CHAPTER 8 – EMPTYING THE
BOX
Cressid examines her bottom in the medicine
cabinet mirror. It is discolored from
last night’s punishment. Standing
on the edge of the tub is awkward, and
her neck is getting a kink. She vows to
someday buy a full-length mirror for the
hall closet. If only she can remember
it when she isn’t standing on the
edge of the bathtub.
Today she empties the box, but not until
sundown. It will be a long wait. What
can be done, she wonders, to the raise
the bar and add a little spice to the
ritual?
Maurin awakes brimming with excitement.
There’s no reason for it really,
other than it’s Saturday and he
doesn’t have to get dressed or go
to work. He makes coffee, takes a chamois
to the scope, then sits and admires the
view. Tonight he will begin his search
for her in earnest. There is portent in
the air.
After coffee he surveys his salon and
imagines how she will react. In the
entry hall a long, low Japanese lacquer
table
will be the first thing seen when she
hangs up her coat. A recessed spotlight
shining down upon it will someday feature… well,
he’s not sure what, just yet… something
emotionally arresting that she will
instantly recognize.
Elsewhere the décor is more complete.
The bookcase, located in a nook at the
back of the living room features an impressive
collection of erotica. Leather bound volumes
of De Sade and Sascher Massoch, first
editions of Henry Miller and Anias Ninn,
and, his prize, a rare copy of C.A. Swinburn’s
erotic poems. He pauses to make sure that
each volume is recessed ¾” from
the edge of the shelf, then turns
his attention to a display of white
stones
on an elegant oriental plate and fusses
with their placement until just a
corner of the handcuffs can be seen.
If only it weren’t such a long
time till nightfall.
Standing beside the scope he peers
across the buildings at the cold,
gray sky.
His solar plexus is humming like
a boy’s
choir. Damn! Something’s going to
happen today. He can sense it!
Noon. Four more hours. Until then Cressid
must ignore the box. Which is impossible,
of course. But waiting has always been
key. Waiting for the door to open. Waiting
to be told: “It’s time.” Anticipation
furthers.
She decides to ask the I-Ching how the
day will turn out and carefully shakes
and throws the coins. “And the hexagram
is…!”
Number 30: The Clinging, Fire.
Cressid’s skin begins to prickle.
She scans the interpretation. “Nine
at the beginning means: the footprints
run crisscross.” Oh, do they ever.
Skipping now. “Nine in the
third place means: Misfortune.” This sends
a jolt into the deepest part of her stomach. “Six
in the fifth place means: Tears in
floods, sighing and lamenting. She’s
almost afraid to continue. “Nine at the
top means: The king uses him to march
forth and chastise...” She swallows
repeatedly. How does it know about fantasies?
Dark images intrude. Men who want to carry
things too far. Now she’s not so
sure about her mission. Good thing she
doesn’t believe this crap.
Back behind the chair again. Such
a convenient height. The Clinging
Fire.
It was meant
for her all right. She touches her
bottom protectively, then checks
her watch.
Three more hours. The rule is ‘no hands’ and ‘no
doing it’… but not ‘no
chairs.’ She lets the warmth
spread until it threatens her of self
control
then breaks off and carries the I-Ching
back to the bookcase.
Maurin leans against the plate glass
window, his eyes closed. The feeling of
presence is intense. He visualizes a pretty
face, short, blond hair. The way her hands
move. It’s not concrete, just fleeting
glimpses. He forces himself to leave the
window. Night is so far off. Maybe he’ll
take a walk to kill time. But then he’d
have to get dressed. He feels a sudden
urge to dig out his ski mask. Moment’s
later he’s donning it in the bathroom.
It looks great but he looks really stupid
standing there in his jockeys. He concentrates
on the mask. It would be nice to have
some white fangs knitted in near the mouth,
scare the piss out of someone.
Should he get dressed and go out? Maybe
carry it with him in a bag, maybe buy
some duct tape. He’s fantasized
sneaking up on women but doubts he’ll
ever have the balls to do it. The plan’s
big flaw is that he’s never figured
out when to tear the tape. You need two
pieces, one for the mouth and one for
the wrists, but you can’t pre-cut
because they’d would stick to everything.
And even if they didn’t stick to
everything which would you put on first.
