“I do, Gilly. He’s my son’s next-door neighbor.”
The vice president pointed to an antique, union-style chair. “Grab that chair and pull up a seat, my good man. Now, let’s see if I can remember your name.” Gillpatrick’s brow furrowed in concentration for a moment. “I believe it’s Horace, isn’t it? Do you spell it H-O-R-A-C-E, or is it H-O-R-U-S, like the son of Osiris?”
Lifting the chair, Horace replied, “I’m flattered that you remembered my name, Mr. Vice President. I spell it H-O-R-A-C-E. I would not presume to take the name of a god.”
“Why not?” Gillpatrick asked. “We have about a million guys in this country who call themselves J-E-S-U-S.”
Horace placed the chair next to Thomas’s father and settled onto it. Leaning forward, facing the vice president, he said, “This country is so different from Egypt. You do not act or think the same way we do, which brings me to the reason why I have asked for a moment alone with you.”
Ambassador Franklin spoke before Horace could continue. “Well, since the press is gone, I don’t suppose you’re planning another attempt at embarrassing the vice president. And, since the secret service is watching,” he gestured towards the agents, “I guess we can assume you aren’t here to do us any harm.”
To the ambassador, Horace said, “Thomas and Jeanne have informed me of how inappropriate my actions were. I wanted to let you know that I meant no disrespect.”
Horace turned to the vice president, who spoke before he could begin to apologize. “I get much tougher questions from our own journalists, Horace. Isn’t that right, Benjamin?”
“Oh yes, without question,” the ambassador conceded.
Gillpatrick paused to puff heartily on his cigar several times. Holding the rich smoke in, he pursed his lips, savoring it for a moment before he exhaled. “Everyone in the room knew you were trying to make me look bad, Horace. Naturally, you were unsuccessful, but people did seem a bit offended by your little, ‘drop the Jews’ suggestion.” He tapped the ashes from his cigar into a large ashtray encircled by bronze dolphins and looked back up at Horace. “You have political aspirations, don’t you, young man?”
Horace shook his head no. “I am enjoying the hospitality of your country while studying nuclear physics and molecular biology at MIT, not political science, sir.”
Puffing on his cigar again, Gillpatrick stared into Horace’s eyes. During the Gulf War he had faced death without flinching, but now, a cold shiver ran down his spine. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he felt something strange and unsettling in the odd, golden eyes that stared back. He maintained his intense gaze until Ambassador Franklin spoke.
“Horace, the vice president and I have some business to discuss, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to—”
“Gentlemen, I thank you for this private audience.” Horace rose, bowed, and returned his chair to its proper place. “I humbly apologize for my behavior. Please attribute my mistakes to zealous, youthful ignorance and unfamiliarity with your customs.” He bowed again and turned to leave.
~~~
Nearing the library’s entrance, Horace reached out to Agent Collins, who assumed he meant to shake hands. In his hand Horace held a card with his name and cellular number. “Call me later,” Horace whispered. “You’ll be glad you did.”
Moments later, Agent Kevin Kerekes asked, “Hey, Collins, wasn’t that the young Egyptian that caused such a stir earlier? What was he doing back here, alone?”
“Apologizing for his behavior,” Collins answered. Fingering the card in his pocket, he added, “He’s not such a bad guy after all.”
Chapter Four
“He’s not such a bad guy after all,” Jeanne said. Standing in her kitchen, she wore an old, faded Red Sox t-shirt and a pair of soft cotton shorts. In her right hand she held a card that accompanied the just-delivered bouquet of long stemmed American Beauty roses.
Dear Jeanne,
Please accept this apology for my behavior yesterday.
May I have the honor of accompanying you to the movies
tomorrow? I look forward to the pleasure of your company.
Horace
Jeanne laid the card on the white Formica counter, picked up the still-wrapped roses, and closed her eyes as she inhaled the flowers’ delicate fragrance. Sighing, she put the roses down, opened the cabinet under the sink, and squatted to search for a suitable vase.
The doorbell rang.
