As she gathered up a few things for Cambridge, Louis entered her suite.
“Oona, please help me with my dad and with mom, and even with Opa.”
“There is nothing I can do which you cannot, my boy. If you speak, they will listen.”
“I need Dad, Oona. Please; Dad can help.”
“Louis: You will never see your father again,” she said coldly. “You will never see Anton. That is, unless your life ends or, far less likely, should either of them ever come to Earth. There are Scribes you know, those who carry messages, someone, some seraph like that. Now, let us assume that that does not happen. Then you will know when your paranormal tunnel takes you to your father; or to Anton. Yes, boy. You will know when you are linked. And you will know contentment, without a doubt, if and when you break through.”
“But Oona; there’s something here. It’s something scary. Don’t you feel it?”
Alexi picked up Oona less than one hour later, and they spent the rest of the day and a lot longer together. The next day was a bit of a question mark as far as the kids went, but Oona intended to still conduct her ontology practice at the house and that would require Alexi’s help, the limo, or a cab. And KC’s consent. For now anyway, Oona’s duties were questionable and she was not welcome at “home.” Oona soul searched and was sad to say she hardly even cared to the extent she feared she would.
Oona’s relationship with the sexually ambiguous Alexi was painfully intermittent and without the intensity of a more steady arrangement. And once the door closed in Cambridge, they coursed through hours of long and slow lovemaking, without the love. A thorough back massage to relax Oona’s muscles and frame helped immensely. She was rolled onto her back and the process repeated just as slowly and deliciously. Some things should never be rushed.
Lexi was painfully attractive and her presence helped Oona cope with the loss of standing in Westbridge and the sense of darkness and failure which surrounded her with increased intensity. It grew late and Oona was thoroughly inebriated for the Holidays. She donned her hideous garb, embraced the omnivorous and multi-sexual Alexi, and lamented the status of Man Ray, their favorite BDSM scene. Hideous though stylish. And her libido was on fire. I cannot get enough. She let herself go that night and flaunted her French character as if the Creole in her bubbled up out of her pores, and she bled the very high and entirely physical bohemian lifestyle. If only for the night, or maybe two.
Even for Oona, her libido was unusually intoxicating, and she landed where she had started. Oona took deep breathes and freely let Alexi accost her breasts and apply her expert handiwork. She was gagged now and properly restrained. She heaved as to bare her soul and beg understanding and, in doing so, her fears of vulnerability were fully exposed. Rarely could she ever expose herself thusly. Oona had not asked Alexi to tie her; still Alexi, with her signature black suspenders and little else, knew that her friend needed to be purged of her many contradictions. Oona’s nipples grew hard like rich red rubies and rose to attention. Her skin glittered in the dimness of Alexi’s softly lit bedroom.
When their eyes met for a long moment, Trix sensed that KC had no idea what had happened with Oona. Trixi saw sudden images of Holland; the waterways and the dykes of the Low Countries crossed her mind. She pulled up a seat and took a place at the kitchen counter. The children were in and out of the kitchen and it would soon be time for dinner.
“Not here.” KC looked crossly at Trixi now and motioned her to follow her into the study. Once they were alone, KC confronted her with blunt words. “I can’t believe you had sex with Oona in my house! How could you?”
Stunned at first, Trixi quickly found her footing and responding coolly, “It wasn’t sex; we made love.” She truly believed those words. Such a night she had never experienced.
“Don’t be ridiculous! You don’t know what love is!”
“I know love and its name is Oona.” Indeed, one very high bar had been set into stone last night. “No other could ever compare to her. No, not since and never before, had I ever been made to feel such a way.”
“I knew love and his name was Drew. I knew what love was for over 20 years!” Then KC measured her scorn and was now determined to tread more lightly over the fragile girl, to soften her tone. But Trixi would have none of it.
“And we consummated our love again and again and again,” Trixi teased. Then she smiled slightly and threw back her hair and neck. She tore off a loose scarf from around her neck to expose a dark skin blemish, a giant hickey.
“You’re disgusting! You’re just like…her!”
“How could you say such a thing?” Trixi was nearly overwhelmed and then she regained her composure to finally announce, “You are jealous!” You are jealous!”
“Trixi: It’s not love. Please; Oona is just using you!”
“And she used me all night.” Her emotions suddenly shifted into overdrive. “You old hag, she shouted. You are just jealous!”
“She doesn’t love you!” KC pleaded. She needed to stay on message. “Oona is an oversexed witch and enchantress! Don’t you know that? She probably put a spell on you.”
“To that I do agree.” smiled Trixi. “Oona did put a spell on me. It’s called love.”
“Trixi: If you must know, Oona will fuck anything with two legs!” KC had no remorse for her course words. She was not sorry for any of her remarks.
“You wish! If that were true, then maybe she’d –.” Trixi thought it was best to regain her usual calm demeanor.
“Trixi: Oona does not love you.”
“How do you know?” she garrulously responded.
After a long breath, KC said softly, “Because she loves me.”
“You wish she loved you like she loves me!” Trixi ridiculed her host. She remained in complete control of herself. “Didn’t you hear us last night?” Her faint Dutch accent only slightly sounded through her normal high pitched voice. “We were afraid we’d awaken you.”
KC was deeply despaired yet she held her tongue. She thought long and hard about the dreadful exchange and all the ugly assertions which manifested themselves in her house.
And in a corner of one room, an invisible force reveled in the conflict and smiled upon Trixi and KC for fighting over the fading witch named Oona. “What strange and wonderful times these are,” Lucia mused.
When she and Alexi were through Oona lay awake for hours and pined for KC. She regretted her failures. With some frequency, the doubts of her decisions haunted her. Settling in at KC’s house had not been easy. She had jettisoned a successful ontology practice in DC, where she lived the life of a queen in a picture post card setting, for a new practice far away from any other commercial properties, and guarded by the walk-in souls of the underserved. In Westbridge there had even been a walk-in visitor the other day who wanted her palms read! And God knows how she found me? Clearly this endeavor had not worked as planned, even with all the research offers and grant money. Oona had thought that in a few months they would fly together to Europe. No children, the romance of Paris, the Grachtenhuis of the Old World’s decadence; Amsterdam, Hamburg. That they would travel to Istria, and the Côte d’Azur and Capri, and the Amalfi Coast. Only dreams now. Painful dreams.
There was no question Oona’s life had changed dramatically since Drew’s passing. And while innocent of his death, Oona felt culpable by both opportunity and suspicion. I never meant for him to die! Over two short months, Oona had resettled and relocated herself, both her home and her practice, on the whim of an undying lust and love for KC. And to that end, she assumed the role of a menial worker, a house nanny, and would uproot her career and connections down south for an uncertain transplantation back north. Then, while waiting to be fully accepted into KC’s family, and fulfill her desire to settle down, she found herself clouded and unsharp in mind, and uncontrollably libidinous. Her social and other obligations were turned upside down. Have mercy on me, Exalted Erzulie: Please! I am so weary. So tired and so rusted.