Crook & Flail

by Maira Isabel Pita

  She reaches for it.

  He pulls his hand back, grinning.

  She fishes a handful of Egyptian bills out of her purse and he promptly snatches up the astronomical sum, tossing the slip of paper at her feet as he runs off.

  Crouching behind her suitcases like a little girl in a play fortress, she reverently folds open the ruled sheet of paper, frayed on one side from where it was torn out of a spiral-bound notebook.

  Sa-eeda also means hello.

  It’s your decision, princess.

  I love you.

  Bon Voyage,

  Mark

  A golden ankh ring is taped below the neatly printed words.

  The black cat meows urgently.

  She looks up and sees Richard approaching.

  She quickly throws the note into her purse and stands up.

  “I see you’ve found yourself another handsome little stray, Lucia.”

  Native men begin whisking away their suitcases.

  “Can I keep him?” she asks inanely.

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “But he’s starving.”

  “Then I’ll set up a trust fund for him. Boy!” He commands the attention of a native youth. “Here, boy, this money’s for you and this money is for you to buy food for this cat. The ancient Egyptians worshipped cats and I trust you to take care of this one the same way your ancestors would have. If you use this money for anything other than cat food, Bastet will haunt your dreams in her fierce and terrible form of Sekhmet the warrior lioness. Understand? Now run along and take the animal with you. There, are you happy now, my love? Your cat will eat very well for at least one of its nine lives, or for a day or two, whichever comes first.”

  A “modest” white limousine is waiting for them outside.

  She glances over a sentinel row of palm trees at the pyramids on their hill, the same warm gold of Mark’s skin between the open folds of a blue shirt…

  The limousine pulls away from the curb with the smooth silence of a whale diving into a sea of smaller fish rushing frantically around it.

  She looks out her window but the pyramids aren’t visible from this angle. “Isn’t it impossible, not to mention illegal, to fake your own death?” she asks casually.

  “Not if you’re impossibly rich.”

  “That explains why all of a sudden your lawyer had gray hair.”

  “I made it well worth his while.”

  “I’m sure you did. He was so convincing I really believed it was your will he was reading me. That’s why Julian didn’t let me see your body and why he insisted on having you cremated. But if you’ve been alive all this time,” she goes on as if it doesn’t matter, “how could you have let me sleep with another man?”

  “I couldn’t very well stop you without confronting you and you weren’t ready for me. I must say, you surprised me. I was counting on you remaining faithful to me just a little while longer at least. Obviously you weren’t, but I forgive you. After all you did believe I was dead. And I suppose you deserved a little reward for being so very unhappy without me.”

  “And what about you?” She can’t look at him. “Do you expect me to believe you’ve been celibate all this time?”

  “You don’t seem to understand how seriously injured I was, Lucia.”

  “You must have been half dead!”

  “By the way, what did that boy give you?”

  “What boy?” she asks, even though she knows it is hopeless—she was never able to keep anything from him.

  “What did he give you, Lucia?”

  She finally catches sight of the pyramids again. “My fortune,” she improvises.

  “How quaint. What lies in your future, if I may ask?”

  “A divorce, on the grounds of psychological abuse and mental anguish.”

  “How amazingly specific. And they say astrology isn’t a science.”

  She laughs—she can’t help it.

  He reaches for her hand and holds it lightly in his on the seat between them. “If that’s what you want, but first let me tell you that the control I gave you over a large sum of my money while I was playing dead is real and permanent. No one can take it away from you, not even me.”

  She reclaims her hand and rests it on her purse, guarding Mark’s note like the key to love’s inscrutable hieroglyph.

  “If you leave me, Lucia, it will only give me the pleasure of winning you again.”

  “But you’re still officially dead, aren’t you?” She smiles at him.

  He stares soberly into her eyes. “Whatever turns you on.”

  It is a long moment before she replies, staring out her window, “That’s a very dangerous thing to say.” Yet, as always, his words seem to caress her soul.

  “You enjoy a touch of danger, my love.”

  “But I loved you so much,” she whispers, meeting his eyes. “How could you just disappear from my life like that?”

  He turns his profile toward her. “I explained why.”

  “I should have been there with you, Richard, helping you get through it.”

  He looks out his window. “I didn’t want your help.”

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t delude yourself, Lucia, if you’d seen me the way I was…”

  “What? I would have stopped loving you? I’m sorry you believe that but the truth is your pride meant more to you than I did! I would never have stopped loving you!”

  “That’s not the kind of love I want from you,” he replies coldly.

  “What the hell do you mean by that? Love is love, for Christ’s sake!”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Do your parents know you’re alive?”

  “Yes, they always knew.”

  “I was the only one close to you who thought you were dead? How could you do that to me?”

  He finally looks at her again. “You would have sat by my bed day and night, holding my hand and crying and telling me how much you loved me. That would have gone on for a few months at most and then you would only have been there during the day because at night you would have been out getting laid by young studs like Mark.”

  She whispers in order not to scream, “How dare you say that? I thought you were dead for nearly two years before I even looked at another man!”

