DO SUNFLOWERS HAVE A FRAGRANCE?
DEL JAMES
WHEN THE DOORBELL rang, Chloe’s pulse immediately accelerated into a higher gear. The thumping in her chest reverberated up to her ears. A light surge of sweat seeped out from her pores.
Her posture turning rigid, she sensed she might be overreacting, but after everything she’d been through, defensiveness shaped her outlook. It wasn’t who she wanted to be. In fact the exact opposite held true, but in order to regain control of her life she needed to make certain changes. For starters, she couldn’t be so anxious and jumpy every time someone knocked on the door.
Buzz. Buzz.
This wouldn’t be the first time Dieter showed up unannounced. No matter how many times she asked him not to “just stop by,” her requests fell upon deaf ears. Even after changing the locks, nothing she said or did mattered. Threats of a restraining order brought laughter. He laughed at her. Condescending, empowered laughter that bellowed with entitlement. Laughter worse than any of the cruel words he hurled at her.
Really now, what could she do to stop him from doing whatever the hell he damn well pleased?
Didn’t she understand that he loved her?
He loved her.
Dieter seemed hell-bent on making sure Chloe knew he was still in love with her. Over and over and over. So many times, in fact, that he often filled up the voice mail on her cell phone. Deleting them only freed up more space for his next tirade.
When Dieter wanted to induce sympathy by trying to make her feel guilty for no longer wanting him, he uttered in soft tones. Sometimes he used a jovial timbre, hoping to break her down with playful humor and not-so-subtle innuendo. If he got frustrated, he unleashed unmistakable harshness and then later called back to apologize for losing his cool. Chloe knew all these voices. She heard them in her sleep.
A voice from the past.
Dieter presented an explanation for everything, a visionary plan to make things better between them. Answers for their endless array of problems. He tried and tried and tried to scramble together oral pieces of an emotional puzzle in hopes that something came together. What he failed to acknowledge was that Chloe didn’t care to hear his perspective anymore. Rust corroded the solution like cancer upon her soul.
Looking out through a window with steel security bars protecting her from burglars, she saw thousands of tiny lights illuminating the city. Even more magnificent, the soft moonlight beaming down reminded her that a world of possibility existed beyond Dieter’s reach. Then something flew past the living room window. A crow, a bat, it didn’t matter. That movement snapped her out of the momentary trance.
Someone was at her door.
It could be anyone. Wasn’t very late, just after sundown. Maybe a friend dropped by? Maybe it was someone she actually wanted to see? She made friends easily and constantly received invitations to go out. Maybe the person ringing her bell could take her thoughts off Dieter? That would be a great way of spending the evening.
Chloe wasn’t much for makeup. She didn’t need it. Face angular, cheekbones pronounced, her alabaster tone was something other women strived for. Without giving it any thought, she shaped her silky raven mane with long fingernails. The dull points glided through as well as any expensive brush.
As she cautiously approached the door, each step became a minor victory. She was not afraid. Well, not so afraid that she felt paralyzed. Apprehensive, yes. The unease filling her stomach signaled a warning she knew not to ignore. Tension infiltrated tight muscles. Without realizing it, she balled her fingers into fists.
“Who is it?”
“Delivery … flowers.”
Sent by a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Just leave them by the door.”
“You have to sign for them.”
Her breathing went from reflexive to strained as she slowly opened the door. This was yet another thing Dieter forced her to do against her will. Chloe didn’t want to open the door. She didn’t want to sign for anything. Didn’t want the fucking flowers, but here they were inside her apartment, invading her personal space.
Did sunflowers have a scent? People had debated this point for many years without ever reaching a definitive conclusion. Of course they had some sort of plant smell, but was that a true flower fragrance? And if they didn’t have a scent, then how ironic was it that one of the brightest of all flowers could be so bland?
The phone rang.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
No need to answer. She knew who was calling.
“Hi, this is Chloe and I can’t answer the phone right now. Please leave a message after the tone.”
Beeeep.
