Smoke Ch. 06

The near-silence of the tree-shaded streets was shattered by the most sorrowful song Cindy had ever heard. "Why you still insist on listening to country music is beyond me,' she said. 'Either the woman is cheating, leaving or dying....' she had remarked, once, 'or his dog and truck died."

Soon, the heavily lemon-scent of eucalyptus trees, their branches laden with silver-gray leaves, filled the warm, humid air with the smell of southern California. The Gold Rush immigrant, brought from the Australian island of Tasmania, was now as native to the state as the former Hoosier women splashing in the coastal surf. Even Abbot Kinney, most famous for founding Venice, California, was a state-wide promoter of the gum trees.

She thought back to that morning...

**********

"Halloween? You want to get married on Halloween?" Greg asked. "You're kidding, right?" He looked up through the darkness to where the ceiling would be. 'Halloween... God, what next?'

When he put it that way, Cindy wondered if it was such a good idea, after all. "Well...' she started to say but a ghostly vision of black cats and old crones...

"It definitely sounds crazy..." he said, "but, if that's what you want, it could be fun. Are you going to wear an orange gown?" He started to laugh. "This is Martine's idea, isn't it? That woman is..."

He rolled from his back onto his right side, his left arm encircling her waist as he nuzzled her neck. He breathed in her morning scent.

"Stop that... you know what it does to me," she begged, in vain.

He ignored her pleas for mercy; his tongue traced wet lines of pleasure under her ear forward to below her chin and down the hollow of her neck. She was usually quiet when he made love to her, the excitement staying deep within her mind; she surprised herself as a moan rose up and left her wet lips.

That first night, when she had come to his bed, she had told him she was going to teach him how to kiss. If he was surprised, he never let on. As much as her checkered past still haunted her, he never once hinted he might have a clue about what she had done. She still wasn't sure if he knew or not but was afraid to broach the subject. 'Let sleeping dogs lie...' was as good an adage as any, especially when they had such a fatal bite.

Her legs invitingly parted, she reached down and her body welcomed him.

The thin black line wavered in the summer heat; the ants moved from the window sill, down the tile behind the sink, across the counter and to the three dishes waiting to be washed.

"Oooh..." Cindy said, grabbing a glass of water and splashing it over the scurrying insects. "Get... out... of... my... kitchen!" She swabbed down the countertop, chasing the little black creatures around the sink edge. She peered down and looked closely, wondering if she had missed any of the scavengers.

Later, she took a clean towel and wiped down her tired but satisfied face; tying her hair into a ponytail, she washed the kitchen table. During breakfast, every time she looked at him, she smiled. How she was so lucky to have him, she would never, could never understand. She knew he had had an Italian girl somewhere in his past, he let that slip once or twice in conversation with Elliot downstairs and he definitely knew about her troubled marriage but nothing about the bar. 'Thank God,' she prayed, 'thank God, he knew nothing about that.'

A dark scowl crossed her face. She couldn't imagine life without him, now. When he wasn't home, she waited for him to arrive. When she was at Raymond's, she couldn't wait to go home. When they were home, she looked even for his shadow, the echo of his voice, the sound of his footsteps, and the scent of his arousal...

That man at the beach had almost let her secret out. Drowning in the ocean would have been the only decision she would have had left if that encounter had gone another way. The Pacific had been right there, calling to her... its small waves rolling ashore... calling to end her uneasy secret.

'Thank God for Martine,' she continued thinking, anxiously wiping the countertop, again, her fingers pushing down harder as she thought back to that nightmare time. Her nights with Suzy were not that long ago. The fact that Suzy and Angie were now close friends had seemed odd at first until that lunch at Cantor's Deli in Fairfax. Both women danced to the beat of a very different drummer, Cindy thought and hoped that Suzy would keep quiet.

Her own bizarre behavior, Cindy finally realized, resulted from Suzy's uncovering a physical need for sexual comfort... sexual relief stronger than she could control following her miserable, dangerous life with Chris. Her nights of prostitution were something she was continually trying to forget but couldn't. The man at the beach was a reminder that the men who used her were still nearby.

