by Jim Craig
I was transfixed. I reached up and rubbed my eyes with both wet hands to make sure I was really awake. She walked toward me, sank to her knees beside a small stool holding a tray and studied her fingernails like she was waiting for me to speak. But I couldn’t just yet. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Her bobbed blond hair held my attention. It was more than blond. It was some kind of electric super blond enhanced with chemical attentions from the next century. Darker roots added background but matched her dark thin eyebrows. It was a very modern cut, styled and sprayed to hold a casual and at the same time carefully sculpted shape that was wider at the top and then swept down to lie closely against an elegant long thin neck. Her bangs dangled just above her eyes on one side of her face but on the other side they were impossibly long and joined the other part to flow down to her chin line. Tiny earring studs in petite ear lobes sparkled at me in the dim light. They had to be diamonds.
I must have been staring at her like a baboon examining a fine watch. The beauty and the beast. Her lips were painted bright red, and her body gleamed with the smoothest whitest skin I think I had ever seen. The night gown was more like a loose silk jacket buttoned up the front.
She didn’t look at me. I had a feeling she made a career of that. No encouragement, no come on, no look, no link, no contact. The room had gone completely silent. She must have noticed it too. She set the tray on the stool, stood up and turned and began to move around the room looking at the pictures and things on the walls. Her chin and small trim nose inclined upward toward the objects as she walked slowly along. The night gown swished back and forth tickling her bare thighs as she moved. I couldn't help but watch her as I tried to keep my mouth closed so I wouldn't inhale any water.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she finally broke the quiet, her voice sing song and warbling at least two octaves higher than earlier.
“Uh, yeah, sort of. Yeah, thanks.” I started to reach for the food, then began to feel incredibly naked. Probably because I was naked. Maybe not incredibly naked, but naked just the same. I crouched deeper in the hot water and let it rise above my chin and mouth as if I could hide there in the tub. I was hoping she wasn’t planning to walk over and stare down at me. My eyeballs were at the same height as her ankles. I thought of hitting the pump switch again for the cover of bubbles, but I didn’t. I was paralyzed. In some kind of spell.
She continued to move around the room humming to herself and remarking on the pictures in soft tones that I couldn’t really hear. I tried to reconcile the lilting voice with the harsh raspy sound from the night before. Trying not to be obvious about it, I rose up a little and craned my neck to watch her over the top of the hot tub cover. I didn’t want her to see me watching. The air chilled my bare wet shoulders.
“Didn’t we talk last night?” I finally managed to ask, letting myself sink back into the warmth. “Up there in the lobby. I was at the door, asking about the troopers?”
She ignored me and stood staring at her own reflection in a mirror on the wall. After a minute she came back and knelt again by the stool on the other side of the tray from me. She continued to examine her hands and her long perfectly red painted nails. Searching for tiny imperfections.
“Last night seems like a lifetime ago," she murmured in the low silky voice again.
"So much can get lost in the fog.” She looked over her shoulder toward the windowed door. Gray mist still hung outside like a stage curtain fully drawn.
“Yeah, really. I’m Johnny, by the way.”
She didn't say anything for a moment. Almost to the point where it started to bug me.
“Yes, Charlie tells me you’re the pilot.” The soft and husky voice was back.
“Yup, that’s right. And who are you if you don’t mind me asking?”
She continued to examine her nails holding her hands out in front of her. No rings on her fingers.
“I’m Greta," she said still not looking at me.
That brought me back to reality. "Ah, yes, Mrs. Westridge, okay." I sighed and reached for the tray. "Charlie told me you were a good cook."
I turned my attention to the food. The coffee smelled terrific and my mouth began to water.
From the corner of my eye I could sense her looking me over, but I took a big slug of coffee from a delicate china cup and closed my eyes to enjoy the warm liquid rolling down my throat. Then I picked up a piece of buttered toast, shoved it in my mouth and followed it with another swig of coffee. I was starved.
I felt a waft of cool air against my head and saw her lean to one side and adjust her nightie with a sweep of her arm. She arranged herself to lie down on her side, her head toward me propped up by one hand. She said nothing but I could feel her eyes studying me as I ate. A minute went by without a word between us. I finally looked over at her and she looked away.
