Truths of the Heart (37 page)
Read Truths of the Heart Online
Authors: G.L. Rockey
He couldn't answer. He only knew it was the way with him. He felt less fear
when he felt sorrow. Happiness produced anxiety. Anxiety that the happiness
would end.
Darkness and melancholy hold less fear of loss. Are you sick or what? I
don't know but a gnawing doubt consumes me. Every second I am out of her warmth
I ache. I can think only of her. When I'm with her, I'm anxious thinking of
having to leave her. Then there is this nagging in it all. Nag, nag, nag. Sick,
Seth-o, plain and simple. Sick.
He thought of Carl.
If he finds out, not for me but her, I fear the worse. From what I saw
at the Simone Simone affair, Carl is a loose cannon. Have to take her away.
Have to convince her. Anywhere, New Zealand, she said she had taught there
once.
Reclining on his soda, he said loudly, “Well, relax, Seth-o. If she
doesn't show up at her Rodin spot you won't have to worry about any of this,
now will you.”
Damn!
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
For Rachelle, Sunday night brought scant sleep in and out of dreams,
and Monday morning finally came. Somewhere in the night, T.S. had given up on
her, went downstairs to sleep.
Up early, she did her calisthenics, went to the kitchen and was greeted
by a nasty look from T.S.
“And a good morning to you too.”
He turned, went directly to his food bowl, and sat with his back to
her. “Okay, okay,” she opened a can of Fancy Feast shrimp puree and scooped it
in his dish. “You are such a snot.”
As he ate, she listened again to the strange laugh-messages that were recorded
on her machine last night.
She erased all the messages and retrieved the Lansing State Journal
from the front porch.
Sitting at the kitchen table, sipping English Toffee cappuccino, T.S. eating,
after reading the cartoons, she went to the front page and read:
NFL TIES TO GAMBLING
Monday, May 13, AP
The investigation into NFL ties to gambling is widening. It has been learned
that the Justice Department intends to indict several officials in football
game spread shenanigans. In an FBI recording, one official, who is not
identified, is heard discussing a Green Bay vs. Vikings game in which the
gambling interests wanted the point spread fixed at three. Detroit Lions’
sports announcer and former Lions quarterback Carl Bostich is on the witness
list.
She dropped the newspaper to the table. “Well, Mr. Eliot, this will
play just terrifically on the M.S.U. campus. Not to mention a forty year old
professor playing around with a student young enough to be her son.”
Like a large cloud blocking the sun, reality set in and she was
frustrated at the disruptions in her life, distractions in her intellectual
pursuits.
“Never in a million years would I have thought I could have been mixed up
in anything like this.”
T.S. Eliot licked his chops and went back to eating.
“Enjoy your breakfast?”
Just then the front door chimed the theme from CATS.
Rachelle looked at T.S., “Who could that be? Seth?
She went to the door and opened it.
A woman, black rain coat hanging loosely from her shoulders, red hair ratted
around a hateful gaze,
that F-word lady friend of Seth's
, stared at her.
Rachelle said, “May I help you.”
“I'm Laura Toth, we need to talk.”
“I beg your pardon.”
Laura pushed past her into the house.
Rachelle closed the door and followed her to the great room.
T.S.'s tail fluffed twice its size, his ear erect, his eyes wide orbs,
he bolted upstairs.
Laura turned to face Rachelle. “So you're the famous Dr. Zannes.”
“I don't know about famous.”
“You know me.”
“Photographer perhaps?”
“Hah, you know. What did he tell you?”
“I don't have the faintest idea of what you are babbling about.”
“Hah. I just think you should know about persona Seth Trudow.”
“Oh?”
“I know what's going on.”
“Nothing is going on.”
“Hah, just be warned, he's a wicked person, uses women, he promised to marry
me, used me, fucked me every which way from Monday, then he threw me aside,
like a dirty rag. He's evil I tell you, and he'll do the same to you.”
“I think you better leave.”
“Hah, has he asked you to model for him?”
A blank stare from Rachelle.
“He has … you have haven't you? Did he start with a portrait? Hah, wait
till he gets your tits hanging out, your cunt hairs frosted.”
“You are going to have to leave this instant or I'm going to call the police.”
“Hah.”
Rachelle went to the door and opened it. “Now.”
“Roskin ross, rose in rot.” Laura swept past her and spit on the door
step.
The encounter steeled in her mind, for Rachelle the rest of the day
plowed through that famous hole in time like carnival bumper cars out of
control. She couldn't believe what Laura had said of Seth. She knew his soft
warmth, compassion, his touch, his lips … never.
Despite the craziness of everything, all she knew for certain, she
wanted him. She decided, she would ask him tonight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Monday evening, a half moon cast hoary light across Lake Lansing. Rachelle
showered for half an hour, shaved her legs, shampooed her hair and dried
herself with a fluffy white towel. She then blow-dried her hair free, full, and
loose. Finished, she inserted a fresh cervical cap, powdered, perfumed and began
to dress by pulling on pink panties. Picking up a bra, she paused. She put the
bra down and removed the panties. She dressed in navy-blue walking shorts with
an elastic top, sleeveless white blouse, and slipped on weave fashion sandals.
Before she departed, she checked to be sure the answering machine was on and
left her cell phone on the kitchen counter.
T.S. eyeing her like he knew exactly what was going on, she poured him
a bowl of milk. He walked away. She said to him, “No matter what, you are still
number one in my heart.”
