16 comments/ 12425 views/ 2 favorites The Heart Shaped Pendant By: Nigel Debonnaire I did my Saturday breakfast dishes looking out at Charlene's house. It was a stately one story, two bedroom home built in the Twenties: sturdy, enduring and charming in ways that no house since can manage. My painted lady is its twin; we were lucky to get houses this beautiful next to each other. Now she was gone. Charlene and I both taught creative writing: she was tenured at small college while I taught ten years at the university across our medium sized college town before becoming a full time author. We met at a poetry reading session at a coffeehouse over twenty five years ago: the delicacy and grace of her imagery caught me from the beginning while she admired my unpredictable metaphors. Both of us were hardcore hermits living in our dens who liked to get out once or twice a week, and we became great friends and neighbors for five years, then, lovers for twenty. That day I was 48 and the car accident took her two weeks earlier at 73. Mallory, her only granddaughter, slipped across the back yard and into my back door. Without looking I pulled the largest mug from my rack and filled it with freshly brewed coffee. She had strawberry blond hair like her mother and grandmother: five six and self conscious about her slightly pudgy form and freckles; the image of Charlene as a young woman. She wore a blue print dress on this unusually warm mid September day and flip flops. I've known her all her life. Her parents' divorce had been incredibly messy: her father had nearly no time for her and her mother was preoccupied by many things more important than her daughter; Charlene was always happy to take Mallory from infancy on. Mal went regularly with Charlene and I for Saturday excursions to the lake, to museums, to poetry readings, whatever. When she developed a coffee addiction to similar to mine at the age of fifteen, she was in my kitchen almost every Saturday morning; her grandmother didn't indulge. She had her grandmother's talent for poetry as well: she was published in student journals already and showed great promise as author in our professional estimation. As an avuncular soul, I love seeing the counter-cultural baton being passed to a new generation. "Hi, Charlie, how's it going?" "Fine, Mal. Well-- not so fine, I guess. I miss her so much." A tear crept into my otherwise arid eye. "She's in a more aesthetically pleasing place now, I'm sure; listening to Keats and Shelley read their poetry in person." "No, I'm sure that she's with Bacon, Shakespeare and Milton," she said softly, "she was too good a person to end up where those reprobates are." "Reprobates?" I chuckled. "You're a rare nineteen year old to use that word. We've been a bad influence on you. What brings you over here this morning?" Mal nodded to her grandmother's house. "The vultures are circling. Grandmama left a fairly detailed list of what went to whom in her will with no trading allowed, but they're trying to trade anyway and badgering her lawyer about it. He looked like a death camp survivor when I left. Mother gave me her 'get the hell out of here' look and so here I am. Had to grab one more cup of your stellar coffee." She took a sip. "Mal, you can come over here anytime; we can keep our Saturday morning routine if you want. You're old enough that you don't have to follow your mother's orders any more; you're a woman now. I'll help you go apartment hunting sometime, if you want. I just sent the final draft of my latest book to the publisher yesterday and I have some unstructured time coming until it goes to press." She leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek. "I may take you up on that." She sat back and we sipped our coffee, reading the morning paper. A door slammed repeatedly nearby; Mal jumped to her feet and looked out the kitchen window. "O no, the flock of vultures is headed this way, with their carcass in tow. Better pop back across before they see me." "Take the cup." She slipped out the door and timed her passage back so she could be unseen. There was a polite knocking at my front door almost immediately. I wandered to the front of the house in my sweatshirt and jeans, opened the door and invited the crowd in. It was the other adult members of Charlene's family: Dora her daughter; Jessica, Lucille and Andrea, her sisters, and Andrea's daughter Morgan. They were all facets of the same jewel: the strawberry blonde hair mellowing to grey, medium height, medium build, delicate face structure and porcelain complexions were similar to Charlene's and all but Andrea and Morgan had Charlene's clear blue eyes. Jessica and Lucille were born eight and ten years after Charlene, Andrea another five years later. Dora was fifty and Morgan her only cousin was a bombshell in her late twenties. All were semi-casual: even for a day of dusty rearrangement, their blouses and jeans were neat and clean, their jewelry glittering, their hair and makeup appropriate for a formal dinner. I gestured them to seat themselves and asked the lawyer how I could help them. He began formally, "According to the late Charlene Thompson's will, you've been asked to award a very special piece of her estate to one of her living female relatives. The piece in question is this necklace and pendant." I recognized it immediately: a golden necklace that held a golden heart shaped pendant. There was room for a small picture inside, but I'd never seen it open. I had seen her wear it on many occasions; I had seen her wearing nothing but it the last time I saw her alive. "The will specifies that you are the person to award the pendant to one of her living female relatives. There is a competition that you are asked to judge: whoever wins the competition, gets the pendant. Would you be willing to help the family to dispose of this piece of jewelry?" "What's the competition?" "I can't tell you until you say yes." How could she do this to me? I didn't care who got what: I've