La Rose Blanche

Copyright © 2013 Anthony W. Harvey.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead is purely coincidental, with the exception of Helen Johnson, Marcus Bollinger, Lauretta Parker and Robert St. Bernard who have given me permission to use their real names. Mr. St. Bernard’s name has been flipped and he is characterized as man’s best friend. The aforementioned persons are fictionalized characters and bear no resemblance to their actual lives.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-9022-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-9024-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-9023-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013908277

iUniverse rev. date: 6/10/2013

CONTENTS

Prologue

1   CALM BEFORE THE STORM

Slipped

Firing Carlos

The splinter

2   JAMES HUNT

The shoes are the answer

Full of juice

Dropping Plates

3   WHAT A LOVELY CELL

Pig shit and perfume

The bull frog

The money

Taking flight

4   WHAT DID YOU SAY

The girl who went to school

Jorge

The manila envelope

5   THE BREAKFAST

The vision

Betrayal

Two days after leaving Austin

6   STAR-LITE MOTEL

The Moroccan dagger

The shoes is free

Green Thumb

7   YOUR DELICIOUSNESS

On the other side

Blaze

Heat seeking missile

8   THE HUNT FOR HUNT

That could have been me

And surprise

Yuri

Change of plans

Vegas

Room # 1502

The luncheon

9   ON TO THE NEXT

Back to Vegas

Rodeo Drive

Lady you got the wrong number.

I thought I heard somethin’

10   THE LETTERS

The phone, the phone,

the rap and the phone

Revelations

Beyond the galaxy

The click

11   SHAKE, RATTLE AND ROLL

Don Bennetto

Vengeance

Detective Roger Gordon

Melee at the mansion

The root cellar

12   RECOVERY

Malibu dream

Lost and found

The death of Melvin

13   DADDY

I was hoping you would say that

Epilogue

Dedication

To my beautiful Mother who taught me that reading a book is like taking a meandering journey through the soul of mankind, and my Father, from him I learned to take life as it comes. Also, without the love, support and most of all patience of my partner, Roger, this book would not have been possible.

PROLOGUE

M ary Jean DeLane rattled her last breath to her adoring son Morris,

I should have killed your father when I had the chance.

The luxurious, chartered jet lurched off the tarmac—just as the bottom fell out of the sky. That day was one of the worst for Morris Maximilian DeLane III. He snapped the fawn colored, window- cover open and squinted through rain streaked glass into a moonless night. It was pitch black out there, much like the last ten days had been.

Has it only been ten days?

It seemed like a lifetime had passed since March 31st.—when his mother had uttered those words from her cold, antiseptic death bed at Ceders Sinai Hospital.

Why did she say that about my father? What did she mean?

His brain hurt from trying to dig up dim memories of a tall man named Daddy.

I remember when he gave me Mr. Wigglesworth—my teddy bear with golden glass eyes. It was my birthday. I was five.

Morris was thirty-seven. His mother had been sixty-seven. He had not been prepared.

There were only five people on the plane. Andre—the bedroom attendant—stood in the back by the sleeping chamber door, his black countenance guarding the opening like a sentinel.

There won’t be any sex play today, but I’ll provide what ever comfort he needs.

Morris stared through dull, wet eyes at the thick black carpet. He raised his square jawed head and globes of water collected on full lashes that framed brilliant green eyes—now blood shot from grief. He could taste the salt on his lips. He swiped at it as he looked past all of the shinning richness that he used to enjoy so much—past snow white linens—Christofle china and Baccarat crystal—past fawn sofas highlighted by gleaming, dark walnut paneling—past everything that he and his designer, Mystic, had orchestrated to impress his clients.

His blurred vision saw Susie—his friend and main flight attendant—sitting on a matching sofa, just behind the pilot’s cabin. He raised muscular arms and massaged closely cropped, straight brown hair with sturdy, well manicured nails. His head throbbed as the rain banged incessantly on the skin of the plane. Tears dripped off his slightly crooked nose—broken while playing soccer in France—into an unused glass of vodka. His exhausted mind kept repeating the services in Greenwich. It had frightened him how his mother’s waxen skin had looked—as he bent over her gold and white coffin to kiss her goodbye.

Maybe this is just some hideous nightmare?

He twisted a thick mat of hair on his forearm.

Nope. No dream. He muttered.

This is bad enough, but to make matters worse, I need to see Mr. Hunt, the administrator of the estate, tomorrow at 2:00 pm. I hope it all goes smoothly.

He suddenly realized how alone he was.

