Lafayette Hills

Mary shook her head.

"No," she said, her voice sounding very far away. "No, you wouldn't, would you? I mean, how could you?"

Mary's eyes followed the journal, held tightly in Mrs. Longley's right hand, as the older woman gesticulated, waved, and pointed.

"You're the observer. The witness. You are outside of it all." Then she stopped and peered at Mary. "I envy you. I do."

"Me?" Mary asked.

Mrs. Longley waved her hand, as if to dismiss the question, as she moved to a cabinet just inside the living room and poured a thick amber liquid into a small glass cup. "Do you drink?"

Mary shook her head, but when the other woman didn't look to see it she said, "No."

"Suit yourself," she added, as she moved into the kitchen and pulled two ice cubes from the freezer. "I trust that I have your... discretion when it comes to the things you've seen?"

Mary furrowed her brow. "I'm... No. I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Good." She smirked as she raised the glass to her lips, took a sip, and then swirled the ice round and round within the cup. "He has no idea, of course."

"...You mean Mr. Longley?"

The older woman chuckled as she looked around. "He spends all his time at work. Work, work work. Such a busy little bee, flitting here and there. He thinks I don't know, but I know."

Mary blinked. "Know what?"

She took a longer sip and stared, across the back patio and into their small, tree-lined yard. "All his business trips. I bet he has a woman in every town. Sometimes I think I might not even be his only wife."

"I don't..." Mary swallowed and cleared her throat. "I don't know about any of that."

"Where are my manners," Mrs. Longley said. She ran the tip of her finger along the oak cabinet. "He makes a good living. I'm comfortable, if a bit lonely. What do I have to complain about, really?"

"I could be your friend."

For the rest of her life, Mary was never quite sure why she said that. She attributed it, at various times, to the woman's sudden depressing turn or her own relative isolation, but neither of those constituted the whole of it and she refused to acknowledge that it was, in any way, a last gasp of self-preservation.

"Oh you sweet girl," Mrs. Longley laughed, but she looked long and hard at Mary over the rim of her glass as she swallowed the rest of the dark liquid. Then she took a deep breath, drew herself up, and summoned perhaps the most regal demeanor and posture Mary had ever seen. "I tell you what. Why don't you come by tonight, around nine pm. That's not too late, is it?"

"I can be out until ten," Mary said, proudly.

"You are precious," the older woman purred. "Nine o'clock sharp. Just come on in, and we'll talk more then."

She thrust out Mary's journal, and smiled when Mary practically leapt across the room to grab it. The relief at having it in her hands was almost too much to contain, so she gave the older woman a simple nod before awkwardly darting out into the morning sun. She looked back, just as she mounted her bike, to see Mrs. Longley standing in her front door, waving. Any of her usual writing spots would do for the next section she had planned.

***

As had often happened in her life, Mary lost track of time while writing. In her room, after dinner, was an entire world where her imagination allowed her to escape from reality, but when she looked over at the clock and saw that it was four past nine, she jumped up from her desk with a squeak and was out the door before her parents could offer protest.

The sides of Digby Street were marked by concrete sidewalks, and green strips lined by alternating dogwood trees and street lights. It was usually her pattern to weave back and forth, while on her bike, from dogwood shadow to dogwood shadow and avoid the yellow glow the lamps cast down, but she didn't bother stopping for her bike at all and simply ran across the street and down four houses.

The porchlights were on at the Longley house and, as she had been instructed, Mary simply walked in. She made it one step inside, with her hand still on the handle, before she came to a stop with her eyes open wide.

There, on all fours in the middle of the room and looking right at her, was Mrs. Longley. Though her hair was immaculate in a coiled bun high upon the back of her head, her makeup intact and in full effect, and a string of pearls still around her neck, she was otherwise naked. Her long, lean legs were spread slightly to either side to accommodate the man behind her as he thrust into her repeatedly and without pause. With every push, Mrs. Longley's small breasts bounced and swirled. The man's face was contorted into a hilarious, fixed expression of effort, with his cheeks and forehead reddened and dotted with perspiration. He hadn't noticed Mary but Mrs. Longley had, and the longer the older woman locked eyes with her the more Mary's discomfort increased.

