Sexual Solstice

by Bradley, Tracey B.

  “No, please stay?” Ashley asked.

  “No. You guys need to get some sleep and I’d be too tempted to not sleep, if you know what I mean.” Gillian was being polite, she knew that Cecil’s dick was a once-in-a-while thing, not to be taken advantage of, as was being fawned upon by Ashley. She didn’t want any jealousies to surface; she didn’t want to be around Cecil and Ashley long enough to get mixed up in any emotional dynamic. And all that attention by a younger woman made her slightly self-conscious; the young Ashley made her think of her own young self with her Edgar, once upon a time. She buttoned up her pyjama top and kissed the two of them, got them to their bed, and amid thank you’s and hugs, tucked them in.

  Back in her own room, the beds were empty, neither Val nor Randy were back and most likely wouldn’t be until morning. Gillian lay her tired self down, and for the first time since London, felt truly alone.

  Chapter Nine - Coming Clean with the Kidnappers

  “Rise and shine, folks, rise and shine.” Gillian heard Randy in the hallway. Her face was still planted in the pillow and she doubted she had moved since falling asleep. She opened one eye and took in a disheveled Randy, looking fresh but a little messy, in the doorway. “Chad is making coffee––grinding the beans as we speak.”

  “I have a feeling you were bad.”

  “Of course I was––and very good I may say. A model guest. Where’s Val, by the way?”

  “I think she hit it off, or is hitting it off, with the banker.”

  “Good news, Randy has gotten you a flight outta here.”

  “What do you mean? Aren’t I under some kind of house arrest? He’s bailed me, but I doubt I can leave the country.”

  “They found Edgar. Or they’ve seen Edgar. He’s in Mauritius. You’re free as a bird. If I were you I’d get my ass down to some warm weather.”

  Everyone convened in the kitchen for coffee, freshly brewed courtesy of Chad, juice, freshly squeezed courtesy of Cliff, warm croissants, and hot gossip, or at least implied gossip. What had gone on behind closed doors was definitely open to speculation but everyone seemed to be wearing a smile regardless of the attire worn or shed the night before.

  “Cliff and I can take you to JFK. There’s a flight to Barbados with a short layover in Miami. Just think, you’ll be under the palms by this evening, and Edgar, well, he may have something to answer for. Scotland Yard never likes to be sent on a wild goose chase.”

  Gillian did her best to seem enthusiastic about her freedom and chance to get out of the cold and into the heat, but she felt lonely, had to put on a brave face. Going somewhere by herself had never been the plan, even if it was on Edgar’s arm. Sitting alone over a nice Viognier watching the sun set over the Caribbean wasn’t exactly her idea of a good time. But then she’d had a fairly good time in New York and all of it had been beyond what she had ever imagined it could be. She smiled. She looked at Cecil and Ashley who were feeding each other torn bits of croissant, Cliff and Chad who had sandwiched Randy in between them, and Val, who was on her banker’s knees while he read the Wall Street Journal. Val rolled her eyes, as if to say it wouldn’t last, not with a banker, but it was certainly fun.

  So the gang saw Gillian off at the departures and were on their way in various directions. Cliff and Chad suggested they might end up seeing Gillian down south, if they could arrange it. Even Val and Randy suggested something of the sort. So there she was the lucky girl on her way out of the mayhem, jail, and all the stress that goes with not knowing what has become of your husband in the blink of an eye. She needed time to reflect, maybe even be a bit sad. Business class for a couple of hours to Miami would do her good.

  But wind and winter weather being what it is, the flight was delayed and it would be a squeeze to change planes, which, in plain English meant there would be less time for the cocktail lounge while the Miami winter sun set. Once she had settled into her seat on the plane, and was going through her bag, the card the old woman had given her seemed to surface like an inflatable toy, out of her purse. She looked at the card, pondered it and its words: Mesmerize, All Potential, True Self. Odd, somehow the words spoke to her, made sense now. She had found an effect she had on men and that was indeed to mesmerize. She had cut through the bullshit with Edgar to find her true self, and she felt like there would be time to understand her true potential, as Val and Randy had. She dozed and thought of her encounters at Cliff’s parent’s home. A parade of bodies passed before her eyes, male, female, dominatrix, bimbos. She woke with a start as the plane touched down.

