Inn on the Edge (11 page)

“Thank you,” she said, breathing hard, causing those little
breasts to go up, down, up, down, up, down.

All right. I admit it. Maybe I’m a
lot
lesbian.
Because I wanted her, badly.

She returned to her seat, smiling, clutching her shoes.

Mr. Abiba glowed with pleasure. “A fine performance! Transcendent!
You’ve done yourself proud, my dear.” He waited for a moment, his gaze still on
her, pride making his face seem even younger than before. Eighty-nine years
old, perhaps. Not ninety-nine.

“Thank you,” she said again.

He sighed. “Ah. A great pleasure, to be sure, but now let us
get back to business.” Mr. Abiba allowed his gaze to encompass the entire table
again. “As you have no doubt gleaned, I surround myself with talented people.
It is my joy in life, to bear witness to and encourage the creativity of
others.”

I nodded. I had gleaned that. It was Mr. Abiba’s saving
grace. Along with the Invisa-Lover.

“My Guides are not the only talent in the room. Oh no! We
shall have a private showing of jewelry in the Fine Arts Room, by our very own
metals expert. Jonathan has already set up his work for your perusal. My Guides
will show you the way.” Mr. Abiba stood. “Don’t forget your calling cards, my
dears. Tomorrow you’ll put them to good use, I promise.” He started to turn
away but stopped himself. He put his hand on the back of his chair. “Joshua
Taylor! A word, if you please.”

“Yes sir?”

Josh never called anyone “sir”. Not even the minister who’d
married us.

“You will play for us tomorrow after breakfast? On an
instrument of your choosing from my collection?”

Josh blinked, looked completely taken aback. “Um, sure. Of
course.” He stretched his long fingers, glanced at his fingernails. As soon as
we returned to our room, I knew he’d take a file and buffer to them.

“Wonderful!” said Mr. Abiba, clasping his hands in front of
his chest. Amazing how a smile can take years off a person. “How very exciting!
I do love classical guitar music. I look forward to your recital already. Now for
your lovely wife. Angela Taylor.”

I gulped. “Yes? What can I do for you?”

“Paint! Draw! Sketch! All of the above!”

I stared at him, biting my lip. “Here? How?”

“Come now, my darling! Be creative. Character sketches. Line
drawings. Studies. Did you not do their like in art school? Of course you did.
Make portraits of the people around you during breakfast tomorrow. Ask someone
to sit for you. Or look out of a window and paint a landscape.” Already turning
away, he patted me on the shoulder as if I’d already agreed—which I had, I just
hadn’t said it out loud. In my mind I was busy working out the particulars,
such as what paint tubes, brushes and pencils to take with me to the table, and
which would be best, paper or canvas?

I stood there watching our enigmatic host engage in animated
conversation with Rhonda-Lynne. I would make art for him. I would make him
proud.

Josh took my hand and squeezed it. “It just gets better and
better, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said.

We followed Zora from the dining room, through a small side
parlor filled with books, and down a dark hallway. The Fine Arts Room was at
the back of the inn, and windowless. I found that peculiar. This ocean-front
room would have been perfect for sunset-viewing. But the Fine Arts Room wasn’t
meant for looking
out
. It was meant for looking
in
. For gazing at
precious, small things, things to be studied and admired. Things that took time
to appreciate, like Jonathan’s three tables of sparkling handmade jewelry.

The room came as a complete surprise. I stood alone by the
door, long after everyone else was leaning over Jonathan’s jewelry. It was so
still in here. Even with Jonathan’s hushed voice as he talked about his
artwork, the room was muted and quiet. There wasn’t much furniture, only two
rows of chairs lining a wall, ready to be pulled close for Josh’s recital. Even
I, Angie of the Tin Ears, could tell this room would have excellent acoustics,
that walls would reflect sound instead of absorbing it.

The walls were bare. Empty and waiting.

A gallery!

The room was a gallery. For fine arts, just as the name
said. For
our
fine arts.

Perhaps Mr. Abiba would display my artwork here!

I sucked in my breath and stole a look at Mr. Abiba as he
swept into the room—
his
room—holding court with his guests. His pet
artists. How extraordinary! How charming! What a fascinating man! Who ever
heard of an inn with a gallery?

