Among The Cloud Dwellers (Entrainment Series) (26 page)

“Do you get the double meaning of Magda’s grandmother’s choice of name for her business?” Gabe asked me, once outside. I turned around to read the elegant red sign humming softly above the stained glass door.

“Yes,” I chuckled. I wrapped the shawl around my elbows, loving the feeling of the soft material against my bare back.

“That was one hell of a meal,” Gabe said, offering me one of his arms. I took it, not only for warmth, but for balance on my high heels. All the fizz I had consumed was finally taking effect.

We skirted the French Quarter to stay away from the swarming crowd. Taking a few side roads, we were able to stroll at a lazy pace and play
innamorati
along the way, kissing at every chance we’d get, stopping to inhale the sweet scent of night jasmine shrouding tall iron gates. Hidden doorways stirred our curiosity. We discovered silent courtyards where unseen fountains mumbled prayers to the devoted, surrounding darkness. New Orleans summer nights have such a piquant quality about them.

A block away from the hotel, we heard music seeping through the open shutters of a candlelit window. Sheer white curtains billowed with melody, swaying sensuously to the rhythm. Without a word, as if by unspoken agreement, we stilled for a moment, allowing the music to truly reach us, and then we danced in the deserted alley. Embracing tightly, I rested my head against Gabe’s strong shoulder. He brought my hand up his chest and held it there while his other reached the small of my back and drew me closer to him. With my lips only a breath away from his throat, I brushed his steady heartbeat pulsing from within. We barely moved; our hips just swayed as we rippled through darkness, seaweed abandoned to the will of the tides.

We reached the hotel and decided to enjoy the fresh air a while longer. In search of a quiet spot, we walked into the courtyard and sat on a wrought iron bench facing the fountain. Coiled in a fragrant flowerbed, a Creole cat slept in the otherwise deserted courtyard. Bothered by our intrusion, he woke up and cursed us with an extremely annoyed stare but remained where he was.

“We’re disturbing him,” I murmured to avoid aggravating the tawny cat’s incensed stare.

“I bet we are,” Gabe replied under his breath.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he opened his mouth and told us to piss off.”

“He doesn’t need to speak, luv. He’s already telling us. I’ve heard it before.” Gabe stared at the cat.

The tiny feline’s glare was enormously unsettling. In its depth, a glimmer of what Joséphine would call
le mauvais oeil
, the evil eye, stirred. A chill ran down the length of my back, and I snuggled closer to Gabe. “How about we leave him be and go upstairs?”

“Just a sec, luv—” Gabe stared at the cat in some sort of unspoken contest. Neither of them blinked. They seemed hypnotized with one another. Their breaths slowed to barely vital. Not a single muscle of Gabe’s body twitched; the warmth radiating from his body was the only detectable sign of life left in him.

Then, as if nothing had happened, Gabe broke eye contact with it. He turned to look at me, blinking away the moment of eeriness. Golden, iridescent sparkles faded quickly into the recesses of his blue eyes.

“Ready?” He stood, offering me his hand. Still chilled, I wrapped the shawl tighter around my arms.

“Yes.” Struggling to my feet on the illegal stilettos, I looked back to the flowerbed. The cat had disappeared.

Upstairs, opaque wall sconces lit the paisley-printed carpeted way to our room door. In the pitch-black darkness, the time display of the TV warned us that the witching hour neared an end. I fumbled, running a hand along the wall for the light switch. I was about to turn the lights on when Gabe’s hand pulled mine away from the switch.

“Don’t,” he whispered on my bare neck. His fingers entwined with mine, and he drew my hand to rest on my own navel. Through the thin silk barrier my own warm pulse drummed, and I gave in to his gentle pressure to lean back, shaping my hips against his hardness. His other hand found the chopstick holding my French knot together and pulled, releasing my hair. It tumbled free in a fragrant fall down my bare back.

“I’ve been waiting all night to do this,” he said. He wound the thickness of my hair around his fist and tugged at it to expose my neck for his lips. He brushed a pulsing vein and bit gently.

I melted against his body with weak limbs, surrendering. His hot breath, a prelude to his mouth, brushed along my neck, by my earlobe, and down to my shoulder where the thin dress strap offered no defense against his searing touch.

In one fluid motion, the black shawl slipped away from my elbows to crumple weightlessly at my feet. His right hand abandoned mine to work its way to my hip where it explored the contours, then plunged between my legs and traced the edge of my G-string. The warmth of his fingers felt like a wish about to come true. How slowly his hand moved to gather silk, inching the dress up, ever so gently . . .
Oddio, what sweet agony!
I held my breath . . . until his fingers found the bare skin of my thigh. In a quick move, his hand slipped confidently under my G-string and stroked me . . . once.

