All she remembered of the plane crash was the smoke-filled cabin, before she blacked out, recovering in a hospital, in some place called Salisbury, Rhodesia many days later.
Jack, her much older Partner, (half Brother, actually) had been discharged that morning, with seemingly no place to go and was now sitting beside her bed. Later, he’d reminded her how she’d managed to wrangle two seats for herself and him from an air hostess contact. She was the sort that did not have many close friends, more like associates who she liked to let them think, were her Friends but she had ‘befriended’ this bitch a few months previously when she’d wandered into the small Manhattan salon at the end of Fifth avenue, (on the edge of Little Brazil, that they owned), desperately wanting a trim and ‘out flick’ hairdo before her next flight in a few hours. During the trimming of the post washed, medium length golden locks, Sheena the previously distraught customer had relaxed sufficiently enough to openly engage the wary Charley (full name; Charlotte).
Jack had secured this place with its two-bedroom apartment upstairs, for a low rental from some contacts he had back in Ireland. It was away from prying eyes and the ‘Big nose brigade’ that were always desiring to poke into their affairs and gossip like the busy bodies they were, after the Pair’s sudden arrival, from Northern Ireland, a few years back. Business wasn’t always that great among the local Brazilian and Hispanics that lived there, but they got by well considering. Charley’s prowess as an excellent hairdresser and beautician, was beyond mention but her location was questionable. Jack had gotten Charley into ‘turning a couple of tricks’ upstairs in the spare room occasionally, especially with the tolerable but balding Mario, their Landlord (with his typically strong aftershave) and a few of his friends, for extra cash and to pay the rent. Word got around among the local hombres, that Senora Charley liked a good whipping and being tied up to the bed and entered only via the ‘A porta dos fundos’ or the back door. (Her front was always unusually covered up and only for Jack’s use, with a bare backed type of g string). She had unusually attractive Slavic features; sapphire blue eyes with deep auburn shingled hair, much shorter than some men but she was definitely all woman (or so it seemed) with her tight, supple figure, she resembled a prowling jaguar; a stark contrast to any women in the vicinity and despite her extra mural activities, was held in some form of awed respect by all. Her agile movements were much talked about at Fiesta time, the annual event now known as Brazilian day; a noted exotic dancer who could manipulate herself into positions some would not even dare imagine, whilst juggling and breathing fire. A simple, sudden, high aimed kick from her could easily break a jaw, rib or whatever she aimed at. Her Jack had trained her well, all those years ago and she kept in shape, exercising whenever and wherever possible, although an occasional exotic Balkan sobrani or dark cheroot was her only weakness, besides the ‘veiled’ feelings for her man; a cold, dark mobile statue of iron, yet with the sexual drive of a Rhinoceros, drawing strength from it’s horns.
Listening now, to the exuberant Sheena, sprouting on about her jet setting life as a Pan Am Hostess, while setting her hair over medium width rollers, Charley realizes, this is someone she should bring ‘on board’ as a usable ally; she feigns interest in what the little bitch is saying, homing in on a social event spoken of, just the next week. Charley lets her finish then says “Listen, you’ve had a rough day, trying to find someone to do your hair in time for the flight, why don’t I let you have this one on me, for now and next time you can tell your friends on that fancy plane of yours, just where I am here, maybe come back yourself, with some of them, just before that swell party next week huh? Any nice men going? I’m sure you must know a few handsome, hunky pilots, Honey”.
“Well Thank you very kindly Ma’am, just so happens I’m meetin’ the man of my dreams there, Captain Horace Cummings. Myself and a few of my friends will want to do ourselves up real nice for it and you seem to be a swell person to make us look quite fine and dandy” her southern drawl now gushing out, “Matter of fact, I can get y‘all an invite if you like? Do you have a man, or ya want me to find you a cutie there huh?” she giggles, tensing just as a somber face Jack returns, inadvertently making direct eye contact, as he enters their apartment via the salon.
“Ladies” he grumbles swaying, quite tipsy through the door and on, upstairs. It was at the function the following week that Charley attended (after telling Jack she had some outside possible paid business she’d like to find out about and would be back in a couple of hours), that she met, not another man she was attracted to, but a woman. This was a most unusual feeling for Charley. Moments after one of the delightful hosting pilot First Officers got her a martini, an intense feeling overcame her as she met the gaze of Suzanne Shianne d’Arcy. Her lips went dry even before she sipped the vermouth and her loins stiffened and ashamedly moistened. Charley, always remarkably attired and with her signature Chanel perfume, and now very closely cropped auburn head (expertly earlier done; only by her Jack, with a pair of Burmann hand shears over a comb and a razor) and lithe, athletic body, could stand out in any crowd, the tanned sheen of her complexion, with almost interlaced freckles totally enhanced her appearance, turning many a man’s head and several admiring feminine glances too. She was noticeable alright and to mask her lack of breeding, she possessed cunning stealth, ingenuity, and brilliant natural acting skills.
