American Lavender

"Why only single women? Just because it was the man who had the nightmare?"

"Oh, well, it had to do with the type of nightmare. Something about being attacked by a young woman who comes after every man who stays in this room. Like I said, I don't believe it, but..."

"I see." I was more amused than scared. "But what does that have to do with Steve asking if I was single?"

"I'm not going to dignify it with an explanation," Renee said. "Not for now, anyway. Look, if there is a problem tonight, I'll have Julia put you in another room for the rest of your stay, okay? I don't think there will be a problem, but -- full disclosure, you know?"

"Understood," I said. "Thanks. Now when's dinner and what can I wear that will impress Julia?"

Renee laughed and insisted on bringing my packed shirts downstairs to be ironed, and advised me to just be ready with plenty of stories of Singapore, and I was left to enjoy my haunted room on my own until dinnertime.

If there were any ghosts in there, they left me alone through my bath and an hour or so of catching up on business on my laptop in the armchair by the window, and even dressing for dinner once my newly pressed shirts were delivered. I had nearly forgotten the whole thing when I stepped downstairs at six o'clock for dinner.

Julia was looking delighted to see me when the maître d' showed me to the VIP table. "God, I was so afraid I was going to be stuck alone with those two!" she said, patting my back as I took my seat beside her.

"Which two?"

"Renee and Steve. He's back, and evidently he's on the short list for the job, because he's been in a really high-strung mood even for him. Tom, I know they're your friends and I shouldn't talk too much here, but..."

"It's okay, Julia," I said. "Renee is an old friend. Steve isn't. None of us ever understood what she saw in him." The dining room was filling up and I was getting a lot of quizzical looks from people I didn't know, but who probably knew who I was. So I was glad to have someone to talk to, even if the subject wasn't a favorite of mine.

"Just between you and me, Tom, I think Renee's starting to wonder the same," Julia said. "I mean, you heard what she said today about hoping he gets the job? It's been like that an awful lot lately. Word is he's got a mistress in Boston, and Renee doesn't even seem to care."

"I wouldn't be surprised," I confessed. "Say, what's this about the Lavender room being haunted?"

"God, I can't believe Steve put you in that room!" Julia said. "It's something everyone who grew up here heard about this place. I didn't believe it myself -- I wouldn't have come to work here if I did -- but then that poor guy we put in that room the first weekend...unh, I'll tell you later!"

I looked up and saw why she'd dropped the subject: Renee was arriving at the table, with Steve in tow. I hadn't seen him since their wedding years before, not even on our videoconference calls, but he hadn't changed a whole lot. Still tanned, rested and arrogant as all getout, and still under the impression that I ought to be delighted to see him. "Thomas!" he declared with a politician's grin.

I stood up and shook his hand. "Hi, Steve," I said, passing over in silence that not even my mother called me Thomas. "Good to see you," I lied.

"How do you like how we've spent your money so foolishly?" he asked, waving an arm around the dining room.

"It's Renee's money, not mine, and I love it," I said, retaking my seat.

"Man, you haven't changed!" he laughed. "Still can't take a joke."

"Steve, knock it off," Renee said. "He's right, they were my stock options and he didn't just give them to me."

"And I'm really proud of all she's done with the place," I added, knowing that would rub him the wrong way but I just couldn't resist.

"All she's done?" Steve demanded. "What am I, just along for the ride here?" None of us responding to his nonsense as the soup and salads were being set before us, Steve switched gears. "So what's up with this designer's daughter we heard so much about, Tom?"

"She's doing fine, as far as I know," I said. "We haven't been in touch for a few months now."

"What happened? Trouble in paradise, Tom?"

I smiled and sipped my wine. "I'm not going to answer that, because that is exactly the sort of thing that always leads to you telling me I sound bitter no matter how hard I try not to. You'll just have to take my word for it that I'm not bitter."

"Why would I want to do that?" Steve demanded. "Julia, you should've seen this guy back at Claxton. You couldn't even say 'How're you doin'?' without a whole spiel about how miserable he was, every damn time."

"In other words, he answered your question, Steve," Renee noted drily. I nodded my thanks.

"Well, yeah, but who actually answers you when you ask 'How're you doin'?' I mean, come on! But I guess you did all right for yourself, didn't you, Tom? How's your family, by the way?"

"They're fine, thanks."

"So you have gotten back in touch with them?"

