The Von Bucati Mansion Part Three:  My Office (Blog 23)

The Von Bucati Mansion

Part Three:  My Office

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-book, and paperback: Lucy and the Snivel Chair on Amazon.com

Attack of the Killer Tomatoes brought to our attention the possible deadly effect of possessed tomatoes.  But, here in Canada, we have our own spherical killers.  The Murderous Falling Walnuts!  And they start to kill right around the time hurricanes occur in the United States.  Coincidence?  Or is there an evil force that erupts out of the Earth from August until Devil’s Night?

DSC_3389

(Blog 23)

“Chief Shale here,” a very tired, deep sounding voice answers me on the phone.

“Hi Chief Shale, this is Charles Deleppe.”

“Thank goodness,” he says followed by a long sigh.  “I need you to come up to the Gravenhurst station, sign some sheets, and talk to….”

He’s pausing a long time.  “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I need you to talk to Mrs. Von Bucati’s son or daughter Onuris and get him or her to another holding cell.”

“I’m a little confused,” I say.

“Me too.  Can you be here tomorrow?”  His voice sounds urgent.

“Let me check my schedule.”  I look at my model Ferrari and sigh.  “Yes, I can.  Lucky, it’s the only day I’m not super busy.”

“You’ll be representing Onuris, Mr. Deleppe.  I’m afraid you might be here awhile.”

“Oh.”  I kick the leg of my desk.

“Bring a suitcase.  You’ll have to bill the Von Bucati estate.”

“I understand.”  A paid holiday will be nice.  “I’ll check out the hotels.  So I’m representing Elizabeth von Bucati’s will and her son or daughter for desecrating her body?”

“Yes, that’s what the legal document says.  See you tomorrow Mr. Deleppe.”

Now I need to book the most expensive hotel in Gravenhurst.

The Von Bucati Mansion: Part Three: My Office (Blog 22)

Part Three:  My Office

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on Kobo.com; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair on Amazon.com

 

In J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series the One who must not be named has placed parts of himself into different objects called horcruxes, including Harry by accident.  Should the fictional soul be able to be placed in many objects, or just one?

(Blog 22)

The cover of the Toronto Star shows a giant of a man in a hospital holding up two bandaged hands.  I sink into my office chair while Janet glowers down at me.

“Are you reading it?” she asks with her hands on her hips.

“Yes.  Very interesting.”  I’m talking to her while I stare in disbelief.  Richard is lying in a semi-upright position in a hospital bed smiling from ear-to-ear as he holds up two giant bandaged hands.

Man who nearly dies of blood poising after drinking tainted orange juice on the weekend receives, not one, but two donor hands from disgraced baseball player Bobby Brown.  Bobby Brown was found inside his car, which he had driven erratically into and through a metal barrier on Water’s Edge Promenade and into Lake Ontario on Friday night.  The impact was so hard Brown was found in the back seat of his GLE SUV.  Emergency crews arrived immediately after an anonymous call was made.  Brown’s organs and hands were saved and donated to medical research.

“Go to page three,” Janet tells me.  She doesn’t wait; she just leans over and flips the page over.  “Weren’t you with them on the weekend?  You don’t look well.”

“I must have got the same thing.”  I’m looking at the headline and feeling really sick now.

WOMAN DIES OF BLOOD POISONING AND SON IS CAUGHT DESECRATING HER BODY

Onuris Zesiro von Bucati, son of the late Elizabeth Aislin von Bucati was caught desecrating his mother’s body at the Cavill Funeral Home in Gravenhurst.  Her eye was found missing after von Bucati’s arrest.

“You certainly have met some interesting people Charles.”

“Yes, I need to make some important calls,” I reply.  I flip to the cover page again.

“I bet you do,” she says and leaves.

I’ve decided I better call Chief Warren Shale.

 

THE VON BUCCATI MANSION: Part Three: My Office

Part Three:  My Office

Horror should stay in the realm of fantasy not reality.  So laugh, get squeamish but remember this horror fantasy.