The slightly voluptuous blonde Suzanne, cut a purposeful path through the guests in the direction of this stunning stranger who, she’d heard, had coiffed and made up at least five of her friends that very day to attend this glamorous soiree; they looked Divine. Clearly this woman had incredible talent, Suzanne needed to know more. Sheena was the one, most audible in the crowd above the jazz quartet in the background, as she grabbed Suzanne by the upper arm and guided her, the remainder of the way to Charley lingering near the bar. “You simply must come and meet the great Lady who transformed us, my Dear Suzanne,” the very pretty, now fashionably curly, bobbed young Texan was gushing. “Charley this here, is my Lifelong Friend, Suzanne Shianne d’Arcy, nee Shaftesbury, wife of Senator Joseph d’Arcy of New Mexico.
From there, things just progressed for Charley and Jack; they rode on the crest of a wave. Though Jack, ever a stealthy mastermind, had other thoughts on his mind regarding the pompous twits he was now constantly being introduced to and having to dine with, fraternizing at their social clubs, golf courses, sailing clubs and numerous airline parties they were getting invited to after plying her trade and the Ladies openly admiring her handiwork with the rollers, scissors, firm lacquer hairspray, and gossip, lots of hairspray and gossip.
It was at just one of these parties in the home of a United Airlines Captain, that Jack was almost caught out during one of his regular visits to the Gents toilet (this night in the master en-suite bathroom, upstairs). He’d earlier noticed, across the opulent plush carpeted bedroom, to the left, an upper drawer in the dressing table left slightly open; the usual resting place of the well to do’s jewellery, he had come to realise. This required further investigation and by his third trip to the bathroom, he’d wandered slightly off course in mock inebriated state and opened the draw and the matching one besides, to find diamond and gold jewellery and watches worth a small fortune. His jacket and trouser pockets were specially tailored for just such occasions. After a few cursory glances this way and that, he helped himself to the lot, carefully closing the drawers again and wiping them with the Gentleman’s handkerchief he’d become accustomed to carrying recently, neatly folded in his inner upper pocket. Moving back through the bathroom door, he bumped into a rather fat jowelled fellow, having some problem with his wristwatch as he was going to the toilet. The bespectacled Gent eyed him up and down, before wobbling into the bathroom seemingly intoxicated. What Jack did not realise was that this fine fat fellow was, in fact a very senior, almost retired Police officer and adopted Brother to the host. That Markus Fitzgerald was once one of the fittest, finest police officers in the now firmly established New Jersey constabulary, is without any doubt. His powers of observation had never dulled as he progressed up the rungs to vice commissioner although many other things had.
It is late October 1951, six years after the war and as a lot of Americans were not directly involved with the battle on their doorstep, so to speak, people are kind of laid back and stringent home security is not a major fad at this time; only in the much more affluent areas such as Sagaponack, in the Hampton’s and the ‘Upper east end’ a few people have any form of surveillance at all.
The party has ended, a little before 3 am; the last guest is tottering towards his car, to try and drive home when Julie-Anne Heaton emits an ear-piercing scream that cuts through even the thickest fog on the bay-side of New York. Her husband Captain James Percival Heaton comes running to her side in the bedroom as she is pointing at the bare drawers that she didn’t even think to lock.
Now, despite the Family’s enormous wealth; youngest Son, James, and his wife, figured a few years ago, (upon his inveigled promotion to Captain), that to move down in status to the upper working class area of Bay-side, Queens, would be considered prudent to allow their young Family including three children, to thrive and grow as ‘ordinary American citizens’ but with a family combined wealth of over half a billion dollars from the meat canning industry, that was hardly conceivable.
