The Scarlet Cord

by Eliza Master

  “What took so long?”

  “Sorry, I went to the Internet café to work on emails, and the dock was closed when I got there.” Kenny went on to explain that one employee usually ran the office in Yakadouma and closed it according to his or her schedule. Renata noted that the stumps were gone, so obviously Kenny had got them to their destination.

  Reheating the coffee, Kenny filled a mug and sat down to clean his gun again. “You hungry?” He said it like a babysitter, which was annoying. Despite her irritation, her hunger drove her to say yes; the only thing in the house was canned pop and biscuits, a British cookie-cracker she’d learned to avoid eating. A draft of burned gunpowder spread through the room from Kenny’s cleaning routine. He was a bit manic about that. Renata had her Pitbull in her bag, and she didn’t feel the need to clean it repeatedly, especially since she hadn’t fired it.

  8

  Second Night

  They went back to the same bar, the same band, same chicken, and same beer. Renata was even more comfortable that night. This time she danced almost from the beginning, flowing from partner to partner. Was that Kenny she was dancing with now? He was very light on his feet. Renata was floating, and she was feeling better than ever. The rest of the night was a dream. She didn’t remember much afterward, only the music and dancing. What a wonderful night it had turned into.

  She awoke in her panties and bra from the night before, the pretty ones. She was under her sheet, and the bedroom door was cracked. Kenny’s voice was hushed in his room. Renata listened. He was talking in dialect, or was that German? In any case, she couldn’t understand a thing. When she peered out she saw that, once again, his gun was dismantled, and he was polishing the shiny steel.

  Kenny must have heard her stirring because he got up and put water on the stove. Renata crept over to the door and watched his back as he unloaded some groceries from the fridge. He was still muttering into the phone. Then he called out, “I got some eggs and stuff to cook if you want.” So she would be the cook? He was working for her, wasn’t he?

  Renata couldn’t remember everything from last night. Ouch! She felt a sharp pain as she shifted. Her labia hurt, and when she checked, there was a welt between her vagina and her hip on the left side. She felt crampy. Alarmed, Renata left her bedroom and headed to the grungy bathroom. Feeling around for the tenderness, she found the soreness near her opening. The area was super sensitive, like she had nicked herself. Could there have been a twig or thorn in her panties? Or had she bumped into something? Renata hoped it wasn’t some crazy African parasite or spider bite. She checked, but there was nothing there; her panties were clean between her thighs. Maybe it’s from all the bouncy transport and sweat.

  In the bedroom, she fished some Neosporin from her suitcase and put a generous glob over the sore area before pulling on clean panties. Then she popped two painkillers and felt better right away. If the welt went down soon, she would keep it to herself. She didn’t want to seem like a weak boss in front of Kenny, and she wasn’t dying or anything. A doctor can look at it for me when I’m stateside again, Renata thought. She dressed in more travel gear.

  “Morning.”

  “Morning,” Kenny said back. The eggs and bread sat on the counter while her bodyguard resumed the never-ending gun care.

  “Do you want a bulls-eye?” That was the only type of egg Renata ever prepared.

  “Sure.” Kenny raised his eyebrows.

  Renata carefully cut circles out of the bread slices and fried one egg in each hole. They ate in silence; today was their last day.

  One of the Fitzer Elite taxis pulled up to the house. “Be right back,” Kenny said. He pulled a mini-cooler out of the fridge and handed it to the driver.

  Who puts a cooler in the fridge? “What was that?” Renata asked.

  “Some yohimbe extract I picked up yesterday. It’s not Agri-Gen’s,” he said guardedly.

  “So it’s Fitzer’s?”

  “I guess it’s their plan B,” Kenny muttered, looking up for a second. A flash passed between them. Renata wondered what she didn’t know. Did that mean Agri-Gen was just one of Fitzer’s options to tame the valuable African tree? Did Agri-Gen know about the Plan B? Renata made a mental note to discuss this with Erik when she returned.