Daddy and Mother never had the chance to have any more kids. I’m it. Daddy was declared legally dead when I was fifteen. Gamma is gone, along with her brother—my Uncle Georgie. I never knew the other side…the DeLane’s…all of them gone. What else could go wrong? Maybe I worry too much. Maybe I’ll take some time away from the shop when all of this is over. Maybe go to Tangier? I like Tangier. Maybe Brussels? I like Brussels. Maybe my head will stop hurting?

He did not know.

Susie Sharp—who had consistently placed her career ahead of any relationship—was single at twenty-seven, with a pale triangular face—topped by an perky, no-nonsense blonde bob—startling, gray eyes framed by dark lashes. The eyes were filled with both compassion and a glare as efficient at stopping a man’s advances as her haircut. She had been watching Morris from her seat since they had lifted off. She knew him well. She thought that he looked silly in all of those vintage costumes that he sometimes wore with his clients—everything from a zoot suit to a French nobleman’s outfit.

He looks nice in that black Armani, with matching shirt and subtle gray tie. I feel sorry for him that his mother passed, but I certainly won’t miss her. No, as a matter-of-fact, I’m glad that drunken bitch is gone. I know things Morris doesn’t know and will never tell him.

Five minutes before departure, she had approached Captain John Steadman—a tall man in his late thirties, appearing to lean toward outward stodginess. He carried a full head of slicked back, sandy-red hair that tended to flip up on the ends in extreme humidity. It gave him a recently rolled out of the bed with a woman—rumpled look. The hair bespoke a quick glimpse into the true character of the man, beneath his rigid straight-teeth exterior. Susie asked if he was concerned about the weather. The captain winked at her.

You bet I’m concerned, he said, "The National Weather Service has indicated this storm is a monster and covers most of the country. There’s a slight break over Arizona, then there’s another torrential system above California. I wouldn’t do this for just anybody, but after all it is Mr. DeLane. I just found out he’s one of the most respected antique dealers on the planet and he insists he has to get back to his business, he winked at her again, but don’t worry, you’re in good hands, he bragged, I’ll get us there." Steadman was a new pilot for the DeLane’s. Susie had seen him around, but had never flown with him before.

I’m counting on you Captain, she said as she saluted him. She detested Frank—the co-pilot. She despised his rakish hair, curt remarks and snobbish air of importance. She sat down, buckled herself in and waited for lift off. She looked down at her bare finger and wondered if it was high time that she lightened up on the overly serious look that she usually gave men.

Maybe I’ll set my sights on the Captain. I didn’t see a ring on his finger either.

They had lifted off through a driving rain without incident, but ten minutes into the flight—the turbulence had worsened. Susie got up and stumbled toward Morris. She barely held onto her balance as she tried to reach him.

He needs me.

She had been a great flight attendant and had quickly worked her way up from commercial to private charter. She had worked exclusively for the DeLane’s for the past four years.

I’ll provide whatever comfort he needs.

Mr. DeLane, can I get you anything? She noticed his soaked cheeks reflected in the glass porthole and how he pushed at his cuticles—as he usually did—whenever he was excited or upset. She felt the saltwater of the world’s oceans well up behind her own lids.

I wish I could take it all away. I would give anything to make him his usual outgoing self again. The corners of his wide mouth turned up briefly. Politeness and an attempt at humor spilled out.

Now…Miss Sharp. How many times have I asked you not to call me Mr. DeLane?

Oh, I don’t know, more than a hundred, she joked, "it just doesn’t seem right to address you as Morris…I mean Mr. DeLane. The banter went back and forth every time that they saw each other. It never seemed to get old.

Okay, Miss Sharp. Sorry, I meant to say Susie. Thanks, but I don’t need anything right now.

I know he’s lying and he should know me well enough by now to know that I don’t back down.

I don’t believe you, she said seriously, all joking aside, I’ve been around you enough and I guess you have the right—with everything you’ve been through—but I can see right through you. You’re telling one, so please don’t try and pull that fast crap with me. She sat down beside him. Morris welcomed the distraction. She was so good at distraction that she could have been a magician.

I’ve always liked Susie, liked her from the first day we met.

The storm suddenly roared louder than the jet’s engines and a hot damp seemed to creep into the air-conditioning system. He took off his jacket and handed it to her. He loosened his tie. He tried to be conciliatory.

Maybe I’ll take a Valium later…I don’t know what I would do without you.

I know he’s telling the truth this time.

She got up and placed the jacket on the opposite sofa and sat with him again—gently caressing his hand. Morris felt her concern, but soon her presence drifted off into the distance somewhere beyond his realm, as he peered out the window into his empty heart.

