Black Widow (standard:other, 3945 words)
Author: Ravenwood	Added: Feb 27 2012	Views/Reads: 3003/1829	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The black widow spider seduces, conquers, and destroys. In this human counterpart, will love interfere this time? And what of the widow Jacoby’s purported destiny of death-by-drowning?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

With outboard placed gently in the back of my red Ford Ranchero, I drove
straight on to Clyde Gilstrap's. Why hadn't someone else thought to do 
this? 

“A Merc, you say?” Clyde greeted me, meandering towards the truck, with
faded shop rag wiping at his hands. “Ain't that a wonder? I hadn't seen 
this model outboard in years, and in the last few days, I seen two of 
them. Looked exactly like this one, they did. 

“I didn't work on them, though. It's twenty dollars to look. More, if
there's much to do.” An eyebrow raised to question if I, too, would 
decline? Not me. The others may have decided they could repair it 
themselves when the twenty was announced. I had no such fantasy. 

Clyde got it going. And he tutored me—as much as I was tutorable—as to
how best to get it to start each time. 

A water barrel stood near an old boat at the Jacoby's. Empty, but I
filled it. I hung the Mercury inside to demonstrate to the widow that 
it was repaired. She came from the house. 

“Yes, I'm back, Miss...  ”  I almost hoped she would give her first
name. Not that I wanted familiarity. I dared not say Mrs, lest I 
pronounce her name Mrs. Zsacoby, the delightful way Alec Guiness 
addressed Rosalind Russell in “A Majority of One”. The Ja sounded Zsa, 
like one-half of Zsa Zsa Gabor. I couldn't stop humming it in my head – 
I'd done so all day - and I feared I would say it aloud, embarrass me 
and offend her. 

Did she have a sense of humor? 

“I'm sorry, Miss, that I was gone so long, but these things... “ I
lifted both hands before the motor to emphasize the magnitude of the 
task, the gesture also serving as prayer that it would start. It did, 
at first pull and revved on command, and I breathed again. 

The widow's smile would have embarrassed afternoon sun. 

“Oh, Mr. Baines, I'm so relieved... But mister sounds so formal. Now,
what did you say your first name is?” 

“Al... Alistair.” 

Her laughter almost had me wishing that I hadn't shut the engine down.
But the sparkle of her eyes said that her laughter was playful. There 
was more to like about this lady than her looks. How had the previous 
‘mechanics' missed this more salient point? My mind continued to race 
for a key that would let me see her again. 

“Do you sell the insurance?” she asked. 

“Pardon?” 

“The Alistair insurance.” 

“I believe that's Allstate Insurance.” 

She almost giggled. I didn't know if it was over her cleverness or her
error. Then I got it! Lest I'd been offended by her laughter, she had 
turned a joke back on herself. What an extraordinary lady. 

“I go fishing most every Wednesday, and now I can use my own boat,
again.” She pointed to the boat, overturned on homemade trailer. 
Aluminum boat, battered along its keel. From rocks and roots, I 
supposed. On its side, a name tried to show itself—in vain. Some 
letters were missing. I bent my neck. “Old Crab?” I questioned aloud, 
with red face. 

“Me or the boat?” She laughed. An easy laugh, like her smile. It was as
though she was rarely without one or the other. “Yes. It was 'Ye Olde 
Crab Trappe' when Mr. Jacoby bought the thing. Some letters scraped 
away over time, leaving Old Crab. We both thought it was a hoot.” She 
laughed for the memory. 

“Most every Wednesday,” she repeated. “On Holland's lake. Would you care
to join me?” 

I'm sure my jaw dropped. She wasn't inviting my good looks or suave
manner, I knew that. She was inviting Clyde Gilstrap, unknowingly, and 
a gofer to load and unload the boat. But I was ecstatic, nonetheless. I 
could be free on any day that I chose. 

After accepting the fishing dates - as a child would grasp candy, I
drove home before realizing I'd left my watch. But that could be a 
blessing. If Mrs. Jacoby came to her senses and changed her mind about 
the fishing, I would still have reason to go there again. 

I dug into those magazines. I'd never fished from boat before – had
rarely even been aboard a craft. 

............ 

