The Happy Haven, James Gerard [best electronic book reader TXT] 📗

bar was just not a drinking establishment, but was suspected as a permanent home for Scott.

 

Bill jotted down the name and address of the bar on the paper and then thought about the next day.  He considered if they had expected a prompt reply, the research for the answer would have to commence now and the answer ready by the late afternoon pickup.  But for some reason other than a lack of motivation to delve into the matter, the body and mind refused to budge.

 

Once again, lingering doubts disturbed his thoughts.  Bill could not get past the idea that such a project, the success of which would lead to untold riches for those that had approached him and the others, would not be monitored every second of the day was simply not logical.  Then again, he truly believed the machine had been tested and proven successful.  Just the fact that he was still alive and breathing meant that the representative had no knowledge of what had occurred, and therefore, had been honest about the provocative rewards serving as trust.

 

He peered over the list searching for a source, an easily accessible book or website that could answer the question in a matter of minutes, but the extremely limited knowledge of the subject kept such a source hidden.  And while Scott seemed the ultimate choice, the motivation lacked. 

 

“Ah!  I’ll get to it tomorrow.”

 

Mustering up the energy to stand, Bill became light headed.  He reached out with hands to steady the legs.  The realization that the sudden sensation of weakness was not the result of a wave of relaxation sweeping over the conscious, but rather fatigue pacifying the mind with thoughts of sleep.  Although tempted, he realized there would be no rest in going back to the suite since the women were paid to please him at any hour of the day or night. And he had to admit that the likelihood of just being able to walk into one of the other bedrooms without succumbing to temptation was impossible.

 

Walking into the bright sunshine, he looked up to the sky.  In thinking of a quiet and secluded place to sleep the day away, the sensation of beams warming the face felt delightful.  Not having enjoyed the feeling for awhile, having missed too many days on the country club’s golf course, the idea of just relaxing under the sun was too good to pass up.

 

With the country club fresh in mind, Bill realized that was the only private, well-secured, isolated area by which rest could be found.  The only problem, as he saw it, would be running into family friends and acquaintances, former classmates and professors, any of which would surely ask him about his whereabouts for the past couple of years.  And as he sorely reminded himself, divulging such information was not permitted by the terms of the contract.

 

After thinking about the club members’ taste for particular vehicles associated with class and elegance, Bill realized that the Maserati, while drawing curious stares, would certainly conceal his identity.  After all, he concluded, an automobile the likes of it having never touched the paths on the private grounds, they could only assume that a man of exceeding wealth yet playful demeanor was seeking out membership.  Then, once past security, a drive on one of the exclusive roads to a plush area designed for picnics would provide the security and solitude and peace desired.

 

The car fired up and carefully merged into traffic.  Up ahead, the ramp to the freeway came into view.  Turning to the right, the Maserati sped along the ramp and raced ahead.  The car weavedin and out of lanes in an effort to reach the destination as quickly as possible.

 

The rearview mirror exposed the unseemly clutter of stores and warehouses falling behind, and the forward vision brought in the sight of trees and plants and flowers that stretched out ahead.  The further away from the city, the lighter the traffic became.  The sounds and smells of congested traffic diminished.   The view of serenity was held in an awesome stare and the aroma of freshness wafted about as the exclusive country club appeared in the landscape of tranquility.

 

Bill flashed his membership card at the guards and they waved him through without a question.

 

The car veered to the right, away from the main road leading to the clubhouse and towards the peaceful setting he longed for.  “All this wasted space,” he whispered as the hidden wonders on the less travelled road lay ahead.  The perfect spot revealed, Bill coasted to the sparse patch of lawn surrounded by tall trees. 

 

For the rest of the day, he took advantage of the opportunity for peace and quiet.  Finally, he stretched out and closed the eyes.  The chance to take a nap, to revitalize both the physical and mental energy for another night of carnal pleasure, was there for the taking.

 

Woe is Me

 After another night of diving head first in the depths of sinful pleasure, Bill rolled over the exotic beauty to the left and plopped onto the floor.  Temptation filled the senses as he came to his knees and stared at the bare bodies of the women.  Like sirens calling out amidst the turbulent sea of all that was pleasurable, they beckoned him to return for more.  The temptation, however, was put aside.   Stumbling to his feet and staggering to the easy chair waiting in the living room, he collapsed into its deep cushion.

 

The attention turned to the desk that was within hands reach.  In no mood to visit Scott, eyes scanned the note with the hope that one of the reference books noted down would fulfill the request for the answer.   A lack of motivation and excitement to look for the answer, thought, only piled on more loathing to the existing mound of revulsion for the subject.

