by Celia Aaron
The thought was too much, and I came in a hard rush, ropes of cum lashing out of me as I saw her writhing beneath me, begging for my touch.
Her name was on my lips. Eden.
I woke early and set up my canvas on the beach.
The night before felt like a stunning erotic dream. I had to push the thoughts to the background just so I could focus on the grandeur before me. But if I wasn’t careful, thoughts of Eden rose and swirled like an eddy in the water, reminding me of something deeper.
The smell of the salt water hit my nose, and a light wind picked up. I painted as the sun rose, the hues of the sea and the sky informing each flick of my brush until I had a decent framework. The colors weren’t quite right. I’d need to do some more mixing before I could capture the feeling of the morning with the rhythmic waves and the clearing clouds. But this was a good first draft.
When I was finished, I strolled up to the water and sank my dark toes in the white, sugary sand. Even though I’d seen pictures and videos, I’d never seen such a wide expanse of water. I couldn’t begin to fathom its depth, the sheer mass of the water, or what lurked within it.
My thoughts strayed to Helen, and I wished she stood here with me. She would flounce along the sand, her braids swaying as she dashed away from the incoming waves. Her laughter was imprinted in my mind, high and melodic.
I turned toward the hotel and collected my paint supplies. Back in my room, I prepared the contracts on each of the deals Eden made the night before. Once the contracts were done, I went ahead and sent them to the brokers and buyers. I finished in time for a late breakfast at the hotel café.
Eden wasn’t there, but our car was scheduled to pick us up at 11:30 a.m. to take us to the airport. I had a coffee and a bagel as I waited. She stepped off the elevator at 11:35 a.m., dark glasses clamped down over her eyes and her hair swept back in a ponytail. She wore jeans and a black tank top. For about the twentieth time that morning, my thoughts strayed back to the way she looked the night before. Naked and beautiful. Mine.
She glanced in my direction, but continued toward the hotel doors. I imagined she might feel embarrassed. She shouldn’t. I wanted her to know that secrets were something I was particularly adept at, both making and keeping them. More than that, I wanted her to know how much last night meant to me and how much more I wanted from her.
I gathered up my bags and followed her to the waiting car.
“Morning.”
She raised her coffee cup in answer to my greeting and took a big swig. We settled into the backseat as the driver pulled away from the hotel.
“I saw you got the contracts out this morning. Good work. Once they come back, make sure you send them to the back office. We’ll need to get the deals funded and the deeds recorded as soon as possible.”
“Sure thing.” I was relieved she was back in business mode, her element.
“And we’ll need to start planning the true opening party. The building should be done for our purposes in three weeks, and we’ll be able to have the party at the site. The pool has already been poured, and I’ve told Gray to put the finishes together in the lobby and common areas on the first floor. Last night was great…” She paused as if catching the full meaning of her words after they were spoken. She cleared her throat. “Next time needs to be even better. Bigger. More buyers, more everything. Gray’s tight schedule means everything is riding on the sellout that night. I’m going to leave it all to you.”
“Understood.”
“I’ll be spending my time speaking with buyers and brokers between then and now. No doubt we’ll get more than a few calls from buyers who were reluctant to commit last night. I’ll just have to sweet talk them over the phone instead of in person.”
She whipped out her phone and started scrolling through emails. I could feel her dismissal. She’d turned back into Ms. Rochester, not the Eden who’d melted for me just hours before. I wasn’t surprised. I would just count the moments until I could make her transform for me.
We boarded the plane in silence. Tom tried to rib Eden a bit about being hungover from her big party. She was a brick wall. He shrugged and abandoned his efforts.
Takeoff wasn’t nearly as bad this time since I knew what to expect. My panic didn’t resurface, and I was able to enjoy the flight. Eden had once again donned her earbuds and begun working, likely sorting through the signed contracts that were being returned in fits and starts.
