The Egyptian Mask Read online

  THE

  EGYPTIAN MASK

  Gloria Lynn

  AuthorHouse™

  1663 Liberty Drive

  Bloomington, IN 47403

  www.authorhouse.com

  Phone: 1-800-839-8640

  © 2011 by Gloria Lynn. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  First published by AuthorHouse 12/15/2011

  ISBN: 978-1-4634-2805-1 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4634-2804-4 (hc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4634-2803-7 (ebk)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011911537

  Printed in the United States of America

  Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

  Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Preface

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Ninteen

  Twenty

  Epilogue

  References

  Google References

  To keep our faces toward change and behave

  like free spirits in the presence of fate

  is strength undefeatable.

  Helen Keller

  Dedication

  To my girlfriends

  who support me with champagne and strawberries:

  Anne, Bobbie, Jeane, Karen, Marie, Rita and Stella.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank Sharon Sutter for her inspiration.

  Special thanks to my mother, Melba Green, and my

  husband David Lewine.

  Preface

  What is wrong with me? Something has changed dramatically, I feel it. The world looks the same, my life is the same, yet I feel off kilter. Leaning against the shower wall, the hot water pulsating against my body, I contemplated these new feelings. Checking my dripping frame in the full length bathroom mirror, it emitted a sexual look that hadn’t been there before. Why am I suddenly feeling sexy? I never expected or wanted this. Why now?

  Examining my face up close in the mirror, it looked normal. Pinching then rubbing my cheek, it felt normal. Yet that dream I had, during a fainting spell in the museum where an old Egyptian mask jumped onto my face, kept bothering me. Could that mask possibly be under my skin?One

  Sitting on my bed I noticed the smell of flowers again. How many years has this been happening to me? Throughout my childhood this wonderful scent came and went without rime or reason. It was especially strong during celebrations, like my birthday. I never mentioned it to anyone though I had asked dad and mom about it several times when younger. They attributed this oddity to a vivid imagination, like a child’s imaginary friend, so I learned to accept it and remained silent when the imaginary fragrance floated around me.

  Recently I had taken a big step and talked to my college roommate about this oddity justifying it by thinking someone else could surely smell the flowery scent, though no one had up to this point. I alerted her to the odor when it lurked around and kept after her thinking if she’d just concentrate more she’d make the connection, but she hadn’t so far.

  “I don’t smell anything right now except those cookies I shouldn’t have,” she said looking up from her book.

  “Well, our dorm room is filled with floral perfume because it’s my birthday today and I always smell it on my birthday,” sighing, I added, “and I’m not crazy, you just need to try harder.” I felt it had become a game between us.

  She got up and went to the small refrigerator. “Happy birthday, roomy, here are some real flowers.” She pulled out a bouquet of pink carnations that had been hidden in a brown sack at the back.

  “Thank you. I still think you’re not trying hard enough.” Smelling the carnations they competed with my illusive room filled scent.

  “I’m sure. Open the card.”

  * * *

  College was a great place to land after high school at least it was for me. Being a California San Joaquin Valley girl was very different from the San Fernando Valley girl who had recently been lauded and written about. My domain was a valley full of agriculture where acres of groves stretched across the fertile valley floor, the most common of these being olive, orange, and lemon. Almond and walnut orchards showed off their beautiful blossoms in the spring and there was a southern feel to the valley as you passed by cotton fields and peach orchards. Supported grapevines grew in straight rows along back roads.

  I grew up in a valley town called Visalia. My brother Teddy was younger by several years and a lovable part time pest. Dad owned a sport’s store called “The Gateway to Sports” that catered to local fishing, hunting, and water activities. Mom did the bookkeeping and generally knew what was going on.

  Terminus Dam was just up the road in the Sierra Nevada foothills and above the dam was a very small town called Three Rivers, yes, because three rivers converged into one. “The Gateway to the Sequoias” was the town’s nickname because Highway 198 went through Visalia and was a main route up to the Giant Forest in Sequoia National Park. These ancient giant Sequoia redwoods drew people from all over the world. Many of these trees, named after the Sequoia Indians, dated back to before the birth of Christ.

  As long as I could remember I’d been interested in Egyptian folklore. In grade school I tortured my teachers drawing nothing but Egyptian cats, flowers, boats, and crowns.

  “Layla, why don’t you draw a house or a sunflower?” asked the first grade teacher.

  “No, Mrs. Hartman, I want to draw this cat.”

  “Where did you see this strange looking cat?”

  “In my book on Egypt that Grandma gave me for my birthday.”

  In sixth grade I begged my mother to take me to the rerun of Cleopatra with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Watching the film I felt so comfortable being surrounded by the soft flow of the Nile River, the regal Pyramids and the grandness of Pharaoh’s palace with its Egyptian decor.

