Poison

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Lindsey drove around to his condo on Saturday night. She had never been before and was curious to see his apartment and find out how he lived. As it turned out, he lived quite well. He had a penthouse on the roof and the exterior wall was solid glass. The place was right out of the pages of Architectural Digest. The salmon was already in the oven and a woman in a black pantsuit with white apron, was hovering about the kitchen door. An older couple were already seated on the sofa and chatting over drinks. Doctor Stone introduced them; Ray and his friend Rebecca.

“And this is Mary,” Doctor Stone indicated the woman in the apron who had come forward to stand by Lindsey’s elbow.

“Can I get you something from the bar?” the woman asked.

“Would a martini be okay?”

Doctor Stone laughed at her naiveté. “Mary’s specialty,” he said. “And Mary’s preparing the dinner tonight. You’re in for a treat.”

Mary acknowledged him with a c**k of her chin. “You spoil me, dear sir,” she said with a saucy sparkle about her eyes. Lindsey had no doubt the woman was capable of serving up more than food and drink. Mary moved along to the bar at the end of the room in search of the cocktail shaker.

There was a knock at the door and Doctor Stone ushered in a second couple. Lindsey couldn’t help but stare. The woman was in her thirty’s, perhaps late thirty’s. She was statuesque and stunningly beautiful, but it was the woman’s dress that could halt traffic.

It was closer to a negligee than party wear. In deep purple, the loose folds draped the curves of her body. The neckline plunged to below her navel, and the hemline wasn’t much further below that. If the woman was wearing underwear, it could only be panties, and the briefest pair at that.

Their names were Farthington and Carmen. Once again, the woman was introduced as his friend. Rebecca went to the woman and kissed her full on the mouth. Lindsey wondered if it was some kind of European thing. They must have been known to Mary because, when she returned, she had three drinks on her tray. She passed Lindsey a martini, a caesar went to Carmen, and a large scotch whiskey to Farthington. Her tray empty, Mary rushed back into her kitchen. Doctor Stone was close on her heels.

Farthington took a prodigious slug of his scotch and sighed. “Bloody hell; been looking forward to that one.” Then he turned and saluted Ray and Rebecca. “Good to see you both! Rebecca, you’re looking quite butchy this evening. Can always count on you; not to disappoint.”

She smiled. “You always liked a girl with balls, Farty.”

He laughed in return. “And you, Ray. How’s life down on the ranch?”

“Haven’t seen it a year; wretched black flies, you know. But they tell me all’s well. Into the spring calving, presently, whatever that might entail.”

Then Farthington had turned to Lindsey; studied her with a critical eye, for a moment, while sipping scotch. “And your Stoney’s latest acquisition,” he said, surmising her curves.

Lindsey wasn’t sure what he meant, by acquisition, but she smiled prettily and held out her hand. He took hold of her fingers, but instead of shaking her hand, he lifted it. Lindsey knew it was to raise her hemline. He spun her around. “Lovely,” he said to no one in particular. “A bit young, but all the bits seem to be in order, and nicely packaged as well.”

Lindsey suddenly felt naked and looked around for Doctor Stone to come and rescue her, but he was still in the kitchen, with Mary.

“You’ll make a nice addition to our little group,” Farthington drolled on.

“Oh leave her alone, Farty,” Rebecca cut in from her spot on the sofa. “She’s just a girl.”

“But you like her, don’t you,” he shot back, “you old lezzie...”

Rebecca sneered at him and looked away. “Stone?” she called out. “You better get in here. Farty’s fixin’ to f**k your girlfriend!”

To Lindsey’s relief, Doctor Stone stepped back through the kitchen doorway but, with a flash of jealousy, Lindsey watched him wipe lipstick from his cheek. Stone laughed. “Farthington. What are you about?”

The man humped his shoulders, all innocence, but at least he let go of Lindsey’s hand.

“Your little Lindsey’s about to be ravaged,” Rebecca warned.

“Nonsense,” Farthington defended himself. “I was just admiring the packaging.”

“At least give the poor girl a chance to get something to fill her tummy,” Carmen piped in.

The kitchen door swung back. “Dinner in ten minutes,” Mary rang out. “Time for one more cocktail.”

Lindsey watched her cross the room in the direction of the bar. Mary was a tall, lively woman; seemed randy as hell. She appeared slim and lithe in her black pantsuit.

“It’s these damned Democrats. They want to give all our money away...” Ray was discussing politics.

“You need to drop by and see the new trainer. He’s only twenty-six but he can dig his toenails into my bed-sheets, anytime...” Carmen was talking s*x.

“But they need to sign a guy like Jackson. We need the strength in the back field...” Doctor Stone was talking sports.

Lindsey sat listening to the general hubbub of the party. Mary brought the tray of drinks and Lindsey started in on a second martini.

“Okay people,” Doctor Stone announced, “bring along your glasses. Let’s head into the dining room.”

It was an adjacent room dominated by a dining table draped with a linen cloth. There was a silver service, real china and crystal glasses. The lighting was low and dozens of candles flickered from the surrounding side-tables. The setting was terribly romantic. When everyone was seated, Doctor Stone splashed crisp, cold white wine into large goblets. With two drinks on an empty stomach, and now wine, Lindsey’s head had begun to swim and she looked forward to the meal being served. Mary didn’t disappoint her.

