Something To Think About

Disclaimer: Everyone one in this story is 18 or older.

Part One

The little coffee shop buzzed and bustled with the noise of cups striking the granite countertops of the serving station, the intermittent ringing of small steel bells above the wood-framed glass door as new customers entered or customers with filled orders departed, the continual buzz of conversation, voices, mostly female voices, suddenly lifting into a quick laugh or cry of humorous protest before descending again into that common stream of general conversation, that monotonous but pleasant traffic of light delivery trucks freighted with small, insignificant talk, for the most part.

Female Mystique

, the name of the coffee shop attracted a mostly feminine clientele, needless to say. Linda Ware regarded the owner of the shop, a recent addition to their Friday afternoon gathering at

Mystique

, with that suspicious-but-not-altogether-hostile appraisal her friends loved to roll their eyes at.

"Relax, Linda, she's perfectly harmless," they said, trying to placate her, to smooth those feathers so easily ruffled by the intrusion of strangers. "She's so interesting, and she's been everywhere."

Not particularly endearing characteristics, Linda thought to herself ruefully. How exactly does not being able to stay in one place make someone interesting, for goodness' sake?

But her friends won out, and last Friday, no, the Friday before last, Ms. Catherine Henderson joined their little table in the corner of what turned out to be the woman's own shop, taking her place beside Sharon Peters and Judith Minard.

"I've seen you three coming here for weeks, for over a month in fact, and I've just been dying to meet you," Catherine shrugged. "But I'm just so shy, you know. If it weren't for Sharon here, I'd never work up the courage. I just hate meeting new people. I feel so damned awkward."

"Nonsense," huffed Sharon, her hair rolled above her head in that odd way of hers, in rolling waves that tapered towards the neck, pulled up from the back and around the ears, giving her already angular face with its long, hooked nose and sharp, piercing green eyes a pronounced bird-like appearance.

The undisputed leader of the tiny group, her voice alone carried the matter of adding Ms. Henderson to the table.

Linda sighed. She couldn't see what Catherine, Ms. Henderson, had to feel awkward about.

It was Sharon who had picked out the small coffee shop, nestled toward the end of a short retail strip off a major thoroughfare, a place Linda ordinarily stayed cleared of. Oh, but once you got inside! Reality far outstripped meager expectations there.

Wood furniture, a rich and darkly polished register and order station, with glass cases covered rolls dripping with honey and frosting and huge freshly baked cookies faced the customer upon entry, while to the left, round tables spaciously spread out, neatly topped with chrome napkin holders and sundries, waited for occupants - if they weren't already filled.

Three booths on the far side of the coffee shop, along the wall occupied by the barista station, completed the seating for customers and staff on break.

The bittersweet pungent aroma of ground coffee filled the air, along with the fragrance of various spices familiar but somehow unnamable to Linda. Hazelnut, of course, nutmeg, too she thought. Oh! And they served coffee in real cups! Pinch me now, Linda had first thought at the glorious sight of large, white, friendly cups and mugs she wouldn't be caught dead having in her own home, but here, here, they played wonderful and appropriate part.

Female Mystique

had won over Linda Ware without so much as a word of protest - good grief, was that a folded napkin keeping the table next to her from wobbling? Could they not at least sweep the crumbs of muffins gathering under the tables like mutinous conspirators? The whole place, now that she thought of it, smacked of, well, not dinginess. Linda couldn't tolerate dinginess. Lassitude. Bohemianism.

Linda sighed again. Oh well. Who said Linda Bernice Ware couldn't rough it from time to time?

Altogether, she had to admit, this Catherine Henderson woman had managed to put together a cozy little place.

Although why her little group of friends should so interest her, well, that again would probably remain a mystery. After all, neither Sharon Peters, at 41 near Linda's own age of 45, with her tall, thin, bird-like manner, or Judith Minard, the youngest of the trio at 38, a short woman with raven dark hair and rosy cheeks, nor she herself, a nondescript woman, petit, small in every way really, with lusterless light brown, almost blond hair reaching to her shoulder and usually pulled behind her head in a tight bun, offered anything to the observer's eye as anything other than unremarkable.

She could not say the same thing of Ms. Catherine Henderson herself.

