The Peach and the Poppy

by Caesar J. M. Kauftheil

  "So," said Aqua, after the food had arrived and the more mundane questions had all been exhausted. "How long have you two been together?"

  The table went silent, and remained silent as Poppy and April exchanged glances.

  "You don't know that they're together, Aqua" their mother said, trying as she had been all night, had been all of Poppy's life, to follow the philosophy that her kids' information should be shared at their discretion.

  "Oh, come on. Poppy shows up with a 'friend from college,' who is obviously gay—no offense," she added, looking over to April.

  "None taken," April said with a grin.

  "Of course they're together," Aqua said, matter-of-factly, taking a small mouthful of chow mein. "And good for Poppy. This is the first girl she's brought home. Congrats, Pip." This blunt and candid habit of discussing things, regardless of whether or not they were out in the open, had been Aqua's way of counterbalancing her mother's excessive respect for privacy.

  "We've been seeing each other for about three months," Poppy said, defeated.

  "Good for you two," Poppy's father said, and her mother just grinned, looking off to the side. Aqua continued eating with a smug look on her face, and April slid her hand into Poppy's. Dinner became much less stressful now that the cat was out of the bag, but Poppy still resented Aqua.

  "You're welcome to spend the night," Poppy's mother said to April when they arrived home, and Poppy hid her face in her palms.

  "I have to get back to Santa Cruz. I'm opening the shop tomorrow," April said, shaking her head, but smiling. She said her goodbyes, and Poppy walked April to her car.

  "I like your family," April said, as they embraced in a long hug. "They're so… nice." April had already made it abundantly clear that 'Fuck if you're ever meeting my parents, Blondie.' Poppy thanked her for everything, and April promised to visit at least once a week, as Poppy didn't have a car at the time—or a license, for that matter.

  That was one of the last times Poppy saw April. Early in the summer, her car broke down—it was a long time coming, she said—and without the money to repair it, or better yet, buy a new car, the distance strained the relationship. The tenderness Poppy knew from their time spent in one another's arms began to wane from their phone calls, and Poppy began seeing more and more of the latent anger within April, who seemed to have changed—or maybe just reverted.

  By the time Poppy returned to school in September, their relationship had fizzled and by October, Poppy felt as distant from April as ever.

  She wondered, now, what happened to April after the break up, and in the time that had elapsed since. She pondered for a second if her first girlfriend had pulled the same sort of lifestyle turnaround that her first love Lindsay had and become muted and reserved. No, thought Poppy: April's rebellious phase was one that wouldn't be outgrown.

  Come What May

  Poppy felt her phone vibrate, but still under the hairdresser's smock, she was unable to check it. By this point, the scissors had been put away, and the stylist was using her fingers to fluff and arrange strands of hair with a look of artistic concentration on her face. Finally, she pulled her hands back, and smiled down at Poppy.

  She removed the smock and draped it over her arm. She moved out of the way to allow Poppy a clear view of the large mirror, and handed her a small hand mirror. Poppy hadn't had bangs since she was a child, and never quite so styled, and she couldn't remember the last time her hair had ended so close to her jaw line. She felt for a moment like she was looking at a stranger in the mirror. A cute stranger, though.

  "I thought we should frame that pretty face," the woman said, gesturing with her pink-nailed fingers, caressing the air around Poppy's face. "Do you like?"

  "Love it," Poppy said, brushing her fingers along the surface of her new hairdo, afraid of mussing it up.

  After she paid—and did she pay—the woman said to her, "You must use your parapluie." When Poppy gave her a lost look, she made a small sucking sound with her mouth, searching her brain for the translation, and drawing a blank, pantomimed the same way Poppy had at the brasserie the day before.

  "Oh, umbrella," Poppy said.

  "Umbrella," the woman said, as if committing the word to memory. "Yes, you don't want to get your new hair all wet."

