David Lewis
Once Upon Again
PROLOGUE
We are but ripples on the ocean of existence. During our brief passages here we often take the shallow view, believing life begins with our birth and ends with our death. We assume because we feel separate, we are separate. We conclude that because we cannot remember other places and other times, there are no other places and times. We see ourselves with narrow eyes and feel ourselves with tiny hearts, frightened of the destination instead of celebrating the journey. Now and again, what we were shows us what we are. Now and again, what we have been calls us toward what we can be. Once upon again, we may be offered the opportunity to discover that we are no more separate from what has gone before than waves are separate from the sea.
The surf crashes.
Foam-filled, on sullen shore
It swirls against the rocks until,
Content, it slips quietly back to sea.
The surf crashes.
Tamiko Asaruka
ONE
Do not believe
Winter to be the end
Of anything.
Within its cold heart
Begins the Spring.
Stephanie’s voice floated up the stairway and into Lucin’s dressing room. “Ms. Montgomery, the car is here!”
“I’ll be right down,” Lucin answered, checking her lip liner in the vanity mirror and slipping her stockinged feet into her most comfortable pair of Italian loafers.
In the hall she paused to admire a pale peach rose nestled amid a spray of baby’s breath in a bud vase at the top of the stairway. It was a nice reminder that spring would arrive soon and removed a bit of heaviness from her step as she descended the staircase.
“I’ll just be a couple of hours,” she said,
shrugging into her wool overcoat. “Please set out the service for lunch.
“Yes, Ma’am,” came the reply from the kitchen.
“Oh, and Stephanie?” she smiled. “The rose is lovely. Thank you.” She stepped out the side door to find James waiting under the overhang in her new, dark green Jaguar.
The car and James O’Doud were both a compromise.
Her husband wanted her to have a slightly stretched Mercedes and a
full-time driver. She wanted a Miata and to be left alone. They settled on
a Jaguar and James to drive her through the winter, until the streets were
more navigable and she better knew her way around
He smiled at her. “And what is it that ya think you’re doin’ now? You’re supposed to be me passenger, not a co-pilot,” he said.
“And you are supposed to be a driver and not criticize the lady of the manor,” she countered, tossing her hair.
He chuckled. “At least I don’t have to be wearin’ a uniform. And where are we off to today, M’Lady and fair?”
A retired firefighter turned limo driver, he jumped at the chance for a few months of full-time employment. Harrison Montgomery paid well, James had his own room, ate at least two meals a day at the house and, in his third winter after Katherine’s death, he had no one to answer to and his time was his own. With the extra cash, tarpon fishing off the Keys was closer every day. Plus, it was nice to have Mrs. M as a regular client. He enjoyed kidding with her, and the company of a young woman was pleasant. She and his own daughter were about the same age. He hadn’t seen Mary Ruth since Katherine’s funeral.
Lucin watched the block-by-block progression of the
city as the neighborhood gave way to smaller, half-million dollar homes,
shifting to old pseudo-Spanish facades on converted apartment buildings
that segued into the neo-Spanish architecture of the Country Club Plaza,
one of the nation’s most celebrated shopping districts. From Neiman
Marcus, Eddie Bauer, and Laura Ashley, to Gap Kids and the Sharper Image,
to small exclusive shops and trendy restaurants, the Plaza was
continuously crowded and busy. Fox jackets and mink coats shouldered along
the slippery sidewalks side by side with Gore-Tex and layered sweatshirts.
It was a cacophony of color and culture that cut through the swirling
flakes and almost brightened the leaden, overcast day, but it was still
James eased the Jag to the crest of the hill on
“If ya find it agreeable, Ma’am,” he said, turning slightly in his seat to face her, “I’ll be runnin’ a few errands for Stephanie and return in about an hour, traffic permitting.”
“That’s fine,” she smiled. “Enjoy your shopping.”
“Sure, and ya know I will, Ma’am,” he replied. “Like root canal.”
As Lucin stepped out of the car, she noticed the shop next to Nails! In her other two visits to the center, its windows had been covered in heavy, white paper and masking tape, the contents secret from passers-by. Today all that was gone. In the window hung a lovely sign in muted pastels that appeared to have been hand-painted. It showed an elegant white crane balanced delicately on one foot. Beside the crane was a single word. “Wa.”
The bell above the door jangled as she entered the nail shop and Jolee, the owner and proprietor, came bustling up from the rear of the building.
