Journal Journeys_Peter Pan
The Montenegro's Dinner Party
Arriving late to the party, the Murdoch's took center stage as William escorted Julia in on his arm. Even if she had not been wearing the spectacular red dress, the dress that rang an internal magical note deep down inside of him, she still would have outshined all the other women there combined. The moment he saw everyone's eyes, men and women alike, dilate to better take in the vision of his wife, any thought of jealousy seemed to dissipate. She was on his arm, Dr. Julia Ogden, the stars had willed it to be so, and William could not help but to exalt pride and satisfaction.
With Julia quickly whisked away to join the women off to one side of the room, William headed for the other side of the room to mingle with the men. He had not met any of them previously, and he fought with all his might against the pang of self-doubt threatening to well up from within. Feeling out of place and uncomfortable in his tuxedo only reminded him that talking at parties was not his forte, a fact only made worse by the class of the men he was approaching.
The host, a banker, Daniel Montenegro stood and invited William over, shared introductions, and then offered him a chair. He sat, immediately trying to decide whether or not to keep both feet on the floor or cross his ankle over his knee, as was his habit. Quickly he noticed that most of the men in the room were sitting with their legs crossed at the knees. Choosing that position, it instantly felt too feminine and before he had a chance to consciously decide, he slid his leg across the other one, ending up in a sort of hybrid position with his legs crossed just behind the knee. His eyes looked into those of his host with a quick nod and he worked to stifle a deep breath. Julia glanced at him from the other side of the room. "She looks so very stunning tonight," he thought, being both, reminded of his triumphant mood, and feeling a much appreciated sense of relief.
All four of the men who were gathered around smoked cigars, and Montenegro offered one to William as well. Observing that the man had called him "detective," William had no clue as to whether to address him as, "Daniel," or, "Mr. Montenegro."
"Oh," William replied eyeing the opened cigar case in his host's hands, "No thank you, though I am sure my wife would likely indulge."
To the haughty raising of eyebrows, William fought the urge to squirm.
"Really detective … who is it that wears the trousers in your marriage?" Montenegro reproached.
Before William could answer, Montenegro turned to find Julia across the room, prompting William to pull back his response as indignation stirred in his heart and he felt anger start to bubble.
"Shall we see for ourselves," the man of the house queried as he ducked his head left and right to find a direct line of sight with Julia. "I suppose your wife will be the one drinking the after-dinner brandy as well?" he chided.
William sighed knowing the evening's outcome would likely meet his host's condescending prediction.
A man sitting across from William leaned in and said, "Don't take it personally, every man here has a wife in the suffragist movement, with quite modern views … Though some of their husbands have to be dragged along kicking and screaming more so than others."
"Dr. Ogden," Montenegro called out boldly, drawing the attention of all of the other women as well, subsequently commanding the interest of all those in the room, even that of the servants. "It has been suggested that you would enjoy a cigar," he said.
It grew quiet.
Julia smiled. "How well my husband knows me," she replied, giving William a loving, flirtatious and reassuring look. She turned to the other women and asked if anyone else would care to join her, only to be disappointed – among them there certainly was no 'Emily Grace.'
As Julia approached the men her eyes remained fixed to William's. Both her host and her husband stood from their chairs. William tugged down on his cummerbund feeling self-conscious with his current enchantment and overall predicament. The women at the party followed along in Julia's wake, and she stopped in front of the two men. Mr. Montenegro opened his silver cigar case and extended it for Julia to take a cigar. As she brought the cigar to her mouth, he lifted the box of matches from the side table.
There were sharp intakes of breath as Julia said, her tone intensely alluring, "Such a gentleman, but I would much prefer for my husband to light my fire." Julia's eyes turned and merged with William's – romantic sparks seemed to fly throughout the room.
"Of course," the man replied handing the matchbox to William.
Julia stepped close, the cigar still down at her side. She held William's eyes, finding them warm and deep, and twinkling with that beautiful chocolate color that had the ability to melt every cell in her body. William looked down at the matchbox, removing a match and preparing to strike it – Julia dropped her eyes down to his bow tie. He felt her breath on him, smelled her fragrance. Her fingers pinched his tie, drawing his eyes back up to hers. He had thought to warn her about being so forward in public, but …
Julia stepped back slightly as she placed the cigar in her mouth, her eyes never leaving those of the man she had chosen to share her life with. For a moment, they were cocooned in their connection, the rest of the room silent – almost dark with distance. She let go of his tie, he brought the matchbox and match between them and then stilled, building the anticipation. She felt a bump, a shift, when the match struck, seeing his eyes glow, the heat, even the smell of sulpher bringing a slight gasp. She watched his eyes as he watched the end of the cigar, where his fire met her fuel. With a familiar, enticing rhythm, the embers glowed and grew regularly bigger and brighter, red and then dimmed, red and then dimmed, red and then dimmed, as she puffed the ignition to life. Satisfied, he shook the match out. Julia lifted her chin to inhale deeply, exposing her most vulnerable aspect to him. William's eyes drank in the availability of her long, luminous, helpless neck, mouthwatering arousal forcing him to swallow. Removing the cigar from her mouth, she stepped in intimately, brought her mouth to his ear. Hot smoke entangled and shrouded them as she spoke, "Sigmund Freud might say that this is one of those times when a cigar is NOT just a cigar," she said. She followed it with a shy giggle, and then stepping back, once again increased the distance between them.
The man who had supported William earlier tilted his head over to another, "I'll wager it gets pretty steamy in their bedroom," he whispered, receiving a nod.
William took her hand and turned to look at the chair he had been sitting in. "Shall we sit, milady?" he asked.
"That would be lovely," she replied. As William sat in the chair, his wife sat to his side on one of the large, upholstered arms of the chair. She crossed her long legs and propped an elbow on the back of the chair behind her husband's neck. William, still feeling slightly dazed, but much more comfortable, brought his ankle up to rest on his knee. All of the members of the party gathered together, small pockets of conversations broke out here and there.
