Augusta Fern's Blog - Posts Tagged "travel"
On the Road...
I will be galavanting off to Wilmington for the weekend with fellow authors Shannon Simmons and Kataya Marie...in the mean time I will be doing occasional check ins to see what is HOT on the grid. Don't for get to vote for me in the MARSocial.com front page competition!!
http://marsocial.com/docs/if-he-cant-...
I'm still in the number one spot this week!! :)
I will be posting pictured from my trip on instagram!!
http://instagram.com/a_m_fern
I am also going to be doing a little tweeting while I'm gone!!
https://twitter.com/augustafern
Last but not least, I've been asked to write an article for the front page of MARSocial...I will keep you posted on that ;)
http://marsocial.com/docs/if-he-cant-...
I'm still in the number one spot this week!! :)
I will be posting pictured from my trip on instagram!!
http://instagram.com/a_m_fern
I am also going to be doing a little tweeting while I'm gone!!
https://twitter.com/augustafern
Last but not least, I've been asked to write an article for the front page of MARSocial...I will keep you posted on that ;)
Chapter 2: Packed and Ready to Go?
The seven mile ride from the Quarter to the house is a short one. I park around back and enter the house through the kitchen. I sling my bag and throw my keys on the counter, making a b-line for the stainless steel refrigerator. I pull the handle and take out a bottle of chilled sake. As I reach into the cabinet and grab a shot glass; Scarlet saunters in. Her matching owl pajamas look to be too small but I dare not say a word. She loves them.
“Hey Mom.” She says sitting at the chopping block bar.
“Hey baby girl!” I exclaim, “You get all your homework done?” I ask.
“Of course, Pa helped me with my math.” She says smiling.
“He’s good at it, excellent choice.”
“Having some sake?” She asks.
“Yeah. Pa wants me to go au pair for his friend in North Carolina. I wanted to talk to you about it.”
“Okay?” She seems confused. “Why do you want to talk to me about it?”
“Because I am your mother and you are my daughter and as usual I like to have a clear line of communication with you.” I explain and take my first shot of ice cold sake. Its hints of plum linger in the back of my throat.
“Well…I think you should go.” She says and her tone of voice these days is less teenager, but more, young woman. An aspect she gained while dealing with vampire family business.
“Do you, now?” I say smiling, pouring another shot.
“I do. You…we, have been through so much but you haven’t taken the time to get away, get closure. And you don’t sleep, don’t think I don’t know.”
“Closure?” I had no idea my daughter knew what closure meant.
“Yeah.”
“You know Scar, since March you have really blossomed as a young woman…” I trail off.
“…But?” She asks.
“But, I hate that this all came about because of the bull shit we went through.”
“I don’t mind.” She says and I detect so much happiness from her now. She is no longer the sulky teenager we all knew so well.
I pour another shot down my gullet before saying, “Well I guess we have to get used to it. Right?”
“Right.” She says matter-of-factly.
“So, closure?” I say cocking an eye at my daughter.
“Yeah.” She says smiling.
“How do you obtain yours, if you don’t mind me asking?” I ask; which is unfortunate I have to ask my child how she has gained closure when her mother can’t…or won’t.
“Nana and I bake and while we bake, we talk.” She says, lifting herself from the barstool to get her own beverage; cherry lemonade. I watch her take a glass from the cabinet and the pitcher from the fridge, she stands a little straighter and commands her own presence. I can’t help but smile at my baby girl as she sits back down.
“What?” She asks speculatively.
I take a shot of sake, “Not a thing; I love you, is all.” I wink at her.
“Hey girls!” My Daddy walks into the kitchen and places a blood stained Scotch glass by the sink.
Scarlet finishes her lemonade before hopping off her bar stool to hug my Daddy, “Goodnight Pa, I love you.” She moves toward me and hugs me tight before whispering, “I love you Mamma.” She kisses me on the cheek and walks out to the hall.
Daddy and I watch, once she is out of sight he turns to me and smiles, “She’s a good girl Babe.”
“I know Daddy. She’s much happier here.”
“I concur, I’m happier here too.” He slides onto the stool Scarlet previously occupied. I pour and take another shot of sake.
Daddy pulls out a folded piece of paper from his dress shirt pocket, “Here is the address in Wilmington. His name is Lars Gunnar, he has a two year old son named Soren; the mother, Vilma is still in Sweden working on her own projects so he is in need of twenty four hour child care. He will be in town until Halloween, with two weeks off for personal time. He says you may do as you please during that time, but he does want you to paint his two sons while you are there.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that. When do I need to leave?” I ask shooting another glass full.
Daddy watches as I do this and smirks when I place the glass on the granite, “You sure you’re okay with all of this.”
“Of course Daddy, why?”
“You are drinking an awful lot.”
“Daddy, I’m 32. I can handle it.”
He takes a deep breath, “Okay, well he gets in town August 15th. He would like for you to arrive after.”
I nearly choke on my sake, “That is in two days Daddy! It takes at least fourteen hours to drive from here to North Carolina.”
“Who said you were driving?” He asks.
“Uh…I do.” I retort authoritatively.
“I would prefer you fly into Wilmington, but I understand wanting familiarity while you are there.” He relents sliding the paper over the counter to me.
“And I love my car.” I say smiling, picking it up.
“I’m just thankful you have one of the safest cars on the market. Don’t think I don’t know how you drive, baby girl.” He taps my nose with his finger, it make me close one eye.
He leans over to kiss my forehead before standing to leave, “I have to get back in there but I know you can handle this.” He brushes the loose hair behind my ear.
“I know Daddy, I love you.” I say with a smile but I know the “this” he refers to is loaded, open-ended and perpetually cryptic.
My bottle is almost empty and my vision slightly blurred as I look over the information given to me by my Daddy; Mr. Lars Gunnar and his two year old son, Soren. Artistic opportunity aside, nearly two months in Wilmington, NC will be a change for sure. But it’s not Wilmington I’m looking forward to; it’s the down time I will get to head up to Emerald Isle. I take a deep breath and make my way down the hall and up the grand staircase. My bedroom is an artistic mess and I know before I leave, my Mamma will want me to clean it. No time like the present to do so. I move the easels off the tarp and put all my tubes in a clear plastic tub. I dip down and begin to roll the paint splattered material under foot. I fold it into a much smaller square and place it on the floor in hopes of remembering to wash it before I go. My brushes, charcoal and pastels I organize in a different tub along with my thinners and rags which I put inside a sealable plastic bag.
Once all my supplies are cleaned and organized for travel I turn to see my bedroom looks again like it should. The four poster bed I had as a child has been replaced by a grand sleigh bed with matching accoutrements of furniture. The walls are still encased in its original wall paper, large rose print in a multitude of colors; pink, red, crimson and green leaves surround the vaulted space. I know I won’t sleep so I begin to pack my bags for the next two months.
I pack almost all my t-shirts, jeans, shorts, and a couple of sundresses. Standard beach attire, flip flops of course…are already on my feet. I grab socks, panties and two pair of yoga pants along with my black two piece bikini; tennis shoes and the black stilettos Estella gave me. Scarlet has worn her Estella wardrobe to its fullest potential but I can’t bring myself to walk around the house or go to work in dress slacks and jackets. But I do grab the black dress from Molly’s party, just in case. I don’t know what capacity I would need the dress, but as Mamma always says, “It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
I zip up the black duffel bag of clothes before I pack my art supplies away. I’ll have to buy canvas once I arrive but I can take my clear plastic tubs as long as they fit in my back seat; considering the lack of space since I’m taking Henri’s car seat for my use in NC. A light bulb goes off and I pad into my bathroom; talk about a blast from the past. It’s similar to my old bathroom in the studio. Seafarer Blue with white tiles; single pedestal sink and a pull chain toilet. My Daddy had shelves put up for all my lotions and potions. I glance at myself in the mirror before retrieving my toothbrush out of the antique medicine cabinet. My green eyes are blood shot from lack of sleep and drinking didn’t help. But I love my hair, taking the tresses between my fingers. I pull them and release them as the bounce from my crown resets. The ends are razor thin causing them to flip slightly. Frankie is a fucking hair genius.
I secure my electronic toothbrush with other personal hygiene items in my toiletry bag and shove the little pouch into the black duffel. I bend over to collect the tarp and head downstairs; stopping to check on Henri before I do. My little man is fast asleep in his big boy bed. I can’t help but hover over him watching his chest rise and fall. I will miss his big beautiful blue eyes and long lashes like his Daddy. Henri’s blonde hair is bone straight and hanging over his eyes while he sleeps; he coos lightly as he turns over. I cover him with his blanket and back out of his room.
I pull Henri’s door ajar and re-secure the tarp in my arms. Down the grand staircase I can hear multiple voices. I discern Estella and Daddy before I hear Alistair’s cockney tone sing through. I don’t know what they are discussing and I really don’t care. I reach the bottom of the stairs and turn to go back to the kitchen; beyond it is the laundry or mud room. Lucky for me Mamma has already treated and washed my other tarp.
I switch the two and make my way back to my room. I’m caught mid step by Estella, “Babet! Hey honey!!” My Daddy’s ex and Mamma’s aunt grabs me in a bear hug.
“Hey Estella, how are you?” I ask as I gaze upon her incredible beauty.
“I’m great, you know your Daddy is really revolutionizing the city, vamps are happy and healthy…” She trails off, “but I heard you’re going on vacation?”
I snicker, scoff and roll my eyes, “Yeah a working vacation, but I will get a little time off while I’m there.”
“Yeah?” She asks smiling devilishly, “And Cian?”
Again, the sound of his name sparks something in me and I know Estella can see it. She is smiling her brightest gleaming smile. I can’t help but mirror her embarrassingly.
“Yeah…Cian.” In my mouth warm waters pour from my salivary glands; like I can taste him.
“Estella!” My Daddy calls from the billiards room; Estella jerks her head in that direction.
“Bye honey,” She says kissing my cheeks. “Have fun!”
I watch her as she closes the billiards room door behind her. I turn on heel and pad upstairs. Once I am safely in my room I text Frankie, “Leaving in the am.”