  Poppy bid the stylist adieu, walked out of the salon, and began walking down the street for a moment before something occurred to her. She rushed back into the shop, and asked for directions to the Metro station. Sitting for so long only reminded her how sore her legs were from wandering so long in the boots she was still breaking in, and she didn't have the energy to keep searching fruitlessly for a ride back to her hotel.

  A+ Plus

  Once back to her hotel room, Poppy removed her layers and tossed her phone onto the bed, eager to liberate her feet from the oppressive boots. She lay on the bed for a few minutes decompressing before she remembered that she had received a text message earlier. She looked at the screen, smiled, closed her eyes, and gripped her cell phone to her chest. Rochelle.

  "Hello Poppy. I happen to have the day off work tomorrow, so perhaps I can show you around the city. Let me know."

  "Yes!" Poppy said aloud to herself. "Yes, yes, yes!" She composed herself before composing her text message: "I would love that. Breakfast?"

  "That sounds fine. If you tell me where your hotel is, I can meet you there around 9."

  Poppy nearly agreed to the offer before she remembered that Rochelle was under the impression that Poppy was staying nearby. She considered for a moment suggesting they meet at the brasserie where they had met before, but she realized that would seem strange in light of their supposed proximity.

  "How about I meet you at your flat?" Having taken the Metro there once, and back twice, Poppy thought—hoped—she would be able to find her way there.

  "I'll see you then. A+"

  Poppy still had no clue what the A-plus thing was about, so she assumed the best. Excited, she made a phone call.

  "Pops," she heard Jay say drowsily. "It's seven a.m." In her excitement, Poppy had forgotten the nine-hour time difference.

  "My bad, I'm sorry! But guess what!"

  "What." He obviously was not in the mood for guessing games.

  "Rochelle just texted me."

  "Yippee."

  "We're meeting tomorrow for breakfast, and then she's going to show me around the city."

  "Well," Jay said through a yawn. "Make sure you smooch up on her. Maybe if you kiss her, this frog will turn into a princess."

  "Ha ha," Poppy said sarcastically, but she couldn't help but feel extremely giddy.

  "Is that it?" Jay said, his words becoming increasingly mumbled.

  "Yeah, I guess so. Aren't you excited for me, Jay?!"

  There was no response. He had fallen asleep. "Yeah, Poppy!" she said to herself, in an awful impersonation of her best friend. "That's fantastic news! I'm so happy for you!"

  Poppy considered going out for dinner, but the thought of putting her boots back on led her to delaying the meal, watching French television shows until she fell asleep.

  Peach

  Thursday

  Poppy woke up early the next morning, but she was too excited to fall back asleep. After lying in bed for fifteen minutes, knowing the two hours before she was meant to be at Rochelle's flat was going to absolutely crawl by, she hopped out of bed and got into the shower, careful not to wet her hair which was still more or less styled from the day before. She spent more time in front of the mirror that she ever had before brushing and fixing her hair, getting it as close to perfection as she possibly could. She pulled on a clean pair of jeans, a nice shirt, her coat, and her rain jacket. She was standing barefoot, dreading the thought of putting her boots on again, when she paused, and walked to the window.

  There was no rain on the window pane. On the contrary, it was actually pleasantly sunny and warm outside.

  She tossed the extra layers onto the bed, leaving her in a sleeveless top. She draped her
new scarf loosely around her neck and stepped into her sneakers, which she felt brought down her entire ensemble, but she refused to wear those boots again unless absolutely necessary.

  She checked the time: there was still an hour before she was supposed to meet Rochelle, and Poppy was met with a decision to make: it took about twenty minutes to get from her hotel to Rochelle's flat, and if she left now, she would be waiting around for over half an hour, or she could give herself the extra forty minutes of wiggle room to account for getting lost because she wasn't sure she exactly knew the path there.

  Waiting around in her hotel would just make her more anxious, she figured, so she walked out of the hotel, onto the street. She made her way to the Metro station, walking with an air of purpose along the streets she had only a few days before been aimlessly wandering, blending in with the Parisian populace. She only had to study the map of train routes for a few moments before confirming her path, boarded the train, and sped towards their rendezvous point.