“Good mornin’, Sweetie. I just got here myself.” She smiled, then glanced out the front windows. “Lord, look at that snow come down. Take a seat. I got coffee goin’, and I brought a Thermos of hot chocolate from home. Take your pick.”
“Hot chocolate sounds wonderful,” Lucin replied, hanging up her coat. “Perfect for a day like this.”
“Honey, there ain’t nothin’ perfect for a day like this except a good man and a good bed,” Jolee said, filling two Styrofoam cups with the pungent liquid. “They got stores full of good beds. I don’t know where the hell you find a good man,” she twinkled. “But that ain’t never stopped me from looking.”
“I have one,” Lucin quickly responded, taking an offered cup and sitting at a manicure table.
“Not sayin’ you don’t. There are one or two out there. Hell, most men are good enough if they think it’s part of foreplay, or until the sweat dries,” she laughed, pushing a strand of runaway red hair off her forehead and tugging at a bra strap.
Lucin smiled in spite of herself. “Do you really feel that way?”
Jolee sat on the other side of the table and examined her make-up in a mirror, picking at a small clot of black eyeliner. “Sweetie, I love men. Always have. I love their smell, I love their taste, I love a good growl in my ear, and I even appreciate a little whisker burn in certain areas, but most of ‘em need to lose a couple of hundred pounds of ugly fat and just leave the important parts behind. I can snore all by myself!”
Lucin giggled. “Any exceptions to that?”
“Every damn one of ‘em for a little while,” Jolee laughed, pushing a soaking bowl across the table. “I ain’t been a virgin for twenty years, and my only regret is that it ain’t been twenty-one.”
“You certainly seem … liberated.”
“That ain’t Latin for easy, is it?”
Lucin blushed. “No! Oh, no. I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant at all!”
“Relax, Honey,” soothed Jolee. “I’m just givin’ you a little shit. No offense taken.”
“You just seem so self-actualized about men. So comfortable with who you are and what you want.”
“I figured out a long time ago that Fairy Tales are scary. Poison apples, witches spells, long sleeps, dwarves, dragons … Jesus! Who needs that shit? All of us are just what we are. Some people go through their whole lives denyin’ their natures, or worryin’ about consequences, fussin’ over some useless version of morality, or waiting for Prince Charming to show up, build a picket fence, and mow the yard. Lots a’ women spend their days expectin’ something to happen instead of accepting what does. You can waste a lot of time expectin’. If you accept, then you don’t like it, it’s a hell of a lot easier to change the situation or move on, whatever works for you.”
Lucin sat quietly for a while as Jolee concentrated
on her cuticles, rolling over in her mind what the other woman had said.
The plain truth was, Jolee had hit a nerve or two. While Lucin was not
dissatisfied about her relationship with
“You’re thinking too much,” Jolee commented.
“What?”
“You’re thinking too much.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I’m psychic.”
Lucin gave the other woman a skeptical glance.
“Your hands are tense. When you think too much, your hands get stiff and rigid. Relax, you’re making me work too hard.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Get out of your head and get into your heart. I can see in the little lines around your eyes that you’re not the happiest camper in the park. This is only your third visit here and we don’t know each other very well, but I hold hands for a living, Honey. When you hold as many hands as I do, you get to where you can read people a little from it.”
Lucin raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” answered Jolee, lifting her own eyebrow. Both women laughed.
“Okay,” Lucin said. “Analyze me. I can take it.”
“Alright. First of all, you’ve told me you’re new to Kaycee. I’d say you feel displaced, you have no friends here, you got more money than God, you don’t have anything to do, you’re bored, you live in some big, old, impersonal house, you lack a sense of purpose, and you ain’t gettin’ enough.”
Lucin felt her face redden.
“Gotcha, huh, Honey.”
“Can we talk about something else?”
“What else is there?”
In spite of herself, Lucin giggled.
“Don’t get me wrong,” continued Jolee. “I’m not makin’ judgments, I’m not attackin’ anybody. Your husband may be the finest man on the planet. None of what I said applies to him. This is your situation. If you don’t like it, it is up to you to change it. Start with the boredom. Volunteer at a hospital, get a job, take up a hobby, start a project. Enjoy. Find something that will charge you up and relax you at the same time. You’ll sleep better.”
“That’s your prescription, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Actually I do have sort of a project. There is a
guesthouse on our property that is terribly run-down. In the old days it
was probably servant’s quarters. I’ve never even been inside it.
