The Scent of Jasmine: Electra Rises

"What? What is?"

Jasmine crossed her arms, swayed onto one hip. Confident now. "You sucked the life out of him." She gave a little laugh. "And now you're jealous he loves me more than you."

"How dare you ... you little ..."

"You know it's true." Jasmine said, voice rising. "And you can try and pretend its not happening, like you pretend you don't see the guys you bring back look at me like they do."

"Oh you deluded little..."

"Oh you know it, mum!" Jasmine screamed. "They look at me. I know you've seen it. And now dad prefers me as well. You tired, old, hag."

Jasmine's face stung at the slap.

********

Jasmine stormed to her room. Tears, from pride assaulted rather than pain, rolled down her face. She sat on her bed, wishing she was living with Tim.

She took out her phone, looked for him on her instant messaging. Not logged on. She rang him. Out of touch.

She looked around her room, almost larger than the entire apartment her father now had.

He'd be back there now. Suddenly the magic of her their night, their day, waned in its strength. He seemed happy when he left. A pride and confidence in simply ignoring the fight brewing between her and her mother. But maybe he left because he couldn't confront her, or confront himself. Had seeing her mother weakened him again. A pain began to constrict her chest. She would not lose him again.

She stood, raising her arms. She began to gently spin, willing the stress from her body in some dervish ritual. The hypnotic patterns of her spinning room cleansing her mind.

She didn't want to live with her father. No. He should live here, in house. With her.

It was that vile woman who should be gone.

She heard her mother's door slam.

********

She was right. They had been looking at her daughter. Taking in her vitality, her youth. There was a time when she was proud of her daughter. There were also times she was proud of herself, when Jasmine's boyfriends and friends looked at her. Her maturity and self-assurance. She had played to them of course, subtly. The gentle moistening of her lips, never while making eye contact. Too obvious. Instead, knowing how to flash her eyes at a witty comment or clumsy compliment.

Maybe that's when it started. When she started to tire of being married, started to desire fresh ... desire.

But they weren't staying.

She placed her gin and tonic on the bed side table. There had been a ring of moisture there earlier, before the cleaner had made her daily visit.

Why had Tim been drinking in here? Taking a shower.

The button.

The way Jasmine had hugged her father. Spoke about him...

No. Nonsense.

Surely nonsense.

She dismissed it from her mind. It was still early in the afternoon. She went shopping.

God bless alimony.

********

Tim showered. He let his thoughts roll freely through his mind, exploring all of them, but keeping a tight reign as the hot water danced over him.

He was going to have to stay in shape to keep a young thing like her.

He dried himself off, got dressed, and went for a run.

********

"Nine years, you prick. Nine fucking years out of the last ten. What have you got to show for the last fucking decade?"

Tony Brennan knew Monday morning was going to be difficult. And at nine thirty on the dot HR had called and asked about Tim.

Some pimply little prick, warning him about official action. Pimply - that was if the fucker had a face. How often had anyone - anyone - actually met someone from HR? And yet this little prick, this fucking little arrogant prick, was quoting rules at him.

When Tony had started, you made allowance and judged on results. When he started he'd take a client out on a Friday lunch, and wouldn't make it back to the office. And he'd drive home.

Tim walked passed the glass walls of his office.

"Holy fucking ..."

Tony went to knock on the glass to get his attention, but Tim walked in of his own accord.

"Hi, Tony."

Tony chewed his lips. He knew it was a bit of charade. More than that, he knew Tim knew it as well. He decided to drop the act.

"You owe me a new suit. The pants on this one have taken a fucking hiding looking after your arse."

Tim smiled. "I know. Things are OK now."

Tony threw his arms in the air as he walked back to his desk.

"Oh, oh thank you. You're the fucking Pope now are you?"

"Look, I know I've been a ..."

Tony continued. "I retire in two years. And I plan to enjoy it. You've taken fifteen months off my life in stress. I know, I looked it up online." Tony laughed at himself. A little hyperbole always did that to him.

"Sorry, Tony." Tim said. "What can I do to make it up to you."

"Fuck. You know I've spent more time with the CEO and HR talking about you than earning my buckets of cash I need? You know, for the yacht in the Caribbean ..."

"Yeah, yeah, and the young, long-legged black girl who's going to inherit it all." Tim finished for him. "So, what have I got to do?"

"Two things. Get to a doctor, get a note saying you're stressed, been stressed. have a Scotch before hand, should help."

"What?" Tim asked. "At nine forty-five?"

"Oh boo-hoo. Remember the key words: divorce, moving house, and alcohol. Then get your fucking arse back here and lets get on with business. For fuck's sake."

Tim nodded.

"And where's your fucking phone?" Tony added.

"I think I left the charger at a hotel."