I finally left the doorway and went to study Jonathan’s
work, but I had a hard time concentrating. My stomach was saturated with
Zettia’s delicious dinner, my body simmering with the smoldering heat of
Invisa-Lovers and Magnifiers and Golden Tickets and who knew what else, but my
mind… My mind was spinning with the artworks I would make.
This
beach-scape
and
that
interior, maybe a still life or two, and a delightful series of
quick portraits of my new friends. All of it infused with the aura of this
place.

All of it to be displayed here, in the Fine Arts Room.

And I was content.

Mr. Abiba clapped his hands. “I have changed my mind!”

The Fine Arts Room fell into an instant hush as we turned to
him, curious, surprised. I forgot my enthrallment with this room, forgot about
paintings and drawings and portraits. Mr. Abiba, changing his mind? Who knew
such a thing was possible?

“I cannot bear to end the evening! Therefore, we shall play
tomorrow’s game tonight!” His voice boomed in the enclosed space, seeming even
more regal than before. He took two giant strides to the tables where
Jonathan’s artwork was displayed. “Vane! Zenith! Move these tables to the side,
if you please. We need abundant space for what I intend to do. Zora! Set up the
floor mats and pillows. Valerian! Bring my chair. Jonathan Roberts! Where are
you?”

Jonathan came forward.

Mr. Abiba bowed slightly to him, the front of his robes
sweeping the floor. “Jonathan. I salute you. My dear, your work is outstanding.
Sublime in every way. As I knew it would be. Now put it away.”

Without waiting to see how Jonathan reacted to his words—hands
fluttering at his sides, his face a study of disappointed bewilderment—Mr.
Abiba swept out of the room amid a rustling of billowing robes.

“He’ll be back in a minute,” Zora said. She was already
hoisting an armload of mats from a closet beside the door.

The rest of us arranged ourselves into a loose semicircle on
Zora’s floor mats as Jonathan scurried from table to table, wrapping necklaces
and bracelets and sliding earrings into felt-lined pouches, his shoulders
hunched. Geoffrey caught him in a comforting hug, kissed him, smoothed his hair
with a large square hand. “I’ll help you pack, honey,” he said quietly. I
watched them from the corner of my eye, responding to the tenderness of
Geoffrey’s voice. I hadn’t realized how much taller he was than Jonathan, how
much bigger and stronger—my mother would have called him “beefy”, but I didn’t
think that was quite right. He wasn’t fat. Just…big. I would call him “cuddly”.
I’d heard people described as being teddy-bear-ish and thought it was a
ridiculous description—but here he was, in person, the most teddy-bear-ish
person I’d ever met. And handsome. Jonathan almost looked frail enveloped in
his partner’s arms. I wondered what it would feel like to have those big arms
around me.

What was this? Now I was interested in a gay man?

Shaking my head at my own folly, I settled cross-legged on a
soft mat next to Josh and watched everyone, guests and Guides alike, prepare
for our evening of games. This inn seemed to revolve around games. Sex games.
Food games. Word games. “What do you think it’ll be?” said Josh, his eyebrow
raised.

“In this place? Who knows?”

“Probably something dirty. Spin the bottle?”

“Yeah.” I leaned back on my elbows. “I know. A warped
X-rated version of a children’s game. Simon Says, maybe.”

He laughed. “Or Hide ’n’ Seek. A special version. If you’re
found you’ve got to do something nasty with the person who finds you.”

“Sounds about right.” I thought for a second. “Twister.
Naked Twister!”

Geoffrey and Jonathan, having finished with the jewelry,
settled themselves on the mats to my left. Geoffrey turned toward us. “Naked
Twister. I actually played that once. Thought I’d never walk again!”

“I bet,” said Josh.

Where was Zenith? I craned my neck, searching. She was
lounging on the far side of Jonathan, leaning back on her elbows. Good. She
wasn’t that far away. Maybe I’d get to talk with her. Touch her, even.

Josh saw me looking. He poked me in the ribs. “You like
her?”

“Sure.”

“I mean, do you
like
like her?”

I felt suddenly too warm. I fanned my face with an
ineffectual hand. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head and looked at me, then at Zenith.
A smile teased at his lips. He leaned into me, so close his breath tickled my
cheek. “Angie. Tell me. Would you? Make love with her? If it came to that?”

I half choked, half laughed. “Josh!”

“Well you can,” he said, “if the opportunity presents
itself. Just so you know.”

“Um…thanks?” I was blushing now. “Um. So can you.”

