Chapter 8
lovelillibet We all find our own path to quieting the storm inside, but I have to say that sensory deprivation tanks have never worked for me. I’d rather feel everything than nothing, chase fullness instead of absence.
Give me a sensory maximization chamber. That would be something.
Love, Lillibet
Image: Dark storm clouds mass above a wind-tossed sea.
#lightandshadow #wecontainmultitudes #ridethestorm #passionisalwaysinfashion
“You have a beautiful home,” Jefferson observed as he followed his hostess up the stairs.
It seemed like the right thing to say, even if the word felt wrong. A home suggested something scaled for humans. This was more of an estate. And it might not even be their main residence. He vaguely recalled Hildy referring to this as a beach house, which implied the existence of other homes.
“It’s what’s on the inside that counts,” Lillibet replied, after a pause so long he wondered if she’d heard him. There was a microscopic flinch before she added a smile.
“You’re not what I was expecting.” He meant it as a compliment, but the glance she gave him over her shoulder was wary.
“No?”
He couldn’t think of a socially acceptable way to explain that Hildy had made Lillibet sound like a spoiled nightmare, as opposed to the warm and appealing human in front of him. With the long limbs and softly swaying hips.
“Why do you do it?” he asked instead.
She stumbled over the top step, righting herself as she turned to face him. “I’m sorry?”
“Putting your life online.” He gestured at the foyer below them. “It’s not for money. And if you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t seem like an attention-seeker.” She’d spent half the night trying to fade into the woodwork. Apart from the giant nude portrait. Possibly she hadn’t anticipated company when that particular piece of art was commissioned.
“I like writing.” She half whispered it, like she was trusting him with a secret, waiting for his nod before she went on. “Stories about people. And their lives.” Her mouth opened and then closed again, accompanied by the rapid blinking of a person who has remembered something important. “By which I mean lifestyles. The art of, you know, finding beauty in the everyday. Because that’s a way to help people … help themselves.” She slid him a sidelong glance, as if to check whether he was swallowing what she was dishing out.
“I see,” he said, pretending not to notice that the benevolent part of that little speech had the distinct air of a postscript. Not that he was in any position to criticize. Jefferson had done plenty of work-for-hire in the early days of his career. He wouldn’t have wanted someone to judge him for taking glamour shots of show dogs to pay the bills.
They continued down the hallway in silence, passing several doors before she stopped in front of the second-to-last on the left. “We gave you and Hildy adjoining bedrooms. For comfort.”
“Ah.” Their alleged coupledom had completely fled his mind.
She opened the door and waved at him to go in.
His backpack looked as shabby and out-of-place as a dust bunny in the immaculate vastness. Everything was wood and white and pale gray, from the raised four-poster bed with its gauzy hangings to the tall shutters closing off what he guessed must be a balcony. The overall effect could have been antiseptic, but it tilted slightly over the line into soothingly organic.
Or so he imagined Hildy would say.
Lillibet cleared her throat.
“It’s very nice,” he said. “Thank you.”
“I was going to tell you the bathroom is there.” She indicated the door with her thumb. “For your feet.”
They both looked down at his shoes. It was true that he had sand between his toes, but he’d mostly been looking for a moment alone, or at least away from the atmosphere in the living room. Being on his own with Lillibet was a different kind of tension, one that made him feel more alive—unlike the slow suffocation of the scene downstairs.
“Okay,” he said. “I can take it from here.” As if his ability to bathe himself had been in doubt. Or she’d offered to stay and help. He started to toe off his shoes, then worried that seemed rude. Luckily Lillibet had already turned away, so she didn’t notice him standing there with one bare foot and one shoe, his socks still balled up in his pockets.
“This is a new prototype,” she explained, as he kicked aside his other shoe and followed her into the bathroom. The shower was rimless, with what looked like river rock lining the floor. She was frowning at the far wall, on which there did not appear to be anything resembling a knob. “It has a lot of settings.” She poked at the tile. “Very cutting-edge.”
“Is it motion-activated?” he asked, dodging the arm Lillibet was waving over her head.
“Um.” She gave up on the arm movements and started pressing different spots on the floor with her toes. “Sometimes.”
That probably meant the technology was glitchy, but she didn’t want to insult her husband’s work. Jefferson bent to study the other wall, looking for some type of control.
“It’s because this is a guest room,” she said, an explanation and an apology rolled into one. “That’s why I never come in here.”
“That’s okay. I like a challenge.” Crawling around a deluxe yet water-free shower with a virtual stranger wasn’t even the weirdest thing that had happened to him this week.
“I can do this.” Her eyes were closed, the words spoken under her breath. “I need to relax—”
They both jumped at the sudden plink of harp music playing from invisible speakers. The overhead lights dimmed, taking on a soft lavender glow.
She beamed at him. “Something happened!”
He nodded, not wanting to spoil her moment of triumph by pointing out that they still hadn’t unlocked any of the more traditional shower functions.
“Now all we need is water.” As she spoke, the harp sounds were replaced by the echoing call of whale song, interspersed with the rush of waves. The light changed to a pulsing blue, as if they were lying on the bottom of the ocean.
It might have been Jefferson’s imagination, but he thought he caught a whiff of salt in the air. The only thing that would have made the ambience more aquatic was some form of liquid. “You’re getting warmer.”
She flinched as the whale sounds gave way to shrieking monkeys and the low hum of insects. Clouds of steam puffed out on all sides, scented with tropical flowers.
“I’m almost damp,” she said, cupping a hand to catch some of the condensation. “I mean, from the mist.”
Of course that was what she meant. He stared at the moisture caught in the hollow of her throat. Sweat or condensation from the shower? The only way to tell would be to taste it.