One of the waiters brought William a glass of water. Julia leaned down and told him, quietly, that she had asked for it for him. He leaned over closer to her and thanked her. "How are the other husbands treating you?" she asked.
"Oh, fine," he answered, "Just a comment about who wears the trousers." He managed to sound nonchalant.
Even without looking at her, for William's eyes watched the room, he knew she was about to tease. "Well," her delightful whisper slipped across his ear hinting that he should drop his eyes for more privacy, "He won't be the one I will be taking out of his trousers tonight, will he? As a matter of fact, William, you are much, much, more of a man without your trousers than he will ever be with them… And," she added, giggling, with William certain she had lifted an eyebrow in judgment, "in my professional opinion, he wouldn't stand much of chance in the manhood competition if both of you were without your trousers either."
William cleared his throat, lacking words.
One of the women spoke up, her voice loud enough to gather the attention of everyone, stopping conversations, "It is so exciting to have such a celebrity couple here with us tonight. I believe you were in today's paper again, detective. And as far as the society page, I was so intrigued by the stories I read after your son was born. You two are really quite something."
Another woman said, "I believe there is even a Murdoch Appreciation Society …" hiding the fact that she had been a member at one time. "They celebrate the detective's many adventures, and all those amazing inventions and contraptions as well. If not for my husband I …"
One of the men stood and asked, cutting her off, "What was it like to climb down into the barrel of a rocket to disarm it – And to jump out of a hot air balloon and fly back down to Earth?"
Uncomfortable with the admiration and attention, William was blushing. No one seemed to notice except for his wife, and the group rallied with the topic. William rushed to think, trying to come up with an answer about the rocket – or the flying…
"James Pendrick gives the detective here credit for being the first man in the world to actually fly an airplane!" Montenegro added.
Quickly the group fell into disarray as people called out various incredible stories they had read or heard about Detective William Murdoch – "Remember when he saved Christmas!" – "And when he saved the Queen's life!" – "Or how about when he solved that whole vampire thing!" – "And don't forget the "Microwave Death Ray!"
William raised a hand trying to get everyone's attention. "Now, now … Wait a second. I must say, I did not do any of those things on my own," he stated. He looked to Julia, "Dr. Ogden here, and all the constables, and even citizens like yourselves …"
"I must say, William," Julia interrupted, "I very rarely do such risky things as you … Like flying in a suit with some sort of wings – from as far up as the stratosphere!"
"More like plummeting," William thought. He wanted to minimize the, "risky," part, knowing it often brought tension and angst between himself and his wife, who was now also the mother of his child, but before he could get a chance to try to do so …
A voice called out, changing the subject, "He's like Peter Pan! Deep down inside there is a boy who never grew up, flying around having adventures, fiddling with his inventions."
"Of course!" someone declared, to seemingly unanimous agreement.
One woman said, "You know, I remember reading a story where the detective flew in a Time Machine – said he saw his future. It's like Detective Murdoch's own Neverland!"
"I rode in that Time Machine too," one woman yelled, turning to talk to her friend.
Arguing, a man said, "No. No, his Neverland is his life, everyday. That's the point – he has these astounding escapades and ventures because of his job – and how he does it – solving cases, with wild chases, and bad guys and monsters, and his innovative devices."
Finally Julia's voice reached over the excitement. "What is Neverland? And what, or who, pray tell, is Peter Pan?" she asked.
Still seated next to her, William took a deep breath, his eyes sparkled with curiosity. "We have certainly missed something," he concluded.
Mrs. Montenegro answered, with everyone else looking on, "It's a play, called Peter Pan."
"It's quite good," a woman added.
"And Neverland is an imaginary place where extraordinary and magical things happen. Hence, "NEVER," Mrs. Montenegro explained.
William wrinkled a corner of his face and said, "Then what I saw when I was in the Time Machine was a Neverland, full of things that I imagined – that would "never" happen, at least I thought so at the time." He looked over at Julia to see if she understood his point – that the wondrous and enchanting things he had seen while in the fake time machine with Dr. Roberts did come true – they were living them right now, all the way down to the fact that their son would be eight-years old in 1912, like he had seen in the time machine.
A man excitedly described the play. "The story is based on a boy, Peter, who refuses to grow up. And as you have already heard, he can fly – to this Neverland and back. He meets the children of a family and teaches them to fly and takes them there," he explained.
"Julia is his Wendy!" a woman declared.
"But, of course!" another woman calls out.
"Exactly!" agreed Mrs. Montenegro.
Intrigued, Julia leaned even further forward and asked, "Who is Wendy?"
The woman answered, "She is older than her two brothers, more mature and responsible. She inspires Peter Pan and he falls in love with her, but he doesn't know it … and then Peter teaches her to fly."
"Did the detective here teach you to fly, doctor?" a guest asked.
Julia smiled, and bounced gleefully in her seat. The couple glanced at each other, sending Julia's heart into a flutter as William smiled at her. "I believe he did," she replied, her answer inspiring William to give her a happy nod.
A momentary silence was broken when someone added, "And the constables are like the Lost Boys," receiving much agreement. The man looked at William, adding, "The Lost Boys are the boys that Peter leads – in Neverland."
Julia placed her hand on William's shoulder, drawing his eye. "That does sound like the constables then, albeit they are not all that lost – most of the time. We will have to go see this play," she said eagerly.
"Oh, you will love it! You must go see it," they all agreed.
Not yet finished making analogies and connections between the play and Detective Murdoch, the man who had been so friendly earlier looked at William and said, "You know – your real life story even has appropriate villains for our analogy. Your, "Captain Hook," so to speak – could easily be an evildoer like that James Gillies."
Alarm surged within both William and Julia with the mention of the nemesis' name, surging a chill even to this day, despite the fact that they knew they were safe from him. Their eyes bolted, finding each other. Julia opened her eyes wide. "Oh my," she said to William.
Authoritatively, Mr. Montenegro took a deep breath and stood up, his body language and his tone poo-pooing the game. "We are forgetting," he said, "The detective would have to be too grown up to be like Peter Pan, constantly dealing with this sordid business of crime and murder."
