King Solomon's Wives: Hunted

Chapter 1: Memories of Love and Seduction

Sumarra

The night a daughter comes into being is the culmination of a Wife’s purpose. The event should be dignified and well planned, the father chosen carefully. 

I selected Alton Thomas, a young artist who lived in town and hung out at the local bars with the college students. His art—rusted metal light fixtures—didn’t sell well, but he wore a cute beard and clean clothes, and he looked decent in jeans. He carried on fun conversations about politics and religion. Most important, I had overheard a rumor he’d recently gotten someone pregnant. He was capable. And the fewer men I had to sleep with, the better.

The pregnant girl, an art history sophomore at the University of Georgia, confirmed the story one Thursday night at a bar called The Manhattan. I had come to spy on Alton, so I sat at a table and watched, sipping a vodka and orange juice. I enjoyed being around the noisy students after too many quiet days at home.

The girl sat at the bar with him for a while, and they argued quietly before she stood and screamed, “Soulless bastard!”

“What?” Alton situated his hand on his hip and gave her a relaxed shrug.

“You don’t care about this child you made? You really don’t care? Fuck you, Alton.”

He shrugged again and went back to his whiskey and soda. The girl stalked to a sofa and plopped down. She crossed her arms and ordered another drink. She glared at Alton the rest of the evening, but he pretended she wasn’t there.

Alton, who had no interest in his offspring, was the perfect choice.

After the girl left, I slid my wavy dark hair around my shoulders and took a seat by him at the bar. “My name’s Sumarra,” I said. I complimented his military-looking boots and, after chuckling at two of his quips, let my finger rest against his on the counter. Just for a moment. His pupils dilated and his skin warmed.

Alton and I ran into each other, at my secret arrangement, twice more. At The Uptown Tavern, he offered me some of his gin and tonic, and we sipped from the same glass often enough we might as well have kissed. The unique pheromones in my saliva made him want to keep talking to me. By the time he saw me out for Eighties Night at the Georgia Theater, he’d probably been thinking about me nonstop for days. He asked to take me out. He wanted to show me his warehouse, where he created his art during the day.

“All right,” I said, nodding to the loud music.

When he leaned to speak into my ear, I slid my fingers across his wrist, further luring him with my touch.

“I’ll buy you a beer at The Globe first,” he said, and that’s when I knew he would sleep with me. Beer at The Globe was too expensive for a poor artist, so Alton surely considered it an investment in the pleasure he hoped to receive. It was exactly the offer I needed.

I hoped my daughter would be conceived tonight in his warehouse.

Now, I was preparing. The moon hung high over Athens, Georgia, sending yellowish light through my open window. My superstitious ancestors might have said this proved the goddess Terah was watching over me. I hoped she was. 

Students crowded the street outside, chattering, drinking and laughing. A group of bicyclists rode past, and music pumped from a few of the bars. Being a Wife required a measure of isolation, but I enjoyed living in town and being near the activity. Tonight, however, Bahar and I had work to do. She put away the book she was reading and left our dishes to soak so she could help me choose an outfit. 

Bahar rested her fingers at her lips. “Hmm,” she said, while searching through my closet. She pulled out tight black jeans, a white halter top with bling around the collar, and my lace-up boots before applying pink lip gloss and sparkly blue eye shadow to my face. I dressed, and she stood me in front of the mirror. “You look so good, I bet he doesn’t even finish his beer.”