It all seems like my fault. I know Mother drank a lot, but as far as I knew she was in good health. The stroke seemed to come on so suddenly, with no warning. Maybe I should’ve hired better nurses—taken better care of her during that long bed-ridden year.

I could get you the Valium now. It will help you rest. You could use it. He could smell her now, White Diamonds! Susie usually smelled nice to him, but that day she smelled like formaldehyde, like his mother’s pale cheek—when he kissed her in the coffin. He felt like throwing up, but he suppressed it.

Susie’s pretty and kind. The kind of girl—that maybe I could’ve gone for in another life.

You’re right, he said, admitting defeat, you always seem to be right.

Good. Thank you for that. You need to sleep. She got up and made her way to the front to retrieve the sedative. Halfway there, the jet dropped to the left and rocked violently, as if an explosion had gone off beneath them. It slung her aside like a rag doll. She was thrown up against a seat. She fell to the floor and tore the skin off her right knee.

Jesus! I sure hope John knows what he’s doing. If this keeps up we may have to make an emergency landing somewhere…or…No. It can’t end now. It’s too soon. I’ve got too many things left to do. God, please put this plane safely on the ground.

Susie had made good money working for the DeLane’s and her accountant had said that in about two years, she could afford to make a down payment on her dream—a co-op overlooking Central Park.

If this fucking storm doesn’t kill us all first!

She righted herself and ignored the injury. She had finally reached to storage cabinet. She quickly unlocked the door and snatched a bottle of Valium, but not before the entire contents of the shelves tumbled onto the floor. She haphazardly shoved the articles back, uttering one curse word after another and as fast as she could, secured the door. Streaks of lightening lit up the dark clouds as if someone was shooting fireworks at them and had mistaken this day for a fourth of July celebration. Deep rumbles of thunder caused the jet to shudder as if it suddenly had a chill. She reached Morris and raised her voice—yelling over the threatening din.

That was close. Too close! He noticed blood oozing down her shin from the wound.

You need to take care of that knee, he said, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine! She scooted up beside him again.

"I’m not concerned about me. It’s all of us I’m worried about and you in particular. Take this before I use another curse word!" She handed him the pill and his unused glass of vodka. Morris downed them both in one quick gulp. She secured the glass in the compartment under the sofa and buckled him in, just as Andre rushed up from the rear. The young man glued himself to the leather seat beside her and latched his buckle closed.

If anything happens, he said, his voice barely leaving his vocal cords. I can’t think of two better people to be with.

Shhush! Nothing’s going to happen. She glanced at him. The fear of her own imminent death quickly left her. She became afraid for Andre. Susie sat between the two men. She held their hands and prayed.

A few minutes later, the jet shot through the darkness into a strange and brilliant, calm blue sky.

Playful puffs of white, smoke like clouds encapsulated them in temporary safety and sanity as they leveled at thirty-five thousand feet. The escape from the madness of a few moments earlier, only lasted for several short minutes. They had to descend immediately The jet was directly in the flight pattern of another plane. Morris soon fell into a fitful sleep. Susie and Andre did not. They knew that they still had to land.

In the dream, Morris watched—paralyzed—helpless as the white mist slid under the locked door—the door that was supposed to be safe and secure—to keep anything out. He tried to cry out, but his throat constricted as if someone had slammed a steel bolt across it. The mist crept closer to his bed, growing larger as it came toward him—like some gigantic, albino octopus. The tentacles switched from white mist to a sickly looking, green vine. It slid along his limbs causing his skin to tingle with a sharp, nervous energy.

The vine soon violated all of the openings in his body. It made him feel full—stuffed like a breathless turkey sitting on a table—waiting on gluttons to devour him. That fullness rapidly left him. He felt empty and broken. It quickly morphed into a fat, floating green eagle that dripped gold coins from it’s talons—like some huge Vegas slot machine purging it’s wealth. The eagle dug it’s scalpel sharp claws into the bed, slicing and clenching as it threw him and the gold out the window. Glass and wood, shattered and splintered and rained down around him—as he landed unharmed on a soft lawn. The gold broke into a multitude of pieces. It melted and flowed away. In the dream, his throat loosened.

Help me! Help me! Help me! He cried out.

At least I can speak now. Surely someone will hear me.

He noticed a red box nearby, about four feet away just as the words screeched from his lips.

In case of emergency, please break glass. It calmly said out loud. Inside the glass box was a beautiful brown egg. It quickly jumped up off the floor and hurled itself against the barrier with such fury that the glass broke and lay on the grass like glittering confetti. The egg did not break. It was intact, without so much as a scratch. It rolled about halfway to him. He enjoined it for help.