Not wanting to end the fun, Julia argued, "Of course, you're right … but there are some similarities, and being a policeman and fighting for justice … well, it's not all dark." She looked over to William, remembering how he had responded when the actor playing him in Pendrick's movie implied much the same thing, saying his work must have had a heavy cost on his soul. She marveled at the clarity of the memory, able to use the exact same words she had used then now. "William sees crime as an intricate puzzle … one that can always be solved. It really is very exciting," she disputed.
William interjected, "And ninety-nine percent of the time I rely on you, doctor, to help me solve these challenging and complicated puzzles." He looked to the others, and went on, "Julia does much of the brain work. A pathologist is invaluable in solving crimes, even more so a spectacular one such as Dr. Ogden here."
Julia smiled, accepting some of the credit, for her husband spoke the truth, although possibly not the whole truth. She found she admired him even more so for his being humble.
A woman asked, "What more is there to what a pathologist does than determining time of death and what killed the victim?"
All eyes turned to Julia. "Take lividity," she started, professorially, "the pooling of blood to the bottom of the body after death due to gravity. It can be used to determine time of death, starting to appear about 30 minutes after death, and lasting for about twelve hours. But it can also tell you if a body was moved." Eyebrows rose with intrigue.
William leaned forward, adding, "For instance, say someone strangled a man while he was laying in his bed – startled him in his sleep. The blood would pool under him …"
Knowing exactly where he was going, Julia picked up the case scenario, "Because of gravity. But if the murderer moved the body, say to make it look like a hanging – hoping the police would rule the death a suicide …" She paused, sure that someone would figure it out.
"Of course!" an excited voice called attention, "Then the blood wouldn't have pooled where it should have…"
"It should be in his feet and legs," someone else continued.
"But instead the blood would be on the victim's back, or side, depending on how they had been left lying in the bed after the murder. Wonderful!" another person said, drawing triumphant cheers.
Julia was having a great deal of fun, and so continued the show. "Of course there are other ways to know in a case like this as well," she said. "Stand up detective," she requested, joining him in the center of the group. All watched as she started to undo his bow tie. "We will need this…" she explained.
William added, "Remember, the crime was a strangling."
However while Julia handled William's tie it happened again, the passionate charge between them kindled and grew. As Julia's unwrapping of his tie became more rough she said, her eyes focused on her work, "You should all know that there are times I very much am tempted to strangle my husband – when he has gone into some dark alley alone after a suspect, or into some other dangerous situation…"
Her breath was hot as it cascaded over his chin and down his neck; William swallowed as the tension built.
Slipping the bowtie free from around his collar, Julia said, "There," as she took the tie firmly in her hands and then stretched her neck up high, encouraging William to do the same. She wrapped it around his neck, "So, if I strangle a man, let us say for repeatedly scaring the hell out of me by constantly risking his life when he has a wife and child to care for…" then she crossed it end over end and pulled it taut, "The ligature marks would be angled perpendicular to the spine as you see here. But if a man hung himself…" Releasing the tie, leaving it to loosen as it remained around William's neck, Julia's fingers glided and traced seductively up and down curvatures of his chest and then up over his shoulder, showing off his muscular build under the elegant suit, as she stepped around him. From behind, she moved close to him, her breath in his ear and re-grasped the tie, turning it to bring the ends to the back of his neck and then twisting the ends into a spiral until the tie grew taut once again. "Let us say he hung himself from the ceiling …" she said, lifting the "rope" end of the tie upwards behind William's head, pulling it snug.
Mr. Montenegro stepped forward, "Then the angle of the marks would be different. Brilliant!"
The group applauded the show.
"Thank you detective," she whispered in his ear, being sure her lips grazed across his skin.
He turned to face her and she stood in front of him redoing his bowtie. "Always glad to be your victim," he said to her, so very, very quietly she had to strain to hear it.
"And I yours," she let him know. Bowtie complete and perfect, her hands remained on his tie. She felt his hands take her elbows, then slide up her arms towards her shoulders – her breath caught. "This is William – in public," she thought nearly in a panic with the intensity. He tilted his head. His lips were so close.
The Montenegro's tactful butler announced dinner, having paused at the doorway as he himself watched the presentation, waiting until after the applause. Julia was glad she had had the opportunity to finish her demonstration … and for the fact that all those eyes left them briefly, now, at this moment, when she was so sure he would kiss her. She waited … watched his eyes as he pulled back and looked around to see if they were alone. She caught it right before she heard the woman's voice, his sigh of disappointment.
"We are starting with a pumpkin soup," Mrs. Montenegro said, her message coming from a rather close proximity to them. Much of the group was waiting for them to come along.
William released her and turned away, taking her hand. Julia smiled at her hostess. Noticing they were still the center of attention, William continued with the topic from before the butler's dinner announcement, "I learned everything I know from this bright and exceptional pathologist here," he told the gathering as they walked to the dining room.
Taking their seats around the table, Julia corrected, "Well, far from everything I'm sure, but we do make a remarkable team – as William's record at Stationhouse #4 shows."
The full course meal took quite some time. Conversation was lively and the food was exquisite. They neared desert when Julia leaned over to William and told him she needed to go now, that she would not be able to wait much longer. He knew it was because her breasts were full of milk – she would have had to nurse their son hours ago, if not for having built up the reserves of pumped breast-milk to leave with Eloise and Claire-Marie. Having glanced over at her swollen bosom and not wanting to draw attention to his wife's breasts, he decided he would be the one to announce their need to leave early. Not waiting for an opening in the various discussions around the table, William spoke with an authoritative and confident voice, hushing the room. "Unfortunately," he said, "I am afraid Dr. Ogden and I will have to take our leave before, what I am sure will be a splendid, desert…"
Julia quickly added, "As you all know, we have a baby at home and …"
William stood and helped his wife with her chair as he offered their explanation, "We have never left him with someone else. I am sure you understand."
The couple thanked everyone for a lovely time and the Montenegro's accompanied them to the door.
Julia apologized again for leaving early.
"It is too bad it was before desert – it was crème brulee!" Mrs. Montenegro tempted them.
