Smaragdus

Carol’s sleep was heavy, chemical. The sounds around her had a muffled, dull quality to them, and she wondered if any of them were real at all. At times they seemed to gain a visual form, a sequence of soft shadows moving over her like a billowing dark cloth blocking her blind vision. My eyelids are made of clay, Carol fumbled, only drifting farther when she sought to touch what might have been solid. Wet, slablike clay.

The words flitted and fluttered, not making sense at all. “You … easy … alright … here … sweetheart … “ Words echoing, bouncing not off the walls but off the corridors of her mind, Carol imagined her body a numb, illiterate island disintegrating into an eroding sea of inane utterances and odd phrases. None of what she sensed felt threatening though, and Carol took comfort in it. A scent she almost recognized lingered near, gently enveloping her in its dusky allure.   

When Carol finally woke up, the voices and visions were gone, and she would have felt terribly alone, had it not been for Abby who was sitting next to her bed. Abby looked worried, and Carol wondered how long she must have waited for her to open her eyes.

“Hey you … ” Abby spoke, smiling at Carol. “Quite a night you had. I hope you slept well.”

Suddenly nauseous, a sharp twinge of pain splitting her head, Carol averted her eyes from the runaway rays of the sun hitting her irises. “What happened … “ was all she could mumble in return. After all, she had no recollection of the events of the night before. Abby shifted in her chair, a whiff of her eau de toilette taking a quick turn in Carol’s nostrils. It wasn’t Abby.

“The Lyft driver who brought you in last night said he’s rarely seen anyone as drunk as you were,” Abby chuckled, turning serious the next moment. “Although it’s no laughing matter, getting so out of control.” Shaking her head, Abby handed Carol a glass of water she had waiting on the nightstand.

“Was someone here last night?” Carol asked after a while.

“What on earth?” Abby laughed incredulously. “Did you mean to bring some one night stand home with you or why do you ask?” Her manner was flippant, but the words hid a distinct ... reproach?     

“Of course not,” Carol denied, blushing involuntarily. “I just thought … I got this impression that … well, it doesn’t matter.” Thankful for the Saturday morning, she abandoned the idea of getting up altogether.

“I thought you were meeting one of the museum heads, not planning to drink yourself into oblivion.” Abby’s tone wasn’t all that amused.

“I was, and I don’t think I drank that much,” Carol muttered. “I mean we had an aperitif and then wine with the meal … the rest is a blur though … “ She appeared confused, even more so than just a moment before.

“Seems like your companion shares your feelings,” Abby commented. “Lady Cantrell called an hour ago and apologised profusely for her behaviour last night.”

Carol glanced sharply at Abby. “What did she say?” she inquired immediately.

“Oh, she just wanted to make sure that everything was okay with you,” Abby volunteered. “She also said that she shouldn’t have been pouring the wine quite so abundantly - not to mention the cocktails - and that she was embarrassed and ashamed for having passed out the way she had.”

Abby’s words calmed Carol down considerably. “At least I had enough sense left to call the car service, huh?” she acknowledged with distinct relief.

“Hmm … “ Abby lifted her eyebrows to let Carol know it was hardly an accomplishment to revel in. “Lady Cantrell did say one more thing.” Abby paused to let Carol focus on what she was about to say. “She wishes you’ll never mention a single word about last night. I guess she’s mortified.”

Carol felt a warm glow spread over her cheeks. Their behaviour had been spectacularly stupid for sure. “I understand,” she mumbled. “I won’t. I promise.”           

The matter seemed dealt with, neither one of them saying another word about it. At times Carol thought Abby was watching her, but when she turned her gaze to see if that was in fact the case, Abby’s attention was always elsewhere. I must be imagining things.   

Dallas, two years ago

“I must have passed out,” Kathleen Morra said, opening her eyes. The girl was still there, just as she had imagined her. This beautiful, dark-haired girl who knew everything about jewels and precious stones. How on earth she had gotten so lucky as to meet her in the first place, she had no idea.

“Are you okay?” The girl looked genuinely concerned. She touched Kathleen’s arm gently. The weight of her palm was almost nonexistent but nevertheless arousing - something Kathleen hadn’t experienced in decades.

“Patricia … “ Kathleen’s voice was barely louder than a whisper. “Tell me - did I make a fool of myself last night?” She wanted to ask something else but dared not to.

