A Weekend with the Blakemores (The Blakemore Files Book 8)
Page 5
“Mama, stop this,” he told her. “You are flying to a tourist area. Eduardo’s home is a fortress. No one is going to transgress that man. You will be fine. I am certain that he has assigned people to look out for you from the moment your feet touch Colombian soil.”
“That is even scarier,” she told him, wringing his hands. “Dear Lord, I could use a drink.”
Saxton sat the muffin and cup down on the counter, gathering his mother in his arms. Her salt and pepper hair under his chin as he rested it upon her head. “I am so proud of you for staying the course. This is going to be a relaxing and fun week for you and Daddy. He is looking at this as a second honeymoon and a chance for some, and I quote, ‘sexy time with you’.”
Lucille pulled away, looking up at her now oldest son. “I swear that man is always after a snack, as he calls it.”
Saxton’s forehead furrowed.
“That’s how we made you. He came home from work for a midday snack and before I knew it you were here.”
“Say what now?” Saxton said stepping back, his mouth downturned. “I don’t need to know that Mama. I never needed to hear those words from you.”
“Oh quit acting so squeamish. I see that look in your eye when you think no one is watching. You are just like that man when it comes to your wife. I know what you mean when you call it breakfast.”
“Yeah, up until now, I never knew what Daddy meant when he said he was going to get a snack,” he said with a continued frown. Suddenly, the bran muffin seemed to congeal in his guts.
She pulled away, patting her hair. “Yes, he is quite the snacker,” she said with her cheeks pinking up.
“Ewwwww!” Saxton said grabbing the muffin and throwing it in the trash. “My appetite is ruined.”
Bobby Ray came down the stairs in a pair of khakis, a Hawaiian shirt, and baseball cap. His father never wore a baseball cap - not even to a baseball game. His feet sported a pair of sandals revealing the whitest toes he’d ever seen in his life. Saxton stared at his father’s feet noticing something he never knew before. Bobby Ray Blakemore had the same big right toe as Uncle Dusty. It looked like a penis. His mouth was ajar as he stood there, looking at them with new eyes. Lucille’s arms were wrapped around her husband as she wore a pair of ill-fitting Mom jeans, a raggedy pair of pink Nike’s and a pink tee shirt which actually read, ‘everything is bigger in Texas, starting with my butt’.
“Here son, take us pic of us Americans, going on vacation,” Bobby Ray said handing him his cell phone. He handed Lucille a fanny pack which she snapped around her waist with a grin as she posed for the picture.
Saxton snapped the photo as his father handed him a small notebook. “Just in case, son. Here are all of my account numbers, the value of each, what is easily liquefiable. There are sixteen wells in Corpus Christie which have not been in operation in years. Those are in reserve. If anything happens, have Connard turn them on. They are unlisted assets which can be used as collateral if you need more funds.”
“For what Daddy?”
“Just in case the key is not in the brass monkey at noon,” he said with a wink. To his wife he said as he kissed her on the forehead, “Let’s get this show on the road, Lucy Girl. I ordered us a limo with a privacy window in the back...in case Daddy wants a little snack on the way to the airport.”
Lucille giggled as she grabbed the ugliest purse Saxton had ever seen in his life. It was matted pink fur that had a face, with a huge set of red lips and winking eye with a long black eyelash. Bobby Ray swatted her on the butt in the jeans which made his mother’s ass look like a donkey walking sideways.
“See you in Colombia son!” Bobby Ray said while making his way to the front door. “The Blakemores are going on vacation!” The limo sat waiting for them under the porte-cochère with the driver holding open the back door. He watched his mother climb in the back seat removing first the fanny pack followed by the tee shirt. His father, unfastening his belt and pants before sliding in the back seat to join her for what Saxton assumed to be Daddy’s snack. His mother’s laughter rang out as the back door closed.
