-9-
I pulled my car carefully into my mother’s driveway, getting as close to the keypad perched on top of a pole to my left. Punching the four-digit passcode in that she had texted me earlier I followed with the pound key and star key simultaneously, as she had instructed. Within a split-second, the gate lurched and began to slide open on its track, revealing a long driveway on the other side. Either side of the path was lined with Italian Cypress. Large, spiral phalluses reaching toward the sky. The gate closed firmly behind my car after pulling through and heading toward the house.
Madeline King and Bentley Simms lived in an enormous house in the San Fernando Valley, a small, private community in the rolling hills that dead-ended at the mountains. It was patrolled by private security 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Their home was perched at the top of a secluded cul-de-sac, their property marked by the same wrought-iron fencing almost too far to see in the distance. Tall, privacy hedges had been planted in increments and were slowly finding their way into each other’s arms. Eventually they would meld together, a dense obstruction to the outside world .
Guiding my car around the circular driveway at the end of the path, I pulled up to the curbing and put my car in park. I took one last glance at the rear-view mirror to check my outward appearance before opening the door. The sun shone brightly, casting its light onto everything in sight, making the house appear even larger. Bright, white stucco loomed before me as I made my way to the front door.
I rang the door-bell and stood waiting for it to open. Shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, I breathed deeply, the aroma of jasmine and roses filled my senses. To the right of the door, large clumps of jasmine grew along the walls, stretching infinitely to the end where they abruptly ended, giving way to a carefully cultured rose garden. I pictured my mother kneeling in the soil, working in the essential nutrients roses thrived on. Let’s face it; it was simply crushed egg shells and coffee grounds. It made me smile to think that those roses were the one thing that kept her from becoming completely out of touch with the rest of the world. She insisted on tending to her flowers herself and her roses, well, they were her pride and joy.
It was no wonder; the rose garden was filled to the brim with bushes topped with blooms of all shades. Dark red, delicate pink, and my personal favorite, blue girls which were actually lavender. My mother had always had roses as far back as I could remember. She spent more time with her “babies” than her own daughter. The consequences of the lack of her attention making themselves quite obvious in the not-so-distant past.
After what must have been an eternity, I heard the deadbolt slide open and the door creaked open. A short, dark-haired woman stood and greeted me. Her light blue dress topped by a crisp, white apron, free of any mark or stain. A questioning smile was set on her tiny lips, pulling them tight until they were almost non-existent.
“Miss Leila!” She jumped slightly and looked around quickly. Her reaction would have no-doubt drawn the disapproving glare of the older maids if they had heard her exclamation. She drew a breath and stepped out of my way quickly.
“Thank you, Julia,” I crossed the threshold into the entry way of my mother’s palace. A long, spiraling stair case was directly across the foyer, opening its mouth wide at the top. Dark, ornately carved bannisters lined either side. The stairs themselves were the same white marble as the floor, dark veins made their way across every inch like tiny rivers frozen in place. On either side, large archways made of the same carved wood opened up to large receiving areas. To my right, leather couches were placed in front of an enormous fire place that looked like it had never been lit. On the left, I saw a long room that stretched out toward another foyer. Along the wall of the room was a dark-oak bar, stocked with the finest of every liquor imaginable. Leaning against the bar on one elbow was Bentley. My mind suddenly flashed to the first night Gordon came crashing into my protected world. His position was exactly the same and the suit Bentley wore reminded me of the one Gordon had on that night.
I shook my head quickly to clear the image from my head and made my way across the room toward him. His eyes lit up when he saw me and opened both his arms wide, relinquishing his grip on his glass to offer me a hug. Johnny Walker Blue, Gordon’s drink , my mind intruded when I saw the bottle that sat next to his glass. For a brief moment, my heart lurched and I was forced to fight back a sudden surge of emotion. The tears pricked my eyes as I blinked rapidly in attempt to make them go away. If he asked, I would use the old allergies excuse .
