Goddess (4 page)

It was a symbol, obviously ancient.

It was my tattoo.

I looked up, almost expecting to see Dr. Stewart smirking, as if this was all a practical joke. Instead, I caught a hint of fascination behind his blue eyes.

He was looking at me, not the screen.

“This is from Magoa?” I asked.

He nodded. “Does it look familiar?”

I didn’t respond to his question. Somehow, to admit that I had seen this symbol many times before felt too intimate, so instead I asked, “Does this have something to do with why the North Koreans kicked you out?”

“For now, I think it’s best if Magoa kept her secrets.” He closed his laptop. “Why don’t we go downstairs? Dessert should be waiting and I can apologize to all my guests.”

He returned the computer and locked his desk drawer. I stepped to the door.

“Mrs. Nelson,” he said. I turned back to him. “I’d be a negligent scientist if I didn’t examine all the evidence.” I looked at him quizzically. “Would you show me your tattoo?” he asked.

I hesitated. Why did I feel as if he had just asked me to strip naked? “All right,” I finally said.

Not wanting him kneeling before me the way Nina had, I pulled over a nearby wooden chair and put my foot up on it. I lifted my pant leg and pulled down my sock.

He crossed to me and leaned over to get a better look. His subtle scent reminded me of fresh mountain air. “You don’t know where you saw this design?”

“I just made it up.”

He looked up at me and for a moment, I was afraid he could see through my deceit. “Either this is an amazing coincidence,” he said with the hint of a wry smile, “or I should be contacting the FBI immediately.”

CHAPTER 3

When I awoke the next morning, Matt was already up, taking advantage of the girls’ late sleeping habits to get some chores done around the house. I could hear him raking leaves in the front yard. Normally, I found the sound familiar and comforting, but today it felt irritating, as if I’d been awakened from a pleasant dream by a startling, discordant noise.

My mind swirled with last night’s encounter. Dr. Stewart didn’t report me to the authorities. Instead, I followed him downstairs to the living room where he announced that he had run into me in the hallway. After apologizing to the gathering and telling them that there had been no progress in the negotiations with the North Koreans, he went to the kitchen and brought out the chocolate torte he had baked earlier. Refusing multiple offers from his students to take one of their seats, he pulled out the piano bench and sat. Taking small forkfuls of the delicious treat and letting them melt on my tongue, I quietly observed him. The atmosphere in the room changed when he entered it, as if his presence distorted space and time, pulling it into his orbit. He said little at first, but his students no longer engaged in frivolous conversation. Instead, they speculated on what would happen to Magoa now that outsiders were no longer allowed there. Everyone feared it would be destroyed, though no one said why. I noticed that Dr. Stewart subtly shifted the conversation by sharing harrowing and amusing stories of living and working with Nina and their North Korean handlers and colleagues on a remote mountain in North Korea.

At one point, Elena went to the kitchen to fetch a fresh bottle of wine. When she returned, she refilled glasses and then squeezed onto the piano bench next to Dr. Stewart. I silently speculated on how he felt about his beautiful young graduate student. It was obvious how she felt about him.

When we got back into our car an hour later, Matt immediately turned to me. “That was strange. He didn’t even ask about your tattoo.”

“I’m sure he thinks it’s just a coincidence.”

“Well, duh. What else would it be?”

~*~

My phone vibrated. I picked it up from my nightstand. It was a text from Van.

Well?

The food was good,
I wrote back.

And Dr. Stewart???

Interesting, arrogant.

Nothing more?

Nothing more.

:-( Van typed back.

I climbed out of bed and went downstairs in my pajamas. I found Anna sitting at the kitchen table, picking the marshmallows out of a bowl of Lucky Charms. I recognized the phone in her hand by its red case covered in faux jewels and a rose. “What are you doing?” I asked.

She looked up, her face serenely innocent. “Eating breakfast and reading Lily’s texts.”

I took the phone out of her hand. “Would you want Lily reading your texts?”

Anna shrugged. “It’s not like she has one iota of interest in my life.”

I glanced at the screen, where a message featured an entire line of winking emoticons. Is this what passed for modern communication? “We try to maintain a semblance of privacy in this family,” I said. I put the phone back in Lily’s discarded backpack.

