My Short Story, "House of the Lotus Dragon."

 

Copyright Glo Lewis 10/22/2023

 

Dear Readers of My Blog, 💚 

I have decided to share my short story, “House of the Lotus Dragon” with you. Here is the story below (As usual, God bless, and I'll be in touch soon):

 

 

House of the Lotus Dragon

Copyright Glo Lewis 10/22/2023 

 

 

 

 

   Frank still had a hangover when he agreed to meet Aspen in the park.

   “When will I see you again?” she asked, fingering a fallen yellow leaf from the tree above them, where they sat on a stone bench.

   “I don’t know that you will.” He stared off into the stirring breeze, shuffling his feet and nervously running his fingers through his brown hair.

   “What do you mean? Are you ending our friendship?”       

   “I don’t think so,” he said.

   “What does that mean?” 

   Distractedly, he brushed off his dark wool overcoat. “Look, don’t make a big deal.”

   “Out of what? Why are you being so mysterious? We’ve been dating for months, Frank. Just be straight with me; that’s all I ask.” She touched his wrist gently.

   He eyed her fluttering strawberry red hair. “I’m busy for a while, that’s all. I have things that I must get done. You’re busy too, so what’s the problem?”

   She gathered her purse and gloves from the bench. “You know what? You don’t deserve me. I offer you friendship, and you give me a liar’s answers to legitimate questions.” She hurried off down the wet, leaf-strewn path out of Rosemont Park.

   “Aspen, wait!” He followed her, slowly at first, then at a brisk clip, because she was almost running now. His long legs helped him to catch up. Pacing alongside her, he touched her sleeve.

   “Go away!” she growled.

   “Don’t be like that, Aspen.”     

   “I’m too old for games, Frank. If you haven’t noticed, life is short. I suggest you grow up. You’re not ready for me.”

   Their cold breath blew out ahead of them in cloudy bursts.

   “Where are you going?” he asked.

   She pointed toward a restaurant across from the park. “I need coffee.”

   “Will you just stop for one second? Give me a minute to explain myself.” 

   “Oh please! I gave you that back there. But you want to play ‘Mr. Mysterious’ with me. I don’t have time or inclination for that!” Shuddering, she pulled the collar of her tweed coat up around her neck against the brisk wind and slowed her pace only a little.

   “Listen to me, please!” He moved out ahead of her and ran backwards a few steps. They stopped and stood on the path under a draping Golden leaf Maple.

   “How old are you now, Frank?”

   He felt confused by the question. “Forty. Why?”

   “You look older-- and tired.”

   “You’re quite the cat today, aren’t you?” He looked up through the leaves at squirrels that scurried along the branches.

   “Oh please! Don’t turn this around. You’re the one being a jerk.”

   “How so?”

   She shrugged.

   “Just because I need a breather?”

   She didn’t want to acknowledge how unflattering it was that he needed a ‘breather’ from her, as though they were two old farts, married for years. “No, because you’re being a jerk.”

   “Don’t be mean-spirited, Aspen. Let’s keep this on a decent level.”

   “Oh yes, terribly sophisticated.” She smacked the lapel of his coat with her red gloves, and then hurriedly shrugged her hands into them.

   “I have an addiction, Aspen.” Tears came to his eyes.

   “What kind of an addiction?”

   “Gambling.” He thrust his hands into the pockets of his overcoat.

   “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you think that you could tell me?”

   “I don’t know.” He jingled his keys in his pocket and glanced around, wary as a wolf. He felt like he was in a box from which there was no way out.

   Suddenly moved by compassion, Aspen removed one of her gloves and put a hand to his face. “Those dark eyes seem so sad. What can I do?”

   He moved closer to her and opened the top of her coat, at which point she lowered her eyes and watched his hand. He reached inside and unbuttoned her blouse, slipping his hand inside her bra. Her breast felt warm. He cupped it and stroked the nipple. She raised her glance, and he stared into her eyes.

   She threw her head back. “You!” Then, collecting herself, she pushed his hand away.

   He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her hard on the lips. She pulled back. “No.”

   “Don’t say, ‘no,’ when you want it. Kiss me.”

