Saffron Nights by Liz Everly

times—finally Gladys was ready for her over a Skype system at the University of Hawaii’s library. Gladys would be at her family-owned library in London—known as the Colville, the world’s largest erotic literature and ephemera collection. And where was Jackson? Had he gotten the times confused? Damn. There would be no pictures of this hard-to-reach interviewee.
    The elderly lady seemed at ease with the technology as she sat in the seat in front of the webcam. “My dear, I am so sorry to keep putting you off. I am so happy we are connecting.”
    Gladys held herself like royalty and was a no-nonsense expert in her field: sex and all the ephemera.
    “I never married,” Gladys confided to her later in the interview. “I enjoyed many lovers and did not want children.” She lit a pipe; the smoke around her was thick and Maeve could almost smell its heady fragrance.
    “What did you think of your great-grandparents’ erotica collection when you found out about it?
    “Oh,” she inhaled a deep breath of smoke. “I don’t remember ever not knowing about the collection. It wasn’t as if there was a grand moment when someone showed it to me. I grew up with it. It was never made into an issue, just like sex has never been an issue in my family.”
    Maeve pursed her ruby lips. “Now, back to aphrodisiacs . . . I have tried many of them, have you? So far, damiana, papaya, avocado, and saffron. And we’ll be trying durian in India.”
    “Ah, the grand root we call it. It makes a man stand hard and erect for long stretches of time. Yes, but it’s quite hard to come by and very expensive. Still, I have had it several times,” she grinned. “The effect is lovely.”
    Maeve shrugged. Gladys was a babbling brook, holding crystal-clear information and whetting her appetite even more.
    “You must be careful in India on the mountain. It’s quite powerful there. Are you denying the power of it? There’s no point in such self-delusion. You’ve tried good quality saffron?”
    Maeve nodded.
    “Whomever the lucky man was . . . you are quite lovely.”
    “Thank you. But nothing happened between us. We were interrupted, and I kept wondering if what we were feeling was something else.”
    “Like what? Love? Don’t delude yourself. You are much too smart and adventurous for that. Try it all. Sleep with them all,” she said, demurely. “With or without the help of a little something. Don’t buy into the trap of love and marriage.”
    They discussed ginseng, mandrake, and the mushroom in Hawaii. “That, my girl, will make any woman cry out for the closest man. I think when I have had the pleasure of the mushroom is when I have had my most intense orgasms. ”
    “Interesting,” Maeve said, finding this conversation to be a bit surreal. She didn’t want to try the mushroom. She hated mushrooms. This older woman, so sweet and demure-looking, was discussing orgasms with her. How weird was that? “Better go. I am so sorry. Oh, one more question: what is your favorite aphrodisiac?”
    “An English one, of course, my dear,” she said. “Let’s see, quoting from an eighteenth century herbal book: ‘Into a steaming hot cup of very strong coffee or hot chocolate place a small quantity of crushed nutmeg and two whole juniper berries. Let the mixture stand for two minutes and then, on the surface of the beverage, sprinkle a bit of cinnamon.’ So delicious, with a big scoop of whipped cream.”
    Nutmeg? Maeve made note of it. Didn’t Chef have an entry for nutmeg?
    She texted Jackson again: Where R U, asshole? You missed Gladys .
    Maybe he had passed out in his bed from jet lag. More likely he had company in his bed and completely forgot about their appointment. She shrugged and went back to her hotel.
    Finally, she received a call from Jackson. “You’ll never believe it,” he said.
    “What?”
    “I’ve been robbed again. And beaten up.”
    “What?” she said, her heart racing as she stood up and knocked over her tea.