Saxton stood in the kitchen staring at the front door long after it had closed. Emotions which he could not voice covered him from head to toe, literally, as he tried to process what he was thinking. The first thing which came to mind was that he was grateful he must have inherited his mother’s feet. Then his mind wandered, curious to know if Connard, or even Belva had inherited the Blakemore big penis right toe. His next thought was to check Robbie’s big toe when he bathed him tonight.
It was only a few months ago he was in Panama, fighting side by side with Eduardo Delgado in the rescue of his brother-in-law and longtime co-worker/friend Marecus Roget, in which Roget lost the use of one of his eyes forcing his retirement from field work with the agency. Today he was learning more about his parents, genetic deformities in his family and that his Daddy likes to call sex with his mother a snack. The visual of his parents preparing for a snack in the backseat of a limo on their way to airport was burned into his brain like a bad scene from one of Mateo’s warehouses.
“What in the entire hell has happened to my life?”
Odessa made it downstairs a little after ten am to run into Dorinda, the head of domestic affairs in the Blakemore home. As far as she knew, there were five housekeepers with Dorinda serving as Lucille’s personal assistant. She’d been with the family for years and if Odessa wasn’t mistaken, she lived somewhere on the property if not in the house. Truthfully, she had not taken a tour of the whole house and really had no interest in doing so. She lived in her wing with Saxton which held a common space with a television and couch as well as three additional bedrooms and a nursery. From what she understood, a similar layout existed in Connard’s and Belva’s wings. The fourth wing of the house was never started after the death of Bobby Ray, Jr.
“Mrs. Blakemore, I need to know which china you would like to use for tomorrow’s luncheon. I have confirmed that there will be 30 in attendance. We have prepared the dining rooms for the arrival of your guests,” Dorinda said.
“What guests? What luncheon?” Odessa asked.
“The Daughters of the Alamo will be here tomorrow for the quarterly luncheon. It was Ms. Lucille’s turn to host,” Dorinda said, handing Odessa the card with six china patterns to choose from.
“Please call them and inform the ladies that Mrs. Blakemore has to cancel and the luncheon will be rescheduled,” Odessa said.
“Unfortunately, we cannot do that. The DOA has paid for the food, Ralph has been working for days, the staff has scrubbed this place from ceiling to floor and the guest are excited to meet Austin, who will be sworn in tomorrow as a Daughter of the Alamo,” Dorinda said with a tight lipped expression.
“Say what now?”
Grandma Patsy slowly made her way into the kitchen, rounding the corner to catch the tail end of the conversation. “Oh yeah, that is tomorrow isn’t it?” She said with a smile.
“Ms. Patsy, will you be attending this function with me?” Odessa asked with a glimmer of hope in her heart.
“Hell no,” Grandma Patsy said then called for Ralph.
“What do you mean no?” Odessa asked.
“I didn’t stutter dear. I have no intention of being there,” she said clutching at her chest.
It sparked an alarm in Odessa who reached for the old bird. “Are you feeling okay Ms. Patsy?”
“I feel fine. I just don’t want to nor do I feel like being bothered with that group of racist bitches,’ she said flatly.
Odessa’s eyebrows shot up along with Dorinda’s who quickly regained her composure.
“What? I’m not racist,” Grandma Patsy said. “I’m just picky about who I let into my family. I didn’t have a choice with you. Saxton showed up with you and said here. So here we are.” She called for Ralph again, who came from the back of the kitchen. “Ralph, I think I would like some pancakes this morning with bacon.”
She said it so casually, as if her w
ords had no weight and would dance on the currents in the wind.
“That makes me feel better,” Odessa said facetiously.
“Oh hush up,” Grandma Patsy said. “I love you and those babies. I respect your parents and I adore Ryanne, which is the only reason I am traveling to South America. I will defend you and put a bullet in anyone who tries to harm any of you.”
“Yet, you will not attend this luncheon with me in a room full of racist bitches, as you called them, which are walking through the front door of your home tomorrow to indoctrinate your great-granddaughter into a centuries old organization predicated on racism?”
“Yep, you are on your own,” Grandma Patsy said as Ralph came back with a cup of tea for her and a charger in which to rest her plate.