"Hmm, a hotel. Hope she was worth it." Tony enjoyed this. Good, old fashioned, old boy banter.

"Absolutely."

"Oh," Tony added. "And take the fucking underground. Put a taxi on expenses and HR will fucking crucify you."

Tim nodded and left.

Tony wondered if he swore too much. No, probably did his blood pressure good to let off steam.

********

Jasmine woke. She should be alone in the house. Christmas in a few days, but today her mother should be at work. She pulled on her dressing gown and heading out to the landing.

She called out to her mother. No response. But she hadn't called out that loud. Something had repressed her voice.

She should be walking to that room to Tim, she thought. No, sleeping in that room with Tim.

He had left suddenly after dropping her off. Sunday had been painful, but she had survived. She had wanted to spend the entire weekend with him, but they needed to be careful. Careful?

His words.

Why? Why did they have to be so careful? They should just move, or ignore all their neighbours. As they did already.

They had not spoken since that time.

She walked over to her mother's bedroom ... smiling at her memories.

She pushed the door open, just a crack and looked inside.

Empty.

She moved the door open a bit wider - no sound from the en suite. She wasn't in the shower either.

She started to glow at the thought of what had happened in that bed just recently, found herself walking towards it.

She noticed a piece of paper under the bed.

The letter. The last minute inspiration she had. The crest from her old school, the letter detailing her indiscretions.

She shut the door, and headed to her room to dress.

This needed to be their house. All they had gone through, overcome. This was her true love, and he might be faltering. He needed to know that.

********

Jasmine made her way to her father's office. It had been about three years since she had last been inside. Just before her A-levels at 6th form. Her ..., no, Tim ... trying to impress on her the importance of solid academic qualifications.

Mr. Brennan had been to the house often. She had enjoyed his sense of humour, the coarseness of it contrasting against her mother's prudishness.

She introduced herself to the receptionist and waited in the lobby, picking up a copy of the Financial Times to make a good impression.

It was not long before a secretary took her to his office.

********

"Jasmine! How the heck have you been!" Tony hugged her, perhaps a bit longer than he should have.

He pointed to a seat for her, then took his own. Hands behind his head.

"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?" He said. "I haven't seen you since..." He stopped himself as the specifics came back to him.

"It's lovely to see you again, Mr. Brennan." She replied.

"Please, please. Tony. Anyways ... what can I do for you?"

"I'm just worried about dad... Tim."

Tony nodded to himself. This was not his area of speciality, the concerned children of fucked-up team members. But he owed it to Tim.

"You're a good girl, Jasmine."

"I've not heard from him for a while. Do you know where he is now?"

No point in bullshitting. Not his style anyway. "He's at the doctors. Stress. HR been on his case."

Stress. Doctors. HR. The words echoed around her mind. He wasn't coping.

Her eyes welled "Is he ... is he in trouble."

"To be honest, we know the shit's hitting ... ahem, we know that he's been under a lot of stress." Tony said. He found himself puffing out his chest. Wrong, he knew. But a natural reaction to a cute little filly like this one. Yeah...the old dog still had it. Bodes well for the Caribbean.

"But," he continued, "it's in hand. He's at the doctor' now. He'll be alright"

"A ... a doctor? is it serious?" She said as calmly as she could.

"Its an admin thing. We gotta make sure he's covered. Some people have been after his arse."

Jasmine wiped her eyes, gently, as if removing an eyelash. "He's in trouble then?"

Tony looked at her. Cute. Damn, more than cute. Maybe this was his way to Tim. Keep him on the straight and narrow.

"Not gonna lie to you, girl. Chief and HR are asking for his neck. It's been four months of him just not turning up. We need to keep him on the job hun."

She couldn't have him lose his job. She had worked so hard to build him back up to the man he was before. The man she loved.

"Is there anything I can do ... to make sure?"

"Hey, hun. He just needs to turn up." Tony said.

Jasmine weighed the situation as best she could.

She straightened in the chair, smiled with all the charm she could muster. She stood up and walked to the glass walls, and twisted the rod to close the blinds.

Tony's eyes could not help but follow the contour of her body as she moved.

"Is there anything I could do to help?" She said.

"Don't think so, hun, Why are you ..." Tony couldn't finish.

Jasmine walked round the desk and knelt in front of him.

"Is there nothing I could do?"

********

Tim made it back to the office and went straight to Tony's office.

"So, a bit pissed. But the doctor said ..."

Tony held up a hand, a war-torn look on his face. "It's OK Tim. Spoke to HR. Told them what's up."

"So we're good?"

Tony looked out the window. "See you on the third, Tim. You got the rest of the year off. Merry Christmas."

********

Jasmine took the bus home, confident she had saved her father's job. She knew her mother would be home, but still couldn't get in contact with her father. He seemed to have taken steps backwards, despite her efforts.

