Still standing around the corner, Arthur watched Eliza in the reflection of the mirror as she slipped off her Mary Jane shoes. Around her neck hung a brightly colored flower necklace, and her blonde hair rose in a soft bump in the back behind her bangs and fell just past her shoulders.
Just as he started to come around the corner, he heard her softly call in a sing-song tone,
"Mr. Morgaaaan... Your Mrs. Morgan is gettin' nakeeeed..."
And when she saw him standing near the wall, she smiled, "Ah, I knew that'd draw you out." She paused, and her brows scrunched together a moment. "D' you have the TV on?"
As she came towards him, he noticed she had a crisp, thin black line painted on her eyelids right above her lashes. And when she walked down the hall past him and into the next room, he got a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the opposite wall. He must've been approaching thirty. And he was in black slacks, a black leather belt, a crisp white long-sleeved button-down, and a very slim black necktie.
"Oh, no, no," she said as she walked up to the TV and switched the knob, turning it off. She looked up at him with an easy grin. "No distractions." Still in her transparent stockings, she quietly padded across the carpet back to him and took his hand in hers.
He let her slowly draw him with her down the hall to the last door on the left. When she opened the door, it became clear to him it was the master bedroom—it was quite a large room furnished with a king-sized bed, dressers and side tables, a little sofa to the left against the back wall, a walk-in closet in the adjacent wall, and another door in the wall directly to their right.
As Arthur stood gazing at the room, with the daylight streaming in from the curtains on the far wall illuminating all of it, Eliza let go of his hand and immediately walked to what looked like a gramophone resting atop the dresser to their right. But instead of a cylinder, she pulled something square and thin from a bin that sat beside it and slid a big, circular, thin shiny black thing from it, gingerly placing it on the base of the gramophone-looking thing.
"Still usin' gramophones?" he said.
"Gramophone?" she guffawed, looking at him with a crimped brow. "You mean a record player?"
She lifted something and gingerly rested it atop the round black thing, and after a brief, quiet crackle, music began to pour from the cone and fill the air. A low rumble of drums and smooth, mellow oohs kicked off the song, set to a backdrop of rhythmic snapping and a bright, lively yet understated melody of trumpet and keys. Then the singer began his plaintive plea,
.
"Baby, I need your lovin'. Baby, I need your lovin'. Although you're never near, your voice, I often hear. Another day, another night, I long to hold you tight. 'Cause I'm so lonely." ["Baby I Need Your Loving," The Four Tops, you tu . be /6LA0lKK4u18 ]
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Snapping her fingers in time with the tune, Eliza opened the door to her left and stepped inside. And as Arthur walked into the bedroom and let his gaze follow after her, he saw that it was a large water closet with a big vanity mirror mounted on the wall above two wash basins that sat lodged atop a lower cupboard of sorts.
Arthur watched her hum and sing along with the words. He couldn't restrain his grin at the way she was gently tapping her stockinged feet, causing her tush to switch just a bit in the fabric of her fitted dress as she looked into the mirror and began to remove her earrings and necklace.
.
"Some say it's a sign of weakness for a man to beg. Then weak I'd rather be, if it means havin' you to keep. 'Cause lately I've been losin' sleep."
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When the sunlight from the window glinted off something and caught his eye, he turned to see framed photographs propped up atop a dresser to his left and began to peruse them.
The leftmost frame held three black-and-white photos of he and Eliza on what was clearly their wedding day. In the first, they were gazing into each other's eyes softly, tenderly. And it was so plain to him that both their gazes were brimming and dripping with adoration and love. Eliza was pure loveliness—nothing short of exquisite.
As he continued gazing at the photos, the singer belted out his next lines, letting the guttural reverberation in his throat mirror the feeling of the deep longing of his soul:
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"Empty nights echo your name. Whoa, sometimes I wonder: will I ever be the same?"
