by Fiona Zedde
“I have a girlfriend,” she said in a low voice that reminded him of something deep, dark, and moist. She was so earthy that he could almost taste her on his lips.
“That’s okay. I have a boyfriend,” Stephen said.
And she stopped. Fingers caught at the strands of hair flailing before her eyes. “Really?”
“Well, sort of. Lucas and I aren’t really together anymore. We just hang out when neither one of us is doing anything special.”
The intrigued curve of her mouth and the hand she lifted to hold her hair out of her eyes kept his attention focused on her face. “That sounds potentially complicated,” she said. “But I’ll call you.”
The dark blond hair flew into her face as she released it. Her eyes glimmered through the strands, pale and piercing and she turned to go. Straight back. Ass shimmying. Ankles flashing dark and slender beneath the hem of her long skirt.
Only after the woman disappeared up the street and out of his field of vision did he realize she didn’t have his phone number. And he didn’t even know her name.
*
When Stephen walked back into Different Spokes, Manny gave him a dirty look. “If this was my store, I’d fire you.”
“Thank God for small mercies.” Stephen handed over the change, grabbed his bag from behind the counter, and disappeared into the office at the back of the store.
Barely an hour later, Manny poked his dark head into the office. “I’m heading out.”
“All right. Gimme a sec.”
Stephen finalized an order for parts, printed the invoice, and dropped it in the “orders to be received” box before standing up. He was a little behind with the orders, but it was nothing that couldn’t be fixed by staying late one night. Or maybe coming in early. Stephen was finding it harder and harder to get a good night’s rest. On nights when he crawled into bed at three, he felt lucky to get even five hours sleep. By seven or eight o’clock, he already lay awake, restless and ready to do anything but stare at the ceiling and think about his life.
“I’m ready to take over,” he said to Manny as he walked to the front of the store shutting the office door behind him.
The unexpected afternoon rush had eased. Now only one person remained in the shop with them. The girl, who looked a lot like his mother when she was younger with her plump, bitter chocolate skin and pressed hair, rummaged almost meditatively through the stack of clearance bike shorts.
“Cool. I’ll grab my stuff and you can have all this to yourself.”
Stephen’s mouth twisted. “Thanks.”
Moments later, Manny emerged from the back office with his backpack slung over his shoulder. “See you in the morning,” he said. “Oh, and don’t forget that I can’t come in until one so you have to open for me.”
“No problem. I’ll be here.”
Manny opened the door and caught himself, almost stumbling into a customer walking in. He mumbled his apologies and kept going. “See ya, Steve.”
“All right.”
The girl from the sale bin stepped up to the register, and up close he realized she didn’t look that much like his mother after all. He tossed a smile toward the customer Manny had almost mowed down in his haste to leave.
“Welcome to Different Spokes,” he said, seeing only the vague outline of a female form. “Let me know if I can help you with anything.”
“Actually, you can help me find something.”
On the first word, he knew who it was. Stephen almost dropped the girl’s change for the twenty-dollar shorts, but she caught the shower of coins before they fell to the floor.
“Sorry about that,” Stephen said. But his mind was already elsewhere.
After his customer left, the woman wandered over.
She had changed clothes, changed her hair. The blond curls were pulled back from her face in what might have been meant as a school teacher’s bun, but the loose tendrils around her temples and neck softened her, made her seem ripe for bed. Her eyes were coolly appraising. In jeans and a dark blouse that rippled over her bra-less breasts and her belly, she appeared more accessible.
“Is that your boyfriend who just left?” She gestured vaguely toward the door.
Seriously? He laughed before he caught himself. “That’s just Manny. He works here.”
“Just because he works here doesn’t mean you’re not fucking.”
The profanity from her was almost exotic. Wicked and matter-of-fact at the same time. It made Stephen think about fucking.
“Good point,” he said “But no, he’s not mine.”
A smile softened the starkness of her face. “I’m Rille. And I’m guessing you’re Steve.”
“Stephen.”
“Better.” She dropped a piece of paper on the counter. A phone number and her name inked on its surface. “What time do you get off?”
“Late. At nine.”
“That’s not too bad. Meet me at The Patio for a late dinner.”
“All right,” he said, although it hadn’t been a request.
“Let me know if you’re going to be later than nine thirty.” She assessed him again, more thoroughly this time. “See you then.”
Rille smiled once more and turned away. Stephen watched her walk out the door, his mind already replaying their conversation. No wonder those boys trailed after her like flame-struck moths. Despite her cool eyes, she was incendiary.
Temptation
Sara/2004
“Why can’t men be more like lesbians?”
Kendra looked at Sara as if she held the answer to that question and more. Sara shook her head, smiling gently.
“You’re asking the wrong one. Maybe your god would know the answer to that, darling, not me.”
Sara leaned back in her chair, letting the gentle spring breeze ruffle the skirt around her calves. The honeyed scent of blossoms from the trees surrounding the coffee shop’s terrace blended with the creamed coffee smell of their drinks. Kendra sighed and propped her chin in her palm. Her straightened hair swung heavily forward, curving around one rounded cheek.
