Fidelity — A Secret Shared

Season 1 Ep 2

Anthony Cloe Huie (Choose Living Over Existing)
The Lark


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A Secret Shared

Cue in on home party.
December 31st, the eve of The New Year.

Simon (Voice over),
It was December 31st, when I saw her again,
Her, being my Deelia.
It was the closing minutes, before midnight of New Year’s Eve.
Her glow was brighter than that of the angel atop the Christmas tree, which stood in the left corner of the room. She had seen me earlier but had done so while she had been engaged in conversation.

Deelia having seen Simon,
…tipped her head slightly in recognition.

Simon (Voice over),
It was not disrespectful of her, not to have shown more clearly her recognition. If anything, her slight nod was quite empowering when considering, the vast knowledge kept in the secrets we shared.

Her dress, for a lady who had long been the poster child for pants and shirts, was absolutely stunning. Not being a fashion guru, I’d hazard a guess in its description. It was a tightly fitted body-shaped dress, designed with a deep v-neckline that tapered even more tightly just an inch or so above her waistline. Below her waistline, the dress then flared, wide and free-flowing but stopping in length just below her knees.

The combined subtle changes of light peach in color below the waistline, matched most attractively, with the upper intertwined sequence of light blue floral designs. The Skirt section was a solid peach onto a peach floral print, designed in a way that could only be described as simply stunning.

Her hair, light brown in color, with a gold highlighted section over her left eye, was shorter than when last seen. She had returned to a short French style we both liked before our parting. It was as if, she had done this special cut, as a tribute to our meeting here again, though nighter having had any previous knowledge of each other’s expected attendance.

Despite not having laid eyes on each other for several years, this home was that of a mutual friend, and therefore our meeting was not viewed as a complete surprise. Seeing her again, caused every buried memory to have been unearthed. Importantly, my most painful of memories, respectfully, seemed to have made itself absent for the moment.

The sultry voice of the female singer, being played in the background, the warmth generated from the fireplace, the Christmas tree in the opposite corner to that of the fireplace, my glass of Merlot, the pleasant memories, her earlier slight nod of recognition, all served to have reminded me of every wonderful feeling of our last embrace.
I was dressed in an open dark blue jacket, with matching pants and a shirt, that I had been most pleased to have selected for tonight’s outing. My shirt’s color, a very soft light blue hue, was perfectly in keeping with her outfit. I felt great in my skin and if I dare say, I was oozing with self-confidence.

Simon moving closer Deelia spoke,
…Are you still working those long hours?

…Yes but what difference does it make, you stood me up the last two times we made plans.

…Maybe we could give each other another chance, this time you set the time and place?

…Simon, you need to give yourself the time to make time for us. I am tired of rebooking you.

…Ok you are right. Sadly you are almost always right. Ok, let me know a day that works for you.

…Simon, I am going to have to really think about this. It has been a long time and yes a good time. I will let you know.

…is this about the smoking issue?

…Simon when we met, I was a smoker, you were not. Today we are still the same people, so no.

I had often spoken of having no long-term relationship with a smoker. Perhaps those words are now back to haunt me.

….If anything, I think your Mom’s opinion towards me, would have had more to do with my decision than my smoking would have had.

….Again like in before, you are correct but you would not be living with my mother Deelia, it would have been with me.

Simon took a moment then continued,
…You know full well I would never have allowed my mother’s decision of my choice of life partner push you away.

Simon. (Voice over),
I remembered when my mom had discovered for the first time, that this new Lady in my life was a smoker, she responded with a not surprising dislike.
Mom was however diplomatic to a fault. Her diplomacy took loads of liberty with what was right and wrong in my life. To this day not much has changed when it comes to Mom’s opinion on my life.
“You know,” Mom said, speaking to me one late evening, after my new Lady and I has parted company for the night, “kissing her will slowly become the same as kissing an ashtray.”

Simon continued speaking with Deelia,
you are very well aware that my Mom’s sentiment was not breaking news. I have mentioned that numerous times she had expressed her dislike towards my non-smoking female friends. So too a number of your friends have openly stated their wish that you this none smoker be gone from your life.

