Dénes Gárdonyi waited impatiently for the car to fill. They were due in Budapest at a reception in his honor, but he’d had to visit his in-laws to show them their grandchildren, Ágnes, 3 and Katalin, approaching 2. A multitude of relatives and neighbors alike had come to fawn over the girls. As a result, goodbyes were extended, and now they were running late. As soon as he pulled up to the gas pump, an old gypsy woman toddled towards the car. He begged the tank to fill faster, but she reached him before the tank was half full. “Pardon me sir,” she grated in a phlegmy voice, “would you have—” He pulled the hose out of the tank. There should be enough to get us to the capitol. The crone stepped in his way, “—just a few coins perhaps, for good luck.” He shoved her away from the car and swore at her in Hungarian before jumping in and speeding away, not caring about the dirt and rocks thrown at the elderly gypsy by his spinning tires. Disgusting Gypsies. All beggars and thieves.
The woman spat on the ground three times where the car had been, shook her fist and shouted, “I curse you, Dénes Gárdonyi! I curse you with all you detest!”
***
Ágnes Gárdonyi took Chad Castle’s hand and stepped out of his BMW 5-Series. The five-eight, blue-eyed blonde business student, a model in her spare time, and her dashing, equally handsome boyfriend made a stunning pair. He flipped the keys to his car at the valet and escorted his girlfriend into the charity gala at the hotel. He would’ve preferred to spend the evening at the country club, but she was into the charity thing, and it made him look like he gave a shit about the little people, too. They walked the gauntlet of local paparazzi, smiling as if this was Oscar night. He was the eldest son of local supermarket monarchs, she the daughter of a financial power broker and real estate mogul who served as a prominent professor at the university. Ágnes would be graduating from that university in a few months, and then he would propose and make her his for good. Suddenly, a raggedly-dressed, elderly woman broke through the cordons and blocked their entrance, carrying a bucket of flowers. Before he could shout for security, Ágnes boldly walked to the woman, leaving him no choice but to follow. “Beautiful roses for the beautiful young lady?” she cackled. Hotel security appeared, but a black guy in a suit shook his head, signaling he would handle the situation.
“Oh they are beautiful!” gushed Ágnes, confident the woman, possibly homeless, was harmless. She saw that security were alertly holding their position, and noticed the black gentleman discreetly standing several feet behind the woman, also in the walkway. She coyly glanced at Chad.
Chad sighed inwardly, but quickly recalculated the dynamic: this was a perfect opportunity for a feel-good public photo op, and to score some romance points with Ágnes. He asked the woman how much for her remaining red ones, loud enough for nearby photographers to hear without broadcasting. She said twenty dollars. “Here,” he said, pulling a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet. “My lady,” he gallantly bade his date, “your roses,” even as he smiled for the cameras.
“Mmmmm…” purred Ágnes as she inhaled the scent from the bunch she gathered. “They smell divine. They aren’t like any roses I’ve seen before.”
The woman coughed once, cleared her throat, and responded, “They are a special variety named ‘Hungarian Princess’, for they were originally cultivated in Hungary, dear lady.”
“Oh, that’s neat!” exclaimed Ágnes. “I’m Hungarian… at least, both my parents are.”
“Then it is most appropriate you receive these roses as you are their namesake.”
Ágnes gracefully curtsied to the woman and thanked her for the compliment. Chad took her arm, nodded perfunctorily at the flower woman, and brushed past, smiling at the publicity coup. His date purred again as she inhaled deeply of the roses, and the black guy who’d held security off passed them, heading toward the old woman. Ágnes paused at the hotel entrance to spare a look at the woman; Chad turned back as well. Instead of security hustling her to the police for street vending without a permit, and getting him his hundred back, the black guy was escorting her into the night. Oh well, thought Chad, at least I’ll get laid for my hundred bucks.
***
“Come along, my dear,” Walt Moore gently said, taking the old woman’s elbow. He shook his head forcefully at the security guard and police officer. There was no need for a scene: the woman had sold all her roses, so she wouldn’t be staying around. He picked up her bucket, and they slowly exited between a set of posts holding the ropes, walking beyond the hotel’s brightly lit front.
“It was you who prevented my arrest?” Although her clothing suggested she was poor, she was obviously sharp, and he acknowledged his intervention. “Thank your young man, for your kindness and understanding,” she wheezed, replying affirmatively when asked if she had a place to stay. Walt flagged a taxi and handed him forty dollars to take her wherever she needed to go. She grasped his hand with deceptive strength as she sat, and with clear, intense eyes, told him, “Your virtue will reap a reward beyond price.” He thanked her genuinely, she let go of his hand, and he shut the taxi’s door.
As the cab pulled away, the old woman murmured, “Your virtue shall indeed gain you a prize beyond price, Walter Moore.”
***
Chad was wondering if the flowers had been a mistake. Ágnes admired them every chance she got, smelling them as if some addictive drug. He’d taken some cautious sniffs himself: there was nothing special about the scent, but he had to admit the deep near-ruby of the petals was distinctive. Finally, he’d paid an attendant to have them unwrapped and put into a vase to be recovered after the gala. But damn it looked great when Ágnes entered the ballroom on his arm, holding a dozen red roses and that dazzling smile on her face, and everyone knew exactly who had given her those flowers. She was definitely going to be his wife. Soon. Ágnes waved at someone, and Chad saw it was the black dude who’d probably cost him a hundred bucks. Barely taller than Ágnes in her heels, and unremarkable-looking. Chad hadn’t seen him before, he didn’t look like one of the local athletes… still, he must have had some pull to hold security at bay. He thrust his hand forward. “Chad Castle.”
“Walt Moore.”
Ágnes chipped in, “That was very kind of you to let her go, instead of having her arrested.”
“She was harmless,” Walt said. “A lot of flower vendors like her work this area and the nightclub district just south of here. Your date stepped up big,” he nodded appreciatively at Chad. “Besides, I’m responsible for making sure everybody plays nice at the entrance.” Chad asked if he was hotel security. “No, the university’s Black Alumni group is supporting this event, and I got the job of entry concierge because I was late to the meeting,” grinned Walt. “Anyway, I wanted to thank both of you for handling the situation with grace. People have been known to scream for security right away.”
“They’re such lovely roses,” Ágnes dreamily interjected, “and they smell wonderful.”
Chad glanced at her. Enough with the roses, already! Walt shook his hand and thanked him again, before leaving. Chad’s annoyance with the roses didn’t fade when, an hour later, Ágnes said she was feeling a little tired and under the weather. Probably from smelling those damn flowers. She asked for her roses, kissing him on the cheek when the vase, with flowers arranged, was presented. He drove her home, but instead of being invited in for the evening as he’d hoped, he received a peck on the lips and a coquettish, “thank you.” She got out, and Chad watched sourly as the doorman let her in. “Hungarian Princess roses,” he grumbled. “You got that right. Hungarian, and a fucking untouchable princess tonight!” He pulled away; It was still early. Maybe that slutty Emily would be working at the country club tonight. She loved fucking rich guys.
***
About a month and a half later, Ágnes was in the student commons with her sister Katalin before her early evening class, seeking a little Ben and Jerry’s comfort. Rumor around the club was one of the kitchen workers was pregnant by her boyfriend, Chad. “Well, at least you weren’t engaged,” Katalin tried to console her sister. “See, it was smart to wait until after you graduated!” More athletic, also blue-eyed, blonde, and just as beautiful as her older sister, she was a scant inch shorter. Despite being born fourteen months apart, they were as close as twins.
Ágnes just sighed, feeling incredibly… betrayed. Chad had been calling her constantly, leaving apologetic messages instead of laughing it off. She had a feeling there must be at least a hint of truth in the rumors. “Just because my boyfriend’s a rat doesn’t mean you have to be bummed out, Kati,” she encouraged. “You still have Randy.”
“Yah, I guess,” Katalin unenthusiastically replied. “At least Chad buys you flowers n’stuff. He understands you’re a girl. Every so often, I get tired of being Randy’s sports buddy with benefits,” she complained. “Oops—guess that doesn’t help.” She leaned over and gave her sister a hug. “Gotta run. Yoga tonight. Want me to come over after you get home? I’ll bring Haagen-Dazs and a movie.”
“No can do the movie. Got practicals in Spanish early tomorrow. At least it keeps my mind off Chad. Thanks, Sis.” Ágnes settled back into her seat and contemplated her Americone Dream. The country club formal was in three days, and the whole family was going. Her father would expect her and Chad to be paired as usual. He’d made it clear he highly approved of the young Castle, considering his family’s wealth, business interests, and social standing worthy of his daughter. She was sure a rumored fling with a slut wouldn’t irreparably damage Chad’s standing in her father’s eyes. Besides, she had few alternatives: most of the country club boys her age were already committed to another member, and that, for better or worse, was her social circle. She rarely had the opportunity to venture outside it campus. Maybe after graduation and without Chad… A face appeared in the doorway—and she remembered… roses. Her face lit up with a smile, and she raised a hand to attract his attention.
Walt Moore had just spoken at his alma mater’s minority recruitment program, and was taking in the newly-renovated and expanded campus commons. He looked into the old cafeteria, with its four different food zones and ice cream bar, wishing he’d had choices like that when he was a freshman. A warm smile from someone at one of the tables froze him. A face and body like that you never forget, no matter how brief the encounter. It was her, the drop-dead awesome blonde with the roses at the fund-raiser, smiling at him. He smiled back and gave a shy wave. Women like that went out with rich, perfect dudes like the guy who bought her the roses. He didn’t want anyone to misunderstand and hesitated. She stood and walked toward him. Nobody else was around.
He half-waved in her general direction, and Ágnes didn’t know if he was returning her wave or thought he recognized someone else. She was sure it was the same guy as at the fund-raiser—Walt, she recalled, and was perturbed by the realization Chad hadn’t bothered to introduce her. Maybe that was why he was just standing in the doorway. Ágnes hoped he wouldn’t leave before she got to him. “Hi—Walt, right?” she smiled, extending her hand. “My name is Ágnes Gárdonyi. I apologize for my—boyfriend’s—rudeness in not introducing me at the fund-raiser.”
Oh my god, the socialite Ágnes Gárdonyi remembered me! Walt’s stomach did flip-flops. She asked if he would like to join her for a little while, and he accepted, thankful for a place to sit to keep his rubbery knees from giving out. “To be honest, I’m extremely flattered you remember me.”
“I never got the chance to thank you for handling that so graciously,” Ágnes replied. “I wasn’t sure how Chad would react. But those roses were so beautiful…” She sniffed the air, eyes fluttering at the vivid memory of their aroma, and smiled dreamily. “And you were really nice to that old lady… what happened afterwards?” Her heart melted when he told her what he’d done. “You’re so sweet!”
Her o-face has got to be awe—. He tried to shut off the inappropriate thought inspired by Ágnes’ momentary… whatever it was even as he accepted the compliment. She was a definite ten, maybe even more. Worried he’d forget the reality of the situation and himself, Walt thanked her for attending the fund-raiser and excused himself. He stood.
Ágnes was disappointed he was leaving so soon, but tried to hide it as best she could. She might see him again… at the same fund-raiser next year or—maybe at some alumni event. The second thought cleared her moment of melancholy. She stood to offer a parting hand—and her other arm moved, reaching forward, pulling her body along and she hugged him. She answered his small jump of surprise by extending her social hug, unconsciously drawing closer, his scent filling her nostrils, his reaction turning carnal… Ágnes whispered, “Maybe we can see each other again sometime?”
Walt blinked, stuttering, “Excuse me… Miss Gárdonyi?” Unsettled by her impetuous intimacy and the dewy expression in her eyes, he tried to reestablish polite separation, but she wasn’t having any of it. She insisted he call her by her first name, pronouncing it “Ahhn-yezz”, and softly reiterated her question. She wasn’t drunk, nor was she joking. Her smile sent her past eleven. He managed a halfhearted, “Maybe… sometime,” and stepped awkwardly away.
Ágnes pressed her advantage. There were times being drop-dead gorgeous was useful. She scribbled her number on a piece of paper. “I’d be happy to help with the food bank. If you need anything, just call me and I’ll see what I can do,” she purred. He thanked her and scurried away. He’s so nice and polite and gentle… and cute. Why not? She sat to resume studying, absently twirling her blonde hair around her fingers with a smile.
