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Eternity

By: ms_girl23



The cold seeped assiduously through his clothing, clinging with vicious obstinacy to his icy skin, sinking softly, relentlessly with deadly intent into his bones, as it had been doing since the dawn of time It did not seem to matter, for he did not seem to care. His movements were unhindered – his bones were not stiff, for he still moved with the same languid grace and power that appeared inherent to his being.

It seemed that he drew the midnight darkness of the skies around him as a cloak. His figure was that of blackness - for he seemed to absorb all light that was cast upon him, and yet reflected none back. His trousers faded, and black, were dirty- a black scarf was flung carelessly around his neck and hung to drape across his overcoat. His mediocre dress should have allowed him to fade, to merge with the tedium of humanity. It did not, for he was never allowed to fade. The rules, had never permitted it.

Ominous clouds did not mar the velvet blackness of the heavens, no pinpricks of light indicated the presence of stars. The moon alone dominated the heavy darkness, casting an uneasy pale glow over the bare branches of snow dusted trees that lined the ice covered stone path and reflecting the utter whiteness of the world around him. The irony of it seemed to occur to him, the world finally appearing in black and white, with no shades of grey in between, for there could be seen a sardonic curve to the long, sensuous lips. He lifted his face – angular planes, exquisite bone structure - the face of a fallen angel was thrown at once into stark illumination. Dark hair, frosted with snow, fell artlessly over his forehead. 

His footsteps crunched on the snow, leaving behind an imprint of his presence, a temporary reminder that he had been there. It would not last, for nothing lasted, not in this realm. The snow would come, and his presence would be covered, and soon it would not matter whether he had ever been there.

The long, callused fingers of his right hand gripped a cigarette – he held it to his lips and inhaled briefly, drawing in the pungent, sweet aroma of tobacco. He gazed at it for a moment, the tiny flame at the end winking as if mockingly at him, then with a derisive look flung it away. In the still silence of the night, the hiss could be heard as the small light flickered and died. The barest mist of smoke and steam rose from the snow. He regarded it for a moment, bemused, then the silence was once again broken by his languid footsteps.

It seemed he walked in a world of dreams, his surroundings, the skies, the earth, not relevant to him. The ground he walked upon unreal, immaterial, formless. It did not matter upon what he walked, for he did so - it did not matter why he walked, as long as he continued to do so. The trees that bore in upon him on both sides reached with gnarled hands, beseeching, luring. They reached out to grasp with weary hunger, slavering at the scent of barely leashed energy - for it could not be said that in him existed life. His gaze did not stray beyond that of his path. He walked on, unheeding, uncaring, secure in the derisive knowledge of his own neglected superiority.

There seemed to be no end to the path, for really, there was not. His journey would end when he chose it to, and abruptly, he turned, and his dreamworld dispersed, and he was once again in the cold, icy world that only his mind comprehended to be real. His home. His land. His domain. A terrain of sleet, of coldness, of ice, bereft of life, of love, of humanity.

He ignored the voices. They called to him, singing, mocking, wailing, always beseeching. His body throbbed, but he walked. And slowly, but steadily, he made his way, wandering, until he seemed to stand upon the precipice of the world, where but one more step would pitch him into the abyss. His lips curved at the thought, for it seemed to him that mortality was fickle, and perhaps not an enemy, but a friend. He paused, gazing over the edge, seeing nothing and seeing everything, and then he looked down. 

She lay sprawled on her side, curved into herself, as if seeking shelter from the world. Her hair, soft and mahogany brown, draped in a flowing sheet over her body, her eyes were closed seemingly in slumber. She was as any other in this place - and yet like no other, for she alone in the horde of his pathetic possessions had known him for who he was, for what he was. And it had been knowledge, in the end, as in the beginning, that had been her downfall. A daughters of Eve - it was a fitting ending. Her chest rose and fell with every breath, yet her breathing could not be heard. His eyes were blank as he watched her, and he did not have to touch her to know that she was cold, did not have to run his fingers through her hair to know that it would break upon the slightest touch, did not need to feel for it to know that her breath was not there. 

He watched her, and in his eyes the cold satisfaction of possession gleamed, but it was an empty satisfaction, without meaning, without emotion, for he had gained, long ago, what he wished - and yet still he sought, and could not find. He could feel, no longer, for he could not touch her. He was cold, for once she had been warm. Inexplicably, he wished she could be warm. She belonged to him - and yet he would never have her. He owned her soul - and yet he wished that he did not.

He watched her, and he felt nothing, for he had ceased to exist long ago, from the moment he had condemned her to his fate, from the moment he had ceased to embrace his own existence for what it was. From the moment he had broken his own rules. His eyes glittering, he cocked his head and regarded her thoughtfully, his lips curved, for yet another amusing thought had occurred to him. Lucifer, it seemed, did not always want souls, and yet, this one that he owned, he would have for all eternity.

Eternity



Chapter 1

Since my wife left me, I’ve taken to having a few of an afternoon, so I stopped in at the Eternity on Queen Street West for a drink. It’s one of the last good “conversation bars” left in Toronto. I like a nice quiet place to have a sip. Like all the other musicians I know, I hate the canned music in most bars. It seems designed to interfere with my conversation and to piss me off in general. In the Eternity, you can actually hear your own thoughts and share those of other people, and Henry, the guy who runs the bar, is always glad to see his landlord. 

On this particular afternoon, I was in no hurry to get anywhere. I’d finished all the meetings for the week, and I looked forward to a few days of relaxation. So, I bellied up to the bar and asked Henry for a pint of Nutbrown Ale and a shot of Jameson. I believe in getting to the first stage of intoxication quickly and then coasting for a while.

I’d just about finished my first round. I was looking at the TV but not seeing it, more like staring into space mindlessly. Suddenly, I was brought out of my reverie.

“Excuse me sir, can I get you another drink?”

Standing in front of me was a startingly beautiful young woman. I was momentarily rendered speechless. After a moment, I managed to nod and even to speak. “Yes, thank you. But just bring me a pint of Nutbrown. I don’t need any more of the hard stuff for a while.”

She went to draw my beer, and I looked at her. Actually, I’m afraid that I stared. She was about 5’4” -- on the petite side but not too short. Her figure was nearly perfect for my taste. I estimated that she’d certainly fill out a nice C cup, and her hips left no doubt as to her gender. But it was her beautiful face that was most startling. Her features were almost perfectly symmetrical. Her hair was a glossy black. Her complexion was creamy white. Her eyes were the blue-green colour of a mountain lake. When she smiled, as she did now, her teeth glinted brightly. 

By the time she returned with my beer, I had recovered my powers of speech and gathered what wits I had. So, I came out with my usual suave opening. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Yes. In fact, I just started today. I’m a student at OCAD, but I’ve got to take some time off to make some money. So here I am.”

The fact that she was a student at the Ontario College of Art and Design was not at all startling. Queen Street has long been the haunt of Toronto’s artists and artsy. Nor was the fact that she needed money. Most students do. I wanted the conversation to continue, so I introduced myself.

“I’m Danny Sullivan. I’m a sometime jazz musician. Mostly, I’m sort of a high-class bum.”

She laughed. “I’m Carole Tulliver.” At least it sounded like “tulliver.” “And you sure as hell don’t look like a bum to me. Bums usually don’t wear Armani suits.”

“Neither do I, but I just came out of a meeting. Tell me, do you spell your last name T-A-L-I-A-F-E-R-R-O?”

“Yes, that’s right: Taliaferro. Pronounced ‘tulliver.’ It’s an English name. I get a little tired of explaining that it’s not pronounced like it looks.”

“Well, Carole, I’ll tell you a little known secret: I was born in England, and I lived there until I was sixteen.”

“Why don't you have an English accent?”

“I learned in high school that an English accent was not necessarily a social asset. And then I got into jazz. Not too many English accents in jazz. Not in Canada, anyway.”

“Oh. Well, I’m not from England. I’m from Sudbury. Way up north. It’s not the end of the world, but it’s close to it.”

“So what brings you to Hogtown?”

“Art. Or the chance to make it. Uh oh, there’s Henry, the boss. He probably expects me to do some work. I’ve got to go. Maybe we’ll talk later?”

“Count on it.”

I didn’t really expect to continue my conversation with Carole. I’ve never been what you’d call a “chick magnet,” and now that I’m north of 40... well just say that I have more of an opportunity to look at beautiful young girls than I do to talk to them. But in about 15 minutes, Carole was back. She said, “I’m on my break now. Want to sit down at one of the tables in the back?”

Of course I did. When we sat down, me with my beer and Carole with a Coke, she grinned at me.

I said, “What’s the joke?”

Carole smiled broadly. “Henry just told me that you own this place. And you described yourself as a bum. Some bum.”

“Why can’t a bum own a bar? Most bums would die to own a bar.”

“Danny Sullivan, I think that you enjoy pulling my leg. And you know what? I kind of enjoy your joking with me.”

“Carole, I’m sorry if I mislead you. Let’s start over again.” I held out my hand. “I’m Danny Sullivan. I’m a famous jazz musician and man about town, and I own this place.”

She gravely shook my hand, and she said, “Glad to meet you. I’m Carole Taliaferro, an impecunious student masquerading as a bartender.”

“OK. Now that we’re formally introduced, let’s talk.”

And we did talk. We talked all that afternoon and during the succeeding days and weeks. We talked about all the great and small things -- things that you share with friends. Soon, we were good friends. Our afternoon talks became a habit.

I learned that Carole’s parents were more than willing to help her through school, but that she’d put a limit on the amount of their help that she was willing to accept. They were both teachers. Her dad was retired, so the family income wasn’t very big. Hence the job at the Eternity.

I also learned that she had wanted to be an artist as long as she could remember. Her dad was an artist, and she grew up watching him create wonderful things with his hands and his mind. And then she found that she had talent. I suspected that she had a lot of talent, and not necessarily all for art.

Not that I put the moves on Carole. Far from it. I’m as prone to dirty old man thoughts as the next guy, but Carole and I had become great pals. I didn’t want to fuck up our friendship by hitting on her.


Chapter 2

One Saturday afternoon, I’d just finished one of those interminable goddam meetings. I was consumed with a raging thirst, so I came into the Eternity for my customary tipple. Carole was nowhere to be found. I thought it might be her day off, or perhaps she had a cold. I finished my first round and headed for the john. There sitting at a table near the washrooms was Carole. She was leaning on the table, holding her head in her hands. She was crying.

“Sweety, what’s happened?”

“That cunt of a roomate of mine! She’s throwing me out!”

I’d never heard Carole use the C-word before. I guess I never even thought she knew it. I momentarily forgot about my need to drain the lizzard.

“OK, what’s going on? How can she toss you out?”

“Because she owns the fucking lease, that’s how! And she’s decided to move her goddam boyfriend in and me out.”

“Then just move somewhere else.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t fucking afford to move anywhere else. I’ve been living in this pigsty because she only charged me $300 a month. Any place else I’ve found is at least $700. And for that you get something even worse than I have now.”

I sat down next to her. I thought for a moment. Then I put my hand under her chin and lifted her lovely face so that I was looking into her teary eyes.

“I may have a solution. You need somewhere to live. I have a place that’s not being used. No, wait a minute. Don’t say no until you hear me out. I have a basement apartment in my house. It’s a legal apartment -- separate electrical service, separate entrance and all that stuff. Doors with double locks. But I just use it as a rehearsal studio, and I don’t play that much any more, so it’s hardly ever used. I have no idea what it’s worth, and I don't care. I wouldn’t rent it to anyone else anyway. At least come and take a look at it. What can you lose?”

She looked at me with those big glacier-blue eyes, still full of tears. 

“Danny, I won’t take charity. I’d rather go back to Sudbury.”

“Carole, you’re not taking charity. I just want you to come have a look at this joint and see if it’s worth the trouble. OK?”

She smiled a little bit. “OK.”

“What time do you get off work?”

“Tonight? Well, I guess it’ll be 8:00. I’m on the early shift.”

“OK. I’ll pick you up in front of the joint at about a quarter after 8. We’ll go take a look at the apartment, and you can decide.”

“Danny, I couldn’t possibly afford it.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Be in front at 8:15. I’ll be in the green BMW.”

“Green?”

“Yeah, green. You wanna make something of it?”

She smiled at last. The clouds passed away, and the sun came out. “No, it’s just kind of unusual, that’s all.”

“You bet your Aunt Fanny, it is. See you later. Right now, I’m going to complete the mission I was on when I was interrupted.”

I made it to the john just in time. Blessed relief. Then I had one more beer and went to my office.


Chapter 3

At the appointed hour, I pulled up in front of the Eternity. I’d chosen that time well. It would give Carole time to get her stuff, and I knew that I couldn’t park in front of the Eternity. Traffic on Queen was always nuts, and this was a Saturday night. I stopped, and she hopped right in.

“You weren’t kidding, it’s green, all right. But it’s a beautiful car. What model is it?”

“It’s an M5. And you’re right, it’s green.”

“I thought that all BMWs had three-digit model names, like ‘320’ or ‘530. My dad’s a real car nut, but I never heard of an ‘M5.’”

“Most bimmers have those three-digit names, but this one is special. Hand made, in fact. Buckle up.”

I drove to my house in Rosedale. At that time of day, it was about a twenty-minute drive. At least the route I took. I parked in the driveway and, being the gent that I am, went around the car to open Carole’s door. She was sitting there looking at the house. The outside floodlights had come on with the timer. I hardly ever thought about it, but I guess to Carole it looked quite spectacular. After all, that was the intention of the guy who’d done the lighting design.

“Danny, this is a goddam palace! It must be four or five stories high! And look at all these gardens.”

“Yeah, it’s a big old dump -- way too big for me. As for the gardens, a guy has a contract to take care of them. Let’s go inside. You need to see the apartment.”

She came with me. I keyed the entry pad at the door, and the lock clicked open. We went in. She was wide-eyed as we walked through the ground floor. I tried to imagine what it must look like to her. The marble floors, oak wainscoting, designer furniture, and all the other stuff Janet loved but I never cared that much about. Janet was gone, but the house was still kept spotless by Maria Alvear, my wonderful cleaning person. Without her, I’d live in a sty.

We reached the back door. We walked down the back stairs off the deck. I led Carole around the corner of the house. There were a few steps that led down to a door. I opened the apartment door and handed her the key. “This is your front door. As you can see, it opens on another street. There’s also a place in the garage for you, if you get a car. Let’s check out the apartment.”