The guest swaying slightly, towards his stately Chrysler De Soto Deluxe, is none other than the recently widowed Vice Commissioner Fitzgerald, who sobers suddenly and strides straight back towards the Grand entrance of the Heaton residence, ringing the large doorbell and knocking with great vigour. Conswailo, the maid who’d heard the shriek of her Employer, whilst doing a little last minute tidying up before retiring to finish later that morning, goes to the door hearing Mr Fitzgerald’s knock, and opens it ushering him in. They briefly exchange puzzled glances as the horrified James bounds down the large winding staircase and almost breathlessly informs his half Brother of the ‘crime of the century.’
Sheena had become a friendly regular to the salon, now always allowing at least an extra two hours before her departures to the Airport to report for duty, to have her hair looking its usual immaculate Hostess gold standard. Several other of her colleagues also popped in from time to time to be primped and preened and their makeup artistically done before flights, events etc. The salon was just starting to thrive when Jack made the announcement, after reading the papers, one morning, that they were to leave as soon as possible. No sooner had he spoken than Sheena breezed in, unannounced for a quick shampoo and set. Quick thinking Charley asks her if there is any way Sheena could get them two tickets on a plane that night, to get away to South Africa to see a sick relative there. A suddenly concerned Sheena (not for a moment thinking about herself and what she was going to do about her hair, thereafter), nods quickly and starts thinking and talking aloud as she is ushered to the shampoo bay before the rollers go in.
Before going under the dryer, Sheena suddenly requests to make a phone call to Pan Am. The recently installed phone, gets her through and after a brief enquiry and summary chit chat, she announces the tickets will be ready and hand delivered, for a flight much later that night to London from where they could catch a connection to South Africa the following day.
By 8pm on Tuesday the 6th November 1951 they are packed, having ordered a private cab bound for the New York Airport. They turn the key on the salon door for the last time leaving an almost promising life behind.
The flight to London Heathrow airport in the very new DC6B was very comfortable and uneventful, with not much time on the ground before they were up and away again, enroute to Johannesburg, in the Union of South Africa for what was to become, for them, a truly memorable trip but not for any good reasons as a forced near disastrous crash landing had to be made on a short light aircraft runway at the ‘Charles Prince’ Airport in Salisbury, Northern Rhodesia. Which brings us back to the beginning of the chapter.
Jack shifts himself uncomfortably in his bedside chair and explains to Charlotte, that he made a call earlier, back home to Northern Ireland and had received some ‘Instructions’ (Charley knew very well what that would entail). The jewellery had been ‘shifted’ without trace and had fetched a Princely sum of $11,000 US, (for that time, a considerable amount), it was excellent quality merchandise and over half of the funds would go to the ‘cause back home’ as Jack would typically say. Considered a job well done, their untimely (or otherwise) arrival here was about to get interesting.
Three months later they are settled into a small rented house in outer Salisbury and Charley has secured herself a part time job, three and a half days a week, at the salon belonging to their Landlord’s wife, Jennifer Markham. Jack had purchased a small car, a vital necessity in this remote bastion of colonial civilization. There is a nearby Catholic Church, pastored by the Reverend James O’Malley, to which Jack has been attending mass and confessional with the Reverend Jim on a regular basis, though the discussions there and afterwards at the clergy house, stray far from the ‘waywardness of lost sheep’. A call ‘back home’ pointed Jack in this ‘new direction.’ The voice on the other end, gave rather specific details as to how to find the place and their Landlord Peter Markham just happened to be the Maintenance person responsible for the overseeing of several of the Churches in the diocese. Needless to say, the house, Charley’s job etc., quickly followed the first visit there, after just a couple of nights in the lavish central Meikles Hotel.
Within three months of that hotel stay, recovering from her slight concussion, Charley’s guard had slipped and the early signs of pregnancy were now in place. She was, secretly, over the moon but upon breaking the news to Jack, any hopes of finally settling in to a Family life in this remote, or any place, quickly vanished.
“We’re not going to be here, for any great length of time, just enough to let the dust settle,” she’s informed, “make plans to get rid of it, either before birth or not too long after” as he departs; door slamming on his back. He’s bound for the Church office again; things to discuss, “Bloody baby not going to get in the way, stupid bitch what was she thinking? Although, going through the motions of settlement might be something worth discussing with the cause back home or through Jim O’Malley today. Good diversionary tactic.” Thought stored and dismissed for the present.
Five hours later, he’s back at the modest single storey little rental house, tipsy as always but brandishing a large bunch of flowers including roses in his bear like fist; wrapped present in the other, as he gets out of the car. “Woman, you here?” he bellows, as he enters and looks around at the half clean kitchen with some dishes still in the sink and her perfume, mingled with cheroot smoke lingering in the air. “By Jesus, where are you, Bitch? I’ve something for yer. Come on and see!”
