Of Lillies Page 2

  Cherie snapped her mouth shut thinking, ‘Oh no! That wasn’t my outside voice, was it?’ Mortification reddened her cheeks further as he leaned closer in obvious concern, his gaze examining her face.

  “You are getting wet.” The man’s voice had a soft, warm quality.

  Cherie’s flush deepened, how did he know she was wet? The tawdry thought plunked through her, the product of too many years fielding sexual innuendos from nearly everyone she encountered. It was a by-product of being a syndicated sex-advice columnist. She swallowed a half dozen inappropriate responses and tried stuffing her thoughts back into the corners of her mind. He meant wet from the plastic wrapped flowers. She smiled up at him, hoping to alleviate any notions he might have that she was seriously hurt.

  “Yes, I suppose I am.” She managed to reply with only a hint of her thoughts influencing the tone of her voice.

  His eyes narrowed, eyebrows drawing together as if he were sorting through her words with great care. Then his features cleared, expression retreating from concern to something approaching just a hint of amusement. He pushed himself upright, managing to make the move graceful, yet all the while he retained her hand in his.

  Cherie noticed, even though she tried not to. Even when he pulled her easily to her feet yet seemed to know she was shaking too much to let her go, just yet. She watched him lean down to rescue her purse, book and pad and a single undamaged lily. She wanted to do it herself but discovered her ‘independent woman’ thoughts were not nearly so sweet as it felt to watch and experience being taken care of. His tending of her felt intimate, personal.

  “I’ve spoiled your flowers.” Cherie whispered, noticing he didn’t seem bothered to carry her purse as he guided her up onto the sidewalk. Where had she seen this man, before the whole flower thing? The thought worried her. She was notoriously bad at remembering names. What if he expected her to know his name and she didn’t?

  She discovered her balance wasn’t so hot as her free hand brushed half-heartedly at the leaves and twigs sticking to her coat. A further inspection revealed she had torn stockings, scuffed shoes and a scraped knee. At about that moment she realized if her clothes looked bad then her hair and face must look worse. It was a ridiculous thought, the kind of thing she had tried to spiritually evolve herself out of but hadn’t quite managed to succeed with, worrying about looking ‘wrong’ when a man was observing her.

  She let her hand subside uncertain how to reclaim her belongings without appearing to be rude.

  “How about a cup of tea?” he said, his hand grown firm and certain in hers, his voice gentle – kind.

  “Tea?” Cherie blurted, surprise evident in her voice.

  “You look… shaken,” he said, smiling, his eyes alight.

  Cherie opened her mouth intending to politely refuse, and then she snapped it shut again. It had been months since she had ventured out on a sit down date with a man. Okay, so maybe this wasn’t a date but he couldn’t know that and quite frankly she was a bit - shaken.

  “Fine.” She nodded, felt a twig in her hair and reached up to tug it free. Her self-doubts flooded her emotions again. She struggled against the tide of them for a second, sucked in a breath or two then pasted the biggest smile she could manage on her face and accepted the man’s invitation.

  They walked across the sidewalk to a little bistro cafe she had never tried before. With every step Cherie felt more twinges from her tumble, but nothing major. As she lost interest in the near accident her attention drifted to the man keeping pace with her. He was close enough for her to smell him. Not bad, she thought, a bit musky but clean. Better still, he was dressed nice. His pants draped well and there wasn’t a damn leaf or twig clinging to his coat. She looked away, accepting his proffering of one of the bentwood chairs.

  As soon as she sat down she stood back up to tug off her coat. To her surprise his fingers were there, lifting its weight from her shoulders. She wasn’t used to that. Men didn’t make nice for women any more. They were modern, up to equality and incivility. She resented how much she was liking his assistance, and then it bugged her that she was wasting precious ‘date time’ with an acceptable looking and pleasant smelling man on dorky thoughts. She stuck her best big smile on her face and sat down again.