She took stock of the situation. His reticence at the hotel. The stress at work, a visit to the doctor.

It was her mother. The bitch was sucking life out of him. The car he was reduced to driving was only a symptom.

Christmas could not come soon enough.

She headed upstairs, to the last room in the house that she had been with Tim. Adjustments were to be made for Christmas Eve.

*********

A brief phone call the night before Christmas - that's all Tim could spare. Jasmine detected something in her lover's voice that was either tiredness or something more worrying.

Christmas Eve had otherwise been spent with friends. Jasmine avoiding questions about the mystery man in her life from her female friends.

Except to tell them how great the sex was. She smiled at Amira, confident even she wouldn't guess.

But despite her smiles, she worried. So much was at stake.

*********

Shoma did not embrace Christmas Day as much as Tim, and never made the effort to indulge Jasmine in the brash tradition as much as her ex-husband. Still, she insisted that Jasmine spend the morning at home, and that Tim could pick her up at noon when she went to friends.

The letter. Jasmine's school crest, the filth written under it. The date on it. The only person Jasmine had seen that day was her father, unless he was simply a stooge in her play. She was convinced that Jasmine had used her bed to fuck someone. Perhaps one of her mother's own boyfriends from the last year.

As much as Shoma hated it, she'd seen the way some men she'd known had looked at Jasmine. But, how did she manipulate her own father ... unless. Unless it was all part of a conspiracy to humiliate her! No, no matter how much they hated each other, he would not do that to his own daughter. But they were up to something.

To hell with them. She had her own life now, time to get to it.

*********

The ring on the doorbell. Jasmine turned on the music, Sinatra. She strolled from reception room to the door, posing briefly to check herself once again in the mirror.

A tuxedo, Louboutin heels, and nothing else.

Normally she would have worn her hair up for such an ensemble, but she knew Tim preferred it down.

She opened the door. And smiled.

*********

Tim thought back over the last ... what was it? A half hour.

Seeing Jasmine as beautiful as ever, dropping the presents on the floor, embracing her. A brief dance before she handed him the Scotch, then handing him her present.

Him opening the envelope and smiling. A written promise, and a name he had heard of before.

Kissing so deeply as they mounted the staircase to his old bedroom. Jasmine spilling her drink at the landing as she grabbed his backside.

Deep, intense lovemaking. Forceful but reciprocated. Tim appreciating Jasmine as a woman in her own right. Beautiful, sensual, strong Jasmine. His own girl, now all his.

*********

They didn't hear the front door unlock, or Shoma close the door behind her. Nor did they hear her climb the stairs.

As Tim knelt on the bed, his cock deep in Jasmine as she knelt moaning on all all fours, facing the door, Shoma walked in.

Shoma froze, as did Tim.

Jasmine smiled.

Shoma's mind raced. The shower. The ring of moisture on the bedside table.The letter, the vile comments from her own daughter.

No, not possible.

Tim stood up, mouthing empty, unheard words.

His erection. Jasmine now sitting up, naked. Knees spread.

It was true.

Shoma backed away. "No. No. You sick, sick bastard."

Tim had no answer, but struggled to find something to say. "No, its not like that, its nothing like that..."

Shoma backed out of the door. "No, you bastard." She turned to look at Jasmine "You slut, you sick slut".

Jasmine came up behind her father and placed her hands on his shoulder and waist. She smiled again...

"The letter .." Shoma retreated further. "How long? how long has this been going on? Oh god you're going to jail Tim. Jail, you hear me!" Shoma was trembling now.

Jasmine stepped forward. "You've been replaced. You're not needed. Not wanted!"

Shoma reached the top of the stairs, her heel slipped on the drink spilt by Jasmine ascending to her Christmas day fuck. A moment's unbalance from Shoma's heel.

A push from Jasmine.

*********

It was a long night. Tim was told that his wife had died in a fatal accident. No-one was suspected.

Eventually he was reunited with Jasmine. A complicit nod.

They waited outside the Station in silence. A complicit understanding that they had taken the final step in lying to the Law. Shivering in each others arms in the cold.

They took a taxi home. Silently holding each others hands.

The night's events played back through Tim's mind. Trying to recall exactly when Jasmine had spilt her drink.

He looked over to his daughter, staring out the window. As if by a sixth sense, she squeezed his hand.

********

Tim opened the door, and headed straight to the reception room. He poured himself a scotch, Jasmine a vodka.

The stood in front of each other, silently sipping their drinks. Their eyes locked.

Jasmine dropped her eyes, and looked back up at Tim.

"What now, daddy?"

Tim finished his glass and placed it, steadily, back on the drinks bar.

He smiled at his princess.

"I fuck you in every room in the house."

THE END