(Blog 21)

Took two days off to recover from my drinking binge at the Von Bucati cottage and last night I had a crazy dream.  As I walk into my office I remember it too clearly.

I went to Varilla’s Grocery Store and as I pulled out a cart I saw a woman’s wallet on the bottom.  As I leaned over to take it the creepy hunchback from the Von Bucati cottage walked past me.  I slipped the wallet into my pants back pocket and continued to get my supplies.  As I did, I looked for the hunchback but couldn’t see him.  Back at the office I opened the wallet and took out the licence.  The card belonged to a Mrs. Patricia Reese.  I took out all her cash and change and kept it in my desk drawer.  I should have just thrown the wallet into the dumpster but instead I drove to her house on Craven Road.

Patricia lived in a ramshackle of a house.  I knocked on the screen door and an elderly woman with eyes the same colour as mine opened the door.  I noticed one of the eyes never moved.  She wore an orange floral apron covered in flour over a white blouse and green slacks.  A snarl crossed Patricia’s wrinkled face.  “I already gave an eye,” she hissed up at me.

I’m still shuddering from her words.  Now that’s interesting, there’s a package on my desk all wrapped in yellow delivery paper.  On top I see a small white envelope.

Got a call from Mrs. Von Bucati.  She invited me to her mansion in Gravenhurst.  Good job Charles!  And as promised.

Bert

I’m tearing open the package.  Look at that!  A beautiful 1:18 scale 250 GTO Techno-Promo Ferrari model car.  The silver paint just glistens!  I can open the doors and see the interior.  Out of the corner of my eye I can see my answering machine blinking red and hear it beeping.  I put the car gently back in the box and listen to the messages.

I feel sick.  There’s four messages all from Police Chief Warren Shale of the Gravenhurst Department.  Elizabeth von Bucati passed away the other night from blood poisoning.  That’s terrible but the other news is gross.  I listen to the fatigue sounding voice of Chief Warren, again.

“Mr. Charles Deleppe, this is Chief Warren Shale of the Gravenhurst Police Department.  We need you to come to our station to discuss the death of Mrs. Elizabeth Aislin von Bucati.”  I can hear him hesitate before he continues.  “Also, her son, Onuris Zesiro von Bucati, goes by Onuris, has been accused of desecrating his mother’s body.  Best we speak in person over that.  Please call me as soon as you can.”

I write his number down.  I just slumped into my chair.  Why couldn’t the old hag just have let me go and hired someone else to represent her?  Great, Janet has just barged into my office.  She looks tired but her form fitting black blouse and grey pleat skirt are welcome distractions.

“Have you read the paper?” she asks, throwing it on my desk.

“On Hitler’s Mountain” by Irmgard A. Hunt (a plug for a book well worth reading)

Occasionally I’ll review a book on here, or promote a friend who is an author or artist.

A friend lent me an amazing book called: “On Hitler’s Mountain” by Irmgard A. Hunt. Irmgard lived in the mountains of Berchtesgaden where Hitler had his retreat. She relates how Hitler came into power, what happened to those who opposed him, the indoctrination of German and Austrian youth into Nazi beliefs, the effects of war, and what happened up until the Marshall Plan. Her mother makes an interesting comment later in the book about American or any other democracy: “If there were a bad economic downturn or perhaps a war with the Soviets, Americans too might accept a leader who promised to save them and the fatherland. We did not know how fast Hitler would change everything once he was chancellor. But he did.” The book reminded me how events affect different people in different ways and that, whether we want to hear it or not, it is vital not to alter substantiated historical information so those events never happen again.