Squinting through the security peep-hole, Jeanne saw Horace. When she opened the door he offered a charming smile, his perfectly aligned teeth gleaming in contrast with his dark complexion.
“Did the roses arrive fresh and in good condition?” he asked. “You know how some florists operate. Picking up the flowers in person, one can be assured of their quality. But when having them delivered, one never knows.”
“Oh? Do you have a great deal of flowers delivered, Horace?” Returning to the kitchen, Jeanne put Horace on the defensive. “Are there many ladies you send flowers to on a regular basis?”
“Well, actually, no. But I have heard this from a reliable source, so I wanted to be sure—”
“Who’s your reliable source, Horace?” Jeanne inquired, digging through a jumble of cleaning supplies and tools beneath the sink. “Who is this expert with florists and flower delivery?”
“Miss Mosley,” Horace planted his hands on his hips. “Are you still angry with me for the way I acted at the Franklin’s? Perhaps you require additional time to consider whether you intend to pardon me.”
Jeanne stopped rummaging under the sink and glanced up. “Oh, I forgive you Horace. I’m just not sure you won’t do the same thing the next time a similar opportunity presents itself. I think maybe you’re too used to getting your way all the time, especially when it comes to women.”
After closing the door beneath the sink, Jeanne stood and opened the cabinet above it. Balancing on her bare tiptoes she strained to see if she had stashed the vase up there. “Judging by your Maserati, the clothes you wear, and the way you act, it’s obvious you’re about as wealthy as the ancient pharaohs, and I don’t intend to become a concubine in your harem.”
On the verge of pulling a muscle, Jeanne considered asking Horace to look for the vase. “He wouldn’t have to stretch at all,” she muttered. Just before she called out to him, her fingers bumped into the object of her search. “Ah-ha!” She wrapped her hands around the tall, Lennox vase.
As water gurgled into the container, she unwrapped the roses, held one up, and said, “These are long-stemmed, American Beauty roses. You probably don’t see a lot of these in Egypt.”
Horace replied, “You might be surprised, Miss Mosley. In a protected environment, such as a greenhouse, a delicate flower such as the rose can be pampered with the proper soil, fertilizer and moisture, to grow and, of course, to reproduce.”
Something about the way he emphasized the word reproduce prompted Jeanne to say, “I see.” She turned off the water and turned around. Horace’s eyes were finishing their tour of her long-legged, five-foot-seven physique and took a moment before they reached her face. She had known he was admiring her body while she searched for the vase. His expression reminded her of a hungry bird of prey staring at a field mouse. Suddenly it dawned on her. He wants me to be his long-stemmed American Beauty. His desert rose.
“You don’t do anything without giving it a great deal of thought, do you, Horace?” Jeanne crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Right down to the type of roses you pick.” She leaned back against the counter, calculating the pros and cons of this charismatic Casanova.
Could I ever trust him? Probably not, but knowing that in advance, why shouldn’t a girl have a little fun? Who knows, maybe I’ll end up with a Maserati?
Jeanne pictured herself reclining on a comfortable cushion, dining on fat, juicy grapes while being fanned by her personal attendants. She floated down the hippo and crocodile infested waters of the Nile on a luxurious barge, flanked by two rows
of hunky, bare-chested men. They rowed rhythmically, pulling on long, white-paddled oars to the steady beat of a drum. Their graceful, powerful, strokes propelled her towards her palatial destination.
Horace waived a hand in front of Jeanne’s face. “Hello, Jeanne? What are you thinking?”
Roused from her fantasy, Jeanne replied, “I’m uh, I’m trying to decide which movie we should go see tomorrow. And hey,” she snapped her fingers. “Since it’s supposed to be such a pretty day, why don’t we go to the zoo first?”
~~~
Horace felt a rush of relief. After the previous day’s events he could not be certain of Jeanne’s decision. She meant more to him than she should. More than any woman he had ever met. Raised and educated in isolation before attending MIT, he had met relatively few.
“If you truly forgive me,” he said, “give me a hug.” He held out his arms, longing to hold her.
She came to him, at first loosely placing her arms around him.
