It’s a long, close reach to Avalon

~ Brett Cavanaugh ~Private Spy ~

(2,247 words, 12 minutes read time)

~ never be sorry…

I thought to have great fun with this one. A college cutie, nervous, insecure, and sometimes devilishly insincere. She bought my stories, my lies of being a published poet, and my tales of college prowess. It all seemed to impress her a lot. Enticing her with practiced charm was easy.

I’ll never know why I lied so much about those things, and of my age, reducing it by ten years. How could she believe I was thirty-five, just ten years her senior? But then, it turned out that the truth was difficult for both of us, at least in the beginning. Somehow, it seemed that the more we denied each other, especially at the start, the more it drew us together.

It was fun. It was always fun, right from that first day when we met on the sand and spent the rest of our less than innocent beginning at my wife’s condo there in Laguna. That first day we pranced on the beach, played in the waves, had dinner at Monty’s, then made love in that bed with its sunset view refracting in her hair, dancing in her eyes. We stayed up past the dawn.

It was great. She was great. She was always great and fun just to be with. She cooked like a chef. Even the snacks she made were fast, easy treats. Housework was some sort of ongoing natural process. It just seemed to happen, on route- from here to there. No muss, no fuss. I asked the maid to come in only once a month now.

Nights of summer waxed and waned, growing ever longer. With each flood and ebb, the tide stole away bits of our walls of deceit and pretense. We barely notice our hearts once so nurtured with deceit, turning slowly to days of hesitant revelation truth created slowly, ( consider replacing slowly here) creating a new lasting bond. We begin the letting go of our walls of deceit and pretense. Our hesitant revelations of truth began a slow, lasting bond.

As nights of summer waxed and waned, each ever longer, we let go of the walls of deceit and pretense between us. We barely notice our hearts, once so nurtured with deceit, turning slowly to days of hesitant revelation truth created slowly, ( consider replacing slowly here) creating a new lasting bond. We begin the letting go of our walls of deceit and pretense. Our hesitant revelations of truth began a slow, lasting bond. I liked it- my inner voice hearing a freshened call of sensual yearning, of optimism, drenched with nostalgic pangs hope’

Our ever longer summer nights held us entwined to every new dawn. The moon itself waned and waxed, racing with the tidal ebb and flow, letting us free of our once deceitful walls and hopeless pretence. We barely noticed as our hearts, once so nurtured with deceit, were turning slowly to days of hesitant revelation, new truths creating slowly as a wondrous new, deep, and lasting bond. We let go of our walls, our deceit and pretence. Our hesitant revelations of truth began a slow, lasting dependence. .

As ever longer nights of summer waxed and waned, each ever longer, we let go of our walls of deceit and pretence. We barely notice our hearts, once so nurtured with deceit, turning slowly to days of hesitant revelation, truth created slowly, creating a new lasting bond. We begin the letting go of our walls of deceit and pretence. Our hesitant revelations of truth began a slow, lasting bond.

Now we share everything: books, movies, long drives along the coast, sometimes single waves to the beach. We play doubles tennis at the club, walk, and shop Laguna’s famous HIP District along the Coast Highway. We’re regulars at the galleries, and all the dealers knew our names. We were locals before summer’s end.

~the late fall…

I was falling for her, but my suspicious heart needed to know whether she might just be playing me, privately providing a service in exchange for my lifestyle. I never felt quite sure. Her being unhomed when we met, and I, the entitled housed, seemed to my advantage at the start. Bringing her into my wife’s condo and having her every night in my wife’s bed seemed okay at first.

That seemed great. It was great! She was great. Everything was wonderful. The better I knew her the more worry and concern I cast to the wind. Either I could trust her, or I couldn’t. Every day gave me more reason to trust her, and our nights only reinforced my feelings, our feelings!

We were recognized as a couple, a couple to be noticed around town. Acquaintances were saying what a cute couple we were, and we were being invited to parties, gallary openings, tennis matches, dinners and tiviial persuit challenges. And she did everything, met all these people, found her place with them, entices them elegant grace and charm. No one sensed her private insecurities, the darkness she hid so well.

I knew. I knew all about her, and I knew exactly how to manipulate what i knew about her. That first month I surreptitiously discovered all about her. I learned what to suggest to her, how to teach her, and eventually how to control her. I had her dancing in my lap and she allowed any touch or action with eager desire.

But, then too, I learned to here her ideas, to take her directions. Even sometimes follow her lea. She was no desperate puppet. She knew exactly what she wanted, asked for it, or took it whennecessary. When I realized that, I realized that she wasn’t just coy, or simply clever. she was brilliant! Suddenlyit was clearto me that we were the same. That as she acted fully out of caring for me, I oddly out of love for her. We were as differently mutual as can be.

xxx

And as as simply as that I began to cate for her. To love her to care for her in those special inner was I’d never known. Then, a night came, laying there together, still barely glistening with the press of tenderest afterglow, she told me…

She told me her life story. Night after night of nightmares. It was one of those daddy-daughter horror tales that you read about, but never really ever want to know about. Your heart races, you shrink back and cringe. You want to turn away because you can’t believe a man could do things so discusting to who should be his precious dear daughter whom he should only care for and cherish

But she told me all about it, every disgusting part. Together we cried, I for, and her, I suppose in relief. We held each other, only just held each other, past dawn. Deep into the morning, she said, “Thank you, I’ll make some brunch. Then let’s go sailing.”

