Sera Ch. 04

Steven

The enticing Lynette, having delivered the drink I requested, wiggled her ass away as I watched, distracting me from the large, ornately framed, square paintings I'd found hanging in the front hall beyond the staircase. After she disappeared around the corner, I sighed and returned my attention to the dark curiosities.

All four of the paintings, two on each side of the hall, were done in the same grayish, crude seeming, impressionist style and depicted the same scene in four different seasons. A crop, or a field of tall grass was the focal point, and the living face at the edge of the grass made it clear that the field possessed its own awareness. In the foreground with it was a tree with some rudimentary looking structures in the background, clouds in the sky and hills in the distance.

In the winter representation, the face appeared to sleep, its eyes closed and at a dark peace. During spring and autumn, the field seemed to sneer a bit, like it knew things as it watched people toiling about nearby. In summer, a long, grassy tongue reached from its overjoyed mouth, a struggling, hapless, female victim caught up by it. Although each seasonal image was subtly disturbing in its own unique, dark way, summer had an especially chilling quality.

Still, I looked from one to another, standing in the middle of the hall with a drink in one hand, the other resting casually in the hip pocket of my dress pants. The distorted scenes took on a nightmarish quality the longer I looked at them but, beyond that, they spoke to me. They held my attention as points of interest, something like the third place winner in the window of the small Saint John gallery I saw one evening, but different.

It was almost a lure, a challenging puzzle to be figured out and I was a bit startled to realize somebody else had approached. I jumped a little as I jerked my head to the right to find Gina Green standing about three feet away, also looking at the pictures, probably after wondering what I was staring at.

"Sorry," she said with a polite glance. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," I told her, looking at the summer picture with her.

After taking a good look at all of them, she offered, "Okay, these are weird."

"I've never seen anything like this," I admitted.

I noted how dressed down she was as opposed to the day before and what a sexy little thing she really was. Kitten had good taste in women, and that was for sure.

"Me neither. ... Why does it make me think Inuit?"

I looked at the artworks again and said, "Yeah, well they do sort of have that style, but the people in them aren't dressed like the Inuit."

"Plus, the landscape is wrong. Whatever. Listen, I'm sorry we were a bit slow to pitch in and help with the big kerfuffle yesterday. Me and sl- kitten were a bit stunned at the time."

"Yeah, don't worry about it. Like me and Mum were saying earlier this morning, we were all a bit stunned at the time. Sorry about Mum too, by the way."

"No prob. There's obviously some bad blood between them."

"Yeah, well my mother is sometimes a bit intense, so..."

"That's obvious too," she said with a well-meaning smile. "But, she's cool. Lots of energy."

I smiled a bit in return but, on the inside, it was one of those moments when the heavy truth of what my mother really was seemed to crush my senses anew.

"I can imagine what you're thinking of us," I said, finally turning away from the disturbing pictures to begin walking aimlessly down the wide hall.

"Why's that?" she asked, also tearing her eyes away to come up beside me.

"We're a pretty strange family," I said with a shrug. "I mean, my Aunt Ashleigh's eccentricities spell that out well enough. Then, you got the infamous and widely hated Sheila along with Mum who'd like nothing more than to kill her."

"And you?"

I took a sip as we started up the grand staircase and smiled wider, allowing a short pause to go by before I said, "I'd rather let my dysfunctions speak for themselves."

She seemed to appreciate that as she smiled wider and nodded, but asked, "And kitten?"

I allowed another pause and answered, "Aside from the fact she's the spitting image of her mother?"

"Point taken, but every family has their little quirks. You should have seen the family I grew up in."

"You seem pretty normal."

"Don't we all? Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, I guess."

"It's kind of personal."

"Okay..."

"This... 'Burchell drive' that Ashleigh mentioned, and the thing with the staff... Are all Burchells...?"

"Horny as hell?"

"Well, yes."

We'd made our way to the top of the stairs and I could feel myself flush a little as I grinned uncomfortably, looking the other way as we continued walking.

"Sorry," she said to my hesitation.

"No, no, it's alright. I take it kitten is... driven?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Yes," I sighed. "Sheila has it, I have it, Mum has it and I'm willing to bet Ashleigh does."

