Bliss

by Hilary Fields

  “Something like that.” Asher’s voice had unstuck her feet, and she ventured closer, fetching up at the base of his porch. Damn, he looked good. She hadn’t seen her new landlord in a week—except in some rather embarrassing dreams—and he seemed to have grown exponentially more attractive in her absence. Burnished blond hair: check. Lush lips: check. Glorious green eyes: double check.

  Asher pushed his hat back, like a real old-fashioned cowboy. But instead of spurs, it was the chain that held his keys that jingled as he stuffed them into his rear pocket. “Well, I can’t speak from experience, as I have never penetrated the inner sanctum, but they seem like a harmless enough bunch.”

  Sera immediately began picturing Asher penetrating inner sanctums, and her cheeks reddened. My God, this man makes me twelve years old again every time I see him. And given that she was about as talented as a twelve-year-old when it came to romance, that was a road she’d best not tread. I’ve got to get a grip. Find something innocuous to talk about, quick! “I met your friend Malcolm today,” she said, laying her box of goodies by her feet on the edge of the wooden porch, and noticing the pooches were nowhere to be seen tonight—Asher’s doghouse was dark and silent. Too bad, she thought. I’d love a little canine-inspired confidence right now.

  Asher noticed the direction of her glance. “Sascha and the pups are with a sitter. With Zozobra and all the festivities, there’ll be too much going on in the streets tonight, and I don’t want them that worked up.”

  The way he said “Zozobra” mesmerized Sera. It was as if his lips were weaving a spell, and its effect was to render her incapable of pondering anything but how those lips might taste and feel whispering similar mysteries against her mouth. Nuzzling the syllables against her neck…

  “And speaking of excitable, how did you find our pie-making friend?” Asher cocked his head and studied her, as if wondering where her thoughts had roamed.

  Sera snapped out of it as best she could. “I asked him to come work for me,” she confessed.

  Asher’s laugh was a bark of delighted surprise. “You are an unusual woman, Serafina Wilde. But I think you may have done yourself a favor with that decision, though he may give you cause to question it now and then.”

  “Maybe we can talk more about it next week?” she asked. “I’m meeting with him on Tuesday afternoon, and before I do, I’d like to go over some details about the space and the construction.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll drop by the store around noon.”

  “Thanks. Well, I should be going—I’ve been told I’ve got quite an evening ahead of me.” She wanted to ask him if he was going to this mysterious Zozobra thing, too, but she didn’t quite have the guts. His private life was really none of her business, and she didn’t want him to get the idea that she was unduly interested in his comings and goings.

  “Um, before I go, could I ask one more favor, Ash?”

  “Name it.”

  Oh, lord. Those little crinkles around the corners of his eyes were going to be the death of her.

  “Could you, ah, give me a push? I don’t think I can move under my own steam.”

  Asher hopped over the porch rail in what she was beginning to think of as his signature move. Instead of a push, he did her one better—he took her shoulders in his large hands, squeezed gently, and captured her startled gray eyes with his depthless green gaze. “You’re going to be the best of them, Bliss,” he said.

  And then he gave her a hug.

  Sera was still wobbling on her feet long after he’d gone, enveloped in the afterglow of that embrace. She took a deep breath, perfumed with the blossoms of Asher’s night-blooming flowers and the echo of his forged-metal scent. She felt strong, exhilarated—and yes, maybe just a little bit sexy.

  All right, ladies, let’s see what you got.

  * * *

  “Serafina!”

  Now I know how Norm must have felt, coming into Cheers.

  A rough dozen women were arrayed across the armchairs and atop the countertops of Pauline’s House of Passion, but upon Sera’s entrance, they straightened, raising glasses and whooping her name in a rousing chorus. Their boisterous clapping and waving filled the space as though they could boast twice their number. Out of the crowd stepped Pauline, resplendent in a flamingo pink belly-dancing outfit dangling scarves, coins, bells, and totems from every conceivable surface. Atop her head, in lieu of a veil, she’d plopped a Spaghetti Western–worthy sombrero. Yet despite the flamboyant getup, to Sera’s eyes, Pauline looked a trifle off her stride. “Let me introduce you to the ladies!” she cried, threading her arm through Sera’s and pulling her fully into the shop. Out of the side of her mouth, she muttered, “Hortencia isn’t with you, is she?”