The girl moved closer, her head soon appearing right above hers on the pillow. “No … but we did kiss.” Her eyes seemed to grow larger as her face descended on the older woman’s nervous features. “Like this.” The kiss was a lingering, languid one, and quite enough to shoot sharp stars through Kathleen’s frail frame. The young woman moved on top of her, not exactly smiling. Hers was an undecipherable expression, one so inscrutable it excited Kathleen Morra tremendously. Closing her eyes once more, she welcomed the caresses despite all the doubts she should have listened to.

Three hours later

“You home, Dannie?” Therese threw her jacket over the back of a chair. She was tired and, worse than that, thoroughly depressed.

“Why, isn’t it the fair ‘Patricia’...” Dannie emerged from the bathroom, sporting his trademark grin. He seemed to be in a great mood.

“Cut the crap, D,” Therese growled, leaning heavily against the kitchen sink. She supported herself so vigorously on her unbent elbows, she envisioned her arms snapping in half like a pair of dried up twigs. The tea pot was where she had left it in the morning, but she decided not to use it this time. “Is there anything to drink around here? Anything else except what comes out of leaves soaked in boiled water?” Her fingers felt numb.

“There’s some vodka in the freezer, if that’s what you want.” Dannie sounded surprised.

Therese took out a frosty bottle and poured some of it to a glass. The chilled, hard liquor flowed out cumbersomely, filling one third of the tumbler. Sighing, Therese sat in the chair and stared ahead with unseeing eyes. Vodka stung her mouth, and she didn’t particularly care for its taste. Then again, it wasn’t pleasure she sought in it.

“It’s better than drinking bleach,” Genevieve had said, when she had offered Therese her first shot of vodka. It had been a very typical thing for her to say, Therese had thought. Seeing how desperate Therese had become after the first few gigs they had pulled together, Genevieve had resorted to medicate her the only way she could think of - with booze. It had served to make her more malleable, even docile at times. But what had started out as a form of seeking temporary relief had inevitably turned into a nasty habit. And what is nasty breeds nasty.    

Kathleen Morra was a lovely lady, and Therese had no wish to hurt her. Genevieve, however, found Ms. Morra’s jewelry collection even lovelier, and that was what counted in the end. Kathleen had shown ‘Patricia’ her most famous piece of jewelry, the ruby, sapphire, emerald, citrine and diamond flamingo clip that had at one time belonged to the Duchess of Windsor, Wallis Simpson. Mounted by Cartier, the clip’s value was estimated somewhere between 1-1.5 million dollars. Therese thought of it as unnecessarily gaudy, but she kept her opinion to herself. Kathleen adored her bling bird, and so did Genevieve. To Therese, it was the latter appreciation that dictated her actions.   

“Why are you with me?” Kathleen had asked Therese when they had ceased their love making. “You are so young and you have your entire future ahead of you. I am hopelessly stuck in the past and rightfully so; the past is where I belong.”  

Therese had sat up to put her clothes back on. Her stockings lay on the floor as if two snakes had just shed their skins on the carpet. “You seem to think that youth always assumes to live forever,” she had replied. “Well, I don’t. I live for now.”

Kathleen’s hand had caressed Therese’s arm pensively. “What an odd thing for a young person to say.”   

Therese had dared to look back at her. “Life has a funny way of aging us prematurely.”  

“Madame … “ The voice was meek but it did wake Genevieve Cantrell up. “I’m very sorry, Madame, but I was supposed to clean up the house the first thing this morning … “ The young woman with a vacuum cleaner looked scared out of her wits.

“Umm … what time is it?” Lady Cantrell slurred her words with great difficulty. Her head felt fragile and heavy at the same time, and her brains appeared to reel from one side to the other every move she attempted.

“10 am, Madame.” The simple acknowledgment of time came out of the young woman’s mouth like a fearful confession.

Genevieve forced herself into a sitting position on the couch. The taste in her mouth was overly sweet, yet it mingled with something acidic and not at all pleasing. One look at the messy dinner table revealed the source of her sugary flavor: the prodigious Pavlova from last night. The remnants of the festive dessert resembled roadkill.

Genevieve sent the confused girl away, telling her to come back a few hours later. She was too puzzled to be her usual edgy self, but the wind was already changing its direction. Or it would have, had it not been for the letter she found on the chair Carol had sit in. It had been written in haste, most likely late last night.

