Chapter 32
Chantelle knocked on David’s inn door at 7:33 PM. He opened the door. She was simply stunning in her purple summer dress with swirly paisley patterns. It hung on her slender body so perfectly; it wasn’t too tight, nor too loose.
“Hello there, and don’t you look so gorgeous,” David proclaimed with a big smile.
“Why, thank you. You don’t look like chopped liver, either,” Chantelle added. I wonder where she heard that.
“Ah, you already know some American expressions.”
“You hear a lot of idiomatic English in those checkout lines, my darling.” My darling? Already? Wow!
“Oh, I bet that you hear a lot of things, and see a lot of checking-you-out.” David chuckled. “Well, here, have a seat.” David motioned for her to sit in the armchair. He then sat on the side of the bed, facing her.
“This is a nice room,” she remarked while looking at the textured walls.
“Yeah, it is. I got it because it’s close to everything down here. Walking distance, in fact. No need to drive the car anywhere. I don’t like driving after I’ve been drinking, not even after one beer. Just too risky. The alcohol odor. I just don’t want the hassle at an impromptu roadblock.” Impromptu roadblock?
“That’s smart,” Chantelle said. He’s a bit paranoid, I do believe.
“Where would you like to eat, Chantelle? Any type of cuisine in mind?”
“Pizza! Just kidding. How about some seafood?”
“Sounds like a winner. Port cities always have the best seafood. There’s a place just around the corner with a nice river view.”
David looked at her breasts and imagined what would be happening in the room two hours from now. He had sprouted a bent oozing chub. Wish I could turn that damn thing off.
“Cool! Ready to go?” Chantelle was full of energy. I wonder how big his biroute [penis in French] is.
“Sure,” David said as he rose from his sitting position on the bed with some difficulty. “Let’s head over to Chandler’s Wharf and see what’s popping?” Huh?
“See what’s popping?” Chantelle gave him an inquisitive look. “I don’t think that I’ve heard that expression before.” She was now grinning.
“I hadn’t heard it before, either,” David said as he opened the door for them to exit. He’s as odd as Mark.
<><><>
They were able to get a table with a view of the tea-colored Cape Fear River. A lone tugboat was headed downstream towards the port. The gray, steel-truss Memorial Bridge towered to their left. The burnt-orange sun was steadily approaching the horizon. The shadows were lengthening on the water’s undulating surface. Wow, it looks just like a postcard. I think he really likes me. / She seems content. This is going great.
David began the dinner conversation as he turned his gaze to Chantelle’s mysterious dark eyes. He just hoped that he wouldn’t stutter. Just relax. Go with a comedic ice-breaker.
“Chantelle, tell me about yourself. What do you do besides flirt with guys in the Wally World checkout line?” David gave her an overconfident smirk, replete with a right-eye wink.
“I don’t flirt with every guy that passes through my line.” She was somewhat taken aback by David’s opening salvo, but quickly recovered and got back on her game. “I only flirt with the ones that look like they are up to something big, like you and Mark.” She winked back at him.
“Excuse me, but I think the air went out of my big balloon earlier this afternoon,” David confessed.
“Well, maybe I can pump it back up later tonight.” Wow! No persuading needed with her. This is going to be deliciously easy. I guess the gods are not totally against me.
“I’m sure you can, sexy lady. But, before we get back there, what can you tell me about Mark?”
“Well, not much more than I told you in the store. Our whole conversation only lasted a minute. He seemed to be in quite a rush. He appeared to have something urgent to do.”
“I see. And, you wanted to be with him?” My boy is tripping.
David wanted a straight answer from Chantelle, but doubted he would get one. He tapped his left index finger unconsciously on the fork.
“No, I just wanted to know more about him. I just had this sixth-sense feeling that he was up to something – something big. Maybe he was on some kind of mission.” A golden mission, no less.
“Why did you want to know more about him? Might you be a journalism student at UNCW, [University of North Carolina at Wilmington] Chantelle?”
“No, David, I’m a creative-writing student at Cape Fear Community College. I hope to transfer to UNCW next year. I’m always looking for more material for my future novel.” Novel?
