Mirage Beyond Flames (Coriola)

by De Ross, Melinda

  “Kiss you too,” she replied and put down the phone, while an icy bundle of unknown origins formed in her stomach. Why did he want her to meet his mother? And why the hell was she so panicked by this thought?

  Without finding any answers to these questions, Linda buried herself deeper into the cushions, changing channels without actually seeing anything in front of her eyes. She didn’t even notice that Pirata was tremendously enjoying her milk and cookies.

  * * *

  After taking a quick shower, Gerard laid on the bed exhausted, relaxing his naked body between the cool sheets. Each of his muscles was aching due to an entire night of love-making, an extremely long but satisfying work-day and two hours in his old friend’s company. Christian was a nice guy, but so talkative that Gerard had whispered a thankful prayer when the guy had finally left, promising they will keep in touch.

  His thoughts flew to Linda, who was never far from his mind and soul. He wondered what she was doing, if she yearned for his presence in her bed, if she wanted him as much as he wanted her right in that moment. He fell asleep in the imaginary arms of his lover, not knowing she was doing the same. For tonight, at least in dreams they were together.

  Chapter Nine

  Linda awoke with an odd hangover sensation and a dull headache. She opened her eyes but immediately closed them again in defensive toward the cheerful sunrays invading her bedroom. She’d forgotten to lower the shutters again. She vaguely asked herself why the hell was it necessary to wake up at sunrise. Then she remembered Francesco, that she had to take him the sculpture, have lunch with Gerard and his mother…

  She stood suddenly, then, moaning, grabbed her head with both hands. It was threatening to roll on the floor because of the pain.

  This cannot be happening, this day is a disaster! she told herself. If I really have to meet Mrs. Leon – was that her name? – why couldn’t it have been on a day when I was well-rested?

  She hated waking up early. However, since she’d met Gerard, it seemed she did only that.

  “I doubt he’s worth the effort,” she muttered, addressing Pirata, who had come to give her a morning kiss. Then she smiled, stretching languorously.

  “Hell… The guy’s worth any effort!” she told the cat, then dragged herself into the bathroom, under the shower, ruthlessly turning on the cold water.

  Pirata sat on the toilet lid, washing his paws, listening with the habit’s indifference the curses and unidentifiable noises coming from under the cold jet.

  Linda got out of the bath still frowning, but feeling a little more alive. She descended into the kitchen, fed the cat and made herself a strong cup of coffee. She usually didn’t even have coffee in the house, because she didn’t drink any, but Mrs. Adams did, so… Seeing as desperate situations demanded desperate measures, she mentally thanked Mrs. Adams sipping the hot liquid.

  Taking her mug in the bedroom, she faced the closet, trying to imagine what she should wear for her first encounter with the mother of a man to whom she had a more or less sexual affair.

  Who are you trying to fool? she self-admonished. You’re in love with him head over heels. By all appearances, he’s fallen for you too.

  After a long analysis, she decided on a cotton blue dress, with a bow tied around the waist. The skirt was wavy, reaching a few inches below her knees. It resembled a bit the notorious dress Marilyn Monroe had wore in the movie Seven year itch, where the diva had let her dress flutter, exposing her underwear – that scene had made history.

  The dress made her look respectable and serious, but not excessively conservative.

  “Only the color is different,” she said aloud, studying herself in the mirror. “And the cup size.”

  Sighing, she changed in jeans and a black tank top, carefully placing the dress on a chair.

  She put on a pair of sunglasses that covered half of her face, then went downstairs.

  She took from the hallway the sculpture she intended to take to Francesco. She placed the object, wrapped in paper, on the passenger seat of her car. Following a short debate, she fastened the seatbelt over it, laughing by herself.

  “It’s like I’m transporting the Crown Jewels,” she said amused, as she drove to the gallery.

  “You are a treasure, bella mia!” exclaimed Francesco, analyzing ecstatically the small wood piece. Did you make this in a single day?”

  “Yeah. I had… inspiration,” she answered, watching the features resembling her lover’s, features she had carved herself on the Apollo’s wooden face. The statue reigned in the middle of the room, imposing, as though defying the entire human kind with amused superiority. “I was afraid you have nowhere to put it,” she went on.

  “Ah, bella mia, there’s always room for brilliant works,” he said in his baritone voice. “Annarita, come here, my dear!”

  From the shadows of a lateral corridor appeared a stunningly beautiful young woman – tall, graceful, her long black hair reaching her waist and a pair of dark eyes exuding charm. Francesco introduced her to Linda:

  “My dear, this is Annarita, my assistant, imported straight from our birth land, because only the great Michelangelo Buonarotti’s compatriots know to appreciate and create true art. This is Ms. Linda Coriola, the jewel of our humble gallery.”

  Annarita inclined her head a fraction, saying in Italian:

  “It’s an honor for me to meet you, Ms. Coriola. I have admired your works ever since I first saw them. You have an extraordinary talent.”

  Linda smiled and offered her hand, replying in the same language:

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Annarita! Please call me Linda, I don’t think I’m very much older than yourself. Thank you for your compliments.”