His fingers rattled a restless
tap-tap-tap
on the
floor. “Better yet.” He kissed me lightly, his lips barely brushing my own.
“How about we both make love to her? At the same time? Like we did with Vane?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I murmured, thinking how much I’d like that
.
Surprise, surprise!

We shared a delicious moment of perfect understanding,
knowing some small but important line had already been crossed. Then, hearing
her laughter, we turned as one to gaze at the object of our affection. Zenith
was talking with Jonathan. She changed position on the mat, her slender legs
stretched out, her arms gesticulating, her small graceful hands pointing and
waving and tapping Jonathan on the shoulder. I swallowed, hoping that the
opportunity might present itself. And then hoping just as fervently that it
wouldn’t.

I was a mess.

A horny, maybe-lesbian, newlywed wreck.

Mr. Abiba returned. Zettia followed him in, carrying a tray
of tiny teacups. They stood in front of our semicircle, a matched pair. They
both were tall, so very tall. And angular. They had the same narrow, beaked
nose. Except for the obvious differences—Zettia had luscious long hair and Mr.
Abiba was bald, or nearly so, and he was obviously many years older—they could have
been brother and sister. I wondered again if they were father and daughter?
Husband and wife? Teacher and student? Whatever the relationship, they weren’t
telling.

Zettia passed out the tea.

I blew on it, trying not to think of opportunities or of lines
being crossed. I sipped at my tea, tasting mint, and tasting something else too—something
I didn’t recognize, something that made my tongue tingle. I stared into the
swirling liquid, wondering if it would cause other, more private parts of me to
tingle too. It wouldn’t have surprised me in the least, not here.

Mr. Abiba drank his tea and set the cup on Zettia’s tray.
“Ah! Delectable. The taste of home. Thank you, my dear.” He kissed her rather
demurely on the cheek. Then he clapped his hands. “Drink up, everyone! We have
games to play!”

As soon as every teacup was back on the tray, Mr. Abiba motioned
for us to stand again.

We all clambered to our feet.

“Hold hands! Make a circle!” Mr. Abiba took Valerian’s hand.
Valerian took Zora’s. And so on, until we were joined, all of us.

“This is new,” whispered Zenith.

“I just invented it!” said Mr. Abiba. “It is new! And I
shall call it…Train Ride! I suggest you close your eyes to maximize the effect,
but it’s entirely up to you. And now I shall start the engine.”

A tingling sensation bloomed inside me, a tiny bundle of
warmth nestled in my very core. Then it grew and began to spread. It expanded
to include my stomach, my pelvis, my butt. Then it reached between my legs,
warmed my breasts, flowed down my thighs, making me shiver with excitement. The
warmth was like an engine—he was right about that—with a life of its own, a
part of me and yet not. I stood there, part of a linked circle, wondering if
everyone else felt it too.

Did Josh?

Someone giggled from the other side of the circle.

“In a moment the Train Ride shall begin!” boomed Mr. Abiba.
He was silent for a moment, then his voice rang out. “There! There! I have
started the engine.”

The engine inside me became stronger. I spread my legs and
bit my lip. My. Oh
my
.

But Mr. Abiba wasn’t finished talking, explaining, coaching.
“I will pass the Train from my hand to Valerian’s hand. He will pass it on to
Zora. Understand? Yes?” He looked at Josh, at me, at Geoffrey. Then at the rest
of the circle. “Very well. When it is
your
turn to ride, you will board
the Train and travel however long you like. Then you will step off and pass the
Train to the next person. Is this clear?”

Nods all around the circle.

“Splendid! Ride the Train for as long as you can bear to! Do
not drop the hands you hold, or the Train will become derailed and the game
will end. Yes?”

More nods.

“Very well. That…is…all.”

Had he started? Was the Train being passed now? How would we
know?

I stood still, waiting, my hand in Josh’s on one side and in
Geoffrey’s on the other. Everyone stood with their heads bowed, eyes down or
closed, hands clasped with those around them. I peeked from under half-closed
eyelids. From where I stood, I couldn’t see Zora very well, but I assumed she
was the one currently riding the Train. I shivered with anticipation. What was
it like? How long until it came to me? Where was it? According to Mr. Abiba,
he’d passed the Train to Valerian, who passed it to Zora, who would pass it to
Josh—

Josh!

