by E. J. Wood
‘Good Evening,’ a maître greets us.
‘A table for two seated near the fireplace please,’ Guy requests.
A thoughtful waiter is courteous and discusses the history of the restaurant as only a true professional could.
‘May I recommend the scallop boudin blanc; you will find it’s quite the twist on the traditional dish,’ he announces.
I smile not knowing what the hell he is on about and look at Guy for answers. Smiling sweetly Guy listens cautiously to the suggestions by the waiter and takes a menu. A sommelier advises the appropriate wine.
Plume’s range of dishes look amazing as I gaze at the menu and contend that Plume is the finest restaurant in Washington, D.C. perched elegantly in the Jefferson Hotel.
‘The food looks insanely gorgeous, even the desserts.’ I lean forward and whisper winking at Guy.
‘The only insane gorgeous dessert I am after is sitting right in front of me.’ Guy exclaims.
‘Shush Mr Davidson we must keep up appearances,’ I chuckle as my eyes scan the room taking in the breath taking posh demur and stunning details. A few politicians are present, old money, we are by far the youngest couple here and the sommelier is well educated with his wine choice of unpronounceable name to fit perfectly our opposite dishes.
‘It is stunning isn’t it? I heard they spent around 100 million on its latest renovation,’ Guy declares.
‘It is so romantic,’ I smile. The sommelier even pushed a chair up for my purse.
We are served hearty breads and warm choux but I am not fond of the amuse bouché of chicken liver pate with tangerine although it does look well prepared. As we dine and enjoy our first course, discussing Fielding’s finds and future plans we are impressed before our next course as a tiny pre-course is served to clear our palate so we can enjoy our next treasure, the veal. Its flavour is contrasted with heavy lean tenderloin and balanced by the pickled radishes to give the fatty beef some acidity. Even with stuffed bellies we make room for dessert, surprisingly even the chocolate lover himself Guy orders a trilogy of profiteroles with blue berry marmalade and a lemon cotton candy river. Sensational and absolutely lovely! After our meal we are escorted to the executive sous chef Ralf. It is a refreshing experience discussing the flavours of the food and his inspirations and a guided tour of the kitchen finishes off the evening as a great experience and a huge distraction.
‘You do spoil me Mr Davidson.’
‘You are a girl worth spoiling Miss Sharpe.’ He raises his glass, ‘cheers.’
‘Bottoms up,’ I wink.
‘My favourite position,’ he smiles and as I raise my glass I am more myself forgetting Cross and work. It is just us, Guy and I.
CHAPTER 20
“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word,
Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.
If that mockingbird don’t sing,
Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.
And if that diamond ring don't shine,
Mama's gonna buy you a bottle of wine.”
The young girl looked upon her mother as if her words were gold, as they were sung to here every night before bed. She only wished she was like other children, hot meals on the table and clean clothes to wear but it wasn’t the case. She was very strict and boundaries were never to be crossed. She respected her regardless of her actions.
The girl’s face rapidly swelled and at times bled from the impact, a stinging pain between the eyes interfered with vision; she tasted her own blood, a surreal experience no child should ever have to endure. Her head snapped back and dropped forward and she bit her tongue from the anguish and panic. When alone she would look upon her scars and see someone else, a girl trying to cope with something horrible, something she should never even have to live through. Her scars show the pain but they also show her will to survive. Dead people don’t bleed, but she did, she could see the blood oozing from the wounds she had inflicted, she could feel it, she knew she was alive. Irrefutable and undeniable proof she was alive. Perfect lines cross her wrists, none near crucial veins but deep enough to leave track marks across her skin. Death was not her goal, but a physical outlet to make the internal pain disappear, the only way she could control it. The extreme duress of every day conundrums pained her emotionally and physically, what was one more scar? And the fateful step off the precipice to self mutilation to remove the pain endured by Her was a good enough reason. The girl would cut herself sporadically, she didn’t want to die but needed to cry, she needed to speak out, to shine to have someone love her. Self discipline, self obsession and to like oneself to forget self loathing means finding someone within herself that’s worthy. The blade sang to her as the months passed by, but a nagging voice whispered, “one touch, one soft stroke will take away the pain, a horizontal cut, a clean cut, it will be OK.” She cut and the cacophony of deafening voices ended the agony. She urged to see her blood, proof of her tangibility. The thick, dark red liquid blood oozed in slow waves as it escaped the wound, the blood, tears of a struggle that ended in defeat. To begin with, she had to avert her eyes from the rubies that cascaded down her wrist but over time became fascinated; little did she know this would haunt her for years to come. “You paint a pretty picture but your story has a twist, your paint brush is a razor and your canvas is your wrist” – the voice in her head, always a reminder of who she was, a rend of anxious skin and a pulse of crimson to hush the demons. Nobody could hurt her, whatever came her way, she did to herself, she hit harder than anyone else could. She just wanted to be loved.