“Hey hi, this is Dieter. I was just thinking about you. About us. Uh, I called your cell phone but you didn’t pick up…. Um, uh, I hope you like the flowers…. You know what today is, right? Today is the anniversary of that time we drank together up in the mountains, and even though sunflowers really aren’t regional to the mountains, I know they’re your favorites. Anyway, gimme a call when you get a chance. I look forward to hearing your voice.”
The apartment fell silent, but Dieter’s presence loomed like lecherous eyes peering in through her window. No matter how politely she asked, no matter how firmly she insisted, no matter how much distance she put between them, he never stopped his relentless pursuit. Regardless of where she went or who she was with, Chloe always felt the need to look over her shoulder. It didn’t matter how much time had passed since they’d split up; Dieter could not comprehend that she was no longer interested.
Barring a leap year, if there were 365 days per year, and since he dialed at least eight times a night, he averaged over 2,900 phone messages. Probably typed in as many texts. When she thought about it—and well, when didn’t she—the math was astonishing. The invading volume of his overwhelming obsession probably would have crushed a weaker woman into submission.
No amount of imported vodka or painkillers made the tension disappear. Sometimes she felt close to free, but those moments proved fleeting. Chloe knew better than to get too caught up in her own escape because Dieter would eventually show up and ruin the moment. In one form or another, he always appeared.
Just like tonight.
Eyes alight with contempt, she stared at the bouquet resting on the counter. Coming from anyone else, flowers would have been a sweet gesture, but Chloe understood that he wanted her to let down her guard so that he could pounce. Any gesture of appreciation or gratitude inevitably got used against her.
Examining the yellow heads with spiraling disc florets that mature into seeds, she saw that each sunflower was actually many flowers sitting on a common receptacle. Each one was a completely separate flower with a separate reproductive system. Growers could yield thousands of flowers and thousands of seeds from one crop of these big-headed sunflowers.
Who could have imagined that something as pretty as flowers would be used as a weapon? Harmless, innocuous sunflowers. But there was never anything innocent about Dieter’s intentions. Everything he said or did served a purpose.
Trapped in the definition, following the brushstrokes from retinas to reality, stood the motive. In the center of the yellow visitors, a plastic stick held a small card. Did she really think he was going to send flowers without a card?
Might as well get it over with. That became her approach to most things involving Dieter. Answering the phone, replying to an e-mail or instant message. She could only avoid and avoid and avoid for so long—weeks and months—but eventually he wore her down to the point where she felt compelled to reply. To ask him to go away again. To tell him she did not want him calling or harassing her or “accidentally” showing up at the same restaurants she frequented. She did not need his help with anything, and no, she didn’t miss his face.
Chloe opened the tiny envelope.
No one will ever love you the way I do.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
The answering machine made its outgoing announcement and then beeped.
“Hey babe, it’s me again. I just called the florist and they said they delivered the sunflowers. I hope you like them. Uh, um, what are you doing later? Are you hungry? How would you feel about letting me take you to your favorite restaurant? Or any restaurant that serves food and drinks. I could really use a glass of wine and some conversation. Or if you’re not hungry now, how about tomorrow? I know you love eggs Benedict, and there’s this quaint little place that’s open all night and they make the absolute best eggs Benedict around, and you’re the best so the best should only have the best and uh … I hope you liked the flowers. Call me, okay?”
Her focus shifted from the answering machine back to the bouquet.
As she absorbed every intricate detail, the sunflowers seemed to be mocking her. After stepping closer, she removed one of the flowers from the vase. Healthy, damp, and recently cut, the center felt sticky. Her slender thumb and forefinger grabbing the soft yellow head, she snapped it off in a botanic decapitation.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring. “Hi, this is Chloe and I can’t answer the phone right now. Please leave a message after the tone.”
Beeeep.
“Okay Chloe look, I’m about to give up for the evening but not quite yet because I am going to do everything in my power to win you over and be your lover and have the relationship I know that you can only have with me and I can only have with you. Believe me, in light of everything, I am more nervous about seeing you than you could ever be, but I miss your touch, your labored breathing, and falling asleep next to you. I yearn to feel your lips pressed against mine. Mostly, I would love to feel some of that resistance escape your beautiful body with that first much-needed nibble. I would love to see you, and while I don’t mean only tonight, we can take it one day at a time if you want. You are the only one I have ever truly wanted to be with or give myself to so completely. What do you want, blood? Let me prove to you how much I can do to make you happy and make you fall back in love with me.”