***
Ágnes sped home from the country club formal in her Mercedes sedan. Tonight couldn’t have gone worse as far as she was concerned. She’d pointedly declined Chad’s invitation and driven herself. Nonetheless, he’d easily found her and apologized yet again for the rumors, assuring her they were just that. He’d assumed her forgiveness, and she spent the evening on his arm. It was the last place she wanted to be, but it would have been—noticed—if she hadn’t, and that would have quickly become awkward. It got worse when her parents joined them. Chad had presented her with an expensive diamond pendant, about as close to an engagement ring as you could get without actually proposing, while Bitsy Worthington looked on enviously. Her father was ecstatic, and she had to play along. But that wasn’t the worst part of the night. Her father had privately told her he wouldn’t object if she accepted Chad’s proposal before graduating, as long as the wedding took place after graduation day. He’d also let Chad know. A few weeks ago, she would have been ecstatic; now she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to be his girlfriend, let alone fiancée-slash-wife. She was going to have to make a decision much sooner than she wanted. Katalin was spending the night with her boyfriend, so Ágnes wouldn’t be able to confide in her sister until sometime late tomorrow. She abruptly pulled into a gas station; Ben and Jerry’s wasn’t going to help with this. “A pack—no, two—of Capri 120 menthols, please,” she asked the clerk, and didn’t wait until she got into the car before lighting one. The tension and nervousness receded perceptibly with her first effortless drag. Much better. She stopped a block away from her home to have another one before pulling into the garage at her high-rise building. The anxiety of her pending decision surged on the elevator to the top floor, and she went straight to bed, trying to avoid thinking about it. That didn’t help; she slept in fitful spurts.
Early the following afternoon, Katalin cautiously opened the door to her sister’s penthouse apartment with her key, calling, “Ani? Where are you?” They lived across from each other on the top floor of one of their father’s prime real estate holdings. He had moved the former tenants to another swank hi-rise, and given one of the two penthouses to each of his beautiful daughters, the pride of his life, when they went to the local university. It assuaged his concerns for their safety (after all, they were daughters of one of the city’s wealthiest citizens) and removed the possibility of—unsuitable—roommates. “Ágnes?” she cautiously called again. Her sister answered this time, from the balcony. “Sort of a chilly day to—oh!” Kati stopped as her sister took a puff from a cigarette. “I didn’t think a pseudo-wedding proposal would be a reason to start again,” she gently lectured, noting the half-full ashtray with some dismay. She’d never taken up the habit, while her sister, out on her own for the first time, started freshman year, despite their father being a strident antismoker. He’d blamed Ani’s smoking on bad influences from her lower-class college friends, and had gone to some extreme lengths to force Ani to quit before sophomore year. “Dad’s going to have a cow. You remember—”
“Yes, Kati,” Ágnes snapped. “I do. You won’t tell—?” Kati grimaced, but promised he wouldn’t find out from her. Ágnes crushed the half-finished cigarette out and sighed, “So Chad all but proposed to me last night.” The sisters went back inside. “And Dad encouraged him to propose as soon as possible—before I graduate, even.”
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic about that. I thought Chad was your forever and always?” Kati queried, puzzled. “Are the rumors true?” Ani told her what he said. “So… it was a clumsy attempt at blackmail and you’re mad at him because…?”
“I don’t trust him anymore,” Ágnes sniffled. “I don’t know what’s changed… but… I don’t feel the same way I did like a month ago. It’s like, I’ve dated him for almost six years, but what other choices did I really have? Other boys at the club? Try to steal someone else’s boyfriend like Bitsy Worthington, spreading her legs for anybody who might give her a huge engagement ring?”
“Wow.” Kati had never thought of it that way. It was her life, too, but she’d never thought to question it. Even though she wasn’t sure why Ani suddenly felt this way, she knew her sister was hurting, and hugged her. Ani poured out her heart over the next two hours, and Kati understood why she was stressed. Their father was going to go ballistic—and smoking was going to be the least of it.
Ágnes had been successful at evading Chad for most of the week, but couldn’t avoid him with spring break approaching. He would expect to spend the week in Cancun as was their custom, but there was no way she was going to spend a week alone with him right now. “Chad, I know you’re sorry,” Ágnes said. “You’ve made that quite clear with the dozens of phone calls and the flowers. I’m just not sure this is something that can be fixed by spending money on me.” She’d thrown the roses away because they reminded her of him. “I can’t just take off and go to Cancun the weekend before spring break—and then go a week later. I still have to graduate, and I can’t go on cruise control for the rest of the semester. Besides—I’m busy this weekend. I made a commitment to help at the food bank on Saturday—yes, I do take that civic duty thing seriously. You could come with me. I bet Castle’s could do a lot of good for a food—I know, it’s not good business to give food away—” She huffed off the receiver, eyeing the pack of Capri 120s on the table. “See, that’s why I’m not sure how sincere you are,” she argued. “You don’t ever take anything I want to do outside the damn country club seriously.” She hung up and grabbed her cigarettes.
It was a regular Saturday morning at the food bank, at least until Ágnes Gárdonyi walked in saying she was there to help. Everything stopped. What was a girl from the society pages who got a huge diamond pendant a week ago doing there, without makeup, in sneakers and a tee shirt, and no cameras in sight for PR? Walt was the first to recover. She had said she would help out—he just hadn’t expected her to do it. “Hi, Miss Gárdonyi,” he smiled, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Thank you for volunteering to help today. You can help sort cans. Bill, can you take over incoming while I show her the ropes?”
After five minutes, Ágnes was merrily shuffling and sorting cans, and running full carts to the pantry. Obviously intimidated by her celebrity, nobody spoke to her unless they needed to, seeming unsure of how to talk to her. She tried to be pleasant and accessible, but nothing seemed to help until a family arrived to volunteer. When she was introduced, the little boy asked why her name sounded so funny, mortifying his mother. Ágnes waved off her apologies, knelt, and softly explained it was Hungarian, because that’s where her parents were born, smiling throughout, and that broke the ice. She spent the rest of the day as just another volunteer, quitting at five with the rest of the warehouse crew. “Excuse me,” she announced, “would anyone like to go to dinner? I think all of you deserve something, so I’m buying.” Someone gently noted the money would be better spent as a donation, so Ágnes agreed to write a check for the cost of dinner for twenty instead. Everyone took the time to say goodnight, several giving her hugs, and she promised to visit the nail salon owned by a fellow volunteer. It made her feel… welcome, and a part of something in a way she rarely experienced.
“Miss Gárdonyi?” Walt’s soft voice warmed her insides even more. “Thank you for helping us today, and the donation is an extremely generous gift.” She told him she had fun. “I have to lock up the warehouse and make sure the pantry side is good to go. They’re open for another couple hours. You don’t have to hang around. I’m sure you have plans.”
If Chad wasn’t in Cancun, he’d be at the club, where she’d be surrounded by the same faces and attitudes she’d been free of for the day. She didn’t want that to end. “Actually, I don’t have any plans for tonight. Would you accept a dinner invitation? Just burgers and a beer, nothing fancy. I’m not as… snobbish as the society pages make it look.”
Walt’s stomach did flip-flops again. “Wow… That’s umm… very nice of you, Miss Gárdonyi—” She cut him off, again insisting he call her by her first name. “If you can wait ten minutes, I’ll be happy to show you the nearest bar and grill,” he smiled.
Ágnes smiled back and stepped outside for a cigarette while she waited. Not being a socialite was a good thing. A floral delivery truck pulled up and a harried-looking young man pulled a vase of red roses out. “Excuse me, do you know if Ágnes Gárdonyi is here?” She accepted the flowers with a gasp of surprise. They were the same kind of beautiful red roses she’d gotten at the benefit! Maybe Chad was being sincere and wanted to make up! She took a deep sniff, and the same intoxicating aroma took her back to that night… but the printed tag merely said, “For a Hungarian Princess.” It wasn’t like Chad not to take credit for a romantic gesture; if he’d sent them, he’d definitely want her to know it was him. She smiled suspiciously at the door to the food bank, and enjoyed the wonderful scent of her flowers.
When Walt stepped out, he heard Ágnes purr, “Thank you for the lovely flowers. You didn’t have to.” Before he could tell her he hadn’t sent them, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him with hot, wet, hungry intent. He managed to quickly gasp they weren’t from him, but that didn’t seem to matter to her as she insistently tried to merge her body with his. Ágnes had just gotten a huge-ass diamond pendant from her rich boyfriend, lived in the social stratosphere, and she wasn’t… for guys like him. All of those reasons evaporated as her urgency began to resonate within his body. “Your place?” she panted, more a statement than a question.
The half hour trip didn’t seem to affect Ágnes’ interest. She slammed her mouth onto his when he got out of his car in the parking lot, again at the building’s door, and then they necked for five minutes at the door to his apartment. She dragged him to the bedroom, and moments later, Walt was fucking a blonde goddess. Ágnes panted, groaned, and moaned, hips reactively thrusting at him, her limber legs wrapping around his back and her soft hands caressing his face, neck and head. There was nothing delicate, prissy or snobbish about her fucking. She was just as hot as his first college girlfriend, if not hotter. She squeaked his name once, and her blue eyes bored into his mind for an eternity before rolling up into her head. Ágnes came, pussy dancing around his dick, her arms crushing him to her, and her orgasm face was even more fantastic than he’d imagined from that one day… and he froze, reality intruding on the perfect moment. He couldn’t cum inside her. No way could they even think about a child. She groaned in frustration when he stopped moving and worked her hips to try to regain their earlier frenzied fucking, but Walt could not, would not give in. “Ágnes, please… I can’t… we can’t… risk…” She let go and he pulled out, nearly cumming from the slick, gooey, silky softness of her pussy. Walt flopped backwards with a discouraged grunt… and Ágnes scrambled to her knees next to him to capture his dick in her hand. She ran her tongue up and down with a smile, before stroking the base and licking at the head with aplomb befitting a courtesan, not a debutante. She engulfed the head, and it was too much for Walt. He sighed, “Ohhh… Ahhnn—yezzzz…” and shot cum into her pretty little mouth. Ágnes giggled, bobbed her head some more, and he kept cumming.
Walt regained his sight to see cum dripping from the socialite’s mouth, down her chest, and watched, fascinated as the untouchable, model-beautiful Ágnes ran her fingers through the goo, playing with it. “Sorry,” she giggled. “Forgot to tell you I wanted you to cum in me. You’ve always been so nice to me… and everybody.” She stood, dressed haphazardly, gleefully saying, “Be back in a bit!” and scurried out of his apartment. He lay in bed, stunned. Even if she never came back, it was one hell of a thank you. His door buzzed a few minutes later. “Hi, it’s Ágnes. Can you let me back in?” She sounded really cute when she was sheepish, and reentered carrying her roses. “It was getting cold, and I didn’t want to leave them outside overnight.” Did that mean she was planning to spend the night? “They smell really… wonderful, just like the ones at the benefit.” Walt took a whiff; they weren’t anything so different, maybe a little stronger of a rose scent, but when she did, her eyes fluttered orgasmically and she looked at him with that hungry, predatory gaze. He hardened as she curled her finger in definite invitation, and it wasn’t long before they were naked and fucking again. In spite of her permission, he pulled out and came on her flat tummy and collapsed next to her. She ran a finger through the puddles and licked them. “Not bad,” she casually smiled, sexy, and way nastier than Walt would have ever thought someone like her could be. It was also crazy hot. With a throaty purr, Ágnes curled up against him, seeming perfectly content. They fell asleep quickly.
“Walt?” Ágnes tentatively offered an hour later, still feeling the glow of great sex, better than Chad had ever been. “Thank you for everything today. It made me feel… normal. Not like a spoiled rich girl. I try not to be, but it’s hard when the only socializing I’m allowed to do is at the country club.” She rolled over to face him. “My dad’s really protective and he… Well, he’s worked hard to get us to where we are, and he doesn’t… understand our world isn’t the only one.”
“You sure went all-in,” he joked, drawing a blush, which made her even more beautiful. “So… what about the pendant and the guy who gave it to you?” Walt asked, stopping her as she reached for her jeans.
“Almost engaged. Almost an enormous mistake,” she candidly replied. “I invited him down to the food bank, but he said helping poor people was my bag, not his. He could do so much for the food bank… but he wouldn’t even come down to give even just an hour. I would have been happy with that. Instead, he threatens to take some other girl from the country club to Cancun for the weekend if I don’t go with him.” Walt asked if it bothered her. “A couple of months ago, it definitely would have, and I would have dropped everything to go… now, I don’t care.”