"No offense, but that's probably the strangest thing about you Burchells, right there."

"No it isn't."

"Oh?"

"Not by a long shot."

She regarded me curiously, but didn't question me any further as we found ourselves entering the library, instead questioning me on something else.

"You're attracted to kitten, aren't you?"

"She's an attractive young woman."

"But... you're attracted to her," she assumed with this specific.

"She's my cousin, Gina. What are you getting at?"

"I'm just... If you knew kitten, you'd understand my concern. She may have this Burchell drive, but she's not like Sheila. She's not a whore and she has a good man and a stable life back home in Langley. I don't want to see that ruined."

"You're worried I'm going to fuck her."

"I... wouldn't have put it like that..."

"The last thing I intend on doing is fucking my cousin, no matter how attractive she is and no matter the Burchell drive. I might fuck the living daylights out of you, though. You're fair game."

These last two statements did three things. First, it entertained me. Second, I hoped it would put her mind very effectively at rest where me and kitten were concerned (I wished mine could be laid that easily to rest) and third, it produced a stunned expression from Gina.

"Uhh... Yeah, I have a man too, tiger."

I could only laugh, looking away but still pleased with myself. When I looked back, the stunned expression was still there, but there was also a slight grin as she shook her head.

"Now, can I ask you a personal question?"

"No guarantees on getting an answer after that last comment," she parried.

"Not that kind of question."

"Alright," she allowed.

"How are you with inconvenient truths?"

" ... I'm not sure what you mean."

"Well, I don't mean Al Gore. I mean... are you capable of accepting an unthinkable, or unimaginable truth and adjusting your outlook accordingly, or would you sooner run to the familiar, comfortable fool's paradise of denial?"

" ... Uhh... actually," she answered, looking at me strangely. "I'd like to think I'm pretty good with facing up and dealing, in fact, it's how I got this far in life. Why?"

I shrugged, moseying on over to the billiards table with my drink before answering, "I had this friend. We used to talk about that. She had some pretty interesting views on the subject."

"Oh?" Gina asked, that expression still on her face, but mixed with more curiosity now.

I rolled the cue ball to the opposite bank and caught it when it bounced back, saying, "She was a Pastor, so she had a more religious approach. She bowed to God as her ultimate, and sometimes, inconvenient truth."

"Sounds like she had it all sewed up."

"Yeah, Marci was cool," I said more to myself, my smile turning a bit sad as I bounced the cue ball off the opposite bank a little harder. "A very good friend who was victimized by an inconvenient truth she never would have expected because God didn't bother putting it in the bible. Luckily for her, she could run from it."

"What inconvenient truth was that?" she asked, intrigued but still looking at me funny as she walked to the end of the table.

"It's a long story, but let me put it to you like this:" I said, taking a drink from my glass before continuing. "It's like going to a beautiful ocean beach where sharks are prowling. There's no warning signs, so you have no idea about the sharks, but this is the ocean and, just because there's no warning signs doesn't mean there's no sharks. So you go in and, when you see those darting dorsal fins, you easily convince yourself that they're dolphins, cause if they were sharks, then somebody would've posted a warning sign near the canteen where you got your hotdog. So, after looking under the surface, you see things for what they are and you run out of the water, screaming, "Shark, shark!" As before, you still have the choice to go back into the water if you like, and there's always those naturalist types standing around who insist that sharks have no real interest in eating people. They assure you that the water's perfectly safe, so are you gonna stay on the sand and tan that saucy little body as you count your blessings... or take your chances and enjoy the water? As you can imagine, nobody volunteers for lifeguard duty at this beach, and nobody comes to save you when the naturalists come up wrong..."

"Uh huh. And where does your Pastor friend fit into this analogy?"

"Oh, she got a scare. Even lost a toe, but she made it out of the water in one piece and she... Well, she won't go near the water again."

" ... Alright. And your point with all this is...?"

"No real point, Gina," I sighed, rolling the cue ball to the corner pocket and in. "If there was, I suppose it'd be that there's no shame in staying out of the water."

"Hey, we're all responsible for our own decisions, right?"

I looked at her, my smile grim as I replied, "Another inconvenient truth."

