Smaragdus

Smaragdus - Latin for the word "emerald"

”I know you’re here.” The woman in the bed wasn’t sleeping, yet she made no attempt to get up or even reach for her cell phone on the nightstand. “I’ve been expecting you.” Her cover blown, the intruder stepped silently out of the darkness. “You’ve been here twice before so I figured there will be a third time as well,” the woman said.

“And how did I know that?” she asked the nightly visitor. “Because you got what you wanted the first time.” She kicked the duvet on the floor. “Now how about giving me what I want.” Whatever the stranger had expected to happen, this certainly wasn’t it.

11 months earlier

“Darling,” Carol Aird pleaded, “eat something… just a little bit, please.” The man in the wheelchair wasn’t feeling cooperative. His mouth a defiant mute line, he dodged the spoonful she was desperately trying to feed him. Sighing, Carol put the plate away and sat next to her husband. “Oh Harge,” she said cupping his cheek pensively, “what on earth am I to do with you?” She could see the anguish in his eyes, the desolate look of a once virile man now trapped inside his shriveled body. “I know, my dear,” Carol whispered, “I know.”

Hargess Foster Aird had once been a dashing young man who had ‘had the world on a string’. Whistling the Sinatra oldie all too often, he had loved ‘that damn earworm’ as Carol had called it. Harge, the persistent suitor, had fallen in love with Carol, and she had grown fond of him. She had even accepted his proposal of marriage. It couldn’t be any worse than struggling on my own, she had reasoned.

And Carol had gotten something she had very much wished for: a cute baby girl they had named Rindy, and for a while everything had been almost rosy. But baby girls grow up and move out, and with her something essential left the family home for good – the affection she had showered her parents with to such an extent it had been enough to sustain their marriage as well. Rindy’s laughter no longer reverberating in the house, their quarrels had filled the sad void until even harsh words had become redundant.

Harge had had his first stroke five years ago while on a skiing trip in Europe. Whom he had travelled there with Carol didn’t know, but she was certain it hadn’t been just the snowy peaks and fast slopes he had looked forward to conquer. He had come back a shattered man, a shell of his former self. Soon after that Harge’s fortunes had dwindled, his unscrupulous business partners having pulled a fast one on him. Carol had resumed her work as one of the curators of the Metropolitan Museum of Art to make ends meet and to provide him with proper care. The latter had come in form of a very competent nurse, Miss Abigail Gerhard, who looked after Harge during the daytime. She also took care of Carol – at nighttime. A win-win situation, Carol had thought many times.

“And how are we doing this morning?” nurse Gerhard smiled at Harge, entering the breakfast room. “Morning, Carol,” she winked at her distressed employer. “I’m sorry I’m running a little late. Will you be joining us for supper?” She washed her hands before taking over the feeding. For some reason Harge didn’t seem to mind her finishing the chore he resisted Carol doing in the first place.

“Yes, of course,” Carol said. “I have an easy day ahead. Just one interview lined up – a young woman whom we hope will be able to help us with the upcoming exhibition.” She pulled out a stack of papers from her briefcase. “Theresa Bell… no, Belivet.” There was no photo of the applicant on the resume she had been handed just a couple of days prior.

“Belivet? Sounds Eastern European or something,” Miss Gerhard commented dabbing the corners of Harge’s mouth with a napkin. “I thought you’d have a French specialist for Napoleon’s diamonds.” She guided yet another generous heap of oatmeal between Harge’s lips.

“They’re not Napoleon’s diamonds, Abby,” Carol corrected. “The necklace and the earrings the Louvre is gracious enough to give us on loan belonged to Empress Marie-Louise, the former Archduchess of Austria.” She sounded irritated.

“But you said something about diamonds… and Napoleon,” Abby insisted.

“Well, yes!” Carol exclaimed impatiently. “There are over two hundred rose diamonds and nearly nine hundred brilliants in them, but it’s really about the gorgeous emeralds Napoleon I gave to Marie-Louise when they got married. Happy now?” Peeved, she shoved the papers back to her briefcase. Abby had gotten on her nerves lately more than she liked to admit.

