“You have a keen sense of smell. Tropical green tea flavored with mango and peach.” Maria handed her a steaming cup.
“Nice,” Sophia sipped slowly, savoring the taste.
“I sweetened it with a little bit of local grown wildflower honey. You cut right to the chase with that Gloria remark.”
“Occupational hazard. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. I appreciate the direct approach. I told you I don’t beat around the bush myself.” She grinned.
“This place has some powerful energy. I felt it when I first came in. I bet it’s around the back, too. I wanted to check out the bay, but you opened the door when I approached the cottage so I just followed you in. Maybe we’re on top of an old burial ground,” Sophia speculated. “I feel something powerful.”
“You’re getting a little morbid,” Maria winced. “I don’t want to have nightmares about the dead visiting me.”
“Sorry. It doesn’t look like land suitable for burial around here. I just need to shut up and head home.”
“Wait. Wait,” Maria said, placing a reassuring hand on Sophia’s arm.
“Settle in for a rest. Then later we can have dinner. I have this great pear sake. Very gentle tipple. I’ll make veggie fried rice for you. And I have adzuki bean paste buns.”
“It’s tempting but what about Titi?”
“No one you can call to check her out?”
Sophia thought about it. Her mother and father, Ada and Max. Rudy and Mathilde. All pretty useless. Kurt. Pretty useless. She was the caretaker.
“Not really. My daughter Lili, the only responsible person in my life, is studying fashion in Manhattan.”
“I’ll jump in the car and bring her over. I’ll get your keys. They’ll get along. Gloria’s been lonely without Pong and Pang. Siamese twins.” Maria laughed long and loud.
“Okay. I don’t have the energy to object.”
She showed Maria which keys to use.
“Why do I feel like she knows more about me than I’ve told her?” she wondered, putting down the drained cup on the crowded side table and falling into a deep sleep, her hand resting on Gloria’s back.
Nineteen
Blood-boltered Bernie stared down at her nakedness beneath his, causing gobbets of blood to rain down on her creamy white skin, drip into her eyes, and smash onto her nose.
“I’m going to take you with me. You’ll see. I didn’t die alone. We were meant to be together. We have three things in common. But who’s counting?”
As he spoke, spreading crimson with every word, he metamorphosed into Maria. His black hair became her black hair. His skinny body became her muscular stocky body. His black eyes became her caramel brown eyes.
“Bernie you’ve changed. I didn’t know you were a woman,” Sophia said.
Maria promptly lifted herself off of Sophia, grasped the enormous swollen cock she sported, and pointed it at Sophia’s mouth.
“Here. Get a load of this. It’s not a gentle tipple, but it tastes so fucking good.” Maria winked while shoving the gigantic member between her lips and into her mouth, pushing it, pushing it, deeper and deeper.
Sophia woke up gasping for air. She had inadvertently flung Gloria away from her mouth where she had chosen to hunker down and purr riotously.
While she was still hyperventilating, staring accusingly at Gloria, who was now innocently sleeping at the bottom of the bed, curled up into a ball, she heard the front door open.
Maria, carrying Titi, entered the bedroom and placed the cat next to Sophia on the bed like a nurse in the maternity ward, placing the new born next to its mother.
Titi stood up, stretching into that hump backed cat stretch and headed for Gloria, who, awakening, set up an ungodly Siamese howl, meant to raise the dead for starters and then lead them in a macabre dance of the dearly departed.
Sophia stared in horror as Titi answered with her own wail from hell. Her prim prima donna had transformed into a yowling banshee from the underworld.
After a chorus of Siamese song, the two cats sounding as if they were about to rip each other to pieces, instead, settled down in unison on the pillow beside Sophia, daintily licking their paws as if they were mirror images of each other.
“Did I just hallucinate that frightening screaming or did it actually happen?” Sophia asked.
“Yup. You sure heard it. That’s how Siamese cats communicate. Incongruous isn’t it?” Maria said.
