In Her Arms

by Gayle Keo

“One of these days,” Marla said shaking her head.

  “Many things might happen one of these days. But today I see you intent on your computer. What did you just get?”

  She handed him the note and he flopped onto the wing-back, his legs spread wide. Marla again felt a small shiver seeing nothing where there should have been something. He read the paper, then he sniffed it, and then he licked it, his forked tongue gliding over both sides and all edges never leaving a trace of saliva.

  “The script is confident,” he said, “almost showing off. There is an odor of a flower, a slight acidic taste to the ink, and the paper is … different.”

  “Different?”

  “Different from ordinary paper,” he began. “Though there are a lot of variations. Newsprint for example–“

  “You taste paper?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “One of these days,” she said. “Anyway it’s probably some fancy stationary that you haven’t sampled yet, but that’s not the point. The point is the message. Kind of weird isn’t it?”

  “It is,” he said, “particularly because the writer gives you no option. It’s a declaration.”

  “I don’t like it,” she said rising and pacing to the window. “I don’t know this woman, I can’t find her anywhere, and how does she know me?”

  “I don’t know,” Laird said. “And I don’t see what makes you so special, other than the fact that you are in a relationship with an alien and a werewolf.”

  “I liked you a lot better before you learned sarcasm.”

  “Be that as it may, what are you going to do?”

  “Well for openers,” she said. “I’m not going to tell Jason.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “You know how he gets.”

  Marla put the letter in her desk and the two went about their chores. All the while she was of two minds, not wanting to hide anything from her other lover and yet not wanting to face the consequence when he found out. That afternoon she and Laird were gathering eggs when they saw Jason strolling up the drive.

  Jason Koru was the sort of brawny man who could easily have stood holding an ax or a chainsaw in any of the hardware ads. He was fair skinned, sort of hairy, and well-muscled where a human should be. His eyes twinkled like Santa Clause, and the grin on his face was framed with a bushy beard. Dressed in cut-off jeans, work boots and a sleeveless tee-shirt he strode carrying a sack of feed over one shoulder and a bag of machine parts in his other hand.

  “I think,” Laird said softly, “that I need to go and…”

  “Don’t you dare leave me,” Marla snapped shoving her egg basket at him.

  She skipped happily down the drive, calling out to Jason. She hugged and kissed him despite his load. They chatted some, and after he had set the sack in the chicken coop Marla brought him to the kitchen for a glass of cold water. Laird was there, now clothed, stowing the eggs.

  “Hey man,” Jason said kissing him on the cheek and swatting his rear. “Saw you out with your bird friends this morning. How’s that going?”

  “Good,” Laird nodded. “Real good. How was your hike?”

  “Bracing.”

  “Good.”

  “And what did you do today my loveliest love,” Jason said taking Marla in his arms.

  “Well …”

  “What’s that smell?”

  “I’m roasting a chicken,” Marla said.

  “No,” Jason said, his nose in the air. “Something else, something like – did you pick flowers?”

  Marla shook her head. Jason sniffed. He let her go. He hovered a moment around the table, then he walked through the house, eyes half closed, and leading with his nose. Marla looked to Laird and the two followed. They found him in the study by her desk. He leaned in toward the drawer, and then he looked to Marla. The glint left his eyes.

  “I – I was going to tell you,” she said, “after supper.”

  “Oh boy,” Laird said.

  Marla took a breath. She opened the drawer and handed Jason the note. He read it. He sniffed it. He looked at the envelop and sniffed that. Then his shut his eyes and shook his head.

  “That’s it,” he said. “We’re leaving.”

  *****

  “What?”

  “The woman is a hunter,” Jason said staring off at nothing. “Pack only what you need, we travel light.”

  “What!”

  “If we leave tonight,” he continued. “We can be in Dixville Notch by morning. From there we can find a way across the border. Once we’re north of Saguenay…”

  “Jason what are you talking about?” Marla asked.

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “I did,” Marla said. “And you’re kind of scaring me.”

