Afternoon Delight

Glen took Tara by the hand and lead her down the windowless side of the house. Tara's breathing was shallow. She was excited that Glen had finally agreed to let her see what he called his 'best work yet.' She knew he was taking a big risk bringing her here. She'd seen pictures—of the barren yard before Glen worked his magic; of the ponds, the waterfall and the secret cave that now filled the two acres; and of the owner, Maurice Paquette, a man whose custom-tailored shirts couldn't hide the neck tattoos he'd gotten in prison.

Glen, with his 1993 Sportster, sleeves of ink, and obvious working-class roots grounding his successful garden design business, immediately connected with Maurice. Despite some similarities in their life paths, theirs was not a friendship but a respectful business relationship. And bringing Tara to Maurice's yard was a clear violation of his contract terms. Glen punched the gate code and the two gained access to the oasis, hidden behind a house that had more barred windows than Folsom State Prison.

"You can look around for five minutes, then we'll go back to the van and wait for Maurice. If he catches you in here…"

Tara stood open-mouthed, breathing in the energy of the lush landscape, "It's so beautiful. God, you're talented." She grabbed Glen's hand, "Show me the cave?"

Glen shook his head muttering, "bad idea," but walked her across to the far side of the yard anyway.

Tara had been fantasizing about making love with Glen in that cave since she'd seen the pictures. And now that she was standing inside it, hidden by the cascade of water falling over the rock steps, any fear she'd had of trespassing in a known gangster's yard had evaporated, replaced by an urgent need to have Glen inside her. She pulled off her sun dress, pressed Glen's hand against her naked sex and plead, "Just for five minutes…please…"

***

Glen inhaled quickly as his hand touched Tara, driving all the air from his tightened lower abdomen right into his ballooning boxers. "Tara," he moaned, "we can't. There's no time."

"We'll be quick," she said, unzipping his pants. Tara smiled, "you'll never get yourself back into your jeans in this condition, anyway."

Glen was conflicted. He, too, had imagined getting dirty with his wife in many of the more private areas of the garden, but he also knew that getting caught would be life-changing. Testosterone and adrenaline fought with common sense. "If he finds us…"

"What can he do?" she whispered in his ear, pressing her breasts into his ribs, "He can't fire you. You've already finished the job. Now…finish me…Please!"

Glen wrapped his right hand around Tara's buttocks and lifted her several inches off the floor, holding her up with just one arm, balancing her against his thigh while he guided himself into her with his other hand. Tara wrapped her legs around Glen’s waist with an ease that a Cirque de Soleil acrobat would be envious of.

“Not so tight. You’re cutting off the blood,” he cautioned, admiring her muscle-tone, revelling in her passion.

"I love you," Tara said through an open-mouthed kiss. She closed her eyes and pictured Glen, shirt off, tattooed muscles covered in sweat and dirt as he dug the pond, carried rocks, stirred concrete. She loved his strength and how he smelled after a day of work. Tara bit at Glen's neck and he pulled his head back, arching his hips towards her, pushing in deeper.

Tara climaxed the only way she knew how: loudly. Glen's eyes popped open, simultaneous concern and release.

"Shh," he breathed as he lowered Tara's feet back to the ground. She sunk down the wall and lay splayed on the floor, fulfilled and out-of-breath. Glen pulled his pants back up before kneeling down to kiss Tara's breasts, her neck and lips.

"Mmm," they moaned together, then he pushed himself up to sitting, leaned against the wall, and looked toward the curtain of water.

"Oh, shit," he said, under his breath.

Tara followed Glen's gaze and responded silently, curling her legs and arms tightly around her naked body, like a small child trying to make herself invisible to the monster in the corner of her bedroom.

"Don't…move…" Glen inhaled the words, drawing out the vowels and softening the consonants, blending them with the sound of the falling water.

Tara didn't need to be told twice. She cast her eyes across the floor without turning her head, hoping her dress was close by; she'd suddenly become quite cold.

***

Glen stood up quickly, looked for something to wipe on his hands—dirt, concrete dust, anything—but he'd done too good a job cleaning the cave. He pursed his lips in a silent kiss toward Tara and climbed up the six steps to the small passage along the inside wall adjacent to the waterfall, reached as far over his head as he could to find dirt from the garden above and dug his left hand in. He grabbed a fistful of soil, rubbed it all over his hands then onto his pants just before popping out from behind the wall of water.

"Maurice! I, uh, just wanted to check on the moisture…the humidity in the cave."

Maurice turned slowly toward Glen, "You're still working? Hm. Most guys would be sitting in their trucks just waiting for the check. But not you…"

"I, uh, I love this yard. I don't know how to thank you for the opportunity."

