Christmas morning, Junré carried an empty fawn coloured oval wicker vessel of plaited osier across the sitting room to a smoked glass star-shaped terrarium table. She lifted the basket and placed the star-shaped brightly coloured clothpiece made from silk dupion fabric neatly on the surface and repositioned the wicker vessel into its centre.
She rushed, as fast as her legs could move her, towards the flower garden that occupied a small corner near the back dividing French door just off the kitchen. It was home to a terracotta French fairy on a log of spruce that bordered the snow-hardy floral display that allowed admirers to pause and ponder awhile before stepping into the unit.
Shouting was heard coming from the floor above, through Angea-Lea’s open bedroom window. So much so, the nearby neighbours were startled and began to hurl abuse at the fighters. Although embarrassed at the conflict Junré continued on in fine effort to re-create a tradition, a custom that prevailed in Paris from generation to generation.
The previous morning, whilst Antaeus and Angea-Lea marched in the parade, Junré had travelled to Soissons Plant Nursery, four townships away to the north of Paris in Soissons itself. A cone-bearing tree called Hemlock was purchased from Monsieur Soissons himself. The stately evergreen pine was introduced from Japan and was naturally decorated with small reddish-brown cones that protruded from the ends of each twig, he had grown a dwarf variety that was extremely popular. Junré had been careful to choose a cut christmas tree that had not wilted in the rather warm midday winter sun, knowing full well, if she had have made the wrong choice through a rushed decision, the tree might not have been able to perk up again. Consequently it had been bought in the early hours of the morning and had been thriving in a shady part of the nursery’s ornamental section. Under strict orders by the management of the nursery Junré had been warned to place it in a bucket of wet gravel as soon as she got it home.
“Remember these tips,” Monsieur Soissons had instructed the housewife. “My potted plants prefer sunlight, but my miniature christmas trees last a long time, through the new year, if kept in the coolest, darkest corner of your home. Do not forget to clip off any wilted tips that unfortunately will occur every day, after the first day, to maintain the ‘fresh look’ for longer.”
It had been positioned with care on the floor at the rear of the vehicle, the top of the tree jutting out slightly through the open window. A blue, white and red French flag had been tied to the top of the tree as a signal to other drivers to ensure her a safe trip back to her flatette, and through to the following day the tree had been standing in the corner of the garden.
Overnight, the Bugatti had been temporarily parked just outside the garage below Angea-Lea’s bedroom.
Antaeus rose from his bed and walked down the hallway to the bathroom. On the way he almost collided with his daughter who was exiting her bedroom, the strong smell of Malachi’s semen arousing suspicion in the old gent.
That had been the reason for the shouting. “Why do you smell so, child?” asked Antaeus in a tone of fury.
“Mama washed my whites in diluted bleach papa,” she hoped with all her might he would believe her.
But, unfortunately, the boss had caught sight of Malachi climbing out of the window of his daughter’s boudoir. He had intended to climb down the trellis to a safe getaway, but had been startled by Antaeus and his screaming and had lost his footing, his huge frame falling headlong onto the roof of the highly prized Bugatti. The powerful impact of his headstrong hotty leaving a rather large dent in its roof, the resounding thud pounding the heart of Paris.
“Malachi, are you alright? Did you break anything?” Angea-Lea yelled from above.
“No, not even a bend, thank God,” he yelled in return, “my back aches a little though.”
Antaeus charged down the steps like a wounded bull to inspect the damage. His blood pressure shot through the sky bellowing at Malachi, “You’ll pay for this,” as Malachi ran between the terraced gardens and hid behind a huge Poplar.
“Please Antaeus, quit bellowing and complaining it is Noëlle, besides it is all my fault, I allowed them both to be alone together. I apologise, I shall pay for the repairs out of my christmas box I have received from my niece,” Junré pleaded.
After much deliberation, Junré had succeeded in calming her angry spouse, although he was still unhappy for the mistake he felt his wife had made, allowing their baby girl to inter-mingle with the stranger from down under.
At Junré’s request Antaeus was about to carry in the infant tree when Malachi peeped out from behind the Poplar making his way towards them.
“Ere, Sir, allow me to assist ya. I’ll carry it inside, it is the least I can do,” Malachi soon had Antaeus eating out of the palm of his hand after having admitted his sincere love for his daughter.
After Angea-Lea washed away the evidence under a steaming shower, she slipped the dress over her supple body and slid her cute feet into a pair of charcoal pumps after drawing her step-ins on.
Malachi could never really bring himself to apologise for the fiasco.
“Just place the christmas tree in this pot, we shall fill it with these small rocks and some water then we’ll take it inside and put it in the basket in the corner of the living room,” Junré explained. Malachi did as he was told and soon after the tree was ready for decorating.