“Someone got up on the wrong side of bed this morning…” Abby cooed to Harge. Had Carol not known better, she could have sworn he was smirking at her.

“I’m outta here,” Carol said grabbing her coat and heading towards the door. “Be good.”

The young woman sitting across the desk from her looked pleasant enough, Carol thought. She had a long black hair done up into a tight bun, and a pair of black rimmed glasses that lend her face a rather stern look. Awfully thin, Carol mused, paying close attention to the woman’s flat chest and slim arms. For a second she was overcome by a strange desire to crack a stupid joke just to see if Theresa Belivet knew how to smile.

“It’s Therese,” the woman pointed out soon after they had commenced the interview. “A common mistake.”

Leaning back, Carol dropped the pen she had used for doodling on top of her pad. “Terez? Lovely.” She picked up her ballpoint as if the new information was something she just had to make a note of. 

  T H E R E S E

“Well, Therese Belivet,” Carol drawled, “your resume is very impressive not to mention the glowing letter of recommendation.” Her hands were fidgeting with a prestigious looking envelope. “I don’t know how we could afford not to hire you for the job.”

Blushing, Therese Belivet seemed slightly uncomfortable. “Mrs. Cantrell is very kind…” she started hesitantly, “too kind, I’m sure.”

Carol threw her head back and laughed. “I’ve known Genevieve for years, and one thing I do know is that she is not too kind.” Growing serious again, she cleared her throat. “But now I digress… please bear in mind that it’s not Mrs. Cantrell, Miss Belivet – it’s Lady Cantrell, and we should always remember that she is a most esteemed benefactor of the museum.” Even if she at times forgot her own place, she would make damn sure Therese Belivet would remember hers. “After all we have Lady Cantrell and her late husband, the revered Lord Cantrell, to thank for so much we have here today.”

For a fleeting moment Carol couldn’t decide if the look on Miss Belivet’s face reflected surprised embarrassment or quaint defiance. “My apologies, Mrs Aird,” she said. “I have a lot to learn.” She sounded sincere.

“Oh, hogwash,” Carol quipped unexpectedly. “Royalty – who needs them, right?” she chuckled, hoping to catch the smile she hoped was lurking somewhere just beneath the surface. It wasn’t. “We should get cracking first thing tomorrow morning, and talk about the centerpiece in more detail. I’m curious to pick your brain since you certainly know your stones,” Carol hastened to continue after a rather discomforting silence. “I’m heading downtown next. Can I give you a lift or something?”

Shaking her head, Therese Belivet declined her new boss’ kind offer. “Thank you, but you’d only be stuck in traffic on my account. Subway’s fine.” She started gathering her things.

Her evasiveness bothered Carol inexplicably. “Do you live alone, Miss Belivet?” she asked hoping to ripple her stubborn calm.

“Do call me Therese, and no, I live with my husband.” Unfazed, she got up on her feet to leave.

The news of Therese Belivet’s matrimony coaxed another surprise question out of Carol. “And what is your husband’s name, Therese?”

Perplexed, Therese glanced at Carol. “Daniel.”

Yawning, Therese turned the key in the lock of her apartment. Opening the door softly, she listened carefully. It was almost eerily quiet until a muffled thump sounded off from the bedroom. Not again. “Honey, I’m home,” she hollered in mock affection, all too certain of what would come next.

“Can you give us a minute, Terry,” a breathless voice called out not really caring if she did or not.

Take your time. Therese shuffled across the kitchen floor and turned the radio on top volume. At least it served to drown the noises she didn’t particularly enjoy eavesdropping to. She made herself a cup of tea and let out a deep sigh.

“Hey you.” A man in his late twenties emerged from the boudoir wearing a scruffy old bath robe. He was sporting his customary boyish grin, which Therese liked. All in all she liked Dannie McElroy very much, and as far as she knew, the feeling was mutual. “Did you get the job?” he asked, tightening the belt around his waist to Therese’s great relief.

“Of course,” Therese retorted. “She never had a chance.”

“Madame’s going to be so pleased, Therese…” Dannie chuckled, rubbing his palms together.