"Nope."

"Then how the hell do you know --"

"Steve!" Renee twisted her linen napkin in both fists. "Knock it off, would you?"

"I'm just asking!"

Renee shook her head and then looked across him at me. "Tom, I don't think we asked, how was the flight from Singapore? I'm considering a trip there next summer, you know."

A natural-born hostess, she had no trouble steering the conversation into safer waters for the rest of the evening, and after a while Steve gave it a rest with his nonsense. He was the first to excuse himself after dessert. As soon as he was gone, Renee stood up as well. "I always thank the guests for coming and ask them for feedback," she explained. "I'll see you in the morning, Tom?"

"I hope so," I said. I chuckled at my comment, but neither woman responded in kind.

Once Renee was out of earshot, I said, "Please tell me she at least has a separate place to sleep."

"She lives in the staff quarters here, in the basement," Julia said. "I have a room there too. The rest of us aren't supposed to know about it, but he moved out months ago. He has a room in town."

"I'm glad to hear that," I said. As the room was emptying out now, I figured I had to either make my own exit or invite Julia to join me elsewhere. Though she looked open to that, I decided it wasn't really appropriate. "Well, thanks for making dinner a lot less uncomfortable, you know," I said. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, unless I'm carried off by the ghost in my room."

"Don't joke about that, Tom!" Julia looked dead serious, and I felt a bit guilty, but I didn't comment further. "Listen, if anything does go wrong in there, call me, all right?" She got a scrap of paper out of her purse and wrote her room phone number on it. "Even if it's in the middle of the night, call me, okay?"

"Thanks," I said, taking the number. "I will, of course." I knew I would do nothing of the sort, but I couldn't deny her sincerity.

As I retired to the Lavender room, I was already toying with stories I might regale Julia with in the morning. How might I impress her without going too far and insulting her beliefs in this ghost that no one had yet told me much of anything about. Or would it be more impressive to say nothing of note happened overnight, which was still very much what I expected?

Through the haze of the two drinks I'd had with dinner, I reviewed my email and tied up a few loose ends, and then put a movie on television and relaxed until sometime past eleven. By then I'd nearly forgotten the stories I'd heard -- or really hadn't yet heard -- about the room. As I brushed my teeth and undressed and climbed into bed -- I hadn't owned any pajamas in years -- I was content and not at all frightened.

The moon was big and bright over the ocean. I thought I'd drawn the curtains, but evidently I hadn't, for the moonlight was nearly bright enough to read by and it had the room looking even more quaint and effeminate. As I sat up in bed and gazed around the room, I marveled at how different it looked -- older, more lived in, yet somehow more alive. The window was open and a fierce breeze was blowing in off the water, bringing a surprising scent of lavender rather than saltwater, but I wasn't perturbed.

Not even when I heard the voice. It was a woman, but it wasn't Julia or Renee or any other woman I knew. "Peter. You came. I knew you would!"

I turned my head toward the door, and there she stood. The room was bigger than I remembered, and after a moment's confusion I knew why: the bathroom was gone. That corner of the room housed what looked like a dollhouse in the corner, and an ancient radio. Once I saw the radio, I heard it too, playing some long-forgotten pop song through tinny old speakers.

She was standing by the radio, dressed something like Renee had been but with her dark hair in a more elaborate 'do. She held out her arms. "Come dance with me, Peter," she said, in a wonderfully pungent New England accent as if "Peter" had no Rs.

"I..." I pulled the sheets around me, more in embarrassment than fright. "I can't, I'm...not wearing anything," I said.

"Silly boy, you know I'll let you undress me if you come over here!" She stepped up to the bed, and I tried to clutch the sheets to me but she pulled them away as if my hands weren't there. Once again I found I wasn't scared, but I was fairly humiliated as she gazed hungrily upon my body, and I felt it reacting in kind. My high school health teacher's explanation -- "You can get an erection when you're scared" -- roared through my mind, yet I didn't feel scared as I looked up at her. She was magnificent. But she was also fully clothed, and I was bare and defenseless.

"Lovely view, Peter," she said, reaching out her hand. "But surely you don't expect me to just look at it all night."

"I'm not Peter." But my hand was drawn to hers as if to a magnet.

She pulled me to my feet, then grabbed me by the shoulders. "Of course you are! Why are you doing this to me, Peter? You climb into my room, and all that we're both risking with that, now you want to play games?"