Whoa, there. He had no intention of going from cheated-on to cheater. Time to dial it back.
“Might be easier to stand outside in the rain.” Especially if it’s cold. He was only half joking, a distinction lost on the shower, which released a slow trickle of droplets from overhead.
“You did it!” She clapped her hands together, delight fading as the water cut off. “Do you think it’s because we have our clothes on?” She tugged at the waist of her dress as if debating whether to take it off.
He swallowed. “What?”
“Maybe it senses that we’re not naked. Like a safety mechanism, so it doesn’t start spraying people when they come in here to clean—or whatever.”
Part of Jefferson wanted to wait and let her propose the obvious solution, but his better nature forced him to speak up. “I think it’s voice commands. Sound in general.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. “That makes more sense. So it was the—” she clapped three times, and water shot out from several directions at once. They dodged the jets until the spray shut off.
“It’s like trying to wash your hands in a public restroom.”
“Makes it tricky to scrub.”
“What is the sound of one hand clapping?” Lillibet mimed washing her armpit with one hand while slapping her thigh with the other. “There’s probably a rhythm to it.”
“Or else it’s a two-person job.” It was an innocent remark; there was nothing sexy about having a designated clapper, even if you were naked at the time. But the shower had other ideas. Apparently “two-person” was the cue for a sultry saxophone solo and potent aroma of rose petals. Jefferson tried very hard not to imagine Lillibet and her husband frolicking under the hot-pink heat lamps.
“Normal!” Lillibet tipped her head back to address the ceiling. “Regular. Basic. Humdrum. Calgon, take me away!” She shook her head. “How is it that none of those work? I just want a simple shower.”
They waited for something to happen. It occurred to Jefferson that this was the opposite of Lillibet’s usual approach, which relied on complicating everything. Or, at least, that was true of her online persona. The Lillibet wiping scented mist of her forehead with the heel of her hand while grunting in frustration didn’t seem to be a fan of fussiness.
“Niagara,” Jefferson yelled.
“What are you doing?”
“Just curious.” He thought for a minute. “Irrigation?”
“Super-soaker,” she called out, shoulders sagging when nothing happened. “I should go get Mr.—my husband.” Her smile was rueful. “I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
Water sprayed them with ballistic force. It was like a scene from a war movie, and they were the doomed platoon caught in heavy enemy crossfire. Jefferson expected the music to change to whistling grenades and rat-a-tat machine guns, but what he could hear over Lillibet’s stream of profanity sounded more like chanting. Operating on pure instinct, he reached for her, spinning around so that her back was against the wall and his body arched over hers, blocking most of the spray.
It was the closest they’d ever been to each other, and even the assault on his kidneys wasn’t enough to distract Jefferson from the way her eyes—and lips—lined up with his. They fit together like dovetail joints in a wooden drawer. She was breathing hard, her rib cage pressing against his chest with every inhale. Jefferson could feel how easily the moment could turn into something more.
When the water cut off, it took a few seconds for his brain to process the clapping sound. It was not applause. A pointed ahem followed.
“I don’t advise starting with level three,” Lillibet’s husband scolded, as Jefferson peeled himself away from her. They stepped out of the shower, meek as children busted with their hands in the cookie jar.
“It was an accident,” she said, speaking over Jefferson’s simultaneous confession:
“My fault.”
“Sophisticated systems like this one require a delicate touch. Observe.” With the grace of a dancer, Mr. L raised his hands to shoulder-height, slapping his palms as he said, “Gentle.” A soft patter of droplets fell. He shot them a did-you-see-that? glance before saying, “Medium.”
The steady spray was almost like a regular shower.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Lillibet muttered.
“Because you weren’t ordering a steak?” Jefferson replied, for her ears only.
“Once you’re ready for a more aggressive shower experience,” Mr. L continued, as if they were in the middle of a symposium, “you can intensify the force.”
Jefferson nodded. No need to repeat that experience. Or at least not the water-blaster part.
“We have also many other options. A shower for every mood. Bellagio.” Geysers spurted in a dancing rhythm until Mr. L clapped them to silence. “Winter’s journey.” The temperature plummeted, accompanied by a hissing that sounded like freezing rain. “Night swimming.” Total darkness, apart from a single floodlight that was probably supposed to be the moon. “Morning dew.” The lights rose in washes of yellow and coral, while invisible birds chirped.
“He’s what you might call … a visionary,” Lillibet said, after a pause that suggested she was searching for an adequate word.
The door to the adjoining room flew open. “I knew it!” Hildy glared at them, hands on hips. “You’re all up here having fun without me.”
Mr. L cut short his demonstration with an authoritative double-clap. Likely for the best, considering he’d just announced something called the wheel of fire.
Hildy’s sharp gaze traveled from Jefferson and Lillibet (still dripping) to the dapper figure of their host. “I didn’t realize this was a group outing.”
Beside him, Lillibet stiffened.
“We were experiencing technical difficulties,” Jefferson explained.
“Hmm.” Hildy stalked closer. “I hear they make a pill for that.” She glanced at the shower. “That is a serious shower. You could scrub down a whole rugby team in there.”
“I would be delighted to share with you some of the features, but for now I must speak to my liebchen,” the shower guru said. “Privately.”
With a quick smile of apology, Lillibet followed her husband out of the room.
As soon as the hall door closed, Hildy pounced. “Well, well, well. Jefferson Jones, ladies’ man. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Nice try, Casanova. Sell stupid somewhere else. What were you and my Lillibet up to that got you all wet and bothered? Go on.” She clapped her hands at him. “Spill.”
From the shower, there was a gurgling rush of liquid, as if it were being poured from a massive pitcher.
Hildy scowled at him. “What the hell is going on in there?”
“That’s the question of the hour.”
One of them, anyway.