Julia's eyes bulged wide expressing her enthusiasm for the delectable treat. She teased, "That was cruel Miriam," receiving chuckles all around.
Mr. Montenegro piped in, "And I had an after-dinner brandy with your name on it Dr. Ogden."
"Completely despicable!" Julia exclaimed, adding to the playful jolly.
William took a deep breath, "Thank you. We had a wonderful time," he said.
Mrs. Montenegro stood in the doorway as the couple headed for the steps. "We are so glad you could join us. And you must go see Peter Pan," she called after them.
"Oh, we will," Julia promised, "Have a good night."
In the cab, Julia was pleased to hear that William had had a good time too. Only moments after the cab had jolted into motion she asked, "Do you think he could go faster," prompting William to holler to the driver to pick up the pace. Once they arrived home, Julia rushed into the house as William spoke briefly with the driver and then hurried in behind her.
Eloise and Claire-Marie were already waiting in the foyer for them, having heard the cab pull up. There were big smiles and welcomes.
"How did it go?" Julia asked right away.
The two ladies shared a look and then Eloise said, "He drank his bottle well, but we had a very difficult time getting him to go back to sleep – I think he was still hungry…"
Julia nearly bolted for the stairs. "Thank God," she declared excitedly, "I'm about to burst!" She rushed up the stairs with one hand holding up her red skirt and the other supporting her breasts in the hope that the jiggling around wouldn't cause them to leak.
William turned to the two women, clamping his lips together shyly, unsure of what to say. There was an uncomfortable lull and then Claire-Marie blurted out what was on her mind, "You cut quite a fine figure in a tuxedo, detective – quite dashing and handsome."
Eloise held back the urge to reprimand her niece. "Too flirtatious!" she yelled in her head.
William's ears started ringing with worry. He dropped his chin, hiding his eyes as he reacted. Quickly he recovered, "I just hope I made a suitable escort for my beautiful wife," he replied, again clamping his lips together.
Eloise jumped to the opportunity, "Oh, how right you are detective, Dr. Ogden looked absolutely stunning tonight," she gushed, nudging Claire-Marie to do the same. "I am sure she was the most beautiful woman at the party tonight," she added.
William smiled, answering honestly, "That she was Eloise."
Claire-Marie swallowed, suspecting she had behaved inappropriately and making an effort to push away her embarrassment. "Extremely beautiful… She was, of course … your wife I mean," she stumbled to agree.
Gesturing towards the front door, William told them he had a cab waiting to take them home. He paid them and thanked them and they shared their goodnights.
William stood before the closed door, releasing a tense exhale. "Good," he thought, "Now, I do believe my beautiful wife missed out on desert and a brandy…"
After Julia had nursed and burped the baby – who was now sleeping, she re-did her red dress hoping William would enjoy taking her out of it as much as he seemed to enjoy watching her in it. She softly closed the door to the baby's room and noticed their bedroom door ajar. A lovely flickering light shone into the hallway. "William," she called as she pushed the door open and stepped into the room.
Her chest filled with warmth as a glowing, delightful feeling of love expanded inside of her. Bathed in candlelight, still wearing his tuxedo, William waited for her at her vanity. Blue met brown, their eyes connected, intensely focused yet open and soft. He stood, then lifted a serving tray …
"Hot chocolate!" she declared. She noticed there were some of Eloise's cookies on the tray too. She walked over to join him.
William explained, "I thought since we missed desert …"
"Crème brulee," Julia added.
"And you didn't get a chance to indulge in Daniel Montenegro's highly acclaimed after-dinner brandy," he continued.
"William!" she exclaimed, "You spiked the hot chocolate!"
His eyes dazzling, so warm and so delicious, he nodded. "Mm-hmm," he said.
Julia took a sip, her eyes still looking into his, tingling with excitement. Bottling-up her enthusiasm, she forced herself to whisper, "Chocolate liquor and vodka, William! The very same brew that so inebriated Margaret Brackenreid at my Baby Shower! How delightful!" Reveling in the slow, warm sinking of the liquid as it slipped down her throat, she added, "Mmm," when she enjoyed another sip.
Her eyes watched as William lifted the warm cup to his lips and he took his first sip. "Interesting?" she thought, recognizing the intoxicating way he sucked on the inside of his mouth after he had swallowed, the gesture ringing bells in her memory, of him talking of green fairies after sipping on absinthe. "Did you spike yours too!?" she asked, fascinated.
"I did," he smiled. He invited her to take a seat as he leaned his buttocks on the edge of the vanity. "It felt like a special occasion – perhaps it was the dress," he explained, evoking an almost secret smile from his wife. The couple sipped their after-dinner drinks, devoured the cookies, and talked, and giggled, and laughed together, replaying scenes from the party, as if they were children in a sandbox jumping from toy to toy to be used in the building of a sandcastle.
Finished with the treats, Julia stood and modeled her dress for herself in the mirror. The mood, the whole ambience, slowed as the light seemed to change, the room somehow growing dimmer, her being becoming mystifyingly luminous. His heart skipped a beat – his brain now challenged to meld the experience with two earthshattering memories of her in this very dress at the same time, the oldest – and strongest, with the path to the memory being well worn into his mind, was from the Policemen's Ball five years ago, but now there was another, from tonight when she had rounded the corner on their stairs and surprised him, not only with her beauty, but with her love.
She watched him from the corner of her eye, satisfied with the effect she was having on him. She wanted to ask him if he liked the dress, if he had appreciated her choice, if he was happy, but conceding to herself that she already knew the answers, she held back. Waiting, paused, the sound of his voice drew her eyes to his as he answered her unasked question…
"Eloise said she knew you were the most beautiful woman at the party," he said.
"Oh," Julia queried, her voice low, deeply intimate, "How would she know – not having seen the other women there?" as she took a step closer to him, setting their internal humming to a faster vibration, increasing the force between them.
William, not wanting to betray his increased arousal stopped himself from swallowing, thus his voice was smoky and dry when he explained, after Julia's eyes were pulled down to watch his chest expand with his deep breath, "Logical deduction – for you are the most beautiful woman in all the world."
