To Sleep... Perchance to Die Page 9

She smiled and with a tilt of her head indicated the bedroom where Bret was sleeping. “Of course not. My reaction was for his benefit. All the same, because of the way Larry treated me, I’m sensitive about anyone talking of women in a degrading manner. I know you’re aware of my feelings and would never say anything to intentionally hurt me.”

  Jake cupped her face with his hands. He leaned and kissed her forehead.

  She took his hands and held them in hers.

  Neither spoke.

  After some moments, Mai kidded, “You were smart to mention the favorable comparison between me and them. I might not have held back with my knee, and your voice would be a few octaves higher.”

  “I see, sorta like cutting off your nose to spite your face. It was the truth. No one comes close to you.”

  Mai mimicked a clown face before saying, “I know for appearances you have to date local girls, and Corrie is helping you find them. In fact, she refers to the honeys as bimbos du jour. She likes playing Cupid.” Mai leaned in as if telling a secret. “When I’m here permanently, I’ll take her out once in a while to keep her close. As you’ve said, who knows when we’ll need her.”

  Jake hadn’t told Mai that for her help in procuring women he was providing Corrie with narcotics. He wanted to change the subject. “Listen, I have a few ideas I’ve been meaning to run by you.”

  She straightened, “Okay, so tell me.”

  “There’s a home the real estate agent told me about. It sounds perfect for what we have planned. The house is on a road called Lover’s Lane, and …”

  Interrupting, Mai said, “You’re kidding? They named a street Lover’s Lane?”

  “Yeah, Google Earth it and see for yourself.”

  In a southern drawl, “Isn’t that precious.”

  “If you’ll let me finish . . . ,”

  Rolling her eyes, Mai sang, “I’m listening.”

  He continued, “There aren’t any close neighbors, so no one will notice who comes and goes.” He did an exaggerated clearing of his throat, “If it appeals to you and you wouldn’t mind living there in spite of the hokey name, tell Bret it’s where you want to be. He’s so gaga over you he’ll do anything.”

  “Well, he’s not my cup of tea,” she said as she checked her nails.

  Jake pressed on, “Once Bret comes into the practice, I’m going to set a schedule allowing each of us a day off during the week. For me, I’m thinking Wednesday. For him, say, Thursday. When I’m not working, you and I can be together knowing he’ll be in the office.”

  Mai’s tone was tentative, “Sounds like that’ll work, but what if he comes home unexpectedly?”

  “I’ll arrange for Corrie to call us. I’m pretty sure I can get her to do just about anything for us.

  “Handy person to have on our side,” Mai said.

  “Sure is. In fact, she may be useful if something comes up that will change our situation.” Jake raised his face to the ceiling as if looking toward heaven. “One opportunity is all I’m praying for.”

  Mai said, “Amen to that.”

  In contrast to her emotional state at the beginning of their conversation, Mai’s mood had improved. She turned and began tickling Jake’s ear, “I’m impressed. You seem to know just what to do.” Kissing his cheek, “I didn’t know you could be so devious.” Sitting back, she said, “Although in my heart I knew we’d find a way out of our predicament, I wasn’t sure it would work. Now, with your plan, we can do this.” Her eyes held a touch of worry, “As the expression goes, we’ve begun the first day of the rest of our lives.”

  Jake caressed her cheek, “Glad you’re feeling better.”

  She leaned in and they embraced.

  Standing and pulling her to him in one motion, Jake led her to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind them.

  In the throes of passion, Jake mumbled into her neck, “I love you so much.”

  Grabbing his head and holding his eyes with hers, Mai said, “I love you too, Jake.”

  The morning sun filtered through sheer curtains and woke Bret. He was greeted by a hangover headache similar to others he had when visiting Jake. He reasoned the headache wasn’t from alcohol as he only had one drink the previous evening. He might be sensitive to a local allergen, perhaps pollen or a pollutant, and should see an allergist when he moved to the area. The good thing about his lost evening was his sinuses had cleared.

  Mai was sprawled on her side of the bed. Bret gave her a kiss on the forehead before going to the bathroom. When finished, he decided to let Mai sleep and headed to the kitchen. Jake was watching the coffee machine complete its brewing cycle.