However uncomfortable she felt, she remained rooted and still until a car drove by nearly a minute later, sounding much louder in the foyer for the open door. At that point, the man awoke from his rhythmic trance and shouted wordlessly. Before he could do anything, though, Mrs. Longley held out a hand as if to ward him off.

"Mary," she said, her panting giving what would otherwise be a simple address a more sultry tone. "Could you please wait outside?"

Mary blinked, and though she intended to nod her head she made no such movement. Instead she backed out onto the porch in a daze and sat down on the concrete patio with her shoes in the grass. Behind her, in hushed, harsh tones, they carried out a version of a conversation Mary had overheard countless times in her life wherein two adults who thought they knew better tried to figure out what they were going to do about her, or with her. The only difference was that this time only one of them seemed to be arguing.

Mary tried not to eavesdrop, a task made harder by the fact that she'd forgotten to close the front door. Her parents had often tried to dissuade her from the people watching she did, arguing not incorrectly that those being watched or listened to would not appreciate her doing so, but they did not understand.

Watching was how Mary learned everything.

After a few minutes, Mrs. Longley came out and sat down next to her, now dressed in the same nightgown and robe she'd worn that morning. The red polish on the older woman's toenails was pristine. Her mother had once told her that only whores wore red, but she couldn't imagine why that would be or what kind of system would enforce such a rule. It also struck her, there in that moment, that the innkeeper's wife, the woman whom Mary had based on her own mother, was an intensely jealous woman. It seemed quite the coincidence.

None of that truly distracted her, but it did serve to settle her nerves ahead of the lecture she was sure to get.

"Oh, look over there," Mrs. Longley said, pointing toward the stop sign at the intersection of Digby and Poplar street. "Isn't that interesting?"

Mary squinted into the dark, seeing nothing, and when she turned back to the older woman to say as much she saw a man scurrying out of the shadows beside the Longley home and onto the sidewalk, where he promptly adjusted his pace to give the appearance he had been walking the whole time. Mary tilted her head as she watched him go, still tugging his clothes into place, and only when he passed out of sight did she really begin to think about it.

"That was Mr. Stevens."

"It was," Mrs. Longley said with a smile. Ice rattled against glass as she sipped on something that left a sting in Mary's nostrils. Smoke wafted into the night air from a cigarette in her other hand. "Unless I miss my mark, he is either the Cardinal, the Vizier, or someone I haven't seen yet."

"The Cardinal," Mary said softly, still staring down the street.

The older woman smiled wider. "I had hoped so. You know, usually I go to him for this sort of thing, at his home while his wife is at one of her charitable engagements, but I convinced him to come to me this time."

The math was clear. "For me?"

Mrs. Longley said nothing, but her eyes twinkled as she took a longer sip. "Can I offer you a drink?"

"No, thank you," Mary replied mechanically.

The older woman shrugged, and then smiled even wider as she leaned forward. "So... now that you've seen that, what will happen?"

"The Cardinal is one of the King's most trusted advisors," Mary said, speaking almost as quickly as she was thinking, "and his strongest supporter. He wouldn't betray the King... which means he has no idea the Marchioness is one of the leaders of the rebellion."

"I like that."

"He wouldn't go to her for information, and he wouldn't go to her if he knew how many others she had seduced... which means... he's in love with her. And has been for a long time. How did I not see that?"

"Fascinating," Mrs. Longley whispered.

Mary suddenly took a deep breath, coming out of her head for a lucid moment, and looked over. "Did you see that you're the head of intelligence?"

"What must it be like to be in your mind?"

Mary blinked, not understanding how that in any way answered her question, and shook her head. "The Marchioness has a great many men come to see her for various reasons. For the most part, none of them really want to know where they fit into her life. Generals, rogues, mercenaries."

"Do you know how good it is to see a woman like her leaving her mark on your story, let alone one inspired by me?"

"I'd never really thought about it," Mary said quietly.

"It's subversive, and I love it." Mrs. Longley drained the rest of her glass and sighed happily. "Are you sure I can't offer you a drink?"

"No, thank you."

"So, the Marchioness."

"Yes?"

"She is, perhaps... a double agent or some such?"