“That just about took me over the edge after the nightmare I had involving a bloody Bernie come back from the dead to get a blow job. The dream Bernie had a much bigger dick,” Sophia said, omitting the part where he became Maria.
“Relax. That sounds bad. I know. I’ll make the food and we can eat in bed so you can relax. These two are getting on great. There’s nothing to worry about,” Maria said.
“Nothing to worry about? What about the dead Bernie who just paid me a visit? What did you do with him?”
“All in good time. I’ll tell you everything,” Maria said.
“You know what I would really like? Eating outside, looking at the bay.”
“Great idea. As a matter of fact, I just built a deck out there. I haven’t got the furniture yet. I’ll drag out the kitchen table and two chairs and set everything up out there.”
I should get her some patio furniture. She has taste up her ass, Sophia thought. She shook her head vigorously, thinking, am I trying to set up house with a lesbian? I have totally lost it.
“You okay?” Maria looked at her.
“Uh, trying to dislodge the dream images.”
“Do you want to get comfortable and borrow a robe?”
“Sure.”
Maria rummaged around in the locker at the foot of the bed, after removing numerous bric-a-brac from the lid, and emerged with a scarlet terry robe.
“Used to be Gloria’s,” Maria grimaced. “I’ll meet you out back. These two sleeping beauties can stay here.”
Both cats were sacked out.
By the time Sophia joined Maria on the deck, she had everything ready.
A giant platter of vegetarian fried rice, adzuki bean buns, and two midnight blue sake bottles with two delicate matching porcelain sake cups adorned the small scarred butcher block table, which was aglow with the flickering light from innumerable candles taking up any free space.
“You dragged that heavy butcher block out here?”
“It was nothing.”
Maria had flung some white string lights on two parched trees, flanking the back door, which was also an incongruous red, like the front door.
“It’s great out here,” Sophia said, staring at the twinkling bay, illuminated by city lights near the water’s edge. “There’s something so wonderful about the bay at night. Much better than the ocean, which becomes a black hole.”
“I agree,” said Maria. “All these monster buildings around us. I feel like we’re surrounded by aliens living like ants. Ant aliens.”
“I’m enjoying it. It’s a nice contrast. You win in your own private palazzo,” Sophia said, beginning to eat the rice Maria had served her. “Delicious.”
“Hardly a palazzo, but I know what you mean. Let’s make a toast,” Maria said, holding up her sake cup while handing the other cup to Sophia.
“A Japanese toast,” Sophia said.
Maria hesitated for a moment, her eyes welling up with unshed tears, before she pulled herself together, and said, “To Titi and Gloria,” clinking her cup against Sophia’s before drinking the whole cup right down.
“Aren’t you supposed to sip it delicately?” Sophia asked, sipping hers.
“You are. But I guzzle everything. I’m a woman of gargantuan appetites. And,” she leaned over conspiratorially, “I believe you are too my dear.”
Maria dropped to her knees at Sophia’s feet, parting the robe, she put her head between Sophia’s legs and began to relentlessly circle her clitoris with her tongue while reaching up blindly to tweak and knead her nipples.
When Maria had satisfied her, she picked her up and carried her over the threshold onto the couch, where she gently deposited her.
“You just rest,” she said handing her a cup of sake, “while I clean up.”
Sophia dutifully reclined and sipped.
“But when you finish cleaning up, we have to talk,” Sophia said, promptly nodding off, the cup tumbling from her fingers, spilling fragrant sake onto the threadbare rug.
Twenty
Sophia didn’t intend to spend the night. She didn’t intend to share a bed. She didn’t intend to wake up and finger Maria in gratitude. But she did all these things.
This is starting to feel like the beginning of a love affair. That timeless feeling. Getting lost in a new world with just the two of us. I have to snap out of it and get home. Sure the oral is the best I’ve ever had. Most men showboat the first time or so and then drop it altogether. But where’s the dick? She’ll probably produce a strap on. Yuck.
Sophia smiled innocently at Maria as they shared almond croissants and café con leche for breakfast out back, looking out on the bay again.