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In the second photo, Arthur and Eliza had leaned in and met for a kiss, as if they simply couldn't wait another moment. He wore a simple white button-down, pale satin necktie, and black suit jacket. Eliza wore a thin veil atop her hair and a light, dreamy gown—transparent lace across her chest and arms, the edge of which rested at the base of her neck for a soft neckline. And underneath was a solid, fitted white bodice with a strapless sweetheart neckline. Though it was clear she still had a little rounded bump to her belly post-delivery, the dress was fitted at the bust and waist and flared out into a full skirt.
In the third, Eliza held Isaac, just a tiny babe, cradled in her lace-adorned arms. He was so new that he was still a little wrinkly, and he was content to doze away in his mother's loving arms. She was absolutely beaming up at the camera. Her smile was so bright and radiant that the vein, so familiar to him for signaling her joy, was showing in her forehead, and tears of gratefulness were bubbled up in her eyes. And there was his own profile, to the left of her and looking down at Isaac with his own bright, adoring smile, as he reached out a big hand to carefully cradle the side of Isaac's sleeping face.
Arthur found himself touching his fingertips to the glass of the frame, desperate to reach into the photograph.
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"When you see me smiling, you know things have gotten worse. Any smile you might see has all been rehearsed."
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Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the wall to see three framed photographs mounted there. The left was a color portrait of himself, Eliza, and young Isaac—about three years old—sitting between them with a newborn Hope in his lap and the biggest, brightest smile on his face.
The middle was a large black-and-white close-up photo of little Isaac's profile as he ever so gently and tenderly kissed Hope's sleeping newborn face. The creaking in Arthur's chest at the sight manifested itself in a quiet breath of a moan.
And the right was a color photo of the four of them, somewhere green and bright, playing in the grass. He could only guess it was somewhat recent; Isaac was about five, and Hope was about two. They were all four of them laughing, he could only imagine at the sound of Hope's radiating cackles as her father tickled her. With eyes shut tight and a brilliant smile, she was throwing her entire writhing body over his lap.
His expression relaxed, and he smiled softly at the sight.
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"Darling, I can't go on without you. This emptiness won't let me live without you. This loneliness inside, darlin', makes me feel half alive."
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Eliza popped her head out from around the bathroom wall and clucked her tongue. "Arthur! You've still got all your clothes on? What're you doin'?" she said in a high pitch. "It's our playful day!"
He looked up at her just in time to watch her disappear back behind the wall. "'Playful day'?"
"Yeah, you know... The kids are at daycare...we have the whole house to ourselves... And we get to be playful!"
"Playful," he repeated quietly, turning back to look at what sat atop the nightstand near the bed—their shared journal, closed. Reaching out for the bookmark band that peeked out from between the pages, he smirked and quietly said to himself, "Lemme guess: 1960-somehin'."
Pulling the band, he let the book fall open and flip to the most recent entry. August 18, 1964, it read in the top right corner. And there was his own handwriting:
Isaac's growing like a weed. Every year, somehow I find I like his new age even better than the last, though I was sure it wasn't possible. I'm trying to keep up, but sometimes, I wish time would slow. He still asks every night at bedtime if we'll go fishing the next day. Kid loves the outdoors.
And there was Eliza's hand, right next to his own. More like being with his daddy.
His mama too, was in his own hand, beside hers. And they both continued to write back and forth.
Yeah. Oh, their smiles just slay me, she'd written. And Hope's doing so good with her potty training. I think it has more to do with wanting to get out of the bathroom fast as possible, so she doesn't miss out on the fun, than anything else.
Arthur grinned at the clear image of her smile as she wrote it, and his own chuckle when he'd read it.
Takes after her mama in that way, was in his own hand. Never wants to be far from the fun, or her loved ones.
Wait, so when are we going fishing again? Eliza had written.
Arthur smiled bright, able to hear his own wheezing chuckle.
Soon. But not tomorrow.
