Spirited

For Laura Lyn

"Oops, that was it," Lola muttered as she past the dirt road she should have turned left on. She backed up, made the turn, and headed south 2.7 miles according to her directions. The sun was blistering and it hadn't rained in weeks. Dust fogged the inside of the old '87 Grand Am she'd driven since she was in high school, making it hard to breathe. She pressed on down the gravel country roads. Naturally the air-conditioning picked this day to be temperamental.

"It can't be too much farther," she hoped, then she saw it, the driveway with the twin oak trees that had grown close together and had been twisted into a knot by a tornado. "There couldn't be two of those," she mused as she turned into the driveway and stopped. In her trunk lay a generic discount store "for sale" sign, already stapled onto a stake, and a hammer to force it into the ground. Too bad she didn't think to bring a sling blade.

Groaning with effort, she eventually managed to root the sign at the edge of the tire-track driveway. Lola wiped perspiration from her brow as she looked farther up the drive, wondering if there was even a building on the property. She hoped so. She had planned to spend the night rather than drive another six hours home. She hopped back into the car and crept up the path stopping twice to break down the little trees that had grown in between the track marks. "How long since anyone has been here?" she wondered out loud. Then it came into view.

It was a dump. The property her late aunt Patrice had bequeathed her was nothing more than an old deserted mansion badly in need of repair, or demolition. Whatever. As soon as she returned, she planned to contact her realtor about selling the old place. She'd sell cheap to the first person who showed the slightest interest, just to get it off of her hands.

Someone had been kind enough to clear the grounds around the house. She felt as if she were expected. Rose bushes cloaked in blood red blooms climbed trellises barely hanging onto the sides of the house. It appeared that someone had been taking care of them, yet no car had been down the driveway in at least a couple of years. "Odd," she thought. Close to the front steps stood a metal pole, one of those historical markers but the info plate was missing. "What's up with that?" Lola was suddenly curious. It was sweltering in the car, she was stiff from the long ride, she decided to get out and take a look.

Lola stood on the top step testing the strength of the porch by tapping her foot on several of the boards. "Good enough," she determined, and lightly walked across to the magnificently ornate wooden front doors. She giggled to her self thinking just possibly that Lurch might be on the other side waiting to open the door for her.

Expecting the old lock to be rusty and difficult to open, she was a bit surprised that the key slid into the lock and turned virtually on its own. Twisting the knob was just as easy. Lola nudged the door open. It creaked and screamed like any respectable haunted house door ought to. "Honey. I'm home!" she announced to no one and laughed to herself. No one answered, to her relief. Leaving the door open, just to be safe, Lola entered.

The rooms were huge. The ceilings, at least twelve feet, the tallest she'd ever seen. All of the furniture covered with sheets, obviously undisturbed for quite some time. Hardwood floors were spot covered with elaborate area rugs and runners. It smelled dank and musty. "How to get some air in this mausoleum?" she choked. She started opening windows. New Orleans style, they cranked out from the bottom. Not too difficult, all but one rolled out smoothly. "Ah, fresh air. Mm, roses," she whispered with her eyes closed, inhaling deeply. The whole parlor seemed to be rushed with the exhilarating scent of the roses outside. Light shone in, casting rays on the walls and the magnificent paintings of a woman. "No, women," she corrected.

The kitchen lay on the back side of the house. It was spacious and semi-modern but nothing special. It didn't matter anyway, there was no electricity. The dinning room stretched nearly the entire width of the house. The table and what was likely a buffet, underneath the sheets, was almost as long.

The staircase, a wooden spiral in the center of the house, opened to the ceiling of the second floor and seemed surprisingly sturdy as she climbed. Rooms formed a circle around the upper story. It was very dark. She moved to the window in the first room at the top of the stairs and pulled back the floor-to-ceiling drapes. They were heavy and didn't move easily but finally some light peeked through. Lola peered out of the window, nothing but trees and underbrush. She imagined at one time there might have been a lovely lawn with scattered gardens, a stone path and maybe even a little pond with goldfish. That reminded her of the roses in the front. The question of how they managed to live and bloom without any care returned to her mind. It also reminded her that daylight was soon fading and she should be gathering her supplies from her car while she could still see. She glanced into the other four rooms. They all appeared much the same. There was a locked door next to the last bedroom she predicted was the access to the attic. There was probably a basement too but Lola was not that curious.