  With an index finger Jake pointed at the pot. “Won’t be more than a minute.”

  “Great, I need it.” As Bret was speaking, he heard movement and turned toward his bedroom. In the last vestiges of sleep, Mai was walking and yawning her way down the hallway clad in a skimpy bra and a lacy thong. A dark triangular patch showed under the thong.

  “Whoa . . . ” Bret said, glancing at Jake.

  In mid yawn, Mai stopped and looked at the men. She looked at herself. Eyes widening, she turned and ran to the bedroom. Within a few moments, she reappeared wrapped in a terry bathrobe. “If either of you say a word, I’ll strangle you both.”

  The men, who hadn’t moved since seeing her, looked at one another and began to chuckle. Male nervousness turned the chuckles into jokes and belly laughs.

  An “Ahem!” from Mai put an end to the frivolity.

  Bret attempted to allay Mai’s embarrassment. “Don’t be upset. It’s not like Jake hasn’t seen a woman in her underwear.”

  Mai and Jake glanced at each other and to Bret.

  Jake took the baton, “Sure. We’re men of the world, and we always have beautiful half-naked women around us.

  “Always,” Bret seconded, “That is, until you came along.”

  “Nice save,” Mai said.

  Seeing Mai relax as a result of the lighthearted camaraderie, Bret smiled. Looking at Jake, “Yeah, and anyway, I consider you like a brother to me.”

  Lover’s Lane was a narrow curvy street bounded by Brick Top Road and Plains Road. The latter run from Willimantic, the main commercial area of Windham, to the historic and picturesque village of Windham Center. It was easy to imagine an earlier century when travel was by horse and buggy. They were at the house that Jake had mentioned.

  After touring the house, Mai, Bret, and their realtor walked to their cars. Mai turned to Bret and said, “It’s perfect. The moment I saw it I knew it was perfect.” Sporting a big grin, she poked Bret’s arm, “Even the name, Lover’s Lane. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes, it’s exactly what you’re looking for. No doubt about it, it’s a real country home away from noise and congestion.”

  The house, built in the 1800’s, was a two-story white colonial with black shuttered windows. Full length brick chimneys ran up the exterior of the left and right sides and a third protruded from mid-roof. Both levels of the home consisted of wide-boarded hardwood floors. Despite its age, the house was in excellent condition.

  It was set fifty yards from the road on fifteen acres of land. A dense wooded area of pine, maple, and oak surrounded the house on three sides. Across the street were acres of protected wetlands. A cinder driveway ran along the right side of the property before curving left to a free standing two car garage behind the main structure.

  Mai insisted, “I really want to live here.” Pouting, “Can we buy it?”

  “You mean instead of renting?”

  “Yes, then it would truly be ours.”

  “It’s got four bedrooms and five fireplaces. It’d be difficult to manage,” Bret cautioned.

  Mai responded, “You forget, I won’t be working. I’ll be a fulltime housewife. It shouldn’t be too much for me to keep it in shape.”

  Bret ran the numbers in his head. Shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t think we can afford it. For one thing, we’d have to come up with a thirty thousand dollar
down payment. Where would we get that kind of money?”

  Her voice was filled with excitement as she said, “What about the line of credit you got for opening the practice? It’s more than enough to cover the down payment, and once you begin working, your salary should easily take care of the mortgage payments.”

  Acting as the devil’s advocate, Bret said, “But it would put us at the limits of our budget. We’d have to forgo doing some of the things we were planning on, like a new car for you.”

  “I don’t care about a new car,” Mai insisted, “A cheap used one would be fine. As long as it runs.”

  Mai persisted, and that afternoon Bret arranged for a local lawyer to be their proxy at the closing. The next morning he and Mai left Storrs to visit his mother and uncle before returning to New York.

  “I’m really happy for you,” Hubie Santos said. He and Bret were barbequing steaks in the backyard of Bret’s mother’s home in East Granby. “And I’ve got to tell you, she’s a real looker.”

