DISCLAIMER: Scary, at times. Sex, frequently. Violence, occasional. Foul language, constant. Adults only, always.
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 welcome. p.phair@comcast.net or you can visit my web site at http://www.phair1.com
Taylor stood under the sputtering shower head. She shivered violently against the frigid temperatures assaulting her overheated flesh with every forth or sixth hit. She, however, did not move herself away from the tiny cold jets spraying her body. She stood still to endure the water's purification properties for as long as humanly possible. Her clothing, soaked to the fiber, clung to her chilled and pasty colored skin. The silhouette it created revealed her body in a way she had never publicly allowed before. However, at that moment, she could not have cared less about concealing her attributes from hungry eyes.
"Are you okay?" the question was asked from a million thoughts away from Taylor's present state of mind.
"Just great."
"You must be cold," the voice tried to be light but concern colored the tone.
"Frozen, really. Frozen solid! But still, I can see it…, I can still see them. They're stuck here in my head," Taylor whispered without opening her eyes or stepping back from the icy torment. "I just can't manage to block that memory out. Can't seem to forget it."
"Taylor, come out from under there. You'll catch pneumonia if you stay wet and cold too long. Come on, let's get you warmed up," Bailey finally betrayed her fears for Taylor's well being and stepped closer to the shower with arms spread wide.
"He just stuffed him, you know?" Taylor's eyes opened under the blinding splatter of the water jets. "Right up that guy's ass! No permission or by your leave, I might add. All the while, I sat there in the hay and watched like it was the super duper championship of sex or whatever. The worst part is, I enjoyed watching them."
"What?" Bailey was totally confused but her embrace remained an open invitation.
"I saw them, damn me! I saw Redman burrow like a rabbit into Eliyahu's butt. All the while, Eliyahu squealed like a greased pig in heat at some county fair or something."
"Taylor, for God's sake, what are you talking about?" Bailey pulled Taylor for the shower and they both tumbled down to the dusty dirty.
"Bailey, I watched that guy get sodomized," Taylor blushed and turned her head away from Bailey "and I enjoyed watching it as much, if not more than the two of them enjoyed themselves."
Bailey was quiet for a moment as the confession made itself clearly understood in her mind. The words echoed and twisted as they took shape. Her interpretation of the information created a singular voice screaming the truth at her:
"Taylor watched!"
"Taylor watched other people!"
"Taylor watched other people have great sex!"
"Taylor watched other people have great sex and she orgasmed."
"Taylor watched other people have great sex and she orgasmed."
"But, you weren't with her."
Bailey moved away from the shivering woman before speaking, "Taylor, that's kinda…, well it's pretty sick is what it is."
"Yah, I know," Taylor, still in need of cleansing, stood back up to return to the shower.
Bailey grabbed Taylor's hand forcing her to stop. She pulled the distraught woman back down to sit beside her. Bailey continued to hold Taylor's trembling fingers as she thought about what to say.
"You know what? It don't make no sense to me," she finally spoke. "Redman acts like such a big, tough guy. I wouldn't have thought about him bein' gay."
"Ya," Taylor nodded in agreement, "especially with Eliyahu. A guy looking like Redman should be with Ashton."
"Listen to you, the critic," Bailey laughed. "Well you're wrong about Ashton 'cause he's with Driscoll."
"Never would have guessed that one," Taylor turned to Bailey in surprise.
"You also probably never would've guessed that Ashton likes to dress up like a little white slave girl and Driscoll plays a…dom…oh damn, what do ya call it?" Bailey drummed her fingers against her head trying to remember the right word.
"Dominatrix?"
"Right, that's it. Dominatrix!" Bailey snorted, "Now that was something to see."
Taylor hung her head, "What's happening to us? None of this makes any sense. You and me watching people screwing around. Strangers having kinky sex. And they're doin' it with people they would NEVER have regular sex with. Then there's me. I can't believe I'm saying this, I slept with a woman."
Bailey let go of Taylor's hand.
"What are you saying?" Bailey stammered. "Are you trying to tell me I was your first time? How long have you known you're a lesbian?"
"I'm not a lesbian."
"Well, you've been doing a great imitation of one," Bailey grabbed Taylor by the shirt front to shake some sense into her.
"Hold it, hold it, wait," Taylor took both of Bailey's hands and kissed them. "I wasn't trying to be insulting. I just didn't want to lie to you. Before you, I never thought about loving a woman. It never once crossed my mind until I saw you."
"And now?" Bailey relaxed a bit and let her hands caress the cool, wet skin beneath them.
"I can only think about loving you. Bailey, I'm madly in love with you," Taylor confessed.
