Stop Story: The Gold Mask

Quote:

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Originally Posted by zoolane

Worth paused for bit while he took breath. I was just about to ask, when he began tell the story again. He took out a cigar, ''is it OK if I smoke?'' I nodded and pushed a small tin ashtray like the ones you're allowed to use in a cafe toward him.

''As we weaved our way through the glass cases, we made it so that we would end up at the gold mask together. Alice was really excited about getting her hands on it. I have a photographic memory so I didn't need the blue prints. I needed them just to make sure that we knew the way out through London's horrid maze of sewers.
Alice was looking around at other artifacts, some of which, I must admit, had interesting information plaques. Every so often, we would check on the carriage with our cunning eyes. . . Just waiting for right time to put the plan in action.

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I like it a lot! I hope that you don't mind that I quickly edited your segment of the story.

As we walked through the exhibit we were astounded at the variety of artifacts. There were his alabaster vases. Over there was his gold-leafed bed.
The sounds that we heard from the crowd were all "Oohs and Ahhs."

The incredible worth of the exhibit was staggering. There was the value of the materials themselves and the archialogical value as well. It all added up.
Finally we came to the glass case with the mask itself. It was impressive.
We stood there, both of us dumfounded, each of us in awe.

Alice reached in the perambulator to adjust the baby's blankets and tripped the device that started to play sounds of a baby cooing. The stage was set. We were ready for action.

She looked up at me and smiled. "Get with it,Worth!" she whispered. "I'm ready to rock!"

STOP

"She was speaking literally of course, and the carriage began to oscillate by means of Alice's hands. The sloshing mixture of liquids in the hollowed baby doll would allow a reaction to transpire. If you are familiar with any chemistry, this is simply known as the activation energy."

I nodded while trying to remember back to my high school years. I was familiar with the concept.

He proceeded, "Besides causing the reaction to take place, shaking the carriage gave a reason for why the baby might spew; although, as Alice pointed out to me, a baby hardly needs a reason to do such a thing."

I smiled. I also began to realize that a soft spot had formed for Mr. Worth in my chest. I didn't know how to feel about it, for it had never happened to me before. Typically, in a questioning such as this, the event follows a strict Q and A format - not an elaborate story. Worth felt, to me, like you might feel towards a distant relative who you only met once or twice before. Nonetheless, I was beginning to feel fond of the old Englishman.

"After a few seconds of rolling, the vomit launched out of the doll and onto the floor. As if that was not enough to cause a stir, Alice shrieked and grabbed the doll wrapped up in the blanket and made way for the washrooms. As for me, I saw the janitor rushing with his mop and bucket, and pushed the carriage around the corner to the closet. I collapsed it, hiding it and myself under a pile of rags. Alice arrived there quickly, after disposing of the doll. We were still and quiet under those rags for a good twenty minutes until we heard the janitor return with the mop and lock us in. I smiled and assumed that Alice had too, although I couldn't've seen my hand in front of my face if I bloody-well tried. Phase One was a success."

STOP

Worth continued:

That't where I went wrong. As soon as I realized I couldn't see my hand in front of my face I concluded Alice couldn't see it either. I started to grope. Minutes past as I clutched and felt myself grab at the darkness. I felt something soft and warm. Next to it was something else soft and warm. Twin soft and warms it what they felt like to me.
Suddenly I felt a stinging sensation across my face and heard a loud, "SLAP!"
It was Alice. She knocked me against a wet mop hanging on the wall.
"Keep your hands to yourself Worth," she whispered. "I mean business!
What a woman!

The next thing I noticed was the glow of a watch dial there in the dark. It was after nine o'clock. We listened for sounds. There were none. The museum was closed. The coast was finally clear. We got out.

Once out, we turned the corner and headed back to the glass case. The museum floor was lit by moonlight that entered through a series of large window panes. I stared at the golden mask, transfixed, feeling Alice's breaths landing on the back of my neck. I turned around after a short while; Alice pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and silently placed it in my hand. I laid my jacket on a nearby bench, rolled my sleeves up and began to work on the lock. The breaths stopped.

The lock was not much more difficult than the one's I got the better of in high school - they just took time. I slowly tinkered with the latch paying close attention to any adjustment in the pins resistance. After some time, the lock gave in and I unfastened it. I tilted the hinged case back with much care. There it was, glowing in the starlight. I liberated Tutankhamun's Mask and reluctantly hid it in the soft folds of my jacket.

Quietly, I looked around the room. All I could see of Alice was her well-defined silhouette against the phosphorescent London exterior. She looked out the window. I placed our prize under my arm and slowly walked up to her side.