   “No!”

   “Here-- feel this.” He shoved her ungloved hand down between the folds of his overcoat into the warmth of his crotch. “That’s what I think of you, baby. Right now, in you, that friendly weapon could cut diamonds. Now kiss me.” He leaned in and pressed his lips against her mouth.

   Wanting him as much as she ever had, she kissed him wildly, then pushed him away and buttoned her clothes. “This is no way to behave in public,” she said.

   He pulled a pack of Marlboro's from his coat pocket and shook loose a single cigarette, which he bit with his teeth and lit with a platinum lighter.

   Aspen’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

   “Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t know.”

   “Well isn’t that the cliché! So you’ve deceived me. You aren’t the person you presented yourself to be. How original.” She shook her head, and he saw disdain in her eyes.

   “What difference does it make? I’m done anyway. Done with this life, that’s for sure.” A group of children ran past them-- a flurry of warm clothes and colorful lunchboxes, their strident gaiety filling the air like the cawing screams of gulls.

   “So dramatic!” she scoffed.

   He puffed on the cigarette, narrowing his eyes against the smoke, luring her back in with a rugged sexiness she couldn’t buy if she paid good money.                    

   “What-- is someone going to kill you or something?”

   “They are if I don’t make good on my bets.”

   She gasped. “Come on! Is this true?” 

   “Yeah, it’s true. I’m afraid,” he whispered, leaning in toward her. “Isn’t this something? I’ve never been afraid of much of anything in my life. And now this….” He spread the palms of his hands in incomprehension and turned away. He watched a yellow bus circle the park.

   “Let’s go to Piaglio’s and get a cup of coffee and talk about it.”

   “I can’t, Aspen. I must go. I have to meet a guy.”

   “A bad guy?”

   “Well, not a good one, that’s for sure.” He chuckled bitterly.

   She fondled the fabric of his coat sleeve with two fingers. “Frank, I care about you. And I know I shouldn’t say this, because if you’ve been deceiving me…Well, obviously you have-- you just said so.” She looked off into the distance. “The thing is…I like you. And

rightfully, I know I shouldn’t, but I want us to keep seeing each other. You can get help, Frank.”

   “Not right now, Aspen.” His voice sounded hard.

   “I see that.”

   “I’m just trying to protect you.” 

   “I’m a fool, I guess.” She put her glove back on. “I’m going.”

   He kissed her softly on the cheek. She pulled back, hurt in her eyes, and moved away. He watched her go, her dark high heels clicking rapidly against the wet pavement.

   He hurried out of the park, smoking the last of his cigarette furiously. He crossed the street to his cobalt blue Jaguar sedan. Its custom diamond dust finish sparkled in the struggling sunlight. Glancing around, he dropped the cigarette into the damp, leaf-covered street, and then stepping on it, climbed into his car. He rubbed his hands together to get them warm, then put the key into the ignition and started the Jaguar. He inched away from the curb as a flurry of fall leaves drifted over the body of the car. He headed for the Interstate, the quickest way back to his office.

   He regretted disappointing Aspen, but then, at this point, he regretted just about everything. Besides, was it his fault that she wanted more emotional commitment than he could give her? It was annoying. Why were guys always saddled with demanding females? He hoped she would give him some space, but the way things had gone, she was sure to become something else he’d regret.

   In a few minutes, he pulled into his office complex. Leon Katz, a partner in his law firm, waved and waited for him at the entrance to the building. Leon was a slender man. His good looks annoyed Frank, especially on a day like today, when Frank felt drained and ragged. Plus, Leon was known for his adherence to exacting standards of integrity-- another ball breaker. Since they were both Jewish, Frank thought Leon should cut him some slack and more live up to the lawyer as shark reputation, instead of busting Frank’s balls at every damned turn.

   “Frank, I’m glad I caught you,” Leon said as Frank jumped jauntily from his car, dangling the Jaguar keys from his index finger. “You know Jim Bellows? He’s a lawyer with Waymeier and Stott. The word just came down: He’s going to do five years for income tax fraud.” He put a thumbnail to his lower lip, considering that blow to a fellow attorney.

