Back to the Fuchsia

by Melanie James

  I took a deep breath to compose myself before I incriminated myself.

  “That very night, I had the dream. Like I said, it wasn’t much. I dreamt that Brad was on our bed doing the same thing I saw Randy doing. In my dream, I climbed on top and made love to him, but when I leaned down to kiss Brad, it was Randy’s toothy grin smiling up at me. I woke up right then, mortified, I was! The sight stunned me for a few minutes, but trust me, I only had to think about Randy with his goofy manners and how he’s always fussing with his perfect hair, and I knew I would be fine. He doesn’t attract me physically. Just a stupid dream.”

  Surprisingly, Ezzy didn’t say a thing. Not one single word. I waited, wondering what her reaction would be. I contemplated asking what her motive was for this impromptu confession, but sensing my growing anxiety, she broke her silence.

  “You probably think I’m being a freak by asking you to confess all of this, but really, I’m doing you a favor, Gertie. I’ve been around for a very long time and I’ve seen all sorts of relationships. The good, the bad, the ugly. From my perspective, you are in a most unique situation. You’re engaged to marry the only man you’ve ever had feelings for, and he also happens to be the only man you’ve ever had sex with. You also live with a very attractive young man. The two of you spend an inordinate amount of time with each other and are more compatible than any couple I know. Only one thing stands in your way. You aren’t a couple, and you can’t be.”

  “That’s ridiculous! First of all, he’s gay. It would be grossly rude of me to go after him. Secondly, I’m madly in love with Brad. We have a perfect relationship. Never in a million years would I even consider someone else. A stupid dream. That’s all it was.”

  “Probably. Dreams often are, but once in a while, a dream isn’t a dream. It’s something we’re not meant to see.”

  “What do you mean? Like foretelling the future?”

  “Hmm. Not the future. At least not in the way you suppose, unless you call a self-fulfilling prophecy a type of fortune-telling. This dream you had—let me explain what it could be. Imagine you accidentally swept open a curtain and there you saw it; the deepest machinations of your subconscious. And your cute little subconscious, she’s a busy girl. She spends hours upon hours plotting what she wants and how to go about getting it. When I say plotting, I mean elaborately and tirelessly. She never stops, you had no idea she even existed. But there she is. She’s playing it out, projecting it on a screen, over and over. So, you see? Here you thought you were dreaming when you were plotting. You met Randy and were attracted to him. Now, he’s living with you. Maybe, just maybe, it’s all part of a subconscious convoluted plan to get Randy.”

  “Nonsense!” My face flushed with adrenaline and my voice grew louder with every word. “Esmeralda! Are ya mad? Mad you are. Mad as a box o’ frogs! You need to have your head checked for cracks!”

  Ezzy, caught off guard by my uncharacteristic anger, burst into laughter. Tea sprayed from her mouth, almost as if she were an elephant taking a bath.

  I’m not one to anger easily, but Ezzy really had me upset. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that Ezzy was only trying to rile me up for her own entertainment. She had succeeded.

  “You really overestimate my little brain, Ezzy. Trust me, I can barely plan a meal. What you’re describing are the thoughts of madmen and lunatics. It’s an obsession, stalking, maybe worse. Predatory even. I hope you aren’t being serious.”

  “Whoa, calm down. It’s only a theory to consider.”

  I finally steered the conversation away from Ezzy’s ridiculous notions by bringing up the never-ending redecorating projects at the plantation.

  When we finally returned to the Union office, Ezzy carefully inspected the bookcase.

  “Here it is.”

  She handed me a small paint-splattered book of spells.

  “I’ve never used it, but I’m told it’s a quick and easy way to mix and match paints. Once you’ve got the color right, you can even magically paint the walls with a snap of your wand. I’m pretty sure all of the spells are in there. Let me know how it goes.”

  I felt like a toddler who’d just discovered finger paints. I couldn’t wait to play with my new colors and newfound magic.

  Chapter 7

  She Spells Disaster

  The mid-afternoon sun was transformed into a picturesque rainbow beam by the cut-glass window pane. The colorful rays washed over my kitchen worktable, with subtle hues. My massive collection of magic ingredients, stuffed into dozens of mason jars, glowed like a pixie’s spice rack. I took this as a good omen.