A tear crept slowly down her cheek. If only they could move away... far away from the memories waiting to trap her. It was driving her mad. Greg would never leave the beach, would he? She was startled by the popping of the toaster. "Whoa!" she almost shouted. Taking the bread out, she reached for the butter and began to spread it across. A spoonful of boysenberry jam and a cup of morning tea completed her breakfast. She carefully put the small bag aside in the refrigerator.

Greg had continually told her to use a new bag each time but old habits die hard. Her mother's tight upbringing during the Depression had reached deeply within her psyche and refused to let go. 'At least,' she thought, 'I'm not going to waste Greg's money... our money.'

The crackle of the frying eggs and bacon called her back to the stove.

"Greg, honey, breakfast's ready."

**********

Each time she and Martine made the 'cookie trip,' Cindy promised herself to bring a camera and each time she forgot. She so wanted to photograph the old Victorians while they were still standing. The area, once home to wealthy families, had fallen on desperate times soon after the Depression and most had been turned into small apartment or rooming houses. The once beautiful paint was covered by a dull gray chalky mess that cried out for help from someone... from anyone... but, no one seemed to care to save the once proud and beautiful homes.

"This will be a lot of fun. We'll close the restaurant after the lunch service and decorate the dining room for the reception. Everything will be BOO-tee-full..." Martine grinned. She never thought Greg would agree to a Halloween wedding and yet... for some insane reason, he did.

Already, her mind was working around two possibilities: an orange-spice cake with chocolate frosting or a chocolate cake with a light orange frosting... with plenty of rum. Laughing, she knew the rum would win out; 'besides, who wanted a dark-frosted wedding cake? Now,' she happily thought, 'to start planning...'

Cindy pulled her cream-colored convertible up to the gate and impatiently honked the horn.

"Every time, you gotta honk the horn. They know we're coming. Jesus, give them a chance, will you?" asked Martine. "It's just a couple of little kids, you know."

Within minutes, two boys, no more than ten years of age, unlocked the heavy chain-link gate and swung it wide enough that she could drive in and around the back to the kitchen. Piled high in the back seat were almost one-hundred boxes of cookies. Almost, that is, because on the front seat between the two women was a half-empty box of chocolate chip raisin cookies, once carefully wrapped in wax-paper. Now that the car had stopped, the smell of the cookies on the back seat filled the car.

Last time, she had needed the vacuum cleaner to clean all the crumbs. 'Oh, but it was worth it,' Cindy realized, laughing at the memory. Greg had come behind her and gave her a playful smack on the behind as she waved the metal tube around the car. Before she knew it, they were kissing and his hand was between her thighs, gently bringing her to a climax.

Every time the women came to the orphanage, Cindy said it was her right as 'driver' to 'inspect' the cookies for freshness. Martine laughed, dipping into the box for another one. If lunch was anytime soon, it probably was spoiled.

She pulled out two chocolate chip cookies. For some reason, she'd been reaching into the cookie jar one too many times, she was sure. She patted her tummy. Martine's cooking was leading her down the primrose path.

The orphanage, well hidden from the street by a very tall hedge, was easily missed if you didn't know where it was, as Cindy had done the first two times. The Sisters of Saint Dorothy had gone to great lengths to hide the children from the outside world.

These were the 'lost' children... the ones that would never be adopted.

Cindy was going to say something, even with a mouth full of cookie, when the first nun arrived, surrounded by several small girls. One was clutching the old woman's habit as if her life depended on it, causing the nun's large rosary to sway back and forth like a pendulum across the heavy, dark cloth.

"Welcome back," she said, hugging Martine. The nun greeted Cindy with a curt nod.

As much as Cindy admired the work the Sisters were doing, the idea of never loving a man just seemed so desolate an existence...

Standing by the kitchen door were two more stern Italian nuns, surrounded by five or six children vying for their attention like small puppies jumping for a treat. Cindy couldn't really tell; they never stood still long enough to make sure. One of the nuns bent down and swooping up a small girl kissed her on the cheek and gave her a wide, honest smile.

Cindy wondered if she was wrong...

Box after box of cookies quickly disappeared into the kitchen; eventually grocery bags of empty boxes from the previous trip were returned and placed into the trunk.

As bad as her first marriage had been, Cindy couldn't imagine living with the insecurity of being an orphan. She had cried for days after the first few trips but continued... 'Penance,' she told herself, 'for her sins.'