No, definitely not tomorrow. I'm so lucky, 'cause my husband is a BABE, but he's just as beautiful on the inside too, and he's the most amazing father to my children. And you know I'm gonna love you up real good and loud tomorrow.
No, no, no. I'm the lucky one. And you're the babe.
Arthur grinned softly. "Babe," he quietly said. A babe was exactly what she was.
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"Baby, I need your lovin'. Got to have all your lovin'..." the song continued.
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"Arthur, what're you still doin' fully dressed?" he heard Eliza say and turned to see her coming out of the bathroom, still in her green dress and transparent stockings herself. "This is one of my favorite songs in the whole world!"
She walked up and loosened his tie, gently tugging it free as her eyes flashed up at him with a subtle wry smirk. "This one not doin' it for ya?"
All he could do was watch her, his eyes glued to her every miniscule expression, her every move.
Once his tie came loose, she dropped it to the floor and turned to walk over to the record player. She carefully removed the record and put it away, pulling another sleeve from the bin, slipping the record from the sleeve, and placing it on the base of the record player.
"Help me out, Solomon," she said with a warm, knowing grin as she lifted and placed the needle exactly where she wanted it.
Immediately, a dynamic, punchy bop almost erupted from the cone.
Eliza turned and looked at him with a wry spark in her eyes and a smirk on her mouth. And when the singer began the calculated lines in his deep, strong voice, she mouthed each and every single word with drama and flair.
She popped her lips for the b's of 'baby' and held her hand up to her cheek with her thumb and little finger out for the second part of the phrase:
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"When your baby leaves you all alo-o-one, and noboday-ay-ay calls you on the phone..." ["Cry to Me, Solomon Burke, you tu . be /h1U2GfCGIEs ]
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Arthur watched as she began to slowly walk to towards him, pointing her toe with each step. And as she mouthed the next line that the singer belted out, she pulled her brows up tight and leaned forward with both fists clenched to her chest.
.
"Doncha feel like cryin'? Doncha feel like cryin?!"
.
For the next line, her eyelids fell half-mast, and she bobbled her head side to side a bit. With the last word, she let her left hand fall limp at her wrist as she touched her fingertip to the skin of her own chest above the square neckline of her dress, jutting her chin a bit to emphasize, 'ME'.
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"Well, here I am, a-honey. Come on. Cry to ME."
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Arthur couldn't hold back his burgeoning smirk.
Eliza turned and began to slowly walk back towards the bathroom, still mouthing the words.
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"When you're all alone, in your lonely room..."
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With the next line, she turned only her head to look back at him over her lifted shoulder,
.
"...and there's nothing but the smell of her perfume..."
.
With her eyes still on him, she pouted her lips for the next line and dipped at the knees to dramatically lower herself as she wiggled her hips a bit.
.
"Doncha feel like cryin'? Doncha feel like cryin?!"
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"Oh my god, you are such a dope," he whined a light little chuckle under his breath with a grin as he shook his head.
Finally, she turned and walked backwards through the open bathroom door as she mouthed,
.
"Doncha feel like a-cryin'? Come on, come on. Cry to me."
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She promptly sat on a little stool she had prepared just inside the door and let him watch as she lifted each leg slowly removed her transparent stockings one at a time, all the while mouthing,
.
"Nothing can be sadder than a glass of wine alone."
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"Well, you do know exactly what you're doin', don't you?" he mumbled, unable to take his eyes off her long legs as he brought his hand up and rubbed the back of his neck.
And with the next line, she squinted at him and scrunched her nose tight above her saucy grin.
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"Loneliness, loneliness! Such a waste of time!"
.
Arthur grinned and shook his head at the sheer magnitude and dry wit of her brazen production, let alone the fact that she was passing it all off without breaking into a single giggle of her own.
She stood from the stool at the start of the next line and held out a hand to him, slowly pulling it back towards her chest with a trill of her fingers and an expression of dramatic longing all across her face as she mouthed,
.