Mary nodded. "Before his death, the Marquess had often entertained members of the nobility, and the Marchioness made many contacts at those events. Now she's like a spy... that has sex."

"Like James Bond."

"Who?"

Mrs. Longley smiled and shook her head. "I couldn't help but notice how detailed the sex was."

"Yeah, I—" Mary cut off abruptly, and her eyes grew wide. It felt like her blood cooled ten degrees in her veins in the blink of an eye.

"Very detailed, and very accurate."

She did not think that 'sorry' would be appropriate, and so she said nothing.

"You know what else I noticed about the sex?"

Mary shook her head.

"There's very little... sensation. A lot of action, and a lot of passion, which is a credit to you, but it's also a little flat. Tell me, have you ever had sex or have you only ever watched me?"

Mary opened her mouth to say the latter, but could not get her tongue to form the words. She knew that watching was wrong. Her parents had reminded her of that often, though they did not truly know the extent of it.

"I thought so," Mrs. Longley said with a smile. "I'm going to go inside and freshen up before bed."

"Okay," Mary said, standing quickly.

"Mary?"

Mary turned and looked down, hesitant to make direct eye contact.

"I don't mind that you watched. In fact, you might even say I leave the curtains open for a reason."

Once again, Mary had the distinct impression that she herself was being observed, as she stared back in slack-jawed wonder.

"Will you come back tomorrow?"

"Y...yes."

"Alright." The older woman smiled as she stood and reached for her front door. "Until then."

"Goodbye," Mary said, waving awkwardly.

Mary ambled down the sidewalk, legs moving largely of their own accord. It didn't seem possible that she had just been given permission to watch every time Mrs. Longley had sex, which by her accounting was quite frequent, but the implication had been strong. In her years of watching all around the neighborhood she had only ever been lucky enough to catch one other couple engage in sex, and there had been precious little to be gleaned from that brief coupling. Whenever Mrs. Longley spent time with one of her paramours, there was a flow to it. Setup and tension. Plot and progression. Release.

She didn't know what part of that she was missing for Mrs. Longley to have picked up on her virginity so quickly, but it did stand to reason that some aspect of the sexual experience would be lost on her from twenty feet away. She wasn't sure how she could get much closer, but the older woman had seemed sufficiently casual about the subject that Mary thought she could ask some pointed questions.

Figuring out what questions to ask was a morning problem, so as she crossed the street Mary turned her mind toward the implications of the Cardinal and the Marchioness for the Kingdom of Ahleran. Clearly the Cardinal was quite smitten to have risked his position to be with her, but that also meant that the emotions were entirely one-sided. The Marchioness enjoyed her dalliances, but only to a point and always with a larger goal in mind.

Or does she? Mary thought. She stopped as she stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of her house and looked back. The porch lights were off at the Longley house, and all the windows were dark. So engrossed was she in unravelling the mystery that was Penelope Longley that she didn't hear the footsteps behind her until it was too late.

"Hey," rasped a man's voice.

Mary whirled. The man grabbed her forearm in an iron grip, and no matter how she tugged and pulled he would not let go. She whined as she leaned away, feeling her flight response more powerfully than she ever had in her life.

"You and I need to have a little chat," Mr Stevens said. His thick moustache trembled; aside from that she couldn't make out much of his features in the dark, though for once in her life Mary was barely watching. All her thought was bent on getting free. "Whatever you think you saw, you didn't. You hear me?"

But Mary did not hear him. Not really. She pulled and grunted, and tried to twist her arm this way and that without result. Mr. Stevens was much bigger than her, and much stronger.

Both of them turned and gasped as the lights turned on above the front step of her house.

"Evening, Allan," her father said, as he opened the screen door.

The grip on her wrist vanished as soon as her father mentioned the man by name. Mary put her opposite hand over the bruise and tucked both arms tight against her body as she put two steps of distance between her and Mr. Stevens.

"James," Mr. Stevens said brusquely. "Just having a word with your daughter here."

"Oh, yeah?" Her father strode across the grass, and Mary backed up a little bit more once so little of the focus was on her. The two men seemed to size each other up instinctively. Mary's father had served in Korea, and Mr. Stevens had clearly not. "What about?"