“Your husband’s name is
“Yes.”
“What do you call him?”
“
“Uh-huh. So why don’t you fix up the house?”
“I don’t know how he would want it.”
“What difference does that make? It’s your project. Do whatever you want. Express yourself, Sweetie. It’ll be good for you! Have some fun.”
“It would be fun.”
“You’d have something to do, a way to be creative, kick the boredom and have something of your own. Sounds great to me.” She slid back from the table. “You’re all done, unless you want some color on these nails, or American flags and rhinestones.”
Lucin smiled. “They’re fine just short and buffed.”
“No spirit of adventure,” Jolee grinned, standing up. Lucin’s cell phone rang and she spoke briefly as she retrieved her wallet from her purse and presented a credit card.
“My ride is going to be late,” she said. “Maybe I’ll go next door and look around. What do you know about the new store?”
“It’s an import business for all kinds of oriental stuff. The guy that owns it is named Tommy something. He’s Japanese or Chinese and he’ll bring a lump to your throat. He’s been in here a couple of times. Reminds me of a cat.” Jolee displayed a wicked little grin. “Now, Tommy would be a great way to spend a snowy day!”
Lucin laughed. “You’re terrible!”
“Just honest, Sweetie. Same time next week?”
“That’ll be fine.”
“Next time I see you, I want you to have a project or a hobby. Get yourself some way to pass the time and have fun.”
Slipping into her coat, Lucin looked at Jolee. “What do you do?” she asked.
Jolee smiled. “Whisker burn, Sweetie. Lots and lots of whisker burn.” They laughed together, again.
When Lucin stepped into the store next door she immediately smelled the scent of jasmine and heard the sound of dripping water. To her left, just inside the door, was a pool surrounded by rocks, a trickle of water flowing in darting pathways down one large stone, weeping onto the rippling surface. She stepped up to it and stood as if transfixed, watching the play of light upon the water, catching an occasional flash of white on orange beneath the surface. She did not notice her muscles relax, her breathing slow, her pulse rate drop. She was not aware of the release of tension in her body, the escape of the mundane from her mind. There was only the water, the sound, and the jasmine. As simple as that, it claimed her.
“Pardon me.”
The words pulled her back with a small start and an almost audible rush of reality. Slightly dizzy, she looked to her right. An oriental man regarded her with a level gaze from deep brown eyes. He was dressed in a black turtleneck and pleated black slacks, less than six feet tall with long hair pulled into a ponytail. Slender, he stood with a relaxed poise usually seen only among dancers.
“Konnichi wa,” he said. “Hello. Welcome to my shop.” His eyes glinted with just a trace of amusement.
“Hello,” replied Lucin, fussing with her coat and purse, slightly confused and trying to focus. “I th-think your pond is lovely.”
“Domo,” he smiled, “Thank you. You’ve been standing here gazing at it for nearly twenty minutes. I thought, perhaps, I should come bring you back.”
“Twenty minutes? No!”
“Yes,” he said, his smile widening into a grin. His teeth were very white.
“Oh, I’m sorry!”
“Sorrow should not be a part of this. I have gained great face. This pond is of my design and construction. Your meditation does me honor. You have paid me a wonderful compliment.”
“It truly is lovely,” Lucin replied, still reaching for her composure. “I don’t know what happened to me. I just went away, I guess.”
“In
“You’re from
“Yes.”
“You speak English beautifully.”
“I have lived here since I was three. I speak Japanese horribly.” He smiled. “Please excuse me. You have been so kind in enjoying my pond, and I am being terribly rude. I am Tamiko Asaruka.” He bowed deeply from the waist. In reflex, Lucin bobbed a bit. It seemed to amuse him. “And you?”
“Ah, Lucin Montgomery. It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Uh …”
“Call me Tami. It’s much simpler,” he replied, extending his hand. She took it almost reluctantly, as if wary of the contact. The handshake was brief, warm, and dry. She felt relieved, but the glint of humor that rose in his eyes at their touch kept her cautious.
Through the window she saw James arrive in the Jaguar. “There’s my ride,” she said, nearly gratefully. “I must go. It’s been nice to meet you Mister … uh, Tami.” She started for the door, and he moved beside her, his hand lightly grazing the small of her back. Warmth spread up her spine and settled at the nape of her neck. Slightly shocked, she turned to move away from him, but he stood six feet distant, the hint of a smile on his lips.