“Oh, a budding, sexy writer. Even more dangerous than a reporter. Novels have a long shelf-life.” That was kind of clever. He’s not all zeroes and ones.
David had got Chantelle to laugh. They were both immensely enjoying the evening. Their minds were churning up future scenarios. He’ll be a good male character study. I wonder if he can really pump it. Really hit it hard. / Well, I got her to laugh. I’ll get her to scream later. I can already feel those long, exotically painted fingernails clawing into my back. Oh, yeah!
The waiter arrived. He was white, of average build with black hair, in his mid-20s, and kind of Italian looking. His long, white, flapping apron brushed against Chantelle’s water glass, nearly snagging and toppling it.
“Woah, that was a close call,” the waiter said as he steadied Chantelle’s water glass. “Are you guys ready to order?”
“What would you like, Chantelle?” David asked.
“Oh, I’m not a big eater,” Chantelle said. “Just a bowl of seafood soup will do for me.”
“What kind of seafood soup, madam?” the waiter asked while pointing to the soup and salad section of the menu.
“Surprise me!” Chantelle exclaimed as she turned and smiled widely at David.
“And for you, sir?” the waiter asked.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” David chimed back.
“Ok, so we’re doubling down on tonight’s mystery soups.” The waiter quickly made the shorthand notations on his pad. “And, anything to drink other than water?” he asked, hoping for an expensive wine order.
“Do you like Moscato, Chantelle?” David asked. Most women love this sweet wine.
“I sure do,” Chantelle gleefully replied. I knew it. / Does he really think that he needs to get me drunk first?
“We’ll split a bottle of the golden Moldovan Moscato,” David told the waiter, as he scratched his right ear. Moldova?
“Very well. Good choice. Your soups should be out in five to seven minutes,” the waiter announced, and then walked away.
“Five to seven minutes, did you catch that, Chantelle?”
“I did. It’s those kinds of lines that will be in my novel. Some of the things I’ve overheard I could never make up. People say the oddest things sometimes.”
“Don’t you need to write it down? Is your memory that good?” David was quite curious as to how she would remember. Does she use some association-based memorization technique?
“Oh, I have my little, digital, audio recorder going,” Chantelle coolly disclosed. “It can record up to thirty-five minutes.”
“Well, I can go longer than that.” David chuckled. I hope I can. I may bust in three minutes on that hot body. / He’ll shoot his first load in four minutes, tops.
“Well, I certainly hope so.” Chantelle gave him a challenging look. “Ah, here comes our soup.”
They took a break from their scintillating dialogue and began to feast on their scrumptious seafood soups. Chantelle’s appeared to be mostly crab; David’s seemed to be mostly white fish with some bay clams sprinkled in.
The restaurant was nearly full now. The waiters were having to hustle. A pot dropped in the kitchen. <clang>
They both finished their soups at the same time. They were gastronomically satiated to the max.
“Boy, that really hit the spot, David.” I hope that I hit her spot later. I want to create an orgasmic frenzy with this super-sexy, young woman.
“Yeah, that was good stuff,” David replied as the waiter came with the wine bottle and glasses.
The waiter poured the wine into each glass until they were half full. He did so in an effeminate manner. “Enjoy,” he said as he left their table.
“Do you think our waiter is gay?” Chantelle curiously asked. Of course, but why does she ask?
“I believe so. His mannerisms remind me of one of my gay friends in Raleigh.”
“My younger brother is gay,” Chantelle blurted out. “He’s having a hard time in high school. He’ll have to go again next year. I think that he’ll end up graduating when he’s nineteen. I think it’s harder when you’re black. And, transferring from Haiti to America at the age of thirteen was tough for him. Do you have any gay relatives?”
“I do, Chantelle – a cousin and an uncle.”
“Have you ever had a homosexual experience?” Wow, right between the eyes.
David tried to regain his poise. “Well, let’s just say that there was one night in Bangkok,” David said aloofly as he nervously chuckled.
