Rapture's Rendezvous (23 page)

Michael laughed hoarsely. “Let ‘em try,” he said. “I've got my own knife. I can be just as fast as the
next person.”

“So you do plan to return?”

“Yeah. I have to continue to mingle,” he said. “The damn thing about it, though, is the Italians have become close-mouthed. I can't pry any information from them. That community is Nathan Hawkins's. Bought and paid for. Why. most of the Italians owe their souls to the country store.”

“What do you mean, Michael?”

“Ah, they don't know the first thing about figures,” he grumbled. “They buy grocery and household supplies at Nathan Hawkins's general store and put it on account, then pay double without knowing it when it comes time to pay up.”

“How horrible,” Alice said, rising. She went to the window, holding the letters to her chest. “I do wish you didn't have to be so involved with the union,” she quickly added.

“Alice . ..” Michael said, rising, going to stand next to her.

She smiled lightly. “I know,” she said. “I'm getting too personal again. But Nathan Hawkins's goons? What if they
are
wise to you? You know Nathan Hawkins will not allow his coal mine to go union. He would kill anyone who interferes.”

“Like I said. I mingle,” Michael said, thrusting his hands inside his front breeches pockets. “I dress the part of something besides a rich businessperson or a coal miner. When I go to Hawkinsville, I dress the part of a drunken bum. Surely no one will guess that I have something besides whiskey on my mind. Unless.. . .” he quickly added, lifting his lips into a lewd grin.

“Unless what, Michael?” Alice prodded.

“Oh, nothing,” he said, walking away from her, to pour himself another glass of whiskey. He couldn't have revealed his thoughts of that moment to Alice. To do so would be to cause her to go into another rage, even though she had promised to not pry anymore into the sexual side of his life. But he had been thinking about Ruby's house. He had discoverd it by the pure luck of listening to another poor drunken slob bragging about his conquests with the wayward women at the whorehouse that sat back by itself, almost in the shadows of Nathan Hawkins's house. It had surprised Michael to hear of such a house so close to Hawkins's estate, and he had been quickly prompted to seek it out himself. And hadn't he been needing some encouragement in the ways of women? Hadn't so much been lacking . . . since Maria .. . ?

The surprise had truly come, though, when he had found that the house had been one of only Negro women. This had been a first for him … to enter a house run by a Negro madame … a house of only Negroes . .. and very skilled in the ways of men.

His pulse raced even now, remembering the one night with Ruby and how skilled she had been with her tongue. She hadn't left one inch of his body untouched by the slick wetness. She had earned her title well . . . Madame Ruby. But she still didn't have what was needed to turn his soul to burning embers. She had just whetted his desires, making him long even more for Maria and the fulfillment she could give him.

A chuckle rumbled through him, remembering the ruby that he had discovered pasted inside Ruby's navel. “My trademark,” she had purred, touching him on his fast-rising manhood. “No one will ever be confused in
the dark of the night when they have me on a bed. When hands and tongues explore my body, the ruby stone will alert them to the fact that it is Ruby they have the honor of being with that night.”

“What are you thinking about, Michael?” Alice asked, pulling Michael's thoughts back to the present.

“What.. . ?” he gasped, moving quickly away from her, realizing that she had seen the bulge fattening beneath the buttons of his breeches.

“Something . . . or . . . someone got you aroused,” she accused, stomping to stand beside him. “God. I can't do it, but thinking about someone else can?”

She stormed from the room, leaving Michael to stare after her. He kneaded his brow, not realizing what was happening inside himself. First he felt impotent, then the next thing he knew, he was as horny as hell. “Damn. Damn,” he said, hitting the palm of his hand with a fist.

He tried to refocus his thoughts back on the struggles of the coal miners. He had only succeeded in speaking with a few to explain that the union made coal mining safer and more secure economically. But they had frozen up the last couple of times he had traveled to Hawkinsville.

Fear had them wrapped in its grasp. He needed an ally. A man who was a miner . .. one who could move among the others … to spread the truth. Michael had to find an ally . . . and . . .
soon.
It had become dangerous lately. He had feared that someone might even recognize him from the ship and tell Nathan Hawkins, in hopes of getting a reward.