The apartment was not as spotless as the house upstairs, although it wasn't bad. The living room furniture was fairly new, and so was the dining room stuff. The kitchen had the basics: range, fridge, microwave, dishwasher. There was even an apartment-sized clothes washer and dryer. I’d sort of forgotten about those. As far as I knew, they’d never been used. The apartment had been designed with the idea that Maude, my ex-wife’s mother, could live here and be independent. Then Janet and I split up. Needless to say, Maude never moved in, and I’d never rented the place. I didn't need the money and didn’t like the idea of some stranger living in my basement. Since the place had never been lived in, the appliances and the furniture had hardly ever been used, except for a few grungy jazz musicians sitting on the chairs, warming up the occasional pizza in the oven and, of course, keeping beer in the fridge. The bathroom was nice. Basic, but nice and very nearly new.

There were two fairly small bedrooms, one a bit bigger than the other, but there was no bedroom furniture. Like I said, I’d been using the place to rehearse, and there was just an electronic keyboard and a few chairs in the bigger room. There was nothing in the smaller one. But I offered an alternative: “If you’d like, I’ll furnish the bedrooms with whatever you choose. Just go to a store, pick out some stuff and give them the address.”

Carole went into the living room and sat down on the chesterfield. She tucked her feet under her and looked at the floor for a while. Finally, she looked up at me and spoke.

“Danny, I can't let you do this.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb. I hope you know me well enough to know what I mean. I already said that I won't take charity from you.”

“Fuck charity! This place is empty. And when I’m out of town, the whole goddam house is sitting empty. I should pay you for looking after it. Do me a favour: try this place out for a while. See how you feel. We’ll discuss a price, and I promise it’ll be fair.”

“I can’t take it.”

“Sure you can. And you will. Pack up your stuff, and I’ll have it moved in. In the meantime, let’s buy you a bed and some other furniture, and in you go. Look, we’re friends, right? If I needed something and you had it, you’d help me, right? So consider this something on account. You’ll pay me a fair rent that we both agree on. You come and go as you please. This is your place as long as you want it. We’ll sign papers tomorrow. Tonight we’ll shake hands. What do you say?”

She launched herself at me. I now knew why the term “bear hug” was invented. I felt as though I were being hugged to death. What a way to go.

“Danny, you’re the best. I know I shouldn’t do it, but yes, I’ll live here, if that’s what you want. If it wasn’t for you, I’d have to go back to Sudbury with my tail between my legs. What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Like Clint Eastwood said in ‘The Unforgiven,’ ‘Deserve ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.’”

She looked up at me. “If I can live here for a while, it’ll mean a lot to me. You probably didn’t notice, but I’m sure there’s great light in the small bedroom in back. The windows are located just right. I can paint there. I was able to paint at OCAD. There was a big studio that I could use. It had good light, and there was room for several of us to set up our easels. Since I haven’t been in school, there’s been no place I could paint. Here I could leave my easel up all the time. It’s perfect.”

“It’s yours as long as you want it.”

I took her upstairs. We sat in the kitchen, and I opened a bottle of champagne. We toasted Carole’s new apartment. Then I fired up the barbeque and burned a couple of steaks. We had a great little impromptu party.

After a bottle of champagne and a couple of bottles of red wine, I didn't think I should drive, so I sent Carole home in a cab. Fortunately, she didn’t have to work the next day, and I hardly ever work these days. We made a deal that she’d call me the next morning, and we’d go shopping for her stuff.

The next day, Carole did call me -- none too early, I was amused to note. I picked her up in the bimmer, and we went furniture shopping. I don’t know a hell of a lot about furniture, but one of the few decent pieces of information I got from Janet, my ex, was where the good stuff could be found. I took Carole there.

She tried to buy the cheapest stuff in the store, but I noticed what she was really looking at. I made a deal with the salesperson while she was looking at the cheap stuff. A few extra bucks changed hands, and the delivery was made that week.

Carole moved in. When she saw the new bedroom and studio furniture, she was pissed off. Well, not really, but she told me off in a fond kind of way.

She had pitifully few things, barely one load of a minivan, but she soon put her own touch on the place. With just a few little details, Carole made the place special. It felt like her. It was hers.

We established a routine. Carole’s days off were Sunday and Monday. On those days, we’d cook supper together in my kitchen or hers or on the natural gas barbecue on the patio. This went on for several weeks. Until one Saturday. 


Chapter 4

Carole had the day off. She was looking forward to a three-day weekend. We were going to celebrate. I’d bought steaks and all the fixings, including a nice bottle of wine. She was going to make desert. I put the steaks in the fridge and went in search of Carole. I knocked on her door. It was open, so I went in. I heard soft sobbing sounds coming from the bedroom. I carefully went in.

Carole was lying on the bed crying. I went over and put my arm around her.

“What’s the matter, dear heart?”

“Oh Danny! It’s all over. This is really the end. I’ll have to go back to Sudbury now. I lost my job today. Henry called me and said that he has to let me go. I can’t even pay you the little bit that I’ve been paying. This is it. No more art. No more school.” She looked at me through her tears. “And worst of all, I’ll have to leave you and my little home. Oh God!”

“We’ll see about that. There’s always a way out if you look hard enough. Go and wash that pretty face while I make a few calls. You look after yourself and I’ll get supper on.”

“I don’t think I can eat.”

“You’ll eat. You’ve got to keep your strength up. We’ll have a lot to do, trust me.”

She tried to smile, without too much success. Finally, she said “OK.”

My first call was to Henry at the Eternity. Luckily, he was still there, going over his books.

“Danny, I’ve been expecting you to call. Believe me, I hated to let Carole go. I know that she’s a friend of yours. And she’s the best I’ve got, but unless business picks up I may not even be able to pay the rent, much less the staff. It was either her or the cook.”

“Henry, there may be another way to go. I’ve got an offer for you. If you’ll keep Carole on for a while, I’ll deduct the amount of her salary from your rent.”

Henry was always cagey. “Plus benefits?”

“Plus benefits. You can also offer her a raise in a few weeks. I suspect you can afford it.”

“You mean that you can,” he said. “What’s in this for you?”

“I get to do a favour for two friends while we work this situation out. And I just might have a suggestion for you. You need to increase your profit from the bar. That means you have to get more people coming in. They have to stay longer and drink more. Have you thought about live entertainment?”

“Yeah, and I also thought about winning the lottery. Who’s gonna pay musicians if I can’t even pay a waiter?”

“There are ways. Have you ever heard of union pension fund gigs? No? Well let me look into it. It’s a way to get the union to pay musicians for a gig if the profits go to charity. In the meantime, call Carole. Right now.”

“You got it.”

I started puttering around in the kitchen, lit the barbecue and was just about to set the table when Carole burst in. She was a different girl.

“Danny, Henry just called. He’s figured out a way that he can keep me on, at least for a while. Isn’t that great?”

“Fantastic. Let’s celebrate.”


Chapter 5

Carole had regained her appetite. She handily put away a steak, baked potato and sautéed mushrooms, as well as more than a few glasses of wine. There was no dessert. Carole was supposed to make it, but she’d been otherwise occupied. We didn’t miss it. After supper, we relaxed in the living room with some excellent Armagnac.

Carole had been quite light-hearted all through supper. Now, her mood turned more serious. “Danny, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure. You know you can.”

“I’ve never asked you before, but I’ve been curious for a long time. You have all this,” she made a circular gesture to indicate the house, “and I hear rumours that you own most of Queen Street. How did a musician get all that money?”




Eternity



“Just to set the record straight, I do not own all or most of Queen Street. As to what I do own -- well, it’s a simple story. You know the painter Joe Schubert?”

“Not personally, but I know who he is. He’s a great painter. Everybody who knows anything about Canadian art knows about Joe Schubert, and I know from talking to you that he’s a friend of yours.”

“Well, Joe is also a pretty passable guitar player. Years ago, about the time that you were learning to walk, Joe used to sit in with my quartet sometimes, and we became good friends. One day, he came up with what seemed to most people a hare-brained scheme. He discovered that five blocks of Queen Street West were up for sale. The properties were mostly old store-front buildings with apartments on top. Some were empty, and those that were rented housed mom-and-pop stores -- you know, sundries, junk and so forth. Joe figured that if a few of us went in together that we could buy these places, and he was convinced that the area was about to boom.

“The other guys that he talked to thought he was nuts. All they could see were some run-down old stores, but I thought that Joe just might be right. There were lots of artists and musicians living in the area. They came there when they were students at the art college or university, and they often stayed after they graduated. There were already a few bars, art supply shops, booksellers and at least one big music store. These catered to the artists. And, of course, to artsy hangers-on. The area was getting a reputation as a place to be. The scene might easily take off at any moment, and if Joe was right, I’d be nuts not to join him. As it happened, I’d just made a few thousand playing on some record and film gigs, and I had a steady gig playing some CBC shows. There was live radio and TV in those days, and you could make a good living playing the shows. Joe was starting to sell some canvases, and he played a few gigs as well. With what he and I could scrape up between us, we made the down payment and actually managed to qualify for a mortgage.

“The rest is history. It turned out that Joe was right. Well, not entirely right. The area boomed more than we ever dreamed. Within a couple of years, every one of our properties was occupied with new businesses, most of them very trendy and profitable. Henry Goldblum’s Eternity bar was one of the first. The end result was that Joe and I paid off the mortgage quickly. We agreed to put about 50% of the proceeds into buying new real estate, at least for the first 5 years after the mortgage was payed off. We bought a few more buildings. We don’t buy many new properties these days. We just look after what we have, but we’re both pretty well fixed.”

“Oh. That explains a lot. So you’re filthy stinking rich. At least you’re a hell of a lot richer than anyone I’ve ever known. Since we’re both drunk, can I ask you another personal question?”

“Go ahead.”

“In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you with a woman. You must have been hurt badly. What happened with you and Janet?”

I sighed and looked up at the ceiling before answering her. “I’ll make a long story short. When I met Janet, she was starting out as a singer. She sang with my quartet a few times, and we started going out together. After a while, I thought I was in love. Maybe she did, too. I asked her to marry me. Unfortunately, she said yes.

“We were married for a couple of years when something became apparent: we hadn’t been in love. Once sex started being just routine, there wasn’t a hell of a lot left in our marriage. To be honest, we weren’t even good friends anymore. I think that the only reason Janet stayed with me for as long as she did was money. After my investments paid off, we had money, and Janet liked to spend it. She liked nice stuff -- things like this house, cars, trips, clothes, and all the other things that money can buy. When she met someone else who could supply those things, she took off.

“Her new guy was a lawyer. Fortunately, he wasn't as good a lawyer as my pal David Nussbaum, so Janet got next to nothing out of me. Her boyfriend represented her at the divorce, and the judge really took a dislike to him. Plus the fact that she couldn’t establish any reason for leaving me except that she was fucking someone else.

“After the divorce, they left town. I heard they moved out west somewhere. I honestly do not know where Janet is now, and what’s more I don’t care. End of story.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. In the end, it wasn't a bad thing.”

“But you were hurt. A lot. I can tell. That helps me understand why you’ve been so distant with me.”

“Distant? How?”

“You’ve been a great friend. You’ve always been there when I needed you. We’ve been really good friends from the first time we met. And I can tell from the way that you look at me that you don’t think I'm ugly. But you’ve always kept your distance. Even though I think I’ve shown that I’d like to be more than just your friend.”

All of a sudden, I started to sober up. The most beautiful woman in the world was telling me that she wanted to be “more than a friend.” I looked into my glass for a while. Then I looked at Carole.

“I’m pretty dense sometimes, but I’d have to be gay or a eunuch not to be interested in you. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And you’re the sweetest. But you’re also young enough to be my daughter. Most young women aren’t turned on by dirty old men.”

“You’re not that old. And you’re certainly not dirty. In fact, you’re not dirty enough. Do I have to make all the moves in this relationship?”

Carole got to her feet a bit unsteadily. She came over and plunked herself down on my lap.

She kissed me gently and held my face with a hand on either cheek, looking straight into my eyes. “I normally wouldn’t have the courage to tell you this. But I’ve had a few drinks, and I'm not going to waste what my dad calls “Dutch courage.” Danny, I love you. I think I've loved you from the first time we met.”

She stroked my brow and kissed my forehead. She kissed my eyes. My mouth. Corny as it sounds, time seemed to stop as we kissed and held each other.

“Danny, I love you. I love you so very much.”

“Carole, I love you, too. More than I can say. But be sure you know what you’re getting into.”

She smiled at me and stroked my face. “Your place or mine?” she asked.

We settled on mine. 


Chapter 6

We held on to each other all the way to the bedroom. There was barely room for us to walk up stairs side-by-side, but we couldn’t seem to let each other go. Considering the amount we’d had to drink, we might have needed to hang on to stay upright. When we got to the bedroom, we undressed. I undressed Carole, and she undressed me. Slowly.

Clothed, Carole was beautiful. Naked, She was more beautiful than I could have imagined. There are women who look better in clothes than without them. Carole was definitely not one of them.

Her complexion was a perfect creamy white from head to toe. When I took off her bra, her breasts didn’t change shape. They were that firm. Her hips swelled from a small waist. Her legs tapered from distinctly womanly thighs to perfect calves and dainty feet. Nestled between her thighs was a V of black curls with pink, pouting lips just visible.

We embraced and kissed for a very long time, relishing the skin-to-skin contact. She pulled back a bit and smiled at me. She looked down.

“I’d say that you seem pretty happy to see me.”

I was so erect that my penis was pointing up at about a 30-degree angle. Carole took it in her hand and led me to the bed, using my dick as a leash. Once there, she laid me down and straddled me. I was in heaven. 

I tried to go slowly that first time. I wanted to savour the moment. But Carole wasn't having any of that. She was like a tigress. She rode me as though I were her mount in the Kentucky Derby, and she was determined to win. I responded predictably. But I didn't come first. She did. You could say that she won, I placed, and then she showed, coming again as I jetted inside her.

After that first burst of passion, our love making slowed and became more gentle. We made love for a very long time. Several times, we dozed off. From time to time, we’d awaken, and then we’d begin again. There are times that you make love and cannot remember the details because the whole is much greater than the sum of the parts. This was one of those times. We loved each other in every physical way of which we were capable. At some point, we lost consciousness.


Chapter 7

I awoke about 10:30 in the morning. Carole was still sleeping peacefully. She looked like an angel. I put on my pants and stumbled downstairs. I went into the kitchen and put on the coffee. After a couple of cups of coffee, I went into my office and looked up a few telephone numbers. Then I made a couple of calls. The first one was to the food bank. Then I called my old pal Howard Feinberg. Howard had been the first drummer in my quartet. He was now running the musician’s union local office.

“Danny, it’s always a joy to hear from you. But why the hell are you calling me at home on a Sunday morning?”

“Howie, you know I wouldn’t call if I didn't need a favour. The pension fund concerts-- are they still happening?”