  “Annarita is also going to become a great sculptress. She is a student at the Art University,” Francesco intervened. “She will follow into your footsteps, cara mia.”

  “I wish you the best of luck in this career choice,” Linda told the young woman. “And now, please excuse me, but I must go.”

  Francesco vaguely gesticulated, the sculpture still in his hand.

  “Won’t you stay to see where we can find a place to arrange your new work?” he protested.

  “I’m sure you and Annarita will find the ideal spot. Take care of it. It might not seem like much, but… It has a special significance to me. See you on Saturday!”

  Smiling, she threw another glance at the statue of Apollo, then said goodbye to the two.

  Since she had enough free time until twelve o’clock, when Gerard had promised to pick her up, she wandered through the city, indulging with some shopping. She intended to practice her culinary expertise by preparing delicious meals for her lover, now and again.

  Now and again?

  She was just loading the bags into her trunk when this thought made her freeze, her hands in the air.

  This sounds like we have a long-term relationship. Why the hell am I so alarmed by this prospect? Maybe I should go see a shrink.

  Shrugging with a deep sigh, she arranged the bags, locked the trunk and headed home.

  Once she got there, she munched on an apple and two biscuits as she began to fix herself for their lunch visit.

  She carefully did her makeup, using only black eye-liner and mascara to contour her blue cat eyes. They made a nice contrast with her slightly tanned skin. Following that, she applied a pale pink lipstick and considered the makeup thing done.

  She put on her blue dress, almost the same shade as her eyes, searching for a matching purse. She slipped her feet into casual black sandals. Finally, she brushed her long hair and twisted it into a sort of knot at her nape, elegant but casual in the same time.

  She was just throwing a last glance in the mirror when the intercom buzzed, indicating Gerard’s presence in front of her gates.

  She quickly descended the stairs and pressed the button to open the gates, unlocked the front door and went again in the bedroom to retrieve her purse. As she descended the stairs for the second time, Ger
ard was just letting himself in. He stopped in the doorway, looking up at her, his gaze lingering on her body in a way which never ceased to make her feel literally hot.

  “You are superb, my love!” he said, reaching out a hand to help her descend the last steps.

  “You don’t look half bad yourself,” she replied studying his simple attire, consisting of jeans that fitted perfectly in all the right places and a white short-sleeved T-shirt. It perfectly highlighted the excellent muscle tone of his chest, shoulders and arms.

  When he encircled her waist and tightened his hold, bending to kiss her, she stepped back a little. Gerard, not understanding her seemingly rejection gesture, asked irritated:

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just applied my lipstick. I wanna make a good impression to your mom, I didn’t want to wipe…”

  She wasn’t able to finish the sentence because his lips crushed hers in a deep stormy kiss, his arms pressing her close to his body, with untamed passion.

  “All night I’ve dreamed only about this - your lips, your naked body next to mine,” he whispered. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Linda, but I’m addicted to you like air. I want you more than I could imagine it’s possible.”

  “I feel the same way, baby, and you have no idea how much that scares me,” she replied breathless, nestling against his strong chest, where it seemed the very center of her universe had taken residence.

  He lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes.

  “Why should you be scared of something so wonderful, the feelings we share together?”

  She hid her face again into his chest.

  “Because it’s something new, because I’ve never felt this in my life, because I’m afraid…”

  “Of what?”

  “Not to be hurt. Not to hurt you if our relationship isn’t gonna work.”

  He slightly stepped back from her.

  “Linda, I understand you were hurt by your ex-husband…”

  “It’s not about that,” she interrupted. “Tony didn’t hurt me, not the way you assume. Now I realize I don’t even think I loved him, not the way I… I never felt for him even a fraction of what I feel for you. It’s just that, I don’t know why, I began to avoid obligations, to cherish the independence which I totally lacked when I was with him.”

  Gerard watched her skeptically while she took out a little mirror and lipstick from her purse, trying to apply it with a not-so-steady hand.

  “And do you honestly think having a serious relationship with me would affect your independence?” he asked her in a tone that made the idea seem juvenile and stupid.

  She moved her eyes from the mirror to him.

  “I don’t know. Maybe not. Gerard, this is not the time to discuss it. What matters is today. Today we’re together and we’re fine. We have all the time in the world to analyze things, to know each other better. Right?”

  As though he deciphered the confusion and plea in her voice, he displayed a slightly forced smile and said:

  “You’re right, my love. Let’s go, I don’t want my mom greeting us with a lecture because we’re late.”

  She was in the middle of a deep breath of relief when he added:

  “I’ll abandon the subject for a while, but I’ll leave you with one last thought. I’m determined to break down all the barriers standing between us. I want to have you whole, Linda. Not only your body, but your soul as well.”

  Chapter Ten

  The road became a real pleasure once they passed the sectors where rush hour traffic was more intense. The Jeep slid smoothly on the highway. From the speakers, Bon Jovi proclaimed his anonymous eternal love in a sensual, abrasive voice.

  “I’ve always loved car rides, but only having a flawless driver,” said Linda, looking through the window at the oscillating landscapes, always in motion.

  “And do I qualify?” he teased.