  Gillian did her best to make it to the lounge for the brief layover, for a moment, until she was paged to the information desk. She gulped her champagne cocktail, gathered her things and headed to a house phone, to find out where in hell the information desk was.

  Back on the departures level, outside of security, which she would have to tromp through again, she figured there would be more questions about Edgar. It wouldn’t do her good to try to ignore the request and escape on a flight that everyone in the world most likely knew she had a ticket for. Comply, comply, comply, she said under her breath as if more of a curse than a mantra. At the desk, stood a man and woman, both in suits and both grey in complexion and demeanour. Obviously more detectives. The grey woman spoke, “Ms. Pritchard, if you could come with us, this won’t take long. We simply want you to identify a photo of your husband, and then you’ll be on your way. We’re just parked here at the curb. So dreadfully sorry to disturb you.” The two presented themselves as CIA or perhaps acting on its behalf. When they got to the car, everything happened quickly: Gillian was shoved head first and then suppressed rapidly and quietly. If a sound was made it was not heard because of the heavy weight pushing her head into the seat, and a burlap bag over her head. All she sensed was that the vehicle was moving quickly and then she sensed nothing.

  Gillian woke to a warm room. There was silence, sounds from above. Two generous lengths of chain were attached to her, one towards a bathroom and one towards the bottom of a stair banister. The smell of mildew overwhelmed her, everything, the air, the blankets on the bed. And it was so quiet. Had she gone deaf? The chain jingled. No, she hadn’t. But all sound coming to the room seemed muffled. Other than the bed, there was no furniture. Now what? Had Scotland Yard or the CIA abducted her? The police? Was this yet another arrest? What the hell was going on? Was she about to see Edgar?

  A door opened from above and there were steps creaking in descent to where she was. It was the silhouette of the woman from the airport. She was making it obvious that she was carrying a revolver. “Ms Pritchard? Are you awake?”

  “Please put the gun away, unless you intend to use it. I am obviously tied up for the moment. You’ve taken all my belongings. I don’t have so much as a nail file with which to protect myself.”

  “I’d like to, but I’ll have to keep it out. I just can’t trust you. I hope you understand.”

  “Why am I here? Did I overspend on my duty free? Credit card finally maxed out? Just kidding, of course.”

  “We’ve kidnapped you, that’s all. Simple really. We are asking for thirty million.”

  “Thirty million what? My husband––”

  “Your husband can easily afford it.”

  “Well no, he can’t. Unless he sold a few rotting estates. But that won’t happen.”

  “We’ve given him seventy two hours.”

  “Then?”

  “Then. In the meantime we’d like to make you comfortable. Feed you.”

  “Fatten me up for the kill? Good luck getting your money. My husband stopped loving me years ago.”

  “Your husband is a public figure. If he fumbles, the world will know.”

  “Well, I wish you all the best. Obviously. Not to trivialize your mission.”

  “Can I bring you something?”

  “Some air freshener, it’s more than a little musty in here, wherever here is, and I’d love to finish that champagne cocktail I was having in the airport lounge, and
since I’m going to be here a while, how about a good game of scrabble, or a scrabble tournament. We’ll have time for a few games I imagine.”

  “I can’t guarantee champagne but I’ll get you some food. There’s a TV in the corner if you like.” The woman pointed to a dark corner. “The remote is by the bed. This chain reaches to the bathroom, as does the one around your ankle. You won’t get any further than the bottom of the stairs or the bathroom, so don’t try. I know it’s a pain but it’s the only way we can be sure you won’t stray.”

  “Gee, thanks. Listen if you want to come down and watch some TV feel free. I could use the company––it might get a bit quiet down here.

