Roxy Harte (12 page)

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into her system than it can utilize.

“I’m sorry,” she keeps saying. “I’m not scared, I don’t know why I keep shaking.”

“You’re fine, sweetheart,” I assure her. “You were beautiful underwater.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“I would have never agreed to that, if it had been a choice. Now, I know just how deep my darkness runs. I mean, I never thought for a moment that you would let me die…not on purpose—if something went wrong, you would do your best to get me out of the water alive; but knowing that, doesn’t mean that there wasn’t primal terror…and facing that…wow.” She pauses, mouth open to say more, but then she chokes on the emotion she’s been trying to hold back, big, wet tears falling over her cheeks and spattering on my chest.

My heart swells in my chest, knowing exactly what she is trying to say and I am suddenly faced with my missing half, the one I feel complete with.

“Thank you, Sophia.” I pull her in close, kissing her cold, damp shoulder. She smells of the ocean. If I close my eyes, I could pretend I was back inGreece . I’d like to take Kitten there. The thought comes out of nowhere.
I want to take her toGreece .

I don’t share my homeland with my women, not even Latisha has been toGreece and we’ve been together for five years. She knows the man I am here in theUnited States ; she knows I have a past I keep hidden, my true darkness. I also keep from her the lightness, the part of me that I only set free when I am home. Only one woman have I ever taken toGreece to see my homeland—her name was Eva. With her, I shared the dark and the light, but not the truth. I think of her often still, but she is lost to my past.

Kitten has no place in my future.
The thought rips through my middle, unwanted. I am not one to dwell on past or future and to have such a thought bothers me. What is happening to me that I am no longer in control of my thoughts?

The boat’s crew mills around us, completing their tasks, but Kitten is oblivious to them, having eyes only for me. Her level of passion and trust is incredible. She is totally unconscious of her nudity, as she spreads out two oversized beach towels on the deck. I lie down on one. Reaching for her, I pull her down next to me so that she can relax in the warmth of the blazing sun with me. It is a hot day and, stripped to my swimsuit, the sun feels good on my skin.

“This is nice, Sophia.” I stretch out, letting the sun hit as much exposed skin as possible. She cuddles in close, wrapping her naked body around me. Her skin is still cool from being in the water. I pull her closer, her damp hair fitting into the curve of my shoulder as she wraps her body around me. I kiss her again, inhaling her warmth, her fragrance, whispering, “I love you.”

“Hmmm?” she says, pushing against me to be nearer.

“Nothing.” I clear my throat, hiding emotion I never expected to feel in a soft cough. “I was just telling you how proud I am of you.”

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“Make the most of your regrets; never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.”

-Henry David Thoreau

Thomas

A distant ringing wakes me and, for a moment, I am disoriented, not realizing it is the phone. Then I realize that it is midnight, we have been asleep less than an hour, and the phone is ringing. The ring doesn’t stop, no voice mail pickup. It is the land line.
No one has the beach house number.

I roll onto my side, ignoring the phone, assuming a wrong number will give up and hang up on their own.

The ringing stops only to restart again.
No one has the beach house number, except Aman.

Heart pounding, I race through the dark house to the wall-mounted kitchen receiver. “Hello?”

My answer is met with very quick Arabic, my brain translates Arabic reasonably well when I’m fully awake and the speaker talks in a rational fashion. My caller is frantic, the main context of the conversation being his fear that I am going to kill him.

“Aman!” I shout, to be heard over his babbling. Aman is my man inCairo , my eyes and ears while Latisha and the children are away. Technically, he is the gardener slash pool-boy at her father’s villa in town. “In English and slow down.”

“So sorry, sir, your wife and children left. I begged them not to go but they went.”

“Are they on a plane toParis ?” I demand.