This was my fifth time fishing in the company of the lady, although we'd
shared time for other things—we'd set out ornamental pear trees in her 
yard. This was the first time the engine hadn't started. With hand on 
it, pleadingly, I went through Clyde Gilstrap's instructions again: 
'Tilt the motor. Set the choke just so. Prime... ' prime! I'd forgotten 
to prime. The Mercury started on next pull of the rope. 

We towed the boat back to the Jacoby place and I maneuvered the trailer
past the new tree settings. I busied with readying boat and motor for 
standby - those magazines had come in handy for more than the fishing. 
Mrs. Jacoby, with hardly a word, had disappeared inside when we 
arrived. Was she that annoyed because fish hadn't bit? 

She came out when I was finishing. 

“Al, I thank you for all you've done. And I apologize if I was
distracted today. Mr. Jacoby called last night and he is arriving this 
afternoon.” 

She was distracted! I was in ‘Twilight Zone'. 

At sight of my ghost-like appearance, she gasped and touched my arm.
“How clumsy of me! I'm so sorry. I meant, not my mister Jacoby. His 
brother, Raymond. We were always good friends, and now, well we may be 
in love. And I owe the success of it to you. Can you believe that? 
Every man around acted sort of... well, wolfish. But not you. You were 
a perfect gentleman and a good friend. Delightfully shy. Too shy even 
to use my first name. 

“So I took a different notice to Raymond's attentive phone calls:
perhaps he was sincere, as well. And the rest is fate. I do so thank 
you, Al. And I hope to see you again. Perhaps we will see you when 
we're about town. Where do you frequent?” 

I mumbled about being around the house. Mostly work and just staying
caught up on things. 

“But you must go out to eat, sometimes. Where do you go, then?” 

I shrugged. “Tower of Pizza. But usually, it's Barnaby's.” 

“Barnaby's. We'll see you there, then. We'll make a point of it.” 

Gripping my arm and tiptoeing, she leaned near. Her lips brushed my
cheek. “You're a good friend, Al. You've been a blessing to me.” 

Numbly, almost reeling, trying to hide it, I excused myself and went to
the truck—too dumbfounded over the news to contemplate the ecstasy of 
her kiss. Why hadn't I already told how I feel? 

I hadn't been to Barnaby's since I met her. I was making sandwiches or
opening a can of something at the house to save back the twenty 
dollars. But I went back to the Beanery following her promise. Days 
later? It must be, but I've no idea how many or how few. 

“Hey, furniture polisher,” a patron called out. “There's another red
Ranchero in town almost like yours. It may be identical.” 

“There is?” My truck's color was Ford's, but it was only offered on
their T-Bird. I'd special-ordered and paid extra. 

“Yeah,” another eater waved his fork. “It's been over at Marienne
Jacoby's sometimes.” 

I nodded without answering aloud. Marienne? The name rolled gently on my
tongue, with sweetness of a pastry. 

“Don't you wish it could have been you?” he persisted. 

Other voices chimed in, almost in unison, “I wish it could be me.” 

I acknowledged their interest with a smile. I wouldn't say more;
Marienne deserved no less. I turned my attention to the menu. I knew 
most every item, but I could not think. I'd been this way since... 

“It might have been some of us over there,” someone said, “but the
furniture polisher?” 

Laughter followed. Chopped short by silence. Gasps sounded, and heads
turned. 

Marienne Jacoby waited for the entry door to close against her. She was
without escort, in a tailored pant suit that tastefully showed her 
shape, brunette waves cascading down her jacket. She scanned the room, 
and I lifted a hand in acknowledgement. She smiled and came to my table 
with the grace of a princess going to coronation. I rose to greet her. 

“Can I talk to you?” she whispered at my ear. 

“Of course. But, here?” 

She looked at the barren table top. “Have you finished eating?” 

I shook my head. “I haven't ordered.” 

“Then, may we go?” She laced her arm in mine, and then lifted my hand
against her lips briefly as we wended to the door. 

When we were outside, she began nervously, “I've passed here so many
times, I'm sure they think I'm planning a robbery. I saw them ducking 
for cover just now.” She half-smiled, with little humor, it seemed. 
“Today, I saw your truck.” 

She squeezed my hand and looked toward my face with hint of a tear in
her eye. When she spoke, the hint of tear was in voice also. “Please 
don't think me forward, Al. I knew this before. I know it for certain 
the last few days.” She hesitated. “You'd never said anything. Never 
acted interested... “ 

We stopped. We'd been moving, without thought, to her Oldsmobile. She
whispered again as though she would choke if she tried to speak more 
forcefully. “Do you think that you could... ” She turned away and 
swallowed. When she turned back, her expression invited for her to be 
held. Then her image blurred, consumed inside my joy. 