“Please, Dieter, just shut the fuck up.”
But he didn’t. There was room to leave more of a message. “I don’t know what I did to kill the passion or desire in you. You turn your back on me in part because I tell you that you are the one, my one true love, and that I want to be with—”
The machine cut him off. That didn’t matter. He kept her number on speed dial.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring. “Hi, this is Chloe and I can’t answer the phone right now. Please leave a message after the tone.”
Beeeep.
“Hey, it’s me again. Your machine cut me off, but don’t worry, this is the last time I’ll be calling tonight. I used to think being with you was my future, but being in love with you and wanting to be with you is an exercise in futility. I really won’t bother you anymore tonight. Enjoy our wine-tasting anniversary and the flowers. I thought it would always be like that, and it truly makes me depressed to think that it may not be…. I think the worst thing I could have done to try to be with you forever was tell you how much I wanted it and how happy you make me. How much I love you…. My life must really be meaningless if all I want to do is spend it with you. Enjoy your life and all your beautiful friends and dates. It must be so much more wonderful to be incomplete than it was when I thought we were happy together…. Um, why don’t you want to see me and talk to me and make me feel better? I don’t understand you! I would rather talk to you and hear your voice and look in your eyes instead of leaving all these stupid messages, but I suppose you feel so guilty and upset about turning your back on me that now I can’t even have that. You won’t even pick up your phone to tell me thanks for the flowers!”
“Damn you and the flowers!” she screamed, picking up the vase and hurling it as hard as she could. The flowers exploded in a violent burst of noise and color. The wet, white wall resembled a fresh wound, and shards of glass and strewn sunflowers littered the hardwood floor.
A grin formed on her pale face.
Destruction always brought about a sense of liberation. After she slashed a painting, her vibrant green eyes brimmed with joy. Ripping up exquisite garments proved to be yet another thrill. Petty perhaps, but satisfying. He tried suffocating her with his relentless pursuit, so she took revenge on the trinkets he bought for her.
As she stared at the mess on the floor, a mess that she would have to clean up, her thoughts drifted. How dare he claim to adore her? Love did not feel like this! Love had nothing in common with the way he made her feel. There was no malaise attached to passion. No dreadful enslavement with amour. His interpretation of what he thought defined love and the actual meaning bound very different books.
Ripping his pages out had never been her intention. A long, long time ago they had shared something special. She could respect those nights and honor their memory if only he would do the same. The past echoed in the past and should stay there. Yesterday offered nothing for tomorrow.
Regaining control over her emotions, Chloe silently acknowledged that this situation was no longer about love. Maybe at one point it had been. Maybe originally it had been an issue of the heart, but that issue had gotten lost in the mania. He didn’t truly love her; if he did, he wouldn’t behave in such a subjugating manner. This wasn’t love. This boiled down to getting in the final word. About his ego. About his hubris and not losing. Dieter wasn’t some forlorn romantic pining away over his one true love. He embodied a selfish egomaniac who refused to be refused. He had proven to be a relentless manipulator, a bloodsucking negotiator who would haunt her until the end of time.
Chloe couldn’t quite pinpoint when this had all begun. Seemed like forever and a day. No matter where she went or what she did to try to lose him, Dieter always lurked, trying to claw his way back into her heart. This had started way before the Internet replaced television and e-mail replaced letter writing. Before the cell phone replaced the rotary phone.
Before the telephone, actually.
Cursed by fate, their destinies had intertwined for as long as she could remember. Not just decades—those were a mere drop in the bucket. Fads and trends occurred during certain decades. What she had enjoyed most about the fifties were the fantastic American cars, while the sixties brought music of revolution. Fads were fun and fleeting, but only after the passing of several centuries could a person really gain perspective.