If any woman had any claim to a well-defined silhouette it was Alice.
She was a regular monument to femininity. Statues should have been cast in her honor in bronze. She was a cold one alright. Casting that cool look out the window, keeping an eye out for the heat.

"I've got it."

"Can we leave now?" she said. "I can't stand rats. I want to get this over with."

"Let's blow this joint," I returned, trying to do my best to sound like a gangster.

"You're wonderful. But hold on just a minute. I've got something special for you."

She turned her head upward and pressed her lips against mine. The woman was intense. I didn't know then she was just hugging me to find out where I'd stashed the mask on my person. That was Alice for you. Making like she was thinking only of you but really taking care of herself at the same time. I thought we were going to do something X rated right there on the museum floor. But she broke it off and stepped back and re-fixed her hair.

"Ok big boy, let's go."
She was an ice-cube for sure my Alice was. Yet she was a bit of allright. I'd thaw her out on my own sweet time. Right now I had work to do. I never indulge myself when I'm at work. It's one thing to steal something and another thing to get away with it. That's what I had to concentrate on now. Not thawing out an icecube woman.

We descended down the stairwell until we reached the basement. The entrance to the sewer system was exactly where it was depicted to be. I lifted the man-hole cover and hopped down into the sewers. I looked up to see Alice clearly, but because of the difference in lighting, she could only see my adumbrated face. A wince of reluctance crossed her face but sure enough, she jumped in after me.

The hole was left open so that the museum light could guide us back if need be, in addition to the reasons of the time and effort required to put it back on. We started walking in the direction of Alice's raggedy tenement on the outskirts of the city. I had planned on spending the night there and the following morning I would run the mask down to the head investor's home and drop it off the day before they would cut my funding. However, the closer we got to Alice's, the more it became apparent that there were flaws in my plan: Surely, the Museum would report the stolen mask by morning; Surely, my investors would be notified. It seemed as though, now that we actually possessed the mask, it was worse to have it than to not. It was a scary thought to end up in prison over this.

Alice didn't seem too thrilled either, and after we had been walking in silence for a long while, she announced that she did not want to go home. I knew that she had some financial and domestic problems, but she never brought it up and I was smart enough not to ask her about it. I could tell, however, by the vulnerability in her voice that she was serious.

"Alright," I told her and I picked her up as we crossed the sewage stream. I did not know where we were headed at this point, but figured that we had had enough of the sewers. I held her up to the ladder rungs, which she latched on to. She climbed up and slowly lifted the man-hole cover. We had not heard the echoing roar of a car engine for the better part of an hour and felt that the coast was clear. She peeked her head out and then proceeded to climb up and out - I followed.

We got out into a wide alley. Although it was still dark outside, it was nothing compared to the pitch black of the sewer underground. Again, we walked without direction in silence; the unspoken question on both of our minds, What in God's name should we do?

Soon, Alice answered. She explained that we could sell it to an old friend of hers, Dufarge, a wealthy casino owner, in the North of France. He would certainly purchase it. Getting out of the country sounded pretty good to me so we went for it. We headed to the train depot and purchased two tickets across the channel into France.

As we waited for the train to arrive, Alice rested on my shoulder.
STOP

P.S. - I know that the Channel Tunnel was not open to passengers until 1994. I also know that London was not connected to it until 2007. However, this is fiction, so please imagine that it was in use sometime earlier in the 20th century.

But before she fell asleep the train was ready to leave for Dover. We boarded at once. It was off-season and the cars were only half-full. In our oaken apartment there was only the two of us. Within minutes we'd left the glare of foggy London behind and headed towards the white cliffs. The night was black all through the countryside and stars twinkled gaily in the dark velvet above. The click of the tracks grew hypnotic with their rhythmic sound of click click, click click. I hadn't realized how dog-tired I was. All the nights I'd spent up plotting and planning. And now we were making our escape.

Alice was asleep in the green velvet seat opposite. There was nothing to fear. I felt safe, and with the rhythm sounding click click, click click, I found my eyelids almost impossible to keep up. I was losing the battle with Morpheus. He was about to have his way with me.
I feel alseep right there in my seat, while images of the English countryside reflecting across the window moving from right to left, right to left, as the train headed towards the east and the coast.

Dover might be the last either one of us saw of England for some time,or as the French call it, Angleterre. The next stop would be Calais, with only the steamer between. I dreamt I wouldn't get sea-sick. I never got on well with ships. Not even in my bathtub as a child.

I woke up as the locomotive came to a standstill. I judged that Alice had woken up at some point, due to her change of position. Her eyes were still closed but her head was supported by the green cushion behind her, and now the blinds were closed.

