Salvation in the Sargasso Sea Ch. 02

"Oh, it's over, alright."

"Maybe so, but there are loose ends and hard feelings. You don't want to carry them around with you, trust me. Use this opportunity to clean house and say a proper goodbye. I wish I could have said goodbye to Lisa."

Marla suddenly understood what Jon was trying to say. Like the sargassum in the sea, Angel had reached up from the depths and grabbed her ankle. If she was to continue forward, she had to free herself from this entanglement.

"Alright. I'll drive up to Seattle tomorrow morning."

"You won't regret it." He squeezed her hand.

"I'll need to pack a few things. Is it OK if I just go to my apartment tonight? I'm sorry. I know you were looking forward to some play time, but I'm feeling a bit distracted. Will you take a rain check?"

Jon gazed into her watery eyes and silently nodded in agreement.

*

~ A Fallen Angel ~

The white Dodge Charger surged forward when Marla pressed on the accelerator pedal. The 5.7 liter Hemi V-8 barely altered its throaty growl as the speedometer blew through seventy-five. Jon had warned her about the beast's penchant for attracting the state police. She decided to back down and set the cruise control for sixty-five.

Her morning had not gone well. Schizo, apparently hallucinating, had attacked and bitten her bare foot at five a.m. Limping through the darkness to the bathroom, she stubbed her other foot on the door jamb. The one-two punch put her on the floor in tears. She and her overnight bag finally made it out the door by nine, only to discover that her Saturn station wagon refused to start again. In sheer frustration, she pounded on the steering wheel, bruising her hand.

The XM satellite radio was set for channel forty-five, an alternative rock station. Marla had never owned a car with a nice stereo system, let alone a new car like this. Jon's generosity was quite unexpected when she called him for help, and now she was feeling guilty. He had effectively traded his new muscle car for her crappy station wagon without even batting an eye. She questioned his judgment, given that she was going to see an old lover, but he just shrugged off her concern. He had said, "It's the Charger or the Dakota, take your pick."

It was just past three in the afternoon when she arrived at the Grand Hyatt Seattle. Located next to the Washington State Convention Center, it was the most convenient place for out-of-towners to stay. On Saturday afternoon, however, it was more like a ghost town. After parking, she grabbed her bag and walked through the hotel lobby, heading straight for the lounge.

As expected, she found Angel sitting at the bar. Hesitating slightly, she girded herself and walked in.

"Angel?" she tentatively called out.

"Marla! Oh, honey, I'm so glad you're here. I thought maybe you had changed your mind. Come over here." Angel's raspy voice lifted with excitement.

"Sorry I'm late. I had some car trouble." Marla dropped her bag and embraced her.

Five straight hours of visualization had failed to prepare her for this moment. All of the expected old feelings simultaneously rushed through her. Good and bad memories collided, leaving her dizzy inside Angel's embrace. Noticeably absent, however, was the calm she used to feel when cradled to her bosom.

"That's my girl. You're looking well," Angel said, slowly climbing back into the chair.

Angel, on the other hand, did not look well. She had put on weight, more than one would expect for a forty-five year old woman. It wasn't the weight that bothered Marla, she had also gained a few pounds, it was her color. Gone were the rosy cheeks and glowing skin that had defined Marla's memory. Now slightly ashen, her complexion betrayed poor health, and her voice confirmed the continued dependence on tobacco and alcohol.

"It's good to see you, too. How have you been?" Marla replied.

"Oh, things are good. It's been awful busy at Queensborough; the enrollment numbers for all of CUNY are way up. Nothing boosts college attendance like a bad recession. I'm here for the Community College convention."

"That's great to hear. I'm working at OSU now, in the Psychology department, supporting the research laboratories."

"Not the Music department? I figured you'd be running the show by now."

"Not with just an undergraduate degree. I'm only qualified to change violin strings. I get my music fix from playing rock and roll. The Psych department is really fun, lots of crazy people."

"Always the joker," Angel said, tipping back her Chablis. She motioned to the bartender for a refill. "So what else is new?"

Marla knew where this question was leading, but she wasn't prepared to go there yet.

"Well, the Flaming Rose Band is doing really well. We've got a lot of gigs booked and we just finished a mini tour. It's become a pretty steady project."

"I'm happy to hear that. You always enjoyed the music scene in the Village. How about you, personally? I got the impression you're involved."

