2.11 The Abyss of WonderLand
Andrew smiled at her, the full force of which almost toppled her onto her butt. She didn’t criticize our cake after that, but just smiled and moved on. Timothy and I both ended up sticky, but when our cake was done, we got to take it with us, carrying it back to the house. “Where is Andrew?” “He lives out back,” Timothy said. “Do you want to wash up or go directly there? Doses of sticky happened every time we jiggled the tray that we were carrying, I told him it was better if we just continued on. Andrew didn’t look anything like the chauffeur Andrew I’d come to know. For one thing he wasn’t sitting inside the fancy limo or costumed in his uniform. Instead, he was bent over a patch of vegetables, wearing jeans and an old tee, gloves on his hands, and big boots that looked like they belonged to his father — if his father was a giant. “Andrew,” Timothy said. “We made something for you.” The man’s head raised up, and his eyes found me, then traveled to the cake. “Um,” he said, then pulled off the gloves and stuck them in his back pocket. “Cake decorating?” he said after a moment. “The spots are pink roses,” I told him, wanting to explain why the cake had blotches on the sides. “Is it your birthday?” “No, but I appreciate the thought. Would you like to come inside? We can sample your efforts.” His house wasn’t as fancy as Timothy’s, but it was trimmed in rock and natural wood. I’d never tell Timothy, but I actually liked Andrew’s place better. It was cozy. We sat in the kitchen at an old wooden table, the kind that are probably sold in antique stores for big bucks. I loved it and sat there tracing the gouges in the wood with my fingers. Andrew poured us some lemonade he’d made, then sliced up the cake. His slices were man-sized, but I didn’t complain. Their house, their rules, as my grandmother used to say when we went visiting. The chocolate frosting was yummy, and the person who’d baked the cake had gotten it out of the oven at exactly the right moment so it was perfectly moist and delicious. The added pink icing, although it tasted predominantly of almond flavoring, powdered sugar, and butter, was a tasty addition. All in all, I thought the cake decorating had gone spectacularly. (Although I don’t recommend lemonade with cake.) Some small talk issued as we tasted and gobbled. Andrew wanted to know if I liked Timothy’s house and whether I was enjoying my stay. I nodded. What else could I say? Andrew got to the meat of what he wanted to ask. “Did he share any tall tales with you?”
2.10 The Abyss of WonderLand
The ride was uneventful, which was a super good thing. Not falling off was a big win. But then it was time to dismount, and the ground looked far away, and for some reason, my body felt rigid and stiff. I don’t think I could have gotten off the horse if Timothy hadn’t lifted me down. That was a scary thought. Stuck forever on top of a horse? I could barely walk when Timothy set me on the ground. It felt like someone had taken my body away and replaced it with an old person’s. Timothy laughed when I told him that, but he said it would get better as we walked. He was right. I felt almost my real age by the time we returned to the house. “A hot shower will remove any aches,” Timothy told me. He was right again. Breakfast had been delish, and lunch was even more so. We had fresh greens from the garden and turkey sandwiches with a side of the most incredible potato salad I’d ever eaten. Chef Stevens seemed pleased by my praise and told me that the secret was in using Greek yogurt instead of mayonnaise. Plus, he’d put in sweet pickles, celery, and sliced up boiled eggs. I could willingly have made a meal of the potato salad. But, of course, I didn’t. Cake decorating. What can I say? It was hilarious. Timothy was the only male there, and the women all wanted to stand next to him and gush over his muscled bod, but he gave all his attention to me. We decorated our cake with chocolate icing, my choice, then piped pink icing on the top which said Happy Birthday, Andrew. Timothy wasn’t sure when the chauffeur’s birthday was, but he said it must be soon. “Does Andrew like cake?” I asked, and Timothy just smiled and shrugged. ‘Have you and Penelope been together long?” one of the women asked, giving Timothy a come hither look. I said, “no,” and Timothy said, “yes,” which seemed odd to the others. Then he clarified. “Not long in time, but I recognized her from the moment I saw her. She’d been in my dreams forever.” “Ahhhhh,” the women all murmured. I elbowed him, and said, “Cheesy?” “Maybe, but sincere,” Thankfully, he said that into my ear, and the others probably thought he was kissing me. After we piped our pink, we were supposed to do roses on the side. Actually, we did them on waxed paper and needed to transfer them onto the cake. Poor Andrew would probably think we’d given him a cake with pink cheetah spots. When the teacher came to our cake, she raised her eyebrows forehead high and asked, “Is this your first cake decorating class?”