  She exited the station on the other side of the city, and her feet seemed to know the way. Before she knew it, she was approaching the market that Rochelle lived above. She checked the time, and found that she had even timed it correctly. Poppy's self-sufficiency and capacity to adapt to the city was pleasing and thrilling, but it also meant that she had forty minutes to kill. For lack of much else to do, Poppy began exploring the stalls of the business below Rochelle's flat. It was like the produce section of a grocery store back in the States, but it all felt so much more naturalistic. The fruits and vegetables were all familiar, only the names were foreign.

  Poppy realized she had skipped dinner last night, and was absolutely starving. She and Rochelle would be going to breakfast, but she didn't want to seem like a pig in front of the elegant, sophisticated woman. She decided to purchase a peach to snack on while she waited. She stood on the sidewalk, leaning against the building, and began nibbling at the soft skin, carefully avoiding a mess as the sweet juice from the fruit covered her lips. Poppy sucked as her tongue probed lightly into the peach's flesh. Ravenous as she was, Poppy devoured her peach with a careful deliberation, finding that the fruit seemed to pique her hunger more than it sated.

  Shortly after she finished, she received a text from Rochelle.

  "Let me know when you're here."

  "I'm downstairs, actually," Poppy responded, before checking the time. She was still fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, and didn't want to seem overexcited. She sent a follow up message, "I just got here."

  As Rochelle appeared from door, Poppy realized she was still holding the peach pit. Not seeing a garbage can nearby, and hesitant to litter the streets in front of Rochelle's home, Poppy pushed the stone to the bottom of her pocket. Poppy was prepared this time for the greeting kisses, but that didn't stop her from melting with the intimacy of being so close to Rochelle's body.

  "You got a haircut," Rochelle said, leaning back from Poppy and taking in her new look. "I like it," she said, fixing a few strands of Poppy's bangs.

  "I'm glad you do," Poppy said, feeling almost breathless. She noticed Rochelle was wearing her usual subtle traces of makeup, looking as ravishing as ever. Poppy had promised herself that she would make a move before she parted from Rochelle, but she supposed that could wait at least until after breakfast.

  They began walking, Poppy finding it easier to keep up with Rochelle with her more comfortable sneakers and a few days of building up her striding muscles.

  "Do you have any other plans for today?" Rochelle asked as she led Poppy.

  "You're it."

  "Good. I had a few ideas of places I'd like you to experience. This may end up being an all-day thing," Rochelle said.

  "That's perfectly all right," Poppy responded, feeling a little like Alice following the rabbit, insisting there was so much to do and so little time. "What do you have planned?"

  "Oh, there's no itinerary. We'll play it by ear, shall we?"

  "Let's."

  Petit Déjeuner

  Rochelle took Poppy to a restaurant that looked more like a night lounge with less people and more light. When they received the menus, Poppy looked to Rochelle, with a helpless expression.

  "Shall I order for you again?" Rochelle asked. Poppy smiled and nodded.

  The waitress, a middle-aged woman who still put the effort into personal grooming with the vanity of a girl half her age, came to take the orders. Two cups of cappuccino arrived at their table, and both women began sipping at the brownish foam.

  "So, what did you do yesterday?"

  Poppy starting telling her about Shakespeare and Company, and found herself rambling about the Mid-Western woman and the lady from London, and though it became apparent she wasn't headed in any particular direction with her anecdote, Rochelle listened attentively.

  "What about you? What did you do yesterday?" Poppy asked her, curbing her aimless speech.

  "Worked," Rochelle said laconically, with a shrug. "Then I attempted to accomplish something in writing when I got home."

  "Oh, you write?"

  "Poetry, sometimes. Well, I try to write poetry."

  "I'm sure it's amazing," Poppy said, eyes bright. She remembered seeing the French poem in progress that Rochelle had been working on several days ago at the brasserie. She continued to refrain from asking Rochelle about it. "You're so good with words."

