The Neurosurgeon

I gazed after the mother and son. They certainly seem happy. Wonder what happened to make her break up with…what’s his name…Michael…Michael Starling. I sensed a hidden, uncharted darkness here.

“Okay if I fix myself a bourbon and soda?” I called out after her.

“Oh, sure. Mm…my house is your house. You know wh…where everything is. I’ll take the ss…same.”

“Thanks,” I returned, noting her slight stutter.

I hauled the half-empty bottle from her kitchen cupboard and ran a stream of Jack Daniels into two short glasses. Then, ice and a splash of soda water. I took a swallow while wandering about the warm domicile. I passed by an Indian dream catcher and stopped short at the photo of the two sisters, their mother, and the dog.

“My Mom’s name was Trudy.” Steffi came up behind me and slipped an arm around my waist. “Trudy Ross before she became DeLeon. We used to live just outside of Annapolis, Maryland, on the Severn River. My father died from a lung tumor when I was a kid. He smoked a lot. And Mom fell down the stairs when I was fifteen. A blood clot on her brain killed her. That’s when my Aunt Melonie…she lives in Baltimore…took me in until I went to the University of Maryland.”

I nodded, noting she had not mentioned Stella. “It must have been tough growing up with no parents. So your Dad was deceased at the time of this picture. Who shot the photo?”

“A neighbor man.” She did not elaborate. “Why all the questions? Don’t you believe me?”

I felt her arm go rigid. An awkward silence ensued, the stillness tremulous, like the surface of a pool. A very deep pool. I wasn’t sure which way to tack.

“You’re upset, Steff. What happened back then? You act as though the photo haunts you.”

“Stop trying to pry into something that does not concern you, damn it! Please leave if you feel the need to act like a fucking investigator!” came her words in rapid, dark, and twisted shapes. “Haven’t you done enough damage already?”

“Oh my God, I apologize. I am way out of bounds here.” And then, in a playful manner, I rushed to say, “Hey, you volunteered the family history. I truly don’t mean to sound as if I’m meddling in your past.” I stroked her hair. “Steffi, you’re really angry. I said I’m sorry.”

“It’s just that…that I’ve been under a bit of a ss…strain.” She twisted around to face me. “I’ll tell you some day. Not now. Don’t leave. Please ho…hold me.”

She stared, unblinking, into my eyes, pleading, fearful, haunting. I set my glass aside and folded her into my arms. Our lips joined, and I felt her tongue burrowing in, searching. I knew that something was amiss, but the ardor of her embrace set caution and common sense adrift.

“Honey, come.” She gave a loose forward flip of her hand. “Bring our drinks into my…uh…boudoir,” she murmured in my ear, her emotions snapping into a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. “I have two candles burning.” A whiff of night-blooming jasmine. While unbuttoning her blouse, Stephanie’s flushed cheeks flanked a rapidly-rising, beatific smile.

The floral scent seemed like déjà vu. I inhaled deeply, picked up our bourbon-and-sodas, and followed her down the hall to Pleasure Island. Her blouse fell to the floor as we turned into the bedroom. The flickering glow of a taper dancing in wax drove shadowy omens to flutter about her face. By the wall stood a brass bedstead, the duvet rolled down. Steffi challenged me, letting me take full measure of firm breasts, rising and falling with each breath. I toed off my oxblood brogues. She kicked away sandals, unzipped her jeans, and drew them off, leaving black lace panties.

“God, you’re beautiful. If only…” …I were single, came to my mind. I was stunned by this vision of pulchritude―slim, curvaceous, soft white skin reflecting undulating lights and shadows. Perhaps I had been reading too much into her come-hither stare, but any hesitant thoughts, like our clothes, fell away.

“Well, Doctor Stone, are you just going to ss…stand there?” She took a long swallow of her draft. “Here, allow the nurse her ministrations. Trust me, my pet.”

Steffi twirled, arms over her head like a ballerina, stopped in front of me, and pulled away her panties. My fevered lungs expanded deeply, and I found myself completely under her spell as “Strangers in Paradise” soared through the air, a dark and taunting heat spilling, spreading from this beguiling princess. My heart now beat out of control, my ribs shaky. She dropped to her knees and pressed her cheek against the fabric expanding in my crotch. Her hands crawled over my pant legs, unfastened the zipper, and stripped loose both my vigilance and leather belt. The trousers fell to the floor as I quickly drained my glass, tossing it on the bed…