But my mind was set.
The night in my apartment would be the last time I’d meet with Tom – he’d pointed out that seeing a detective would likely raise suspicions.
This was disappointing, but a quirk of fate I could not avoid.
I offered him beer when we first settled into my living room and he happily accepted, then I sat close to him on the sofa as we hovered over a yellow tablet with a list of important tasks I was to carry out.
I’m not sure what swept us into each other’s arms so quickly, but hardly a minute after the list was finalized, we were grabbing for each other’s bodies in a frenzy of sexual heat. I’d known from the outset of the evening that the slow moving beat of my arousal was gaining steam with each minute in the man’s company. Perhaps it was just his kindness that I found so attractive. Although my lust could also have its source in the man’s dogged authority, in the way he outlined exactly what I needed to do as if he were a protective father instructing a child. I’d been learning that this sort of assumptive control from a man tended to arouse me in unusual ways.
When suddenly his hand grazed mine I felt a tingle of desire quicken my senses. When his hand swept across my thigh, I turned and looked into his eyes. The flutter of desire that engulfed me assured that our lips would meet. Long, slow kisses followed, the kind where one leads to another leads to another until we couldn’t stop ourselves – nor would we have wanted to.
We did stop, if only to look each other in the eye and decide if this was a foolish mistake or something that we were prepared to finish. I guess we both came to the same conclusion at the same moment, and suddenly found ourselves engaged in a tumult of overpowering hormones and lust refueled with every new kiss.
He tore my clothes away. I tore at his. We rolled about my narrow couch, then fell to the shaggy carpet below madly grappling for each other’s bodies. He entered me swiftly with a cock that speared my insides so determinedly that a grinding climax erupted almost immediately inside my body. I screamed as my inner muscles clamped down against his aggressive cock, then I rocked inside his consuming arms while the rhythmic action of his organ brought me close to that exhilarating edge. As he gained steam, my body continued to spasm in what seemed like never ending waves of pleasure. When he finally ejaculated, another powerful climax shook me from that moment to some sweet bliss beyond. Finally opening my eyes on the exhausted Tom Quinn, I realized what an amazing thing had just taken place.
“You okay?” he looked at me as he curled up into a sitting position and gently stroked my face. I hadn’t realized until then that I’d been crying.
“Ohmygod! I’m fine. I’m more than fine,” I laughed through the bevy of tears. “I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed what’s good from a man…” Until that night, Ryder had stripped me of any desire to be with a man. All I’d known since that incident in the woods was fear; even two years later that fear remained – although apparently there’d been a crack in the great wall of my defenses that Tom Quinn had used to gain what no other man but Jon Ryder knew. Sighing happily, I said, “I think you’ve restored my faith.”
“Your faith?” He looked at me suspiciously.
“In men. There are good ones amongst the bad apples.”
“I just ravaged you, and you think so kindly of me?”
“Didn’t I ravage you back?” I pointed out.
“Well, I suppose so.”
I felt strangely bashful in his company. Given what Ryder had made me do in the past, being naked with men I hardly knew shouldn’t have been so weird for me. But in the company of a man who really cared about me, who was as generous with his affection as he was his sexual prowess, I felt young and vulnerable and self conscious. I also felt warmed inside by his inherent humanity.
Without even thinking, I asked, “Would you like to spend the night?”
“You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I mean, we know that it can’t mean anything, not with me taking off across the country, but it would be so nice to have someone to hold me…”
“Then I’d be happy to stay,” he replied. He gently ran his hand down my cheek and with it brought me forward to meet his lips again. “I’m not sure what this says about my professional ethics, but I think the last few minutes have already condemned me.”
“Well, then we’re in the same boat,” I smiled. “Might as well enjoy ourselves.”
Chapter Six
The day had been warm but a chilling fog was creeping inland, bringing with it the sharp stench of the ocean, which aggressively attacked my nose and eyes. I drove through thick bands of grey, only to break out into the dazzling sunshine, then moments later dive into a bank of teasing clouds, transparent white that shifted before my eyes. A narrow switchback in the road took me away from the ocean until the road evened out for another half mile when it slowly descended into the coastal valley and the town of Rio Marinas. Tiny. Picturesque. With just enough fishing commerce and salty old residents to keep the place sensible and out of the hands of developers who would have quickly turned it into another Carmel by the Sea. I dropped down onto the main thoroughfare, noting the small shops, which included quaint galleries amongst fishmongers, a farmer’s market, a hairdresser, dry cleaner and video store. There was a typical coffee shop at the end of the block, kitty corner from a blue and white gas station. My ten year old blue Jeep Cherokee maneuvered through the business district then finally pulled up to a single-story yellow frame building: Bessie’s Soul Food Diner.