  Conditions were excellent for magic.

  That worktable of mine is a must-have for any witch, what with mixing potions, making charms, and other messy magic work you find yourself in.

  My fingers traced the letters Brad had carved on its edge. He copied my favorite quote from the ever-inspirational painter, Bob Ross. “We don’t make mistakes. We have happy accidents.”

  Those words have comforted me on more than one occasion. I can assure you of that.

  I remembered Ezzy’s warning about the charmed tote bag. “I have a question for you, Darcy. Have you ever worried about the magic spell I put on this bag?”

  “Meow, meow, meow.”

  “Oh, I hear you. I won’t even look inside. Like you said, there are things in this life better left unknown. It doesn’t mean I’m not going to still use that magic tote. After all, it’s as handy as an extra set of arms.”

  Darcy flipped open the borrowed spell book, and I, with a newly acquired sense of caution, knocked the tote over with the tip of my wand. Cans and bottles tumbled out and rolled lazily across the table.

  Darcy yowled, slapping a page she’d selected.

  “You found the spell? Well done, Darcy!”

  She slid the book in front of me.

  “Coformo Dies, Aetas, Etcetera.” As soon as I realized this book was in Latin, I shoved it aside. “Latin. I thought this book was supposed to be in plain English. You know I swore to never try out another of these foreign language spells. At least not by myself.”

  It was plainly clear. Darcy could care less about being a responsible witch. She rolled around on the spell, trying to drown out my rant with incessant caterwauling. I held up the three crayons that were close to the new color. “Purple Pizzazz, Pink Flamingo, Fook-see-a. Give me a paint. Does it have to be so complicated? I’m a witch for fook-see-ya’s sake!”

  I found myself nearly shouting to overpower Darcy’s obnoxious sound effects. My wand, still in my opposite hand, waved wildly. “I should be able to give these cans of paint a little zap like this. Presto! Done.”

  The crayons slipped from my grasp, scattering purplish crumbs of crayons on the page. Darcy darted out of the room just as Brad poked his head in. “Everything okay in here? Sounded like you were wrestling with a bobcat.”

  “Darcy and I were just having a spirited discussion about magic spells.”

  “So, looks like you found the paint.”

  “Oh, those old…” I turned around to explain the rusty pile of rubbish and what I saw took my breath away.

  To my amazement, four unlabeled cans were lined up, and appeared to be brand spanking new. “Uh. Yep. Ah…sure did. Had to use a spell to get the colors right, but I haven’t checked the results.”

  Retrieving a screwdriver from our overstuffed junk drawer, he picked up a can. “Allow me to do the honors.” One by one, he pried off the lids. I observed from a safe distance.

  Darcy returned and leapt into my arms. She too was wary. “You should have told me you were reading that spell,” I whispered. “Now what have we done?”

  “Meow. Meow.”

  “No, I don’t have a mouse in my pocket. By ‘we’, I mean you, too, Darcy.”

  “What’s that, Sunshine?”

  “Nothing. Just apologizing to Darcy for arguing with her.”

  “Uh, of course.” He dipped the screwdriver in the paint to show me a sample of
my accidental creation. “Well…kind of…glows.” He held the screwdriver high and at arm’s length, catching a few purplish red drops on a scrap of paper. “That is some weird paint, Gertie.”

  I could see what he meant. The colors weren’t exactly mixed, they were swirled. “How about that? Tie dye paint! It’s…beautiful! Imagine the kitchen all in this color.”

  Awestruck, Brad’s mouth hung open. Obviously, he was mightily impressed by my wonderful paint. Clearing his throat, he managed to speak.

  “It will be a room not soon forgotten. That’s for sure. Anyway, be patient. We’ll have to hold off on painting it until next week anyway, after the tour group leaves.”

  Brad pushed the paint cans to the back of the table and was about to hand me my tote bag when something else fell out; a dozen of Ezzy’s mints and a large bundle of shiny black material.

  “Oh…I didn’t realize Ezzy picked out a few things.” I rummaged through the material while eating one of the mints. “Here, Brad, try one of Ezzy’s mints.”

