The Beckoning of Beautiful Things (The Beckoning Series) (3 page)

“It’s only
five o’clock. Come on, girl, relax a little.” He wrapped his arms around her and bent his head to touch his forehead with hers. His lungs rose and fell with several slow, deep breaths.

Her third eye pulsed, like it always did when he practiced this
breathing technique with her. It was like he was polishing the mirror to her mind, letting her see things in a different way. A breeze stirred, and his curls tickled her cheeks. She brushed them away, as if they were gnats, gritting her teeth.

“Tell me what you see,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to do this,” she whispered back. “You know I hate this ability. And I need to talk to you.”

“Come on, baby-doll, this date thing could be a pathway to something big. You’ve never dated anyone else as long as we’ve been together.
Let’s see what’s in store.”

“No,” she hissed through her teeth.

“Come on.” He stilled and resumed deep, slow breaths.

“We need to talk.
I’m not your personal fortune teller.”

“Five minutes – just give me five minutes
, and then, we’ll talk.”

“I’ll give you two and that’s it.”
Maybe if I relax a little it will make this easier.
As he breathed, her third eye opened wide like a camera lens. Eyes closed, she pictured a pathway, leading through a vegetable garden. Rows and rows of vines on wooden trellises invited her to explore the freshly tilled pathways of soft loam. She took a few tentative steps through the spongy dirt. Her hands brushed along the tops of the vines, feeling tendrils of pea pods and leaves tickling her palms. The sun beamed down on her face, soothing her even more. She fell deeper into relaxation.
You can do this, Engles. Just say we’re incompatible.

The garden seemed like a happy place. She wanted to kick off her shoes and run through the dirt like she had as a child. She wanted to laugh and be free again, like
when she was young. She wanted her mom or her dad to pop out from behind a vine, pick her up, and swing her round and round, the way they did when she was a child. She wanted to have a grown-up conversation the way they did before they had left this planet in an airplane crash, heading to Guatemala. Her heart clenched.

“Don’t be sad,” her dad said into her right ear.

“We’re always with you,” her mother’s melodious voice said into her left ear.

Her mother, Mica, a beautiful woman of Spanish and European descent, had a beautiful,
mellifluous voice that drew tears from the eyes and stirred passion in the heart. Her father, Kellen, a handsome German-Irish man, had been a conductor at the Seattle Symphony. They frequently flew to exotic places when her mother had a gig somewhere or sometimes just for fun. Their last trip had been a pleasure trip turned tragedy.

Smiling at her mother’s reassurance, she noted tanned workers in the garden, pulling weeds, hoeing, digging holes, tying off vines, and watering. They all smiled and inclined their heads as they saw her.
The scene looked friendly and colorful, like a theme park display. She grinned and nodded back. The workers filled muddy holes at the base of each vine. She glanced down to see the same, shimmering, ghostly apparition she had seen in the dream-like image of the Sea of Cortez staring up at her, when she stood in the store with that delicious man she just met.
Do I know her?

The cool tendrils continued to reach for her. Her skin snapped and popped with electricity, as if she were shorting out. She shook off the green coils. She plucked them from her skin. They snaked up her arms and tightened, restricting her movement. One long filament wound around her neck and squeezed, causing tiny explosions of light to crackle from her neck. Several others corkscrewed around her chin and face, making it difficult to breathe.

The light in the sky kept flickering on and off, like someone was turning off the sun. The whole vision started to take on a herky-jerky, now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t kind of appearance, like an old, old movie being played in a worn out film projector.

Her eye
s flew wildly around the garden, and her body twitched. Where did the garden workers go? All she could see were scarecrows, their vacant, smiling eyes staring into space. Some of them appeared burnt. Their charred clothes flaked off their straw-stuffed torsos and whirled away in the wind. A few were missing, leaving only smoking stakes. The green goddess had pulled herself from her watery, mud puddle world and sprinted away from her down the long row, her hair muddy and clinging to her back, her clothes dripping from her body. Her silvery voice called out, “I’m free!”

The light show immediately ceased.
Marissa let out a small whimper, like a dreaming dog.

“Shhh,”
Jason said.

Maybe the goddess is me?
Maybe Jason is the bindings. I need to get this over with and cut free.
“We need to talk.”

“Shhh,”
he said again.

Jason’s quiet, deep breathing lulled her back to the pres
ent. “That’s better. That one had a real kick, huh?” he said, still pressing his bony head to hers.

“
I miss my mom,” she blurted as tears filled her eyes.
This is why I don’t invite closeness into my life. Relationships end.

“I know
, I know. You’ve told me that. Shhh.” He slowly eased back and examined her. He tucked her hair behind her ears and gazed into her eyes.

“I hate it when things change.”

“Shhh.” He kissed her eyelids. “You’re such a silly girl. I’ll keep you safe.”

“I’m not a girl. I’m a woman.”

