Blossom (The Blossom Trilogy Book 1)

by Christopher Lentz

  She was nearly startled out of her high-heeled shoes when Mrs. Donohue asked from behind, “Faye, honey, what are your plans for this afternoon?”

  “Oh, this and that. I’ll just get my little handbag and be on my way.”

  “Alright then, I’m sure we’ll see you soon.”

  “Tootle-loo!” said Faye energetically as she collected her belongs and headed out the front door.

  “There’s a world of opportunities out there,” she said softly to herself. “Opportunities for me to catch people behaving badly. Let the search begin!”

  Chapter 41

  A Taste Of Their Future

  Tuesday, April 17, 1906, 12:17 p.m.

  One day before the earthquake and firestorm

  With a little imagination and a set of blueprints that were tacked to the wall, anyone could sense the opulence of the newlyweds’ new home. It was like a dressmaker’s mannequin, ready to be draped in the day’s latest fashions.

  Clarissa had been working feverishly in recent weeks with a decorator to perfectly appoint each room. Along with the parlor, the dining room would be a showplace to entertain and impress their guests. The combination of emerald green, ivory and gold leaf would add life to what now were simply four wood-stud walls in the shape of a rectangle. By the bay-window frame, a swatch of the green velvet that was to be used for the draperies hung limply.

  “Did Faye put you up to this?” asked Brock as the velvet swatch slid through his fingers.

  “Having lunch here today? No, this was completely my idea.”

  “I meant the green in this room. Faye only wears green, right?”

  “Yes, she does.”

  “Every time I see these drapes, I’m going to think of her, and I’m not sure I want to do that,” admitted Brock.

  “They’re just drapes and it’s just the color green. But if you want, I’ll speak to Jean-Pierre and change it. What color would you like?”

  “How about some of that red-and-white checkerboard cloth, like the curtains in the cabin at Twin Peaks?” Brock cocked his head and grinned.

  “Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you,” replied Clarissa. “Ummm, no.”

  “What if we just leave this all behind and live up at the ranch? It would be so much easier.”

  Clarissa’s eyes opened wide. “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Is it the cabin? If it is, we could build another one of these houses up on Twin Peaks. We’ve got the blueprints.”

  “As I said, absolutely not. Our place is here on Nob Hill. End…of…discussion.”

  “Then how about blue velvet drapes?” Brock sighed and began to walk away.

  “I’ll check with Jean-Pierre, but I think blue will be fine. What do you think about putting the birdcage in this corner, near the window? Romeo and Juliet can live happily ever after right here.”

  She caught up to him and they wandered through the quiet construction site. Before she’d arrived, Clarissa had instructed the foreman to release the crew for the day.

  The couple did their best to envision what it would look like when it was finished.

  When they arrived at the master-bedroom suite upstairs, Clarissa felt a surge of courage. She slammed Brock’s back against the bedroom wall and kissed him just as passionately as he had kissed her earlier.

  Her left hand slid behind the nape of Brock’s neck, and she drew him in closer to her, taking control of the situation. Brock didn’t resist.

  Clarissa’s kisses grew more intense and immediate, her lips pressing against and gliding across Brock’s. Her hands raced urgently around the curves of his shoulders and over his upper chest. He inhaled deeply.

  “Are you alright?” asked Clarissa breathlessly. Before he could answer, she started kissing him again. He emitted a long, low groan to acknowledge her question as his back slid down the wall until they were both on the unfinished floor.

  Now I have his undivided attention, thought Clarissa, whose face was now flush with heat. In fact, her whole body seemed to be on fire from within. Her senses were heightened, smell and touch especially.

  She had never been so aggressively affectionate. Whether she was politely waiting for the signal she got from him earlier today or was simply releasing her bottled-up passion, Brock didn’t seem to care.

  Her warm, delicate hand slipped inside the front of his shirt, which she mysteriously had been unbuttoned. Her wandering fingers moved slowly down the center of his chest. I can’t believe I’m doing this, she shouted in her head.

  For the first time, she felt the firmness of his pectoral muscles, skin to skin. She slid her index finger from side to side, following the defined, curved contour under each of his breasts. With her thumb, she playfully rolled over his hardened right nipple. He twitched and then groaned again.

  “Can you feel my heart pounding?” he asked as if he was racing to catch his breath. Clarissa opened her right hand and gently placed it over Brock’s heart. It was pounding, no doubt about it, but not as fast as hers.

  Clarissa withdrew her hand as he ran his right hand down the back of her dress, feeling her corset. He pulled her in close with a firm hand at the small of her back. She moaned. So this is what the poems and songs are all about, Clarissa thought as her feelings shifted from aggression to submission. She sensed everything within her going soft and limp. But, within seconds, she was back in her aggressive mode and seeking out new pleasures.

  Clarissa was becoming intoxicated with the heated sensations. She was sharing a building firestorm.

  They separated abruptly when they heard something horrible downstairs that could have included a hammer, a pane of glass and a metal bucket of nails.

  With that, it was over. Clarissa froze in the moment.