Behind shut eyelids my pleasure became a vivid image of his two fingertips, wet and slick, dipping in between my moist lips to tease me, to coax me into climax. My own desire mounted like foam on a wave about to crash ashore.

I wanted more. And he obliged.

*

It took us a few minutes to finally move again. Moisture soaked my forehead, not to mention the rest of my body. Gabe, spent beneath me, struggled to slow down his breathing, his body as wet as mine. The grin on his lips told me he didn’t care. His hair shone in the darkness, a shade darker with perspiration.

“We should take a shower.” Then I grinned. “Better yet—a bath.” I slid off him carefully.

“Yeah . . . you go ahead,” he said, adding that he would get up once the water was ready.

I padded into the bathroom on wobbly legs, turned the hot water on, and adjusted the temperature to warm but not toasty. Clary sage bath salts I found by the edge of the tub stirred an idea. I poured the entire container into the churning water and lowered myself into the not-yet full bathtub. The warm, scented water felt heavenly against my sore limbs and hot body.

If Gabe could outstare a cat, no matter how eerie the feeling was, I could do this. I spread my arms and thought about magic. I shut my mind and lit my heart. I visualized Xavier, overlapped Gabe’s features, and tied the image with a ribbon the color of love.

With my whole being radiating sexual energy, I summoned the powers and challenged, daring them to bring it on. Whatever I was to encounter or face along my path, I was ready. Still basking in the glow of our intense lovemaking, and inebriated by my own arrogance, I had no idea how much was at stake.

Gabe joined me moments later. We enjoyed the bath, quietly rinsing each other off. I accepted the silence he offered. The magic of the night hummed along in our slow movements when, tired after such an overwhelming day and evening, we climbed into bed without even bothering to dry ourselves off. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow with enchantment slowly drying on my skin.

D
reamless sleep can be so deep and restful I believe sometimes it’s all the medicine a tired soul needs in order to heal.

I woke up with Gabe next to me, still deeply asleep. Daylight filtered through the shutters, making it difficult to guess the time. My body told me perhaps eight o’clock, but it’s seldom right about time of day. I turned to look at the TV display and saw that it wasn’t on.
A sign I wasn’t to bother with time today?
I decided not to worry about it and rolled on my back to give Gabe a kiss on his shoulder. His left arm folded across his eyes as if to shield them from the intruding daylight. I peeked under the arm to see if he was really asleep and met his blue eyes wide-awake, laughing at me.

“
Oh! Ma vai!
” I hit him.

He rolled on his stomach and pinned me down.

“I can’t believe you’re awake!” I mumbled with my face smashed against the pillow.

“Why not?” he asked, curious, letting me go.

“Because I thought you were asleep. I mean, it looked like you were sleeping deeply.”

“I was,” he said. “But I felt you stir and woke up.”

“Just like that? In a matter of seconds?”

“Sure. I’ve slept out in the desert many times. There’s no room for mistakes out there, luv.” He looked at me with his clear blue eyes.

I could lose myself in such deep blue vastness. I lowered my lips to his and kissed him instead.

*

We faced the drive back to Pensacola and our last night together. I didn’t want to think about it, not yet. I ignored the painful grip tightening around my heart. I still had time, still had air to breathe to keep my heart from writhing with sorrow.

We rang the concierge for a typical New Orleans breakfast in bed, chicory coffee and beignets, then got dressed and checked out. I made a point of having the desk clerk order flowers to be delivered to Magda with a thank you note for the ambrosia of the previous evening. I mean, if everybody at the restaurant last night felt a tiny bit like we did after such a scrumptious meal . . .

Gabe surprised me by asking to drive on the way back. I gave him the car keys and took the passenger seat. We sped off, leaving New Orleans behind.

As we neared the exit for Tante Louise’s Joint, Gabe told me we needed to stop for gas. I remembered a gas station right next door to the restaurant, and we decided to fill up there. We pulled into the station, and Gabe got busy filling the car up while I went inside to pay. I grabbed a bottle of water since it was getting pretty hot out, and bought a scratch-off lottery ticket with a bunch of grinning alligators stamped on it. I briefly wondered what the hell they had to grin about, but when Magda’s grandmother’s tale of the lost ship mogul came to mind, I decided they had loads to grin about.

Once outside, I got so engrossed with scratching the alligators off with a quarter that it took me a moment to notice the car was no longer at the pump. I immediately scanned the surrounding area and exhaled, relieved. Gabe had driven to Tante Louise’s Joint next door and was fighting with something that didn’t seem to fit in the trunk. I walked the short distance, happy to have won the incredible amount of two bucks with the lottery ticket, pondering whether to go back to the gas station and cash it in when I saw what Gabe was struggling with. Standing right by him, Tante Louise sported a huge gap-toothed grin spread like gossip across her cheeks.

