Messalina: Devourer of Men by Zetta Brown Page A

my chin up and plants a kiss on my lips. His tongue takes possession of my mouth with such ease and command anyone would think we’ve been together for ages. When he pulls away to end the kiss, he snares me with those piercing violet eyes and says, “Take good care of her, Talley. Make sure she has a good time.”
                “Of course, J. D.”
                He reaches a hand down to squeeze my bottom and lowers his head for another kiss. When I kiss back, he makes a sound of approval.
                “All right, you two. Break it up. The last thing I need is a visit from my holy-roller neighbors.”
                He kisses the tip of my nose. “I’ll be back by four.” He heads for the car. “Eva, you be good!”
                “Yes, Daddy.” I stick my tongue out for good measure. As he drives away, I turn to my hostess. I don’t know what to say, but I’m determined not to act like some jealous female because of the awkward situation. I shrug. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
                “Aw, now I wouldn’t say stuck.” She links arms with me and we walk indoors.
                Stepping into Talley’s home is like stepping into a Mediterranean dwelling with arched entryways and marble tile. A domed skylight in the entryway makes the space bright and cool, and relaxes as it illuminates the muted pastel colors of sand, coral, and azure.
                Several objects are displayed on pedestals and pillars: Grecian amphoras, fragments of bas-relief, and parchment. The walls have frescoes depicting classical themes of feasts and festivals reminding me of what I always thought ancient imperial villas would resemble. An abundance of green plants and ivy, some with fragrant flowering blossoms, add splashes of color and a light, sweet scent to the air.
                The sound of running water makes me take a few more steps inside until I see a sunroom with an indoor stream, complete with fish, housed by smooth, flat stones. In the center of some strategically piled rocks sits a Grecian temple serving as the source of the waterfall.
                Talley, noting my interest, stands beside me, bends over, and explains, “If you get real close, you’ll see I’ve rigged it with lights and an altar, complete with a statue of the goddess.”
                “Which goddess?”
                “Whichever one I feel like worshiping at the moment.” She smiles and stands straight. “At night, it serves as a nightlight and glows with altar fires.”
                The stream culminates in the center of the room but is rigged to go under a pair of double doors and into the backyard, where it meets another water garden with more fountains and waterfalls. And you needn’t worry about missing the journey of the fish, because the tiles on the floor in front of the French doors are transparent.
                I notice two cats, a calico and a gray longhair, watching the fish from their perch, a slab of sandstone jutting out alongside the stream at the base of the waterfall. Every now and then, a bit of water splashes up and the cats shake their heads with annoyance, but they don’t move.
                “That’s Clio and Electra,” informs my hostess. “Those two are crazy. They’ll sit there for hours batting at the fish, sometimes catching a few. On a good day, I get the fish back in the water in time.” She frowns. “Other times, I’ll be walking along and step on something crunchy only to look down and see a half-eaten fish under my foot.”
                I laugh—until I see something small and pink scamper into the cracks between the stones. “What the hell was that?”
                “What was what?”
                “I thought I saw something beat a quick retreat down there.” I move to the stream for a closer look.