I don’t get the chance to put my cell down before Frankie’s instant reply, “Be careful, have fun, we love you.”
I smile at the glowing screen; I have the best friends on the entire planet. I return her sentiments, “Luvies.”
Its 5:30 am, Scarlet is getting ready for school, and Henri is still asleep the following morning as I watch the sun come up. I bring down my bags and art tubs, pack my car to leave, and kiss my son before I do. I said good-bye to my Daddy before he went into day-stasis and hug my Mamma who is waiting for my departure in her robe on the vast porch. Scarlet descends the few steps to jump into my car, but stops to kiss Mamma good bye for the day. I’m going to miss my own talks with “Nana”.
___________________________________________________________________________________
I arrive home late from work, having had a couple of beers with Frankie after closing. The house is dark aside from the light pouring from the kitchen windows. I take a deep breath and park my car; Mamma is waiting up for me. I creep through the door and close it behind me. The mud room has laundry overflowing, blocking the door from opening completely. I crest the threshold of the kitchen to see Mamma in her day’s attire; white button up dress shirt, open to reveal the black and red baubles around her neck. She has her legs crossed under the table, tapping her fabulous black heel on the table’s leg. She looks up, startled by my standing there, “Babe! Lord, honey! I know you can’t help it, but I hate when you sneak around here!” She laughs off her scolding.
“I’m sorry Mamma, but like you said, “I can’t help it.”” I say putting my bag and keys on the long country style kitchen table. I smile at her to soften my retort, but sometimes she just says the wrong things to me.
Mamma stands and gathers her chardonnay glass, she replaces it to embrace me, “How was your day sweetie, you’re home a little late?” She pets my hair. She hates it short.
“I should say the same for you, usually by this time you’ve settled for the evening.” I sit at the table while she turns to pour herself another glass of wine.
“You want a glass honey?” She holds the bottle out, it’s nearly empty.
“No, but you can bring me the open bottle of sake in the fridge.” I suggest. She begins to saunter over, “a shot glass too please?”
She turns back to collect the one I used last night, one of two I bought as souvenirs from Graceland. This one has a picture of Elvis in a cable stitched sweater etched into the glass. He’s was so handsome. I reach out to take the bottle and glass from Mamma. She places her goblet down to adjust her black and white hounds tooth pencil skirt before gracefully sitting.
“So?” She says before taking a swig from her glass.
“So, what?”
“Why are you home so late?” Her tone is irritably sweet.
“I went with Frankie to have a couple of beers. Marcus just invested in a cider brewery and we went to check it out. Since I don’t like cider I had a couple of beers.”
“I’m glad you were with Frankie.”
I shake my head slightly, “What does that mean Mamma?”
“Nothing darlin’, I just hate to think of you drinking alone.” She says holding up her glass of wine to indicate she is doing just that.
“Oh, Mamma…I’m sorry, are you okay?” I ask, not considering her current state of mind.
“Of course, sugar! It’s nothing.” She waves off the notion of life’s imperfections.
I reach across the table for her free hand, the one not spinning her glass on the table top and squeeze it, “Mamma, you can talk to me, you know that.”
“Oh, I know.” She turns her hand over to squeeze mine back, “I’ve just been having a bit of trouble coping with losing my position here.” She says, interpreting to me that she misses the inquiring crowds brought in by the family home being a museum. “I’m glad your father is back, don’t misinterpret me. I missed him more than I can ever express, but his re-entry to our lives has been just as jarring for me as it has been for you and the kids.”
“I can’t imagine Mamma. I mean, all I remember is what you told me as a child and hearing your whimpers at night.”
“You heard that?” She asks, but it’s not a question, “Of course you heard it…Oh Babet…I…”
“Mamma, it’s okay.” I squeeze her hand again. “When he had to leave, you said he would return and you were right, regardless of the time; you were right.” I smile; she meets my eyes and smiles in return.
“I know you and Daddy have made your peace and I’m glad but I want you to know that letting him go wasn’t easy for me and I still harbor some resentment because of it, because of him and who he is, what he is.”
“Talk to me Mamma, I can’t or won’t ever know unless you tell me.” I plead, longing for this conversation with her. My mother; the conservative southern belle.
She takes a deep breath, “Before I start,” she jumps up to pour the remaining liquid into her glass, her heels click across the floor as she hustles back, “Well, as you know you were ten when his contacts informed him of her…”, my mother refuses to say her name out loud, “shenanigans in Europe. He let it go for a couple of months, but when Linde called and reported the death of his brother, your father had to step in. That girl had gotten way too big for her britches and this is before she came back to the city…” My mother takes a long sip of wine, “So he left, after more than a few heated arguments between us. I, of course used you to get him to stay; deserting his only daughter, his only child. It was desperate I admit, but what choice did I have? He was my world, my everything; I couldn’t just let him go. I know you thought it was about status Babe, I know you judged me at first. You had to, considering what we went through. But it was more, I was alone without him. Even though I had you, who looked like me, but acted like him and knowing what he was and what you might do or might be, frightened me without him.”
I don’t want to interrupt but the thought of never hearing from him over the years bothered me, “Did he never call?” I ask quietly.
Her gaze turns sad, “Yes, Babe. He called over the years.”
I pour and take a shot, followed by another, “Why, Mamma? Why didn’t I talk to him?”
“At first you did. But the calls became few and far between, eventually you weren’t here to take his calls.”
I shake my head, “I’m sorry Mamma.”
“Honey, it’s okay. You had no control over who you are or where you come from. We, with some help, brought you into this world, not knowing, not fully understanding the possibilities or repercussions of such an act. It was something we committed to together, like we did when we married. When he left I was devastated, thinking of everything I went through, we went through,” She corrects herself but I understand where she’s coming from. Having children, literally giving birth is no laughing matter and as a woman our bodies go through a series of torturous changes to bring forth human life. For those women who have done it over and over successfully, more power to you. I’m not the one, I’m happy with my healthy two. But for my mother it was a series of heartbreak and ache over loss after loss. Nine times; each time being excited and hopeful that this time, will be the time. “Long story short, being without your Daddy, raising a half vampire child was rather difficult.”
“I wouldn’t mind hearing the long version, what I know is so minimal. What was my birth like?”
“Your birth was as normal as any after we “kept you in”.” She says using the air quotes. It’s nice to see her so nonchalant about it all right now, “It was the keeping you in that was so traumatic. Just like all the others.”
“Nine.” I state.
“Nine.” She mirrors, looking up at the ceiling.
“You said raising me was difficult without Daddy, where you scared of me Mamma?” I ask, peering up from the sake bottle label.
“Honey, why do you think I left well enough alone most of the time? Scared? Terrified, is more the term. We found our way though, right?”
“Yes, I found something to help us with it.” I say smiling like the Cheshire cat.
“Don’t I know it? Do you know how scared I was of how you obtained that stuff?” She shakes her head at me smiling. “Now we may be faced with the ultimatum of what you could be capable of, should you choose a life with Cian. I suppose you’ve discussed that with Daddy too.”
“Yes. That is if I ever see Cian again.” The sulkiness of my voice is audible.
“Oh, you’ll see him again. He can’t stay away. Neither can you, the blood won’t let you stay apart.” She states. This, among many other things my Daddy and I discussed regarding the bonds of blood.
“Daddy says there is no way to live with Cian without truly living as he does; as they do. I’m scared Mamma.” I say and my Mamma snaps her head up to meet my frightened eyes.
She squeezes my hand, “You wouldn’t be slightly human if you weren’t a little scared baby girl.” We both laugh at the joke. “But, know this Babet; as a human you are a wonderful person and devoted, loving mother. And I’m proud of you and what you have already become.”
“Thank you Mamma; that means more to me than I can express.” We share a moment that had long been lost to us. “Speaking of kids; how was Henri today?”
“An angel, I swear Babe that boy is so smart it’s insane. I took him to the park, at every stop sign he told me to stop, called out the letters, and said it was a red octagon!” She boasts.
I laugh, “He’s a bright bulb alright. So perceptive.”
“Exactly the word I was looking for, perceptive.” She agrees. “We also went by the condo after picking Scarlet up from school.”
“Oh yeah, I meant to ask you if the new tenants were working out?”
“Well, I didn’t want to sell it, so I had to generate the income for it somewhere. Your Daddy said he would take care of it, I know what that means, and so I had to rent it. They’re okay, I hate anyone but me living there, but it is what it is.”
“Take care of it? What did he mean by that?” I ask not understanding.
“He would sell it. There is no reason to have it, when we have all this.” The last few words she enunciates like royalty waving her arms around. “I tried explaining to him what his leaving meant, why I had to do what I did where the house was concerned, he wouldn’t hear it.” She sulks in her chair and it’s clear to me she’s had enough chardonnay.
“Mamma?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you happy?” I ask.
She bolts up in her chair, “Of course baby! See I knew you would interpret this incorrectly…and why shouldn’t you? All I’ve done is bitch and babble.” She quickly covers her mouth with wide eyes.
“Mamma!” I gasp, my Mamma doesn’t curse. I laugh heartily causing her to follow suit. Before long we are in complete stitches causing my Daddy to come into the kitchen and our heart-to-heart to end.
“Hey, hey that’s what I like to hear from my girls, laugher!” He saunters over to Mamma, clasping her head in his hands; he tilts it back to plant a kiss on her nose. She reaches up to grasp his hands, kissing each of his palms.
Daddy rests his hands on Mamma’s shoulders. I take a moment to look at my parents; together. It’s a strange sight to my aged eyes, in my younger years they were the same age or seemed to be the same age now my father remains as my mother has aged. The epiphany hits me; it’s not his return or what I may be, it’s not the loss of the tourists. It’s the way she looks; she’s older as he is exactly as he was when she met him, when he seemed to be the older partner. Besides the obvious concerns for me, this is a major one for her, blindly reiterated to me. Is she remorseful for refusing his offer to turn her, make her like him? When did he make the offer? Before me, after me?
I’m pulled from the swirling questions, “Babe?” My Daddy asks.
“Yeah?” I snap to.
“I think Mamma needs to go upstairs.” He suggests.
