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The Bluffs
What a fine view, Al thought as he stared out the window of the cliff-side restaurant. The meeting with Tom, his old friend and editor, was winding down. Tom had flown in from the east coast to visit his kids from his first marriage, but also to go over a few pre-publication details of Al’s latest novel, For Love and Money. It had been a good discussion. “You’ve really nailed this one,” Tom said. “This girl Julie is really wonderful. Best you’ve ever done.”
Al took a sip of tea and gazed at the endless succession of calm ocean waves. “What a fine place—I wish Julie could have been here.”
“Julie?” Tom exclaimed. “You mean she’s real? I knew she was, dammit. I knew you were holding back on me. You couldn’t have just invented someone so—so utterly captivating. I mean, you could … but dammit, man, I would have loved to meet her. Are you involved? Is she really just nineteen? Come on, you old dog, spill!”
Al sighed. “She’s nineteen, Tom. Barely.”
“Don’t tell me she’s practically like a daughter.”
“Let’s just say she’s a good friend and a great inspiration and leave it at that, okay?”
“Sure, sure. But that’s not what your book tells me. So why didn’t you ask your young muse along?”
“I guess I could have. I wish I’d thought of it.” Al couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe next time.”
In fact, Al had thought of it, but something had kept him from inviting Julie to this meeting. Maybe he didn’t really want to share her with anyone just yet.
“Tell me this,” Tom said. “Does she know she’s in the book? Has she read it? That book is so hot, I can’t believe you’ve never really …” Tom went silent.
A smile played across Al’s lips as he remembered watching Julie read one of the more sexual passages of the novel. “Am I really this wanton?” she’d asked, blushing, an endearing innocence to her expression.
“Sorry,” Al said to Tom. “Some things should stay private—you know how it is.”
Tom shook his head as he got to his feet. “Well, it’s been excellent seeing you. Now I’ve got that flight to catch. But you should stay awhile, enjoy the view. That’s what I’d do if I were you. Have some more tea.” And then Tom took off, and Al ordered another cup of that Oolong.
While he waited for the tea to arrive, Al’s gaze returned to the ocean, and he recalled a beautiful day not more than two months ago when he and Julie had visited a seaside town famous for its Mission. They’d stopped at one of the many little gift shops, and Julie had admired some ceramic drinking mugs decorated with pink and purple lovebirds and bright red hearts. “Cute,” Al had said. “Sexy,” Julie replied. “I’ll get you one,” Al had offered. “Don’t you want one, too?” Julie asked, and Al said, “Couldn’t I share yours?” Unable to come to a decision, one mug or two, Al impulsively purchased three. The clerk wrapped them in tissue paper and set them gently into a small sack. Al remembered admiring the way Julie looked swinging the sack as she strolled happily along, the steady sea-breeze ruffling her hair and teasing her skirt, but then, back in the city, they’d discovered the lovebird drinking mugs were missing. Perhaps they’d set the sack down someplace while exploring the nooks and crannies of the Mission.
This teacup was bone china, nearly transparent, and Al could feel the warmth on his fingers. As he smoothed his thumb over the outer surface of the cup, he thought of Julie’s ass, the curve and feel and heat of it, even through a pair of snug jeans, and he shook his head slightly, as if to disconnect teacup from a blatantly bare bottom, but the damage was done, and Al’s groin swelled pleasantly.
Al contemplated telephoning Julie. Maybe she could grab a cab and come on up—it was only a forty minute ride from the city. It would take Julie just a minute to get ready—that’s the way she was—maybe two minutes if she knew how posh this place was. Just for a drink at the bar and a look out over that afternoon ocean, at those gray-white gulls soaring through sunlight. Oh, she’d love it. Strange that she’d never heard of this place. The other evening he’d mentioned his appointment here.
“Ooh, The Bluffs!” Julie had said.
“Do you know it?” Al had asked.
“Not really. But it sounds special.”
Yes, he should call her now. They could have a drink, watch the rolling sea, and then maybe have dinner or go for a stroll along the cliffs. Al imagined a sweet sunset kiss. He sighed, having just about decided to ask the waiter if dinner reservations were available.
“Excuse me?”
A little man stood next to him. Something struck Al as unpleasant, slightly rodent-like, about this fellow’s face, and he wore a mustache from a former century. His leather boots had pointed toes and over-sized heels. At first Al thought he was one of the waiters.
“Excuse me,” the little man repeated. “You are Al Mano, right?”
“Yes,” Al admitted with mild caution.
“Ah, I knew it!” The little man’s eyes gleamed, and he pinched the end of his mustache between thumb and forefinger. “Forgive me, I couldn’t help overhearing some of your conversation ... and I think we have a mutual ... friend.”
“Who is that?” Al asked.