“You know that they are, and God knows why you ask. But whatever your reason, you know that they have to benefit some charity or other. You got a gig? You got a charity?”

“Yeah. The food bank. And Henry Goldblum will give us the place -- his bar, the Eternity.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I’ll even sign up the guys. There will be a cover at the bar, and 100% of the cover goes to the food bank. Deal?”

“Sounds good to me. Call me after the weekend. And while I’m at it, you’re on the union ways and means committee. How come I never see you at committee meetings?”

“Cuz I’m a lazy asshole. Talk to you later.”

And the deal was done.

Then I called the other guys in my old quartet: Joe, Dick and Ernie. They bitched and moaned, but in the end they all agreed to do the gig in two weeks. Then I called Josie, my favourite publicist. She bitched, moaned, and begged for a bigger budget than I was offering. But eventually she agreed to take the job.

I heard Carole stirring around upstairs, so I put on another pot of coffee. In a few minutes, she came into the kitchen. Her hair was tousled. She was wearing one of my old denim shirts. And she looked adorable.

She came over, kissed me and snuggled up with her head on my shoulder. “Good morning, my darling. Did I have too much to drink last night?”

“Is that why you wound up in an old man’s bed?”

“What old man? I thought I spent the night with my lover and my best friend. By the way, what have you been doing while I was snoring away?”

“Saving the world. Or at least trying to save our little part of it.”

Over coffee, bacon and eggs, I explained what I was up to. Carole was very enthusiastic. She could see the possibilities. There wasn’t a jazz club left in that part of town.

After breakfast, she became very serious. “Danny, a lot of things changed last night. I guess we need to talk about sleeping arrangements and stuff like that.”

“Yes ma’am, we do.”

She came over and sat on my knee. That brought her up to my eye level.

“Should I move into the house? Would it look too bad if I did?”

“My little love, I don’t care what it looks like and to whom. You’re my woman now, and I want you in my bed. As often as possible.”

“Can I still keep my studio downstairs? I kind of need my space.”

“Of course you can. In fact, I think it would be better for you to make the whole downstairs into a studio if you’d like.

“Now, there’s still the question of that bed upstairs. I think we should check it again. Just to make sure it fits.”

Carole came into my arms as naturally as though she’d always been there. We kissed for a long time. Then we went upstairs.

In the bedroom, the events of the past night were re-enacted, but more gently and, strangely, with more intense and sustained passion.

I tasted her centre time and time again. She climaxed with an adorable moan. When I was inside her, I felt at home at last. Carole was all the home I’d ever needed. She made me complete.

Monday, we spent pretty much the entire day in bed. Well, we did go out for brunch, but then it was back to the sack. On Tuesday, I had to take my darling to work. I parted from her reluctantly. It was ironic to me that I could so easily have taken her from this job. I could support her without even noticing the expense. But she needed her sense of worth. She needed this job for much more than the money. So be it.  
Chapter 8

During the next week, Josie covered the downtown area with posters: “The Danny Sullivan Quartet Rides Again. Eternity on Queen Street. Friday and Saturday.” Josie set up interviews for me on local radio and TV. That Wednesday, there was a feature article in the Toronto Tabloid. 

I figured I should get out the horn and try to see which end to blow into. I dicked around with the thing for a day or two and then got the guys together. When we started to play, some things were just like the old days. We were carried along by the incredible lyricism of Ernie’s piano playing. Joe was on drums, Dick on bass and, of course, yours truly on trumpet. We weren’t too bad. Meaning that we were mediocre, but maybe no one would notice.

And no one did. On Friday, the place was packed. We played the first set. People were actually quiet while we played. Then the second set. There were even more people. By the end of the third set, they didn’t want to let us leave.

Needless to say, Henry was selling booze and food at record levels.

In a couple of weeks, the gig was on its way to becoming a tradition. That’s the way things go in the big city these days. The quartet was sounding better all the time, and we were having a hell of a good time playing. It seemed like the old days.

There was no longer a need for the union to fund the gigs. Henry was making enough money to pay us scale and a bit more. Hell, we weren’t doing it for the money anyway. 

Henry had to hire extra help for the weekends, and the business spilled over to weekdays. The food had always been good. Now it was terrific. It turned out that the chef just needed a reason to do his best.

Carole was now the head waiter and hostess, and she ran a tight ship. I’d never suspected that she had talent for management, but she certainly did. Of course, there was no longer any question of her losing her job, and I no longer had to subsidize her salary. In fact, Henry had given her a 50% raise and promised more to come.

As far as our home life was concerned, it was idyllic. Carole was the ideal partner. She’d taken over the running of the house, and she’d immediately bonded with Maria the cleaning person. Gradually, Maria took over more duties around the house. It turned out that she was a great cook, so on evenings when Carole and I were busy, we knew that we could come home to a terrific meal.

Sitting in the garage was a red VW cabriolet that Janet had bought just before she left. It had been there for a couple of years. Somehow, I’d never gotten around to selling it. The car had been driven only a couple of thousand kilometres and then sadly neglected. It was so dirty that you could hardly tell what colour it was. However, after it was cleaned up and gone over by a mechanic, it was like new, and it served Carole very well. Something that most people don’t realize is that a convertible can be nearly as functional as a van when you’re carrying big stuff like large canvases. You simply put the top down and let them stick up.

Of course, the rest of the time, it was a lot more fun than a van. Carole drove it every day: rain, shine, fog or snow.

Summer turned to winter. We were soon coming up to our six-month anniversary. While she’d been living with me, Carole had painted nearly every day. I had suspected before that she was good. Now, I knew. She was brilliant. Soon, her paintings replaced all the crap that Janet had bought to go with the decor. For the first time, I felt that the house was a home.

I thought that we should consider a show of her canvases. Carole was quite reticent, so I was resolved to do an end march around her. As luck would have it, Joe Schubert, my artist friend and business partner came to the house for a meeting. It was during the day when Carole was at work. I took his coat, hung it up and went into the hallway. There was Joe standing transfixed in front of one of Carole’s canvases. It was the large one of the CN Tower reflected in the buildings across the street.

I realized that Joe hadn’t been in the house since Carole had been living there. He said to me, “Who the hell painted this?”

“Carole, my partner,” I said.

“Jesus Christ, Danny! Where have you been hiding her? This stuff has to be shown!”

Joe called his agent, Chris Little. Chris came by the next afternoon. He looked at Carole’s paintings. Carefully. And he made lots of notes. He didn’t say much to me, but he left an envelope addressed to Carole.

Carole came home late that night. She was very tired. Henry had extended the live music theme to other days of the week. That night had been “audition” night. New groups were given the opportunity to play. It was always a crazy time.

We had a late supper, expertly prepared by Maria. I’d left Chris’ envelope by Carole’s plate. “What’s this, Danny?” she said.

“I’m not sure. Open it.”

Carole opened the envelope. She read the contents. She was fully awake now. Her eyes were as big as saucers. She looked at me and said, “You sneaky bastard! What do you know about this?”

“About what?” I said, innocently.

“This!” And she threw a legal-looking document on the table.

“This is an offer from The Little Chris Gallery, from Chris Little. He’s only the most important dealer in Canadian art in the country. He wants to represent me. And he wants to talk about a one-woman show. Are you responsible for this?”

“No, I honestly didn't do anything. Joe Schubert was here yesterday for a business meeting. He looked at your canvases. Then he brought Chris here to take a look at your stuff. Chris looked for quite a while. He didn't say anything to me. He just left that envelope for you. That’s the honest truth. Are you going to do it?”

“I can’t! I’m not ready, and what’s more the whole idea scares the hell out of me. I’m totally unknown. Why would anyone take my work seriously?”

I picked up the offer and waved it at her. “Here’s someone who takes you seriously, and he’s willing to put his money where his mouth is. If Chris believes in you, other people will certainly want to see your stuff. Besides, an opportunity like this doesn’t come along every day. You’ve got to do it. Here’s a pen. You sign the contract, and I’ll witness it.”

She did, and I did. Over the next couple of weeks, Carole and Chris spent a lot of time looking at canvases. They wanted to be sure that they chose the right ones for the show.

On the day the show opened, Carole was a nervous wreck. So was I. At last, the doors opened. Soon, the gallery was mobbed. After they’d seen the paintings, everyone wanted to meet Carole. And many of them got out their cheque books and went to see Chris.

The show was the hit of the season. It sold out in two weeks. And Carole was lionized by the press. One of the entertainment papers dubbed her the “Queen of Queen Street,” either not knowing or caring that was the title given some years ago to Jim Mahler, painter, folk-singer and queen.


Chapter 9

Carole was suddenly in demand as an artist. Chris was now her exclusive agent and had agreed to take on whatever work she’d send to him. They had a standard deal, the fifty-fifty split that had always seemed unfair to me, although all the painters and sculptors I knew accepted it without question. Some even signed to a sixty-forty split, the sixty going to the agent. Musicians pay 20% to their agents and bitch heartily about it. C’est la vie.




Eternity



Carole cut back her work at the Eternity to one night a week -- the night that my group played. It allowed us to go to work and come home together. The rest of the time, Carole and I worked at home, she in her studio and me in my office. We enjoyed being together. It gave us the opportunity to know each other even better and to make love often.

Our lovemaking usually began with some oral expression. I’ve always been fond of cunnilingus, and with Carole it was especially enjoyable. Sometimes she had to restrain me to get a break. For me, heaven was having my tongue nestled between those sweet pink lips.

One night after a particularly intense session, Carole asked breathlessly, “You know that I love this. But why do you enjoy eating me?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I love you so damned much. Probably many factors involved.”

Carole looked pensive. “Do you know Sarah? The new girl at the club?”

“Yes, I know who she is.” Sarah was a slim girl in her late teens or early twenties. She affected the Goth look -- pale skin, black clothes, black hair, black makeup, black nail polish. You get the picture. 

“She told me that her boyfriend makes her shave and douche. If she doesn’t, he won’t go down on her.”

“You talk about stuff like that with your friends?”

“Don’t you?”

“Not that way. I have not and will not discuss our sex life with anyone.”

“Well, I don’t either. But if somebody wants to share things with me, I’ll listen.”

“So what’s wrong with this guy? Why can’t he accept Sarah the way that God made her? He sounds like an asshole. I have two questions. What does he do for her, and why does she put up with him?”

“I don’t know. I wasn't thinking of it that way, I guess.” She looked at me with those big eyes. “I don't have a lot of experience in things like that. You see, you’re really my first serious boyfriend.”

“Carole, I’m sorry. I’m not sure what you’re telling me.”

“OK. You know that I wasn’t a virgin when I came to you. Well, when I was in high school, the biggest guys on campus were the sports dudes. This was Sudbury. Hockey was the big thing. The captain of the hockey team asked me out. I was really flattered. I was this nerd who spent all her time drawing and stuff. He started getting pretty intense. I thought that he loved me. So...

“Well, you get the picture. It happened in the back seat of his dad’s Oldsmobile. It was on a nice night after a dance. I thought it was romantic. But a few days after that,” Carole took a deep breath, “it seemed like every guy in the school was trying to date me. One of my friends finally told me that this pig was bragging to his friends that he’d nailed me.

“I didn’t date anymore in high school. When I came to OCAD, a couple of guys asked me out. Nothing really worked. Well, there was one guy...

“But nothing ever has been serious until now. That’s why I’m asking you all these questions. I guess I’m a case of arrested development. So after talking to Sarah, I thought maybe I should be shaving my snatch and douching and all that stuff. I just don’t know. It’s hard to ask. It may sound silly, but I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before.”

I sat still for a moment. I’d just realized something important. “Neither have I. This is the first time that I’ve ever been in love -- totally and completely. I’m very glad that I finally found out what it’s like.”

Carole kissed me gently. We cuddled for a long time. Then, she gradually kissed her way down my chest, across my belly and across my pubic hair. When she took me in her mouth, the thrill was electric. I was paralyzed for a moment. Then I reached for her hips, turned her and lifted her onto my mouth. We would share this magic.

In the morning, we made love slowly and lingeringly, as was our habit. We had breakfast, showered and dressed. I had to be at an investors’ meeting, and Carole had some prospective buyers coming over. They were from a gallery owned by a department store or something like that. She didn’t take them seriously, but Chris told her it was important, so she couldn’t refuse to see them.

I sat through my meetings. Then, I visited the jeweler to pick up a special item. 


Chapter 10

I went to the Eternity for a drink. Henry had asked Carole to take over the club for the afternoon, since he had to go to some family affair. But when I arrived, Carole wasn’t there. Sarah the Goth told me that Carole had not been feeling well and had gone home. I hurried to join her.

When I arrived home, all was quiet. I went upstairs. Carole was lying on the bed with the lights out. She’d been crying.

I gently joined her on the bed and put my arm around her. “What’s wrong, my love?”

“Danny, this hasn’t been a good day. Things didn’t go well at work.”

“What happened?”

“When I got to the club, there was a table of four or five guys who’d already had a few drinks. One of them started coming on to me. That happens. If you work in a club, you get used to it and try to ignore it. The problem was that this guy was really persistent. You know what I mean? Short of grabbing my ass, he did everything to try to get me interested. I still ignored him. Then, it happened.”

“What happened?”

“I was walking away from the table when one of the other guys spoke to the jerk. He said, ‘Man, you gotta watch yourself. That babe is Danny Sullivan’s piece. If you ever want to work in this town again, you better back off.’ And he did.”

“He did what?”

“Backed off. They paid up and got out. Oh Danny, is that what I am? Your piece?”

I took a deep breath. “If I’d been there, none of them would have to worry about working. They’d be severely maimed. However, I am not the godfather of Toronto. And you are not a ‘piece’. Not mine or anyone else’s. You’re my love.

“But.” I took a deep breath, “would you consider becoming even something more? How about my life’s partner?”

I took the velvet box from my pocket and placed it in her hand. She looked at it wide-eyed. She opened it. Inside was a diamond solitaire ring. Two and a quarter carats. I had the appraisal papers in my pocket.

Carole lifted the ring from its box, held it to the light and stared at it. After a while, she took my head in her hands and kissed me.

“Danny, I can’t get my breath. This is amazing. Oh God, I’m honoured. I am so moved by this. But I honestly don't know. You see, I believe in marriage. But I want it to be forever. That sounds corny, but it’s just what I believe. I love you, but if I wear this ring, I’ll never wear another one.”

“That’s exactly what I want. I want you to be mine. Always. But think about it for a while. Put the ring in your pocket and think about it. To me, it’s the validation of what we already have together. But as you said, it’s forever. You can give me your decision in a day or so.”

“I will. Now come here and make love to me.”