“You been here long, Greta?” Something about her made me feel bold. I stared straight at her then and held my look longer than strangers were supposed to. I’d never seen a woman like her in Seward. She seemed more like Las Vegas. The Vogue magazine cover girl look was a rare thing in Alaska.
“Seems like all my life,” she said with a sigh. "Almost six months." Her eyes dropped to the carpet. I followed her gaze and saw her tiny white feet curled under her legs with toenails manicured and painted, the color matched to her fingernails. She slowly unbuttoned the jacket and let it fall open. There was a white half slip underneath. At least I think that's what you call it. A lacy thing with thin shoulder straps holding it on.
I struggled to think of other things to say. Small talk wasn't natural to me, but more than that I think I was having a hard time ignoring my nakedness only a couple feet away from her thin silky nightgown. I thought about what it would look like wet.
I cleared my throat and blinked my eyes to break the spell. “So, uh, what’s up with those troopers? They back yet?”
Her back stiffened slightly and then she sat up on her knees and leaned on her fists directly toward me. The nightgown jacket billowed and opened. One of the little spaghetti shoulder straps dropped off one shoulder. I traced the line of her neck with my eyes where it curved down past a delicate and well defined collar bone and over the satin arc of her bare shoulder. Perky bumps and cleavage invited my eyes and welcomed them.
But then her eyes locked onto mine, and although she was about five feet away we might as well have been nose to nose.
“Johnny,” she half whispered, “I don’t know a thing about those men.” Her look was sincere and concerned.
I don’t think I’d ever seen eyes that blue. A thick liquid pale blue like a newly opened can of enamel paint. Not exactly warm, but magnetic just the same. Her eyes were so wide open they revealed everything but nothing at all. Like a mirror surface, you could stare into them for an hour and never see a thing. Maybe your own reflection peering back. Looking for something. And failing.
The silted streams and lakes around Seward carried that same mysterious blankness. It was like you could reach into the blue clouded depths with your whole arm and pull back nothing but a frigid emptiness. A cold white bone of regret.
“But they must have been here,” I said, my eyes wanting to pull away but unable. As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to haul them back in. I felt the instant remorse of the child who drops an ice cream cone on a hot summer day.
I felt my breath catch. Her expression didn’t alter, and she didn’t blink. Nothing about her moved, but something changed in her eyes. Still the bluest of blue, they held me in an icy grip. Instantly I was neck deep in a half frozen glacial lake, ice crystals forming, compressing and choking me. My jaw and face began to shudder throwing my vision into a fuzzy lack of focus.
Blue sky summer days transform when a thunderstorm flows toward you over the horizon. Just like the blue in Greta’s eyes, it clouds over and begins to seethe. Like a tornado wind howling with hatred, it's ready to shred the earth with a thousand shards of recrimination a
nd spite. I saw the hidden williwaw in Greta’s eyes.
She was trying to hide it behind a veil of coolness and pretense, but it was there alright. A thin line of dark mascara and lashes surrounded each of her eyes like a tangled shoreline of delicate willow branches. I watched her take a deep breath and some internal struggle began to pass. Her gaze returned to her fingernails.
I wondered how I had offended her. Had I questioned her answer? Expressed some kind of disbelief? Dared to press a suspicion? Dared to tread on fine china with a bull’s lack of grace?
Scrambling I fumbled for words to repair the damage. “Sorry, I just can’t get over those cops taking off without telling me anything. It’s pissing me off.”
She seemed to think that over for a moment. I watched as she took in another slow breath and looked at me again. The storm had passed. As quickly as it had appeared, the disturbance was gone. Swept into a back room with flick of a wrist. The blue waters were clear and calm again. Her eyes locked on mine once more, and I saw the hint of a smile.
She slid forward then like a cat and stretched out on the carpet beside the hot tub setting one elbow on the rim above me and resting her chin in her hand. Her eyes left mine to stare at the ceiling, and I blinked hard as an involuntary shiver took my shoulders in a spasm that sent ripples across the surface of the tub. She reached out with her other hand and stroked through her hair again, pulling the blond tresses away from her head and then letting them fall.
I began to understand how an icicle felt when the sun comes out. Overwhelmed by the sudden warmth, it thrills in ecstasy. And then slowly begins to melt, soon to disappear forever.