“No, Sir.Sudan , Sir. Please don’t kill me! I am just a lowly gardener, as insignificant as a slug, no lower, an earthworm…”

I hang up on him, knowing his excuses could go on for another hour. Closing my eyes, I press my forehead to the cool kitchen wall. “God damn, Latisha. What are you thinking?” I expected her to want to stay in Egypt as long as she could, visiting with her father, before traveling back to his country estate in France. I understood her reasons for wanting to raise our children away from theUS , I wasn’t thrilled withFrance as her first choice, but then, what did I expect? I never expected to keep her as long as I did.

Here, everyone believes she is my wife and once the children started arriving, I suggested we marry for real, but she wouldn’t hear of it, wanting only her independence. Her mother died young, her father, a very wealthy antiquities dealer, both legal and illegal antiquities, raised her in boarding schools. She considers it normal to raise your children away from home.

I don’t consider it normal, my opinion falling under the same thoughts I have about nannies. She wants one, I don’t. I could say we don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but that would be the understatement of the century. We expected Nikkos, our now ten-month-old to be the last baby, but when she went in for the appointment to have a tubal ligation performed, she was already pregnant, again. She wanted to abort. It wasn’t a pretty argument and it lasted for days. I don’t believe in accidents and I don’t believe in abortion.

“You’ve killed before, Thomas!” she’d screamed and the sound coming form her throat was barely
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human, so much did she want to abort. Three children had already cost her so much in terms of personal freedom.

“Yes, I’ve killed…” I admitted, hell, she’d seen me kill, so up close and personal that we were both covered in blood spray as we barely escaped with our lives the last time I was inEgypt . I couldn’t deny the truth even though she couldn’t comprehend half of what I’ve done in my past. “…but comparing what I have done in my past to aborting an unborn child is low even for you.” I was in her face, seething, her hair wrapped in my hand and her neck jerked back as far as it could go without causing her very real damage. She’d pushed me too far and realized it. Whatever she saw in my eyes that day made her back down, no abortion, but I couldn’t keep her from running home to Daddy, the same man she originally helped me escape from in return for taking her with me.

What a tangled web. Now she has returned to him. Oh, sure, they’ve reconciled. Yes, he’s thrilled to have grandchildren. However, he still wants their father’s head on a pike. So, to return toEgypt is suicidal and still, I make plans to go back. I really do have a death wish. When I read her note, saying she’d gone toCairo , I was pissed because the instability of the entire region scares me; especially when I considered all that could go wrong for a woman traveling alone with three small children. But I didn’t chase her down. I let her go, giving her time to cool down and think. Now, she’s crossed the line. I must go.

Recovering, I call Delta, securing flights to LAX and CAI quickly and easily. It’s amazing how helpful airlines are when you use American Express Black and insist on first-class. Flights arranged, I speed dial Garrett’s cell phone, planning to leave a message, and am surprised when he answers on the first ring.

The volume level of the club in high gear drowns out what I assume is his hello. He must be in one of the lower public levels.

“Garrett, Thomas. Go somewhere quiet so you can hear me,” I command, not wanting to have to shout what I need to say more than once.

A moment later there is silence, so silent, for a moment I believe I have lost our connection, and then I hear his voice. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

“Where are you?” I ask, curious.

“Playroom two. I was standing outside its door when you rang. Now, what’s happened?”

“I’m leaving for Cairo—in five hours. I know that this is unexpected, but can you come and get Kitten?

Not now, not yet, but in the morning. She doesn’t know yet, I need time to break the news to her. I’m giving her back to you.” I leave so much unsaid, speaking fast, almost as fast as Aman when he called to beg for his life. I hope Garrett heard what I left unsaid.
This isn’t because I want to give her back. I
don’t want to give her back. I’m in love with her.

There is a moment of silence before he asks, “Is Lattie okay?”

“I’ll call you when I know something,” I promise, then I hang up, seeing her shadow against the wall, actually only a slight shift in shadows but I know it was her. Then the shadow is gone. I’m not sure how much of the phone conversations she heard, but as soon as I walk through the bedroom door, I know she heard all, or most of what was said. Her face is crumbled, devastated. I kneel beside the bed, taking her hand in mine. She looks into my face, questioning.