  9

  The Interview

  After an uneventful and over-long set of four flights, Renata and Kenny parted ways at the arrivals area outside San Francisco’s main terminal. After a brief handshake, the exhausted travelers got into separate cabs.

  Renata slept deeply that night, and she looked forward to going back to work. By morning, the welt was no more than a pimple, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  That week, Renata was assigned an office assistant as a benefit of her new position. Her name was Katrina, and Renata figured the personnel manager had hired her, as she was blonde and booby. Her pink V-neck blouse stretched over a melon-like bosom.

  “Good morning, Miss Alvarez. Can I get you some coffee?”

  “Thanks, Katrina.” Renata looked at the chunky girl. Her pretty blue eyes, like robin’s eggs, stared at her innocently across the desk. Renata hoped she was smart enough to do the job. She was certainly willing to please: a good sign.

  The girl hesitated and then said, “Um, the reporter called again. He wants to do a story on the yohimbe. He said he really wants to talk to you.” Her voice lilted upward, questioningly. “Would you like me to tell him you’re not available?” The man had called three times since Renata’s trip to Cameroon, and Renata had not gotten back to him.

  “Just leave me his number.”

  Passing Renata a bit of pink paper with the reporter’s number on it, Katrina waited for further instructions.

  Renata remembered the girl’s first question. “Coffee, yes, and keep working on sourcing.” In order to open the farm in Guatemala, Agri-Gen would need machinery. The more specific tractors and such could all be purchased locally, but the yohimbe would be planted densely, and it took special equipment to be able to harvest and care for crops with less-than-standard width furrows. That equipment would have to be custom-made in the U.S. Renata was also working on a proposal to set up a grafting lab in Santa Lucia, a mountain village above the farm.

  Renata printed out an equipment list and manufacturers for Katrina to pursue. “Please set up a price comparison sheet, and don’t forget to ask how quickly they can have everything ready. Let them know it’s for Agri-Gen when you call. Thanks,” Renata said, before turning back to the computer screen.

  “Anything else?” the girl asked meekly.

  “Nope. Just the coffee.” Renata smiled stiffly and added, “With cream.”

  The trip to Cameroon was already a week behind her, and Renata had sat at her desk every day since then. Upon her return, she had done her routine check to make sure no one had gone through her office. The rug had been vacuumed, but her desk contents were untouched. Inside the center drawer, the pencil tray was perfectly parallel to the drawer walls. The tray’s pens were still placed vertically by size, and the staple remover’s sharp fangs were balanced atop two fine-line pens.

  Renata was worried about her files. She knew she was being paranoid, but she didn’t care. Every night before leaving for home, she pulled one long strand of rich, Brazilian hair from her head and placed it straight, like an arrow, across the top edge of the file folders, an inch from the front edge. The drawer could be opened and closed without disturbing the strand, but if anyone removed or shuffled the folders, the hair would be cast off. It was a good guard. The hair had remained in its position upon her return from Africa. Renata didn’t know what she was protecting, exactly, but the insurance made her feel safe.

  When Renata first came to the States, she visited her adopted grandparents in New York City. They lived in the Lincoln Towers in Manhattan, on the 20th floor. This was the tallest building Renata had ever been inside. Her new grandma, Myra, was a retired physicist. Renata remembered that she had been very kind. The old woman g
ave Renata a tour of the small apartment. In the bathroom, she pointed into the toilet bowl. “See that?”

  Renata saw only water and the old pink toilet seat staring back at her. Then the girl noticed the water was gently flowing from side to side, creating small ripples. “Is it moving?” she asked her grandma.

  “Not exactly,” Myra explained to the dark-skinned girl. “The building is moving, and the water is trying to stay flat.”

  “So, are we moving too?” she asked.

  “Very good!” her grandma praised. “Yes. All skyscrapers sway, especially as you get higher off the ground.”

  Renata remembered this story from her office on the 16th floor of Agri-Gen’s building. The mirrored high-rise was strong and stable, but now Renata imagined she could feel its tiny swing, just like her grandparents’ building.