studiously avoided all such conflicts in my own family over the years. I shook my head and looked at the floor. It took me several sad moments before I could whimper: "I would have done anything for Charlene in life; I would have happily died that crash instead of her. Of course, I will do anything I can to help her family." I had never been close to her family except Mal, and Charlene hadn't been close to mine; however, either of us would have helped each other's relatives in need. "Thank you, Mr. Fredrickson. I'm sure that the family will appreciate your services. " The women were already looking upset and glowering as they had entered my door; the glowers darkened and deepened at my response to this, which confused me. "The heart shaped pendant and all that goes with it is bequeathed to the living female relative who best performs a task for the same judge, Mr. Charles Fredrickson, over the span of one week. The task specified is the performance of oral sex." I was in the midst of sipping my coffee as he got to that part; it spewed forcefully from my mouth and my nose as I almost drowned. My favorite coffee cup shattered as it hit the floor. Morgan and the lawyer dove to throw old newspapers on the spill, mopping up the hot liquid quickly before it could spread too far on my hardwood floor and get into one of the antique throw rugs. I sputtered and looked around at them incredulously, to which they responded with searching looks. I looked at the paragraph: it was there in her notarized and witnessed will, dated not three months ago. I looked at the women again, and they seemed to relax a bit at my dismay. Perhaps they thought I set this up, but my genuine reaction and near death by coffee inhalation must have convinced them otherwise. I read the details and reported: "It says that you are to come by, one at a time, one per day during the week to demonstrate your skill and I have Saturday free to consider the winner." The hand holding the will dropped to my side. "Oh my God, Charlene." "Do you need assistance in setting up a timetable for this week?" said the lawyer. "Yes, I'd--I'd--I'd like that. Why don't---you set that up? For some odd reason, I can't seem to think very clearly right now." There were sheepish looks around the room; Morgan had a gleam in her eye. Dora became combative and said, "I don't think we ought to go through with this. Mother was insane to set up this competition. I'm her daughter; the pendant should be mine." Jessica turned on her: "Look little lady, you've given your dear mother very little time, attention or respect since you left the nest and you've done nothing but make demands of her the few times you did bother to get in touch. She practically raised your daughter for you. You've made your fortune by being a cold, calculating, relentless bitch, and I for one am glad that she didn't give it to you. As far as I'm concerned, if you're going to have this pendant my grandmother wore, you're going to have to earn it." Dora fumed silently, stifled for the moment. Andrea began to look frantic. Lucille was disgusted. "That crazy bimbo," she said snidely, "Our sister was always the 'free spirit', wasn't she? She was so arrogant, that one, so proud of her talents, always flaunting some superior skill or gift or award at us. Claimed that she was the best at giving head the world had ever known and insisted on teaching us all her little secrets when we were teenagers, now matter how disgusting we found it, so we'd all get good boyfriends. I can believe that she'd put us through this degradation just to get the pendant, and make us service her boy toy who we've tolerated over the years for her sake. She must have felt that we should have treated him better and now she wants us to make it up to him like this. God, what arrogance!" I turned to the lawyer: "What happens if this doesn't? How do we get around this?" The lawyer was calm and collected in the midst of this chaos. "If none of them will perform oral sex on you, Mr. Fredrickson, then the pedant is to be donated to the County Historical Society." The eyes ready to kill me now turned ready to kill the lawyer. I looked around at them. "This may be the best solution, ladies; it would look nice in a museum and many could appreciate it," I said, shrugging my shoulders. My suggestion was greeted with a hubbub of indignation and incredulity. The older women trumpeted pride and confidence at one another; none wanted to back down in front of the others and all wanted the pendant. Morgan gave me a calm, sultry look, arching one eyebrow high above the other in invitation. I slipped into the kitchen and stayed there until I heard them leave. Charlene had a weird sense of humor; it was something I loved dearly about her. She could be so sweet and so crazy at the same time. What she was up to here was a mystery to me; she never mentioned anything concrete about what she wanted to me to do when she died. I never wanted any of her property. We both knew we wouldn't last forever, but I like to live in the present and not worry much about tomorrow, so I was never eager to discuss what would happen when one of us died. She always on me for that, saying that I needed to have the same kind of vision for my own life that I have for the characters in my books. We were hardly aesthetically built lovers: she weighed was hippy, bumpy, wrinkly, and her nipples would hover about two inches above her waist if unrestrained. I doubt if she haunted the dreams any of her students, except as an evil genius. I look like Santa as a young man; my 'forked radish', as Shakespeare called it, is a little below average. None of my students during my ten year teaching career wanted to get "extra credit" from me in my office with the door closed; no groupies ever waited for me at the back door after book signings or gave me their room number at conventions. Yet, our physical passion always transcended our outward realities. As we told each other the stories of our