“Yes Daddy.” I say as I notice Mamma has fallen asleep at the table. I help her up and receive a kiss from my Daddy. Once I have her up the grand staircase and in her room I drop her on the giant ottoman center of the room, “Okay, you’re good.”
Mamma sits up, perfectly sober, and crosses her legs to continue our conversation, “You could have let me down more gently!”
__________________________________________________________________________________
I smile at the memory before I blow my Mamma a kiss and mouth the words “I Love You” at her, she mirrors me before clutching her robe to her chest.
“I’ll pick you up after school Scar!” My Mamma calls to her.
“Okay, Nana!” Scarlet yells before hopping in.
I’m adjusting my shuffle player for the trip; Tool, Deftones, A Perfect Circle and Korn. I also program Incubus, Queen’s of the Stone Age, H.I.M. and Ministry. Dropkick Murphy’s, KMFDM, NOFX and Fugazi. My player holds so much music and I’m an equal opportunity music listener. For downtime I have Bjork, Blind Melon, The Bravery and Gorillas. I also like a multitude of rap and R & B; I’m blessed with Dr. Dre, Ememim, Snoop and Xhibit; I also enjoy local/New Orleans native Lil Wayne; Drake and Two Chains. I dig Jay-Z, DMX, and TuPac as well as Jay Cole, Marvin Gaye, Luther Vandross. Honestly the list goes on and on; big band, do-whop and classical; Jazz and some old time Gospel. A favorite relatable quote I’ve forever etched on my memory, “Without music life has no soundtrack.”
“Did you program Black Veil Brides and Blood on the Dance Floor?” Scarlet says while fastening her seatbelt.
“Oh, man! I forgot. As soon as I get to a stop, I’ll download their albums. I just didn’t have a lot of time to prepare for this trip.” I say smiling at my daughter.
“Well, don’t forget, because they are beyond awesome.” She does the typical teenage hand gesture as if to say, “duh!”
I put the car in gear and head for the open road. First stop is Scarlet’s school and while she is exiting I text Teacup. “Early, I know. Swing thru?”
“Bye Mom, I love you. Be careful.” Her tone is stern, she knows my driving habits.
“I’ll call as soon as I can, I love you baby girl.” I call after her.
My cell chimes at me, “Yeah I’m still up.”
I put my cell in between my legs on the car seat and head toward the renovated warehouse district. Teacup is a Cuban welding artist who just so happens to live in Molly’s building. But on the side he slings a little bud now and then. Considering the journey I’m about to take, herbal refreshment would come in handy once I arrive. I don’t know if it was subconscious or not but I turn down the row of warehouses that had yet to be considered for renovation by the city.
Against my better judgment I pull my car around to his warehouse. It looks as it did the night of Molly’s party and after Mora’s death, and a FOR SALE sign with the word SOLD slapped across it is definitely different, but hardly unexpected. My Daddy has been at work again. I get out of my car and walk over to the only accessible door. I run my fingers over the sign and as my hand falls away from it I get the urge to turn the knob. I know it’s locked so I don’t make the attempt.
I get back into my car and slowly drive in the direction of Molly and Teacup’s building. I slow to almost a complete stop when I see the pile of rubble that was once the vampire club Morte’, had been cleared away. All that remained is a concrete slab with sporadic pipes jutting from it. I take a deep breath and release a heavy sigh closing my eyes. I don’t linger and take my foot off the brake.
I park on the side of Teacup’s unit; luckily it’s across the building from Molly’s. It’s not as if she isn’t aware of our friendship; most of the art community is friendly. I just can’t get into conversations right now; it’s bad enough I’m wasting time with Teacup. I need to get on the road. Fourteen hours, groan.
I reach Teacup’s door and knock lightly, the hallway echoes like crazy and most of these residents either just went to bed or are getting ready for bed. Oh to be a young artist again; the good old days. Since Cian left I have had the opportunity to experience a reflux of it, but instead of sleeping it off all day, I hardly sleep at all.
“Yeah.” I hear muffled through the door.
I turn the knob and push the door. Teacup’s decorating style is more masculine than Molly’s. Teacup doesn’t cover the industrial and mechanical aspects of the loft; he embraces it. His metal work hangs all around the vaulted space.
I put my keys on the butcher block and sit across from him, “Hey Teacup.”
“Hey Babe, what’s good?” He says, leaning back into his chair.
Teacup, whose real name is Tumelo Raul Renier; is anything but. Originally from Caldas Cuba he is a tall hulking man of thirty with milk chocolate skin and chestnut eyes. He laces his long fingers together waiting for my reply.
“I’m heading out of town for an extended period of time and could use some provisions.” My tone is humorous.
He laughs and rises from his chair, using all his energy to lift his frame from the low resting place. I watch him descend his staircase to return with an ornate sterling silver jewelry box the size of a shoe box. He places it gently on the metal coffee table between our chairs; opens it and removes a large bag of marijuana. I instantly smell the potency of the batch and I’m so glad I called Teacup when I did.
“How much you need?” He asks; his eyes fixed on mine.
“Can you spare an OZ?” I ask warily. It’s a lot to ask for on short notice but it doesn’t seem to faze him.
“I sling this to the others for $250.00 an O, but for you Babe; $200.00.” He says smiling.
The dollar amount is no sticker shock to me, I pull out the $500.00 cash I stuffed in my back pocket before leaving the house and hand $200.00 to Teacup, “Thanks T; I’ll bring you something back from my trip.”
“Where you going?” He asks taking my cash and depositing it into the beautiful box. He then dips below the table to retrieve his digital scales; weighs and bags my merchandise.
“Wilmington, North Carolina.” I say taking the bag from his giant hand.
“Wilmington, huh? Yeah, you ought to get away from this heat. Should be nice up there this time of year.” He stops to secure all the accoutrements, placing the box under the table. “Why you going up there?”
This is the conversation I didn’t want to get into so I keep it simple and I know Teacup will appreciate it, he looks like he could use a good night’s sleep, “Lucrative artistic opportunity.” I say and it’s partly true.
“I hear ya, get your money baby girl.” He says mid yawn.
“I appreciate you seeing me this early, but I got to hit the road and you clearly need to hit the bed.” I say laughing.
“Hell yeah I do, drinkin’ and welding all night is killing me…but I fucking love it.” He says stretching and it’s amazing how tall he is.
“All right.” I call at the door; keys and bag in hand.
“All right.” He says half way down the staircase.
I walk into the hallway and of course I have no where to put this giant smelly bag. I roll my eyes at myself but I don’t linger in the hall. Thankfully I don’t run into anyone in the hall, the elevator or the parking area. I’m secure in my car and quickly pull my art bag out from the back seat. I dump the supplies out of one of the sealable plastic bags inside and shove the package from Teacup in their place. I seal the bag and my car slowly looses the scent of fruity cannabis.
I take a deep breath and as I look down I realize I didn’t grab any coffee before I left the house. Coffee is essential if not mandatory to my survival. I backtrack to the heart of the French Quarter and thank the highest of higher powers that Café DuMonde stays open twenty four hours and parking this early in the Quarter is easy. I hop from my car and make a b-line to the green and white striped awning. As I order café au lait, black coffee and two orders of beignets; I swear I see a fairly recognizable celebrity reading a newspaper at a corner table. I turn back to the cashier smiling, couldn’t be…but then she does have a house here.
Since I will be missing the famousness of chicory infused coffee for the next two months I had to indulge. I take my change and shove it back in my pocket. In my car the smell of Teacup’s package had thankfully died down and the scent of fresh French pastry begins to permeate the air around me. Before long I am turning down Tulane Avenue. I merge onto the I-10 East and for the next 136 miles I speed and jam out to my favorite tunes. I recall Scarlet’s words about her band recommendations and make a mental note to download the two albums once I am in Montgomery.
The highway in Montgomery Alabama is relatively quiet and I know I ‘ve bypassed the early morning traffic. Score! My small victory falls away when I realize I still have to drive through Atlanta and by the time I get there it will be close to lunchtime, fuck. I pull off to stop for gas and a switch of music; taking Scarlet’s advice I find the albums, Wretched and Devine by Black Veil Brides and Blood on the Dancefloor’s Anthem of the Outcast. I merge onto Highway I-85 North toward Atlanta and I have to give my daughter credit for her musical tastes. I look down at the screen on my shuffler and see the five members of Black Veil Brides are literally a younger, hotter, and better sounding Kiss.
I fall into a groove while driving and I don’t realize when BVB switches to Blood on the Dancefloor until the song “Where is my Wonderland” begins to play. The melodic beginning is tempting which is only enhanced by the siren song in the background. The lyrics come in and I can see why my daughter loves this band. Relatable is an understatement in Scarlet’s case.
Finally in Atlanta and it’s everything I dreaded it to be. Bumper to bumper traffic at 12:30; groan. I have to say I haven’t been this way north in years and for me to remember the traffic in Atlanta is beyond awful is really saying something. It’s a beautiful city with a rich history, no doubt; but damn. For sure my fourteen hour drive just became a sixteen hour drive. I can’t dwell on it and I decide at that moment I won’t. I flow with traffic until merging onto I-20 East toward Augusta, Georgia. I don’t even notice driving through South Carolina; after Augusta I’m literally itching to cross into North Carolina. If I make it to Wilmington without a speeding ticket it will be a miracle. Highway I-20 East to 95 which takes me across that state line and I swear I can feel and smell the salt in the air already but I still have a hundred and thirty miles before I get into Downtown Wilmington. Though, I don’t think I have to go that way; the Gunnar’s temporary residence is on Wrightsville’s beachfront.
http://www.amazon.com/Babets-Epiphany...
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“Hey Mom.” She says sitting at the chopping block bar.
“Hey baby girl!” I exclaim, “You get all your homework done?” I ask.
“Of course, Pa helped me with my math.” She says smiling.
“He’s good at it, excellent choice.”
“Having some sake?” She asks.
“Yeah. Pa wants me to go au pair for his friend in North Carolina. I wanted to talk to you about it.”
“Okay?” She seems confused. “Why do you want to talk to me about it?”
“Because I am your mother and you are my daughter and as usual I like to have a clear line of communication with you.” I explain and take my first shot of ice cold sake. Its hints of plum linger in the back of my throat.
