Starry Starry Night

STARRY STARRY NIGHT

By Pamela Downs

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, products, services, landmarks or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 Pamela Downs

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law.

STARRY STARRY NIGHT

By Pamela Downs

Chapter One

One particularly miserable, drizzly Alexandria morning, Vincent Barrow burped. He held sentry just inside the 'new room' of George Washington's Mansion, Mount Vernon, adjusting the inseam of his royal blue britches. His long, wavy brown hair hung tied with a silk ribbon. Vincent’s authentic English accent made him a lively docent for the group of attractive women, in their late twenties. They were giggly, whispering about the tightness of his clothing. Vincent visibly enjoyed the attention.

"General Washington was both architect and decorator of the mansion. He wrote in his journal that the color green, of the 'new room,’ was very pleasing to the eye. The shade is verdigris. The room is set for a formal dessert party with cakes, Jellos and fruits. In colonial times, Jello was called simply ‘gel’.”

A willowy redhead reached across the rope queue and snatched a silver dinner bell off of the display. She impishly rang it. Vincent’s thoughts muddled with a scene from a campy old movie where the King of Jelly clutched a plate of Jello. The king resembled a chimp, not unlike Vincent’s identical twin brother, Virgil.

She seemed somehow familiar, but no, not really. An all-American looking blonde called out to her. "Hurry Marie, look where General Washington placed the front door, it's directly under the stairs, just like on the John Bee"

Vincent couldn’t resist rounding the corner. “What is the John Bee, ladies?”

They giggled. The ladies in their tour group moved on to the next room. The blonde winked and wiggled out of the foyer, catching up with the others.

“Italian castle called John? I think not.
Giovanni del castello
.”

“So you live in an Italian castle?”

“Hardly. Not many of those around in the United States.”

Vincent removed a recipe for Martha Washington’s cake, from a stack on a tea table. He groped inside his waistcoat and retrieved a pen. Handing them to Marie, he said, “Write your address down for me.”

Marie tugged his upper lip while drawing his chin down.
Nice sharp incisors.

A group of Japanese businessman filled the foyer. Vincent realized he’d abandoned his post in the new room. As Hilda, the bubbly foyer docent began her spiel, he dragged Marie by the hand, maneuvering her through the throng of thin men, back into the new room.

“Meet me back here at 10:00 p.m.” he suggested.

“I’m not paying admission twice.” She noticed he persisted in holding her hand. And rubbing her wrist with his thumb. Her eyelids went heavy at the pleasure point.

“Never mind. I don’t want to know how old he is. So long as he does not look his age. You vampire centurions freak me out with your life--wing spans.”

* * * *

US Park Police Officer Nicholas Barrow finished up a traffic incident report along the George Washington Parkway. As the tow truck pulled away hauling a disabled, vintage blue Pontiac, Virgil shoved his paperwork in the saddle bag on his bicycle and returned to the meandering hilly asphalt trail. The temperature loomed way below normal, but the Washington humidity reared her ugly head, after the morning thunderstorms. He felt miserably musty.

Up ahead at milepost 2.1 he sighted a pair of women on inline skates, precariously teetering, clinging to each other. Virgil pedaled up and rang his bell just before he reached them. "Hello, Ladies. Please keep to the right of the yellow line so that others may pass freely."

The curvy blonde toppled over, taking the redhead with her. They rolled down the grassy embankment, screaming and laughing.

As he engaged his kickstand and dismounted, the police radio squawked out "Possible two-one-one in progress...Caruthers’ Boathouse...all available units please respond."

Virgil hurriedly helped the ladies up the hill. A sudden wind knocked over his bike. An image of an open porthole flashed through his thoughts. Overcome by the peculiar sensation of not wearing any pants, Virgil grabbed his legs. Reassured at the touch of his green uniform shorts, he seated himself, shifted into tenth gear and pedaled onward.

Wearing their inline skates, Marie and Annette stomped to a picnic table in a grassy knoll. They plopped down. Annette lamented, “Too bad he had to leave. That guy was so hot.”

Annette questioned, “Did you purposely go to Mount Vernon today, knowing Mr. Vincent Barrow would be on the job docenting or whatever you call it?”

Chapter Two

Marie and Annette lingered peeking in the lighted window of the Mount Vernon gift shop. Marie’s attention befell on the George Washington Christmas tree ornaments, hung gaily on artificial trees.

Annette fancied the three corner hats. She sang a little nursery rhyme about three cornered hats. “I’ve always wanted one, you know.”

“You’ve always wanted a three cornered hat?”

“Yes. Let’s go in and purchase a pair. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Annette bought a hat and a George Washington shaped whistle. Marie purchased a hat and a brooch shaped like the Key to the Bastille. Back out in the summer night, the girls donned their hats. Annette tooted the three cornered hat toon into her whistle. Cars retrieved tourists in the circular drive.

“Why didn’t you buy a fife instead?”

“They sold fifes?”

“Maybe we can come back some time.” Marie pinned her brooch onto her form fitting yellow camisole, over her left nipple. Her long billowing floral skirt skimmed her legs.

Cars retrieved tourists in the circular drive. Footsteps approached. She detected the electricity of his thumb on her bare skin as she spun on her espadrilles to smile at Vincent.

The two couples paired off as they stepped through a gate and strolled over the rolling terrain in the bright starlight. Well, that and the lantern Vincent carried.

As they reached the sixteen-sided building used for indoor wheat threshing, Virgil guided Annette to a ramp and disappeared into the upper level. Vincent grasped Marie’s hand and they passed into the treading barn at ground level.

“What’s this place for?” she asked, barely able to see.

“Threshing. Wheat was strewn in the upper level. Horses and mules were led in circles, their footsteps crushing the plants and the wheat kernels fell through slats in the floor down here.” He softly kissed her lips.

She returned it, with a hunger.

Vincent’s hands brushed the soft cotton of her top, teasing the nipples to life. Marie moaned. He leaned down and drew one into his mouth, fabric, brooch and all.

She tugged him back. “You’ll hurt yourself on the pin.”

“But it’s the key to your Bastille...”

Marie tangled her hands in his wavy hair, yanking the ribbon loose. She wound it around her hand as he attended her other breast, nibbling and sucking.