younger years, she bragged about her expert ability at oral sex during a night of inebriated boasting, and I dared her to prove it. She did, and our twenty years of mutual passion began; its absence was already sending pangs of emptiness through me. How could I get through this week with her family performing for me? ***************** Monday afternoon at 1:00 there was a knock at my back door. Middle sister and third of four Lucille stood there in a low cut burgundy dress that Charlene had always looked so lovely in. Nice cleavage ran in their family, although Lucille had yet to sag as much as Charlene did. Lucille was also about twenty pounds lighter at the same height than Charlene was. Lucille came in and sat at the table with her purse in her hand. "Charlene was always known as a slut when she was in high school. My mother was horrified at the rumors that circulated about her, but Charlene always got away with it. She knew the right thing to say or she covered herself so well that mother wasn't able to punish her for her little escapades. My sisters and I had a hard time convincing boys that we weren't like her, even though we looked alike. "She seemed to settle down all right once she became a wife and mother, once she got a teaching job and a career as an author. But I see now nothing really changed. She's having a joke on us, she is, a sick, sick joke." I put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that. She was always a dear person to me, and I don't know why she's doing this. There was always a method to her madness, but this takes the cake; I don't understand what she's up to. Don't know how I can make amends." She looked up at me. "You could give me the pendant." "I'd don't think I can do that. I'm not a wild, promiscuous guy; she could have told you. I've always had faith in Charlene and faith in her judgement; every time I didn't trust her judgement I've regretted it. She wants me to do it, so I guess I have to. " "That's easy for you to say. You get some cheap thrills and an easy story to sell." "No, it's not. It's really not. For the past twenty years the only woman's touch I've ever needed or wanted was hers and I'm not eager to replace that yet or maybe ever. I don't think I could ever tell or sell this story; who would believe me anyway?" "Well, what did you get in the will? How many of those items that would have been on her list have disappeared from her house before we got there?" "I got nothing; I wanted nothing. I told her I wanted nothing from her estate. You can search my entire house right now and if there's anything here you think is hers, you can take it with you right now. The only thing I would like to have is the sight of her dear baggy face in front of me again. You remind me of her ten years ago: that similarity gives me a fond remembrance and a little warmth in her absence." There were a few moments of silence. Lucille beckoned me over and undid my belt. "You do deserve a little respect for your devotion to her," she said. She pulled me out of my pants and started gently caressing my forked radish. It took me a little time, but I responded as she traced delicate lines up and down with one hand, while tracing circles just lower with her other. Breathing heavily and hotly on me at close range sent chills through me: Charlene must have taught her something in spite of her ambivalence. Furtive wet licks of electricity jolted through me and winked quicker and quicker into a steady current. Five minutes of this and I was ready for a discharge. I lost my senses for an endless moment, and recovered to see my electric discharge lying wetly and whitely on the blue and green linoleum. She continued with her soft hands until I finished and then put me back, buckling my belt. Intoxicated, I cupped her cheeks and looked tenderly into her eyes for several seconds. It had been a long dry spell and I was sincerely grateful to her. There was a the hint of a hard edge to her eyes that finally softened in response, looking away shyly and then back with tears creeping in. I released her and she left. "Her husband must be a lucky man," I said to myself as I wiped up the floor ************. On an uncharacteristically steamy Tuesday, her next oldest sister Jessica was at my back door at 1:00. She took me up on an offer of coffee, with cream and sugar, and we chatted about the weather and other light topics for a while. Her weight was between Charlene's and Lucille's; she was wearing a floral blouse that was half unbuttoned and pants that displayed her family's wide hips. Jessica then talked about some of the little pains of growing old, as Charlene used to do. She talked about pain in her hands and asked: "Charlene didn't talk much about having any problems with her hands, did she?" "She was on medication for arthritis for the past two years. The prospect of losing the use of her hands to use the computer keyboard or the pencil always frightened her. In some ways, it's good that she went to Paradise before that happened, but we would have worked something out so she could still write. She said she was always going to create even if she became a quadriplegic." "My sister was adaptable if nothing else. I remember when I was small I having trouble learning to tie my shoes. My mother and father had given up on me, said I'd have to go through life barefoot. Charlene spent three days working with me and finally I was able to tie my own shoes. I know it's small thing, but that's how she always was with me and with everyone who needed her help. She was a marvelous teacher, wasn't she?" "The reception they had for her retirement was massive. The Student Union reception hall was overflowing, and the guests were some of the elite in literature today, as well as teachers, architects and musicians. Teaching was her passion." Jessica looked deep into my eyes. "Charlene loved you more than anything. You were the perfect companion for her. You didn't get in each other's way and when she needed