Close Encounters
When Carol had finished in the bathroom she found Therese already lying on the sofa, huddled under the extra blanket she’d pulled out of one of the cabinets next to the door. Her hair loose, released from the tight knot it had been drawn into, she rested her head on the thick pillow she’d removed from the bed. Her eyes were open and alert, keen to follow Carol as she took the needed steps across the room.
Missing its other feathery cushion, the large four-poster looked asymmetrical and incomplete, Carol mused as she crawled under the covers. It is wrong to have the entire bed all to myself, she thought, nothing short of selfish and greedy.
“You don’t have to sleep over there,” she said to Therese hoping to sound calm and carefree. “There’s plenty of room for two in here, and I’d hate for you to have a stiff neck in the morning.”
“Thanks but I’m a restless sleeper,” Therese replied softly. “I don’t mind it here – especially since I’m not used to sleeping next to another person.” Her mind was obviously made up. “Good night, Carol.” She adjusted her position once more and closed her eyes.
Good night. Carol suppressed a sigh and turned off the light on the nightstand. She stared at the ceiling suddenly convinced of her inability to relax at all, to let the sweet oblivion take over as it normally did with ease.
The weak beams of the Longfellow moon still flickering around the room, Carol finally did fall into a heavy sleep – a sleep so deep it resembled being planted in the ground like a tuber of her favorite flower, the peony.
The dream lay thick yet fragrant over Carol sprouting its stems higher and stronger until it broke the shell of her irresolute mind. She felt exposed and bereft, abandoned by her familiar wish to remain solid like the soil she had come to know and cling to. She remained that way for an indefinite amount of time.
As she lay on her side, she sensed a touch through the haze of her dream, an embrace that lit up the filament of her body. Or maybe it wasn't her body at all but rather a promise or a beginning, a bud that sought its way out? Whatever she was experiencing, it wasn’t enough to yank her out of her slumber. Carol needed to let out an echo to link her mind with the dust she was made of but what broke out was a soft cry instead, a longing to surge upwards, higher and faster with the knowledge of a bloom that was to follow.
Hers became an adventitious flower, exotic and insistent. A pale pink it was in Carol's dream, compound and deeply lobed, and far too heavy for its timid stock. She felt a subtle brush sneaking up on her, and with it a sweet sensation of certitude, a readiness to succumb and to conquer, to hold her own in the bold breeze that made her quiver.
The line between the dream and her conscious mind blurred further, it ballooned to unity Carol found appealing. The second she started to question it, to see the inconsistencies in the pattern of her languid realm the elements already repelled one another. The gap between them grew wider, and she became aware of who she was. Carol opened her eyes and turned around to see who was next to her. She was alone. Therese lay asleep on the sofa her back facing Carol, a blanket drawn over her like a shadow creeping up from the floor.
They joined the others for breakfast. Abby was her old jovial self with no apparent signs of a hangover. It wasn’t a surprise to Carol for she’d seen her friend thrive after many drunken soirees.
“Once again Margaret’s worked her wonders in the kitchen so I strongly recommend you to dig in and do so heartily,” she urged the weary women flocking around the sumptuous buffet table. “Bloody Mary, anyone?” she hollered raising a pitcher of her trademark tonic for everyone to see. Her cheerful suggestion was enough to light up quite a few pairs of eyes.
Therese had been in a rather sullen mood ever since she’d woken up but the sight of food seemed to improve her mood considerably. “Can I bring you anything?” she asked Carol as she was about to get another helping of scrambled eggs and cold smoked salmon. “There aren’t many things I can accomplish at the stove but I do know how to whip up some seriously good scrambled eggs,” she confided in Carol. “I must send my compliments to Margaret for these are top class.”
Since Carol didn’t want anything Therese went to fetch her beloved eggs without further instructions. While she was away Carol sank back in her chair and sipped absentmindedly her coffee. Her dream bothered her but not in a way one might assume. When Therese had taken her turn in the bathroom, she’d decided to make the bed for the day. She was a creature of habit after all. As she was straightening the bottom sheet she noticed something on the vacant side of the mattress – a single strand of long brown hair. Carol had finished her task with no sign of distress on her face and she certainly hadn’t said a word to Therese about it when she’d returned her wet hair hidden inside a towel turban.
“I could live on scrambled eggs alone,” Therese quipped as she settled back to her seat. “Most people assume it’s a relative easy dish to make but let me assure you it’s not.” Her words were tinged with humorous self-importance. “First you take a lot of butter and let it melt tenderly in the pan,” she started mimicking a celebrity chef on TV. “Only then you can add the beaten eggs in it and start stirring the mixture gently.” Noticing the distant look in Carol’s eyes she stopped. “Is everything alright?”
Carol arranged a half smile on her lips. “Yes, of course, what on earth could be the matter?” The look she gave Therese was still somewhat cryptic. “Do go on.”
Pleased, Therese continued. “It takes surprisingly long to get it right and it’s not to be attempted in a hurry.”
Emboldened by her earlier discovery, Carol quirked her right eyebrow. “Excuse me but are we still talking about scrambled eggs?”
Surprised, Therese shot a bemused look at her. “What makes you ask a question like that?”
Carol hid behind her laughter before answering. “Well, your personal tour de force is a breakfast dish so I am understandably curious if it’s something you routinely serve to your… guests?” She was aware that she was toeing the line between what was a proper thing to ask and what was not.