Horace exulted in the moment. His spirit and libido soared, as if gliding on the rising currents of the Egyptian desert wind. He yearned for the warmth of her skin against his and the silken softness of her touch. Suddenly, he felt confused and vulnerable, as if he were losing control of the situation. He felt as if he were the proverbial moth and she the hypnotic, deadly, flame.
He pulled away, hoping to see submission in Jeanne’s green eyes. None existed.
She released her loose hold around his waist and raised her arms, wrapping them around his neck and tilting her chin up to invite a kiss. Rather than submission, Horace thought he recognized mischievous determination and seduction.
He recalled the warnings from his guardians, who feared he might lose his focus and succumb to the temptations of the western world.
This year, as summer waned, once again the vizier, overseer of his education and life, had placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Love is a paralyzing and potentially fatal poison — more toxic than the sting of the scorpion hidden in the shifting sand. Khenemetankh, this is your final year overseas. Complete the task that you have been assigned in America, and return to Egypt before your still chaste ‘Ieb’ is exposed. Your heart must remain uncorrupted.”
Twenty-one years old, this would be his final year at MIT. He grew weary of fighting the natural forces that pulled mightily upon him. The vizier’s predictions of love’s paralyzing poison could be no worse than the agony of abstinence. Like a wing-weary bird, he sought an inviting branch upon which to land.
On the verge of experiencing the thrilling sensation of his first passionate kiss, Horace closed his eyes.
Beep - beep - beep- beep -beep...
“What’s that?” Jeanne stepped back, glaring at the offending digital watch-phone.
“A reminder,” Horace tapped the crystal to halt the alarm. “I have martial arts classes on Tuesdays and Fridays. I’m afraid I must leave.”
“Really?” Jeanne asked, “You’d rather grapple with some sweaty men than stay here and—”
“It’s not a matter of what I want to do,” Horace replied. Torn between duty and desire, he explained, “Many people are depending on me, Jeanne. Things exist about me that you do not know, some of which I do not yet fully understand. Perhaps we can discuss some of them while we are at the zoo. At what time would you like me to pick you up tomorrow?”
“Let’s get an early start,” Jeanne suggested. “The zoo opens at ten. So, why don’t you come by around nine-thirty?”
“Why not earlier?”
When Jeanne shook her head no, Horace nodded. “Nine-thirty it will be.” He pointed to the roses on the counter. “I am pleased that you like the flowers. You should put an aspirin in the water; I understand that it helps preserve the appearance—”
“Are you sure you don’t send flowers every day?” Jeanne squinted. “You sure seem to know—”
“Mrs. Franklin offered the same advice to Thomas at his apartment a couple of weeks ago. For some reason she brought him an impressive flower arrangement. I thought it odd, but Thomas said she frequently brings him flowers. Is this a common practice among mothers in this country?”
“Sonya is an ambassador’s wife, Horace. They constantly entertain political figures. She probably gets more arrangements than she can use, so she gives them to Thomas.”
“I see,” Horace nodded again. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Jeanne.” He turned to leave.
“Wait a minute, mister.” When he turned around, Jeanne grabbed both sides of his face and surprised him with an aggressive kiss.
When she released him, she took a deep breath and said, “There, think about what you’re missing while you’re playing Jackie Chan or Bruce Lee tonight.”
“You make it most difficult to leave, Jeanne Mosley.” Horace reached up and stroked her cheek. “But leave I must.” Opening the door, he reiterated his intentions, “I shall be here at nine-thirty,” and then closed the door behind him.
~~~
Jeanne peeked through the blinds as Horace trotted down the black iron stairs and crossed the parking lot to his British racing-green Maserati. As he backed out of the parking space and drove away, she shook her head. “Rich, good looking, and obviously infatuated with me. Watch out Jeanne. If you don’t use your head, you’ll find yourself in Egypt.”
Back in the kitchen, she sang as she arranged the roses in the vase. “Row, row, row your barge, gently down the Nile. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, you could live in style. Row, row, row....”