someone, you were there. She was always talking about you; your books and poems, your kindness. I appreciate what you did for her." "That's very gracious of you, Jessica. I appreciate it. The feeling was very, very mutual, I assure you." She laid her hand on my thigh; I responded to her touch as I had responded to Charlene's. Delicate fingers like Charlene's ticked and explored my forked radish, massaging my memory as my pants became uncomfortable. Undoing the belt, Jessica pulled me to my feet, took me out of my pants and traced her index finger solemnly and carefully up and down the underside of my radish as she devoured me with her eyes. She refilled her coffee, took a sip and held it in her mouth before taking me. The feeling was almost indescribable: hot and wet and sweet and hungry. I almost fell in the floor that first full contact and after a few moments I lowered myself to the floor in order not to fall over and hurt myself. I was transported to that day eleven years ago when I brought Charlene breakfast in bed on her birthday. She was always aghast at how she looked waking up, not wanting me to see her that time of day, but I put on a waiter's outfit and provided a full spread elegantly served: bacon, eggs and French Toast, her favorite. Her second pot of Earl Grey tea was used to thank me as Jessica was then. The game started with me standing directly beside the bed while she was lying with the tray in her lap, sipping from the cup and pausing before she turned to take me. I couldn't stand it for very long that day either, and soon I was lying beside her as she bent over me with her teacup until I provided her dessert. Two cups of coffee took me to the peak of Caffeine Ecstasy, and I lay there entranced on the floor as Jessica spit her mouth contents into the sink and washed her coffee cup before leaving. Her husband had surely died a happy man, I thought. The Heart Shaped Pendant *************** Dora the daughter was at my back door the next day, a warm one with humidity promising cloudbursts. She was dressed in a blue business suit and white blouse. Coming into the kitchen, she stood confronting me: "I always knew something was wrong with having a handsome young man living next door to my mother. She should have married again, a man her age who could have taken care of her and made her happy. You two were like a couple of teenagers." I couldn't believe that she called me a "handsome young man." That term never seemed to apply to me, and Dora was just a year or two older than I was. "Dora, I never forced your mother to do anything. She lived her life and I lived mine. The first five years we were neighbors, she had two serious relationships that failed and I had one. Our work kept both of us busy in our own houses most of the time; after a while when we came out of our cocoons we gravitated to each other. We never flaunted ourselves in public and when Mallory was around, things were strictly platonic. I've treated your daughter as I would have treated one of my nieces, and my nieces always slept at Charlene's when they came to visit. If she had wanted a husband, I would never have stood in her way, and she frequently told me I should marry someone younger. You have no right to pass judgement on her or on me." Dora blew out a heavy breath and thought for a long moment. "All right, all right. Mother was always very independent, and I guess this kind of relationship suited her better. Fine, fine." Her eyebrows creased thoughtfully and she pursed her lips. "So, you are fond of my daughter Mallory. If I get the pendant, it will be hers someday." "I'm certain. I guess in time she may get everything." "Will you give it to me, then?" I shook my head. "I can't promise that. Your mother wanted it awarded this way for a reason. It would be unjust to give anyone special consideration, despite the fondness I may have for your Mallory." "You pervert." "Not at all. This is something I'm doing only because she wanted me to and I would have done anything for her. I wish that she were standing here before me right now and telling me it was time to go pick mushrooms. The contest wasn't my idea." Dora softened a little bit, but was still determined. Finally, she sat on a kitchen chair in front of me. "Mother always gave me pointers on how to take care of a man. Neither of us were good at keeping them, but we were always able to get them when we wanted to." She started rubbing my lap slowly and subtly as I stood beside her, her eyes taking on a studious look. Despite the tone of our conversation, I began to respond, and she licked her lips as she quickened her pace. "You did take good care of her; she was very happy." "You are the image of your mother when I first fell in love with her," I said very honestly, and she returned a sweet, genuine smile for that. She kneaded with two hands for a few moments as my forked radish grew, then her jacket and white silk blouse were on the chair to display a white, lacy bra containing two mountains of sweet, soft ivory. Now my pants came undone; she rubbed and kissed all over my forked radish and shortly her bra took its place on the chair as well. Painfully ready, I was fully taken in and overwhelmed by warm wetness. Her tongue was a tornado and her mouth fluctuated perfectly between high and low pressure. A low humming up and down the same short scale Charlene used sent my senses reeling more. The results of Dora's work were eventually displayed on the face, chest and breasts that were a mirror of her mother's at the same age. As she pumped the last drops from me, she closed her eyes and luxuriated in the wetness on her porcelain skin. She kissed my limp forked radish twice sweetly while she sat there and glowed for several moments before she took her clothes to the bathroom and washed up before leaving wordlessly. ********************* Almond-eyed Morgan was my Thursday 1:00 appointment; she arrived with a boom box in her hand and wearing a black rain slicker on a sunny