“Please elaborate, sir,” Chantelle demanded like a hostile lawyer in a TV-covered courtroom.
“Well, four of us – college buddies from Pitt – went to Bangkok one summer between my junior and senior year. Of course we went trolling for whores. I mean, what college-age male doesn’t in that city of sex? Well, we were drunk and high on something that I can’t even pronounce, and two of us ended up with what they call ‘the third sex’. We were so wasted, and they looked so feminine, that we didn’t realize it at first. I mean they really looked like women, boobs and all.”
“Ok, please continue …”
“Well, to make a long story short, it was the best blowjob of my life and she-he looked better than my ex-girlfriend. I’m still in e-mail contact with Angong. You talk about a subject for a novel. She-he has lived, and continues to live, a mind-blowing life. Ok, now it’s your turn; how about you?” Whew, thank God, he’s not some homophobe.
“Oh, gosh, I can’t tell you how many women have eaten me out.” <gulp> What did she just say? Am I up for this?
“Oh,” David leaked out, very meekly.
“Half of the people who flirt with me in the Wally World checkout line are females.” Whew! Someone pour some ice cubes down my trousers. She’s verbally titillating me, and she knows it. / I think I have his complete attention now.
“Can we go to a commercial now?” David laughed self-consciously as he exhaled through O-shaped lips.
“Don’t worry; I won’t bite it off, David.” Am I going to end up on the news like Mark? She’s got incredible game. Incisive and dissective. [sic] And catalytic!
They started on their second glasses of wine. The setting sun’s reflection was languidly wobbling on the river’s ripples. It was pure Wilmington Chamber of Commerce.
David commenced the new round of dialogue while gazing at some kids on the dock, throwing bread in the water for the river fish to eat.
“Where did you grow up in Haiti, Chantelle?”
“Carrefour,” she nonchalantly replied.
“Never heard of it. Where is that?”
“Just west of Port-au-Prince, on the coast. Our hut was only eight kilometers – or five miles as you say here – from downtown.”
“Hut?”
“Yes, it was just a simple hut for the three of us. Carrefour is a very poor area, David. My dad died when I was only three from a MRSA infection. I really have no memory of him.”
“I’m very sorry, Chantelle. So very sorry.” So much sadness and woe on this globe.
“It’s ok. Everyone has tragedy of one kind or another in their life. It’s not an easy ride for anyone – not even for the rich ones.”
“Were you there when that massive earthquake hit?”
“No, but my mom happened to be visiting. That was in January of 2010. I lost several friends. The country still hasn’t recovered. I really doubt it ever will. Poverty is just a way of life in Haiti, David. The opportunities are just so limited. If you don’t get out by the age of twenty-five, you just resign yourself to an impoverished existence until death.”
“Thanks for sharing this with me,” David said as he looked down at a spider crack in the floor.
“No problem. Thanks for asking. What about you?”
“Oh, just a native Pittsburgher who grew up on the south bank of the Monongahela River in the Mount Washington neighborhood. A very ordinary, middle-class American childhood. The middle brother of a family of five. Good parents. Both still alive. Nothing too dramatic or novel-worthy. Moved to Raleigh after graduating from Pitt.”
“Pit? What’s that? A seed-sowing school.” She guffawed.
“Oh, sorry, Pitt is the University of Pittsburgh.”
They both looked out at the river, and they both had the same thought: Moments like these are so sublime, but so fleeting. The transient-yet-cruel beauty of this passing life.
David rekindled the conversation. “What will be the genre for your novel, Chantelle? Action? Drama? Romance? Mystery? Suspense?” Nymphomania?
“Keep going. It will have all of those in it and more, David.” I’m sure that it will.
“How about some philosophy?” David asked out of a passing wave of lecture-hall-recalling curiosity.
“It will be hiding between the lines,” Chantelle said with a sly smile. She swirled the yellowy wine in her glass. “I really like this wine. It has a very nice, fruity scent and a pleasantly sweet taste. I hate the bitter wines.” I knew it.
“Thanks. A lucky pick, I guess. I really don’t know that much about wines. It takes some age to like the bitter, dry ones, I think. And, well, you’re still a Beaujolais nouveau.”