I gawked out the window again. When we took off, the sun glinted off the ocean so brightly it was almost unbearable to watch. I may have singed my retinas focusing on the scene, stamping it into my memory so I could sketch it at my first opportunity.
The flight seemed somehow shorter on the return trip, and Tom landed our plane smoothly back in Birmingham. A car waited for us.
Eden struck out ahead of me, hurrying toward the black sedan. Even in flats, her hips swayed as she went, a tantalizing pendulum. The driver took her bags and then motioned for me to hand him mine.
She plopped into the backseat and took out her phone, immediately engrossed. There was no talking to her at this point. She was intent on pretending I, and last night, didn’t exist.
We left the airport and hit I-20 when her phone rang. She scooted her sunglasses on top of her head and frowned at the screen.
“What?” I asked.
She glanced at the screen and then at me. “Nothing.” She swiped the screen to answer it. “Rosa?”
Her expression shifted from questioning to furious in moments. “He what? No, he can’t! Keep her inside. I’m coming home right now.” She looked into the rearview mirror. “Step on it. Now!”
The driver picked up speed, racing past the industrial furnaces and train tracks, past downtown, and up Red Mountain, the ridge of Appalachian foothills that hemmed in downtown Birmingham to the south.
“No, Rosa, no. Mason knows. He knows. Shit! He can’t do this. Where is Adele now? Just keep her preoccupied. And Mother’s gone? Thank God. Two minutes and I’m there. Don’t let him in.”
She hung up and threw the phone into her bag. Her hands were shaking.
I wanted to ask, to see if I could help. But her demeanor told me that now was not the time to ask her anything. The car sped up a long driveway surrounded by immaculate lawns and gardens. It ended in front of a three story stone home. It was immense, one of the largest clearly visible from downtown Birmingham. A white Mercedes was parked out front, and a man sat on the steps, leaning back on his elbows and sunning himself like he was at the beach. He had thinning blond hair and a deep tan.
As soon as the car stopped, Eden tore out and ran to the man. I followed, unsure of what was going on, but very sure that nothing would happen to Eden on my watch.
“Mason, you can’t fucking come here. You know that!”
“I just wanted to see her. She’s half mine, you know.” Mason stood, revealing a lanky frame underneath his dirty t-shirt and jeans.
“You’ve never wanted to see her.”
He slid his gaze up and down Eden’s body in an obvious manner. “It sure is nice to see you again, Edie.”
She crossed her arms across her chest. I took a step closer, hovering behind her and sizing up Mason. I knew I could drop him easily. I already wanted to, just from the way he spoke to Eden.
He flicked a glance at me. “Who’s your boy? Doesn’t seem like the company that the grand old Rochesters usually keep.”
I felt my spine tense at his choice of words. “Boy” was only one half-step up from the infamous word favored by white supremacists the nation over. Mason used it with a sneer and an air of superiority that I wanted to beat out of him. Anger roiled inside me, but I tamped it down. Not here. Not now. Not until he made the wrong move. And then, all bets were off.
“He works for me. You need to fucking leave, Mason.”
Mason smirked. “Makes sense. Anyway, I didn’t get a check last month, Edie, and you know how that upsets me.” He reached out to touch her face, but she duc
ked away.
I took another step, now standing right next to her. I balled my fists at my sides, and I waited. If he tried to touch her again, I would lay him out.
“Leave.” Eden’s voice shook.
He gave a shit-eating grin. “You know I can’t do that, Edie. I have to pay rent and buy groceries. How am I supposed to live? I thought we had a deal. If we don’t, just say so, and we can take this whole song and dance to court.”
Eden made a choked noise. “Don’t.”
“You know what you have to do then, Edie. By Tuesday, or I’ll be back when I know your mom’s home. Or maybe I’ll show up at Adele’s school. How would you like that? Just show up and say hi?”
“You heard her. Leave.” I met his eyes. They were beady, calculating.