day. She was dolled up: wearing fantastically gorgeous makeup that brought out her lovely face and her hair was a symphony of soft blond curls. When she closed the door she asked, "Do you have a pole in your basement?" "I beg your pardon?" "In a lot of homes this old, there are support poles in the basement. Do you have one here?" "Yes, I do. More than one." She smiled, and her eyes gleamed a little bit. "Do you have any comfy chairs down there?" "Yes, I do a little fly tying there and like to be comfortable." "Let's go downstairs," she said, taking me with her free hand and pulling me quickly to the basement door. We went to the basement, and she pushed several old boxes away to create a large area by one of the support pillars. She turned on a bare light hanging from the ceiling, and plugged her boom box into an outlet along the concrete wall. She moved all the fly tying gear away from the beat up old chair I keep down there to create some space around it. Sitting me down in the chair, she made sure I was comfortable before she began. Satisfied, she pushed the on button and started to dance for me. It was an seductive dance that involved stripping down to a strapless bustier and then to only panties to a mix of country music that began with Pink Cadillacs and proceeded through a lot of Randy Travis, Tim McGraw and Travis Tritt. It was stimulating: I had seen clips of pole dancers but never in person, except when Charlene got crazy one night in this very place. Morgan swayed and swerved and twirled around the pole, using it to push and pull her body into different positions; occasionally she licked her lips hungrily. The cold pole made her nipples stand out forcefully and proudly; her skin glistened and shone with sweat as she moved with seductive energy. I sat rapt and asked, "Where did you learn to do this?" "Strippercize tapes. I've been doing the workout for a year; do you like the results?" Morgan was an extremely toned and streamlined version of Charlene, which was a big leap from most of the rest of the family. Charlene always called her body a dumpy old bag of bones but after I got to know how beautiful she really was, the sight of it always excited me. The night of her retirement party, we had much more to drink than usual and had come down to this basement at 2:00 AM for a raucous, spontaneous celebration of her freedom. She put on Le Sacre du Printemps and gave me an hysterical nude ballet: posing, swinging around the poles, and trying to make her tubby body gyrate in as many different directions as possible to the first half of the ballet as I rolled on the floor. For the second half of the ballet, I waved, bounced, juggled and squeezed her dear pendulous, floppy breasts in different directions to the rhythms as she sat in my lap panting and shrieking with laughter. We made hot urgent love on the cold concrete floor before going somewhere more comfortable for the rest of the night. Morgan's body was a model's dream; she was naked performing for me and her form was perfect. She came over, ground her hips into my crotch and swung her heavy breasts in my face, making just enough contact to entice and frustrate. "What's this called?" I asked. "Lapdancing. This is usually all the farther it gets, but today is different." After a few more minutes agony, she knelt, ripped down my trousers, and began giving my forked radish the direct attention of her mouth and hands. The sudden forwardness after the teasing had dramatic effect; I lasted as long as three minutes only because her relatives had been visiting me earlier that week. She knelt before me and let me paint her breasts and torso without a brush when I could stand it no longer, massaging the sticky whiteness into her sweat with a beatific smile on her face. When she was certain I was done and we had a chance to catch our breath, she went upstairs, showered, and dressed. Then she restored my basement and left with her paraphernalia. I was glad to have some peace and quiet: I hate country music. ************ Friday saw Andrea, Morgan's mother and Charlene's youngest sister, arrive at my front door dressed in a blue blouse and tan pants with a portable table and a bag. She was almost as thin as her daughter and they shared lovely almond eyes. After I admitted her, she drew the curtains of my living room and set up her table, setting a lot of bottles from the bag on my end table. It was the only room of my house that would have held it except the basement. "As you know, Mr. Fredrickson, I am a licensed masseuse and touch therapist. If there is any way that a good, all over body massage could take the place of what Charlene wanted, I would be happy to offer that to you." "I do like a good massage and I will be happy to give you some authentic business sometime in honor of your sister. This week, I have been honoring your oldest sister's last wishes and I do not believe that I can accept a substitute. I've always had faith in Charlene's judgement. Nothing personal. If you are interested in the pendant, I must ask you do to as they did." "That shows what kind of man you are." "Not the one that you think I am. Charlene and I used to give each other back rubs and I would give all the fellatio in the world for the touch of her hand on my shoulder right now." Andrea searched my eyes for several moments, finally sighing and beckoning me to the table. "I don't ever do this for anyone else, but if you'll remove your clothes and hop up on the table I will put this in a context you will find relaxing and enjoyable." In the next half hour, with her oiled and tender touch, she had drawn all the tension from my back, shoulders and legs accompanied by soothing music, candles and light incense as I lay face down on the table. Flipping me over, she massaged my feet and worked on my legs. After working on my torso a bit, she gave a little fleeting attention to my forked radish, and on seeing a response she began a well lubricated digital stimulation. Her touch was