2.9 The Abyss of WonderLand
I grinned at that. I was probably one of those people, but maybe it was like garlic. If you and your partner ate something with garlic, the smell no longer offended the partakers? “So, here’s what I propose,” Timothy continued. “We eat breakfast, and then, wearing jeans and comfortable shoes, we mosey over to the waterfall. The stable is near that. Do you have any boots? They’re required.” I nodded. I’d seen a pair in my closet. Yay, Simone! “Okay, a horseback ride through the hills, then we return for lunch, change clothes, and try out the cake decorating, and finally, return home for dinner.” “That sounds like fun. Thank you, Timothy. This is a real treat.” I was starting to feel cold. It wasn’t that the air was chilly, but a wet body always seems to attract the shivers. “I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast first,” he called out, and I waved a hand as I scampered off. As days go, it was one of the best I’d had since . . . well, next to our zoo visit in San Francisco. The hike to the waterfall was fun. The falls were small but lovely. The horse stable was a big challenge. I think I would have chickened out, except Timothy had called ahead, and when we got there, Molly was all saddled and ready for me. I patted her neck, and she seemed to feel my fear. She stood perfectly still while Timothy lifted me up onto her back. Even after I was sitting on her, Molly didn’t move an inch. She seemed to be waiting for me to decide that I was ready to have her walk. Timothy swung onto his horse, a beautiful, dappled-gray gelding.( He told me what the color was called and explained what a gelding was.) His gelding was prettier than mine, but I could see at a glance that his horse was nothing like Molly. It tossed its head and seemed eager to get a move on. I received some instruction from Timothy with a couple of hints from the groom, then holding the reins in my hands, but afraid to hurt Molly by pulling on them, I said, “Let’s go, Molly,” and she did. Of course, that could have had something to do with the giant horse that Timothy was on. Perhaps Molly liked being next to him. We walked forward slowly. The gray didn’t like that much. His head bobbing grew frantic, but Timothy seemed to know what he was doing, and the horse settled down after a bit. A while later, Timothy asked if I’d like to go faster. “I don’t want to gallop,” I said. He laughed. “No. No galloping for you today. I was thinking that we could just walk a little faster.” I was okay with that, and Molly seemed to be comfortable matching the long legs of the gray. We walked back to the waterfall and then behind it where there were a whole bunch of trails for the horses. Timothy chose one, and Molly and I happily kept up, me not doing a thing to guide her. Although I’d been told I shouldn’t grab the horn, my hands remained tightly fastened around it. We rode for about half an hour before Timothy turned us around and headed us back to the stable. Both horses perked up at that. I think Molly even did a trot a couple of times. I didn’t like the feel of that and said, “whoa” and she slowed back to a sedate walk.
2.8 The Abyss of WonderLand
Meanwhile, Timothy, apparently warmed up by his simple crawl, was doing the butterfly. I’d tried that once. Mouthfuls of water and almost sinking had given me the idea that such a feat was beyond me. I was a simplistic swimmer, a minnow, I think they called it when I was younger. I remembered how I’d longed to pass into the mermaid group but never achieved it. At least I hadn’t half drowned, which happened to one of the girls in my group. After her traumatic rescue by two of the lifeguards, she never came back. I couldn’t remember her name, but the panic on her face had made me a bit fearful for a while, but I’d kept coming back, hoping to get better. But the summer ended, and the next year, I had to start all over again. I think they called me a goldfish then, and the elite group were the dolphins. Fatigued, I stopped and sat down on the steps where I’d walked into the pool. I watched Timothy continue his swim for a bit, but his non-stop performance made me feel lazy and, well, like a minnow or a goldfish. I climbed up the stairs, picked up my towel, and sat down on the chair, continuing to watch the expert in the water. It was probably no more than fifteen minutes later when the Greek Adonis, I mean, Michaelangelo’s David exited. Oh, my, the man had a body that my friends would have called eye candy. When the water dribbled down his back, it made me want to lick it off. Actually, to lick him everywhere. Now why had I thought that? I sank down in my seat, glad he couldn’t read the thoughts flittering around my brain. They were hot and delicious. Timothy toweled himself a moment and then came to sit in a chair beside me. “Everything you see is yours, my darling.” I stood up, fastened my towel more tightly around my body, and took a step in the direction of retreat. “I have to go wash my hair,” I said. “Wait. How about we walk over to the waterfall as requested. Then perhaps, a lesson in some class, a ride on one of the club’s horses, or we could check out that cake decorating class?” I bit my lip, considering. “Yes, but I don’t know the first thing about riding. Only when . . . “I stopped. Was I supposed to discuss such things when we were outside, where someone might overhear us? “They have an old hobby horse that is gentle as a carousel steed, except she doesn’t bob up and down. Molly, I think her name is. The only negative is that after riding, they’ll make us change clothes. Some people don’t like the smell of horses.
