Melanie couldn't be fussy. The job offer was too good, came too fast for her to make careful arrangements for a great place to stay. So she found something close. Okay, the neighborhood was a bit shady. There had been some flooding there and a lot of people had moved out in a hurry. But the big old Victorian had a lot of space. The landlady, Miz Louella, who lived two floors below, was quiet and polite and offered a really good price for the loft on the top floor.
"Does it have AC? I know it can get hot here in Bayou Goula midsummers."
"I have a window unit I can rent your for ... five dollars a month, what the hell. I only use it when my son visits, and he doesn't really come here...in person... much ... anymore."
"That's harsh."
"Yeah, well, he dated the gal who used to live up there where you will be staying. Nice girl, if a bit moody. Kept the place neat. Yeah. They were really into each other before the flood."
"Whoah, that could be a game changer. Does it flood here often?"
"Not any more. They did a whole thing with new dikes on this side and natural flood marshes instead of fields on the other. Should be fine now."
"That's good. That's good, though I can't be fussy. I need to start work, like tomorrow, and I mean
tomorrow."
"Good, good. And ... Melanie, is it? Yeah. Well, the place is basically furnished; like I told you on the phone. Table, chairs, beautiful old four poster, with canopy. Old leather couch my son got for .... a steal. Those stained glass kinda lamps ...other stuff, kitchen stuff. You let me know and I will see if I have anything in the garage you need, or where to get it at the Goodwill, or the pet shelter charity thrift. I even put a few basics in the fridge, as how you were coming in late. Oh, here's the key. Stair's over there. Anything else? I'm sure you're pooped after your trip. Oh, oh, there's an old codger, Mr. Bemis, lives on the second floor. Plays that music of his. Too old to bother anybody, but be nice and don't stomp around a lot after midnight. What else? Uh, that's pretty much it; except, of course, this is an old house and it creaks and burps and makes some funny noises, especially in a storm. But that's just Mabel's way. I call her Mabel 'cause I boughter from Mabel Jackson, Geechee woman, come down here and did readings and things. Left, just like that. Oh, nevermind, I'm blabbin'. I'll see you ... when I see you. G'night."
Melanie took the keys and headed for the stairs. They creaked. There was a very slow old, old blues tune coming from behind the second floor door.
The stairs up to the third were a little narrower and made of less fancy wood. Melanie unlocked the door at the top of the landing. It looked like there used to be a row of doors to smaller rooms, but they had been walled in, even though the door frames were still there. A very narrow stair at the far end probably led down into the kitchen. So these had been rooms for ... servants, probably, when rich folks lived in this neighborhood.
She opened the door to 'her' room. It creaked too. Of course it did, and the darkness inside was very...what...sort of...thick. She flicked the switch. It took two tries and there was a little spark inside the switchplate. She'd have to ask Miz Loella about that. Sure she didn't want any unexpected fires.
The room was...nice. Unexpectedly nice. The bed was big. Must have been a trip getting the big four poster piece by piece up those stairs. Firm mattress. Pretty homemade quilt with lots of colors in kind of a silver and black floral. Nice old vanity with a triple mirror. Sweet curtains on the windows in the dormers with a butterfly pattern. No, wait, surely those weren't bats? Pink and yellow and blue
bats?
Still, pretty. Nice view of the purple sunset through the live oaks and Spanish moss trailing down into the bayou. Big old tree right outside the window. Comfortable old leather wingback chair and wow, a tiffany lamp. Hmm, not so shabby.
Hmm, the bathroom was not
en suite, not
attached through a door from the room. Where was it? Surely she didn't have to go all the way downstairs? That might be a good reason to find another place. She peered out the door and down the slim hall. There were other doors. Ah. At the far end of the corridor there was one partly ajar; and she could glimpse...yes...a tile floor. So....
She crept down the hall and reached inside the door. Yes! Not only was it a bathroom, but it was a
big
bathroom with a mirror on one wall, a giant tub with lion's paw feet and an old fashioned 'commode'; the kind with the tank near the ceiling and pull chain. She flushed it just to hear the sound of the tank emptying. What the hell; a perfect time for a bath.
She rushed back to the room and retrieved her big bath sheet, the sleeping shorts and oversized T she liked so much. Soap and shampoo. And some lavender bubble bath. What the hell. At some point she would invest in a bathmat or fuzzy little rug, unless maybe the landlady had one. This was so, what?
Rare.
Yes, to be able to just
hang out
in her own bath and literally let her hair down. No roommates to worry about; their
stuff
on the sink or the floor. And the damn bathroom had a
chandelier!
Big and globelike and filled with glass droplets that caught the light and threw it everywhere, echoing from the mirror and landing on
her
. Bare skin all sparkly. Wow.
The water rattled into the deep tub; hot enough to
steam.
Yeah. She liked it that way. Hot enough to turn her skin a little pink. Slowly she lowered herself into the steaming water until it covered everything but her nipples. The thick pontoons on her chest insisted on floating. The pink buttons insisted on perking up as the cool air touched them. Wash some warm water over them sizzling with bubbles. Take a warm forearm and press the soft pillows to her chest. Rub the taught skin just softly.
Interesting how a warm spark appeared somewhere deep. Tender flesh inside grew tight, pulsed, fluttered. How nice to enjoy all these sensations; the mystery of the new place, combined with a sense of being home; worry and excitement about starting the new job, perhaps meeting someone. Her favorite fantasy arose—a man with impressive shoulders, a very slim waist and hard abs. A simple golden-brown treasure trail descending from his navel. Warm brown eyes seeing her and lighting up, growing soft. Large hands moving as though to clasp her waist. A subtle stirring in the fabric of his tight navy boxers.
Melanie gave a little cry; the smallest childish moan. No. Wait. She held her breath; literally bit her tongue. The sound was coming from somewhere else. Could it just have been air in the pipes? A radiator bleeding a bit of steam? The beams of the old house subtly settling. She listened.
There! There it was again. And again. A simple rhythm. A moan. A silence. A moan. A silence. Ah. It had to be pigeons, doves. Courting on a windowsill. "Uh
ooh
,...uh
ooh
,...uh
ooh."
Yes, that had to be it. But funny how those simple coos seemed to be growing more
urgent.
The sound had the power to
touch
her; to create a small
ache
that needed... Or was it just the warm water and her own hands that had found that one spot at her center that triggered feeling in so many other places.
Was the sound getting louder? It seemed that way. Somewhere on the other side of the wall next to the tub with its pattern of birds flying above Chinese willows. But that was not an outside wall. Her fingers were beginning a regular dance. "Uh
ooh
...uh
ooh."
She was matching the dove cries with her own breath, her own voice. But that
pressure
on the second syllable seemed to be getting stronger. And yes,
yes
there was a second sound now, between each coo, a rasping voice, lower, more...urgent. "Uh
aah...
uh
aah...