Our love making that night was extremely gentle and quiet. It was as though we were discovering each other in a new way.

The next day, I was a nervous wreck wondering whether or not Carole would turn me down. I went through the motions in the meetings I had scheduled. One of them was with a group planning the new opera house. They asked that Joe and I agree to let them have right of way across one of our properties. It was an important meeting, but I just couldn’t concentrate. I’m sure that Joe made the right decision, whatever it was.

Then there was a meeting of city councilors. They wanted me to agree to pay taxes on one of my properties. It had been previously exempt from taxation. The reason being that it was occupied by a church. I’d had the foresight to invite my lawyer, David Nussbaum, to the meeting. Dave laughed them out of the place. He pointed out that according to the law I should be receiving a tax credit, not a bill, for my charitable donation to the church’s rent. The councilors left, glaring at their own lawyer. I knew that he was in for a hard time. Perhaps unemployment. I felt sorry for him, although he probably deserved what he got.

I wandered around for a while. It was time for lunch, but I sure as hell didn’t feel hungry. Finally, I found my way to the Eternity. I sat at the bar and stared at the TV.

Sarah, she of the shaved crotch, came over. I asked her for a beer and a shot of Irish. I drank it in a fog. Finally, I was sitting there staring at the last dregs of my beer. I had no idea what I’d do if Carole turned me down.

“Excuse me, sir. Can I get you another drink?”

I looked up and saw the most beautiful girl in the world. She looked at me through glacial-blue eyes. She reached for my glass. She reached with her left hand. On the third finger was a diamond solitaire ring. 



Eternity in Bliss



I probably should have taken the longer way home that night. As it was, impatience won and I took the alley, leading me on a course that would change my life forever. I remember well the darkness and dankness of it. The moon was hidden in shadow and not another soul in sight, or so I thought. Then I heard it, footsteps behind me, the clicking of a woman's heels. I glanced fearfully behind me but I could see nothing through the pitch that surrounded me. The apprehension was exhilarating. A cool breeze slightly lifted my skirt and I shivered as it caressed my thighs. I turned the corner. Stopping short, I stared apprehensively at the wall that effectively blocked my path. Before I had the opportunity to turn around, someone lightly pushed me against the wall. I felt a lush female body press against me. I gasped as she turned me to look at her. The icy fear that had gripped my heart melted and was replaced by a fire in my loins. Her skimpy clothing matched the ebony tresses that seemed to shimmer. Her cat's eyes glittered, even in the night. My attention was drawn to her long, shapely legs as she propped one atop a box next to me. My gaze traveled up her body, guided by the slender, but graceful, hand beneath my chin. I shivered, pausing to stare at her full breasts, practically calling to me from their barely concealed hiding place behind her leather vest.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you, ma cherie." she said, her voice husky and heavily accented. "Relax, Bliss, I will not harm you."

Without speaking another word, she pinned me against the wall and lowered her mouth to mine in a feathery kiss. My breath caught in my throat as she slipped her silky tongue between my lips. It was the most sensual kiss I had ever felt. Our tongues swirled each other in a rhythm older than time. Desire had never burned so brightly in my body as it did with her. My body wantonly arched toward her, wanting more. I felt my shirt slowly slip from me. Since I hadn't worn a bra, I could feel the cold leather against my breasts. I whimpered as her hands glided across my skin. She slid them up to gently caress my breasts. When her mouth finally left mine, I couldn't move. It was as if I was under a spell, a spell of desire. She slowly trailed her lips down my neck, leaving feathery kisses along the way.

She pushed her leg between mine, forcing me to spread them. I could feel her mouth curve into a smile against my skin, as she slipped her hand beneath my skirt. I had forgone panties, so there was no resistance. I barely felt the elongated canines pierce my throat as she quickly delved two fingers inside me. I lost track of the number of orgasms as they rush over me in quick succession. The ecstasy I felt as she moved her hand with inhuman speed within me and drinking me so sensuously was unbelievable. Just as I thought I would faint from the pure rapture, she pulled slightly away. Looking into my eyes, she smiled, letting me see a single drop of my blood on her lip. Fascinated, I watched her tongue dart out, not wanting to waste it. I knew instinctively that this glorious creature now owned me in some way. It was as if she was the devil and I had just sold her my soul.

She gathered me into her arms. I gasped as we suddenly rose up into the air. I stared at the world below in wonder. We dipped in and out of the clouds, the cool night air rushing by. She slowly began our descent, landing in a luscious garden in the center of a large villa. Seeing the unasked question in my eyes, she gave me an understanding smile and taking me by the hand, led me through a pair of doors. I looked around in amazement at the rich fabrics that decorated the room and what must have been hundreds of burning candles. She motioned for me to lie down on a massive velvet covered bed. From my place on the bed, I watched her walk over and ring a bell hanging in one corner of the chamber. A couple of large-breasted, scantily clad maids came in carrying an old-fashioned washtub and hot water. I looked toward the glorious creature that had brought me here.

"Everything will be fine, Bliss. They will simply help to prepare you." with that, she exited the room, closing the door behind her.

"Senorita Bliss?" one of the maids said softly.

I eyed the exotic beauty suspiciously, my mouth watering at the sight of her cleavage as she leaned toward me.

"My name is Carmelita, and this is Siobhan." she motioned toward her redheaded companion. 

She took me by the hand and pulling me off of the bed, led me to the washtub. I stood there in surprise as the two women quickly stripped me of the remainder of my clothing. Siobhan took my hand and helped me into the tub. I closed my eyes and relaxed into the soothing water. While Siobhan gently washed my hair, I felt Carmelita rub her soapy hands lightly over my breasts. I tried to suppress a small shiver as cool water rushed over me, rinsing the soap from my upper body and hair.

"Ah, Senorita, your breasts, they are muy buena." the Spanish beauty whispered in my ear before lowering her head to slowly flick my nipple with her tongue. 

A small moan escaped my lips. My breathing caught in my throat at the tentative touch of a second mouth to my other breast. My body arched in immediate response.

"This one is fiery, si, Siobhan?" She asked, gliding her hand down my stomach.

"Mmhm," her companion replied, mouth never leaving my body.

Slipping her hand between my thighs, she added, "I see why they bring her here."

I cried out in a mingling of pain and pleasure as she lightly pinched my clit. The two women helped me from the tub and quickly toweled me dry. They laid me gently on the bed. My body was on fire as they slowly massaged perfumed oil into my skin. My hips lifted from the bed, searching for more intimate contact.

"Ah, the pretty little Senorita desires more, mi amiga." Carmelita laughed.

With a smile, Siobhan turned her attentions back to my breasts. I gasped as she tugged at my nipples. Passion overwhelmed me when I felt the Latina lower her mouth to me, gently lapping at my clit. The pleasure was so intense I barely heard the door open. 

"Well, Mariella, I see your new friend is being adequately entertained." I heard a deep, masculine voice laugh as my body exploded.

I opened my eyes. Standing next to the creature who brought me here was the most glorious specimen of manhood. His shoulder-length chocolate hair perfectly framed his handsome face with its full lips and luminescent sapphire eyes. He was tall, about 6 feet 4, with broad shoulders and muscular frame. He wore a black silk shirt, open just enough to see a bit of his tanned flesh.

After looking over me for a few moments, he turned back to Mariella. "So, this is the gift you bring me." He lightly ran a long, slender finger along my breast. "Fabulous."

"Mariella has told me of your beauty. I see she was not exaggerating. I am Luciano, my dear," he smiled.

I gazed up at him, my apprehension, and curiosity evident in my eyes. He smiled at me reassuringly and motioned for the two servants to leave. When it was just the three of us left in the room, Mariella came toward me.

"Come here, Bliss," her husky voice ordered.

She spun me around, her breasts pressed against my back, positioning our bodies just out of arms reach of the chair in which Luciano had chosen to sit. She lifted my arms back around her neck, forcing me to lean against her, my breasts jutting foreword. I saw desire flare in his eyes as she guided the seductive sway of my hips. His stare burned brighter with every stroke her hands made upon my flesh. He motioned for her to turn me to face her and guided my hands to her chest. I knew this was my cue to take a bit of control. I slipped her clothing off, lightly pressing kisses to her flawless skin as it was exposed. I slowly laid her back on the bed, being sure to position our bodies so every movement would be in his view. I lay atop her, our breasts pressed together, and covered her mouth with mine. I held eye contact with Luciano as I forced my tongue between her lips. 

Knowing by now what he was, I bit my lip and leaving drops of blood along the way, pressed kisses down the length of her body. I watched his eyes darken as I slowly licked my blood from her skin. I eased my way down and buried my face between her thighs, lapping up her juices. Her body was writhing. I wanted her to feel what I had felt in the alley. I pressed my fingers deep into her, feeling her clamp down on them as orgasm shook her body. I climbed off of the bed and walked toward him. 

"I want you, Luciano." I leaned over and whispered in his ear.

"You know what I am."

"Yes," I pressed a small kiss to the side of his neck.

"And you know how watching you do that made me feel." He smiled. 

"Yes," I replied, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

"And yet you desire me, desire this." It was a statement not a question.

"Yes," I scraped my nails down his chest.

He looked at Mariella, "This IS quite a gift you bring me." He cupped my chin and looking deep into my eyes, he added, "Leave us, Mariella. She belongs to me now."

When she was gone, I led him to the bed. "Let me show you how much I want this."

I ripped his pants from his body. I paused taking in the mesmerizing creature before my eyes. I was amazed at the sheer size of him. He was larger than any human male I had ever had the pleasure of being with. I licked my lips and lowered my head, taking the length of him into my mouth. He moaned low in his throat as I moved up and down the shaft. His hips lifted from the bed to meet me. 

I had to have him inside me. I climbed atop of him and with one strong thrust he was buried deep within me. I cried out, screaming my pleasure as I rode him savagely. Orgasm after orgasm racked my body. With a deep growl he flipped me onto my back. He took a moment to lightly kiss my lips before piercing my throat. The world shattered as he rammed into me, draining me almost to the point of death. He pulled his mouth from me, screaming as I felt him shower the inside of me.

He took one look at my ashen face and using his teeth, tore open his wrist. He pressed the wound to my mouth and said, "Drink, my love. Don't leave me. You must drink."

Drink I did. I drank every drop he would let me. When he finally pulled away, he told me, "Rest now, my dear."

As I closed my eyes I heard him whisper, "We have an eternity together."

That was years ago. I awoke to a different world, a world that I will now spend eternity in, along with him, my Luciano; an eternity in bliss.



Eternity Ring







Eternity Ring



Drenched in sweat Rhonda shuddered awake. God, what a nightmare, and it had seemed so real. Even now, now that she was awake, she could still feel the throbs of pain where, in the dream, her anus had been violated. She stumbled from the bed and, staggering partially from the after effects of the beer but more from the after effects of the dream, grabbed her dressing gown from the back of the door. Switching on every light she could find, she made her way to the kitchen. She fetched a pint glass from the cupboard and filled it with water from the cold tap; as much for the sake of doing something as anything else. For a long, long while she just sat at the kitchen table, sipping at the water trying to calm down. It had seemed so real, so vivid. At one point she went to the bathroom and examined her face, looking for signs of where her assailant had hit her. Not surprisingly there was none. She even looked, as far as she could, at her backside but that, too, was clear of any sign of the violation she had felt so clearly in the dream. Dazed, she returned to the kitchen. She ought to go back to bed but the thought of facing that again was too much. In the end she wrapped the dressing gown around herself and lay down on the sofa. And that's how she found herself, still tired and with an awful crick in her neck, when she came to early the next morning. 

Partially to wake herself up, and partially to wash away the memories of the dream, she spent longer than usual in the shower that morning. Even so she was not at her best when she arrived at the institute. Half an hour later she had that feeling she was beginning to get used to and, glancing out of the window, she saw Jessica's Audi TTS pulling into the car park. When she got to the office Jessica too, seemed a little subdued but maybe that was just Monday morning blues. She came over to Rhonda's desk and held out her left hand.

"I'm sorry, Rhonda, I really tried everything but that damn ring wont come off. I've completely run out of ideas as to what to try next."

"Don't worry; I'm sure you did your best. Now..." Rhonda looked up at Jessica and was suddenly speechless. There, just above Jessica's right eye, was a bruise, right in the place where she had been struck in the dream. Jessica had tried to cover it with make up but the bruising was clear enough.

"What have you done to your eye?" Rhonda asked.

"I... I banged my head. I walked into a door. Wasn't that silly of me," Jessica replied.

"Walked into a door?" Rhonda stood up and looked closer. "Ooh, that looks nasty. Here, may I..." Rhonda reached up and brushed the bruise with her fingers. As she did so she heard Jessica voice, quite clearly, saying 'please don't ask, please don't ask'. Rhonda removed her hand and the voice went quiet.

"What did you say?" Rhonda asked.

"I didn't say anything," Jessica replied.

Rhonda was shaken, she could have sworn she'd heard Jessica speak. More than that, she had felt a twinge of pain from her own temple, a twinge that came from exactly the same spot. She looked at Jessica and saw the fear in her eyes. She ached to do something about it but the voice had pleaded otherwise.

"It's OK, I won't ask but, if you need someone to talk to..."

"I just walked into a door," Jessica repeated firmly.

And, with that, the subject was closed but, even so, Rhonda still had a number of questions running around her head. She resolved to keep a close eye on Jessica and noticed her wince as she sat down. This was crazy. Just because there were similarities between last night's dream and the bump on Jessica's head didn't mean she should jump to wild conclusions. Rhonda was well versed in the scientific method and had scant regard for silly superstition or belief in the supernatural. 

Even so, Jessica, and thoughts of Jessica, occupied more and more of her time. This woman, whom she had thought of as just a nuisance, did have something about her, even if Rhonda couldn't quite pin down what it was. Despite the way she had dismissed Jessica's attractiveness when talking to Chris, she was finding that she would end up staring at her and, quite frankly, lusting after her. Of course, for all the reasons she had explained to Chris, she wouldn't dream of doing anything about it. Jessica wasn't her type, Jessica wasn't lesbian, and Rhonda had strict rules about not dating girls from work, three good reasons to keep away, but none of them stopped her looking.

The next day Malcolm arrived with a list of the pieces from the Brock bequest and asked to be shown through them. Rhonda called Jessica over and the three of them trooped down to the cellar. Rhonda had always been keen that praise should go to the one who had done the work and, in this case, she really wanted to ensure that Malcolm knew that it was Jessica who had put in most of the effort. Therefore, when they got to the cellar, she pushed Jessica forward and let her do the explaining. As she did so she heard Jessica and Malcolm discussing the finds but she also heard something else, almost as if there were a radio in the back of her head.