His answer surged her heart with storybook thrill. When her eyes looked to his face, searching for sincerity, she saw that his eyes were down on her body, those beautiful brown eyes, wide, and dark, soaking her in with a lustful thirstiness that pulled at her insides so hard she ached and arched with need. She fought for self-control, denying her urge to step closer to him.
"Am I Peter Pan's Wendy then after all?" she asked.
William too was battling to regain his composure. He welcomed her game, reached for it trying not to seem desperate. "Perhaps," he replied. "But of the two of us," his face curled into a smile, hinting that he was about to tease, "You are the one more likely to know how to fly."
"Me?" she asked, preparing herself, "Why do you say that?"
He stood and approached – it resurged, that romantic maelstrom, that addictive humming. "Well milady, it is you who is the one with the feather," he answered, his eyes seemingly mesmerized by the red feather atop her head.
Julia reached up to touch, to protect, her feather. "William Murdoch," she scolded, feigning insult, "Why must you always belittle my hats and hair adornments. I will have you know that such accessories are all the rage in Paris and London." She finished with a hint at a pout.
William chuckled and started to explain, "Julia … I must admit…" (a step closer), "I do find your hats, and …" (his eyebrow arched and he took another step closer), "even this red feather protruding out of your hair this evening…" (another step, now so close she felt his breath breeze over her face and tempt down her neck), "to be somewhat puzzling, and frankly a bit silly," (his eyes moved to the feather on her head while his fingers took the softest hold of the downy hairs of the red feather, pulling so very slightly to bring the fluffy strands straight). "But," he added, and when his eyes met hers she felt a hot, lightning strike that singed her heart, and her lungs, and her womb on its way to her soul, "the little boy in me, my Peter Pan I guess, feels his heart race with the sight of this bouncy, fuzzy clue telling of the playful, fun-spirited playmate housed within – it calls to me, invites me, charges me in a way that I find both irresistible and bewildering."
Entranced, Julia asked, "So, you like it then?" Her heart bubbled and seemed to erupt with joy when a mischievous grin appeared on his face.
"I do," he declared, his eyes twinkling with delight, and then … he stole her feather! And he bolted out of the bedroom and down the hallway past sleeping William Jr.'s door.
The game was afoot! Yet, Julia wasted precious seconds absolutely stunned, astonished that her buttoned-down husband would do such a thing. She stood mouth agape shaking her head in disbelief before she took up chase. "This Peter Pan thing has really gone to his head," she thought, as her heart picked up a joyful pounding in her chest and she bounded after him.
She heard the last bedroom door shut, around the corner, out of her view. She dashed, her heart giggling in her chest and then opened the door and rushed in, the door swinging open with a great wind, the light from the hall spilling away the darkness… only to find her quarry was not in sight. Julia's first thought was that he had bound over the bed and would be ducked down, hiding on the other side of it. But, as she stepped around the foot of the bed, she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye, motionless as a door nail, her tuxedo-clad husband, standing erect behind the partially opened door pinned in the space next to the bureau.
She turned to face him, challenging, "William, you are a thief and scoundrel." Both delightfully out of breath, chests heaving with the effort and the thrill, Julia approached wearing a threatening look. "Where is my feather?" she asked, observing that it was not in his hands.
William's eyes shifted, ever so slightly, then being pulled back to hers with rapid speed, to the bureau. "There is a ransom for the feather," he said confidently.
"A ransom?" her voice squeaked with indignation. She stepped enticingly close to him. Her intent was to tease, for she had noticed his glance, suspected she knew of his hiding place, and would be making no payoff for her feather. His breath caught when she touched his collar, tracing downward and reaching in seductively gliding along his chest, to search the inside pocket. Her warm breath flowed over his skin like an after-draft of her touch. The pocket, as expected, lacked the feather. As her hands moved down towards his pants pockets she asked, "And what is your price, in exchange for my feather?"
His hands gently grasped her wrists, halting her downward progression, blocking her discovery. "You will do whatever I ask," he commanded, his voice breathless, just above a whisper, tipping her balance, starting the kaleidoscope in her brain.
Her breathing changed, grew hotter, surging. He released her wrists and slid his fingers into her chignon. His lips took her ear. She was falling into his spell, fighting, fighting against the whirlwind. Reason tried vigilantly, sending her an argument to use, "William," she protested, "it's just a feather," her lips uttered, her breath cascading into his ear, encouraging him, building the fires within. "I …"
Images tumbled through his mind, all of them hurried, hungry. He took her firmly by the waist, lifted her and spun her around, pinning her against the wall. Holding her captive, he kissed her other ear. "Take these off," he said after his mouth released her earring.
As she reached up to oblige, seemingly agreeing to pay his ransom, he kissed down her neck, becoming stuck on her necklace. Julia forced herself to concentrate on feeling the metal pieces in her fingers, as she was so very distracted by his mouth – and his hands, for they explored ever so deliciously along the curves of her hips and around her back. Concluding she would be unable to complete the task this way, she pushed him back. After a big, deep breath, her eyes meeting his, she said, "I need a moment to comply with your demands." She removed the earrings and then reached back to undo the necklace, the action lifting her bosom, the scrumptious, creamy, upper curves and cleavage popping out of the top of her red dress, and poking the hidden nipples and delectable orbs irresistibly into her husband's chest. "Where is a good detective when you need one?" she taunted, giving in to the urge to chuckle at her own joke.
Momentarily overwhelmed with the calls of lust, William's brain struggled to come up with a witty reply. He was entranced by her, dazed by her marshmallow-soft bosom pressed against him, surging his cravings. He was stunned, his eyes dark, soaking in every flicker of her, yet he managed to wrinkle his mouth and tilt his head to the side, as much as admitting that he was not behaving like an honorable detective at the moment.