The Von Bucati Mansion Part Two The Cottage (Blog 20)

The Von Bucati Mansion

Part Two

The Cottage

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on Kobo.com; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair on Amazon.com

 

Haifaa al-Mansour directed Mary Shelley.  I heard her discussing the movie on CBC Listen with Eleanor Wachtel.  Al-Mansour was asked if the creature would make an appearance and she said no.  It’s interesting how the symbolic characters in J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Lord Of The Rings” or Sir Aruthur Conan Doyle’s “Sherlock Holmes” become real to us.

(Blog 20)

I can’t get rid of the chill effect of Elizabeth’s lingering hand.  I hope she finds another lawyer or croaks.  Michelle is lying on the bed with the edge of the sheet bunched up between her legs so one leg is bare and I can see the creamy paleness of one breast.  I run my fingers along her leg, up her stomach between her breasts, up her chin to her lower lip.  “I have to go,” I say and kiss her lips.

“It was so good,” she says opening her eyes as she places her hands over the sheet between her legs.

“Will you tell your boyfriend?” I ask playfully.

She giggles.  “What happens at the Von Bucati cottage stays at the Von Bucati cottage.”

“Us overly attractive people are destined to share our good looks,” I say pressing the back of my hand against her cheek.

She kisses my hand.  “I’ll remember last night.”

As I start to close the door I hear her say to herself, “I wonder what that Richard’s giant fingers would feel like.”

I slam the door shut.  Now I want a drink.

Outside the cottage the limo is waiting for me right in front of the door.  I rap on the driver’s window.  The back left door pops open.  No one else is inside but I see I left my tablet.  That makes me think of the orange juice.  I leave the door open as I open the mini fridge door.  The bottle I needed to relieve myself in is still there.  I take it out.  I intend to drink as much alcohol mixed with orange juice as I can on the way home.  I hurry back into the cottage with the intention of dumping the orange juice and getting a new one.

The giant, Richard is sitting at the bar chatting with the bartender.  I can hear him gloating about the other night.

“Can I get a new orange juice?  Can I get it myself?” I ask the bartender.

“Help yourself,” he says.

I go behind the bar.   There’s a stainless steel fridge with a fake wood surface.  Inside I see juices, pop, and Irish Crème.  I stick the bottle in my hand in place of a new bottle.

“Good night?”  Richard asks and I feel the muscles at the base of my neck tighten up.

“Great!”  I say.  I just want to get to the limo and drink.

“What you got?” he asks with a big duffus grin.

“Ran out of orange juice.”

“That sounds good, an orange and some of that skull vodka,” he says to the bartender.

I see Elizabeth come into the dining room.  She’s smiles lasciviously at me.

“Would you like an orange and vodka Mrs. Von Bucati?” Richard asks her.

“At this time of the morning?  Certainly.”

I watch as the bartender takes out the bottle I just put into the fridge and pour it into two tall glasses.  Next he takes out a crystal skull vodka bottle and fills the glasses to the rim.  As he starts to stir I grin.  “I really must be going,” I say.  With a nod to Elizabeth, I say, “Thank you for your amazing hospitality.”

“See you soon,” she says lifting the glass to her lips.

I hurry out the door to the limo and rap on the driver’s window again.

Inside I open the orange juice bottle and sniff.  Good!  Smells fresh.  Let’s see what beverages I didn’t try last time.

 

The Von Bucati Mansion Part Two:  The Cottage (Blog 19)

The Von Bucati Mansion

Part Two   The Cottage

By Dan Watt

Author of the book and e-book Lucy and the Snivel Chair on Amazon.com

Stephen King’s IT just destroyed the box office.  That means horror is still alive!  Used to watch all the horror stories but stopped after watching and reading the news.  I prefer fantastical horror not real horror.  Someone who kills, decapitates, and then eats part of another person in front of several witnesses on a bus and then is let go by the Canadian court system because he’s really a swell guy, is a little to horrifically realistic for me.

(Blog 19)

Adult Content

 

Knock KNock KNOck  KNOCK!  Someone keeps banging on the door.  Michelle is lying over me.  I ignore the knocking and nestle closer to her.  KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!  My head is spinning and some moron probably has the wrong room.  I glance at the alarm clock sitting on a night table beside the bed and it says 6:00 a.m.!