Over the years the tradition had been that every lady born to the Siffleur family had their angelic busts in angel costume with halos and wings hand painted onto exquisitely handcrafted priceless Châteaux eggs of the finest porcelain once the age of eighteen had been reached. Their newborn faces graced the opposite sides of the eggs.
It was the year Angea-Lea was to sit for the craftsman at the Château de Châteaux. This had already taken place and her own splendorous opulence created by legendary jeweller and goldsmith, Manuel Châteaux now hung with the others in the stunning Noëlle holiday ornament collection on the Tree Of Angelic Beauty. Little red ribbons, snowflakes, stars, bells, and gold harps were added to enhance the glorious display as well as tiny red and blue frosted beads.
Before Malachi had come along single boy Manuel Châteaux had fallen head over heels for glamour girl Angea-Lea Siffleur. His father knew her father well, they had been best buddys at school. He’d had his eye on her since she was a little Miss in diapers.
Manuel Châteaux now twenty-eight, was not your typical Frenchman. In fact, he was a peace-loving man whose inner strength came from a constantly reflective mind forever focused on the highlights of Angea-Lea Siffleur’s childhood and adolescent years. He regularly took himself on a secret journey through a journal and photograph album every night before retiring to bed. They were filled with every sweet and special moment of her glittering life.
The two things he remembers most about that glorious day she’d sat for him a month ago were the shape of her twin breasts so round and so full like the sun and the moon. One filled with sunshine and one filled with moonlight. There would be no greater pleasure than to bathe in their glow he’d pondered ever since.
To him, she was like a breath of elegant air. Watching her grow was like sitting on the porch of a light and airy beachside resort watching the sea change colour day by sundrenched day, he would often say to himself.
….and all this time Angea-Lea never knew she was the frilly pillow he dreamed on. Should he discover she had found a lover, his ecstasy – Angea-Lea would soon become his agony – forever unfree!
* * * * * *
“Isn’t she gorgeous? Doesn’t Angea-Lea add a touch of magic to the festivities Mr and Mrs S?”
“Oh yes our Angel is a charming beauty,” Junré said.
Malachi studied the egg adoring her luscious silky golden bob. Her hair was straight, but curved under at the base. Her flattering flesh bestowed upon him a gallon of excitement. A touch of fuschia blush brought her plump risen bosoms into prominence as they snuggled affectionately from a stiffly frilled bodice of embroided snowdrop lace. A triple strand of genuine pearls with a ruby in the centre was tightly clasped around her dainty neck. Little red flowers were arranged in a delicate spray over a ribbon covered halo-shaped headband that graciously crowned her sweet head.
Her bright eyes were naturally wide as if she were permanently gazing in total amazement, they seemed to peer right through to the soul of the one who happened to be captured by their romance. At times they danced and sparkled as she took in every detail of the world around her. It truly was a treasured picture on the Châteaux egg.
“All Angea-Lea sees is beauty in everything,” Junré said in a saintly voice.
“She is a daydreamer,” Antaeus’s words sounded devilish leaving his wife too squeamish to argue.
“Here she is, the girl of my dreams, Angea-Lea my beautiful daydreamer.” She crept down the staircase wearing her special dress for the midday festive feast.
“Who gave you that exquisite dress Angea-Lea?” her mother asked.
Angea-Lea kept the secret to herself Junré understood her silence and decided not to pester her for an answer.
Malachi recognised the scent she was wearing, she had worn it the day they made love. It was unforgettable. But, once again the label fell off and it was a time of interrogation all over again. He wondered who had given it to her. He circled the room like a caged lion then shot the question at her. “Did somebody special give that perfume to you?” Malachi was desperate to know.
“It is a gift from myself to myself and it is called Angelic Beauty,” she answered him in a tone so sweet his temperature rose with rapidity. Sweat flowed from his temples to his chest turning his talcum powder all gooey.
He stared at the collection of eggs hanging from the green branches and told her that she was the most elegant angel of all. Angea-Lea blushed at the sight of his ever increasing bulge as her perfume continuously aroused the deepest sexiest feelings deep inside this honey of a bunny she’d pet named speedy. She signalled to him to hide his treasures behind the sofette.
