Three Roses
I met her when a girl friend
brought her over to my 16th floor apartment overlooking DC. She was standing there with her coat still
on, waiting for her friend to finish trying to cajole me into having a party
here. She had short brown hair cut in a
DA like girls wore in the 60’s. Though her figure was masked by the London fog
her long neck promised to lead to good things… I told Trish, the one begging for a
party room, to call a couple of our mutual friends on my phone and see
if they could host for her. My phone, because I wanted to really meet her
friend. I stood silently behind her at
the floor length window until she sensed me.. “Great view isn’t it?” “Umhmh.” Kind of a throaty voice,
like she had a cold. She didn’t turn
but kept staring at the Monument in the distance, 10 miles away. “It looks like a shining sword at
night.” “I bet!” This was going nowhere. “What was your name again?” I
remembered it was Sherry but I couldn’t conjure anything better – plus I wanted
to sound indifference. “Its Cheri, with a C and I, C H E R I,” she said turning to
face me. She looked up at me, with her head tilted down and from under blonde
brows. No makeup for her – just like she came out of the wash… She finished her
evaluation too quickly and turned back to the view. “Aren’t you scared by the height
standing close to these windows?” she asked. “Nope. Got Cherokee blood.” I lied. “”I stood here the night Arlene blew
through. Put a crack all the way to the foundation but didn’t break the
windows.” “I guess if you can get you mind to
not panic long enough to think about the fact that it is safe.” She looked down
and shied back from glass bumping
against my chest. “Sorry. I was ok until I looked
down at the cars.” She smelled nice. The warm
fragrance of her under the coat too warm for inside was familiar. “Emeraude!” “What?” “You’re wearing Emeraude… and it
suits you. The
scent, is recognizable, but not overpowering. Coty made it sexy, seductive –
the smell of an oriental myth. I’ve
heard it doesn’t attract bugs either.” She laughed. “So have I seduced you
then?” “Hey. I’m not easy, but I can be
had.” “If I want you you mean?” “Yeah…. I guess that’s the hard
part. Getting you to want to seduce me.” “That is? or That would be? That is
means its where you’re trying to go where would be leaves it uncertain. You
mean – That would be the hard part, right?” She had a coy grin on her face and
her cheeks colored a bit. “Which do you want it to be?” “Don’t leave it up to me. If you do I’ll leave with Trish. I admit I’m
intrigued by a guy who knows fragrance, who makes it and can describe one so
uniquely. Not the bug part!” “That is.” “That is what?” “Whatever sends Trish home alone.”
I grinned and all the tension went out of me. She turned back to the window and
said, “Hold me.” I did. That’s how it
started. This
section of the tale needs some setup… Cheri had become a fixture in my
penthouse. On workdays she used her apartment near her work as a base, sometimes
leaving my place after a casual evening of wine and TV to sleep and do her
morning ablutions 5 minutes from work.
I think she had had a few stutter-steps in her love life and was cautious. After a few months her caution proved
fortuitous. She had reached the “I should be the only focus of your attention.”
Stage Hence, when after doing the deed
several times, I got out of “our” bed in “our” penthouse leaving her to sleep and
went off to a Civil War reenactment – well, that was too much. I came back to an apartment sanitized of Cheri
schtuff. She had even cleaned the
apartment, presumably to remind me of some of her added value. That weekend I dragged on my sweats and went down to the volley
ball courts. Shock of shocks, there was
Cheri. Looking good at my sports
ground. After the apartment it seemed obvious she wanted a clean break but it
soon became clear she had other designs. I beckoned to her since she was sitting with some of the
resident “brown bodies” most normal folks shun as gigolos. “What are
you doing here?” “Hey I have
every right to be here. You brought me
down here and introduced me to these folks.
They want me to play with them…” “Yeah. I bet they do!’ I muttered, not meaning what
she meant. I glanced at the crowd she
had left, now straining to hear our conversation. “What?” “Don’t talk
so loud.” “Why not? I
have nothing to hide.” “Come on
Cheri. This is my world and you are –
well were my girl. It’s embarrassing
for you not to be here with me. Its an
ego thing.” She crossed
he arms in front of her, taking that defensive stance of hers. “Macho Clarke! You
don’t want me alone, don’t want to get serious, don’t want a relationship, and
you can leave me after sex to go off for the weekend with a bunch of Historical
Hystericals. I wake up and find you
gone – the last straw.” “Come on.