Marla's preparation had covered this expected query.

"Not seriously. I've met a lot of people at work and through the band. My circle of friends is growing. Nothing overtly romantic."

Angel studied her face for any sign of renewed interest. Marla's downcast eyes told her everything she needed to know.

"I see. Well, good for you. Hey, have you eaten today? How about we go get some chow?"

"Let's go, I'm starved," Marla answered truthfully.

They walked the two blocks from the hotel to the Red Fin sushi bar. It was still early enough to get a table without a reservation. Angel offered to pay for dinner, but Marla insisted on paying half. After a meal featuring lots of sake, they window shopped some boutiques. The movie theater was showing the Argentinean film, 'The Secret in Their Eyes', so they decided to catch the early show. Eventually, they ended up at Re-Bar, a nearby alternative nightclub.

"Don't you ever miss the City?" Angel asked, tipping back her second Long Island iced tea.

"Sometimes," Marla answered. She was still nursing her Guinness stout. "The pace is slower here; a lot less stress."

"You'll have to come back and visit. Sheila and Cherry still ask about you. Did you know they got married last year?"

"No, I didn't know that. I'm so happy for them. They seem made for each other."

"Just like how we used to be?"

Marla looked into her bleary eyes, working up the courage to speak her mind.

"Angel, what we had together was wonderful and special. You took such good care of me in my time of need; I'll always cherish that. But then you started drinking. I'm sorry to rehash all of this again, but it's the reason why I left you. You became abusive and a stranger to me. That mommy-daughter game we played was fun at first, but the more you drank, the sicker it became. You hurt me, Angel, physically and emotionally. I had to run away, to save myself."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I'm feeling better now. The therapy has helped me deal with my anger."

"But you're still drinking. You're drunk right now. Honey, it's going to kill you, slowly but surely. Nothing is going to change until you get better. You need to check yourself in, before it's too late. Do it for us, do it for yourself. Please?"

Angel's therapy apparently had some positive effect: she broke down in tears instead of exploding in anger. Marla hated having to intervene, but she couldn't stand by as a codependent any longer. She still cared for her, loved her even though she was no longer in love.

*

~ Radar Love ~

The dashboard clock glowed an iridescent blue. It was two-fifteen in the morning and Marla was beating her forehead on the steering wheel, weeping tears of anger and frustration. They had taken a taxi back to the hotel; Angel was too drunk to walk the six blocks. Once they were in her room, the anger had returned when Marla refused her sexual advances. Angel had slapped her, knocking her down and leaving a bruise on her face. Marla's lasting memory would be of Angel screaming at her as she ran down the hallway.

The radio played Brandi Carlile as the windshield wipers beat out a rhythm. Ordinarily, she would have enjoyed Brandi's lamenting point of view, but right now, it was simply too much. Struggling to maintain control, she made it as far as Olympia before she had to stop. The sign for Exit 99 promised twenty-four hour service at the Restover Truck Plaza. She parked in front of Deanna's and tried the door: it was open.

"Hello?" Marla's voice echoed around the empty restaurant.

"Just a minute," came an answer from the kitchen.

Marla sat down at the counter just as the older woman appeared.

"Well, hello there. What brings you out at this hour on a Sunday morning?" the woman asked, drying her hands on a towel.

"Going home. Thought I'd stop for a bit and rest."

"Coffee?" She didn't wait for an answer before pouring a cup.

"Yes, thank you. Could I also have a sweet roll, please?"

Deanna brought the pastry and noticed the bruise on her face. It was pretty obvious what had happened.

"Did he hit you, darling? I can call the police if you want me to."

"Who? Oh. Um, no. I'm OK, really." Marla rubbed her cheekbone wondering just how bad it really was.

"You don't have to put up with his abuse, you know. You were smart to get the hell out of there."

"You're right, I'm not going back."

After finishing her coffee and using the restroom, Marla got back into the car and headed south on I-5. Feeling rejuvenated, she changed the radio to channel fifty-four, a heavy-metal station. They were playing deep cuts from the new Alice in Chains CD. She didn't realize that they had made a new album after their reunion concert for the Asian tsunami victims. The current track was displayed on the receiver: 'Your Decision'. The tragic irony of her situation was reflected in the lyrics:

"Time to change has come and gone. Watched your fears become your god. It's your decision."