***
‘Amelia, wake up, wake up,’ his voice becoming louder and louder as I shake from my dream. My eyes close and the room is dark. Guy shakes me by the shoulders.
‘Wake up, jesus Amy not again wake up.’
‘I’m awake, what’s wrong?’ I croak as my eyes open from their sticky residue.
‘You were doing it again. What do you dream about?’ he begs.
‘Doing what?’
‘What do you dream about?’
As the fog becomes clear I recall.
‘My past.’
‘Jesus Amy, whatever happened… I swear…’ Guy can’t finish his sentence and seems frightened and worried at the same time, hugging me close like a scared child. I embrace him closely and reassure him I will be OK but I am not all that sure myself and lie motionless remembering the dream I had just endured.
‘Guy, what was I doing?’ I ask quizzically.
‘You don’t know?’ his eyes pert and uneasy.
‘If I knew I wouldn’t be asking.’
‘You start hurting yourself.’
I turn my wrists upwards immediately and stare at them momentarily.
‘Amelia, I don’t know why, I’m not sure I want to know why but something dark and perverse lies in that mind of yours; a perverse side of self destruction.’
‘Have I done this before?’
‘Yes and it is becoming more and more frequent. You are scaring me. I can’t bear putting you …’ again his sentence is caught short.
‘I think we all have a perverse side to us, only need to look at society on how we analyse violence and the shifting lines between normality and abnormality.’
‘This is true but I recognise the signs; I’ve been there myself remember? You have to learn to control it. I agree there is much confusion and ambivalence for people when watching others suffer; and as society continues there is a clear notion of how societies’ attitudes towards violence will change and is changing.’
‘Guy, listen, we all have vicarious thrills. How many people revel in becoming close to forbidden territories? How many people slow at the scene of an accident hoping to catch a glimpse of mayhem or reel in the sensation of murder trials, brutal video games and lurid details of horrific fiction movies? Psychological slasher flicks, I could go on. Everyone at some point in his/her life has a fascination when confronted by real or simulated acts of violence. It is human nature.’ I state.
�
��OK Doc, you have made your point. But what happened to you was no natural act.’
‘And neither what you did to thus solve it.’
‘You never did tell me about why you became a doctor?’ his quick change of subject comes at no surprise.
‘It is a long story and one I’m not sure I wish to discuss at this current moment in time.’
With clenching teeth and an irritated tone, Guy sighs deeply and stands at the end of the bed.
‘Amelia, you are quite the challenge! Is there anything I can get you before I shower, a saucer of milk perhaps?’
‘Ouch, meow.’
He turns and wanders into the bathroom, followed shortly there is the murmuring of the water from the faucet. I can’t help recall the message from Olivia and rise from the bed in search of Guy’s Blackberry. One sent message:
From Guy
Message: Now is not the time. I will be in touch.
One new received message:
From Olivia:
Message: I can’t bear it any longer, I need to see you
My blood begins to boil and I’m outraged. What does she want with Guy? I storm into the bathroom and confront him.