Walt debated internally about asking her to stay for the night. He didn’t mind being her declaration of independence, but he would have liked more than one night. “Oh, I’m not leaving,” she cheerily said as if reading his mind, “just stepping onto your balcony for a cigarette. Don’t want to flash the whole neighborhood.” He said his former roommate smoked, so it was fine with him if she wanted to smoke inside. Ágnes gave him a hug and kiss, shucked her clothes, and magnificent legs crossed, lit her cigarette with sparkling eyes. He knew they’d have to eat eventually, but her smile and sparkle told him it would have to be from the all-night delivery place. She didn’t leave until three Sunday afternoon, after putting his contact into her phone. “Call me after this week—it’s spring break, and I can go out then.” She kissed him, hot and wet. “Or maybe I’ll just call you,” she grinned.
That Tuesday, the sisters rode home from school together. “You’ve seemed a lot happier these past couple of days, Ani. Patch things up with Chad?” Kati asked.
“No, not really,” Ágnes absently replied, and was transported to… the scent of Hungarian Princess roses, and dark skin sliding against her body with a gentle smile in a handsome face… “I… met someone… new. Different.”
“Ani!” gasped Katalin. “Isn’t it a little late in the game? What’s Chad gonna think when he finds out you went out with someone else?” Her sister smiled. “Is he from our club?” Ani shook her head. “Another country club?” Another shake of the head. “Then who is he?” She couldn’t believe the answer. “From a food bank? Is that what he does for a living?” Kati pressed her sister for details. It wasn’t like Ani to go gaga over any guy. Chad was about as handsome as they came, so this guy must have been gorgeous to send her so far over the moon. It distressed Kati that Ani didn’t know what he did for a living, even more when she found out her sister had already spent a night with him. “Are you sure that was—safe? He could have… drugged you and kidnapped you!”
“Sometimes you scare me, the way you sound like Daddy,” snipped Ágnes. “He thinks every interaction needs to be vetted beforehand. Everyone and everything needs to be preapproved and if they’re not from the club, they’re only out to rob or hurt us. Well, I’m tired of it. I want to see what—and who—is outside the club and our exclusive neighborhood and triple-secure penthouses!”
The argument continued for the rest of the trip home, and Ani rushed into her apartment without saying good night. As the door closed, Kati caught a glimpse of her sister heading straight for the balcony with a cigarette between her lips, and she worried. This wasn’t like Ani at all.
In spite of Kati’s best efforts at reconciliation, Ani didn’t say a word to her for two full days, only thawing when Kati needed help with a class she’d already taken. Kati told her sister she was still keeping her promise to not tell their father about Ani’s—behavior, even though it was as if Ani had become a different person overnight. Ani mentioned she was going on a date with her new boyfriend Monday night. Kati seized the opportunity to ask if she and Randy could tag along, reasoning she would be able to evaluate this guy rationally, and the brawny Randy would provide protection if necessary.
Monday found Kati in Ani’s car, speeding towards a club district neither of them had been to, relying on GPS for directions. Although not far from the downtown business area, it wasn’t an area anyone from the club would frequent. Her carefully considered plan had fallen apart when Randy broke his ankle while rock climbing the day before; he was still drugged and out of it, leaving Kati as her sister’s sole protector. “Are you sure it’s safe here?” she asked as Ani pulled into a parking space on the street. Her sister cheerily said her new boyfriend came here often and nothing had happened to him or his car and popped out. Yeah, but I bet he doesn’t drive a new Mercedes. Kati quickly followed on her sister’s heels, alertly looking for… well, she didn’t know what she was looking for, but this wasn’t exactly the clean, safe environs of the suburban nightclubs she and Randy went to.
The “club” was an ancient-looking building. A burly doorman outside waved them away from the front door into a tented area with a stage at the far end. Tables sat in the middle of plastic chairs and wooden benches, and uneven cobblestones served as the “floor”. A funky-looking bar with even funkier-looking people stood a few feet away from the entrance. “Don't just stand there. Come on!” Ani impatiently sighed at her recalcitrant sister as she searched the club. Her face lit up in happy recognition. “There he is! That’s Walt!” She started walking.
Kati froze. He was black! Her sister was dating a black man! She wasn’t prejudiced: she had black friends at school and there was a black family at the club, but Ani was acting stupid and in love with a black guy she met at a food bank! She scanned the beer garden, looking for signs of familiarity. This was no upscale eatery. All the staff wore tee-shirts, and none of the patrons were dressed for an evening out. A drunk guy leered at her from the bar, and Kati immediately wished Randy was here to protect them. She sighed inwardly as her sister had stopped and regarded her with a peeved, “what are you waiting for?” glare. She moved to catch up with her, trying not to show her unease, especially when Ani threw her arms around the black guy before putting her arm around his waist. It was clear they were romantically involved. “Walt, this is my little sister, Katalin.”
His grip was gentlemanly, his greeting polite, but he wasn’t as good-looking as Chad. Kati she saw no reason Ani would have gone so head-over-heels over him, regardless of skin color. What had happened to her sister? She worried it was time to break their confidence and tell their father. Just then, another black guy with long, long, dreadlocks greeted him with familiarity and asked if he wanted to “hit with them,” noting, “it’s been a while.” Great, a pot smoker to boot. I didn’t think you could brainwash someone with pot. What other drugs has he been feeding my sister? Kati thought Walt’s reaction was suspicious as well. He glanced at both women, then at the other guy, and hesitatingly said, “Maybe.” It was too much for her to take, and she blurted, “I don’t do drugs—or smoke anything.”
Ágnes stared at her sister in disbelief. Kati was acting incredibly hostile. The guy in dreadlocks smiled, “That’s cool,” and returned to the stage to sit behind a keyboard. The only musicians she knew were the two members at the country club in the symphony orchestra. She was meeting all kinds of different people with Walt. “Are they going to play?” she whispered, and wondered where the sheet music was. Walt explained this music was generally learned by ear and played in the moment. The band started, and it was music she’d never heard before, so unlike the classical at home or the stuff on the radio, but she quickly found herself tapping her foot.
As for Kati, the music was further proof her sister had gone off the deep end. All of this was so… not normal for her. She glared contemptuously at her sister, who lit one of her long, skinny cigarettes, and gave her new beau a squeeze, obviously happy. How could Ani be so comfortable in this foreign, possibly dangerous environment? The song ended, and the guy with dreadlocks announced, “We’d like to welcome a special guest in the house.” Kati prepared to have their thus-far incognito status blown. Now everybody's gonna know we're two rich girls without anybody to protect us… �“Let’s have a round of applause for Walt Moore! C’mon up here and play, man!” Oh my god, my sister’s fallen in love with a musician! He just wants her to pay for everything so he can go to bed with groupies after his—gigs! Ani looked just as surprised, and Walt looked… embarrassed. Your little secret’s out, buddy. You’re busted.
He’s a musician!Ágnes excitedly thought. Her heart beat faster and she got tingly. The guy on keyboards kept egging the crowd on, and Walt stood up, walked slowly to the front of the stage, and said something she couldn’t hear. The guitar player handed his instrument over, and Walt put it on with a familiar ease. The rest of the beer garden, including her sister, vanished as he began to play with obvious skill. He was on the stage for three songs, and the band highlighted him in each one, prodding the crowd to cheer him on. Ágnes was fascinated, hot, and horny. “I didn’t know you were a musician!” she exclaimed when Walt returned, giving him a hug and peck on the cheek.
“So that’s what you do for a living? Do you play every night?” Kati coldly rejoined. At least Chad would be home almost every night.
“No,” Walt sighed. “Had enough of that during summer breaks in college, and it wasn’t exactly glamorous. Probably seen more of America by road than I wanted. Nope, I’m pretty much a homebody. I like my day job.” Kati asked him what he did for a living in the not-quite-hostile tone of voice she’d had all night. He chalked it up to being protective of her sister and couldn’t blame her for being skeptical. Truthfully, the only time Ágnes Gárdonyi and he as a couple made any sense to him was when they were together. Something just seemed to click. She was very into him, and he’d discovered the society pages didn’t portray the person behind the picture. She was anything but the shallow, materialistic airhead he would have assumed. “I manage a small materials testing lab in town. The owners have been great to me. I started working for them in college, and just kind of… grown into the company.” Ágnes noted he’d graduated with a master’s degree from their school, deflating her sister a little.
“But… I mean, I don’t know this music, but you’re clearly talented. Aren’t you going to be a full-time musician?” queried Kati.
“Nope,” replied Walt. “Helped pay for college, and I did some studio work during grad school, but I can’t sing well enough to front a band, and guitar heroes are a dime a dozen. It doesn’t pay off student loans.”
“Oh, look! It’s one of those flower vendors, like at the food bank event!” interrupted Ágnes, batting her eyes at Walt. She couldn’t wait to get him back in bed.
He waved to the flower seller, a young-looking woman with thick, straight, but wild, black hair accented with bright white streaks. “Hi!” she cheerfully said. “I guess you want two roses for the two lovely ladies, right?”
“Actually,” he returned, mindful of the symbolism, “do you have any yellow roses tonight?”
“Yes, I do!” she smiled. “You’d be surprised how many yellow roses I sell on Monday and Tuesday. Way more than red. It’s like guys don’t want to commit until the weekend,” she giggled. “I usually take however many the supplier has left. I only have two left tonight.”
“I’ll take them, and two red ones as well,” Walt said. He handed the red ones to Ágnes, whose eyes filled with promises of gratitude to be given most intimately, and the yellow ones to Katalin. “Please accept these as the gesture of friendship they represent.”
Kati initially refused. She didn’t want to like Walt, but he was making it difficult. She also wanted to protect her sister from their father’s wrath. Ani pointedly reminded her she always complained Randy never bought her flowers, so she grudgingly took the roses with a mumbled, “Thank you.” She waited until Walt and Ani weren’t looking to take a long sniff from her roses. Maybe I won’t tell Daddy what Ani’s up to… Better to try Mom first… By midnight, Kati was smiling every time she sniffed the flowers, whether her yellow ones or Ani’s red pair, tickled she’d finally been treated like a girl. A pretty girl… a sexy girl. Walt had been asked to play some more, and she enthusiastically joined her sister in encouraging him. He was very talented… and cute… I wonder if it’s true what they say… Her sister lit another of her long, slender, effeminate cigarettes. So slim… so distinctive… so girly… “Ani… Can I have a cigarette?” The request just jumped from Kati’s mouth, now sitting beside her sister. She twirled her yellow roses by the stem and took another sniff, smiling beatifically.
Ágnes extracted one from the pack and handed it to her sister, who put it between her lips, and leaned slightly forward to accept a light. Katalin’s first ever puff from a cigarette was not awkward, fumbling, choking or gagging. Instead, it was smooth, nearly identical to her sister’s way of smoking, right down to the tiny nasal residual that followed the long, silent, sculpted trail of smoke from the lips. Ágnes showed no sign of being disturbed or surprised by her sister’s request, let alone the ease with which she smoked.
Walt left the stage a lot sweatier than he’d have liked with a date in the audience. He’d taken Tuesday off expecting to end up in bed with Ágnes, but since she’d arrived with her sister, it didn’t seem likely. Oh well, playing guitar is always fun. Ágnes still seemed just as interested in him. She wasn’t shy about showing her affection in front of her adversarial sister, but Katalin had been noticeably friendlier after he gave her the roses. In terms of the longer game, it hadn’t been a bad night at all. Katalin threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She kissed him on the cheek—and then his neck, letting her lips rest on his jugular a bit longer than necessary, purring, “Call me Kati,” into his ear before letting go. Then she grabbed a cigarette from Ágnes’ pack and lit it, looking exactly like a more athletic version of her sister. Is she really smoking that? How drunk is she… and why am I finding her hot in front of her sister? If Katalin’s overt familiarity bothered Ágnes, he couldn’t tell: she kissed him, hot and hungry, with a brief fondle to the bulge her little sister had triggered, making him a bit harder. This isn’t fair.
“I’d love to have you visit, but the doormen would definitely tell my father,” Ágnes cooed, “and I have to take Kati home first. She lives across the hall in her own place. Can you wait up for me?”
