DISCLAIMER: It might be scary. It might have sex. It could even be violent. Perhaps, it might even have a dangling participle, you never know. So, it's for grown ups.

WARNING: The beliefs, comments, and 'writings' of six of the characters presented in this story are not the same as the author (you know, me) of THE RETREAT. Several of the characters introduced in Part 5 hold values which are contrary to the US Constitution and the basic roots of American ideals. My purpose in included these characters is to explore the terror of intellectual evil. If reading about ignorant and biased minds bothers you then please read something else.

FEEDBACK: Is most welcome. p.phair@comcast.net or you can visit my web site at http://www.phair1.com

THE RETREAT
by phair

Part 6

"Bailey? Wake up. You are awake, right? Bailey! Are you in there? Come on! Answer the door, will you?" Taylor spoke directly to the parched, wooden door of the shed. She muttered under her breath, "I feel like a dweeb just standing around here."

"Taylor? What the Hell are you doin'? Madame DuPrey's gonna be pissed enough at me without you …hanging, without you…making noise, without you…, what the Hell are ya doin' out there anyway?" Bailey's voice was hushed but filled with fear.

"Relax, kiddo! Madame told me to come out and check on you. She even sent some leftovers with me for our supper," Taylor shifted the small brown bag she was carrying and began to look through the contents under the dull moonlight.

"Well, that's great but how're ya gonna get in?" Bailey's nervous voice took an agitated turn.

Taylor spun the knob and the door swung open, "Guess I'll just have to walk in, right? Act like I own the friggin' place, right."

Taylor winked at a stunned Bailey as she sauntered passed. She tossed her friend a can of beer before flopping down on the only piece of furniture in the sparse shed; a narrow cot. The springs shrieked a dry, rusty objection to her weight.

"Madame sent you here to check on me. Igor didn't lock the door tonight. You got food and brew in the bag." Bailey stopped and waited for Taylor's affirmative nod, "So, which one of us hit our head and which one's been smokin' weed?"

"I wish, my friend, it was as simple as a head injury," Taylor sadly, shook her own head as she pulled her beer free of the bag between her legs. "Drink up, Bailey. I come to you half drunk but full of sobering news." Taylor held up her beer in a somber toast, "The Sagamore Place Retreat is one colossal joke. It's nothing but a swindle; a low budget scam, at that. Madame's playing these writing snobs for fools. She wants the money and couldn't care a bit of spit about the workshop. She's probably teasing us too but that's merely a sideline for fun. Consider it pro bono torment. The retreat is the meal ticket. The whole thing is a great big rip-off and waste of our precious little time."

"What? What are you talking about? Madame's some kind of guru, savior, second coming for those jerks. She speaks and they shut up to listen," Bailey could not keep the bitterness toward the writers out of her voice. "They'll do anything she tells them to do. She demands they drag out to woods, to a dump of a cold ass house, and then feeds them junk food for their bellies as well as their minds. And, they worship her like some kind of god. You must've seen it in the pallor. The look of awe on their faces when she waddled into the room. It was like Shakespeare himself rose from the dead with a new play in one hand and sonnets for everybody in the other."

"True! And an excellent analogy, by the way," Taylor grinned. "But, wait a minute, have some dinner before we go on and on about Sagamore Place. There are weenies on a toothpicks. Now, you sit and listen," Taylor patted the mattress and held out the bag of food to the obedient and hungry Bailey. "Madame told me herself this was some sort of 'sweet scam," Taylor made quote markers with her index fingers.

"Cripes," Bailey mumbled around a mouthful of hot dog weenies. "Are you sure she's not pissed at me or nothin' else that would send me back behind bars?"

"I'm sure she's not pissed about anything you did. Madame says, she thought the event went well. Even told me to take a can of beer for you and me after I asked to bring you some supper," Taylor smiled at the faint blush in Bailey's cheeks.

"So, I don't need to be watchin' for cops with a bright orange, DOC jumpsuit comin' up the road for me?" Bailey gave a little grin.

"Nope. Well, not tonight anyway."

Taylor studied Bailey as she licked her lips to clear the grease away. In the bare bulb light, Bailey appeared so young, so vulnerable. It exposed her skin as fair and soft with few lasting scars. However, it also revealed her porcelain potential for real and permanent physical damage.

"You are lovely," Taylor's voice sounded husky from the beer even to her own ears.

"Sure I am. I'm a honest to God beauty queen, don't ya know," Bailey chuckled. "All those Hollywood types been knockin' on my cell door for a year now but I keep sayin' to get lost."

"Bailey," Taylor leaned forward to whisper in her ear, "you're the most beautiful woman I ever washed with."

