Fire In The Mind: Leonard Wise Book 1

by Arjay Lewis

  I opened the envelope and noted that the check was for a thousand dollars more than my agreed fee.

  “Jon,” I said, “this is more than—”

  “Relax, Len,” Jon interrupted. “It was in the fine print. You get a larger percentage if we sell out, and your lecture did.”

  My head spun, and feeling every bit flush, I rode with Jon to the bank. We took my first real fee and converted it all to traveler’s checks and a debit card. I now could keep going longer than I had planned, and my dinner with Wendy wasn’t going to be a problem.

  But she did say she didn’t like my clothes.

  I thanked Jon and had him leave me in town, where I made my way to a local men’s store, one that advertised designer suits at reasonable prices. There, I bought a new suit, forty-two long, very fashionable. It helped make my skinny form look more proportioned. I waited while a little old man who looked like he was just shy of a hundred hemmed the pants. I also bought a colorful tie and a few good dress shirts. Maybe I had worn denim just a little too long. I also bought a new raincoat, and my salesman was happy to throw away my ratty one after he gave it a look that compared it to roadkill.

  I paid with my debit card and got some cash back from the transaction for walking around money. Then I headed off toward my temporary abode with several plastic bags in tow. On the way, I passed a barber shop, a quaint old-fashioned throwback to ones my father would have taken me years ago. A couple of chairs were mounted on a tile floor as middle-aged men snipped with scissors and buzzed with an electric razor.

  I went in.

  “What would you like?” the barber asked, standing up from one of the chairs.

  “Can you give me a corporate look?” I asked.

  “Shorter all around, longer on top,” he said, as I sat in the chair and undid my ponytail. “But not as long as this. Mother of God! When was the last time you got a haircut?”

  “Seven years.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

  And he did. As he carefully snipped here and cut there, cascades of my long hair drifted to the floor. After about twenty minutes, he used a set of electric clippers and buzzed the back of my neck, which felt odd being so exposed. But when he was done, I wore a short and certainly more respectable haircut.

  I paid him with my cash from the clothing store and made my way back to the Baines’s, where I showered, shaved, and dressed in my new suit to get ready for my date.

  Jenny arrived at five, and I decided to show off my new look.

  “Hey, Jenny,” I said, coming up the hall. “I’ve got something I want you to see.”

  “That’s a dangerous line coming from a man,” she said.

  I stepped into the kitchen, and she turned, a carrot in her mouth. She stopped chewing as her jaw fell open.

  “Len?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m not some well-dressed stranger who broke into your house.”

  “Or maybe you are,” she said, circling me. “God, you are gorgeous!”

  I felt myself burn with embarrassment from the tips of my toes to the top of my newly trimmed head.

  “You are turning so red!” Jenny said with the glee of a child who has done something naughty and is pleased about it.

  “You’re making me feel like a piece of meat,” I said, as I tried to smile, but it felt crooked.

  “That’s how I treat all my men,” she said, and as she walked by me, she playfully smacked my rear end with her free hand.

  That didn’t help the situation for me at all, and I turned even redder. “I’ve got to finish getting ready,” I said, trying to maintain what little composure I had left. “Big date tonight.” I moved swiftly toward the guest room, sat on the bed, and focused on my breath.

  Seeing Jenn with that admiring look in her eyes was tough enough, but the physical contact of her slapping my butt, even as a silly gesture, was too much for my suddenly overactive libido.

  My “friend” was in a state of arousal. By sitting on the bed, it hid the fact within the folds of my trousers, but if I’d stayed in the kitchen, I would’ve been mortified in a whole new way.

  I thought only about my breath, on being the observer, on being detached—dammit—detached.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come in.”

  Jenny opened the door and peered in. “It is all right?”

  “Sure.”

  She came in delicately, like a mouse walking into a cat’s room to get some cheese. “I feel I should apologize…” Jenny said. Now it was her turn to be flustered. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you like that.”

  “Ass being the key word,” I said and smiled.

  She giggled naughtily again. “I guess I’m just bad. Jon is always telling me I have to behave more like a dean’s wife.”

  “Or associate dean’s wife, anyway.”

  “Jon is sure he’ll be running the whole university before long.”

  “I don’t doubt it, he’s a good man,” I said. She looked contrite, which again reminded me so much of Cathy after we’d had a fight. My heart ached with a strange longing that I worked to keep from moving to my loins.

  “But all kidding aside, you do look good, Len,” she said, walking over and touching my hair in a move that was meant as friendly, but was incredibly sensual at the same time.

  “Thank you,” I croaked.

  “I love Jonathan,” she said and sat next to me on the bed. “But ever since he became assistant dean, he’s just been so…stuffy.”

  “He does seem more mature than when I knew him last.”

  “You know he asked me to marry him repeatedly before I said yes?”

  “Jon told me.”

  “He thinks it was because I was planning to never marry. But the reason was just because I knew if he settled into something, he’d turn middle-aged in a year. And he has, Len. He’s so stoic, controlled, and busy—all the time.”

  She rose from the bed and leaned her back against the doorframe.