“Why should he wait?” Katalin asked, materializing from out of nowhere. “Why can’t I just come with?” She took a carefree drag from her cigarette and rolled an enormous ball of smoke out of her mouth before snapping it back in, captivating Walt. He completely forgot Kati’s earlier defiant declaration of being a nonsmoker when Ágnes rationally noted it would save a lot of time.
“But what’s she going to…” Walt’s voice trailed off as Kati approached, taking another fascinating drag and exhaling with upturned chin. She leveled her blue eyes at him. They had the same glow as Ágnes’ a couple of weeks ago, and transmitted the same message. The girls followed him home after stopping to buy more cigarettes. He expected a camera crew to jump out of the bushes yelling, “Punked!” when they arrived at his place. The suspicion persisted until both sisters were naked in his bedroom. Kati lit a cigarette and her second drag was smooth and long. Posed like a model from a 1960’s cigarette ad, her nearly silent exhale produced a lengthy cone. Ágnes took the cigarette and told her sister to pull down his pants. There was something oddly inflammatory about the near-identical twins’ smoking, and as Kati revealed his cock, it popped out at her, more than half-erect.
Kati gasped, “Oh my god! He makes Randy look like a golf pencil!” but immediately engulfed it nonetheless, only able to think about how it felt in her mouth, the taste of his flesh, and the scent of his… maleness. Ani caressed her face and hair, cooing encouragements and Kati felt herself quiver and get wet. She redoubled her efforts, trying to draw his flood, peeping in frustration when he grabbed her wrists and pulled her to her feet. He pushed her roughly to the bed and yanked her jeans off and then her panties, his prick pointing between her legs. She saw Ani kiss him, stroking his cock, and then her sister tenderly whispered, “Fuck my baby sister, Walt. Show her what real fucking is.” Kati inhaled loudly and deeply, her eyes going wide at the sensation between her legs, and he kept going further and further and further than she’d ever felt, stretching her more than ever filling her soooo much and it felt soooo goooood—! The next thing she knew, she was all gooey and sticky down there and realized she’d orgasmed harder than ever before. Kati ran her fingers through the mess around her… pussy. Ani handed her a freshly lit cigarette and said right after really great sex was the best time to smoke. Kati drew steadily, filling her lungs and body and mind with intoxicating smoke. Now she understood exactly what her older sister meant as each glorious inhale and carefully sculpted exhale prolonged her afterglow. She barely noticed Ani was having her way with… her new boyfriend. Her big sister was always so considerate, letting her have her fun first. She grabbed another of the long tobacco cylinders, lit it, and posed seductively for an admirer only she could see.
***
Walt pressed his eyes shut, not wanting to let go of the fabulous dream… sleeping with two Ágnes Gárdonyis, taking turns with them in a smoky room. Suddenly, he realized there was a body half-wrapped around his… and another lying next to him. Ho-leeee SHIT! It was real! The body on top of him stirred, and sleepy blue eyes met his. Ágnes burrowed closer into his body with a sultry purr. He could even tell them apart! Kati woke up, gave him a lingering smooch on the cheek and cuddled against him. Elated, exhausted, and feeling very… desired, Walt fell asleep again. When he woke up that afternoon, they were gone, but Ágnes had left a note on his bed stand. “Thanks for getting my sister to let her hair down! Be back around six!” it read, signed with the initial, “A”, and an elaborate, accurate drawing of a single rose.
***
Ágnes spent most of her spring break evenings at his place. She would be waiting for him in the parking lot when he came home from work, and take him to dinner or cook for him. Walt begged off sex after he was late getting to work on Wednesday, but it didn’t seem to affect Ágnes’ interest at all. It wasn’t just about the sex. So far, they’d flown under the social radar; only Kati knew they were dating. Sooner or later, though, their relationship would become public, and the shit would hit the fan. Her parents and friends probably wouldn’t approve, but the way she looked at him, the sentiment in those near-perfect blue eyes… he wasn’t sure it would matter. She was smart, gorgeous, fantastic in bed, sweet and fun out of it. In spite of his best efforts to avoid it, he was falling hard for her. She wasn’t waiting for him on Thursday, however, and it bothered him when it became apparent she wasn’t just running a little late.
His door buzzed at seven-thirty. “Hi, it’s Kati. Can I come up?” Worried something had happened to Ágnes, he opened his door and fought the urge to meet her on the steps. Kati said, “Hi, Ani got roped into dress shopping and dinner with mom, so she asked me to drop by to let you know she wouldn’t be over until much later. I don’t have her style sense, so I didn’t get drafted.” She took a long drag from her long, skinny cigarette and exhaled a long cone of smoke as she stood, limp-wristed, and… looking sexy. Kati growled, “Think I can keep you… entertained ‘til she gets here?” This wasn’t right. His intended protest faded with her next silent exhale and effeminate pose. Whatever he was going to say died in his throat, and he started to harden. She fondled the front of his pants and swayed past him, headed for the bedroom. He followed with barely restrained lust, and without a single thought of Ágnes.
***
“Ágnes, darling, I’m happy you were here to help me choose a dress for the Honors dinner, but… shouldn’t you be in Cancun with Chad?” Margarita Gárdonyi asked, getting daggers in return. Her eldest daughter’s sudden withdrawal from her boyfriend of nearly six years puzzled her, but young love tended towards the volatile. She smiled, “Whatever it is, I’m sure you will work it out before too long. Your father seems to think you are being spiteful, but I assured him you just wanted to concentrate on your studies.”
“Thanks, mom,” Ágnes said, thankful her mother didn’t press the question, and that she’d kept her father at bay for the moment. As soon as Chad returned, she would give the pendant back, break up officially, and reveal her new boyfriend. Her mother would be shocked, but her father wouldn’t take it well at all. She really wanted a cigarette, but if she smoked in front of anyone at the club, all hell would break loose. Her father would probably take the car and the condo away and make her move back home again under house arrest like freshman year. Then her social life would be restricted to going to the country club on weekends—with her parents, and no Walt. She needed a way to get her mother on her side. Shopping and dinner at the club was a start. “So do you like the dress as much as I do?”
“Yes, Ágnes! I knew your eye would find something to flatter me. I’m not as young and beautiful as I used to be.”
“Oh, mom! You’re gorgeous!” Ágnes countered. Even if dad’s forgotten. “I want to be you when I grow up!” Her mother had been an eighteen-year-old Hungarian blonde bombshell, captivating a young, hard-working university student, to hear her father tell the story. He had made up his mind to marry her at first sight, and nothing ever held him back from his goals. He had tried to impress her with his intellect, and when that failed, he resorted to “charming silliness.” Ágnes wished she could see that side of him again; he was fun when she was a little girl, but that was before he became rich and important. Now it seemed that was all he cared about.
As they were leaving, Ágnes more than ready to make a beeline to Walt’s place, she stopped at the floral display in the club’s foyer. A woman, a few years younger than Ágnes, was dismantling the elaborate arrangement of multiple kinds of flowers. Ágnes pulled excitedly on her mother’s arm. She’d know those roses by their color anywhere. “Mom! Those are Hungarian Princess roses! Like Chad got me that night at the benefit! They were developed in Hungary! Aren’t they beautiful?”
The young woman stopped working and said, “Yes, that’s right. They are Hungarian Princess roses, a special hybrid. My mother is from Hungary, and she used to cultivate them there. They’re very difficult to grow anywhere else.” When Mrs. Gárdonyi replied she was born and raised in Hungary, the young woman smiled. “Since the arrangement is done for the day, and I’m just going to have to throw them out, would you ladies like to take some home?”
Mrs. Gárdonyi hesitated; after all, it wasn’t like a Gárdonyi to accept charity, but her daughter immediately said yes, and prodded her, ebullient over these roses, so she gave in. The color was beautiful. “Don’t these roses smell awesome, mom?” Ágnes bubbled.
Margaréta leaned to her blossom and… she was transported back to Budapest… a dance…a handsome, smart, charming young man… and… roses. The young woman said, “We have a store, too. It’s called ‘A Taste of Hungary.’ Our greenhouse is there, and the store has lots of stuff that’s imported from Hungary. You should come visit us sometime. I’m sure my mom would love to speak with you. She loves meeting new people from the old country.”
“Yes… Yes… it would be nice,” said Margaréta, distractedly as she sniffed the beautiful rose. “Thank you for the kind gift. I will certainly visit. It has been too long since I was home.” Outside, she hugged her oldest daughter as the valets returned their cars, and they went their separate ways. Her husband would most likely be asleep by the time she got home. He had early meetings at the university, and would be there all day. Perhaps I will stop by that store tomorrow. I don’t have anything else to do.
Ágnes rolled down the window as soon as her mother’s car turned at the corner and lit a Capri 120 menthol, inhaling deeply. She sped towards Walt’s place, hoping her sister had warmed him up.
***
Margaréta Gárdonyi walked into “A Taste of Hungary” late Friday morning and was greeted by the smells of her youth: a variety of spices, chief among them paprika, both sweet and hot. It looked like any bric-a-brac shop, with items haphazardly organized throughout shelves. A door in the back led to a small greenhouse and the faint aroma made her recall the fields near her home, when she was a little girl. Before she met Dénes. “May I help you, Madam?” said an accented female voice. Margaréta instinctively greeted the black-haired, middle-aged woman in her native tongue. “Ah! Someone new from the old country! My name is Zsofia Kertész. Come, come! Let me show you my humble shop!”
In Hungarian, Margaréta replied, “I only discovered your shop because of your daughter. She was kind enough to present my daughter and I with marvelous Hungarian-bred roses.”
“Oh, the greenhouse! Yes, yes, come! I show you. They are my proudest accomplishment, save for my daughter!” Zsofia explained how she’d worked for many years to duplicate the soil of their homeland, only succeeding a few months ago. “Their scent and color is like no other in the world, Madam. But these are not my crowning achievement. Come with me!”
She followed Zsofia into a small room at the back of the greenhouse, warmer and wetter. A single flower, in perfect bloom, almost blood-red, shaped as if sculpted from a picture, sat in a pot in the middle of the room. “Behold the ultimate rose, the hybrid of all hybrids. The Hungarian Queen.”
“It’s… beautiful.” Margaréta softly exclaimed in awe.
“Yes, it is,” Zsofia echoed, almost as quietly. “And, you are such a gracious lady, I would like you to have it.”
Margaréta’s first instinct was to decline. After all, it was the only one, and Zsofia must have worked hard to create such perfection. Yet it was so stunningly divine, almost calling to her in its beauty… She unconsciously took a step forward.
“Yes, my new Hungarian friend… it is for you,” Zsofia purred. “Such beauty can only be possessed by equal beauty.”
“Yes…” Margaréta stood in front of the archetypal flower and leaned forward, afraid to touch it, but needing to smell the bouquet of such a gorgeous rose. She inhaled deeply, and bliss enveloped her.
“Yes, dear lady,” Zsofia said, “Such a wonderful aroma… brings back memories… of youth… and a simpler time. Inhale its perfume.”
Margaréta didn’t need any prompting, surrounded by the wonderful fragrance of warm summer days on the farm, so many nights… nights of passion… the blush of first love… the certainty of deep love…
“Yes, come with me, dear lady,” Zsofia said, carrying the rose in its pot. “I will show you the rest of my shop now,” and Margaréta fell into a dreamlike step behind her. “I have many wonderful things to show you.” They returned to the main body of the shop. “Here is a beautiful old item… the glamour of long ago, when you possessed the beauty of youth, but not the maturity to wield it well.” Mutely, she accepted the long, elaborately carved cigarette holder. “And over here, you will need these… you remember them from your youth. They are special… imported from our homeland.” Margaréta took the box of cigarettes, its label faded, only showing a few letters from an undoubtedly Hungarian word. She had enjoyed smoking in Hungary, but had forsaken the habit when she became engaged to Dénes because he’d hated it. “The box, it brings back marvelous memories does it not? Think of how you would have looked with the cigarette holder that night…” A smile came to her face as she remembered when he had proposed to her at the ball, and the night that followed. “Take another draught of the Hungarian Queen’s nostalgic aroma…” Margaréta immediately complied. “Excellent. Now, Margaréta Nemes, let us talk of the old country and bygone times, my fellow countrywoman.”