“I don’t get it,” Odessa said.
Old eyes which had seen more than she cared to admit turned to face her granddaughter-in-law. “You are Mrs. Blakemore. Being Mrs. Blakemore isn’t about just loving my grandson. He has a station in this life, even though he has fought against it. He is a part of Texas history and he and your children are a part of that equation. If anything were to happen to Lucy, it is your responsibility to take up the mantle and keep the Blakemore name active in social circles and civic organizations.”
Her food arrived as she cut into the pancakes, drizzling a modicum of sugar free syrup on the flour fried discs. “You can no longer hide in that shed you call an office talking about you are running an import and export business. You are a Blakemore and it is time you started acting like one. I will call my tailor and have her create you an appropriate wardrobe. Later today I will provide you with a list of organizations, or you can work with Belva to determine which ones you will champion, but starting tomorrow, Mrs. Blakemore, you will do your duty as Saxie’s wife and take your place in Houston Society.”
Odessa was floored. It was true and she knew it. Tomorrow she had to deal with many women she would see again in those social circles. She needed a new dress. I don’t have time to go shopping.
Grandma Patsy looked up. “I will call my tailor to bring you some dress choices to wear tomorrow,” she said taking in a forkful of pancakes.
“Thank you,” Odessa mumbled, walking away, with Dorinda at her side.
“Odessa?” Grandma Patsy called.
“Yes Ma’am?”
“Don’t change who you are dear, so please make tomorrow something those bitches will talk about for days...go with the all black china with white napkins with the white and gold chargers,” Grandma Patsy grinned as she grabbed the remote turning on the television in the kitchen to watch a gameshow. I am going to South America. I am going on a mini vacation.
Patsy Sterling hadn’t been on vacation in years. I am looking forward to getting out of this damned house.
Chapter Seven – The Lady of the Land
Monday – Las Tierras Verdes
It was a quiet morning in the house as Eduardo sat in the corner rocker holding Isabella, feeding her a bottle while her Mama slept soundly in the oversized bed. He was leaving within the hour for a meeting with the ‘Bushmaster’ himself, Aduviri Suarez Marca, head of the Peruvian cartel. In truth, he never liked the man. Something about him made the hairs on the back of Eduardo’s neck stand up whenever he was in close proximity to the little snake, however, he did respect him. The respect was mutual between the two men. He had not seen or spoken with him since his arrival in his home to witness his marriage to Ryanne, which was okay with him. Although they were the same age, Aduviri wasn’t a man who valued life nor women. He treated them pretty much the same way Mateo did – as property.
He held his daughter close as she finished off the bottle, lifting her small body to his shoulder as he gently patted her back waiting for her to burp. A distant memory returned to him from his youth. He was at a pool party at his Uncle Miguelito’s home in Argentina when the young men were pulled together to be given their new cartel names. The Peruvian Bushmaster, as Aduviri was called, was very similar to one of the deadliest snakes on the planet as was the man who bore the snake tattoo on his body. Eduardo’s tattoo which encircled only a portion of his body with a lump sitting in the belly of the snake right above his butt cheek. Aduviri’s tattoo coiled around his body three times with the head not resting in the center of his chest like the others. The head of the bushmaster came up over his shoulder with the fangs sank deep into the fleshy portion of his skin right below the collarbone. The 3-D rendering of the snake was possibly the most ominous, beautiful, and scariest thing he had ever seen.
The tattooist was a brilliant artist. Eduardo wanted to commission him, if he was still alive, to complete Yuńior’s tattoo, which he was due to receive on his seventeenth birthday. Other business as well needed to be addressed with Aduviri including his encroachment into Ecuador as well as moving too far north into the basin of Colombia. There was no doubt in his mind that the ‘Bushmaster’ was behind the FARC’s decision of voting no with the Colombian government. Eduardo also believed the man to be up to no good, once more. This would be his only attempt at a civil conversation with Aduviri. If his actions continued, it would also be Eduardo’s last exchange with him. Eduardo Delgado did not tolerate subversion. So much death in my lifetime, at my hands...