  “When he was pursuing me, he couldn’t get enough of me,” she said. “Now that we’re married, sometimes, I feel like an afterthought. I mean, Jon offered to make dinner tonight. Yet, here I am doing the cooking while he works late.”

  I was filled with a desire to rise and take her in my arms.

  “I know he loves you, Jenny. He’s working hard to be responsible.”

  “You’re right,” she said and stood straight. “And speaking of responsibilities, I’ve got to start dinner. Because that’s what little wifey is supposed to do.”

  “But you don’t regret marrying him?” I asked.

  “Not at all,” Jenny said with a sigh. “I just wish he’d be a little more spontaneous and a little less proper sometimes. So, you’re going out with that Wallace person?”

  She made “person” sound as if she’d said “slut.”

  “She’s actually a nice girl.”

  “For a suspect in a murder case. I got the warrant today and turned all of our paperwork over to that rather large detective who was here last night.”

  “That’s McGee.”

  Jenn exhaled heavily. “Get ready for your date, and we won’t leave a light on for you. Looking like that, you’re bound to get lucky,” she added with a smirk and closed the door on her way out.

  I considered it lucky that I hadn’t acted on my impulses with Jenny.

  . . .

  By seven it stopped raining, and I was waiting out front when Wendy swung by in her little car. I limped out to meet her, and she got out of the car and gave a reaction similar to Jenny’s.

  “If it weren’t for the cane, I wouldn’t have known it was you. My God, you’re gorgeous!”

  “Just a haircut and a new suit,” I said, not nearly as embarrassed with her. “Besides, your dress is a killer.”

  �
�You like?” she said, giving a twirl and opening the jacket that matched the dress, revealing a large gap in the back. There were no bra straps. The entire dress was black, silky, and stretchy, and looking like it was poured onto her, with a few touches of sparkling black beads in appropriate places. The small jacket went to her waist and covered her bare arms—to make the dress look more formal and in case the spring weather became chilly.

  “Wow,” I said quietly. Perhaps the night had grown cool, because her nipples appeared to be erect through the dress, and she didn’t try to hide them.

  “I take it you approve. Now, where are we going?”

  “The Manor,” I said.

  Her eyebrows lifted and an “ooh” escaped from her lips. “You do have good taste.”

  “I also can afford it, at least this one time,” I said, as I tried to be nonchalant. “You know the way?”

  “No problem,” she said as we got into the vehicle and sped off.

  The drive was pleasant—hell, pleasant wasn’t the word. She was wearing some scent that was subtle, yet inviting. I observed her face as we drove, with me sitting sideways in the seat. She was wearing some blush and lipstick, and I was sure she even did her nails. All of it with the skill of a professional so that she didn’t look made up, yet every one of her features was improved.

  We got to the Manor in a few minutes, and the valet took her car, thrilled that he got a chance to drive such a machine.

  We went in, I gave my name and we were brought to our seats. As I planned, we were in the room where a pianist played classical music on a large ebony grand.

  The only downside was that like any other place with lots of guests, I began to sense the mental leakage that permeated the room. The background chatter swelled in my mind. I carefully constructed my imaginary walls to limit what came to me.

  “This is very nice,” Wendy said as we sat. “I’m impressed.”

  “Well, you showed me a nice time the other night, and I felt I should return the favor.”

  “More than repaid,” she said and picked up the wine list that lay on our table. “How about a nice merlot?”

  I remembered how in AA, they told us this would happen. You would be out with a friend or on a date, and a drink would be suggested.

  “Sure, get what you want,” I attempted to sound casual.

  “You’ll have some?”

  I looked at her, not sure how to reply. “I’ll…uh…have a glass,” I said with a smile.

  Danger…

  In the back of my mind, I heard the buzz warn me, and I ignored it. It had been an odd week, and my latest encounter with Jenny upset me. I would have to avoid being alone with her, as unbidden desires arose.

  What made tonight difficult was that Wendy looked so good, everyone noticed her and therefore, me. To have other peoples’ minds focused on me makes it harder for me to block them out. I needed to keep a handle on it. As I sat, I decided that if I had just one glass of wine, it would dull my psychic edge and I could relax, really relax, and be myself.

  I examined the menu as Wendy ordered the bottle of wine, and I decided on my choice by the time two glasses appeared filled with the ruby liquid.

  “A toast,” Wendy said with a twinkle in her eye. “To old friends and new lovers.”

  “May they never meet,” I added with a smile.

  That first sip had all the shading and texture of the finest wine I have ever tasted. It slid down my throat, and the warmth felt like it kept going all the way down to my toes. I looked at the glass like a lover I’d missed with all my heart.

  “You’re really enjoying that, aren’t you?” I could hear Wendy say, as if from a distance.

  You have no idea, I thought. “It’s a…really good wine.”

  We ordered dinner, and soon the waiter created a Caesar salad dressing at table side using oil, vinegar, lemon, spices and anchovies. He mixed the creamy liquid with romaine lettuce and croutons and placed portions in front of us both.

  She refilled my glass, and I didn’t stop her. After all, if one glass was so wonderful, it could only be better if I had a second. That made sense.