Not even noticing Zsofia had used her maiden name, Margaréta sighed, “Yes…” and she listened attentively as the musical voice spoke to her in her native language…
Margaréta picked up several of the spices; it would be good to cook food from home again. Sometimes she yearned for the simple meals of her youth, but Dénes decried it as “peasant food,” preferring the meals of the American well-to-do. She drew on the holder, casually french-inhaling for several seconds before she raised her chin and sent a stream of rose-scented smoke into the air. I would have been so elegant… irresistible had I one of these when I was younger… “Zsofia, thank you for allowing me to smoke in here. I cannot in the car or at home, and it so relaxes me.” She handed her more than enough money for her items, and departed after one last prolonged pull from the holder and thick, leisurely exhale before putting the remainder of the unfiltered cigarette into an ashtray on the counter.
***
Ágnes stood outside Il Forno, livid. She’d intended to return the necklace to Chad and make their break-up official in a polite, discreet way. Instead, he’d insisted on meeting at the fanciest Italian restaurant in the area, sure to attract attention. Then, he’d informed her his spring break had been spent “hanging out” with Bitsy Worthington in Cancun. Although it hadn’t been posed as one, the threat was clear. She’d angrily thrown the box with the necklace onto the table for his presumptuous arm-twisting and stormed out, leaving the necklace and Chad behind. She lit a cigarette to calm down while waiting for her car. Walt was out of town on business and Kati had a major exam tomorrow, so she didn’t have a shoulder to cry on. She hopped in her car and it took all her restraint to pull away without squealing tires.
Margaréta paused before entering Il Forno with her girlfriends from the country club. That was my daughter! Worried, she scanned the restaurant to see what had upset Ágnes so much that her daughter hadn’t even noticed her. Just then, Chad barged past without even recognizing her, looking angry. Oh dear, it looks like the lover’s spat is more serious than I thought. My husband isn’t going to take this well at all. She dialed her daughter, but got no response. Excusing herself from her friends, she apologized to the valet for the abrupt reversal and had her car retrieved.
***
Katalin heard the door across the hall slam and let herself in. She asked what was wrong, but Ani merely sobbed at her to go back and study. Kati refused, and waited for the explanation. “Well, at least you gave it back,” she offered. “Besides, I thought Walt—” she inhaled sharply from the flutters induced by the memories of last Thursday, when she’d ridden him to a series of thunderous orgasms that had left her rubbery legged. “—was your boyfriend now. Why should you even care what Chad did with Bitsy over spring break?”
Ani replied she didn’t. She was pissed he thought she should. He knew she would want to break up privately, so he’d tried to put her in a very public place to prevent it. This would definitely hit Sunday’s society page, and then she’d have to explain why to their parents—much sooner than she wanted. Kati suggested they step onto the balcony for a smoke. The doorbell rang right after they lit their cigarettes. “That can’t be Chad. The doorman would have called up first,” Ágnes wondered. She went to see which of the other tenants was at the door, and almost had a heart attack. “Mom! What are you doing here?” Oh shit Kati’s out there smoking and my cigarette’s out there! Her mother reached to hug her. She’s gonna know I’ve been smoking! I’m busted. Ágnes braced herself for the lecture.
“Hello, darling. I saw you leaving Il Forno and you seemed most upset,” Margaréta began. “Then Chad brushed past me seeming angry. Is everything all right?”
Ágnes was speechless. She was so worried about her and Kati being caught smoking she hadn’t thought about her other problem. “Ummm… yeah. I kinda broke up with him tonight,” she mumbled. I’m doomed. She’s gonna have a fit.
“Broke up? Why on earth would you do such a thing after six years?” her mother queried. “Ágnes, couples get upset with each other from time to time, that’s normal. But to break up with your intended…” Her daughter looked pained. “Come, let’s go sit on the balcony and talk. It’s a lovely evening.” Ágnes quickly suggested she open some wine and they could talk in the living room. “No, dear, I’d like to sit outside,” Margaréta insisted. Can this get any worse? thought Ágnes. Margaréta stepped onto the balcony to see a trail of moonlit smoke leave her other daughter’s lips. “Good evening, Kati.”
Katalin almost choked, but was reluctant to drop her cigarette twenty-three stories. As her mother hugged her, she prepared for an explosion that never came. Instead, her mother calmly sat, opened her purse, and removed a box of cigarettes. Then, with equal calmness, she took out a cigarette holder, placed one of the cigarettes from the box into it, and lit it, taking a long, easy drag. Kati gasped, “Mom! When did you start smoking?”
Margaréta finished her french-inhale, lifted her chin, and exhaled for several seconds. “I used to smoke back home, before I was engaged to your father,” she finally replied. “I do find it relaxing. Come, Ani, sit and join us. You’ll find it relaxing, and you could use a little calming right now.” Ágnes removed a fresh Capri 120 menthol from the pack on the table and lit it, shocked by her mother’s encouragement. “Now, why don’t you tell me all about your lover’s quarrel?” her mother sympathetically resumed. Ágnes told her mother of her increasing unhappiness with Chad’s behavior and his attitude, sidestepping the issue of Walt, while Kati lit another Capri immediately after finishing one, listening anxiously. “These—suspicions—you’re having about Chad, are they founded, or is it a matter of cold feet?”
“No… it’s just a feeling I have, and he’s been evasive when I try to pin him down about the bus girl at the club,” she responded. And I’ve met somebody new… somebody wonderful. “I like the cigarette holder,” Ágnes rejoined, trying to change the subject. “What kind of cigarettes are those? I’ve never seen them before.”
Margaréta smiled, “They are from that Hungarian store. The one that provided the flower arrangement at the club last week. They are imported from home.” She prepared to smoke another one.
Curious, Ágnes asked if she could try a puff, but her mother replied they were not menthol, and they were not filtered, like the cigarettes she used to roll when she was young. Her mother lit another holdered cigarette, and the smoke flowed in a creamy ribbon from her mouth to her nose. Katalin and Ágnes could only stare at this side of their mother, a woman they’d never known. Margaréta took another extended drag. Suddenly, the breeze died momentarily, and she ended up exhaling into her daughters’ faces. “I believe you were telling me your reasons for breaking up with Chad.”
“Yes…” Ágnes replied, and between both girls, the entire story came out.
***
As Margaréta drove away from Ágnes’ apartment, she knew she would need to take action to maintain family peace. While she trusted her daughter’s instincts, and this Walter Moore sounded like a nice enough man, her husband had already determined that Chad would be their son-in-law. He wouldn’t approve and would swiftly punish Ágnes to force her to go back to Chad. She needed to gently steer Ágnes back onto the course favored by her father, and would have to act quickly to cut off the inevitable article in the society pages, all the while keeping her husband from finding out. She’d already invited the girls over on Friday for an old-fashioned Hungarian family dinner with gulyás on Friday, and the society page would be done on Saturday for printing Sunday. She would have to meet Mr. Moore for a chat tomorrow after he finished work. Surely he would see reason and realize he wasn’t right for Ágnes—or Kati. Then she would invite Chad to join them for dinner, his culture and charm would recapture Ágnes’ fancy, and all would be peaceful in the Gárdonyi household again.
***
As Thursday progressed, Margaréta grew increasingly nervous. Her plan had seemed so well-reasoned and justifiable last night. Now, she realized she had never interfered in either of her daughters’ love lives, unlike her husband. He would chase suitors away or make the girls uncomfortable enough to break up if he did not approve. Any intervention on her part would definitely change the relationship between her, Ágnes, and Katalin. She’d almost talked herself out of going to see Mr. Moore by lunchtime as she walked toward the garden house for the fifth time that day to calm her nerves with a smoke or two. Margaréta pulled out her holder and the box and… swore earthily in Hungarian as the box slipped from her grasp, soaking her last three cigarettes as they fell onto the wet grass. I’m a nervous wreck, she thought, carefully grinding the tobacco into the ground, lest Dénes find out she was smoking again. Better go get some more.
She’d never bought American cigarettes before and asked for Virginia Slims at the nearby drugstore, since that’s what her smoking friends at the club always smoked. She walked out, opened the pack and sighed when it fell out of her holder. Slightly out-of-sorts, she immediately lit another one, but it felt wrong in her hands, and the smoke was weak. Tearing the filter off didn’t help. Margaréta crushed it out with an angry stomp and headed home. There was no way she could face Mr. Moore in her current state. She sat in her car, feeling conflicted and alone in the driveway of her spacious, grand home. Her daughters were at school, her husband at work on the same campus. The idea of the country club wasn’t appealing right now—none of her friends there would understand. Margaréta had a sudden inspiration: there was one woman who might understand. She pulled out of the driveway and swung the car toward the city and a Taste of Hungary.
Zsofia met her at the door. “Ah! My friend from the old country, Margaréta! It is good to see you again, and so soon!” Margaréta suddenly remembered the Hungarian cigarettes she’d found here and asked if she had any more. “Oh yes, I had some come in Saturday! They are very, very difficult to import and very popular. I only have two boxes left.”
Margaréta purchased both, the labels new this time, reading, “Misztika”. She quickly placed one into the holder and lit it right away with a prolonged french-inhale. “I am happy you returned,” Zsofia continued, “you forgot your flower.” Once again, Margaréta refused, but Zsofia merely led her through the large greenhouse into the second, smaller one. The sight of the perfect rose drew Margaréta forward once again to lean close to the spectacular bloom. Its fragrance filled her body, lifting her spirits, renewing her resolve, and her worries faded. “Come dear, bring the pot and let us talk.”
***
That evening, after having spent the entire afternoon smoking and talking with Zsofia, Margaréta arrived at Mr. Moore’s apartment building, determined to save her eldest daughter from making an enormous mistake. She took a deep sniff from the potted rose, a spectacular gift from her new friend, who reminded her of home and a simpler, less pretentious time. A fresh Misztika burned in her holder, filling the air with the perfume of roses as she read the directory. Someone exited the building just as she was exhaling. She immediately apologized and asked to be let in. The young man politely held the door open for her. She ascended the flight-and-a-half of steps and knocked on Mr. Moore’s door.
Walt was chilling out, watching the basketball game when there was a knock at his door. The door chime hadn’t rung, so it had to be one of his neighbors. He opened the door and gaped. A beautiful blonde, maybe in her mid-forties, stood there with a cigarette holder, surrounded by an air of obvious class and wealth. He recognized her from her blue eyes even before she spoke. “Good evening, Mr. Moore. My name is Margaréta Gárdonyi,” she musically clipped with an Eastern European accent. “May I come in?” He welcomed her in, worried about the reason for this unannounced visit. He would have thought Ágnes or Kati would have warned him first. Mrs. Gárdonyi drew on her cigarette holder and he watched, nearly spellbound as a thick, creamy stream flowed into her nose. She raised her chin, and a few seconds later, silently propelled smoke into the air, looking glamorous like an old-fashioned movie star.
The way he regarded her made her feel… good, in a way Margaréta hadn’t for a long while. “I would like to speak to you about my daughter Ágnes. You realize she has broken up with her boyfriend of six years, whom she was to marry, for this—fling with you.” Ágnes didn’t tell me he was this handsome. She dragged again with her usual extended french-inhale, and he watched attentively. The forgotten feeling grew as the fragrance of roses filled his foyer. “My husband would prefer she marry according to her station, and he is extremely determined when it comes to that which he desires.” His eyes are just as Kati described… Her daughter’s estimation of his— flitted across her mind, and her eyes flickered downward briefly. “While there may not be any direct consequence for you, Ágnes will not be so fortunate. My husband no longer understands young love.” She promptly tossed her head to clear the dangerous thoughts rushing through it, drawing on the holder to cover her lapse, aiming her exhale barely away from his face. “I have come to ask you to—” She stopped in mid-sentence to take yet another leisurely draw, holding his complete attention while he waited for her to finish. She exhaled directly into his face and glanced downward again, longer this time, noticing the bulge. One she, even after her youth, had elicited. “—to… —to… if you know how Hungarian women love.” He slowly shook his head. Margaréta finished her cigarette, filling the air with a heavy rose perfume. “Then let me show you,” she growled.
“Yes…” Walt docilely replied, the bulge in his pants becoming more prominent as he followed her to his bedroom.