“Don’t be gruff,” the little man said. “I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping. Just a word here and there. But you see, I know some of your work. Excellent. Simply excellent.”
The man cocked his head and smiled. Al wasn’t quite sure what to say.
“Do you mind if I sit down?” the man continued. Without quite waiting for a reply he pulled out a chair and seated himself in the place formerly occupied by Al’s friend.
“I was just about to leave,” Al said, glancing at his wristwatch.
“Just a few minutes,” the man said. “I have to be leaving in a few minutes myself. That’s partly what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh?” Al said.
“This place is really grand, isn’t it?” the man said, and he smiled as if bestowing a gift. “You can’t know how good it is to actually run into you. Say, can I buy you a brandy? Maybe a glass of wine? The wines here are excellent, simply excellent.”
“Who is it we both know?” Al asked.
“And the tea, too, of course,” the man added. “Much better than coffee. Tea is so much more ... what would you say—refined? Of course tea isn’t actually refined, is it? Maybe that’s not quite the right word. You’re the one who knows the words. Am I right?”
“Yeah, it’s good tea,” Al said.
“Is it Darjeeling?” the man asked.
“Oolong,” Al said.
“Ah!” the man said. “Yes, I should have recognized it. The aroma, and that special color. Oolong really is delicate, isn’t it?”
“I guess,” Al said.
“You should have another cup,” the man said. “Yours is just about empty, and I’m sure it’s cold now. How about one more cup, so I could have one with you?”
“I really have to be going,” Al said, and he began to push away from the table.
“We could talk about Julie,” the man said. His voice had grown soft, wistful.
“Julie?” Al said, resettling in his seat.
“Our mutual friend.” The man twisted his mustache slightly. “One more cup of tea. Okay?” He snapped his fingers, and the waiter came over to take the order.
While he and the man waited for the tea to steep, Al said, “You know Julie?”
The man chuckled. “I’m glad we decided to get the pot, aren’t you? Isn’t it nice the way the steam comes out?”
“You’re talking about Julie Allen?” Al said.
“Isn’t she a delight!” the man said.
Al nodded slowly.
The man mirrored Al’s nod. “Normally I’d have ordered wine. I really enjoy a good Merlot. Sometimes something even a bit darker—a Burgundy or a Pinot Noir. To get us in the mood. Julie really goes for Pinot Noir.”
“I didn’t know that,” Al said.
The man nodded rapidly, a chattering little nod.
“There’s something very special about wine, Al,” the man said. “Wine and tea.”
“Yes,” Al agreed.
“Yes, wine, and tea, and I think I’d put saxophone music in there with them.”
Al nodded seriously.
“There’s something really ... similar about them, don’t you think?”
“Mm,” Al said.
“It’s the way they remind me of a girl’s ... ”
Al nodded politely.
“A girl’s what, Mr. Mano?” The man’s words were sharp, almost like a light slap.
“Um,” Al said.
“Don’t be shy, you can say it.”
“I think ... ”
“Do you like wine, Mr. Mano?”
“Yeah, I like it okay,” Al said. “I’m not a connoisseur or anything.”
“Well, some things you have to cultivate a taste for. What I especially like about the Pinot Noir, the one Julie likes so much, is the color. That Pinot Noir we favor has the exact coloring of Julie’s little cunt lips when she’s aroused, when she’s about to come.”
Al looked at his watch.
“You’re blushing,” the man said. “Just a little blush ... You’re not offended that I...?”
“No,” said Al, “I just ... ”
“Right,” said the man. “You’re just a little surprised that I know my wines so well. The way you know teas.”
“Well, I... ”
“Now your Oolong,” the man continued. “Don’t you think it’s almost an exact match of Julie’s asshole? I was even thinking maybe that’s why you like it so much, but then I recalled Julie mentioning something about you not being a particularly ardent ass man – no offense.”
Al didn’t say anything.
“You’re not angry?” the man said.
“I’ve definitely got to be going,” Al said.
“Fine,” the little man said. “Let me walk you to the parking lot.”
As they stepped through the restaurant, the man said, “You shouldn’t be shy of Julie’s asshole. I assure you that she’s not. That I’m not.”
“I’m not shy of her fucking asshole,” Al hissed. A pair of diners turned their heads to stare.
“Good,” said the little man. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“We’re getting out of here,” Al said, and he increased his pace. The little man had to trot on his high-heeled boots to keep up.
“It’s funny,” Al said as they passed the telephones in the outer vestibule. “Right about the time you ... ” He stopped to face the little man, to glare down at him. “Right about the time you came up to my table, I was thinking of calling Julie, seeing if she wanted to come up here.”
“Oh, she’ll be here,” the man said. “She should be here in about ... ” The man lightly took Al’s wrist, checked the watch. “About five minutes.”