  Sera shook her head, still taking in the scene.

  P-HOP’s cozy Victorian vibe had been replaced with a looser, though no less feminine feel tonight. The women inside ranged in age from their seventies all the way down to their early twenties, clad in festive fabrics and fascinating jewelry, sporting cowboy boots, Birkenstock sandals, and an array of hairstyles from the sober single braid to the teased bouffant. In every hand were glasses, though Sera was relieved to see they weren’t all margarita goblets—at least half of the women were sipping kombucha or soft drinks—so she wouldn’t stick out if she didn’t imbibe. All had jazzed up their cups with Polynesian paper umbrellas, and several of the women sported feather boas, Mardi Gras beads, or Hawaiian leis about their necks. The room was steamy with body heat and fragrant with the scent of jalapeño-heavy nachos and cocktail weenies.

  Pauline put her arm around her niece and began the introductions. “Sera, this is Bobbie, Crystal, and River Wind.” Bobbie was a well-dressed woman of about fifty with a very businesslike hairdo who reminded Sera of a real estate broker, while Crystal was heavily tattooed, pierced, and had definitely served some time as a Brooklyn barista, if only in a past life. River Wind, an ageless raven-haired beauty, exuded the kind of serenity Sera strived for during meetings, and rarely found. She waved shyly at the three women. “I think you already met Janice, right?” Pauline continued. Sera nodded at the waitress, smiled, and smiled some more as more women crowded forward to greet her with robust shouts of welcome. Up next were a weathered, whip-thin woman who exemplified the ideal of the Western horsewoman in denim and riding boots, a cherubic redhead, and Sera’s new favorite gal pal. “And that’s Lou-Ellen, Syna September, and of course, Aruni.”

  “Hey, girl!”

  Sera saluted, glad to see the yogini beaming at her. The rest of the names flowed over her in a wash of welcoming faces.

  “Everyone, this is my niece, Serafina. As I mentioned, she’s going to be opening a bakery here. It’s called Bliss.”

  “To Bliss!” Much clinking of cups and applause ensued.

  Sera blushed, squirmy at being the center of attention. “I brought lemon bars,” she said lamely, holding up the box for the ladies to see.

  “To lemon bars!”

  The treats were lifted from her grip and passed around, to a wave of delighted moans and yums from lips soon rimmed in powdered sugar. Someone shoved a cup of kombucha in her hand, and just like that, Sera entered the whirl. She was hugged, mussed, and fussed over; toasted and roasted before she’d as much as had a moment to sit down.

  And she realized something. She absolutely. Fucking. Loved it.

  Serafina, who’d always needed a drink or several to get her to unbend enough to socialize at any gathering that wouldn’t fit inside your average-sized closet, found herself sliding into being “one of the girls” so easily she was tempted to check herself for some of Pauline’s back room lube. As she circulated about the room, she met women whose careers ranged from full-time mommy to part-time potter, plus a real, honest-to-goodness weaver, an event planner, and a tax attorney. Some of the ladies were local shop or gallery owners, who promised to stop by as soon as her bakery opened, and offered to steer business her way. Before she knew it, she was ensconced in a saggy armchair
near the rear of the store, Aruni perched on one arm, Janice on the other, draped in Mardi Gras beads and lemon bar crumbs, while Pauline, with a little help from some of the others, climbed atop the mahogany counter at the front.

  “Sisters!” cried Pauline, waving her leathery, scarf-swathed arms over her head for attention. Her bells and coins clashed, drawing what little attention the sight of her astonishing costume left unclaimed. “In honor of our newest initiate, I think it’s time we go over our bylaws and mandate, don’t you?”

  “Bylaws!”

  “Mandate!”

