Saturday Morning

Summer, 1977

Cinnamon woke early as was her habit.  She saw the first light of the morning sun just peaking through the draped French doors to the balcony off the bedroom.  She looked over at Rollin, who was still asleep on his side facing away from her. She rolled up against his back, her hand moved underneath the sheet and across his chest. 

She ran her foot up and down his leg as she held him.  He took a deep relaxing breath as his hand covered hers.  “Someone’s awake.”  He said softly.

Her hand moved from underneath his and moved lower and inside his boxers.  “Hmm….someone else is awake too.” She replied.

He smiled as he turned to lie on his back.  “Good morning.”  He said meeting her eye.

She met his lips softly as her finger pulled at the band of his boxers.  “Get rid of these.” She commanded.

His eyes did not leave hers as his hands went to his hips and the shorts disappeared.

“Anything else we can loose?”  He asked as he traced the thin strap of her nightgown with his finger.

She sat up and pulled the gown over her head and tossed it toward the end of the bed.  He ran his hand down the graceful curve of her back as she moved back to his side.

“Better?”  She asked as she leaned across him.

He nodded as his hand moved to the small of her back, bringing her closer.  Her leg moved between his as she pressed herself against him. 

“I’m all yours.”  He said.

“All for me…hmm… now just what to do with you.”

“I can think of several things.” He mused as his hand went to her neck and he pulled her to him.  “But I prefer one.” He said claiming her lips.

She moved on top of him as the kiss lingered. 

He smiled up at her as she straddled him.  “I like this already.”  He teased.

Her hands followed the lines of his body down his chest to his abdomen. He watched as she traced his faint scar from his spleen operation years earlier.  He met her eyes.  “That was a long time ago.” He said. 

“I remember.” She said.

“Now back to the task at hand.”  She said as she caressed his swollen penis. His eyes closed as she stroked his length.  He did love her touch.

Soon he was throbbing under her fingers and she released him, moving forward to capture him inside her.  He opened his eyes, watching her as they connected. 

She was on her hands above him, her blonde hair falling about her face.  He felt her heat as he slid inside her.

She lowered herself to him, pinning her breasts between them. 

He kissed her as her hips began to move. Cinnamon set an easy pace and soon they found their comfortable rhythm.  He watched her as she rose back onto her hands. Her eyes were closed, a look of pure satisfaction on her face.

His hips pitched against hers, urging her to a quicker pace.  She looked down at him, her lips curling into a smile.  “Going somewhere?”  She asked.

“Yes…” He said, grabbing her hips.  His thrusts became insistent, driving deep inside her. 

“Cinnamon…”  He called at his release. She was with him, following him to a place that they alone shared. 

Their motion wound down as Cinnamon enjoyed the rush of pleasure that swept through her.  She lay against him, savoring their mutual flush of contentment.

He kissed her forehead as she settled against his chest, with a pleased sigh. “I love you.” He whispered. She smiled against his chest. His heartbeat lulled her into a peaceful light sleep.

When she awoke sometime later, he was gone and in his place she found a red rose and a note.

 “Am off with Jen.  Thank you for a wonderful morning.  I love you. R”

She took up the rose, smelling its fragrance.  She took the note and the rose and moved from the bed. 

She ventured downstairs still carrying the rose.  The house was quiet.  Maria was gone to the hairdresser’s and who knew where Rollin and Jennifer would be.  She could enjoy a peaceful Saturday morning.

She took a cup of tea, Maria had left for her and the newspaper to the breakfast nook.  She still missed a cigarette in the morning, but wouldn’t give in to the craving; not with Jen in the house.  There was still an ‘emergency’ pack upstairs in her medicine chest, and for a moment considered taking the pack and her tea out to the garden, but she resisted. It was a lovely summer day so she dressed in loose cotton pants and a matching tunic, donned a wide-brimmed straw hat to fend off the sun and took a basket and clippers out to the rose bushes. 

