The Sweet Thief

by Temple Madison

  Griff walked down to the water, cracked the bottle open, and began guzzling the strong but bracing liquid as fast as he could. He sat, thinking of Lorelei and all that he could have with her, then of Gabrielle, and all that he could lose with her. He thought about what his children might look like, he thought of his career, this corrupt city, and, surprisingly enough, about that stupid salesman he kept seeing coming up his walk.

  “Bernard French,” he slurred softly. “That’s his name. Bernard French.” He lifted the half-empty bottle as if he were toasting someone. “Hello, Mr. French, I’ll say. How do you do? We’ll become good friends.” His head bobbed drunkenly as if he couldn’t control it. “And why not? He’s a nice man.” Griff’s face screwed up and he began sobbing. “Not like me. I’m not a nice man.” He lowered his head and sobbed loudly. “I’m bad. Very bad.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, lad. Ye don’t seem to be any worse than any other man I’ve ever met.”

  Griff jerked his head around, and sitting on a large rock not far from him was the salesman. “Mr. French? Bernard French? Is it really you?”

  The salesman chuckled. “I can’t say in the flesh, so I’ll just say, bigger than life. How’s that?”

  “But what are you doing here? I thought you were just part of my imagi... imagi... nash...”

  “Imagination? Is that what ye’re tryin’ to say?”

  “You say it so much better,” Griff said, his head reeling around.

  “That’s because that’s what I am, lad.”

  Griff hung his head and shook it. “This can’t be happening. You can’t really be here.”

  Oh, but I am. There are a lot of us that live in your imagination.

  “Really?” Griff said, jerking his nodding head back up. “Like who?”

  “Well, let me see. Right now, there are two mischievous, little freckle-faced kids, a beautiful little house with a breakfast nook, a dumpy station wagon, a dog, and then there’s me that sort of completes the picture. It’s funny, but I keep goin’ up this walk where the kids are playin’, but when the door opens, there’s no one there.”

  Griff hung his head and began crying. “I know, I know.”

  The salesman looked over at the distraught president. “Will there ever be anyone there, lad?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not, after tonight.”

  “What about tonight?”

  “I did something really bad.”

  “Now what could be all that bad? Ye didn’t kill anyone, did ye?”

  “I was unfaithful.”

  “But from what I understand, ye’ve been unfaithful before. It didn’t seem to bother ye then.”

  “I know, but it’s different now.”

  “Oh? How?”

  “I love her.” Griff sobbed. “And if she finds out, I’ll lose her, and I’ll never have the little house, the kids... or you.”

  “Well, I can certainly understand how ye wouldn’t care about losin’ me, but that house, and them kids... well, that’s a lot to lose.”

  “I couldn’t help it. I just couldn’t. She was so willing. So beautiful.” He looked over at the salesman. “After all, a man can only stand so much.”

  Lad, ye did nothin’ wrong tonight. Ye were simply tempted. Men are tempted every day of their lives. Now go on home and sleep it off.

  “She was right there. Ready, waiting. She would’ve let me do anything.”

  “Really?” The salesman leaned forward, suddenly very interested. “What does she look like?”

  A picture of her flashed across Griff’s mind.

  “Oh my. Yes, I can understand how hard it was to turn that down. My, my.” The salesman put his hands up in front of his chest. “What a pair of—”

  “You can see her?”

  “Of course. Your thoughts flash a picture upon a screen, and I can see everything that you do and think. Yes,” the salesman said with a thoughtful smile on his face. “Ye’ve entertained me quite nicely through the years.” His eyes slid over to Griff. ”Apparently, ye’re a breast man.”

  “But she’s flesh and blood. I thought you saw only unreal things.”

  Anything ye’re capable of thinking about is part of my world.

  “Your world?”

  Of course. You come from one nation, I come from another.

  “What in hell are you talking about?”

  Haven’t ye ever heard of the imagi-nation?

  “My god,” Griff said as he looked at the salesman, “Am I this crazy?”

  The salesman smiled. Ye’re not crazy, lad, and ye’re not bad... at least not as bad as ye think ye are.