  Our dinners were exquisite, a filet mignon for her, and a black sea bass with tiny potatoes for me. It was prepared perfectly, and we drank, ate, and chatted about life, goals, people we’d known. I gave her the rough outline of how my leg was crushed, and she gave the vaguest hints about her relationship with a man who had money but never treated her well.

  As the dinner plates were cleared, I requested a cognac. I had smelled the damn stuff all week, and with my inhibitions deadened, I decided I would have it. After all, if the wine had made me unaware of all the thinking around me, a cognac would be even better.

  “I can’t believe you can drink more!” Wendy said as she sipped the remains of her last glass of wine.

  Like many alcoholics, I could hold my liquor so well you would never know I was the least bit intoxicated. I had fallen into the trap alcoholics face. We think we can just have only one and then stop. But I couldn’t, and after a year away from it, I felt remarkably jolly. “Are you all right to drive?” I asked.

  “Yes, you’ve had twice as much as I did.”

  “So, you were telling me about this man…”

  “Aren’t you bored of hearing about it?” Wendy said.

  “It seems like he’s on your mind. Recent breakup?”

  She looked at the red liquid in her glass, swirling it as she spoke. “Recent enough. About a year. But I have to see him—y’know, business stuff.”

  “Which you’ve told me nothing about.”

  She leaned back in the chair. “Got to keep you guessing. Gives you a reason to stick around.”

  “And you have to be around this man, but…”

  “It’s all so dreary. He acts like he owns me. He watches me like he’s an owl and I’m a mouse. He checks up on me—phone hang-ups—but I know it’s him.”

  I frowned. “Maybe you should talk to the police.”

  “I can handle him. That was the problem, possessiveness. But here I am, out with you and having a fine time.”

  I clinked my snifter to her wine glass. “To a fine time,” I said.

  I paid the check with pleasure. It had been one of the finest meals of my life. I had taken Cathy here a day or so after I proposed to her. It was nice to see the food was just as good years later. As we went to valet, I had the strangest feeling, as if the fact that I brought Wendy here was in some way being unfaithful to Cathy.

  “What’s wrong?” Wendy asked.

  I jumped. “Oh? Nothing, I was just thinking about the last time I was here.”

  “Well, the night is young, Doctor,” she said, getting on her tiptoes and kissing my cheek. “If you don’t pay attention, you might miss something.”

  Her kiss was warm and inviting. So why was my mind filled with thoughts of Cathy—and worse, Jenny?

  She tipped the valet and got into the car. I leaned, grunted, and manipulated myself in, and we were off.

  “So, would you like to come over to my house for an after-dinner drink?”

  “Sounds lovely.” Yes, like the one thing I needed was another drink. I couldn’t help but notice that the secondary level of awareness that disturbed my nights and days was dulled by the liquor. I saw her only with my eyes, and any background impressions didn’t touch me.

  We drove back to Mountainview, and then up in the hills to Upper Mountainview, the fashionable part of town.

  “Nice neighborhood,” I remarked.

  “It has its perks,” she said and smiled.

  We pulled into the driveway of a house that was slightly smaller than its neighbors, but still large enough for a family of seven. The garage door opened and she drove in. As soon as we stopped, she darted out of the car and shut the garage door, leaving me in darkness.

 
“Hey! Where are the lights?”

  A moment or two later, fluorescents flashed on overhead, and I pulled myself from the car.

  “Sorry,” she said, as she breathed hard. “It took me a minute to turn them on.”

  I looked at the garage doors and noticed black curtains covered the glass windows, attached by curtain rods. Were they open when we pulled in?

  “Come on, silly,” she said, and walked toward the door to the house, her rear end swaying almost hypnotically.

  I followed her through the neat garage, which had an empty space for another car, and into a laundry room that then led us into a living room decorated completely in white.

  “Wow!” I gasped.

  “Yeah, I know, it’s pretty amazing,” she said. “But I have to admit, it’s totally unlivable. I’m always worried I’m going to spill something. Take off your shoes.”

  I stopped, pulled off my shoes and left them in the laundry room.

  “See, I’m already getting you out of your clothes,” she said as she pulled off her heels.

  She took me through a dining room with a twelve-foot ceiling, and then into a large kitchen. The house appeared to have had an amazing remodel at some point, because just past the modern stove was a dining nook, where the ceiling went up twenty feet, with skylights and open space.

  She sat me down at the small counter and opened a cabinet, pulling out two beautiful cut-glass snifters and a crystal decanter of amber liquid.

  “I noticed you like cognac,” she said, pouring us each a knock. “I have the XO.”

  I gave a small whistle of appreciation. XO is the top of the line and pricey. I gazed around the kitchen and breakfast room. The cabinets looked new, with matching woodwork on the refrigerator and the trash compactor. Two sinks, new, and a collection of shiny pots and pans hanging from a wrought iron rack suspended on chains over the stove.

  “You must do a lot of entertaining.”

  “Actually, I don’t cook at all,” she said and handed me the glass of cognac. “The pots are for show, and everything else was already here.”

  She removed the short jacket from her ensemble, moved closer to me, and loosened my tie. “Actually, I’ve been living like a nun for the past year.”