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A RARE GEM

by bernadette

*******************************************************
Most days are the same for most people.

The average person wakes up, hearing their rusty alarm clocks somewhere in
the foggy atmosphere called sleep that encapsulated their bodies.  Some
spring forward like reved-up engines, while others initially respond as
though pulling themselves from a backyard pool filled with molasses.

Somewhere today, a woman will arise, wearily opening her eyes to a brightly
filled room of antique furniture, expensive silk flowers and mauve taffeta
pillows.  In the midst of such external beauty she will be alone, under the
mistaken impression  that her lover was on a business trip, when in reality he
had spent much of the previous night in another woman's arms - a  woman half
her own age.

Then.

Twenty years ago today, a white-haired woman opened her eyes, merely to find
that the man next to her, whom she'd spent the last thirty years of her life
loving, was not about to do the same.  Not now.  Not ever.

But.

Somewhere today, a young woman named Jewel is awakening, opening her eyes as
the others did, and is ready to face the same existence called "life."   Jewel
must confront her own demons, her own decisions, her own reality.  The events
assigned to her are hers and hers alone.

Destiny.

Jewel did not greet this particular morning with joy.  She languidly crawled
out of her black wrought iron bed with a strange heaviness that consumed her
body like the leaden feeling that seemed to flow through her tiny veins.

This is not going to be easy.  Last night changed the path, the course of my
life and today--I must accept the consequences.  I have lost something,
something special.  As painful as it will be, it will merely pass with time
and in the end become as faint as a twitch in my eye.

Jewel looked at herself in the mirror.  Her hair was disheveled and matted
against her head as though she had slept on the side of a boulder.  Swollen,
red, puffy eyes regarded her like misty low hanging clouds.  She had cried
herself to sleep; the night had stolen her sun.

I look like Hell.  God, not today!

She blindly made her way into the bathroom and reached for the bright, shiny
brass knobs.  Standing under the hot, steamy water, she silently prayed to God
to give her the courage she so desperately needed to face the inevitable.

Destiny.  Hers.

God, give me the strength to survive today.  I must be strong.  Do not let me
weaken.  Please help me keep my emotions intact.  Please, God.

She slowly dried herself off from the baptismal cleansing.  It left her weak,
almost too fragile to stand.  Jewel grasped the edge of the doorway to steady
herself.

Perhaps that bottle of wine last night wasn't such a good idea after all.

She eventually made her way back to the beckoning bed.	Wet hair clung
seductively to her slender neck like silk stockings on bare, moist skin. 
Beads of dewy perspiration formed to her upper lip and swelled on her
forehead.  She lay back down on the soft comfort of the old spongy old
mattress and shut her foggy eyes.

Why is this so hard?  Get a grip, Jewel. Get a grip!

As her strength eventually returned, she decided it was time to do a quick
wardrobe check and choose the most appropriate outfit for the occasion.  Jewel
thumbed through her closet, examined her clothing like a monk taking inventory
of his treasured wine cellar.  Nothing seemed right--it was all too
frustrating, fruitless.

She finally settled on a simple black rayon dress.  As she slipped it over her
head, the delicate fabric fell about her body like a waterfall of desire.

Jewel stared at the reflection in the mirror.  The dark dress highlighted her
honey-colored skin and hair.  Natural assets spilled over the scoop neck
design and she could actually see her erect nipples through the material. 
Chilly.

Is this too sexy to wear?  Maybe it is inappropriate.  Too suggestive?

She was going to church for the first time in more than ten years.

Quietly, she slipped in the back pew, knowing she was late.  Jewel felt a bit
uncomfortable with the genuflection--after all, it had been a long time.  She
knelt and crossed herself carefully.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with Thee, Blessed art thou amongst
women. . ."