There was a pause as she looked at me closely, that same expression still on her face. I closed my eyes in a long, tired blink as I casually directed my glance away and, when I looked up, Mum was just entering.

"Oh, hi, Gina. Hey, sweetie pie," she hailed.

Her mood was open and positive, but seemed slightly clouded with thought. She'd obviously just finished her meeting with Ashleigh and had things on her mind. We said hello as she walked closer, looking around the room.

"Just you two? Where's kitten?"

Gina used up the last of that lingering expression she'd had in a glance at me before answering with, "She's talking to Sheila."

" ... Ohhh. Hm. I wonder what lame excuses the old whore is feeding her?"

"I don't know, but kitten's quite adamant about keeping her at arm's length regardless."

"Smart girl. Where are you headed?"

"I was on my way to my apartment to wait for her when I ran into Steven."

Mum looked at me, smiling and said, "You look great in those clothes, sweetie pie."

"I like them, thanks."

She made a kissy with her lips and again complimented with, "Gina, you're looking very spicy today."

"Thanks," she said, flushing ever so little.

"There's a pool, you know."

"Oh?"

"Yes, you wouldn't see it from your apartment, but it looks pretty nice. Why don't we go get changed and leave a note for kitten to meet us there?"

"Sounds like a plan, but I didn't bring a swimsuit. Neither did she."

"Leave that to Aunt Kathleen, hon," Mum said as she put her arm across Gina's shoulders, turning her smiling companion towards the door. "Let's go. Steven, we'll catch up with each other later on, alright?"

"Gotcha," I returned, raising my glass to their backs as though in a toast.

Overall, it was hard to tell how Gina would react once she realized the dolphins were really sharks.

Kitten

The ageless nightclub queen had a natural ease of movement that fit her clothes, hair and makeup very well as she walked ahead of me and into a parlour she'd gestured to a moment before. Obliging, I followed her through the tall wooden doors to a very tastefully done room. There was a wet bar there and she helped herself to a mixed drink with her back to me as I sat.

"Would you like anything?" her forever hip voice asked over her shoulder.

"Vodka and orange juice, no ice."

She came and sat across from me on a black leather, wingback chair like the one I was sitting in, a careful expression on her face as she handed me my drink, and we regarded one another again.

Looking down at her glass, she said quietly with the same tone as her careful expression, "When I saw you, when I understood who you had to be... Wow."

"Me too," I replied, careful as she was. "Even though I half expected you'd be here."

"Why?"

"At first, I thought you sent the invitation because I didn't know of anybody else who would. Then, when I met Auntie Kathleen, it seemed even more likely, but she didn't believe it was you, so... Then I didn't know what to think."

"Ashleigh knows how to make an impression, that's for sure. She's either done a really good thing here, or created a disaster scenario. ... I suppose you want to know why."

I didn't reply, only cocked my head inquisitively, thinking she meant Aunt Ashleigh's family reunion.

"Why I left you and your father."

" ... No. I know why you left."

"You do, huh?"

In that moment, her expression closely resembled the Sheila in the photographs I have, that funny, tricky look that suggests she knows something others don't. She seemed to get comfortable quick.

"Yes. You left because no one man would ever satisfy you."

That disrupted her comfort level. She shifted in her seat, looking away from me again and drawing a deep breath to let out in a quiet sigh.

"Yeah, well..."

"You wanted to abort me."

Her eyes closed and I could tell that hurt.

"Why would he tell you that?" she softly demanded.

"He didn't. I found out."

Her eyes were open again, looking at the small coffee table between us as I took a sip of my drink.

"Yes, I'm a tramp. A slut, a whore, whichever term you prefer, that's me. You weren't planned and... I just couldn't have a baby along. I couldn't. And neither did I want to stick your father with one because It would have been so unfair to him after everything else, and I'd already been planning to leave when I found out I was pregnant. Look, there's no excuses I can make for myself or the choices I've made but, believe it or not, I always tried to make the right ones."

"How was running out on us with everything Daddy owned a right choice?"