The train gradually gathered speed. The cadence of the tracks had changed, and I concluded that we had moved onto a different set of rails. The wheels now knocked in a steady rhythm, every fourth knock accented.

I peeled the blind from the window and scanned outside the train. It was light now, or lighter, rather, and I noticed seagulls flying overhead and knew we were close to the end of the line. I tapped Alice's thigh to wake her up, but she was already alert for the most part.

"Ready?"

I nodded. We stood up and left our compartment. The train's breaks engaged and screeched to a strenuous halt. We hopped off the steps and quickly disappeared into the mass of people.

I was hungry. I'm always hungry after a good train ride.

"Alice, can we get French fries?"

"Why not?" she replied. "This is France isn't it?"

That was Alice for you, always with a smart remark. We were walking towards a small cafe in the station. You know the kind. The kind that sell day-old stale croissants to unsuspecting tourists. A young girl was selling flowers right outside the door. Alice stopped and gave her a couple of francs. She chose a red carnation and attached it to my lapel with a bobby pin pulled out of her hair.

"What's this for?"

"It's for Dufarge's driver. It's so he recognises us."

Alice smiled. I knew right then I was in trouble. Foreign country. Shaky woman. Hot mask of King Tut hidden under my coat. Interpol would be looking for us in every corner of the continent. The Serte too. I just knew it. I can smell trouble coming from a mile away. In this case, a kilometer.

"Damn Alice," I said with a tone of disgust," you know I hate this cloak and dagger stuff."

And I really did too. Although, I didn't show it to anyone - anyone but Alice that is. We waded through a sea of French-speaking people until we came to the curb. Alice stood there with her harms crossed, I stood there eating my chips.

Soon a black car arrived. An old, well-dressed gentleman climbed out of the drivers seat and walked around the vehicle. He dipped his head slightly as he opened the door for Alice and myself. Alice thanked the man and entered the car while I finished my snack, threw out the paper pouch, and dabbed my mustache with a handkerchief. I joined Alice in the car. The car began.

Alice rested her right hand on my thigh. I looked at her but her attention was elsewhere so I focused the bulk of my observations on the driver. He was professional - making each turn with a specific purpose; he weaved through cars with ease. I looked back at Alice who was looking out the window and saw that she was holding back a smirk. I nudged her:

"What are you grinning about?"

She looked at me and giggled, "We're actually doing it."

The car slowed down with its turn signal ticking. On our right, an iron gate, between two brick columns, was slowly opening. A sign on the closer column displayed two words: Jacque Dufarge

Who was this mystery man that Alice had kept a secret? Why had she never mentioned him before this?

The gravel driveway wound it’s way between well-manicured lawns at first, and later up and around terraced gardens with graceful trees and flower beds spotted with fountains. Another thought entered my head. I wondered just what kind of an offer he was prepared to make us for the mask of an Egyptian boy-king who’d died thousands of years ago.

“We should expect a good price Alice.”

“That’s what I want too,” she answered, and squeezed my thigh even tighter. “And I always get what I want.”

Her perfume that day appealed to me. And the color of her lipstick seemed just right. Again, I noticed that her skirt was exactly the right length and seemed to show just enough of her legs.
Alice was good at making the best of what she had. Sometimes she’d give you just what you wanted. And that was exactly what she planned now.

She scooted over making sure that I could feel her warmth. Every single inch of her seemed as near as possible. Then she kissed me. Just like that, she kissed me.

It may have been the foreign country. You know how romantic people feel when they’re in France. It may have been the perfume or the length of her skirt or her touch. It may have been that stale croissant I ate on the train doing flip-flops in my stomach. But my head started swimming. My body lost all control. When it did the mask fell out of my coat and onto the floor of the car with a thud. It reminded me where we were.

Alice composed herself. Alice was always good at composing herself.

“Well soon see what he’s offering,” she whispered as she pulled away and started fixing her hair,
“we’re here.”

The car stopped. In front of us was his house. But it wasn’t just a house mind you. It was one of those French country houses left over from the age of Marie Antoinette. A museum, a hotel, a funky chateaux.

The chauffeur opened my door and Alice and I followed behind, walking side by side. His pace was relaxed which allowed me time to admire the amazing architecture. The base was made of stone and the second story was made of stucco; it was simply beautiful.