'OMG! I can't do this, I'll end up looking stupid again. I really don't know what half this stuff is. I'll start with the china... don't drop it, don't drop it, don't drop it... The teapot. I looked that up, what was it? Wedgwood? Doulton? Spode, that's it, Spode... Oh, thank god I... That piece, green Chinese bowl...I don't know, I don't know, it's on the list, where on the list, I can't find it, I can't find it, I can't... ah here it is. Oh god, he's staring at my tits. I hope this blouse isn't too revealing, I wish Jeremy wasn't so keen on push up bras. It's easy for him; he's not the one who has to wear them all day long. Please, Malcolm, I'm up here, yes, they're tits, every woman has them, hello, hello....'

And, as Rhonda looked on, there was no doubt that Malcolm was, unashamedly, staring at Jessica's breasts. Her only surprise was that Jessica was surprised. Surely she knew when she displayed such cleavage that she'd have every man around her drooling. But maybe she didn't. And then Malcolm was enthusing over Jessica's hard work and diligence. Sure Rhonda had wanted her to take the credit but this was ridiculous. In the end she felt she had to step in and bring the conversation back to the collection.

"Do you see," Malcolm said afterwards. "I told you she'd be a valuable addition to the team."

"She's certainly more useful than I thought at first," Rhonda conceded.

"And such a pretty girl..." Malcolm mused.

"And such a pretty girl who happens to be engaged to be married," Rhonda pointed out.

"I can look, can't I?" Malcolm joshed.

"Make sure look it's all you do. You are a married man, you know." Rhonda wondered if she were overstepping the mark by telling her boss off like this but her protective spirit had come to the fore and if this old letch thought that....

"I know, I know, just saying, that's all," Malcolm replied taking the criticism in good stead.

And Rhonda found that, more and more, she had this urge to protect Jessica from all the predatory men around her. It was as if she had been blind before but now she was noticing how often Jessica was the victim of unwelcome attention. It came to a head as they rode up in the lift to a meeting on the top floor. The lift was crowded so they were all crushed together. Rhonda and Jessica were tucked into a corner and, simply by being in the lift, they were touching. That seemed to make the 'radio' clearer and, although she couldn't make out the words, she could feel how uncomfortable Jessica was with the situation. And then, as plain as day, she felt a hand cupping her buttock, squeezing it. She reached down and there was nothing there, nothing at all but it was so clear, she could feel the fingers, she could feel the hem of her skirt....

Skirt, she wasn't wearing a skirt, nor had she since she was a little girl. She glanced across at Jessica who was looking distinctly uncomfortable and, more pertinently, the 'butter wouldn't melt' expression of James, from Asian antiquities, who was standing next to her and whose arm was suspiciously out of sight.

"Get your hands off her!" Rhonda snarled into James's face. 

"I'm not... I'm not...," James stuttered but his crimson face told another story.

"Don't you lie to me! Sexual harassment is a sacking offence and you know it."

"I'm sorry, I really don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do, you pervert, groping Jessica's buttocks. Don't you try to deny it."

"I can assure you..." James started but, with that, the lift arrived at the top floor and they all started to troop out.

"I haven't finished with you," Rhonda said to James, but the rest got lost as they found their seats around the conference table.

Some time later they were returning to their office, James made a point of taking the stairs. 

"Thank you," Jessica said.

"For what?"

"For... for... for telling James off."

Rhonda remembered the creepy feeling; it had been as real as if it had been her backside that James had been groping.

"You don't have to put up with it, you know."

"But... but... they're only being playful. That's what Jeremy says."

"Playful or not, never let anyone touch you like that unless you want it."

"You make it sound so simple."

"It is that simple."

"For you, maybe. You're strong, you're tough, no one messes with you."

Rhonda reached out and took Jessica by the arm and, as she did so, she distinctly heard Jessica say 'she doesn't understand, it's so easy for her. I wish I could be so sure of myself'. Shocked at how clear the voice was, Rhonda withdrew her hand and it went quiet again. Once more she reached out only to hear 'what's going on, why is Rhonda looking like that?' Again and again Rhonda put her hand on Jessica's arm and removed it. Each time it was like switching a radio on and off again. Jessica just looked on as if she had gone crazy.

"Why... why are you poking me like that?" she asked.

"Jessica... look... I need to test something. Can we go into...?" Rhonda tried to think of a place where they could chat without interruption and ended up finding a quiet corner in the staff canteen. At lunchtime the room had been crowded but now, at mid afternoon, there was no one else around. Rhonda led Jessica to a table and motioned and they sat down facing each other.

"Please, Jessica, this is going to sound crazy but I want to try something, test something out. Just bear with me, will you?"

"Err... OK."

"Please, let me hold your hand."

"You what?"

"Please, just let me hold your hand for a moment. I promise I won't do anything you don't want."

Jessica held out her hand and Rhonda took it in hers. As she did so she was taken by how delicate it looked and was overwhelmed by a desire to protect, to nurture. The ring was still there on her fourth finger; the stone dark, almost black. What's more, taking Jessica's hand had turned on the 'radio' and she was now fully aware of Jessica's anxiety.

'What's she doing? What's all this about?'

"Please, Jessica, think of a colour, will you? Don't tell me what it is."

'A colour, why does she want me to think of a colour. I don't know, cerise, I suppose.'

"Cerise, that's what you thought about, isn't it?"

"How... how did you do that?"

Rhonda didn't want to answer, not yet, anyway. She looked down at Jessica's hand. The stone in the ring had changed and was now a deep red, burgundy perhaps. 

"Please, Jessica," Rhonda urged, "just bear with me for a while. This time think of, oh, I don't know, an animal, think of an animal."

"An animal? What sort of animal?"

"Anything, anything at all, just don't say it out loud."

'I wish I knew what this was all about. Animal, well there's Popsy,' an image of an Irish setter came to Rhonda's mind, 'or Truffles,' this time it was a pony at an expensive stables.

"You're thinking of Popsy, your dog and Truffles, your pony, aren't you?" Rhonda stated.

"Stop it! Stop it right now!" Jessica jerked her hand back and, as she did so, Rhonda saw that the ring was now a flaming orange. 'You're scaring me!"

"Jessica, sorry, I didn't mean to upset you but... well, I know it sounds strange, but it's as if I can hear your thoughts. No, that's stupid, I'll be believing in magic next, but that's what it looks like and I think it's got something to do with the ring. I see you're still wearing it."

"What do you mean, hear my thoughts?" 

"I don't know, exactly but, sometimes, I can tell what you're thinking and, well, it's stronger when we're touching. That's why I asked if we could hold hands."

"Do you know what I'm thinking now?"

"No, but I can see that you're pretty upset."

"Try now...." Jessica reached across and grabbed Rhonda's hand

'Get out of my head, I don't like it, it's creepy, really creepy. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! Get out, you weirdo! Get out! Get Out!'

As Jessica snatched her hand away Rhonda saw a flash of electric blue from the ring.

"Please, Jessica," Rhonda began.

"Leave me alone, I'm going home." And, with that, Jessica stormed off. Rhonda, stunned, just watched her go.

Five minutes later Rhonda was at her desk when Malcolm arrived.

"What on earth have you been up to?"

"I don't know. What's up?"

"What's up? You tell me. One moment I have Jessica storming out in tears and refusing to tell me what's the matter except that you started it. The next I have James telling me that you've been making unfounded accusations of sexual harassment in front of other staff members. I know you can be outspoken, it's something I admire about you, but if you go round upsetting people then I will have to take steps. James, well, I dare say you were right about that one but don't go making accusations without evidence. Jessica, what on earth were you thinking of? I want that one patched up. I want her back here, so happy with her work that she's just begging daddy to make another donation. Understood?"

"Yes, I understand. I'm sorry."

"Sort it out and sort it out soonest."

And, for the second time that afternoon, Rhonda watched the back of someone storming off in anger. This was really a mess. Oh, James, she wasn't bothered about that little twerp, but Jessica, that was a problem. She had been really upset and, quite frankly, Rhonda could understand why. And it wasn't just the job thing that was the problem, Rhonda was actually getting to like her, to understand her and that made her want to reach out and protect her. Now Jessica thought that she was, what was the word she had used, a weirdo... Still, there was nothing she could do about it now, she'd have to wait and see what tomorrow would bring.





Eternity Ring



There were few people from whom Rhonda would have taken such an admonition, but Chris was more than just her oldest friend, he was her closest as well. What's more, if he had come to her with such a tale, she would have equally skeptical. She marshalled her thoughts. "It all began when I gave her the task of going through the Breck Bequest," she started.

Slowly and carefully, she led Chris through the sequence of events. How Jessica had found the ring, how she had 'accidentally' put it on her finger and, having done so, how it was apparently stuck there. She explained how neither had thought that much of it at the time but slowly, increasingly, she had found herself aware of what Jessica was thinking. She ended by telling about the incident in the lift and the brief experiments she had tried afterwards. But, for all her candid honesty, she did keep quiet about the dream; she wasn't ready to talk about that just yet, even to Chris.

"I know it sounds crazy," Rhonda concluded, "and, if I were you, I wouldn't believe it either, but, especially when we touch, it's so real, so clear. Physically it's as if I'm experiencing what she's experiencing. I told you about the shoes being too tight and, that time in the lift, that was so real it was as if it was my arse that the old perv was fondling. Ugh! I still shudder at the memory. Bastard!"

Chris listened sympathetically. As to what he really made of all this, well, for the moment he'd reserve judgement. Whilst there was no doubting his friend's sincerity, he was all too aware of the tricks the mind can play and the self-delusions which can lead any of us astray. However, he could see that, whatever the truth of the situation, Rhonda was finding it disturbing and frustrating, and, for her sake, he kept his doubts to himself.

"OK, let's put the mind reading bit to one side for a moment," he said, once Rhonda had run out of steam. "How do you feel about Jessica? I mean, if what you say is true then you're pretty much in this together, whether you like it or not. I seem to recall you weren't exactly best pleased when she first arrived. Do I gather your attitude has softened a bit?"

"If what I say is true...." Rhonda wasn't that surprised that she hadn't completely convinced her friend. She addressed herself to his questions. How did she feel? "Well, I'd still prefer it if the post had gone to someone with real skills but she's not too bad," she conceded. "As long as I don't ask too much of her she's conscientious and reliable. After all, she did make a decent fist of cataloguing the Breck bequest and, well, she's a lot better than no assistant at all."

"I don't mean that, I mean what do you think about her as a person? If I remember correctly you thought she was a brainless airhead whose mindless wittering was driving you to distraction. Is that still the case?"

"She's not Einstein, never will be, but, once you get to know her...."

"So you do fancy her?"

"I do not!"

"We'll see, we'll see. Anyway, when do I get to meet her?"

"Meet her?"

"Yeah, I want to see what sort of girl has stolen my best friend's heart. Bring her down here one night."

"She has not, repeat not, stolen my heart. As for inviting her here...." Rhonda had been about to dismiss the idea out of hand but the more she thought about it the more her knee jerk reaction seemed churlish. There were all sorts of reasons why she should get to know Jessica better and bringing her down to the Golden Ball for a drink with Chris would be easier than going out as a couple. On a purely cynical level, if they were to become friends then Daddy was more likely to open his chequebook and increase her chances of getting to Peru. On other levels, well, Chris was wrong to say she was smitten but there was no harm in being friends, was there?

The next day Rhonda was sitting at her desk working through her emails when Jessica arrived at looking rather sheepish. She came over and Rhonda looked up. Even before she had said a word Rhonda could feel Jessica's nerves. The poor girl was scared of her, no that wasn't quite right, the poor girl was scared of upsetting her.

"About yesterday... I'm sorry... I...," Jessica started.

"No, please, Jessica, I'm the one who should be sorry. I was brusque and intrusive and didn't take your feelings into account," Rhonda replied.

"Thank you. I'm sorry I freaked out. It's just this mind reading stuff. The thought that you could... the thought that anyone could... it's really scary, like I was naked or something. I mean I like you, I really like you but," Jessica gave a little blush, "the mind reading stuff is a bit much. However you're doing it, can you stop, please?"

"I'm not sure if I can stop," Rhonda felt the wave of anxiety, "but I'll try. I promise I'll try." Rhonda looked at Jessica and could tell that she wasn't just hurt but also conflicted. It was as if Jessica felt that she had failed somehow and let Rhonda down. That was crazy and Rhonda had to put a stop to it.

"Look, Jessica," said, getting up out of her chair, "I don't know what this thing between us is, or even if it is a thing, but I want us to stay working together as a team, you and me, so, whether it's a thing or not, let's try and work round it. Will you do that with me?"

"A team? You and me?" Jessica asked and Rhonda could feel the hope in her chest.

"Yes, you and me, together," Rhonda reassured her.

"Oh, Rhonda, thank you," Jessica gushed, "I've been so worried, worried I'd upset you, worried you wouldn't want me as your assistant any more."

Rhonda looked at Jessica and she could feel the wave of relief coming from her hit like a tsunami. She knew Jessica was insecure, but surely not that insecure.

"Why on earth would I want that?" Rhonda said gently, pushing to one side all the reasons that would have been so valid not so long ago. She quickly thought of reasons to praise Jessica. "You've been really useful since you came on board. Look at all that work you did with the Breck bequest."

"Useful... Thanks, boss."

"No, I mean it, thank you. Now, it's gone nine, and we should be getting on."

As Rhonda worked away she pondered over how this was going to work. How she could pretend that all was normal when it so blatantly wasn't. However, Jessica had come to her that morning like a little lost puppy and it would be cruel to hurt her, cruel not to try and act as if there were nothing abnormal going on. This, of course, didn't stop her curiosity as to what was behind it, what was causing it all. The only clue she had was that it all seemed to be tied in with the ring but the scientist in Rhonda argued that, just because it had started when she had put the ring on Jessica, that didn't absolutely prove they were linked. Maybe, if she could just get Jessica to take the ring off, then that would at least settle that question and, maybe, resolve the entire issue. But that was easier said than done. They had already tried many times simply taking it off and the ring wasn't going anywhere. No, there was no way around it. If the ring would not come off without cutting it then it would have to be cut. Much as damaging a potential exhibit went against every grain in her body, that's what they were going to have to do. She went over to where Jessica was working.

"Jessica, there is one thing," she said as she approached.

"What's that, boss?"

"I know this sounds stupid but I think it might help if you weren't wearing that ring."

"But I can't get it off. Seriously, I've tried everything."

"I know you've tried everything and that's why I think the time has come to cut it off."

"Cut it! You can't do that! You can't! You can't!" Jessica was visibly upset by the suggestion.