“Undress,” commanded Margaréta, efficiently doing the same, and she sent him to the bed. Joining him, she took his prick into her mouth and he grew, exciting her. While not the longest she’d encountered—that distinction belonged to János, a local farm boy she’d seduced just before she met Dénes. Regardless, he was longer and thicker than her husband, and her body sang with happy expectation. She straddled him, reaching behind her to place him. His manhood, warm to her touch—so firm, so fat!—pulsed in her hand, and she worked herself onto him. Her legs and hips moved, and she remembered the young Hungarian girl she used to be, so eager for sex and so skilled in the bed, the car, or the hay. Her body remembered how it was done, even if she hadn’t done those things in many, many years. Now she had a young man to play with again. The thought added thrill and urgency to her sexing, and Margaréta drove herself to her first orgasm, greedily taking advantage of her stud, silently promising to return the service in double, later.
She lie beneath him, his cock sliding in so deeply, her legs wrapping instinctively around his back, as she ran her hands along his body, reveling in the animal sounds of his passion, and suddenly realized she had freedom to release her own voice. Her husband, ever the intellectual, did not like noise during lovemaking, seeming embarrassed that his formidable intellect could be so easily overwhelmed by base desires. Margaréta began moaning, softly at first, as if afraid of being hushed, and when he groaned her name, she cried out in joyous passion. He kissed her neck, still fucking in a steady rhythm, neither too fast nor slow and she felt the heat emanating from her chest, rising to her face. Yes, my daughters, you are right about him. Suddenly, Margaréta felt wetness on her nipple, and then a sharp, slightly painful pressure there. Her arms contracted, keeping his head at her breast, and she howled as the lightning ripped through her again. When the spasms subsided, his delicious, patient fucking resumed, his prick still thick and hard as it traveled inside her. Such stamina! She gently cradled his face and kissed him, sweetly at first, increasing in lust and passion until the fire between her legs reignited. She continued her loving grasp, looking deeply into his brown eyes, alight with need and desire. This is the way a man should look at a woman. Margaréta’s gaze changed to match his, silently broadcasting the intensity of their physical bonding. Slowly, she pulled his head downward, their eyes never losing contact. Ágnes, does he make you feel like this? Do you look at him in this same way? She poured her tongue into his mouth. He bucked, grunted into her mouth, and bucked some more until his legs relaxed, and he melted into her, panting. “Yes, Walter… Hungarian women can be so special… for the right man,” she cooed, arising once he stilled. She looked at his prone body on her return, and the tingle flared anew.
Unhurriedly, Margaréta assembled and lit a Misztika with her signature long, effortless french-inhale, and softly called his name. She posed seductively, settling into a stance she’d left behind in rural Hungary. Walter’s eyes opened and he was instantly transfixed. She sashayed to the bed, eyes dancing with mischievous delight as she deliberately french-inhaled this time, bathing his body in layers of gray-white rose-scented clouds. His prick twitched, and she smiled predatorily. Enveloping him with more of the delightful perfumed smoke, she sat up against the headboard, curled her fingers, and pointed. She took another elegant puff, and her eyes rolled as he silently went to work. Margaréta controlled his efforts while she finished her cigarette, and then raised his face. Their eyes met, she gently let go, and he devoted himself to her pleasure in the smoky room.
Surrounded in the afterglow of oral adoration, she changed positions, taking him with her mouth and hands until his dick strained skyward, glistening with sweat and drool. Margaréta rolled onto her side with her back to him, preparing for an almost-forgotten pleasure. Dénes had never done this, believing it disgusting and unworthy of enlightened human beings. To him, this was animal congress. Only peasants indulged, and they were little better than the stock they cared for. She moaned in loud approval as he breached her asshole, and wiggled to drive him deeper, filling her, stretching her, charging her with rapturous physical sensations. And then he started fucking her in the ass. With a yelp of surprise, she responded, relaxing to take more and more of him until he was fucking her ass just as long and as steady as he had her cunny. She jerked with every thrust, fireworks going off in her body and head in a series of tiny orgasms that wouldn’t stop. Soon she was howling, swearing in the coarsest Hungarian of the joys his prick inspired by being embedded in her ass, no longer bound by the propriety her husband insisted on. The fireworks were coming faster now, bigger, and brighter and louder… “AAAAUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHH!” Every muscle strained, her face contorted, all she could do was quiver and vibrate around the wonderful warm thing captured within. Margaréta shuddered massively, and everything released. She quickly pushed behind her to stop him from fucking her and collapsed onto her back. The sight of his jutting prick, seeming even larger now, instantly reenergized her. She spread her legs wide, guiding him below her cunny, placing him at her little hole, purposefully pulling his hips forward, simultaneously thrusting her own, and he was inside her ass again. The Hungarian farm girl raised her legs as high as she could, displaying flexibility she thought lost long ago, encouraging him to embed himself fully. He did, sending her blue eyes wide and shock across her face that turned into an incredulous smile. Her arms splayed onto the bed, her head lolled to the side, and she surrendered to the exquisitely intense pleasure of being thoroughly fucked in the ass.
***
Margaréta giggled girlishly at the tiny fart she produced in pushing out his cum. How she’d loved doing that back home! She handed her spent stud her cigarette lighter, and waited for him to perform the service without speaking. Her first drag was massive even by her standards, the french-inhale extended for several seconds. She let her eyes dance and sparkle playfully for him, feeling years younger, the irresistible enchantress of her youth again. Walter’s spellbound gaze brought back memories of another man so enraptured. While it was obvious Walter would be up to another challenge, she needed to get back to her house.
A half-hour later, the room was filled with the heavy aroma of roses, laying thickly as Margaréta finished her second Misztika since dressing. He was hard again, and ogling her hungrily. “No, Walter,” she firmly said. “You will be joining us tomorrow for dinner.” He slowly answered, “yes…” obviously distracted by her beauty, elegance, and sensuality. “Casual wear, cocktails at six. I will leave your name with security so you are not delayed.” He nodded, still spellbound and erect. She hesitated. Well, I can’t smoke in the car or once I get home… Margaréta crushed out the Misztika, placed another one into her holder and lit it. Perching daintily on the side of the bed, she french-inhaled from the holder, wrapped a gentle hand around his beautiful prick, and began to stroke it. He sighed happily with unfocused eyes while she enjoyed her third and fourth after-sex cigarettes, always the best kind, his finish coinciding with her final skyward exhale of the night.
Back in her car, Margaréta leaned to the rose in the seat next to her, and visions of a seductive, young, blonde-haired nymphet played behind her eyes to match her inner Hungarian.
***
Dénes Gárdonyi entered his spacious home in one of the city’s most exclusive private communities. Inhabited exclusively by several of the town’s wealthiest families, actively patrolled by an armed private security force with entry strictly controlled, it was his castle, protected from the evils in the world-at-large. He had worked hard to get and stay here, a long way from his native Budapest, and to give his prized family the best of everything. The scent of paprika assailed him right away. Margaréta must be making gulyás, he sighed inwardly. His lovely wife and her peasant food. Stew was not a proper meal for a family living in this neighborhood. He walked into the kitchen to find her dressed in brightly colored house clothes. “Margaréta,” he said, “haven’t we enough so that you do not have to dress like a farmer’s wife and cook soups and stews to feed many mouths?”
“Dénes, the girls are coming over, and I wanted to give them a meal of their heritage,” she fired back.
He winced. After working so hard to become wealthy Americans, she would dredge up reminders of their impoverished past? “Heritage? They are American now, born and raised. Best schools, best clothing, best everything. Hungary is only full of relatives who would happily take everything from them.” She returned an evil glare and clipped she would change suitably for dinner. Wisely, he said nothing. He left her in the kitchen to take refuge in his den and pour himself a twenty-year-old single malt.
“Hi, Daddy!” his daughter Katalin called from the hall. He arose to meet her, wrinkling his nose when he pecked her on the cheek. She’d been around those disgusting smokers at school. “Why don’t you go upstairs and put a touch of perfume on before dinner?” he suggested. “Your mother has made gulyás and fresh bread for dinner,” he apologetically added, snickering, “She seems to think we’re back in Hungary and I am in school instead of teaching it.”
“A real Hungarian meal? Cool!” Kati said, and bounced to her room. Dénes shook his head with a chuckle at her endearing, but misguided, enthusiasm.
Ágnes arrived moments later. So alike, yet so different were his prized daughters. Kati, the athletic tomboy, shorter than her sister, who was more feminine and elegant and knowledgeable in matters of style and grace. Unlike her mother, she’d never needed to be trained for the high society circles of which they were a part. She would be a radiant bride in a few months, marrying her long-standing beau, the dashing Chad Castle, who would take the same care of her he had. It would be such a grand wedding! She would never consider serving gulyás like a poor farmer’s wife. He hugged her, and the smell of tobacco hung even heavier on her. Ani, I’ve warned you about being around those people. Your wealth makes you a target for those who would climb on your back instead of working honestly to elevate themselves.
The doorbell chimed just as he retrieved his scotch. That must be Chad. I hope he isn’t offended by a Hungarian peasant’s meal. Dénes opened the door to a puzzling sight. There was a minivan in the driveway and a young black man standing next to a security escort. Is there a problem with the house I am not aware of? It is late for a repairman. “Mr. Gárdonyi,” began the security guard, “here is your dinner guest.”
Dénes was immediately suspicious. “You must be mistaken, I know of no… dinner guest,” he cautiously began, trying to signal the guard with his eyes something was amiss.
“Mrs. Gárdonyi left his name with us,” the guard replied, sounding just as puzzled.
That cannot be, Dénes thought. Margaréta knows no black people other than the Carters at the club. Where would she go to meet someone well enough to invite— He was about to alert the guard to detain him when Katalin joined him at the door. He tried to hold her back in protective reflex, but she looked around him. “Oh, hey, Walt, come on in,” she said with discomfiting familiarity. “I’d like you to meet my father, Professor Gárdonyi.” Dénes dumbly stepped back, and the guard departed.
Ágnes rushed into the foyer, “Walt!” She jumped to hug him. “I’m so happy you made it!” She kissed him hungrily and bubbled, “Daddy, this is my boyfriend, Walt.”
�The pronouncement stunned Dénes, and he regarded the black man’s outstretched hand as if it was radioactive. His daughters seemed not to notice the social blunder, immediately conducting their guest into the house, both hanging on him like prostitutes. He heard Katalin say, “Mom’s changing—she’ll be down in a moment.” He was spurred into action when they turned towards his den, where he kept some important business documents and a safe filled with negotiable instruments!
“Ágnes, Katalin,” he growled with barely restrained anger, “you know we do not receive—guests—in my office at home.” Ani responded by kissing the stranger passionately, and Katalin rummaged in her purse. “Ágnes!” he shouted. “That behavior is not allowed in my house!” She jumped, looking surprised, and pouted at him. “What do you think you’re doing, young lady? You are almost engaged to Chad! You are going to marry him this summer! I did not give you permission to break that commit… ment…” Dénes’ voice died when Katalin placed a long, narrow, white tube into her mouth after handing her sister one. She then clicked a flame into existence, and the end of the tube glowed as she extended the light to Ágnes. Tobacco smoke arose from the ends of each cigarette, blossoming in plumes from his daughters’ lips. He thundered, “Put those disgusting things out—outside! You know there is no smoking in this house! I’ve told you such lower-class behavior will not be tolerated from either of you! I forbid it!” Dénes turned an angry red, speechless at his daughters’ brazen flouting of his rules. This was not like them at all! Ágnes had flirted with the evil weed when she’d moved out to go to university, undoubtedly lured by the less-well-off from among her classmates. He’d successfully broken her of it before it had a chance to become habit. Now, here was her sister, his athlete, who would never do anything to harm her body, smoking as well! How did—” His eyes landed on the black man standing between his girls. “You!” he raged. “This is all your doing! You have lured my daughters into your drug world and made them forget who they are! You’ve brainwashed them! You won’t get away with this! I’m calling the police and you will be arrested! You cannot bring your drugs into our—” Smoke filled the air from behind him, carrying a strong smell of roses. Dénes turned around and gaped. His wife was standing there with a—cigarette holder—and she was—smoking! But she had quit the day he proposed as her token of commitment. She wore a black dress, much more revealing than he would have approved, in a pose that left her looking like a wealthier, more mature version of the dangerously beautiful, slightly trashy farm girl he’d fallen for instead of his cultured, socialite wife. She exhaled a thick cloud of the sweet-smelling smoke into his face.
“You will do no such thing,” Margaréta calmly said before turning to the criminal who had corrupted their daughters. “Good evening, Walter. Nice to see you again.” She drew on the cigarette holder and french-inhaled. After a pause, she raised her chin for a leisurely exhale. “We can socialize while the gulyás gains flavor. Dénes, this is Walter, Ani’s new boyfriend. She has broken up with Chad, and they will no longer be marrying.”