He didn’t. Bentley folded me into his arms in a warm, fatherly hug. I appreciated the way he always tried to fill that gap in my life. His intentions seemed pure, but I sometimes wondered if my mother suspected he wanted more from me than a daughter’s love. I looked up and my stomach cramped slightly. She was standing in the arched doorway from the other side of the foyer. Anger furrowing her brow.
I quickly straightened up, pushing Bentley away slightly as I cleared my throat and faced her. Her body language said it all. She was not pleased.
“Leave Leila alone,” I barely heard Bentley’s attempt to defend me. The blood suddenly rushed to my head and spots danced in front of my vision. On weak legs, I did my best to make my way to one of the plush, arm chairs that were placed in strategic increments around the room across from the bar.
My mother suddenly appeared at my side, her hand falling lightly on my shoulder, a gesture of concern. She looked over her shoulder at Bentley, her anger with finding me in his arms melting away as he nodded quickly. He rushed toward the other side of the bar and filled a glass with water. Making his way toward us, he offered me the glass. I took it and he backed up a few steps, apparently to give me some space. Comical since the room we were in was so large.
“Leila, are you alright,” she asked with genuine concern in her voice. My mother wasn’t the proverbial mothering type, but her eyes told me she was sincere when my vision finally cleared enough to focus on her gaze. I tipped the glass to my lips and took a few long swallows, wiped my mouth with my other hand, before offering her a response.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I spoke slowly. My tongue felt too big for my mouth and my chest felt like it was being squeezed. This was not the time for my anxiety to take control. I took several deep breaths before continuing. “I have been a little…dizzy lately,” I only partially lied. My mother lowered her eyes to mine. She knew there was more.
I waited until she sat down in the chair next to me. Her hands closed around mine. She looked down and stayed that way for a long time. Finally, she looked back up at me, her blue eyes searched mine, looking for the hidden information. I closed my eyes and looked down, a sinking feeling overwhelmed me. She had to know.
“Mom…I’m in trouble,” I stopped speaking and searched my brain for more words. Nothing was coming. I felt he r squeeze my hand tightly. Patiently waiting, my mother did not pressure me to finish. That was definitely unusual for her.
Bentley decided to leave us and as he turned to walk away, my mother barely spared him a glance. I waited until he disappeared through the foyer and I could no longer hear his footsteps on the polished marble. One more deep breath before I let her have it.
“I am pregnant,” her eyebrows flew upward. A look of sudden knowledge lit up her features. A revelation. I quickly continued before I lost the nerve to finish. “Unfortunately, the man who I think is the father is my boss.”
“Are you serious?! This is absolutely fabulous!” She exclaimed as if she hadn’t heard the last part at all. I wondered for a moment if she had, before the other foot came down. “Not that last part of course, that I could have done without, but Leila…a grandchild! How marvelous! I suppose these are not the best of circumstances, but I am sure there have been worse for many women. Besides, I have been waiting a long time for this!”
I was floored. Besides the roses, I had never seen, let alone heard my mother confess any emotion toward the thought of another person in her life. I say person because to her
, the roses were people. They had a soul and she spoke to them regularly. My mother’s face reflected true joy, almost rapture.
“I suppose that explains the dizzy spells,” she went on, her mind undoubtedly alive with a million thoughts now. “When I was pregnant with you, I had them often in the beginning.” She nodded at me. It dawned on me suddenly that her knowledge might be useful in that area. I intended to milk her for all it was worth, whatever she was willing to give. For the first time in a long time, I felt the clouds part and the sun shone down on us. I had been angry with her for so long I had forgotten what it felt like to have a good relationship with her. I was elated.
“There is something else,” I intended on telling her everything, and that was what I was going to do. She looked at me wide-eyed with glee. I was about to burst that bubble for sure. “There is someone else who could be the father. That is what makes this whole thing so…difficult.” I stopped speaking and waited for her to respond. Confusion made its way across her face, settling in her brow.