I almost dropped the water. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Hon, you’ve got yourself a real man here.” She winked at me, pointing her chin toward Gabe.

The oleander I’d felt sad for when we stopped on our way to New Orleans was now hanging out of my trunk, its roots packed in a potato sack full of dirt and tied off with a rope.

“Make sure you give it a good watering when you get home,” she admonished me, as if it were an ordinary event for her to pack her trees up and give them away.

“No worries, Louise. Thanks heaps again for having it ready.” Gabe pulled the trunk down to almost shut and secured it with a bungee I keep for emergencies.

“You’re welcome. Have a safe trip. I need to get back to my customers.” She turned to head back inside, then thought about something, and turned again to face us. “You’re sure you don’t want to come in for some food?”

I was about to open my mouth and say whatever might come out when Gabe thanked Louise again and told her we’d best be on our way. I thanked her, too, and followed her hips swaying back into the restaurant.

I turned to Gabe. “I can’t believe you,” I said, emotion cracking my voice.

“It didn’t stand a chance in this parking lot, luv.” He pushed down on the trunk to test the cord that kept it from jerking wide open. “I figured it would look great in your front yard.”

Uh, I don’t really have a front yard.
I hugged him tightly. “Thank you,
amore mio
,” I whispered against his chest. A silent tear ran down my cheek.

“You’re welcome, luv. Let’s get you home.” He tipped my face up toward his and wiped the tear away with his finger. He kissed me lightly on the nose. We drove back to Florida with the oleander’s crown sticking out of the trunk, sprinkling a trail of pearly petals along the highway.

A light drizzle welcomed us home in early afternoon. Peridot greeted us at the front door, all happy purring. His circumlocutions around my legs almost tripped me on my way to drop the overnight bag in the bedroom. Oblivious to my stumble, he kept drawing eights around my legs. Giving up, I set the bag down in the hallway and picked him up to properly greet him at eye level. His purring got so loud that Gabe, walking right behind me with his bag, made a comment about wasting top-of-the-line Ferrari engines inside pussycats.

Smartass.

Knowing that the drizzle would actually help the oleander, we grabbed a shovel from my storage shed and walked back downstairs to plant the tree. In the excitement, I even allowed Peridot to stand on the landing by the front door, away from the rain, to enjoy the show.

Since I live in a townhouse, I don’t really have much of a front yard. There is a small strip of grass by the stairs, but still, it would be much better than where the poor thing had been until now. I told the oleander all about its new place while Gabe dug the hole. I freed the roots from the potato sack. With Gabe holding the trunk straight, I lowered the root ball into its new home, filling the hole up with the freshly dug dirt and patting it down hard to make it stand on its own. It took less than ten minutes, but I could tell the tree was already happier. We watered it in a bit and then decided the rain would do the rest. We stood for a few seconds under the light raindrops to admire our work. I didn’t mind getting wet; I was just too happy. Now, every time I would see the tree growing and blooming, content in my front yard, I would be reminded of Gabe’s precious love gift.

His arms encircled my waist, his chin rested on my right shoulder, and with the rain as a humming choir he began to recite:

Tree

he watching you.

You look at tree,

he listen to you.

He got no finger,

he can’t speak.

But that leaf . . .

he pumping, growing,

growing in the night.

While you sleeping

you dream something.

Tree and grass same thing.

They grow with your body,

with your feeling.

I turned to Gabe and cupped his jaw with my fingertips. Dirt crusted my nails. “That was beautiful, Gabe. What is it?”

“Aboriginal cave-painting poem.”

I stopped on the landing to scoop up Peridot and took one last look at the tree. It seemed to have extended its branches, welcoming the light rain to wash off the exhaust fumes from its erstwhile home and the grime of the highway trip that brought it here.

“I’m hungry.” I closed the door and let Peridot jump out of my arms. “How about you?”

“I could eat,” Gabe said. He walked away toward the bedroom—to unpack and then re-pack.

I followed him. “How about something light to keep us from starving until dinner?” I leaned against the doorframe and inspected my dirty hands.

“Anything, luv. I’m sure it will be tasty.” He opened his bag.

“I had a wonderful time, Gabe.” I crossed my arms against my chest. I tried to keep my emotion from my voice, from unraveling right then and there, I guess . . . but, as usual, something in my voice gave my feelings away.

He looked at me for the longest time, then just opened his arms. I crossed the short distance between us and wrapped myself inside his safe embrace. I closed my eyes, wishing to stay there forever. I wished to be a painted bell on a headboard trapped with him as my sound forever.