I was holding her, and the car was holding me. Else knees of rubber may
have betrayed me. She pushed gently back and tried again to complete a 
needless question. “That you could learn to... “ 

My arms hushed her voice for the moment, and she snuggled with sigh.
Later she spoke, slowly, as if she'd rehearsed while in the snuggle. 

“I would want you there when the pear trees first bear fruit.” 

“But they're fruitless trees, Marienne.” I reminded gently, pronouncing
the name with caress in my voice. 

“I know that. But won't we have fun while we're waiting!” 

Her kiss was as inviting as I had imagined. More so, as her body pressed
against me. I didn't want that to end, but it had to. I owed her that. 

“May we sit in your car, Marienne? There's something I must tell you.” 

Her brow rose. “Of course.” 

I held the door as she moved to behind the steering wheel, and I went to
the passenger side. I would have given anything to be someplace else, 
even if it was back before I had heard of her cranky outboard. 
Confessions were not easy for me. Harder, even, than easing her warm 
body from against mine. 

With subdued gasp of breath, I smiled. A pitiful, plaintive twitch, I'm
sure. But I looked squarely into her face. 

“Marienne, you commended me for not calling you by your name. The truth
is that I did not know your name until moments ago. Further, I learned 
it of men who do not deserve to speak it. Nor do I. I did not know it 
because of the shyness of a coward to ask you” My nod emphasized the 
word, coward. “When I was comfortable enough to ask, I was too 
embarrassed for my delay.” 

Her lips parted as though to speak, but my fingers, lifting toward her,
bade her to pause. 

“There was nothing gallant in my meeting you. I know nothing of motors.
I hauled it to a mechanic in the next county. It has only started for 
me because I memorized the directions he gave. I took the motor 
because”- astonished at my courage for this revelation - “because of 
your beauty... your sexiness. 

“Soon afterward, I valued you for so much more, your sense of fairness,
your sense of humor, but first my motive was less than honorable.” 

Instead of the disdain I'd expected, she glowed. 

“Al... dearest. You have not moved your eyes from mine while telling me
these things. That is not the behavior of a coward. Your telling me is 
the valor of a brave and kind man.” 

Her face turned to the front as though she, too, bore a burden, then she
looked to me again. 

“I know that men find me attractive, Al. I know it, and I use it. God
help us, we all do.” She sighed. “It's hardly a secret, is it? The 
weaker gender is the stronger one because of the weakness of the 
stronger gender for... us.” Her lips had seemed poised to say sex 
before she substituted us. 

She studied the back of her hand without seeing it, eyes in
contemplation. “Let the one who is without sin... ” Her head moved side 
to side, almost sadly. I didn't know whether to excuse myself and exit 
the car, or ... I didn't know. My body angered above my thoughts, 
demanding, why had I ended our embrace outside the car! 

Marienne looked less a woman now. A child, as her face sought mine.
Questioning. Fighting for control of thought? I know that I was. But 
thought was paralyzed, and I sensed she was also. 

“May I call, tomorrow?” I asked. 

“Please do. Perhaps after a good night's rest we can begin a journey...
a splendid, totally splendid, new journey.” 

I gripped her hand, and again she raised my hand to her lips. 

“I may not wash it.” I said of the print of her lipstick. 

“Then let it be here.” She tilted her head and our lips pressed again.
They almost melted into each other; I'd never felt so loved. As 
reluctant as I was to have the kiss end, her nails, clinging in my 
shirt, said she was more so. When our lips parted, I excused myself, 
husky-voiced, and exited. I stood and watched Oldsmobile taillights 
shrink into traffic. Her hand rose toward her mirror, and I waved in 
return. Our hands were still erect, as though fingertips touching, when 
I could last see her. 

I never saw Marienne again. My calls were unanswered, and I drove over.
Her house was as vacant as though she had never been there. 

“Jacoby?” answered the landlord. “They dropped in four months ago. Paid
six months up front. Never gave no trouble, except she did set out 
those trees.” He pointed, scowling. “But I did notice their mail came 
to a different name. They pulled out early this morning, all loaded 
up.” 

