Chapter 62 – Who Knows What Another Man Would Have Done?
Saturday morning June 14, 2008 – 10:40 AM
“Are you OK Frankie, are you OK?” incessantly whispered Marianne Plante, but all the while the echoing words indecipherably drifted in one ear and out the other as a mesmerized Frank Newlan gazed hauntingly at a tiny black spider dangling from the windshield of his automobile in what appeared to be a drug-induced stupor.
For a split second, Newlan imagined that he was back in the juror deliberation room on the sixth floor of the Middlesex Superior Courthouse, being attended to after one of his spells by Yong, the pretty Korean juror. For a hundredth of a second, the underground garage of his condo complex was no longer a place where he parked his car, but rather it was the scene of a crime. For no more than a fraction of second, he was positive that a mysterious shadow had been following his every move…and then just as quickly, that second slipped away.
“Are you OK Frankie?” the familiar voice repeated again, but this time Newlan’s dreamy anima descended down from the hazy clouds where it tended to hide, long enough for him to murmur a reply.
“I’m fine,” insisted Newlan as Plante skeptically peered at him with more than a hint of concern written in stone across her face.
“Are you sure? You seemed to be spacing out, deep in thought…you know, lost in the moment or something,” observantly noted Plante.
“Yeah, I guess you could say I was out-of-it for a few seconds there. I had this strange premonition, but I couldn’t quite make out what it meant. Anyway, I’m pretty sure that everything’s gonna be alright,” diffidently professed Newlan, even though his vigilant array of sensory sentinels told him otherwise.
But regardless of Newlan’s timid assurances, Plante, who had misinterpreted the situation, reached over from the passenger’s seat and stroked his right hand with the tips of her warm slender fingers while reassuring his fragile male ego.
“Relax Frankie…you’re always so nervous…so tense. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna bite you.”
“Jeez, that’s too bad. You’re no fun,” Newlan quipped, and just like that he was back to his old self again, while at the same time Plante smiled mischievously at his comeback, and she mused to herself, “If only he knew what I was really thinking.”
“OK, let’s go. I’ll give you the first class, guided tour,” announced Newlan as they emerged from his red Mercury Mystique…and he proceeded to direct Plante on an extended expedition throughout the entire length of the complex
After a brief inspection of the exercise room, the saunas, the racquetball courts, the function room, and the swimming pool, they were just about ready to adjourn up to Newlan’s sixth floor corner unit…but of course, not before first passing by the ever-present Saeed Kahn who was watching over the perimeter of the magnificent, marble-tiled floor of the lobby like a man possessed.
And although the stateliness of the shiny opalescent flooring did in fact leave quite the lasting impression on the cortex of Plante’s cerebrum, what truly captured her attention was the mahogany ceiling, where, at its epicenter, an oversized chandelier provided a warm, welcoming entrance.
“Wow, this place is something else,” marveled Plante, and she was so immersed in the pleasurable task of admiring the décor of the lobby that she never even noticed Saeed Kahn, perched like a vulture on a wary deathwatch by the security desk. Conversely however, upon catching sight of the unfamiliar woman, Kahn certainly took notice of them, and he stiffened with hatred as he swooped in for a closer look.
Kahn assumed that the exotic American lady was Newlan’s latest conquest, but still he managed to force a rigid smile onto his face and he greeted them with his fake charm nonetheless.
“Good morning sir. I don’t believe I’ve had the opportunity to meet your guest,” exalted Kahn, and Newlan pleasantly played along as he got on with the formalities.
“Saeed, this is an old friend of mine, Marianne Plante. We’ve known each other since high school.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” smiled Kahn as he held out a weathered palm towards Plante, and he proceeded to furnish her with his own personal appraisal regarding his next door neighbor’s staunch character.
“Mr. Frank is a fine man…a gentleman…a prince among men,” exclaimed Kahn…and as he launched further into his malleable conversation with Plante in his rhythmically dominating cadence, Newlan somehow found himself becoming inexplicably glued to his phosphorescent neighbor’s impenetrable, murky eyes, as if he were being drawn to them by some sort of irrepressible force of nature.
Before Newlan could even begin to comprehend what was happening to him, his entire physical-being had become transfixed by a gleam of vibrant light which had steadily commenced to drift downward from the shining, diamond-studded chandelier like an inertly descending parachutist; and from there, the wiry beam of radiant incandescence momentarily illuminated in Kahn’s inky eyes before being vaporized like a shooting star getting swallowed up by a black hole.
For his part, Kahn seemed to be entirely cognizant of the likelihood that Newlan might be caught up in his hypnotic trap, which was a logical reaction, given the fact that even though his jet black pupils were bearing down on Marianne Plante, his inner-mind was totally focused on one thing and one thing only; Mr. Frank Newlan.