"Not at all. I owe you the thanks. Masterful job," Maurice said, turning his back and walking slowly toward the gate, whistling. Glen followed, using all of his willpower not to look back toward the waterfall. He decided he'd leave Tara hidden and come back for her after dark, when Maurice was out or asleep.

They reached the corner where the house and gate met and Maurice handed Glen an envelope of cash, "Your final payment. It's all there…plus a little extra, for agreeing to not include this yard in your portfolio."

"It kills me—"

"Don't let it," Maurice laughed, giving Glen a hard slap on the back as he opened the gate door.

A man Glen had never seen before crouched in front of him. He was working on the key pad lock.

"Changing the access code," Maurice said as explanation.

Glen hesitated and looked back to the waterfall with fear on his brow.

Maurice watched him, "You look concerned. Did you forget something?"

Glen patted down his pockets, "My utility knife. I, uh, I had it in the cave. I think I must have left it in there. Do you mind?" he asked, pointing to the cave.

"Of course not."

Glen's heart pounded in ears. He forced himself to walk slowly. He had no idea how to get Tara out without Maurice seeing her, but he knew he couldn't leave her locked in the yard. Above the entire perimeter of the oasis, razor wire lay hidden in the hedges and trees, pressed tight along the top of fifteen-foot walls. There was no way out other than through the gate they'd entered, which would be impossible to open with its new code, or through the house which, anyone who looked at the structure could tell, would not end well for a trespasser.

Glen felt weak from fear, almost falling against the walls of the hidden corridor, trying to figure out how to get Tara out without invoking Maurice's wrath. Before he'd stepped down into the cave, he saw it was empty. No wife. No daisy sundress. He wanted to run from the cave, calling her name. He forgot about Maurice. Forgot why he was filled with fear. All he knew was that needed to have Tara in his arms. Protected. Safe. Alive.

Glen ran from the cave like his life depended on it. Right into Maurice and Tara, who were looking in awe at the giant koi swimming close to the surface in the pond connected to the waterfall.

"What are you doing—" Glen yelled more than asked. His fear a perfect mask, sounding like rage.

"Honey, I'm sorry," Tara interrupted. "But you were taking so long… and I just wanted to have a peek. I'm sorry. I told Mr. Paquette that you told me to wait in the van, but honey, you've been so excited about this yard. I just wanted a tiny peek," Tara said, keeping flirtatious eyes and a gentle hand on Maurice.

"Maurice. I'm… speechless. I'm sorry. Please. Accept my apologies for my wife's—"

"Glen," Maurice paused and shook his head, "of all the families we are born into or become part of, the partnership with your wife is the one that requires the most honesty. I'd be a fool to think you'd be able to keep your best work a secret from her, if for no other reason than it's obvious how proud she is of you and your talent." He turned and looked at Tara, "May I show you around?"

"I'd be delighted!" she said linking her arm around Maurice's, giving Glen a wink. Glen sat down on the bench by the koi pond and tried to get his heart rate back to a non-hospitalization level.

***

Tara felt confident that she’d win Maurice over. Not knowing if he’d seen her and Glen in the cave, she decided to assume he hadn’t. But being totally naked under her dress made Tara feel more vulnerable than she liked. She walked with her hands pressed against her legs to avoid an accidental Marilyn Monroe moment.

Maurice and Tara disappeared along the west side of the property. Maurice pointed out and named a dozen types of shrubs and flowering plants. He carefully watched Tara's eyes and where she was looking, trying to keep her focused on the areas of the yard that he was most interested in showing her—and away from what he didn't want her to see. When Tara gazed up to a section of fir hedge, squinting, Maurice quickly redirected her to a second pond, in the middle of the acreage.

"You're going to love this," he said, taking her by the hand, walking toward a large rock sculpture mid-pond. "It's quite amazing. I assume you've seen Glen's design papers?"

Uncomfortable with Maurice’s grip, she nodded without thinking.

Maurice's scowl was hidden by the mottled light. "See how the streams of water coming from the top are directed to allow only a mist on the plants but not drown them? Glen is a truly talented artist."

Tara pulled her hand from Maurice and placed it on her collar bone, "My man!"

"What else did you see in his design? What can I show you?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's all so gorgeous."

"You must know about the secret cave."

Tara couldn't contain her smile.

"How about the wine cellars?" Maurice asked.

"Those looked…odd. On paper, at least. I'm sure they must look spectacular in real life."

"Those are at the back of the property. Let's see if you can spot them. I challenged Glen to make them blend in so only I could find them. Want to see how well you know your man?" Maurice challenged.

At that moment Tara had a flash of intuition and knew it would be best not to find them. She took three steps in the direction Maurice pointed her, gasped and stood up straight, "Maurice? This is embarrassing. I, uh, suddenly need to visit the ladies room. Do you have a guest bathroom I could use?"

"Just keep walking," he said, warmth in the curl of his lips, but a chill in his voice. Maurice placed his hand on Tara's back.