“Well…I think you should go.” She says and her tone of voice these days is less teenager, but more, young woman. An aspect she gained while dealing with vampire family business.
“Do you, now?” I say smiling, pouring another shot.
“I do. You…we, have been through so much but you haven’t taken the time to get away, get closure. And you don’t sleep, don’t think I don’t know.”
“Closure?” I had no idea my daughter knew what closure meant.
“Yeah.”
“You know Scar, since March you have really blossomed as a young woman…” I trail off.
“…But?” She asks.
“But, I hate that this all came about because of the bull shit we went through.”
“I don’t mind.” She says and I detect so much happiness from her now. She is no longer the sulky teenager we all knew so well.
I pour another shot down my gullet before saying, “Well I guess we have to get used to it. Right?”
“Right.” She says matter-of-factly.
“So, closure?” I say cocking an eye at my daughter.
“Yeah.” She says smiling.
“How do you obtain yours, if you don’t mind me asking?” I ask; which is unfortunate I have to ask my child how she has gained closure when her mother can’t…or won’t.
“Nana and I bake and while we bake, we talk.” She says, lifting herself from the barstool to get her own beverage; cherry lemonade. I watch her take a glass from the cabinet and the pitcher from the fridge, she stands a little straighter and commands her own presence. I can’t help but smile at my baby girl as she sits back down.
“What?” She asks speculatively.
I take a shot of sake, “Not a thing; I love you, is all.” I wink at her.
“Hey girls!” My Daddy walks into the kitchen and places a blood stained Scotch glass by the sink.
Scarlet finishes her lemonade before hopping off her bar stool to hug my Daddy, “Goodnight Pa, I love you.” She moves toward me and hugs me tight before whispering, “I love you Mamma.” She kisses me on the cheek and walks out to the hall.
Daddy and I watch, once she is out of sight he turns to me and smiles, “She’s a good girl Babe.”
“I know Daddy. She’s much happier here.”
“I concur, I’m happier here too.” He slides onto the stool Scarlet previously occupied. I pour and take another shot of sake.
Daddy pulls out a folded piece of paper from his dress shirt pocket, “Here is the address in Wilmington. His name is Lars Gunnar, he has a two year old son named Soren; the mother, Vilma is still in Sweden working on her own projects so he is in need of twenty four hour child care. He will be in town until Halloween, with two weeks off for personal time. He says you may do as you please during that time, but he does want you to paint his two sons while you are there.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that. When do I need to leave?” I ask shooting another glass full.
Daddy watches as I do this and smirks when I place the glass on the granite, “You sure you’re okay with all of this.”
“Of course Daddy, why?”
“You are drinking an awful lot.”
“Daddy, I’m 32. I can handle it.”
He takes a deep breath, “Okay, well he gets in town August 15th. He would like for you to arrive after.”
I nearly choke on my sake, “That is in two days Daddy! It takes at least fourteen hours to drive from here to North Carolina.”
“Who said you were driving?” He asks.
“Uh…I do.” I retort authoritatively.
“I would prefer you fly into Wilmington, but I understand wanting familiarity while you are there.” He relents sliding the paper over the counter to me.
“And I love my car.” I say smiling, picking it up.
“I’m just thankful you have one of the safest cars on the market. Don’t think I don’t know how you drive, baby girl.” He taps my nose with his finger, it make me close one eye.
He leans over to kiss my forehead before standing to leave, “I have to get back in there but I know you can handle this.” He brushes the loose hair behind my ear.
“I know Daddy, I love you.” I say with a smile but I know the “this” he refers to is loaded, open-ended and perpetually cryptic.
My bottle is almost empty and my vision slightly blurred as I look over the information given to me by my Daddy; Mr. Lars Gunnar and his two year old son, Soren. Artistic opportunity aside, nearly two months in Wilmington, NC will be a change for sure. But it’s not Wilmington I’m looking forward to; it’s the down time I will get to head up to Emerald Isle. I take a deep breath and make my way down the hall and up the grand staircase. My bedroom is an artistic mess and I know before I leave, my Mamma will want me to clean it. No time like the present to do so. I move the easels off the tarp and put all my tubes in a clear plastic tub. I dip down and begin to roll the paint splattered material under foot. I fold it into a much smaller square and place it on the floor in hopes of remembering to wash it before I go. My brushes, charcoal and pastels I organize in a different tub along with my thinners and rags which I put inside a sealable plastic bag.
Once all my supplies are cleaned and organized for travel I turn to see my bedroom looks again like it should. The four poster bed I had as a child has been replaced by a grand sleigh bed with matching accoutrements of furniture. The walls are still encased in its original wall paper, large rose print in a multitude of colors; pink, red, crimson and green leaves surround the vaulted space. I know I won’t sleep so I begin to pack my bags for the next two months.
I pack almost all my t-shirts, jeans, shorts, and a couple of sundresses. Standard beach attire, flip flops of course…are already on my feet. I grab socks, panties and two pair of yoga pants along with my black two piece bikini; tennis shoes and the black stilettos Estella gave me. Scarlet has worn her Estella wardrobe to its fullest potential but I can’t bring myself to walk around the house or go to work in dress slacks and jackets. But I do grab the black dress from Molly’s party, just in case. I don’t know what capacity I would need the dress, but as Mamma always says, “It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
I zip up the black duffel bag of clothes before I pack my art supplies away. I’ll have to buy canvas once I arrive but I can take my clear plastic tubs as long as they fit in my back seat; considering the lack of space since I’m taking Henri’s car seat for my use in NC. A light bulb goes off and I pad into my bathroom; talk about a blast from the past. It’s similar to my old bathroom in the studio. Seafarer Blue with white tiles; single pedestal sink and a pull chain toilet. My Daddy had shelves put up for all my lotions and potions. I glance at myself in the mirror before retrieving my toothbrush out of the antique medicine cabinet. My green eyes are blood shot from lack of sleep and drinking didn’t help. But I love my hair, taking the tresses between my fingers. I pull them and release them as the bounce from my crown resets. The ends are razor thin causing them to flip slightly. Frankie is a fucking hair genius.
I secure my electronic toothbrush with other personal hygiene items in my toiletry bag and shove the little pouch into the black duffel. I bend over to collect the tarp and head downstairs; stopping to check on Henri before I do. My little man is fast asleep in his big boy bed. I can’t help but hover over him watching his chest rise and fall. I will miss his big beautiful blue eyes and long lashes like his Daddy. Henri’s blonde hair is bone straight and hanging over his eyes while he sleeps; he coos lightly as he turns over. I cover him with his blanket and back out of his room.
I pull Henri’s door ajar and re-secure the tarp in my arms. Down the grand staircase I can hear multiple voices. I discern Estella and Daddy before I hear Alistair’s cockney tone sing through. I don’t know what they are discussing and I really don’t care. I reach the bottom of the stairs and turn to go back to the kitchen; beyond it is the laundry or mud room. Lucky for me Mamma has already treated and washed my other tarp.
I switch the two and make my way back to my room. I’m caught mid step by Estella, “Babet! Hey honey!!” My Daddy’s ex and Mamma’s aunt grabs me in a bear hug.
“Hey Estella, how are you?” I ask as I gaze upon her incredible beauty.
“I’m great, you know your Daddy is really revolutionizing the city, vamps are happy and healthy…” She trails off, “but I heard you’re going on vacation?”
I snicker, scoff and roll my eyes, “Yeah a working vacation, but I will get a little time off while I’m there.”
“Yeah?” She asks smiling devilishly, “And Cian?”
Again, the sound of his name sparks something in me and I know Estella can see it. She is smiling her brightest gleaming smile. I can’t help but mirror her embarrassingly.
“Yeah…Cian.” In my mouth warm waters pour from my salivary glands; like I can taste him.
“Estella!” My Daddy calls from the billiards room; Estella jerks her head in that direction.
“Bye honey,” She says kissing my cheeks. “Have fun!”
I watch her as she closes the billiards room door behind her. I turn on heel and pad upstairs. Once I am safely in my room I text Frankie, “Leaving in the am.”
I don’t get the chance to put my cell down before Frankie’s instant reply, “Be careful, have fun, we love you.”
I smile at the glowing screen; I have the best friends on the entire planet. I return her sentiments, “Luvies.”
Its 5:30 am, Scarlet is getting ready for school, and Henri is still asleep the following morning as I watch the sun come up. I bring down my bags and art tubs, pack my car to leave, and kiss my son before I do. I said good-bye to my Daddy before he went into day-stasis and hug my Mamma who is waiting for my departure in her robe on the vast porch. Scarlet descends the few steps to jump into my car, but stops to kiss Mamma good bye for the day. I’m going to miss my own talks with “Nana”.
___________________________________________________________________________________
I arrive home late from work, having had a couple of beers with Frankie after closing. The house is dark aside from the light pouring from the kitchen windows. I take a deep breath and park my car; Mamma is waiting up for me. I creep through the door and close it behind me. The mud room has laundry overflowing, blocking the door from opening completely. I crest the threshold of the kitchen to see Mamma in her day’s attire; white button up dress shirt, open to reveal the black and red baubles around her neck. She has her legs crossed under the table, tapping her fabulous black heel on the table’s leg. She looks up, startled by my standing there, “Babe! Lord, honey! I know you can’t help it, but I hate when you sneak around here!” She laughs off her scolding.
“I’m sorry Mamma, but like you said, “I can’t help it.”” I say putting my bag and keys on the long country style kitchen table. I smile at her to soften my retort, but sometimes she just says the wrong things to me.
Mamma stands and gathers her chardonnay glass, she replaces it to embrace me, “How was your day sweetie, you’re home a little late?” She pets my hair. She hates it short.
“I should say the same for you, usually by this time you’ve settled for the evening.” I sit at the table while she turns to pour herself another glass of wine.
“You want a glass honey?” She holds the bottle out, it’s nearly empty.
“No, but you can bring me the open bottle of sake in the fridge.” I suggest. She begins to saunter over, “a shot glass too please?”