"You don't ever have to walk alone, you see. Well, come on, take my hand. Baby, won't you walk with me?"
.
And suddenly she froze, finally slinking behind the bathroom wall with a bounce as she mouthed, "Whoa-ho yeah!"
A hearty laugh promptly bubbled up from him, as if caught on a hook at the end of a string that was attached to her body. "Now I know where Isaac gets his ham," he lifted his voice above the music.
"Why, all from you, of course!" he heard her respond from behind the wall.
Arthur remained in his spot and watched as, in a matter of moments, her arm came into view in the open threshold, with her green dress hanging loose and empty in her hand. And as he watched her drop it to the floor, the grin skittered away from his face, and he had to gulp as his entire stomach leapt up into his throat.
A moment later she appeared in the threshold, in nothing but two pieces of dark, lacy matching undergarments, the likes of which he had never seen before.
With her puppy dog eyes trained on him, she briefly hugged the door jamb, pressing her cheek to it for a moment. But when the next line of the song started, she began to walk towards him, and he got a better glimpse of what she was wearing, or the lack thereof. And a long, deep, loud groan involuntarily ground itself out from somewhere in his gut, as if he'd been kicked there hard.
.
"When you're waitin' for a voice to come..."
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Her strapless, low-cut, black lacy brassiere cupped her beautifully in every way, highlighting the plush velvet skin of her lush chest. And as his drowsy eyes waded down over her luscious body, he saw the lace of her barely-there panties, just hugging her hips and accentuating her soft, supple curves.
"Oh, no, no, no," he muttered. "Please no."
.
"...in the night, when there is no one..."
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As his yes lingered there, she turned, and his eyes shot wide at the way her panties caressed her plump, round bottom. As he lifted his eyes to take in the whole of her—blonde hair falling about her shoulders, the slender dip down her sumptuous back, and that pert, scantily clad bottom—his jaw hung loose. And as he watched her move, with his eyes still wide, the heel of his own hand involuntarily smacked him in the forehead, his fingers running back into his hair and gripping at the root.
"Oh, f..." he trailed off. "Christ... God. God help me. I'm cursed. Oh, I'm cursed all right," he said under his breath, all he could manage as he wagged his head at himself and let his hand slide down to the side of his face.
She finally turned back to him with a smile and resumed walking towards him, either forgetting to mouth the rest of the words, not caring any longer, or simply seeing that her stage act had done its work and produced the fruit she wanted.
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"Doncha feel like cryin'? Doncha feel like cryin'?! Don't you feel like cry-ca-cry-ca-cry-cry-cryin'…"
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Arthur could only stand there helplessly as she walked right up to him, pushed him with both hands once in the shoulders causing him to fall back like a deck of cards onto the sofa, and promptly straddled his lap.
He looked up into her eyes, finding focus and hungry desire there as she pressed both hands to the back of the sofa on either side of him. And he could feel her warm breath on his top lip as she leaned in.
But as quick as a snap of the fingers, she was gone.
He looked around to see he was standing alone indoors somewhere. He groaned and wiped a hand down over his face, holding his chin beneath his bottom lip as he hung his head.
"This is gonna kill me," he sighed with a whine, shaking his head. "Not a bullet, not a noose. This. This is gonna kill me."
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:) I've had this chapter in my heart and head for a LONG time.
If you've been able to venture over to Ao3, I have a couple fun little picrews at the end of this chapter there.
Thank you so, SO much, Will, Paige, and Allison for your incredibly beautiful reviews! They really mean a lot to me. I never expect reviews or comments, and my heart jumps every time I see one. Each of my readers really do make this extra fun. :) 💕
I've been really curious about whether there are any readers still around on this site who have read the other 2 works in this series. Please know that of course, you don't have to review, but if anyone's inclined to review for this or another chapter in the future, would you be willing to let me know which works of mine you've read?
As always, thank you so, so much just for being here. I sincerely appreciate it. 💛
Love to all,
Rosie