Furnished RoomChapter 3
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Furnished RoomChapter 9 free porn video
Having been kidnapped and beaten then rescued by a team led by his own father should have been enough of an ordeal for Chuck Moore. Both he and Aziza Khan along with four of their coworkers had been kidnapped and tortured by members of the Taliban. As he watched as Aziza, his Afghani lover, was being brutally scourged then gang raped he was convinced that they would never make it out alive. Surviving this would have made returning to normal life difficult enough. But when Aziza died while trying to shield the leader of the raid, Chuck’s father from gunfire then learning from his dying father that he sired Aziza’s child, Chuck fell into an abyss from which he thought he’d never escape.
Now safely on the way back to the United States he was still in the fog of his ordeal. In that cave in the mountains of Afghanistan the expectation of a rescue attempt, not to mention a successful one, would have only been fantasy. It was a successful action with minimal loss. But for Chuck it was huge, costing the death of his father Craig Moore and his lover Aziza Khan. He would never stop reliving the experience.
The constant noise of the airplane engines seemed to roil his psyche. He was going home but what did home mean to him anymore? His eyes went from the little girl, Emmi, to her seventeen year old aunt Jasmine, who reminded him so much of Aziza. As he looked at the three year old girl sleeping so peacefully in the seat beside him he realized how complex his life had become. What had any female in his life done but complicate it? He imagined Claire, Stacy, Aziza and Sarafina Cortez. Up to this point all but Sara had brought him pain. Eying the child of his father and Aziza he felt like Humpty-Dumpty and wondered, can Sara and I put anything back together again? Or has some older man in my life been fucking her too?
His introduction to Emmi was like opening the door to a driving arctic wind, it took his breath away. The familial traits of the little girl haunted him. Looking at Jasmine—Aziza’s sister who was sleeping in the seat next to Emmi he saw another innocent victim of circumstances that was brought into his life via his father’s indiscretions with Aziza. And what can SHE do to me? All of the women in my life except my mother and Sara have been tainted by someone’s father. “Used goods,” he murmured to himself, “that seems to be all I deserve.”
The Globe Master was towed into the largest hangar at Andrews Air Force Base where, his mother Marvella Moore, Claire Moore and her daughter Stacy awaited. The party was off-loaded along with the casket bearing General Craig Moore’s remains. It was draped with a flag and placed in a black hearse. Behind the hearse was a black stretch-limo in which the younger Moore, the awaiting women and his fellow victims got into. Behind the limo was a black Pathfinder with deeply tinted windows that obscured the passengers. Taken under the wing of Constance Campbell, a motherly woman and employee of The Company, Jasmine and Emmi rode with the nanny.
As the caravan rolled out of the hangar the Marine band, accompanied by muffled drums, played a dirge. The music stopped just as the caravan came to a halt before the platform where the President of the United stood to greet the fallen hero and his survivors. Behind him were the politicians who crashed to make hay on the return of the dead hero and the rescued hostages. Like cats surrounding a hole in the wall a cadre of newsmen waited on the tarmac. They were there to pounce on the hapless mice, knowing they would soon have trophies to drop at the feet of their voracious readers.
For thirty-two minutes the President spoke to the nation, telling of the heinous kidnapping and the beatings. He spoke of the spirit of America where a retired war hero convinced the government of his plan then giving his life while saving his son and four strangers. When he finished the Marine band resumed playing while the somber caravan moved off the tarmac and out the gate.
The government maintained silence about the General’s as well as the kidnapped engineers’ connection with The Company. They posed Charles and his counterparts as civilian victims of the hated Taliban. The caper was being hyped by the government as a valiant father, a former war hero, who had convinced them that he could assemble a team and successfully pull an impossible rescue of innocent civilian engineers including his son ... that he lost his life in the successful attempt. It was the kind of heroics that sells movies, the germ of which was already being discussed in Hollywood. Nothing was said of the Afghani woman who had also been kidnapped and had died. Nor was there any mention of the mysterious Afghani child that had been brought to the U.S. by the survivors.
Charles Moore and his co-victims were taken to Langley, Virginia where they underwent a day of debriefing. After that they were taken to the Fairfax Hotel on Embassy row. The four men shared a suite. Charles Moore and his party were ensconced in the presidential suite. Though he and Claire were estranged and he had all but ignored Stacy while she was growing up, he took comfort in knowing that The Company had not neglected them. Yet he was even more uncomfortable in their presence.
When he came through the door of the suite his mother hugged him and whispered, “It was I who insisted that Claire and Stacy stay here with us Charles. The tragedy affects them more greatly than you may realize.” Acknowledging her with a nod he went to his wife, giving her a ceremonial hug, then Stacy who couldn’t hide her icy feelings about the hypocrisy.
