I know how to turn a negative into a positive, he thought, masking his fervor, putting a melancholy face on it. Freedom. Like a naughty schoolboy, he felt a gush of flaming pleasure at the liberating thought of being away from Mommy’s watchful gaze.
Ginty interrupted his daydreaming. “Barth, we’ll be here awhile. You know. Height of the season and all that. Take my keys, and I’ll see you back at the house in a few hours. Explore. Go to Blue Heaven, if you’re hungry. It’s better than ever. I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave, and if you’re still out, I’ll meet you. You’ll be on your own a lot without Sophia, but you’re a big boy, so I’m sure you’ll have a great time.” He grinned, handing Barth the house keys and hurrying back into the crowded shop.
“Blue Heaven it is. I’m starving, I just realized,” Barth said, and then he added to himself, I will have a great time. Sophia is not going to ruin the holidays for me with her vengeful games. I have some games of my own I can play.
He sauntered out to his red Pussycat, roaring away to his hosts’ house to drop off his bag. He was eager to get going. To enjoy his holiday.
Petronia Street in the Old Town was just as he remembered. Nothing much would change on this quiet street, so removed yet so near all the bars, shops, and restaurants on Duval. This was a great walking part of town. You could stay low key or be in the thick of things in no time.
After Barth dropped off his bag in the familiar second-floor guest room, he hurried out to walk the short distance to Bahama Village where his favorite restaurant was located. Blue Heaven had been a bordello, brewery, and boxing-ring for men and cocks alike, where Hemingway had refereed.
Now it was just a quaint eatery and hangout with hens, roosters, and cats wandering freely in the courtyard, as they did throughout much of Bahama Village. There was even a rooster graveyard, complete with reverential headstones for the fighting cocks, and a Ping-Pong table amid the colorful kitschy artwork, wrought-iron tables and chairs, and the live music.
Barth sat at his favorite table near the heroic rooster graveyard, vacant despite the fact that the place was jumping with tourists and locals alike. Conchs, as any native-born Key Wester, Bahamian or not, was dubbed (named after a meaty marine mollusk, now endangered and no longer used for food) favored the place as did just about everyone else who returned for the food—flavorful, inventive, varied.
Barth was contemplating the blue gravestone of Big Daddy Cock—who gave up the ghost in 2000—and the enticing menu while wondering whether to stop at the Blond Giraffe for a key-lime pie for a house offering, when a familiar voice intruded on his meditations, startling him out of the Key West cool he was determined to maintain while on vacation.
“Come here often?” Keith cooed in Barth’s ear, thrusting his baby-faced features and dipping his corkscrew curls toward Barth’s astonished face. “Don’t look so happy to see me,” he said, sitting down opposite Barth, who had yet to wipe that surprised look from his frozen face. Barth felt as if his face had congealed. If he relaxed his features, they would crack and peel.
After what felt like an eternity to both men, Barth adjusted his features into a neutral grin and asked, “What are you doing here?” Barth grew wary, a storm cloud of suspicion blackening his visage. “You’re not following me are you? Because, Keith, I won’t stand for that type of behavior. I mean it,” he said, assuming the stern professorial stance.
Barth looked around him, unsettled, fearful of being overheard. He was reassured as he noticed all the diners absorbed in their own worlds, oblivious to the scenario being played out at his table. He thought he had left his Miami life behind in Miami. Here was the specter of that life invoking his recent troubles, smashing through the walls of his elaborately erected serenity.
“Barth, please, I am not following you. You’re acting like I’m a stalker,” Keith said, all disingenuous protests.
“Then what are you doing here? This seems too coincidental. And as my beloved Freud-quoting wife always says, ‘There’s no such thing as a coincidence.’”
“Okay. Okay. You’re starting to scare me. I’m in Key West with friends for the holidays. I happen to spy you sitting here by your lonesome. Of course, I was thrilled to see you, and now you act like this is some master plan on my part to follow you,” Keith said, appearing crestfallen.
Barth wasn’t buying it. But he was not going to share that with Keith. What if he were a stalker? He didn’t want to alienate him if he were capable of crazy. It wouldn’t surprise him if Amanda’s offspring could be pretty unbalanced. What he had perceived as flattering persistence could be unhealthy obsession.