2.7 The Abyss of WonderLand
I thought I’d be alone, but I wasn’t. Timothy was already engaged in his laps. He was good, too. He looked like he could swim races in freestyle. I watched him flip over when he reached the end of a lap. Smooth. I wasn’t in his league, but I did love to swim. I’d been given lessons at the public pool as a child. I could swim adequately, but not with any speed, not like Timothy, the showoff. (Although, I doubted one could consider a person an exhibitionist if they didn’t know they were being watched.) Timothy looked like he was in his own world, a swimming tiger, caged by the length of the pool, pacing via strokes and kicks. But watching him wasn’t getting my exercise in. I tossed my cover-up towel on a lounge chair and stepped into the pool. No diving into the deep end for me. I was turtle slow and cautious. Any signs of sharks, and I was out of there. (Just kidding.) I edged to the side and did a couple of stretches, practiced a float on the back, then a dog paddle, and shoved off. Swimming came back to me almost instantly. It felt wonderful. The water was the perfect temperature, not overly warm as it had been sometimes in the city pool, and the smell of chlorine didn’t assault my nose like it had in the public’s urine-heavy water. I made my way to the opposite side of the pool and found Timothy waiting for me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb your concentration,” I said, wondering if I should get out and come back later. The water surged, and he was suddenly beside me, giving me a lightweight kiss. “You can join me anytime, my darling Penelope. In fact, I look forward to it. I am happy to see you enjoying the pool. Although I’d really like to take you in my arms and show you exactly how happy, I’d better just let you swim, right?” He sounded so plaintive, I almost wanted to disagree, but I said nothing and splashed off, swimming back to the shallows with my awkward and rather winded mode of free style. I’d been going to the gym, working mainly on the treadmill, but swimming was a whole different set of muscles. My arms were weak and my stomach muscles were already complaining by the end of my second lap. I dog paddled a lap, then turned on my back and did a back swim or whatever they called it. Then I rotated into swimming on my side. That seemed to work the best, no necessity of that difficult breathing process.
2.6 The Abyss of WonderLand
Timothy was sincere. Even I could read someone’s face enough to check for earnestness. “That is marvelous, actually, that it’s in your nature to do good. That’s not why you fastened on me, is it? Was I sending out alarms of unhappiness?” “Not at all. Your presence flooded my system with, first, the recognition that you were the one, then a tidal wave of commitment, followed by a need so great, so vast, I was almost speechless with the urge to sweep you into my arms and carry you back to my house. Of course, I knew not to do that. It would have destroyed all my chances for happiness, but the instinct was there, and also the fear that you might disappear, might choose someone else, or even worse perhaps, might reject me as Andrew’s wife did.” “I haven’t rejected you. I’m just unsure about things,” I said, feeling slightly nauseated from being unsettled and suspicious of pookas, Fairie, and the idea that real magic existed. “I know. I understand. As I’ve said before, I will be patient. But please don’t turn away from me or reject me for being what I have no control over. I would never discard you for being a brunette. (Your hair is lovely, by the way. Blondes are not to my personal taste.) I would not fling you away for being too young for me, or not being able to dance . . .” He added the last with a wry curl of the lip which told me he was kidding. But he was right. If he didn’t hold it against me that I was a mere human, should I cast him aside for being a pooka? “Yes, please don’t. I would be a pooka with a broken heart, not a pretty sight since I’d weep and wail for at least a century.” “Only a century?” I said, smiling back. Chapter Ten That night, I slept in the room I’d been given and no wild stallion or pooka entered my dreams. I think I was rather disappointed, but also, glad, if that makes any sense. I guess it was like my mind in general. Completely and totally mentally disarrayed. In the morning, when I woke up, I thought I’d grab a swim in the pool that Timothy had shown me. I slid into the most modest of all the bathing suits, a one piece that looked perfect for lap swimming. Bless Simone for not expecting me to wear a bikini to do serious swimming. I grabbed a towel, then ran downstairs without making any noise. I was tempted to pass through the kitchen and see if someone had made coffee, but it was better to get right with the exercise rather than sit down and luxuriate with a hot cup of the nectar of the gods.