Then my stomach rumbled.

“Was it you or me?” Gabe chuckled.

“Me.” I unwrapped myself from his arms. “I’ll go make something to eat.”

“Do you need help?”

“No, but company’s welcome.”

“I’ll be there in a sec, luv.”

I washed my hands under warm water and dried them with a red gingham kitchen towel. I checked to see if Peridot’s bowls were OK. They were both almost empty. I refilled them and got a thank-you rub against my legs before he started eating.

Perusing the fridge I found some prosciutto and a very ripe cantaloupe. A bottle of Galestro, my favorite Italian white, had been chilling on the top shelf since before we left for New Orleans. The thought of a nice plate of
prosciutto e melone
with a fresh glass of wine doubled the rumbling of my stomach, and I set to work. It didn’t take long at all to peel and seed the melon and slice it into juicy moon slivers. I wrapped the prosciutto slices around each melon wedge and arranged them on a colorful Spanish serving tray. I set the table with indigo place mats and bright yellow cloth napkins. I added a pitcher of fresh water, yellow plates, thick Spanish glasses, forks, knives, and salt and pepper shakers that matched the serving plate. Gabe walked in as I uncorked the wine.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” I asked him, pouring myself some.

“Yes, thanks. What kind is it?”

“My favorite: Galestro.”

He laughed. “Do you have a wine that you don’t like?”

I thought about it for a second, holding the Galestro bottle in midair. “Yes.”

“Well? What is it?”

“Chardonnay.”

“Chardonnay?” he asked, incredulous.

I noticed how his face had a deeper tan and a few freckles bridged his elegant nose. “I don’t care for
young
,
un-oaked
Chardonnay. Too crisp and tart. When it is aged in oak barrels and then aged in the bottle for a while it becomes creamier—buttery.

“Now, since we’re on the subject of likes and dislikes . . .” I paused, tried to look dead serious, broke into a smile, and then resumed, “what is it that you like about me?”

He cracked a grin. “What is there that I don’t love about you would be easier to answer. You’re the sexiest goofball I’ve ever met, Porzia, and, unfortunately for me, that’s a deadly pairing, luv.” He burst out laughing. That laughter sprinkled over me like joyful confetti.

“Sexy goofball?” I could not believe it.
Did he even know the meaning of “goofball”?

“That’s roight.” He leaned over and took my right hand in his and kissed my palm softly. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met. Every action, the way you look at life, is with the strength of a mature woman, the purity of an uncontaminated soul, and the sense of humor of a compulsive prankster.” He smiled at me. “The only thing I don’t like about you is how far away you live from me and how much better you look in high heels than me.”

I cracked up. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t stop. Through teary eyes I saw him take a sip of wine, watching me, totally amused. He took another sip of wine, cast me an enigmatic look, and grinned. “I don’t like your favorite wine, either.” He reached for my glass and poured the contents of his into it.

That sobered me up. I got up from the table and got him an ice-cold beer from the fridge.

“Better?” I asked him once he had taken a sip.

“Yes, thanks.” He toasted my glass with his bottle. “Cheers, mate,” he said, turning his attention to the tray of
prosciutto e melone
. “This looks good.”

“Have you ever had prosciutto?” I asked him, handing him the tray with one hand while I wiped tears off my face with the other.

“Yes, you gave me a panino on the plane I liked a lot, but I’d had it before that a few times.”

“Great!”

“I like it with eggs in the morning instead of bacon.” He helped himself to several prosciutto-wrapped wedges of melon.

“This here we usually serve as antipasto back home. But people have it as a main course as well,” I told him, filling my plate. I took a sip of wine and wished him bon appétit. Laughter aside, it was time to eat.

And it was complete: a quiet early afternoon meal with great music in the background, drizzle outside, and the perfect setting inside. We shared the last wedge of melon and then I peeled an apple that we shared as well.

We were just finishing up when the phone rang. I went to answer and Gabe got up, telling me he was going to clean up the kitchen. Peridot followed me to the phone; it could only mean one thing: Evalena. As I picked up the phone to answer, I noticed it had been blinking with several messages I hadn’t realized were there. Busy with planting the tree, I had forgotten to check the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, hon, it’s Evalena.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Oh, you do?” She sounded amused.

“Peridot told me.”

“Sweet kitty.”

“How are you, Evalena?” I asked, smiling at Peridot. His duty accomplished, he left me to amble back into the kitchen. I sat on the sofa armrest.

“I’m well, hon. How’s everything with you?”

“We’re doing great. We got back from New Orleans and just finished a late lunch.”

“Oh, well, I won’t keep you. Give me a call when you get a chance sometime in the next few days.”