  It hadn’t stopped her brain. She watched him head for the counter realizing he hadn’t asked her what she wanted. A part of her drooped, okay, so he got a strike for that one. Maybe that was her problem, besides the being chubby part, maybe her problem was in analyzing people too much, carrying all her confusion about where relationships started and stopped in the front of her skull, muddling up any meeting which might even have the beginnings of potential for something...more. One thing she was growing more certain of though, she hadn’t actually met him before because she would have remembered. That meant she’d probably just seen him around once or twice and it took her off the hook for remembering his name. Still, the voice way deep in her mind told her to keep working on it because there was something about him she should know.

  She interrupted her depressing chain of thoughts to wonder what he was saying to the deli clerk. At that precise moment both of them turned toward her, catching her looking at them.

  Cherie flushed and felt like crawling into a hole. Another twig dropped out of her hair to the tabletop. The sight of it made her scalp itch. She should leave. This was another bum idea. She turned deliberately away from the counter to stare blankly out the window. What would be a passable excuse?

  A hand folded over her shoulder, cupping it firmly. Cherie turned to look up into the man’s face.

  “I should be go...” Cherie began only to be interrupted.

  “With your permission, Keith agrees you might be more comfortable away from the lunch crowd.”

  “Keith?” Cherie asked stupidly.

  “He’s the owner. Runs the deli to keep busy. His wife has a private meditation practice in the back.” The man nodded slightly toward a closed door near the rear of the little cafe.

  Cherie stared up at him blankly. And? She was feeling more and more lost, as if the momentum of the near accident was still tumbling her along in a wake of energy.

  “Come.” He offered her his hand.

  Cherie hesitated. It was one too many requests in too short a time, too much to process clearly. Her body was continuing to shake from the adrenaline rush; she was now feeling like she needed the tea and a place to sit for a few minutes, and this stranger was pulling her away to someplace else. She should stop him, put her coat on, head back on her way to her solo book-reading lunch.

  “Meditation?” she mumbled.

  “Yes, Jiani is a well known psychic healer too. You will love her space.”

  “I will?” Cherie felt stupid again.

  “You will.” The man capped his statement with another warm smile.

  Cherie eyed the bistro. It was clean, comfortable, with lots of very normal looking people enjoying lunch. There was nothing scary about the place, or Keith, the man working the counter. Okay, so it wasn’t so weird as it sounded, Northern California was full of hidden spots. She knew about them even if she had never been invited to one before.

  “Well great then, she has good tea too?” Cherie ignored the few minor flutters of anxiety in her stomach. So what if she was being unexpectedly spontaneous.

  “Good tea.” He nodded, taking her coat and placing a couple fingers lightly under her elbow to guide her through the door.

  The door led into a small hallway that housed the bistro restrooms then through another door into a different world.

  Where the bistro was bright and sunny with lots of noise and edges, the room they entered was like walking into a cloud wall. Everything was soft and sensuous. The walls were draped floor to ceiling in gathered jewel tone fabrics. Muted lights wound like thin metal snakes across the high ceiling. On the floor stood a short round table surrounded by eight massive pillows all stacked one atop the next. The effect was serene and a bit erotic. Cherie co
uld instantly picture herself draped across the pile of pillows having an afternoon of decadent sex.

  She blushed before blurting out, “Oh!”

  The man chuckled, which made the heat in her cheeks rise even higher.

  It took her a moment to remember he couldn’t read her thoughts. By then she noticed the small fountain in one corner, and a few goddess statues partially hidden behind the flow of wall fabrics. She hesitated, if she moved forward wasn’t it some kind of implicit consent to what he had in mind? Besides, she needed to use the restroom; she just couldn’t manage this environment with twigs in her hair.

  A light chime drew her attention to a small woman holding one of the wall draperies open. She looked from Cherie to the man before losing the questioning look for one of warmth and welcome.

  “Thomas!” She dropped the drapery and glided soundlessly into the room to be swept up in the man’s arms.

  Cherie deflated again. The petite little woman was everything she wasn’t, like a miniature goddess of the female. How depressing. Worst of all, she had the look and energy of someone Cherie instinctively knew she was going to like and admire.