2.5 The Abyss of WonderLand
“How did you know about Charles Montgomery? Did you research my background?” I demanded. Timothy fidgeted, look over at me, then away out to the grass. “Of course, Penelope. I have everyone I encounter investigated. You, especially, since I knew that we were going to become intimate.” “Intimate?” I gasped. “Close might be a better word to use with you, but I hope that one day you trust me enough to lower your shields so that we can become intimate in the other sense of the word.” “Fore,” yelled a golfer who’d strayed overly close to Timothy’s residence. “Back away,” Timothy yelled at the man, shooting up. “This is private property, and according to the Clubs’ rules, golfers must maintain their distance.” The golfer said nothing, but he picked up his ball and sped off. “Does that happen a lot? I mean, golfers invading your property with flying balls?” I asked curiously. “There is a net between the greens and my house. A ball could not get through, but golfers are still told that they must stay away from residences. I believe the rule is fifty feet. That man seemed closer than that. I imagine the camera will record his golf cart number and report back to the golf office. The penalties can be severe.” The golfer had seemed surprised at being called out. He’d turned and given Timothy the finger, but he had retreated. Timothy nodded as if following my thoughts. “Such gestures, as the one he just made, are also automatically reported. Silver Springs is big on cordiality. I imagine that this fellow will get docked a couple of thousand for his disregard of etiquette.” “Whoa. I guess, I better make sure my fingers don’t wiggle wrong. It’s not just my feet that are uncoordinated,” I said, laughing. Timothy turned to look at me. “You, my dear, are entirely safe. The club would never dare to challenge one of my guests.” “Because you’re a pooka?” I exclaimed, then immediately looked around to check that no one was close enough to have heard my outburst. Timothy chuckled. “No, Penelope. Because I donate money for their many causes. Intimidation is not an overly productive procedure. Benevolence and consideration go further, not that I practice such traits purely for the avenue of their success. I believe in kindness and what I call soul charity.” “Which means?” I asked, intrigued by the tidbit of new information he was releasing. He sighed. “I suppose the closest explanation would be the passion for feeling. When someone is hurting, it forms an imbalance, a red alarm for a pooka. It is in our nature to guide such inequities back into a more even distribution. Of course, I can’t solve the world’s problems, only those around me, but I assume that the ripple widens into something soothing for humanity in general. To think otherwise might throw me into internal chaos or despair.”
2.4 The Abyss of WonderLand
I put down my mug, and even though it had been years since I’d thought of Charles, I felt my eyes welling up. “No. Well, yes, I guess so. He wasn’t nice. I think looking back that he was abusive, but at the time, I hadn’t dated much, and I didn’t know the signs. I thought he was just trying to improve me, to fit me into his world.” “Pookas are not revengeful, but I could learn to be, if you’d like me to put him in his place.” “No. He went his way, and I stumbled off to the library. It was actually a good thing, although I didn’t know it at the time. The breakup made me buckle down and study with an intensity that shot up all my grades. I even earned a scholarship to law school, but even so, I couldn’t pay for it. My grandma’s cancer took most of our money. I barely made it through San Jose State without big debts.” “I wish I had known you then. I would have . . .” “No. I was proud of achieving it on my own,” I said, pondering the line that I always spouted when someone got overly possessive of my history. Or perhaps I should admit it was just their pity I shrugged off. I didn’t want to think back to those times. I missed the grandmother who’d been so full of love and life. I picked up my mug and took a sip. It had grown cold, or rather tepid. I wasn’t a fan. “Pour it out and get a fresh mug,” Timothy suggested. I looked around, but saw no place to toss it. Timothy stood, grabbed the mug from out of my hand, and tossed the contents over the balcony. I surged up and looked over the balcony’s railing. Underneath us was a patch of plants. I hoped the coffee wouldn’t stunt their growth. Timothy trudged over to the pot and poured a fresh mug. “Thanks,” I said. “It’s nice to have someone at my beck and call to empty my cold coffee and bring me fresh.” Of course, I was joking, but his eyes grew serious. “I would do more than that for you.” Like make sure that Charles Piermont Montgomery III ran into a streak of bad luck? What would that mean, exactly? How would he do it? What kind of powers did a pooka actually possess? But then it hit me, he’d known Charles’s name.