Dearest Genevieve,

Someone once said that there are no accidents, but I think our drinking way too much was definitely one. However, I’m grateful we became intoxicated sooner rather than later. I beg for your forgiveness for my behavior tonight, although no explanation I offer is satisfactory. I’m middle-aged, and I guess I’m not only seeking resolutions, I’m actively hunting them down.

Lady Cantrell raised her eyes from the page, not understanding a single word.

I don’t blame you for not wanting to have anything to do with the mess I truly am. You were the perfect hostess, yet I foolishly attempted to take more than what your heartfelt generosity implied. I crossed the line, and I’m relieved you took pity on me in my hour of desperation.

 I may carry a torch for you, but please believe me that I do understand why you chose to keep me at arm’s length. I have much to do, as you kindly pointed out. I have my ailing husband who depends on my continued devotion, and I even have a companion, a competent nurse I have grown very fond of. She deserves my genuine affection, too.

Please don’t be angry at me. I will try to keep up with the plain truth and nothing but from now on and tell it like it is. It’s just so tempting to be dishonest at times - like with this ring I happened to find on the floor of one of the exhibition rooms. If I have led you to be believe anything else, I am so sorry.      

Oh, I just hope we can put all this behind us and hopefully never again return to my shameful stupidity.

You, dear Genevieve, are such a class act and way out of my league. I feel privileged just to know you.

Sorry for rambling. I’m drunk. LOL

 

Love, Carol

Genevieve folded the sheet of paper in half. She thought it strange how she could barely remember anything at all from the previous night, yet something in Carol’s letter did ring true. She must have been consumed by a deep inner conflict, writing something like this in the first place . A stream of consciousness, for sure - of drunken consciousness.   

Her own plans had fallen through, Genevieve admitted, grazing her lips with the sharp edge of the paper. She wasn’t used to not seeing her schemes in full fruition, but this time felt slightly different. Genevieve was mad at Therese for not taking better care of the gift she had given her, but she couldn’t possibly fault Carol for hanging onto her find.

That woman had a better taste than she had expected - and not only in terms of jewelry either, Genevieve mused smugly. Right now she had Carol right where she wanted her: focusing on the loser husband while firmly secured in the arms of the woman she, Genevieve Cantrell, had pushed into her life. And Therese Belivet was obviously a non-issue in Carol Aird’s life, she gloated. Therese was so full of herself, that ungrateful little bitch she had singlehandedly saved from behind the bars .  

As far as Genevieve could tell, last night was beginning to look like a home run in terms of what she hoped to achieve. Maybe after all this was over she could even throw poor Carol a bone? Then again women who threw themselves at her rarely held her interest for long. Oh well, we’ll see ...

Therese really didn’t have time for this now, yet she knew she had to help Dannie back on his feet somehow. “C’mon, D, snap out of it. Everything’s good, you’re home free. We are home free.”

Curled up in a fetal position, Dannie rocked his shivering body back and forth. “How can you say that?!? We left Madame unconscious on the couch and I’m sure Mrs Aird isn’t faring much better … ” His face was chalky white, and his eyes darted nervously around the room as if afraid someone or something might be breaking through the walls any minute.

“Dannie, you are my best friend, and I’m not lying to you,” Therese started, going out of her way to maintain a calm composure. “Both of them will wake up feeling okay about themselves. It’s about saving face after all.” She took Dannie’s hand and squeezed it with all the warmth she could muster up. It wasn’t much, but for Dannie it did the trick.

“Are you sure? What was in the letter you left at Madame’s?” he inquired.

“A little ego boost.” Therese explained to Dannie, and handed over a notebook she had on the kitchen counter. The book had a loose paper attached to it.

“What’s this?” Dannie asked, examining the elegant handwriting on the additional sheet.

“A couple of weeks ago I asked Carol to write down a few details on the upcoming exhibition which I, for some reason, needed to have right away … what’ll you know - her laptop wasn’t working and she had to do it manually.” Therese had a sly expression on her face.

Dannie opened the notebook to find several pages of Carol’s handwriting. “When did you get her to write all this?” he asked, having browsed the first ten pages of the similar, neat print.

“I didn’t.”  Smiling, Therese winked at Dannie who felt infinitely better right away.