  “I wouldn’t be too sure,” Griff said sadly, and then looked out at the silvery moonlight undulating on the water. “Maybe I should just end it all.”

  “Och, no!” the salesman said as he lunged forward. “Let’s get that thought out of yer mind right now, lad. I don’t know about you, but I’m too young to die. Besides, that’s one sure way to throw everything ye want away.” The salesman looked at Griff and empathized with his misery. “Look, lad, my advice is to go back to yer wife and just continue on as if nothing has happened. Ye never know how things are goin’ to work out.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me? I’ll just keep goin’ up that walk. And who knows, maybe one day ye’ll be there.”

  Griff’s eyes filled with tears again. “I hope so,” he whispered, his voice cracking. He wallowed in his sadness for a moment, and then his eyes widened when he thought of something. He lifted his head quickly and looked over at the salesman. “I won’t go to hell, will I?” Griff jumped up, and tried to catch the salesman by his lapels, but instead of grasping the shimmering image, he dove right through it and fell on the ground in an alcoholic stupor. As he lay there, his lips barely moved against the ground, and his breath sent the tiniest grains of dirt scattering as he continued to ask the question, “I won’t go to Hell, will I?”

  Just as the image disappeared, a voice echoed into the night. “No, laddie, ye’re not goin’ to Hell. Sadly, ye’re already there.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next morning, Griff was poring over some budget issues when one of his staff walked in and carefully placed a package down in front of him.

  Griff rose to his feet, looking the package over curiously. He didn’t see a return address. “Where did it come from? I wasn’t expecting anything.”

  “UPS brought it in first thing this morning. Just handed it over. Didn’t ask for a signature or anything.” Anxious to please, the wide-eyed clerk went on. “You can’t be too careful these days. If you want me to, I can get a security team in here to open it up for you, but it’s been x-rayed. No weapon or bomb was detected.” When Griff didn’t say anything, the clerk continued. “Would you like me to call the bomb squad?”

  “No, that’s okay. If they’ve checked it out, I’m sure it’s fine.” Griff looked up at him and smiled. “Well, thank you.”

  The clerk nodded, then turned to go.

  As soon as the young man left, Griff stepped out from behind his desk and walked over and closed his door. Turning back to the package, for some reason, apprehension rose inside him. He stared at the package that looked innocent enough then walked over and slowly opened it. He struggled with the tight wrapping at first, but when he pulled the last flap back and removed the paper inside, his eyes widened. It was the jacket he had left at Le Cirque. Searching around inside the box, he found a letter and a photograph. He looked down at the black-and-white glossy and remembered the exact moment.

  When a man sins... a man like me... a sinner like me... a stupid jerk like me! He does it in the dark... in the dark... in the dark!

  Now he knew what the bright lights were for. Why hadn’t he thought of it at the time? He felt like Elmer Gantry caught in a circle of bright lights, a camera, and a hooker.

  A forties-ish prank, but, hell, it still worked.

  He raked his fingers through his hair as he looked down at the evidence of his
sin. Nobody cared what a man on the street did with his time, but the president—that was a different story. Those bastards had already caught him once. Hell, he couldn’t afford another scandal. This would be big news if it hit the paper. This picture and several others would be spread all over the Washington Post. Unless, he thought as he tore the letter open, the bitch wants even more money.

  Tonight, lover. Midnight at the Oakwood in room 351.

  I’ll be waiting. Bring a bottle of red wine—and lots of energy.

  Another liaison. The bitch wants another liaison, or she’ll spread the whole stinkin’ story, and those miserable tell-all photographs, from Maine to California. He slumped down in his chair and began thinking. What in god’s name was he going to do with this woman? How was he going to get rid of her? Hell, if things were the way they used to be, he’d probably enjoy it, at least the sexual aspect of it. He’d never been someone who would let people push him around, especially little whores like her, but now he was walking on eggshells. His life was close to being perfect, and he just couldn’t throw that away on even the slightest scandal. He thought of Lorelei and knew he had found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He just couldn’t let her find out. He had to somehow shield her from this any way he could, or his whole marriage and everything he had dreamed of could blow up in his face. He didn’t want to lie to Lorelei, but what choice did he have?