“Or what? You gonna get me, attack dog?”
Eden put a hand on my arm. “It’s okay. Mason’s leaving. Tuesday. You’ll have it by Tuesday.”
“Now was that so hard, Edie? It wasn’t, was it? See, you do things like forget to write the check and make me show up here. I don’t want to, but you make me do it. Don’t make me do things you’ll regret. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about our little side bet, either. Get me that payoff and we can go our separate ways.” He jumped the two steps off the front porch and sauntered to his shiny Mercedes.
The only thing that kept me from grabbing him by the throat and choke-slamming him on the cobblestone drive was Eden’s hand on my arm. He started up the engine, a smooth purr, and tore off down the driveway.
Our driver, who I didn’t realize had walked up behind us, said, “Want me to call the cops on him?”
“No. It’s a private matter. Please don’t mention it to anyone.” Her words were clipped, but she was still shaking.
“I had half a mind to stomp a mudhole in his ass for you, Ms. Rochester,” the driver said.
That makes two of us.
“That won’t be necessary. Please just bring my bags.”
The front door swung inward, and an elderly woman in a maid’s uniform appeared. She moved with a little difficulty even in her support hose and white nurse shoes. Eden sprinted up the steps and hugged her.
“Rosa! Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Eden ran her hand around the old lady’s face, smoothing her hair back.
I peeked past them. The house beyond was plush and ornate. The staircase was wide, wider at the bottom and narrowing as it ascended. Glittering chandeliers and polished marble floors as far as I could see.
“No. No. He never came in. Just sat on the steps and demanded to see you.” Rosa launched into a series of Spanish curses.
“Thank God. Did Adele hear?”
“Did Adele hear what?” A girl of about eleven hurried around from behind the staircase. She was tall and had Eden’s face, but with blonde hair. “Oh, hey! You’re back. Good, I need help with this new book project I just got.” She walked up and hugged Eden, who clung to the girl as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
When she pulled away from the hug, the girl said, “Mom, what’s the matter?”
Mom?
Eden gave me a furtive glance. “I just, well, I’m just happy to be home. That’s all.”
The girl crossed her arms over her chest. She was the spitting image of Eden. “Okay, what’s going on? You’re acting weird.”
Eden looked like she might cry, she was so badly shaken. I hopped up the last step and into the house. “Hi. I’m afraid Eden is feeling a bit frazzled because we had such a crazy trip. I’m Jack, her assistant.”
“Oh.” Her raised eyebrows lowered a bit. Then she gave me a long look, a smile growing at the edges of her mouth.
I held out my hand. She took it, either buying my story or allowing the distraction. Eden turned and mouthed “thank you” to me.
Adele smiled demurely, the setting sun glinting off her braces. “I’m Adele.”
“Pleased to meet you. Your mother’s told me so much about you.” I narrowly stopped myself from giving Eden a side-eye over that little lie.
Adele didn’t seem to sense my subterfuge. Her smile grew even bigger. I disentangled my hand from hers, though she was reticent to release me. The foyer got awkwardly quiet.
“Well, on that note, I’d best be going. Eden, I’ll see you at work on Monday.” I turned to leave.
“Stay for dinner.” Adele piped up.
“Adele, honey,” Eden frowned. “Jack’s had a long trip. He needs to get home to see his family.”
“Is that true?” Adele’s style of questioning was straight from Eden’s handbook—terse and to the point.
I hesitated at the doorframe. “I should probably get home. That’s true.”
“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” She came around and linked her arm in mine, pulling me away from the entryway.
“Adele! You can’t just invite someone for dinner at the last minute. What if Jack has plans? What if Rosa didn’t make enough food?”
I couldn’t help but smile at Eden giving someone else lectures on manners. Adele grinned up at me.
“He wants to stay. Don’t you, Jack?”
“Well, I don’t think I should.” Getting involved in what was obviously a mother/daughter power struggle didn’t seem like a good idea at this point.
