by Curtis Hox
All the men appear eager to get this over with. Mr. Creeley sits with his legs out, as if he might fall asleep. Mr. Jenkins sits cross legged, tapping away on his smartphone. Mrs. Reiner and Brookings sit on a couch together chatting away about Georgia politics. Lennox sits alone at the end of a couch, brooding.
Probably because his wife is here, Josie thinks. She tries not to feel offended that he won’t look at her directly. He could at least give me a passing smile, or a glance. I’m not the problem. I’m the solution. We were just in the winter garden, sharing a kiss, sharing that moment. He looked into my eyes and told me he is going to leave her. It must be an act. He must be afraid he’ll give himself away. But, still, a passing glance, a wink, something to keep me from pulling my hair out. I have to work here …
Concentrate!
“Gentlemen,” she says, “welcome to our first group therapy session at Husband Rehab.” They all look up. Everyone stops what they’re doing. Mr. Creeley even sits straighter. “I’m hoping you’ll all leave here tomorrow with a clear understanding why your wives asked for our help.”
“I got a clear idea,” Mr. Creeley says. A real smile crosses his face that tells Josie all she needs to know. He gets the picture. Whether he can change or not, that’s still up in the air.
“What’s that?”
“We do what you say, or else.”
“Pretty much.”
The men glower. She waits to see if anyone else will challenge her. “Boys, it’s that simple. If you don’t want to be with your wives, well, don’t be with them. You won’t ever see me again. If you choose to stay in your marriages, act right.”
“Easy for you to say,” Mr. Creeley says. “You ain’t seen my wife lose her mind.” Mr. Jenkins smiles his banker smile. Even Mr. Reiner nods. Josie doesn’t know Mrs. Creeley beyond what she’s seen in her magical cards, but she must be a piece of work to be married to a man like Ottis Ray Creeley. They’re probably perfect for each other—except for the temper. “She can remove paint with a look. I guess I can too.” Mr. Creeley laughs. “When you going to have a wife rehab?”
All the men stare with enough interest that she realizes he has hit a nerve.
“Oh, come on, guys,” Josie says, refusing to look to Christine for help. “I’ve peeked into your situations. Your wives aren’t asking for much. Are they? No. So, shape up so your home lives can improve. Any questions?”
Mr. Creeley nods at Mr. Reiner. “I ain’t heard you talk about your therapy, Boris. What she do to you?”
“Well …” Mr. Reiner says, as if considering whether to confess. “My wife seems to think I’m … too affectionate with other women.” All the men but Lennox guffaw at once. Mr. Creeley points and winks, as if the entire town knows what that means. “It seems, if I … step out of line, I’ll lose my clothes.”
“Naked!” Mr. Creeley says and slaps both hands on his knees. “Now that’s a good one.” He stands and looks over his shoulder. “I knew it. I just knew it. This is going to be good.”
A side entrance to the salon cracks open. It leads to corridor that runs to the other side of the house. A scantily clad woman appears. All the men turn to see a bona fide stripper waltz into the room.
Mr. Creeley is cherry red with anticipation. He’s obviously heard what will happen to Boris if he cheats, and he’s snuck in an entertainer. Josie stands, but Christine waves for her to sit. Josie glares that this could get ugly.
The woman is wearing a blond wig like Marilyn Monroe. She’s even wearing a skimpy white dress that looks like it’ll tear off easily. And red pumps, of course.
“Oh, you guys,” Mr. Reiner says. He remains seated, and the smile on his face makes him look thrilled by this challenge.
The woman begins to shake all her parts. Josie scowls in disgust because the poor woman has subjected herself to this. She doesn’t appear to be much older than Josie. Truth be told, she is attractive. Josie finds herself admiring her calves, especially with those pumps … when the stripper nears Mr. Reiner, the men circle round, except for Lennox.
He glances at Josie.
“Sorry,” he says. “I had no idea.”
The stripper leans in and places her hands on Mr. Reiner’s shoulders, moving her melon-like breasts to within inches of his face. His clothes disappear in an instant. One minute, he’s sitting fully clothed, smiling like a child at Christmas; the next, his blindingly white skin is on display. He even lets his fully erect member salute the room.