For crap’s sake, Johnny, a voice from somewhere inside whispered. Are you losing your mind?
“Nice place you got h-here,” I stammered.
She smiled wider then, her eyes reaching for mine. Tiny lines appeared at the corners of her mouth. Past the glare of her red lipstick and slightly open moist lips, I could see perfect white teeth. A slight fragrance like crushed roses filled my nostrils. Faint but expensive.
“So you’re a bush pilot, Johnny?” She picked up the fork and slowly began to toy with the pile of golden scrambled eggs on the plate between us.
I watched her and nodded fascinated by the way she moved, and the way her odd little voice formed each word. I especially liked the way she said Johnny. I could imagine hearing that sound close in the dark, those lips barely touching my ear.
“Maybe you could fly me somewhere sometime.” She lifted the fork and took a small bite. I watched her mouth and felt my own moving in unison.
Wait a minute, I thought. That was my line. I’d used it with some success around town on Saturday nights.
But before I could figure out how to turn the tables, the fork was full of egg again and headed my way. I glanced at it determined to resist. This wasn’t right. It felt weird and uncomfortable. Then I made the mistake of looking at her. Her pale blue orbs took me in, and my mouth dropped open. The taste of buttery egg filled my mouth, and the smell of warm toast made me drool. Suddenly I felt hungrier than I could ever remember. I leaned toward her and rested my head against the side of the tub to stare at her and wait for more. She took another bite for herself, slowly working the fork before bringing another for me.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew what was happening, but I didn’t care. I let it happen. I let the moment continue and pretended I could stop it anytime. I knew it was a thin act, but it was all I had.
I reached for the coffee cup, but she intercepted my hand with her own. Her touch paralyzed me. She stroked her cheek with the back of my hand and then moved it to her lips breathing warmly against my fingers. I could only stare in disbelief. For a moment our eyes met again. Then she dropped her gaze to our hands, arched back slightly and sighed. With one hand she picked up the coffee cup and moved it out of my reach.
Noticing my questioning look, she pursed her lips in apology and said, “That one’s cold. I’ll get you another.”
I let my eyes close, took a deep breath and let my mind slip wherever it wanted. The warm water, my nakedness and the smell of eggs, coffee and her took me far away. Even the drip of water from my elbows sounded like fine music. My imagination was racing, and the feel of her warm hands holding mine sparked a fantasy. I conjured an image of her slipping into the tub beside me, her thin nightgown dissolving in the hot water. Our lips merged in moist perfection, tiny tongue probes sent electric shock waves down my arms and legs and out to the ends of my fingers and toes. We began to sway gently together, our hands exploring and thrilling in their discoveries. I found myself smiling in a strange wild abandon holding that amazing china doll’s delicate body against mine.
My eyes jerked open with a start to find her watching me with half open lids leaning her chin on one hand again as she curled up on the carpet beside the hot tub. She had an amused look. I pulled my hand away.
“Hey, dreamer boy, you gotta girlfriend?” she probed with a playful grin.
I shook my head a little more brusquely than I intended. “Nope.” I felt my chin jut, and I turned my head slightly to avoid her gaze.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “Did I touch a nerve ?”
I looked at her thinking she was mocking me, but her look was sympathetic.
“No, it’s okay. I was just daydreaming.”
“Yes, the water’s nice, isn’t it? Hot water can cure so many things. Everything from a sore back to a broken heart.” Her voice was soothing.
I looked up quickly to see her eyes studying me. I held the look as long as I could stand it. Which wasn’t long. The blue pools under her lids seemed safe and warm, no sign of the earlier ice. Her eyes seemed to know me. As though they could read my history, see the leaps and bounds, the trips and falls and the countless nights spent alone in the camper listening to the rain and wind rattling the aluminum roof. Maybe there was a chance here, a fleeting possibility of a connection, an understanding.
I thought about pulling her toward me, inviting her to take the plunge. I stared at her lips. They looked receptive. I looked for the blue pools, but her eyes were closed. The smell of her filled my senses. I leaned forward practically tasting her and imagined rolling one of those full lips between mine.
Then I remembered Charlie and caught myself.
“Isn’t your husband upstairs?”
She opened her eyes and smiled at me amused by the thought. “Charlie’s not my husband. We're not married.”