She placed the jewelry on the bureau, the same bureau she believed held the treasured feather within its drawers, her eyes never leaving his. The power of his desire tugged at her and she fought against the maelstrom of it. Julia swallowed, pushing down her own lust. Her fingers slipped under his tuxedo jacket, riding his chest, over his shoulders, sliding the jacket off of him, allowing it to fall to the floor. Every bone in her body was drawn to his bowtie, but instead, she reached behind him to unfasten his cummerbund, letting it fall on top of the jacket. "Now the tie!" she thought, moving in. Her eyes dropped away from his. Spotting the end of the tie, she felt a surge of delight bolt to her womb as she took a snug hold of it and noticed that his chest was heaving up and down out of breath, unveiling the height of his arousal.
His groin surged, threatening his control when she started removing his bowtie. William's hands grasped her wrists. "What is it that fascinates you so about my ties, Julia?" he wondered, finding his own powerful reactions to her ministrations with his ties to be just as puzzling.
"Honestly detective, you can take my feather, but you will deny me your tie?" she asked. She pushed him away, freeing herself from the wall. "I will not be paying your ransom," she declared. She gave him a quick glance as she opened the top drawer of the bureau, hoping to see worry or dread in his eyes, but finding instead a cocky look that confounded her. Quickly she realized he had intentionally glanced at the bureau during her interrogations to throw her off of the scent. Feeling annoyed with herself for being duped, she placed her hands on her hips and scolded, "Very clever William."
After a deep breath and a perusal of the less familiar room, she walked around to the other side of the bed, checked under it, under the pillows and blankets. She checked in the side table drawers, and even under the lamps, all to no avail. Flustered, she turned to him, still fighting acceptance of her defeat.
Her chin jutted up and her jaw tightened, sending a thrill through him – for he had always marveled at how it was her strength that seemed to be his weakness.
"Don't you look like the cat who ate canary," she pronounced, exasperated. "How to turn the tables on him?" she thought. Then she had an idea! Fair is fair – she would steal his bowtie.
Her fingers traced along the red velvet border between her dress and her skin, his eyes tracked the motion. As she reached back behind her to unclasp the top hook of her dress, un-popping it and setting her cleavage into a jiggle as it bounced free of its prison, and then she moved on to the next lower clasp, all the while watching his eyes darken with hunger as the realization that she was undressing dawned on him, her voice alluring and slow, she said, "Why, I believe I even see little red, silken traces of my feather dancing in the breeze about your lips still, detective."
Having undone the top of her dress, she tossed it to the floor and stepped closer to him. It was a wonder she couldn't hear, couldn't see, his heart pounding in his chest, supplying his desperate body with hot blood, surging him to astoundingly dizzying heights. Julia reached for one of his wrists, unclasped his cufflink, then switched to remove the other. She reached over to place them with her jewelry on the bureau. "Perhaps you could help with the corset," she tantalized, distracting him with the question, once again taking hold of the end of his bowtie, this time increasing the pressure on it until it burst and the knot opened.
His groin jumped to his attention, seeming to take with it his ability to breathe. "Uh-oh," he briefly thought as he noticed an unusual sensation with his arousal and remembered its source … But it was lost as he began fighting the battle within himself that was needed to regain some sense of self-control … to speak, to answer her question … about the corset.
The bowtie mastered, dangling undone, parted around his collar, Julia moved on to the buttons on his shirt. He felt her take the top one in a pinch as her lips, softly slid over his. He reached for her with his mouth and she pulled back, denying him. "The corset?" she said.
Words swam in his brain and he desperately tried to catch them. William's knees weakened as she moved around him, stepped between him and the wall, placing her chest firmly against the wall, hands up above her head, rendering herself vulnerable and defenseless in front of him. "The corset William," he reminded himself, fighting the electromagnetic force pulling him to her to focus on locating and placing his fingers on the correct laces and pulling them through the grommets, loosening the garment. Moving downward, he unfastened her skirt, the red velvety fabric slipping to the floor, to gain access to the last few corset laces. Then he gently tugged the corset sideways to slide it from between the wall and Julia's body and tossed it to the floor.
Loudly, powerfully, his heart thundered in his chest. Pausing, he fought the urge to devour, to ravage … Now only the thinnest cloth separated her luscious, supple, warm, moldable body from him. "Easy William," he coached as his hands made first contact, the heat of her, the way her flesh surrendered under his fingers nearly collapsing him. He stepped closer as his hands pressed tight against her hips, feeling her hip bones before taking a firm, torturous tour up the curves of her waist, her ribs, to cup her bosom, sequestered away under the fine, white threads of her chemise. Hot and humid, his hurried, demanding, breath rattled over her ear as his dry, scratchy voice puffed, "My God, you feel good," then he slid a hand up to take her chin, turn her face to the side and take her jaw into his mouth, his hard teeth grazing gently over the flesh before his mouth took hold and sucked her in. He seized her earlobe as his hand moved lower to re-capture a hold on her bosom. The sheer moldability of her forced a moan to surge free from his throat and echo its roar into her ear and ricochet deep into her brain. "I want you, Julia," his whisper ripped into her, heating her from the inside out.
The lush, heavy, spinning pressure of euphoria in her head threatened to drop her to the floor with its wave as his fingers tucked under the waistband of her bloomers and tingled the coarse mound of hair that guarded her screaming desire. "William," she called out breathlessly. Her body hovered near implosion, her deepest core tangled and twisted into delightful knots of pleasure, feeling his fingers slip down lower, easily gliding across her slippery surfaces, while he sandwiched her, holding her in place in front of him between his strong arms and his rugged body, sturdy and rigid behind her, undeniably poking into her buttocks with his lust. Gravity shifted, her knees buckled, the floor rose, her breath caught – and she fought with all of her might, forbidding the fall. "The feather … and his bowtie," her voice in her head called, reminded.
Her attention focused to the place where her palms touched the wall, working to ground, to slow the spin, to regain control. Intending to completely disarm him, she turned around to face him, freeing herself from his grasp. Julia's eyes dropped down to his trousers, the view of the buttons she was targeting pleasantly alternating into and out of her sight in the dim light as William's chest heaved rough and rapid before her. A smile grew on her face. She would enjoy this, teasing him mercilessly, and then gaining the upper hand. His excitement ballooned with her touch of his trousers as she took command of the first button. "Now William, this is clearly no trapped little boy, there is no Peter Pan in there," she noted, "this is clearly a full-blooded man."