“Well that definitely is not ideal, Leila. I am surprised at you. What kind of girl did I raise?” And the clouds suddenly came back. She just sat there, looking at me, waiting to hear my defense. I didn’t have one really. All I could think of was how much I loved…both of them. Even I was confused, how could I possibly explain any of it to her.
“Mother, please,” I looked at her firmly, “I don’t need that right now. I fucked up. I’m sorry,” she looked like I had slapped her across the face. I never dropped the “f” bomb, but I couldn’t help it this time. I was furious. I had enough on my plate. I didn’t need her judgmental comments.
I stood up quickly and started to head toward the door. She caught my arm just before I was out of reach, standing abruptly as she did so. Face-to-face with her disappointment, I said nothing. I just stared into her eyes, waiting for her to make the first move. She returned my challenging glare before opening her mouth to respond.
“I am sorry, Leila. I did not mean to upset you but, honestly, how did you expect me to react hearing that? Please, stay for lunch, Lucille has cooked up your favorite, Lasagna. Just for you.” Her eyes softened as she practically begged me not to go. The only thing that would have been better would have been for her to grovel on her knees while she did it .
“Fine,” I returned shortly after some time. I did not want to give her the impression she had won, only that I had suspended our battle until later. She gestured toward the other side of the entry way and we both walked across the marble, our shoes clicking in unison as we walked past the leather couches and through another arched entryway. On the other side, a long dining table sat centered in a large room, dark oak chairs lined either side. Places were set for three people; one at the head would undoubtedly house my mother. As if she read my mind she grasped the chair at the head of the table on either side and slid it out. She carefully centered herself on the cushion as she lowered herself into the seat and pointed in the direction at the chair to her right. Obediently, I sat down and stared down at the place setting in front of me.
Expensive China was centered on a burgundy placemat woven with bits of gold threading. On one side, a crisp linen napkin was bound by a gold ring, the ends creased to form a fan shape. Several pieces of silverware were set on either side of the plate spaced perfectly apart. Bentley wandered into the room and took the seat to my mother’s left wordlessly. On his face, he wore a strange look. I couldn’t quite place it, but he looked pained. My thoughts were interrupted when a short, balding gentleman entered the room, a large silver tray perched on top of his head.
I marveled at his skill as he glided around the table effortlessly, placing a dome-covered plate on top of the China already in place on each of our place-settings before disappearing just as fast into the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. I briefly caught a glimpse of the stainless-steel counter tops as the door swung shut, shutting the magic butler inside.
My mother removed her napkin from its ring, shook it out and placed it on the center of her lap. I followed suit, remembering my mother’s passion for a well-behaved young lady. My feeble attempt to distract her from the facts I had told her earlier. She looked at me approvingly before glancing at Bentley who had also chosen to do as demonstrated by his wife. With a quick nod, she lifted the cover off of the plate in front of her, steam billowing out in large puffs as she did so, droplets of water that had formed along the dome inside clung on for dear life. She put the cover down to her left and picked up her silverware.
I heard my stomach rumble loudly as the aroma of her food reached my nose. I could almost smell the oregano in the homemade sauce that smothered layers of fresh pasta, melted mozzarella cheese and chunks of sausage. It felt as though I hadn’t eaten in weeks. My stomach would not allow me to ignore it any longer as I quickly removed the cover from my plate and dug in.
A cascade of flavors filled my mouth. I savored every cheesy bite until I had consumed the entire portion I had been given. Resisting the urge to pick up the plate and lick the sauce from its surface, I lifted the napkin from my lap and used it to wipe my mouth gently. I was still trying to appear lady-like, although that was made difficult by the way I had practically inhaled my lunch. My mother just looked at me amused, I noticed she had only eaten half of hers.
