Sahabji Drills My Chut In The Storeroom

Calvalli, I must know how you came to have it,” he’d said in an agitated and slightly hoarse voice.“I gather the DNA test results came back,” I responded placidly.“Yes, and— Mrs. Calvalli, this is impossible! But the lab says they’re very sure, a hundred percent. They tell me it’s the finest specimen they’ve ever seen. Where did you get it?”“I’m sorry, doctor, but I’m afraid that’s something I’m not prepared to discuss on the phone,” I told him. “Are you free this evening?”“I— I can certainly arrange to be,” he said.“Good.” I gave him our address. “After dinner, say about eight. I may be able to tell you a little more then. Goodbye until then, and thank you for your call.” And I hung up, and now here he is, champing at the bit.But not so champing that he hasn’t noticed his surroundings. “A very impressive estate,” he says. I’ve buzzed him in through an imposing gate and he’s driven several hundred yards up our winding, tree-lined drive to get here. “I certainly hadn’t expected. The living space, to her right is open, it seems to be cluttered with a profusion of plants. The floor is hardwood, slippery to her feet. Near the window is a round wicker table with a bowl of flowers in its center. She steps up to it letting its edge rub her thigh. Its surface is a mirror covered by a net of shellacked twine woven in an elaborate floral pattern. A bowl of cut flowers, roses and lilies, sits at its center. Looking down she just sees her reflection, it's like she's locked behind an eastern screen in some harem, all but hidden in the gloom, looking out at life. Two wicker dinner chairs are pulled up to the table. The sight of the two chairs, colorless yet companionable in the dimness relaxes her. She sighs and leans on one of them.She looks out the window. A deck runs along the outside. It's dark and blocks the view down. There's the scream of sirens, blue lights flicker against the apartment building across the way and flash on the ceiling above her.She moves along.
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