No one had ever been this desperately and tragically in love with me. No one had ever cared for or given me so much hope or cared so for me. And yet she was somehow wonderfully despicable in bed, a nasty angel who showed herself deceptive and coy, displaying a witty, clever intellect both in public and in bed. Yet she possessed he claimed to have been once shy and introverted, afraid in public.

But this was no more. In some odd way, she blamed me for her newfound confidence in she had in herself. It had to do with me giving her the care she never knew, and how amazing it felt taking that care and giving it back, seeing how deeply I acknowledged her by returning it back again. It was a circle of love like neither ever had. She said I had brought her out of and back into herself.

And I thought I was just using her. Maybe we had both just blossomed. Found ourselves in each other. Yeah, fallen consummately, fully, and desperately in love. That which was the past part of our lives was done, finished, and sneaking away to a bevy of never-ending happy tomorrows.

~the promise ring…

I promised her only one thing, well, really two things, before we married. First, I would humiliate and then kill her father, make him suffer at length for his treacherous ways. Secondly, I would discover myself as a widower. I realise that these tasks sound ominous and evil, but honestly, they fall precisely into my line of work. My profession. You see, I’m a mechanic, a hit man, and though it’s true, my policy is never to do outside jobs, much less for free, this girl is worth it.

We worked out the perfect plot, and of course, she made planning easy. There wasn’t as much research involved compared to a regular hit. She knew everything about him. His schedule, his habits, his routines, when he brushed his teeth, all the times when he was alone and vulnerable. It was just another job for me, an easy one at that. But it was an adventure for her, a learning experience, and like a good student, she wanted to be involved; she actually wanted to participate.

She wanted to tag along and assist in putting her husband down, like a horse, break his limbs and shoot him in the head. I told her no, we couldn’t do that, it would have to be simpler than that. Then she suggested, and then expected, that she should kill my wife first. She wanted me to watch, to supervise. I discouraged her participation, but she assured me that having such a pact would ensure and secure our love. She said a pact would make for our perfect alibi.

I didn’t understand that last part, the alibi part. I thought that there might be space for a shadow of doubt there, but she managed to shake away that doubt by morning. It didn’t really matter. Somehow, our sly simple plan made sense. It was absolutely doable, crystal clear, and made sense. We were a cult of two, an invincible duo; we could believe and make anything happen.

~gift exchange…

I knew my wife planned to return to the Pasadena house on the Wednesday after Thanksgiving and wasn’t expecting me there until sometime after that, but before Christmas

Our avoidance system was complicated, intended to keep up appearances without appearing with each other any more than necessary. She enjoyed the quiet of our seaside retreat during the sleepy, misty, fog-filled days of winter, when it was damp and cold, like her. I enjoyed wintering in Pasadena for the Rose Parade, year-round golf, the mountains, nearby skiing at Mammoth, and nearby

to the Valley until after the Laguna Art Festival. From LAX my soon to be expired wife would take an Uber home where the three of us would meet for a brief reunion simple human sacrafice. My wife’s body would be found in her own car a younger a presumed lover, or kidnapper, deep in a canyon off Glendora Canyon Road, twenty years later.

We took our two ex-spouses identifications from them, left bullet holes in there heads, and left his Glock wherever it tumbled on it’s way down the canyon. Even had they found the car sooner it would have appeared a murder suicide, convincing, but not perfect. After twenty years it was a nearly ice cold case. By then we were running sailboat charters from Vancouver.

I had to sell the that boat for cash just to get our asses back to Laguna.

And so, just after we had dropped off our ex antagonists, that’s when I knew how she trusted me. That she fell for me. When finally knew all her secrets, all of her keys to horror, how to turn them, and what they did, I knew how I could ever after use them. I thought about that as she was stirring omellettes. I watched her and realized I could use here in any way, to any advantage. I might have controlled her. Could have, but didn’t.

It’s a long, close reach to Avalon. There is something tense and sensual about the sea under sail at night. Swells rolling slowly, gently beneath the hull, rising and falling softly, pitching with silent wind. Something frightfully romantic about being close, being in love, how the sea, the stars, the near silence of sail in the wind.

Together we bid our every wonderlust desire for each other throughout that summer. She was so pitifully in love with me, I couldn’t take any more.

It’s a long close reach to Avalon…

~ Brett

oh, and PS…

And that’s when I knew how she trusted me. That she fell for me. When finally knew all her secrets, all of her keys to horror, how to turn them, and what they did, I knew how I could ever after use them. I thought about that as she was stirring omelets. I watched her and realized I could use here in any way, to any advantage . I might sav controlled her. Could have, but didn’t.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

-dalton

7-30-25

463/1251

The moon waned and waxed through our ever longer through our summer nights held on to our dawns, racing with the tidal ebb and flow, we let go our deceitful walls and hopeless pretence. We barely notice our hearts, once so nurtured with deceit, turning slowly to days of hesitant revelation, truth created slowly, creating a new lasting bond. We begin the letting go of our walls of deceit and pretence. Our hesitant revelations of truth began a slow, lasting bond.