Inn on the Edge (14 page)

“It was Tim Maddox. Rhonda’s husband.”

I held the brush an inch from the paper, listening, waiting,
staring at her. “Go on.”

“He was yelling and shouting, acting like an ass. Fighting,
even. He’s usually so quiet. Tim accused Mr. Abiba of the most
awful
things. Said he was holding him prisoner!”

“Really?”

She nodded. “Mr. Abiba took him aside and calmed him down.”
She tore a sliver off her thumbnail with her teeth. “You know, it’s impossible,
I know that, but I have the strangest feeling we’ve all been there. That we’ve
all had calming-down sessions with Mr. Abiba…” She looked up at me. “Right,
Angie? Am I right?”

I caught a flash of something in her eyes. Worry? Unease?
Denial?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said quickly.

She changed her position—I’d have to rearrange her—and
sighed heavily. “It doesn’t matter. Tim is fine now. But I bet Mr. Abiba’s head
hurts where Tim yanked on his hair! You should have seen how Tim launched
himself at him.”

I flinched. “Mr. Abiba is bald. You must be mistaken.”

“No, Tim grabbed a handful of his hair. I saw it.”

“A wig then?”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t a wig.”

“Whatever.” I raised the paintbrush and waved it back and
forth. “Let’s get back to this, what do you say? Another ten minutes and it’ll
be done.” I didn’t wait for an answer. I didn’t want an answer. What I wanted
was for her to stop talking. “Nikki, can you get back into the original
position for me? Please?”

She moved back to the approximate pose she’d been in. It was
close enough. I squeezed a dollop of yellow ochre onto my pallet and dipped the
tip of my brush into it.

“Look, there he is!” Nikki’s long neck craned to the left.

Still holding my brush, I turned around just in time to see
Mr. Abiba sweep around the corner and into the dining room.

I blinked with surprise.

Hair.

Nikki was right. Mr. Abiba had hair! He was
balding
,
not bald. The top of his head was smooth and shiny, true, but everywhere else
there was thick Pewter Gray hair. How had I missed it? I’d been so surethere
wasn’t a single hair on his head.

And then, my lips pressed together—I’d been so sure—I began
to lay down the jaggedy outline of Nikki’s hair.

But the sunlight had vanished and my model was just a model.

And all the fun had gone out of it.

“My dear, but this is marvelous!”

And the fun, just like that, was back.

We’d just finished another enormous breakfast. Fat, frosted
cinnamon rolls were today’s specialty—one of them, anyway—and everyone was
still seated at the table when Mr. Abiba called for my painting to be brought
to him. I fetched it, then hung back, holding my breath, as he held it at arm’s
length, studying it. He laughed out loud with pleasure. “Zettia!” he called
loudly. “Come see what our sweet Angela has done! We have a true artist in our
midst!” He put his arm around me and pulled me close, causing me to tremble
with pride.

How his face glowed when he smiled. How gracefully he
carried his astonishing height.

And how kind he was. Holding my hand last night as I
slept—how many people would do that?

Mr. Abiba pressed against me, warm and strong. I felt his
heartbeat, felt his sturdy chest. Obviously he was nowhere as old as I’d
previously thought. “We must display Angela’s painting in the Fine Arts Room!”
he said, his voice booming. “Valerian! Come! Where are you? Why are you moving
so slowly? Are you not feeling well, my man? Take this masterpiece from me and
hang it on the east wall.” Mr. Abiba released me from his embrace but not
before leaning over and kissing the top of my head. “And you, Angela Taylor!
You shall paint a portrait of each person here. A commemorative exhibit of my
dearest friends. A body of work to be displayed in my Fine Arts Room. Yes?”

“Yes,” I cried. “Oh
yes
!”

He regarded me, his eyebrows bunched in thought. “But that
is not enough, is it, for my earnest little artist? It is not! She needs more!
And so I shall give it to her. The Fine Arts Room—the walls—shall be yours, my
dear. Paint your delightful character sketches, yes, but I also wish you to
create some true artworks. Create muralson the walls for me! It is your
dream, is it not? To paint large and lush? Do it, then! Paint your brave little
heart out!” He put his hands on my shoulders. “Angela Taylor, the Fine Arts Room
is yours.”

I stared up at him, speechless.

A room of my own! To paint anything I wanted! Never in my
life had I imagined such a thing. The possibilities were endless. I could paint
the lighthouse scene. The view from the North Tower’s windows. Or the
grass-and-dunes vista I’d seen on the drive to the inn. I could paint any of
them—I could paint all of them!

I stuttered my thanks, but Mr. Abiba was already moving on.
He dropped his hands from my shoulders and regarded the circle of attentive
faces at the table.

Dazed, I returned to my seat.

Josh took my hand. “Wow,” he whispered. “Just…wow.”

Mr. Abiba cleared his throat. “Rhonda-Lynne Maddox! Where
are you?”

She leaped to her feet. “Here! Here I am, sir.”