Her mouth? Then her hands are free. Her
hands? Then she’s screaming bloody
murder. Too many drawbacks. And there’s
no room for error in this kind of an exploit.
One mistake and you land in jail for fucking
ever.
A short T-shirt and a pair of scarlet
high heeled shoes comprise the extent
of Cressid’s outfit as she slowly
empties the box. It is 4:00 PM. With each
item she revisits the theft and experiences
a twinge of guilt before dropping it into
a Zabars shopping bag. By 4:20 the bag
is ready for transport. Cressid proceeds
to the closet and dons her winter coat.
When the lining makes contact a shiver
of pleasure runs up her back. Again she
wonders if she should really be going
out like this. Again the answer is ‘yes.’ The
bar has been raised.
Maurin slumps on the sofa still in his
jockeys and ski mask waiting on the sun.
It has just dipped behind the New Jersey
high rises on the far side of the river.
Soon he will begin his vigil. Until then,
the eyepiece of the telescope is trained
on the middle of his forehead like a fat
ray gun from a 1950’s movie. He
feels a tingling in his third eye. Aliens
trying to communicate through the telescope.
Or maybe just an alienated human. Closing
his eyes he imagines himself out on the
prowl wearing a cape like Dracula, duct
tape in hand. The image of a young woman
carrying a shopping bag drifts through
his mind. He’s on the street and
she’s clicking along in front of
him, wearing… a pair of bright red,
high heeled shoes, and a long, dark winter
coat that stops just above her ankles.
The tingling becomes intense.
Cressid clutches the bag in front of her
with both hands and hurries down 79th
St. toward the river. It’s weird
being half naked under the big coat.
Very sexy, and very dangerous. Her fantasy
lover will be angry when he finds out.
He’s bound to give her a tongue
lashing… for starters. She feels
someone moving up behind and whirls
but no one’s there. That was weird,
like fantasy and reality got mixed up.
Not a good feeling. Hurrying now, she
makes the light, crosses Riverside drive
and the off ramp, and clicks her way
under the Westside highway overpass.
Curving steps lead down to a circular
stone plaza with a dry fountain in the
center -- a little bit of something
from another time surrounded by gothic
arches. Not a place to be caught with
your pants off. The silk pressing against
her bottom is warm now. It’s like
wearing a dress. Perfectly natural,
just don’t go visiting. “May
I take your coat?”
Grinning, Cressid descends to the boat
basin and scans the walk that runs along
the river. Dusk is imminent and lights
are already
on in some of the boats. Because of the unseasonable warmth a
handful of people are strolling the promenade.
Discretion and a faint downriver
breeze draws her north toward the GW bridge. The path begins to
rise and she regrets having worn the heels. They’re shit to
walk in and she’s getting a blister. Click, click, click.
It’s starting to get dark.
He stalks her at a safe distance, wondering
when to make his move. She’ll be
easy to catch in those ungainly high heels.
The question is: what else is she wearing
under that coat? He decides a skirt would
be easier to deal with, but when he attempts
to visualize it the scene begins to fade.
All right jeans then, she’s wearing
jeans. No good! He’s losing it.
Pushing his imagination away he surrenders
to his inner eye and floats quietly after
her. Then, out of the blue it dawns on
him. She’s not wearing anything under the coat! This is not a wish or
mental suggestion but an abrupt, unquestionable
fact. Sexual energy floods him and the
scene rushes back more lucid than any
fantasy he’s ever had.
Cressid decides to stop while she still
has a glimpse of the boat basin; only
just then a breeze finds its way between
the buttons of her coat and whispers against
her legs. Wanting it to continue she pops
open some lower buttons and pushes on.
Bad girl.
She looks around. The darkness has come
quickly, and with it a renewed feeling
of being watched.
She is in partial silhouette against
a darkening western sky. The clarity is
incredible, he can see tiny fibers on
the shoulders of her coat. Unable to restrain
himself any longer he takes out the masking
tape and silently peels away a strip.
The waterfront railing appears through
her body. Fool! Mullions from his window
decorate in the sky. He drops the tape,
and begs forgiveness. “I’m
sorry! I’m sorry! I promise not
to interfere again.” The river god
hears him and her image solidifies. Sensing
the faintest breeze he promises to let
the vision rule for he knows now that
this is not his fantasy, that he is only
here to witness.