He stiffened next to me, pulling on my hand. I tightened my
grip. His jaw fell open. He must be riding the Train! His breath came in little
puffs and he hunched over into himself, rocking on the balls of his feet. What
was he feeling? What made him grind my knuckles so hard? I peered at him,
wondering, wincing, waiting. His erection grew in his pants, a tent formed over
his crotch. Was the Train that good? What was—

Oh my god!

I gasped.

Pure feeling, erotic and sensual, poured into me from Josh’s
hand. He went limp, swaying on his feet as every muscle in my body contracted
with pure joy. My breasts! My pussy! Everything! My elbows and knees, even! All
filled with a beautiful roaring, an impossible tide of sensation! I had an
orgasm in eight seconds flat, standing there holding hands with Josh and
Geoffrey—an apex, I mean
apex
.

It rushed through me like a locomotive. Like a steaming,
churning, crazed freight engine, it ran riot through my erogenous zones,
leaving me gasping for air and weak at the knees.

Oh… Oh…
Oh!

Not able to take another second of the intense splendor that
came so close to being too much, I passed the Train to Geoffrey.

And felt him melt.

So this was Mr. Abiba’s idea of a parlor game! I’d hoped the
game would be something special, but Train Ride was in a league of its own. It
left Spin the Bottle groveling in the dust! Train Ride was a peacock among
crows! A diamond among pebbles! Train Ride was…was…was…it was an Olympic
contender! No, forget the Olympics—Train Ride was worthy of the Nobel Prize!

If only they awarded prizes in such things.

Josh squeezed my hand. We grinned at each other, both still
breathing hard, ignoring the close-your-eyes thing. As was Zora, who leaned
forward into the circle, watching us and grinning, her face flushed a rosy
color, a color I didn’t even bother to name, which tells you the state I was
in. Josh grinned. I grinned back. We both grinned at Zora.

There was a lot of grinning going on that first round.

Holy fuck
, Josh mouthed.

I bent toward him, making sure not to drop Geoffrey’s
hand—he was still in the middle of his ride, and besides, there was no way I
was going to derail the Train—and kissed Josh, hard, on the mouth. I couldn’t
wait until it came around again.

We watched Geoffrey pass the Train to Jonathan, and Jonathan
pass it to Zenith. She moaned aloud, making my insides contract. Everyone’s
eyes were open now, trained on Zenith as she squirmed and shuddered,
experiencing her ride. The people on the other side of Zenith must have been
shaking with eagerness by then.

Mr. Abiba certainly was.

When the Train came back around, I was ready for it.

Or rather, I thought I was ready for it.

Josh’s reaction, a state bordering on delirium, ought to
have warned me. It didn’t.

The Train slammed into me with the force of a hurricane. I
shrieked. I lurched. I would have fallen but for the hands holding mine. The
Train was stronger this time. So much stronger. So powerful I could barely
stand it. I screwed my eyes shut, blinded by the fireworks exploding in my
body. The Train’s invasion knocked the breath from my lungs, so
all-encompassing that it made me feel insignificant in comparison. I was
nothing. I was puny. The Train was everything.

Ecstasy! Ecstasy, like I’d never felt before.

And something else too. Ecstasy and…hurt.

Pain, almost.

It was so unexpected.

It burned, it cut, it twisted. It caused me to writhe in
agony. It was agony, wasn’t it? Or was I writhing with passion, with purest,
unadulterated lust? Lust…hurt…passion…agony… They felt the same—I couldn’t tell
which was which.

No more! No more!

It had only been a few seconds, nowhere as long as last
time, but it was enough. Gathering my last shreds of willpower, I passed the
Train to Geoffrey.

I didn’t even have an apex.

Or had the entire thing been an apex?

I had no idea.

It took me longer this time to recuperate—the Train was halfway
around the circle before I began to feel like myself again. It took Josh longer
too. It took all of us longer. The room grew quiet after the second round. No
more chatting or laughing or merry-making. No more playing. We husbanded our
strength. Most everyone’s eyes were open. We were watchful and wary and
subdued. Except, of course, for whoever happened to be riding the Train. That
person might moan or pant or cry out or make strange gurgling noises that made
the rest of us cringe. We watched as the Train passed from person to person, fascinated.
And horrified too, each of us thinking,
do I look like that?

The game had turned a corner.

What had started out so wonderfully fun was now an endurance
contest. Who would be the one to derail the Train? Who would be the one who
couldn’t take it any longer? Who would be the weakest among us? Would it be
Rhonda-Lynne? Jonathan? One of the Guides?