I’ve just stumbled out of bed and thrown on my pants.  Michelle doesn’t seem to hear the perpetual knocking.  She looks like a sleeping angel.  KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!  NOW I’M FURIOUS!  I hurry over to the door and swing it open.

“Good morning Mr. Deleppe,” Elizabeth von Bucati says, staring up at me at with her dead eye and the one vibrant malicious one.  “Your eyes do look similar to mine.  It’s been a long time since I’ve found someone with eyes like ours.  Just in time too.  The medical field says it’s a disorder, a genetic mutation, but really it has always been there.  Neither of your parents have eyes like yours do they.”

I want to scream at her and throw her down the hall—but I can’t.  “No,” I whisper in a respectful tone.  “My mother’s eyes are green and my father’s blue, but nothing like mine.”

“Perhaps we are related,” she says looking down at my pants where the zipper is broken.

I realize I’m not wearing underwear.  I can feel my face burning and I can’t help but giving her and awkward smile.

Her right hand is inside my pants holding my scrotum.  I feel ice going up my balls to my forehead causing brain freeze.

“Maybe we are cousins a hundred generations separated.”

“Yes,” I squeak out.  I think I know where they get the term blue balls from now.  My whole body is still and freezing throughout.

She leans inside the doorway.  “I can’t remember the last time I was strawberry,” she says, ungrasping my scrotum.  “My husband is different.  He is always the same flavour but right now he’s in great need of sustenance.  Do you think your friend Bert Asworth can help with that?”  She’s staring up at me.  “The limo is waiting for you.”

“Let me get dressed,” I say in a rush of words, “and say good-bye to Michelle.”

“I’ll see you in the dining room in five minutes,” she tells me.

The Von Bucati Mansion Part Two The Cottage (Blog 18)

The Von Bucati Mansion

Part Two

The Cottage

By Dan Watt

Author of the book and e-book Lucy and the Snivel Chair on Amazon.com

 

I should have called this an Erotic Horror Comedy!  Have you discovered the hidden clues along the way?

(Blog 18)

Adult Content

 

My head is swimming from all the alcohol and it’s hard to take a step and keep upright but I really need to get to a bathroom.  The hallway floor is oak wood with a roll out carpet along its length.  I go left, using the pine panelled wall for support.  There’s a noise behind me.

I see the weirdo hunchback, wearing a burgundy hoodie with the cowl up.  The jeans seem wider on one side so I can’t tell if it’s a he or a she.  We’ll stick with He for now.  He’s facing me now and he’s bent over, tying his high cut sneakers.  Could be all the alcohol but the feet look like they’re different sizes.  The right pocket of his hoodie has quite the bulge.  Ah well, I need a bathroom.

Ah, I see a door slightly ajar with a light on to my right.  Yes, it’s a bathroom.  Faint thumping noises are coming from the room just past it.  Nice bathroom.   A toilet sits beside an ivory coloured seashell sink.  There’s even a shower.  I can hear voices along with the thumping.

“Oooh, that hook feels sooo good,” Wanda is saying.  I can also hear sucking and gagging sounds between moans.

“I can put it deeper!” that bastard Richard just said in a weak, nasally voice.

I’m trying to pee quieter so I can hear.

The sucking and gagging sounds stop.  “You’re so big,” Yomita says through gasps.

I can’t believe he has two of my girls.  There should have been a foursome, not including him!

I flush the toilet and wash my hands.  I go out into the hall and slam the bathroom door.  All the moaning has stopped.  I slam the door again just to make sure they know someone’s around.

The hooded Igor is gone.  I see I left the door to Michelle’s room open.  I hope the weirdo didn’t try to go in.  I shut the door and lock it.