"It was the only decision. Kathleen... Your father, at least back then, was a very rare breed. Even at that age, I knew almost right away that this was a true, real man, what men are supposed to be, but that didn't stop me from cheating on him. I cheated on him many times and I knew I'd do it again, and keep on doing it because I'd never be able to help it any more than I ever could before I met him. He deserved better. You deserved better. Besides, there was another woman waiting in the wings for him and... (Sigh) I cleaned him out and stole his car because he loved me. I couldn't bear the thought of how I'd tear his heart in two if I just left, so I did it in such a way that he'd hate me in the hopes it would be easier for him. Also, it guaranteed that I'd never be tempted to go back and ruin your lives. I loved him. Yes, I did. He was the only man I ever met who would have made me the queen of some little house somewhere, and he actually treated me that way instead of just wanting to fuck me. ... If only I could've had that, things would have gone so differently."

She sighed again, swirling the contents of her glass as she stared into it, adding as a finale, "What kind of mother could I ever have been to you? What kind of wife could I have been for your father? I'd have been a destructive embarrassment to you both."

I nodded silently because I could see the sense in it. She got up and walked a short distance to look at a painting of some old Indian on the wall, asking almost disinterestedly, "How's Peggy?"

"She's fine," I answered simply, now more than ever at a loss for how to take this woman.

"She was a good friend."

"She said the same about you."

"Really?" she asked, turning and showing genuine surprise in her expression.

"Yes. Well, up until the point where you fucked her husband."

Her eyes fell to the floor again before she turned and walked to the next painting, replying, "I'm aware of the things I've done, Kathleen. You don't really have to dredge them up, do you?"

"Auntie Kathleen says you should answer to the things you've done."

"Hm. Kathy... she was always such an anal retentive bitch. Self-centered control freak," she reminisced with the slightest grin. "You'd never know I was older than her by the way she'd try to boss me around all the time. She's changed a lot."

"Why does she hate you so much?"

"She doesn't hate me. She's pretty mad at me, but she'd never hate me anymore than I could ever have those feelings for her. As for why she's mad... that's between her and I."

"I could ask her and she'd probably tell me."

"Yeah, you two get on well, don't you?" she asked while looking at an oil rendition of a gypsy family within its wall mounted frame, none of them smiling. "So, go ahead and ask her. It doesn't mean I have to sit here and answer to you."

An uncomfortable silence ensued, maybe more uncomfortable for me after being shut down like that. After finishing her inspection of the gypsies, she moved on to a painting of a loincloth wearing, African native with shield and spear, taking a sip of her drink as she studied this fresh image.

"How is John, anyway?"

"He's good," I informed her. "Happy."

"Is Peggy happy?"

" ... Yes."

Still studying the native, she smiled a little again, nodding her head slightly as though she approved, then asked, "Did you wonder about me when you were growing up?"

"Not so much when I was a kid, but more when I got into my teens. I asked Daddy and Peggy about you."

"Ouch," she wryly joked, moving to a shiny, black enamel sculpture of something that looked like some kind of animal from a different planet. "Nevertheless, I'm sure everything they told you is true, and anything that isn't wouldn't exactly make any difference, anyway. ... I often thought of you. A lot when I first left, but after a while, I was able to get over things that happened somewhat. Then I started thinking about you again when your tenth birthday came around and in the years since, wondering what you were like, what you looked like, if you were happy... if you ever thought of me."

"Sometimes," I related, "I'd lie in bed at night and try to picture you, where you were and what you were doing right then."

"Did you ever wish I'd come back?"

"No. You're not wanted back there."

"Well, that's to be expected, isn't it?" she lightly offered, taking another sip from her glass as I did from mine.

"I did want to contact you, I just didn't want you there."

"Then, why did you want to contact me?"

"Mostly because of people's reaction to me, I guess."

"Because of how you look just like me."

"Yes, and because of some of the things you've done back there. Sometimes it seemed almost like being you, so I was curious."

"You wouldn't want to be me."

"I know."

"But it's an awfully attractive thought, isn't it?"

I didn't answer this, knowing what she meant and how right she was. It wasn't as if my refusal to reply saved me from lying; she probably assumed I had the Burchell drive anyway, but it at least saved me from having to admit it to her while she seemed to tease me about it.

"So, how would you have contacted me?"

"I thought some kind of open message on the internet."

"Did you expect that I'd respond if I saw it?"