   Frank pocketed his keys and held the door open for Leon. “They sentenced him already then?”

   “Not yet. Next month. But I heard that he plea bargained for five in minimum security,” said Leon.

   They walked through the large glass doors of the lobby. “Oh yeah? Poor bastard.” Frank pointed at Leon. “Nice green suit. Money! What’s that, Armani?”

   “Is there anything else?” Leon walked quickly to the elevator and pressed the ‘up’ button, his perky buttock rounded by the expensive slacks.

   Frank headed toward the stairs.

   “You’re taking the stairs?” Leon asked, his voice rising in shock. He glanced at himself in a mirror embedded in the wall adjacent to the elevator, and ran a finger over his dark, wavy hair.

   “Trying to stay in shape. Working on the big case.” Frank managed a thin smile.

   “Rockingwell v Masterson?"                                    

   Damned Leon! Why couldn’t he just let him get the hell out of here? Where was the stupid elevator? Frank snapped his fingers and pointed at Leon. “That’s the one!”

   The elevator doors opened. “Hey, come see me. We should discuss that one some more,” said Leon, stepping into the elevator.

   Frank took the stairs two at a time, his overcoat floating out behind him like the cape of a superhero. The footfalls of his shoes echoed loudly off the empty stairwell. He wasn’t used to huffing it like this. His thigh muscles began to hurt near the fifth floor, and he felt winded. He slipped out of his overcoat as he charged up the last two stairs. He wanted to reach his office before Leon hit their fifth floor suites.

   He was out of breath when he passed his secretary’s desk. “Mr. Feldman,” Debbie said. She was in her late fifties. Her bright blonde hair was pulled into a tight French roll. She wore black-rimmed eyeglasses and orange lipstick. Her face was artificially tan, and she had freckles. Today she wore a mint green angora dress with a long string of pearls.          

   Frank heard her muffled footsteps on the soft carpeting as she hurried behind him. “Mr. Feldman.” 

   Frank strode quickly over the long corridor of plush beige shag. “Can it wait, Debbie?” he said over his shoulder with a frantic falsetto registering in his voice now.

   “I don’t know, Mr. Feldman.”

   “Okay. Give it to me quickly. Quickly!” Frank snapped his fingers out to the side and slowed his pace for her. She came up alongside him.

   “Well.” She looked at the stack of messages in her hands.

   “Come on, Debbie. Come on.”

   “Mr. Cavett at Rockingwell called.” She shuffled the pink messages. “Mr. Masterson called also. They both want the addendums right away.”

   “Yes, yes.” He hurried into his office, hung his coat on the coat tree, and plunged into the green leather chair at his desk, which sighed as he sat. Debbie followed. “Shut the door,” Frank said, placing his hands on the large desk.

   She shut the door. “Ms. Nguyen called. And Mr. Dalrimple-- he wants to see you at your earliest convenience.” Debbie stood straight, in military fashion, awaiting further orders, the pink messages secured between her jeweled fingers.

   “He said that-- he wants to see me?” Frank squinted up into Debbie’s pinched and sour face.

   “Yes.”

   “Call him back. Tell him I’m tied up on a big case, and that I’ll be buried for the next two weeks. Set something up for after that.”

   “He’s not going to be happy.” Debbie glanced at the messages and pulled the one from Dalrimple. She set the others on Frank’s desk.

   “I don’t give a damn what he’s not happy about! He’ll manage! That’s it! I mean, is that it?”

   “Yes, Mr. Feldman.” She turned to leave.

   “Debbie, wait.” Frank rose and pulled out his wallet. He removed three one-hundred-dollar bills and set them on the desk. He bent forward, patted the money together, and pushed it toward her. “Buy yourself a bottle of Chanel or something and have lunch on me.” 

   “Oh, Mr. Feldman, I can’t accept this.”

   “Nonsense. Take it.” He sat back down. “Go on. Enjoy your lunch.”

   “Are you sure?”

   “Certifiably.”

   “Thank you.” She picked up the bills. “So kind of you.” She folded the cash, staring at it. “I’m not clear what the occasion is.” She held the currency, together with Dalrimple’s message, against her chest.

   “No calls this afternoon.”