“Yes my dear, I am from Pakistan…” explained Kahn, but then abruptly, in mid-sentence, he slowly swiveled his head towards Newlan’s direction while his blood red lips turned up into a wisp of a smile; a devious smile; a deceitful smile; a treacherous smile.
Newlan suddenly found himself staring into a pair of dark beady eyes, sitting atop of a wicked face, and the mesmeric glare froze him on the spot.
With the shadow of Kahn’s smile serving as a catalyst, Newlan flashed back to his most recent nightmares which included Kahn leading the procession to his demise; he flashed back to his fear of falling; he flashed back to his fear of drifting endlessly through life like a leaf caught up in a hurricane wind; he flashed back to his fear of floating forever though space like a ghostly apparition suspended in time. And to make matter worse, he was thoroughly convinced that Saeed Kahn was fully aware of exactly what it was that he was thinking.
Perhaps this spellbinding thrust that Newlan was being subjected to found its origins in some form of Eastern voodoo which Kahn had studied as child. Or perhaps Kahn was subject to the same power of vision which Newlan claimed he, himself, possessed. Or perhaps living next door to Newlan had somehow rubbed off on Kahn. But regardless of whatever the source of his travails might have been, one thing was perfectly clear to Newlan; Saeed Kahn had somehow penetrated his mind; Saeed Kahn had somehow channeled into his psyche; Saeed Kahn had somehow tunneled into his cerebral cavity, and the infiltrating incursion left him feeling gravely exposed.
Newlan was weak from the attack, and it took every last ounce of concentration that he could muster, but somehow he managed to fight off Kahn’s invasion; somehow he managed to ward off Kahn’s foray; somehow he managed to grasp Plante by the hand, and as nonchalantly as he could, he decreed, “Come on Marianne, we still haven’t finished our tour.”
“Mr. Kahn seems like such a nice man,” intoned a reinvigorated Plante as she and Newlan headed for the elevator.
“Yes, he is,” agreed Newlan, albeit in a rather emotionally detached manner.
There was a time when Newlan truly did believe that Kahn was a nice man, but he didn’t dare let Plante in on his current feelings regarding the reticent doorman, and the seemingly impulsive reasoning behind his recent change of heart.
Meanwhile, as the elevator catapulted the former lovers up to Newlan’s sixth floor condo, Saeed Kahn sat stewing at his desk, hopping mad over the latest perceived insult being sent his way courtesy of the ugly American.
“Another woman…another act of debauchery…right before my very eyes. This man is what is wrong with this God forsaken country. This man wil
l burn in Hell. May The Almighty be my witness…this man shall suffer for his sins,” ranted a frenetic Kahn.
However, despite his concerns, Newlan’s soul couldn’t have been transported further away from the deranged doorman even if he had been riding on a rocket-ship to the moon. For as he admired Plante’s reflection in the gold, metal-plated mirror doors of the elevator, his heart began to melt. The soft trusting smile, the beautiful big brown eyes, the silky black hair, it was all still there, seemingly untouched by the hands of time. And on top of that, as they exited the elevator, Plante unthinkingly clung to him, just like she once did in the days of their youth.
With Plante attached to him like a Siamese twin, Newlan stuck the key into the door of his condo and opened it up wide, revealing the inviting foyer of the tastefully decorated apartment.
“Next stop on our tour,” declared Newlan as Plante entered and twirled around in astonishment.
“Wow Frankie, you must be rich to afford a place like this! I had no idea.”
“What can I say I’m doing alright for myself,” proudly, but bashfully, replied a crimson-faced Newlan, before proceeding on with the tour.
Newlan took Plante by the hand and guided her through the apartment, room-by-room. First the formal dining room with its expensive china cabinets and oriental rug; next the living room with its widescreen TV and comfortable leather sofas; after that it was on to the extra bedroom/office which was loaded up with guitars, record albums, and a closet full of CD’s; and then into the kitchen which was furnished with a spate of brand new designer appliances.
Newlan was much too preoccupied to pick out a CD, so he clicked on the stereo for some background music as he led Plante out onto the deck where she stood in awe of the breathtaking Boston skyline view.
Plante got herself settled-in on a lounge chair, while Newlan leaned up against the railing and took a deep breath as he contentedly proclaimed, “It’s really peaceful up here. I just love staring out at the big city…I could do it for hours.”
“Do it for hours…I’m not sure what he’s thinking, but I hope it’s the same thing I’m thinking,” lustfully visualized Plante as she bit her lip and gazed at Newlan with an ache of amorous cravings. However, at the moment, the clueless Newlan had his back turned to her, and as of yet he had no idea of the feelings that were stirring deep within her heart.
“Come on, let’s head back inside…the tour’s not finished just yet,” suggested Newlan, and as they passed through the sliding doors of the deck, Plante semi-purposely stumbled into him and briefly their bodies rubbed up against each other.