Sara’s affair with Kendra had been a brief indulgence from the previous year, a blatant rebound after she’d walked in on Rille with a student from the university. The second forgiveness, but not the second infidelity, not by any means. Sara glanced down at the clear glass cup of mochaccino steaming near her hand.
“Vic is acting like a total shit,” Kendra said. “I tell him about one damn girl on girl relationship and he gets hysterical, getting jealous of every girlfriend I see. Boys don’t even worry him anymore. And in bed, it’s worse. Fucking insecure but acting as if it’s my fault. It’s too bad; he used to be a great lay.”
“Before you told him about us?”
“Right.” She smiled over at Sara. “You look good though.”
Sara laughed. “I know. Martyrdom must really suit me.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She hadn’t come here to cry on Kendra’s shoulder about the madness with Rille. It wasn’t a coincidence that she’d finally agreed to meet up with her after weeks of avoiding Kendra’s company. Sara needed the distraction.
Last night, Rille had come to bed with kisses and revelations. After the tremors of satisfaction eased, leaving Sara’s body liquid and soft, Rille leaned over her with a different kind of attentiveness. There was a boy she’d recently met. She wanted Sara to meet him. He was beautiful. Special. Sara jumped out of the bed in shock, the air cool on her naked skin, denial of Rille’s desire for someone else rising up in her throat like bile.
“No, baby. No. Don’t be like that. This is not like last time,” Rille said.
No. This wasn’t like the last time. Then she hadn’t told Sara about wanting someone else. When Sara found them together in Rille’s office, the girl’s face awash in worship as she knelt before a cool-faced Rille whose legs were spread as wide as the chair would allow. That was different. This was honesty.
Sara grasped her cup and sipped th
e hot drink, absently licking her lips to rid them of the foam she knew had gathered there. Across from her, Kendra followed the motion with a hungry look then blushed when she noticed Sara’s eyes on her.
There were good reasons Sara had chosen her after the short-lived breakup with Rille last year: Kendra’s commonplace good looks that were nearly opposite to Rille’s peacock-on-a-chicken-farm flamboyance. And her ability to be completely and absolutely immersed in whatever thing she was doing at the time.
Sara lightly tapped the tabletop with a long finger. “Honesty is overrated anyway. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him. I’ve heard that men can only handle bisexual girlfriends in theory.”
“You should have told me that before.” Her red mouth glistened in the sun as she pouted. “I figure since he asked me to marry him that he deserved to know.”
“I don’t know why you think that. Have you ever thought that he hasn’t told you about everyone that he slept with?”
Kendra sighed again, this time wrinkling her nose. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” The hot coffee she’d ordered sat on the table untouched. She leaned back in her chair, flickering her eyelashes up to look at Sara. “Distract me.”
It would be easy. She could just reach across the table and touch her hand, slide her fingers between Kendra’s and suggest a quieter place, something wetter, saltier on her palate. But she didn’t. She never did. Still, her thoughts continued on the same route. Teasing. Familiar.
Life was simpler with Kendra: days of laughter and food and sex, the nights with more of the same. But even with the sweat drying on her skin and Kendra tugging on her body for another round, her mind was with Rille, steeped in its misery, remembering her smell and their own after-sex rituals. No, she hadn’t been happy with Kendra; she had been waiting. Sara released thoughts of Kendra’s hand and smiled.
“Come on. Let’s go to the park. We can sit in the swings and eat ice cream.”
Sara thought she saw a droop of disappointment to Kendra’s mouth, but was too busy gathering up her things to pay attention.
Expectations
Stephen/2004
Stephen had to ask a group of students which classroom was hers. Once they told him where to go, he found it with no problem, jogging up the stairs and to the first room on the right. Stephen stuck his head through the open door.
She sat at her desk in front of the class, carefully putting papers and books in a slim briefcase. Equations in a crooked but clear handwriting marched across the board behind her in pink chalk. The room smelled of chalk dust and chewing gum.
A week ago, he’d asked about her schedule, deciding to one day soon go up to the university and see her during one of his lunch breaks. Manny could handle the store by himself for an afternoon while he went courting this mysterious woman who insisted on slipping into his dreams with frightening ease and frequency. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d planned it that way. Everything about her seemed intentional. Purposeful. Intense.
Stephen stepped inside the room.
“I’m glad you’re still here,” he said, tucking his hands in his pocket as he walked toward her desk.
“For a good reason, I assume.” She leaned back in her chair, looking up at him with her face ambivalently blank.
Behind the desk, she was all professor. Hair pulled tightly away from her face in some sort of bun that showed off her jaw and strong throat. Wire-rimmed glasses amplified the piercing quality of her stare.
“Lunch?”
She smiled, finally. “Definitely a good reason.” Rille stood and picked up her briefcase, smoothing the dark blue suit jacket over her hip. “Let me grab some things from my office and we can go. Where are you taking me?”
When they walked through the doorway with the orange lettering and owl eyes, Rille looked briefly at him and laughed. “Really?”
“The wings here are really good,” he said.