Please, Morris’ astonished words said, afraid to raise his voice unless it break into a useless goo, is there anything you can do? He remained silent and watched. The egg grew larger and just as he feared, it cracked. A flat, brown object, instead of slime, began to unfurl its self like a flag—into a full grown stallion. It pranced over and licked him on the ear.

I love you. The stallion whispered.

There was a tremendous pounding in his head. Morris woke with a start as Andre gently shook his shoulder and the plane slammed through the second storm of the day onto the runway at L.A.X.

CHAPTER ONE

Calm before the storm

T he three passengers hugged John and Frank after disembarking. They stood together in the middle of a walkway as passengers darted around them, scurrying toward their next connection. Andre shook the captain’s hand.

You’re a good pilot. You put us safely on the ground.

Thank you, Captain John said, It was pretty bad …huh?

"Pretty bad? I was terrified, he answered, I’ve flown through some awful ones before, but nothing like that…ah…no reflection on you, but I was convinced we were all going to die. Susie really helped me get through it. I’m not sure I could have handled that mess without her. She’s definitely good at what she does."

She sure is. Steadman replied in earnest. Andre turned toward her.

Thanks, Susie. You saved me from a meltdown. he glanced back at the pilot, thanks again.

You’re welcome. Susie reached down and gingerly touched her knee.

Yeah, it was scary all right. she exclaimed. Morris noticed that her hands were shaking as she rubbed at the ragged knee in a feeble gesture of pain relief.

You should go home and take care of that, he said, I hope you don’t have a flight right after this one. That would be some serious overload. Like you told me, you need to go home and rest.

It’s not as bad as it looks. Just a little torn skin, but thanks, old friend. I’ll take care of it and just so you know, I do have a couple of days off. She quickly flicked her eyes toward the Captain. He had noticed her injury also. He agreed with Susie. It did not look that serious to him.

Hey, he said quickly before his opportunity faded, since you have some time, I’m free tonight too. How about you and I get some dinner. I know a good Chinese place. You do like Chinese? She was delighted with the offer.

That would be great, John…oops, she covered her mouth and flirted back, I apologize, but since we’re going out, I hope it’s alright to call you John instead of Captain, and yes, I do like Chinese.

Sure, John is fine with me, he answered, as raised his right eyebrow at how quickly she had taken him up on his offer, that Captain business always sounds too stuffy to me anyway.

Well, John, Susie said, I’m at 1123 North Fifteenth St. Apartment five. You have my phone number. Pick me up?

Sure. See you about eight. He turned, nodded at the two men and began to whistle his favorite song—The Lady in Red—as he briskly strode toward the Captain’s lounge. Susie was only a few steps behind him.

Have fun, Susie. Morris called out to her. She threw her hand up and waved. They watched her for a moment until she disappeared around a corner. Morris and Andre began to make their way in silence through the terminal. This was where they usually said their goodbyes until the next time. That day, Andre took a chance—not out of any obligation—but to simply steal as much time with Morris as he could. He placed his hand on Morris’ elbow. They stopped their solemn walk.

You look exhausted, he said, why don’t I go get the bags and wait with you until the limo comes? Morris looked surprised.

You know what, you’re right. I am tired. Thanks Dre’. I would like that.

Youthful strides matched each other as they made their way toward the private Blue Space baggage claim. Morris’ mood had lifted a little. He turned toward his friend.

Thanks for staying with me. He said sincerely.

You’re more than welcome. You know I’d do anything for you, right? Andre’s thoughts raced along synapses overloaded with anticipation.

I hope that didn’t sound too eager.

Morris had long since dispensed with any formality around the man because of their intimacy on the plane, even though he had known him a little less than a year. Andre was a thin five feet nine inches tall, two inches shorter than Morris’ stocky two-hundred and twenty pound frame. They had met in a bar in Amsterdam in June of 1999, while Morris was on a week long, European buying trip and Andre was on a two day lay-over. The attraction had been mutual. They had eagerly spent those two nights together. The first night, Andre told him that he was a flight attendant. Morris pulled some strings and managed to get him placed with Blue Space Charter—the company that the DeLane’s had leased the jet from for years. They had spent many hours together on the plane over the years, but no where else. Their relationship, so far, had been only about sex, more of an affair. They had never discussed dating, or whether-or-not there was anyone in each other’s lives.

He touched Andre’s hand. He did something that he had never thought of doing before.

I don’t want to go home alone tonight, he said, so if you don’t have anything planned, a date with a boyfriend…maybe..then why don’t you come home with me? Andre was silent for a moment and then a dazzling white smile centered squarely across his dark face.