  “Yes,” she answered truthfully. “You’re an amazing driver.”She cleared her voice and went on:

  “If you’ve proceeded to… invite me to meet your mother, tell me something about her. What does she do, what kind of person is she? You didn’t even tell me her name.”

  Gerard lowered the CD player’s volume to facilitate conversation.

  “Well, let’s start with the essentials: her name is Chantalle Leon, she was a French teacher almost all her life. Now she’s retired. She lives in her sister’s house – my aunt Sophie – who was also widowed many years ago. Her husband, an Englishman called Thomas Barry, died in a terrible car crash. Ever since that time, my mother and Sophie are sharing auntie’s house. They’re both fanatical gardeners, they have some huge, impressive gardens and started a small business, selling floral arrangements. Both of them make sachets, and my mother is a true artist at handmade jewelry. She’s always trying to stuff my pockets with stones and other paraphernalia, which are supposed to protect my aura or something…”

  She smiled, smoothing her dress.

  “You don’t believe in these things?”

  “I believe in the individual’s self-protection. The rest depends on God, fate, you name it. But, first of all, I think our destiny depends on us.”

  “Interesting point of view. I agree.”

  “In any case, if mom gives you a charm or any other thing, accept it, even if it freaks you out and you’ll put it in a dark corner,” he advised. “Otherwise she’ll feel very offended.”

  “Thank God you told me!” she joked. “The last thing I want is to become your mother’s enemy or get on her bad side. Anyway, I’m not so rude as to refuse a gift. You really made me curious. Your mother seems like an extremely interesting woman.”

  “You’ll meet her right away,” he replied focusing his gaze ahead, beyond the windshield. “We’re almost there.”

  He took a corner, getting on a road – more like a country path – bordered by trees, at the end of which was a house.

  Linda noticed that, around here, houses were located at three or four miles distance from one another. That gave the entire area an intimate, even isolated appearance.

  The building toward which they were headed was simple, painted white. As they got closer, the house seemed stranded in the middle of a green abyss.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said she’s got some impressive gardens,” she remarked admiringly. “The surrounding property is enormous!”

  He smiled, stopping the car behind another one, parked along the small driveway facing the house.

  “The property is not so big. It just seems that way compared to the house, which is tiny. It’s got only two bedrooms and, as you can see, one storey.”

  “But it’s so pretty,” she said, studying the white building, with a dark red roof and matching windows and door-frames. “Looks like Snow White’s house!”

  Gerard got out of the car then opened her door. Hand in hand, they headed toward the little house. Linda was throwing curious glances all around, marveling at the sight of shrubs, trees, bushes and floral arrangements – veritable vegetation masterpieces.

  The door opened and a woman appeared smiling widely, exuding an almost palpable energy. She was short, a tad plump, with blonde unruly hair and inquiring brown eyes.

  “Welcome, my darlings!” she exclaimed, embracing first her son, then Linda. As she’d expected, the woman’s eyes watched her with interest, but not in the upsetting, analytical way she was used to. Linda was already starting to like her.

  “Mom, this is Linda Coriola. She is…”

  “I know who you are, dear,” the woman interrupted. “I recognized you right away, I saw your picture in the newspaper a while back. I can see you’re a real beauty!”

  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Leon,” Linda replied smiling. “It’s a pleasure meeting you!”

  “Call me Chantalle, please, darling. Come on in!”

  Inside was cool and a sweet light revealed a somewhat exotic décor. The furniture, the rugs and drapes were old fashioned, but of an excellent taste and
quality, just like the traditional chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Paintings and all sorts of decorative objects were strategically placed. Linda was sure Chantalle - perhaps her sister too - had manufactured them.

  Chantalle led the couple to the living room. In front of a window – beyond which laid their vast botanical garden – were two small sofas, a square table between them. This corner seemed to Linda like a piece of Heaven.

  Chantalle urged them to have a seat, then brought some strawberry juice made by her.

  “I’ve never tasted something so delicious,” said Linda sincerely.

  “Thank you, darling,” replied the woman, sitting on the other sofa, facing them. “We have a small strawberry plantation. There’s nothing like home-cooked food. Sophie should soon finish preparing lunch. She’ll be joining us in just a moment. Until then, tell me about yourselves. I understand you’ve met at the clinic.”

  Linda glanced at Gerard, who buried his nose in the juice glass.

  “Yes,” she answered. “I have been making donations there for a while. Since I live in London now, I want to get involved more I try to help in any way I can curing or at least comforting those poor children.”

  Chantalle watched her for a moment, then said:

  “You have a kind, generous soul. Few rich people think to give away even a penny of their fortune, not to mention do all the good you are doing.”

  Linda laughed softly, tracing the floral pattern on the glass with her finger.

  “I’m not that rich, Mrs. Leon –Chantalle,” she corrected. “I had the luck to be born in a family with a good financial status and the privilege – which few have – to follow my inclination toward sculpture. Art pays pretty well too.”

  “Everywhere you see so-called artists without any talent who are starving. If you’re paid well, it means you got some real talent there. Besides, I also saw in the newspaper some photos of your sculptures. You have something… special, a style wearing your fingerprint. It’s no wonder my boy has fallen for you.”