Have You Seen Her?

I finished page six, and there looks to be a page seven for tomorrow.

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She showed him the casino. She took him inside the plain building, and found plain art-work sparsely littered about the room. There were eight to ten rounded oblong tables, indented on one side to mark where the dealer sits, black rims encasing a green sea as smooth as velvet. There was a fireplace directly across the entrance, with fancy pokers off to the right in a golden holder. That was all that was in the casino. Damien noticed the stark contrast from the hall and the casino, and Mary explained that members had complained of too much distraction while gambling—they even had to remove the bar (it instead being replaced with a register to cash in one’s chips). One could, however, still order food and drinks from the dining hall. He nodded in a vacant agreement. The casino had a wonderful view outside of the man-made lake near the sixth hole of the golf course.

She showed him the pool area, the massage parlor, the sauna. She showed him the garden with its botanical marvels. She showed him the walk-in humidor. She showed him the stables with the faux race track, and the trails that extended into the hills of the 158 acres. She told him that some of the members would hunt those fields, killing small game. She showed him the monument to the original members and the owner of the club, a huge bronze Xerxes, fiercely holding a sword high in the air, charging at nothing but stuffed bank accounts. She showed him wealth, status, and power. She showed him a superficial life, where caprice was the order of the day. She showed him a life that he very much despised, a life that Darius very much wanted to lead. It dawned on him fuzzily that he and Darius would soon be parting ways.

The sun was about to set when pretty Mary K. said, "there’s one last place I need to show you." They left the inaccurate monument, (Xerxes fought no battles, but would rather watch the results from afar) and headed past the casino toward the golf course. Damien was more sober: his steps were sure, although he was now holding Mary K.’s hand. In the cool air he felt flushed, hot, and charged. He felt like lightning striking; he had a feeling of falling fast, faster, fastest. He was being pulled downward by a gravity that only sobriety would recognize.

They headed toward the sixth hole, onto the green, the rough, and then out of bounds. They were behind the lake, past the bushes, and came upon a tool shed.
"How do you know about this place?"
"I started here as a caddy; you discover things when you’re a caddy."
"How old are you?"
"Old enough."

They embraced. They kissed. They removed garments as if they were on fire, and they were on fire. Damien was no longer tame or shy, but alive, electric. Everything was moving—the sun setting, their hands, the bushes in the wind—everything was mercurial. They did as spontaneity mandated, and it mandated much. It ordered them to thrust, moan, rise, and fall. It commanded them to live and die. It pushed them to know each other. It coerced them into frantic motion, a silly, awkward dance stuck on repeat. And when they thought they were finished, spontaneity demanded it again.

Pretty Mary K. was more beautiful with her eyes reflecting the rising moon. She didn’t know his secret, or at least he thought she didn’t—he never knew what women knew when they knew someone. He noticed a locket in the shape of a heart around her neck, and said, without thinking:
"You’re my queen of hearts."
"You should go, it’s almost time for the tournament." She got up and began dressing.
"Okay." He followed suit.