  Getting off her chair, she examined the impressions her desk had made on the carpet. The desk had moved southwest on a curve. She imagined this was the direction the building had teetered in. Renata dragged the furniture so that it rested precisely on its former footprint. Once again, the desk lined up with the back corners of her office. Renata heaved a sigh and was once again ready for business.

  On the desk was the handwritten note from Katrina with the reporter’s phone number ,and she made the call.

  “This is Adam Stein from Vector. I can’t come to the phone right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,” came a familiar voice.

  Renata left a message and submerged herself into the yohimbe project. Lunch hour had come and gone when a soft tap broke Renata’s work marathon.

  In walked Alexa’s friend from the “celebration” from before. How did he know where she worked, and why was he here? Renata couldn’t remember his name. He seemed surprised as well and burst out laughing, bringing her out of her work haze. Renata smiled back and went to hug him, but they were the same height, causing them to come face to face with each other like they were about to kiss. It was an awkward moment.

  “I’m Adam Stein,” said Alexa’s friend, putting out his hand to shake even though they had just hugged.

  Despite herself, Renata laughed out loud. He looked like a hipster.

  “So, you’re a reporter?” Renata examined him in clothing. He was wearing a plaid button-up shirt and dress pants over his compact build. She remembered his dark curls and shaving shadow from the three-way.

  “Nice to meet you.” Renata offered her hand. His touch was warm and comfortable, like she remembered.

  “Actually, I’m a video-journalist. I had no idea I was trying to interview you, but I’m glad. How long have you known Alexa?”

  “We’re old friends.” Renata figured Adam didn’t need to know the details. Come to think of it, it seemed like she saw less and less of Alexa lately. “How about you?”

  “I re-met her at a mutual friend’s house. She’d made this amazing vegan thing, so I asked her for the recipe. Oh, and we went to high school together, too,” he said sheepishly. Both Renata and Adam were trying not to think of Renata’s welcome home party.

  “So yeah, um, I’ve been trying to get an interview with Fitzer Pharmaceuticals, but they don’t return my calls. You hadn’t either, until today, so I thought I’d stop by and meet you personally.” Adam’s face turned red as he said the last part. He paused and then continued, “Would you mind answering a few questions on video about the yohimbe project?”

  Renata was perplexed. Adam knew about her project? How? She assumed no one knew anything about her project outside of Agri-Gen, not even Alexa. Adam even knew the name of the tree. How strange.

  “Honestly, I’d have to talk to my boss. He’d probably be okay with it,” Renata said. “Why are you interested?”

  “It’s for a report on designer drugs. Yohimbe came up, and Agri-Gen and Fitzer. I found out it was your project, but I didn’t realize that we’d met before.” Adam looked down, unable to maintain eye-contact. He was embarrassed. Truth was, he had felt cheap, like a hooker, when Alexa thanked him the next day. Her attitude had been so withdrawn; she had behaved like he’d done a job for her, like he’d fixed her car or something. It left him with a bad feeling, even though he had enjoyed the sex. He knew neither of them had given him a second thought. His role had been more like a service, and now he was in Renata’s office, asking for something.

  10

  The Land

  That evening, Renata watched the video Miguel had emailed. He had handled everything perfectly so far and had personally commissioned everything. Their new casita was beautiful and modern. Its tropical wood frame, exposed beams, and stone counters had all been custom-made in São Paulo. The floor was warm sandstone. There was a brindle cowhide rug under a rustic king-sized bed. Renata had not seen the place in real life yet, but she trusted Miguel to make it perfect. She was excited to know that it was almost done and couldn’t wait to visit. After Guatemala, she would return to the farm.

  Last January, Renata and Miguel had traveled to their reclaimed home. They’d left the governor’s mansion in São Paulo in a government van with a chauffeur. The scent of moist earth and big horizon soothed them, and they traveled without the need for conversation. Sara had prepared two days of luxury camping food: homemade pastries, sliced meat for sandwiches, mangos, a melon, and a lot more delicious treats. There was plenty of bracken to burn for campfires, and they had some new cook pots.