Dénes sputtered. What did she mean not getting married? He had spent too much time and effort to give her the status she had, and he would see her marry someone of equal or higher rank. “My daughter will not marry just anyone!” he roared. “She will marry according to our station!” Ágnes Gárdonyi certainly would not marry any social climber, illegally employed or not. He would send his daughters to rehab and then buy the best deprogramming money could buy to put them back on their proper course. The door sounded again, Margaréta told him to hush and stay put, exiting with swaying hips. He pushed the feeling it evoked away, relying on his intellect to overrule his more primitive instincts. Ágnes and Kati had returned to the black man’s side as they continued smoking. The adoring way both girls were regarding him was extremely disturbing. Dénes couldn’t make a sound, let alone move. What drug causes this? Maybe it was a mistake to let them live on their own.
He could hear his wife speaking in Hungarian as she approached, along with a second female voice. She appeared in the den’s doorway carrying a bunch of red roses. “Look, girls, my friend Zsofia has brought us a beautiful present!” The girls gushed over the bouquet, practically burying their faces in it. The other woman entered the den, middle-aged, with coal-black, white-streaked, frizzy, unkempt hair. She strode confidently toward him, ignoring the others in the room.
“Hello, Dénes Gárdonyi. It has been a long time,” Zsofia smirked in Hungarian.
“Excuse me,” he indignantly replied in English, believing this an overture to blackmail. “Do I know you? I have no—” He nervously checked to see if Margaréta was paying attention, but his wife and daughters were still occupied with the sheaf of roses.
“English or Hungarian,” Zsofia snickered. “It matters not. We have met. Once. A very brief encounter. I assure you, I intend no blackmail.” Dénes asked if she was the reason for his wife’s sudden attack of nostalgia. “Not… entirely,” she replied. “All of this began with you, Dénes Gárdonyi, and the callous disregard you hold for those you perceive as beneath you, even if you do not show it. It grew with your need to control every aspect of your world and those in it. It has blossomed because you have lost sight of that which should be most important to a man.”
“Impudent tramp!” he snapped. “How dare you speak to me like that in my home? I will have security come and throw the two of you out, and then I will press charges—” Suddenly, he was awash in thick clouds of rose-scented smoke, and his tongue thickened in his mouth. “against… against…” Zsofia said something to Margaréta, who handed the bouquet to Ágnes, and left the den. “You… cannot… smoke in… my… my…”
Zsofia continued in Hungarian, “Dénes Gárdonyi, I have cursed you with all you detest.” He protested he never saw her before in his life. At that, the woman’s body trembled, her features aging by the second until an old crone stood before him. “A moment’s charity was all I asked, a helping hand,” she said in a gravelly voice, coughing. “But you were too important, intent on building your fortune and leaving your native land and everyone in it behind,” she wheezed. “So afraid to acknowledge a poor old gypsy were you that you even failed to put enough fuel in your car.” He gasped as the memory came forward. “Now you remember,” she rasped, taking another massive drag from the stubby cigarette and blowing its fumes directly at him. “I have cursed you, and now I claim my revenge!” she gleefully shouted in Hungarian as she transformed back into the dark-haired middle-aged version of herself, except her hair was longer, wilder, and the white streaks had merged to shape like a dagger falling near her shoulder. Margaréta returned, carrying a flowerpot with a single bloom, the deepest, darkest rose color Dénes had ever seen. Zsofia turned to her and resumed speaking in Hungarian.
“Yes, Margaréta, my fellow countrywoman, inhale deeply the perfume of your namesake, the Hungarian Queen rose,” the gypsy witch purred. “Let it transport you, remind you of that which your husband has suppressed… Reclaim your throne and your very soul.” Dénes watched in horror as his wife complied. After one prolonged sniff, her eyes fluttered erotically. Dreamy-eyed, Margaréta retrieved her cigarette holder and lit a cigarette, releasing more of the rosy perfume, sending a river of smoke flowing upwards into her nose. She tossed her blonde hair, holder held gaily at the end of an extended arm, and lifted her chin for the exhale. Dénes was repulsed. Margaréta’s smoking had been the one thing that had given him pause in his pursuit of her, and he’d only proposed because she promised to quit. As far as he knew, she hadn’t had a single cigarette since saying yes to him those many years ago. Her beauty vanished to his eyes. Zsofia approached, carrying the flower and its pot. “It is your turn, Dénes Gárdonyi,” she evilly sneered. “It is time you recalled the scent of your Hungarian wife through her namesake flower, and remember all that makes her who she is, even that which you have tried to strip or control.”
He struggled to avoid the flower, but his wife softly called his name, he reflexively turned, and sweet smoke engulfed him. “Dénes,” she sensuously cooed, “smell my pretty rose…” in her native tongue. He leaned over the pot and took a breath…. Margaréta posed fetchingly, looking… amazingly sexy as she took another one of her usual drags, the smoke smoothly curling upward into her nose as her eyes glowed wickedly. She lifted her chin, and Dénes watched the smoke flow from her lips with fascination. This was terribly, horribly wrong. Margaréta was looking and acting like… a Hungarian slut and his daughters were hanging on a black man! It was even more troubling that Ágnes, who was all but engaged, looked at the intruder with adoration, and they were all smoking. He willed himself to wake up, but nothing happened. “My husband has forgotten his roots, and believes that because he has become so accomplished, they are no longer important,” began Margaréta. “He has hidden them from our daughters. Now, I wish to show them their heritage as hot-blooded Hungarian women! Come, Walter. It is time they learned how Hungarian women love. Dénes, perhaps you will remember as well, yes?”
The black man began to disrobe. In broad daylight! Creamy smoke flowed into his wife’s nostrils as she regarded him with abject lust. She placed the holder into a decorative bowl and began to remove her clothes while Ani and Kati watched, spellbound. “Margaréta! Stop this! I forbid it!” Dénes shouted. Zsofia held the rose to his face, and his objections faded. The gypsy flooded the air around him with smoke, and his penis started to inflate. Now Margaréta was naked on her hands and knees, and the black man was behind her, naked as well, and she groaned happily as the fat penis pushed—into her ass! “Noooo, Margaréta!” he cried, but she didn’t hear him, as she began to work the prick deeper and deeper into her ass, narrating the sensations in her body to their two girls paying rapt attention. He watched, horrified as she responded to his thrusts in filthy Hungarian, shouted joyously.
“Yes, watch as your wife receives from another that which you withhold,” the crone cackled. “You deny her this pleasure, and so she finds it elsewhere.” Dénes got harder watching this—intruder—fuck his wife in the ass. Her ecstatic cries, the flush on her skin, her very movement, urging her stud to plumb her deepest depths was arousing. This was the gorgeous, sexual wildcat of a Hungarian farm girl he had caught and tamed, and for the first time he realized that perhaps he hadn’t tamed her at all.
Walt’s cock sang as he fucked Mrs. Gárdonyi in her ass again. Every so often, the heavy scent of roses hanging in the air would clear, the reality of the situation would hit him, and he would lose his rhythm. He was fucking his girlfriend’s mother in the ass, in front of her family and another woman, and all her husband did was watch. Why am I doing this? And why can’t I stop? He would be revolted, his cock would stop sizzling, and the hunger and desire would fade, but only for a second or two. Then he would smell roses again, and his entire existence depended on making Mrs. Gárdonyi cum from being fucked in the ass. She quivered, froze, and then with a loud, hoarse, extended grunt, she squirted in a forceful stream, sounding as if her bladder itself had let loose as it hit the plush carpet beneath them. She took a ragged breath and cried out. Bolts of searing fire tore through Walt’s cock, filling her asshole, and suddenly, “Ahhhh! Margaréta!” exploded from her husband, thrusting upwards from his chair. There was also evil laughter from the woman standing over Dr. Gárdonyi. Walt panted with exertion, and popped out of Mrs. Gárdonyi shortly thereafter. Streams of his cum ran out of her ass while she purred happily. The intensity of his own orgasm left him seeing stars, watery legged, and exhausted. Walt collapsed on the carpet, chest heaving.
Margaréta was all aglow. Her ass had been so wonderfully fucked! She reached for her cigarette holder, twisted one of the unfiltered Misztikas into it, and immediately lit it, taking a long, long draw, sending smoke through her nose as she continued inhaling the strong Hungarian tobacco, finally removing the holder and french-inhaling. This was the best time in the world to smoke.
Mrs. Gárdonyi was smoking again, filling the room with more of the rose scent, her eyes alight with wicked invitation. She drew on the holder, performing a slow french-inhale with open mouth, and Walt could barely believe what he was feeling: a rush of blood, and the need to fuck again. She exhaled at his prone body. Surrounded in a cloud of roses, the need grew stronger, and his ability returned in full force. “Kati, my sweet,” she said, “Come. It is time to embrace your heritage and rejoice in our womanhood.”
Kati hesitated for a moment. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this was horribly, horribly wrong, but her mother put the cigarette holder into her mouth. “Smoke,” she gently instructed. Kati sucked the smoke into her lungs and it filled her and her body sang and she was wet… “Make him yours, my Hungarian princess,” her mother whispered. Eyes on fire, Kati exhaled a line of smoke at Walt, and sighed dreamily as she lowered herself onto his face.
“See how your daughter learns how hot the blood runs in her,” the witch hissed at Dénes. The wet, sticky cum in his pants was forgotten. Tears welled in his eyes as his precious athlete pumped her hips with increasing tempo, her eyes fluttering and rolling. She took her pleasure from the intruder, destroying his family’s innocence, their standing, and their… morality. His Kati’s chest and face turned red, she sighed dreamily, quaked on top of his face, and then relaxed with a soft moan. His wife—her mother!—offered her the cigarette holder and purred, “Now dear Kati, embrace your femininity. You no longer have to be the tomboy, accepting sex because you are an outlet… become sexy, release your inhibitions…” His youngest daughter accepted the holder. From her knees, she took a deep puff, lazily rolling a ball of smoke from her mouth. With lidded eyes and gracefully limp wrist at the end an extended arm, Kati arched her back and eased her chest forward, producing a steady, thick, trail of smoke. She repeated the action twice before returning the holder, and then moved astride the man Dénes blamed for all this, kissing him tenderly.
Her blue eyes sparkled as she slid to the side and lie on her back, legs parted. Walt moved, and without a word, slowly pushed into her. Kati arched off the floor, moaning, and wrapped her arms around him. She looked at him with lust, joy, and tenderness, silently communicating her needs. Walt swung his hips in a gentle, steady rhythm, going all the way in without pounding at her. Her soft hands ran along his back, his ribs and his hips, but her eyes never left his. She cradled his face and they kissed, his patient fucking unaffected.
“Katalin! NO!” shouted Dénes, his anger breaking the spell he was under. He willed strength to his legs to sit up, to stand, to attack—His eyes burned, and the smell of roses intensified with the wafting, silky gray-white layers shrouding him. “Sit, Dénes,” whispered an unfamiliar Hungarian voice. “Sit and be quiet,” urged a black-haired girl about Kati’s age. “K-K-Kati… no…” he whispered, the strength he had struggled to gather now gone.
The girl perched on the edge of the chair pressed her hair flat, and the white streaks merged into a tiny dagger. “You have controlled her as well. Creating the athlete you wanted to be, turning her into a buddy, not a woman. Watch as your tomboy reclaims her birthright.” She exhaled a steady stream of smoke at Dénes, permeating his nostrils and his brain with roses. He watched the despoiling of his daughter, regret at his inability to protect his family overshadowing his anger. His youngest daughter was moving with the black man, their eyes intimately locked. Margaréta knelt beside them, and extended a rose between their faces. Dénes jumped in his chair at Katalin’s screeched Hungarian curse, her body moved in waves, and the whites of her eyes showed. She clung to the black man with desperation, squeaking in her orgasm. His back arched, he groaned her name and his thrusting became erratic. No! She cannot bear his child! That will ruin her life! “She has released herself from the chains of your narrow expectations,” the young woman on his side of the chair smirked. Never had Dénes felt so defeated and hopeless as when his sweet Katalin passionately kissed the intruder for several minutes, unable to do anything except watch in silence.