Turning back to his mother he whispered, “Can we be alone Mom, just the two of us?” Her agreement was a veiled nod. With his arm over her shoulder he guided her into one of the four bedrooms and closed the door behind them. Together in each other’s arms they allowed grief a small moment of release.
After Charles’ crying played out Marvella Moore, who was stoic dry-eyed as always said, “We have so much to talk about Charles.”
“Yes,” he said, wondering how he was going to break the news of Emmi being his father’s child. Or maybe I should tell her that she is mine. But he knew how ridiculous that would sound; he’d only been with Aziza for three months. Or maybe I shouldn’t tell Mom at all. It’s not the time to shock her with knowledge of her deceased husband’s infidelity. He was still coming to grips with this reality himself.
As if she were reading his mind his mother said, “I know about your relationship with Aziza, Charles.” To him it seemed like her words were coming out of a deep fog. She went on, “And I know about your Father and Aziza as well ... and I know that Emmi is your father’s child.” She sandwiched his troubled face between her hands and kissed him on the forehead. “There are so many secrets we have to share my darling.”
She almost delivered a knockout punch when she said, “I don’t suppose you knew that your dad was dying of cancer.”
He pulled back and gaped at her, his face showing the confusion that was going through his mind. “I didn’t even know Dad was sick.”
She sighed then said, “He’s been getting tired a lot lately; you know how much energy he’s always had. He was diagnosed just three weeks ago. The doctors (and there were many) all concurred that he would probably not live more than six months.”
With a rueful smile she continued, “So dying a hero saved him the indignity he would have suffered in death from the disease.” She pressed her head into her son’s shoulder, caught the reluctant sob that was lodged in her throat then drew her head back so she could look into his eyes. “It’s a fitting that my husband saved the life of my son. He’s always been my hero, you know?”
Through a shy and wistful smile she said, “Your father saved me as a human being Charles ... saved me from a life of total self-loathing. Taking hold of both of her son’s hands she went on, “I’ve always known about Aziza. Your father was in Paris when her husband was shot down right in front of his hotel. He took Aziza in and sheltered her until she was able to recover her sanity.”
In spite of the fact that his father saved him he was unable to quell his anger when he blurted, “I’m afraid Dad did more than shelter her Mom.” Reliving the pain of his father dying in his arms he remembered how his resentment intensified when Craig told him of his affair with Aziza. Then how before Aziza died she told him that Emmi was his child ... that she was living in Kabul with his aunt Jasmine.
These were the kinds of sins that usually went with a person to the grave, unknown to anyone outside of their own intimate circle. Chuck wished that he didn’t have to address the issue and wondered why his mother seemed to be pressing it.
Tearing his arm away from his mother’s grip he stormed to the window and stare out as he seethed. “We can’t TALK about this now Mother,” he said. He already had said too much at a time where his mother was mourning her husband’s death. She didn’t need to know about Emmi being her husband’s child. He would find some way to keep it from her so she could remember her hero as just that. In his mind his mother was the purest example of a female. He needed time to think.
“My darling son,” she said, “Both your father and I have kept too many secrets from you. But we never knew how to talk with you about them. I have to get it out now Charles. I have to get it in the open. You NEED to know.” Shaking her head she sighed, “Sit down Son. There’s so much I must tell you.”
With a huge sense of dread he walked to the bed and sat down. This is just too MUCH. At the same time he felt a sense of relief and fear that a mystery between his father and mother was going to be explained. Sitting down on the edge of the bed he buried his face in his hands.
Marvella opened the door and asked Constance, the agency nanny, to bring a bottle of scotch, two glasses and a pitcher of water. Allowing her son to drain some of his emotions she waited by the door until Constance knocked and passed the tray through it. Setting the tray on the dresser she made two scotch and waters.
Holding out a glass to him she said, “It’s difficult enough, Son, to bury a husband and a father. But we have things that must be discussed as the two adults we are. Through it all you’ll gain some useful knowledge of the difficult life your father and I have gone through. Maybe when I explain it to you you will begin to accept what I have experienced along my difficult path. Hopefully, in knowing my story you can begin to find a way to heal the hurts you have experienced with Claire and Stacy.”
With her drink in her hand she sat next to her son and began: “I’ve always loved your father Charles. Though his death is not being reported to the country the way it should be, Craig Moore is a real hero. Even though there was a period of our lives during which I had grave suspicions, your father has always treated me like his princess. I am going to miss him incredibly.” She held up her drink in a toast and sipped. Then she astounded him by saying, “I knew about Aziza and your father, Charles. I even encouraged it.”
“You mean... ?”
Holding up her hand to silence him she said, “This is not the kind of conversation most mothers would ever have with their sons, Charles. But you’re a grown man. Besides, I think you’ve always realized that we aren’t like most people.” He had always known his mother as being a stalwart person. She seemed to accept everything without tears and without complaint.