"Please, Jessica, calm down. We have tools down in the labs which will do the very minimum of damage and, afterwards, it can be repaired."

"You'll hurt it." Jessica sounded like a petulant child.

"We'll be really careful. I'm no keener on damaging the ring than you are, honestly."

"It doesn't want to be cut. It likes it on my finger."

"Jessica, listen to yourself. How can a ring have feelings? I know you're fond of it but, believe me, it's for the best."

"It just does, I know it does," Jessica protested.

"Now you're just being silly."

"Am I? So, it's not silly when you talk about mind reading but when I know, know in my heart, that the ring has feelings, that's somehow different?"

Rhonda had to admit that she hadn't got an answer to that one. "Please, Jessica, we'll be as gentle as possible and, once it's off, we'll get it repaired so nobody will notice. I know you're fond of it but I shouldn't have put it on you in the first place and...." How could Rhonda explain her fears about the ring without going into the whole mind reading thing, "... well, it is the museum's after all."

Rhonda nearly relented, such was the roil of hurt and confusion coming from Jessica. Surely she hadn't got that worked up over such a tiny thing as the ring; but apparently she had. Then, cutting across the hurt, Rhonda felt a resolve come from deep inside Jessica, that she wanted to do what Rhonda wanted, whatever the cost.

"OK, you're right. Let's do it," Jessica said with a certain amount of grim determination.

So, together, they went down to the labs where there were various tools for cleaning and restoring the exhibits and, amongst them, a set of specialist cutters. 

"OK," Rhonda said. "Hold out your hand."

Jessica was shaking like a leaf as she did so and, even before they touched, Rhonda was well aware of the conflict inside her. The stone in the ring was a deep burgundy and, until you looked closely the patterns seemed to be moving. As soon as Rhonda took Jessica's hand the floodgates were opened and the full extent of Jessica's disquiet was evident.

'She'll hurt it, she'll hurt it, please, please, you have to stop, but we can't, she's right, it's not yours and, if she says it has to come off... but she'll hurt it, she doesn't understand, she thinks it's just a ring, she....'

"Hey, it's OK," Rhonda said soothingly. "I'll be really careful and ever so gentle."

As Rhonda picked up the cutters the intensity of Jessica's thoughts increased. The words were now indistinct, little more than a blur of worry. Meanwhile the stone in the ring had now turned bright crimson. Rhonda was determined to go through with this so she turned Jessica's hand over, exposing her palm and the narrow part of the ring which she was where she was going to make the cut. As she picked up the cutters the noise in her head became deafening but she was resolute. She rested Jessica's hand against the bench to steady it and slowly, with infinite care, approached with the cutters.

"Ow! Jesus! Fuck!"

As soon as the cutters had touched the ring a bolt of pain had seared up Rhonda's arm causing her to jerk away. Her arm still tingled as if she had had an electric shock. However, this just made her more determined and, after all, she'd know better this time. She steeled herself, this time she would be ready. Ignoring the storm of worry coming from Jessica she once again approached the ring with the cutters. She was ready for the bolt of pain but this time but, when the cutters touched the ring, there was no shock, nothing. Maybe whatever it was had happened and wouldn't happen again. She adjusted the blades so they would do least damage and....

This time the jolt wasn't just through her arm but through her whole body. She was thrown back against a workbench and the cutters went flying across the room, skidding to a halt in a far corner. She somehow knew, with absolute certainty, that, if there were a next time, it would be worse still and, shaken to the core, she just stood there, panting.

"Are you OK?" Jessica asked tentatively.

"Yeah, I guess so," Rhonda replied.

"I think... I think it's kind of protecting itself."

"That's..." Rhonda was about to say 'that's crazy' but, to be fair to Jessica, it was no more crazy than anything else that was going on. Jessica turned her hand over and, as she did so, Rhonda could see that the stone in the ring was now a vivid orange, almost as if it were on fire. Rhonda reached out to take Jessica's hand and, once again, the connection opened.

'Please don't try again, please, please, Rhonda, please don't try again. It will do anything it needs to do to protect itself. If you try again It will hurt you, really hurt you, I know it will, I just know it will.'

Rhonda let Jessica's hand drop.

"Maybe you're right, maybe the ring is protecting itself. Look!" Rhonda pointed to the stone in the ring, which, as the two women watched, died back from the fiery orange and returned to a deep burgundy. "Whether it is or not, I'm not going to try cutting it again until we know a lot more about it. There's too much I don't understand, there's too much neither of us understands."

"I know you think I'm silly but it's as if the ring talks to me."

"I don't think you're silly, well, maybe I used to but I don't anymore. As for the ring, well, it looks like you're stuck with it. I don't know what it just did or how it did it but I'm not going near it with the cutters again."

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. Now, come along, let's get back to work."

Over the next few days Rhonda tried her best to keep her contact with Jessica down to a minimum. The shock she had received when trying to cut the ring had hit her in more ways than one. Firstly, physically, she had been hit quite hard and her arm muscles still felt shaky. Secondly, and far more importantly, her normally rock solid confidence had been shaken. The idea that the ring might have supernatural powers, the idea that the ring could have supernatural powers, had shaken her belief system to the core. She was a scientist, a rationalist, an atheist and had the deepest disdain for believers in what she dismissed as 'woo'. It genuinely pained her when ancient artefacts where deemed to have 'mystical powers' and yet, that was exactly what she was forced to ascribe to the ring. 

And, again, there was the whole telepathy thing. She was one of those who decried psychics as charlatans who preyed on the weak and gullible and yet, here she was demonstrating similar powers. At least she wasn't ascribing them to spirit guides; that would be the last straw. She knew she was ignoring it in the hope that it would go away, which also went against her nature. As long as she kept away from Jessica the effects weren't too bad and she could manage. However she was finding that, as long as they were within a hundred yards or so, she always knew exactly where Jessica was and what sort of mood she was in. If they happened to be in the same room then this empathy was stronger. Malcolm had called them to his office to discuss the issue with James, and Rhonda had almost squirmed with the embarrassment that she was picking up from Jessica.

And then, as they were working together in the labs, Malcolm came down to see them.

"Ah, Rhonda, Jessica, I'm glad I've found you both. I need someone to run up to Inverness. Can I interest the two of you?"

"Inverness, is that the Lairg dig? The one Zoe Williams is running?" Rhonda asked.

"That's the one. They've unearthed something rather interesting, something that needs to get put in a preservation tank as soon as possible. No, I'm not going to tell you what, Zoe wants to keep it a surprise. Now, they're a bit short staffed at the moment and we need this done soon as, so I wondered if you would spin up there for me. Maybe you could take Jessica, get her out of the office for a couple of days, show her that it's not all dull book work."

Rhonda hardly needed to think this over. If she were being sent all that way then it must be important and the thought of a couple of days out of the office was very appealing. As for travelling with Jessica, well, she was managing the telepathy thing, wasn't she?

"Yeah, I fancy a run out," she replied. "Blow away some of the cobwebs and see how Zoe is getting on." Rhonda glanced across at Jessica. She could feel waves of anxiety coming from her. "What about you, Jessica, fancy a trip to the Highlands?"

"I'm not sure if Jeremy...."

"Oh, to hell with Jeremy," Rhonda said. "Come up to Bonnie Scotland with me, we'll have some fun."

"Jeremy doesn't like me.... He likes me to.... He's not that happy that I'm working here anyway."

Both Rhonda and Malcolm were somewhat shocked by this admission. 

"But you'd like to come, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yes! Visit a real dig! Oh, I'd love to."

"Well, that's settled then," Rhonda said firmly. "Tell Jeremy you've been ordered by your boss and, if he doesn't like it, that's just tough."

Jessica just smiled but she couldn't look Rhonda in the eye and Rhonda could feel how conflicted she was.

"Well, it's too late for you to be leaving today," Malcolm said. "If you were to set of at, say, seven o'clock tomorrow morning that would be fine. Jessica, why don't you discuss this with your young man this evening and tomorrow, if you want to go, that will be fine and if you don't, well, we'll understand."

"And now you're whisking her away for a night of sin and depravity in the Highlands," Chris said as he and Rhonda shared a pint in the Golden Ball.

"I am not!" Rhonda replied. "I just think that it will do the girl good to get out and see some real archaeology."

"This will be the girl whose inane wittering was driving you crazy just s few short weeks ago. And now you're prepared, nay eager, to spend two whole days in her company. Smitten, that's what you are."

"I told you before, I am not smitten."

"And I didn't believe you then. How's the mind reading going?" Chris asked.

"I can live with it."

"Can you? What about Jessica? Can she live with it?"

"We're both pretending it's not an issue. Well, we have to. I told you what happened when I tried to cut the ring off."

"You have to? Pretending it's not an issue is the best response you can come up with? Really!"

"Please, Chris, I can't even talk to her about it. What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know but there must be something better than ignoring it and hoping it will go away."

"Well, if you can come up with anything please let me know," Rhonda said crossly.

"OK, calm down, keep your knickers on. Seriously, Rhonda, I'm worried. Whatever this is, it sounds batshit crazy and now you're going to lock yourself away with her in the front seat of a van all the way to the far side of Inverness and back."

"I can cope. It's just a drive out and it will do us good to get to know each other a little better."

"And while you're away you'll have your wicked way with her..."

"No I won't. She's straight and has a fiancée. She's off limits on both counts."

"We shall see, we shall see. Now, I brought the last round, this one is yours. Pint of Pride, please."

With the long drive and early start ahead of her, Rhonda was back home in good time and was pottering around the kitchen, tidying up before going to bed. The blast, when it hit her, caught her completely off balance and she fell to the floor, her side one huge ball of pain.

'Slag! What do you want to go to Scotland for?' She heard the words as plain as day. Then, even before she could get to her feet she felt her wrist being grabbed, she felt herself being dragged, thrown across the sofa, she felt her skirt being ripped from her, the heavy weight holding her down, the intruder thrusting between her thighs. She felt herself opening up, not in welcome but in a desperate attempt to minimise the pain, the pain as, again and again, she was invaded, violated. Fortunately he didn't last long and, fully sated he collapsed on top of her, his face next to hers, his whisky breath reeking as he got his breath back. 'Fuck off to Scotland then, see if I care,' he snarled. Again, the voice was as clear as a bell.




Eternity Ring



Seriously shaken, Rhonda picked herself up off the floor. It was just like the dream. Indeed, she would swear her violator was the same man, but, this time, she had been wide awake. She felt her side. The area between her right hip and her ribs still ached, although there wasn't the slightest sign of any damage and, as for between her thighs, she almost vomited from the recollection. She picked herself up off the floor and went to the bathroom. The face that stared back from the mirror over the sink was gaunt and drawn. It was going to take a while to get to sleep that night. 

"'Morning, Boss!" Jessica said chirpily when she arrived at work at six thirty the next morning. "Looks like I can go after all. I've packed my case; it's in the boot of the car. What time are we leaving?"

"As soon as possible. We've quite a way to go. Have you ever driven a van before?"

"No... I thought you would be doing the driving. Oh... I'm not sure..." You didn't need to be a mind reader to pick up on Jessica's lack of confidence.

"It's over five hundred miles so I'd appreciate it if you'd do some of it. Come on, it's just like a car. Anyway, I'll do the first stretch; you can have ago when we get off the motorway."

Well before seven o'clock they had gone to Malcolm's, picked up the keys for one of the institute's vans, and were heading out for the motorway. While Rhonda concentrated on the driving Jessica sat beside her, chatting away merrily even though the conversation was a bit one sided. Rhonda smiled to herself. Chris was right, a few weeks ago this would have driven her to dementia, now, well, she wasn't really listening, but she could tell that Jessica was happy and that made her happy. 

"You're very cheerful today," Rhonda commented when she could finally get a word in edgeways.

"It's like we're going on holiday, isn't it?" Jessica replied. "And a bit of an adventure, off to Scotland and all." 

"I wouldn't exactly describe it as a holiday. We're doing an important job here."

"Yeah, but, well, we're out of that stuffy old office and, well, it's just the two of us. The team. I love it when we work together like this."

Rhonda glanced across at Jessica and could tell that she was completely sincere. "Yeah, OK, a team, I guess."

"But you said so the other day. You said that we're a team and that I'd been really useful since I came on board."

Again Rhonda glanced across at Jessica. Although, without touching, she couldn't read Jessica's thoughts, she could feel the sense of pride at being called 'useful'. 

"Yeah, well, you have been useful," Rhonda said gruffly and, as she did so, the warm glow of satisfaction coming from the passenger seat made her feel mellow. "Really useful."

And, as the van ate up the miles, as the M6 turned into the M74, then the wiggle through the central lowlands and, finally, the M9, heading for the Highlands, Rhonda found herself pondering what it must be like to be Jessica. After all, most would envy her life. She was undeniably pretty, and rich, and would want for little and yet, here she was, hanging onto a throw-away remark about being 'useful' as if it were the most important thing of all. Part of Rhonda reacted in anger, anger at Jessica for allowing herself to become so browbeaten that it would be like this but she couldn't express this anger. Jessica was so like a puppy, so keen and eager and so desperately seeking approval. Being angry with her would be unkind and unfair.

Once they were north of Stirling the motorway ended and Rhonda, exhausted from all the driving, deemed the traffic on the A9 light enough to let Jessica have a go. She pulled into a lay-by and stopped the engine of the van.

"OK, I've done more than my fair share. We're well over half way. It's time you took over."

"But I've never driven a van before."

"It's just like a car, only bigger. Anyway, you won't know whether you can or not until you try it."

They swapped places and Rhonda ran Jessica through the controls. She was pointing out the indicators when they touched briefly and Rhonda 'heard' a quick burst of 'I'll never do it, I'll never do it, I'll crash, I'll never do it'.

"You'll be fine," Rhonda reassured her, "really you will. I have every confidence in you."

And that was enough to calm Jessica down. She was still nervous, though, as she edged the van out of the lay-by and onto the road. Rhonda tried to relax but the waves of anxiety coming across the front seat of the van were making her almost as nervous as Jessica was. And then, slowly at first, Jessica started to settle down. She'd gone maybe five miles when she shifted in her seat, sitting up straighter and relaxing a bit.

"It's not that hard," she commented. "Not once you're used to it."

"Easier than you thought, eh? And you thought you'd never manage and look at you now. You've yet to try reversing which can be a bit of a bind but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. I might take a nap, if you don't mind."

"No! Sorry, I didn't mean to shout. It's just that... well, I'm still a bit nervous. Can we chat for a bit?"

"OK," Rhonda desperately tried to think of a topic of conversation and came up blank. "Err... What made you think that driving a van would be hard? When you look at some of the people who do it for a living, well, if they can manage then a capable woman like you...."