A waitress immediately came up to them, her beautiful smile and C-cups on display in the trademark tank top. “Two for lunch this afternoon?”
“Yes,” Rille said. “A table with a view of the street, please.”
The girl left them with menus and the promise that someone would be right back to get their drink orders.
Rille had left her briefcase in his car, but she still carried herself like she was in the classroom. The pale blue ruffled blouse she wore spilled lace under her throat before tucking into a darker blue skirt just a breath from being tight. Once at the table, she shrugged off the jacket that had seemed more appropriate for the chilly building they’d just left, not the pungent heat of an early May afternoon. Her arms were bare.
A half smile played at her mouth as she looked at the menu. “The wings, huh?”
“Yep,” Stephen smiled. “The parmesan garlic is worth the price.”
When the waitress came back, Stephen ordered the parmesan garlic chicken wings. Rille got the steamed clams with extra butter. Sipping her water, she watched the waitress walk away.
She jerked her chin at the girl’s barely covered backside in the orange shorts. “Are these the kind of girls you like? Because if that’s the case, I don’t know what you’re doing with me.”
Stephen shook his head. “Not really. I thought you might be into this.”
Rille coughed on her water, laughing again. “This is definitely not my scene. I prefer subtlety in my women. Or something more in-your-face.”
He couldn’t imagine anything more “in-your-face” than these Hooters girls with their tits and ass on display with more promised to the highest tipper.
Rille sipped her water again. She made a show of looking around the restaurant, deliberately staring at the girls in their tiny shorts, the customers—mostly men in suits or khakis—chatting them up with hungry eyes, devouring their tight young bodies as eagerly as they did the fries and chicken wings on their plates.
“Oh, what you must think of me,” she said. Her eyes glittered behind the glasses.
Stephen didn’t answer. He played with his glass of iced tea, turning it in slow, wet circles on the coaster. Although he wanted to know her, to understand how she lived, to see how she lived, Rille wouldn’t let him. Over the past few weeks, she only let him get so far with her before pulling back.
The things he wanted to know were simple: Was Rille the name she was born with? How did she like her eggs? Did she want him as much as he wanted her? But she denied him the truth of all that.
It had barely been two weeks since he talked to her for the first time, running after her like a lust-struck teenager in the middle of Little Five Points. This was their third date.
The first two times, they’d met up and talked about nothings. Nothings that circled nothings but took up so much time that before he’d even formed a real question to get to the truth of her, it was time for them to part ways. Each time, he was tempted to say “fuck it” to his responsibilities elsewhere just so he could lie under her steady gaze. But she had her own responsibilities, too. Including a girlfriend she’d told him almost nothing about.
He was in the strange position of wanting everything from her. Usually, it was the other way around. Lovers wanted. He withheld. His mind flinched from the threat of Lucas. New guilt made him back away from the thought of his ex.
“I think about you a lot,” he finally said.
“Do you?” She squeezed a lemon wedge into her water and stirred it with a lazy finger. The ice cubes tinkled against the glass.
“Yes. I want to know you. Will you let me?”
Rille took off her glasses and put them carefully on the table. “Do you know what you’re asking for?”
“Yes.”
Stephen didn’t bother to be embarrassed at his vehement tone. He’d long ago grown past the stage of being embarrassed by his own emotions. If he wanted something and another person was able to give it to him, he asked. At times, he thought all his emotions had died with his parents, so when a feeling came to him with such strength and certa
inty as his desire for her, he grasped at it with everything he had. In this moment, she was what he wanted.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m asking for you.”
“In that case, be very careful,” Rille said. “And be very sure.”
The waitress came with their food and saved him from himself. While they ate, the nothings circled between them again—in what part of town did he live? Where did she go to school? When did she have her first girlfriend?—until lunch was over. Water glasses drained, bill paid, they stood and headed out to his car.
Rille walked beside Stephen with her jacket draped over one arm, her pace slow and thoughtful as she glanced between his face and the shops they passed in the Underground shopping district. He felt her eyes like a physical touch. It was early afternoon with the last of the lunch crowd passing through the once busy shopping and entertainment area to go up the escalators and back to their offices in the buildings looming overhead.
Hip-hop blared from the speakers of stores selling “urban” clothes. Young boys walked by with their pants sagging around their butts, their knowing swagger and the flash of eyes under the brim of their ball caps at once a come-on and a dare.
“I like you,” Rille said.
They approached a kiosk selling key chains and belts, some of them personalized, some advertising the city of Atlanta, all of them small and tacky and aimed at luring tourists. Rille stepped closer to peer at a row of belts with different names spelled out on the buckles.
“I wonder if they have my name on any of these,” she said with her familiar half-smile.
Stephen peered over her shoulder at the display. A silhouette of the city of Atlanta made out of neon-colored rubber had his name spelled out underneath it. A fridge magnet. “Rille is not an everyday American name,” he said. “I doubt they do.”
In a fit of curiosity about her, he had looked up her name and found out that it meant “groove” in German and was used mostly to describe long, narrow channels on the surface of distant planets and moons. Rille was a groove. She had marked him.