like Charlene's: strong and gentle, supple yet insistent, and I responded to it gratefully. I have a small cabin at a private lake southwest of town. The property takes in one end of the lake that holds a protected cove, a dock and a two room cabin. When the solitude of the two old painted ladies Charlene and I lived in were not enough, we would repair, singly or together, to the cabin to refresh ourselves in God's creation. The last time we were alone there together it was a sultry August day that we spent on our lawn chairs under the shade of the porch and the glorious view, swimming and playing in the water to break the inertia. The years dropped away and we two chubby senior citizens were lithe children once again, naked and innocent in the garden of Paradise. We went into the cabin, put a blanket and pillows on the kitchen table, and gave each other a long, slow sensuous massage. She appreciated the warm oil and my tender touch, particularly on her arthritic feet, and I appreciated the relief she brought to the twinge in my left shoulder. The night was hot, and after making love on the grass we lay under the stars together wearing nothing but insect repellant, holding hands and pondering how young we were compared to the wonders above us. Andrea reached for a small spray bottle, put it next to me and turned her attention to my forked radish with her lips as well as her hands. After spraying something in her mouth, her tongue and mouth sent chills through me as she went up and down and around. Periodically, she would refresh the spray and I was soon a fountain spraying directly up in the air. Cleaning me up with a towel, she checked for any muscles that had retightened during my exertions. There were a couple that she untighted again before moving me off to the couch, then she bade me to take a long, hot bath as soon as I could draw one, packed up and left. It was four o'clock before could I stand up, dress and think about preparing a light supper. ************** I got up early Saturday without the alarm, fixed the usual coffee and went into the garage to get some scraping tools. There was too much input and output to go with my grief that week and I needed processing time. There was no way I could make the choice she wanted me to make: I was confused and saw no way forward. As I rummaged around the shelves with the garage door open, Mallory came in barefoot wearing a yellow tube top and cutoffs, her medium length hair in pigtails and her usual mammoth coffee mug in her hand. "Hi Charlie, how's it going?" she asked me brightly. My heart fluttered as I saw her. "Don't sneak up on an old man like that. Get in here and out of sight from the street before I have to fight the natives off with a paint scraper to protect your virtue." We both laughed and I wiped my face. "Why did you drop by today?" "You invited me to come by anytime. It's my dad's turn to keep me this weekend but he's out of the country and Mother is in meetings all weekend. So I'm off the radar, hanging out at Grandmama's for the weekend and I wondered if you'd like to go swimming later." "I've got to get my house scraped in order to paint it next week. Need some mindless physical labor to unwind with." "If I help you, we could get it done by noon and go swimming then." The afternoons were still too hot for manual labor by an old fat man and a swim in the lake sounded like an excellent idea. "You're on. Grab a scraper and be careful where you step." We put some drop cloths down and scraped the house all morning: I was on the ladder, she was down low, and we made quick work of it. At times I caught a view down her tube top and saw her grandmother as a teenager; I had to be sure to focus my attention on my work in order not to get caught in an embarrassing situation. After the week I just had with her mother, her aunts and her cousin, I'd have thought there was no gas left in my tank at all, but I was very wrong. A couple of sandwiches did for lunch as we drove to my cabin. I wore my big blue swimming trunks and a white t-shirt; she wore a yellow bikini that became rather transparent upon entering the water. Her nipples poked up as sweetly as maraschino cherries on generous dollops of vanilla ice cream, and the dizzying swoop of her hips competed with them for attention. She didn't have Morgan's aerobically sculpted perfection, but I knew the delicate young poetic soul she was and that surpassed any physical deficiencies. She could be my Nimué: trapping me in her magic spell. The water was perfect and I stayed in a lot to hide my unconscious interest in Mal's body. Otherwise we had a lot of fun: playing and splashing in the cove as we had together with Charlene on many occasions. I felt her presence in the waterplay and that cooled me off to solemnity and sadness as I walked the halls of memory. Mal and I then rested side by side on the dock as we had done many times to let ourselves dry in the sunlight. After a while, she broke the silence. "There a poem that's been on my mind a lot lately. I read it a year ago and it speaks to what my life has been like so far." "Oh? Do you remember it?" I asked. She swallowed and said, "It starts: 'From childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone." My eyes were drowning. I said, "Edgar Allan Poe's Alone. I always felt that poem was the best description of my life, too, and Charlene felt it said the same of her." Mal rolled over and looked me in the face with her streaming eyes, then buried her head on my shoulder for several long, wet moments as I held her. Our normal lake days usually included an extended savoring of the sunset, but neither of us wanted to stay that day. We got back home by 4:00, and went to our houses to put our stuff away . After I came through the my front door, I took a quick shower and laid down for a nap wearing a t-shirt and running shorts. I had assumed that Mal had gone over to her grandmother's house to do the same, but I was wrong. Twenty minutes later I