  “And yet you still wanted me. Even when you were with him, you still wanted me. And do you know why, Lucia? Because I wasn’t trapped in a half-paralyzed, useless body. I possessed all the power of the unknown and there was always the exciting possibility that I would come to you in the night if you wanted me enough. It would have been a much bigger betrayal of the nature of your love for me to drag you through hell with me. Do you know what hell is, Lucia? I’ll tell you what hell is. Hell is being totally dependent on others for everything. Hell is being completely, fucking impotent. That’s what hell is. The man you loved was dead. But now he’s alive again. And you were so wet for me last night, Lucia, I thought I’d drown.”

  “Would you like to know what Mark said about fucking me? He said the harder he fucked me the sweeter and tighter my pussy got.”

  He grabs a fistful of her hair and says in an undertone, “You’re going to tell me everything he did to you, Lucia, every way he had you. Did you suck his cock?” He looks her straight in the eye. “Answer me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he come in your mouth?”

  “Yes.” She closes her eyes. “I thought you were dead, Richard.” She sighs. “I thought you were dead!”

  He lets go of her hair, takes a deep breath and sits back. “Later, you’re going to tell me everything he did to you. Right now you’re going to show me what that boy gave you.”

  She quickly opens her purse and hands him the heavy slip of paper as she looks out her window again.

  Trapped inside the limousine’s luxurious belly, she can barely hear the rush of the traffic around them.

  “A distasteful mix of languages,” he remarks disdainfully, tearing the ring off the paper, “a
nd a cheap gift. These rings are a dime a dozen at the bazaar. It would turn your finger green.” His arm pins her back against the seat as he reaches for her door.

  The window slides open.

  “What are you doing?” she cries.

  He flings the ring out into traffic and the dark glass rises again swiftly, once again sealing them in a tomb-like stillness and silence. Then he reaches into his breast pocket for his silver lighter and, her ability to react mysteriously frozen, she watches as he burns Mark’s note then casually rubs the ashes into his black jeans.

  * * * * *

  When the limousine comes to a stop, Richard tells her to wait inside.

  Her body perfectly supported by the skin-soft, bone-colored leather, Lucia relishes being left alone for a moment.

  She gazes out at the sparkling blue water of the Nile visible through one window. The dusty shells of parked cars are framed in the other.

  Shock is weaving a numbing, soothing cocoon around her feelings.

  Her door opens eventually and she steps out into the atmosphere’s clinging warmth. It is another beautiful morning in Egypt.

  “I’ve booked us a suite on the Sistrum,” Richard informs her. “A Nile cruise is just what we both need right now to get reacquainted. Wasn’t a sistrum an ancient Egyptian instrument?”

  “Yes, similar to a tambourine. It was played by temple priestesses, especially priestesses of Hathor.”

  “By whores.”

  “They were priestesses,” she snaps.

  Smiling, he takes her arm as they walk toward the pier together. “They were consecrated to the goddess of love and pleasure, the priests’ playthings.”

  “Whatever.”

  The Sistrum’s polished wooden decks are elegantly appointed with shining brass railings.

  “How many other people will be on board?” she asks.

  “No more than ten, I imagine. There are only five cabins.”

  Of course, Mark could never afford a room on the Sistrum, assuming he was even able to get a reservation on such short notice. Yet he had known Richard was taking her on a cruise,—he had written Bon Voyage at the end of his note. She wonders how much baksheesh it cost him to find out where they were headed and to make sure the boy waited until she was alone to hand her his note and begins cherishing the unlikely hope that he is planning to follow her up the Nile.

  * * * * *

  Their cabin is surprisingly spacious and furnished with antiques that give it the Victorian elegance enjoyed by wealthy travelers over a century ago, when Europe was obsessed with everything Egyptian.

  She takes refuge in the bathroom, much longer than necessary because she wants to be alone. When she finally emerges Richard has nearly finished unpacking.

  “There you are. Now I remember how you always took forever in bathrooms.”

  Her pulse trips over his smile. “Richard,” she whispers, suddenly amazed to find herself standing there as if nothing miraculous had happened. “Am I dreaming?”

  He drops a neatly folded shirt and rushes to her side. “No, my love,” he says gently. “I’m here.” He takes her in his arms.

  She relishes the feel of his thick shoulders, overwhelmed by the feather-soft caress of the hair at the nape of his neck and the blessedly familiar scent of his skin, which invariably makes her think of a northern sea with just a hint of salt in the air. “Oh God, you’re alive,” she whispers in awe. “You’re alive!”

  “Yes, I am and no more drinking and driving, I promise.”

  She laughs to catch her breath. “We’re on a boat!”

  “Hmm, so we are.”

  She is holding his warm, breathing, undeniably living body in her arms yet she can’t believe it. “Oh, Richard…” There is only one way she can really prove to herself that grief didn’t drive her mad and that she didn’t just imagine last night… She grabs the shirt over his chest and pulls him over to a chair. Its delicate frame barely looks strong enough to hold his weight but she doesn’t care. She wants to ride him like she did Mark, only now her soul won’t be somewhere else.

  “No, my love,” he says. “Come here.” He slips an arm around her shoulders and leads her over to the bed.

  “Oh, Richard,” she whispers, “it just hasn’t sunk in yet.”