  "Thank you."

  The food arrived, and Poppy thoroughly enjoyed the meal and light conversation with Rochelle. When the meal was over, she pulled out her wallet, offering at the very least to pay for her meal, but Rochelle insisted on paying for everything.

  "I invited you out, so it's my obligation to make sure you enjoy yourself," Rochelle said, in her way which was somehow both aloof and endearing. "So, enjoy yourself."

  Poppy wondered if Rochelle was intentionally keeping the clarification as to whether or not this was a date ambiguous. She knew Poppy was a lesbian, and she had to know she was ridiculously gorgeous and could have had Poppy from the first moment they met. Poppy considered for a moment that Rochelle was playing a game with her. Perhaps the ennui of being beautiful and intelligent and successful led her to pick up playthings like Poppy for short periods of time, just for the pleasure of seducing and manipulating. Poppy had a friend—well, a friend of one of her roommates—who would lead guys on just for the attention and pleasure of disappointing them.

  Well, thought Poppy, worst case scenario, she'd get treated to a lot of great food by some gorgeous woman, and she would have a story to tell when she got back home.

  After breakfast, Rochelle insisted on a cigarette, and Poppy accepted the offered cylinder and pretended to smoke. As they puffed, Poppy's favorite thoughtful expression crossed Rochelle's face. "Relaxed or active?" Rochelle asked suddenly.

  "Excuse me?"

  "Would you like to have a day with more activity, going around and seeing Paris, or would you rather relax at a few places, to sit and enjoy Paris?"

  "I think the second one."

  "I was hoping you would say that. It's rare that I get to treat someone to a mellow experience when I'm playing the tour guide," Rochelle said, dropping the remains of her cigarette and crushing the ember. "Let's move on then, shall we?"

  A Beautiful View

  They marched to the Metro station, Rochelle swiped her card to let Poppy through the turnstile, and the trains were only moderately occupied. As they sat together on the train, Poppy felt the urge to reach a hand over and place it on Rochelle's thigh. The knowledge that she would at least attempt to kiss that clever mouth before the end of the day was exhilarating and frightening, but Poppy had promised herself she would try.

  "I hope you're up for a bit of a climb," Rochelle said, after they had resurfaced, and Rochelle had guided her along the crooked streets and past architecture that Poppy would have appreciated more if not for the distraction of her present company. Before she could ask what Rochelle meant, Poppy noticed they were approaching a long stone staircase.

/>   "I'm glad I didn't wear my boots today," Poppy said. The stairs were a bit steep, likely an exhausting experience for most tourists, but Poppy had enough experience with the hills of San Francisco not to be daunted by the challenge.

  "We can take the funicular, if you'd like," Rochelle said, pointing to the suspended railway carrying passengers from the base to the top and back down. Passengers, she thought, like the Nebraskan woman from Shakespeare and Co. She could imagine her taking a picture of the steps, like the books, to share with her friends back home. The thought would have incited Poppy to take the stairs even if had been wearing boots.

  "I'm sure whatever you're taking me to see up there is worth the effort, and the walk will make it all the more enjoyable."

  "I love your mentality, Poppy," Rochelle said, and they began walking. Conversation dwindled for a short while, as the steps took the breath out of both women. Poppy was grateful for all the city wandering she had done to build up her stamina, allowing her to persevere without stopping until they reached the top.

  "I should have given you more credit," Rochelle said, obviously winded. She playfully added, "I guess not all Americans are lazy."

  Before she could respond, her breath was taken again by the sight. From their vantage point, there was an awe-inspiring panoramic of the city. For lack of breath and the ability to form a sentence, Poppy simply said "Wow."

  They sat atop the hill for half an hour, taking in the view while Rochelle pointed out certain landmarks among the cityscape. Poppy stopped herself from making a comment about the movie when Rochelle told her they were near the Moulin Rouge. An idea occurred to Poppy.