Villa Incognito

'Expensive mushroom shop. Ten letters…down.'

If I knew the answer to a question like this I wouldn't be sitting on the couch at 3 am, trying to use up the last of the firewood for both me and the dog. If I had the ability to fill in this blank I wouldn't need the half eaten peanut butter sandwich, the Seinfeld reruns, or this robe. I would be upstairs in bed, eyes shut, with my arm draped around the one person who ever gave a fuck about what I did, and how I was, and what happened to me. I would be there, not here.

'What kind of shop sells mushrooms specially?'

Sometimes I wonder how it all happened, how I was able to get away with it and move on with my life. Does anyone still know what I did, do they even care? It's not as if I could have helped doing it, my mind all warped and trapped like a fish in a bowl, unable to venture out alone. Everything just sort of happened to me, covered me in the blackness, before I could ask for a reprieve. And it was the girl who came along amidst all the bullshit and lost hope that opened my eyes and made me see that I still had a chance. It was her, somehow who changed me, brought me back to myself.

"Mort?"

"Yeah babe, I'm coming."

'Aha. You Times' bastards. Ten letters down, number 34…Apothecary.'

Funny how sometimes all it takes is a while longer, just a bit more time to focus, in order to solve a problem, in order to free yourself from the blank spaces. I've found my answer finally, and it's not ten letters down or eight across, it's a lot easier than that. It began with a house…

Chapter 1: Roxanne

(8 months earlier)

It was noon on the lake. Riley was spread out, paws to hind legs across the end of the bed, just covering my feet for warmth, despite the fact that it was about 80 degrees. Short breathing and nose twitching, this is our unified signal for waking up, late risers, late fallers indeed. I sat up in bed, stretching and cracking my jaw like it might help for once. It never does. Riley's chocolate ears were draped and wiggling as he greeted me tongue to hand. "Thanks Rye, as if I didn't stink enough." I managed to get my fingers halfway through the sick, tangled mess that is my hair. God knows when I took a shower last, three…four nights ago? Days weren't worth counting anymore; I was too busy to worry about bathing. "Come on, let's go eat." We ran downstairs together, ritual. It's our exercise routine. I hadn't gone shopping in almost a week, and knew there would be nothing to eat, but that hardly ever fazes me from digging through the cupboards, fridge, and pantry. "Hmmm…chicken noodle soup…and…Oreos?" 

Riley stood mockingly beside me, his tail whipping against my leg, tongue dripping in hunger, and those sad eyes. He's such a baby, acts like one of those starving children on TV. For ten dollars a month…you can help feed the dumbass dog. I just filled his bowl up with dry pellets, wincing at the smell with laughter. "That's what you get for being born with four legs." Riley ate, while I rummaged through the freezer, and dug out the last bit of cookie dough ice cream. And this is what I get, for having two legs, and no self control. Spoonful by spoonful I indulged myself, lunch.

I went back up to the loft, settled into my old wooden chair, and flipped open the laptop. My demons all seem to come in the form of microchips and battery powered electronics. Substantial writing had failed me yesterday and the day before that, and of course, the day before that. But now, it was time to focus. I had to write at least a chapter before getting up from the chair, no matter what. Riley was relaxing under the desk at my feet, chin resting on my toes as I felt my fingers begin striking keys. I know my eyebrows were knotted, they always are during moments of utter fixation, knuckles fierce with movement, and lips mouthing the words I was creating, the images I was developing with plans. It was working today, my mind, my imagination, cooperating well. I can't believe it's happening for once. The chapter was coming together, the plot thickening, the characters getting closer, and closer, and closer…

Toby was fully aware of the heave that her breasts were capable of in this light, the straining desperation for something more than conversation. He felt it just the same, and shuffled his feet at hers, hands numb with doubt, and lips dry with regret. But he moved in, brushing his hand against the warmth of Liz's cheek, drawing her nearer to him, nearer to his desire. Liz stood motionless beyond repair, praying for what was coming and altogether fighting it. One part of her wanted to run away from the danger she had been warned about and the other part wanted him to…

"Kill me romantically, fill my soul with vomit
then ask me for a piece of gum.
Bitter and dumb, you're my sugarplum
you're awful, I love you..."

The blaring, rhythmic pounding startled both of us as it traveled through the open air outside of the cabin and drained in through the windows of the loft. I darted my eyes from the screen to the window annoyed, rolling, and exhaling with hands through my hair. I guess you could say I was upset. No…I was pissed, and when I'm pissed…I tend to get loud. "Well…that's one way to write it!" Riley jumped from under the desk and paced in circles at the noise, I just let my fingers float less than an inch above the keys again, trying, hoping it would come back. But instead all I was able to think about or hear was—

"You suck so passionately
You're a parasitic, psycho, filthy creature

Finger-bangin' my heart.
You call me up drunk, does the fun ever start?
You're hideous...and sexy!"