She turns back to collect the one I used last night, one of two I bought as souvenirs from Graceland. This one has a picture of Elvis in a cable stitched sweater etched into the glass. He’s was so handsome. I reach out to take the bottle and glass from Mamma. She places her goblet down to adjust her black and white hounds tooth pencil skirt before gracefully sitting.
“So?” She says before taking a swig from her glass.
“So, what?”
“Why are you home so late?” Her tone is irritably sweet.
“I went with Frankie to have a couple of beers. Marcus just invested in a cider brewery and we went to check it out. Since I don’t like cider I had a couple of beers.”
“I’m glad you were with Frankie.”
I shake my head slightly, “What does that mean Mamma?”
“Nothing darlin’, I just hate to think of you drinking alone.” She says holding up her glass of wine to indicate she is doing just that.
“Oh, Mamma…I’m sorry, are you okay?” I ask, not considering her current state of mind.
“Of course, sugar! It’s nothing.” She waves off the notion of life’s imperfections.
I reach across the table for her free hand, the one not spinning her glass on the table top and squeeze it, “Mamma, you can talk to me, you know that.”
“Oh, I know.” She turns her hand over to squeeze mine back, “I’ve just been having a bit of trouble coping with losing my position here.” She says, interpreting to me that she misses the inquiring crowds brought in by the family home being a museum. “I’m glad your father is back, don’t misinterpret me. I missed him more than I can ever express, but his re-entry to our lives has been just as jarring for me as it has been for you and the kids.”
“I can’t imagine Mamma. I mean, all I remember is what you told me as a child and hearing your whimpers at night.”
“You heard that?” She asks, but it’s not a question, “Of course you heard it…Oh Babet…I…”
“Mamma, it’s okay.” I squeeze her hand again. “When he had to leave, you said he would return and you were right, regardless of the time; you were right.” I smile; she meets my eyes and smiles in return.
“I know you and Daddy have made your peace and I’m glad but I want you to know that letting him go wasn’t easy for me and I still harbor some resentment because of it, because of him and who he is, what he is.”
“Talk to me Mamma, I can’t or won’t ever know unless you tell me.” I plead, longing for this conversation with her. My mother; the conservative southern belle.
She takes a deep breath, “Before I start,” she jumps up to pour the remaining liquid into her glass, her heels click across the floor as she hustles back, “Well, as you know you were ten when his contacts informed him of her…”, my mother refuses to say her name out loud, “shenanigans in Europe. He let it go for a couple of months, but when Linde called and reported the death of his brother, your father had to step in. That girl had gotten way too big for her britches and this is before she came back to the city…” My mother takes a long sip of wine, “So he left, after more than a few heated arguments between us. I, of course used you to get him to stay; deserting his only daughter, his only child. It was desperate I admit, but what choice did I have? He was my world, my everything; I couldn’t just let him go. I know you thought it was about status Babe, I know you judged me at first. You had to, considering what we went through. But it was more, I was alone without him. Even though I had you, who looked like me, but acted like him and knowing what he was and what you might do or might be, frightened me without him.”
I don’t want to interrupt but the thought of never hearing from him over the years bothered me, “Did he never call?” I ask quietly.
Her gaze turns sad, “Yes, Babe. He called over the years.”
I pour and take a shot, followed by another, “Why, Mamma? Why didn’t I talk to him?”
“At first you did. But the calls became few and far between, eventually you weren’t here to take his calls.”
I shake my head, “I’m sorry Mamma.”
“Honey, it’s okay. You had no control over who you are or where you come from. We, with some help, brought you into this world, not knowing, not fully understanding the possibilities or repercussions of such an act. It was something we committed to together, like we did when we married. When he left I was devastated, thinking of everything I went through, we went through,” She corrects herself but I understand where she’s coming from. Having children, literally giving birth is no laughing matter and as a woman our bodies go through a series of torturous changes to bring forth human life. For those women who have done it over and over successfully, more power to you. I’m not the one, I’m happy with my healthy two. But for my mother it was a series of heartbreak and ache over loss after loss. Nine times; each time being excited and hopeful that this time, will be the time. “Long story short, being without your Daddy, raising a half vampire child was rather difficult.”
“I wouldn’t mind hearing the long version, what I know is so minimal. What was my birth like?”
“Your birth was as normal as any after we “kept you in”.” She says using the air quotes. It’s nice to see her so nonchalant about it all right now, “It was the keeping you in that was so traumatic. Just like all the others.”
“Nine.” I state.
“Nine.” She mirrors, looking up at the ceiling.
“You said raising me was difficult without Daddy, where you scared of me Mamma?” I ask, peering up from the sake bottle label.
“Honey, why do you think I left well enough alone most of the time? Scared? Terrified, is more the term. We found our way though, right?”
“Yes, I found something to help us with it.” I say smiling like the Cheshire cat.
“Don’t I know it? Do you know how scared I was of how you obtained that stuff?” She shakes her head at me smiling. “Now we may be faced with the ultimatum of what you could be capable of, should you choose a life with Cian. I suppose you’ve discussed that with Daddy too.”
“Yes. That is if I ever see Cian again.” The sulkiness of my voice is audible.
“Oh, you’ll see him again. He can’t stay away. Neither can you, the blood won’t let you stay apart.” She states. This, among many other things my Daddy and I discussed regarding the bonds of blood.
“Daddy says there is no way to live with Cian without truly living as he does; as they do. I’m scared Mamma.” I say and my Mamma snaps her head up to meet my frightened eyes.
She squeezes my hand, “You wouldn’t be slightly human if you weren’t a little scared baby girl.” We both laugh at the joke. “But, know this Babet; as a human you are a wonderful person and devoted, loving mother. And I’m proud of you and what you have already become.”
“Thank you Mamma; that means more to me than I can express.” We share a moment that had long been lost to us. “Speaking of kids; how was Henri today?”
“An angel, I swear Babe that boy is so smart it’s insane. I took him to the park, at every stop sign he told me to stop, called out the letters, and said it was a red octagon!” She boasts.
I laugh, “He’s a bright bulb alright. So perceptive.”
“Exactly the word I was looking for, perceptive.” She agrees. “We also went by the condo after picking Scarlet up from school.”
“Oh yeah, I meant to ask you if the new tenants were working out?”
“Well, I didn’t want to sell it, so I had to generate the income for it somewhere. Your Daddy said he would take care of it, I know what that means, and so I had to rent it. They’re okay, I hate anyone but me living there, but it is what it is.”
“Take care of it? What did he mean by that?” I ask not understanding.
“He would sell it. There is no reason to have it, when we have all this.” The last few words she enunciates like royalty waving her arms around. “I tried explaining to him what his leaving meant, why I had to do what I did where the house was concerned, he wouldn’t hear it.” She sulks in her chair and it’s clear to me she’s had enough chardonnay.
“Mamma?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you happy?” I ask.
She bolts up in her chair, “Of course baby! See I knew you would interpret this incorrectly…and why shouldn’t you? All I’ve done is bitch and babble.” She quickly covers her mouth with wide eyes.
“Mamma!” I gasp, my Mamma doesn’t curse. I laugh heartily causing her to follow suit. Before long we are in complete stitches causing my Daddy to come into the kitchen and our heart-to-heart to end.
“Hey, hey that’s what I like to hear from my girls, laugher!” He saunters over to Mamma, clasping her head in his hands; he tilts it back to plant a kiss on her nose. She reaches up to grasp his hands, kissing each of his palms.
Daddy rests his hands on Mamma’s shoulders. I take a moment to look at my parents; together. It’s a strange sight to my aged eyes, in my younger years they were the same age or seemed to be the same age now my father remains as my mother has aged. The epiphany hits me; it’s not his return or what I may be, it’s not the loss of the tourists. It’s the way she looks; she’s older as he is exactly as he was when she met him, when he seemed to be the older partner. Besides the obvious concerns for me, this is a major one for her, blindly reiterated to me. Is she remorseful for refusing his offer to turn her, make her like him? When did he make the offer? Before me, after me?
I’m pulled from the swirling questions, “Babe?” My Daddy asks.
“Yeah?” I snap to.
“I think Mamma needs to go upstairs.” He suggests.
“Yes Daddy.” I say as I notice Mamma has fallen asleep at the table. I help her up and receive a kiss from my Daddy. Once I have her up the grand staircase and in her room I drop her on the giant ottoman center of the room, “Okay, you’re good.”
Mamma sits up, perfectly sober, and crosses her legs to continue our conversation, “You could have let me down more gently!”
__________________________________________________________________________________
I smile at the memory before I blow my Mamma a kiss and mouth the words “I Love You” at her, she mirrors me before clutching her robe to her chest.
“I’ll pick you up after school Scar!” My Mamma calls to her.
“Okay, Nana!” Scarlet yells before hopping in.
I’m adjusting my shuffle player for the trip; Tool, Deftones, A Perfect Circle and Korn. I also program Incubus, Queen’s of the Stone Age, H.I.M. and Ministry. Dropkick Murphy’s, KMFDM, NOFX and Fugazi. My player holds so much music and I’m an equal opportunity music listener. For downtime I have Bjork, Blind Melon, The Bravery and Gorillas. I also like a multitude of rap and R & B; I’m blessed with Dr. Dre, Ememim, Snoop and Xhibit; I also enjoy local/New Orleans native Lil Wayne; Drake and Two Chains. I dig Jay-Z, DMX, and TuPac as well as Jay Cole, Marvin Gaye, Luther Vandross. Honestly the list goes on and on; big band, do-whop and classical; Jazz and some old time Gospel. A favorite relatable quote I’ve forever etched on my memory, “Without music life has no soundtrack.”
“Did you program Black Veil Brides and Blood on the Dance Floor?” Scarlet says while fastening her seatbelt.
“Oh, man! I forgot. As soon as I get to a stop, I’ll download their albums. I just didn’t have a lot of time to prepare for this trip.” I say smiling at my daughter.
“Well, don’t forget, because they are beyond awesome.” She does the typical teenage hand gesture as if to say, “duh!”
I put the car in gear and head for the open road. First stop is Scarlet’s school and while she is exiting I text Teacup. “Early, I know. Swing thru?”