  “I know,” Bret said. “Sometimes I wonder how I got so lucky. She could have anyone she wants, but she picked me. I’m just glad my buddy Jake didn’t decide to hit on her. He’s got it all over me.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” Hubie said. He rearranged the steaks cooking on the barbeque. “So what’s the deal? You’re going to be living together but tell everyone you’re married?”

  “Yeah, well, we’re taking one step at a time. She agreed to go to Windham with me. Marriage can’t be far behind.”

  Bret’s uncle shook his head, “I guess I’ve been a lawyer too long, but my instinct tells me something isn’t right. Why would she not want to marry you, but say she is? It doesn’t make sense.” Hubie looked into his nephew’s eyes, “Don’t take this wrong or get angry, but if you want, I can have my investigator check her background. I’m only saying this because I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  Bret was hurt, “Look, I know your intentions are good, but I could never do that. Please don’t mention it again.”

  “Sorry.” Hubie gave Bret a pat on the back before turning his attention to the steaks.

  So shall I live, supposing thou art true, Like a deceived husband...

  Windham, Connecticut: In New York City Mai surprised Bret. “I’ve been thinking. When we go to Connecticut, it would be better if we’re really married rather than just saying we are.”

  Bret’s “There is a God” was unintelligible.

  “Let’s get married,” she said.

  The proposal was the answer to Bret’s prayer. It proved his uncle was wrong about Mai. Controlling his excitement, he said, “I think so, too.” His mind was swirling with questions about the ceremony. How lavish? Who to invite? What facility? And a million other details that had to be resolved.

  Bret wanted Mai to have the major say in what they did. He asked, “How should we arrange it? Your family isn’t around, but mine is. My people can come here, or we can hold the ceremony and reception in Connecticut. Whatever you want.”

  Mai seemed to consider Bret’s questions and suggestions, “It would be nice to get together with your relatives, but please, try to understand my feelings. Since my family back in Macao won’t be able to attend, I’d rather not do anything elaborate. It wouldn’t feel right if we did. Let’s just get married by a JP and keep it to ourselves for now.”

  After further discussion and encouragement by Mai and her delicious body, Bret acquiesced, and they were married by a local justice of the peace. The JP’s wife acted as a combination witness, maid of honor, and giver of the bride. In his past, the JP had been a professional singer, and as a welcome perk, he serenaded the newlyweds for the better part of an hour with a repertoire of 1960’s songs. The bride couldn’t wait to leave, but the groom loved it.

  On a sunny June afternoon, Mai and Bret were at Penn Station waiting for a train to take her to New Haven. That morning their possessions were loaded on a van bound for Windham. Bret had asked Jake to meet Mai at the station and drive her to the Lover’s Lane home. Bret was left with what was needed to survive a few weeks in the city.

  As she boarded the train, Mai said, “Don’t worry about me. I’m going to fix up the house, so it’ll be ready for you. You’ll only have to concentrate on beginning your new practice.”

  Bret was going to be on a tight schedule. His plan was to leave New York on a Thursday and start practicing in Windham the following Monday. He hugged her and spoke into her ear. “That’s great. I’m going to have a lot to do as it is. Having the house squared away will allow me to give all my attention to the office.” His eyes glistened, “I’ve said it many times, and it’s always true, you’re wonderful. I love you for what you’re doing.” Bret’s final piece of advice was, “Remember, any problems, call Jake. Damn good thing he’s available while I’m not there.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, “damn good thing.”

  Two weeks after Mai left, Bret loaded his suitcases in the Firebird and departed the city. He anticipated a special and personal greeting in Windham.

  When he arrived, Bret found that Mai had kept her word about taking care of the place. It was in pristine condition. She greeted him with a glass of iced tea. He didn’t want tea. He was horny and wanted her. Glass in hand, he followed her from room to room as she reviewed what had been done in his absence. He couldn’t take his eyes from her body or stop thinking about sex.

  Since Mai seemed disinterested, he tried to redirect his thoughts. “You’ve really done a terrific job of turning an old house into a terrific home,” he said. Eyeing his suitcases, “I guess I should get started on unpacking.”