‘What are you doing with her?’ slamming my palms down onto the bathroom sink, my eyes ablaze with fury Guy turns off the faucet. I can feel his glare burning into my eyes from the confrontation and my cheeks flush as my blood begins to boil.
‘It’s not what you think.’
‘We will see about that,’ the anger is red hot and spreads throughout my body taking over my mind and rationality. I can’t help it, like a raging bull, memories of Cross torment my mind and a disturbed swarm of hornets release themselves from inside me, as angry as a bear. I’m livid and pure anger overcomes me, radiating off me filling the air around me with a red aura. The anger is so sudden like energy, a huge electrical shock frightening me as it races up and down my spine. Guy’s expression doesn’t understand, his brain has short circuited and needs rebooting at my outburst.
‘Calm down, Olivia is having trouble with Harold.’
‘What has this got to do with you?’ my brow creasing firmer.
‘I know Harold better than anyone, she wanted an insight, their marriage has been on the rocks for a while, for fucks sake Amelia, put yourself on a leash,’ he demands stepping out from the cubicle and picks up a soft white plush towel and wraps it around his waist walking past me towards the bedroom. I burrow the heels of my hands into the sockets of my eyes until I see nothing but sparkles and wipe away the tears that burn into my cheeks.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what is wrong with me lately.’
I know what’s wrong with me, it’s that bitch Olivia from “Basic Instinct.”
‘What is wrong with you is that you have just been, attacked. I’m sure your emotions are hay-wired at the moment but honestly do you think I would ever cheat on you?’
‘Why is she contacting you though?’
‘I think she has a soft spot for me. I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want you to become like this.’
‘Keeping secrets from me is why I become like this.’
‘I will tell her, she needs to deal with this on her own. I have tried to re-iterate to her I am not suitable to be discussing her marital issues with.’
‘Thank you, I feel so stupid. I’m such a disappointment.’
‘Hey,’ his tone softening ‘never a disappointment, you’re my girl remember.’
***
I can’t help reminding myself of the first time I met Mrs Finnegan and my first impressions. A visceral emotional reaction I had of uneasiness as she waltzed over to us at the impressive banquet at the Charity Gala. Nothing could be done, it wasn’t a modulated conscious thought, not a rational thought no, but then women’s intuition never is. She was undeniably stunningly gorgeous, like a painting of a goddess brought to life by her swaying gown; her eyes flauntingly sparkled like stars in the night’s sky and all heads turned. She exuded a unique power to express her sexuality, threatening status quo, controlling her willingness and attributes, using sex as a weapon or a tool to control men. She commands the gaze of her audience imprinting herself in our memory. I feared Guy was on her list.
‘What are you thinking about Amelia?’ Guy pleads holding my hand cupped in his as he prepares to leave.
‘Nothing, I will be fine, go, do your thing, but bring me chocolate,’ I smile. Can he see I am an eccedentesiast faking a smile?
He leans in close planting a soft kiss. Total peace and serenity overwhelm us. Life, love, lust, I am hoping this feeling would never end. Our melancholy love, strong but sad, can never be. It was forbidden.
‘Ring me if you need anything. I won’t be long, but we haven’t anything in the house.’
‘I will go home and start cleaning up,’ I answer.
‘You are home, this is your home now, stay here, and we will sort it together. I don’t want you going anywhere, and I will just worry. Let me make you a hot cup of chocolate, go get that god awful bunny costume on and pamper yourself and I will bring home those chocolates you so lust after before the stores close,’ his expression angelic and is genuine as his hand strokes the side of my face and he sighs deeply.
The sweet, rich aroma with a hint of vanilla flavour fills my nose. Its perfume sets my mouth alight, salivating with expectation. I wish I had never tasted it, it is signature stained in my life. I sigh as Guy stirs the liquid gold and brings it before me. My temptation nearing as my tongue dips into the surface of molten chocolate, the myriad of flavours and concoction of warm froth playing my sensory organs like a symphony. I remember memories of its delicacy melting on my tongue with its rich, dark, sweet signature. I close my eyes and waft the aroma calling every chocolate memory I have ever had and enjoy its music; this definitely evokes a sense of happiness, and I drink its deliciously scrumptious smooth river transporting me into a different dimension. For a split second it warms my belly giving me a feeling of kindness.