The rest of the meal was filled with idle chit-chat, filler for the awkward aura I had created. I vaguely wondered if Bentley had overheard what I had told my mother. His brief glances hinting at unspoken knowledge. I dismissed the thought and decided to tackle my other task. Something told me that now was a good time to ask.
“I was wondering if that offer for a position at your company was still on the table, Bentley?” It spewed forth from my mouth before I could come up with something clever to say to cushion the blow. They both looked at me after exchanging a quick glance.
“Had enough, huh?” Bentley was the first to break the silence. He winked at me from across the table and laughed. My mother had obviously filled him in on the strained relationship I had with my boss. If you only knew. The voice in the back of my mind intruded violently. I shook my head a little and played it off like I was laughing with him before I responded.
“Something like that,” I smiled in his direction. The sweetest smile I could muster.
“Sure thing, Leila. I can always use someone with your caliber of work-ethic and skillset at my company. Come by next week and fill out the paperwork with Human Resources.” The easiest interview in the world.
“I can’t thank you enough, Bentley,” I beamed at him. A weight had lifted off my shoulders and I started to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
“We shall see,” he returned, a twinkle in his eye caught my attention. I felt a surge of anxious energy course through my veins at his statement. He can’t possibly know. I was assured from somewhere in my mind.
Dismissing the thought quickly, I turned my attention to the chocolate soufflé that had replaced the empty plate. Careful not to waste a drop, I consumed the dessert almost as quickly as I had the lasagna. A satisfied feeling washed over me as I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my hand over my now bloated belly. More than just a food baby, this time! That voice again. I couldn’t place its mocking tone.
My mother walked me to the door when I was ready to leave. I had eaten myself silly and was beginning to feel a little sleepy. Somewhere on the Internet I had read that would happen. The baby was now consuming a lot of my energy to grow, sucking my will to stay awake for its own needs. She hugged me gently before I turned and made my way back to my car. I waved as I pulled my car away from the curb and headed toward the gate. There, I had done it.
-10-
I was looking forward to my visit with Mistress Liliana when I awoke the next morning. Desperately in need of a distraction, I rose from my bed late in the morning and dragged myself into the restroom. My stomach was swirling with protest. I had visited my porcelain friend several times since I had woken up. Exhausted from the effort
each time, I retreated back to the safety of my bed. After glancing at the clock on the bedside table, I decided it was high time I joined the living.
The hot water instantly brought me relief. It soothed me as it ran down my skin, so hot it almost burned as it traveled down to its final destination. I stood under the stream and let the heat steam build up, breathing it in deeply. Washing my skin quickly with the lavender body wash my mother had given me months ago, enjoying the scent of distant flowers, I finished my shower and turned the water off, just as it started to turn lukewarm.
Wrapping my red waves into a towel poised carefully on top of my head, I exited the shower and headed into the closet where I briefly considered several outfits before settling on a light, spaghetti strap sundress. Red with white flowers scattered across the fabric. I chose a white sweater and matching strappy sandals before exiting the closet and returning to my bedroom where I carefully laid the ensemble on my bed.
Nodding my head, satisfied with the outfit, I returned to the bathroom where I slathered lotion across every surface of my skin. My skin was incredibly dry and I had to work diligently to keep it soft and supple. Investing a good amount of money in skin care products was never out of the question. My mother had taught me to take care of my skin so that it doesn’t wrinkle up like an aging elephant as I got older. I silently thanked her for that because, even at 33 years old, not a sign of maturation could be found on my smooth, porcelain skin.
I put on the dress I had chosen and glanced at the mirror. I was satisfied with the way it hugged my curves in the right place, yet flared out below the waist, the hemline ending just above the knee. The red fabric set against my skin making it appear a perfect shade of pale. If there was such a thing. I slipped on a comfortable pair of cotton panties but left off the bra. My breasts were perky underneath, a slight glimpse of my hardened nipple beneath the thin fabric left the rest to the imagination, the way I liked it.
Leila: Goddess The Second Coming Page 6