felt a heaviness on the bed beside me; Mal was sitting cross legged on the bed, watching me as I slept. The look in her eyes made me concerned: she was regarding me with a reverence that I had only seen before in Charlene. "Hi," I said awkwardly, "How's it going?" Mal had her tube top and cutoffs on again, and the wonders beneath were talking to me. She laid her hand tenderly on my knee. "I had a wonderful time with you; I always do." Mal then looked at me with a determination I'd never seen before. "I want a chance at the pendant," she said flatly. I returned a frightened look. "I want a chance at the pendant," she repeated. "You don't know what it takes to get it, do you?" I hoped that she didn't and would be shocked at the requirement to compete. Mal keep looking at me and her left eye grew watery. "Yes. I have to give you oral sex better than any other woman in the family, in your judgement. I read the will at Grandmama's house when they got back from your meeting and I asked them why I wasn't there. They said I was too young, were upset that I wanted to do it, thought I was presumptuous for wanting it now, and were aghast that I wanted to be a slut like Grandmama, as they said. Mother promised me that if she got it, I would get it eventually, so I would have to depend on her . But that's not fair, that's not what Grandmama wanted." "How do you know this?" "She told me the last time I visited her. She told me that she set up this competition to find out something important about her family and the winner would be the one who should get the pendant and everything. You would know who she's looking for, she said; she trusted you completely and knew you would give it to the right person. The contest was to let you know what her sisters, her daughter, her niece and her granddaughter were really like, and who was most deserving a precious inheritance." "You were to be part of it?" "She wanted me to be part of it if that's what I wanted; I was old enough she said." I turned away from her. "Mallory Charlene, I've always treated you with respect. As you've blossomed into a woman, you've caught my eye and right now you're exciting me more than I care to admit. You are so very beautiful and you don't realize how beautiful you are. But I'm having trouble seeing you as an adult, much less one that's eligible for my lascivious attention. I'm old enough to be your father, and my last lover was far older than I am. I've never made love with a teenager, even when I was one: I'm afraid I might blow a gasket if I tried. If you really want to do this--I'll let you--but--I'm not sure this--is a good thing." Her hand glided up my thigh and caressed my tentative erection warmly. "I am. I have always loved you, was always glad you noticed me. I told Grandmama and she said that she felt the same way, too. I'm making you hard right now, and I'm so proud that I can do that. I want more, even without the chance at the pendant. I want you today and I want you tomorrow and I want you the next day." I wasn't sure I could deal with this, with her. It was a couple of moments before I could look at her. "I need to make a phone call before anything else happens." A quick call to Charlene's lawyer answered my specific question: "living female relative" was a very broad term and since Mallory was well over eighteen she was eligible under the terms of the will to participate and win the pendant. Dealing with the fallout from the others might be a problem, he thought, but those were the facts. I hung up the phone and returned to the bed to lie down; my heart overloaded again. What are you doing, Charlene? What are you doing to me? The Heart Shaped Pendant Mal began caressing my thigh, her eyes sparkling. I gazed into her eyes and tried to see what reflection of me lurked there, what image projected this bright sunshine that illuminated her admiration. "Do you really want to do this?" I asked. Mal leapt on top of me, kissing me fiercely on the lips. The kissing became more gentle and she put her hands on my shoulders and neck. Her tube top came over her head, her cutoffs went over her feet and she guided my hands to her breasts; when I touched them, she gasped and a look of profound joy crossed her face as I began to stroke and caress them. She pulled my t-shirt over my head and kissed all over my chest and torso ardently, her hands all over me. I rubbed her torso as we kissed; she moved so that my hand could trace the petals of the blossom between her legs. After several moments of this, she quivered and arched her back to shriek for another several moments. "What was that?" I asked. It took a few moments for her to recover her breath. "It's an orgasm. Nobody's ever done that to me before; I've only gotten them with Mother's vibrator until now. Two of my boyfriends screwed me, but they always quit after they finished and left me dry." "I'm amazed that I can do that for you." "Don't be. You've always been my hero. I've always wanted you to sweep me off my feet and take me to your boudoir. I love your poems and your novels, your outlook on life and your bushy beard. You sweep me into worlds of excitement and wonder, honor and reason and justice. The Poe poem says it all: 'I have not seen/As others saw; I could not bring/My passions from a common spring.' You are the spring of my passion. You are my movie star; you are my sex symbol; you are my hero." "You're crazy, like your grandmother. She always said that I was Santa Claus as a young man, and she always wanted the presents in my bag" "Santa, I want what's in your bag, too. She was glad that I got your attention, got you excited. You made her so happy; no man pleased her more and she was very secure in herself and with her relationship with you. She knew that you were a noble beast and wouldn't take advantage of me, especially while she was alive." I paused, trying to take all this in, and stammered: "I've been ashamed to look at you and want you. This afternoon you were a water sprite