  Though the day had started out promising more than being kidnapped, Gillian was now faced with the harsh reality that the gravy train was probably over. She was also angry that she had been the mute accessory for a man who would likely not pay her ransom. Who on earth is worth thirty million? The remainder of the day was spent surfing television channels to see if there was news of her abduction, and listening to people come and go up above her. Periodically the woman would call down to see how she was. This was how she spent Boxing Day, and the day after. Most of the time she felt sorry for herself, she had moments of anger but was just hoping that they would get on with it, whatever it was. Partway through the second day she was watching BBC World when a headline finally came across about her disappearance. Thirty million ransom, and a reward offered by Edgar––ten million. Ten Million? She would be the laughing stock of the crime syndicate. No one would find her. He wouldn’t pay the thirty million ransom. People disappeared all the time, down holes, into oceans, swamps, dumpsters. There were millions of places to deposit a body.

  At the end of the second day Gillian heard new footsteps, a heavier being, didn’t come and go, just came. There were some raised voices between the woman and a man, but nothing Gillian could make out.

  Finally, late in the night of the second day, people still moving around upstairs, the door opened and two people came down, it was the woman and, and, Spokes! Spokes out of uniform. Spokes in a suit. Like the man and woman at the airport. What the hell was Spokes doing here? Was she dreaming? Was he a kidnapper? Just what on earth was up? He stayed behind the woman and gave Gillian a knowing glare, and winked. At once Gillian felt a tiredness and exhaustion long held at bay, settle into her, as if knowing that someone familiar nearby was a kind of reassurance that everything would be alright. But why? Was he working for Edgar? Was Edgar onto the kidnappers? Had Spokes been enlisted as a spy? “We have a member of our team who will be watching you if I have to go out. He knows not to hurt you. Those aren’t the conditions of the kidnapping. We want to return you unharmed.”

  “Well I’m fine. I don’t need a baby sitter for heaven’s sake.”

  “Just let him know you are okay when he calls down.”

  “Sure.” Gillian acted blasé. Would she be rescued? How on earth did Spokes find her?

  The two went back up the steps, with Spokes tipping his head, looking over his shoulder, in that characteristic way, looking from the front seat to the back.

  Much later that night when the house was quiet, Gillian went to the dismal rusting bathroom, chains length and all, to survey the damage. There was a rusting shower but she took a chance, hoping to get the mouldy smell off her skin and out of her nostrils, and she washed her face clean of her makeup, all with the thought that Spokes had somehow come to her rescue. She tried to clean herself of the mustiness of the basement, the way Lady M would have tried to clean herself of her bloody spot, in the Scottish play––oh what the hell, Macbeth––could her luck get any worse? She thought of Robert and his theatrical superstitions (and his big cock), which led to the thought of the dancers, which led to thoughts of the pilots! Oh to think she had been having a variety of fun times high above Central Park just days earlier. She inhaled. Splashed her face. Gave herself a sponge bath. To her, it represented some kind of simple optimistic gesture that all would be well and she would be free of these grey people soon enough. As she came out of the bathroom, she heard the door, saw light, and then a shadow fall across the wall. She heard the stairs creek. It was Spokes, in stocking feet, jacket off, tie off, shirtsleeves rolled up. Gillian whispered into the dark, “Is that you?”

  “Yes, yes, don’t worry, one’s out, one’s sleeping. I heard you running the water. Are you alright?”

  “Yes, I suppose. Why are you here? Did you come to rescue me? I don’t get it.”

  “Just play along. Do whatever they say. I’m here on my own. You don’t know me.”

  “Are you working for Edgar? Did Edgar send you to find me?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Then I don’t understand.”

  “We have to move quickly. Here, kiss me first.”

  “Kiss you? Of course. Of course I’ll kiss you.” Gillian felt what she had longed for, over the past week and beyond: the wall of emotion that existed behind this simple gesture. She couldn’t believe she had kept herself from Spokes’s touch for so long. She swore she would never let him go.

  “If you’re here on Edgar’s behalf, I can’t go back. I can’t. I know now I don’t love him”

  “Of course not, my darling.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He tried to set it up to look like you and he had both been kidnapped.”

  “But why?”

  “So that your kidnapping would look more credible. He told me nothing, obviously, but I knew something was up.”