“Sorry. I guess I got carried away. You caught me off guard. Let’s start over and make friends,” Barth said, reaching out to grasp Keith’s shoulder in a firm clasp.
“What a relief. I was beginning to think you hated me. After that smoking hot afternoon tryst ended in such a fiasco with Sophia discovering us, I kept calling. You never responded. I left plenty of messages. I wanted to talk to you. To make sure you were okay. I was wondering if she had thrown you out. You could have stayed with me and Mummy. Our place is enormous.” Keith was beginning to babble.
“This was just a bump in the road for us. Sophia and I are fine. She’s the light of my life. I’m not moving anywhere. We’re fine,” Barth said. “What’s Amanda doing for the holidays?”
“Oh, Mommy dearest is just staying home. I think she’s having a few friends over. Not Sophia. She knew she’d be going to the Keys with you. Whoopsie! Caught me. I did know you were coming here,” Keith said, blushing bright red. “But the rest is coincidence. Trust me. Is Sophia with you?” he asked.
“No. As a matter of fact, she is not. We decided a little break was in order after the—ahem—discovery,” Barth said. He was getting more and more depressed by the minute, sitting opposite the source of his problems who, oblivious, delighting in his company, sat grinning away, smug and contented, comfortable in his spot.
“Well, do you mind if the candy man joins you for a meal?” Keith asked.
“Don’t call yourself the candy man. I don’t even remember telling you I called it candy. Let’s forget about the whole incident. Sure, you can join me. You’re already here,” Barth said through gritted teeth. He had lost his appetite.
“In the throes of passion, Barth. Or should I still address you as Dr. Royce? In the throes of passion. Who knows what we’ll say? And by the way. I don’t think it’s such a good idea to forget about the whole incident. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Keith said, gloating, his face a big moon blocking out Barth’s view.
CHAPTER 14
It was a tossup as to whether Lili or Chanel was more excited about their grand plan, which they were about to set into motion.
Lili could not be happier about their decision to marry in New York, their old Parsons stomping ground, and then move to Rouen, that rich historic city loaded with lacy Gothic and medieval half-timbered architecture. Chanel had an aunt there who was willing to help.
Monet painted the Rouen cathedral twenty-eight times! They had seen the paintings in Paris in the Musée d’Orsay. And Rouen, the capital of northern Normandy, was where Joan of Arc had been tried and executed. They would just be ninety minutes northeast of Paris. It would be affordable, tranquil, and less competitive, not to mention gorgeous, steeped in yesteryear while bustling about in the present.
On an impulse, a few days after she had had lunch with Sophia, Lili had proposed to Chanel. The Mandolin Aegean Bistro where they were having a romantic dinner was just too perfect for a proposal. Sitting under an enormous white umbrella in the blue-and-white themed garden, they felt as if they had been transported to a distant Greek island, removed from their mundane world, free to unwind. They seemed to be unfurling like tightly curled fiddlehead ferns inching open and stretching their tendrils. The live bouzouki music from within whose strains were filtering out to their magical garden spot completed the illusion.
Lili could
not contain herself as she gazed at Chanel’s beautiful face glowing in the candlelight, the light reflected in her dancing eyes.
“Chanel, darling, we should get married,” she blurted out, taking Chanel’s hand in hers as she pushed coffees and brandies out of the way.
“No. That’s not the way I meant to propose this. I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time. But now the timing is perfect. We’re going off to a new life alone together,” she finished.
“Let me try again. I love you. I love everything about you inside and out, and I want us to spend our lives together as one. I love your eyes, your nose, your smile, your body, your drive, your humor, and yes, your accent. I just love you. There’s no one else like you in the whole wide world. That’s all there is to it,” she trailed off, suddenly shy, bowing her head over Chanel’s hand.
“Cherie, say no more. Of course I’ll marry you. We are one soul in two bodies,” she ended, extricating her hand from Lili’s grasp and placing her fingers on her lover’s dry lips.
“I’m so pleased,” Lili said as she rose from her seat, coming around to embrace Chanel, and falling to her knees before her.