Delicious roasted soule with piquant butter and julienne vegetables with hollandaise sauce was relishable. A ball game underneath the festive table would make it a christmas to remember. A huge Château de blanc frosted Gateaux added a fairytale touch. They were blissfully happy abiding in the tranquil haven of each other’s heart. Christmas day was Angea-Lea’s birthday a double celebration. They all wished her a happy birthday
Antaeus rose from his place at the table to grab a bottle of rose wine from the cellar, while he was gone Malachi and His angel fed each other tiny chocolate sea shells made from rich belgium choc giving them endless energy to rejoice over their saviour’s birthday. Antaeus and Junré had parted from their company to stack the dishwasher. When they returned to the dining room they caught the cuddling couple in a passionate embrace by the fireside. Junré quietly warned Antaeus to keep his opinions to himself he did as he was told. Angea-Lea harboured no fear wrapped up in her boyfriend’s fiery power and unfailing strength. She caressed his steamy chest with her hands their flame of love was so intense not even the frosty wine nor her father’s chilling presence possessed the power to lower their body heat.
Malachi reached into his coat pocket and presented her parents with a couple of tickets to the Swinglegum concert.
“Care to join your daughter and myself at an Australian concert tonight?” Malachi invited warmly.
Angea-Lea jumped in outrage from her seat and rudely shouted in a fiery temper just like her father would, “What exactly do you mean? I thought we would be going alone, I mean, it is my last evening here – please do not treat me like this, I am not their little girl any longer.” Tears streamed down her freshly painted face of soft bisque. Her eyes became red and swollen. She ran upstairs two steps at a time to her private quarters and lay face down with feet dangling over one side of her bed and screamed her lungs out.
Her mother followed her with a huge box of man-size tissues and some extra choccy seashells. Pretty soon the tears disappeared and so did the seashells.
Her mother sat on her bed.
“Angea-Lea my dear there is something I wish to explain to you.”
A fragment of kindness settled in her cloudy eyes changing their colour to aqua. Her ears were keen to listen.
“Your father and I are honoured to be your parents. I just think that Malachi was only being thoughtful, it shows he respects you and your family.” Junré’s natural zest for life, she tried to express, in a subtle way, upon her special friend – her only daughter.
Malachi had been listening behind the door to her sweet sobs and was drawn to her broken heart. He now stood inches away from her shattered self. His words had a healing touch, “I was only being courteous, every day rain or shine my love will flow from my heart to yours.”
Without a hint of bitterness in his heart all her father truly desired for his Angel was to help her to be what she wanted to be.
“Angea-Lea, you have a dependable family please keep trusting us, I know at times all you seem to hear is daddy’s voice telling you what to do but really we are only trying to guide you, don’t forget us when you go to Switzerland. We truly appreciate being part of your wonderful life but we also understand your need to want to have a fresh beginning and hit a home run. Be like a light and shine.”
Because her father’s words were so encouraging her load became lighter and a bright smile spread across her glowing face. She sat up on her bed.
Her parents were only too pleased to let Malachi have his say once again but this time in a more physical manner than mere words.
He lifted her chin with both hands, lightly sweeping his thumbs across her steaming lips refreshing them with a sweet kiss. The romance heated up for Antaeus and Junré and soon they were kissing each other also like youthful heart-throbs.
“Three cheers for long-lasting love!” Malachi said with excitement. Warm hugs nourished, kept each couple secure empowering them to endure.
“A mother’s love is relief in troubled times and is as comforting as an eiderdown quilt. It is one of those things that make life easy. It can soothe in grief, console in conflict and ease the burden of a troubled mind, such as to free from hardship, pain and care, and promote contentment. A mother’s love is a provision and makes merry the heart as blessings fall from the stars. I will always shine my favour on you the most beautiful Angel of all.” Junré was simply pointing out in her explanation to her beloved daughter that motherhood, in all its true beauty, is as powerful as a tidal wave in all manner of living.
“Mother, thank you for making me and my life so very special. Let’s enjoy these final hours together in true happiness. Angelic Beauty truly exudes from deep within your soul.”
“As does yours my child.” Junré cupped her daughter’s face in her hands.
Together they scrubbed the kitchen, the scraps put down the insinkerator.
All retreated to the living room where Carols of Noëlle were sung to the tune of the harpsichord and birds warbling in the background.
“We are so blessed to have you with us Malachi,” Junré told him and in return he was so happy to share how blessed he felt in the presence of Angels from the City of Light.
They were expecting distant relatives from the South of France but called to say there would be a delay. Just what caused the delay nobody in the immediate Siffleur family quite understood.
They gave wonderful gifts to each other but the most wonderful gift of all being love sweet love.
Angea-Lea eventually told her parents who had given her the new dress. Their reaction was heart-warming, eliminating cold distrust that had covered her heart like a heavy frost killing the delicate fragrant bouquet of rosy hope for such an agonizing length of time.
Are they just being pleasant and understanding because I will soon be leaving for the college? Could this be some kind of plan to keep me from getting to know young men?
Questions invaded her secret serenity until it wiped the smile from her cheery face. Excusing herself, she departed from the family gathering and ran towards her bedroom not saying a word.