He nibbled her lips like a rabbit taste-testing a carrot. “You’re such a silly woman, then. Relax, doll.”

“We need to talk.”
She regarded his sky-blue orbs, feeling the safety and familiarity of his childlike gaze. That was one of the things she loved about him. He regarded life with openness and childlike wonder. That was one of the things she hated about him. He refused to grow up, mature, and act responsibly. With Jason Harmonia Brown, it was always push-pull. She snapped from her moment of tenderness. “Okay, there’s your two minutes.”

“Shhh,” Jason soothed again.

“No, shhh, I said I didn’t want to do this. I want to go in, feed my dog, and get ready for my date. But first I need to say something to you.”

Jason grabbed her legs and guided them around his hips in yab-yum, a Tantra position he enjoyed. His erection was as stiff as before. It jabbed at her crotch.

“No, Jason, I gave you two minutes and now it’s my turn.”

“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s get those leggings off of you and take this a little deeper.”

“In the front yard?” she spluttered. “No,
Jason, no, no, no. I’m done.”

He leaned forward and tried to kiss her.

She impulsively bit his lip.

“Ouch! What the hell?
What’s wrong with you?” He tapped his lip with his index finger.

“The crystal ball mind-fuck is over.”
She got up, glaring.

He winced. “I wish you wouldn’t use such strong language. It was a beautiful moment.”

“For you, maybe. Jason, we’re…”

“
Look, I’m bleeding!” He held his bloody finger out to her like a child.

“Put a Band-Aid on it after you get out of my yard.”

“Oh, I know what’s going on,” he said, as if a light bulb had clicked on over his head.

“What?”

“You’re just tense over your date.”

“I’m just tense because I want to break up with you.”
There. I did it.

The sentence just rolled over his head
like a tumbleweed. “You’re just not used to dating other people while you date me. You’ll get used to it.” He stood up, clearly pleased with himself.

“I don’t want to date other people while I date you. I don’t want to date you at all anymore.”

“You’ll change your mind. You’re just tense.”

“Get out of here.”

“It’s nerves.”

“Go.”

“Jitters.”

“We’re done.”

“You’ll see.” He grinned and leaned forward to kiss her again.

Her jaw dropped
and she shoved him away. “Are you nuts?
Go!”
She stabbed her finger at his car.

Turning to walk to his car, a 1969 beater, navy blue Ford Fairlane Fastback, he called, “I want a full report. Later, baby-doll.”

“Not if I can help it,” she yelled back. “My new life begins today!”

In her bedroom
, Marissa scrutinized the clothes she had chosen and laid on the bed. She picked up a Vivienne Westwood toga top that her sister Jill always liked on her. The long-sleeved, asymmetrical hemmed, purple and light brown pullover had a high neck in the front and a low dip in the back, revealing her shoulders and upper back.

Sober romped in with his squeaky Kong ball. He looked at her expectantly and squeezed the ball between his powerful jaws. He dropped it at her feet and barked. Marissa picked up the slimy ball and regarded her dog. “Who’s better than a part-time boyfriend?” she asked the mutt. “You are. Want the ball?” He stood up and barked. She opened her bedroom window wide and threw the ball out in the yard. Sober sailed gracefully over the low window ledge and raced out to retrieve the ball.

She turned her attention back to her clothing choices. “Sexy, sexy, sexy,” Jill had told her when she’d seen the Vivienne Westwood garment. “Wear that and get rid of the surfer dude for once and for all.” Both her sisters liked Jason. They just thought she should trade up for something more permanent and ambitious. “He’s going to be a child for the rest of his life,” Jill had lamented last week. “You need a man.”

Is Daniel
what my sisters would call a man?
Something about the man intrigued her. Something about him aroused the hell out of her. Something about the man was as dark as a moonless night. She couldn’t put her finger on it but it was there, in the back of her mind like a glowing cinder stuck to her skin.

A couple hours later, dressed in the toga-style top, brown leggings, comfortable leather flats, with her hair piled loosely atop her head, Marissa paced in the front room. Sober Dober laid on the rug in front of the fireplace, watching her every move. “You want me to sit down?” she asked the dog.
She sat at the edge of the couch, picking her fingernails. Sober gave up watching and rolled over with a groan.

At 6:50, the doorbell rang
, and she yelped. Sober’s head popped up out of slumber, scrambling to his feet.

She ran her palms up and down her leggings and nervously made her way to the front door. When she opened it, a pleasant looking gentleman in his mid-50s wearing a crisp black suit
greeted her warmly.

“Ms. Engles?” he said, extending a bouquet of sweet peas and irises in her direction. “I’m Javier. These are from Daniel. He picked them for you this afternoon.”

She took the proffered flowers and buried her nose in the cool, papery blossoms. “Mmm. They’re lovely. Won’t you step in for a moment while I put these in a vase?”

“No, thank you, I’ll wait here.” He glanced at her dog.

Marissa tracked his gaze. “He won’t hurt you. I have to crate him anyway.”