We never talked about that, his answer began to ramble, but no, no I don’t have a boyfriend. Don’t know why I don’t, but I don’t have one right now…uuu…yeah…okay. Ah…you hang out outside and I’ll go get the bags.

I’ll be out on the curb, North side. Morris headed toward the exit.

Right.

Andre’s blue uniform seemed to blur the air as moved rapidly toward the baggage claim.

I feel like my heart is going to fly right out of my chest.

Morris stood silently on the curb outside the terminal, amid the bustle of passengers leaving, arriving, stacking bags onto carts, or handing them off to porters, hailing cabs, honking horns and parents getting in and out of cars with whining children. His nose crinkled up as he breathed in the salty ocean air, laced with carbon monoxide. The seventy degree drizzle had not erased the taint of Los Angeles’ famous smog. It smelled like home, but he shook his head and tried to make it go away.

That Valium made me groggy. It always does. That’s why I don’t like to take it…and I damn sure shouldn’t have taken it with vodka.

His head had cleared a little. He realized that he had to stop thinking about death, about being alone, but he was stymied. He did not know how.

It seems I’ve been surrounded by the deaths of everyone I loved. Gamma, when I was nineteen. Uncle Georgie a few years before her. I really can’t remember exactly when he passed away right now. And Mother …

A relentless shiver gripped him inside three layers of clothing.

This is L.A. I shouldn’t be cold.

Morris adjusted the hounds-tooth scarf higher on his neck. He yanked at the lapels of his Burberry overcoat, pulling them tighter as another torrent of tears chilled his grief stricken face.

Mr. Wigglesworth has been, almost like a brother to me…but he’s just a toy bear. I’ve known all along I’m an only child…but Jesus! I’m a thirty-seven year old orphan.

He had been so deep in thought that Andre startled him as he came up beside him.

Does this look like all of the bags? Don’t you usually have more? There have been a few times I’ve seen the handlers load a lot more than this on the plane. Morris glanced over at the various pieces of Louis Vuitton luggage. His eyes shifted impatiently to the Movado on his wrist.

Where’s Felix? The limo should have been here by now. I hope he hasn’t been entertaining one of his girlfriends in the back seat again.

He stabbed at the stream of tears, hoping Andre wouldn’t see.

I’m tired of crying. I’m going to stop now.

He moved his thoughts away from a near virtual emotional overload.

I’m sorry, he forced his voice to be calmer, "I wasn’t trying to ignore you, but yes, I think that’s all of them. If not, I’ll send Felix back for the rest." They stood on the curb in silence, each man grappling with his own deep emotions. The white stretch Lincoln came to a screeching halt in front of them five minutes later. The driver jumped out and in one long breathless roll exclaimed,

I’m sorry for being late. It won’t happen again, I promise.

It’s okay. Morris answered.

Felix opened the door for them and surveyed the dark skinned man with disarmingly golden, almond shaped eyes and a shaved head with tiny ears that protruded from a square face. A centered European nose with angular cheeks that dropped to a sharp jaw line, held perfectly sized, heart shaped lips that teetered on the verge of having a permanent pout. His thin body was encased in a dark blue uniform that proudly held the Blue Space insigna on the oversized lapel, alongside two medals for employee of the month. The form fitting clothing attempted to conceal somewhat stringy muscles, much like the taut strings on a finely tuned violin. The entire package stood in standard issue from the airline—comfortable looking—shiny black shoes. Felix continued to wonder who he was and what he was doing with his boss.

He looks like a flight attendant to me…wonder why he’s him with him? He’s never brought anybody home before. Oh well, none of my business. I’m already in enough hot water.

The two men slipped into the black leather enclave. Morris realized that he probably should have said something about his driver’s tardiness, but right now, he did not care. He tapped on the glass separating the compartments, just as the man sat down behind the wheel. Felix let it down.

Get me home as soon as you can.

Yes sir…forty five minutes. Felix said with relief. He quickly closed the window before any more trouble came his way.

The speeding limo adroitly wove in and out of the Los Angeles tapestry. Andre sat beside Morris holding onto a vague sense of unease. He began to fidget.

I’m not sure about this. I feel like a fish out of water. We’ve been together a lot. Why am I so uncomfortable? I knew he was eight years older than me…and he’s wealthy…but none of that really matters. I’ve been in love with him since the night we met in that bar.

Morris was also thinking—not the least bit uncomfortable—just thinking

This is a first for me. I’ve never really had a lover, just that one casual affair with David…I’m glad we’ve remained close. He’s been a great friend…but I need more than a friend right now…I’m hoping a relationship with Andre might help ease some of the terrible isolation and loneliness, the pain that’s plagued me for years—well before Mother died.