“Bye Mom, I love you. Be careful.” Her tone is stern, she knows my driving habits.
“I’ll call as soon as I can, I love you baby girl.” I call after her.
My cell chimes at me, “Yeah I’m still up.”
I put my cell in between my legs on the car seat and head toward the renovated warehouse district. Teacup is a Cuban welding artist who just so happens to live in Molly’s building. But on the side he slings a little bud now and then. Considering the journey I’m about to take, herbal refreshment would come in handy once I arrive. I don’t know if it was subconscious or not but I turn down the row of warehouses that had yet to be considered for renovation by the city.
Against my better judgment I pull my car around to his warehouse. It looks as it did the night of Molly’s party and after Mora’s death, and a FOR SALE sign with the word SOLD slapped across it is definitely different, but hardly unexpected. My Daddy has been at work again. I get out of my car and walk over to the only accessible door. I run my fingers over the sign and as my hand falls away from it I get the urge to turn the knob. I know it’s locked so I don’t make the attempt.
I get back into my car and slowly drive in the direction of Molly and Teacup’s building. I slow to almost a complete stop when I see the pile of rubble that was once the vampire club Morte’, had been cleared away. All that remained is a concrete slab with sporadic pipes jutting from it. I take a deep breath and release a heavy sigh closing my eyes. I don’t linger and take my foot off the brake.
I park on the side of Teacup’s unit; luckily it’s across the building from Molly’s. It’s not as if she isn’t aware of our friendship; most of the art community is friendly. I just can’t get into conversations right now; it’s bad enough I’m wasting time with Teacup. I need to get on the road. Fourteen hours, groan.
I reach Teacup’s door and knock lightly, the hallway echoes like crazy and most of these residents either just went to bed or are getting ready for bed. Oh to be a young artist again; the good old days. Since Cian left I have had the opportunity to experience a reflux of it, but instead of sleeping it off all day, I hardly sleep at all.
“Yeah.” I hear muffled through the door.
I turn the knob and push the door. Teacup’s decorating style is more masculine than Molly’s. Teacup doesn’t cover the industrial and mechanical aspects of the loft; he embraces it. His metal work hangs all around the vaulted space.
I put my keys on the butcher block and sit across from him, “Hey Teacup.”
“Hey Babe, what’s good?” He says, leaning back into his chair.
Teacup, whose real name is Tumelo Raul Renier; is anything but. Originally from Caldas Cuba he is a tall hulking man of thirty with milk chocolate skin and chestnut eyes. He laces his long fingers together waiting for my reply.
“I’m heading out of town for an extended period of time and could use some provisions.” My tone is humorous.
He laughs and rises from his chair, using all his energy to lift his frame from the low resting place. I watch him descend his staircase to return with an ornate sterling silver jewelry box the size of a shoe box. He places it gently on the metal coffee table between our chairs; opens it and removes a large bag of marijuana. I instantly smell the potency of the batch and I’m so glad I called Teacup when I did.
“How much you need?” He asks; his eyes fixed on mine.
“Can you spare an OZ?” I ask warily. It’s a lot to ask for on short notice but it doesn’t seem to faze him.
“I sling this to the others for $250.00 an O, but for you Babe; $200.00.” He says smiling.
The dollar amount is no sticker shock to me, I pull out the $500.00 cash I stuffed in my back pocket before leaving the house and hand $200.00 to Teacup, “Thanks T; I’ll bring you something back from my trip.”
“Where you going?” He asks taking my cash and depositing it into the beautiful box. He then dips below the table to retrieve his digital scales; weighs and bags my merchandise.
“Wilmington, North Carolina.” I say taking the bag from his giant hand.
“Wilmington, huh? Yeah, you ought to get away from this heat. Should be nice up there this time of year.” He stops to secure all the accoutrements, placing the box under the table. “Why you going up there?”
This is the conversation I didn’t want to get into so I keep it simple and I know Teacup will appreciate it, he looks like he could use a good night’s sleep, “Lucrative artistic opportunity.” I say and it’s partly true.
“I hear ya, get your money baby girl.” He says mid yawn.
“I appreciate you seeing me this early, but I got to hit the road and you clearly need to hit the bed.” I say laughing.
“Hell yeah I do, drinkin’ and welding all night is killing me…but I fucking love it.” He says stretching and it’s amazing how tall he is.
“All right.” I call at the door; keys and bag in hand.
“All right.” He says half way down the staircase.
I walk into the hallway and of course I have no where to put this giant smelly bag. I roll my eyes at myself but I don’t linger in the hall. Thankfully I don’t run into anyone in the hall, the elevator or the parking area. I’m secure in my car and quickly pull my art bag out from the back seat. I dump the supplies out of one of the sealable plastic bags inside and shove the package from Teacup in their place. I seal the bag and my car slowly looses the scent of fruity cannabis.
I take a deep breath and as I look down I realize I didn’t grab any coffee before I left the house. Coffee is essential if not mandatory to my survival. I backtrack to the heart of the French Quarter and thank the highest of higher powers that Café DuMonde stays open twenty four hours and parking this early in the Quarter is easy. I hop from my car and make a b-line to the green and white striped awning. As I order café au lait, black coffee and two orders of beignets; I swear I see a fairly recognizable celebrity reading a newspaper at a corner table. I turn back to the cashier smiling, couldn’t be…but then she does have a house here.
Since I will be missing the famousness of chicory infused coffee for the next two months I had to indulge. I take my change and shove it back in my pocket. In my car the smell of Teacup’s package had thankfully died down and the scent of fresh French pastry begins to permeate the air around me. Before long I am turning down Tulane Avenue. I merge onto the I-10 East and for the next 136 miles I speed and jam out to my favorite tunes. I recall Scarlet’s words about her band recommendations and make a mental note to download the two albums once I am in Montgomery.
The highway in Montgomery Alabama is relatively quiet and I know I ‘ve bypassed the early morning traffic. Score! My small victory falls away when I realize I still have to drive through Atlanta and by the time I get there it will be close to lunchtime, fuck. I pull off to stop for gas and a switch of music; taking Scarlet’s advice I find the albums, Wretched and Devine by Black Veil Brides and Blood on the Dancefloor’s Anthem of the Outcast. I merge onto Highway I-85 North toward Atlanta and I have to give my daughter credit for her musical tastes. I look down at the screen on my shuffler and see the five members of Black Veil Brides are literally a younger, hotter, and better sounding Kiss.
I fall into a groove while driving and I don’t realize when BVB switches to Blood on the Dancefloor until the song “Where is my Wonderland” begins to play. The melodic beginning is tempting which is only enhanced by the siren song in the background. The lyrics come in and I can see why my daughter loves this band. Relatable is an understatement in Scarlet’s case.
Finally in Atlanta and it’s everything I dreaded it to be. Bumper to bumper traffic at 12:30; groan. I have to say I haven’t been this way north in years and for me to remember the traffic in Atlanta is beyond awful is really saying something. It’s a beautiful city with a rich history, no doubt; but damn. For sure my fourteen hour drive just became a sixteen hour drive. I can’t dwell on it and I decide at that moment I won’t. I flow with traffic until merging onto I-20 East toward Augusta, Georgia. I don’t even notice driving through South Carolina; after Augusta I’m literally itching to cross into North Carolina. If I make it to Wilmington without a speeding ticket it will be a miracle. Highway I-20 East to 95 which takes me across that state line and I swear I can feel and smell the salt in the air already but I still have a hundred and thirty miles before I get into Downtown Wilmington. Though, I don’t think I have to go that way; the Gunnar’s temporary residence is on Wrightsville’s beachfront.
http://www.amazon.com/Babets-Epiphany...
To see who I pictured when I wrote Babet's Epiphany go to Pinterest.com
http://www.pinterest.com/augustafern/...
Babet has arrived, WELCOME TO WILMINGTON!!!
In Wilmington I stop at an upscale gas station and grab my bag from the back. To meet the Gunnar family I have packed one of my sundresses and a newer pair of flip flops. I pair the white sundress with a black sweater since the spaghetti straps are less than conservative. In the mirror I finger my tresses and add a little bit of eye-liner and mascara. My Mamma says without makeup I look like, “Death warmed over.” She’s right and it’s worse since I’ve been in the car for the entire day. I take a deep breath; gather my jeans and t-shirt and head back to my car.
My assumptions of the Gunnar’s beach house are exactly correct and I’m in absolute awe of the three story palace. The Wrightsville beachfront mansion is pale yellow with blue shutters on every one of the large rectangular etched windows. My eyes follow from the door, up to the second story balcony and up further; this house is like a never ending structure to the starry night sky.
I park my car behind a fleet of expensive vehicles. A silver Audi TT sits in front of a Jeep Rubicon but my attentions are diverted to a beautiful Mercedes C-class, sleek black and chrome glow pristine under flood lights. I don’t get to linger at the statuesque automobile when I hear the front door open.
“You’re here!” A diluted Nordic accent chimes over the sound of wind and crashing waves, I see my Daddy’s friend Lars Gunnar, actor of stage and screen. “I’m Lars; Babet?” He says his smile warm and inviting.
“Babet. Yes sir, Mr. Gunnar.” I say, my southern charm oozing through.
“Please, Lars. Call me Lars.” He bows slightly and clasps his hand to his chest. He rises and he is quite tall, lanky almost with light blue eyes and graying blonde hair. His skin is pale and supple; he doesn’t look like a sixty year old man.
“Lars, yes sir.” My tone is professional.
“You can gather your things momentarily; I would like you to meet Soren before he goes to sleep. Okay?”
“Of course.”
Lars holds his hand out for me to go ahead of him to the house, but passes me to open the door. I thank him with a smile; I’m very used to a man holding my door. I pass into the foyer and look high above me and all around me.
The space above is open to multiple sky lights with a grand staircase to the left and the open modern kitchen and dining room to the right. Straight ahead is a great room with leather furniture and beach decor looking out a window framed glass wall with doors leading to a massive second story deck. Beyond is sand and sea, which I can see from the foyer. To the left of the great room is a dark hallway, which I imagine leads to the master bedroom.