"Really? I thought Charlie told me…"
"He thinks it's common law or something," she interrupted, "but believe me, we're not married."
I looked deep into her eyes then and imagined that I could see a door in the distance behind the pale blue mask. A door slightly ajar at the far end of a dark room. A faint blue light on the other side of the door beckoned, but my feet wouldn’t move. The darkness in the room held me back. It was a one way trip. To go meant no return.
Instincts tried to take over. I needed time to think. I needed something to break the spell. Or did I? Was there any reason to stop?
I blinked a couple of times and forced my mouth to speak. “What are you doing in Alaska?”
She half opened her eyes and said sleepily, “What do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been up here a while now, and I’ve never seen anyone like you around these parts.”
“You like what you see?” she smiled, looked down and tucked the hair on one side of her head behind her ear.
I watched in fascination, but my thoughts were roiling. Don’t do that, I wanted to tell her. Please don’t do that, that thing with your hair, it reminds me too much of what’s her name. And just like that I forgot all about Brandy Fontaine.
I dropped my eyes and shrugged, but she knew. I didn’t have to say a word. She was reading me like a slide under a microscope.
“So, what was her name?” She was looking at me again. Damn it. Those eyes would not leave me alone.
“
Who?”
“You know who.”
“I don’t remember,” I lied.
“Sure, Johnny. You're a terrible liar."
“Ancient history anyway," I muttered.
"Okay, Johnny. It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.” She reached over and lifted a strand of my hair off my forehead, smoothing it backwards. “You don’t know me yet.”
Her touch was like sparks. You don't know me YET?
Suddenly I regretted holding back. I wanted to tell her everything, the whole tale, spill my guts and let it all out. The barriers were falling, the sinner was crawling into the confessional. I wanted redemption, absolution, whatever it was the faithful seemed to prize so highly.
But I still couldn’t move. I searched her eyes again. They invited me in, and I was tempted. So tempted, but I couldn’t do it. It was too fast, too soon. I knew what was lurking in those blue pools. Please, just close them down. I know what’s in there. You don’t have to confirm it. Blue ice. So cold it burns. I looked away and closed my eyes.
No woman that looked like that had ever paid any attention to me. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. This was some kind of weird dream, and I didn’t want to wake up. Didn’t want the wanting, the lonely craving ache in the pit of my stomach, the one I always tried to pretend wasn’t really there, the one that leaves you walking down a deserted highway in the middle of the night, not knowing which way’s home.
And yet those lips, her scent, the way she held my hand. And those eyes. 'Believe me, she'd said, we're not married.' It was a signal, it had to be. I tried to fight the possibility but as if to confirm it, she reached over, cupped my face with her hand and lightly kissed my other cheek. So softly, so sweetly, I felt an electric charge fire straight to my loins.
This I had to have. It was an offer I couldn't refuse. My eyes flew open and I reached for her. It was now or never.
But before I could do anything, I looked up to see her standing. Before I could say another word she turned and walked away. She swept silently across the carpet dragging the silky jacket behind her with one hand. Just before she reached the door, she looked back at me and our eyes locked again. It was more than a glance, she had me in the blue. She didn't smile, she didn't nod. I blinked once and she was gone.
I lay back in the water and flipped on the pump. Resting my head on the edge of the humming tub I stared at the ceiling. The roar of bubbles and the streams of hot water danced all around my bare skin erasing the electric chill that had coursed through me with her look.
I closed my eyes again. Did that all just happen or was it just a dream? The heat flowed through me. I let my hands and arms float in the agitated water, and my mind drifted away.
I was floating on my back somewhere in the ocean, alone, abandoned and staring at an empty sky. I was shipwrecked, wondering how long I would last. Hungry creatures cruised the depths below me staring at the tasty morsel bobbing above them, profiled against the sun sparkled surface.
Then I was watching from above. Looking down at the same expanse of empty ocean. Only it wasn’t empty. There was something floating in the water. An orange survival suit, its arms and legs undulating with the movement of the waves. The suit was empty. Where the face should have been, a vacant cavity in the hood gaped back at me from the blue gray sea.
I shuddered and wondered what the hell was happening to me on Taroka Island. Just then the pump cut off, the lamp went out and the door at the far end of the room banged open.
CHAPTER EIGHT