Change was a necessary part of evolution. Machine tools, neoclassicism, the steam engine, the cotton gin, famine, agriculture, photography, medical advancements, impressionism, gas lighting, perfume, the Great Depression, dental floss, Prohibition, world wars, the splitting of the atom, antibiotics, surrealism, the Civil Rights Movement, space travel, the Cuban missile crisis, women’s liberation, Les Paul guitars, oil, biohazards, microwaves, high-heel shoes, the fall of communism, Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome, Chernobyl, high-definition TV, Tiananmen Square, Victoria’s Secret, laptop computers, the World Trade Center, and the iPhone had all helped shape the course of history. Helped alter the way the world operated. When she wasn’t trying to shake Dieter, Chloe had witnessed these marvels and countless others with her own two eyes.
Seeing the Spanish, Chinese, and Ottoman empires crumble, the dissolving of Holy Roman Empire, and the collapse of the Mughal Empire made the presidencies of Richard Nixon or either Bush seem brief thundershowers of greed and corruption. Litter upon the sands of time. The oppression once ranking women and blacks as inferior to men, a condition that most people today could not fathom, offered hope that maybe one day those same blinds would be removed from society’s perspective on homosexuals. The nature of sin and the Puritan conscience that once dominated these shores giving way to a black president and condoms being sold from vending machines in public bathrooms presented genuine change.
Unfortunately, Dieter would never change unless Chloe did something drastic. She had tried and tried and tried to get through to him. She had tried going her own way and giving him his space, but no matter where she traveled, he followed. It didn’t matter if she hid in Berlin, Helsinki, Paris, Calcutta, London, or the City of Lost Angels, somehow he eventually located her.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring. “Hi, this is Chloe and I can’t answer the phone right now. Please leave a message after the tone.”
“Hey, you know after everything I’ve done for you, the least you could do is show me a little bit of respect and answer the damn phone when I call. It wouldn’t kill you to be considerate of someone other than yourself. I’m just trying to be civil here. I’m reaching out. I’ve reached out across the world in hopes that you’ll take my hand. Please, I never wanted anyone other than you. Never will, but we are back to you saying no to everything I try to do. I miss the girl you used to be. I miss the taste of … I miss that look in your eyes. I miss the divine sound of your voice. Baby, please, please, please just talk to me. I’m asking you to talk to me. If not tonight, then soon. I can wait. I will wait forever. Chloe, just talk to me…. I love you.”
A long sigh, not of frustration but inevitability, fluttered through her lips. Then there was silence. Then footsteps.
She tread softly into the kitchen. No matter how long she’d existed in the shadows of civilization, whenever she took residence inside a condominium or an apartment, Chloe always reserved one drawer in the kitchen to store her tools. Measuring tape, vise grips, screws, adjustable wrench.
Searching for another implement, her fingers pushed aside a hammer and screwdriver.
Spiking was so customary. Romantic even. The penetration and unification. The spurting of crimson that signifies the end for a vampire. The looking into one another’s eyes one last time. There was no way she would allow Dieter’s final moment to be something so intimate. After everything she’d endured, spiking came across as too kind an act.
No matter how many centuries had passed since Dieter transformed her from an unsuspecting victim into an immortal, he never gave any consideration to what she might be experiencing. Regardless of how many times she screamed that he could not come in, and no matter how firm she stood in her position of unavailability, he never listened. All her pursuer cared about was wearing her down, winning his quest to have her, and claiming the prize. As far back as she could recall she had tried explaining how she felt, but that didn’t matter to an intrusive bastard who refused to listen to reason. And now, thanks to a batch of unwanted sunflowers, Chloe had attained the clarity she so desperately sought.
Her fingertips gently rubbing back and forth against a sharp edge, she wondered how much resistance his soft flesh would offer. If spiking could be viewed as traditional and romantic, then maybe a slow decapitation with a serrated blade might finally drive home the fact that she did not love him. And even if Dieter didn’t die with that understanding, at least now he would finally stop calling.
She removed a hacksaw from the drawer.
It was well balanced and lethal, and the metal handle rested comfortably in her grip. Holding on tightly, she felt a reassuring rush of power travel from the deadly implement into her hand and then up into her body. Whether that sensation was real or purely symbolic did not matter. A slight grin formed on her lips as she began preparing for what she was about to do next.
Chloe needed to thank Dieter for the flowers.