From her car she collected a small duffel bag, a couple of hurricane lamps and a bottle of oil, her sleeping bag, cooler with ice, and a bag of groceries she picked up at the little store in the nearby town. This should take care of her for the night. She unloaded it all in the floor just inside the doorway and carried the cooler and groceries to the kitchen.

"First things first," Lola advised herself, "It's getting dark." She set up the two oil burning lamps, filled and lit them. "Ta da," she cheered. The little flames inside the lamps flickered at first like they might blow out but then steadied themselves. She stationed one at each end of the giant marble mantle over the fireplace to cast a golden glow over the room. Lola loves the way the flames illuminate her skin. It gives her creamy, ivory skin a sexy amber glow, at least that's what an old boyfriend used to tell her. The demented pyromaniac loved the way flames looked on anything.

She made her way around the room lifting the furniture covers. Lola knew nothing of furniture styles but this stuff was ancient and gaudy. Most of it was stained dark wood, matching the floor, and upholstered in red and gold velvet, worn bare in some places. There were three sofas and half a dozen chairs in this room. Lola knew her aunt Patrice had been a spinster. She must have done a lot of entertaining. She couldn't imagine living alone in this house. "Aunt Patrice must have been quite a smoker," she surmised. There was an ashtray or two on every flat surface in the room. She spotted a couple of candles on the tea table, lit them, and carried them to the kitchen to fixed herself a snack.

Supper would be a cheese and cold-cuts sandwich, a bag of chips, and a Dr. Pepper. She carried them back to the parlor and sat down in an enormous oversized chair and kicked her shoes off and rested her feet on the ottoman. She set her sandwich down on the smoking table next to her. She closed her eyes for a moment. It had been a long day. When she opened them again they fell on the painting over the mantel. "Was that Aunt Patrice? Who were all these others?" Too tired to care, Lola ate.

She didn't mean to fall asleep but there was nothing else to do. She'd scooted down in the cavernous chair thinking this would be a great place to throw a party with soft music, dancing, and a little wine and... and suddenly she was eased into another time, in this same room, the crystal lamps were lit, vases were filled with roses, their aroma heavy in the air. Couples were dancing. There was music, someone playing a piano in another room, she recognized the tune, "Days of Wine and Roses." Men were at tables playing cards, talking, laughing. Lola realized she was slumping in her chair crumpling her dress and decided to get up, straighten herself out, and find something to drink.

There was a cool gust of air and then a voice behind her. "Champagne? I'm celebrating." He was gorgeous. She couldn't answer but did take the glass he offered. "Dance with me, Madam. It would be my honor."

"Madam? Did he mean me?" she turned to see if he might be speaking to someone else. There was no one close. "Of course," she agreed.

"Hasn't this been just the most fabulous summer?" He rambled on and on as if they were old friends. From the conversation she gathered that he was the proprietor of a winery close by. He grew all of the grapes that he used himself. Apparently it's been a prosperous year and he's expecting a bountiful harvest. All the wine at this party tonight was evidently provided by him. He spoke more of making wine but Lola was lost. Her knowledge of wine began and ended with drinking and that was about the extent of her interest. Lola was content to smile and nod as long as he kept dancing.

They seemed to dance without touching the floor. The music never stopped. It was the same song playing over and over again that never ended. Other conversations melded into the music. He was still talking. They were still dancing. Dancing. Dancing. Dancing up the spiral staircase. Gliding as if they were riding on a pillow of air.

It seemed to take forever to reach the upper level. Then they were there. He stopped talking. His dark eyes were gazing into hers, asking, wanting. His mouth took hers. Scorched hers. He tasted of champagne and she was at once intoxicated. He was turning the knob on the locked door.

It opened. The attic room was pristine. Four gabled windows on each side of the room hung with sheer lacy white fabric panels moving slightly with the breeze. Sconces on the walls were already lit, shimmering gently in the draft against ox blood walls. There was a chaise lounge in one corner with a little telephone table next to it. A vanity and stool sat angled in a corner so as to give the user a view of the entire room from its oval etched-glass mirror. On each side of the mirror were tiny matching lamps. In the center, precisely positioned, lay a beautifully polished sterling silver brush, comb, and hand mirror set. A gold toned tray held various cosmetics and perfumes, everything perfectly in place. In the center of the chamber stood a magnificent antiquated canopy bed fit for a king and queen. Sheer white curtains were tied back at the posts. The fluffy white comforter was turned back revealing satiny white sheets. Black-red roses filled the vase on the night stand and their aroma, mixed with candle scents, filled the room. A single rose lay on the pillow.

