09. I want candi
“I feel a storm approaching.” Candi spoke out loud as was her habit.
“I know Freedom is nigh.”
Candi examined the postmark on the back of the card and read that it
was from Bakersfield. This was Candi’s only clue to the whereabouts
of her dear friend, who corresponded only haphazardly. For, once
again, there was only a penciled sketch on the back. This time it was
a light bulb with strokes emanating from the drawing to represent
illumination. Other cards with similar sketches had been sent from,
Boston, Baltimore, Berlin, Bratislava and Bologna. One time, a
candle, another time, a sun, or a pyramid, or a toaster, all with the
same strokes sketched to represent either light, radiance,
enlightenment or heat. She pinned it to the corkboard inside her
office cubicle out of view of Ralph, with the others that she had
received.
As she continued preparing her desk, she retraced how their lives had
bounced back and forth between the valleys of sacramento and fresno.
They had grown up as neighbors and playmates and were ready to
experience the budding years of teenage adolescence together when she
was suddenly yanked out of sacramento and forced to move to Fresno
with her parents.
She recalled how it took time to fit in but by her senior year she
had become a very popular girl and the head of the cheerleading squad
at Bullock High. She still begrudged the fact that under her picture
and name in the school yearbook was written ’head’ as the final word.
After high school, she used the excuse of further study to get away
from her oppressive parents and was happy to move back to sacramento
to be a student with Libertia who, in the meantime, had anglicized
her name. She remembered the two of them being the torment of aging
art professors, the bane of desire for male art students and the joy
of glamour for the gay ones. To their benefit, getting the good marks
in art was most of the fun.
She bounced back to Fresno before completing her BA to take care of
her lonely father because her mother had contracted the human
variation of mad cow disease and died.
She graduated from Fresno State University and after a series of jobs
in art-related fields, which dead-ended due to the lack of public
funding, she took a post at an ever expanding agra-business as a
receptionist. Not too long after, her father caught the cold that
turned out to be Valley Fever and he too died.
During this entire time, Freedom lingered at Sacramento State until
she received a master’s in art and then spent what seemed like ages,
looking for a job to justify her qualifications. Finally someone did
die and she reluctantly moved with her teenage daughter to Fresno to
take a job teaching photography at the university’s art department.
This time Freedom moved in with her. The two soul sisters were united
again until Freedom married her boss at Realife, bought a mansion in
Clovis and had another daughter.
She had her suspicions about their marriage. Ralph was okay but he
was a guy who owned a very large company and was very busy. She knew
that Freedom was not interested in his money, or the power that it
brought. She determined that Freedom was simply interested in the
convenience of a home, the luxury of living without stress and the
quality time that it provided for producing art.
When tragedy struck however, her assumptions were proven correct.
Freedom’s second daughter got bone cancer and Ralph indeed proved to
be more interested in the business than his daughter’s life. This
proved to be unbearable for Freedom and in the last months before
Electra’s death, Freedom refused to see Ralph, moved in with her and
started divorce proceedings. She felt that it was an appropriate time
to take a leave of absence from her job.
When Electra died, Freedom took little time to sell, trash or burn
most everything from her life in Fresno and took an indefinite hiatus
>from the university. When she was notified that the divorce
proceedings were final, Freedom, having refused alimony, simply
finished packing up the last of her stuff and took off the next day.
She remembered Freedom’s last act was taking an old pair of sneakers,
with the promise that she would throw them into the dried up Fresno
river as a symbolic gesture of no return. For almost a year now, her
only contact with Freedom had been the postcards.
Although Candi had never been introduced to Martin at the time, she
had heard about the affair. How it had started at the Top of the
Hyatte, a cocktail bar on the top floor of the hotel, and how it had
continued until Freedom left town. Her curiosity about the man who
had helped Freedom through a difficult time, had been tweaked.
Although Candi did not agree with most of his politics, it was not
his mind she was fucking. She had improved her bowling average and
knew his secret. For Martin played his game openly, no strings
attached. She knew that their affair would not lead to anything and
could respect him for this type of honesty.
She laid out the Sutters Weekly on her desk, ready to read and went
to make the first pot of coffee. She dumped yesterday’s burnt brew
into the potted plant next to the coffee machine, refilled the coffee
thermos with spring water from the cooler, and proceeded to make a
fresh pot. While it dripped, she collected the tray of dirty coffee
cups and went into the woman’s lavatory where she rinsed them out in
the sink instead of trekking them to the office canteen at the end of
the hall.
Office musak broadcast from the speakers mounted in the bathroom
ceiling, and Candi rehashed her theory on men while washing the mugs.
She compared men to the winds. In her mind, they were good winds.
For example, her flirts with Mr. Cole, a married man with children. They
knew nothing would ever come of it but these warm breezes help create
an informal rapport between them. When the good winds blew stronger,
they stirred up smoldering fires, and offered warm trade and smooth
sailing. These strong drafts blew motivation and renaissance into her
life and caused stagnant air to be let out in stormy gusts. They
carried harvest odors signaling bounty and fresh fruit juice.