Amazed at how calm she felt, this was right, she went to her car,
backed out of the garage and pressed the remote that closed the door. Scant
traffic on the streets at 11:30 P.M., the evening warm and still, the half moon
hanging overhead, the stars bright, she drove to the M.S.U. campus.
What if he doesn't show up? He will
.
She parked in a visitor's lot not far from the Red Cedar. She checked
the time, 12:02, and began a leisurely walk to her Rodin Spot.
The night unseasonably warm, the moon a slice of gold in star pricked purple,
hands in her front pockets, she thought,
I knew I'd be here even last Friday
when I left his apartment.
She saw him sitting on the grass near the water at her Rodin spot. A
light colored short sleeve shirt and white Bermuda shorts reflected the
moonlight.
She sat beside him.
Staring into the rippling water, he said, “I knew you'd be late.”
“You are bad.”
He looked up at the sky, “I think the first night must have been like
this.”
She said, “Guess who visited me this afternoon?”
He looked at her.
“Laura.”
“You're kidding me. What did she want?”
Studying his face, she didn't want to talk about Laura. She wanted to touch
him. She did. His lips with her fingertips. She had been over this a million
ways, counted every moment from which way and the fact that she was here said
volumes. He touched her hand. Numbness went through her.
He said, “What did she....”
Touching his lips more firmly, “Seth, fill me, please.”
He took her face in his hands and kissed her.
Gliding effortlessly, slipping, floating, slowing, sinking, round
circles enlarging, her arms hung loosely to the ground, weak, she whispered,
“Oh dear Seth, I love you.”
His lips brushed over her cheeks, touched her nose, lips. He found her hungry,
open and sweet. She molded her arms around him, pulled him to her, lay back on
the grass.
Seth moved his hands beneath her blouse and touched her breasts. She
pulled her blouse up. He kissed gently. She reached and with a firm hand
brought him out. He pushed his hand beneath the elastic of her shorts.
She sat up, whispered. “Not
here, come with me.” She took him by the hand, led him to a nearby wooded area,
a secluded nook, took her blouse off, spread it on the soft floor of grass, sat
on it, arms outstretched to him.
Seth knelt at her side and she laid back. He pulled her shorts off and
began kissing her thighs.
Wanting him to think she had never been kissed there before like that,
and she hadn't quite like this, his soft lips were too much, “Seth, don't.”
Her back arched telling him to continue, he did. Soft whispers more
frequent, she began pulsing, tugged at his hair gently. “Seth, come here.” She
pulled his face to hers and kissed him. More than she could stand, she pulled
at his shorts.
He stood, undressed quickly, over her, they swayed, in control, out of
control, controlled … a furious collision then peace.
After a time, spent, she whispered, “This is insane, totally insane.”
Desire again welled up in her. But again concerned what he might think,
she started to move but he pulled her back and they again engulfed each other.
After a time, she whispered, “This is insane, totally insane.” Desire
again welled up, and they engulfed each other.
****
Spent, lying beside her, he put his arm around her. She laid her head
on his chest and had her way with him.
Then she straddled him and looked down at him. “You realize we are in deep
trouble, don't you.”
He smiled.
More time passed and as they lay quietly, Rachelle knew she had not
only found her triple threat, she had captured him. Then she whispered, “So
tell me about Laura.”
“You tell me.”
She told him what Laura had said.
“She’s insane, I never….”
She touched his lips, “I believe you.”
“Where’s Carl?”
“Washington … D.C.”
Seth: “We going to sleep here tonight?”
“What’s that line, my place or yours.”
“Mine.”
“You sure another ‘friend’ isn’t there?”
“We could do Motel 8.”
“Your place, I’ll drive unless you wanted to take a bus.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Tuesday's sunrise casting a pink glow over everything, Rachelle left Seth's
apartment. Driving to Lake Lansing, her Saab seemed to float over the pavement
and, as she passed a billboard advertising a local bank's Great Escape
promotion, she had a thought.
Home, entering the kitchen, T.S. meowed loudly, smelled her, rubbed her
legs. She picked him up. He looked at her with wide eyes.
“Were you lonely?” She put him down and checked the kitchen telephone.
The machine blinked with seven messages, ID showed all from Area Code
202.
Has to be Washington D.C.. She erased them all without listening.
After she fed T.S., she took a hot shower, put on a swimsuit and made a
cup of almond cappuccino. Reading the paper, the phone rang. She closed her
eyes and, without looking, picked up before the answer message kicked on.
“Hello.”
“I've been trying to call you all night!”
“Oh, I was on campus late, very late, work, took a sail with T.S.,
swam, fell asleep so so soundly,” she took a sip of cappuccino and began
coughing.
“What's the matter?”
“Cappuccino went down the wrong pipe, still going to Spain?”
“Plan to. Yeah.”
Certain she should not be concerned what he thought, that great escape idea
on her mind, just-in-case, she lied, “Oh, I forgot to tell you, there's a
seminar workshop, Ann Arbor, I think I'm going to go for a couple days.”
“When?”
“This week.”
“Where you be staying?”
“Not sure.”
“Not sure ... what if I need to call you?”
“Cell phone will be with me night and day.”
“Yeah, when it’s on, leave it on.”
“Well, have a good Senate hearing and a safe flight to España.”
“Yeah.”
“When will you be returning?”
Pause, “What's that mean?”