The kiss caught both woman off guard. Taylor let her lips take Bailey's in a warm embrace. It warned nothing of passion. It was only a gentle moment of reassurance between friends.

Bailey opened her eyes as they slowly separated, "Wow, that was really nice. It's the best thing that's happened to me in for…ever, I guess. Thank you, Taylor."

"How 'bout this? Is this okay too?" Taylor leaned in for another kiss which was slightly bolder than the first. "Unless, you're just into guys. Exclusive deal, like. And, there's nothing wrong with that either. I'm okay with whatever you want," Taylor worried she was pushing too hard and would end up showering alone again in the cold, dark dawn.

"I ain't seen no guys 'round since I got here?" Bailey smirked.

"Well, there's Igor," Taylor wanted to bite her tongue out when she saw tears form in Bailey's eyes. "Oh, funk me, myself, and I'm sorry. My mouth has a way of wrecking everything I say when I drink. It's even worse when I'm drunk as a skunk like now."

"Hey, it's okay. It would've been funny anywhere but here," and she whispered, "to anybody but me."

Taylor eased a shaken Bailey into her arms. They held onto each other as they both struggled to fight back their emotions. It would be far too easy for slightly drunken tears to lead to a type of comforting neither of them was sure they were ready to give. So, crying in front of each other was out of the question tonight.

"Hey, tell me, what are those boards for?" Taylor continued to rub Bailey's back as she asked about a discarded but neatly stacked wood pile in the corner of the dingy shed. It was a question designed to distracted rather than inform.

"My paintings. There's no canvas or paper around but there's plenty of left over boards from repairs on the house," Bailey sat up and dried her eyes. "Wanna see one?"

"Oh, very much so," Taylor stole an innocent kiss from Bailey's salty, hot pink cheek.

Bailey blushed deeply. She rose somewhat unsteadily to her feet and went to the pile. After a few minutes of searching, Bailey cleared her throat. She stood bringing one of the boards with her. Several heartbeats thudded in her chest before she finally turned the board around, revealing the brilliant colors on the other side.

Taylor swallowed her gasp at the site. The old piece of wall board was transformed with shape and color and texture. Lush green and rich black anchored the work while yellow and white and layers of thick paint wove details of turns and twists. Letters were carved into the paint in a seeming liberal order but they teased the mind with a message buried inches beneath the surface;

No Re d
T A Y

A fully erect phallic symbol stood at the bottom of the work as if awaiting an invitation.

"Bailey, it's lovely. I, I can't stop staring at it," Taylor tried to look at Bailey but the painting kept drawing her back. "It's, quite simply, a beautiful work of art," Just like you, Taylor thought to herself. "Where did you get the paints?"

"I found an old box under the bed. It had paints and brushes." She chuckled, "It even had some recipes for making paints from flowers. But, I haven't had to do that, yet."

"Did you paint before you came here?" Taylor stood to inspect the painting further, closer.

"Nope."

Something about the painting was nagging Taylor. It was a familiar sort of sensation. She felt like she had seen this painting or one like it before but she could not place where.

"Did you study modern art at school?"

"You're kidding, right?" Bailey missed Taylor's serious grimace. "My school thought modern meant World War 2."

"Basquiat! Of course, it's Basquiat," Taylor accused Bailey with a wagging finger.

"Excuse me? What are you talking about?" Bailey was completely confused by Taylor sudden change in tone.

"The technique, the style, it's Basquiat. What kind of a scam are you trying to run on me, Bailey!"

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about," Bailey gently laid her painting on the floor before turning her full attention to Taylor. "I think I've been yelled at enough for one day. You should go now."

"Not a chance," Taylor snapped the reply and grabbed Bailey by the front of her shirt. "You play dumb real good. Act like you don't know 'nutin' but, it's obvious from that painting, you know a lot about modern art. So, who are you working with? Tell me. Is it Madame Duprey? Igor? One of the writers? Tell me the truth!"

Taylor shoved Bailey back against the wall. Bailey hit with a solid connection. A piece of the loose board fell to the floor with a solid smash. It revealed an hollow cubby hole inside the wall. The space was packed with plastic bags filled with small amounts of brown and white substances, a couple of spoons, and a few syringes.

"Drugs?" Taylor thought she would cry as she looked between Bailey and the proof of a duel life. "You're using drugs. You're tossing away a chance at starting over for drugs!"

"That ain't mine! Never saw it before." Bailey stepped toward Taylor and Taylor moved towards the door, "Please, wait, don't leave like this. You got to believe me. I don't know anything about that stuff. And if you talk about it…everybody'll get the wrong idea. Nobody's gonna believe me over you. I'll go back to prison. Please, you can't tell anyone."

"Bailey, you're a pathetic loser," Taylor spat before heading out the door.

TBC

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