"You're just in time for lunch," the nun said. "We're having spaghetti."

"Thank you," said Cindy, "I'm still hungry."

The nun gave her a strange look, seeing the near empty box of cookies lying on the front seat of the car.

A while later a humbled Cindy asked for the recipes to the luncheon dishes. What the nun had quietly called 'spaghetti' was a rich mélange of meats and spices wrapped in egg-rich lasagna. Dessert was home-made strawberry ice cream and, of course, cookies. By the time Martine was ready to leave, promising to return in another two weeks, Cindy wanted to stay longer... again.

Between the small smiling faces looking for affection and the feeling of a peaceful calm that surrounded her, she felt at home. She wondered if she could convince Greg to come with her, one day.

Cindy tasted the sauce. For an orphanage, the food was surprisingly good. She looked across the table at Martine. The older woman was actively talking with two little girls seated next to her. Each time they had come to visit, Martine looked for a quiet girl or two and tried to bring them some outside companionship. 'Is this,' she wondered, 'what it means to be a mother? Could I be able to do this with a child of my own?'

Laughter rang out. Martine had said something funny enough to bring a glad response from the little dark-haired girls sitting next to her.

"You know what's funny?"

"No, what?" Martine responded.

"If you put two extra eggs into a brownie recipe, you get cake... a very strange cake."

"And... this is important because?"

"I don't know... it just seemed funny to me... you know, two eggs and all."

"You are one crazy girl, you know that? Hey, any cookies left?"

Cindy wasn't listening anymore, splitting her attention between driving the car, chewing on a cookie and thinking back to the morning's love making that continued in the shower. How he didn't slip on the tile and bring them both crashing down was a mystery to her as he braced his feet against one wall and pressed her up against the other one. With both arms around his neck, she could feel the coolness of the tiles against her back as she slid up and down with each thrust as he pushed deeply into her.

It was time to stop eating so many cookies.

Turning the motor off, Cindy listened to the engine tick away the heat as the radiator fan stopped. She closed the car door and went looking for her lover.

Walking into the upstairs apartment, she tossed her keys onto the kitchen table, watched them slide off onto the floor and then found his note. He had gone to the Hawthorne apartment house to look at some leaky pipes for that pesky Mrs. Snyder, again. She had a habit of always calling when it was least convenient.

One time, they were going to the pictures and she called on a Saturday night and they had driven out there just to show her how to jiggle the toilet handle. By the time they got to the theatre, it was half-over, they missed the first movie, the cartoon and the snack bar was closed.

'What does the old woman want now?' she angrily wondered. Cindy doubted the pipes were really leaking. 'Maybe, just maybe, she's lonely. But, why call on Greg all the time? Certainly, there were men her own age willing to spend time with her?'

Cindy went to his desk notebook and looked up the old woman's phone number.

"Hello? Is Mr. Knotts there? It's Cindy, his fiancée... oh, he did? When was that?... thank you."

Just as she was hanging up the phone, the back door opened and he walked in. "Honey, I'm home!"

She almost knocked him down as she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bedroom.

The finger tingled up the rise in her back until it reached her neck. Cindy smiled, thinking of the previous night. Never had she felt so secure and loved as he held her in his arms, his body warming her against the chill of the night marine air from the Pacific. "Mmmmmm," was all she could say as she moved against his heat. His fingers traced the curve of her bottom, sliding between without becoming profane.

"You like that, don't you?" he asked, surprised at his own boldness.

"Mmmmmm," was all she could say, surprised at her own wantoness.

He kissed his way up her back, hoping to please her.

"Love me," she said. "Love me..."

Tuesday morning came sooner than either of them wanted.

**********

"Well, I bet I know why you're a little late..." Martine gave her a handful of menus to be wiped down.

"Ha... ha... ha..."

"Ha... ha... ha, yourself... don't forget, we have that retirement lunch coming in today so don't sit anyone in the dining room."

"OK, thanks." Cindy went into the back and washed her hands.

Hawthorne's economy had been hard hit when the Air Force contract for Northrop's ill-fated Flying Wing had been cancelled. Even though the Scorpion fighter kept the production lines moving, many older workers had lost heart. Being forced to watch the beautiful silver Wings destroyed before their very eyes on the Hawthorne runway was more than they could stand. Jack Northrop, himself, had left.