“Thank you, but I’ll wait here. Boss’s instructions.” He folded his hands and smiled at her.

When the flowers were put away and the dog crated, she stepped out into the cool evening and followed Javier to the car. As he reached for the door, Marissa asked, “Mercedes-Benz S-Class?”

“Why, yes, it is.”

“I just did an ad for one in the
Seattle’s Finest
magazine.”

“I see,” he replied, holding the door open for her. “Please,” he said, nodding towards the Barolo Red car.

The car was so clean it looked brand new. She ran a hand along the polished surface. It was like touching cool silk.
Mom and Dad would have driven something like this
. That life of opulence and joy was behind her, buried in the distant past.
Way outside my comfort zone,
she mused. She’d
never
picked anyone as compelling as Daniel. She swallowed back her resistance and settled in the plush, off-white, richly-grained leather backseat and waited.

Javier
closed the door behind her, committing her to the date.

After Javier got in the driver’s seat and started the engine, she said, “I do ad layout. I’m an ad specialist and graphic designer.”

“I see,” Javier replied.

“I’m pretty good at it.”

His eyes regarded hers for a moment in the rear-view mirror, and he nodded.

“I studied graphic arts in college,” she continued.
“I’m an artist.”

“Very good.”

“Did you have to train for your job?” she blurted. Seeing his frown, she corrected herself. “I’m sorry, that was nosy. I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

He seemed to warm toward her, and he gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t be. Mr. Navid is a very kind man.”

He pronounced the last name as Na-veed, in crisp, measured tones. “I see,” she replied, repeating his earlier response. “Or I hope I will see.”

“You will. He’s been preparing all afternoon for you. Ever since he arrived from his errands.”

A thrill shot up her spine.
All afternoon? He’s been preparing all afternoon?
A wide grin split her face. Javier regarded her in the rear-view, nodded once, and then fell silent the rest of the way.

As they wove through the streets of West Seattle, they headed toward the prime real estate section of West Seattle – the waterfront. They turned off of SW Juneau and wound their way up a curvy road called Pacific Place. Off of Pacific, Javier turned right up a private driveway flanked by two stone lions. He guided the Mercedes up the tree-lined road. Marissa’s eyes widened. Bronze sculptures of voluptuous women frolicked in the trees. Their large, curvaceous bodies peeked out from behind stands of conifers. They cavorted among colorful blossoms bursting from r
hododendron and azaleas. They smiled, threw their heads back, and laughed. They danced, completely naked or scantily clothed. Marissa could almost hear the lively songs they danced to. They beckoned to her to get free and join them. Instead, Marissa shrunk into her seat, suddenly feeling very small, homely, and insecure.

Javier’s eyes met hers in the rear-view. “Mr. Navid is a collector of beautiful things. He likes to surround himself with reminders of joy and beauty.”

Marissa’s head inclined in response.

“Do you like the statues?”

She coaxed her voice from her lungs and croaked, “Yes, they’re very beautiful.”

Javier’s eyes looked at her intently. “He adores beauty in all its forms.”

“You should just take me home then,” she exclaimed. Her cheeks blazed, and she slunk down in her plush seat, wishing the cushions could swallow her whole. She caught a glimpse of a smile on Javier’s face, and she wished she were somewhere, anywhere, but here. This had been a mistake. She’d been caught up by excitement and agreed to something completely out of her league. “I don’t think I can do this,” she said to her lap.

“I think you can,” Javier
replied.

Her head whipped up to see Javier’s sparkling brown eyes, twinkling with what looked like kindness.
   He pulled up a huge circular driveway and stopped in front of an enormous home. No, that wasn’t right. It was more of a mini-palace. A multi-storied mansion, she wondered how one man could live here all by himself.
That’s easy. He doesn’t live alone.

Marissa’s eyes grew, and she shook her head. She’d done ads for this type of house. She remembered wandering through homes like this as a child, with her mother and father by her side. Her mother would be smiling and laughing, soaking in the adoration all around her and her father would stand elegant and tall, proud of his
family. After they died, she’d never stepped inside such a home again.

“Are you ready?” Javier asked.

Marissa’s head shook back and forth. “No,” she mouthed. Her third eye throbbed, and she rubbed it with her palm.

“Take a moment and breathe. You’ll be fine.” Javier opened the car, got out, and stepped towards her door.

When he opened the safety of her enclosure, she peeked out at the asphalt. It split apart with a loud crack before her eyes, a gaping slit snaking towards the road below, opened wide to darkness. Tendrils of purple wafted up from the depth like slowly undulating smoke. Red lights flickered below. Grotesque snarls snaked into her ears.

“Ms. Engles?”

She blinked rapidly and the asphalt reappeared. “Did you see that?”

“See what
, dear?” he asked, his face perplexed.

“This was a big mistake
,” she said to Javier. “I’m not feeling well. I’m seeing things. Please, I’d like to go home.”