Rhonda felt the warm glow radiate from Jessica as she was described as 'capable'.

"I never thought of it that way," Jessica replied. "But Jeremy, he says that women aren't good at driving large cars. Something about special awareness, he says. He keeps saying he can't believe I haven't crashed the Audi. He won't let me drive his Merc, well, not normally. The only time he lets me is when he wants to get drunk."

"I think you mean spatial awareness and that's a load of old bollocks. Women are just as good at driving as men and the size of the car has nothing to do with it."

For a while they just drove in silence. Rhonda could tell that Jessica was conflicted, that she was torn between her loyalty to Jeremy and her growing friendship with Rhonda. After a while she simply shoved it to one side and returned to chatting about this and that and nothing at all. 

Even with the early start it was mid afternoon before they arrived in Lairg. Using the sat-nav they made their way to the dig and parked up. Zoe and her team were busy working away but they looked up at the sound of the van and Zoe waved them over. Rhonda jumped out of the van and strode through the heather to where the tarpaulins covered the excavation ditches. She and Zoe had known each other for many years and, in the past, had even had a brief fling. 

"Wothcha!" Zoe called out. "Have you come to collect the body? I do hope you've got the preservation tank in the back of that thing."

"Body? Yes, I've brought the tank but Malcolm was pretty cagey about what we were collecting. He said he wanted it to be a surprise."

"You'll be surprised, all right. Have a look at this." Zoe turned back one of the tarpaulins and, beneath that, removed a plastic covering to reveal a dark brown corpse which was still more than half buried in the peat.

"Oh my god, he's perfect!" Rhonda exclaimed. 

"He's a she and, at first glance, she's as well preserved as Lindow II, possibly more so."

"You lucky cow. A bog man, err woman! That's fantastic."

"Isn't it just. That's why I needed the preservation tank. I didn't want to excavate any further until we had it to hand. I want this little baby hermetically sealed as soon as possible."

"Yeah, we'll need to bring the van over and then we can start to...."

"Who the fuck is that?"

As they had looked up Zoe had seen Jessica making her way towards them. Her unsuitable shoes, mini skirt, halter top and bolero jacket could not have been more out of place. Rhonda had got used to Jessica's dress sense and had forgotten how strange she would appear to Zoe. As they watched Jessica tripped over, again, landing on her backside in the soft heather. Rhonda went over and helped her to her feet. As their hands touched the gateway opened.

'I look such a fool. Why did I have to dress like this? Why don't I have a pair of boots like Rhonda? Oh, god, I wish I'd never come. They'll only laugh at me.'

"Jessica, Jessica, you've got to come and look at this. Zoe's found a bog man!" Rhonda's excitement overrode any other thoughts.

With Rhonda helping, Jessica made it over to the excavation and together they peered down at the body.

"Zoe, this is Jessica, my assistant. Jessica, this is Zoe, an old friend and the luckiest cow alive. And this," Rhonda pointed at the body, "is a genuine bog man." 

"I've... I've seen the one in the British Museum, you know, Pete Marsh," Jessica started. "Is this the same sort of thing? Do you know how old it is?"

Both Rhonda and Zoe smiled at hearing Lindow II described as 'Pete Marsh', the name used by the popular press but seldom in academic circles.

"Well, it's early days yet but most of the peat bodies that have been found are Iron Age and the artefacts we've already excavated seem to confirm that sort of date range. We'll start radio carbon dating once we get her back to the lab," Zoe explained.

"Her?"

"Yeah, he's a she. My very own bog lady." Zoe's pride was evident. "Now, if you've got the preservation tank then, the sooner we put this little lady to bed the better."

Jessica was left, staring at the body as Rhonda and Zoe wandered back to the van discussing the details of how they were going to manoeuvre the body into the tank without doing any damage. As she stared Jessica got the strangest feeling, as if, somehow, she recognised the body. This was crazy. Only the smallest part was exposed and there was no way she could possibly know anything, anything at all. The ring on her finger itched and, when she looked down, she saw that the stone was an electric blue. It almost seemed to shine in the late afternoon sunshine. 

"So, is she your latest fling?" Zoe asked once she and Rhonda were back at the van and Jessica would not be able to hear. 

"She's my assistant, honestly," Rhonda replied.

"Assistant! Bollocks to that and the train it rode in on."

"No, seriously, she's my new assistant. Malcolm hired her and I'm kind of stuck with her."

"Serious or not, I still don't believe you. She's the first archaeologist I've seen who wears heels and a mini skirt to a dig. I don't expect she'll be much use helping us getting the body into the tank. She'll be too scared of chipping a fingernail."

"She's not that bad," Rhonda protested. "OK, so she's only here because of daddy's money but she's keen, even if she doesn't know much."

"So, if she's not your new flame, you'll be wanting separate rooms at the digs tonight." Zoe was still expecting the answer 'no'.

"Yes please."

"Hmm... well, I wasn't expecting you to be accompanied so only booked for one but Edna's a real sweetie and we can sort it out when we get there. Now, If you'll drive the van down the track and park up next to the Land Rover, that's about as close as we can get." 

"Edna?"

"Edna Sutherland, sole proprietress and owner of the Loch Shin boarding house. It's not exactly the Hilton but it's clean, it's warm, the food is fantastic and it's cheap enough to keep the budget down. Anyway, you'll find out soon enough."

Even with everyone, including Jessica, helping it took over two hours to dig out a large enough block of peat to completely include the body. This then had to be manoeuvred into the tank and the whole thing put back into the van. Then the cooling system was switched on and Zoe fussed over it until she was satisfied that the temperature was stable and the body would neither cook nor freeze. It was almost dark by the time they were finished and, together, they drove in convoy along the narrow highland road that led to the farmhouse where they were all staying. Making sure the van was securely locked, they trooped inside.

"Edna! Edna!" Zoe called out. "I've got another guest for you."

A middle-aged lady came out from the back of the house wiping her hands on a tea towel.

"Edna, this is Rhonda, who I told you about but she's brought a friend, Jessica. I said that there would be no problem putting them both up."

"Well, normally there wouldn't be," Edna replied, "but I've just booked in a party of walkers and that's my last room gone." She looked over at Jessica who was making herself look small at the back of the crowd. "And are you the wee lassie who wasn't expected?" 

Jessica just nodded in reply.

"Well, we can't have a bonnie wee thing like you left out in the cold. I'll tell you what, I've got an old put-you-up, and, if you two lassies don't mind doubling up, then we'll have it set up for you in no time."

"I'm fine with that," Rhonda replied.

"Err... yes... I'm so sorry to be a nuisance," Jessica added.

"Och, you're no nuisance at all. We'll have you sorted in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Hamish!" she called out and a male voice answered from the back of the house. "Be a love and bring the put-you-up up to room seven, will you?"

Edna led the two women up to the room and showed them where to find the rather basic facilities. There was no en-suite, just a sink and a mirror with a full bathroom down the hall, but the room was warm and comfortable and, once Hamish had brought the extra bed, more than good enough for one night.

"Dinner's at seven. There's shepherd's pie followed by blueberry flan and ice-cream. Shall I leave you girls too it?"

"Yes, thank you, we're fine," Rhonda replied for the two of them.

Dinner that night was a crowded affair. The people from the dig were all buoyant from the luck of having found the bog woman and their high spirits were infectious so the walkers joined in. Rhonda could tell that the only one not having a good time was Jessica, who felt awkward and out of place. She felt embarrassed by her trendy clothes because they marked her out as different and she had a desperate need to fit in. She was quiet and withdrawn, so Rhonda tried to include her in the conversations but even there Rhonda could tell that Jessica felt intellectually inferior, or, as she would put it, a thicko. After the meal, Zoe suggested that they all pile into the Land Rover and head for the pub. The walkers were invited as well and, although the number of people crammed in the back was almost certainly well above the legal limit it added to the air of bonhomie.

Jessica tried to cry off the pub trip but Rhonda insisted and, packed inside the back of the Land Rover, Jessica, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, ended up sat on Rhonda's lap. The track from the boarding house to the main road was deeply rutted and, to stop Jessica being thrown about, Rhonda wrapped her arms around her and hugged her close. Jessica rather liked this and, rested her head on Rhonda's shoulder. For a moment it felt as if it were just the two of them, cuddled together, until a particularly deep rut caused one of the others to fall across them, much to the amusement of all. None of these things went unnoticed by Zoe who smiled to herself as she remembered her friend's insistence that Jessica was 'just an assistant'.

In the pub those who were not drinking McEwans' Heavy were making inroads into the bottle of Glenmorangie behind the bar and, as the alcohol loosened tongues the party got into full swing. Jessica, still feeling herself the outsider, sat quietly beside Rhonda and sipped at a vodka and Coke. Rhonda tried to include her but she was so busy catching up with her friends from the dig that she barely noticed when Zoe, eager to know about this girl who Rhonda had dragged half way across the country, sat down on the other side of Jessica and started to chat.

At first Jessica was shy and reticent but Zoe put on the charm and she soon loosened up. Somewhat to Zoe's surprise Jessica was genuinely interested in the bog woman and asked lots of questions, most of which Zoe had to answer with 'we don't know yet'. However, Zoe wasn't to be deflected and, bit by bit, she wormed out of Jessica the full story of what she was doing there. As Jessica relaxed so too could Rhonda relax and, as the third and fourth pints of heavy slipped down, she became very relaxed, indeed.

It was quite late by the time they returned to the digs and, as Rhonda and Jessica retired to their room, they realised they hadn't decided who was sleeping where. Jessica assumed that, as junior partner, she would take the inferior put-you-up bed. Rhonda, for reasons she didn't quite understand, assumed it would be the other way around. 

"Please, boss," Jessica said. "We wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for me. It's only fair that I get the put-you-up."

Rhonda was too tipsy to argue. She could tell from the noise coming from the corridor outside that there was quite a queue for the bathroom so she took off her Doc Martens and lay back on the bed to wait. As she did so Jessica started to get undressed. Rhonda watched with a certain amount of lust. While she was confused about how she actually felt about her assistant, she wouldn't be her if she didn't enjoy watching a pretty girl undressing. Jessica had taken off her skirt and was removing her halter top when she realised she was being watched and she turned to Rhonda.

"Please, you're making me feel embarrassed," Jessica blushed.

"Sorry, it's just that...."

"You're as bad as the boys, you know that?"

"Sorry, you're right; I shouldn't be... what's that?" Rhonda pointed to Jessica's midriff, the area just above the right hip, which was now exposed and showed signs of extensive bruising.

"Oh that," Jessica glanced down, "I banged myself. Silly old me."

"Come here, let me have a look."

"It's OK, really. It's just a bruise...."

"Let me have a look." Maybe it was the beer but Rhonda wasn't going to be brushed off this time. The bruising was exactly where she had felt the blow the previous evening and she had a strong suspicion she knew exactly where it had come from.

Jessica reluctantly came over and stood next to the bed where Rhonda was lying. Rhonda rolled over, reached out and lifted the side of Jessica's top, exposing the full extent of the bruising.

"That's looks really nasty. Does it hurt much?" Rhonda gently ran the tips of her fingers across the edge of the bruise. As soon as they touched she could feel her own midriff twinge as if it too were bruised. Gently tenderly she traced the outline of the swelling.

'Please don't ask, I don't want to talk about it, really I don't so please don't ask, please don't, please don't.'

Rhonda looked up and their eyes met. There was an understanding between the two of them, a knowledge that sometimes there are things that are best left unsaid. But other, more powerful, forces were in play. Rhonda, looking at Jessica, felt this overwhelming urge to protect her, to comfort her, to make her realise just how desirable she was. She knew she had resolved not to do this, she knew there were many reasons to stop but, for the life of her she couldn't so, with their eyes still locked together Rhonda continued to stroke, continued to caress and, gradually, Jessica's fears subsided.

'We shouldn't... I don't want to... Oh... but... your hand, it's so gentle, no one has ever touched me like that, no one, no one. Please, Rhonda, we ought to stop... oh, don't stop that, oh, that's nice, really nice, oh, it's so nice when you touch me like that, I like it when... yes please... ooh, that's really nice... ooh, please, please, my belly button, I like that, please tickle my belly button.'

With just the trace of a smile, Rhonda trailed her fingers along the waistband of Jessica's panties and up into her belly button. The little squeal of pleasure, thought rather than said, was more than sufficient reward. However, lying on her side and reaching out like this was awkward, not least in that one hand was fully employed holding up Jessica's top. Rhonda stopped stroking for a moment, sat up and turned so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed facing Jessica. Again their eyes locked. Jessica seemed almost mesmerised, as if she were held there by forces she didn't understand. Without saying a word Rhonda put her hands either side of Jessica's waist and slid them up, lifting the top as she did so. As Rhonda's hands were at either side of Jessica's rib cage she stopped.




Eternity Ring



'Please, yes please,' came the answer to the unspoken question.

Rhonda pushed her hands higher and, as she did so, Jessica raised her arms. In one smooth movement, Rhonda stood up and, as she did so, she pushed the top right up and over Jessica's head. Standing there in just her bra and panties Jessica looked small and fragile, the bruise a vile spoliation of an otherwise perfect form. A tumble of conflicting emotions was coming from Jessica, matching Rhonda's own inner confusion. She knew they had both had one drink too many, they both might regret this in the morning but still the desire to protect, to cherish, to shelter this fragile thing from all the hurts of the world, was, along with some rather darker appetites, overcoming the myriad doubts that otherwise might have held Rhonda back. She tossed the top onto the unused put-you-up and, cupping Jessica's face in her hands kissed her long and hard. 

'Oh! Oh! Oh yes! Take me! Take me! Please, please, take me!'

Rhonda reached round behind Jessica and undid the clasp of her bra. Without breaking the kiss for one moment she removed the offending garment and tossed it onto the put-you-up along with the discarded top. She gathered Jessica in, wrapping her strong arms around her, holding her close and near. 

But kissing, fine as it was, was not all that Rhonda wanted. Indeed, she didn't need telepathy to know it was not all that Jessica wanted either. Rhonda reached down behind her and pulled back the covers from the bed. Then, as gently as if she were handling the finest porcelain, she turned the two of them round and eased Jessica back and down, lying her along the bed. As Rhonda tore at the buttons of her shirt, at her belt buckle, at her jeans, at all the obstacles between her and nakedness, Jessica, with a shy smile, slipped under the covers. There was some scrabbling from beneath and, a few moments later, Jessica's hand emerged holding the her lacy pink panties which she tossed onto the put-you-up along with the rest of her discarded clothes. Naked at last, Rhonda slid beneath the covers next to the waiting Jessica.

"Are you sure...?" Rhonda asked gently.