Maria lit up a cigar. “I was surprised you knew all about Cuban coffee. I thought I’d initiate you into the joys of drinking café Cubano just like I initiated you into the joys of lesbian oral.”
“I became addicted at Jackson Memorial when I was an intern. To café Cubano, not lesbian oral. That place is a cafecito capital. I was an espresso and cappuccino drinker, but I fell for café con leche first. Then hit the harder stuff. That creamy head when the sugar is beaten in with the coffee. Inimitable coffee,” Sophia said.
“Yeah. And they can do it without the espresso machine too. They beat it by hand and get the same effect. You like strong tastes just like me. Maybe I’ll turn you on to a Cuban cigar.”
“I’ll try it. Not now though. Too early.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Maria thanks for taking care of me, but I have to get going. I feel like I dropped out or something.”
“You deserve a break. You had a seizure. You’ve had the stress of the Bernie incident.”
“It’s great to hear those words. I rarely give myself breaks.”
“Listen. Why don’t you stay for another few days? Cancel the rest of your patients. Take a vacation. They can live without you for a week. Then I’ll drive you and Titi home. I love taking care of you.”
“It’s tempting. I like this place. A few days of doing nothing is just what I need. A hideaway. And you can tell me about Bernie and Gloria.”
“Sure.”
“I have to cancel two more days of patients. We can do it the same way we did yesterday. Then on Friday I have to…,” Sophia stopped.
Maria had blurted out that fateful Bernie night that she knew about her little enterprise. But spilling the beans was another story. Maria probably didn’t know much.
“Oh, what the hell. Confession is good for the soul. I’m confiding in you. Three nights a week, I run a bordello. I see three johns a night. It’s lucrative. There. I said it.”
“Fuck. So it is true.”
“Yeah. It’s true. I have to stop soon. The money’s good though. Too good. I’m stashing piles of it.”
“Don’t you need some sort of protection?”
“I’m dealing with the Momma’s Boys of Miami Beach. They want to fuck their Mommies or get flogged by their Mommies. You get the picture.”
“Even Momma’s Boys could have a rotten apple among the bunch. Once you start prostituting yourself, you leave yourself open to all sorts of weirdos. You know that, Sophia.”
“Someone is leaving a black rose on my doorstep nightly. That feels a little threatening. I wonder if it’s a Momma’s Boy,” Sophia mused more to herself than to Maria.
“Could be,” Maria muttered, her eyes downcast.
“Now that I confided in you, I want to talk about it. I really do. I have an invitation to their ball in September. Just a few weeks away. At first the invitation freaked me out because it’s embossed with a bouquet of black roses, but once I calmed down, I realized it was probably a coincidence. The kid who handed me the invite has to be innocent. I don’t know. I’m confused.”
“Maybe not so innocent,” Maria interjected.
“Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked. The thing is I’d like to invite you. It’s the MB times three. The Mamma’s Boys of Miami Beach Masked Ball. I don’t want to ask Kurt. Too messy. He doesn’t know what’s going on and I want to keep it that way.”
“I would love to go,” Maria said.
“Great. It’s at the Versace mansion.”
“Sounds like fun. Sophia. I have a couple of massage clients today. You lounge around. I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay. Let’s get those calls out of the way before you go.”
“Sure thing, hon.”
“And Maria?”
“Yes?”
“Tonight we talk about Bernie.”
“Yes. And Gloria. You told me about your bordello. I’ll get the whole Gloria story off my chest.”
Sophia, bored with lounging around in her red robe, began to roam around the place examining the clutter. She found an inordinate number of Russian chatchkes. Matryoshka dolls vied with painted lacquer boxes. Samovars had chunky amber beads slung over their spouts. Hand- painted black enamel earrings spilled out of a box, decorated with a representation of an onion domed church. And those beautiful Faberge eggs, infinite in their variety, nestled in what looked like a Russian shawl, looking like glamorous eggs awaiting the return of a flamboyant mamma bird. There were even nutcracker soldier Christmas ornaments.