  “You should be scared. This Mistress Vanessa is a hunter.”

  “Hunting what?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Then, how do you know?”

  “I can smell it,” he said. He began pacing the room and running his hands through his hair. “The perfume, it’s a clumsy attempt to hide herself, but I can smell the sweat of a hunter.”

  “But, but who would she want?”

  “I don’t know!” he cried. “Maybe Laird, maybe me, I just don’t know! But I do know that we have to get out. We have to get out and get away and we have to go now!”

  “Jason,” Marla said, “calm yourself, please.”

  “I am calm!”

  And so they went, around and around. Jason was in a small panic arguing that while the danger he sensed was unknown it was still real. Marla reasoned that they had no information other than a cryptic letter and that it was foolish to act in ignorance.

  “She could be anyone,” Marla said. “She could be an insurance agent or selling vacation rentals or, or anything.”

  “Then why you, huh?”

  “Jason they have mailings lists. She probably sent thousands of those pink perfumed letters.”

  “You wanna bet your head on that?” he said turning to her. “Or mine? Or Laird’s? You don’t seem to understand the kind of situation that we’re in. There’s a lotta people out there who aren’t too crazy about the likes of us, and a lotta other people who wouldn’t care a whit if the three of us just vanished.”

  “So what are you saying?” Marla said eying him. “That we run away?”

  “I’m saying that we live.”

  Marla fumed. She called him paranoid. She provoked him, asking if his reaction would be to run away every time they encountered a stranger. Jason insisted that he was only thinking about their welfare.

  “It’s a letter!” Marla cried flinging the thing at him. “It’s from someone who wants to talk to me!”

  “It’s from someone who demands to talk to you!”

  “She requests the honor—“

  “And she doesn’t give you any choice—“

  “Well what if I just didn’t answer the door?”

  “Well what if you didn’t?”

  “Well what if I didn’t?”

  “Has anyone noticed something odd about the envelope?” Lairdsaid quietly.

  “What?”

  “Something,” he said gazing at it. “I can’t quite put a finger on it, but that’s here nor there. What is here and now is that you’re both being asinine.”

  “Laird listen—“

  “No,” he said. “You listen to me because neither of you are listening to each other. You both have valid points; Jason chooses to err on the side of caution while Marla seeks to know. But in this I will side with Marla’s argument.”

  “Thank you,” she said folding her arms.

  “But not in the way that you think,” Laird continued. “The three of us have been hunted before, and I need not go into that further. But here we are in a country that is more tolerant than most and it is here that we have decided to make a home together. Jason, I trust your instincts and so I, too, am suspicious. But Marla, I agree with your determination not to be cowed by shadows of possibili
ties. We are three intelligent beings, and if there is a threat, I believe that we can meet that. Your thoughts?”

  Marla and Jason stared at Laird for a moment, then they looked at each other. They started to speak and then they stopped. And then Jason sighed and took Marla’s shoulders.

  “Look,” he said. “I just – I just remember what happened in Germany, and I couldn’t – I just couldn’t see you two go through anything like that again, and I just—“

  “Hush,” Marla said putting her finger on his lips. “You love us. I understand. And I’m sorry for doubting that silly little nose of yours. I should know by now that when you smell something—“

  “Does anyone smell something else?” Laird asked.

  “Oh shit,” Marla said. “My chicken!”

  Dinner was saved, but barely. The table talk stayed light; the three had an unspoken rule about not discussing weighty matters over meals. But afterwards they returned to the study. The letter lay on the floor. The three talked about the pending visit. They agreed to make no decisions until they knew what the woman wanted, and so they made a plan.

  “Oh and by the way,” Marla said with a smile, “look what else came in the mail today.”

  The lingerie catalogs put Marla’s men in the mood she wanted. And as they ogled, pretending to be aghast at the prices, Marla slipped away into the bedroom. Jason and Laird found her lounging on the queen-size bed, clad in a sheer, black fly-away teddy. The delicate dark mesh hugged her breasts, barely masking her taut nipples. The fabric gathered just below her rib cage and then draped and framed her slender waist and smooth, curving thighs. Her matching panties hugged her hairless mound, and the thin straps made such delicate indentations in her hips.