  “I thought it sank in pretty good last night.”

  She laughs again breathlessly. Her chest is so accustomed to heaving sobs that this new feeling of joy is like pure oxygen pumped straight into her lungs. It is making her so strangely lightheaded she feels on the verge of fainting, which makes her welcome his steadying grip on her arms even more.

  “Look at me, Lucia.”

  She stares at his chest in a black button-down shirt, unable to obey him.

  His hands slip down her bare arms, grasp her hands and squeeze them painfully.

  “Oh!” She cries and looks up into his eyes. Their storm-gray depths arrest hers, making it impossible for her to look away.

  “I’m here,” he whispers, pressing her hands again gently, reassuringly. “And when it comes for real, death will make us one.”

  Her gaze falls to the hard line of his mouth. His long, thin lips feel like the edge of a blade against her heart and his stare is the sharp point penetrating her. All her feelings flow into his hand like blood as he promises her eternity and her soul believes him. With a small moaning breath, she sets about trying to express how he makes her feel. She wrests her hands out of his and rips his shirt open. She can’t possibly bother with buttons now, she has to get at him. Fortunately, like last night, he understands and shrugs the shirt off casually, as if it isn’t the black dirt of the grave from which she is passionately reclaiming him.

  Resting her hands on his hips, she runs her tongue up the center of his body from his navel to his chest. She buries her face between the gentle slopes of his pecs, closing her eyes to lose herself in the slightly rough, sparse forest of his dark hair. She licks and sucks one of his firm nipples then moves hungrily on to the other one, catching it between her teeth and biting it as she runs her hands up his back. She wants this man so much, more than anything in the universe. She plants her palms against his chest and slides them up to his shoulders, savoring the feel of his flesh envelope as she stands on tiptoe in her high-heeled sandals and sinks her teeth into the vulnerable hollow between his neck and shoulder.

  She moans and moans in a fit of rapture as she sucks on him, tempted to bite him hard enough that she punctures his fine skin and draws his blood up into her mouth.

  He allows her to feast on him while reaching behind her and unzipping her dress. Then he pushes her away.

  She quickly pulls the slight garment off.

  His mouth looks even harder as he takes in the white satin bra and panties. Her torso is still a creamy rose but her arms, chest and most of her legs are a lovely golden hue.

  She tosses her long hair behind her so nothing obstructs his view. She is aware of her breasts rising and falling as her breaths come faster the longer he stares at her while very slowly and deliberately undoing his trousers.

  She is about to pounce on him hungrily and yank his pants down.

  “No,” he says firmly and forces her to watch him undress. He bends over to remove his shoes and socks then straightens and gives her a penetrating stare as he pushes his slacks down and pulls them off along with his black underpants. His movements are so relaxed that when he abruptly yanks her bra cups down to expose her breasts and pulls her to him, her head is flung back. She gasps with perfect pain and pleasure as he sucks viciously on one of her nipples. He bites it, pulling on it with his teeth and caressing it with his tongue.

  “God, I missed your nipples,” he mutters, transferring his attention to her other rosy nimbus, which was aching with jealousy and now blooms with exquisite sensations between his hard lips.

  “Oh, Richard!” She grips his head with both hands and presses his face into her breast, crushing its tender fullness with his hard features while relishing the contras
t of his hot breath on her skin and the soft, cool flow of his hair between her fingers.

  He shoves her breasts up and together. “That’s where I want to feel my cock first,” he informs her.

  His erection knocks against her belly, causing a minor flood between her thighs, soaking her panties with how much her pussy wants it.

  Falling to one knee as if genuflecting in church, he pulls her panties down.

  She steps out of them.

  He snaps her bra open in front but she is too impatient to slip it off before sinking to her knees and fervently giving him what he wants—the sensation of his cock cocooned between her soft breasts. He bends his knees and his hands rest on her head as he slides the length of his shaft slowly up and down between her breasts. She digs her chin into her chest as his head comes close enough to her lips that she can flick her tongue passionately over his beloved glans.

  It is his turn to moan as he masturbates himself with her breasts, his fingers tightening into talons around the egg of her skull.

  She loves the feel of his excitement growing between her breasts but other parts of her body are desperately longing for the same honor. So when he finally straightens up and slips his erection firmly into her mouth the sudden pleasure blinds her. Yet she barely tastes him before he withdraws the gift and pulls her painfully to her feet by the hair.

  His eyes push her back across the bed without his having to say a word. She raises her legs for him and he positions her sandaled feet on his shoulders. Then he slips his hands beneath her hips and his swift, hard thrust arches her back as he forces her tight wet depths open around him. When he pulls all the way out of her again, she feels emptier than she ever has in her life. She clutches the bedspread in an agony of disappointment and anticipation, her heart and soul so excitingly penetrated by his stare that her body writhes in torment at being left out.

  “Please!” she begs. “I need you!”

  His hands still under her, he pushes her knees down toward her chest as he bends over her. Gently, his head parts her slick lips before he abruptly drives his whole cock into her again, shocking her to the core of her being with pleasure.

  It is such a relief to have him filling her again that she sighs and closes her eyes.