Where the Devil Lives

“Why, Charlotte my dear, you look lovely.” He must have nearly choked on his words. “I’ve been so anxious for your arrival.”

Naresh moved near me, this time he started the evening by putting his arm around me and pulling me close, his lips brushed my hair as he whispered, “Charlotte, my dearest one.”

“Oh Alam,” I murmured in my most yielding and vulnerable way, “I have been counting the moments until our meeting.”

He led me, still holding me close, to the sofa I had occupied on my first visit. He guided me in such a way that I was near the center and he sat to my right.

Clifton entered the room, quietly, respectfully. “Do you desire anything Master?”

“Would you share a pot of tea with me, and perhaps some small delicacies?”

“Whatever you would like,” I murmured, as my eyelids drooped demurely. Clifton bowed his way out of the room.

“After we have had our small meal, perhaps I can explain my charitable foundation to you.”

“I am open to anything you may wish to tell me.” The lights dimmed again. Without moving my head at all my eyes had moved to my right and had noticed Naresh’s hand, which was resting on the arm of the sofa, moving so that his fingers were over the far side of the arm rest—so he had controls handy on the sofa also.

I let out a contented sounding sigh. I awaited developments. I didn’t wait long. Clifton appeared with a beautifully prepared tray that he placed on the coffee table in front of us.

I leaned forward and, acting rather unfamiliar with the procedure, I fiddled around with the teapot and cups until I had at last fixed things up. “I’ve never served another person before; I’ve always been served. See, I’m changing already—all thanks to you.”

I put a few tiny tidbits on a plate for myself, and Naresh selected exactly two. It looked like he didn’t want to waste any time on this part of his con.

I fell in step with his timetable. I pushed my plate of tidbits aside. “I appreciate your kind hospitality, but I came to receive your guidance and…,” and here I lowered my voice and sounded pitiable, “love.”

“I want to speak of love too—my love for you, and our love for others.”

“You mean through your foundation?”

“Yes, my precious one,” he whispered, amorously, his lips near my right ear. He then proceeded to explain his charitable efforts on behalf of the unfortunate masses. To hear him tell it, there wasn’t a dimes worth of difference between him and Mother Theresa. This guy was preposterous—on his best day. I led him along, expressing great interest in his scheme.

As I took a small sip of my tea, I kept silent. Waiting.

Placing the cup and saucer back on the tray, I settled back on the cloud soft sofa. The soothing tone continued, Alam placed his arm around my shoulder pulling me tightly against his body again. I wondered if he pulled this stuff with all the ancient wonders he got money, jewels, and heaven knows what else, from. I immediately answered my own speculation, my guess was, yes. They had to choose their victims wisely, the marks had to be lonely, had to feel entitled and they needed to be extremely well off—not just comfortably fixed.

I realized that I was being spoken to. “Oh, please forgive me Alam—I was so blissfully happy that I was in another world.”

“Really Charlotte? That thrills me, because I felt from the first that we were meant to be like this. We must make plans my precious one.”

“Alam my dear, I’ll do whatever you wish,” I sighed.

“First of all we must settle your involvement in my charitable foundation. Would you care to share in this magnificent work?”

“Most certainly. What amount would you advise—after all, what’s mine is yours.”

“Would a million dollars be too much?” He kissed my cheek following this request.

“Oh no, that would be fine—for a start,” I gazed at him as though spellbound.

“What kindness, lovely one. Will it take much time to make the arrangements?”

“No, no, I would say three or four business days at the outside. I’ll try to expedite things.”

“Oh Charlotte,” he said sounding truly passionate. With that he pulled me around to face him and kissed me on the lips—hard.

“Oh my,” I sighed, “I haven’t felt like this for many years—if ever.” This was the truth. I felt revolted.

Naresh released me from his close embrace. As he sat back, I could see his right hand creep onto the sofa arm again, his fingers disappearing over the edge. In about a minute, no more, Clifton came softly, unctuously, into the room. “Excuse me holy one, but you have an urgent phone call.”

“You must not intrude when I am with my dear Mrs. Van Dine,” the swami chided him.

“I hesitated to interrupt, but it is from your mother in Nepal—you know she has not been well.”

“Oh my!” An expression of sorrow crossed his rather good looking face. “Will you excuse me, my love.” He took both of my hands in his and turned them over and kissed each one on the palm. “This may take awhile, perhaps….”

“Do you think I should leave?”

“I hate to suggest it, but I may have to spend some time comforting Mother. She is the only person on earth who could keep me from you.”

“I understand,” I said sadly. I rose from the sofa, reached over and retrieved my white handbag, and moved toward the door.

Before I got there, Naresh took me in his arms and whispered, “goodbye my love.” With that he opened the door and as I passed through I was sure I heard a stifled sob coming from the consummate actor.