Endless Search
The tour began upstairs with the four spacious rooms with accompanying closets and baths. As Jennifer feared wallpaper swathed every bedroom, bath and roomy closet. An outdated thick shag carpet blanketed the floors; the color a murky beige. The upstairs tour ended in the master bedroom, which had huge French style windows facing out the front of the house. Dale Larkin’s memorized tour lecture would have been boring if his voice wasn’t so melodious.
Jennifer looked out one of the windows. Dusk was beginning to fall. In a matter of minutes, darkness would cloak the trees with shadows. A fast moving figure caught her eye. A little woman in a dark skirt trotted towards the house across the street. The braid wound around her head amused Jennifer. All that the woman needed was for her skirt to be tie-dyed and a sign saying “Give Peace a Chance” and she could be mistaken for a hippy or even one of those Mother Earth Wicca worshippers who were always trying to save a tree. Miss plain Jane was in dire need of a head to feet make-over, which would require a miracle to transform her into a fashion model of today.
Her rumination was severed by Dale Larkin’s suave sales pitch echoing in the room. He stood behind her. His face faintly reflected in the crystal clear window pane. Handsome wasn’t the perfect word to describe his Roman-esque features…striking, yes that was the word. Jennifer admired the sales technique he employed, using his attractiveness and charm to win his potential buyer and using his intellect to close the sale—but not this time.
Without turning to face him, Jennifer said, “Mr. Larkin, I’m a woman who believes in intuition, as did my mother and her mother and so forth. Never have I known my intuition to scream as loudly as it’s shrieking now.” In the window pane, she watched his lips form to speak, but she forcibly continued talking. “I do acknowledge the moderate care and maintenance of the house. I have no complaints in that department. What raises my bile is the interior design. Wallpaper and shag carpet disagree with my sense of décor.”
Mr. Larkin took advantage of her need to breathe, saying, “Wallpaper and carpet are easy to replace, Ms. Swann. You shouldn’t let minor faults dissuade you from an ideal home.”
“I agree, Mr. Larkin. But it would cost a small fortune to renovate the interior of this house so that it matches the exquisite exterior. But that’s not my main concern. Time, which takes up a large percentage of my working day, dictates that I need housing that requires little work.”
She watched his reflection move closer until he stood directly behind her. “The search continues, Ms. Swann. Lucky for you, I have a long list. It may take months to find you a perfect home.” His breath at her ear caused an involuntary shiver. With a deliberate slowness, he turned her to face him.
Jennifer’s eye were soft as rain on roses, as she said, “It could be an endless search, Mr. Larkin.”
“One can hope, Ms. Swann. One can hope.” His wedding ring reflected in the window pane for a mere moment, as his fingers traced the fullness of her lips. Then his mouth crushed over hers in an urgency he didn’t bother to restrain. The primal cry of the zipper of her dress as he unzipped it was lost in the muffled sounds of words mingled with kisses, as they forgot their pseudo formalities.
The tour began upstairs with the four spacious rooms with accompanying closets and baths. As Jennifer feared wallpaper swathed every bedroom, bath and roomy closet. An outdated thick shag carpet blanketed the floors; the color a murky beige. The upstairs tour ended in the master bedroom, which had huge French style windows facing out the front of the house. Dale Larkin’s memorized tour lecture would have been boring if his voice wasn’t so melodious.
Jennifer looked out one of the windows. Dusk was beginning to fall. In a matter of minutes, darkness would cloak the trees with shadows. A fast moving figure caught her eye. A little woman in a dark skirt trotted towards the house across the street. The braid wound around her head amused Jennifer. All that the woman needed was for her skirt to be tie-dyed and a sign saying “Give Peace a Chance” and she could be mistaken for a hippy or even one of those Mother Earth Wicca worshippers who were always trying to save a tree. Miss plain Jane was in dire need of a head to feet make-over, which would require a miracle to transform her into a fashion model of today.
Her rumination was severed by Dale Larkin’s suave sales pitch echoing in the room. He stood behind her. His face faintly reflected in the crystal clear window pane. Handsome wasn’t the perfect word to describe his Roman-esque features…striking, yes that was the word. Jennifer admired the sales technique he employed, using his attractiveness and charm to win his potential buyer and using his intellect to close the sale—but not this time.
Without turning to face him, Jennifer said, “Mr. Larkin, I’m a woman who believes in intuition, as did my mother and her mother and so forth. Never have I known my intuition to scream as loudly as it’s shrieking now.” In the window pane, she watched his lips form to speak, but she forcibly continued talking. “I do acknowledge the moderate care and maintenance of the house. I have no complaints in that department. What raises my bile is the interior design. Wallpaper and shag carpet disagree with my sense of décor.”
Mr. Larkin took advantage of her need to breathe, saying, “Wallpaper and carpet are easy to replace, Ms. Swann. You shouldn’t let minor faults dissuade you from an ideal home.”
“I agree, Mr. Larkin. But it would cost a small fortune to renovate the interior of this house so that it matches the exquisite exterior. But that’s not my main concern. Time, which takes up a large percentage of my working day, dictates that I need housing that requires little work.”
She watched his reflection move closer until he stood directly behind her. “The search continues, Ms. Swann. Lucky for you, I have a long list. It may take months to find you a perfect home.” His breath at her ear caused an involuntary shiver. With a deliberate slowness, he turned her to face him.
Jennifer’s eye were soft as rain on roses, as she said, “It could be an endless search, Mr. Larkin.”
“One can hope, Ms. Swann. One can hope.” His wedding ring reflected in the window pane for a mere moment, as his fingers traced the fullness of her lips. Then his mouth crushed over hers in an urgency he didn’t bother to restrain. The primal cry of the zipper of her dress as he unzipped it was lost in the muffled sounds of words mingled with kisses, as they forgot their pseudo formalities.
penned by Painter Lady at 5:18 PM
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