  They started to button what needed buttoning and fasten what needed to be refastened. She began to giggle uncontrollably, but covered her mouth with her hand. The noise they generated prompted a person below to ask, “Luke, is that you upstairs? I’ve got the nails we needed, but I need to pick up the mess I just made. You heard that, I’m guessing.”

  Clarissa replied, “Luke isn’t here. It’s Miss Donohue. Weren’t you given the afternoon off?”

  “No, ma’am, at least I don’t recollect so.”

  Brock looked at Clarissa and shrugged his shoulders, not having played a part in making or messing up her plans for today.

  “I’m here with…ah, with Jean-Pierre.” Brock silently mouthed the name Jean-Pierre and gave Clarissa a questioning look, along with a mocking smile.

  “We’re um, getting a better feel for this, ah, room.” Brock laughed without making any detectable sounds. “Go ahead and clean up. Then you may leave for the day.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll do just that. I’m sorry if I disturbed you and Jean-Pierre up there. My mother always said I was as clumsy as an ox and—” His voice trailed off as Brock walked toward the bay window and gazed down the street. Clarissa snuggled closely behind him and rested her cheek on the side of his left shoulder. They looked in the same direction, a view she’d dreamed for some time now that they’d share each morning as they began their day together looking at the sunrise.

  “This is going to be our special place. Every morning, I want you to kiss me right here in this alcove. Brock, I want to feel the warm morning sun and your touch before I do anything else.”

  Church bells tolled the half hour. They looked at each other. “Church bells will be ringing for us soon,” said Clarissa. “Won’t they?”

  Brock reached around his side to hold Clarissa’s left hand. He felt the engagement ring he’d given her, and its existence jarred him back to reality.

  “I can hear them now!” he replied.

  He was about to marry this woman, live in this house and look out this window for the rest of his life. Day after day, night after night, they’d form a routine, a comfortable routine like every other married couple on Nob Hill. At this moment, that sounded pretty good. Considering how Clarissa revealed her
desires moments ago, Brock might have everything a man could want, except a girl named Blossom.

  Chapter 42

  Rendezvous With The Girls

  Tuesday, April 17, 1906, 12:31 p.m.

  One day before the earthquake and firestorm

  Blossom was standing in front of the bench in the alley with her lunch in her hands as her friends approached. Monique usually stopped by the China 5 Operator office to pick up Anna Mae.

  “Why so glum, Sugarplum? I know that we’re later than usual. And why are you standing there?” asked Monique tenderly as the pair came closer.

  “We have to eat somewhere else today, someplace private,” replied Blossom.

  “Oh, this is going to be good,” added Anna Mae with obvious interest.

  “I’m not sure if it’s good or bad, but I can’t tell you here.” Blossom began to walk away.

  Monique and Anna Mae raised their shoulders in unison, looked at each other in a confused way and followed.

  “Let’s go down by the cribs,” suggested Monique. “Nobody talks or listens down there. There’s just a lot of grunting. Men in and men out, the girls barely come up for air. We can talk safely there,” she added, directing them toward the row of prostitutes’ shelters a few blocks away.

  They found a bench in the area and sat down. Instinctively, none of them opened their lunches, knowing that this was not a time to eat.

  Blossom cleared her throat. “You know how I’ve never felt like I fit in here.”

  “Who does?” asked Monique as she looked all around herself.

  “If this is about your lavender eyes, we’ve always thought they made you exotic, not different,” reassured Anna Mae.

  Their conversation was interrupted by two men who were looking for a good time during their lunch hour. Monique sent them away with a few choice words and redirected their attention to several crib girls who were standing outside their doorways, advertising their wares.

  “So get on with it. Tell us more,” urged Anna Mae.

  “But what about my hair color and my skin color? What about my mother?” Blossom asked.

  “Your mother? She gave you all of that,” said Monique. “You can tell because your father doesn’t look exactly like you.”

  Blossom spoke again. “It’s about my mother. She’s alive.”

  “She’s what?” the two said at nearly the same time.

  “Grand Ma Maw told me last night that my mother didn’t die when I was a baby. Her name is Cameo Rose. Actually, her name is Iris Lancaster. She’s white and a prostitute. Or maybe she was a prostitute then and isn’t now. I really don’t know.”

  Monique and Anna Mae did not make a single noise or gesture.

  “She left me to be raised as a Chinese baby by my father and Grand Ma Maw. She left me this brooch.”

  The girls each reached out and touched it, tipping it in several ways to take in the beauty of its three blooming white roses against the caramel-brown background.

  Blossom continued to speak to her silent lunch mates. “She writes letters and sends some money every now and then, with no return address. So we don’t know where she is, but she’s out there.”

  Blossom reached into her pocket and pulled out the photograph of her mother.

  Still silent, the girls took turns looking at the photo. With unusually wide-open eyes, they took in everything they were hearing and seeing.

  “My life has been one…big…fat…lie. I thought I knew who I was and now I’m somebody else. The woman who brought me into this world has not left the planet, she’s out there somewhere.” Blossom took a deep breath.

  “She’s kept her distance. How does a mother do that? Was she just being selfish and moving on with her life? Or did she love me so much that she had to leave me behind…for my own good?”