And clueless though he might have been, Newlan couldn’t deny the unmistakable warmth of Plante’s vitality rushing through his veins, but like a fool, he attempted to ignore his feelings; like a fool, he attempted to disregard his desire; like a fool, he attempted to attribute his glowing sultriness to the hot summer sun.
Newlan’s aloofness didn’t come as a totally unexpected surprise to the increasingly impatient Plante, but in the meantime she silently debated her next move.
“What do I have to do to get him to notice me…hit him over the head with a hammer…or maybe something even more dramatic?”
While Plante plotted out her strategy, her memory wandered back to their younger days, and she recalled how Newlan was slow to recognize the signs of love. It looked like not much had changed. She vividly recalled how she had been the aggressor their first time together. She wistfully recalled how they both awkwardly, yet tenderly, lost their virginity. She dreamily recalled how once Newlan got going, he made her feel so alive. She recalled every moment of their maiden encounter like it was yesterday…and she desperately wanted to feel that feeling one more time.
“Would I make a great real estate agent or what?” joked Newlan as he opened up the door to his sleeping quarters and turned on the lights in the shade-drawn room. And then in the best realtor’s voice he could muster, he bellowed, “and last but not least this is the oversized master bedroom, complete with a walk-in closet and a full bathroom, which, by the way, features a whirlpool bathtub with six incredibly relaxing massage-jets.”
“Whirlpool bath? Sounds good Frankie,” teased Plante, but Newlan still wasn’t getting the hint. Amazingly enough, he had yet to piece-together any of the subtle indications that she had been aiming his way all morning…and furthermore, her words didn’t seem to register in his brain in the least. For the time being, he was more intent on showing off the furnishings of his bedchamber for the viewing pleasure of his old lover from the distant past, rather than taking advantage of their private moment together to become enthralling secret lovers of the present…and what’s more, due to her encumbering marital status, the thought had scarcely crossed his conscious mind.
Nevertheless, Plante duly agreed that the bedroom set was “gorgeous” as she auspiciously wandered about the room, taking in the details of the traditional antique-styled furniture. But when she suddenly came to a stop in front of the full-length mirror and discreetly examined herself, she was confronted by a person that she didn’t even recognize anymore; she spied a stranger staring back at her; she beheld a lost soul.
Plante saw something in that mirror that she didn’t want to see; something that she wasn’t ready to see; something that induced her to whimper softly, with her head in her hands, as she reflexively, but with purpose, reached over and flicked off the light switch. And upon heeding her muffled weeping, Newlan came benevolently to her aid.
“What’s wrong Marianne?” whispered Newlan as he caressed the back of her neck in another tender attempt to comfort her. However, this time, as soon as his rugged hands made contact with her smooth, soft shoulders, he was overcome by a slow but steady rumble which had been building up from somewhere deep within his core, and it nearly staggered him, like the tell-tale signs of a smoking volcano just before it erupts. This time, as soon as he laid a finger on her, he was overwhelmed by an undeniable fluttering in his heart, like the jagged edges of an EKG gone haywire just before it flat-lines into eternity. This time, as soon as his palms rubbed against her alabaster skin, he was ravaged by an unquenchable thirst for her body, which absolutely overtook him, like a recovering alcoholic who accidently takes a taste of liquor after 20 years of sobriety.
“I don’t know Frankie…I’m just so lonely…and I feel so…dead inside,” confided a tearful Plante.
“It’s OK Marianne…everything’s gonna be alright,” consoled Newlan in return, while at the same time he instantly recalled Tracy Stone’s testimony, and how she acknowledged that she felt ‘dead inside’ when for a second time she filed for divorce from her husband, suspected murderer, John Breslin.
With Plante’s stagnating words still echoing in his head, Newlan grudgingly reminded himself that everything didn’t turn out alright for Breslin and Stone, and with this seismic revelation weighing on his mind, he fretted over the predicament that he seemed to be stumbling into. But regardless of his dilemma, he was powerless to stop the momentum that was building up inside of him like a runaway train.
Plante seemed to sense the tension in Newlan’s pulsing fingers, and she delicately twisted herself around and gazed longingly into his eyes…and suddenly he was quite aware of what might be going through her mind. Suddenly he was aware of how her faraway eyes betrayed her emotions. Suddenly he recalled that yielding look from all those years ago. Suddenly he was swept away with libidinous excitement, and he was positive that she was deluged with the same salacious fire that was burning him up inside. Suddenly she vaulted up into his waiting arms, totally immersing herself in his body. Suddenly her legs were entwined around his waist, and, in a delirious fit of rapture, she repeatedly kissed his face.
Dear reader, who knows what another man would have done, perhaps a stronger man with more willpower? Who knows whether another man would have turned his back on this glowing, yet vulnerable, woman, but for Frank Newlan it was a foregone conclusion.