He shook his head back to the present.

The bar’s fully stocked, he said. what do you want to drink? Andre was shocked at the reversal of positions. He was used to waiting on Morris.

Uuhhhhh, he stammered, I don’t kno…I guess…bourbon and water?

We’ve got both the finest bourbon and the finest water, he joked, that’s a good combination. Just like us. He tapped the music control and the car was instantly soothed by Yanni’s latest CD. Andre seemed to relax. Morris noticed that the indirect, blue lighting was turned all the way down. He caught a faint whiff of perfume. He left the control alone and giggled.

What’s so funny?

Oh, nothing. Just my horny driver and his numerous girlfriends. Nothing, really. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.

Take care of what?

Felix.

It’s really that serious? Are you going to fire him?

Yeah…I don’t want to…but I guess I am, replied Morris, I’ve asked him numerous times to take his lady-friends somewhere else. I mean L.A. has motels. Felix is a good driver. He’s been with me for years and I’m not one to judge, but after all, he is married and this has been going on for a long time. I guess it’s time to let him go.

That’s too bad. I sure wouldn’t want to be him right now…hope you don’t decide to fire me.

Andre joked, but was about half-way serious. Morris laughed.

We got started talking about Felix, but I didn’t forget your drink. He lowered the glass panel that contained the ice well. He dropped two cubes into a crystal glass and poured with one hand, as if he had been born a bartender.

Thanks. Andre scooted closer and put his hand on Morris’ arm. He arranged his feet on the slide-out foot rest and melted into the soft leather. Morris started to make himself a vodka on the rocks, but he thought about his mother’s excessive drinking and changed his mind.

You’re not having anything?

No, I’ve had enough. I’m really not a heavy drinker. He raised an empty glass instead and flashed a perfect white smile that seemed to take the heaviness off the last ten days and their trip from Greenwich.

Here’s to the future. Their glasses clinked.

Would you like it if we spent more time together? Andre warily asked.

I hope this is not just about sex and nothing more. I’m really not sure where this is going.

No, no objection from me, he answered, as a matter-of-fact, I was just thinking the same thing. Here, turn a little, you still look tense. Morris was ecstatic that they were both on the same wave length. He reached over and began to massage Andre’s neck with sturdy hands.

Mmmmmm…That feels so good. You’re right, I guess I am still a little tense. The remainder of his energy flowed out into Morris’ fingers. The young man shifted his body so that his head was lying in Morris’ lap—looking up.

I’m really lucky to be with you right now." He said drowsily

Nope, I’m the lucky one. Morris was always surprised by the man’s almond shaped eyes, not only for their alarming beauty, but for the intelligence and kindness that they held. The kindness now slipping behind spent lids. He took a forefinger and completely closed them. They re-opened long enough to express—Thank you. Andre quickly left the land of the awake.

Morris cradled his head and watched the contrast between the rich and poor of the city speed past his darkened window. The sun rose over the limo—closed tight with privilege—and he could smell the memory of Mexican food as they turned onto La Cienega. He looked down at his sleeping friend and thought about all of the stories that the young man had told him.

He told me how he grew up poor in Compton. The story about having to go to school as a young boy —past drug dealers sporting either their red or blue colors—about graffiti warning rival gangs to keep out, this was their territory. How he had helplessly watched from his bedroom window as his older brother, Tony, died in a shoot-out on the street. He told me how his father was a lifer in San Quentin and he hadn’t seen him since he was ten. He said he didn’t understand how his mother did it. She had two jobs and six kids. He was the baby—about how much innocent fun he had playing with numerous nieces and nephews who were taken in from time to time by his seemingly tireless mother…I don’t care where he came from. He’s made something of himself. I wasn’t sure at first and I took a big risk getting him the job at Blue Space, but he didn’t let me down. He’s proven himself. I know I can trust him now. When I asked him to come home with me, at first it really was about sex, but later tonight I’m going to ask him if he’ll consider being my partner.

The car turned onto Summit Drive into a maze of trees that hid the lives of the rich, famous and powerful of Beverly Hills. The estates were stacked up along the winding, two lane street—each one higher and richer than the last. The only evidence that anyone lived there, were the massive iron gates, barring entry to all but a select few. Morris had not seen her in a few months, but he blew a kiss as they passed the house of one of Hollywood’s living legends. He had decorated her mansion a few years ago and they had remained fast friends. The kiss was a ritual, that as silly as it may have seemed to others, he indulged in whenever he passed.