***

From where Glen sat it appeared Maurice and Tara were having a cozy conversation but he couldn't shake the image of Tara struggling to escape from one of the concrete cellars at the back of the property.

As soon as they were out of sight, Glen stood and ran toward an unmarked path through the shrubs and trees, hoping to reach the cellars before his boss and Tara. The approach was risky. Glen ducked under a branch that, had he touched it, would have dropped on his head, breaking his neck. Where the path narrowed between two hedges, he turned sideways gliding slowly between the rows of razor wire hidden at chest-level. His final obstacle was the hardest to outmanoeuvre—a pair of motion-sensitive cameras connected to a speaker and amplifier that would announce his presence when triggered. The only way past them was to pull himself along the ground on his belly, a set-up that allowed for Maurice's three pit bulls to roam the property freely.

Glen reached the six camouflaged cellars out-of-breath and covered in dirt. He collapsed on the ground and tried to think of a way to convince Maurice to let the two of them leave. Alive.

"I'm impressed and disappointed," Maurice said when he and Tara reached Glen. "You could so easily have left her here. You realize that now I'll have to use two cellars,” he looked at them both with a tilted head, "or maybe, you'd like to be buried together?"

"Maurice, please," Glen said, standing and moving toward his boss, hand outstretched with the envelope he'd just received, "I'll do the job as a gift. Here."

"You betrayed my trust. I can't accept that. And you put your wife's life at-risk. For what? A quickie in a cave?" Maurice shook his head in disgust.

Tara looked from Glen to Maurice. In a hand-to-hand battle, Glen could take Maurice in two hits, max. But against a gun? Too much risk. What would Maurice expect? Crying, pleading, an argument, negotiation. A punch from Glen, perhaps. To be knocked out cold by a five-foot-four waif? Never.

Tara threw herself into Glen's arms, “I’m so sorry.” She made a small jump and Glen lifted her easily, putting one hand on the small of Tara's back, the other behind his own back, under her legs. He reached and grabbed her foot and then punched it. They made eye contact and she understood immediately.

"Say your goodbyes," Maurice said toward the ground flowers as he knelt and felt around the side of an oval rock. Finding the hold, he grunted and bent his back as he pushed the rock sideways. The garden started to make mechanical noises as gears and pulleys strained to push hundreds of pounds of soil and plants into the air. What seconds ago had looked like a section of traditional English garden now conjured a scene from a Tim Burton landscape, with the ragged edges of garden broken in entirely the wrong places and moving skyward on heavy metal stilts.

While Maurice focused on the artistic and engineering feat that Glen had created, Tara quietly repositioned herself high in Glen's arms, her head above his, her hands firmly planted on his shoulder muscles.

"Which one of you wants this one? Or have you decided to share?" Maurice asked, looking up at them as he stood.

Without a word, Glen stepped toward the hole then turned to face Maurice. He moved his hands to Tara's waist and in one motion, spun her around and lifted her up. Tara shot her legs straight out in front of her with the force of a twelve-gauge while Glen steered the direction of her movement, making sure both feet connected—one dead-center in Maurice's chest, the other on his chin and nose.

Maurice fell backward toward the hole and hit the raised concrete platform of grass and garden hard, right at kidney level. He collapsed on the edge of the cellar, dropping his gun into the hole. It took three seconds before they heard it hit ground. Glen was already on top of Maurice, his steel-toed boot pushing deep into Maurice’s gut, inching him backward toward the hole. Maurice held Glen’s leg with all his strength and when he finally rolled off the edge, Glen was pulled to the ground, landing on his back. He reached behind him and grabbed for the stilt holding up the ground cover. Once he had a grip he flipped to his stomach and pulled himself, with Maurice still attached to his ankles, back onto solid ground. Tara steadied herself against the platform and launched her heel right into Maurice’s already bloody nose. His head jerked back. The rest of his body followed. His cursing was stopped short by the thud of his body hitting ground.

"How do you close this thing?" Tara asked, mild panic in her voice.

Glen just shook his head, “He can't get out."

"But—"

"We're not killing him.”

"But he was—"

"No. We'll get the hell out of here and call the police…ah, shit…if we can still get out."

They bolted toward the house and the gate to find the locksmith sitting on the bench by the koi pond, smoking a cigarette.

"Dude, Mr. Paquette will kill you if he catches you smoking in here," Glen said, bent over to catch his breath.

The locksmith rolled his eyes.

"Seriously. You'll be in so much shit. How much does he owe you?"

"Two hundred."

Glen pulled three new bills from his envelope and handed them to the locksmith, "You better leave with us. Mr. Paquette doesn't like strangers in his yard. And he's going to be awhile, anyway."

The lock's pins whirled and clicked into place as the gate closed behind the three, returning the sanctuary to its private nature.