She enters, fully made up, with eyebrows recently and expertly trimmed and shaped, though looking distinctly different to her usual self. A slight bang to her head in the plane crash, had left a small wound that prevented him from trying to cut her hair for several weeks and that was usually a ten day to fortnightly event, as they took it in turns to groom each other, at least one of the regular occurrences, still occasioning wild passionate lovemaking sessions in the bathroom, salon or wherever the mood in the nude took them. The now bushy curls, starting to establish themselves like oxide ochre encrusted barnacles on her head, give him an immediate hard-on. It is four thirty pm, the kitchen curtains and windows wide open, on a lazy autumn afternoon overlooking the small, slightly overgrown garden into the neighbors next door, having tea, with some guests on their veranda; an elderly couple who seemed very wary of this couple and kept to themselves after Jack grunted at them one morning when they tried to greet him, unaware that that was his general imperious mien. As he hands the flowers to a totally stunned Charlotte, eyeing them, the wrapped present and his bulging crotch, his left hand reaches for her head in the area of the virtually healed wound to check it’s status as his right hand rips her blouse open, buttons flying, revealing her still perfectly formed and pert, bra-less breasts. She feverishly starts to undo his shirt as she knows what is about to happen after over three months now; her wanting him so bad she had seriously started to consider playing with herself using a well-oiled cucumber, which she thought often of sucking and eating afterwards, liberally covered in mayonnaise. Such were the daydreams she was having as a bored housewife during her days off work. Though she still maintained her rigorous exercise schedule of calisthenics, with a kick and dance session to the music in her mind.
They are both now naked as he pulls open a lower drawer in the kitchen and withdraws his leather pouch containing the hand shears, comb, scissors, and razor. He notices the fuzz growing between her legs also, which will have to go. Pushing her into a quickly out turned kitchen chair and without the usual comb in front, he starts mowing through the hair on her superbly shaped head, from the nape of her neck upwards, leaving a hint of red sandpaper in their wake, right to the crown, moving effortlessly around her sides, all that is left, are the curls on top.
Standing directly in front of her with rock hard phallus in line of her bright red lips, he positions the comb into the hairline and combing back, he scythes through the three inches of curly bronzed mop leaving little more than a third of an inch behind as her mind ponders the tasty cucumber and her mouth engorges his shaft of flesh coloured steel, pushing right to the back of her throat she starts to gently bite down with a hissing, sucking motion as he rocks gently to and fro upon the balls of his feet, still clad in black socks yet managing to maintain a steady clipping motion along the top of her near close shingled head.
This is not a first for them yet every time is as good as that. His constitution as rock solid as his penis, Jack is able to withhold himself for abnormally lengthy periods as he finishes the mowing like a true professional. He takes the ever-sharp cut throat razor and after rapidly withdrawing from her surprised mouth, wets down her head and a nearby clean dishtowel with water from the kitchen tap and proceeds to shave the back and sides from below the crown, all the way to the front, leaving her looking like an American marine although a very stunning and sexy looking feminine one, with no evidence of the aforementioned wound. Before she realises, He has pulled her long sinewy legs up around his waist and using a well moistened cloth, he is clean shaving her pudenda as she locks her legs around him, without his noticing, for a first time ever, she has picked up the shears and as he is leaning over her, she is clean shearing his head from the back, agile as she is, her taut abdominal muscles are quivering, careful that he doesn’t cut her. Though she usually grooms him immaculately with short back and sides, his now graying sandy top hair was beginning to thin out, so she continues manipulating the hand shears, unguarded, to the frontal hairline as he looks up, it is too late, he finishes her shave and allows her to complete his as he takes his place upon the chair, the roles are reversed as his arms lock around her waist and he is sucking on her breasts, whilst the setting sun is masking the now standing, gaping audience from the lower house veranda, straining to see with eyes popping out of their heads, this full audio visual spectacle before them within only several yards. The oblivious actors move entwined like mating pythons, to the bathroom where Jack continues to ram home his point of view, concerning their future before the present is unwrapped to reveal a bottle of Jamiesons Irish whiskey which they will begin to consume in the hot, steamy bathtub; Jack and Charley surveying their new looks to begin their (temporary) role as a loving expectant couple to foil any unwitting onlookers.
(To be Continued……. From the Manuscript -mine- of ‘None so blind’ © by Tsu Donnym, unpublished as yet)