Tasting Licorice

Chapter VI. Eros and Thanatos

Thursday morning at the office dragged on like a silent movie without an accompanist. Donna sat over bug fixes the whole day, trying to focus on the code, but her brain would actively work against her, pushing squishy bubbles of thought around a huge white room inside her head. She wouldn't stop looking at her phone, anxiously waiting for God knows what – cancellation? No. Maybe fearing it. Crave knew the company she worked for, he knew the address, or at least the way there, so he probably wasn't going to ask. She was also glancing at the clock, naively hoping the pixels would run quicker if she stressed about it enough.

He arrived punctually at 5, waited for her to leave the building and when she appeared in the doorway, she immediately spotted his car. It was indeed that cherry-colored Lambo she remembered from the unfortunate night. She approached him and asked to be able to change into better clothing. He obliged with no hesitation, waited for her patiently and with a proud smirk, so sure of himself, so full of himself. When she came back in her delicate white cropped top with an intricate web of strings and straps and her perfectly fitting skirt, her elbow-length gloves, her stiletto shoes, his jaw touched the floor. He wasn't ready for an evening outfit for this occasion, he wasn't ready to see her body's contour in such close approximation. He invited her into the seat beside him and as the door shut, he spoke, "I'll drive you back to work in the morning, sugar. Or I can pay for your taxi, it's your call."

"I'll be glad to accept a lift," she said, flushing with color in her cheeks.

They drove for a good half an hour as he played jazz classics on the radio. Ella Fitzgerald's smooth runs and bubbly scatting sounded in Donna's head long after the radio had been turned off. Crave's taste was impeccable, perfectly fitted to Donna's vision of him, distinguished and noteworthy. She had never listened to jazz before, but her view of the genre set Crave's preferences in a special light. He was an outsider in her eyes, a man of unconventional thinking and innovative ideas. She guessed it had to translate onto his business matters, a visionary he was, a genius in his field. Outstandingly competent, he stood out in the sea of other gentlemen. At least that's how she wanted to see him.

Crave displayed these sweet bursts of energy, giving lectures on topics he was passionate about. Donna heard from him about jazz during their online discussions, then on their first date, so obviously he couldn't hold back during the car ride to his place. He spoke of classics, of piano techniques, chord arrangements and many things Donna could not remember for more than ten seconds. She was truly astounded. Her brain felt like a raisin, seeing his multi-faceted knowledge applied in order to attract her, and it worked wonders. She did not even think of resisting, it never crossed her mind.

As they pulled up into the driveway of a magnificent residence, she couldn't believe her eyes. She prepared herself for the proportion of his wealth, and yet her mind failed to comprehend the sheer opulence of his property. The mansion spread across the multi-hectar lot, all covered with a post-modern arrangement of minimalist plants, the grass trimmed to perfection. The building itself stood at two storeys high, but covered a huge area horizontally. It reminded Donna of short-term science fiction predictions of houses more than your typical suburban home, it was painfully modern, with sharp edges and right angles in its every dimension. Glass covered much of its surface, floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a peak inside only to show another harsh set of angles. It was unlike anything Donna was used to.

Crave drove into the garage, which opened by itself from simply sensing the approaching car. As he left the vehicle, he rushed to open the door for Donna. He smiled at her, asking "How do you like it here?"

She had no choice but to say, "I love it. It's a beautiful house."

"Wait until you see my art collection."