"She was... watching me." Mr. Stevens brow furrowed as he talked. "Like she always does."

"You been drinking tonight, Allan?"

"It's weird is what I'm sayin', and people don't like it."

"Strange people are changing the world," Mary blurted defensively, though she wished she could take it back when both men turned to her and stared.

After a moment, her father turned back to the other man and said, "It's late, Allan. Why don't you go on home."

Mr. Stevens shot her a parting glare before setting off down the concrete sidewalk. Her father watched him for a few seconds more before turning back toward the house and putting an arm around Mary.

"You walked on the grass," Mary said, trying desperately to sound like she might not have been crying. The sniffling seemed to be a dead giveaway, but Mary still did her best. "You never walk on the grass." He also told her never to walk on the grass, but Mary had a hard time abiding by that rule. She was often so deep in her own head that she only paid the most minor attention to her path between points A and B.

Her father was silent as they climbed the front steps, and then he made a point of locking the deadbolt behind them. Mary had never seen him lock the deadbolt. When he looked at her, Mary was sure he was going to say something, but his features kept shifting and she didn't know how to prepare herself. It wouldn't be the first time she'd been yelled at.

"If he ever grabs you again like that, you'll tell me?"

Mary nodded emphatically.

"Has anyone else ever grabbed you like that?"

"No."

"Okay," he said with a sigh, and, seemingly summoning a smile at the last moment, added "How about some ice cream before bed?"

Mary nodded again, and allowed herself to be herded into the kitchen.

***

Mary set off early the next morning, just after dawn. She was conscious of turning left onto Digby, away from the Longley house, as she started pedalling. There were a few spots along one of the little creeks that fed into the Wabash River that she thought would suit her writing, but her mind would not settle from the events of the night before. Mary had not often encountered writer's block in any form, and on that morning she was woefully unprepared for it. In fact, she'd been hoping that writing would help with her anxiety, but instead the lack of the former contributed to an increase of the latter.

After an hour of staring impotently across the river at the few buildings on the Purdue campus that reached above the treetops, Mary gave up and got back on her bike. She pedaled aimlessly until her stomach started to rumble at which point she headed directly towards home, not realizing that this would take her past the Longley house until she was passing it.

Mrs. Longley was sitting on her porch in a white and yellow sundress, sunglasses, and big floppy hat, and she waved as Mary rode by. Mary was all set to continue riding past, but it was not within her ability to ignore someone calling her name, which Mrs. Longley did. Her mother had taught her that.

"Come," Mrs. Longley said, waving offhandedly at another chair beside her. "Sit with me a while, dear."

Mary nodded and trudged up the slight incline in the front yard, a feature that all the houses on the other side of the street had. She sat down, knees together, and placed her hands very carefully at mid-thigh. Once she was settled, she looked over and could not help but notice how much more relaxed the older woman was.

"Can I offer you a drink?"

"No," Mary said. "Thank you."

The older woman shrugged nonchalantly, recrossed her legs in the opposite direction, and shifted in her seat to lean over the armrest and whisper, "You were right."

"Oh, good." Mary nodded, instinctively tilting her head forward to let her frizzy curls fall in front of her face. Asking follow-up questions always took some building of courage, and it was easier when no one could see how conflicted she was about it. "What about?"

"He loves me. Can you believe it? Called me last night after that business on your front lawn and asked me to run away with him!" She laughed and sipped from the glass in her hand. "Of course I said no."

"Oh, good," Mary said, instantly regretting repeating herself. It took effort to vary her speech and not give the same few answers to every question she was asked, but the effort usually paid dividends in avoiding the disdainful scrutiny of others.

"Can you imagine?" she laughed. "Penelope Stevens?" She clucked her tongue in disapproval and took another sip.

"You heard what happened? All the way over here?"

"It's a quiet street, dear, and I always sleep with the windows open. The night air here agrees with me."

Mary tried to keep her posture, but it was hard to keep from curling in on herself. She had not really processed the incident yet, and the whole thing made her uncomfortable.

"How did you know how he felt?" Then, before Mary could formulate a response, Mrs. Longley continued by saying, "I have a theory, actually. I think you're tapping into higher states of consciousness."