2.4 The Abyss of WonderLand
I put down my mug, and even though it had been years since I’d thought of Charles, I felt my eyes welling up. “No. Well, yes, I guess so. He wasn’t nice. I think looking back that he was abusive, but at the time, I hadn’t dated much, and I didn’t know the signs. I thought he was just trying to improve me, to fit me into his world.” “Pookas are not revengeful, but I could learn to be, if you’d like me to put him in his place.” “No. He went his way, and I stumbled off to the library. It was actually a good thing, although I didn’t know it at the time. The breakup made me buckle down and study with an intensity that shot up all my grades. I even earned a scholarship to law school, but even so, I couldn’t pay for it. My grandma’s cancer took most of our money. I barely made it through San Jose State without big debts.” “I wish I had known you then. I would have . . .” “No. I was proud of achieving it on my own,” I said, pondering the line that I always spouted when someone got overly possessive of my history. Or perhaps I should admit it was just their pity I shrugged off. I didn’t want to think back to those times. I missed the grandmother who’d been so full of love and life. I picked up my mug and took a sip. It had grown cold, or rather tepid. I wasn’t a fan. “Pour it out and get a fresh mug,” Timothy suggested. I looked around, but saw no place to toss it. Timothy stood, grabbed the mug from out of my hand, and tossed the contents over the balcony. I surged up and looked over the balcony’s railing. Underneath us was a patch of plants. I hoped the coffee wouldn’t stunt their growth. Timothy trudged over to the pot and poured a fresh mug. “Thanks,” I said. “It’s nice to have someone at my beck and call to empty my cold coffee and bring me fresh.” Of course, I was joking, but his eyes grew serious. “I would do more than that for you.” Like make sure that Charles Piermont Montgomery III ran into a streak of bad luck? What would that mean, exactly? How would he do it? What kind of powers did a pooka actually possess? But then it hit me, he’d known Charles’s name.
2.3 The Abyss of WonderLand
He said nothing about my shudder or the fact that I’d moved away from his touch. As if that hadn’t occurred, he merely poured another cup of coffee, handed me my mug, then poured himself another round. Ignoring the fact that I’d started trembling again and was standing at a distance, he casually sat down in his chair and stared out in the distance, as if the golf course greens were absorbing all his attention. “You have nothing to fear from me, Penelope. I won’t suddenly change into an ogre and eat you up.” “But you could, right? I mean, probably not to eat me up, at least I hope not . . .” “No, pookas have no interest in eating beautiful women. And yes, I might be able to change into an ogre, if I had a clear concept of what one looked like.” “Or a unicorn?” “You want me to transform into a unicorn? Right here?” “No, but could you? Could you become something magical like that, something mythical but not real?” “It has been a long time since I went to Fairie, but the last time I looked, unicorns were rather sparse. They, like pookas don’t breed abundantly, even in Fairie.” “Tell me about Fairie. Are there castles of spun sugar or forests that reach out and entrap people? Do some of the people have wings? Are they pink or glittery green?” “You are not yet tied to a pooka. It would be better not to discuss Fairie with you. Discussing it always draws attention. That you do not want. If the queen saw you, she would surely want to add you to her court because she collects the most beautiful, even those from this plane.” “Don’t be silly. She would never want me, then.” We’d been sitting. Yes, I’d collapsed back in the chair and was greedily sipping the most delicious brew in the world. I felt it before I saw it. Timothy had suddenly grown silent and had turned morose. He was usually so positive. What had I done or said to change the core of his personality? “Was it that Charles Montgomery fellow who knocked all the confidence out of you?”