She went on, “We have to get some things out in the open that have been hanging over us for years.” She chuckled then said, “Even now Charles It’s difficult to realize that you are a grown man, that’s the problem with being a mother.”
“Oh Mom,” he sighed, “I’m so tired. My mind’s not really firing on all cylinders.” Dreading that he had to hear her out he took a deep breath and said, “But go ahead.”
She took his hands in hers and kissed them like she was begging for his forgiveness. Fixing his eyes with hers she said, “Your father and I really loved each other Charles, I mean really, really loved each other.” She sighed. “But my circumstances have always been different than those of most women. Sex has always been more than important to me Charles.” She looked at her son in a way that was like a mixture of shame and grief. “It has been necessary.”
His eyes told it all TMI; he couldn’t believe she was talking to him this way. Taking a slug from his glass he set it down while keeping his eyes riveted on hers. He was a grown man, sure but he didn’t expect this kind of conversation coming from his mother’s mouth. In stunned silence he waited for the next shoe to drop.
Confirming his silence she said, “It’s probably best that you don’t interrupt me Charles; I might get distracted from what I have to tell you. Or I might lose my courage to say what you need to hear.”
There was something in the way she was talking with him that reminded him of his estranged wife, Claire, and compelled him to comment, “But...”
“Shh,” she said touching her finger to his lips. “Just listen to your Mama baby. Why don’t you lie back on the bed hon, it might make it easier for both of us. I’ll sit in the chair.”
When they got settled in their separate places she went on. “After my breast cancer surgery I underwent chemotherapy. Everything seemed okay for about ten years. Then sex started to become painful for me. The doctor told me that the chemo drugs sent me into early menopause which caused the walls of my vagina to become thinner.”
It was strange to hear his mother talking about sex and her vagina.
“It’s not like we didn’t have sex anymore, sweetie,” she said patting his hand. “We did and it was wonderful.”
He wished she would stop talking. He wasn’t ready to hear this.
“When you love somebody as much I love ... loved your father, any expression of sex is wonderful. But your father needed sex as much as I did —all of it. It’s different for a man though Charles, as you well know.”
She got up, refreshed her drink, making another for him and went back to the chair. “Your father took care of Aziza when her husband was assassinated. He took care of her just like he would have taken care of our Emmy (their special needs child who died in her teens) had she been in similar circumstances.”
The distant memory of his little sister flashed through his mind.
“I never met Aziza but he talked about her so lovingly ... said that she was such a sweet and loving woman.” It was a rare occasion for tears that welled in her eyes. “I saw in Aziza a way to satisfy the man who had gone the extra mile to satisfy me sexually, even though I couldn’t totally satisfy him.” She smiled, grasped Chuck’s wrist and shook it. “I knew he could help make a grieving young woman happy. Can you understand Son?”
Chuck ached for his mother for sharing such personal, intimate information. He also ached for himself as he thought, can she possibly know about Emmi?
Once again she answered his thoughts. “Your father told me that he knew you and Aziza were in love with one another.” She saw the amazement on his face and grimaced. “Come now Charles,” she chided, The Company is in the business of spying,” then shrugged her shoulders. “He wasn’t supposed to tell me that but...”
“But... ?”
“I could tell by how much Emmi looks like your sister, she is actually.” With a pained smile she went on, “She’s the girl-child he longed for since your sister Emmy’s death. That was easy for me to figure out.”
“But he didn’t know that until Aziza told him. It was the last thing she told him before she died.” Overcome with emotion he stifled his tears, breathing heavily to keep them from spilling. He told me, Mom. It was the last words he spoke to me. How could you POSSIBLY have known?”
“I knew she couldn’t be your child, Charles” she answered with a smile. “Though she is darker complected and has brown eyes she looks so much like your sister.”
Taking three deep breaths he went on, “Oh God Mother! I loved Aziza so much. And she DIED. Then, as my father lay dying in my arms he told me that he was the father of her CHILD” Covering his face with his hands he gasped, “For Christ’s sake Mom, how much more does anybody expect me to take?”
There was so much more that Marvella had to tell but she realized that this just wasn’t the time. It would have to wait until he was ready to come to grips with reality ... back home. “Why don’t you take a shower Charles? We’ll have time to talk when we get back home.”
It was a hero’s funeral: A horse, with an empty saddle and backwards boot in the stirrup, being led by a Marine. The Marine band was behind the horse, followed by a small entourage of mourners, including the Vice President of the United States. After the body was interred Chuck, his mother Marvella, Claire and Stacy were walking back to black limo that was waiting below the grave. A cordon of newsmen and photographers had formed between them and the car. One of the reporters approached ahead of the others and asked, “Is it true there is a child?”
Mikhaela
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