luring me to go deeper into the lake, to risk getting trapped in your other worldly kingdom: a farie dream I might never return from. I've always wondered what it would be like to touch your skin, to nibble your breasts, to stroke your hair. . ." Her eyes gleamed as she said, "Do it. I am your sprite; I am your dream. Follow me into the deep waters." She kissed me hungrily, grinding her entire body against mine. I did touch her skin all over, nibble her breasts, stroke her hair as she moaned and purred, working my way down eventually to where I tasted her nectar as I had her grandmother's so often and brought her another trip to the summit. She was sweeter than I could have ever imagined, as sweet as Charlene. It felt like a homecoming, I was so possessed of Charlene's spirit. She removed my shorts and started to stroke my forked radish as her grandmother had, looking at it hungrily, "Grandmama taught me how to please a man, taught me how to please you. I'm not sure I remember everything she said, but if there's something you want me to do, say so and I'll do it." Her tongue was master of the gentle swirl and lovingly caressed every tender part; her mouth was a hungry home that welcomed as it consumed. The progression of her tactics was similar to Charlene's: she must have coached Mal. Mal sang me a wonderful wet love song that captured my heart as it was captured twenty years before. It was not long before I geysered my affection and she drank me down completely, driving me wild with her tongue as I subsided. She stayed the entire night; we were oblivious to the world and oblivious to supper. We repaid one another's affections again that night while submerged in the sonic passion of Le Sacre du Printemps. We went no farther than oral sex: after twenty years with a lover who didn't need protection, I wasn't ready for a situation like this. We slept entwined and the next morning we did it again after coffee before she slipped out the door at 8:00AM to her grandmother's house. ************ Sunday noon saw the lawyer and the five women enter my living room again. I greeted them in a nice shirt and slacks and gave them some iced tea I brewed for another scorching day. The lawyer opened his briefcase and took out the will. He flipped it to the proper page and said, "Mr. Fredrickson, have you made a decision in regard to awarding the heart shaped pendant and all that goes with it?" "It hasn't been easy, but yes I have. I would like to say a few things first." I looked around the room and took a deep breath. "I see a little Charlene in each of you: and I'm not talking exterior appearance. Maybe your greed pushed you to do something you surely wouldn't have done on your own, but part of her golden spirit shone forth through you. You walked me backward through time during this week of memory, sharp memories but sweet. I saw her again at different ages of her life past, even ages when I never knew her. She was with you all when you came to me: I could tell by what you did and by the look in your eyes. You knew that I made her happy and that meant something to you, or a least it meant that I didn't repel you completely. Your men are lucky to have you. Thank you for bringing a part of her back to me: I am grateful to you with all my heart. It helps me get along without her a little. "There was one of you whom I thought was the best; although all of you were fantastic, she was without equal. She was best at the mutual, unselfish sharing of life and laughter and love that was Charlene all these years. I felt the same kind of sensations with her that I did with Charlene. That woman has the pendant and all that goes with it." "Who gets it?" The lawyer said. At that moment, Mallory came into the room from the kitchen, where she had slipped without a sound, wearing a low cut, plain blue dress and the necklace with the heart shaped pendant around her neck. The heart shaped pendant rested naturally and serenely over her own young poetic heart. Jaws dropped and looks of disbelief quickly found their faces. It was a tableau that lasted several long moments before it began to break. The sisters and Morgan left singly without a word; Dora looked at her daughter, at me, at Mallory again and at the lawyer. She queried her daughter: "Is this what your grandmother would have wanted?" "Yes. This is what she wanted; she told me so before she died. It's what I want too, more than anything, and I would have done it for love of Charlie even if the pendant wasn't the prize." Dora looked at the lawyer, who said, "She is of legal age; she's nineteen years old. She had a right to participate and has a right to make her own choices." Dora then stalked from the house. The lawyer put the will down and got out another document: the deed to the house. "Mallory Charlene Morris, in addition to the necklace and the pendant, your grandmother's house is awarded to the winner of the contest. She wanted to see who the most generous, caring, unselfish person in her family was and wanted the house to go to that woman." He presented the title for her to sign and gave her the keys. I watched all this disbelieving but Mallory looked so serene, so radiant, so wise and so ladylike: just as her grandmother always did. Ah Charlene, you're asking me to trust your judgement a bit farther, aren't you? I can't believe you wanted to give me this much; I truly don't deserve her. The purposes Charlene set up the competition the way she did emerged: making her relatives confront her legacy, using their greed against them and knowing that I would try to turn it inside out with gratitude, knowing that they would try to exclude Mal, giving Mal the chance to blossom fully if she was ready. What a teacher, what pedagogical guile my Charlene possessed. Also, this was probably the only way the family was going to sit still for Mal getting the house now as well. Mal beamed at me proudly, opened the pendant at her breast and showed me the picture inside. It was my picture.