“The studio wanted to put me and Soren in a gated community off the beach, but I refused. I told them it was beach front or I walk.” He says smiling but I can see he is a little nervous. He quietly asks, “How was your drive up?”
We ascend a grand staircase; Lars leads me down a dark hall outside the little boy’s room and I feel slightly uncomfortable, “Fine. Long, but I made it.” I say smiling.
“Yes.” He turns the knob and opens the door to a well decorated little boy’s room. Blue and Green planes fly beneath a clouded ceiling. Plastic trucks, matchbox cars and stuffed animals litter the floor and beyond all the chaos a blonde curly haired boy with long eyelashes is passed out in a round spaceship bed. I can’t help but close in on the little tyke who with his eyes closed resembles my own little boy. Lars is picking up toys to make a path as I gaze at his son.
I can’t help but quietly comment, “He’s precious.” My guts wrench for Henri and Scarlet.
“Yes…but he is sleeping. They are all angels when they are sleeping.” He kicks a stuffed monkey toward an open closet. “I was hoping you would meet him while he was awake, but…” I don’t let him finish.
“I got held up in Atlanta.” I say matter-of-factly and it seems to work because he is smiling.
“Yes I’ve worked in Atlanta before, traffic is terrible. Lucky for me I had a driver.” He says holding out his hand to usher me from the room. I realize it’s late but I feel like I’m being rushed around the house.
We walk back down the staircase and I’m hoping at some point I will be able to get my stuff out of my car and settle. No such luck, Lars is ushering me toward the open great room. He hands me a legal sized sheet of paper with black writing from top to bottom and I know this is the mother’s instructions for her husband to handle their son. At the very top; SOREN, is written in dynamic calligraphic letters.
“I’m sorry I can’t show you to your room just yet. I’m on a tight schedule for this production and I have to be on set tomorrow morning at 6:30. That is everything Vilma; my wife has directed for Soren.”
I glance over the list and zero in on his wake time; 7:30 am, Breakfast prepared by Henley. I scan the remainder of the paper before opening my mouth, “Who is Henley?” I ask.
“Henley is our chef. He is wonderful, you will love him, and he arrives at six on the dot every morning.”
“I’m sure I will. Who is Justus?” I ask, the name at the bottom accompanies the statement; “Arrives on Friday.”
“Justus is my oldest son, he is also an actor.”
“Oh, are you working together on this project?” I can’t help but smirk internally, I sound like a pro.
“No, not this time. We have worked together in the past, but not on this production. He is coming into town for pleasure, not business.”
“Ah.” I simply retort.
“He is the other portrait I would like you to paint. Soren…and Justus.”
“Of course.” I start to feel like I have a limited vocabulary.
I scan the list again and there are no wardrobe/uniform specifications printed so I inquire, “What do you want me to wear while I’m attending Soren?”
I seem to have caught him off guard because he is staring at me like I am insane, “I’m sorry?” He chuckles.
“Uniform? Do I need to acquire a uniform?”
He laughs heartily this time and it’s a pleasant sound, “Oh, no. My dear, you wear whatever you like. We are not those types of people.” He says and I think to myself, “This list proves otherwise”. He begins to double over and I didn’t realize I was so funny, “I’m sorry…it’s just, I realize my wife’s list is intricate, but you must understand; Soren is her first child.”
Immediately I’m relieved and it must show, Lars is staring with wide eyes, “Yes, sir. I have two children of my own, but…” He cuts me off.
“You understand then.” He nods, smiling.
I get new mothers are particular and articulate about their children, but wait until she has the next one; this list shit will go right out the window. I can tell by his tone that there is some extended familial drama there but it’s none of my business and I wait for him to continue.
He shifts his eyes to a clock on the wall and says, “It’s later than I thought, let me show you to your room and you may get settled. Will you be able to wake Soren on time?” He asks smiling like I can’t handle it.
“Yes sir, I will be awake when Henley arrives.” I reply with complete professionalism, but I know I will be awake for the rest of the night.
He nods and smirks out of the corner of his eye, “All right then. I‘ll be gone by the time Henley arrives so it will be just you and Soren for the day. I do have a dinner tomorrow night to attend but Henley will prepare your meals before he leaves for the evening. Get acquainted with the list here,” He taps the legal sized paper drooping in my hand. “And I may or may not see you tomorrow evening. We can discuss the portraits once Justus arrives, he has some ideas.” He rolls his eyes at his son’s presumptiveness.
I keep it light, we are only on partial day one; “I’m open to suggestions.”
He laughs and winks at me. I follow him as he waves me toward the staircase; he holds his hand out and says, “The last door on the left is your room Babet; across from Soren. Bathroom is at the end of the hall. Please make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.” I say, he turns to go back into the darkness of the house I think to myself, I hate when people say that, “Make yourself at home” it always makes me feel more self conscious about being a guest in a strange house. I shrug my shoulders and make my way back up the steps and down the hall. I open the door, I don’t go in but I do place the instruction sheet on the first piece of furniture I see in the dark room. I turn on heel to go back out to my car and collect my things. The house is quiet while I go in and out; up and down the stairs, my arms full of art supplies and my two duffle bags. My last trip out to the car I grab my stuff from the back seat. The sealable plastic bag, with my care package from home inside, is not living up to its name. I can detect a hint of cannabis when I grab my linen sack concealing the package. I want to kick myself for not buying papers at the gas station; I won’t be able to indulge tonight. I certainly could use it, driving and basically a stair-master routine later I’m going to be restless until Lars leaves or Henley arrives or Soren wakes.
My bedroom is a good size; it has standard beach furniture, blonde wood. Inside the door to the right is a large dresser, just past is a closet. I drop onto the fluffy mint green duvet that matches the walls and look around. Between the end of the bed and entertainment center is a narrow walkway, flat screen television, blu-ray player and shuffle player stereo reside inside the cabinet. There is a nice sized window at the end of the room and by the bedside is a small table. The décor is beach fare; starfish, tropical fish and driftwood. The floors throughout are light bamboo with white trim.
I push myself off of the bed and grab my tarp from the long plastic bin. I unfold a portion the material in a nook of the room. I’ll have to wait for the sun to come up before I can position my easel and I hope that the light in this room is good. I prop it against the window frame none the less. I’m not one to unpack my bags and use the dressers in hotel rooms or any other place besides home; but I am one to lay out all my toiletries and I’m a little excited to see the bathroom. I quietly creep into the hall since Soren’s room is directly across from mine; cosmetic bag and “LIST” in hand. The door opens like butter and I slip inside. I flip on the light and I’m amazed at the luxuriousness of the communal bathroom.
The bathroom is a galley; a wide galley. Two rooms, the powder room is first, a long basin sink stretches from door to door, and there is ample dressing space in this portion of the room. Above it is a large framed mirror and the cabinets underneath are sleek and modern. I open the second door where the basin tub and toilet are, and there is vast space around the two. I wonder what the master bath is like! Wow!
I look in the wall to wall mirror; take a deep breath and running my fingers through my hair I could definitely use a bath. It’s the perfect opportunity to try out the large porcelain basin tub. I turn the water on fast and hot. I slip back into my temporary bedroom and grab the instruction sheet off the dresser. I can become familiar with it while I soak the day away. I secure the door and slip out of my clothes; the water is so hot it’s like ritual slowly sliding into the steaming water.
This temperature is most definitely not healthy but it feels so good. I finally sit and the heat feels like tiny hot pokers on my inner thighs. It’s sick, I know but man does it feel good. I’m settled enough to grab the paper off the floor and the porcelain under my arm gives me a cold shock. As strange as it is a flash of Cian’s beautiful face hits me and I almost drop the paper in the water. Oh how I miss his piercing ice blue eyes under that dark furrowed brow and the tiny strands of his raven hair hanging between those eyes.
I swear I get a whiff of his indiscernible scent; like a Penhaligon’s sample set, and the memory of our time in Mad..Mora’s basement floods my consciousness. I close my eyes and sink further into the scalding water. Flashes of his lips at my thigh and then at the apex sends me over the edge. My body tenses and without touching myself what so ever I fall into ecstasy grasping the sides of the tub the paper crumpled in my fist. I keep quiet but it isn’t without great difficulty. I cannot believe that just happened; I mean the dreams were one thing but this is a whole other level; I’m wide awake.
My dreams. Oh boy, my dreams. In the beginning they scared the absolute shit out of me but after the first couple I began to enjoy it. I was plagued with the vision of a frightening yet alluring creature hovering over me, tracing my body with its breath. Until it penetrates and violates me; drinking my blood while ravaging me sexually was scary; at first. Another subconscious sickness I’m sure. Apparently I’m full of them; death wish after death wish. My long lost boyfriend is a vampire, were he to lose control I would become what he is, what my father is and what my…Estella is. Calling her Aunt is too weird. I drive entirely too fast and on occasion, way too fast. The list goes on.
I shake all of this and open my eyes; attempting to straighten the paper. I hope they don’t think I purposefully crumpled it. I take deep breaths as I calm down from that delightful strangeness. I regain composure and focus on the hand written directions.
http://www.amazon.com/Babets-Epiphany...
To see who I pictured when I wrote Babet's Epiphany go to PINTEREST.com
http://www.pinterest.com/augustafern/...
Augusta Fern
My assumptions of the Gunnar’s beach house are exactly correct and I’m in absolute awe of the three story palace. The Wrightsville beachfront mansion is pale yellow with blue shutters on every one of the large rectangular etched windows. My eyes follow from the door, up to the second story balcony and up further; this house is like a never ending structure to the starry night sky.
I park my car behind a fleet of expensive vehicles. A silver Audi TT sits in front of a Jeep Rubicon but my attentions are diverted to a beautiful Mercedes C-class, sleek black and chrome glow pristine under flood lights. I don’t get to linger at the statuesque automobile when I hear the front door open.
“You’re here!” A diluted Nordic accent chimes over the sound of wind and crashing waves, I see my Daddy’s friend Lars Gunnar, actor of stage and screen. “I’m Lars; Babet?” He says his smile warm and inviting.
“Babet. Yes sir, Mr. Gunnar.” I say, my southern charm oozing through.