In a quiet crevice in the far corner of the church, she knelt and whispered
under her breath: "Mimi, Pray for me."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Her grandmother had died ten years earlier during Jewel's first year of
college.  Jewel had just begun her studies in Fine Arts, a career that
everyone in her family was against--with the exception of Mimi.  The funeral
service was held in this very church, the place her grandmother regarded as
her second home.

Jewel had always had a fondness for drawing anything and everything. She was
shy, awkward and did not have many friends. Her time was spent sketching
trees, clouds, flowers--while her cousins would play outside without her. 
Being alone didn't bother her.	It was her destiny.

Jewel was the youngest of the clan, and her grandmother tended to favor her.
"Jewel is so talented," she would boast to the others.  "God has given her a
gift, a rare gift."  The cousins were obviously jealous of her talent and
beauty.  They mistook her need for solitude as a form of rejection, perhaps
innately understanding their own banality.

Grandfather had died when she was ten years old.  Mimi had never taken it very
well and spoke of him often.  She would tell endless stories of how they met,
how he courted her, and how she almost lost him.

"He would always bring me a single, long-stemmed yellow rose," Mimi would say,
her eyes moist and drifting off into a state of reverie.  Her favorite hobby
outside of the church was gardening.  One freshly picked yellow rose in a vase
always accompanied her wedding photo.

"I am going to give you some advice, Jewel.  Marry a man that loves you more
than you love him.  He will love you, put you on a pedestal, and never cheat
on or leave you.  I almost lost your grandfather once because I wasn't sure
if he was enough, that perhaps I could do better.  I almost lost him."

I almost lost him.

On her eighteenth birthday, Mimi led Jewel into her bedroom and shut the door.
It was going to one of her grandmother's "when I go" speeches--this was clear
from the very beginning.

"I want you to have this, Jewel.  My mother bought me this rosary while she
was in Rome.  It was blessed by the Pope."  Mimi thrust a sparkling set of
crystal beads into her hand.  The hand of an artist.

The little cross was made of gold and Jesus looked so very . . . small.  The
beads had a curiously bright yellowish tinge, like the honey-colored skin and
hair of their new owner.

"T-Thank you."	Jewel stammered and stared nervously at the floor.  There was
a scruff mark on her left loafer.

"I won't be around much longer, Jewel.  I just wanted you to know how much I
love you.  Be happy, my child. Use that wonderful talent God has given you.
Remember, no matter what you do, don't ever let go of the ones you truly love.
Mimi grasped her hand.  "Let us pray."

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.  Blessed art thou, amongst
women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.  Holy Mary, mother of God,
pray for us sinners.  Now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

Jewel was relieved to be excused from her grandmother's room.  She put the
rosary in her left pocket and went outside to draw a picture of the clouds.
They seemed to be of a uniform shape and color at first blush, but a closer
inspection revealed veins of moister air caught by the sun's rays, like honey
poured over cotton candy.  Soon the rain would fall.

Mimi died two months later.  A blood vessel had suddenly burst in her brain.

Jewel attended the funeral clasping the rosary and wearing a simple black
rayon dress and scruff marked loafers.	The mahogany casket was adorned with
freshly cut yellow roses.

At the graveside service, Jewel took one yellow rose from her grandmother's
casket and walked off with it into the angry, driving rain.  Tearlessly.

When it rains on the day of a person's funeral, it means they are going
straight to heaven.  Mimi's words echoed in her mind.

Jewel sat in the cold, driving rain at the edge of the cemetery, drew
pictures of the threatening, evil clouds and vowed never to return to Our
Lady of Fatima Church.

Wet hair clung seductively to her slender neck like silk stockings on bare,
moist skin.  Beads of dewy perspiration formed to her upper lip and swelled
on her forehead.  She lay down on the soft comfort of the grass and shut her
foggy eyes.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

At promptly five o'clock in the afternoon, Jewel walked into the familiar
coffee shop in her black rayon dress.

The clouds seemed to be of a uniform shape and color at first blush, but a
closer inspection revealed veins of moister air caught by the sun's rays, like
honey poured over cotton candy.  Soon the rain would fall.