Michelle is on the bed with her hands between her legs.  She’s oohing and awing but her hands aren’t going back and forth just up and down as if something is under them.  Her back is arched and her lips are quivering in ecstasy.  I take off my clothes and lay beside her to get in on the action.  I run my hand over her breasts and down over her hands.  She just let out an amazing moan and has gone still.  She’s asleep!  Great, now she’s rolled onto her tummy and thrown her arm over my chest.

SOMETHING JUST CRAWLED OVER MY FOOT!  I kick at it.  Michelle just woke up.  Maybe it was just her foot I felt and she can move her toes independently.

Her face is flush and content and her lips so sweet as they kiss mine.  “That was amazing,” she says in a totally satisfied, exhausted voice.  “I take it back, your fingers are much longer than Tim’s.”  She’s kissed me again.  Now she’s asleep in my arms and I realize I have been replaced by some erotic dream she had about me.  Now I really hate Richard!

The Von Bucati Mansion Part Two The Cottage (Blog 17)

The Von Bucati Mansion

Part Two

The Cottage

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on Kobo.com; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair on Amazon.com

 

Writing first person in the present is not an easy task.  Nor is explicit, where to go where not to!

(Blog 16)

Adult Content

“Well thank you everyone,” Elizabeth says as we finish a desert of chocolate mousse.  “I must get to bed early at my age.  Please enjoy the bar up to 2 a.m.  In the hallway go up the left hand stairs.  A sticky note is on each door to tell you where you can sleep.”  Her freezing hand touches the top of my right hand.  “Make sure you say good-night to the ladies, Mr. Deleppe.  Tomorrow at 6 a.m. you will need to leave.”

She’s whacked Elizabeth Von Bucati is.  I don’t think she knows what she is saying.  The dead eyed waitresses are back, clearing off the tables.  I feel a bit strange after eating the salad.  As though I’m in a room full of water that but I can breathe.  Well, the alcohol is free.  I touch Michelle’s shoulder and walk lethargically towards the bar.  I sit on a barstool as she slides hers closer to mine.  “Two shots of vodka with a lime,” I say as Michelle leans against me.

“I don’t know how much more I can drink,” she slurs.  She laughs giddily and I slip my hand around her waist to keep her up.

I can’t remember how many drinks we’ve had or helping her up the stairs to the door with her name on it.  But I have a hot strawberry blonde in one arm and holding a bottle of Smirnoff Red vodka in my other hand.

I push the door open and we stumble onto her bed.  I don’t know if it’s all the alcohol or something else but time seems to jump.  I lay beside Michelle and slip my hand up her top.

“Close the door first Tim,” she slurs at me.

I fumble out of the bed, my head wobbling side to side.  As I reach to close the door I see the humpback stand up just outside her door.  I can’t tell if it’s a he or a she.  Never mind.  I shut the door.

It seems to take forever for Michelle to undress.   She tastes wonderful as I run my lips over her body.  I have to kneel on the floor to get to the best part.  Just as I push her legs apart I feel something run over the bottom of my feet.  I can’t help but shiver.  Has to be the alcohol.  I use my tongue and index finger.  She’s mine now, I can hear her moaning.  I can see her arching her back.  “That feels so good,” she says through quivering lips.  “Don’t stop Tim.”

I keep my finger moving inside her but take out my tongue.  “Charles, sweetheart,” I remind her.

“Uh, Oh, Tim’s me boyfriend.  His finger is a bit longer than yours I think.  Oh, but don’t stop!”

I stumble over to her side of the bed.  “It’s your turn,” I say fumbling in my wallet for one of the five condoms I always keep handy.

She slides off the bed so she’s kneeling in front of my crotch.  Her hand is searching for something.  “What’s this?” she asks, pulling on the safety pin.

I can feel my face burning.  “I broke my zipper earlier.”  I push myself closer to her face.

She fumbles away at the safety pin.  “Got it open,” she says smiling up at me.  Her hand reaches in and I can feel myself growing.