 

Simply drained of energy, the note was tossed back onto the desk and eyes stared out the window at the far reaching landscape.  Just wishing to sit and relax and recuperate from the marathon session with the ladies, he figured the research could wait.  Still, the nagging thought of being called in early by his friends would not go away.  Within seconds, hands slapped the armrests as the decision to attack the matter was made.

 

Bill realized he had not paid attention to the specifics of The Happy Haven when the research was done.  He did not know the days and times it opened, but it was a bar.  He made the assumption the establishment was open early in the morning and closed late in the evening, and that is was opened for business seven days a week.

 

It was nearly five o’clock and nausea, the after effects of the alcohol and drug filled night polluting the body, began to weaken the resolve.  He concluded that just the smell of alcohol would evoke the involuntary spewing of whatever vile fluids and undigested food remained in the belly, therefore a visit to Scott was out of the question.  Reluctantly, thoughts turned to the other references which could be accessed via the internet.

 

Bill figured a bunch of birds could be killed with one stone by making an early visit to the coffee house.  A cup of coffee, or maybe a glass of orange juice and a bagel to settle the nausea, and a few hours of taking a somewhat thorough look at all the resources to provide the answer sought was the better plan.  Being a weekday, Bill assumed the establishment probably was opened early to cater to the workers about to start or just ending their work shift, so he decided to rev up the motivation. 

 

A whiff of the foul stench emanating from the body forced the attention to attend the personal hygiene that had been neglected.  Careful not to awaken the women, Bill quietly shut the bathroom door and turned on the flow of hot water.   Standing off to the side of the cascading water, the hair was lathered in nutrient rich shampoo.  The neck on down to the toes was smothered with a generous supply of a body wash specially formulated for his body chemistry.  A wash cloth gently scrubbed all about the skin to wash away all the filth trapped in the pores.  Standing in front of a full length mirror, he guided an oversized terry cloth towel over every inch of the skin to assure the very last remnant of moisture was absorbed.  He stared at the unkempt face and ran a hand over the unsightly stubble.

 

The door was opened slowly.  Tiptoeing to the vanity stocked with the remaining grooming supplies, he reached out and flipped on the lights.  Through the mirror he could see the image of the women lying undisturbed from the bright light.  A splattering of liquid lotion was then applied to the face.  The buzz of the shaver interrupted the silence.   From ear to ear it mowed down the unkempt growth leaving behind a healthy glow radiating off the smooth skin.

 

An acrid taste in the mouth indicated the last remnants of filth from the night of pleasure.  The heavy film of plaque and crud was brushed off the teeth and the tongue and purged with water swishing about the mouth and spat into the basin.  The rinse was followed by a few swigs and swishes of mouth wash to mask any lingering odor.

 

A look into the mirror at the mussed up hair had him scoop out a small gob of styling cream from a jar and run it through the hair. With a comb in one hand and hair dryer in the other, the hairs were precisely set in place until the very last of the loose strands adhered to the desired position.  A brush dusted a light coating of talcum powder about.  The armpits were covered with a film of anti-deodorant, followed by a few sprays of light-scented cologne to top off the morning routine. 

 

Quietly stepping to the roomy walk-in closet, he opened the French doors and stepped inside.  As soon as the doors were closed a light was flipped on revealing a wardrobe of custom fit designer suits, blazers, sports coats, dress shirts, polo shirts, slacks, trousers, belts, and an array of tasteful silk ties.

 

Thinking which ensemble fit best within the cozy confines of the coffee lounge, a beige pare of woolen slacks and blue, fine cotton polo shirt was laid on a bench by a pair of satin boxers and solid brown socks.  Perusing the selection of shoes, he opted for a fine pair of Italian crafted, brown loafers made of the finest suede money could buy, and selected a brown belt adorned by an exquisite solid gold buckle.

 

Standing before a full length mirror, Bill inspected the attire for unseemly creases, wrinkles, lint, stains and blemishes on the finely crafted clothes but none were found. The shoes were brushed to bring out their plush look, then the fibers were examined for evenness.  Fingers dibbled around with a few stray hairs knocked out a place by draping the polo shirt over the head.  A few tugs of the belt to realign the buckle, the Rolex clasped to the wrist, and he was prepared to greet the world.

 

With one final peak at the sleeping nymphs, he tiptoed out of the bedroom and walked up to the desk.  The note was placed the in one of the pants’ front pockets