  “But why make it look like I was kidnapped? And how would he know if I was kidnapped?”

  “He has kidnapped you. Edgar has kidnapped you. Don’t you see? He has set the ransom, and he has put up the reward.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “I don’t know how to tell you this, and I’ve know for a long time. He has wanted you out of his life. Simple. And he doesn’t want to share the Pritchard fortune doing it.”

  “So he’d off me? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  “I hate to say it, but that’s the idea. He has professionals coming. I interfered, eavesdropped. Spied if you will. I knew something was up. When he went missing I knew it was time to act. We have until tomorrow.”

  “Fuck no!”

  “Kiss me.”

  Gillian held Spokes tight. She still sensed that firm solid torso, unmoving like a brick wall, yet so yielding to her warmth.

  “I tipped off Scotland Yard about Mauritius. He was trying to lay low there, but I blew his cover. Even so, he’s trying to make them think he was abducted and you know, lost his memory in the process.”

  “He’s crazy.”

  “If the killers do a clean job, make you disappear, then they get an extra five million. Edgar wants no roads leading back to him. These people know I worked for Edgar, just not how. I had enough information to convince them I was in on it. Told them there was a change of plan since he’d been found in Mauritius. Told them I was Edgar’s proxy, to make sure that there would be no trail.”

  “Hold me tighter.”

  “My darling.”

  Despite the chains, Spokes took her gently in his arms, he slowly unbuttoned her blouse and gently took her breasts in his hands. “How I have wanted to do this, for so long. I have wanted to touch these white breasts and take them in my hands and kiss them and touch the nipples with my tongue.” Spokes whispered to Gillian, placing his mouth beside her ear, his breath tickling with each word. “I have wanted to ravish you, ever since that drive, years ago. I have wanted to slide my hand up your skirt again. Touch you.” Spokes took one hand from her breast––replacing it with his mouth––and slid his hand up Gillian’s skirt, touching her as gently and warmly as a man who had been deprived for so long, could do. Gillian held on tight. She slid her hand into Spokes’s shirt, feeling the hair across his warm stomach. “I too have waited so long.” She kissed Spokes, relishing his day’s growth of stubble on her lips. Soon Spokes was res
ponding, his lips venturing down Gillian’s stomach, his hands pulling up her skirt and then gently finding his way to her warmth. Gillian dug her fingers into his scalp, and clutched his hair as he brought a smile to her face. The feeling was like nothing she could describe. Here was a man who loved and worshipped her, every part of her. She closed her tired eyes and let him fill her with his love.

  “Someone’s coming.” She heard a creaking upstairs and immediately Spokes was away from her talking loudly that he would bring her another pillow, and admonishing her for using all the hot water. He buttoned his shirt and stomped up the stairs.

  The rest of the night passed quietly for Gillian, feeling reassured that Spokes was somewhere just above her, thinking of her.

  Sometime around dawn Gillian heard a commotion upstairs. She heard the woman’s voice, the man’s and then Spokes. Were they on to him? Gillian was now more frightened than ever. Being kidnapped was one thing, delays with negotiation, back and forth confusion, but to be extinguished in a matter of days, now hours, was final, too final.

  There were no other sounds for several hours, then what seemed to be a number of footsteps. Gillian checked the chains as she had already done countless times––there was no chance of cutting them, or breaking free.

  It wasn’t until mid morning that she heard anything and it was what shocked her. A barrage of gunshots rang through the upstairs as well as sounds more distant. Windows smashing. Shouts. A scream. Finally the door opened and Spokes came rushing down the stairs, followed by what looked to be a S.W.A.T. team. Gillian instinctively hid behind the bed to spare herself at least a few more moments of life, but it wasn’t necessary.

  Gillian squinted back at the Miami sun as she stood in the parking lot of the vacant motel, where she had been hostage. It was a place she couldn’t have pictured. Her wrists ached from the chains, her hair had gone wild from being washed and shaken dry. She stood in shocked silence as bodies were removed from the motel, the woman and man who had met her at the airport, on stretchers, and whether they were alive was questionable. Gillian started to weep.