Her tongue swirls are making me blind with desire.  OUCH!  The pin of the safety pin just stuck into the side of my penis.  I jerk and she bites down.  OH THAT HURTS!

“Sorry sweetie,” she says pulling out the pin.  “Let me pull the pin right out so accidents don’t happen again.  Unless you want a piercing?”

My eyes are swelling from the pain and I’m taking deep breathes to keep calm.  “No piercing,” I whine.

“There’s no blood, just a bit of bruising.  Give me the condom.  My boyfriend loves when I do this.”  She slides the condom on what erection I have left, with her mouth.  “Come here Timmy, me love,” she coos, lying back on the bed with her legs spread.

I just woke up.  Michelle’s arm is over my chest.  I think we made love but I’ve lost track of time.  No, I can see the used condom in the waste basket.  I really have to pee.  I’ll just put on my pants and let my dress shirt hang down to hide my opening.  Somewhere down the hall has to be a bathroom.

 

The Von Bucati Mansion Part Two The Cottage (Blog 16)

The Von Bucati Mansion

Part Two

The Cottage

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on Kobo.com; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair on Amazon.com

I did warn you some of this could get mildly explicit.  If you’ve read Stephen King, Dean Koontz, or Ken Follett, read on!  If not, well, close your eyes at certain points.

(Blog 16)

“Well thank you everyone,” Elizabeth says as we finish a desert of chocolate mousse.  “I must get to bed early at my age.  Please enjoy the bar up to 2 a.m.  In the hallway go up the left hand stairs.  A sticky note is on each door to tell you where you can sleep.”  Her freezing hand touches the top of my right hand.  “Make sure you say good-night to the ladies, Mr. Deleppe.  Tomorrow at 6 a.m. you will need to leave.”

She’s whacked Elizabeth Von Bucati is.  I don’t think she knows what she is saying.  The dead eyed waitresses are back, clearing off the tables.  I feel a bit strange after eating the salad.  As though I’m in a room full of water that but I can breathe.  Well, the alcohol is free.  I touch Michelle’s shoulder and walk lethargically towards the bar.  I sit on a barstool as she slides hers closer to mine.  “Two shots of vodka with a lime,” I say as Michelle leans against me.

“I don’t know how much more I can drink,” she slurs.  She laughs giddily and I slip my hand around her waist to keep her up.

I can’t remember how many drinks we’ve had or helping her up the stairs to the door with her name on it.  But I have a hot strawberry blonde in one arm and holding a bottle of Smirnoff Red vodka in my other hand.

I push the door open and we stumble onto her bed.  I don’t know if it’s all the alcohol or something else but time seems to jump.  I lay beside Michelle and slip my hand up her top.

“Close the door first Tim,” she slurs at me.

I fumble out of the bed, my head wobbling side to side.  As I reach to close the door I see the humpback stand up just outside her door.  I can’t tell if it’s a he or a she.  Never mind.  I shut the door.

It seems to take forever for Michelle to undress.   She tastes wonderful as I run my lips over her body.  I have to kneel on the floor to get to the best part.  Just as I push her legs apart I feel something run over the bottom of my feet.  I can’t help but shiver.  Has to be the alcohol.  I use my tongue and index finger.  She’s mine now, I can hear her moaning.  I can see her arching her back.  “That feels so good,” she says through quivering lips.  “Don’t stop Tim.”

I keep my finger moving inside her but take out my tongue.  “Charles, sweetheart,” I remind her.

“Uh, Oh, Tim’s me boyfriend.  His finger is a bit longer than yours I think.  Oh, but don’t stop!”

I stumble over to her side of the bed.  “It’s your turn,” I say fumbling in my wallet for one of the five condoms I always keep handy.

She slides off the bed so she’s kneeling in front of my crotch.  Her hand is searching for something.  “What’s this?” she asks, pulling on the safety pin.