“Surprise, surprise,” he says.
The stripper jumps a foot in the air. She stumbles back. Mr. Jenkins catches her and, like a gentlemen, rights her without copping a feel.
She runs for the exit. Josie hears a scream begin from the long, dark hallway.
Mr. Brookings tosses Mr. Reiner a pillow. “Cover that ugly beast.”
All the men but Lennox are laughing.
“Come on, guys,” Mr. Reiner says. “Let’s see yours.” They all pause, staring at him as if he’s just cursed heaven. “I mean, your therapies. Jeez. Not your schlongs.”
They begin laughing again.
Lennox leans toward Josie. “Not going as you expected?”
“They’re like juveniles.”
Mr. Brookings moves to the center of the group. “Someone ask me my age.”
“How old are you?” Mr. Creeley asks.
“Twelve.”
Mr. Brookings dances about, hopping from one leg to the next, singing the song about being a liar.
The men guffaw and point. Even Christine and the other two women laugh.
Lennox lets a crack in his stolid facade appear. “Now that’s funny.”
Josie watches as the group, even Mr. Creeley, celebrates Mr. Brooking’s performance. Maybe, she thinks, this is a proper way for group therapy to work. Maybe letting them admit, and demonstrate, what will happen to them might bond them as a group.
Josie stands. “Mr. Jenkins. Will you be so kind to get me a drink of water right away?” She winks at him.
He only thinks about it for a half-second. “Of course.” Josie looks around until she sees it …
A little mouth appears in the pillow Mr. Reiner is using to cover his crotch. “Get her a drink of water, now. Right now. Go get it. She asked for water. You agreed. Go get it.”
An empty silence fills the salon. Everyone stares flabbergasted at the animated pillow. As if choreographed, everyone points. Mr. Reiner looks down, checking to see if his member might be doing the talking. The raucous laughter that fills the space causes the other three women to join in.
The men look at Mr. Creeley and Lennox.
Lennox stands. “That’s enough for me, guys. I don’t want a headache. I bet Ottis isn’t interested in … what happens to you, again?”
“I get stuck in place,” he says, “like this …”
He pretends to go still as a statue, eyes bugging out of his head.
That earns a few laughs.
Josie jumps in. “You guys get the picture. Let’s go eat.”
Christine gives her a thumbs up. Roxy even tips her head. Stella looks too frazzled to do much at all. Josie allows herself to sigh in relief. The experiment seems as if it might work out. The men have accepted their therapies. Now, they just to work.
* * *
In the servants’ kitchen, Alice finishes preparing the main dish while everyone nibbles bread. The dinnerware is set, and she serves a delicious-smelling meal of roast beef, scalloped potatoes and carrots, steamed broccoli with a touch of parmesan and garlic, and flour-coated Ciabatta. There’s claret on the table, and a beer for Mr. Creeley. The women have decided to eat with the husbands, probably hoping for more hijinks.
Josie sits on the far end of the table from Lennox, who fiddles with a carrot as he listens to his wife talk about some great hotel in Bangkok. Everyone else digs in, especially (a now clothed) Mr. Reiner, who’s still the center of attention. Josie tries to ignore him talk about the benefits of losing one’s clothes in an instant, kn
owing he’d feel perturbed if it happened at the wrong time. Something about his cavalier attitude irks her. She wonders if she should have made his therapy a bit more embarrassing.
Loss of clothes and a shriveled …?
Christine sits to her right. She drums her French-manicured fingernails on the table and shoots Josie a Stop-It-Now look. Roxy and Aunt Emma discuss the weed problem behind the horse corral and how some runaway ivy is encroaching on the cabin where Josie’s grandmother used to stay. Josie lets their voices fade into the background, waiting for Lennox to look her way.
She even eats without paying attention to her food—which she never does.
She sips her wine, chewing on the glass lip.