“What do you mean?” Al said.
“She’s going to meet me here in five minutes. We have an appointment.”
“An appointment?”
“To meet here.”
“Oh,” said Al.
“We often meet for a drink,” the man said. “That Pinot Noir I mentioned earlier. You should stay, maybe share a glass with us. You shouldn’t be jealous. It’s not like you. As I said, it gets us in the mood.”
“The mood?” Al said.
The man shrugged. “What we do then, after a glass or two of wine, we take my car up the hill a ways. There’s this little motel up there. Maybe you know of it? No? It’s called the Bluffs Motel. Same name as this place. Funny, huh? But they’re not connected, I think. It’s a seedy little motel, dilapidated. Looks that way from the outside. But it suits our purposes. The rooms aren’t bad at all. Nothing repulsive, I assure you. I always get the same room, actually. I can’t speak for the rest of them, but our room is very comfortable. And it has an excellent view of the ocean. Maybe even better than this place. You can hear the waves crashing on the rocks. You can hear the gulls crying. You can hear the big trucks grinding through their gears as they climb the steep road.
“The afternoon light is really special. It just pours in through that deep yellow window-shade. I think you’d like it. I think you’d like the mirror, too. There’s one of these old fashioned dressing mirrors which pivots on its stand. It can be arranged to show just about anything. Sometimes Julie likes it if I put it on the floor. Sometimes she likes it if it’s right in front of her, when she’s sitting on the sturdy high-backed chair, her legs spread so wide, and all that yellow light seeping through the window, pouring through, really, and the rock and roll of the ocean crashing down below.”
The man paused, as if he were listening for the waves.
“Yes, the waves pounding rhythmically on one side of us, trucks grunting on the other, and us in the middle, my cock steeping in Julie’s oh-so-lovely, oh-so-snug, little asshole.”
The man’s little eyes took Al in.
“I’m sure she’d love to have you with us, to have your cock in her cunt while I fuck her ass. Doesn’t that sound good? Or maybe she’d suck you while I plug her butt, and you could see it all in the mirror, the darkening of her lovely little cunt lips, the creamy ooze of her, and the way she trembles when, well ... I don’t have to tell you, do I? Yes, I think the mirror under us would be good, and the window open wide, with the shade not quite all the way drawn, so anybody who’s walking by can hear us, and anybody who’s just a little brave can peek in under that shade and see everything. How’s that sound to you, Mr. Mano? How about it, Al? Two minutes. Julie will be here in two minutes. She’ll step out of that cab in that special way that only lovely girls with long legs know how to do, the sun flashing through the shadow between her legs, and she’ll come up to us and smile, and be a little surprised to see you, a wee bit embarrassed, but really really glad to see you. It’ll melt her little heart, and she’ll get almost teary eyed. But soon we’ll get all cozy together and, I know, she can read us some of your book. Wouldn’t that be good? Some of the good parts. ‘Oh honey,’ she coos. ‘You make me wantoner and wantoner. After I finish this chapter, you better dick the fuckens out of me before I explode. Gracious, did I say dick the fuckens? I mean fuck the dickens. Gracious, your writing makes me so hot, my mind’s all a-swirl. My honey pot’s on fire and my clit’s a burning blister. Let’s do it now, baby, okay? Let’s…’ Wait, Mr. Mano. Wait ... ”
Al got in his car and drove out of the parking lot. Driving down the hill, down the bluff road, he thought about turning back. His hands were white on the wheel. He pulled over to the side and got out.
The wind was picking up. The ocean was starting to churn. When Al heard one of the heavy trucks off in the distance going through its gears, he thought about turning around, driving back up the road, finding Julie, and … and what? What could he do? Protect her? Accuse her? Fuck her? Or ask her why? Maybe she wasn’t even there. Maybe that lying little weasel of a man was wrong. Maybe she was safe and sound in her apartment, and when he got there he’d put his arms around her and hug her so hard he’d break every bone in her pretty little body. Or maybe he’d just go to his place, open up his laptop, and write it all down.
A rickety pickup pulled up next to Al. Crates were stacked in the back of the truck—bright white chickens clucking and cooing. A leathery old man leaned out of the cab. “You okay?” he asked. “You have a breakdown or something? I could give you a lift.”
Al noticed a girl sitting in the pickup beside the old man—a girl even younger than Julie—maybe the old farmer’s daughter or granddaughter. She had a pretty face. Pretty eyes. She smiled at Al and then looked away.
“No, that’s okay,” Al said. “I’m okay. I’m just enjoying the view is all.”
“Okay,” the farmer said. “You take care.”
The pickup drove off. Al stood on the bluff watching the sun-polished waves and listening to the cry of the gulls as they glided through the last of the sunlight.
END
story by Mat Twassel |