THIRTEEN FOR DINNER

Twenty one

TWENTY-ONE

            The old grandfather clock tolls out eleven bongs while Quillan and I stand frozen against the cold glass of the mirror; wondering if we should make our escape while the chiming  echoes across the dark mansion. The tolling of the clock, however, has no effect on the action taking place in the canopy bed and I am hoping our dim lantern will not be noticed either. I can feel Quillan move, ever so slowly, beside me and soon the light we carry is gone. He did well in not giving us away. Now, the only source of light comes from the silvery glow of the moon pouring into the open window, lighting a path across the sheets of the bed and illuminating James Faulkner’s white ass. My momma always censored what I watched on TV so I instinctively turn my head from the erotic episode playing out before me, but as I begin to turn away, a bronzed skin woman rises from the bed and gives Mr. Faulkner a lingering kiss on the mouth. I swallow back a gasp and cover my own mouth to keep from making any noise. The woman dresses quickly, and I fear she will head our way and escape her secret rendezvous through the mirror we are standing in front of. Quillan’s fingers tickle at my hand, so I curl mine around his and wait. The tolling is complete and the silence is deafening, we have missed our chance to retreat.

            Quillan leads me little by little, ever so quietly to the right of where we are standing, placing us in a dark corner. Should Mr. Faulkner’s mistress make her leave through the mirror, we won’t be standing directly in front of it. I am hoping she doesn’t take a lantern but know, deep inside, she will need one to see her way through the dark passage. I hold my breath and fear the thumping of my pulse will be heard louder than the clanging of the grandfather clock.

            Just as I suspected, the woman picks up a lamp, turning the wick to give the faintest glow possible. Instead of making her way to the mirror she exits through the bedroom door. Relieved, I watch Mr. Faulkner sit on the edge of the bed. He sighs and runs his fingers through his thick head of hair and then strokes his moustache, pressing it down with his fingers. He sits quietly for a few moments, no doubt trying to find ways to justify his sin. The room is dark except for the moonlight that now reflects off his face instead of his rear end. His eyes appear empty, lost in sorrow, not at all the expression of someone who just enjoyed passionate love making. In a way I pity him and I wonder if this is how my daddy feels after sharing a bed with his clients. I’ve never had sex myself; I want to wait until I am gaga in love with someone before I strip down and do the wild thing. I may be naïve but when I do participate in the act, I intend to smile for hours afterwards and not have the empty look I see in so many of my friends and in Mr. Faulkner right now.

            He moves from the bed and I shut my eyes, not caring to see his private parts. Thankfully the bed is a high one and the covers are thrown back in such a manner that it creates a nice barrier between me and his wang wang. He slips on his pants, tucks in his shirt, and with another heavy sigh begins making his way toward the mirror. My heart is in my throat now, blocking my air passage. I can’t breathe. Quillan squeezes my hand tighter, I appreciate his reassurance but what excuse can we possibly come up with if Mr. Faulkner sees us?

            He stops at a cherry wood armoire and retrieves a bottle of brandy.  He pours a snifter half full, downing the entire drink and repeating the action before replacing the bottle. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve he faces our direction and I swear he is looking right at me. I hold my breath and if Quillan squeezes my hand any tighter my fingers will break. Making his way toward the mirror James Faulkner leans in close and checks his face, rubbing his skin, and scratching at his eyes. With another deep sigh, he places his hands in his pockets and when he does, I notice something slip from one of them and hit the floor, rolling toward my bare feet. He pauses a moment, then heads toward the bedroom door, making his exit the same way as his mistress.