  Blossom looked at her friends. “What’s the matter with you two? I just told you all of that and you don’t make so much as a peep! You’ve never been this quiet before.”

  “Are you done?” asked Anna Mae.

  “Because we have lots of questions. At least I do,” added Monique.

  “Yes, I’m done.”

  “First of all, have you told Brock?” asked Monique.

  “No. I just found out last night and it’s only lunch time,” Blossom replied. “When would I have seen him? When I do see him again, I doubt that I’ll start the conversation with this news. But it does explain a lot. I’ve only known him for—” Blossom looked up and counted in her head. “It’s hardly been four days. I guess he might as well know all there is to know about me, even as I’m finding it out too.”

  “You…are…so…in…love,” cooed Anna Mae.

  “Hey,” added Monique, “I’m in love too. I’m in a serious relationship with prime rib and baked potatoes!” Her humorous comment broke the conversation’s intensity.

  The pair went on to ask their questions.

  Blossom felt relieved after confiding in her closest friends, but then tensed up. “You have to swear to tell no one about this.”

  The pair acknowledged the secret nature of what they’d been entrusted with just as a drunk dock worker approached.

  “How much for all three of you—together—at one time?” he slurred.

  “Mister,” replied Monique, “first of all, what you said is completely redundant.” The man looked confused. “And second, while your offer is almost irresistible, we can resist. So move on. There are plenty of good times for you to have in any of the stalls down the alley.”

  “Are you sure about that?” he asked as he farted and scratched his crotch.

  “If we weren’t before, we’re completely sure now!” replied Anna Mae with a giggle.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Blossom as she rose to her feet. “I don’t want anyone to see us down here. I have enough secrets to keep…and now you two do too!”

  Chapter 43

  Not A Misfit After All

  Tuesday, April 17, 1906, 3:11 p.m.

  One day before the earthquake and firestorm

  Every time the bakery’s front doorbell jingled, Blossom’s heart skipped a beat. One time, Blossom thought, Brock will come through that doorway again. She knew it. Until then, she had to settle for her memories of last Saturday afternoon.

  “Work, work, work, my precious daughter,” said Chang, bringing Blossom back to the task at hand. “Grand Ma Maw see you daydreaming again, you in big, big, big troubles.”

  “Yes, Ba Ba. Yes, Ba Ba. Yes, Ba Ba,” Blossom replied, mocking his triple-repeat speech pattern.

  “But first, I need some fresh air. I’m going for a little walk.”

  “Where you go, my child?”

  “Oh, here and there. I need to get the flower for tonight’s arrangement. Perhaps it will be a scarlet carnation or a yellow mum. You never know what Ruby’s going to have in her flower basket. I’ll be back in 10 minutes. You can time me if you wish.”

  “Yes, I wish,” said Chang as he caught his last glimpse of Blossom as she headed out the back door into the alley.

  With the ringing of bells, Grand Ma Maw entered the front door. The look on her face got Chang’s immediate attention.

  “Where Blossom?” demanded the old woman.

  “She just leave out back door,” Chang responded matter-of-factly.

  “When she return, we must talk…we three.”

  Blossom walked slowly and found herself at the Tie Yick General Store. She peered into the window pane that she’d been gazing into before Brock took her to Twin Peaks. Blossom noticed her pulse speed up and her face warm. She pulled at the stiff mandarin collar of her scarlet blouse, which showcased her mother’s brooch. Then she brushed away the flour and any other evidence of her life at the bakery.

  I wonder if Brock would think I look incredible now.

  Just a few steps away, Blossom found the flower seller at her usual spot.

  “Hi Ruby, what’s in your basket today? I know I’m later than usual, so my choices will be limited.�
��

  “My Blossom, I set aside something very special for you on this fine day,” said Ruby as she reached behind her chair to pull out a flaming-red tulip, with a canary yellow center.

  “Oh, it’s spectacular. Thank you so much for saving it for me. The colors will certainly grab our customers’ attention tonight!”

  As Blossom passed a few coins to the old woman, Ruby replied, “You bring sunshine to me when you visit. I not speak of this before, but I see you bring your sunshine to someone else on Sunday. You wearing someone else’s clothes. Your hair up. Your smile wider than I ever see it before. He special to you, yes?”

  “Yes, he’s special to me.”

  Sang Yuen, the street-side fortuneteller, was close enough to hear Blossom’s admission.

  “Then my heart soar for you, but my mind…it worry for you. Be wise. Be wiser than your age,” warned Ruby. “You must know that your secret is my secret, but others may not be so protective of you.”

  “I too look forward to your visits,” said the fortuneteller. “Each day I say ‘good fortune is yours today.’ But now—” He stopped speaking to study her more than usual. “Come close. Give me your hand.”

  Blossom held out her right hand. Her left one held the red tulip. The fortuneteller placed one of his hands above and below her hand, closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and then opened his eyes widely to connect with hers.

  “Something different today. Something different in your future. A matter of the heart I think. This man you talking about with Ruby, he change your heart. He change it for good. Chinatown is not—”

  Blossom pulled her hand back. “Oh, that reminds me. I’m already late getting back home. I must go. Thank you, thank you both.”