She can’t stand the idea that Stella Spivey is sitting right next to Lennox and looking incredible, and too perfect. Lennox looks like a man who’s just sucked on a lemon, his face all puckered up.
She can’t stop glancing at Lennox.
“I think I’ll be staying,” he says.
Josie considers jumping out of her chair, hopping on the table, and pointing at Stella, while saying, “Take that!” Instead, she nibbles on a carrot. She chews slowly, waiting for the inevitable response.
“Staying?” Stella asks.
The table quiets, all eyes directed toward the only husband/wife pair here.
“Yeah, I think so. I need more time to consider my … behavior.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Christine says.
She’s changed into semi-professional clothes and looks the part of someone who would know a good thing when she sees it. Stella, though, glares hatred for her mother-in-law, the kind of hatred only the ambitious demonstrate when thwarted. Josie can’t stop from thinking that Christine has been protecting her son the entire time. Lennox is special, the kind of special that goes beyond causing girl crushes. Christine must have known from the time he was a child he could heal. For some reason, she couldn’t stop him from marrying Stella. Now that he’s in deep with her, so deep that leaving could be dangerous, Christine must be taking the best care of her son that she can. She knows that Lennox is vulnerable if his skills become public. Imagine the danger if someone like High Priestess Lady Dooley comes after him. A male healer right here among them, married to a prominent witch, working his craft for money. Scandalous.
“I thought you might be ready,” Stella says to Lennox, “to come home.”
“Nope. Not ready.”
Stella dabs her lips with a napkin. “I’ve seen all I need to see. You’ve made your point. I get it. This small-time witch is going to help these men … improve themselves. Wonderful. Now, let’s go home before trouble starts.” She stands.
The threat is so obvious that everyone stills. Mr. Creeley even pauses with a piece of bread half way to his mouth. Stella’s a priestess without much direct oversight. She’s a lone wolf, who keeps the mysteries of her craft to herself. Since she has survived so long without making enemies who might harm her, that means she’s skilled. The coven tolerates her presence for a reason. Christine as well—though she has her limits, and Josie sees a glimmer of something dangerous cross her face. Stella appears to go rigid, as if she’s seen it as well. It’s as if both women have an understanding: Josie imagines Christine will do anything to protect her son. That means Stella better keep everything in check. Push mom too far, and no one will be happy.
“Trouble?” Lennox says, glaring. “What trouble? I’m a welcomed guest. I’ve paid up for a week: room and board. You won’t have to bring me any meals … unless you want to.”
Lennox raises an inquisitive eyebrow, pretending to be agreeable, while still holding his ground. If anyone hopes to see his therapy trigger, they’ll feel disappointed because he appears to be doing nothing wrong. No need to pretend to get a headache, Lennox, she thinks. Although, you’re a great actor, just don’t forget my pretend spell has to do with her annoyance when you get cranky and sullen. Then the therapy kicks in.
Stella glares at Christine. “Okay, no more charades. I’ve spread the news. You’re little experiment won’t last much longer. We’ll do it your way, for now.”
“You know what?” Christine says, looking around at the table. “I’m a respected priestess in this coven. You’re here as a courtesy, Stella. You can leave now.” Christine stands.
Everyone’s head snaps up at the sound of an angry wind outside. Its timing is perfect, as if someone with a machine nearby turned it on the second after Christine’s suggestion. Jose sees fear in the men’s eyes, except for Lennox, who’s smiling at his mother’s display. Christine is a consummate practitioner. What she does, she does with excellence. Josie once saw Christine snap her fingers, and a cloud moved through the sky to provide shade on a hot, sunny day.
It’s no wonder she only practices psychiatry during the afternoons. Her mornings are probably taken up working her craft, brokering her deals with the earth and sky to bend to her will.
Either way, there’s a reason she’s one of the coven’s most powerful members.
Christine’s glare withers her daughter-in-law. It’s as if an announcement has been made that heaven itself will crumble if any harm comes to Lennox. Josie feels her skin stipple at the thought, each rising hair proof that Christine is not to be trifled with. Stella appears to shiver from fright.