“Garrett is coming for me?”

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“Yes, in a few hours. It will be early, before daylight. I’m needed inCairo .”

“Your wife?”

“Yes.”

Kitten doesn’t ask for details, she chews her bottom lip nervously, looking at the bedspread. I capture her hand, stopping her from pulling a broken thread. Her eyes lift, catching my gaze. I can’t look away, maybe she can’t look away either, I don’t know. I only know that when her eyes pool with tears something inside me rips, something inside me that I thought no longer existed.

“Don’t cry,” I whisper, catching the first tear that falls with my thumb. Holding her gaze, I lift it to my mouth and lick its saltiness away with my tongue. Another tear falls and I catch it sliding down her cheek with my mouth, whispering, “Please don’t cry. I won’t be able to leave you if you cry, I’ll have to sneak you onto a plane with me and smuggle you intoCairo . Trust me, you don’t want to go with me toCairo .”

I leave out the part that I am not welcome inCairo and that this is going to be a very dangerous trip for me, instead saying, “I want tonight to be special.”

Our faces are close, cheek to cheek, but our eyes meet. I feel her breath catch as she holds her breath, waiting expectantly, her lips parting with anticipation. I notice each subtlety as a major moment, capturing it all on the film reel of my mind, wanting to hold each nuance as a memory for the rest of my life. I catch her lips with mine, kissing her, knowing I shouldn’t be kissing her…not like this—tenderly, lovingly, letting my soul mingle with hers in the wetness of our mingled saliva. I kiss her until my heart rips in two and the pain of continuing to kiss her would be greater than the pain of stopping the kiss.

When did I fall in love with her?

It isn’t even really a question. I’ve been in love with her since the moment I first saw her—onstage, with Garrett. I didn’t bid on her that night. I saw no reason to. At Lewd’s, today’s property becomes tomorrow’s throwaway and I knew I only needed to wait.

Tomorrow’s throwaway.
Yes, tomorrow I give her back to Garrett, but Kitten is no throwaway.

“Tonight, I’m going to hurt you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, I understand. I like it when you hurt me.”

I smile at her honesty. “I have left you marked before, but tonight, I want you to understand before you agree, I am going to hurt you worse than I have ever hurt you. I am going to leave you marked and the marks are going to take a long time to fade. I am going to return you to Garrett marked and used, so that there is no doubt in his mind how sorely I abused you. Do you understand why?”

She shakes her head no, saying, “It is your right to do so.”

“Yes, it is, but what I am doing is marking you as mine.”

Her eyes narrow, my words curling through her mind. Concluding my meaning, she gasps, “You want him to refuse me?”

“No, he won’t refuse you, but he’ll receive the very important message that I’m sending him. I’m returning you to him because I’m honorable, because I said I would, but by the marks I leave on you, he
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will know I loved you and that while you were mine, you were mine completely—and if for any reason you are no longer his in the future, you will be mine again. Do you understand?”

She sniffles, nodding, thinking she understands but I wonder if she truly does.

“You are mine.” I kiss her on the cheek tenderly then stand, pulling her up with me. “I want you to go out onto the balcony and wait for me.”

Questions run through her eyes but she remains silent, turning to obey me. I watch her pad across the carpeted floor barefoot, her bright red toenail polish stark blazes of color against her pale skin and the beige carpet. She pulls open the French doors, leaving them open, their sheer white window gauze catching and fluttering in the damp ocean-scented breeze. She goes to the rail and holds onto it, waiting for me to join her without looking back to see if I am coming.

It is pitch black on the balcony, the sky and sea barely distinguishable except for where the waves break and white foam is created. The balcony is private, screened from three sides and the ocean beyond, allowing for no voyeurs.