She breezed through the doorway with a silver platter the size of a child’s snow-saucer; covered with a silver dome. “Bon appétit,” Mary said, placing the platter in front of Doctor Stone who stood at the head of the table. Then, excusing herself, Mary returned to her kitchen.

Doctor Stone bowed his head. “Thank you Lord for all the goodies we will be enjoying this evening.” He gave Lindsey a rather poignant wink before whisking the cover off the platter.

Lindsey gazed down on a whole fish; a fish as long as her arm. It was complete: head, tail, and all the bits in between. Mary had sliced it on the diagonal, but it was all there. The salmon had been dressed with a delicate herb stuffing and was served on a bed of wild rice. There were freshly steamed asparagus and grilled spring onions. The platter was garnished with slices of fresh avocado and the gravy boat was filled with a steaming dill-cheese sauce.

“God Stone, you’ve done it again,” Farthington murmured, the anticipation evident in his voice as he gulped icy Chablis. Everyone watched as Doctor Stone served up huge slabs of meat onto hot dinner plates. Lindsey ate like a trooper and begged seconds. Desert was a parfait: ice cream, whipped cream, and a generous drizzle of orangey Grand Marnier. Chocolate ladies fingers garnished the sides of the parfait dishes. It was a perfect complement to the dinner; not too heavy on the stomach but cleansed the palate nicely. The steaming rich Jamaica coffee helped settle the full feeling and went well with the snifter of brandy Doctor Stone placed in front of her.

They took their coffees and brandies into the living room where Farthington produced small Cuban cigars from his breast pocket. Ray accepted readily. Doctor Stone declined, but accompanied the two men out onto the terrace, his brandy in hand. Carmen trailed along, professing to enjoy the aroma of a good cigar. Mary disappeared into the dining room to deal with the gastronomic aftershocks, leaving Lindsey and Rebecca facing each other across the coffee table. There was an awkward silence. Lindsey looked wistfully toward the terrace, but the men were in deep conversation, the cigars glowing in the night air. Rebecca finished her brandy and Lindsey looked around when she heard the woman set her snifter down and get to her feet.

Rebecca was a mannish, big-boned woman. Shoulders and hips. But not unattractive with her high, prominent cheek bones and deep set eyes. In her forties, her hair may have lost some of its luster, but even so, the soft curls, closely cropped, framed an attractive face.

“So Lindsey; how are you enjoying our little group?” Her voice was deeply resonant, like the roll of a ten-pin bowling ball. The woman had slipped in to join Lindsey on the sofa.

Lindsey’s fingers trembled as she set down her glass, the mellowing effects of the brandy suddenly gone. “Everyone’s been very nice,” Lindsey said, realizing she sounded guarded. “Except Farthington; I’m not sure he likes me.”

“Rebecca laughed, a low chesty rumble. “Don’t take any notice of Farty. He’s playacting.”

“Playacting?”

“Well sure. We all are, really. Farty’s not at all like that. He’s a dammed accountant, for Christ’s sake. You can’t get more stodgy. He dreams of being obnoxious. But he can’t get away with it in real life. So he comes here. We know he’s not really like that, so put up with him playing the horse’s ass. And he’s married to a lovely woman.”

“But I thought he and…”

“Carmen? Good god no. Carmen’s married to an orthopedic surgeon; she’s a head nurse at Trinity, a very responsible job. But her fantasy is to be the world’s most notorious slut. And, as you’ve seen, she loves to dress for the occasion. She has the largest collection of the most bazaar underwear. But this is the only place she gets to wear any of it. Her husband doesn’t suspect.”

“And you?”

Rebecca smiled, a look of deliberation about her lips. “I come here to punish myself for being a lesbian,” she confessed without prejudice.

Lindsey gawked. She couldn’t help herself. Rebecca’s bold admission was surprising.

“These men compromise my body,” Rebecca continued. “I try to fight them off, but they always win. I get a rousing good screw, sometimes by all three of them. I’m reminded of what I am and what I should have been. My partner works for the Count Me First rally; the self-help tour that travels the country this time of year. I come to these dinner parties to work out my frustrations; every four or six weeks. We take turns hosting them.”

“But I don’t understand.”

“How old are you, baby?”

“Twenty.”

“That’s the reason, then. You’re young yet. At twenty, everything is all rosy. But soon that sweet little cottage you dreamt about turns out to be a dingy one-bedroom apartment. And the landlord is threatening because last month’s money went to the car payment on that forth-hand junker your husband bought, just before he lost his job. Your daily debate is whether or not to buy booze or baby formula. And then you find out that hubby has been boinking Mrs. Thunderthighs down the hall. And everything ends in a landslide of pills and whiskey.”

“But it’s not going to be like that!” Lindsey leapt to defend herself. “I’m going to be a journalist. Win a Pulitzer Prize.”

The room went silent a moment as both women re-assessed.

“Really. A journalist...” Rebecca confirmed.

“Yes.”

“You can write. You’re serious about it.”

“I’m enrolled in the communications division at the University. I’m at the head of my journalism class.”

“The head. You’re sure.”

“Yes. I graduate this year. No one can touch me; not even close.”

“Just a sec...” Rebecca pulled her cell phone from her bag and scrolled through the menu.