“Rhonda-Lynne. Your sisters call you the ‘Embroidery Queen’.
Is this not so?”

She gasped. “Y-yes. But, um…they don’t mean it in a nice
way.”

He ignored her. “You create prize-winning needlework.” He
paused, regarding the fluttering woman. “Now, now, my sweetness. Don’t be
bashful! A championship ribbon from the state fair is indeed a prize. We are
all creative souls here, are we not? Yes, yes we are!” he said, answering his
own question. “We are sexual beings, yes, but we are so much more. We must
celebrate all aspects of the character, not just the erotic. My dear, I wish
you to teach a demonstration class for the rest of us. Instruct us in your
delicate, beautiful art. Make no mistake. I hold embroidered tapestries in the
highest esteem. Have you not seen my wall hangings by the stairs? Yes? Your
class shall be tomorrow, after dinner.”

Rhonda-Lynne’s eyes sparkled. “Yes sir. Thank you, sir! I’ll
be ready!”

She turned to Tim. He whispered something to her and she
nodded, smiling.

I watched Rhonda-Lynne and Tim, wondering about what Nikki
had told me earlier. Had Tim, this kind, round-faced man really attacked Mr.
Abiba? How bizarre. Tim looked no different than usual. He seemed relaxed and
content, excited for his wife. Not riled up at all.

Maybe Nikki had been mistaken.

Mr. Abiba’s voice drew me back. “Listen up, everyone! My
lovelies. You are wondering when you will find the time to accomplish the
things I have asked of you, these new artistic endeavors as well as your
Lessons and your various sexual escapades. Is this not correct? Of course it
is! Do not worry. From this moment on, most beloved of guests, you will have
free rein of the inn. Your rooms will no longer be locked.”

Excited murmurs met this announcement.

“Be proud of yourselves. You have earned my trust. Raise a
glass.”

Free rein of the inn? How extraordinary! How generous of Mr.
Abiba! There was a full champagne glass in front of me. Zettia must have set it
there without my noticing. I picked up the delicate little flute and toasted,
just like everyone else.

And there was more. The gifts kept coming.

To the left of each champagne flute was a tiny filigreed
silver canister of medicinal salve. For our various aches and pains and
sorenesses, explained Mr. Abiba. Because he knew we were feeling the effects of
our stay with him. “Because I care about your health. Dab a tiny amount where
you most need it. My medicine works wonders on the erogenous zones. Massage it
in. Use it often. Masturbate with it, even! You are guaranteed immediate
results.” He leaned back in his chair, like a grandfatherly doctor. The type
who used to make house calls and took his time about it.

I opened mine. White creamy lotion filled the canister
almost to the top. It smelled of the tiny yellow flowers that graced the
breakfast table each morning, the inn’s trademark flower. I took a dab and
rubbed it between my fingers, knowing already how wonderfully soothing it would
be on my genitals. I stared at my finger. Was it tingling? I shivered in my
seat. I could hardly wait to use this salve on my erogenous zones.

Sighing, I tucked it into my pocket.

“And now we have a most special treat!” said Mr. Abiba, his
face lit up with excitement. “Joshua Taylor! Bring out your guitar and enchant
us with your musical interpretations. A mere taste of what is to come. Let us
all meet in the Fine Arts Room in fifteen minutes to hear him play.” He held up
his hand. “Bring your calling cards, if you please. You will have need of
them.”

With that, he swept from the room.

Josh and I looked at each other. Then he studied his
guitar-picking fingernails.

“Are you ready?” I asked, “Fingers all limbered up?”

His knee bounced. He gave me a lopsided grin. He was getting
nervous. As he did before every performance. He kissed me, then stood. “You
won’t believe the guitar he loaned me. It’s a Ramirez—just like in that
picture! One hundred and twelve years old. I played for almost an hour this
morning while you were painting. My god, that’s an amazing instrument.” He
looked wistfully toward the Fine Arts Room.

“Warm up,” I said. “I’ll go to the Tower and get your calling
cards and meet you there. Go!”

When I came back downstairs, the door to the Fine Arts Room
was closed, but I could hear soft scale runs and arpeggios coming from within.
Josh, warming up. Zettia was passing out tea again and I took one. I took a
careful drink, blowing on it, searching its dark depths. What effect would this
cup of tea have on me? Zettia’s teas were special. Invigorating. Would it have
the volcano effect? Would it make me drag Josh to the bedroom and have my way
with him? Or would it do something different this time, like making me feel as
if I were the sexiest woman who ever walked the face of the earth? That
wouldn’t be so bad. I smiled and took another sip.

Zenith joined me. “Angie! Hi.”

I blushed like a teenager on her first date.

Zenith ran a light finger up and down my arm. “I missed
you.”

My nipples sucked themselves into tight little nubs and a
flush rose to my face. She stood so close I could smell the sweet aroma of
flowers that wafted over me with her every move. Her lips brushed mine in a
promise of a kiss. “Come with me,” she said, pulling me down the hallway and
tucking us neatly into the narrow area between two potted palms. “Sweetheart,”
she whispered, kissing me, this time for real. “I want you again.”