No, that woman positively reeked of everything Linda was not: impetuosity, thrill-seeking, adventurous, maybe not reckless but something damned near it. Alluring, exuberant. Carnal. Close to the roots of things or rooted somehow into herself. Linda gave up. That kind of thinking didn't suit her, and she knew it.

Linda couldn't deny that the woman was beautiful, in her dark and voluptuous way.

She let her thick, dark brown hair, lighter than Judith's raven hair, hang loose in natural long and flowing curls down her shoulders, parted in the middle of her head, set off so stunningly by pronounced cheek bones, wide brown eyes, thick sensual brows ascending sharply above the nose before turning in a slow arc over her eyes. Her lips, always parted in conversation, were full and thick, her teeth gleamed, and her chin came to a round point.

She looked at Linda friendly enough, but from time to time Linda caught a haughty expression, or one filled with a mocking superiority, which sent shivers down Linda's spine. But the expression would pass, leaving Linda wondering at her own disquietude.

Linda couldn't also deny that she didn't like it. Not one bit.

But Sharon had her way, and Linda held her tongue, and after the second Friday of the woman joining their small group, making their trio into a quartet, Linda couldn't remember what it was exactly that she didn't like about Catherine. Nor even that she hadn't had actually liked her at the outset.

Conversation had gotten livelier, that was for sure, not exactly risqué (Linda wouldn't have abided that) but filled with a certain innuendo Linda could never quite put her finger on and soon gave up trying to.

"That's when I told Ted," Linda found herself talking about her husband to the women around her, which is something she had never dared to do previously, "if you don't -"

Then a young couple, a pair of women, or rather, a youthful woman and a young woman who could not have been more than a teenager, walked through the door, and Linda, catching the sneering look in Sharon's eye, turned around to see who or what had caught her friend's attention.

Charlene Draper and her daughter, a little wisp of an eighteen-year-old thing, walked up to the counter while looking around them. The daughter held the mother's hand as they walked, leaning into her with an affection Linda's own daughter Lacey rarely exhibited nowadays. Both wore matching outfits, short blowing blue and white skirts, and cute, sleeveless tops exposing a little of their midriffs.

Charlene saw Catherine. A brief smile of recognition played upon the corners of her mouth, but she quickly turned away, squeezing her daughter Mindy more tightly to her.

"They make such an adorable couple," Catherine Henderson said softly to the table.

"Well," Sharon huffed again. "They certainly are close. I've heard. No, I'm not even going to mention what I've heard."

"What have you heard?" Linda asked, turning back to Sharon.

"Well, you know how that Jennifer Hopkins, she's Susan's daughter, just turned eighteen, works at

Lily and Pad

," she turned to Catherine, "they sell just the cutest outfits to girls, my Becky bought me a blouse from there the other day, and I almost wore it today."

Sharon shook her head.

"But it was just so, so. Revealing. I don't know what got into my Becky to buy me such a thing. Oh, but it really is quite lovely."

The others waited patiently, and Sharon soon got back on track.

"Well, Susan called me not more than a week ago, and she told me that her Jennifer told her that she saw them going into a changing room together."

"Well, what's wrong with that?"

"Susan claims that Jennifer heard, well, noises."

"What kind of noises?" Judith Minard asked, her high voice peeping up.

"The kind of noises that shouldn't come from a changing room with a mother and her daughter inside it."

"I don't understand," Judith replied.

"Oh, do grow up, dear. Bedroom noises."

"Oh."

Judith's rosy cheeks turned even redder.

Linda bristled with rage.

"You mean to tell me, and no one said, and now they're just walking around like, and nobody says, well, anything?" she hissed.

Catherine's voice rose above Linda's outrage.

"Oh, rumors are just rumors. I'm sure that daughter of your friend's only imagined things. Besides, what's there to say? What can any of you prove?"

Catherine paused and stared at the rest of the table, rather accusationally.

Linda stirred uncomfortably in her chair, feeling judged and found wanting.

At last Catherine relaxed, shrugged, and turned to look at the mother and daughter standing in front of their barista.

"Still, mother and daughter incest. It gives you something to think about."

Linda jerked visibly at the use of that word.

"Please," said Linda, closing her eyes and throwing up her hands, "can we talk about something else?"