“Please, Lars. Call me Lars.” He bows slightly and clasps his hand to his chest. He rises and he is quite tall, lanky almost with light blue eyes and graying blonde hair. His skin is pale and supple; he doesn’t look like a sixty year old man.
“Lars, yes sir.” My tone is professional.
“You can gather your things momentarily; I would like you to meet Soren before he goes to sleep. Okay?”
“Of course.”
Lars holds his hand out for me to go ahead of him to the house, but passes me to open the door. I thank him with a smile; I’m very used to a man holding my door. I pass into the foyer and look high above me and all around me.
The space above is open to multiple sky lights with a grand staircase to the left and the open modern kitchen and dining room to the right. Straight ahead is a great room with leather furniture and beach decor looking out a window framed glass wall with doors leading to a massive second story deck. Beyond is sand and sea, which I can see from the foyer. To the left of the great room is a dark hallway, which I imagine leads to the master bedroom.
“The studio wanted to put me and Soren in a gated community off the beach, but I refused. I told them it was beach front or I walk.” He says smiling but I can see he is a little nervous. He quietly asks, “How was your drive up?”
We ascend a grand staircase; Lars leads me down a dark hall outside the little boy’s room and I feel slightly uncomfortable, “Fine. Long, but I made it.” I say smiling.
“Yes.” He turns the knob and opens the door to a well decorated little boy’s room. Blue and Green planes fly beneath a clouded ceiling. Plastic trucks, matchbox cars and stuffed animals litter the floor and beyond all the chaos a blonde curly haired boy with long eyelashes is passed out in a round spaceship bed. I can’t help but close in on the little tyke who with his eyes closed resembles my own little boy. Lars is picking up toys to make a path as I gaze at his son.
I can’t help but quietly comment, “He’s precious.” My guts wrench for Henri and Scarlet.
“Yes…but he is sleeping. They are all angels when they are sleeping.” He kicks a stuffed monkey toward an open closet. “I was hoping you would meet him while he was awake, but…” I don’t let him finish.
“I got held up in Atlanta.” I say matter-of-factly and it seems to work because he is smiling.
“Yes I’ve worked in Atlanta before, traffic is terrible. Lucky for me I had a driver.” He says holding out his hand to usher me from the room. I realize it’s late but I feel like I’m being rushed around the house.
We walk back down the staircase and I’m hoping at some point I will be able to get my stuff out of my car and settle. No such luck, Lars is ushering me toward the open great room. He hands me a legal sized sheet of paper with black writing from top to bottom and I know this is the mother’s instructions for her husband to handle their son. At the very top; SOREN, is written in dynamic calligraphic letters.
“I’m sorry I can’t show you to your room just yet. I’m on a tight schedule for this production and I have to be on set tomorrow morning at 6:30. That is everything Vilma; my wife has directed for Soren.”
I glance over the list and zero in on his wake time; 7:30 am, Breakfast prepared by Henley. I scan the remainder of the paper before opening my mouth, “Who is Henley?” I ask.
“Henley is our chef. He is wonderful, you will love him, and he arrives at six on the dot every morning.”
“I’m sure I will. Who is Justus?” I ask, the name at the bottom accompanies the statement; “Arrives on Friday.”
“Justus is my oldest son, he is also an actor.”
“Oh, are you working together on this project?” I can’t help but smirk internally, I sound like a pro.
“No, not this time. We have worked together in the past, but not on this production. He is coming into town for pleasure, not business.”
“Ah.” I simply retort.
“He is the other portrait I would like you to paint. Soren…and Justus.”
“Of course.” I start to feel like I have a limited vocabulary.
I scan the list again and there are no wardrobe/uniform specifications printed so I inquire, “What do you want me to wear while I’m attending Soren?”
I seem to have caught him off guard because he is staring at me like I am insane, “I’m sorry?” He chuckles.
“Uniform? Do I need to acquire a uniform?”
He laughs heartily this time and it’s a pleasant sound, “Oh, no. My dear, you wear whatever you like. We are not those types of people.” He says and I think to myself, “This list proves otherwise”. He begins to double over and I didn’t realize I was so funny, “I’m sorry…it’s just, I realize my wife’s list is intricate, but you must understand; Soren is her first child.”
Immediately I’m relieved and it must show, Lars is staring with wide eyes, “Yes, sir. I have two children of my own, but…” He cuts me off.
“You understand then.” He nods, smiling.
I get new mothers are particular and articulate about their children, but wait until she has the next one; this list shit will go right out the window. I can tell by his tone that there is some extended familial drama there but it’s none of my business and I wait for him to continue.
He shifts his eyes to a clock on the wall and says, “It’s later than I thought, let me show you to your room and you may get settled. Will you be able to wake Soren on time?” He asks smiling like I can’t handle it.
“Yes sir, I will be awake when Henley arrives.” I reply with complete professionalism, but I know I will be awake for the rest of the night.
He nods and smirks out of the corner of his eye, “All right then. I‘ll be gone by the time Henley arrives so it will be just you and Soren for the day. I do have a dinner tomorrow night to attend but Henley will prepare your meals before he leaves for the evening. Get acquainted with the list here,” He taps the legal sized paper drooping in my hand. “And I may or may not see you tomorrow evening. We can discuss the portraits once Justus arrives, he has some ideas.” He rolls his eyes at his son’s presumptiveness.
I keep it light, we are only on partial day one; “I’m open to suggestions.”
He laughs and winks at me. I follow him as he waves me toward the staircase; he holds his hand out and says, “The last door on the left is your room Babet; across from Soren. Bathroom is at the end of the hall. Please make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.” I say, he turns to go back into the darkness of the house I think to myself, I hate when people say that, “Make yourself at home” it always makes me feel more self conscious about being a guest in a strange house. I shrug my shoulders and make my way back up the steps and down the hall. I open the door, I don’t go in but I do place the instruction sheet on the first piece of furniture I see in the dark room. I turn on heel to go back out to my car and collect my things. The house is quiet while I go in and out; up and down the stairs, my arms full of art supplies and my two duffle bags. My last trip out to the car I grab my stuff from the back seat. The sealable plastic bag, with my care package from home inside, is not living up to its name. I can detect a hint of cannabis when I grab my linen sack concealing the package. I want to kick myself for not buying papers at the gas station; I won’t be able to indulge tonight. I certainly could use it, driving and basically a stair-master routine later I’m going to be restless until Lars leaves or Henley arrives or Soren wakes.
My bedroom is a good size; it has standard beach furniture, blonde wood. Inside the door to the right is a large dresser, just past is a closet. I drop onto the fluffy mint green duvet that matches the walls and look around. Between the end of the bed and entertainment center is a narrow walkway, flat screen television, blu-ray player and shuffle player stereo reside inside the cabinet. There is a nice sized window at the end of the room and by the bedside is a small table. The décor is beach fare; starfish, tropical fish and driftwood. The floors throughout are light bamboo with white trim.
I push myself off of the bed and grab my tarp from the long plastic bin. I unfold a portion the material in a nook of the room. I’ll have to wait for the sun to come up before I can position my easel and I hope that the light in this room is good. I prop it against the window frame none the less. I’m not one to unpack my bags and use the dressers in hotel rooms or any other place besides home; but I am one to lay out all my toiletries and I’m a little excited to see the bathroom. I quietly creep into the hall since Soren’s room is directly across from mine; cosmetic bag and “LIST” in hand. The door opens like butter and I slip inside. I flip on the light and I’m amazed at the luxuriousness of the communal bathroom.
The bathroom is a galley; a wide galley. Two rooms, the powder room is first, a long basin sink stretches from door to door, and there is ample dressing space in this portion of the room. Above it is a large framed mirror and the cabinets underneath are sleek and modern. I open the second door where the basin tub and toilet are, and there is vast space around the two. I wonder what the master bath is like! Wow!
I look in the wall to wall mirror; take a deep breath and running my fingers through my hair I could definitely use a bath. It’s the perfect opportunity to try out the large porcelain basin tub. I turn the water on fast and hot. I slip back into my temporary bedroom and grab the instruction sheet off the dresser. I can become familiar with it while I soak the day away. I secure the door and slip out of my clothes; the water is so hot it’s like ritual slowly sliding into the steaming water.
This temperature is most definitely not healthy but it feels so good. I finally sit and the heat feels like tiny hot pokers on my inner thighs. It’s sick, I know but man does it feel good. I’m settled enough to grab the paper off the floor and the porcelain under my arm gives me a cold shock. As strange as it is a flash of Cian’s beautiful face hits me and I almost drop the paper in the water. Oh how I miss his piercing ice blue eyes under that dark furrowed brow and the tiny strands of his raven hair hanging between those eyes.
I swear I get a whiff of his indiscernible scent; like a Penhaligon’s sample set, and the memory of our time in Mad..Mora’s basement floods my consciousness. I close my eyes and sink further into the scalding water. Flashes of his lips at my thigh and then at the apex sends me over the edge. My body tenses and without touching myself what so ever I fall into ecstasy grasping the sides of the tub the paper crumpled in my fist. I keep quiet but it isn’t without great difficulty. I cannot believe that just happened; I mean the dreams were one thing but this is a whole other level; I’m wide awake.
My dreams. Oh boy, my dreams. In the beginning they scared the absolute shit out of me but after the first couple I began to enjoy it. I was plagued with the vision of a frightening yet alluring creature hovering over me, tracing my body with its breath. Until it penetrates and violates me; drinking my blood while ravaging me sexually was scary; at first. Another subconscious sickness I’m sure. Apparently I’m full of them; death wish after death wish. My long lost boyfriend is a vampire, were he to lose control I would become what he is, what my father is and what my…Estella is. Calling her Aunt is too weird. I drive entirely too fast and on occasion, way too fast. The list goes on.
I shake all of this and open my eyes; attempting to straighten the paper. I hope they don’t think I purposefully crumpled it. I take deep breaths as I calm down from that delightful strangeness. I regain composure and focus on the hand written directions.
http://www.amazon.com/Babets-Epiphany...
To see who I pictured when I wrote Babet's Epiphany go to PINTEREST.com
http://www.pinterest.com/augustafern/...
Augusta Fern
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