Not a word had been exchanged, but the thrills of being so—intimately connected with Walt burned deep in Kati’s core. She joined her mother and sister at her father’s desk, kissing her mother once on each cheek, and did the same to her sister. She grabbed the pack of menthol Capri 120’s to enjoy her girly cigarette in her rosy afterglow.
Ágnes stood, holding one of the roses from the bunch Zsofia had brought. She twirled it under her nose, breathing the marvelous scent from the Hungarian Princess. Casually opening the box of her mother’s Hungarian cigarettes, she removed one, and her mother gave her the cigarette holder. Her smooth, effortless drag and exhale gained a nod of approval from her mother, and she approached Walt, who was still sitting on the carpet. “Hey, Walt,” she purred, holding out her hand. He scrambled to his feet and softly, shyly responded, “Hey, Ágnes.” She took a puff and exhaled very slowly, encircling him with the rose-scented plume of smoke. She drew close to him, but did not speak again until she had finished her cigarette, leaving them awash in a field of smoke and roses. Walt had hardened again. They regarded each other through the haze. Ágnes took a coy sniff from her rose.
Zsofia smiled at Dénes. “And now for the final act. You would marry her to a handsome, rich boy, denying her the opportunity to seek and choose for herself by only allowing certain choices. Watch as your precious Ágnes rebels and makes her choice.”
“I love you,” breathed Ágnes to the intruder, as if cued. The black man said, “I love you, too.” Dénes sobbed as his eldest daughter allowed herself to be pulled into an embrace, regarding the man who would destroy her future with devotion. “Watch,” hissed Zsofia. “Watch as the spark of young love bursts into the flames of true love.” Dénes cried out, heartbroken as his beloved Ágnes met her illicit lover’s lips with hers, and they slowly moved to the carpet, eyeing each other with mutual desire.
***
All three Gárdonyi women were smoking and quietly talking among themselves, the daughters smoking what Dénes assumed were extra-long joints, his Margaréta, her Hungarian cigarettes through the elaborately carved cigarette holder. He regarded the gypsy with fearful rancor. The black man was dressing, standing by himself, and the economics professor glared at him, focusing his enmity on the man who’d despoiled both his daughters and engaged in animal congress with his wife. Afraid of Zsofia, he channeled all his burgeoning anger towards the drug dealer in his house. This was all his fault. He’d brainwashed Ágnes into giving up everything to live on the streets like a junkie, Dénes convinced himself. His anger grew hotter and hotter and he could feel the strength return to his arms and legs. Suddenly he was free from whatever had restrained him, and he charged at the intruder with a bellow, knocking him over. He swung an enraged kick at him, but it was blocked. Dénes stood, panting with adrenaline-fueled rage next to the fireplace. His eyes landed on the tools and he smiled evilly. I will kill him. He is trespassing. I must save my family.
Dénes picked up the poker, ignorant of the screamed, horrified protests of his wife and daughters. “I will kill you!” he bellowed, bringing the sharp edge to bear on his adversary, “You social-climbing, no-good bastard! I’m… I’m…” he was panting now, trying to get enough air to keep shouting. The black man was almost cornered, the look in his eyes saying he knew he was a dead man. Dénes took a triumphant, threatening step forward. The bastard wouldn’t escape. His heart pounded in his ears as he prepared to stab the intruder. Suddenly, his left arm cramped. Badly. Stab him! his mind shouted, but he couldn’t move, and his chest locked. He tried to take a breath… his legs collapsed, he dropped the poker, and everything went black.
***
Walt packed up his guitar and prepared to leave the stage as the band packed their equipment. “Hey man, I appreciate the night off,” said Eddie Jordan, the band’s regular guitar player. He’d happily let Walt play the last three sets. “You sure sounded like you got the blues big tonight, man.” Walt smiled weakly and nodded. He still couldn’t stop thinking about it. Who could he tell? Who would believe him? He’d awakened in his bed on Saturday afternoon, positive it had all been a dream until he heard the news: the distinguished professor and real estate mogul Dénes Gárdonyi had suffered a mild heart attack at his home Friday evening. He remembered going there to meet Ágnes, her old man having a fit, and then… roses, interspersed with images of a woman… Ágnes’ mom… of fucking her, and both her daughters, in front of the professor and some other woman with black hair. He also remembered being threatened with a poker, and seeing Ágnes’ dad go down. He didn’t remember anything else, not leaving, not getting home, nothing. The whole thing smacked of sorcery or witchcraft, something he didn’t believe in a week ago. Honestly, magic would explain everything, including why Ágnes’ sister had been so irresistible, and so hot to trot. And their mother… He shivered with the memory of how white-hot, sexy, and nasty Ágnes’ mom had been. Worst of all, he remembered Ágnes. How could I delude myself into thinking someone like that would want to go out with me of her own will? It must have been magic.
Walt left the bar and started for his minivan. “Excuse me sir,” said a gravelly voice, “Would you like to buy a rose for the lady at home?” Without turning around, he reached for five dollars to give her, even though he had no need for flowers. She resumed, “These are very special. Hungarian Princess roses.”
“You!” he gasped. It was the old gypsy woman from the Gárdonyi’s house! Suddenly he also remembered her from the incident at the food bank fund-raiser. He didn’t know whether to run, make a protective religious gesture, or to get answers only she could provide.
“Yes, Walter Moore, it is I, Zsofia,” she wheezed, coughing up phlegm. “You would ask me questions, yes?”
Now how did she know that? He acknowledged that. “Then you will buy me meal. At Denny’s,” she grinned. They passed through the shadows of a building, and Walt jumped when he saw he was walking next to a middle-aged woman with white-streaked black hair. “Even witches must eat, Mr. Moore,” she clipped with an Eastern European accent. “Is better like this?” All he could do was gape as his steps slowed. They passed through another set of shadows, and he beheld a much younger woman, about Ágnes’ or Kati’s age with the same jet-black hair, but the white streaks fewer and more spaced. “I pick this one.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. He asked her how she did that. “Denny’s first. I eat, then I talk.” Careful to avoid any other dark shadows, Walt led her to his van, and off to the nearest Denny’s they went.
He watched in amazement as she polished off two breakfasts while he nibbled at his own. “Young woman takes more energy than middle age, which takes much more than old crone,” she explained, eyeing his unfinished pancakes. “So I keep word. You buy Zsofia breakfast, I answer questions. First question is why you, yes?” Walt nodded. She shrugged. “Convenient. You were right boy, right place, right time. Made perfect instrument of vengeance. Skin color, dick size… and temperament. Allure of the forbidden is greater temptation when she recognizes… similarities. Same school, advance degree, professional job, polite gentleman… Was not such big bridge to cross after first few steps. Or push.” Zsofia stared at the pancakes, and Walt indicated she could take them. He wasn’t hungry.
“Ummm… What’s going to… happen to them? To the Gárdonyis? Did you curse Professor Gárdonyi to have a heart attack? Is he going to die?”
“Eventually,” Zsofia casually said. “Attack was heart’s way of getting angry over being forgotten in drive for wealth. He will recover. Ease mind. You will not be death of him,” she smiled.
“What about the smoking? It isn’t healthy. I assume that was your doing.” Zsofia inclined her head.
“He dislikes so much, used it against him,” Zsofia shrugged, grinning, “Precious daughters smoke. Will drive him crazy.” Walt evenly repeated his question, and she waved dismissively. “Curse is for him,” she stated. “Others will not be harmed—no matter what science says.”
“What about—Mrs. Gárdonyi? I mean… I was dating her daughter?”
“Margaréta… now remembers who she is at heart. She will no longer cage her inner beast or deny her inner fire. She has also reminded husband of those things. Is big part of his attraction when both were young.” Walt opened his mouth and hesitated. “She will not remember you, only ass-fucking and big black dick,” the gypsy whispered. “As long as husband remembers what is important, she will be woman she has always been for him. And girl she was.” Walt worriedly asked what if he forgot again. Zsofia reiterated, “She will remember big black dick,” with a wolfish grin. “Will also remember Taste of Hungary… and Misztika cigarettes,” She patted his cheek. “Such a conscience! You worry about others.”
“Way I was raised,” shrugged Walt. “Can’t help it. And Kati?”
“Last month’s—events—will fade in her mind, but experiences will leave her more—open—to possibilities in future,” was the response. “She has been diverted from following same course as father. This is good thing for her. He… may not be so happy.” Zsofia grinned.
Walt sensed that was as good an answer as he was going to get. His throat tightened, his stomach did flip-flops, but he managed to choke, “And Ágnes?”
“Ahhh… yes… Ágnes,” she smiled. “Dear, sweet Ágnes. She remembers all. The meeting, the overture, the passions, the—coupling.”
“What’s going to happen to her?”
“Her path is most difficult to see, for many remain open to her. Is matter of choices, not all of them hers,” Zsofia intoned. “She is very, very pretty, and will be like her mother. She is very, very smart, like her father. And she is very sweet, full of love. She will make beautiful bride, even more wonderful wife.”
Walt saw the headlines in his head. “Beautiful Socialite Marries Supermarket Heir in Wedding of the Year.” Zsofia interrupted his defeated musing with, “For right man. One who will match her heart with his.” The young gypsy looked at him. “One who will make her feel as special as she is when she looks into his eyes. A man who, unbidden, will bring her roses, and treat her like Hungarian princess she is. A man worthy of Hungarian Queen she will become.” The gypsy’s gaze went straight to his soul, chilling his blood. She leaned forward and whispered, “Tell me, Walter Moore… is Chadwick Castle that man?”
***
It was Tuesday evening. Walt looked at his cell phone as if it was his enemy. His bravery had faded since running at a fever pitch after speaking with Zsofia. What made him think he was “that man?” Ágnes’ phone number stared back at him on the screen. The oven buzzer went off and he jumped, having forgotten about the lasagna he was making, knocking his phone to the floor. He gaped in disbelief as it showed it had dialed the number as it fell. “Hello, this is Ágnes,” her sunny voice said over the speaker, which had miraculously turned on as well.
“Ummm… Hi, Miss Gárdonyi—”
“Walter Moore!” she interrupted with mock exasperation. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s Ágnes!”
***
Walt watched Ágnes light one of her long, slender cigarettes as the sweat cooled. He felt his body answer the siren call of her silent exhale with upraised chin. They were not finished tonight. Almost every time his girlfriend smoked when she wanted him, he would get hard for her—no matter where or when. He didn't know whether to thank Zsofia or condemn her for this, because given some of the situations, the only possible explanation was witchcraft. True to the gypsy’s word, however, almost everything was back to normal. Professor Gárdonyi was teaching again, and had grudgingly accepted Walt as Ágnes’ probable future husband. Things were slowly getting better between her father and him.
Mrs. Gárdonyi stopped smoking immediately after Zsofia's revenge, and had no memories of Walt fucking her in the ass, while Ágnes had developed a sudden fondness for it. Oddly, Ágnes’ mom also had no memory of any store called, "A Taste of Hungary," “Hungarian Queen” roses, or cigarette holders, but she was definitely changed. At family dinners, she often regarded her husband with fuck-me-tonight in her eyes. Walt thought the best part about that was Professor Gárdonyi would look at her with teenaged desire, no longer embarrassed to show he thought his wife was hot. It was a good sign for him and Ágnes. Zsofia had noted his girlfriend would eventually become just like her mother, and for some reason, Walt believed everything the gypsy said with all his heart.
Katalin had also broken up with her boyfriend from the country club. She consulted with her sister on fashion and style, and had left the athletic tomboy behind, giving up the rock-climbing and paintball outings for movies, plays, and traditional dinner dates. She continued to smoke the ultraslim Capri 120 menthols like her older sister, but her smoking no longer affected Walt like it did during the active curse. However, from the times Kati had double-dated with him and Ágnes, he could tell it had that effect on any guy who presented her with roses during the date.
Walt had only seen Zsofia once in the five months that had passed since he’d taken her to that after-jam session breakfast. Ironically (or perhaps not,) it was at the music club on a jam session night, and the Gárdonyis, along with Kati’s date, had come to watch him sit in. Nobody at the table seemed to recognize the old lady selling roses, but Walt, onstage at the time, did. In an uncharacteristically generous gesture, Professor Gárdonyi bought all the roses she had and gave them to his wife, daughters, and every other woman in the place, including the staff. Before leaving, Zsofia stepped to the front of the stage, stood in front of him, and bowed with a very real, bright yellow sparkle in the corner of her eye.