“Dozo. Please visit me again, Lucin-san,” he said with a small bow. “I will count the moments until you return.”
Tamiko Asaruka watched her rush through the snow to the familiarity of her waiting car and smiled to himself.
“It is good to see you, Child,” he whispered, his eyes losing focus with memory. “You have come, and now it begins again. Yokoso oide kudasareta. Once more, welcome to my house.”
THREE
Visions come
As if in slumber.
More than dreams,
Faint in
Wakeful remembrance.
Even with a completely clear sky, the temperature remained several degrees above freezing, and Lucin was quite comfortable as she walked across the lawn, past the garage, and toward the stand of trees. A nearly full moon brightened the occasional residual patch of snow, and the swishing friction of the ski-suit added a rhythmic counterpoint to the subtle thud of her boot heels in the grass. She carried with her a flashlight and a folded garbage bag. The light to investigate the interior of the building, the bag to collect anything she might want to take back to the house. There was little wind. With every second or third step she walked through the moon-whitened vapor of her breath. Lucin smiled. Relaxed from her bath and nude under her coverall, she moved through a nearly perfect night. As she cleared the elms, she saw the water.
The cobbled area beside the old servant’s quarters was covered in a pool. About twenty feet across and roughly circular in shape, water had seeped up through the earth, filling the slight depression as the dense stones pushed their way down into the sodden dirt. In the light of day it would have been seen for what it was, little more than an overgrown mud puddle, but at night, especially this night, under the crystal sky and the immense moon, the puddle was a miracle. Its luminescent surface shimmered slightly, moonshadow from crisp winter elm branches traced their leafless webs upon the ground, and moonlight became dancing silver, almost too bright for the night. Lucin’s breath caught in her throat, and she took a half step to keep her balance. Nearly mesmerized, she dropped the garbage bag to the ground and sat upon it cross-legged, watching the water.
The rippling interplay of light and dark performed for her. Motes of moonlight, fallen from limitless height, flickered and frolicked above deceptive depths, and all was reflected in her eyes. The darkness pulled back from expanding luminescence as the refracted slivers of silver filled her vision, her mind, her being. A sigh came from within and without her as she released the here and now. With the freedom of that release, the water lifted her, and the moon carried her away.
In an hour, a day, a year, a century, it left her as it had come, now kneeling and watching the gentle flicker of water on a moonlight night, sitting on her heels by a pond. Moving her eyes from the water, she saw the delicate bridge extending to the tiny island in the middle of the pool, the sentinel stones holding the bridge in place, the sleeping hyacinth and pine, the exquisite cherry and dwarf plum trees, the carefully raked path, the artful bamboo fencing, the elegant tea house across the pond, all made larger and more distant by darkness and mysterious moonglow. The planking on which she sat trembled from footfalls, and she turned to see the Mama-san striding in her direction, an oil lamp in her hand. Dressed in a night kimono of plain white cotton, her hair held from total disarray by pins, the woman smiled down at her.
“Child, what are you doing? Why are you not in the sleeping chamber? You are not dressed for such a cool night, and you should have been asleep three sticks ago!”
“Gomen nasai, so sorry, Mama-san. I only came out to watch the moon-water for a while. It is very beautiful, neh?”
“Yes, it is and so are you, too beautiful to become old and wrinkled at age eight. I would have to give you to the eta if you were old and wrinkled. They could teach you to skin cats. Would you like to learn to skin cats?”
“Iye, no, Mama-san. I am too pretty to learn anything from the eta,” smiled the child. “I will grow to be lovely and learn from you.”
“And what will you learn from me?”
“I will learn to make music and sing and dance and tell stories. And I will learn the honorable art of pillowing and how to make men happy in their Peerless Parts with my Vermilion Chamber.”
The older woman laughed. “Yes, you shall, Child. That is why I paid your father such an outrageous sum for you. You will learn all those things and much more. But if you are to learn, you must first be obedient, neh?”
“Hai, Mama-san. I must be obedient.”
“And why must you be obedient?”
“It is my duty, Mama-san.”
“Hai! Duty is everything, Child. Your duty to me, a wife’s duty to her husband, a husband’s duty to his lord, the lord’s duty to the emperor. All life is duty, is it not?”
“All of life is duty, Mama-san.”
“Then will you stop coming out here and sitting all night? It makes you too sleepy to do your chores.”