“Don’t call her that,” Therese interrupted, “it makes me feel like I’m working in a brothel.” She regretted her choice of word almost instantly.

“Well, it’s not me who’s sleeping with her,” Dannie laughed. He gave Therese a brotherly pat on the back. “Chin up, it’s not that bad. We all have to make sacrifices, don’t we?” Dannie’s ‘sacrifice’ was standing in the doorway in mere boxer shorts.

Fucking Richard. “Hello,” Therese managed to mumble without wincing. “Shouldn’t you be working?” Then again she did have herself to blame for coming home too early.

“Terry baby, good to see you, too,” Richard snickered. “I’ve been busy with this boy toy of yours.” He walked over to the fridge. “Anything to eat around here?” he asked checking out its contents. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be food,” he went on ogling Therese suggestively.

“Okay, Richard, put your pants on – now.” Dannie was quick to notice when Therese had just about had enough. “You need to leave because we have stuff to do. You know – grown-up stuff.” He picked up Richard’s socks from the floor and threw them at him. “I’ll call you tomorrow, lover boy.”

“Tell me again why he has to be here,” Therese questioned Dannie after Richard had finally managed to do as he had been told.

“She suggested it, don’t you remember?” Dannie said defensively. “It’s good to have someone inside, and he’s greedy and dense enough to play along once we get to the end game.” Therese couldn’t argue with Dannie’s rationale even though she wanted to. “And he ain’t too shabby in the sack either,” he laughed. “Now tell me about your new boss,” he asked changing the subject.

“Carol Aird?” Therese specified just to say her name out loud. “A bit pompous but obviously knows her shit.” She thought about Carol doodling on the notepad, and how she hadn’t even noticed the ink staining her fingers.

“That’s refreshing,” Dannie commented, “but I bet she’s matronly. The museum type we’re so familiar with.”

Her skin is like hot milk, soft and translucent, occurred to her. “Yeah,” Therese acquiesced to reply, distracted by the sudden, passing image. 

When Carol got home, Harge was snoring peacefully in his bedroom. Hearing Abby in the kitchen, she sneaked in behind her and slid her hands under her blouse. “How long has he been sleeping?” Carol murmured in Abby’s ear. She had been thinking about sex the entire day, and seeing it now within such an easy reach, she couldn’t help but satisfy her craving.

“We have time…” Abby grunted, instantly turned on. She turned around to face Carol, to press her lips hungrily on her mouth. It was slightly too needy a kiss for Carol’s taste but this time she was willing to overlook its questionable quality. The kitchen table was thankfully vacant, sturdy and inviting enough for a quickie Carol had her mind set on. Abby’s hands opened her shirt and unclasped her bra, pulled down her unzipped skirt and dove between her thighs fast enough to make Carol moan from the sudden, wet contact. Carol helped herself up on the table and spread her legs for easier access.

“Fuck…” she groaned as Abby’s plowing palm turned into sweet, swift fingers drilling deeper with each thrust. Abby had learned how to touch her, how to fuck Carol the way she needed to be fucked. They had been down this road so many times before, and Carol knew she would get off just like she had always done.

Yet something bothered her, something she found irreconcilably lacking. It wasn’t the first time she recognized it, the performance nature of it all, the intimate act emptied of meaning. Or maybe it had never had it to begin with? Still she couldn’t possibly complain about it. How could she in the hands of such an expert lover? With someone who clearly wanted her and wasn’t afraid to let it show. But Carol was aware of more, and that more was creeping inside her brain slowly but surely, laughing at lukewarm passion and raising the bar for what was acceptable and what was not.

“Your mouth… now,” Carol demanded and pushed Abby’s head towards her crotch before she had time to kiss Carol again. Her back against the tabletop, she felt idle and heavy, impatient to have Abby’s strong tongue sharpen her slackened desire. Before it did, Carol knew what was to happen afterwards when the pleasure would get the better of her, how she would cry out a bit too vocally or knock down a chair as if by accident. Their moment interrupted because of her undoing it, she would get up, freshen up and go explain to Harge what the commotion had been about. She would be kind, and she would be fun, but one thing she would not be. She would not reciprocate what had happened. Just not tonight, Carol told herself.