A battle was ensuing within William. Having allowed his mind to jump ahead, to imagine the exquisite feeling of having her take him, surround him, and move and hug him tight, he barely heard his own voice warning inside of his head, "She will find it!" The beating in his chest, in his head was so loud, so devastating, he pleaded with all his might to feel her press around him…
There was the heavenly, sought-after touch … but …
"William!" she gasped! "What on Earth!?" she cried, pulling her red feather out from its trap. She held the mangled, clumpy feather up between them, examining it. "I can't believe you would do that!" she exclaimed.
William clamped his lips together and tilted his head – was it an apology, simply an admission!? She held his eyes, her head slowly moving into the rhythm of shaking from side-to-side in disbelief, her mouth once again wide-opened in shock.
He noticed it, the naughty change in her expression. It caused him to immediately surge with playful worry.
"Well then, William Henry Murdoch, tit for tat!" she screeched as she grabbed his bowtie, pulling it from where it hung around his neck.
"No," his lips mouthed and his head shook…
…As Julia thrust his bowtie into her bloomers and gave him a shove. Totally unprepared, he was thrown back, and she ran for it, pulling the door handle with her on her way out. She had made it a few steps into the hallway before she knew he was in pursuit, for she did not hear the door slam behind her. Gleefully she screamed, "William, don't you dare!" as she rounded the hallway corner.
Immediately around the turn she saw their sleeping infant's closed door and she remembered. And guilt hit her so very quickly. And she turned to face William as he rounded the corner behind her, her finger up in front of her lips trying to shush him…
And she saw him, was amazed and confounded by the sight of him, no longer vertical, but somehow horizontal, seemingly midway through a dive, arms out in front of his prone body, appearing to fly – like Peter Pan, for the shortest of moments, before his chest slammed into the floor with a loud thud, and all motion stopped … William having fallen down – because men, and for that matter little boys too, can't run with their pants tangled down around their knees.
Simultaneously the two sounds hit the air – Julia's laughter and the baby's cry. Still giving into her giggles she knelt down to him. "Are you alright?" she asked.
"You mean except for my pride," he responded.
They both looked at the baby's door, agreeing that William should be the one to go in and soothe him so as to avoid having the infant confuse his being startled with it being time to nurse.
Julia waited outside the baby's room loving the beautiful sound of William's voice reassuring their crying son. "Shh, little man… That was just your Mommy and Daddy playing … Hey, hey there. Everything is just fine …"
It was working. The baby's crying subsided quickly, and then Julia stayed to listen as William started working to help the little one fall back to sleep. She heard the beginning of the conversation – about how William wished for his son to have the same good fortune that he had had – to find such a magnificent love as his mother and father had… Truly, it warmed her heart.
She cleaned up, retrieving their various items of clothing from all of their antics, changed into her nightgown, and took the hot chocolate cups downstairs to go into the dishwashing cupboard. She left the red feather soaking in a small dish of soapy water, come what may, and she put the bowtie in the laundry basket to be taken by Eloise to the cleaners along with the rest of his tuxedo.
Her mind flashed an image from the party earlier that evening – of William lighting her cigar, and she laughed out loud. "Definitely not just a cigar," she thought as she crawled into bed to wait for him.
William and Julia made love that night, after William had tucked the baby back into his crib. Julia had watched him come in, brush his teeth, and then lay out his pajamas. She enjoyed admiring his physique as he removed his trousers and his underwear. She crawled to the edge of the bed, stopping him as he prepared to step into his pajama bottoms. "No need for those," she had said.
Afterwards, when William got up to turn out the light, Julia fell again into laughter. Seeing him naked as a jaybird in nothing but his black socks, she had teased, "Now that outfit has got to be my favorite. It's so … classy." Her heart soared as William let the Peter Pan-side of him take over momentarily, modeling the ensemble for her, complete with a display of his flexed biceps, and he joined with her in merriment at his own expense. And he did truly look so lovely, albeit for the socks.
In the dark, before they succumbed to sleep, they agreed to look for evidence of William's inner little boy in their journals and to go see the play. They got only about an hour's worth of sleep before the baby woke and needed to be nursed. Tomorrow was Sunday. All was good.
#####################
The next afternoon, while William Jr. napped, William and Julia shared their journals in the living room, nestled together on the couch. William had remembered a few entries about his childlike excitement over some of his inventions, like when the scrutiny camera actually worked. Julia had read about the boyish grin he had when he first told her about his lifelong passion for dinosaurs, noting how surprised she was that he was able to hold his understanding and subsequent acceptance of their existence while at the same time being such a devout Catholic. Of course, he had straddled similar contradictions at other times, like when he came to believe that a man could truly love another man in a romantic sense, and that such a love would have to be valued in God's eyes.
And there was an entry Julia had written from when Father Keegan had told the tale of William burning down his shed as he experimented with the bending of sunlight. But that story was from when William actually was a little boy. Thus it did not support the idea that there was a little boy, a Peter Pan-like boy, inside of him as had been suggested at the Montenegro's party.
Julia claimed that she sees the little boy inside of him too, particularly when he marvels at the world, and the amazing things that can be done in it – like when he stared starry-eyed out the window of the Pendrick building, reveling in the near magic of its design, and when he told her about gliding back down to Earth in the flying suit … again with Pendrick. "Actually William," she had realized, "I think James Pendrick brings it out in you."
Then Julia remembered an entry. Excited she rushed to find it in her journal. Her eyes moved back and forth over the page as she checked to see if she was right. "Yes!" she declared, "It actually says, "like a little boy," … but there is much more to it." Her voice took on a warning tone, "It is sad," she said. He nodded. He was prepared. She read:
Perhaps it was because I saw him outside of the confines of our work – him not a detective, me not a coroner – of course he would go to the County Fair too? But, more likely it is because I truly, deeply find … that I still love him … particularly the part of him that sparkles with life, with absolute joy, like a little boy discovering the awesome beauty of the world for the first time. That a man who works every day surrounded by the darkest aspects of humanity can be so fully captivated, so completely enthralled, by a scale model of a town … I tell you it tugs so at my heart strings and steals my breath. It took everything I have to hide my feelings for him – from Darcy – and from him – and dare I say, from myself, in order to cope.
