Whatever the Impulse

by Tina Amiri

  She wore some kind of spicy scent. Her nails were light-pink, her short-sleeved sweater a white angora, and her skirt a pink and green plaid. He loved the feel of her: the texture of her hair, her skin, and even her clothes. Although it became tempting to close his eyes, he just wanted to keep them open so he could drink her all in.

  As she kissed him, the technique started to return to him. His knees tightened around her while her feet slid up and down inside his legs. Moist heat clashed between them and although Beth’s knee and thigh against his crotch felt extremely pleasurable, the feeling that erupted there demanded more contact, more stimulation. Just then, her hand answered his plea.

  “It’s not fair,” she breathed. “All my friends want Morgen so bad because he’s older and hot, and has his own band, and I have to pretend he’s just my stupid brother—and now I can’t even tell them about you. They’d be so jealous…”

  ****

  Sandy ambled down the south hallway to get to the staircase, which had him passing the two doors of Morgen’s suite. He wrinkled his nose in Morgen’s general direction when he heard heavy coughing in the vicinity of the bathroom, followed by the sound of the toilet flushing. He sneered at the wall and continued down the darkened staircase.

  ****

  “You’re nothing like my brother,” Beth whispered as she undid the button on Night’s black jeans and slid the zipper to its base.

  Being himself appeared to be paying off for a change, but he didn’t dwell on this as she began touching him. Amidst all the hellish turmoil that surrounded him, constantly, a protective spotlight beamed down on him now, perhaps from the moon. It had to be the moon, he decided, as she clenched the flimsy waistband of his underpants between her teeth and one hand and ripped the elastic apart. It seemed a familiar light bridging the present to the past, to that glorious moment on the moonlit bridge in Oregon—only this time, nobody’s shoe would drop into icy water to ruin everything. Only his mind was tumbling, whirling in timelessness.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she murmured, “but I won’t go all the way until I’m married.”

  The blood in his parts almost ceased to pulse now. He thought them in peril like a furnace kicking into higher and higher temperatures. Then her mouth granted him the tiniest bit of relief. A shy opal leak had sprung and he hoped that she wouldn’t be shocked. She didn’t seem to be. In fact, she just took him more into her mouth and drew the fiercest current yet through his entire body.

  The muscles in his limbs quivered, his skin dampened and tingled, his mind flashed through every desire and actual euphoric encounter he’d ever had with Daphne, or alone, and his heart’s generous effort fueled all of these responses.

  For the first time ever, he pardoned his brother, and Andrew, for their stinginess as he considered that maybe only women imparted such gestures. He thought he preferred it that way, anyhow, as just the sight of them inspired this kind of longing. He wanted to draw them near and feel their distinct sinuous curves. He wanted to see them undressed so he could touch their plumper skin and explore something new and mysterious. But at this moment, he hungered for nothing other than more of Beth’s immediate offer.

  ****

  The tiny sounds he produced stirred the curiosity of a soul in the corridor making his way to the kitchen. Sandy leaned forward, peeked around the doorframe and flinched. He gaped at the lovers for another moment, just to be sure, but even half shielded by Beth, there was no mistaking the hair and the whole general physique of the young male beneath her. Feeling a sickly numbness come over him, he stepped back and lightly plodded up the staircase. He wore quiet enough runners, but in his room, he threw them off. He located his ten-dollar camera and disabled the flash before he returned to the action, downstairs.

  Night seemed in the process of dying at the exact moment when Sandy eased the lens of the camera, along with his left eye, clear of the door frame. A subconscious cry shot from Night’s mouth as his spine formed the telltale arch of arrival. Beth withdrew only at the faint click that split through the large room and caused her to look around. Sandy withdrew as well, but unlike Beth, he shuffled on his socked feet back to the staircase to make his escape before Night could even think of closing his pants.

  The housekeeper now sauntered over to Morgen’s door and knocked on it before letting himself in. “Are you all right, Morgen?” he almost drawled with indulgence. “I thought I heard you being sick.”