  Worried, he slid his gaze back over at the package and saw the usual scratches, red marks and ragged tears that told him it had passed through security and come out clean. But Griff knew it wasn’t clean. It was dirty, and it contained things he wanted to forget. Maybe there was no weapon, or no bomb, but it was still dangerous—even more dangerous than any weapon that could be detected by any x-ray machine. He heard a tap at the door and looked up.

  “Just a moment,” he called, then grabbed the box, put the lid back on, and pushed it down under his desk. He quickly stood and began smoothing his hair and straightening his tie and jacket. When he felt presentable, he called out, “Yes, come in.”

  Betty opened the door and peeked in. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but I wanted to remind you that I’m leaving early today.” She hesitated, waiting for him to say something, but when he didn’t she continued. “My doctor’s appointment? You do remember, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Betty, I remember. You go right ahead, and... uh... I hope everything goes all right.”

  Betty looked at him and frowned. “You okay, sir? You seem kind of nervous.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just getting over something myself as a matter of fact, but I’m fine now. You’d better hurry, though. You don’t want to keep the doctor waiting.” He gave a short, self-conscious laugh, hoping she didn’t think he was too stupid. As soon as she closed the door, he moved quickly. He leaned over and pulled the box back out, grabbed the photograph and the note and held them out in front of him. He quickly picked up an ornate desk lighter, flicked it on, and touched the edge of the flame to each one. He held the rapidly burning evidence until they were well on their way to a smoldering ash. His hand lowered and dropped the smoking remains onto the bulky body of his large porcelain ashtray that had been cleverly molded into the shape of a coiled snake.

  Very appropriate, he thought as the designing face of the beautiful blonde viper curled up and slowly turned to black ash.

  That night Griff didn’t mention anything to Lorelei about having to go out again. He just slipped out of bed and quietly dressed, but this time he called for the limousine, explaining to the driver that he felt like going for a drive. With no questions forthcoming from a chauffeur who only did what he was told, the limousine hummed to life. Griff directed the distinguished black-capped driver, and when the long, shiny car pulled quietly onto a dark street only a block from the Oakwood, Griff ordered the driver to stop and get a bottle of wine. They pulled up at a liquor store, and Griff waited until he saw the chauffeur coming back with the wine, looked at the bottle in his hand and apologized, pretending he had been mistaken and meant to tell him to get two. Thinking nothing of it, the young man abruptly turned and went back in. Griff waited, and then told the Secret Service man to go in and tell him to hurry. “And Chad, when you go in, cover your gun. It makes people nervous.”

  “Yes, sir,” Chad said, leaving Griff in the limousine.

  Griff’s sharp narrowed eyes followed him as he entered the store. Actually, he was counting on that little diversion to detain them, maybe even cause a big stink that would take a long time to settle down. He knew Chad didn’t like to cover up his weapon. In fact, he waved it around like a trophy. He was certain that since he’d told him to cover it, he would be exposing it as often as possible, which was usually the case.

  He kept his focus on Chad until he closed the door behind him, then quickly emerged from the limousine, looking around. He darted across the sidewalk and stayed close to the buildings. If he saw someone coming, he would lean his head down or duck into a doorway, an alleyway, or turn his back and look into a dark window. Slowly anger began to build inside him. On the whim of the little slut who waited for him, he had been reduced to acting like a common criminal. Call him arrogant, but he didn’t like having the president of the United States reduced to hiding in alleyways—the leader of a superpower sneaking along the dark streets at midnight. Something deep inside him asked if she was really forcing this on him, or if he was doing it because he wanted to. It had always been said that a leopard didn’t change his spots, so the question continued to nag at him.

  And god help him he couldn’t—or was afraid—to answer.

  “At least you have a decent address,” Griff said, then looking down, he extended a finger and made a clean trail through a patch of spilled powder. “But the mess is the same.” Noticing the dimly lit room, he felt the romantic ambience of indirect lighting. “No more bright lights? What’s the matter, your photographer on strike?”