   “Of course.”

   “No visitors either. I don’t want Leon in here.”

   “Right. And thank you again.” She opened the door and turned back. “Do you want coffee or anything before I go?”

   He shook his head. “Call Dalrimple.”

   “Will do.” She pulled the door closed.

   Frank went to the door and locked it, and then returned to his chair and spun around to open the cabinet to the credenza behind him, twisting the dial of his safe right 7, left 26, and right 39. He pulled open the safe front and withdrew a baggie of white powder, then shut the safe and spun its dial. He closed the cabinet door, eyeing the small quantity of blow. He would be out after this hit. He had to get more. Now he unzipped the baggie and tapped the powder out onto the cherry-wood mouse pad. He slid out his desk drawer and removed his playing card-- Ace of Diamonds. He cut the cocaine several times with the card, then lowering himself over the drug, he sniffed hard, one nostril at a time. Pulling a hand mirror from his desk, he watched as he wiped his nose fastidiously and carefully swiped at the front of his suit. One of the pink messages was a good disguise. He wrapped the baggie in the bubblegum-colored paper and tossed it into the wastebasket. He stretched out his arms. “Ahhh.” He leaned back in his chair, waiting for the buzz. Suddenly, he felt energized. Life was grand, damn it! The heat of compulsion coursed through his veins. He was interested in everything and anything. He trained his savage eyes around the room like a sniper taking a bead on a target. He felt like a million bucks! A sultan!

   Through his high, reality struck. Something dark. What had he just done? Why had he given Debbie $300? What an ego! He could still surprise even himself. Ah, what was a few hundred bucks? He needed a hell of a lot more moola than that or he’d be one dead duck. A piece of burning meat on the side of the road. Fuck! How in the hell was he going to escape this pile of steaming shit? The memory of the night before rocked him like a shaken child. With shame and regret, he leaned over his desk. His heart ached. If only he could take back the night! And have nothing but winnings. And not owe anyone. His losses spread over him like the shadow of a buzzard.

   He had been high on coke, wearing a three-thousand dollar, blue pinstriped suit with a purple silk handkerchief in the pocket. Kim was with him, tiny, her long black hair flowing down her back, not in the prissy, tight-assed bun that she normally wore to court. He was proud to have her on his arm. They stood at the crowded roulette table, its red and black colors flying around in a dizzying circle. The table was hot with winning. He couldn’t lose! Kim blew on the chips before he placed his bet-- for luck. For fucking luck!

   “You lose. You owe house lot of money,” Lee said. “You settle up.”

   “Hey, go easy, Lee. You know I’m good for it,” Frank told him, though he wasn’t. He couldn’t make up a hundred grand marker. Impossible!

   Afterward, the Chinese moguls escorted Kim and he out of their gambling den. They came out through an underground tunnel of the city of Portland in Oregon. “You pay back with cash, guns, or dope,” said Lee, “or you don’t live, understand? Understand!”

   “I understand, Lee. I’ll get you your money. Hey, you know I will. I always do.” He took Kim’s arm and turned to climb the concrete stairs to the street.

   “You owe me lot of money. I find you, if you don’t come back in two day. In two day. Understand?”

   “I know. I know.”

   Where on God’s green earth was he going to get that kind of loot to throw at a gambling debt? Or guns? Or dope? He breathed into his fist. Who to call? Who to call? He shuffled his messages. Kim! That was it! Kim could help him. She knew the Asians. She was Vietnamese, not Chinese, but still-- she was smart, and she knew how to deal with other Asians. She could function as his intermediary. Oh Mama! He picked up the receiver to his desk phone and dialed Kim’s number.

   “Kim Nguyen’s office,” the female voice said. It was Kim’s secretary.

   “It’s Frank Feldman, Kathy. Is Kim around?”

   “She’s in court this morning, Frank. May I take a message?”

   “Yeah. Ask her to call me when she gets in, please.”

   “Will do, Frank.”

   “Thank you.” He hung up and chewed absently on the back of his hand.