But Michael had known all along that this was a dangerous game that he had chosen to play. And continue to play it he would! He wasn't going to be like
most of the coal miners … docile … afraid. He would get that Nathan Hawkins to treat these people decently. Damn it' He had traveled clear to Italy in search of the truth. And now that he had it, he had to make things right. If not for the growth of the union . . . then for those beautiful, innocent people.

The town of Hawkinsville had become a prison. He knew that death threats hung over the ones who talked of leaving. Well, he would eventually see to it that even that changed.

He swallowed another gulp of whiskey and set his jaw firmly. He knew that he had himself to think of also. He had, this moment, to quiet the urges building up inside himself. He rushed to the door and moved quickly down the steepness of the steps until he reached the walk outside the building. The clanging of the Broadway Cable Car approaching made him step out onto the cobblestone of the street, waiting, feeling the brisk winds of March whip around him. Spring. A time for love. … He almost choked on those thoughts. Spring without Maria? Could he truly bear it? His eyes showed a quiet despair, knowing that he had no choice but to do so.

When he boarded the cable car, he took a seat with all the other dark-clothed, well-dressed men. Most sported hats and mustaches. But Michael still preferred a clean-shaven face, and he had utter contempt for hats.

He watched the city move on past him, seeing that this cable car was approaching the arch of gas lamps that gave the street he was now traveling on its nighttime glamour. Portraits of all the presidents from Washington to Cleveland had been attached between
the gas lamps and looked down on the noontime rush hour. Michael was proud of this added attraction to the city. He alone had suggested it. He had received nothing but favorable comments about this tourist attraction.

He settled down into the seat, crossing his arms, watching. Businessmen on their way to their private clubs scurried along the walks, and some women attired in their business costumes of black and white mingled with women attired in their fancy hats and long, flowing dresses of silks and satins.

Michael usually went to the Liederkranz for his noontime pleasures of sharing business talk and cigars with other businessmen. But this day, Michael had far more important things on his mind. He knew that in a room at the Planter's House Hotel there waited a woman who was paid top dollar by the classiest gents of the city. Maybe she would make him forget. At least for the moment.

The Broadway Cable Car clattered down the tracks, clanging its bells noisily when horse-drawn carriages got too close to the tracks. A loud whinnying from a horse made Michael glance sideways, tensing when he saw the ugly, almost distorted face of Nathan Hawkins behind the driver of the carriage that was also traveling down this busy thoroughfare.

“Damn. I can't even put him from my mind for one -minute,” Michael whispered to himself. “Now he's in Saint Louis to stir up trouble.” He turned his eyes quickly away, for fear that Nathan might in the future recognize him as being one of the better-class gents of Saint Louis, not a drunken bum as Michael would continue to profess to being while in Hawkinsville.

But, Michael had also to remember, so far Nathan Hawkins hadn't made his presence known in the saloons of Hawkinsville. Normally, he would hire someone else to do all his dirty work. In fact, Michael knew that most of the Italian people hadn't ever met him. Only his representatives. No. Nathan Hawkins wouldn't want to dirty his expensive London-bought clothes by entering the town of Hawkinsville … even though it was his own name-given town.

The cable car drew to a halt, releasing many of its passengers out onto the walks of the city. Michael pushed himself up from the seat and joined the milling crowds along the walkway until he found himself standing in front of the several-storied-high Planter's House Hotel. He hurried inside, seeing all reds around him in the plushness of the carpet beneath his feet and the draperies hanging at the long windows. -

He moved on past the desk clerk. He didn't have to ask the room number. He knew it by heart. He had heard many men talking of Sabrina. “Sabrina.” What a beautiful name. He hoped she would be just as beautiful.

He began ascending the wide staircase, taking steps two at a time, and when he reached her door, he hesitated before knocking, fearing that another man might be inside. He hadn't called ahead. His needs had caused him to move in haste.

After taking a few deep breaths, he knocked, tensing. He smiled awkwardly when the door flew widely aside, revealing a lady of about fifty whose wrinkles had only begun to crease what was once a beautiful face.