The first thing out of the bag is a yellow
Swatch wristwatch stolen once when she
was at the gym. She didn’t know
the owner, but enjoyed watching her crawl
around on the floor searching every corner
of the locker room. Bad girl. Splash.
The tampon carrier. That had been mean.
She felt bad about that one, she’s
had heavy periods. Splash. It floats around
in a circle and begins drifting slowly
away. The pound cake. Saved that fat guy
200 calories. No guilt here. Splash. The
Rolaids. Well worth it. Splash. Reaching
too quickly into the bag she sticks her
finger on the My-Karma-Ran-Over-My-Dogma
pin. Damn bitch. Served her right having
such a stupid pin! If floats for a moment
like a little lifeboat then fills with
water and spirals into oblivion.
The play of her emotions is like music
as she throws things from her bag into
the river. Flickers of guilt, sin, and
yearning, come to him. Knowing she desires
what he desires, and that she is naked
under her long coat, fills him with lust.
How long can he remain passive with such
hunger growing in him?
Anxiety! Cressid whirls and searches
the walkway and the bushes. She doesn’t
like this feeling, can’t figure
out why it is intruding. Surreptitiously,
she reaches down and undoes another button
in case she has to run. That lets the
breeze in. Can’t run in heels. She
takes one off but the pavement is freezing.
She decides to wait for a more significant
threat before getting frostbite. Four
more items left. A colorful top shell
found by a co-worker while snorkeling
at a Sandals resort. The girl had been
heartbroken. Now Cressid’s feeling
bad. Splash. The picture of Fat Margot’s
nephew. The kid’s really cute. It’s
a nice frame too. Splash. The pin from
the flea market. Splash. The old woman’s
eyes stare back at her from the water.
The birth control pills. Big deal. Tina
probably won’t even mention them.
Last, a travel sized tube of toothpaste
disappears. It means nothing. The drug
store never missed it.
She drops the bag and starts back toward
the boat basin. Click, click, click.
The shoes are slowing her down. Was that
a
rustling in the bushes?
He focuses on her shoes. Click, click,
click. The long dark coat swishes about
her ankles, curves sweetly around her
bottom. The hunger increases. She approaches
a darkened stone arch. There is no one
around. But he knows better than to interfere.
Cressid fights to remain calm. Just one
more arch to go. Above on the West Side
Highway, cars whiz by. In seconds she’ll
be there.
A figure lurches out of the shadows.
She gasps! “Miss... ’Scuse me,
I got a question?” She can’t
see his face but his voice is black and
slurred by alcohol.
“
Keep the fuck away from me!” She
steps back and notices his thing is hanging
out of his pants! He’s been pissing.
She can’t run in these shoes! She
pulls one off and throws it at him. He
ducks and starts toward her. She kicks
off the other. It hits him in the chest.
“Bitch...” He blocks the
stairway.
The stone is freezing. Run back
the
other way! Before she can turn,
a voice from behind curdles her blood. “Wha’ you got
there?”
“Pussy.”
There are two of them. And there’s no way out.
It’s all wrong. The whole fantasy
is bad. People interrupting. No control.
Now what? Somebody else gets her? No way!
Overwhelmed by a desire to protect her
Maurin flies into the face of the black
man, and swallows him in his cape!
The one blocking the stairway grunts
and raises his hands as if to ward something
off. Shouting for help at the top of her
lungs, she dashes past, pushing him violently,
then races up the stone steps in a panic.
She misses the last one and smashes her
toe. Screaming pain! Limping and hopping
she continues on into the night of cars
and people. Her escape is halted by the
flow of traffic on Riverside Drive. She
taps her foot against the icy pavement
and realizes that her toe is bleeding
on the sidewalk. Sticky. The awful pain
subsides into a scalding burn. She whirls,
thinking someone is behind her. Nothing.
Stupid girl. They wouldn’t follow
her here. The light has changed. People
in a stopped car gape. She hurries across.
It’s easier to walk now, except
her feet are numb from the cold. Three
more blocks. She liked those shoes. Maybe
she’ll come back tomorrow in the
daylight. Maybe, she won’t. Not
to that place. Not for a long time. She
shudders remembering his thing hanging
out of his pants. And the voice of the
other one behind her. Pussy. That’s
all she was. And they almost had her.