   Debbie had said Dalrimple had called. He was nosing around. Frank reflected on the secrets he had employed to embezzle from his firm for the last ten years-- a little here and there; it had added up. He owed thousands. Dalrimple might easily be on to him at this point. Keep a cool head. There must be a way out. I’m not going to pull down five years like Bellows. He made a mental note of his friends and acquaintances-- anyone who might be able to help him when the shit began to fly, which seemed like a time that was coming right up. If Debbie could stall Dalrimple, he might have time to pull together a plan.

   I know! I’ll go to Vietnam, he thought. Live there for a while. Lie low. Maybe crash with Kim’s people. Eat noodles, roll down the river on a basket boat, all the coke I want…stay loaded. He slid out his desk drawer and retrieved the ornate, carved-ivory, Chinatown switchblade that he used to open mail. He clicked it on and fingered the steel that glinted under the fluorescent light like gyrating gems on a placid sea, his satisfaction growing into obsession, thinking about sex-- dirty, unseemly-- that time in Mexico, those laughing whores. His cock swelled between his thighs, and he ground it back and forth, undulating his hips.

   The cool, blue blade he now placed against his wrist and then made an incision into the skin, ever so slightly, until a thin line of blood dotted up and spread out. “Shit!” He set the knife down, and struggling with the Kleenex box on his desk, finally cleaned himself up, blotting, feeling relief. He wiped the weapon, snapped it closed, and pushed it into the drawer. He fumbled for a stray band-aid in his desk and managed to adhere it to the cut when the phone rang. “Frank here,” he said.

   “Frank, my secretary said you called.”

   “Kim! Listen, baby, you have to help me. I need you now more than ever.”

   “What’s wrong, Frank?”

   “The Asians. House of the Lotus Dragon. You know them. You can reason with them about my debts. I tell you what-- meet me for lunch and maybe a little somethin’ somethin.’ You know what daddy means.”

   “I know what you mean, Frankie, but I have a meeting this afternoon. It’s important. And besides, don’t be a fool, just because I’m Vietnamese, doesn’t mean that I can charm all Asian men!”

   “Cancel that meeting, damn it! Just cancel the fucking thing, all right!” These women! Why can’t they just go along? A royal pain in the a… “I tell you what-- forget it. Just forget it! Damn women!”

   “No! It’s not all right, all right? You are behaving like a real asshole. I’m not some flunky you can push around. If you want lunch and some hanky panky, okay. I even subject myself to your sexual perversions, Frank. But I went to law school to practice law, not to take orders from my boyfriend.”

   “Look. I tell you I need you, and I need to eat. I need ass, and you give me grief. Who needs it? Don’t I kiss you where it hurts, like a dirty girl? And don’t I bang you hard, like a man?”

   “Don’t be like that Frankie. You use emotional blackmail to get to me. What we do together is another story. You gambled too much with high stakes. Now you are in big trouble. I can’t just turn that around for you, Frank. Besides, right now, you’re a jerk!” She hung up.   

   “The hell you say!” He dialed her back.

   “What?” she said, fury in her voice.

   “Come on, baby. Come on!”

   “Tell me why I should!”

   “Okay, it’s like that, I see. Okay, okay….” He glanced around wild-eyed.

   “I’m waiting! And I’m not giving all day!”

   “Because I love your beautiful body and the way you make love better than any woman in this whole, stinking world, that’s why.”

   “Not good enough!” She hung up.

   “Son of a bitch! Thinks she can hang up on me!” He dialed her back.

   “What!”

   “Don’t hang up on me again!” he snarled.

   “Don’t talk dirty to me like I’m some whore!”

   “I thought you liked it like that.”

   “What is going on with you Frank? You’re behaving like an idiot!”

   “Baby, please! You have to help me.” He buried his head in his arm and cried. “Please help me, baby, please.” He sobbed into the phone.

   “Okay Frank. I see you know what side your bread is buttered. Fine! Where and when?”

   “Meet me at my condo in an hour,” he said, sitting up and wiping his nose with his hand.

   “Okay. But you be nice, and you bring lunch. And wine. Bring wine.”

   “What do you want? Thai? Mexican?” he asked.

   “Thai. Are you going to be nice?”

   “I’m always nice, baby, always nice.”

 

 

 

The End