Chanel stood up, pulling Lili up with her. They embraced, kissing each other slowly, oblivious to their surroundings. Neither one wanted to let go.
At last, they resumed their seats, sipping their drinks, gazing at each other in a unified silence.
“You know one thing comes to mind.” Lili broke the spell. “My mother told me about this Yiddish tale associated with the word beshert, which means ‘fated’ or ‘preordained.’ When a child is born, God imprints its upper lip with that indentation right under the nose. And there is a matching imprint on one other individual. When these two find each other and come together, they are meant to be together. Beshert. Fanciful, huh? And Ma never said it had to be one male and one female. Although, of course, that’s what she had in mind, as did her mother who had passed that story on to her.”
Lili looked at Chanel. “I just had the best idea. I should say ideas. Let’s wait until we get to Paris for the honeymoon. There’s idea number one. We should honeymoon there where we met and fell in love and, of course, honeymoon is a synonym for Paris. And we should get matching rings there, not here. That’s idea number two. Idea number three just came to me. I’m full of ideas. We should have ‘beshert’ inscribed inside the rings even if we don’t believe in god or fate or any of that. I like the idea that we’re ‘beshert,’” Lili was speaking more and more rapidly, her thoughts racing.
“Calm down, cherie,” Chanel cautioned. “You’ll be levitating soon. Take a sip of brandy and then a deep, deep breath.”
“Okay,” Lili said, breathing and sipping. Then she resumed, chattering as rapidly as before, eyes gleaming, hands waving, and heart racing. “Here’s idea number four, my final idea. We get married in New York on the way to Paris and Rouen. Maybe stay at Adele’s. And then on to France and our life as a couple, just like straight people. My ideas are out of order, and I’m flying by the seat of my pants a bit, but aren’t they great?” Lili asked.
“That’s one of the many things I love about you. You are so full of ideas and always thinking and imagining. Of course they’re all wonderful ideas, and we’ll do it all just as you imagined. A perfect prelude to a new start,” Chanel echoed Lili’s enthusiasm. “But now let’s drink up and go back to my place even though the ambience is magical. You told me how you loved me. It’s my turn to show you how I love you. Let’s go home and make love to seal the pact. And you need to calm down. I cannot think of a better way to relax you than a vigorous bout of lovemaking.”
They drank up, paid up, and hurried home to the prospect of love.
Once they were back in Chanel’s high-rise condo, however, the ambience was far from magical. Boxes were everywhere. Clothes and shoes were flung about, and the space was just generally disheveled. They were well on their way to a new life, and this apartment was no longer welcoming.
“Damn, we need champagne to toast our upcoming marriage, and you don’t have any,” Lili shouted from the depths of Chanel’s fridge.
“You’re right. I’ll run across the street and get some Moët. In the meantime, see if you can find the flutes or something we can drink it from,” Chanel said.
“I am so happy, I feel like I am floating,” Chanel continued smiling from ear to ear. “I wish we could afford Dom, but Moët will have to suffice. Ten years from now, when we’ve made a big success of our design business, we’ll be toasting each other with Dom or at least Perrier-Jouët or Veuve Clicquot.”
“Yes. Oh, let’s make it Perrier-Jouët. The one with the pretty white flowers all over the bottle. So pretty,” Lili said. “I’m floating on air too, my sweet Chanel. While you’re out, I’ll look up the New York State marriage laws. I hope we don’t need a blood test or a long waiting period between license and marriage,” she said, wrinkling her brow. She was her mother’s daughter, and if there were any opportunity for anxiety, Lili would seize it.
“Do not worry so much. Whatever we have to do, we will do. The main thing is that we are doing it,” Chanel soothed her, putting her arms around her waist.
“That’s what I love about you too. You usually manage to tamp down the flames of anxiety before they become a conflagration,” Lili said, gazing into Chanel’s kind eyes, which were softened by concern. “Sophia and I would have fanned the flames of anxiety into a downright Guy Fawkes bonfire,” Lili said. “Speaking of which, I need to check my phone and see how many calls and texts I’ve overlooked. I did see her for lunch on Monday. I just didn’t have the emotional wherewithal to call her. I do not have a clue as to how I’m going to explain any of this to her. Lunch was all about her and her latest epileptic experience. She’s had some terrifying seizure. Out of the blue. I haven’t told her about the move. You know I like to keep my worlds separate. You were going to be a roommate and business partner. Now I have the whole lesbian marriage thing not to tell her. My worlds might be colliding. I just don’t know how to tell her anything,” Lili said.