“I think she is getting ready for the concert tonight, we must give her some space,” Juné said.
Up in Angea-Lea’s bedroom she was busy searching through her lingerie drawer for a bra and panty set of satin and lace hosting the label Promise Me! The duo she chose from amongst her rich treasures was soft icy blue and see through, the colour was called Glacier.
“The ultimate companions to have clinging to my silky skin, just like my Malachi, so pampering, so pleasureable,” she whispered to herself holding the pantys and bra to her bosom.
She wished with all her heart she could take Speedy along for the ride tomorrow, it was so difficult for her to accept her father’s decision for her to spend all her energies on studying flower power in Switzerland.
She could not help but think her father was making a mammoth effort to separate them.
As she refreshed her flesh under a warm shower she cast her fertile mind back to his apartment, his couch. Massaging her vaginal entrance with her soapy fingers and the taps turned off she imagined it was Speedy caressing so softly so sensuously, the ache to climax in his perfect presence was unbearable. After a rinse she slid her middle finger in and out with lightening speed she could feel Speedy’s penis penetrate, the sexual tempo was wild, every stroke tickled, every stroke tormenting then she climaxed at the press of her button, his imaginary semen slipping down the drainhole and at the flash of Malachi’s speeding arrow the suffering and its destruction were shot dead. The angels of heaven rejoiced at the victory and joy shone in Angea-Lea’s heart once again. She dried and dressed into her new celebration frock.
The heavy fog of troubled thoughts that had dulled her mind were quickly rolled away by the radiant light of a promising love rich with the power of renewal.
The ladies donned their coats of Caribou the men their jackets of Jagannathi, they jumped into the car and the archaic Bugatti rumbled towards the Caffé-Latté building for dramatic performances. Antaeus had just sat through one and was looking forward to another, only finer. They handed in their tickets and took their seats in the packed auditorium.
The concert began.
“This is a vigourously rhythmical kind of jazz in which time of melody is freely varied over accompaniment in strict time,” Malachi whispered to his petite Parisian belle, his reigning Angelic Beauty.
“Sounds wild!” Angea-Lea’s eyes widened in mock fear.
He moved closer to his Empress. He was out to impress his Empress through his wild knowledge on the subject of swing. She was hooked. Hooked on swing and hooked on him.
Swinglegum’s style of popular music was a string of melodies that were easy to remember. That’s what made them so popular worldwide with people of all ages and from all walks of life, even Malachi who was thrity and dirty and Angea-Lea who was eighteen and sovereign.
The pleasant atmosphere generated by the swing quartet drew them even closer together that evening. It affected her parents in much the same fashion, mainly because the music was so appealing to all generations from France to Australia.
The peppy, swing tunes like pepsi were a pep-up particularly to the pudencic pubescent. They swung their pubes to the sounds of swing from way down yonder where the grass won’t grow.
“The music they composed had, over the years became for them a big business,” Malachi informed Antaeus and his wife. “See the guy on the end, he is the sole person who creates this soul music they play.”
“Oooh!” they said.
Swinglegum ended the ‘Tin Pan Alley’ concert with two new hits called Dark Shadow and Lady Of Leisure and Pleasure.
It was not the quartets level of sound that almost deafened them but the raucous applause not to mention the piercing whistles from the uncouth youth behind them.
Antaeus and his wife drove Malachi back to his apartment. Angea-Lea begged them to take her inside but was refused the chance due to the fact that she was to get to bed early in preparation for a hectic Swiss flight at five am the next day.
“Thankyou for the active evening,” Antaeus called after Malachi. Malachi thanking them for the ride and the valuable opportunity of getting to know their cherished daughter just that little bit better.
He wished Angea-Lea the best and gave her his telephone number telling her she could ring him anytime.
She was overjoyed and giggled with glee. Her captivating smile was what would hold him together during her absence.
“I would dearly love to see you off on your flight but I have to travel quite a way to pay the landlord his money. I’ll need to get an early start I’m so sorry. I love you!” Malachi’s final words had everyone in tears.
Before she went to sleep that night, Antaeus made her pack her bags, she was to do it alone, she was to make these small decisions, what to wear, what to take in general completely on her own.
It did not anger her in the least not only was she looking forward to life by herself for awhile but a change of scene and a glorious one at that.
She packed her bags and placed them by the door.
After flipping through coloured brochures on the school and its surrounds she fell asleep with leaflets draped over her chest.
Her father had reasoned with her telling her it would be the best for her that she cut short her holidays and leave early in order to settle in at the new school.
In all the rush to get to the airport on time she left her diary behind on the bedside table forgetting to lock it.
She was on her way to freedom, or so she thought.