Their destination was La Rose Blanche—The White Rose. The mansion sat alone, covering the entire top of the hill. It was an exact replica of a French chateau, painstakingly built over five years. Morris’ parents—Max and Mary Jean—had spent their honey-moon in the summer of 1950 in Bordeaux at the original. Thrilled to be back home in the United States and begin the project, they had hired renowned architect—Paolo Nieves—who worked hand in hand with the equally famous landscape artist—Marcus Bollinger—to duplicate the original. The result was a perfect slice of France, perched atop a hill overlooking Los Angeles.

Morris shook Andre’s shoulder as the limo came around the last curve and approached the ivy coated stone walls and a sixteen foot iron gate. Felix reached out his window and entered the code for the security system. The cameras whirred on their bases to record this latest action.

Are we here already? Andre’s sleepy voice said. He tried to rub the slumber from his eyes. He did not need to. They grew round with amazement. He knew that Morris had wealth beyond his understanding, but he had not been prepared for what he saw as the car drove onto the estate.

The drive took longer than you think, sleepy head—but yeah, we’re here, Morris said, the gate house is on the left. Mother’s dear friend, Veronica, is leasing it until she figures out what she wants to do next. She just received her final divorce decree from some South American cattle baron, so trust me, she can afford to go anywhere she wants. Andre was stunned.

I thought this was the main house. It’s huge compared to the one I grew up in.

The car turned to the right, up a long curving incline—lush with green lawns—back dropped by red oleanders and dark pines. Bright yellow marigolds—dripping from last night’s irrigation—lined up in doubles on both sides of the drive and sparkled in the early morning sun. Andre’s gaze was drawn to an even larger house in the distance—off to the right.

"This is incredible. The house is huge!" He turned his head to watch as it slid out of view.

I hate to let you down again, Morris said, but that’s the care-takers house. You can’t see it from here, but there’s another one just like it on the other side. It’s the guest house. Look up the hill. His brain came close to shutting down from overload with what he saw next.

The fifty-two room, three story, ivy covered stone mansion sat on top of the knoll—threatening to level the ground that it stood on with it’s grandeur. The car crunched across pea sized gravel into a circular court and pulled up beside a three tiered fountain, that echoed the centuries old looking stone of the house. The water feature dwarfed the stretch limo. The car stopped. Felix hurriedly opened the door trying to avoid another mistake. Andre emerged first.

My God. I feel like a stick figure beside this fountain. This is unbelievable. I’ve only seen this kind of architecture in Europe.

Fat naked cherubs, happily splashed water onto blood red geraniums surrounding the base. He turned toward Morris as he got out.

Morr…this is…I just…don’t know…what…to say, except it’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. It looks like you moved it straight from Europe. The wonderment of a new discovery and its immaculate grandeur took his breath. Felix took the car toward the garages.

It sort of was—transported from Europe—but I’ll tell you that story later. I want to get you out of those clothes first.

I like the sound of that. I can hardly wait. The rise in his trousers spoke yes to Morris.

Morris threw his arms around Andre’s chest and pressed against his back as they passed through the red, double doors into the white marble entry. They quickened their step in anticipation. Priceless statuary, paintings and antiques blurred past as they rushed through the expansive gallery. The heavy bedroom doors were hastily closed behind them. Unwanted clothes were cast in wanton disregard on the floor. Raw tingling flesh sat down on a leopard print spread atop a huge four poster bed.

You look like an African prince. Morris said.

I’ll be your prince anytime you want. Morris was completely confident that he had made the right decision as he kissed the man..

He’s exactly the kind of comfort I need, now and forever.

That day—the sun slid silently in pale, yellow shafts through the shutters—and shimmered in Mr. Wigglesworth’s golden glass eyes.

SLIPPED

M orris’ mother, Mary Jean—even as a young girl—knew that her family had money. There was the spacious house in Greenwich, Connecticut, nice cars and her pretty clothes. Her mother Louise, always complained that she did not like to share, so Mary Jean considered that she would take her mother up on that. It had been her mother’s decision and since she seemed to feel that way, she considered that all of these nice things belonged to her. She considered another thing on that day, March 30 th . 1943—if it was true that she had money,

Why do I have to work so hard? All of my friends at Ballard Prep. have servants. I don’t understand why I can’t have them too. It’s stupid, but Mama says she doesn’t believe in servants. She says you get what you get from hard work.

Louise Heatherington was firm about it. Her daughter was no exception. Mary Jean rattled the chores off in her head, disgusted with what she considered nonsense.