"Oh Jesus, this isn't happening. Not today!" I don't know if it was the music so much as it was the words spewing out through the wind, the ones that reminded me that I was still alone. The words that said… "Haha fucker, you still aren't getting laid. Your crotch still hurts." I threw my hands up, I knew the sick lyrical voice was right and so I leaned back, contemplating that straining down below. Yeah, I'm still a guy. I still need a little help now and again with certain aspects of pleasure. I guess that's why I'm so mean…my hand can only do so much. And now I was 

getting off topic, losing the focus I had worked so hard to keep all morning, my story was slipping through the cracks. All because someone had decided to throw a fiesta on the lake. The isolated lake, the one that has a gas station, a few kayaks, a cabin or two. Someone was screwing with me badly. 'God, no way.'

"Must be the sign on my head, it says
'Oh love me dead!' Love me dead! Wow! Uh!"

"The old Hayden place?" Curious as I can be at times, I got up and went to the window, and through the thickness of trees surrounding my own property, in the direction of the once abandoned house, I heard it loud and clear. It was echoing throughout the foliage between property lines. This wasn't going to work, my windows had every right to be open without disturbance from some little punks. "Riley, let's go." Rushing down the stairs again, I grabbed a beer from the fridge, tugged at the hormonal tightness of my jeans and pulled on my old boots, taking off behind Rye seconds later. We walked the faded, unused trail behind the cabin towards the old Hayden estate, a path we hardly ever took. It wasn't such a bad idea to get out anyway, I sipped at the Bud and tossed a stick out a distance for Riley to fetch, continuously bringing it back until we had made it into the clearing. There was only a short distance to the front porch, where with three swift knocks on the door, not an answer was returned. Obviously the owners were too deaf now to realize someone on their porch. Probably a bunch of drunk college kids. I didn't even think this place was for rent.

Turning away to walk back home, I saw Riley take off around the side of the worn house and out of sight. "Shit, dammit Riley!" See what I mean…dumbass. I called out and stepped down from the porch, pacing around the side to follow him, further into the underbrush, and I noticed the music softening as it changed to something more familiar. The Stones…okay so maybe these kids have some taste. Riley was nowhere to be seen, he had disappeared off behind the house, where I then saw a brick patio jetting out through the trees. Coming around the opposite corner, the view was grossly different than what I had expected to find. There was a full deck, Jacuzzi, grille, and dozens of patio chairs, one of which was now dually occupied. From a distance I could make out Riley perched up on the chair, being lovingly stroked and cooed. Oh you pain in the ass. It wasn't really a person I guess, more of what I assumed to be a mirage, for the simple fact that people, women…don't look like that on this lake. A pair of cutoff Abercrombie's snug at her hips, with a string black bikini top holding all modesty over her honeyed skin. I have to say, if I wasn't in pain before, my pants were really starting to bother me now. Fuck. Because the girl's back was turned to me, I was still as unknown to her as anything, although she did seem pretty curious about Riley's origins. I walked over, slowly, keeping my eyes tagged to her lower back. As already established, I'm a man. I have every right. A tattoo of some sort started coming into clearer view the closer I got. She had her brown hair strung up into a loose bun, and nails painted dark red, causing strange vibrations to roll in and out of my head with every step. Never mind, that's not my head.

"Aww, come here boy, let me see if you have a tag." She was sweet talking the little shit, and as I stepped around the side of the spa to get a final glance at the ink, 'Aerosmith…figures' I chuckled inside, finally speaking up behind her. "He's mine." When she turned around quickly, I saw her squinting through tinted aviators (good choice) as her hands finished stroking at Riley's neck. "Oh, hi. I was just going to check for a tag…"

"Thanks, he's a real pain in the ass. Riley, get over here!" Stupid dog, can't keep it in his pants. Like pet…like…oh never mind. I remember being quick to reply, I was nervous, I'm always nervous. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine, I love dogs." At this point I could only concentrate on the heat, the sweltering, middle of -who the hell knows where- heat. I hate this lake in summer. Well…almost. "You can have this one if you want. He's free."

"Nothing's free." "True. Alright then, he's a buck fifty." Somehow she was laughing, amused by me. Hell, I was just glad to be making a comical genius out of myself for once. I guess I was also tapping my shoes on the patio bricks, trying to think of something cool to say next, but I was really only able to think about how long it had been since I'd seen someone who looked like her, dressed like she was. It had been too long, that's for damn sure. Doctors always talk about a heart stopping, just fucking quitting without any warning, or feeling to go on. I could have sworn I was headed down that road. "So is this the part where we exchange names?" Oh yeah…strawberry lips, I knew almost immediately. There's quite a bit about women I'm not good with, but I know what strawberry lips look like. "I guess it could be." I'm such a smooth operator sometimes.