“I will try, Mama-san, but it is so lovely here.”
“I do not usually bargain with my property, Child, but you are exceptional and show such promise, I will bargain with you. Will you strike a bargain with me?”
“Hai, Mama-san, dozo. Please.”
“Very well,” the old woman smiled indulgently, “here is my bargain. Since you love to sit in the garden and watch the moon on the water, I will allow you to do so one night each week, and I will sit with you and teach you to drink tea from an empty cup. Is that fair?”
“Yes! Oh, very yes!” beamed the child.
“Good! Then we have struck our bargain. From this moment you and I begin again. For you to become a courtesan of the first rank, which is the reason I brought you here, you can no longer be who you once were. Only the most beautiful lilies bloom on the pond at night. From this night forward you will be called Moon Blossom. Is that agreeable with you?”
“Arigato goziemashita, Mama-san! Thank you, thank you! I am in your debt!”
“A debt that will reward me handsomely, after you learn about singing, dancing, the art of pillowing, Beauteous Barbs, and Golden Gullies, neh?”
“Hai! Arigato, Mama-sama!”
“And eventually, Moon Blossom, it is I who will be in your debt.”
“Wakarimasen, Mama-san. I don’t understand.”
“You will, Child. You will,” said the old woman. She stood and bowed formally to the young girl. “Yokoso oide kudasareta, Moon Blossom. Welcome to my house.”
The child stood and returned the formal bow. “Domo arigato, Mama-san. Thank you.”
“Ichi ban, Blossom-san. Very good. Now, enjoy your time in the garden for no more than another stick, then do your duty and go to bed, or I shall call the eta to come take you away.” The woman stalked off into the night, muttering about ungrateful children.
Moon Blossom returned her gaze to the moonlight on the water, full of joy to have begun her new life of learning all about singing, dancing, pillowing, Beauteous Barbs, and Golden Gullies. Eventually the flickering motes rose from the water to engulfed her and lift her up. When she again returned to herself, she was sitting cross-legged, looking at a large mud puddle lightly coated with ice, shivering from the cold, with legs that felt like wood. Carefully Lucin eased her numb limbs out in front of her and wiggled her bottom on the garbage bag. Groaning with pain, she attempted to rub some circulation back into her knees and calves while even more cold crept up through the seat of her ski-suit. After a time, she creaked to her feet and stood rubbing her backside.
“Golden Gully, my ice-covered ass!” she muttered to the night. “Frozen gully is more like it!”
Slightly embarrassed at her vocabulary and laughing at her choice of words, she limped off in the dark, through the trees and toward the house. By the time she reached her room, most of what had occurred by the puddle had retreated from her conscious mind. A hot shower steamed warmth back into her bottom and legs, and she crawled into bed, barely awake. The next morning she opened her eyes to again find herself sleeping nude, with a pillow high between her thighs and thoughts of Peerless Parts and Vermilion Chambers, Beauteous Barbs and Golden Gullies dancing in her head.
“What?” she asked aloud, groggy and confused, as she levered herself up on one arm. Her weight shifted on the pillow and a ricochet of pleasure flashed between her legs.
“Oh!” she said, and fell back to her side, opening her thighs and pulling the pillow even higher. Another flash. “Uuuh.” Sleep tugged at her, but so did the pillow. Only semi-aware of her actions, she reached behind her with one hand to hold it firmly against her bottom, while she held a corner of it in front of her and pulled upward, unconsciously finding a rhythm of movement between her and the silk-covered goose down. Not fully awake and not completely asleep, freed momentarily of inhibitions, deliciously female and delightfully independent, with shadowy thoughts of barbs and gullies manifesting in her semi-conscious mind, she slid on the slick silk, seeking only sensation. Grunting, as she pulled upward on the pillowcase, her right hand grazed her breast, and she sought its rapidly hardening peak.
“Jesus,” she murmured, moistening her lips, and
then again, “Jesus!” as she jerked into total wakefulness.
Puritan embarrassment slapped through her, and she tore herself away from
both the pillow and the moment, flopping to her back and trembling.
Independent of her will, her hands sought more pleasure, and she rebuffed
them, lurching from the bed and striding toward her dressing room,
uncertain of her feet, uncertain in her mind. Running her fingers through
her hair to free some tangles and keep her hands busy, she grabbed the
first jeans she saw, a rather snug pair of
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