Bailey shuddered at the word. Her childhood had been a testament to the sick cruelties people hid behind those four letters. She fought her deepest instinct to run as far away from proclamations of 'love' as she could get. Instead, she held her ground when Taylor leaned forward to kiss her. Bailey realized she lost her last chance to get away when her body began to react to Taylor's gentle touch.
"Oh man," Bailey sighed after the kiss, "I'm so totally, hopelessly, completely fucked!"
"Not yet but I'll take care of that very soon," Taylor grinned, her shame over her voyeurism momentarily forgotten.
The raised voices from the study echoed down the full length of the hallway. Madame smiled broadly as she casually sauntered toward them. There was an unusually light spring in her heavy step. A sense of satisfaction bloomed in her chest with the growing anger evident with each word spoken behind the heavy wooden doors.
"You only hate me because I say what I think," Giuseppe shouted in complete frustration.
Ashton snorted a laugh before replying, "No, I hate you because you really think what you say."
"You fancy pants little son of a…," Giuseppe was about to launch himself at the smug Ashton when the door to study slammed open.
"Mon Dieu! What is the ruckus? Are you having trouble with something? Is somebody bothering you? Come and tell your Mama."
Giuseppe immediately shifted his attention to Madame. He raced to her and threw himself at her feet sobbing.
"Now that is a sight we've seen far too much of lately," Puanani complained. "Get up, man. For God's sake, Madame is a suppose to be a resource for all of us. She's not your personal wet nurse."
Madame sniffed with an air of annoyance, "Don't call me a resource, it makes one feel like a library. Now tell me, what's going on here. Tears and loud voices do not make for a pleasant writing environment."
"They've been fighting again. Always some foolish thing or other," Driscoll supplied while rubbing her aching head.
"Yes, this time it was extremely entertaining," Puanani continued. "They were arguing about whether you're watching television or a movie if the movie is on television."
"MOVIE!" Giuseppe shouted from his spot on the floor.
"Television," Ashton smirked back.
"Just another glass of water on the deck of the Titanic," Driscoll sighed in disgust.
"That's a good one, my dear. Wherever did you get that?" Ashton chuckled.
"A book, maybe," Driscoll frowned. "You know, I use to remember all sorts of minutia like that. Lately, I can't seem to focus enough to recall the words."
"When we go back home, maybe we should schedule a doctor's appointment for you?"
"We?" Driscoll mouthed behind Ashton's back.
"Where are the others?" Madame scanned the room for the missing members of the group. "ASSISTANCE!" Panic was clearly evident in her shrill voice.
Instantly, Igor was a the door behind her, "Madame, how can I be of service?"
"Those lazy girls, Redman, and Eliyahu are missing. Get their sorry asses back in this house immediately," Madame hissed before pushing Giuseppe away from her with the toe of her shoe. "The rest of you are to do your work. Twenty pages, any topic. Do it!"
Taylor made her smoothest move to date. While in a particularly deep, probing kiss, she managed to get one hand up Bailey's back and unhook her bra. Sure it was something every high school boy knew how to do but Taylor was trying to learn techniques on the run, so to speak.
"Basquiat?" Bailey broke the kiss to question.
"Huh?" Taylor's reply was less smooth than her previous move.
"You said, my painting was like Basquiat, remember?" Bailey sat up and re-hooked her bra, "Tell me about him, her, whatever it is. What has Basquiat got to do with me?"
"Now? I mean we were doin' something already," Taylor's whine was ignored. "Okay, so he's a painter. Well, was a painter. Lived in a box in Central Park. Hung around with Warhol and Madonna. OD'd on heroin, I think. Not sure about that. Too soon to tell if his work will last. Somebody made a movie about him. It's on cable all the time." Taylor winked, "Now, can we get back to what we were doing."
"No, not yet. Think about this. I never painted before I got here. You didn't sleep with women."
"Lust after," Taylor corrected and tried to plant a kiss on Bailey's cheek but was pushed back.
"Down girl. Okay, Redman was a big ladies man now he's nailing Eliyahu…,"
"A guy who didn't sleep with anybody, or so the rumor goes," Taylor interrupted.
"Right. And Ashton hated women, especially white women but now he's a transvestite slave to McGee…,"
"…a neo-Nazi," Taylor whispered the ending. "Puanani's sensitive poet cover has been blown away."
"Still a poet but a two fisted drinker. The angry kind of poet." Bailey squinted a look at Sagamore Place, "It's haunted, Taylor. Or possessed or something. It's trying to change us."
A shout from the back door drew their attention. Igor was awkwardly running toward them. His fist shaking as he cursed.
"Now, why couldn't it just change Igor?" Taylor wrapped her arm around Bailey waiting to see what trouble Igor would bring them.