“Look, Mom, you scared him off.” The “happy now?” was implied.
Eden crossed her arms over her chest. “I did not. Jack can stay if he wants. I don’t care either way.”
“If you don’t want him to stay, I guess he should go…” Adele let go of my arm and gave a noncommittal shrug.
Eden threw up her hands. “Fine, Adele, fine. You win. Stay, Jack, if for no other reason than to entertain my badly behaved daughter.”
Adele squealed in triumph and started pulling me farther into the house.
“I’ll get another ride home,” I called over my shoulder to the driver. “Drop my bags at my address.”
Adele led me through a room with a black grand piano, then a hallway lined with huge canvas portraits. I wanted to stop and examine them, but she dragged me along through another series of doors, all dark and solid. Eden disappeared behind us. I wondered if I’d ever figure out how to navigate the maze back to the front door.
We entered a library, books lining the walls from floor to ceiling. The room was bigger than any house I’d ever lived in. She hurried to a corner with cushy chairs and pillows. I could tell this was her little den from the selection of books scattered on the tables and floor. Tons of teenage tomes—vampires in love with humans, deadly tournaments where children fought to the death—many of which I’d read, though I would never admit it to another soul.
She flumped down onto a threadbare but comfortable-looking couch. After scooting aside a stack of Seventeen magazines, I sat across from her in a tufted armchair.
She gave me a thorough once-over, smiling a little before settling her gaze on my eyes.
“So, you want to know why I invited you for dinner?” Her tone was conciliatory as she tucked some unruly blonde strands behind her ear.
“My sparkling personality?”
She slipped her feet up under her. “Because you are the first person I’ve ever met who’s not afraid of her. You actually call her Eden!”
I refused to think about how it came to be that I called her Eden, given I was in the presence of her daughter. “Well, yes.”
“She’s just so…” She rolled her eyes, looking even more like a miniature of her mother. “You know, stiff and stuff. Like, everyone’s afraid of her, so they say Ms. Rochester this, Ms. Rochester that. Blah blah. But you aren’t scared of her, are you?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer her question. Fear was something I had been intimately acquainted with for a number of years. I knew it inside and out, just like it knew me. The fear she was talking about was not the truest sort, the kind I’d lived with and worried I’d die with. But I supposed it was all relative. And I was glad fear for her was different than it was
for me.
“Hmm, you actually think before you speak. I never do that.” She put her pinky nail in her mouth and began chewing the tip.
I laughed. She was somehow both precocious and endearing. “It’s a skill. Just takes practice. And no, I’m not afraid of your mother. She’s just a person. Just like we’re people, sitting here talking. You and me.”
“But what if she fired you? Isn’t that scary?”
I shrugged. “I’d land on my feet.”
She blew air out her nose in a huff. “I want to be just like you. Cool and calm, no matter what.”
I shook my head. “Sometimes being cool and calm, as you said, comes on the other side of being rash and fiery. Then again, sometimes people are just different from the get-go.”
She stopped chewing her pinky. Unbelievably, she had even more intensity in her than her mother. “What kind are you?”
I cleared my throat. “What book report was it you said you had due?”
“Oh.” Her eyes opened wider as she perused me harder. “Oh!” She leaned over and frantically started digging in the nearest pile of books. After more than a few tomes landed with loud thunks against the wooden floor, she dragged out The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison.
I stifled my groan. Great book? Yes. Hit a little too close to home? Definite yes.
“This one.” She handed it to me. “Have you read it?”
“I have. Seems kind of heavy reading for an eleven-year-old?”
She frowned. “I’m almost twelve, and it’s not. It’s an AP class. I mean, it’s got some stuff in there that’s, well…” She looked away. “That’s dark, but it’s realism, you know?”
“I do. So you’ve read the whole thing, then?”
“Yeah. I’m supposed to give a report on the themes and write a paper from an opposite perspective.”