  “What is all this stuff anyway?” Brad lifted a shiny black whip and studded collar.

  “Ezzy came with me when I went to Salem for paint. She took me into a really weird sex shop. And let me tell you, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  A strange feeling washed over me. I felt completely comfortable. “Ezzy suggested we try out some new things. Different kinds of things. She’s going to come over sometime and help me out.”

  Brad’s eyes physically grew larger, protruding from his face like a frog’s. “Ezzy…and you…and me?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “And all this stuff?”

  “Yeah. It’s all the rage, or so I’m told. It’s considered very sophisticated.”

  “You…and Ezzy? Wow! Gertie. Someday I may kick myself for saying this, but you’re the only one I want, and I can’t imagine that bringing someone else in would make it any better.”

  I waved my wand and the kitchen door latched shut. “But I want to do this because I—” then I made the little bunny ears with my fingers, “love you so much.” I picked out a stretchy black cat mask and pulled it down over my head.

  When my fingers finally slipped out from under the material, it made an audible “snap” as it sealed around my neck. I stripped out of my sundress and donned the embarrassing body squishing leather corset. My boobs stuck out like a pair of pink water balloons.

  Brad had that choking frog look again. This time, he made shallow gurgling noises.

  I fumbled with the belt until I was sporting an outlandish erect tallywhacker while I explained further.

  “Besides, Ezzy said you’ll be tied up like an animal and your little pastry chef will be caged up like Houdini.”

  Something powerful stirred within me. It was stronger than what I’d felt when I was talking to Ezzy.

  You wouldn’t be wrong to say I had an unbridled passion on the verge of breaking loose. With a wave of my wand, I stripped Brad naked.

  “The mints!” Brad shouted. “Damn you, Ezzy! I can’t believe her!”

  I jumped back in shock. “What?”

  “Those mints. Look at the wrapper. Sexlax! Spit it out! Now!”

  I spit the mint into the sink. My previous inhibitions were back. In fact, I was mortified by my wanton behavior. “Jaysus Christ almighty!”

  I felt like my head had been shoved in an oven. Under the stretchy plastic cat-woman hood, my sweat was near boiling and I felt dizzy. Not only that, but my boobs felt like they were under attack by giant lobsters.

  I wanted nothing more than to rip away the hood, but my hands slipped away like I was trying to pick up a greased eel.

  “Mother Mary! Help me!” I shouted. Then I really panicked. I heard voices in the hallway. Footsteps came closer.

  Brad joined the effort in freeing me from the tortuous rubber cat mask. His hands slipped and I lost my balance. It was pure instinct to grab a hold of something to save myself.

  Unfortunately, the nearest thing was a large skillet dangling from the pot rack.

  The way it broke free and clobbered Brad over the head, you’d think I’d meant to kill him. The reverberating gong sound of the heavy skillet making contact with his skull turned my stomach. He flopped down over the worktable, spilling the open can of paint. Bent over it with his naked bum in the air, he looked like he was at the doctor’s office awaiting a prostate exam.

  The door handle moved. It was too late. Randy swung open the door, waving his arm to present the kitchen to his tour group. “And here is our kitchen. Anything you want, whenever you want it. That’s our motto.”

  The crowd gasped in horror. Randy turned to see what shocked them. I screamed from under the skin tight cat mask, my huge purple plastic pecker swayed from side to side, giving the tour group a phallic Miss America wave.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, I realized my kinky corset’s constricting boob holes throttled my poor sisters until they resembled a pair of eggplants stuck to my chest. Using the skillet, I’d bludgeoned Brad unconscious with, I quickly covered them.

  Now it was Randy who resembled a choking frog. Without saying a word, at least an intelligible word, he did an about-face and hurried away to his herd of gawking guests.

  Brad regained his senses quickly, a bit wobbly and slightly cross-eyed, but none too worse from the cookware.

  Although, when he picked up a paring knife to slice off my cat-woman mask, I did have my doubts.

  “Here, allow me to be the one to put a knife to her throat.”

  Randy had returned.

  He took the knife from Brad and used a pair of scissors to free me. “Oh God, they look like eggplants,” he mumbled, snipping away the knot that held the entire corset so tight.