“They?" 

“Yep. Her and the husband. I only saw him first time and today.” 

A postcard came. The location was smudged - I cursed for that. The date
wasn't, but I had to go to the wall calendar to know how many days had 
passed in fog since I'd seen her. I counted painfully: three weeks. I 
turned the card to its reverse side again, to the red print of her 
lips. The card contained nothing else. I held the red outline against 
my cheek - and then against my chest. 

Footsteps sounded above my wood-working inside the shop. Not the
graceful stride I'd listened for all these, damn! Was it months? Months 
since my birth and my exile. 

These steps were a man's. Confident, one could sense that. I exited the
shop and saw a black Chevrolet Biscayne at the curb and a suited 
gentleman walking up, sunglasses in his fingers, missing nothing with 
his eyes - not the rasp still in my hand. His open, gray jacket 
betrayed, barely, a bulge at his armpit. 

“Mr. Alistair Baines?” he greeted. 

“Yes.” 

He showed identification. “Agent Betancourt. Federal Bureau of
Investigation.” 

“I pay my taxes,” taut smile accompanying my senseless remark. 

His shoulders dropped and face relaxed, seeming glad for my attempt at
humor. 

“May I have a few moments of your time, Mr. Baines?” 

I leaned and cleared my hand of the rasp, tossing it back inside, onto
the work bench. He didn't offer a hand, and neither did I. 

“Would you like some tea? Iced tea?” 

He nodded, and I waved him toward the house. While I prepared the ice –
and washed two glasses dug from the pile in the sink - he put a leg 
into the hallway and surveyed what of the house was visible from there. 
Assuring that we were the only ones present, I guessed. We seated at 
the dining table. 

Looking to the chair's wood arm, he caressed it with fingers and asked,
”How would one best remove a gouge and dress it down?” 

My smile, less taut than before, but still guarded, conveyed my thought,
‘I think you are not interested in the arm of a chair. You've just now 
informed me that you know near as much about me as I know about 
myself.' 

He smiled in return and leaned back in the chair, as comforting himself,
the glass of tea in a hand. 

“Mr. Baines, did you know, here in Juddville, a Liz Dalton? She may have
been using the name, Jacoby.” 

“Marienne Jacoby?” 

He nodded. “She has used that name. You did know her, then?” 

“Yes.” 

“We're trying to close up some things.” 

He almost shrugged. Was he inviting me to tell what I knew of her? My
raised brow posed that question, and he nodded yes. I told what I felt 
was pertinent, but he may have guessed there was more. He leaned 
forward then, elbows cordially on the table. 

“Brace yourself, Mr. Baines. This lady and her husband had a short
career of intrigue. She would move to a new place as a widow and get 
someone interested. Easy enough, as she was a real head-turner. Got 
engaged once. Took out an insurance policy on the mark. 

“She pretended to fear drowning, when she in fact almost qualified for
Olympic swimming when she was younger. She would get the guy onto a 
lake and go under. Not resurface. When he went down to try and save 
her, she would attempt to drown him.” 

He showed a picture of a lake. 

“Cumberland. When she went down in this one, she got entangled in
debris, for real this time. The mark went down to save her, but he 
couldn't free her. She died before his eyes.” 

He reached to catch me, but I righted myself. 

“Are you okay!” 

I gestured that I was; I couldn't speak just then. 

“We have the husband...” 

He said more, but I didn't hear. My eyes were on the backside of a
postcard. 

“No conscience.” I heard him again. 

“She had conscience!” I objected, lifting a hand, having rescued my
voice. I'd jerked my arm so abruptly that his hand went inside his 
jacket before he relaxed and withdrew the hand. In a lower octave, I 
asked, “Have you told this in town?” 

His head wagged side to side. 

“Must you repeat it? Everyone deserves sanctuary someplace. Why can't
this place be her's?” 

I saw no answer on his face. 

“I've finished what I came for.” He pushed back, and he hinted a smile.
“A left on Cottonwood takes me out of town?” I nodded, and he extended 
his hand for first time. I gripped it. 

We walked in silence to the black sedan. After we exchanged well wishes,
he added, "Don't tell J. Edgar that I was cordial." I nodded, not 
knowing if he was serious. From the curb I watched - arms folded -  as 
he drove away. He drove to the traffic signal at Cottonwood Blvd and 
signaled a left turn. 


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