  During high school I spent much of my time checking out history books at the city library, I special ordered books on Ancient Egypt.

  Electing to take an Egyptian history course my junior year at Fresno State College, there were about 30 students in class and I had a good seat front row center. Three of my friends were taking the class with me.

  My name is Layla Lily Nole. Dad picked the name Layla. I later discovered, through readings, that Layla was Egyptian for dawn. Was this a coincidence?

  * * *

  It was my easy Tuesday, two classes and a lab session. Needing to get to class I struggled with the caught zipper on my favorite skirt. Being in a rush, which I often was these days, it had gotten caught on the material. A couple of hard pulls back and forth and it broke free. Using the full length mirror to check the skirt again, I saw a young woman looking back with long black hair, sensible glasses covering green eyes, standing about 5 ft. 6 inches with a thin body that could have been taller. Clothes typical for the average college co-ed, she had a nerdy, studious look. There was no real body shape at this point though strong legs with small dainty feet supported the frame. For some reason I felt that was a plus. On a scale of one to ten I judged myself a six, passable.

  Turning from the mirror to grab my backpack, I reviewed how this passable six was considered a study nerd. Feeling slightly frustrated by this, I justified it due to my love of reading, especially history, and I liked to get good grades. So what? That’s why I chose a history major, for Pete’s sake.

  Grabbing the front doorknob I smiled seeing the picture my roommate had tacked up under the peep hole of the two of us standing in front of the campus cafeteria. Who cares what people think! Glancing at my watch, I needed to get a move on. Seeing my water bottle on the counter I noticed my roommate’s class notes, throwing them both into my backpack I headed out the door.

  Students were talking and laughing as they filed into the classroom. I walked to my desk chair seeing Josi already seated.

  Josephine Moore, shortened to Josi, was my roommate. She lived in Coalinga where her dad worked in the oil fields. A typical California “surfin” babe, she was tall and tanned with a great body. This body was crowned with short platinum blond hair that framed a heart shaped face and ice blue eyes. No matter where we went she got the looks. Her major was Anthropology and that’s why we clicked. She sat to my right in class.

  “Hey, I was almost late. I had to jog all the way over here,”
I reviewed sitting down still trying to catch my breath.

  “I was at the library studying. Did you bring my class notes? I rushed out early this morning and forgot them.”

  “Yes, here they are and thanks for not waking me,” I returned sarcastically.

  “You were up late studying and I thought you had set your alarm. Sorry.”

  Opening my textbook I got nudged by Ricky. Looking up I watched him gracefully slid into his desk chair. Greeting friends and making several wisecracks he stretched out in the small seat provided and anchoring his hands behind his head, tried to get his athletic body comfortable.

  Brodrick Louis James was a childhood friend; we had known each other since grammar school. Our bond was, of course, history and we usually connected at the city library. He hung out in the Ancient Wars section. Extremely smart, he had been awarded a full scholastic scholarship to Fresno State.

  Ricky’s parents owned a drug store in Visalia where all our friends hung out at the store’s soda fountain after school. Yes, just like in the movies.

  Sandy colored hair with freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose, Ricky stood about 6 ft.1 inches. A member of the college track team, he had a slender runner’s build. Lucky him, a sport’s scholarship had also been offered to him. I had qualified for several small scholarships and a college grant, but that’s nothing compared to a full scholarship and Ricky had been offered two. He was earning an Accounting Degree. I often teased him about looking like that 1950’s movie star, James Dean, who was so great in that old movie, Rebel without a Cause. Ricky had that same cocky, cool attitude. He sat to my left in class.

  “Ready for the pop quiz that I hear is about to hit us today?” Ricky challenged with his brow furrowed.

  “I studied last night. I bet you five big ones, I max it.”

  “You’re on.”

  J.J. sauntered into the classroom just before the last bell rang. He sank into his desk chair and winked at Josi.

  Julius Juan Martini III had been Ricky’s roommate for about a year. His name was quite a mouth full so it had been shortened to J.J. They shared an off campus apartment. His family’s money came from very successful grape vineyards in Selma. A winery was being built because the family’s personal wine making had progressed from their kitchen into a business. J.J. was earning a Business Administration Degree so he could help run the family’s growing business.

  J.J.’s love for Italian history had its place in Egyptian history. He also had a crush on my roommate. When Ricky told him Josi was taking the class, he signed up. Very Mediterranean in appearance, he had beautiful thick black curly hair, a typical Roman nose and the standard olive complexion. Add on dark mysterious eyes and a tall farmer’s build, what was not to like? He sat next to Josi in class.

  We were quite the group on campus. None of us wanted to be involved with fraternities or sororities; we hung out with everyone enjoying our independence.