A rose was the first thing she planted when she bought the house.  She loved the flowers for their scent and their wide range of colors.  Rollin once told her they reminded him of her; attractive and versatile, but not without their own form of protection.  He had brought her several exotic colors over the years to add to her collection.  The bushes were all healthy and in full bloom, some standing as high as her shoulders.    The rose bed was laid out in a cross.  Three trellises marked the entrances to the garden.  Each held a different type of trailing rose, one while, one pink and one blood red.  All the bushes could easily be reached from the walkway.  She selected orange, lavender, yellow and white blossoms and pruned and trimmed as she went.  It was a lovely, fragrant way to spend a beautiful spring morning.  She lost track of time, returning to the house only when her basket was full.

Cinnamon entered the back door and walked into the kitchen.  Before she could set the basket on the counter, her mental alarm went off.  Something was wrong.  She stood still using all her senses to pick up clues around her. 

The first thing she noticed was an odor:  the faint smell of cigarette smoke.  She remembered her earlier musings.  Occasionally Rollin would arrive with the odor of cigarette smoke on his clothes, and even more rarely he would have a cigarette after dinner if Jennifer wasn’t around, but he knew her rules.  Besides, this wasn’t his brand.

She noticed the coffee pot.  When she went outside there was still more than a cup in the clear pot.  Now there was less than half a cup.  There was also a second mug in the sink. 

Listening, she could hear nothing out of the ordinary.  She slid slowly back into the mud room off the kitchen.  She quietly opened the door to the pantry and pushed a stud known only to her, Maria and Barney.  A section of shelving slid easily aside and she entered the small security room.  It could also be reached from the closet in her study and you would have to measure carefully to notice that the space was not part of either the pantry or the closet.

She touched a stud on the monitor as the door shut behind her and the room was lit with the glow of the black and white screen.  She touched a keypad and selected the view of all cameras at once.  Her heart beat faster when she noticed a black-clad figure in Jennifer’s room.  He seemed to be going through all the tiny drawers in her jewelry box.  He wasn’t taking anything, but Cinnamon knew there was nothing of value there anyway, just little-girl baubles. 

There was a cabinet under the monitor with a numberpad.  She touched the studs in the correct order and the door popped open with a barely audible ‘snick’.  Keeping her eye on the monitor she pulled out the .38 and chose a clip of bullets. She slid them in the handle, wincing at the louder click it made.  She slid a zippered leather case into the pocket of her pastel pink tunic.  It looked like a nail kit, but was no such thing.  She watched carefully as the man left Jennifer’s room and then changed the view to the hall camera. 

Another keypad let her into an electrical box.  She tripped selected switches in the box.  She had just remotely locked her bedroom door, the door to her study and the door to the guest room.  The intruder tried each door in turn then turned back toward the stairs.  It was time to meet him at the stairs.

She slipped back into the pantry, a grim smile on her face.  She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her blood.  It was this kind of rush that kept her in the game.  She knew Rollin got the same kind of thrill playing to an audience, but she preferred the thrill of intrigue.  It seemed more real to her.  She picked up a length of nylon rope that Rollin had left behind after one of his and Jennifer’s sailing expeditions.

She stepped into the foyer as he was halfway down the steps. Without hesitation she pulled up the gun and fired. 

The man on the stairs doubled over and rolled down the remaining stairs, landing on the marble floor at her feet.  He made high pitched moaning sounds and curled up into a ball.  She quickly put her foot on the small of his back and pressed him to the floor.  She grabbed his wrists as his moans increased and tied his hands behind his back.  Next she looped the rope around his feet, tying them so that he couldn’t stretch his legs out.  Then she brought the rope up to his neck and slipped a loop around his neck, pulling it so that if he moved his feet too much, the slipknot tightened. 

He gave one experimental tug, the first resistance he had put up.  His scream was mangled as the loop tightened.  He lay still and Cinnamon stepped over him, moving to sit on the bottom step and look him over carefully.

His dark curly hair was a long tangle.  He had a dark goatee and mustache.  From his features and complexion he appeared to have some Hispanic blood.  A black leather jacket covered a black tank top.  He wore black jeans and boots.  She didn’t see a gun holster around his waist or shoulder. 

“Lady!  You shot me!” he gasped.

She pulled the gun from her pocket and pointed it at him.  “You’re right I did.”