  She walked up to him with a sexy grin and circled his neck with her arms. “I remembered that you like the dark.”

  “I said when a man sins, he does it in the dark.” He looked down at her sarcastically. “What’s the matter? You expect some sinnin’ to be done here tonight?”

  “Oh, yes, sir, I do. I also remember that you talk too much.”

  He reached up and pulled her arms away. “Yeah? Well, talkin’s all I’m doin’ tonight, baby. I want to know what the hell it’ll take to get you off my back.”

  She pursed her lips and began fingering his collar in a coquettish manner. “You’re too uptight. Why don’t you relax and have a little wine?”

  “It’s too hot. I like it cold.”

  “Wine is supposed to be served at room temperature. Anybody knows that,” she said impatiently, then her voice became suggestive. “Come on. A little wine to relax you, a woman to make you feel good. What more could a man want?”

  He grabbed her shoulders. “Look, you little slut, I’m not here to drink wine, fuck you, or play your silly little games. I’m here to discuss business.”

  “You’re here to make me happy.”

  “Happy? I made you happy with a whole briefcase full of money. What the hell else could you want?”

  “The money’s fine, but you can’t make love to a hundred dollar bill.”

  “Wrap it around your goddamned vibrator,” he yelled then turned to leave. He stopped and turned back to her. “No more packages, do you hear? Nothing. No pictures, no notes, I don’t even want to know if you’re alive. Just leave this goddamned city and pretend you never heard of me.”

  She indicated toward the TV. “How the hell am I gonna do that? You’re all over the news. Making speeches, going to luncheons, fund-raisers. My god, I’m surprised they don’t take your picture while you’re jerking off.”

  “So far, you’re the only one that gets off on that,” he shot out sarcastically then turned and grabbed the doorknob. But before he could get it open, she ran and slammed the door shut.

 
“Griff, please don’t leave. We’ll do anything you want. Talk, make love, anything.” She leaned over and picked up a glass of the liquid she had prepared and pushed it toward him. “You’re too uptight, baby. This will help you relax, put you in a good mood.”

  He looked down into the sparkling liquid, then up to her glowing blue eyes, and felt himself weakening. He looked at the flawless skin, the soft, red perfumed lips, and the firm, young body that reached down deep and brought out the sinful side of him. Looking at her, he could feel a forest fire climbing into his groin. He grabbed her. “You little piece of trash,” he breathed into her face with clenched teeth. “I ought to fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk for a month.”

  “Yes,” she whimpered. “Oh god, yes.”

  “It’s smutty, immoral, and indecent,” he agonized. “What the hell do I want with a tramp like you? You’re dirty and obscene.”

  “Doesn’t it turn you on?” she purred. “If you’re going to sin with someone, you don’t want it to be a nun. Right?”

  He looked down into her half-closed, passionate eyes and saw a black soul filled with seductive evil. Instead of being repulsed, a deep arousal gripped him, and he had to have her—one last time. Looking down at the wine she offered him, he brutally grabbed the glass and threw it against the wall.

  Her eyes followed it, watching in distress as the red liquid stained the wall and dripped slowly toward the floor.

  He existed in another world when he looked at her.

  She was like a ripe fruit that he wanted to bite and suck on until she was consumed. He leaned down and carried her to the couch and began violently ripping and tearing at her clothes.

  “Don’t be gentle. I’ve been a bad girl... so bad.”

  “You little whore. You deserve to be punished,” he whispered. He looked down at the pale skin, the red lips, and the mountainous breasts of this black-hearted wanton and knew she was his to take whenever, and however he wanted. Knowing that, it aroused him to the point of no return, causing him to wallow in a sea of unredeemable lust. His breath was coming short and quick, and the deepest, darkest, ugliest emotions he had ever felt before filled him up. He mounted her, forced her legs apart, and lifted them. Her wet breath pressed against his ear as she whispered shameful, filthy, depraved words, then began erotically licking his ear.