“Don’t you care that she has a boyfriend?”

“What makes you think that?’

“The fact that some guy named Chase texts her constantly.”

“Maybe he’s a friend.”

Anna rolled her eyes at my ignorance.

“If it’s serious, I’m sure we’ll meet him eventually,” I said.

“Maybe at the wedding,” Anna retorted. She returned to her orange stars and green clovers.

I discovered that Matt had already made coffee. I poured myself a cup and stood by the window, gazing out at the maple tree in our yard. Its scarlet leaves usually made me feel joyful in the fall, but now they reminded me of the cold barrenness that would inevitably follow.

Why did I feel so disappointed?

Did I really expect my encounter with Dr. Stewart to somehow be meaningful? My mood probably stemmed from the knowledge that, now that this distraction was over, I would have to return to the more practical pursuit of finding semi-gainful employment.

I located the laptop where Mackenzie had left it on the back of the toilet and sat down in the living room to log onto job listing sites. I saw nothing new. If I was going to change my life, I would need to be bold and aggressive.

I heard the back door open and Matt pour himself a cup of coffee. He came into the living room, leaves still clinging to his sweatshirt. I watched the steam rise from his cup. “Lily doesn’t have practice this morning?” he asked.

“Sunday.” Matt was hopeless at keeping up with the girls’ schedules. “Are you still taking Lily and Anna to the football game this afternoon?”

“That’s the plan.” I felt a twinge of jealousy. Now that Lily drove herself to practice, I barely spent time with her anymore.

“Matt, I just don’t know what to do about this job search. Nothing seems right for me.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem.”

He took a long sip of coffee. “I still don’t understand why you’re even looking for a job. We’re doing fine.”

“You’re doing fine,” I said. “I need something more than this.”

“You could wait until the girls are a little older. You’ll have more free time then.”

I shut the computer and frowned at him. “I’ll be 55 when Mackenzie goes to college. I’ll be lucky to find a job as greeter at Wal-Mart.”

Matt sighed. “All right, well I’m going out to fix that shelf in the garage.”

I watched him turn and leave. Matt kept himself occupied with work and home projects. I’m sure it was much easier for him emotionally than having to deal with a house full of girls.

~*~

That afternoon, Matt rounded up Lily and Anna. I watched them join a throng of college students dressed in school colors and gripping plastic cups of beer heading down the sidewalk towards the university’s football stadium.

Mackenzie, who had little interest in sports, spectator or participatory, was already on a play date at a friend’s house. I straightened up a little, considered returning to the job search, but instead went upstairs and got back into bed. The house was warm but it felt good to pull the covers over me and hide inside their comforting cocoon.

My thoughts strayed again to last night’s gathering at Dr. Stewart’s house. I envied his students, who all seemed passionate and dedicated to their work. Of course, who knew what self-doubts they silently harbored.

As for Ashland Stewart, I suspected there was more beneath his penetrating eyes and confident demeanor. Did archeology make him happy? The Wikipedia entry didn’t mention him remarrying after his first wife’s death. Perhaps, like Matt, he escaped into work so he wouldn’t have to deal with more complicated relationships.

I don’t know how long I dozed, but when I awoke, I recognized a familiar itch deep in my groin. I’d noticed about a year ago that I didn’t masturbate as often as I used to. The urge just didn’t feel as strong. I had put it down to busyness or age. But today, the desire I discovered coursing through was like a hot geyser that had suddenly broken through a heavy crust. The covers now felt sweaty and suffocating. I shoved them off and climbed out of bed.

I pulled opened a dresser drawer. Underneath the dull white underwear, I found a cloth pouch. Inside was my little blue friend, the same model I had given Van.

I climbed into bed and turned it on. It hummed invitingly as I slipped it under the covers, where the sound would be muted.

I was already wet even before I touched it to my clitoris. I let the tip do a slow dance around my erect nub, shivering from the electric pleasure.

I lay back, trying to relax, knowing that focusing on getting to climax would only prevent me from reaching it.

I allowed my mind to go blank. I didn’t want to think of anything. I just wanted to lose myself, to center my consciousness on the moment. As the pleasure increased, I spread my legs wider and turned the vibrator to its highest setting. The intensity increased tenfold, spreading up and down my body in waves, parting my lips and curling my toes.