"But --"

"But nothing!" She stepped back and yanked her blouse and skirt off in rapid succession. "After all we've been through, now we're free to run off and live happily ever after. But first, we consummate our love! We talked about this, Peter, we want to leave Father something to remember!"

"I...I...uh..." She was dressed in ancient panties that covered acres of flesh and a dowdy bra that looked like it could hold up a pair of watermelons, and I felt like I was looking into a porn video starring my great grandmother. I was more horrified than titillated.

She snickered, utterly misinterpreting my speechlessness. "Don't be shy, it's all yours now, Peter!" she said, rubbing her still-bound breasts. "Worth the wait, I'm sure?" She spun around and held her long dark ringlets out of the way to reveal the clasp of her bra. "Set them free, willya?"

I felt my hands reaching for it, then at last I found my strength and pulled back.

She looked over her shoulder at me. "What, you think they bite? They don't!"

"I'm sure they're beautiful. But I told you, I'm not Peter."

"We are not going to play this game again!" she snapped. Turning back around to face me, she reached back and undid her bra herself. "We can go as slow as you want, but you are mine and I am going to mate with you, right here in this room, before we leave!" As her breasts fell free, she grabbed both my hands and placed them firmly on her supple flesh. "Now then, doesn't that feel divine?"

In spite of myself, it did indeed.

"Now, as I said, we are going to seal the deal in this bed, Peter. Either make a woman of me, or I'll scream and you'll be thrown in jail for rape before you know what's happened!"

"But I'm...not...Peter." My resolve was slipping by the second as I felt her nipples stiffen at my touch and she pulled her panties down. It would indeed look terrible if she did call for help.

"And I'm not Rita Hayworth, Peter. But I'm yours!" With that she leapt at me and kissed me hard on the lips before I had any chance to pull back, and for good measure she pulled my right hand off her breast and guided it between her thighs. She had an old fashioned thick bush, and my hand felt delightful buried in it in spite of myself. Once again feeling out of control, I found my way inside her with two of my fingers and my thumb found her clit, and she grunted with joy as I did. "That's it!" she said out loud. "Knew you could find it, Peter!" She wrapped her fingers tightly around my hard cock. "You do want to do it, don't you?" she asked in a sweet voice that belay her harsh grip -- it almost hurt, and there was no doubt it would hurt if she didn't like my answer.

"Course I do." There was no way out, and with her pussy enveloping my fingers deliciously, I wasn't sure I even wanted one now.

"Good answer!" She let me go and gave me a playful shove, and I tumbled back onto the bed. I had neither time nor resolve left to fight before she climbed on top and guided me inside her with both hands. "Now then..." Her voice dissolved into giggles of pleasure as she squeezed me triumphantly in her hard-won feminine embrace, and then into throaty moans as she began rocking hard and fast.

Hadn't she said something about screaming if I wouldn't have sex with her? Now she was screaming plenty as we did do the deed. I comforted myself with the thought that no one would believe it was rape when she sounded so very happy, at least.

And as filthy as she was happy.

"Ram it all the way up, honey! Gimme it all! Fill up my hole! Fuck me hard, Peter!" And worse. Wonderfully, delightfully worse.

I felt myself getting close, and couldn't really say anything in response in the heat of the moment.

As I could hear her moans growing shorter and more intense and I knew she was close too, she took my face in her hands and gazed down at me. "Tell me you love me, Peter."

"I..."

"Peter?"

"I -- I love..."

Just as I was about to burst, she stopped, still clenching me deep inside her and still holding my cheeks like a vice. "You're not Peter!"

My heart was in my throat, but I managed to say, "I told you I wasn't."

She pulled off me and stood up at the foot of the bed. "Father!" she bellowed at the top of her lungs.

I burst awake. After a moment's confusion, I sat up in a cold sweat and heaved a deep sigh of relief as I realized I was alone, and the room was back to the way it had looked when I turned out the light. With the panic receding, I turned the bedside lamp on and stood up. There'd be no getting back to sleep any time soon, that I knew, so I went into the bathroom and drew a glass of water. As I drank it, I peeled back the curtain and looked out the window at the dark sea, and tried to concentrate on the barely-visible waves as I calmed down.

So that was the ghost, I guessed, and she was real. But who was Peter?

