Taming the Flame

Farrah fixed her sleeveless summer dress, then headed from the bathroom through the hallway towards the chattering of guests. As she approached the large living room where the celebratory congregation was gathered, she noticed her study door was open when it shouldn’t have been, and hadn’t been only minutes before. She took the handle in her grip, and as she glanced into the room, noticed her laptop was open and the screen lit.

Farrah wandered to the desk. The Word document displayed was untitled; had not been saved. Someone had evidently typed it up right here, only moments ago.

Dear Farrah,

I’m telling you this as a friend. I know it will be hard for you to hear, but that doesn’t make the message any less true.

This little book of yours is never going to garner the attention you imagine it deserves. It’s not going to launch you into stardom, or a career. If not for the fleshless quality of the ebook, Taming the Flame would gather dust on shelves in lofts, be eaten by silverfish in boxes in basements. No one is going to care about your hollow characters or their tired exploits. And they won’t care for your spiritless prose.

These words are for you only. Publicly, I will only ever support you, will wholeheartedly praise you. I’m not a monster, after all. I just wish I could spare you the inevitable disappointment that is incumbent upon this venture.

I do hope you’ll accept this not as subjective detriment, but as objective wisdom.

- M

***

Jackie was in the kitchen, helping her daughter by preparing another platter of meats and cheeses, when Lana DeGroot wandered in from the busy living room. Jackie guessed that Lana was around her age, with similar soft grey curls and roughly the same crow’s feet scratching about the eyes. Although, Lana’s spectacles were somewhat more garish.

Lana stepped to the counter, grinning. “It’s wonderful that you came today, Jackie.”

“Well, why wouldn’t I? It’s a big day for my girl.”

“Debut novel. You must be very proud.”

“I am. Very much so.”

“Have you read the book yet?”

“Well of course I have, Lana. And I can tell you this. Farrah got her talent from her mother. Her father didn’t know a verb from a vacuum cleaner.” Both women chuckled.

Lana said, “Do you want me to bus this platter for you? It’s like there’s a bunch of locusts out there this afternoon.”

“Thank you, Lana. That would be much appreciated.” With a smile, Lana took up the loaded dish and exited through the kitchen’s double doors.

Farrah surprised Jackie when she sprang from the hallway and rushed over to close the doors Lana had just exited. Then she stood across the counter from Jackie with a grim look on her youthful face. “Mum, has anyone been through here in the last few minutes?”

“What do you mean?”

“When I went through to the bathroom, did… did someone follow me?”

“To the bathroom?”

“Did someone come through not long after?”

“Oh.” Jackie opened a box of crackers. “Molly. Just a few minutes ago.”

Farrah’s expressive blue eyes reflected a sudden, untold hurt. “Molly? Mum, are you sure?”

“I’m not senile just yet, dear.”

“There… there must’ve been someone else.”

“No, darling. Just Molly.” Jackie turned her back on Farrah’s taut expression and retrieved the vintage cheddar from the fridge. She returned to the counter and placed the cheese on the chopping board.

Farrah said, “You didn’t have to do this, Mum.”

“Well of course I did. That’s what mums do. Now go enjoy your party with all of your wonderful friends.”

***

It was a fine day out, and the north-facing floor-to-ceiling windows allowed inside every glorious ray. The glass doors were open, and guests moved freely between the inner sanctum and the balcony. Farrah should’ve been rapt that folks were discussing her book with such enthusiasm, but the conversation with Jackie had well and truly soured the moment.

Farrah spied Molly outside, leaned against the railing with a wine glass in hand. She had been the first to show, and had helped Farrah with the last-minute preparations. She’d even bought Farrah a gift, which Farrah had not yet opened.

Farrah adored Molly. Not that she’d ever openly said so. Farrah was impossibly shy when it came to such feelings; especially when they involved women. Today Molly wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled, tapered black pants, and heeled sandals. Her kind green eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, and her mahogany hair wisped delicately about her face. Her red lips were parted in a generous smile.

She was chatting with a tall, dark-headed fellow named George, and Farrah slipped out onto the deck so that she might eavesdrop on the conversation.

George asked, “Have you known Farrah long?”

“Almost a year. We met at a writers’ workshop.”

“Oh, you’re a writer too?”

“I hope to be as good as Farrah one day. I write short stories mostly. I’m happy for anything that can fit into a DL envelope. I can’t imagine having the staying power for a novel.”

“Isn’t a novel just a bunch of short stories tied together?”

“Ah, how I wish it were so, George. Think of it this way. A novel is a marriage. A series of short stories is a bunch of one-night stands. The latter might always keep you active, but you wouldn’t call the sum total of all that bedhopping a relationship.”

George declared, “Ah! Monogamy!”

“Right? Long term exclusivity.” They laughed together.

George said, “Well, maybe you can pick up a few pointers from the lovely Farrah.”

Molly looked down at the glass in her hands. Then she looked up again and replied, “I’d like that. Very much.”

George held up his tumbler, then excused himself and wandered away. Molly rested her forearms on the railing and looked out over the wide ocean vista.