I would have expected the shabby place somewhere in the south, but on the California coast? Yes, it seemed a little out of place, but that certainly didn’t deter the locals from savoring Bessie’s soul food classics. At two in the afternoon, after the lunch crowd had already gone back to work, the diner was still doing a brisk business, both from the takeout window and at the lunch counter inside. A pair of businessmen in suits and a mother with three squawking children were eating at picnic tables arranged on the concrete slab outside – calling it a ‘patio’ would make the area sound a lot more formal than it was. When I moved inside, I found the ebullient chaos of a busy diner, where huge plates of steaming food were served to customers sitting at six tables and the long lunch counter. A waitress shouted orders to the fry cook, and the big black man shouted back with a big grin on his face. Meanwhile, the granddame of Bessie’s Soul Food Diner was washing up the counter in front of two customers who were arguing politics. In the midst of their conversation was Bessie, stating her opinions; whether welcome or not, it was hard to say, but no one seemed to take offence. I smiled to myself seeing the woman work her way amongst her customers dishing up hugs, sympathy and opinions with as much ease as she dished out fried fish, grits and sweet potato pie.
With my stomach warning me that I’d not fed myself for nearly a day, I was looking forward to a generous helping of Bessie’s food, although I couldn’t help but note the ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the window.
I sat at the far end of the counter, away from where Miss Bessie was engaged in a spirited argument, and ordered the fried chicken and coleslaw. Hardly two minutes later a big plate of food was set before me by Bessie herself.
“This looks terrific!” I looked into her big warm eyes and she looked back with a pleasant smile.
“That’s becuz it is, honey. This is the best food anywhere on this coast. And that aint’ braggin’ either, that’s the truth.”
I laughed, giddy from the warmth that grabbed me in its invisible arms, a place as comfortable as home itself. And since I didn’t have a home at that particular moment this seemed like the perfect place to sit a while and soak up the local atmosphere.
“You enjoy it now,” she ordered me with her finger wagging. “You look like you need a good meal.”
“I do. And I’m sure I’ll love it.”
She sashayed away, her big hips rolling as she walked on to greet one of her regular customers with a real hug.
Maybe it was just my raging hunger but this
was the best tasting food that I’d had on my trip across the country. I polished off all the coleslaw, ate the chicken till I was full, and saved two pieces for later. Then I ordered a big piece of blackberry pie that had been staring me in the face since I’d sat down at the counter.
When Miss Bessie returned to take my plate away and hand me the bill, she asked:
“Everythin’ okay?”
“It was perfect.”
“That’s good.” Like she didn’t expect me to say anything else.
“Are you Miss Bessie?” I finally asked, even though I already knew exactly who she was.
“Sure am.”
“I see you have a help wanted sign in the window.” I turned around and pointed to the tag board sign.
“I sure do, honey.” She stood up a little more officially, as if the job interview had just begun.
“I need a job, and was wondering if I could apply for the position?” I rattled on carrying my hopes inside my pleasing eyes.
“Apply? Don’t know that there’s any applying to be done,” she said. “Can you wait tables?”
“Sure.”
“Cook?”
“I’m sure if you showed me. I’m a quick learner.”
She scrutinized me for nearly a minute, while I sat back on the barstool, chagrinned and vulnerable. She saw the whole new me, not knowing that just a week before I was a very different woman. Gone was the long red hair, replaced by a darker auburn hairstyle – the kind I’d never worn before – short, spiky and definitely in vogue. My lesbian friends back home would have loved it but they never got the chance to see this version of the new me. Nor would they ever. They were as much my past as Ryder was, as law school, the drive for success, and the kindness of Tom Quinn who helped arrange the transition. Would Miss Bessie see a façade or would she see the real girl? It was tough to tell; Miss Bessie wasn’t the kind to give anything away until she was ready. But she did say exactly what I needed to hear that afternoon.
“Yeah, honey, I’ll bet you are a quick learner. And you need money, right?”
“I do, I just moved here.”
“I see.”
She was cautious, as she should have been. I’ll give her credit for that.
“So, you’re new in Rio Marinas?”
“My first day.”
“You’re not runnin’ away from something, are you girl?”
“No, not at all.” I hoped that I sounded convincing, but I wasn’t sure that I got anything past that women. I had the feeling that she could see motives even through a lead shield – or what would be my carefully crafted story to explain my sudden move to this tiny town.
“So what’s your name, honey?”
“Samantha Ross.”
“Samantha Ross. Now there’s a pretty name. And I suppose if you need money, Samantha Ross, I got a sink full of dishes that needs washing. That’s what I need today. You can start right now.”
“Oh, thank you!” I beamed, while practically falling off the barstool. “Hard work is exactly what I need.”
For reasons I could not explain, working in Miss Bessie’s Soul Food Diner had become the most important thing in my life. I think if she rejected me I would have been crushed. But she’d given me exactly the boost I needed to confirm that I was on the right track with my previously fucked-up life. She showed me into the back, and to where I could put my backpack and sweater, then after handing me an apron, she led me to big stainless steel sinks filled to the brim with dirty pots and pans.
If Tom Quinn thought it wise for me to ‘seek a different means of employment’ from the law offices I was familiar with or other easily traceable occupations, as he referred to them, then certainly Miss Bessie’s Diner would be the kind of employment he’d suggest. I wanted to call and tell him about my quick success in Rio Marinas, but that was strictly forbidden. He and everyone else in my former life were strictly off limits. At no time should I try to contact him, ever again, he said with a grave firmness in his voice. “I don’t even want to know where you are.”