It’s been four years. Every morning. up at five, get the eggs from the hen house. That one’s not so bad. Check and weed the vegetable garden…ugh…cut flowers for the vases…I could live without it…but worst of all, I have to feed those damn pigs. I can’t seem to get that stink off me no matter how hard I scrub. I hate her for making me do this stuff. What if my friends found out? I would be soooo embarrassed. I even hate that stupid name she gave me. Mary Jean. What kind of dumb name is that anyway? Why couldn’t she have named me Veronica—like my best friend at school, or like Veronica Lake—the movie star. Oh well, If I ever get out of this pig sty of a place…maybe I’ll change it to something I like.

It was warm for the season. Sweat, the heavy smell of lilacs and a cramp in the arch of her foot, woke her up early. She rolled around in the linen sheets for a moment trying to make it stop and then angrily shoved them aside. She sat bolt upright in the bed.

I almost forgot. It’s my birthday. I finally get to be ten.

She glanced at her gold and white enameled clock, with tiny blue flowers. It sat on a homemade dresser in front of an east facing window. Bright light from an antique, Chinese figural lamp arched upward in a semi-circle onto white lace curtains.

It’s only 4:15. What am I going to do with all this time?

She studied the curtains.

I’m still proud of myself for sewing the navy blue ribbon onto the valance. Mama had a hissy fit when she saw what I did. She said those curtains cost a lot of money and I had ruined them. Not to mention, the dress I cut up to get the ribbon. I really didn’t care what she thought. That’s the reason I sewed it on there in the first place. The one on the bottom, where they touch the floor, that really made her mad. I did it just to spite her for yelling at me over the first one. I like it and it’s my room.

She glanced at the clock again.

It’s only 4:30. I’ve still got some time. It was so happy when Daddy George over-ruled Mama last night. It doesn’t happen very often. I loved it. He told her, he didn’t care what she said, I could have my birthday gifts early. If she had caught me eavesdropping, she would have killed me. I wanted to open every single one of them right then and there, but I couldn’t. If I had, then she would’ve known I was listening. I’m glad I waited.

Her bare feet barely touched the blue and cream rug, as her long thin legs sped across the fifteen feet of plank flooring to the blue, silk bench—where her father had carefully placed the packages the night before. He had thought that she was asleep but she had watched him with one anxious eye. She quickly undid the flurry of perfectly tied, white ribbons—placed atop elegant, blue boxes. The ribbons slipped easily off three of the six. Mary Jean carelessly dropped them on the floor. A beautiful blue and white dress was nestled in the first and largest box. White eyelet trim clutched the neckline and a navy satin ribbon balanced on the delicate hem. An overly long, matching satin sash slid through eyelet loops along the high waist. It could be tied up in a fancy bow, in either the front or back.

Black shoes and a pair of white socks with the same ribbon woven through the fold down top, graced the second box. The third one was best of all. She removed the top and snatched out a sterling silver, charm bracelet. She flipped it over, so that she could see the inscription inside better.

It’s Tiffany. Just what I asked for. I can’t wait to show Ronnie. She’ll be so jealous…oh…I hope her mother doesn’t decide to get her one just like it. She always tries to copy everything I do…I’m not going to open the other three, they’re probably just toys or dolls. That’s what she always gets me. I wish she would get it through her head I’m a big girl now. I don’t play with that stuff anymore.

Her up beat mood immediately shifted as she thought about her brother Georgie.

I wonder what he’ll get? His birthday is only two days after mine. Why did it have to be so close? His is on April Fools day and boy is that true. Georgie is a fool just like Mama and I hate him too. He’s been driving us all crazy asking for a pony. I sure hope not. If he gets one, I know I’ll have to feed that damn thing too. Why am I thinking about him anyway. I don’t care what he gets.

She thought about her Daddy George again.

I could hear him yelling at her in the hallway last night.

Louise, Daddy George had emphatically said, right now it really doesn’t matter to me what you think. My daughter is a spirited young lady. She takes after my side of the family in that respect.

"Well, I agree that Mary Jean is spirited. That’s the problem. Just because our daughter asks for something, doesn’t mean she can have it. You spoil her George. What she needs is discipline." Mama said with a sneeze and a scowl.

"Damn it. Discipline is the problem. You know we can afford to hire some help around here. And, I see your face, don’t start with me. You don’t make Georgie do a damn thing. If you really wanna talk about discipline, let’s do that. He’s only two years younger than Mary Jean. You started her doing those chores when she was younger than he is now. He’s old enough to help her. You know Mary Jean is a good girl. She’s so polite. She always says yes sir and yes ma’am—plus she does all of that silly work of yours and doesn’t complain. I said, she can have her birthday gifts early if she wants to. What difference does one day make anyway? Don’t you think it would be nice if she wore them to her party at the Club tomorrow night?