Later after the little gathering at the table rose and left i>

each to go their own way, Sharon tugged on Linda's elbow. Both of them stood on the sidewalk running down the less trafficked side street of the coffee shop, where they'd parked both their cars. The sun leaned bright and hot on the western side of the sky, and both women wore large, dark sunglasses to block the bright light.

"Do you like potpourri, Linda?"

Sharon held up a small clear bag tied at the top with pink ribbon.

"Not usually," Linda replied. "Sometimes."

Truth to tell, potpourri interfered something awful with her allergies, and she'd learned to avoid heavy fragrances early on in life.

At that moment, Catherine Henderson passed the two of them, after saying goodbye to Judith Minard in front of the shop.

"Oh, potpourri! I just love that kind. You should use that, Linda. It really makes the house smell so nice."

Catherine smiled at the two women standing beside a parking meter and took her leave.

"It's something to think about, anyway."

Linda watched Catherine's figure dwindle down the sidewalk, turn the corner, and disappear.

She felt suddenly and strangely relieved, but she saw Sharon's hand still holding up the small bag of dried herbs and flowers.

"Why not," she said, "taking the bag from Sharon. I might give it a try."

***

Linda spent the next day, a Saturday, running errands, going to the grocery store, settling accounts for the household budget (she distrusted the way her husband, Ted managed things), and the thousand and one other tasks she usually performed on any given Saturday.

She liked to keep her mind and body busy.

Her daughter Lacey had been out all day, spending all her free time with her best friend Allison and their new friend Monica.

Linda hadn't met her yet, but Lacey couldn't stop talking about her.

She had been distracted all day long, Linda had been. Something nagged at her, deep in her mind, something her conscious mind, her waking shouted at her to ignore. And so she did, talented in the arts of avoiding unpleasant or unwanted topics.

Something to think about.

All day long that phrase rolled unexpectedly through her mind, followed by a loud entourage of hushes and suggestions of new places to go shopping. She stayed away from clothing stores.

Only after watching a yawning Lacey half-stumble to her bedroom without so much as saying goodnight, only after going to her own bedroom to stare at herself in the bathroom mirror while she changed into her pajamas did the full strength of that phrase hit Linda.

Lacey was so petite, Linda thought, and then the image of another petite girl flashed in her mind, a young girl, just the littlest wisp of thing, surely not more than Lacey's own age, clinging lovingly to her mother's side, both women petite, youthful, full of life.

It gives you something to think about.

What? What gives you something to think about, Linda asked herself, puzzled.

Mother daughter incest. Incest is something to think about.

Linda quickly tried to hush that voice, sounding so much like the voice of Catherine Henderson, and she remembered the conversation at the coffee shop.

She'd stare at her face in the mirror, disgusted at the very thought, the pit of her stomach lurching nauseated, and she wondered why she couldn't just stop the voice, Catherine's voice, from filling her head.

Incest. Mother and daughter. It gives you something to think about.

Hush, she said as she finished her toiletries.

But mother and daughter, Charlene and Mindy Draper, clung to each other in her imagination, she saw them huddling each other, no, embracing each other, faces towards one another as lips drew so close together.

Stop it, she told herself, and so, finally, she stopped it.

Linda could do that much. Linda could stop it.

But all that week as she slumped into bed beside an already snoring Ted, the image of Charlene and her wispy daughter in an affectionate, almost passionate embrace filled Linda's thoughts just before she fell into strange dreams she never quite remembered upon her waking.

Another thing grew on her mind over that week, and by Wednesday morning it seized her, looming clearly in her mental field of vision. She could smell it, so to speak. Or rather, not smell it.

The house, the air in the house seemed so. Empty. Stale.

Oh, she had thought of the bag of potpourri almost everyday that week. She had also immediately put it out of her mind. She hated potpourri, hated heavy fragrances of any kind, perfume, cologne, laundry detergents. She lived in a world saturated by artificial scents, and her only defense had been to keep it out of her own home.

But maybe, she thought that Wednesday morning, maybe the house could stand a little freshening. Maybe the air could use a little, well, aroma. It couldn't hurt much to try, could it?

