in my throat. Images of our lovemaking invaded my mind. God, but she was incredible, tantalizing, and alluring.

  Will I see her again?

  A note lay on the bedside table. It read, “Darling, I enjoyed you immensely. I’ll see you later today.” A smiley face was her signature. It was juvenile, but I laughed out loud with relief. I felt fortunate and hopeful that this chance meeting with Casey was serendipity.

  Is this what I’ve been waiting for all my life?

  Anxious to do some research, I spent most of the morning in the study enmeshed in agricultural research and development of third-world countries. It was enlightening, but I couldn’t pinpoint anything that would help with the most recent visions. Casey didn’t call. Cramped and tense after spending most of the day at my desk, I packed a gym bag and headed over for a workout. Afterwards, I hit the showers, dressed, and went home.

  When I opened the door, a delicious aroma greeted me. Casey was in the kitchen; the table was set and Chinese take-out was on the counter in serving bowls and warmers. There was Ginjo sake, open, but not yet poured. I didn’t own any, but somehow sake cups mysteriously materialized.

  Casey wore faded jeans and a sky-blue, over-sized crocheted sweater. It flowed around her slender body as she waltzed around the kitchen preparing plates of food. She looked so lovely that the question of how she was inside my home fled. Watching her in this domestic dance was refreshing, and I briefly wondered why everything associated with Casey seemed to require that one word: refreshing. After one kiss, I forgot the concern about her entry—it could wait for a later time. Dinner waited too. Completely famished, but completely satisfied, it was after midnight before we returned to dine on the meal Casey had procured.

  She was gone again the next morning. A quick image of our tangled, glistening bodies spread easily across my mind. I didn’t want to jinx it so I tried not to entertain thoughts of why or how or when I’d see her again. I was glad for the relationship with Casey, if that’s what it was. I enjoyed being with her whenever she appeared. So far, what we shared was as easy and natural as breathing.

  At least it is to me.

  I researched the new kaleidoscope images in earnest all afternoon but wasn’t any closer to understanding where or when the event would occur. I suspected that the images were of some agriculturally-deprived nation where the residents were eager to try anything to grow a crop or enhance a farming community, but I couldn’t find any results that pinpointed an exact area. Frustrated with the pointless research, I headed to the gym to go more than a few rounds with Troy that evening. We each worked off some hidden or nagging frustrations. Something felt off, but I couldn’t figure it out. I hit the showers exhausted, and then headed home.

  Am I lying to myself?

  I turned on the flat screen to watch the news just in time to catch the short segment that announced the fulfillment of the latest vision. Cambodian farmers were utilizing a new, experimental herbicide. The results were disastrous when the weeds, sprayed with the herbicide, grew at an astronomical rate. They completely choked out entire fields of viable crops. The farmers lost everything, but the concern now was whether or not the chemical, which was strictly in the experimental stages, had spread by wind or runoff to other neighboring areas that might suffer a similar fate.

  In the video footage thick, heavy weeds completely blanketed acre after acre of now useless crops. I turned off the television and headed to bed. Tonight I’d see a new vision through the kaleidoscope. I took an extra dose of salt, a natural hypnotic, and lay down on the bed waiting for it to melt on my tongue. As I closed my eyes, the new kaleidoscope images began.

  Darkness fell over a city as street by street the lights went out. I searched frantically for some landmark, some identifying sign or symbol that would name the location, but nothing stood out. Just a city. Just a cry of panic as the residents realized they were experiencing a total blackout. Even the night sky grew black as dark clouds covered the stars and moon. There was mayhem and panic as the residents ran blindly in terror. They tried to escape whatever it was.

  Strange, that the darkness in the city brought out the darkness in humankind as well.

  The scenes were horrifying; I witnessed a woman trampled to death. Not a single person stopped to help her or pull her out of harm’s way. The images were cold and distant; I didn’t recognize a single person’s face or anything about the location.

  I finally found restful sleep after midnight only to awaken to the soft firmness of Casey’s insistence as she tugged at my boxers. Her warm breath caressed my cheek and she giggled softly with huskiness in her voice. Miracles are rare and should be cherished. I cherished this one until the morning sun slashed through the wood blinds of the bedroom window.

  The next morning, I dozed while Casey showered. Before I knew it, she was handing over a cup of hot black coffee topped with perfectly frothed cream. After a light kiss on the cheek, she waved and disappeared from view. I didn’t know where Casey went when she left. I had no illusions that she could put her responsibilities and duties on hold while I was home between jobs. I also realized that she volunteered very little about her career. If she said anything at all, it was only to mention that it was ‘family business.’ I took the coffee
to the deck and drank it there before hitting the shower.

  Maria arrived on time. “Buenos días, Señor Mike,” she called out, her normal merry greeting.

  “Buenos días, Maria. Yo voy a tener mi café en la terraza,” I replied and nodded towards the deck. Later, I retired upstairs and left Maria to do her magic. I’d only been in the study a short while when she knocked at the door.

  “Señor, this was attached to the tag of your pillow and I’ve never before seen it. What do you want me to do with it?” she asked. She was holding up a white square tab with a metal circle in the center. It couldn’t have been more than an inch in diameter. The odd thing was that it looked similar to the electrodes placed around the scalp and body during an EKG. There was even a sticky adhesive on the back where it was secured to the pillow tag.

  “Where in the hell did that come from?” I wondered aloud.

  “No sé la respuesta,” Maria replied as she shook her head in response. “I have never seen it before in all the time I clean for you, fue en tu almohada. Me aturdo. How you say...”

  “I know,” I replied, “Yo también estoy confundido. I can’t understand why it was on my pillow, either.” I took the tab from Maria and examined it more closely.

  “Gracias, Maria. If you find anything else like this or anything out of place, you’ll let me know?”

  “Si, Señor,” Maria replied.

  I wondered if this tiny square of paper was a listening device—a bug. If it was, how the hell did it get on my pillow? And, more importantly, who put it there? The more I studied it, the more peculiar it seemed.

  No one has been in my bedroom except Casey.