The post-War vets were going to take the company into the jet age without him.

The afternoon's Kelly retirement luncheon was the first of five scheduled for the month. Like the others to follow, it would be tinged with anger vilifying Secretary of the Air Force Symington; some said he was in the pay of San Diego's Convair.

Martine's plans for retirement parties seemed doomed before they even started.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it, too much," said the man sipping the bourbon in his glass. "It was an idea ahead of its time. Damn shame, though."

Cindy heard snippets of conversation as she walked around picking up discarded drinks and crumpled napkins. With two other girls, she quickly worked the room, taking drink orders and gratefully receiving tips.

By the time the party was over, the general dissatisfaction with the Air Force had given way to celebrating Kelly's chance to finally go deep-sea fishing in his new boat, "The Lucky Duck."

"One down, four more to go," she said, thankfully.

A few hours later, while Greg was showering, she had dinner warming in the oven. On the counter, the blender was 'rrrrrrr'ing away with ice cream, milk and strawberry jam.

"How was your day?" he asked, later.

"We had the first retirement party, today. It started out pretty down but ended OK, I guess. There's still a lot of anger at Northrop since the Wings got cancelled."

"It's all politics, honey. Sometimes, I think the politicians are working for the other side. I know they're working for themselves. We'll be OK."

"I know, it's just too bad."

"I know. What's for dinner? It smells really good?"

"Roast turkey, with all the trimmings and ice cream shakes. I just made them."

"Wow! Working at Raymond's is really paying off."

"Thank you." She opened the oven door and carefully pulled out the food.

"Oh, boy! That smells SO good." After she had dished out the food onto the two waiting plates and laid them on the table, she put her hands together to say 'grace.' Greg was surprised.

Cindy had never prayed before.

"What changed?" he asked.

"I just... it's the orphanage. I'm just grateful that my life has turned out the way it has, that's all. Those children... it's really sad."

"Maybe, I should go with you next time."

"I don't know... maybe... I'll ask."

"What's the big secret? Boy, this is good food."

"There's no secret, it's just that the children are different. A lot of them have... difficulties, that's all and I don't know if the sisters want to have extra people coming through and making them uncomfortable."

"Well, listen; next time you're there, ask. Maybe, we could bring some toys or something."

"All right, I can do that. But, don't be surprised if they say 'no'."

Greg put down "The Caine Mutiny" and turned on the television. "Honey, Kraft Theatre is on. Do you need any help or are you coming?"

"I'll be there in a minute." The last dish went into the dishrack to dry and went into the living room. She sat on the couch next to him, curled her legs up and lay against him.

He put his arm on her shoulder and pulled her closer. He kissed her forehead. "I love you. Halloween is only a few weeks away."

"I can't wait. I'm glad we're living together. If I had to wait for you, I'd go crazy."

"Me, too. I can't say 'I love you' enough. Thank you."

"Thank you for what?"

"For... for just being you... I'm SO happy, that's all."

Whatever was on the screen was soon forgotten as she kissed him. Soon, her hands were fondling him as she kissed it.

**********

Cooper put down his now cold cup of bitter coffee. "I'm telling you, she hasn't done anything for the longest... and him? I haven't even seen that guy ever since that disaster in Vegas. Where's Smith? He's supposed to be watching him. How are we going to get any others in the cell at this rate?"

"Smith's on him. He's been down to the airport several times, checking on flights north to Alaska by way of Seattle. What the hell's going on with that? Are they on the move or is it just him?"

"I don't know; she's doing the same as always, just being there or going out on the weekends to the bars with that Suzy broad. At least she's not taking classes at Camino, although all those little cheerleaders running around wouldn't be too bad on the eyes. Maybe... maybe, we should just pick them up and be done with it."

"You're going to hell, Elliot. I thought you were married. You brought your wife with you; what do you need cheerleaders for? I've seen your wife."

Cooper blushed. He'd seen how men looked at his Sophia when they though he wasn't watching. Once, he almost took his gun out. Her "girls' night out" disaster forced him to pay more attention to what he had been doing and how he had been treating her.