“Yes? What can I do for you?” she asked in a low-pitched drone, leaning out a bit to glance up and down
the length of the hallway.

“Uh … you … are you … Sabrina?” Michael asked, stammering. Was this aging person the woman the men gossiped so freely about? His gaze traveled over her, seeing the heaviness of her breasts and how the nipples thrust hard against the pale green chemise she had wrapped around her body. One look further downward revealed that nothing at all was worn beneath this thin material. It revealed a thickening waist and a blonde patch of pubic hair shaped in a sharp vee, to match the short-cropped blonde hair atop her head.

Michael stared upward at her hair, not having seen a woman with such a haircut as this. It was cropped short to hang just below her ears, and she had straight bangs hanging low to her eyebrows. Her lips formed into a wide, brightly painted oval as she motioned with her hand for him to enter her room.

“Sabrina is here to make you forget your troubles,” she said, closing the door behind her. She went to Michael and smoothed her fingers over his brow. “You do have problems, yes? Your brow is much too furrowed for such a handsome man.”

Michael felt a bit awkward in this lady's presence, having expected her to be much younger. He looked quickly around the room and spied the greatness of the mahogany bedstead covered by the sleek shine of flaming red satin sheets and pillow covers.

The rest of the room was like most other hotel rooms, with a wardrobe that sported a pier glass mirror set into its door, two upholstered chairs of brown horsehair, and a table beside the bed upon which sat a glass Bordeaux lamp. A china basin sat on a stand on the opposite side of the bed next to a long, narrow window
where lacy, sheer curtains hung, pulled closed.

His gaze met Sabrina's and held, discovering her art of teasing with the pale grays of her eyes and the flickering of her tongue that seemed to be continuously wetting her lips. He reached for her, placing his arms around her waist, jerking her roughly to him. “Yes,” he finally answered. “I am in need of someone to help me forget for the moment.”

His head bowed, grazing her flesh with his lips, nudging the thin material of her chemise aside with his nose, until her breasts were fully exposed to him. Michael reached upward and squeezed one breast as his lips devoured the other, drawing a moan of ecstasy from deep within Sabrina.

“Aw, you are so hungry,” she purred. “Come to my bed. Let me show you Sabrina's ways of making a man lose his senses.”

Michael followed along beside her, hurriedly slipping his suit jacket off, then his collar, shirt and silk cravat. By the time he reached the bed, he had only his breeches and shoes to remove, but he found that he didn't have to use any more of his own efforts in doing so. The eagerness of Sabrina's fingers was already on him, quickly helping to expose his full nudity to eyes that were completely devouring him.

“Please lie back on the bed,” she said sternly. “I wish to first wash you with my perfumed oils.”

Michael's eyes widened. “You what?” he gasped, hesitating.

“It is my specialty,” she said, removing her chemise, letting it cascade to the floor, to settle around her feet. She urged him downward, pressing her fingers against his chest.

Michael propped two pillows beneath his head, watching her as she moved toward the basin. When she reached inside and pulled a wet satin cloth from the glistening pool of liquid, his'heart began to pound in anticipation. He could smell the perfumed oils. Was it some sort of aphrodisiac? The moment she placed the cloth against his abdomen and began to move it in slow, easy strokes, he felt a keen sense of sexual desire begin to build inside him. And as she continued to spread the perfumed oils, moving downward, across his thighs and then onto his manhood, he gritted his teeth and stiffened his body.

“So it does feel good, does it not?” Sabrina purred. She placed the cloth inside the basin, then climbed atop him, positioning herself so that one thrust was all that was required for him to plunge his manhood deeply inside her.

Sabrina's lips sought out his nipples, sucking, all the while working her breasts over the sleek wetness of his oiled body. He reached down and touched and probed between her thighs with his fingers, then guided himself inside her, knowing that it wouldn't be long before his peak would be reached.

“You're a skilled whore,” he grunted, moving his hips hurriedly, holding her closer to him, as though she were in a vise. “Worth every damn dollar.”