  “I’m peachy!” Morgen fired back from the bathroom.

  “Just checking.” He closed the door and waited in the dark of the hallway until Night finally swayed by him, a few minutes later. “So, which present did you like best this year…Morgen?” he asked, but he received no answer from the imposter, only a blank look.

  Sandy scuttled to his own suite and jumped onto his bed. On bent knees, he flexed one bicep, then the other. His newest scheme was unlike anything he’d attempted before. This time, he had an ace.

  Chapter Fifteen

  While Frederick Dahlsi stood for his campaign flyer photo, surrounded by his attractive family, the Dahlsis’ housekeeper also hustled for favors in an office downtown.

  “What if I told you I had a story so scandalous that I could be paid just as much to keep it quiet as I could for selling it to you?”

  “Who’s the celebrity?” chirped the editor of Storm, Oran Twaites.

  “Not a celebrity, but close. In the interest of current politics…” Sandy tossed a photograph onto the desk. “I give you our hottest candidate’s son, Morgen Dahlsi, and….his sister.”

  The man tried to stifle his reaction, turning a laugh into a hiccup. “Wow.”

  “The thing is,” Sandy persisted, “this family’s a goldmine. I can have another story to you in just a short while that will blow all the newsstands in L.A. over for weeks.”

  “Go on.”

  “Not yet. This is my offer to you,” said Sandy, his voice cool as he crossed his legs. “I will get you the story…detailed reports, photographs, even taped conversations, and I will grant all of it to you, exclusively. You won’t have to fight for it or try to outdo your competition. All I want in return is to not be a housekeeper anymore, after this. I want to be assured.”

  Oran Twaites crossed his legs similarly. His neck muscles twitched like he wasn’t sure whether to nod or put the housekeeper in his place.

  “I could go down the street to the next guy…” Sandy intimated. “You have absolutely nothing to lose. When the time comes, if you aren’t satisfied with my presentation, our deal can simply be off. But if my hunch is right, you’ll be begging me—”

  “All right,” said the editor with a leery grin. “So, exactly how impressed do you suspect I’ll be?”

  “At least a hundred-thousand-dollars impressed. And I’m being modest.”

  “That a boy,” said the skeptic, reaching for a notepad. “First things first…this photograph in front of me… Then, if you can deliver what you’re suggesting, then rest assured…you won’t have to be a housekeeper anymore.”

  ****

  Beth hopped down the staircase to the sound of her mother humming in the living room. She found Brigitte studying her agenda book.

  “Mum?” she began. “How exactly did Morgen come to live here?”

  Brigitte’s focus shot up from the page. “Why is that important?”

  “I just want to know…like did he have any brothers or sisters, and if he did, would you have brought them here too?”

  “Morgen didn’t have siblings,” she answered indignantly, “or I certainly would have. Morgen’s mother basically deserted him in the hospital. His father was dead, and she was just too young to take care of him.”

  “What about the man you married before Daddy? Didn’t you say that his son died?”

  Brigitte tossed her gold pen on the table. “Why does this matter to you, Beth? Morgen is his grandson, but that man could never have taken care of a sick baby. He needed to get help for himself after losing his own so
n, but he refused to see how his loss affected him and everyone else. I like to keep those wasted years out of my mind. If I’d had any sense to begin with, I would have just married your father the first time he asked me, years before. Your grandparents knew he was the one, right from the start, but I thought I knew better. The important thing is, everything worked out fine.” She reached for her pen and turned a page in her book. “Here is something we really need to be thinking about, right now. What else should I ask the caterers to bring to our New Year’s party?”

  ****

  The last few days of 1984 tested Sandy’s patience. An AV magazine had alerted him to the security trade show coming to the area, right after New Year’s. While browsing its pages for ideas, he’d stumbled upon the perfect device that would be making an introductory appearance at the show. Now, he really appreciated the VCR that the Dahlsis had given him for Christmas.