  Laird and Jason took each other’s hands, smiled and strolled to lie on either side of their woman. Jason trembled as he sighed and nuzzled, kissing her neck. Laird’s fingers gently traced the hem of the garment until his fingers found warm flesh.

  “And how are we feeling tonight?” Marla asked softly.

  “Masculine,” Laird smiled. “Most assuredly masculine.”

  Marla giggled.

  *****

  Thursday dawned with the three tangled in bed. Marla eased herself away, starting a small cascade of turns and twists and motion. She never ceased to be amazed with the things Laird could do with that tongue. The man’s now limp penis lay where there was once nothing but bald featureless skin.

  In the kitchen she started the percolator. Her boys lingered in bed and Marla smiled at the thought. Over breakfast they talked about the things that needed to be done that day. No one spoke of the pending visit. They knew what they were to do that day and no one fretted or rehashed what was decided. Laird drifted off to study his birds. Jason was excited about the new carburetor he had picked up for the tractor, and Marla went back to the vegetable garden.

  The day was hot and still. After a few hours Marla was grimed with sweat. She went back to the house to shower. She dressed in a gauzy, floral-print sundress. In the kitchen she set about making a batch of ice-box cookies. Then she sat in the shade of her front porch with a tall glass of iced tea and waited. The sky was calm and hazy, and the leaves on the trees sagged limp, wanting water. She thought about her garden. Behind the house he heard the tractor rev to life.

  At precisely one-fifty-eight she heard the car wheels on their gravel drive. The tractor roared and a flock of birds launched skyward. The car was an elegant, teal-blue Mercedes sedan. Rolling to a stop down by the mailbox, a small cloud of dust rose. Marla saw a driver in front and a woman in back. Neither moved until the dust had settled, then the driver got out. He was tall, dark, slender, Asianand dressed in an impeccable, if not clichéd uniform. He opened the back door.

  Vanessa Kitteredge was a tall, stunning woman. Marla pegged her for middle-age or more, but the woman carried that age with style and grace. She wore a white business suit. The pencil skirt wrapped her shapely thighs and the silken blazer seemed to caress her ample bosoms. Her dark hair was done in a tight bun, and she wore a fashionable pill-box hat with a netted veil. A pair of racer sunglasses hid her eyes, and Marla half expected to see the woman with a cigarette holder in one hand. Marla stood to greet her guest. Vanessa stepped out of the car, and promptly tripped.

  Her stiletto heel rolled and twisted beneath the gravel. The woman squealed, flung her hands in the air and would have fallen and sprawled out on the gravel had the chauffeur not caught her. Marla raced to her.

  “Oh dear,” Marla cried. “Oh my, are you alright?”

  “I am fine,” she said catching her breath and clutching her driver, and as she spoke Marla heard a distinct accent. “I suppose that I did not realize . . .”

  “I did that once,” Marla said holding the woman’s arm. “Gravel and heels? Not a good combination. Are you sure that you’re okay? Have you twisted your ankle or anything?”

  “I’m fine. Really I am. Eef I can just get onto firmer footing.”

  Marla heard that long ‘e’ and pegged her as Eastern European, perhaps Slavic. With a little fuss and fawning the driver and Marla soon had Mistress Vanessa sitting comfortably in the parlor. Marla adjusted the fan, got the woman a cold glass of tea and set out a plate of cookies. The driver stood quietly in a corner and silently refused anything Marla offered.

  “Vell,” Vanessa said once she was settled. “Zat vas quite the introduction now, vasn’tit?”

  Marla chuckled. She felt a warmth for the woman. Vanessa removed her hat and sunglasses. Her complexion was creamy, but her face looked as if she were battling her age. There were shadows of lines around her eyes, creases beginning around her nose and when she smiled her cheeks showed little wrinkles. Still she was lovely and her speech was so exotic.

