Page 11 of Wishful Thinking

Chapter Seven

The white ghost

Sal woke an hour later and checked his watch. Withtimeto killbefore heading to the Lug, hebrewedanother cup of coffee to stimulate his brain. He was sweating and knew the dream of Belle hadn’t helped cool him;He hoped the coffee would do the trick. The machine finished with its strange little noise as it pushed the scalding water through the hole and into his mug. He opened the fridge, seeing nothing that appealed, checked the freezer. They filled it with frozen pizzas and microwavable meals. He pulled out a personal pizza, pried open the boxand read the directions. Not his favorite fare, but being hungry, decided to try it. Five minutes later, the microwave beeped.Sal pulled out the unappetizing cracker thin pie, burning his hand on the box that enabled the pie to crisp.

“Shit, Christ that hurts,” he said as he dropped it on the counter. Running to the sink, hot cheese stuck to his index finger. He watched as it began to blister. Turning on the water, he stuck his finger in the stream, waiting for it to grow cold. He realized water fromunder-ground would never getcold. It felt better than nothing. He wiped it with a towel and slid the pizza on a plate. Cutting it into smaller sections, he carried it and his coffee out on to the back deck.

He just missed Philippe as the boy walked towards Belle’s house. He could see part of herbuilding from his vantage point and pulled out the camera to zoom closer. Philippe kept walking and turned to his left, moving out of view. The boy wasgoing to Belle’s, he thought, jealous.The windows on the second floor in view, he sighed when he saw no movement. He chewed the pizza, grimacing at the bland flavor.

“That’s just not right, why the hell did I bother?” His stomach rumbling in answer to his question.

Hearing the knock on her door, Bellechecked the time. She smiled as she opened the door to Philippe, who slipped past her after a quick hug. The boy grabbed the remote and flicked on the television, surfing channels until finding a college football game. He flopped down on the couch. Their typical Saturday afternoon, football for Philippe and book reading or editing for her. Bellenever had a thing for sports, not since her college days.

She had gone to University of Buffalo back then. Thinking back, she remembered how theyhad enjoyed their Sundays in his dorm room watching the Buffalo Bills play. She had always loved an underdog. Drinking beer if they could get any, they’d snack on chips and dip. She sighed and shook her head. Whyhad Sal popped into her thoughts?The memoryleft her wistful atwhat might have been. She picked the book up, grabbed a pencil, and started reading while making slight changes to Stellas latest tale. This one was intriguing, but more graphic than the usual fare.

“It’s not like I’m a prude, but Jesus, Stella, give the poor girls a break. All that sex has got to have them walking sideways after each tryst.” She jumped when Philippe laid his hand on her arm. She had forgotten he was there, with the volume turned down on the TV, and Belle entrenched in the editing chore. He held the brass lamp in his hand and smiled at her.

“What is it?” he wrote on his pad and thrust it towards her. She shrugged her shoulders and told him she’d found it on the beach. He nodded and sat it on the counter, grabbed a soda from the fridge and strutted back out to watch the game.

Belle picked up the lamp. It was aunique find, compared to the usual driftwood, bones, or shells that littered the beach daily. She found a sealed bottle once with a piece of paper in it and was excited, hoping to find a long-lost letter from someone far away. When she got the paper out, it pissed heroff to find it was a receipt from whoever had bought the bottle six months ago. The lamp hadn’t brought her the pizza she had requested, nor the hot guy to wait on her and she sat it back on the counter. No genie materialized, either. It was just a shinyknick knack to put on a shelf; She thought about the thing, pouting.

“Yeah, I still want that pizza, the hot guy I don’t need. With these books,I can usethe sexy magic she’s created to imagine one.” Reaching theend of the chapter, shesaw Philippe out of the corner of her eye moving around the room. He turned off the TV, put his empty can in the sink and waved at her.

“Is it already time to go? Yourmawill be late tonight. An almost-famous band is playing at the Lug, so who’s watching you?” Philippe pulled out the trusty notebook and wrote. Neighbor. Spending the night with Louis. Belle nodded.

Louis was a school mate of Philippe, a year younger, but his mother tookPhilippe for the night when Laceyworked late. She gave the boy a hug goodbye and followed him down the corridor. Locking the door, she returnedto grabthe lamp. Movinginto her bedroom, she got readyto shower and change. She looked forward to hitting the Lug and checking out the band. Walking by the lamp again, she giggled and picked it back up.

“Okay, so I’m fickle. Please bring me a beautiful man, oh shiny lamp. No pizza, just the man, if you would be so kind. I won’t be greedy.” She set it on her dresser, stripped off her clothes and went in the bathroom. Flicking on the light switch, she stared at her body in the mirror. She was proudthat the wrinkles wereminimal. Hefting her breasts in both hands, she let them drop, happy they didn’t droop too far. Turning on the water, she stepped through the glass doors. The water ran down her head and face as she breathed deep. A dollop of the coconut shampoo in hand, she ran her fingers through the long, wet silver strands. Watching closely, the bubbles ran down her front, over her breasts and to the blonde curly hair below. The water ran clear, and she grabbed her body wash and soaped up the loofah. Running it over her arms and breasts, sloughing off the dead skin, she used it to smooth her elbows. Sal’sface kept drifting in and she switched the shower head to a heavy pulse.

Belle had been a virgin, and he’d been the first and only man since to touch her heart or womanly lair. He had been so tender with her. His roommate left for the night, the football game had gone exceptionally well. He’d managed to get wine, and they had drunk the entire bottle. After the game ended, Sal lit the candles she had brought, lay her down on his bed, and gradually undressed her. She adored the way he touched her, as his finger caressed her breasts, he took his time before moving below the waistband of her pants. He had gazed at her with considerable need.

She removed the shower head from off of the holder. Rearranging the long metal hose, she ran the spray over her pubic hair and moaned. Opening her lips with her fingers, she allowed the pulse to beat over her throbbing clitoris. She propped her leg up on the rim of the tub. She brought the water closer, the pulse hard and steady. She exhaled and leaned her head back.

“Ugh, this just isn’t cutting it.” Frustrated, she shut the water off, hung up the cord, and wrapped a towel around herself. Dripping on the carpet, she moved to the bed, now irritated and beyond caring about wet spots on the floor. Lying spread-eagle on the bed, she reached in to the drawer of the bedside table and grabbed her vibrator. It had been so long since she’d needed to use it; She hoped the batteries still functioned.

The loud hum filled the room, and she fingered her clit as she inserted the long thick device in to her hot chasm. Visions of Sal moved through her head as she arched her back and spread her legs wider for better access. In and out, the rubber appendage moved. Right to the edge of readiness, the device tried to squeeze itself from her crevice as her inner muscles gripped and flexed. She moved her fingers up and squeezed her nipple, compressing and handling it until it stood stiff. Her body bucked, and she realized she was ready. Sal’s name fell from her lips as the jolting orgasm rocked her body. Through happy tears, she screamed again and again to the empty walls. “Sal. Oh, yes, give it to me harder, fuck me hard, Sal.”

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