You moved out so why hang around.” “Not for
you. You don’t want what I have to offer. Bill over there”, pointing with a
head tilt, “ appreciated me though.” “He’s one
of the brown bodies you were so critical of last time we were out here. He’s a
male whore, girl.” My voice was involuntarily turning to a hissed whisper. “Well you
don’t want me.” “I never
said that. I just said I didn’t want a serious relationship.” Turning she
said, “Well you don’t have one!”. She walked away in that impish provocative
way she did when she felt she had won a point. I wanted to shout “You dumb
bitch, you’re demeaning yourself to strike at me” but I just glared. She went
over and sat on his lap and took a drink from his glass of wine. I was about to leave when the two of them started
packing up. They left. arm-in-arm toward
Bill’s building. I felt sick. She was
drinking, and a little kissy-face, a touch or two and she would be an uncontrollable
sex machine. He would have what I cared for and then he’d dump her. At least I limited myself to one girl at a
time. How was I to save her from
herself? I proceeded to get plowed on
Annie Green springs Mountain Pink. My Mensa matter fully engaged, I
prepared my plan. Once I have
ascertained a girl is one of my chosen few, I give her a ring. It has a spell placed on it at my command. My maid in Panama had an Obeah princess from
the Island of Barbados. She taught me well, and without detailing how, I will
say that I can create an aegis talisman to ward, shield, and link the owner to
me forever. Any precious metal item can be used. It doesn’t require belief on
the part of the linked, just onetime free will acceptance of the gift. It is
white magic… Soon after we met, I had told Cheri
a contrived tale of a ceremony using roses, a bell, a book, and a candle. I included
that I had received a small pinky ring with a ghost-like image staining the
silver for my warding. The next day I waited and met her as she left work. She walked out, head down, grubbing
in her purse for her keys. She looked up and saw me. “What do you want?” “To talk.” “So talk.” “Not here. Not now. I want to have
a goodbye dinner with you.” “I’m not going back to your
place. I know I can’t say no to you. You’ll make me melt and…I’ll belong to you
again.” “I meant in public. A place you’ll
really like. And you do belong to me –
and you always will.” She played with her keys for a
moment, just a moment. “Ok but no sex.” “That’s your call. You know I never do anything I’m told not
to.” I grinned. “When do you want to go.” “Tomorrow night is Friday. How
about then? I’ll pick you up at your place – You’re not at Bill’s are you?” “Not ‘til Saturday.” She looked
down at the keys and he cheeks colored. “That was rotten. I’m sorry I…” “You won’t ever do it again, trust
me.” She looked in my eyes trying to gage my meaning. Satisfied she asked, “What
time?” “Seven. We’re going to DC. Wear
your white dress.” “’K. Seven.” She touched my arm
softly and left. The next day was busy. I took off work. First I went to the silver
smith who made my ghost ring and bought another very similar silver ring in Cheri’s
size. Then I tripped to the florists to
get 3 tall crystal vases with 1 long stem scarlet red rose in each. Next stop was an Indian brass shop for a one-finger
brass candle lamp and a tuned brass bell. I bought a gold covered
candle and leather covered journal. Last was a West Indian shop for herbs,
grasses, and fixings. I went home and did some Obeah magics. A trip to the Palm restaurant on 20th
and M streets in DC was next. As an analyst for Booz Allen Hamilton I had
dropped thousands in the Palm for sales lunches and dinners. I called in a favor from Charles, the Maitre
‘D. I gave him one rose, the ring,
and instructions for when we arrived – and a good chunk of change. All was in readiness. At seven I showed up at her place. She
looked great. When we got in my Vette I
handed her the first crystal vase from under the back deck. Did she remember the tale? Was she too drunk
that night? “It’s beautiful. But what am I going to do with it?” “Bring it with you. It suits you.
We can put it on the table at the restaurant.” The ride to DC was quiet. She sat like a little girl going to church,
the vase held in both hands in her lap. When we got to the Palm. Charles met us
at the door. The Palm is
informal, sectioned off in booths, and has caricatures of famous people painted all
over the walls. There are three premium
seatings on a raised platform in the back of the main room reserved for “specials”.
Standing at the door Charles snapped his fingers and two waiters appeared with a
lace linen table cloth, real silverware in a presentation walnut box, fine china, and
crystal settings. Charles escorted us to the
platform so we could enjoy the preparations.
When the setting was completed Charles turned to Cheri. “May I?”, he asked indicating the
rose Cheri now clutched like a shield. The deference a place the Palm was showing
shocked her. “Sure.” She handed him the vase and
he placed it carefully on the table. The two waiters held our chairs and
seated us. Charles disappeared and when we were seated he returned with the sommelier
toting Champagne. He had the second
vase and rose which he presented to Cheri with a deep bow and flourish. He was
earning his tip. He placed it next to its twin on the table making a production
out of balancing the scene. Smiling happily and a bit
embarrassed Cheri laughed. “For me?” She cast a knowing glance at me. “You did
this you dog” it said. Did she remember
yet, I wondered. The sommelier popped the Taittinger
1954 and served two glasses as if to royalty. He mentioned that it was a 1954
vintage; a fine year for Chardonnay grapes on the hillsides of Champagne. I
noted it was Cheri’s birth year and that 1954 must be great for everything
provoking agreement as he closed. “A toast.” I raised my glass. “To what? What’s all this about?” “A toast to you in thanks for being
mine?” “Being…? I thought you didn’t want
to get serious.” “I don’t. Being mine isn’t being serious. It doesn’t imply a physical relationship.
It is simply a fact. Some girls – you are
one of a select few – are mine. So I toast to thank you.” “I guess in a way I will never, I
mean never forget being yours even if it may end.” She still held the
glass. I shrugged. “The toast?” I raised
the glass. “To being yours, I guess.”, she
answered and drank. “We still have champagne in the
glass. You give a toast.” “To you and your caring. And to the
two beautiful roses.” “I’ll drink to that.” She drank tipping the glass
hi. “Hey!”, she said looking in the
glass. She pinched the small silver ring out of the dampness at the bottom of
the glass. “Put it on.” “Is it yours?” “No. It’s yours. Put it on your left ring finger.” She did. “Never be without it, never take it
off unless you have to, and never tell anyone what it means.” “What? What does it mean?” “What did you toast when it first
appeared?” She twisted it on her finger
looking at the ghost face stain. “This is yours.” I held up my hand showing mine. She
took my hand inspecting it closely. “They’re the same.”, she said. “They are the same and serve the
same purpose.” “What’s that?” We were interrupted by the arrival
of the Steak La Palm, Lobster La Palm, Fries La Palm, and Asparagus LA Palm. An
excellent Pinot Noir complemented the well appointed meal. Finished I had the valet bring the Vette. “Where are we going now?”, she
asked. “Where do you want to go?” “Where is the other rose?” “With the bell, book, and
candle.” “I know I shouldn’t – and you knew
I would. Didn’t you?” I smiled. We went to the penthouse.
We lit the candle. We rang the bell. We wrote in the book. She will always wear
the ring on the ”widowed” finger and when asked about it, she will only smile.
How it Started
The reunion
The Solution