"I thought you could read my mind," Jessica replied before kissing Rhonda on the tip of her nose.

Rhonda kissed her right back and yes, she could read her mind, she could read, along with a few background doubts, the desire, the need, the urgency, the hunger. Rhonda, still concerned about how much Jessica really wanted this, was gentle at first but Jessica wanted more than that, she had an appetite within her that would not be sated by gentleness.

Furthermore, Rhonda had been expecting to find Jessica a pillow princess, that she would take far more than she would give but, as the last vestiges of reluctance were washed away, she responded with passion and enthusiasm, and, despite her innocence in Sapphic love, she showed a desire to learn, a desire to please and be pleased. Time and again they pleasured each other until, at last completely stated and exhausted, they drifted off to sleep wrapped in each other's arms. 

Later, much later, Rhonda rose from the bed to answer the call of nature. When she returned she looked at her bedmate, her blonde tresses flowing across the pillow.

"What have you done, Rhonda, what have you done?" she said to herself but, for the moment, she had no other option than to rejoin Jessica under the covers.

And, outside, in the sealed tank in the back of the van, lay the body of a witch, released from her prison of two thousand years.

Chapter three – in which they find an ending

Parp, parp, parp, parp... Rhonda's digital alarm clock would not be denied and, despite the overwhelming desire just to roll over and go back to sleep, she reached out her hand to hit the off button, pushed back the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed. There, beside her, like a guilty conscience, was Jessica, still nine tenths asleep. Rhonda reached down and pulled back a lock of hair that was obscuring Jessica's face. No one had a right to look that good first thing in the morning. Jessica opened one eye and smiled. There was too much to say, too much to explain and, whilst Rhonda wasn't badly hungover she had had one or two too many pints last night and was now paying the price. Above all else she needed the bathroom. She stood up, grabbed her dressing gown from the back of the door where she had hung it, and set off down the corridor. As she did so she bumped into Zoe, who was also only just awake. They smiled at each other in greeting. That was more than enough conversation for this time of a morning.

As Rhonda did her morning ablutions, she thought over what was waiting for her back in the room. This wouldn't be the first time she had made an ill-advised conquest after a few too many drinks but, on this occasion, the embarrassment factor was going to be at its highest. After all, usually there was the well-worn ritual of exchanged telephone numbers and empty promises about staying in touch, followed by a merciful gap to regroup and rethink. This time they had no such luxury; they were going to have to share the cab of the van for the long, long drive back south. Still, she couldn't put it off forever so, pinning on a smile, she returned to the room.

"Good morning! Is the bathroom free? I could do with a quick shower before breakfast." To Rhonda's amazement Jessica was not only awake, but disarmingly cheerful for such an early hour. She was wearing a satin dressing gown, which barely came to mid thigh and, the sight of her made Rhonda's heart race, even in her befuddled state. 

"Ooh, who's a grumpy one in the mornings," Jessica continued as she came over and gave Rhonda a little kiss. "Still, if we're going to be on the road by seven thirty we'll need to get a move on."

Jessica grabbed her towel and waltzed off down the corridor in search of the bathroom. Rhonda sat on the edge of the bed and wondered what had hit her. She had been expecting, if dreading, one of those "about last night" conversations and, instead, had been met by Little Miss Exuberance. Still, the world would look better after a large mug of coffee and breakfast was waiting downstairs. She put on some clothes and set off to find the dining room.

Rhonda was first one down and was losing the battle against Edna's insistence that she have a full Scottish breakfast when Zoe appeared. 

"She won't take no for an answer, will you, Edna," Zoe laughed. "Ooh, please tell me that there's tea in that pot."

"There's a cup or two in that one and I'll bring you a fresh pot in a minute. Now, you'll be having the full breakfast as well, young lady."

"Thanks, Edna, you're a darling."

Rhonda and Zoe were half way through their breakfasts when Jessica arrived. She greeted the two of them, sat down, and poured herself a cup of tea.

"Good morning. I didn't expect to see you up so early," she said to Zoe.

"Oh, I'm coming with you," Zoe replied. "The little lady in the back of your van, she's my find and I'm looking after her. I'm not letting her out of my sight for a minute. Andy can stay here and run things until I get back."

"You're coming with us? Oh, that'll be fun. It will be nice to have someone else to chat to. Old grumpy-graws hardly said a word on the way up."

Rhonda, knowing that the nickname of 'grumpy-graws' was going to stick, just looked up at Jessica and shook her head. Then Edna arrived with a fresh pot of tea, and more coffee for Rhonda, and, as she was busy discussing the breakfast choices with Jessica, that put an end to conversation for a while.

With Zoe's keen desire to get the bog woman back down to the lab as soon as possible, the three women, stuffed to the gills with Edna's full Scottish breakfast, went out to the van well before seven thirty. Zoe couldn't help but check the back, make sure that the preservation tank was secure, its cooling system fully functional and its precious cargo safe and sound. Zoe also insisted on taking first turn at the wheel, suggesting that Rhonda could take the opportunity to sleep off the rest of her hangover. Jessica sat in the middle so as to be able to chat.

"So, tell me more about the bog lady?" Jessica asked Zoe once they had driven a mile or so. 

"As I said last night, we really don't know much, yet," Zoe replied. "That's what makes this find so exciting. Although eighteen hundred or so bog bodies have been found over the years only fifty have survived excavation. It's only recently we've learnt the techniques for preserving them. That's why we had to rush the tank up here, as soon as they're exposed to the air they start to decay. All in all we don't know that much about them and each new specimen, especially one as well preserved as Bridie, gives a new opportunity to find out so much more."

"Bridie? Why do you call her that?"

"Well, you've got to call her something and, as Bridie is an old Gaelic name, it seemed appropriate."

"But she looks so... so perfect. Well, the bits that you can see, anyway. It's the water in the bog that does that, isn't it?"

"That's the one. The concentrations of organic acids and aldehydes along with the anaerobic conditions make it perfect for preservation, she's almost as good as the day she went in. Our job now is to make sure she stays that way, that she doesn't decay now that we've lifted her."

Jessica had some trouble following the technical aspects but Zoe's enthusiasm was infectious and Jessica was enough of an archaeologist to appreciate the magnitude of the find. More than that, ever since she had first caught sight of the body, there was something about this that called to her. She wanted to know as much as she could; somehow it was important. And so she kept asking questions until, come late morning, they were approaching Stirling and the top of the M9. It would be motorway all the way home from here. By then Jessica had learnt quite a bit about bog people, and Zoe was rapidly reassessing her earlier preconceptions. They pulled into some services for a well-needed break. 

"Come on, grumble-graws," Zoe said to Rhonda, who had opened one eye. "Time for some coffee and then you can take over."

Rhonda was less than amused, but not surprised, that Zoe had picked up the 'grumble-graws' nickname but the need for coffee and the restrooms was paramount. Shaking off the last remnants of sleep, she followed Zoe and Jessica into the services. It would have been nice to make a proper stop of it but, with many hundred miles still ahead of them, they just had time to stretch their legs and have a quick cup of coffee before it was time to get back on the road.

For the next section of the drive Rhonda took over behind the wheel. Jessica continued to chat with Zoe, who, flattered by her interest in the bog woman, was quite happy to reciprocate. Rhonda felt left out of things and was more than a little jealous. She struggled to understand why she felt this way; after all, there was nothing special between them, the previous night had been a drunken mistake, hadn't it, and Zoe and Jessica were just talking. In fact Rhonda was struggling to determine just how she did feel about Jessica. Her first impressions had been so wide of the mark and, now that she was getting to know her, getting to understand her, there was more to respect, more to, dare she say it, admire.

And then, last night, it had all felt so right. Making love had never felt so natural. Of course, the telepathy thing had made a huge difference but it wasn't just the mechanics, their moods had been perfectly synchronised; it hadn't been so much a matter of give and take as much as share and share. But, wonderful as it had been, it surely had to be a one off. Much as she was growing to appreciate Jessica as a person, the thought of them as a couple just didn't work. Anyway, Jessica was straight and devoted to that bastard Jeremy. One mercy was that she was pretty sure that Jessica wouldn't use last night as stimulating pillow talk. Rhonda had known quite a few straight girls who had been 'bi-curious' merely to make themselves more alluring to their boyfriends.

The M6 past Stoke was its usual nightmare and it was late in the day when they finally returned to the institute. Even so, Zoe wasn't going to be happy until Bridie, safe in her preservation tank, was properly stowed away in the labs and the cooling system was safely plugged into the mains supply rather than running off the van's batteries. So it was the thick end of eight o'clock when the three women, exhausted after a long day, made their way out to the car park.

"Could either of you guys give me a lift home?" Zoe asked. "I'm a bit stuck without my car."

"Not unless you have a spare crash helmet," Rhonda replied. "I'm on the bike." She indicated her Moto Guzzi, looking red and mean in its parking place.

"I can take you," Jessica offered. "There's room in the Alpha."

"Thanks, you're a doll."

As Rhonda put on her helmet she watched Zoe and Jessica laughing together as they went over to Jessica's Alpha. This time the jealousy really did hurt. It was as if last night had never happened, as if it meant nothing to Jessica. Whilst Rhonda knew that, in the long term, that was how it should be, she was devastated that Jessica appeared to have forgotten her so quickly. And then, once Jessica had got Zoe settled in the passenger seat of the Alpha, she rushed over and rapped her knuckles on Rhonda's crash helmet. Rhonda turned and lifted the visor.

"What," she said, somewhat churlishly.

"Take your helmet off," Jessica replied.

For a moment Rhonda felt like refusing but, well, it was Jessica and it would be too like smacking a puppy. She undid the straps and pulled the helmet off. As soon as she did so Jessica kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Thank you, thank you so much, I had a lovely time, all of it."

"About last night," Rhonda started.

"As I said, I had a lovely time. Thank you." And, with that, Jessica was off, over to the Alpha and her waiting passenger. As Rhonda watched she could see Zoe sitting in the passenger seat. She must have seen everything. But, dammit, her lips were still tingling from the kiss. That would do for now.

It was so inevitable that Rhonda was just waiting for it. Even so, the initial smack came as a shock as the entire left hand side of her face erupted in pain. The force threw her back into the sofa where she was sitting and, as she fell, her leg kicked out, knocking over the coffee table.

'You're a slag, you know that?'

'Please, Jeremy, please don't be like this.'

'Like what, cunt?'

'Please, don't call me those words, I'm not like that, I'm not what you say I am.'

'You're a cheap little slut. Look at the way you're dressed, just begging for it, just begging for cock. Go on, show me how you beg.'

Rhonda felt her hair yanked back and, as her mouth flew open she felt it filled with Jeremy's rigid prick.

'Go on, slut, beg, beg.'

'Mmmff mmmfmaaa ugh, ugh, uurghhh!'

Rhonda felt herself start to retch as the sperm was pumped down her throat. There was another wrench to her hair and she ended up sprawled on the floor. She felt cheapened, violated, dirty, used, wretched and, above all, sick to her stomach.

Wearily Rhonda took herself off to bed but sleep did not come easily. She knew she really shouldn't get involved, that doing so would be more trouble than it was worth but wasn't she already involved? First of all there was the whole thing with the ring and, secondly, well, when they had slept together it had been more, much more, than casual sex between strangers. Above all else Rhonda just wanted to sweep Jessica up in her arms and protect her, shield her from all the bad things in the world, to care for her, and, in this particular case, to rip that bastard's balls from his body and shove them down his throat. 

But what could she do? For all their growing bond Jessica had made it quite clear that she didn't want to talk about Jeremy. A friend who had worked at a battered women's shelter had talked about the amazing levels of denial involved and now, it seemed, Rhonda was witnessing that denial at first hand.

The next day, at work, there didn't seem to be the opportunity to really talk to Jessica and, as the next day turned into the next, and then the one after that, it seemed easiest to just let it go. However, Rhonda was finding that a number of things had changed since the trip north. Jessica was becoming increasingly affectionate and would bring Rhonda little gifts; some cup-cakes she had baked with, as she put it, more love than skill, and a gay pride badge she had picked up at the market. One morning, Rhonda found, to her amazement, that Jessica had come in before her and left a vase of primula on her desk. For her part, Rhonda was increasingly protective; heaven help any man who didn't show Jessica the respect that Rhonda felt she was due. From time to time they would touch, and even, if they were sure they were alone, kiss. Rhonda could tell that the intensity of Jessica's desire matched her own but both were concerned that acting on it would break everything. It was as if their time in Scotland were too sacred, too precious, to spoil with something as sordid as an affair. On the other hand neither was ready to take the step to the place where Jessica would leave Jeremy for Rhonda, even if Rhonda wished Jessica would leave Jeremy anyway.

For Jessica's relationship with Jeremy was getting increasingly strained. Firstly Jessica was putting in more and more hours at the institute. It wasn't that Rhonda was working her harder, rather Jessica was fascinated by Bridie and the whole process surrounding her preservation. Her presence in the lab had been at first tolerated, then accepted and finally welcomed. Zoe made free use of her services and, despite little twinges of jealousy, Rhonda was happy to encourage this because of the way that Jessica's self confidence was blossoming. Neither the extra unpaid hours, nor the increased self-confidence were seen as positive changes by Jeremy and, more than once, Rhonda was all too aware that he was taking his frustration out on Jessica. Once, when Jessica came into work with a bruise over her eye, Rhonda went as far as to start to suggest that she do something about it. However, as Rhonda hugged her tight and the tears flowed down, she could tell that pushing her on this was only causing her more pain.

And then, late one evening, Rhonda was just packing up after a long session in the lab when Jessica appeared at the door. 

"What on earth are you doing here?" Rhonda asked. "It's gone nine thirty. Come on, it's home time."

"Rhonda, she's not called Bridie, she's called Mebh," Jessica said urgently.

"May? What are you talking about?"

"Not May, Mebh, like Maeve Binchy who writes those books," Jessica corrected. "Please, Rhonda, come with me. Please."

Rhonda followed Jessica down into the basement lab where Bridie still rested in the preservation tank. Pretty soon they would have to start the freeze-drying process that was now the accepted method of preventing further decay but, for the moment, cooling and a carefully controlled atmosphere were deemed enough. Jessica led Rhonda up to the tank. Now that it was in regular use the tank had been fitted with built in gloves so that the body could be manipulated without breaking the seal. Jessica told Rhonda to put her right hand in one of the gloves. Jessica then put her left hand in the other and, standing side by side, they joined their free hands.

'She's not called Bridie, she's called Mebh. She told me that, clear as day. She told me to bring you down here. This is really important. We have to do this; we have to do it together. Lay your hand on her body, yes, like that, next to mine.'