As Marla listened to Duvall's vocals and Cantrell's guitar solo, she realized this was a song her band could easily cover. It would fit right in with 'Zombie', in both mood and musical key. With two hands gripping the wheel and her brain in tape recorder mode, she pushed the Charger up to eighty-five.

*

~ Plum Pudding ~

Marla shut the engine off and grabbed her things from the front seat. Jon's house was dark and there was no sign of her car here, either. It had taken her a moment to realize that her car was missing when she pulled up to her apartment. In her haste to leave, she had forgotten to take her house key; it was on the same ring with her car key. With no way to get into her apartment, and her cell phone discharged, her only option was to drive here. Ringing his doorbell had proved fruitless, so Marla settled back into the car to await his return.

Jon rode up on his bicycle at eight-thirty and found her sleeping in the front seat.

"Marla!" he called out.

She stirred and opened her eyes. Squinting into the bright sunlight, she could only make out his silhouette.

"Jon? Is that you?"

"I didn't expect to see you until later tonight." He pushed the garage door opener clipped to his waistband.

"I came back early," she yawned.

"My God, Marla, you look awful. What the hell happened?"

Awful was probably an understatement. The night of drinking, fighting, crying, and driving had taken its toll. She followed him through the garage and into the kitchen.

"Well, that didn't go as planned," she said, dropping her bag and plopping down at the table. "Where's my car? Do you have my keys?"

"I had your car towed over to Clayton's yesterday. They said it was a faulty ignition module. It'll be ready tomorrow afternoon. Your keys are right here on the counter."

Jon pulled off his helmet and filled two glasses with water. Marla stared at him in shocked disbelief.

"Jon! Your ponytail. You cut your hair."

He fluffed the medium length mop of brown and white hair with his hand. A Cheshire Cat grin spread across his face.

"What do you think? Do you like it?"

"Yes, but all that hair. It took so long to grow. Why?"

"I don't know. I was thinking about your tattoo and the hair style you visualized for me. I thought, what the hell, I need to make a change, too. They were able to save the ponytail for Locks of Love."

"I'm stunned. I don't know what to say."

Marla rubbed her aching head and drank some water. The left side of her face was a mosaic of red and purple.

"Were you in a fight? You're all bruised. For God's sake, what happened last night?" The tone of his voice highlighted his concern.

"I'll tell you about it later. Right now, I just want to clean up."

Jon led her upstairs to the private bath attached to the master bedroom. The suite was ridiculously huge; larger than the living room in her apartment.

"There's a walk-in shower and a whirlpool tub, take your pick. Shampoo is in the shower. I'll get you a clean towel and a toothbrush."

"Thank you so much, I really appreciate this. Are you going to join me?"

"Maybe later. Let's get you cleaned up first." Jon held her head in his hands and kissed her forehead.

The sound and rhythm of the hot water sent Marla into a dreamy state. The sting from the bruise and the memory of its birth melted away, like dirty snow in an April shower. As she washed her hair with the apple-scented herbal shampoo, she remembered this smell from Jon's hair. She began to regret leaving him alone Friday night. Maybe things would have turned out differently if they had made love. Probably not, but it wouldn't have hurt. She spotted a razor and decided to groom herself, hoping he wouldn't mind her body hair dulling his blades. A final rinse with the hand-held shower head cleared away the soapy remnants. The pulsating beads of water lingered over her clitoris and anus, arousing her much more than she anticipated. She hoped he was still hungry for dessert.

She walked downstairs dressed in the white terrycloth robe that was laid out for her. Like her keys, her dirty clothes had mysteriously disappeared. The enticing aroma of breakfast lured her into the kitchen.

"Hungry?" Jon asked, flipping the French toast on the griddle. Breakfast sausages were frying in another pan.

"Starved. So, you can cook, clean, and do laundry. Do you do windows, too?"

Marla sat down at the table and sipped a glass of orange juice. The domestic scene she found herself a part of seemed surreal.

"Yup. Windows, doors, and floors; I can do it all," he bragged, setting a plate of hot food in front of her. "If you've got an itch, I can make it twitch."

"I'm counting on it."

Jon's bragging was justified; the French toast was perfectly cooked. He refilled her juice and served up seconds before sitting down with his own plate. The simple pleasure of a home-cooked meal was therapeutic.

"You're spoiling me, you know. I'm going to start expecting this kind of pampering," she continued.

"Good. I think you could use some pampering."