He raised her to his mouth, intentionally removing her from her shoes. His hands were caressing all of her. She didn't notice that he had inched her zipper down until her gown slipped off of her shoulders. She shivered as it dropped to the floor leaving her in only a scant chemise. She really should object. Lola pushed him back, catching her breath for an instant, then losing it again as she noticed he had already removed his own shirt and was beginning to unbutton his pants.

He was watching her watch him. She was dazed. "What on earth was she doing in this room with a complete stranger?" She could hardly finish the thought with his eyes locked on hers. He pulled her close again and lifted her chemise over her head. One hook and her bra fell off her perfect little breasts. She was exquisite. The candle light glistened softly on her skin turning it a rich shade of vanilla. He could smell her soft cologne now, burying his face into her neck.

His hand found her breast and stroked it gently. His thumb toyed with her already pert nipple. Lola leaned in closer to him to convey her unvoiced permission. He scooped her up in one smooth motion. Laid her head on the pillow opposite the rose and positioned himself next to her.

He traced her face with his index finger, circling her eyes, outlining her full ruby lips. He reached the slope of her nose and coasted down. Lola closed her eyes and began to relax a little, she could handle this treatment all night long. He traveled down her neck with his fingertips and made a line to her navel. His hand moved back up to gently massage her breast. She held her breath, afraid that if she moved he might stop,

Lola began to squirm. He grinned. His hand swept its way down to her moist center. She jumped at first, then parted her legs slightly to allow him unrestricted access. She had just dropped her head back on the pillow when he brushed a finger across her clit sending lightning flashes all up her spine. Her back arched. Her body trembled. He seized her mouth at that moment, fast and hard, trapping her gasp in her throat. He continued the sweet torture while she was propped on her elbows with her head hanging back and crying out something senseless like, "Stop. Stop. No, don't stop!"

He did stop. Now she objected. His eyes met hers, and his were laughing. Then his tongue touched her breast and ever so slowly drifted in spirals to the point of its desire, and hers. She cried out in anticipation, her body writhed beneath him, and then he was there. His hot mouth was covering her fancy, his tongue tantalizing her with its quick flicking motions. All thought and sense left her. Her body took on a mind of it's own. Pulsating began in her middle then radiating out, reaching her scalp and her toes. The room suddenly went black. She thought she felt herself scream out but didn't think any sound came out.

He was on top of her now, crushing the oxygen from her lungs. Breathing was not important right now. She was sure she was going to die of sheer pleasure soon now anyway. He entered her with a swift jolt sending fire to her middle and to her breasts. He immersed himself in her glories, again and again, keeping rhythm with the palpitations of her heart. Just as she thought she could stand no more, he shuddered and let loose the fire he held inside himself. She screamed as she convulsed, loud and hard. He collapsed on top of her. Shock waves reverberated inside both of them for what could have been hours.

A stormy hot wind raged through the room and then it was still. Lola fell into the blissful world of blessed unconsciousness.

When she finally awoke, she could not move but to open her eyes. The sun was bright in this room full of windows. At first she didn't remember where she was, then she couldn't remember coming to this room. She sat up and looked around her noticing that this must have been an enchanted hideaway in the past. Now all of the fabric had become dingy and yellow from age and sun exposure. The mirror on the vanity was cracked, a silver hair-care set lay there tarnished, and the lampshades were webby.

She rose from the bed and stepped on her blouse. She hadn't even realized she was naked. She gathered her clothes and dressed quickly, as if someone might be watching. She made her way down the narrow attic steps ducking here and there to avoid spider webs that seemed to have taken over.

In the kitchen she discovered the candles she left burning had melted all over the counter top. "No problem." she thought, scraping them off and throwing them away. She picked and apple and a bottle of Coke out of the cooler and sat down at the little round table in front of a window to eat.

Lola collected her belongings, packed them up, and loaded them into the car. She went back inside the house to make sure all of the windows and doors were shut and locked, then set out on her way.

She arrived home after dark. Electricity and hot water were a welcome sight. That night she dreamed about living in the old mansion. It really was a quaint old home. On another day, in another time she might have actually entertained the idea of moving there. She called a realtor that morning and got it listed right away, then she wouldn't have to think about it again.

A couple of mornings later as Lola was reading the Sunday morning edition of the local newspaper, Her eye was caught by bold lettering half way down the page near the back of the paper. It read, "ONCE HISTORIC BROTHEL FOR SALE."

"What about that." she pondered. She read on, "For four decades this magnificent old mansion served as the counties classiest "entertainment" spot. People came from three states to visit Madam Patrice's...