"Mine is Roxanne Hayden."

"Roxanne? Like the song…"

"Yeah, because you're like the 6 millionth person to point that out." The grin was genuine enough, I'll give her that. And the name, I loved the name instantly. Song about a prostitute or not. Don't laugh Mort, idiot. Don't laugh. "Well it is a good song."

"It happens to be a damn good name too." Oh yeah, this was her weak spot, I hit the tender part. Among others…

"I believe you. And Hayden…? Your family owns the house, right?"

"Sort of, I own it now. Inheritance." Inheritance, she owns it now, was planning on staying? Oh yeah, I was intrigued. "My grandmother left it to me, I guess she figured I was the only one that wouldn't try to sell the place."

"Oh, cool. I mean…not cool that your grandmother died or whatever…just…" I have a tendency to make awkward situations twice as awkward by opening my big mouth. Point proven. Of course, once I start, it's sort of difficult to put the lid back on. Sort of like Pringles. Oh man...now I want some Pringles… "I just mean, it's cool that she left it to you."

"Yeah, I'm glad. It will give me something to do. So, what's yours?"

"My what?"

"Oops, I mean, your name."

Okay…here we go. Now, I like to do this thing where I pause momentarily before throwing my name into a conversation. See, when you write murder mysteries for a living, own a house in the middle of nowhere, and you've been accused of killing a handful of people and a dog…it's not completely 'bizarre' to want to hesitate out of respect for your well being. I have to know that the person who's asking for my name isn't writing a column in the Times. But…this one seemed harmless enough. "Mort Rainey."

"Rainey…?" Yes, she was mocking me. But it was fair game, I'm a moron, I welcome anyone to take a stab. "Like…the writer?" I was laughing, she was beyond the definition of adorable at that, Amy was never that 

adorable. Ah shit. No Amy. No more. "Yeah, but he's not half as cool of a guy as that song your named after." A short grin was all I got for that.

"It's a shame about him, you know what I heard?" She pretended to be whispering, cute. It was cute. And when she leaned in, and lifted her sunglasses from her face, that's when I saw them. Her eyes. Transfixed is not quite the appropriate word here, maybe, charmed? They were brown eyes yes; perfect auburn does, but the hint, the flicker of green behind them…Dear God. I'm pretty sure that's all I could think about. I was trying to imagine one of those big boxes of Crayola crayons, like the 64 pack. Shit she's still talking, what was she saying…she heard something about Mort Rainey, that's right. A rumor.

"He's gay." I could have easily been hurt by the statement, or humored, or even slightly put off, but I couldn't even think straight. I was in some kind of a green haven of light and dark, that golden hue her shoulders and collarbone were slowly accumulating, those breasts tied tightly inside of the black fabric, I tried…I did. "Oh...well, you shouldn't believe rumors Mrs. Hayden." I did it on purpose, of course I did. I knew she wasn't married, how could someone with a body that revealed, that tattoo…no way, she wasn't married. And when I looked back into her eyes that second time, I remember seeing this childish spark, I guess you could say. Then it hit me…Sea Green. That's the color, Sea Green…thank you Crayola.

"It's just Miss. I'm not married, see." She held out her hand, slender, beautiful fingers, but of course, there was no rock. When I'm good…I am good.

"I'm sorry, my bad."

"Don't be sorry…" The way she spoke the words, glaring back at me, those lips curled up with slight humor. God, it nearly killed me. One thing I can't easily handle is a pretty pair of lips. I've been deceived by too many. So instead, I just tugged at Riley's collar, thinking that leaving would be best at this moment. Before things…went farther than I could handle. "Well, we should let you get back to…uh…well, yeah." Yep, I know what you're thinking; Shakespeare couldn't have gotten himself out of an awkward situation better. Shut up.

"It was nice to meet you…Mr. Hemmingway." Okay, now someone tell me that wasn't dripping with every ounce of flirtation she coined away in high school.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Roxanne Hayden. Not the song." I never said I didn't have a flare for adolescent romanticism myself….shut up. A flick of wrists in shaking, a turn on my heels and I was taking off right behind Riley, back towards the path. I sensed that she might have been watching, but you never really know. A dozen things were spinning in my brain, between that perfect name of hers, Roxanne. Such a roll off the tongue, such a character name, maybe the next one I'll use. 'Which damn, I still have to write sometime before I pass out.'

I returned home to silence, tunes stopped, wind blowing again. It soon appeared to me though, how much I missed the music already.

So, that's Mort's orginal POV. Next up is Roxanne's!