…I think my friend's view of you, has very little to do with your non-smoking and a lot to do with your sentiment of them having a lack of class.

…Well when you put it in those terms it sounds so elitist.

….Now that is exactly the word I was looking for.

….But despite Mom’s pleas and dire warnings, I remain a captive of our sensual secrets.

…..Simon, if that is the only thing we share then it may be the only thing that survives us.

Simon, (Voice over),

We never broke up her and I, we simply drifted apart over time.

As I watched her lover move around the room, her new life, in and out of conversations, long-buried secrets began to work their way into the dominance of my memories. As secrets awoken in my memories, slowly they began to trigger many other areas of my emotions. The physical effects did not take long to manifest having now been fueled by flashbacks. Flashbacks of our very sensuous decade-long love affair. It was now 30 seconds to midnight and the semi-crowed room, began to get congested, as more guests began to gather around the portable screen, that was erected beside the fireplace. The screen was placed strategically for the exclusive purpose of the countdown. 30, 29, 28,…
On screen we were being entertained by the crowds gathered in New York’s Times Square. While I had traveled alone to the party, Deelia had not. 20, 19,18, 17…,

From overheard conversations, she had arrived with a date. This event was their first public testing of each other’s comfort zone. I say comfort zone because, while she had earlier made it clear to me, her having questioned her possible pan-sexuality, she had not yet ventured beyond conversation within our relationship. Tonight she was in the company of a female. Her date was elegantly attired, proportionately well-shaped full-bodied, cropped French hairstyle model, standing about 3 inches shorter than Deelia. 15, 14, 13, 12….,

Surprisingly Deelia moved, seemingly purposefully so, with her partner, to within touching distance of me. Deelia looked me in the eyes, smiled, so very affectionately and as if not having already spoken to me she said,


Time on the clock for me suddenly slowed, as if each second was a minute in time. I responded,


I responded with a surprised infused weakened voice as the countdown continued,
10, 9, 8,
Countdown running, Deelia continued introducing her partner.

…”This is Katharina!”

I could hear the passing of time so very, very, slowly,
. 7, 6, 5, again I responded,

…“Hello to you Katharina!”

It was only then I noticed, that Deelia’s floral broach accessory was in fact, real. It was a real, single bud of a Blue Rose.

The Blue Rose was pinned in such a manner as to have given the appearance of being suspended, just above her left breast and to the inside of her left shoulder blade. The flower seemed as if it was freshly picked for just this occasion. 4, 3, 2, 1, 0,,,

at that moment the room filled with the combined sounds of the crackles of the fireplace, the many voices, sounds emanating from the variety of toys, designed to make us all feel as if we were about to break through a new barrier of life. The traditional Happy New Year’s song Auld Lang Syne could be heard in the background as she embraced her Katharina, wishing her,

…A very Happy New Year to you my love.

…..And to you my love.

As I watched them kiss, so very tenderly, suddenly for me it became so very painful, so very sad.
I felt so alone. Why would I have placed myself in this situation?
And then, while still holding the hands of her Katharina, Deelia turned towards me, reached out for my face, gently pulled it towards hers, and said,

...“I’ve missed you so very much, Happy New Year to you.”

and she very softly, passionately, kissed me. My body responded as quickly as the dry parched soil would have to the arrival of a long overdue thunderstorm.

And there it was, my secret revealed, as she responded with,…

…“I’ve missed you and yes, I am still a smoker!

Simon. (Voice over),
I am still a smoker, was a clear reminder to me that she remembered.
She knew! She knew, that she was my very first lover, I’d ever kissed that was a smoker.

At the very first instance of having kissed her, it was the strangest of tastes upon my lips but within moments, I began to realize something most exciting. I realized that the taste of nicotine on her tongue was in fact a tremendous turn-on for me. It was my conflicting secret, my taboo lustful taste of sexual secrets. It was my long-lived disobedience to Mom. As she pulled away her lips from mine, she turned to Katharina and said, mischievously so,

…now you both share the same secret


Cue back to Late morning,
Wednesday, Day 2, Morning, 11:30 AM,
[Father forgive me~]
After a rainy morning no sun is visible

Mr. Carrington, [Voice Over],
Most people when saying…
“Father forgive me for I’ve sinned,”
do not wish for their sins to be forgiven. They actually wish instead for the removal of their guilt of having enjoyed their sinful deed.