  “Jiani!” His delight in greeting the woman was obvious as he lifted her easily and held her aloft. “It has been too long, my friend.”

  Jiani nodded, then patted at him until he set her back down, her attention turning toward Cherie.

  “How do you do.” Cherie stuck her hand out, feeling gawkish and out of place.

  Jiani stepped forward, both her hands taking Cherie’s, and then she stopped, her head tilting, her gaze running slowly across Cherie as if she could see something. “What has happened? You must tell me everything and your knee, is any other skin broken?”

  Her concern pulled open Cherie’s heart releasing a flood of emotion and words. They all spilled out together, a crooked description of the near accident, her tumble, the cafe, the man who had invited her in. Through it all Jiani listened, her hands stroking Cherie’s arm lightly, then she drew her back to the curtain, lifting it to reveal a doorway to a much larger room with a small table against one wall and lots of patterned rugs. Cherie followed Jiani through yet another doorway into a smaller room with a sink, shower and commode. The fittings were simple yet elegant. It reminded Cherie of a fancy understated spa, the kind she could never make herself afford.

  Then Jiani’s hands were tugging gently at Cherie’s clothing, releasing buttons and zippers with the lack of concern for modesty that impressed Cherie with its simplicity. Cherie felt a familiar wash of insecurity, and a part of her wanted to hide from the soft wisdom in Jiani’s eyes, but the brave part of her was tired of giving in to such fears. She wanted to share Jiani’s absence of concern and embrace the true power of being comfortable in her own skin. So she quelled her insecurities after peeking around Jiani to be sure the man ‘Thomas’ hadn’t followed them inside. When she didn’t see him, she relaxed, only slightly torn with the question of whether he would now leave. Within moments, she was free of her clothing. She tried to let go of the fear and not to allow her hands to creep around the softness of her tummy. Jiani’s hands hadn’t stopped moving, they now skimmed the surface of Cherie as if examining through the barest of touch. It was an odd sensation. Cherie was certain she could feel energy in Jiani’s hands, heat and current. She wondered if she had knocked her head too hard out there on the street.

  “Ahhh. Bruising and a few scrapes. A real jolt.” Jiani looked up at her. “He is delightful, isn’t he?”

  Cherie blinked, ‘He?’ Jiani could only mean Thomas. Instantly, she felt truly naked, not just the lack of clothing but something more intimate, the visibility of her ‘interest’ in the man. She felt heat turning her cheeks hot again.

  Jiani laughed. “I can see why he is attracted to you.”

  Whatever Cherie had thought to say, evaporated. What?

  “Come. You can use an herbal bath, something to soothe the discordant energy of that incident. Something to ease you.” She matched action to words leading Cherie past the shower to a very large, sunken tub she hadn’t seen. It was lovely. She loved tubs and this one had jets too. Wow!

  Jiani leaned over and got the water running, and then opened a few mysterious bottles and poured smelly contents into the water. The aroma was wonderful. Cherie drank in a deep breath.

  The tub filled rapidly, frothing up in billows of surface bubbles.

  “Come, you should enjoy it first before he displaces all the water with his big self.” Jiani urged Cherie forward into the water.

  “What?” Cherie was half in before Jiani’s words percolated into her brain. “What do you mean before?” Her half finished question was answered by the sound of approaching footsteps.

  Cherie’s eyes widened in horror, she looked desperately for a towel only to see them on the far side of Jiani, the side the footsteps were coming from. That left the tub, and the uncertain protection of its bubbles. She splashed heavily into the tub creating a big puddle over the edge.

  “Hey, no wasting the water.” Thomas’s recognizable voice arrived before him. He crossed the room wearing a spa robe and shower shoes, obviously quite comfortable in the intimate setting. Then he sat on a low spa stool drawn up to the side of the tub until they were eye-level. “We’ve not been properly introduced. I’m Thomas Vinton Nur, and you?”

  Cherie sputtered, “Cherry Marie Bonnette, I mean Cherie...”

  “Cherie?” He said her name like he was tasting strawberries, and then awareness lifted his chin. “The columnist?”