The chauffeur opened the front door for us and we were handed off to a butler as our driver disappeared to his quarters. The butler led us through the well-lit mansion. It was several degrees cooler inside the house than it had been outside moments before. Tasteful masterpieces littered the goldenrod walls. The largest was the portrait of a powerful-looking man - obviously the master of the house. He wore a self-approving grin on his clean face and a set of half-lens glasses resting on his nose. He looked right at you, but unlike other paintings, his eyes did not follow.

We were led outside to a patio and after my eyes adjusted to the outdoors we saw a portly figure eating breakfast alone. I walked toward and as he looked up, Alice began to run after him squealing with convincing joy. He needed a moment to stand up, but after he did they embraced. He was a lot older than I had imagined, probably in his mid-fifties. His hair was turning white in sections, which had even managed to pepper his mustache and isolated chin beard. What surprised me most was that he was wearing a three piece suit and seemed comfortable in the hot sun. He introduced himself to me and shook my hand.

"Jacque Dufarge."

"Timothy Worth."

"Well met." There was a short lull in the conversation before he started speaking again, "Alright, I have been excited all morning for your arrival. I thought that we could walk around the gardens and discuss business."

I nodded and we set off, allowing him to set the pace, which was very leisurely.

"So, you brought with you the prize, no?"

"We did."

"May I see it?"

I pulled out the mask. It wasn't as beautiful as when I had seen it the other times, but beautiful nonetheless.

Dufarge raised an eyebrow. The bright sunlight reflected off of the lustrous mask.

"How did you ge-" Dufarge stopped himself, "Nevermind, I do not care to know."

A pair of peacocks walked in front of us. "Dooo-farge?" Alice requested his attention.

"What? Oh, yes, sorry," he glanced at them and then back at the mask, "These grounds double as my menagerie and game farm as well as the gardens." He paused for a moment, "I am prepared to offer you something well worth your while, especially," he looked up at Alice and I now, "considering that you two are, presumably, in moderate danger."

He then offered us a large sum of cash, more than either of us had expected, and then added that we would be allowed to stay in his home for a week (he looked at Alice) and then we would have to leave (he looked at me), but we would be permitted to stay in his casino hotels until we had a plan. To sweeten the deal further, he promised to have someone forge documents for us so that we would be clean in the eyes of the law for our next steps.

Alice and I looked at each other for a moment and smiled. I looked back at Dufarge and accepted the offer, just like that.

"Great," he said. And so we continued our walk around the grounds.

The garden was extensive. It took some time for him to show it all. It was just what I needed to think. Time.
I mean he was a casino owner wasn't he? And there's one thing casino owners know. The longer you stay in their presence the more money you leave behind. Maybe that was why he was so generous with his hosptality. He had a lot to gain.

He seemed so friendly, maybe overly-friendly.

And Alice, what about Alice? She was acting much too comfortable.

What exactly was their relationship anyway? Did they have a history? What sort of a history? An intimate sort? I didn't like thinking about that.

He caught my glance and smiled. It was a smile both sweet and sinister. The kind a spider gives a fly. When I turned to look at Alice, guess what I saw?
The same expression on her lips. This thing between them was praying on my brain just like a mantis. This thing was getting ugly.

That's the problem with most insects. They're ugly.

Being in this extensive garden was taking on a whole new feel. A feel I didn't care for. Not one bit.

We reentered Dufarge's home and he quickly tasked one of his maids with leading us up to a guest room of her choosing. She chose this beautiful golden room. It was equipped with a luxurious bed, several small surfaces, a large window, and a wardrobe opposite the bed.

"Clothes!" Alice exclaimed and rushed to the wardrobe.

I noticed the maid secretly scoff and then disappear before I got a chance to thank her. I sat myself down on the bed, removed my shoes, and rested my head on the neatly tucked pillow. I saw an appetizing bowl of oranges, but was too comfortable now. I was most interested in the window, though, mainly because of its size. The sun was bright, and illuminated the room completely. The view outside was of the front lawn that we walked by only an hour or two before. I was very comfortable in the bed, but not so much with Dufarge and Alice.

I turned to look at my toes and watched them wiggle in my socks. Then my gaze wandered up. Alice was undressing right before my eyes. My toes stopped moving gradually. Alice was naked. Her back was beautiful. Smooth. Sultry. Her spine dipped slightly into her body and I followed it down the curvature of her body until I reached a point where my feet blocked the view, so I parted them and allowed them to fall naturally to either side. That, my friend, was pure beauty.

I watched until she finished dressing. She turned around and saw me, of course, gazing out the window. She took a deep breath.

"Ready?" she smiled.

"What for?"

"Why, dinner, of course," she explained and added, "...Dufarge invited us..."

I nodded and headed out the door with her, picking up an orange, peeling it, and splitting it with Alice.