Cue into Bedroom Debbie, (new introduction of Character),
Standing in from of her mirror, conversing openly with herself, while trying on her new light-pink in color, dress. She seems to be preparing for an important event.

Debbie,(Speaking out aloud).
…I may look good in pink.

Mr. Carrington’s [Voice Over],
as we continue to watch Debbie get dressed.

…and with that one line of thought everything changed.
She had been dating for seemingly a lifetime, a wonderful man from an area of the world best known for its heat, its lovers of heat, its landscape, vibrant colors, and culinary delights, all being served on a table built of its rich cultural history.

Debbie now dressed, walks outside her home, onto a modestly busy city sidewalk, and successfully waves a taxi to her attention.

Mr. Carrington [Voice Over],
Reciprocally, in the view of her man, she was at times, indistinguishable from the mouth-watering delights of his culture. He relished and responded to her sensuality as if she too was a delightful, mainstay, his culinary delicacy in his daily diet. In his view, her sensuality was worthy of the Gods in whose honor she was molded. Where she lost godliness was in her, at times, a questionable judgment that would find her today on her present journey.

The Taxi stops.
Debbie Gets out in front of a Church.
From this point forward the camera’s view is as seen through Debbie’s eyes.

Debbie enters the church, with the exception of the older couple, kneeling at the front pew, some 20 rows ahead, only the muted echoes of voices emanating from the confessional, could be heard. The sunlight peering through the stained glass window was funneled directly at the confessional booths as if it was a divine arrow serving as spiritual direction to those in search of repentance.
The camera zooms in on the door of the confessional booth.
Debbie opens and enters the confessional booth.

Debbie speaks,
…Father forgive me…

Mr. Carrington [Voice Over],
It occurred to her that what she was feeling was not repentance.
Her mind still continued to process the truth of her indiscretions while her lips, were on their own autopilot as they finished the sentence..,

...for I’ve sinned!

Mr. Carrington [Voice Over]
What followed her closing words of …,

“…for I’ve sinned!”

was a combination of her confession and the words
of a priest’s intent to serve as a guiding shepherd to a newly lost soul.
Within those conversations all she heard was a solitary voice in her head,
that voice being her own, screaming passionately,

FLASHBACK…to a darkened room, Debbie’s blouse wide opened, skirt up around her waist, sitting on her partner's lap. Both are on a chair but the face of her partner is not visible not even the certainty of gender can be confirmed.

.“Oh God, don’t stop!

Mr. Carrington, [Voice Over],
And then came, the sweetest memories of her body’s vibration, the calming, the gentle kisses, the stillness followed by the beautiful silence.

As a voice came from the other side of the confessional,

…Are you still there?”

Mr. Carrington. [Voice Over],
While she clearly heard the voice and more importantly the question, she was trapped between, her nonverbal conscious state of awareness and that of feeling paralyzed. It was a similar space that occasionally bridged that distance between one’s slow journey to consciously being awake while physically remaining asleep.

Again the voice sounded,

...Are you there?

Mr. Carrington [Voice Over]
She could feel the heat of a solitary inquisitive ray of sunlight upon the left side of her face. It had managed to find its way through one of the many
small cracks in the door of the confessional booth.

The voice inquired once more, this time with a more stern tone.

...Are you ok?

Mr. Carrington. [Voice Over],
Slightly embarrassed, as if being notified of a wardrobe malfunction, having just made a very public presentation, so too was the feeling of having been exposed by her non-response. But as consciousness arrived to meet her words it was clear her dignity was still fully intact. She responded, calmly, professionally, quietly,

...Yes Father, I was in a moment of deep contemplation!

Mr Carrington. [Voice Over],
She arose, while still continuing with her response as if she had only taken a sentence break between this response and her last,

Debbie again spoke,
…..thank you, Father, thank you for the time.