  He had to have all angles covered—literally. The private staircase that led into Morgen’s garage would be his low-tech starting point. If he stood in this narrow passageway and drilled a hole through the west wall, he would have a small window to Morgen’s guestroom.

  The high-tech and best set-up would be to create an aperture into Morgen’s area by drilling through his own living room wall, directly into Morgen’s bedroom on the other side. He would have to contend with the solid wood, open-faced bookshelf that spanned the entire length of his south wall, but at least the shelves would provide a home for his spy equipment.

  A sizable problem was not knowing precisely where to drill, and when. He’d become adept at tracking the movements of his subjects inside the house, and he would have to rely on his skill to determine when to enter Morgen’s suite, survey the other side of the wall, and do the whole thing right.

  ****

  Morgen took his understudy to his rehearsal space where he could, in privacy, witness a performance that might reassure him about Night’s purpose here. But the more Night proved himself, the more irritable he became.

  Night’s voice in the PA soared above the support that Morgen’s tried to offer. Even when words and melodies were soft, Night’s lips seemed to beckon the microphone to come closer. It widened Morgen’s eyes: what had once served his lips alone now gravitated toward a new and more powerful master.

  “All right…” Morgen grunted at the song’s finish. “Let’s do The Core of All Hearts. You’re still not so great at that one.”

  “I like the louder ones,” Night confessed. Morgen had already noticed his brother preferred the harder tunes that allowed him to flaunt all the breath he’d been forced to keep inside for the past two decades.

  After the two-hour assault on their eardrums, it was a wonder either of them heard the knock on the door at the close of their session. Night crammed himself into one of the equipment lockers when Morgen suggested it could be the warehouse manager, but it was Beth who sprang into the room.

  “Hi, Morgen, where’s Night? I have some totally rad news!”

  Night climbed out of his hiding place and Beth giggled at their cautiousness.

  “Listen… I told Dad about what happened with that agent…”

  “Night, you asshole, did you have to tell—?”

  “Just shut-up and listen, Morgen! I told Dad what happened and now…get this…he’s going to let your band play at the New Year’s campaign party where there’s going to be a lot of people…”

  Morgen waved her off and started walking the other way.

  “People like this entertainment lawyer he knows.”

  Morgen spun back around. “Are you kidding?” he shrieked, even rousing Night with his rare display of excitement. “Dad’s actually going to bring this guy in as a favor to me?”

  “I guess. I know he’s inviting this particular friend of his just so he can check you guys out. Dad also thinks this will really appeal to the Young Republicans who are coming to help out. He wants you to keep to your lighter stuff, though.”

  Morgen stood there, his palms slowly finding their way to his face. “Holy fuck…”

  “That right,” Beth affirmed. “Dad usually gets what he wants, and if his intention is to showcase the band, he has to think something’s going to happen.”

  “I gotta call the others. …Yes!” he screamed, smacking Night in the chest, but it was he who began coughing. “You didn’t tell Dad that I missed that show because I was sick, did you?”

  Beth’s humor crumbled instantly. “No. I told him one of your buddies got the date wrong.”

  “So who’s going to do it?” Night asked, point blank.

  “I will, of course. It’ll be my last show—but it will be our breakout show. Everything has to be perfect.”

  “Just don’t mess this up,” Beth advised before she twirled around. “My friend’s waiting for me outside. I better go before she decides to come after me.”

  Night got in Morgen’s face after Beth closed the door. “I don’t know if you should do it. I’m ready, Morgen. I can do this for you.”

  “I’m doing it. Your turn is coming, but I’m not letting my substitute find out if he can land a contract on a dry run performance with the rest of the band.”

  “How can you still say that?” Night demanded, fists tensing like he wanted to seize his own temper. “I’m better than you are. And if I left right now, you would die alone without ever getting your wish.”

  “If you left now… If you left now, you’d be going to jail—so just shut up and be glad that I have a use for you, and that my dying is going to keep you, not only rich, but free.”