“You gotta get me to a hospital!”

She shook her head.  “Rubber bullets.  They hurt, but they don’t penetrate.”

“It feels like I’m dying!” He said urgently.  He tried to look down, but the way she had him tied, it only made him choke. 

Glad of the dim light and the straw hat, she could feel herself blush.  Willie and Barney would surely tease her about that shot.  On the range she consistently hit lower than she was supposed to.  She had hit him in the groin.  “You’ll live.  Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

He tried to struggle again, but quickly stopped as the rope tightened around his throat.  “I’m a thief, lady.  Whatdaya think?”

Cinnamon pursed her lips.  If he was a simple thief that was one thing.  But she had to be sure of that.  She had worked out things with Jim so that she could work from home.  Just having him in the house was a security breech.  She needed to know how he had gotten in and if he really was just a thief who had picked the wrong house.

She pulled the leather case out of her pocket.  He watched closely as she pulled a syringe and a vial out of the case.  She eyed his well muscled arms.  Plenty of veins.  She had played a doctor, a nurse, even a medical examiner once.  With all the coaching she had received she was quite the expert at administering all variety of injections. 

The thief tried struggling again.  “Look lady, shouldn’t you call the cops or something?”

“I will.  If you really are what you appear to be.  But I have to be certain.”  She was concentrating on getting the right amount in the syringe. 

“Honest!  I’m a thief!  A bad guy.  You should call the cops.”  He was beginning to sound frantic.  He tried scooting across the tile, throwing his shoulders back and his legs at the same time. 

“Hold still.  It will hurt a lot less,” Cinnamon advised.  She had no intention of untying him while she did this.  He whimpered once and she opened an alcohol swab.  She quickly sterilized the area and slid the needle into the vein.  She held his arm in a tight grip as she plunged the hypodermic. 

“Why are you doing this?”  He gasped.  She slid the needle out of his arm, giving both arms a cursory inspection.  He didn’t appear to be a drug addict—at least not intravenously. 

“Just a precaution.  You messed with the wrong person.”  She stepped over him again and settled on the stairs again to wait for the drug to take effect.  “You really ought to find a new line of work.”

She pulled a pen light from the case and shone it in each eye.  They remained dilated. 

”Who are you?”  she asked.

“Rod Sanchez,” he responded. 

She continued to ask him questions.  Unless he had undergone intensive hypnotherapy and conditioning with this particular drug, he was exactly what he said:  a petty thief.  He had been in the neighborhood by chance, had seen her back door open and not noticed her in the rose garden and had decided to try his luck.  She gave herself a mental kick.  How could she have been so careless?

She packed up her kit and put it back in her pocket.  She left her prisoner on the floor and returned to the kitchen.  After securing both the gun and the drugs she picked up the phone and called the police.  In only a few minutes, the doorbell rang.  She removed her hat, smoothed back her blonde hair and walked to the door.

The policemen were polite and helpful.  She batted her eyes at them, and they immediately believed that she had startled the thief coming down the stairs and he had fallen down the remaining stairs.  Cinnamon was good at playing her audience.  She told them that she had tied him up while he was unconscious and then called the police.  They were most solicitous and concerned for her.  They promised more frequent patrols through the neighborhood. 

The thief shook his head groggily as they cuffed him and lifted him off the floor.  “Police!  Boy, am I glad to see you!  I thought she was going to kill me!”

“Yeah, right,” one of the officers said, pushing him out the door. 

“No, really!  She shot me, then she pumped me full of drugs!”  He was still babbling as they put him in the squad car.  One of the policemen rolled his eyes and smiled at Cinnamon.

She locked the door behind them, rolled up the rope and collapsed on the sofa, thinking longingly of the cigarettes upstairs.  She heard the garage door open and Jen bounced into the room. 

“Mom!  Guess what we did!”  She bounced onto the sofa and hugged her mother. 

Rollin smiled at her as he walked in the room.  “Did you enjoy your quiet Saturday morning?”

Cinnamon laughed and put her arm around her daughter.  “It was… quite a change.”

The End

Diana Rutledge

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