Mr Carrington. [Voice Over],
She opened the door, walked out of the confessional booth, she smiled.
As she exited, the door slowly closed behind her. Again she smiled not for feelings of having been forgiven but instead, she smiled for having had her guilt washed away.

Only steps before exiting the church’s front door, she stood still. She stood there for a moment, eyes closed. Her eyes still closed, she spread her arms outwards, away from her sides, as if preparing to take her spiritual flight. She angled her face upwards, guided by the warmth that radiated from the upper window’s offering of sunlight. In this angelic posture, she stood motionless for the period of time it took to quiet her mind. Having satisfied her need for perfect stillness, she slowly lowered her arms, opened her eyes, and smiled ever so slightly, taking the few reminding steps needed to push open the church doors.

She had taken only a few more steps beyond the church’s front doors when once again she stopped. This time having reserved her widest smile to welcome the imagery of the very sin she had just washed away, to again slowly infused her mind. It was the very sin she was now focusing on that was her desert immediately following her lunch date. It was the very sin that, for now at least, had become her addiction of choice.

As she walked down the stairs, from the church doors towards the sidewalk, just before taking her first step onto the city’s busy sidewalk, she inhaled deeply. She held her breath as if to squeeze every last captured molecule of oxygen into submission. Again, as before, she smiled. A family of doves flew overhead, alerting her attention to the many other birds resting in the trees just outside the church. A taxi stopped in front of the church’s gateway. The backdoor closest to the sidewalk opened.

A bicycle courier in full courier mood skillfully negotiated his way around the stopped taxi and that of the two ladies crossing the street. The ladies crossing from the sidewalk of the church, themselves on their way to lunch at a small cafe on the opposing side of the church.

An elderly gentleman exited the taxi’s back door, and behind him exited a young boy, perhaps a grandson of about age 12. The elderly gentleman paid the taxi driver and then accompanied by the young boy walked up the stairs, to the church doors. Debbie continued to admire the horizon of the beautiful royal blue sky that framed the sun as it shuns brightly just beyond its mid-day western position.

Debbie now spoke out loudly,

...It is going to be a beautiful day!

Right there!
Just across the busy four-lane city street, there right next to the convenience store. Sandwiched between the convenience store and of the Caribbean restaurant was the flower shop. Focusing her attention just in the center of the outdoor displays of the flower shop, stood the most gorgeous image she has ever laid eyes upon.

Perhaps it was the way the sun’s rays refracted off the combination of colors that donned this truly beautiful profile of artistic wonder. Maybe it was its slow purposeful movement, as it moved, aimlessly, effortlessly investigating the merchant’s sidewalk floral displays. It may have been the simplicity of the time taken during the moments of investigation, it might have been the length of time spent being stationary by the container of blue roses.

Although the activities on the opposite sidewalk were equally busy with pedestrian traffic, all she could see was the portrait of the stature of magnificence. The container of blue roses was positioned on the middle shelf of the three-level floral displays. All three levels of shelving were adorned with carnations of various colors. It might be the bold golden color roses on the top shelf and the shadow cast over the more delicate miniature red roses on the shelf below. Perhaps it was the mystique of the blue roses that grabbed and held steadfast the undivided attention of the mystery shopper.

The object of her sweet distraction moved with the patience of time as if wishing to select not just the perfect combination of floral choices but more the perfection of floral representation. Debbie imagined the deliberately slow delicate movement in the selection must be for an occasion of immense importance and or deep emotional joy.

Whatever it was that fixated Debbie’s attention to this truly artistic marvel on the opposite side of the street, she suddenly wished she would have given more value to her many, now long-lost lessons of the classics. Those lessons would at this time, have been used wisely in her mind’s description of what her eyes now admired.

Still, what her mind was able, artistically to recall, could best be represented by the works of, see whispers out loud……

...Rembrandt. No!

She thought a bit longer,

again in a whisper to herself,
. was more Vincent Van Gogh.
...Why Van Gogh?”