So she pulled the small bag from the kitchen drawer she'd tossed it in last Friday, read the directions for using it on a stovetop, and sprinkled a little in a skillet, added water, turned on the stove, and continued working around her home, checking the water level every once in a while.

The house soon took in the odor of the herbs, flowers, and fragrances of the potpourri Sharon had given her.

Her mind and mood relaxed a little; she felt at ease throughout the day.

And her mind kept returning to Mindy and Charlene, daughter and mother.

Mother and daughter.

Incest.

*** Week Two, Friday: At the Coffee Shop

The women at

Female Mystique

looked a little haggard, a little bleary-eyed as they gathered at their favorite round table in the corner by the window. The eyes of Sharon and Judith both sported deep red bags no amount of makeup could cover, and Linda realized that she too probably carried the same bags under her own two pale blue eyes. Only Catherine sat at the table, brimming with life, her face shining and fresh, youthful and vibrant.

Conversation at the table lagged at times and suddenly lunged forward to once again fall into the strange, subdued awkwardness so unlike the four of them. Even Catherine couldn't quite keep spirits up; something weighed on the group, something nobody seemed willing to talk about, and Catherine let the matter drop. She laughed suddenly and pulled a small bottle from her purse.

"Look what I brought back from the trade show I went to Thursday," she said.

The others looked at the small object in her hand with an almost palpable disinterest.

"It's a food additive, a new kind of flavoring for coffee drinks, a new kind of creamer substitute, but all natural," she explained, ignoring her friends' indifference. "You only need a few drops."

She uncapped the top, looked at Judith, who shrugged. So Catherine poured a few drops into Judith's cup. She did the same to Sharon's cup, but Linda held a hand over her cup. She hated creamers and flavorings for her coffee.

"Oh, go ahead and try it, Linda dear. If you don't like it, I'll get you another cup of coffee."

Linda relented. She had no reason not to.

After all, Catherine and Sharon had been right about the potpourri.

Catherine dribbled a few drops into Linda's cup, recapped the small bottle and put it back into her purse.

A few minutes later the mood lifted at the table, conversation surged ahead, and everyone found themselves laughing at Catherine's little jokes.

"That's stuff's not bad, is it," she asked the group.

The group shook their heads, then nodded, not knowing which movement quite expressed the right answer.

But Catherine understood the agreement.

She leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered.

"Between the four of us, I've been told that drinking it can make you more than a little horny. That could get a little addicting."

Then she leaned back.

"Just a little something to think about. Hogwash, in all probability. Still, I'm sure all of us can stand to use a little excitement

down there

. Here, why don't you all take some home with you?"

Before they left, Catherine gave them another surprise.

"I'm have a little pool party next week, Saturday. I'd love to see all of you there. If you can't go, I understand, but it's something to think about you know."

Linda felt restless all weekend long, her body sizzled, and her, well, her area

down there

fairly spouted; she felt damp and warm all time, an unusual feeling for her.

She stopped thinking about sex, sexuality, her body years ago, after it became apparent that Ted made no further demands upon her than to climb on top of her every two weeks or so, flop up and down a little bit, and, just at the point where Linda began to feel a stir, just at the point where Linda's legs drew up to enclose her husband, he'd grunt and discharge his duties.

After it became apparent that she no more wanted the man or it any more than the man seemingly wanted her. Or it.

Oh, they had a good life together, she knew that.

And she never found a reason to complain.

Her body never betrayed her, and she kept it fit for some reason, never wanting to decline in the way so many of her friends had declined, in the way that Judith threatened to decline if she didn't start watching her weight and restricting her diet. If something lacked, it lacked so far below her surface she had no need of it.

But now she paced her house restlessly, all week long, and the images of Charlene and her daughter blasted through her mind without let up, and Linda found herself spending whole hours of the afternoon on the sofa, trying not to think about the mother and daughter and how horny she was all of a sudden.

Lacey seemed happier.

She'd spent another Saturday hanging out with Allison and her friend Monica, whom Linda still hadn't met.

Next Saturday they'd have a pool party at Catherine's house.

That was definitely something to think about.

A puzzled expression flashed over Linda's face.

Why? Why was it something to think about?

Lacey even started hugging her goodnight again, which Linda welcomed with a puzzled gratitude.