  The driver and another employee set up the campsite while they unloaded the cooler and their baggage. The driver had planned to stay and set up camp and cook, but Miguel shooed him away, saying, “Thank you, but Renata and I come from this land. We can survive on it. Come back in two nights and pick us up.” He waved his hand as a final message.

  With an, “Okay, sir,” the men folded themselves into the van and took off. Renata watched the tire dust clouding the road. It made a trail down the winding slope. The lovers walked along the ridge until they found a clear spot with a big view. Beneath them, the valley lay naked. Only Donato’s house and a few other humble dwellings were man-made. The fertile land had been sold to Agri-Gen, and Renata and Miguel had split the profit. The upper acreage they kept and owned jointly.

  They wandered back to the fancy tent. It hung gracefully, billowing in the wind. Inside, there were cots, a table, chairs, and even suitcase stands. It was luxurious compared to North American camping. They weren’t roughing it at all, but they were all alone in this wild place.

  It took very little time to set up the kitchen, and dinner was delicious. Miguel prepared a pot of moqueca capixaba, a traditional stew, and they ate in comfortable silence. The sky was cobalt with silver stars twinkling, and insects hummed over the vast quietness.

  “Mateo?” Renata used his childhood name. “I feel happy here and safe, don’t you?”

  He stood and raised his arms and opened them into a twirl, like a ballet move. In two strides he was on bended knee in front of Renata’s folding chair. He grasped her hand as if in a marriage proposal. “Meu amor, let us invent a sanctuary here, our very own.” His glossy black curls reflected the moonlight.

  “Yes, lets!” A few tears leaked down her face, and the evening coolness caressed her cheeks. Miguel emptied the bottle of syrah into their glasses. Soon the glasses were drained and resting on the pebbly ground. It had been a long day.

  “I’m going to lie down,” Renata said. She regretted leaving the lovely silver moonlight, but her cot with the warm, soft blanket on top was beckoning. Settling in, she closed her eyes, feeling content and perfectly calm for the first time in ages. Sweet sleep came quickly, and dreams stayed away.

  “My love? It’s Mateo,” he whispered into her ear. Still dark night, Miguel had scooted onto her cot and placed his head on Renata’s outstretched arm. She cradled him, feeling his warmth as a comfort. His affection was clean and true. They lay like that, two bonded as one.

  Renata was sleeping in a silky teddy. Miguel’s hand ran up her body, his touch shy and tentative. He t
ouched her nipple and circled her breast ever so softly. Renata was instantly awake, both nipples hardened in response. She felt wet between her legs, and Miguel was stiff against her thigh. He rose above her in a plank position, not kissing her, but instead lifting up her negligee. She held still and let her body respond.

  “Okay?” Miguel asked. Renata wanted him; his deep, dark eyes, and accent were so sexy.

  “No one else could understand all we’ve been through, together and apart,” Renata thought. She let herself do what felt good.

  They didn’t stop. Miguel entered her, and she drew her legs around him, gently rocking him as his breathing quickened. Within just a few minutes, he was sighing and pressed deeply into Renata. She watched his pleasure, and she tightened herself around his penis. Coming to her senses, Renata commanded, “Pull out!”

  “Yes, yes!” Miguel cried, as he withdrew and cast his seed on her belly. Then he fell limp on top of her, resting his head on her breasts. Soon he was snoring softly into the January night.

  11

  Renata’s Apartment

  Peace filled Renata when she remembered her campout with Miguel. It had been months since she’d seen him. Her long days at work made her value evenings at home. She sat at her rough-hewn wood dining table, waiting for her takeout to be delivered. Middle Eastern cuisine had become a favorite ever since her beloved Tae Bo instructor, Damien, became a vegetarian. He was a health proponent, and Renata trusted him. Renata herself was a natural carnivore, so to have some dinners without meat was a good change.