Mr. Carrington [Voice Over]
She asked and answered herself. Because in as much as this vision of all her prayers was right there only strides away from her, she immediately felt the danger and yes, the frustration of desiring a truly forbidden fruit. So instead she just stood there in a frozen gaze, for what might have been an eternity. In fact, it was exactly one-sixth of a minute in time that passed before the taxi’s car horn blew her back into reality. Accompanying the horn of the taxi was the angry voice of its driver,

...Lady move your ass away from the road!”

Mr. Carrington. [Voice Over],
Distracted as she was she had failed to notice that she inadvertently stepped too close to the sidewalk’s edge, almost into the pathway of the oncoming lane of traffic.

The blowing of the car’s horn and the accompanying screaming of the taxi driver would turn out to be fate, in sad abundance. Just at that moment, the object of her sweet distraction, her love at first sight, her Van Gogh, did turn her attention in the direction of the sound of the taxi driver’s indelicate warning. As if by divine intervention, ensuring that their first line of sight was directly towards each other, from that distance, seemingly only a whisper away, their eyes met.

If the life that was actually one-sixth of a minute, the time that transpired upon first laying eyes upon this stunning object of her distraction, when compared, to the two seconds of absolute zoned-in focus, was to her, a body jolting, mind-melting, heart-explosive passionate, breathtaking, unspoken blissful evolution of a species’ complete life cycle in time.

The time passed was more accurately two point five seconds exactly because that was the time it took the bus to cover the distance from where it dropped its last passenger to the very point that blocked her vision of the other side of the street. It was exactly two point five seconds because that is the time it took for her to process, emotionally, the harsh taste of bittersweetness of suddenly losing that which she never had.

The bus, at its speed of travel, had only taken four seconds to cross her line of sight. Having crossed her line of sight, the other side of the street was again visible, the passing bus which had vacuumed her into a momentary loss in time now continued on its journey. Gone however all evidence of her dream deity, her love at first sight, was replaced by an emptiness, where once stood her Van Gogh.

There was simply nothing. It was all gone. The beautiful flowers, at first having lost their physical form, their identifiable shape in her eyes disappeared. The more she became laser-focused on the missing object of her very short-lived dream lover, the faster it all melted into the void of sadness.

As her mind slowly recovered from its lost, her blurred vision of the now insignificant supporting roles played by the floral displays returned to focus. The void where once stood her vision of absolute bliss, dissipated, and in its place returned the beautiful container of blue roses. It was only at that very instant she truly understood why she may have subconsciously chosen Van Gogh. This might have been his moment of painful reflection, now her moment of the pained blissfulness of what might have been. She felt a certain clarity that she understood what it might have been like inside Van Gogh’s mind at the height of his frustration. As she stepped onto the roadway, this time most purposefully, carefree of what traffic would come her way, she smiled, for there will be lots to confess when next she would say,

...Father forgive me for I have…


Camera zooming in from the road through the doors of
Lunchtime crowd.
Debbie is walking into the Club’s restaurant. Debbie walks into the busy restaurant just a bit past the midday lunch hour.

The Club is very busy with midday clients and not unlike its after-hour crowd, just as noisy with the exception of the easy-listening music in the background. The crown looks like the same nighttime young professional with the odd sprinkling of, chronologically speaking, senior executives. She walks up to a booth on the far side directly opposite to the entrance.

The camera’s view is that of the back of a well-dressed Gentleman.

Debbie walks up quietly from behind and puts her hands over his eyes.

Debbie speaks to the stranger,
… Your life or your money.

Gentleman responds
...Take my wife I need my money.

Debbie lets her hands slide down his chest, still standing behind him,

Debbie again speaks,
…That line is older than Satan but I never get tired of hearing you speak it.

She walks to the front and we see her face but still only the back of her gentlemanly guest.

Debbie continues her conversation,
…Hey little brother how are you?

We see for the first time, as the gentleman answers.

Erick Walwynn,
Hello Big Sister!

Fade out end of EPISODE 2



Anthony Cloe Huie (Choose Living Over Existing)
The Lark

Choose Living Over Existing(CLOE)Gender Free Writer(GFW), MartialArts-Auth"The Spirit That Guides Us" "Noir AM""The Lottery"