  Vanessa complimented Marla on her lovely house and tasteful décor. She nibbled a cookie and pronounced her a charming cook and attentive hostess. They chatted and Marla understood the game, they were checking one another out. Marla complimented the woman on her suit and adored her shoes. They talked fashion a bit, and then Marla mentioned Vanessa’s obvious accent.

  “Kitteredge,” Marla observed, “is a decidedly New England name.”

  “I am Russian,” Vanessa said. “I married a KitteredgeUnfortunately the poor man passed away, leaving the family business in my hands.”

  “Banking?”

  “You have done your research,” Vanessa said nodding. “Of course I would have expected nothing less.”

  “Thank you,” Marla said. “And may I ask your maiden name?”

  “Luchnik,” the woman said. “But the family is of no consequence or note. My father was a small but successful perfumer.”

  “How interesting,” Marla said. “My father…”

  “Was a chemist,” Vanessa finished. “He made a small fortune in cosmetics; the Urban-Ease Line; most excellent products.”

  “I see that you have done your research also,” Marla said.

  “Would you expect anything less?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know all about you,” Vanessa said sipping her tea. “You have a PhD in Physics and one in Astronomy. You were nominated by the President for the contingent representing the United States on the UN High Commission for Alien Affairs, and you were among the first to assist in the assimilation of the Hroth.”

  Marla nodded. The woman was saying nothing that anyone with a computer couldn’t discover.

  “You fell into some notoriety,” the woman continued, “when you took the idea of ‘alien affairs’ a bit too literally.”

  “That is personal,” Marla said.

  “That is debatable,” Vanessa said with a shrug. “But it is not my concern.”

  “And what is your concern?”

  Vanessa sipped, smiled, set down her tea, uncrossed her legs, folded her hands, leaned close to Marla with a knowing sort of smile and said,

  “U vas yest’ oboroten’.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You have
a werewolf,” Vanessa said. “And I want him.”

  *****

  Marla dropped her cookie. She stared at the woman, incredulous. She wasn’t sure if that was a joke, an off-hand quip -- or she couldn’t think of what. Vanessa returned her stare looking somewhat perplexed. Then the chauffer quietly stepped forward and whispered into her ear. At first Vanessa looked mortified, but then suddenly she burst into peals of silvery laughter.

  “Oh my dear,” she said between chuckles. “Oh my dear do forgive, do forgive! My English can be sometimes so awkward. What you must think!”

  Marla caught her breath. She gave a small chortle.

  “I’m not sure what to think,” she said.

  “Let me try and make myself more clear,” Vanessa said. “I wish to – to – oy kakoyeslovo – I wish to ask for his services.”

  “You want to hire Jason?”

  “Hire!” Vanessa said clapping her hands. “A fitting term. I wish to hire your oboroten. I will, of course pay you fairly for his services, and his term of employ will be minimal.”

  “Whoa,” Marla said holding up her hand. “Just wait a hold-on. First, I am in no position to hire out anybody, let alone Jason.”

  “You are his Mistress, are you not?”

  “I’m not quite sure how you are using that term,” Marla said. “And I don’t think that I want to know. But if you want to hire Jason you should have this conversation with him and not me. And what sort of ‘services’ are you asking for?”

  “My dear,” Vanessa said raising one eyebrow. “What does one use a werewolf for other than as a protector, or a lover or—“

  “Why are my ears burning?” Jason asked.

  He stood in the doorframe to the kitchen. He wore his usual cutoffs and tee, but he was barefoot. Marla saw the signs; his nostrils were starting to flare, his upper lip sneered, his shirtsleeves were straining over his biceps and his knees looked knobby. Marla rushed to his side draping an arm on his shoulder and a hand on his chest. She could feel the muscles rippling. Vanessa sat back and took him in. She reached down and took up her purse. Marla felt Jason tense, but Vanessa simply reached in for a compact and checked herself in the mirror.