“Why, thank you, monsieur. [mister in French] Ready for a novel question?”
“Aim high, shoot low, princess. But not too low.” Wow, he called me ‘princess’!
“You’re connected to Mark in some way, aren’t you, David?” Holy Toledo! Where did that come from?
“Why would you think that, Chantelle?” Damn, she’s good. Very perceptive. That, or I’m very obvious. Probably more of the latter. I need to reel it in.
“You asked me about him. Twice. At the store and here. And, you had trouble answering my simple question.”
“Are you sure that you’re not studying to be a lawyer?” Gosh, I hope not. / Should I consider that field?
“Did you kill him?” What the fuck?! / I got him again good.
“Hell no! I was in Raleigh asleep in my bedroom when he went off that bridge. I have an alibi. I can prove it. I didn’t know Mark; I had never met him. There’s no connection between us.” Except that car. / Wow, I sure got his goat with that one.
“Relax, I won’t call the cops just yet.” She started laughing. She was feeling the wine. Man, she played me like a cheap toy with that line. And, I took her bait and made a fool out of myself. Ah, but she’s tipsy. Time to take this fine lass back to the room and impart some penile payback. I’ll get back on the gold track tomorrow morning.
The waiter came back to their table right as they finished the bottle of wine. He had a look of mortal inevitability.
“Was everything up to par, mes amis?” [‘my friends’ in French] Wow, our waiter knows French? Was he eavesdropping? For how long?
“Everything was parfait!” [French for perfect] David exclaimed as he handed the waiter his debit card.
The waiter soon returned with their bill and his bankcard. David signed it, leaving a generous tip.
David then glanced at Chantelle. “Ready to go?”
“Sure,” Chantelle said with a seductive smile.
Chantelle got up and they walked back to The Stammering Man Inn. By the time they got to Ann Street, David’s arm was around her waist. This feels great. I hope he remains nice to me. Please, no Jeckyl and Hyde act. / She sure has taken my mind off of today’s golden disaster. Well, almost.
As they walked down Front Street, David realized that she now had much more information about him with regard to the great gold quest. She had won this opening round. I know that she will use all of this in her novel one day. I’m sure of it. Just please change my name, Chantelle. Please grant me a non-associable alias.
<><><>
Once the inn door closed, their clothes quickly came off. Chantelle slyly slid on a bright purple masquerade mask. Wow, she’s a freak! I’m in for it. And, already up for it.
She immediately went to work on David’s schlong, bringing up a sporting tumescence. She tickled his orbs and wet-vacuumed his phallus. Oh, my … this is heaven on Earth! / I can tell that he’s never had it so good. Never.
David was speechless and breathing in gasps. She was damn good alright, porn-star good, he imagined. Wow, what an artsy look. Her mask is just too damn much. Too cool. She is pure erotic art in action. Dearest and highest God of gods, if it’s not in the cards for me to find that forsaken gold, let me die right now with my boinging bologna in this goddess’ mouth.
David fell back on the bed. Chantelle positioned herself on top of him. They began to 69. Chantelle had applied a lilac perfume on her vulva that made David lick faster. He rubbed her clitoris with his upper lip and nose. Her pelvis was convulsing. Why must all good things come to an end? Why? / I want to mark him with my juices for life. Don’t stop, David. Don’t stop!
David was about to extinguish the flame. He needed a break or he was going to unload in Chantelle’s mouth. He really didn’t want to do that as Chantelle might not be expecting an impromptu protein shake. He was raised to be a gentleman.
“Condom time, dear,” David said from below her lower pelvic wetness.
“Where is it? I’ll do it for you.” Chantelle looked back at him as she remained on all fours like a pony.
David found a condom under the pillow and handed her the individual package. She took it out and rolled it down his swollen member. It was black latex.
“Your bistouquette [penis in French slang] looks Haitian, mon ami,” [‘my friend’ (masculine) in French] Chantelle proudly announced.
David gave a slight chuckle as Chantelle tasted the condom.