When the cab pulls up to my rented cottage, I grasp Bonnie firmly around the waist and help her out. Keeping my lovely human shield conveniently over my vital organs, I extend my hand to Clarice. Her fingers are surprisingly warm as she places her hand in mine. They are softer than I remember, but a cursory flick of my fingertip over her palm reveals two calluses. In this context, the toughened skin is unbearably erotic. She shivers, perhaps from the crisp evening wind as she exists the cab, and perhaps from other influences entirely. For a moment, I'm caught, unable to tear my eyes from her imperfectly perfect face. Bonnie shifts, and I detect an air of impatience in the gesture. Hidden by the fall of her ebony cape, I dig my fingers into her hip and she settles. I gesture for Clarice to precede me and she reluctantly turns her back on us.
I pay the cab driver and leisurely follow Clarice up the walk. I savor the sweet image of her back as she walks before me. I have had such little time to admire her from behind. She has always approached me with eyes forward, and shoulders braced. I briefly recall the twist of her shoulders as she was forcibly escorted from my presence in Memphis. I file away the new images with their predecessors.
She waits for us at the door, and begins to turn to face me, but I quickly move in behind her, pressing myself chest against her back. The urge to crush her against the door, and tear her dress to shreds is overwhelming. Instead I deftly reach for her zipper and tug it down to her waist. The expanse of her back is a pristine white that almost brings tears to my eyes. A simple black bra fastens in back, and over it, a slim holster. The automatic is cradled between the angel's wings of her shoulder blades. I can feel her tense. The feeling of vulnerability must carry such a sting. She has the means to level me strapped to her back, and yet her hands are deftly tied by her concern for the innocent to my left.
"Bonnie, if you'd be so kind."
Bonnie obediently slips the pistol from its holster, and lays it in my hand. I dislodge the chamber and fling the bullets far and wide over the yard. It will be impossible to find them hidden in the dewy folds of the night-dark grass. Tucking the gun into my jacket, I place my hand at the small of her back, letting it set there a beat longer than necessary before drawing the zipper closed.
Turning the key in the lock, I usher my companions inside. With Bonnie on one arm, and my hand manacled around Clarice's wrist, I escort the ladies to the living room. I back her up to the sumptuous leather couch.
"Sit, Please. Would you care for some coffee, Clarice? Dessert perhaps?"
"No thank you."
She has gained more control of herself. Her courtesy is curt, but I appreciate the effort. She looks from me to Bonnie, her eyes strained.
"Everything's going to be alright, honey."
Bonnie makes no effort to ally Clarice's concern, and I think I detect a look of disdain in her downcast eyes. No doubt she knows very well the identity of her would be protector. Perhaps she believes the rumors of the tabloid press. Perhaps she just senses the tension in the air between us. Poor Bonnie. In her last humble hours she wanted so badly to be the center of attention. This new development must be heartbreaking for her. Why should her death be any different than her life? At least, the end will be familiar.
I pay the cab driver and leisurely follow Clarice up the walk. I savor the sweet image of her back as she walks before me. I have had such little time to admire her from behind. She has always approached me with eyes forward, and shoulders braced. I briefly recall the twist of her shoulders as she was forcibly escorted from my presence in Memphis. I file away the new images with their predecessors.
She waits for us at the door, and begins to turn to face me, but I quickly move in behind her, pressing myself chest against her back. The urge to crush her against the door, and tear her dress to shreds is overwhelming. Instead I deftly reach for her zipper and tug it down to her waist. The expanse of her back is a pristine white that almost brings tears to my eyes. A simple black bra fastens in back, and over it, a slim holster. The automatic is cradled between the angel's wings of her shoulder blades. I can feel her tense. The feeling of vulnerability must carry such a sting. She has the means to level me strapped to her back, and yet her hands are deftly tied by her concern for the innocent to my left.
"Bonnie, if you'd be so kind."
Bonnie obediently slips the pistol from its holster, and lays it in my hand. I dislodge the chamber and fling the bullets far and wide over the yard. It will be impossible to find them hidden in the dewy folds of the night-dark grass. Tucking the gun into my jacket, I place my hand at the small of her back, letting it set there a beat longer than necessary before drawing the zipper closed.
Turning the key in the lock, I usher my companions inside. With Bonnie on one arm, and my hand manacled around Clarice's wrist, I escort the ladies to the living room. I back her up to the sumptuous leather couch.
"Sit, Please. Would you care for some coffee, Clarice? Dessert perhaps?"
"No thank you."
She has gained more control of herself. Her courtesy is curt, but I appreciate the effort. She looks from me to Bonnie, her eyes strained.
"Everything's going to be alright, honey."
Bonnie makes no effort to ally Clarice's concern, and I think I detect a look of disdain in her downcast eyes. No doubt she knows very well the identity of her would be protector. Perhaps she believes the rumors of the tabloid press. Perhaps she just senses the tension in the air between us. Poor Bonnie. In her last humble hours she wanted so badly to be the center of attention. This new development must be heartbreaking for her. Why should her death be any different than her life? At least, the end will be familiar.