A thought drifted into my mind—a strong hand, the fingertips firm but smooth, skillfully manipulating my clit. His eyes, as deep and blue as the sea, melting into mine, reveling in my pleasure, making it his own. I could feel his hard cock pressed against my leg as he lay against me. I wanted it inside me. I wanted him badly.

I jerked my hand away.
What the fuck?
Why was I thinking about Ashland Stewart? I sometimes thought about former lovers when I masturbated—the skillful ones. But this was unconscious and unwelcome, as if he had slipped into my bed unbidden.

I quickly wiped off my vibrator and returned it to its home. I got dressed, feeling dissatisfied and disoriented.

~*~

Two weeks passed. I continued my mundane life of shuttling children, making calls for the PTA, and occasionally applying for jobs, mostly out of a sense of obligation. I managed to push Magoa and Ashland Stewart out of my mind, at least during daylight hours. But at night, after I drifted off to sleep, my dreams pulled me into uncharted waters.

I stand in front of the PTA board, going over details of the upcoming carnival. But in addition to the usual parents, Nina is there, along with the rest of the graduate students. Then I spot him, standing at the back of the room, his arms folded across his chest as he observes me. He doesn’t look at my face. Instead, his eyes turn downward, focusing on my tattoo.

I woke with a start. I hadn’t dreamed of the tattoo in years, and of all the places I saw it in my sleep, it had never been on me.

~*~

The phone call came shortly after I returned from dropping Anna at school. This time I immediately recognized the number. “Hi Julia,” the caller said. “It’s Nina Hwan.”

“Hi,” I answered. I hoped she wasn’t going to invite me to another dinner.

“I was calling to see if you’d be interested in a position in the archeology department.”

“A position?” I was completely confused.

“Yes, a job. We need a document translated from 16
th
Century Spanish. I understand you have some experience with the language.”

“I’ve translated literature from that period, but that was right out of graduate school.”

“Would you be available to come in Monday for an interview?”

~*~

I zipped my jacket up to where the metal scratched at my neck and rubbed my arms vigorously, trying to fend off Lake Michigan’s cold embrace. The sun hung dully in the washed out sky. Dog beach, which seemed so hopeful and welcoming on bright summer mornings, now felt like a grumpy neighbor I wanted to avoid.

I had called Van immediately, catching her out on her morning run. We had agreed to meet here. Only a few other dogs and their human companions had braved the lakefront chill. But with so many thoughts racing through my head, I needed to get out of the house for a while. Van, dressed in sweats, stood next to me as we watched CC cavort happily on the beach, racing back and forth with the other hounds that eagerly chased balls thrown for them. CC was never much of a retriever, which suited me fine. I wasn’t much of a thrower.

“Why not take it?” Van asked, offering me a sip of her coffee. She looked amazing as always, a baseball cap pulled tightly over her head against the wind, her face perfect without makeup.

“For one thing, they haven’t offered it to me. And it just seems strange. How did Nina know that I’d done translation work?”

“You posted your resume online for the world to see.”

“Not the archeological world.”

Van frowned at me. “Maybe you told someone at the party.”

“I do find myself quoting
Don Quixote
at odd moments. But there has to be more qualified people than me.”

“Not desperate enough to work for grad student wages. Besides, she knows you, she likes you, and you live close by.”

“Your logic is beginning to annoy me.”

“As is your intransigence. I don’t think it’s the job that’s bothering you.”

“What is it then?”

“Ashland Stewart.”

I gazed out at the gray water. It reminded me of my initial reaction to him—brusque and off-putting, but at the same time, mesmerizing. “This has nothing to do with him.”

“Are you sure?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve avoided talking about him since that night you met. You can’t blame a gal for wondering if something more went on in his office.”

I tried to hand Van back her cup but she shook her head. She could see how much I needed the jolt of warmth. “I hate to disappoint, but my tattoo and I didn’t exactly knock his socks off.”

“You must have done something to impress him or Nina. Who knows, maybe this is a chance to solve the mystery of your tattoo.”

CC ran up to me again, eager for another small token of affection on his wet fur. “Don’t get your hopes up. The answer is probably going to be a lot less exciting than an Indiana Jones movie.”