‘I thought that would do the trick,’ he whispers.
‘You know me too well,’ I answer wrapping my hands around the cup.
‘That I do, I wish I didn’t have to go out, every time we part my heart beats a thousand beats faster and faster lurching in fear I will never see you again and my stomach ties itself in knots of thought of never touching you. I just want to make you happy.’
‘Oh go before I stop you, I will be fine. I will lock the door behind me; besides distance makes the heart grow fonder remember?’ I push his chest away from me and this time smile a genuine smile.
Suddenly the weather changes and the gales smack against the trees and make us jump.
‘A great storm announces itself with a simple breeze. I better go, I won’t be long,’ he whispers and stands. I look outside and shiver. The thought of wearing my bunny romper suit, while watching a movie is appealing. There is a tumultuous explosion outside, the thundering sky grumbles as Guy reverses out the drive way. He accelerates forward, the tyres screeching, gaining traction as the thundering noise of the engine echoes through the darkness between cacophonous sounds of thunder. The clouds bare the heavy weight of water and are about to expose a brilliance of lightning bolts with rain suddenly pounding the tarmac. The wind whistles when the lightening strikes and the room lights up. Something catches my eye.
The clouds hold promise to a calm peaceful night but the atmosphere and scenic phenomena have other plans; the fine lines created by the storm’s lightening disappear as quickly as they arrive. One crack like fire works on the forth of July cuts the electricity and leaves me in total darkness. The cries from heaven shaking the sky and all angels cry at once dropping their tears onto earths ground can not give me peace of mind. Fear is a darkroom, where negatives develop…positive thoughts Amelia. With every bolt of lightening I edge forward towards the object lying on the coffee table. A letter addressed officially Dr Amelia Sharpe. A formal white plain envelope encases an A4 letter. It reads:
‘Dear Ameli
a,
I apologise now for the impersonal first line but I am sending you this letter in one shot as this has to be done in the quickest manner possible. I’m sure of late; events have been quite demanding and traumatic. I am also certain that you are the whimpering needy gold digging bitch that I thought you were upon our meeting at the Charity Gala and were taking full advantage of Guy’s sweet nature. But just so you know that Guy and I are in love and even you cannot come between true love. Don’t bother going to the police, I am fully aware of Cross’s death and how it happened. He did it for me you know, to show me how he feels; he killed for me and ruined me for any other men let alone my husband. I could never love another after loving him. Both you and I know the police will not help you, so for my next phase I need you to stay at home, that’s if you know what’s good for you. I am advising you; don’t say you haven’t been warned.
Olivia.’
The untamed power reverberates in the house as the unmistakeable sound rattles the windows, averting my attention from the letter. I look out the window to see the yards empty with just the charcoal sky crackling and filling the air. My skin pimples and I jump at every sound in a total state of panic, my heart is racing and my breathing accelerating with my mind trying to figure out what is happening. I cannot think straight, my mind is bouncing all over the place; I start one thing and find myself doing another. My mind scattering all over the place like I am in pieces and I can only wait until Guy comes home. The minutes are passing at every unbearable second with the heavens bearing warning of the wrath we are to entail this evening.
My heartbeat becomes the only thing I can hear as I wait for the storm to subside. What if she is outside? Watching me this very moment? I hold my breath and still, lowering to the ground, laughing at myself, in this weather? She would have to be mad. Yet I still, I want to breathe urgently but know if I take it fast and deep I might be heard. What if she is in the house? The silence is unbearable. Please Guy come home. A tear runs down my face and I realise I am trapped until Guy’s return and I exhale in submission and acceptance of whatever fate lies ahead.