Isabella fidgeted against her father interrupting his thoughts with a loud burp. Gentle fingers checked her diaper for dampness. In the quietness of the semi lit room, he changed his little girl, placing her back in her bassinette as he headed for a hot shower before leaving for Peru. He hated these one on one meetings with a passion. As the head of the cartel for the America’s, bringing the drug czars into the twenty-first century with legitimate business dealings may be the only reason he was free to travel among them with no fear of losing his life. In the past six months, profits amongst the cartel leaders had doubled, lives were spared and underground operations had been cut by a third. Yet, in his heart he knew, some people were just no good with no real desire to do right, when doing wrong felt more powerful.
Eduardo washed his body quickly, feeling rather powerful himself. He wanted time with his wife before he left. In the last few months of her pregnancy, he implemented his discipline, limiting himself with intimate times with her. The final month of her pregnancy, he abstained altogether. A task which sounded simple, but lying down beside her each night unable by his own design to touch her, strengthened his relationship with Jesus. He spent a great deal of time in prayer. Ryanne was able to be with him now, and this morning, he needed to be with her.
He exited the shower, leaving the bathroom light shining into the bedroom, casting just enough light to fight off the darkness, but not enough to create a shadow of him. A towel hung loosely about his waist as he entered the bed chamber, watching her sleep. A pillow rested between her knees while she lay on her side, the covers half off her body revealing one firm buttock. Desire rushed through him as he walked around the bed stopping at the foot. He tapped on her toe, pulling the pinky toe until she moved. In the eight months of marriage, he had never forced her, or imposed himself upon her. And he never would.
Ryanne turned slightly in the bed, rolling over slowly to her back, her knees slack as the pillow gave way hitting the floor. The night gown bunched at her waist providing a bird’s eye view of her, forcing blood to rush low, filling, engorging, stimulating his desire for her even more. He tugged at her foot some more until sleepy eyes cracked, to see him standing at the foot of the bed. His finger pressed to his lips. Her eyes flew open.
“Isabella?” She asked.
He shook his head no.
“Yuńior?” she asked.
His forehead furrowed.
“What’s wrong?” She whispered coming up on her elbows looking at the clock. It read 4:00 am. His finger pointed at his chest. “I need you,” he said.
“Eddie, is everything okay?” she asked, wiping at her eyes, blinking, trying to adjust them to see her husband.
“Ryanne, will you receive me?” He whispered.
She nodded her head in consent as the towel fell away. Her feet rubbed together as he rounded the side of the bed, goosebumps forming on her arms at the determined look on his face. The gown she wore, she pulled upwards, under her chin exposing her full breast to the coolness of the room, the buds hardening the closer he came to her. His dark eyes boring into her as the hunger on his face made everything in and on her body tingle in anticipation. She relaxed her knees giving him a clearer view of the moisture clinging to the girl curls. No warm up was needed. She was ready for him.
Eduardo slid into the bed, curling up next to her, seeking her warmth, but Ryanne didn’t want Eddie’s gentle ministrations this morning. The line was so fine between the cartel leader Eduardo and her husband Eddie. She had learned how to pull the dichotomy out of two souls in one body, to spend time with the version of the man she wanted in her bed. A handful of his hair filled her hand as she tugged at the dark tresses until he winced from the pain. Her nails scored across his belly as he inhaled deeply, uncoiling to his full six-foot length, ready to strike. Eduardo moved quickly. He rolled over her, Ryanne’s hands still fisted in his hair as he roughly pushed her thighs apart, positioning himself between her legs. His mouth lowered to capture the taut bud between his teeth, biting down. Ryanne’s back arched, giving him more access as his tongue flicked against the hardened nipple, the hardness of him rubbing against the nub of flesh in her womanhood, bringing more moisture. Her passion fueled, she tugged at his hair, pulling his ear closer to her mouth, sinking her teeth into the tender flesh of his lobe.