“What’s with all the Russian shit?” Sophia asked the two cats, who blinked knowingly. “You certainly don’t know anything about it Titi. You just got here.”
She wandered out of the bedroom and found the back room, maybe a second bedroom or a study, was locked tight. Curious, she kept shaking the door knob.
“Might be a dildo museum.” She addressed the cats back in the bedroom. “Phallic stuff has to emerge sooner or later. We already have the Cuban cigars.”
The film noir style poster in the bedroom had something printed on the bottom in the Cyrillic alphabet.
“I’m surprised she didn’t serve borscht and cabbage with vodka and beer.” The cats had nothing to say. They decided to leave and appropriate the couch in the living room.
On a whim, she dressed, walked to the bodega down the block, and picked up a pack of unfiltered Camels along with some colorful disposable lighters. She couldn’t resist ordering a cafecito and sipped, wiping the crema mustache off with the back of her hand, as she walked. She felt like she was in a foreign country, not just the other end of town. She wanted to feel as if she were elsewhere, a million miles away, slipping into a disorienting, escapist affair. Out of time and out of place. Nowhere to go and nowhere to be.
She sat out back, looking at the calming bay, smoking her Camels as if she had always smoked them, savoring the sweet coffee, waiting for Maria. She was not lost in thought. Quite the opposite. She was thoughtless, mindlessly drifting, like that boat bobbing on the bay.
When Maria found her out back, she was sleeping.
Maria drank in the scene thirstily. Sophia, lips parted, gently snoring, wild red curls, breasts rising and falling rhythmically. At peace. After a few minutes, she shook Sophia’s shoulder, rousing her. “Wake up, sleeping beauty. For a second I thought Gloria was back, haunting me.”
“What do you mean haunting you?”
“Gloria’s gone. She’s no longer among the living. Our best laid plans to move here and live happily ever after never came to fruition,” Maria said, looking far out over the bay.
“Gone,” Sophia echoed, bewilderment overtaking her, causing her to start tugging at her left ear.
“Yeah. The bodies were piling up there for a while. I thought I
might be one of them. But for some reason I never thought Gloria would be one of them.”
“Okay. You have got to tell me what went on. And what’s with all the Russian stuff?”
“This all happened in Russia. I was buried there for three years. I was working both ends against the middle. I was a CIA agent.”
Sophia was stunned. She couldn’t take in all the information. “Obviously, you have a lot to tell me before we get to Bernie,” Sophia said, holding up her right hand while she mauled her left ear.
Maria gently separated her hand from her ear, saying, “A lot. Can you see me as CIA?”
“Easily.” Sophia sized up Maria. “It fits. I can picture you working it to your best advantage. You’re ruthless, single-minded, and creative. You could play up your female side. A big, take-charge Momma. You could play up your male side. A burly, no-nonsense Poppa. You could use confusion to mix things up in your favor. But, don’t you have to be fluent in Russian to be buried there?”
“I am. Remember I grew up in Cuba. The Soviet Union and Cuba were kissing cousins or more like kindly uncle and grateful nieces and nephews until 1991 when they became Russia and dumped us. We were taught Russian right from the start.”
“Let’s walk over to Gusto Bistro on West to clear our heads. We’ll order stuff to go. Have a drink while we wait. And take the food back here where we can talk. That place isn’t private enough for our conversation. I know this is the tip of the iceberg.”
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Maria said, watching Sophia light up eagerly.
“I didn’t. I’m glad I started.”
Twenty One
Ada feeling her oats, decked out in black for impending death as consumptive Mimi in the third act of La Boheme, couldn’t quite conceal her delight in the role. Her versatile soprano filled the concert hall, swelling with ineffable heartache, stimulating emotional depths in the audience. No one cared that her appearance couldn’t possibly suggest a sickly woman. Her singing convinced them.
Time's Harlot: The Perils of Attraction, Seduction, and Desire Page 7