The Curiosity
When I woke up Therese was already putting on jeans and buttoning her shirt. I didn't want her to leave and the sight of her almost sneaking out without a word of goodbye was like a slap on the face. I stared at her silently. After all it does seem like the only efficient mode of communication we ever have.
I couldn't have stayed mad even if I had wanted to. Something in the way her lopsided smile connected with my insistent gaze made perfect sense. Clumsily she crawled on top of me her clothes all wrinkled and still slightly damp of our late night rendez-vous. "Sorry if I interrupted your dressing up," I said trying to guilt trip her just a tad. "I don't mind," she replied, "Can I go down on you?" I couldn't help but smile. "Well, of course!" I retorted. Her grin disappeared below my mound like a hot sun melting into the horizon.
"I can cook," Therese said out of the blue once we were finished. "Omelets," she specified, "Want one?" If I'd let her use the kitchen, she'd stay at least for another half an hour. "Yes," I lied. I hated omelets. But I loved her.
Descending the stairs she let her hand linger on my buttocks driving me almost insane. I made small talk, tried to own the moment best I could but ended up babbling senselessly. If she had pressed me against the wall that very minute and said "Out with it", I would have caved in completely. I would've confessed that I wanted to be with her, that I loved to be with her. In a way I even kind of hoped for it - at least the pinning against the wall part.
When she was looking for a bowl and a pan, I worried she might stain her clothes while preparing our breakfast. "Let me get you an apron..." I offered looking for one. Therese shot a delicious glance at me. "I have a better idea," she decided pulling the maid uniform out of her briefcase.
"Belivet!" Cantrell was going through a pile of photos while I was lounging on the sofa at her office. I was totally wiped out after last night and this morning. I had pulled quite a few muscles trying to find suitable angles to make the most of my unexpected late night tryst with Carol on the backseat of her car. It took me a while to realize it was a friggin' convertible with virtually no space behind the front seats. So there we were all bundled up like overgrown twins in a womb drenched in our own liquid heat. I mean even my hair was wet.
It would have been okay if Carol hadn't inadvertently poked her elbow on the roof switch. Its mechanism reacted weirdly to her sudden movement causing the roof open up and start yanking back and forth above us. It was nice to feel a cool breeze on my sweaty butt, I do remember that, but it was kinda conspicuous as well. It attracted attention but we managed to make a bare escape - yeah, pun obviously intended. So, no, I wasn't actually in the mood for Cantrell busting my balls just yet.
"Yeah? Wassup?" I relented looking for cigarettes. "This Harge fella is one horny bastard." She was done looking at the pics I had provided her with. "A different broad every single night... sometimes even two at the same time", Cantrell commented. "Don't understand the one with the goat, though..." I got up and took the photo from her. There it was, gawking at the lusty couple, in the background. "Oh, the goat's daughter's pet. He got it for her as a present." Cantrell rolled her eyes. "What's wrong with a cat?" She offered me her Philip Morris pack. "Gotta hand it to him, he's got stamina." She sounded envious.
"Been slow in that department, eh?" I asked making idle conversation. "Well, not totally. Remember Meg? She broke up with her boyfriend and I just happened to be there for her, you know..." She had a sly grin on her face. After a while it kinda turned sour. "Not much to report there, though. A straight girl... and as far as I'm concerned, she might as well remain one," she sighed in a disappointed fashion.
"So what do you make of this?" I asked gesturing towards the stuff I had brought along. There were not only photos but also hair samples, a couple of pairs of knickers, earrings dropped on the bedroom floor, even a push-up bra initialed J.H. "It's all swell, enough to make any married man jumpy as hell, but we'll have to be really careful how to use this..." Cantrell poured us a couple of ryes. "The question remains how on earth are we going to introduce this in a way it won't affect our credibility as his trusted investigators." Hell if I cared!
I neglected to tell Cantrell one piece of information I had found about Hargess Foster Aird. While he was doing the horizontal mambo with Cy Harrison's wife, I had gone through his coat pockets and found a revolver, a small Smith and Wesson, with bullets in it. I had mixed feelings, to say the least. Maybe I should have removed the bullets altogether but ended up doing nothing. I didn't want to blow my cover. Instead I ended up having loud and garish sex with his ex-wife in front of his house.
Oh Carol... my thoughts wandered to her once again. I had tried to imagine her face, the smell of her perfume, becoming meaningless. I couldn't. She had babbled about the affairs between people as a satisfying of curiosity which eventually led to mere repetition. She had sounded bitter, regretful even.
I admit I had been curious at first but what we had didn't quite feel like repetition. The French maid routine on the kitchen table was certainly something neither of us had ever done before. I looked forward to more with eager anticipation. I wished I could be more eloquent about all of it, to let my words circle around the heart of things instead of just blurting out singleminded truths. But I couldn't. Not with her. Then again, why worry about defining everything?