Ours had been a reluctant parting but one I had to make. I said that I wanted a new life, and once in my new home, I needed to act as if I never had a past.
From two in the afternoon to nearly eight that evening I washed dishes for Miss Bessie. My hands were a mess and my face almost blistered from heat. Every bone in my body ached, and yet I was happier than I’d been in a long time.
When I was finished for the night, Miss Bessie gave me a sack of food and a small stack of fives and ones from the cash register. Minimum wage was all I could expect, but with the added perk of dining on soul food everyday, it wasn’t a bad deal at all.
“Now, you got some place to stay, honey?” Miss Bessie asked me as I was on the way out the door.
“No, but I think there is a motel just down the highway. That should do until I find a more permanent place.”
“Oh no, girl! No. Don’t you dare go there. You head up to Miss Inez right now. Her boarding house is on Second St., a clean room and a nice view of the ocean. A nice young girl like you needs a proper place to stay and that motel ain’t nothin’ but a hangout for bums and druggies.” She gave me a stern look and pressed a business card into my palm, then shooed me out the door.
The light above the glassy ocean was filled with the brilliant colors of the setting sun. The evening was perfect, the air was warm and peaceful and not a hint of that thick soupy fog. I drank in the aroma of the salt air, the smell of fried food that lingered around the diner, and the refreshing scent of freedom that already seemed to have worked its way inside my bones.
Was that possible? Freedom from Jon Ryder and his revenge?
I was in a new home, yes a new home, with a whole new cast of characters to enjoy, and no vengeful ex-fiancé anywhere around. Kristen Davies had no way of protecting herself from that man, but perhaps Samantha Ross did.
The boarding house on Second St. was a throwback to another century: a big frame house with a broad porch across the front that wrapped around its right side to the back, where, if I had the time I could have sat in one of the rocking chairs and watched the sun slip past the horizon. Set on a hill, there was no obstructed view of the ocean, just a small cliff down to the sloping sands and grasses to the beach itself. The house was flanked on either side by newer condominiums, and still it stood its ground as a reminder that it had endured years of the ocean’s tumultuous reign and was still as strong and proud as ever.
I might have lingered for a while to enjoy the beauty of the scene, but aware that it was getting late, I wanted to make my introduction to Miss Inez before she closed her doors for the night.
Answering my knock, a small, white woman peered around the side of the open door, scrutinizing me carefully through thick glasses.
“Miss Bessie sent me. I’m Samantha Ross.”
She looked me over from head to toe, as if she were trying to remember who I was. Then she opened the door wider, exposing a little more of herself, the blue print housedress and her sturdy black shoes. “Yes, yes, indeed you are,” she said in a small but pleasant voice.
There was no broad smile, no remarks about the nature of the world and politics, not much conversation at all. She was the polar opposite of Miss Bessie, creeping silently while Miss Bessie bustled with confidence. Miss Inez politely showed me inside, then handed me a pamphlet outlining her prices – rent by the week, the month, or the year. But NO single nights, printed in big bold letters. Weekly rents must be paid in advance, the copy was quite clear on that point. Miss Inez wouldn’t be accepting itinerant riffraff, I could assume from a description of her services. Smiling, as if I agreed on every point, I fished through my backpack for my wallet, then counted out enough cash to pay for one week at Inez’ Boarding House.
“I expect to be staying much longer, but I’ve just arrived. I want to get acquainted with the area before I make any permanent plans. But this is a lovely place.” I gazed around at the mix of turn-of-the-century details and 1920’
s charm.
She faintly smiled, stuffed the cash into her apron pocket then motioned for me to follow her up the stairs.
“You can have either of the two rooms on the back of the house, numbers 2 or 3. They have the best view of the ocean. #1 is rented to Mary Garcia and the one at the end of the hall, well, that is #4, that was George’s. It’s not ready to be rented again.”
I wondered who George was, but didn’t have the nerve to ask.
In Room #2 the bead-board walls were painted a dazzling white and trimmed with blue. I imagined in the afternoon the space would be flooded with sunshine, but at that hour, the atmosphere was softened by lamps that cast a warm glow against the walls. Although it was too dark to see the ocean, I was delighted to find a good sized window that faced west, and through it hear the constant and sensuous roar of the Pacific.
Miss Inez left me alone to ponder my new surroundings, slipping out before I had a chance to say thank you for her hospitality. Still, after a long day, I was glad that my landlord was as private a person as I would be. I had much to think about, a lot of assessing to do after the many days on the road, and an afternoon working at the diner. My mind was filled up with new experiences, new people, new sights, all jumbled inside a weary brain, like pieces of a vast jigsaw puzzle, the picture still obscure. And yet, with much to consider, all the anxiety faded away as I slipped into bed, the need to sleep overwhelming my zealous mind, as though a wave from the ocean had reached out and taken me to the place of my dreams. Self reflection would wait for another day; I was content to let my worries take a rest. Being certain that Jon Ryder had no idea of my whereabouts – at least for now – made falling asleep much easier than it had been in months.
Nightmare of Vengeance Page 7