How can it be that I must let him go to love him properly? There will be no finer father than him, of that I am certain. And Darcy does not want children. The path is clear. My God I knew it when I saw him wish for a child like the Inspector's son. But I already knew, that I would have to let him go, that I could not be the one to make him happy, when I found the book on his worktable – about the automaton. I even remember the title, "Steam Man of the Plains." I knew the, "gift," William would give was for her son, Alwyn, and I knew down in my bones, deep inside my womb, that she could give him what would make him happy and I could not. To this day I feel such shame that I ever even entertained the idea, actually did, let him love me while knowing this truth – keeping this truth from him. The guilt, the shame, the fear of his finding out, of his thinking badly of me, still so shatters my heart.
And now I find myself sitting once again with the nausea of deception. Is it worse to marry a man while lying about loving him and not another? Or was I more sickened by the thought of deceiving a man, the man – the one man I will always love, deceiving him, allowing him to assume that I could mother his child when I knew that I could not? And now I have no choice, for I have let William go, and I should be grateful that I have found another … a good man, who loves me with all of his heart, and who knows me, knows what life with me will mean.
If only I could stop seeing the look in William's eyes as he told me about his excitement, about his discovery… Inviting me to wonder with him – oh how I so wish it could be. The effect of it on my brain, and my heart, and my breathing, and my insides still rocks me to the core. It is like starving, being without him. My God it hurts so. Perhaps it always will. And to keep it a secret, as I must – I will have to find a way to live with the intolerable. Focus on what is at hand. I was happy before I met him and I can be happy now – without him.
"The word 'ironic' just doesn't seem to cover it," William said after she had closed her journal.
Julia wrinkled up a corner of her mouth, admitting to the pain of her memory, feeling the regret.
"Come here," he said, offering her his lap. Gladly she swung one of her long legs over him, her skirt slipping up to reveal her naked skin in the process. It served to entice him. Passion took them in a rush, like a cold front coming through, creating thunder and lightning, and he took her there – on the couch.
################################
Returning from seeing the play Peter Pan, Julia very much wanted to discuss the play, especially in the light of the conversations they had had at the Montenegro's party the week before. William however, had other plans. He had already removed a good deal of his own clothing and was moving on to remove his wife's as well. All the while he found enticing little spots on her to kiss.
… "And Captain Hook's arm William! Isn't it amazing how far medicine has come? Do you remember taking me to see the man who made that prosthetic arm!?"
"Mm," he answered, starting on her corset.
"To think we have gone from giving a man a hook to actually making something that he can use his own muscles … his own brain…" she stopped briefly due to William's frolicking with his hands about her body having arrived at her breasts, not to mention the explorations with his mouth on her neck … "to control the metal fingers," she finished, now herself a bit out of breath.
He knelt down and she leaned on his shoulder as he removed her shoes. "I really want to thank you William, for sharing so many wonderful things with me…"
"You're welcome," he replied between kissing and sucking on her curvy calf and sliding his hands up to grasp the top of her stockings.
"Our life together really has been like Peter Pan's Neverland – magical and marvelous…" she continued.
"Mm," he agreed. The stockings removed, he stood and pulled off his own undershirt, momentarily silencing her as she appreciated the contours of his chest. Wanting to feel flesh against flesh, skin slipping past skin, he lifted her chemise over her head, and then stepped in to take her into his arms. His hands glided up her back, squeezed her tight, and he kissed down her ear to her neck. "You feel good," he said breathlessly as he gloried in the delicious sliding of the bare, rounded flesh across his chest as he shifted to ravage the other side of her face and down her neck.
She felt it stirring – lust. And yet, she fought it, her mind so interested in its musings. "I think they were saying something about time …" she said
"Mm," he added, nodding yes, his mouth otherwise full.
"The way the crocodile had the clock ticking in his stomach …" her breath caught in a gasp as he grasped her bosom and leaned down to bury his face in her cleavage. Her head spun … dizzy, so dizzy, she had to hold on tight around his neck to remain upright, pulling him in closer as she did so, encouraging him, urging him on. "The clock, the clock … time," she fought to regain her point. Her voice struggled, dry and raspy with growing want, "The ticking seemed to loom ever present, like a warning that time was running out…" she said.
"Mm," he answered, dropping to his knees, his mouth seizing the flesh of her stomach, his fingers searching for the waistband of her bloomers.
She so wanted to tell him what she had figured out – that he, that no man, could really remain a boy forever. Not if they were to become a father as he had. That the responsibilities would be too large, too demanding. But she was taken, as her bloomers dropped away and the cool air enveloped her completely … and then his mouth, so warm and slippery and … perfect, it moved breathtakingly, perfectly, over her. "William," was all she could find to say. Her fingers locked into his hair, twisting and tight as her insides coiled wildly out of control. "Take me to your Neverland," she managed to whisper, to plead, before her knees buckled and she fell down in front of him. Her blue eyes melted into his chocolate-brown heaven.
She would never remember him lowering his underwear and rolling her onto the floor… but she erupted with delight when he covered her, made pounding love to her, driving her over the edge and holding her tight as they both fell into rhythmical ecstasy. Afterwards, their bodies glowed with the slowing warmth of having been passionately loved.
"Oh my," she teased, "perhaps you really do have some magical Pixie Dust, detective."
Still linked together, his mouth traveled over her face with luscious, cherishing kisses, hesitating to whisper mischievously in her ear, "I guess it turns out in the end, doctor, that there really were green ferries after all."
(J.M. Barrie's play, Peter Pan; or, the Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up debuted in London in December 1904. A Broadway production was mounted in 1905 and was eventually performed in Toronto).