Farrah quietly approached and stood beside her.

Molly turned and beamed. “Well there you are, Miss Newly Published.”

“Here I am.”

Molly’s pleasure dimmed. She touched Farrah’s elbow. “Hey, is something wrong?” When Farrah’s only answer was a trembling lower lip, Molly removed her shades. She peered over Farrah’s shoulder, then stepped closer and murmured, “Far, what is it?” Farrah handed Molly the print-out. Molly unfolded the A4 slip and proceeded to scan with her eyes. Then she looked up with a clustered brow. “Who wrote this?”

“Em. ‘M’ wrote it, Molly.”

“Well who is…” What Farrah’s previous tone had lacked, evidently her dour expression made up. Molly breathed, “You think this was me?” Regardless of, or perhaps due to, Farrah’s reticence, disbelief manifested in Molly’s emerald depths. She cloaked it with her dark glasses, but even through those gloomy lenses Farah sensed displeasure. When Molly proceeded to walk away, Farrah grabbed her arm.

She whispered, “I found it on my computer. Whoever wrote this is here right now.”

“And because someone signed off with an M, you think it was me?”

“I don’t want to think it, Molly.”

“Then why are you thinking it? Just stop, okay? Stop thinking it.”

Before Farrah could utter another word, Molly took her by the hand and led her through the swarm of guests from the balcony into the living room, past (a baffled) Jackie in the kitchen, to the study. She closed the door behind them, then took off her glasses and turned on Farrah her determination. “Show me.”

“Why?”

“Show me.” Not sure what difference it would make, Farrah went to the desk and pawed at the laptop. The document appeared. Molly bent at the hips and squinted at the screen. Then she stood tall and declared, “Sans Serif.”

“What?”

“The font. Sans Serif. You write in Sitka.”

Farrah checked the font bar. Molly was right. Farrah’s Word program was automatically set to start every document in Sitka. Molly ambled closer with soft eyes. “What’s my font, Far?”

Farrah winced for embarrassment. “It’s… it’s Garamond. It’s always Garamond.”

Molly reached low for Farrah’s hand. “None of what’s in this letter is true. And I would never hurt you like this. I would never. I know you know that.” There was something in those eyes other than sincerity. Farrah recognised it as lust, and suddenly her heart was pumping inordinate amounts of blood scorching through her veins. And then Molly’s face was in Farrah’s hands. And Molly’s hands were on Farrah’s hips. And then Farrah’s lips were on Molly’s mouth, and Molly’s hands were caressing Farrah’s butt cheeks. Farrah slid her fingers inside Molly’s shirt, felt the silky skin of her flanks and the erotic dip of her lumbar. Molly’s tongue met Farrah’s, and the thought of that fleshy organ on other parts of her fed Farrah’s rapidly escalating desire.

***

70 minutes prior…

Jackie rang the bell of the double storey brown brick home.

Moments later the door opened, and Farrah’s mouth fell open. “Mum.”

“Hello, my darling.”

“I… I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I do hope it’s okay. Aunt Kathy told me about your wonderful achievement. I thought I’d stop by and offer my congratulations.”

“Th… thank you. Of course it’s okay. Come in.”

Jackie entered the foyer, and before her appeared a woman she didn’t recognise.

Farrah said, “Mum, this is my good and charming friend, Molly.”

The brunette stabbed a hand at her. “I don’t know about the charming part. Mrs Day, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Well, it’s wonderful to meet one of Farrah’s good and charming friends.” Jackie noticed a small parcel in Farrah’s grip. “Oh, is that a gift?” Farrah and Molly exchanged a grin.

Molly slid open the drawer of the entry table and suggested to Farrah, “Why don’t you open it later?” Farrah seemed happy with that, and placed the gift in the drawer.

Then Farrah said, “Come upstairs, Mum. I’ll pour you a glass of wine.”

***

While Farrah greeted new arrivals, Molly entertained Jackie in the spacious living room. They sat in a generously sized beige suede lounge, and on the wall, Jackie was confronted with a poster-sized print of the cover of Farrah’s book. It was so large and the cover so orange, Jackie imagined the entire wall engulfed by flames. Underneath was a short table stacked with copies of the tome.

“So,” said Molly, “you must be very proud of Farrah. She’s a wonderful writer. I am her friend, but I’m also her biggest fan.” Jackie brought the glass of red to her mouth. Molly asked, “Have you read Taming the Flame, Mrs Day?”

Jackie replied brightly, “Well of course I have, Molly. And I can tell you this. Farrah got her talent from her mother. Her father didn’t know a verb from a vacuum cleaner.” Jackie smiled.

Molly squinted. “Farrah’s dead father, you mean?”

Jackie fidgeted in her lap. “Oh, Molly, I of course meant no disrespect.”

“Of course you didn’t. I mean, at least he was here for her, right?” The look on the woman’s face was condemning.