“You’ll be hearing from them,” Stella manages, “and from me.” She hurries from the kitchen without saying another word.
Lennox claps and even bows his head. “Bravo, Mom. Bravo.”
“Thank you, but there’s no need.” Christine sits.
“She’ll being filling everyone’s head with fear.”
“It’s to be expected.” Christine casts Josie a sideways glance to let her know all is well, before digging into her vegetables. “Alice does a splendid job. Doesn’t she?”
Everyone agrees and continues with dinner.
Outside, the wind howls once before dissipating like a fading cry in the night. Josie finds herself unable to let go of her wine glass. She stares into its depths and tries to foresee the future. Not her skill. Aunt Emma sits rigid, a benumbed look on her face that suggests she wouldn’t look into the glass for a million dollars. Lennox, though, is finally looking at Josie. His wry grin melts her fears away. Yes, with the two of us together, she thinks, we can do anything.
* * *
Josie awakes with a start. She hears a car stop in the gravel lot before the mansion. Her eyes open to her darkened room and a yellow night light of Bugs Bunny. You’d think she’d be scared sleeping in a garret space in a huge, empty house, but she feels at ease. Her grandmother blessed this room years ago, on a night like tonight, a night when enemies might come calling.
Josie peeks out the clear window and sees headlights darken on a parked sleek, black Mercedes. A driver exits. He’s a large man in a livery suit. He rushes to the other door and helps a woman exit. She’s middle aged, small, wrapped up in a light coat with a high collar.
Coming in the middle of the night. Ballsy. Has to be someone important. Definitely making a statement.
The man follows the woman up the wide steps. Josie loses them, then hears the bell ring downstairs.
She hears squeaking hinges from the front door open and close.
Josie tosses her covers aside and steps into an evening gown that would make her grandmother happy, but no one else. It is too comfortable to throw away, even though Geri once commented it would be a test of any man’s love to see Josie in it.
She steps into a pair of comfortable slippers.
She opens the door to see Lennox walking down the narrow corridor.
He puts a finger to his lips.
Josie stands on the threshold, wondering if she’s dreaming.
As if it’s natural to do so, he edges into her bedroom and shuts the door behind him.
“She arrived early,” he says. “Stella must have said we’re sacrificing babies or something.”
Josie tries not to act embarrassed, even though she
wants to rush into the closet and burn her nightgown. She also wants to run her finger through her hair.
Oh my god, my hair. I fell asleep with it wet.
The left side is plastered to her skull and the right is all fluffy. It’s dark enough in the room that, maybe, just maybe he won’t notice. She stands riveted in place, unable to say a thing, because he’s standing right next to her, and she can smell him, that clean, soapy smell and that special something else. She tries not to inhale a big whiff, but she does.
“Who’s here?” she whispers.
He turns to the window. She takes her chance to flatten out her hair.
“Grand Dame Lady Eleanor Dooley …”
“The high priestess.” Josie follows him deeper into her room. “You’ve met her?”
“She’s Stella’s godmother.”
“God mother …?”
Josie knows who the woman is, of course; everyone associated with the craft knows the name. She is one of the most powerful witches on the eastern seaboard. Josie had no idea, though, that she and Stella had such a relationship. That explains Christine’s inability to influence Stella. All this time Christine had to watch while Stella manipulated her son, all the while knowing a simple world to Lady Dooley could be his end.
“Yes, and she doesn’t know about me.”
“What?”
Lennox moves to within inches of Josie. “Stella has kept my abilities a secret since the beginning. One of the reasons she sent me out west. Lady Dooley thinks I’m a big flake. I think she suspects, but … it’s never been an issue. My mother told me to do what she says until the time is right. It’s been so long, but because of you Mom says we might have a way for me to get out. Might.”
“Because of me?”
“It’s time the high priestess knows.” Josie sees a resolve in him you might see in someone about to Bungee jump … or dive off the Golden Gate Bridge to his death. “I’m tired of the secrecy … and the oppression.”
He gently grabs Josie by the shoulders. She thinks he might kiss her like in the old movies. She readies herself, hoping for a miracle.