I just about fainted.

She pulled me close. “I mean, right now would be great, but
it’s not a good time, not with Josh about to play for us. Later.” She nodded at
her own words, not expecting a response from me. Not that I was capable of
giving her one. “You and me. And Josh, if he wants to.” She shivered with
anticipation. “Yes. Definitely with Josh. A three-way. How about it?”

I just about fainted. Again. “Sure! Yeah, great!” I managed
to squeak.

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “Speaking of
Josh…remember after the Train Ride game? How I took care of you?”

If I’d thought I was in a tizzy a moment ago, that was
nothing compared to what I felt now. My lips parted and my breath came in
shallow puffs as I remembered how Zenith had
taken care of me
, how
beautifully she’d made love to me, how she’d brought my inner lesbian roaring
to life. Oh the kisses! The caresses! Those lovely little breasts that fit so
perfectly into my mouth! And above all, that slim, long-fingered hand that had
fit me so perfectly. Oh yes, I remembered. I would never forget. Never.

I coughed, blinking. Then I nodded, smiling shyly.

“You do remember, don’t you?” she asked, running that same
glorious hand, the one that had made love to me, up the front of my shirt,
trailing it lightly over the swell of my breast. “Because I sure do.”

“All of it, yes,” I said, the words breathless. I swallowed.

“Well…” She cleared her throat. “Honey. Before you woke up,
I took careof Josh too.”

I sucked in my breath, staring at her. “Oh.”

“I thought you should know. In case he hadn’t mentioned it
yet.”

Josh and Zenith getting it on? With me in the same bed,
oblivious? Really? First him, then me, making love with the same woman while
the other slept? I didn’t know what to think. Why hadn’t Josh shared this
savory tidbit with me? Did he think I already knew? Was he hiding it from me? No,
he wouldn’t. Right? All these thoughts, and more, flashed through my mind as
Zenith stood there, flicking my nipple through the fabric of my shirt, smiling.
Making it very difficult to think. So I gave up. It wasn’t important. What was
happening to my left breast and to my pussy was what was important.

“You like that?” she whispered.

I made a noise suspiciously like a moan. She pressed one
hand over my mound and gave my nipple a gentle twist with the other. “How about
this?”

“Yes! Yes!” I gasped. “Zenith! You know exactly what you’re
doing to me!”

She blew into my ear. “Of course I know what I’m doing.
Honey, you’re the sweetest little thing. But your husband…he’s sweet too. In a
different way.”

“I know! He’s great!”

She laughed softly. “He’s got this thing he does after sex…”

I frowned. “He sucked your knuckles?”

That was
my
thing! His and mine. He’d done it with
her?

“Mmm-hmm. He did.” She lifted her hand from my breast and
wriggled her long graceful fingers in front of my face. Her eyes twinkled.
“Knuckles. Fingers. Nails. The whole deal.” She closed her eyes. Licked her
lips. Let out a long, slow sigh. Shuddered. Imitating him with wicked
perfection. She brought her own hand to her mouth and opened her lips.

Slurp-slurp. Lick-lick. Nibble-nibble. Suck-suck.

“Mmm…” she pretended to moan, peeking at me.

I smiled in spite of myself, deciding it didn’t matter, not
really. There was enough of Josh to go around. I could share him with Zenith.
And with others too, most likely. I’d seen him look sideways at Zora. And at
Jonathan. And Nikki. Definitely Nikki. Besides, who was I to complain? I’d been
busy too. Checking out Valerian’s muscles. Hoping to get Vane in bed again.
Wondering what it would feel like to make love with teddy-bear Geoffrey.
Imagining Logan spreading Mr. Abiba’s lotion all over my genitals. There was no
doubt about it, I’d had a very fruitful fantasy life recently.

Shocking but true.

Zenith was gazing at me, still doing that thing with her
hand.

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed too. It was funny, after
all. I shook my tea so violently that I sloshed some onto the floor. Who would
ever have thought I’d be giggling about my husband’s sexual proclivities with
another woman? A woman who was also
my
lover?

Unreal. That was what it was.

She kissed me full on the lips. “See this hand? You and Josh
have both made love with it. You have my left hand in common.”

We leaned against the wall between those potted palms,
pressing ourselves together so tightly I felt the warmth of her body on mine,
felt her heartbeat, felt her nipples hardening. “Look,” Zenith said, coming up
for air too soon.“They’re all going into the Fine Arts Room.”

Damn
, I thought.
Fucking hell!

Then I thought,
I didn’t used to swear. What’s gotten
into me?

But she was right. The door of the Fine Arts Room was open
now. Zenith and I stood frozen, almost hidden by our potted palm, breathing
heavily, flushed.

I wanted her. My body cried out for her.

She reached up with the hand and ran her palm down my cheek.

I about had an apex.

“Later?” she said, tossing her Burnt Sienna head.

I could hardly wait.