  She nodded, both excited and aghast that he knew of her. “Cherry’s my nick, you know, for media and…”

  He grinned, saying, “It’s a good name - for a sex-columnist.”

  Thereby dashing her last hope that he didn’t remember what kind of columnist she was.

  She floundered, uncertain how to prevent the flush she could feel rising up her neck to stain her face pink. “Oh hell,” she mumbled.

  “That does explain the book you’re reading,” he continued.

  Cherie glanced toward her pile of clothes and there, right on top was the miscreant succubus book and the now wilting lily. Which, of course, reminded her of her earlier thoughts, and each little bit seemed worse than the last until she was certain her face couldn’t be any more red.

  “The succubus book,” she mumbled, then it jelled. Thomas Nur could be none other than Dr. Thomas Nur the noted psychologist and author of an acclaimed book on male sexual dysfunction. A book she had subjected to one of her most humorous columns three years ago. “That Thomas Nur?” she blurted.

  He grinned again. “Just so. I was coming to see you, in advance of the publication of my new book – to plead my cause. Your office told me you were heading toward Bingam’s Deli for lunch but then, well…” His grin faded, but he didn’t stop looking at her. “Your photos don’t do you justice,” he offered, softer than he had spoken before.

  Cherie was still struggling with his intention to meet her for lunch and the oh so minor fact that he’d just complimented her and she was still naked in a tub full of dwindling bubbles and he was still attractive as all hell and every word of her column about his book began to pop up in her mind like an old fashioned cash register ringing a total. Oh my, the things she had said.

  “So the tub was just a set up to get me naked and vulnerable to plead your case for your new book?” She couldn’t help the giggle that snuck out mid sentence, totally spoiling her intended serious query.

  “Of course,” he responded in similar flirtatious tone.

  Ghads, she thought, what do I say to a man who does as much sexual research as I do? And how do I explain I’m insecure and bashful and single and haven’t been near sex in way too long? Does that make me a sexual charlatan?

  “After you bought those lilies, I did wonder if you were in an affair with a succubus,” she said, pleased to see him totally taken aback.

  “Succubus? I don’t understand, your office told me you loved lilies!” he sai
d.

  Cherie knew it had to be her assistant Patrice. The same assistant she had read passages to from the succubus book earlier this morning, no doubt back at the office, even now, giggling at the water cooler.

  “We’ve been had!” she said. “According to the succubus expert in that book, one of the biggest clues to a man in love with a succubus is his affection for lilies.”

  “My affection for lilies is growing,” he said, after a deliberate pause.

  And Cherie knew he was speaking between the lines again, sliding right into the position of a man flirting outrageously with her.

  “I can’t promise to be kind to your new book,” she whispered.

  “Then I’ll have to ply you with more gifts, won’t I?”

  She realized that during their conversation she’d somehow managed to get close enough to almost kiss him and that if she moved in any direction he’d be able to see her.

  “You could start with more bubbles,” she said.

  “Your kingdom for bubbles?” he asked.

  When he leaned in to reach for the jet button Cherie decided her best defense to distract his attention from her exposed state, of course, was to kiss him. Then bubbles rose to protect her and when she would have ended the kiss in belated modesty, Thomas didn’t. That’s when she realized lilies were going to be her favorite flower.

  F.R.R. Mallory lives in Northern California and is currently working toward dual degrees in both English and Psychology (with a focus in neuropsychology). She will be completing her degrees at the University of California at Berkeley over the next two years. She writes nonfiction articles/essays as well as literary and speculative fiction. She is the author of Extreme Space, Unbound Books 1997: A limited examination of altered states of consciousness among members of alternative lifestyles. Current published selections can be found in FATE Magazine, Let’s Get Psychic, - 2006, Women’s Voices, The Garden of My Soul, - Issue 252 – February 2006, When The Swords Fell, Summer 2006, Wild Child Publishing, and Ethereal Gazette, Reject, – Issue III, Spring 2006. She is also the 2006 recipient of the Cortage Scholarship for Creative Writing.