  I filled my lungs with air.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I want to tell you that I am thoroughly disgusted at my behavior. I really should have waited for Ezzy before we started—”

  Randy held his open palm against my mouth. “Stop. Just stop. I really, really can’t begin to tell you how much I don’t want to hear what freaky stuff you’re into.”

  He shook his head. “Ezzy was joining you in this…whatever this is? Listen, do whatever, but all I ask is that you please use the privacy of your own room. Stop acting like cats in heat in the kitchen.” He looked at Brad, and I thought he was about to say something, but he shook his head and walked toward the door.

  “Randy, wait. Don’t leave yet,” Brad pleaded.

  “Oh no. No. Not in a million years did I expect what I think you are going to say. No.”

  “No! Randy, I’m trying to tell you something. It’s all Ezzy’s fault. She slipped Gertie these.” Brad handed Randy a mint. “Read the wrapper. Sexlax. It made Gertie…well, it made her susceptible to some freaky plot Ezzy dreamed up. All these…accessories, Ezzy snuck them into Gertie’s shopping bag.”

  “Sexlax? This is the junk fueling the Salem swinger scene. Oh man, what a dirty trick. Ezzy always thinks she’s a step ahead with these pranks, making fools of us all. I say it’s time she learns what kind of fools we really are.”

  “I don’t know. I doubt I could look more foolish.” I pointed to my prosthetic pecker wobbling aimlessly.

  “Randy’s right. We need to turn this prank around on her somehow.”

  “Let’s get our thinking caps on. I’ve got to follow-up with our guests right now, we can table this discussion for later.”

  Randy was about to rush out of the kitchen when he noticed the paint cans and a spell book. “Really, Gertie? Magic paint? Please be careful.”

  Even though we both felt like red-faced jackasses for our impromptu XXX rated performance, Brad and I were struck with unexpected fits of laughter. After all, you couldn’t have asked for a better performance from a pair of fools.

  Brad gathered up Ezzy’s ready—to-wear debauchery, and promptly dumped all of it unceremoniously into the rubbish bin out back. Neither of us had any desire to explore any of Ezzy’s quirky se
x therapy.

  Chapter 8

  Bump in the Night

  That very night, I was leaning with one elbow against Brad’s muscular chest. My mind was a flurry of activity.

  Ever since I saw the mother and daughter witches leaving Build-A-Were, I’d been trying to picture what our little girl would look like.

  Would her hair be thick and dark like Brad’s, or red like mine? Would her skin be pale and silky like mine?

  Maybe she’d have Brad’s permanently tan Mediterranean skin. When I imagined a tall, dark Greek girl with my flaming red hair and freckles, I swear my face puckered up like I had just taken a swig of bleach.

  Thunk! Thunk! The distinct metallic drumming of trash cans being knocked around outside startled me. But there were more sounds, too.

  I was certain I heard noises downstairs in the kitchen.

  The noises of a break-in; a door creaking, clinking bottles, things dropping.

  “Brad.” I thumped my open palm against Brad’s chest. “Brad! I think there’s a burglar in the kitchen.”

  If it’s possible to shout in a whisper, I’d achieved it.

  Brad was sound asleep. His chest slowly rose and fell, shallowly mumbling dreamy words. “Burgers? Um. Yeah. Burgers. Good. Two please. Love you. Thanks, Sunshine.”

  “Ugh.” I’d made an observation about Brad, it was normal for him to fall into a post-sex coma. For all their bravado and warped self-image of the alpha male defending its pack, they really fail at it during sleeping hours. My friends told me the condition was par for the course with men.

  It was up to me to investigate the sounds. With my fuzzy panda robe cloaked around me, and my magic wand in hand, I headed downstairs to investigate. My fluffy unicorn slippers were excellent at maintaining my stealthy approach.

  Darcy, so brave, followed me down the stairs. I got lost in the thought that if I were a burglar, or a secret agent, I’d definitely wear fluffy slippers.

  Only when I reached the kitchen door did I reveal my presence. In a single bound, I entered the room, my wand out like I was a sword-wielding pirate. The kitchen was empty. In keeping with my swashbuckling anti-burglar technique, I leapt to the back door.