"But you're spending way too much money on me. First, there was the Supro and the Glenlivet, then the dinners and the cash. Now you've loaned me your new car and fixed my Saturn. I can't repay this generosity."

"I don't want you to repay me. This is what I want to do, it's who I am." Jon leaned back in his chair. "Look, I've got a lot of money. More than I need, really. I don't have any children to support, or family in the area. The house is paid for. I've got all the toys I can possibly use, what's left? Then our paths crossed and I was awestruck. I haven't felt this way since, well, you know, since Lisa. I can't help but behave this way, it's the caretaker in me."

She silently picked at her plate. There was nothing she could contribute, nothing meaningful to add.

"Hey, can I see your tattoo?" he asked.

Marla lifted her eyes and smiled mischievously. Slipping the robe off her shoulders, she turned to her left. The snake seemed to leap out from her right shoulder blade, the bold ink accentuated by the bright daylight. Jon slid his chair over and gently ran his fingertips over her skin. Goose bumps appeared on her arms, a reprise of their parlor visit.

"Would you put some Goo on me?" she asked.

"That sounds kind of kinky."

"Not that goo, you deviant. In my bag. There's a tube of ointment."

He retrieved the Goo from her bag and applied a thin layer over her artwork. Soon, his caress became more sensual and she leaned back into his arms. As she turned her head towards him, Jon leaned down and kissed her. Her loose grip on the robe slipped away and his free hand found her breast. The combination of nipple squeezing and tongue probing set her vagina flowing. Marla slid her free hand down between her legs, adding fuel to the fire.

"I'm still hungry. Come sit up here." He patted his hand on the kitchen table.

Marla's pulse quickened with the prospect of joining the menu. Leaving the robe behind, she pushed the placemat aside and parked herself up on the table. With her feet planted on the arms of his chair, she was in a perfect position.

"Eat me," she whispered. "Please?"

Jon did not need any encouragement. Wrapping his hands around her hips, he captured her clit in the vacuum between his folded tongue and upper lip.

"Oh God. Yes," she groaned, thrusting herself into his wet pocket.

Her panting quickened as her grip tightened on the back of his head. With only a nose visible between her curly rug and his shaggy mop, the gender of her lover was no longer a factor. His tongue was lapping inside and around her swelling labia, and then over her clit in an endless figure-eight pattern. The loud slurping noise confirmed its effectiveness.

"Oh yeah," Marla panted. "Yeah. That's good."

She released his head and leaned back on her elbows. His wet fingers were massaging her opening, steadily working their way inside of her. Holding her clit in his mouth, he pushed his fingertips up into the roof of her cavity. It was no longer a question of if she was going to come, only when.

"Fuck yeah! That's the spot," she gasped.

Marla lay down on the table and raised her knees, spreading herself completely. Jon interpreted her posture as a tacit request for rimming. Placing his hands on her buttocks, he spread her cheeks and swirled his tongue over her perineum and anus. He had guessed correctly.

Unable to speak, she growled her approval. He seemed to know exactly what she wanted. He dipped his fingers in some leftover maple syrup and smeared it in and around her ass. Marla struggled to find her voice.

"You fucking bastard. Do it. Make me come," she barked out the unnecessary orders.

Working up a load of saliva, he repeatedly rimmed and plunged his tongue into her maple-flavored asshole. With tingles shooting up her spine, she gave into the sheer lewdness of the act, letting her anus open and close around his rigid muscle. Marla's mind was beginning to fog, her perception of reality starting to fade.

"Fingers." The utterance was delivered with a forceful exhale. It would be the last guidance she would give before the eruption.

Jon returned his attention to her engorged clit, sucking and licking in a steady rhythm. His middle and index fingers were delivering a powerful internal vaginal massage in concert with his little finger's anal probing. His other hand held her steady against the force of her bucking hips.

Marla viciously tugged her own nipples as the final vestiges of reality slipped away. A burning sensation crept up from her toes and spread over her entire body. Hallucinations invaded her tightly closed eyes and the roar of pumping blood overwhelmed her ears. The volcano had announced its arrival.

Paralyzed, she could not stop the magma rising within her. As her body heaved, a huge contraction crushed his fingers and her asshole twitched erratically around his pinky. Sounding like a banshee, her shrieking howl filled the kitchen. Jon ignored the demon's attempt to deceive, holding her down, continuing his exorcism. The second and third eruptions soon followed, as expected.