She didn't come back that night, but I didn't get much sleep either. I guess it must have shown on my face when I went downstairs for breakfast, because when Julia turned up in another brightly colored dress and with a smile for all the guests, that smile vanished when she lay eyes on me.

"Good morning," I said, and even I could hear I sounded tired.

"Oh no, Tom!" She sat down across the table from me and her voice dropped to a whisper. "You met Penny last night, didn't you?"

"Is that her name?"

Julia nodded. "And she called you Peter, didn't she?"

"Yes, but then she figured out I wasn't at...well, at an inopportune moment." I couldn't help laughing in spite of the terror I'd brought back to mind.

Julia joined in. "I think I know what you mean, and I'm so sorry you had to go through that!" She looked around for Renee or any of the other managers, but they weren't around. "Listen, I'm forbidden to discuss it where anyone else might overhear us. Care to join me on the beach at lunchtime? I'll be on break and we can talk then."

"That'll be fine," I said. "Listen, though, do me a favor."

"Anything, Tom."

"Don't tell Steve about any of this. I don't want him knowing he won."

"I won't, but he didn't win, Tom. You made it through the night, didn't you?"

"Barely," I said with a wry grin.

"I'd better get back to the others for now," she said, standing up. "More coffee?"

"Definitely."

I had a couple of videoconference calls to muddle through, and then took a walk in town to kill an hour or so -- and to try to come to terms with just what I'd been through last night. What might have happened if I hadn't woken up? Would she be back tonight?

And what to make of Julia? I found myself liking her more by the minute. But that wouldn't do right now, would it?

Whether it would do or not, it was happening. And when I got to the beach at the appointed hour, I got a rather clear hint that the feeling was mutual. Since Julia had mentioned that it was her lunchbreak, I figured she'd still be in her work clothes for our walk on the beach. Instead, as I came down the steps onto the sand, she greeted me in a beautiful two-tone blue one-piece swimsuit. "Tom, you made it!" she said, betraying no sign of embarrassment.

I did my best to follow her lead. "Yes, thanks," I said. "Sorry I'm not dressed for the occasion," I added, forcing myself to look only at her face -- it was not easy.

"Oh, no problem!" She took my arm and pulled me gently out onto the sand. "Come on over here where we'll have a little privacy. By the way, Steve was hanging around the office this morning and he asked how you were doing. I said fine. The fool has no idea."

"Thanks." Now we were a decent distance from the other beachgoers and the waves were providing background noise. "Now, just who is this Penny? And Peter?"

"Yes, of course." Julia took a deep breath, which made her breasts stand out just a little more, making it harder for me to remain the gentleman I was trying to be. "Penny Farnsworth was the only daughter of Winston Farnsworth Junior, who inherited the mansion from his father. They were bankers, I think, with some old money mixed in from the Boston brahmins. My mother was a little girl when they still lived here and even then, no one seemed sure where their money came from. But everyone knew they had lots of it. And Penny...well, you can imagine what the only daughter of a family like that was like!"

"I know the type all right," I said.

"I think her father wanted her to marry an oilman's son or something like that. Instead, the summer she was eighteen, she fell in love with a servant."

"Peter, no doubt."

"Exactly. And this Peter, apparently he was the kind of hopeless romantic who thought if only he could make her father see how much he loved her, he'd let them be together."

I laughed. "Oh, dear God!"

"You can see where this is going, then, Tom. Peter did try to talk to the old man, and when he realized what was going on he fired Peter on the spot and ordered Penny to never set eyes on him again. But of course they didn't stop seeing one another."

"Peter climbed up into Penny's room, did he?"

"Yes, and you know now which room that was. They made plans to elope, and apparently Penny wanted to make love in her bed there before they did, just as a kiss-off to her father."

"I know. Three guesses as to how I know."

"Oh, geez, Tom, I'm so sorry! Is it true that the room smells of lavender when she comes in?"

I nodded.

"It was her favorite scent, I guess, and even the servants used to call her room 'the lavender room' behind her back, because they said you could smell it all up and down the hall. That's why we still call it that, and that's why Renee thought it was a good idea to paint the house lavender, to play with the legend. Anyway, the story goes that they set a date, and she talked him into coming back on that date and having sex in her bed before they ran off. But someone overheard their plans -- maybe one of her brothers, maybe a servant, no one knows just who -- and when Mr. Farnsworth learned about it, he...created an accident."