Maurice made a couple of wrong turns and had to amble down a few suburban streets before he found 28 Javier Drive. The house with a white façade and brown roof looked as unassuming as any of its neighbours along that unremarkable stretch of suburbia.
Nevertheless, this felt like a foreign land to Maurice. Even making his way down the garden path and knocking on the heavy teak door felt unfamiliar. Neither Maurice nor any of his friends had ever lived in an ordered, neatly kept neighbourhood like this. As he stood patiently waiting on the doorstep, a cool evening wind rustled the low hedges and carried the heavy perfume of night time blooms. The zephyr felt intimate, like a furtive welcome, and Maurice allowed himself a pleasurable shiver of anticipation.
A pale blonde and slim young woman opened the door. She was dressed in an elegant if slinky black dress that set of the glow of her creamy skin. The smile on her face was both cheeky and shy, like she was opening a Christmas present early right in front of Santa.
"Mr Gold! I was told that you were coming."
Maurice was no young buck. He looked to be about sixty, was heavyset and had the protruding belly that was prevalent among men his age. But his face was handsome, and his smile wide and rakish.
"Maurice." He tipped his newsboy hat like his grandmother had taught him when he was little and bowed, revealing a dark, shiny dome ringed by fuzzy white hair.
Though Maurice moved slowly with the gravity and cautiousness of his age and size, there was weight in his bearing that made Charlotte feel abashed, although she knew this was
his
first encounter and
he
was supposed to be the inductee. She reached out her hand to his.
"Maurice..."
"And my dear you are?"
"Charlotte...oh!"
Maurice had brought her fingers up to his stubbly lips and a place a lingering kiss on their tips.
Charlotte tittered and not letting go of Maurice's hand, led him into the house through the brightly lit vestibule, past a fancy curving staircase leading upstairs, and into an elegant living room. Her fingers were stroking the back of his hand and her thumb made small circles in his palm.
"I've heard that this is your first time Maurice."
"It sure is little darling."
Her face was definitely flushed now.
"They said you gon' show me what this is all about."
Charlotte indicated to Maurice to have a seat on the couch and she followed suit, tenderly resting one hand across his knees.
"Tell me how you came to us."
Maurice recounted the incident a week ago at a supermarket, where a pompous middle aged lady cut in front of him at the checkout line. He had tried to tell her to move to the back of the queue, politely at first. But when she responded by mocking him and asking what Maurice was going to do about it, he decided to let fly.
"And so I said," Maurice shifted forwards, his eyes gleaming and a gleeful smile tugging at his lips.
"I said 'If your pussy hadn't shrivelled up ten years ago I'd fuck a baby into you!'"
Maurice laughed heartily at his bawdiness, then faltered slightly.
"I'm sorry, that was --"
Charlotte shook her head, unperturbed. "What then?"
"I was thrown out by security of course! They assumed I was the one starting trouble. To hell with them. I just brushed myself off in the parking lot and was ready to head home when this young brother approached me and asked me for my number. He said he knew a group that could use black men like me. I told the punk that I was way too old for gangs, but he insisted that he was being dead serious."
Maurice paused in his recount, turning in his seat to face Charlotte directly. She was nodding in encouragement and her hand on his lap caressed his knees with a gentle stroking motion.
"He said quite a lot of other things that I can't quite remember now, but I do know that he told me 'It's your time to be king'. And when I gave him my number -- why the hell not I thought -- he gave me five hundred dollars and said 'The Order provides'... Does that mean anything to you?"
"Yes, yes it does baby."
Charlotte's hand had found his now and she was playing gently with his fingers, brushing their tips and interlacing them with hers. A look of confusion crossed Maurice's face, but at the same time he could feel a deep stirring in his loins, taste the long-forgotten fire of conquest, and he ran his tongue over his lips instinctively. Charlotte was so young -- barely into her twenties -- and the contrast between the two of them could not have been more pronounced in their hands. His large, calloused, and wrinkled, hers smooth, slender, and soft. The only attention that Maurice was used to receiving from the like of girls like Charlotte was distaste and fear when they passed him on the street.
Charlotte could sense Maurice's hesitation. She would need to help him understand.
"When they told you to come here, did they tell you what you could expect?"
"Well, if you don't mind me putting it bluntly, they said that there would be a beautiful white woman waiting for me, and I could do anything I wanted with her."
Maurice could not help but laugh after hearing himself speak. It sounded like a fairy tale or simple-minded fantasy.
"Yes that's right," Charlotte responded simply.
"What's the catch?" Maurice's reply was sharp and fast. He hated to be played the fool.
"There isn't one."
"Quit foolin' me. What, are you not old enough?" Maurice looked around apprehensively.