Chapter Five
Opened in 1913, Boston’s Franklin Park Zoo housed over 220 species of wildlife. Strolling with Horace through the marine section, Jeanne Mosley casually tore long wisps of cotton candy from a pink puff wrapped around a paper cone. A kaleidoscope of garishly festooned tropical fish darted about behind clear-plastic ceiling and wall panels.
After rolling it into a ball, Jeanne popped another cloud-like strand into her mouth, where it melted into a mouthwatering, sugary burst of flavor. Jeanne licked her fingers and thumb, savoring the sweet residue. As they neared the exhibit’s exit, she said, “It’s been so long since I’ve had cotton candy, and I haven’t been to the zoo since my high school days. How about you, Horace?”
“In truth, Jeanne Mosley, I have never visited a place where animals are held in captivity. It seems a cruel and unnatural life for the poor beasts who find themselves incarcerated here.”
“Well, yeah, maybe.” Jeanne peeled off another strand of cotton candy and began to roll it into a ball. “But without places like this, a lot of kids, and maybe some adults, would never know what certain animals look, sound, and...” she popped the wad of cotton candy into her mouth, wrinkled her nose, and made a face before saying, “smell like. Zoos are meant to generate an interest in wildlife preservation, not harm or endanger any species.”
As they exited the subdued lighting of the marine exhibit, Horace squinted while his sensitive eyes adjusted to the light. Not far away, a large sign announced the entrance to the reptilian section.
Two monstrous, African Nile crocodiles floated just below the surface on the far side of a man-made lagoon. With dull green eyes that barely broke the surface of the glass smooth water, the beasts studied those who stopped to see them. Their dark bronze and green bodies matched the murky water, often escaping detection by those who didn’t know where, or for what, to look.
Ambling along, drawing closer to the pond, Horace waved his arms and complained. “Built to protect the wildlife? Intended to generate interest in their welfare? That may be how you see it, but I wonder how the animals themselves would answer if they could speak?”
Without warning, the surface of the pool erupted. Reacting to something only they saw or sensed, the crocodiles churned across the pond like two speedboats, their streamlined bodies creating wide ripples. On stubby legs they clambered onto the sandy bank and raced toward the fence with surprising speed and agility.
Visitors who had leaned forward to better
see the prehistoric predators screamed and fled as the leviathans assaulted the sturdy chain-links that rose above the three-foot-tall concrete barrier. Streamlined jaws, filled with jagged teeth, opened and snapped shut again and again. Long muscular tails whipped back and forth, crashing into the fence with terrifying force.
Jeanne shrieked and dropped her cotton candy. Backpedalling away from the protective barrier she stumbled and fell, bumping her head on the sidewalk. Lying dazed on the ground with her eyes squeezed shut, she heard the chilling, scraping crunch of sharp, conical teeth on metal, combined with the twang of guide wires stressed beyond their capacity and cut by slashing claws.
Opening her eyes again, she saw the fence bending outward and breaking. Heaving, yellowish underbellies pressed against the sagging barrier as the crocodiles reared up on their hind legs. Bulbous snouts protruded through rapidly widening holes in the crisscrossed links. Cold, accusatory, reptilian eyes fixed upon Jeanne, as if she were responsible for their frenzied state.
Horace stepped between his date and the Jurassic-age juggernauts as two uniformed security guards arrived on the scene and dropped to their knees. While they fumbled with tranquilizing darts, attempting to load them into their rifles, he positioned himself directly in their line of fire.
“Move, you crazy son of a bitch,” one of the guards yelled.
Undaunted, Horace stood his ground. Facing the crocodiles, he stretched his arms over his head and emitted a shrill cry.
From the ground, Jeanne glanced up at Horace. His face displayed a supreme sense of power and control. Thinking her vision might have been affected by the bump on her head, Jeanne saw a halo around his head and an aura of purple and gold emanating from his arms and body.
Staring into the muzzles of the hissing beasts, Horace shouted words in his native tongue that evoked an immediate response. The agitated reptiles slid back down what remained of the fence and adopted the docile demeanor of two well-trained house pets waiting for their master’s command.
The Falcon and His Desert Rose Page 3