"Writer’s block, eh?" the stranger said over my shoulder. I looked up at him with a start. An announcement blared over the speakers saying that it was the last call for a flight to Singapore. I must have been in one of my trances again, I thought to myself. It was happening to me more and more often.
"I guess so." I smiled and shamefacedly closed my laptop.
"You don’t have to do that," he said with a guilty frown.
"It's okay. I wasn’t getting anywhere anyway."
He smiled a tiny polite smile and that was when I realized what a beautiful man he was. He looked like a male version of Mona Lisa. I thrust out my hand. "Hello, I'm Caroline."
"I'm Jon," he said as he received my hand in a firm grip and sat next to me.
You smell beautiful, I longed to say, but instead, "Where are you flying to?"
"A little place called Kuching."
I laughed. "That's a city. Don't tell me, MH2536 right?"
"You going the same way?"
"Absolutely. A friend invited me to stay over at his place and to keep an eye on it while he is away. It's a perfect writer's haven."
"Free room? Lucky you. I'm there for a jungle trek holiday."
"Which trail are you taking?"
"I haven’t made up my mind yet. I plan to just let the mood take me."
"Good idea," I said then after openly checking him out, I added, "You are welcomed to stay with me for a while," and he agreed.
I rented a car in Kuching and we drove away from the city, passed the small town of Bau down the main trunk road to the Fairy Cave. A little under three miles away from the cave junction, I turned into a small single lane that wound down a small valley before climbing up a gentle slope hidden from the main road by a hedge of scraggly trees.
"Don't we have to get supplies?" he asked.
"No worries there. Gerald always has a full store. Anything I get on my own will be inferior to his stuff anyway."
"Sounds like a very decent rich guy." He paused to wait for my Yes. "You never try to hit on him?"
I laughed. "No, we work together. Our relationship is strictly professional."
"What kind of work?"
"We trade in beautiful things: Art, antiques, even people," I said and gave him a coy sideway glance.
"You mean, like modeling and stuff like that?"
I giggled. "Yes. Gerald is a photographer. I'm a copywriter. He shows and I tell people why they should pay more for our stuff."
"Oh, advertising eh?"
"That's right."
"You sure he won't mind me staying over at his place?"
"Not at all. Even if he were to suddenly pop back home, I think you will both get along fine."
A wall of ivy appeared as we made the last bend. I lowered the automatic window on my side, pressed open a small panel behind the stiff air-roots of wild green orchids and keyed in a five digit code. The wall of ivy swung open. I drove down a sloping turn and the moment we passed the hedge of citrus trees I could hear him draw in his breath. Gerald's bungalow never failed to get that reaction from first time visitors.
I parked the car under the shaded porch in front of a carved panel door upon which houris swayed in seductive poses behind plants and animals that cleverly hid their most desirable assets. I keyed in another five digit code. The door beeped and clicked open. We stepped onto the marble flooring, and placed our bags next to a magnificent set of mahogany cushioned seats. Ancient Chinese vases of varying sizes lined one side of the wall in specially built niches. Through a wide bay window, the light of dusk poured down on an island of silk cushions hastily thrown on a thick ruby red and sapphire blue Persian carpet. I clapped my hands twice and light from the overhead lamps instantly filled the room.
"Make yourself comfortable. I am going to see what I can fix for dinner." He nodded at what I said, yet his eyes were transfixed on the paintings, wall-hangings and finally on a bar busy with half-drunk bottles of scotch, brandy and wines. I pointed to a carve panel across the living room. "The bathroom is over there if you need it. I hope you're hungry."
"Starving," he said as he turned to gaze on me with his usual shy smile.
I went to the kitchen, opened a drawer and took out the barbiturates. I found a baked chicken in the fridge and put it into the microwave. A light blipped on the security panel. I smiled and heat up a bottle of fresh milk. I scooped 80% pure cocoa into two He and She mugs then poured warm milk into them. Before stirring the milk in the He-mug, I cracked open two red and blue capsules into it.
A few minutes later Jon walked into the kitchen obviously refreshed. "Wow, this place is something. I can't believe that everything inside the bathroom is automated."
"I hope you didn't step into the shower," I laughed.
He waved a finger thoughtfully. "Thank you for telling me."
The microwave chimed. "Let's eat," I said as I turned to take out the chicken.
Jon picked up the He-mug. "That smells really good." He took a sip and grimaced, "Whoa, this is strong."
I put the chicken in front of him. "Uh hmm, 80% pure cocoa. Some say it's as bitter as the best coffee," on sitting down, I picked up my mug and gazed at him meaningfully over the rim, "and a very strong aphrodisiac."
His adam's apple disappeared with a nervous half-cough half-chuckle before bobbing up again. I smiled. He was so perfect. My hints had the desired result. He practically gulped down the whole mug. Soon he was struggling to keep the mug in his grasp and then he looked at me funny as though suddenly realizing that the cocoa was having an opposite effect of what I had promised him. Maybe I should have put in an extra capsule. He dropped the mug, rose with both arms in front of him, reaching for me but just as suddenly he fell back. He began to slide from the chair.
I rushed to stand behind him and hugged him around the chest to keep him in place. I kissed the crown of his head, breathing in his wonderful scent. I could feel him struggling still, for his breathing was hard and deep. Suddenly I felt a tear on my arm, and another, and another. I shushed and patted him. "Don't worry, darling. Everything is going to be fine. You are so beautiful, you will be spoiled and worshipped. Don't worry, everything will be fine."
Exactly ten minutes later, the front door beeped and Gerald strode into the kitchen. Jon tried to lift his hand but only managed to flutter the fingers. I stepped away from him, though keeping a hand on one shoulder to steady him. Gerald scrutinized him, running his fingers over his hair, checking his teeth, his fingers before finally admitting, "He is perfect."
"How much do you think we can get for him?"
"Strip him down, clean him up, maybe give him a new haircut, I'm expecting at least $600,000."
"Comb his hair back, I bet we'll get double that."
And we did. The buyer was so excited with his new purchase that he flew down on a personal jet the very same hour the auction ended. It was a pity. I really did enjoy taking care of Jon.
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