However, sometimes a tropical breeze could turn without warning into
a devil duster, disheveling papers, usually bank statements, the
hair, the libido and priorities. Affairs with married men were often
like this, and already the affair with Martin was causing a lot of
hot air to be pushed around.
Mugs rinsed and set on a tray, she preened a bit and decided the
opposite was also true. There were cold winds that went right to the
bone. Nothing grew when the bad winds blew. They could whip
themselves into tornadoes and suddenly descend from out of nowhere,
suck up everything in their path and leave a trail of devastation
behind when they disappeared into thin air. Men are also the bad
winds that cancel dates at the last minute, borrow money never to
return it and disguise the size of their dicks by wearing oversized
neckties or driving SUV’s. They are the icy fists of reality in the
strange world of heterosex.
Candi realized that she had spoken out loud. She looked into the
mirror and was satisfied with her reflection. She picked up the tray
of mugs and went out to the coffee machine to make the first brew.
She noticed a large pink pastry box that had landed on the counter
in front of her desk and walked over to examine it.
“I hope you like it.”
“Ah Oop! Martin!” Candi shouted and felt a bit weak in the knees.
“You scared me!”
“Sorry Hun. Didn’t mean to.” He appeared from behind the water
cooler. “I heard something on the radio and I thought of you.”
“Boy. You gave me quite a shock. Stop doing that to me! You have
this amazing quality.” She walked around her desk to put an object
between them.
“What’s this? What are you unloading on me today, Martin?” She
asked and tapped the box.
Candi heard ringing in her ear. “Pick-up.” She commanded and
answered the call. “Realife. Our chemicals are the building blocks of life.
Candi Powers speaking, how may I help you?”
“Mr. Thorndorn.” A muffled voice said on the other end.
“Oh. I’m sorry. He’s not …,” The line went dead.
“Happy Receptionist Day.” Martin proudly pronounced, tapping the box.
“Yeah it is. And you knew. Thank-you, Martin.”
“I brought you a chocolate glazed Black Forest cake with whipped
cream and candied strawberries from La Bou Bakery. I know you’ll like
it.” He said rubbing his belly.
“Oh, chocolate? Why thank you. That’s really nice. I do like it. I
like it a lot.” She continued, all the time wondering if the others
in the office would even remember.
“Pick-up.” She answered an incoming call. “Hi Jim. Okay. Funny. Yeah.
He’s standing right in front of me. Yeah, I know. He’s here early. Oh
really! Sure. I’d love to. Okay. I’ll take an early lunch.”
“This is really sweet of you.” Candi slowly opened the lid, letting
the neon light of the office cast a beam upon the chocolate wonder.
She began to salivate and lick her lips. Both of their stomachs
growled in unison. Candi giggled and looked over to the smiling
Martin. She released the pastry wonder from its isolation, royally
displaying its presence in the unfolded box. They both stood for a
few seconds staring at its delicious and untainted beauty. The lush
aroma of sugar tickled her nose and Candi was not able to contain
herself any longer, she rubbed her legs together and felt her inner
thighs moisten. She gave a little yelp of glee knowing the light
orgasmic effect it would have upon her upon being swallowed.
“What a cake! Just look at it! It looks like a big chocolate bon-
bon. Oh Martin. We got to eat a piece right now.”
She went over to a filing cabinet opposite her desk where she kept a
supply of accessories for the occasional office party and took out
supplies from the lower drawer. She bent over to allow Martin eyes a
treat as she removed a cake knife, a stack of paper plates and a bag
of white plastic forks. She returned to the counter this time on his
side ready to dissect the cake.
“Oh! What a gorgeous cake.” She raised the blade. “It’s so beautiful,
I don’t want to cut it, but unless I have a piece, I just won’t be
able to concentrate on anything else.” She took a step back and
lowered the blade to her side.
“Here.” Martin said, moving to assist. He placed his arm around her
waist and took her arm in his. “I’ll help you.”
“Hey. You’re a little loose on your feet. What’s wrong?” She held the
balance.
“Oh. Sorry. I’m a little doped up. Something is blooming wildly.”
Together they lowered the knife’s edge onto the cake, the tip
pointing at the center. Candi closed her eyes, took a deep breath,
made a wish and let the knife glide slowly through the three layers
of sugary chocolate.
Opening her eyes, she snuggled a bit closer to Martin glad that he
was at her side. They removed the knife and made a second cut. She
took control of the knife and slid it under the wedge to jiggle it
free from the oval mass. She placed the slice of oozing cream-rippled
dark chocolate cake onto a white paper plate, cleaned the knife with
her fingers, and then licked them free of chocolate splinters.
She murmured a little thank you to Martin whose hands were now firmly
caressing her thighs. She was unable to decipher what he whispered in
her ear but it sounded good.
“Say it again.”
“I said, you’re beautiful.” He moved his hands slowly inwards.
“Oh Martin.” She snuggled deeper, “Is that your cell phone buzzing?”
She turned to give him a kiss on the lips. “I’ll meet you in Mr.
Cole’s office. Get yourself a cup of coffee on the way. I already got
mine. Mr. Cole said he’ll be a half an hour late.”
“Aren’t you going cut yourself a piece?” he asked as she refolded the
box loosely around the cake.
“No. Not yet. We’ll share.”
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