&nb
sp; Who knows whether another man would have succumb to the temptations of a married woman, but for Frank Newlan it was all too much. Here he was, almost miraculously, with the long lost woman of his dreams wrapped around his arms. Here he was with the instantly familiar scent of her body still lingering in his mind after all these years. Here he was with her exquisite fragrance triggering a lascivious chemical reaction deep inside of him, from his head to his toes and all points in-between; an irresistible chemical reaction over which he had no control.
Who knows what another man would have done indeed, but in Frank Newlan’s mind, there was no question what he would do. There was only one thing he could do, and that was to give in to Plante’s voluptuous overtures. Go for the gusto like there was no tomorrow and worry about the consequences later.
It was too late for contemplation. It was too late to turn back now. It was analogous to a black widow snaring its prey into her web; the more the captive hornet fights, the more entangled he becomes; the longer the infatuated dragonfly struggles, the longer he endures enslavement, until finally he is eaten alive. For Frank Newlan it was either seduce or be seduced, but regardless of who the aggressor was to be, in the end he would bow down to his lady’s doings.
Newlan dropped his arms down around Plante’s buttocks so that he could better support her weight as he carried her over to the side of his bed and steadily lowered her onto the mattress where he planted a deep, steamy kiss on his long lost lover’s open mouth
Plante received Newlan’s kiss zealously and they traversed each other’s tongues, which ignited a simmering passion within him that he didn’t even realize existed anymore.
Newlan instinctively rubbed the palm of his right hand in a circular motion across Plante’s soft fleshy midsection until her shirt and pants became separated.
Plante reacted to Newlan’s touch by guiding his strong warm hand across her throbbing pleasure zone as she kicked off her sandals.
Newlan stood up and firmly raised Plante’s upper body while, with vacant eyes, she stared out into nothingness…and without a word, she submissively lifted her arms up as he removed her pink shirt with the gold hearts…which revealed a black bikini top.
Plante snuggled her face, which scantly reached the towering Newlan’s chest, against his fully clothed stomach while the tips of her fingers groped for precious jewels.
Newlan gently kneaded Plante’s bare shoulders, which were as smooth as his linen sheets, for a minute or two, while she continued her own massaging strokes of treasure-hunting exploration…and then, without warning he reached for the straps of her intimate lingerie, which appeared to be held together by nothing more than a pair of shoelaces.
Plante shivered with rapaciousness as she came to a realization of what Newlan was about to do next.
Newlan slowly untied one of the frilly laced strings, which was enough to cause the bikini top to peel away from Plante’s body, unearthing two perfect mounds of milky womanhood.
Plante reached for a pillow and placed it under her head as she leaned back on the mattress while Newlan’s mouth followed her down and hungrily explored her rubbery breasts.
Newlan’s animal instincts took over as he worked his way down Plante’s elegant body and he eagerly removed her white cotton shorts which exposed the other half of the thong-sized black bikini undergarment.
And in response to Newlan’s magical touch, Plante’s body squirmed involuntarily, with uncontrollable spasms of verve-like energy, as she anxiously awaited her fate.
Newlan repeatedly kissed Plante’s inner thighs and then he moved on to her hips where, with his teeth, he untied the spaghetti-like strings which were just barely holding the scantily clad bikini bottoms together.
Plante lifted her lower extremities ever so slightly while Newlan haltingly pulled at the now untied piece of clothing until it finally gave way…and he held it in his hand.
Newlan tossed aside the last remaining hurdle which stood between him and the object of his deepest desire; there before him lay Marianne Plante, completely naked in his lonely bed.
Plante was drunk with exhilaration as she spread her wings, while at the same time Newlan stood up and scanned her incredible writhing body before burying his face between her legs…which sent her into an ecstatic frenzy.
As Newlan concentrated on the task at hand, he couldn’t help but recall how shocked and horrified Plante became the first time he suggested that they complete each other in a different way. She may have been the aggressor in their virgin days, but he rapidly came of age, and his vivid imagination clearly got the better of her.
Back in their younger days, Newlan had even written an enticing poem for Plante; a composition which was specifically meant to supply her with a visual picture as to how he was going to take their relationship to another level.
The poem as follows, which he entitled “Hourii”, in honor of the mythic, dark-eyed virgin beauty who was believed to have been a nymph in the land of eternal paradise, totally befuddled the young and impressionable Plante.
“It’s different,” concluded Plante at the time, which was her polite way of saying that she didn’t understand the cryptic prose. And yet now, as Newlan filled her full of contentment, if she were asked to recite the poem, chapter and verse, with the fate of the world hypothetically depending on her response, she would have had no problem remembering every single word of the sensual ode (including the eerie reference to a white flag which figured so prominently in Tracy Stone’s testimony):
HOURII (a poem by Frank Newlan)
From the Eyes of a Juror Page 72