“Well, you will have to tell her something. You cannot simply disappear from the face of the earth. Poof. I cannot wipe out this anxiety,” Chanel said. “Why did she have a seizure?”
“She has epilepsy. Since she was a teenager. But with medication, she hasn’t had a seizure in a decade. It was a nasty surprise. She came to in the vichyssoise she was sampling. Now she’s trying different medications.”
“Oh. Pauvre maman. Let’s hope the new medicine works. Anyway, I am going. Research the marriage laws, call Sophia, and maybe Adele. Tomorrow we will figure out how to change the tickets. We both need this champagne,” Chanel said, grabbing her bag and hurrying out the door.
“I love the way you say it. French pronunciation. Chaaampaaanya. So sexy,” Lili called to the closing door.
Lili was in a quandary. She did not feel like talking to Sophia. She had no inkling of all that had transpired—Barth, Keith, Dirk, and Hitler—and so she was thinking of herself as Sophia’s sole concern, sole center of attention. Gone was the moonlit restaurant, the tinkling waterfall behind their table, the bouzouki strains, the sensual air, heavy with flowery and spicy aromas, the delectable food and drink, all conspiring to make her forget her worries and concentrate only on Chanel and their romance.
Lili tumbled down to earth with a jarring thud. Icy reality slapped her hard with a cold bony hand. She sniffed the spicy tang of fear, enveloping her in a miasma of coma-inducing confusion.
Even when she heard the door opening, she still sat frozen, having succumbed to paralysis. Chanel found her on the cluttered couch, immobile, clutching her phone, staring into space.
“Cherie, you look sick. What am I going to do with you? Do not worry. Everything can wait until tomorrow. C’est facile. I put too much pressure on you. We lost the Mandolin ambience. Mais complètement,” Chanel said, resigned, throwing up her hands. “Here. Look.” She spoke as if to a child, holding up the two bottles of Mo�
�t like lollipops purchased to appease a six-year-old.
“Wow. Two bottles,” Lili said, coming out of her trance. “That should snap me out of it.”
“They were on sale, and I could not resist.” She smiled. “Have you found flutes or glasses? No. Of course not. You have been locked in an anxiety stranglehold. Just like your maman and most likely her maman before her. It was passed down in the mother’s milk. Le lait de peur. Here, my darling. I will take care of everything,” she said, taking Lili’s hand, pulling her to her feet, and leading her into the bedroom. She helped her lie down on the king-size sleigh bed, which caused her to appear tiny and helpless, provoking Chanel to feel a powerful emotional pull toward her.
Resisting the urge to climb into the great bed beside Lili, Chanel merely took both her shoes off and tiptoed into the kitchen.
Lili heard the distinctive thunk and pop of the cork, and Chanel emerged with two flutes and an open bottle of Moët. She poured expertly and soon they were sitting on the gargantuan bed, dwarfed by its immensity, like two outcasts stranded on an island but stranded with glasses of Moët in their hands.
“This is much better, cherie. Music would be nice. Je me sens très paresseuse. I feel lazy, but I know just the thing.” She struggled out of the bed, found the music on the iPod, popped it into the port, and soon they were surrounded by the pulsing sounds of Gotan Project—nouveau tango, nu jazz, and electronica all rolled into one brilliant, mood-transforming, energizing sound.
“Perfect choice, my bride to be,” Lili said, watching Chanel resettle herself on the bed. Did I ever tell you, you have impeccable taste?” she asked as they toasted each other.
“Of course I do. I chose you, n’est-ce pas?”
“We chose each other,” Lili said.
“You need a refill already? Slow down. Lentement,” Chanel said. “I need to catch up.”
Time's Hostage: The dangers of love, loss, and lus (Time Series Book 1) Page 9