I can feel my face burning.  “I broke my zipper earlier.”  I push myself closer to her face.

She fumbles away at the safety pin.  “Got it open,” she says smiling up at me.  Her hand reaches in and I can feel myself growing.

Her tongue swirls are making me blind with desire.  OUCH!  The pin of the safety pin just stuck into the side of my penis.  I jerk and she bites down.  OH THAT HURTS!

“Sorry sweetie,” she says pulling out the pin.  “Let me pull the pin right out so accidents don’t happen again.  Unless you want a piercing?”

My eyes are swelling from the pain and I’m taking deep breathes to keep calm.  “No piercing,” I whine.

“There’s no blood, just a bit of bruising.  Give me the condom.  My boyfriend loves when I do this.”  She slides the condom on what erection I have left, with her mouth.  “Come here Timmy, me love,” she coos, lying back on the bed with her legs spread.

I just woke up.  Michelle’s arm is over my chest.  I think we made love but I’ve lost track of time.  No, I can see the used condom in the waste basket.  I really have to pee.  I’ll just put on my pants and let my dress shirt hang down to hide my opening.  Somewhere down the hall has to be a bathroom.

The Von Bucati Mansion Part Two The Cottage (Blog 15)

The Von Bucati Mansion

Part Two

The Cottage

By Dan Watt

Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia on Kobo.com; and e-books Lucy and the Snivel Chair on Amazon.com

 

I’ve tried to be more suggestive than descriptive but there will be a few chapters that contain Adult Content.  Now you are warned!

(Blog 15)

I step into one of the stalls.  If I can get the safety pin just right I might be able to tuck my shirt in.  OUCH!  THAT HURTS!  I’ll need a tetanus shot now!  The needle went right into my prick!  There’s no blood.  That’s better, I got it through the cloth around the zipper.

As I walk back into the bar I see three girls, all in their early twenties.  One has the exotic light brown skin of one of the southern Asian countries.  Another has skin so pale I can see all the veins in her arms and face clearly; she is not turning me on.  The third girl is hard to place.  Her skin is dark brick brown.  In the dim lights she looks red.  All of them are smiling as they push two of the square topped tables together but their eyes never move; gives me the creeps.   They are all wearing white aprons and black dresses.  When they stand they all seem to be the same height as Elizabeth.  Next I see them go into the back room and bring out a large embroidered white table cloth, cutlery and wine glasses.  As I turn away I see Wanda, Yoshima, and Michelle are at the bar sitting on stools as they talk with Richard and the bartender.  Michelle just turned and smiled at me.   I’ve put my arm around her now.  “What are we talking about?” I ask.

“Please be seated everyone,” Elizabeth’s voice chimes behind me.  We all turn to see her aged figure standing behind one of the tables.  “Charles, sit to my right and Richard to the right.  Girls, sit across from us.”  Her voice isn’t intimidating but leaves no room for argument.  I sit down to her right.

“Although,” she continues as the dead eyed waitresses pour champagne, “we will continue to know each other, I will no longer you need you in your current capacity.”  Her freezing right hand reaches to cover my left hand where I have it resting on the table top.  “Except for Charles.”  Out of the corner of my eye I can see her smiling her malevolent right eye glances up at me.  “I’ll be needing him for a while longer.”   She pats my hand, sending shivers so cold I get brain freeze.  “And you Richard,” she says to the freakish giant.  “So enjoy this meal girls!  Tomorrow brings a new beginning for you.”

I glance at the three gorgeous girls across from me and they are all smiling back at Elizabeth with a confused look.

The meal is served.  Steak, medium rare fills a quarter of my plate.  Another quarter is mashed potatoes, and half the plate is brown rice mixed with peas and chicken squares.  A large salad bowl is set behind my plate.  It has an assortment of green and red leaves covered in a semi-translucent cream.

“Interesting sauce,” I say absentmindedly.

“Yes,” Elizabeth says.  “It’s from Haiti.”