There, at his usual table, he sat alone.

God, please, let me be strong.  Don't run Jewel, keep walking towards him.

He looked up and saw her approaching him.  He smiled his usual endearing
smile, but there was something disturbingly different about it today.

Nothing will ever be the same.  Ever.

"Hi."  He pulled the chair out for her.  The same chair she had sat in at
promptly five o'clock in the afternoon every day for the past six months.

"Hi."

"You look great.  Going somewhere?" he asked.

"Church.  I went to church earlier this morning," she replied.

He had a puzzled look on his face.  "Church?"

Cody believed in Ayn Rand's philosophy of Objectivism, the idea that each
individual must respond first and foremost to rationality and observations. 
He viewed all religions as well as various forms of Secular Humanism in a dim
light.	Personal knowledge, personal experience and personal perceptions were
paramount.  For Cody, there was no distinction between Will and Destiny.

"Yes, church."

"Thank you."  Jewel stared nervously at the floor.  There was a scruff mark on
her left loafer.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Jewel had met him one dreary afternoon in a local coffee shop.  She'd sat down
at a table in the far corner with her sketchpad and begun to draw the sundry
collection of motley regulars.   There was one she hadn't seen before.

He was sitting at the corner table, legs crossed and reading a worn, tattered
book entitled, "The Fountainhead".  He reminded her of a sexy young pirate
with a faint shadow of a beard and dark, mysterious eyes.  Jewel's hands
began to instinctively outline his shape using long, fluid strokes and fine
lines. After a while, she realized she began to tremble.  The act of drawing
him was becoming exciting . . . mesmerizing . . . sensual . . . erotic.

She blushed and tried to look away.  Suddenly, a voice that sounded like it
came from a deep, hollow cavern echoed through the air.

"I noticed you were sketching there.  You looked as if you're so into it. 
Mind if I see?"

They had coffee together, drinking equally deeply, but the thirst and
satisfaction were mostly his.

Over the next six months, she spent one hour per day with Cody.  That added up
to seven hours a week, twenty-eight hours a month and one hundred and sixty-
eight hours in all.  Yet she knew Cody better than the back of her own hand.
The hand of an artist.

Jewel felt connected to Cody in ways she had never felt with any man, with
anyone before him.  He was her friend, her confidant, her support and her
guide.

Although she never admitted it, it bothered her intensely that he spent the
majority of the remaining twenty-three hours per day with. . . HER.  He
belonged to HER.  Not in a legal sense--but emotionally, intellectually and
physically.

There was an unspoken agreement--they never spoke of HER.

Every night, at promptly six o'clock, Cody would collect his current novel and
kiss her lightly on the cheek.  Then she would watch him drive off into the
lonely stillness of the early evening.

Every night, at promptly six o'clock, Jewel felt as though she had lost a tiny
part of her soul.

Until last night.

At exactly six o'clock, Cody stood up from the table, as he always did.  Jewel
automatically turned her head upward for the traditional peck on the cheek.

But this evening was going to be different.  Very different.

Cody spoke.

"Are you hungry, Jewel?"

The words startled her like lightening had struck her heart.  For the first
time, Cody looked nervous.  Almost frightened.

"Well, if you are interested, I can go to dinner."  He paused.  "She is out of
town.  Her aunt died and I couldn't . . . "

"Yes, I am very hungry," Jewel answered abruptly.  She didn't want to hear any
more of the story.  It was about HER.

And so they went.

Hunger.

Dinner.  Cozy, dark candlelit restaurant with foreign food, foreign waiters
and foreign wine.

Thirst.

Lots of red wine.  They both drank equally and deeply, but the thirst and
satisfaction were mostly his.

Cody's electrifying eyes pierced through hers from across the hazy table.  His
knee was barely touching hers, his breath was lightly brushing her face, his
hand was casually resting on her arm.

