From  The Ghost  Writer


quill-pen-300x300Murph finally ejected his thumb drive and shut down the computer. He left it on a table by the lounge chairs on the deck.

In the kitchen he made himself a tall glass of iced coffee and he took it out on the deck where he sat comfortably, purposefully facing away from the glass enclosed pool. He was thinking about the work he’d done, about the project as a whole. He thought it was coming along well so far and he hoped this mishegas of a weekend would not get in the way. But it was bound to, he thought. No way they would be the same as they had been now that certain barriers had been shattered. In one way, he was sorry for the leisurely demeanor brought about by the skinny dipping. In another way, he was pleased that Carla and Rose had hit it off so well, though not so pleased they’d slept together.

If he thought about it, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it, there was just too much female  testosterone in the house. He wanted to slap himself upside the head for allowing himself to be cajoled into reaching under Keekah’s and Keelah’s housecoats. What the hell had gotten into him? He wondered. But then he thought about those moments and remembered it was no different, not really, from when he’d reached up Bea’s kitchen dress that time she’d sat on a high stack of lettuce cases out in the hall.

He was sitting down on a milk case. It was a sweltering summer day. The slight breeze blowing in through the screen door offered an oasis from the heat seeping out of the kitchen. Bea sat with her legs wide open. She was airing out up there, letting that cool breeze flow where it would. Murph had opened his shirt. He couldn’t help but look at her. The view of her white bloomers hugging her female essence was riveting. He was only twenty. At that age little else was on his mind.

Still, Murph hadn’t done anything. He’d sat smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer–things he did back then–while Bea reached a hand up there and scratched herself. Bea was in her forties.  Murph, young and skinny as all hell, was boy-toy candy to her. She saw him looking and asked him if he wanted to scratch it.

Murph, especially in front of the meat cutter, Henry Lee, took it as a challenge more than an offer. He wasn’t backing down. He stood up, approached her and helped himself to a long moment’s familiarizing himself with her most intimate place. Bea leaned forward and kissed Murph while he pushed past her bloomers.

Mary, the prep cook, who would become  become Murph’s lover, stopped it all by stepping out of the kitchen into the hall. “Ain’t y’all got nothing to do?” she asked. She stood in front of the screen door and fanned air into the top of  her dress with her hands.

“We’re heading to the hot tub,” Keekah called from somewhere behind where Murph was looking.

“Have fun,” Murph said.

Keelah appeared before him naked and still wet. “Look what you’re missing,” she said.

“Maybe next time,” Murph said.

Keelah leaned over him, dripping water on him. She kissed him full on the lips. “You know it’ll be okay with them if you join us.”

“I don’t know anything anymore,” Murph said.