  The City of Fresno, due to its central location in the valley, had kids coming from all over to attend Fresno State. The campus had a lazy atmosphere with big shade trees lining the walkways. You could do as much or as little as it took to graduate. At least that’s how the four of us perceived it.

  The history professor, Dr. Peters, was a close replica of Dustin Hoffman and gave his lectures interest with personal stories, slides, and movies. There was a field trip being offered at the end of the semester. The De Young Museum had an exhibit showing select items from King Tut’s burial chamber. There were many other Egyptian artifacts to be viewed as well. Most everyone in class wanted to go, we signed up. The tour group would be staying at the Holiday Inn on Van Ness Ave. downtown San Francisco. It was a great way to end our junior year.

  Sitting in class the sweet scent of flowers came to me again.

  “Josi,” I whispered quietly, “do you smell the flowers this time?”

  “No, I think your cologne is too strong like I said before.”

  “I don’t wear cologne. Have you ever seen me put cologne on except to go out on a date?”

  “Miss Noel, do you have something to share with the class?” asked Dr. Peters.

  Ricky shook his head as if to shame me while Josi sunk lower into her seat. “Sorry Dr. Peters, I have nothing to add to your description of mummification.” Humiliated, I sat back and folded my arms across my chest. Ricky wrote on his paper, FOILED. The sweet scent continued to hang in the air.

  Two

  The last day of class Ricky showed me his final grade, “I got an easy A, how about you, Layla?”

  “I got an A. I think I could have taught the class.”

  The college bus pulled out of the campus parking lot headed for San Francisco on the third Friday in May. Dr. Peters was on a microphone going over the itinerary.

  J.J. had managed to sit next to Josi, so Ricky and I sat together discussing a list of things to see.

  “I definitely want to go to the Japanese Tea House located near the Museum,” I began.

  Ricky, writing it down in his binder, “We need to visit the California Academy of Sciences. Pier 39 is a must see and a ride on a Trolley Car.”

  Josi leaned over the seat in front of us and almost drooling added, “We must go to Ghirardelli Square. It’s a chocolate lover’s paradise then on to Union Square because of its central location downtown.” Union Street was added for the soft jazz and quaint restaurants.

  J.J. leaned over hearing the discussion and tapped his finger on Ricky’s open binder. “Put down the Crown Room at the Fairmont Hotel; my mother says the view is spectacular.”

  San Francisco was full of city sounds, the clanging of trolley cars with city buses accelerating up the famed rolling hills leaving behind the stench of gas fumes. Screeching tires made us look around in anticipation of a possible accident due to erratic cars and trucks barreling up and down the streets. Taxicabs bustled in and out of traffic occasionally making abrupt tire squealing stops caused by sudden quick turns or a slow moving pedestrian. Generally a barrage of verbal abuse followed with the taxi driver shaking a fist out his open window.

  “Hey, watch out you crazy S.O.B. You almost clipped me!” shouted J.J. as a taxi whizzed by.

  An occasional gusty breeze blew in off the bay carrying with it wonderful aromas of fresh brewed coffee and ancient spices. Open restaurant doorways threw out their marvelous cooking smells. The air, the scenery, and the excitement added to the ambiance of the city.

  “Look, there’s a Starbucks, let’s get a Latte,” Josi said smelling the delicious aroma.

  “Hummmmm, Starbuck’s coffee is a must. Ok,” answered Ricky.

  Spectacular views were seen in all directions from our Powell Street Trolley Car as it clanged along the rails. The car made terrible screeching noises with sudden jerks and jolts from the brake pressure needed to control the car as we stood gripping the outside railing.

  “Look,” I said, pointing down the hill in front of us, “we can see Alcatraz between the high buildings.”

  Riding along enjoying the crisp feel and freshness of the city, at one point the Golden Gate Bridge could be seen in one direction and the Bay Bridge in the other. Sailboats dotted the deep blue and aqua bay as the distant hills of Angel Island and Marin County created a completion to the peaceful, yet exciting scene.

  Everything went as planned even the short walk on the Golden Gate Bridge. Relaxed and listening to soft jazz at a basement ice cream parlor on Union Street was a great way to end our first day.

  Sunday morning everyone was up early excited to see the exhibit.

  Dr. Peters announced, “I arranged for an early entry time to give our class a private hour to view everything without public intrusion.”

  King Tut’s Tomb had been robbed several times in the Valley of the Kings before its major discovery but the larger artifacts had been left intact. We were able to view many of these items and it was overwhelming to have seen these pieces in books then have them in front of me. Many items were described in detail in the brochure handed out at the beginning of the tour. King Tut’s burial mask was spectacular as was his sarcophagus. His chariot and bed were there, along with toys from his youth. There were shields of armor with swords and daggers. The display went on and on.