Lips a mere fraction of an inch away.  So close.  She shut her eyes.  She was
enveloped in a feeling so wonderful, so desirable, so profound.

The wooded area near the restaurant was dimly lit by the full moon, yet it
seemed so dark that Jewel almost had to rely on her sense of touch to get
around.  Cody led her by the hand and gently lowered her body onto a bed of
soft leaves.

Despite the effects of the wine, she was well aware of what was about to take
place.

Jewel's destiny on this dreamy night was to make unexpected passionate love to
her friend, her confidant, her support and her guide.

He began to kiss her body slowly, as though he was intent on not leaving one
spot free of his lingering memory.  Cody began to run his hands up her dress,
while murmuring the words she had so longed to hear.

"Jewel, my precious gem.  I've wanted to do this for so long."

Her breasts were swelling with desire and hurting to be removed from the
confinements of her lingerie.  Jewel tried to pull off the dress, but Cody
stopped her.

"Don't.  Leave it on."

Hunger.

He pulled the top of her dress down just far enough for her ample fruits to be
freed.  As his mouth took them in, one at a time, and tasted her food, Jewel
could feel the moistness of his saliva trickle down her stomach and drip into
the hollow space between her legs.

Thirst.

The black velvet dress was draped around her waist, as Cody explored her moist
wonder world with his tongue.  She could feel the roughness of his stubble on
the sensitive areas of her inner lips as he drank her own wine.

She felt love, passion and animalistic desire simultaneously.  Jewel
rhymically moved her hips up and down, using Cody's face for friction.	Her
juices were flowing freely now, covering his mouth as though he took a drink
from a pond of thick syrup.  He probed deeper and deeper into her core, while
massaging her gem with his fingers.

It grew hard like an exotic diamond.  He took the rare gem and placed his
mouth over it, sucking and draining every ounce of sexual energy from her
body down his throat.  She came in waves, screaming his name into the night,
dripping uncontrollably and quivering violently.

As she climaxed a second time, Cody spread her legs and prepared to become
one with her as he entered her throbbing wetness with his ready penis.	It
was deep, deeper than she could have ever imagined.  He pumped his desire
into her in a wild frenzy.  Jewel moaned and gasped for air, climaxing yet
again.	His face was contorted with the pain of ectasy and sheer delight. 
Cody defined sex as his body grinded into her creamy flesh over and over,
merciless, skin flapping and secretions spurting like a fountain of lust.

Jewel gazed up at the moon.  She studied its features, its color, its craters.
She memorized the way it looked in every detail.

She would draw a sketch of it tomorrow.

"Take me to the moon," she whispered softly.

"Take me to the . . ."

"Take me . . ."

"Take."

They both ate and drank equally and deeply, but the thirst and satisfaction
were mostly his.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Mimi, help me.  What do I say?  Where do I begin?

He spoke first.   Jewel braced herself to hear the words she longed for . . .
the words she dreaded.

"Jewel, what happened last night was. . .well, it was beautiful."  Cody looked
at her as though he expected her to interrupt him, but she remained silent.

"I am not saying I regret any of it.  I don't.  It's just . . . it's just that
. . . well, you know.  We never talk about her, but she exists, Jewel.  She
exists.  No, I am not married to her and I have no idea whether or not we will
be lifetime partners.  I do care about her, Jewel.  I care about her very
much.  You know that."

This is the worst moment of my life.  I came in here prepared to do the
talking and now I cannot even speak.

"I feel very guilty about what happened last night.  At the same time, I feel
good about it.  Part of me wants it, well, part of me wants you.  I care about
you too, Jewel."

He paused.

"Very, very much.  I cherish every moment we share together.  You are so
special to me and I don't want to lose you.  I am torn.  Damn.  This is hard.
I am so confused."

Tell him, Jewel. Just tell him you love him.  Maybe he is waiting to hear . .


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