  ****

  New Year’s Eve turned the front of the Dahlsi house into a parking lot. Night watched the scene from Morgen’s bedroom window, stewing over the fact that it should have been him performing for the fancy and important guests tonight…until Morgen moped into the room.

  “Night?” he beseeched in a voice that manifested barely above a whisper. “I blew out my voice. You have to perform tonight…instead of me.”

  Night felt sure that Morgen didn’t just blow out his voice, but he nodded.

  He experienced emotions that sent him back to the restaurant as he pulled on the fine clothes that Morgen suggested he wear. Over black trousers, the gray silk sleeves of his jacket rippled down his arms and gleamed down his back and his false platinum hair, which had been perfected in color by now, shone through the hairspray like a frozen falls around his ears and along his neck. In the dim light, he faced Morgen before leaving the suite. Morgen looked faded and tired. It seemed the more Night became his brother, the more his brother dissolved into air.

  “This is it,” Morgen said in a voice that had transformed from airy to coarse. “You better be ready. You better be stellar tonight.”

  “You know I’m ready,” Night said, but it challenged his confidence when he heard the music and the din of the crowd in a part of the house he’d only seen once.

  The ballroom had been cleverly decorated for two occasions. Above campaign posters and banners, white lights dazzled the perimeter of the room, as well as the tail of a shooting star that cascaded from the central chandelier. A shallow platform stood vacant at the head of the room and Night tried to picture it later, presenting him and three of Morgen’s friends who he’d never even had a chance to rehearse with. Beth found him and linked herself onto his arm. She had to look twice to confirm his identity.

  “Dad’s on his way in. Do you see that guy over there?” Her eyes directed his. “That’s Dad’s lawyer friend, and those guys next to him…they’re A&R people from Detonic Records.”

  The way Night’s stomach reacted was just about Detonic—as Morgen’s wrath would be if he didn’t stake his legacy before the end of the night.

  People started to shuffle and a rift spilled through the center of the room to let the party’s host, and popular election candidate, make his way to the stage.

  “I wish I understood more about what he’s doing,” Night whispered to Beth.

  “Don’t you kn
ow anything about politics?”

  “I know about restaurants, and maybe the music industry…a little bit.”

  “Just listen,” she said as her father’s voice reverberated through the room, engaging the crowd with a casual and humorous welcome before acknowledging his campaign.

  Press agents dotted the room and only now started to make their presence known.

  “Mister Dahlsi, how familiar are you with the issues specific to this area?”

  Frederick steered his answer toward the microphone. “I’ve been serving the people of this district, as an attorney, for almost thirty years. How could I not be completely familiar with every one of those issues?”

  The same woman kept on. “But who have you been serving as an attorney, aside from your wealthy clients? I mean, how concerned are you about initiatives that affect those on the opposite end of the spectrum—like the community development projects beyond your affluent neighborhood.”

  Charles Lehman, Frederick’s campaign manager and lawyer, suddenly piped up. “This isn’t a formal press conference. We’re here to celebrate our finest candidate, along with the New Year.”

  “No, no,” Frederick insisted. “I’ll answer that before we pull out the program. There is price to pay when people don’t have a sense of self-worth—the same goes for communities. So, I support these projects, one-hundred percent. My views on this, and on a variety of other topics, are listed in the literature you’ll find around the room.”

  The next speaker had an entourage of cameramen from the local TV station. “Polls indicate enormous public support already. Are you confident you’re going to win, Mister Dahlsi?”

  “I will only feel that I’ve won only after I’ve made a positive difference for the people in this district, including my wonderful, talented family…something I hope to bear witness to tonight. For those who aren’t aware, we have a few guests in the room from a record label, and my son, Morgen, with his band, will be entertaining you shortly.” Frederick offered Night a quick wave across the room. “I’m sure he will far outshine me in every way, but to answer your question, yes…I plan to win.”