“Molly, I don’t know what you’ve been told—”

Molly leaned forward and murmured a menace. “Well it's all there, isn't it? In Farrah's book? I know all there is to know about you, Jackie. I don’t know what you’re doing here today, but you should know, if you’re thinking of hurting Farrah, you can just forget about it.”

“Why would I—”

“I won’t let you hurt her. You shouldn’t underestimate how far I'll go to prevent that."

Jackie was gobsmacked. She said not a word before a bunch of new guests arrived, and Molly stood and greeted them with charm.

***

A short while later, Jackie was in the kitchen alone when Molly dragged Farrah from the living room, past Jackie into the hallway. Jackie rushed to the mouth of the corridor, and watched the two women disappear into the study. After checking over her shoulder, Jackie padded after them. The door was closed, and she pressed her ear to it.

“.... none of what’s in this letter is true, and I would never hurt you like this. I would never. I know you know that.”

It grew quiet then. No shouting. No arguing. A light thump against the door made Jackie flinch. The sounds that followed were muffled, but once the heavy breathing started, Jackie required not much imagination to guess the goings on.

Farrah clearly had no idea what she was getting herself into. Molly was duplicitous. She might even be dangerous. A predator who had obviously pulled the wool over Farrah’s eyes. But Jackie couldn’t just tell Farrah. If Farrah loved this Molly person, Jackie’s words alone would not be enough.

Lustful moans repelled her. Not just repelled. Angered. Who was this woman to question Jackie’s parenting? Jackie was a good mother. She didn’t appreciate being accused – vilified – by a total stranger. And she didn’t appreciate the thought that Molly might drive a wedge between Jackie and her only child.

She thought about the meeting in the foyer; how Molly had seemed so amenable. Every good predator knew how to camouflage themselves; presenting gifts, for example, to win over – to charm – their target. Oh yes, the good and charming Molly.

This battle was perhaps best fought another day. With that in mind, Jackie returned to the kitchen to collect her things.

In the downstairs foyer, Jackie scanned for her heels among the many pairs of shoes that now dwelled inside the doorway. She checked over her shoulder into the empty stairwell, and then drifted a gaze to the entry table. She stepped close and slid out the drawer. Inside was the parcel that Molly had gifted Farrah, and Jackie let her curiosity get the better of her. She tore into the wrap to reveal a red velvet box with a hinged lid. Inside was an admittedly stunning necklace, a silver chain carrying a tear-shaped fire opal. True to its name, the colour of the gem was a vivacious blood orange. A tiny scroll was also inside, which Jackie carefully unrolled.

For Farrah,

The Tamer of the Flame.

Love always,

The flame.

Jackie pocketed the gift, which was clearly just another weapon of seduction.

Also in the drawer, under a bunch of loose papers, was another package. Jackie brushed the leaves aside to reveal a flat rectangular box with the Zippo trademark printed at the top. She lifted the lid. Stored neatly within was a scarred metal lighter, a half-full wheel of flints, and a can of lighter fluid. It occurred to her that although Farrah didn’t smoke, she had been a smoker at one time.

Jackie removed the lighter from its nest and ran her finger over its smooth surface.

Okay, so the letter didn’t work. You can try something else. You don’t need to do this, Jackie. This is (probably) not the answer.

Jackie decided it was not quite time to leave, and took the can from the drawer.

***

Investigative notes, Officer Adel U. Shone.

Fire/Arson at 12 Hingston Court.

Suspect: Jackie Day.

Victim: Farrah Day (Suspect’s daughter).

Emergency services responded to a report of fire, and arrived at 16:10 to a burning two storey residential building.

Witness statements confirm preliminary findings that the fire started in the living room. A table of books was doused with lighter fluid and set alight. A fire extinguisher had been removed, which hampered efforts of witnesses to douse the fire. Much of the upper level was affected before emergency services arrived. The home fire extinguisher was later found in the back yard, having evidently been tossed off the balcony. Fingerprint analysis confirmed the suspect had handled the device.

The suspect’s statements to investigating officers have been difficult to verify. She claims to have spoken to a middle-aged woman named Lana DeGroot. No such person has been identified as attending the party, nor is known to Ms Day or any of the guests.

The suspect claims that prior to the fire, she was engaged in a conversation with Molly Greene, and that Ms Greene threatened her during this conversation. She also claims they were interrupted by the arrival of new guests. Ms Greene denies the conversation happened. Witnesses confirm Ms Greene’s assertion that the suspect was alone on the balcony when they arrived, and that Ms Greene was preparing food platters alone in the kitchen.

Witnesses describe the suspect’s demeanour as distant, uncommunicative and ‘cold’.

The suspect seemed to have taken a dislike to Ms Greene, which became apparent upon interview.

Some minor smoke inhalation was suffered by guests trying to subdue the fire, but there were no serious casualties.

The suspect’s motivation is unclear. After her initial claim that Ms Greene had started the fire (and after being presented with numerous witness reports that the suspect was herself responsible), she insists that she didn’t want to start a fire, but that she felt compelled to do so.

The suspect is currently undergoing a psychiatric assessment, and pending the results of those enquires will likely be charged.

End notes.