As she strides up the incline toward
the
corner an approaching couple, dressed
for dinner, stare. In another second
they’ll
ask if she needs some help. To avoid this,
she sprints past re-igniting the pain
in her toe. Two blocks to go and West
End Avenue is full of Saturday-nighters.
She hates them, hates their gawking, then
realizes it’s not just her feet
but her bare legs emerging through the
unbuttoned coat. She stops abruptly and
does up two of the buttons. Now the little
whore is decent. A desire to cry rushes
up like unstoppable nausea and she is
wracked by sobs. It’s the worst
possible thing that could happen, an unspoken
demand for help. She’s running now,
despite her throbbing toe, despite the
horrid numbness in her feet. Running.
Running. Running. Past the doorman, into
the elevator. Praying for the doors close.
Thankfully no one is in the hall when
she emerges. She looks down to see if
she’s messing up the carpet. No.
Dried blood and dirt have turned her toe
black. Inside at last, she locks the door,
slides down onto the floor and cries and
cries.
Maurin stares dumbly at the windows,
awed that such a horny moment could turn
so flat so quickly. Gone, utterly, is
the girl, the fantasy, everything! For
almost an hour he’s driving along
a magical highway through wonderland and
all of a sudden the road leads directly
into a stone wall! Some looming homeless
creature. Still, it was different from
any other fantasy he’s ever had,
as if she had a will of her own and he
were just a ghost hitching a ride.
She lets the bath water run until it’s
way too hot, then endures minutes of dipping.
Her toe throbs unmercifully until the
heat has its way and she follows her foot
into the tub. Stupid girl! Almost blew
it. If it hadn’t been for that moment
of distraction God knows what they would
have done to her. And when they discovered
she was naked... She shivers. Stupid,
stupid girl! She promises herself she’ll
never do it again, never steal, never
fill the box again, never take stupid
chances ever again. The heat enfolds her
probing deep into her muscles whispering
that everything will be all right. Red
eyes close. She’s so tired. ‘Better
not fall asleep, you could drown,’ warns
a voice. But drowning would be a relief.
And she is so tired.
When she wakes up her cheek is in the
water and it’s cold.
Dry now, her toe bandaged, wearing the
long flannel nightie she’s had since
moving away from home, Cressid opens the
blinds. The broad flat ruler has been
put away. No ritual tonight. She’s
been hurt enough. Switching off the light,
she slides into bed and searches out the
red window. For some reason she finds
it comforting. Hello whores, I’m
home. They almost got me, but I made
it. Automatically, errant fingers
begin pulling
up her nightgown.
No! Go to sleep! Wait until tomorrow!
But she’s wide, wide awake now
and nothing is sore except her toe.
She attempts to call forth her
rogue’s
gallery but the cold stones under the
West Side Highway intrude and she’s
back with the smell of urine and alcohol.
Again the shadowy figure lurches forward
and she can’t stop seeing what’s
hanging from his pants. Now all she wants
is to curl up in a safe lap and be a little
girl again.
The scary image fades and a new
feeling blows across her like
warm smoke.
The presence. It has come through
her window
and is watching her.
“
Who are you?” she whispers.
Maurin’s whole body hums as he
peers through the telescope. The leftmost
corner of a window is in frame. He taps
it gently into center but can see only
reflections. The humming becomes a fluttering
in the center of his chest as though a
bird were trapped behind his ribs. His
breathing is almost non-existent. It’s
like it was before, only now he’s
standing in a room.
He’s handsome, with intelligent,
deep green eyes that see through all her
games. And even though he’s angry
about what she did tonight, and she’s
going to get what’s coming to her,
she knows absolutely that he loves her.
Two spirits share a fantasy across the
gulf of windows. Such heat! Such rising
intensity! Cressid observes her chastening
passively, lifting higher and higher until
she can stand it no longer. Then suddenly
they are one, clinging together, melting
into one another throbbing the blood-song.
In separate rooms across the gulf of
windows two throats cry out in unison
as their
minds explode like perfume bottles tossed
in a raging fire. Fragments of the two
of them careen into the night. Nothing
remains. Just a hint of fragrance in
an awesome silence.