“Yes, I’ve been known to make it occasionally,” Therese replied staring intently at Carol. It was impossible to decipher whether it was an amused or chagrined gaze but it did convey a certain interest in Carol’s motive to make such a direct inquiry.
“Would you make me some if I’d ask you to?” Carol heard herself say. Once the words had slipped out of her mouth there was no way getting them back anymore.
“I thought you weren’t into… scrambled eggs,” Therese questioned still holding Carol’s full attention with the mightiest weapons in her arsenal – her piercing eyes. “You haven’t, after all, had any this morning,” she added pointing at the lack of the creamy delight on Carol’s plate.
Abby breezed in before Carol had a chance to answer. “You guys up for a game of croquet? Kim and Sandra want to play bridge and I just don’t want to waste this marvellous day sitting inside.” She looked so desperate neither Carol nor Therese had a heart to do anything other than to accommodate her wish.
“Goody!” Abby exclaimed, “We’ll play Association in pairs – you two against me and Megan, okay? Michael’s already set up the court so hurry up!” Michael was Abby’s gardener.
Twenty minutes later they were standing on the lawn leaning into their mallets. Carol was a seasoned croquet player but she had no idea how Therese would measure up in this highly competitive company. She didn’t look too nervous, though.
Megan was sporting a blindingly white outfit – a broadcloth cotton shirt, its long sleeves rolled to below the elbow and a pleated skirt just above the knees. Abby was wearing shiny white slacks and a loose dress shirt with a knitted charcoal jumper wrapped over her shoulders.
Carol’s attire was as feminine as Megan’s – her ivory skirt was matched up with a white blouse and a beige cardigan. Therese who couldn’t have foreseen croquet in the weekend’s programme departed from the etiquette – black slacks and shirt were complemented with a grey jumper she had no intention of wearing if she didn’t have to.
“How refreshing…” Megan started when she saw Therese’s unorthodox outfit. “Looks like Madison Avenue has ganged up with skid row.” Luckily just one look from Abby got her to shut her mouth for now.
Carol and Therese got the black and the blue balls, Abby and Megan the red and the yellow. “No unnecessary chitchat, girls,” Abby reminded, “and let’s treat each other with respect, okay?” The last remark was specifically aimed at Megan who contented to shrug her shoulders at her friend’s request.
Megan went first succeeding to run the hoop with her first stroke. Not surprisingly, she made quite a spectacle out of her success, and it would’ve been just fine if she hadn’t followed it up by gloating over Therese’s misfortune – she messed up her start badly. Observing Therese’s moves had confirmed Carol what she had suspected: Therese didn’t know the first thing about croquet. Not that she cared one way or another – it was Megan’s vicious behavior she objected to. When it was her turn to begin, she managed not only to run the hoop but also to make a roquet, to hit Megan’s ball as well. Seeing the sour look on the redhead’s face took all of Carol’s will power to keep her cool. After all she didn’t want to sink to her level. When Carol went for the famous croquet shot, she glanced at Therese. A subtle smile played on her lips, which made Carol even more proud of herself.
Their joy was short-lived, though. Carol and Therese made an uneven pair against Abby and Megan who had had a lifetime of practice in the lawn game. Although Abby’s game improved turn after turn she went out of her way to make Therese feel comfortable with her lack of skill and finesse. When it became evident that Abby and Megan were to win the game, Megan couldn’t hold her tongue anymore. She taunted Therese at every opportune moment making her lose concentration and bungle her play.
Just as Therese was about to hit her ball one last time Megan aimed yet another chain of poorly masked insults at her. Quite by accident the wooden mallet slipped out of Therese’s hand and struck her harasser smack in the face.
Megan screaming bloody murder was enough to alert not only the bystanders but the bridge players as well who ran across the lawn to see what had happened during “the friendly game of croquet”. Grinning unabashedly behind her injured friend’s back, Abby motioned Carol and Therese to move further away from the commotion. They were only too happy to do just that.
Out of earshot Carol burst in unrestrained laughter. “I know, I know, I’m terrible but she did have it coming,” she defended herself drying the corners of her eyes.
Still startled by what had happened, Therese let out a nervous chuckle. “It was an honest accident, I really didn’t mean to do it,” she said meekly. They had walked over to the storage building to turn their mallets and balls over to the gardener.
“I know, darling,” Carol said trying to catch her breath. “It really wasn’t your fault but I sure as hell enjoyed seeing it happen.” It took a while for her to convince Therese that nothing truly serious had happened and that Megan would bounce back from her close encounter just fine.
As they were about to head up to the main house to get ready for lunch, they saw Genevieve approaching them in a hurry. “I don’t like this,” Therese blurted out nervously, “She thinks she’s seen me somewhere and I’m afraid she’s right.” She looked around to see if there was any place for her to hide in. “As a matter of fact I know she has. I remember her too.”
Therese’s words frightened Carol but she wasn’t going to lose the battle this easily. Gen was about fifty yards away when she came up with a perfect solution. It wouldn’t thwart Gen’s advances forever but it would buy them time now, and time was what they needed.
“Therese, there’s one way to make her turn around…” Carol said quietly. It was a strike of genius but not at all an easy one to suggest to Therese, she knew.
“What is it?” Therese asked counting seconds and peeking desperately over Carol’s shoulder.
Carol drew a long, hesitant breath. “Kiss me,” she whispered, “and I mean really kiss me.”