  “Leave them,” Mai was quick to say. “I’ll take care of everything later. Right now, I want to introduce you to a neighbor.”

  Aware he wasn’t getting anyplace with Mai, he said, “Say no more. Let’s go visiting.” He headed to the front door. “Tell me about this neighbor.”

  Before answering, she said, “Not that way. Follow me.”

  Mai led him to the kitchen in the rear of the house and opened the back door. “Her name is Frankie Grimaldi. A wonderful person. A few generations ago, she would have been called a flower child. You’re going to like her.”

  They walked onto a large back porch bordered by a small patch of grass. The vista was dominated by thick woods on three sides. Mai walked to the tree line on the left. With Bret in tow, she found and followed a winding and overgrown footpath for fifty yards. Walking it was not a problem if you were willing to duck under branches and hop an occasional log. It opened onto the rear of the Grimaldi property.

  Bret marveled at Mai’s courage. He was certain spiders and ticks were seeking every aperture in his clothing trying to take a bite of his juicy pink flesh or a drink of his high octane blood. Not to mention snakes. “Aren’t you worried about getting bitten by something?”

  “Who, me? Of course not. Don’t forget, I was a country girl before I met you.”

  Breaking from the woods, they came upon Frankie Grimaldi’s manicured lawn. Flowers and other plantings were proof Frankie spent a good deal of time working in her yard. Bret was sure that endeared her to Mai, who talked of the flower and herb gardens she was planning for her country paradise.

  Instead of going to Frankie Grimaldi’s Cape Cod style home, they milled about the property as Mai pointed out the features of the yard. “Look at her roses. I count at least five varieties. They’re floribundas.”

  With a confused expression, Bret replied, “Flora-what?”

  Before Mai answered, a slim, red-headed woman wearing bib overalls came sprinting out of the screened back door. It would be a crass understatement to say the overalls were baggy. Someone twice Frankie’s size could have fit into them. With a broad smile and a cigarette in her hand, she approached Bret with her right arm outstretched in the female fashion of no bend at the elbow when shaking hands. “You must be Bret,” she said as she grabbed his hand and pumped it with vigor.

  His feeble attempt at a glib re
ply was, “Yes . . . I must be Bret.”

  “Frankie . . . Frankie Grimaldi . . . sooo good to finally meet you. Welcome to my home.” She continued pumping. Anyone observing them from a distance would think they were having an arm wrestling contest. “Is it okay to call you Bret, or is it more proper to call you Dr. Manley?”

  “Bret. By all means, call me Bret.”

  Frankie let go of his hand. “Some of my friends call me F.G. You can call me that if you want. I just know in no time we’ll be great friends.”

  “I’ll stick to Frankie, if it’s all right with you.”

  “Sure is,” Frankie said, as she turned to Mai to give her a kiss on the cheek and a prolonged bear hug. Mai hugged back with equal force. Bret saw the women had become great friends and was pleased. He liked Frankie. It was hard not to. As Frankie predicted, Bret knew he would become a great friend.

  “Why don’t you guys come in for a cup of coffee?”

  “You don’t have to ask twice,” Mai said.

  They sat at an antique coffee table in the family room drinking strong coffee from an espresso machine. Frankie chain smoked and didn’t apologize for it. What followed was a pleasant afternoon during which Frankie gave an unabbreviated history of the Windham region spoken from the viewpoint of a native. Her verbosity was part of a charming quirkiness radiating from her like rays from an exploding sun. Her love of the area gave a welcome affirmation to Mai and Bret’s decision to come to Windham.

  Her personal history followed. “Frankie, that’s what is says on my birth certificate. Most people think its short for Francis or something, but it isn’t.” She turned to Mai, “Didn’t you?”

  Mai nodded.

  Bret wondered if she was being polite.

  “Yeah, mom and dad wanted the name, even if they had a girl. It was the name of my grandfather.” Frankie continued, “Let me tell you a little about myself.”

  Without taking a breath, “I’m an artist. My father’s a businessman. Owns a plumbing supply store downtown. Mom manages the books and helps out in the place. I’m not ashamed to say their financial backing allows me to pursue art as a career.”