  “What she said! Woooooo!”

  “Okay, hush, you ninnies. Let me talk. Now Baby-Bliss, don’t freak out. I made up all that crap about mandates and whatnot, just to sound fancy. Really, we’ve got just two golden rules. You ready?”

  Sera raised her glass in acknowledgment, hoping Pauline wouldn’t notice she’d yet to taste the foul brew within. “Hit me,” she invited. Aruni and Janice high-fived over her head, then mussed her hair playfully.

  “What’s Rule Number One, women?” Pauline prompted.

  “We don’t talk about Fight Club?” piped up Syna. She ducked as Crystal lobbed an empty plastic cup at her.

  “Anyone else?” A bit of the retired professor entered Pauline’s voice.

  “Rule Number One is, ‘We support our sisters,’” a voice called from the doorway.

  A hush fell over the women. Sera peered across the room and looked at the newcomer, who had spoken sharply enough to draw blood. It was Hortencia.

  Pauline furled her gauze-draped wings like an exotic bird, costume jangling as she folded in on herself. Her face took on a pinched expression, and she sniffed disdainfully, but she refused to acknowledge her lover’s arrival.

  Hortencia was having none of it. “Isn’t that right, Pauline?” she prompted.

  Serafina wondered if she was going to be hearing about Rule Number Two at any point tonight.

  The Back Room Babes had all gone quiet, and Sera had no doubt they were well aware of the rift between their founder and her beloved. Sera read sympathy, impatience, frustration in their eyes—like children watching their parents fight, all the while knowing nothing could be as important as the love that formed the foundations of their relationship. It touched her to realize these women felt as deeply connected to her aunt as she herself did. Pauline Wilde was an extraordinary woman, who had a powerful effect on others. Unfortunately, she was also extraordinarily stubborn. Stomping one Birkenstock-clad foot in pique, she climbed down from the counter, clashing and chiming as she strode up to her ex. “You should talk. You’ve got a funny way of showing support, yourself,” she huffed.

  “Me? It’s you who’s trying to bar me from the club—”

  “All right, all right, ladies,” Aruni interrupted, rising gracefully from the arm of Sera’s chair and clapping her hands for attention. Her years of yoga teaching came in handy, providing the authority to wrangle a roomful of wayward women and realign their focus. “We’re all here to have a good time and show Serafina how much fun the Back Room Babes are. Fun—remember? So why don’t we take a nice, deep breath,” she demonstrated, inflating her belly to almost comical proportions, then whooshing it out with exaggerated release, “and chant a friendly ohm to shake off any negativity and get us in the mood. Ready, gals?”

  There were nods and a couple of isolated woo-hoos from the BRBs.

  Aruni raised her arms as if she were conducting an orchestra. Her minions, well-trained and enthusiastic, rewarded her with a mighty OHHHHHHMMMMMMM! that fairly blew Sera’s hair back.

  Fetched up in the wake of the chant, Hortencia and Pauline both wore somewhat abashed expressions, but they still refused to look at each other.

  “Fine,” Pauline muttered, fiddling with the cord on her sombrero to tighten it around her neck. “She can stay. But I’ll be damned if I demonstrate the sensual foot rub on her horny old toes. I don’t care what tonight’s agenda says.”

  “I wouldn’t let you near my perfectly bunion-free feet if it was Maundy Thursday and you were channeling Jesus himself, you sour old shrew—”

  Aruni raised her hands again, and the BRBs responded with another deafening ohm that effectively drowned out the women’s squabbling. Their mouths snapped shut with identical clicks. They knew when they were outnumbered.

  “Now then,” Aruni said, dusting off her hands briskly. “Who’s for more kombucha before we head out?”

  Several hands shot up.

  “Wait! Wait, ’Runi, you’re forgettin’ the best part.” Janice was laughing as she gestured for attention. “Gals, put down the dang kombucha for a second, will ya? We ain’t shared Rule Number Two with Serafina yet. And we cain’t neglect that. Every newbie needs to know about Rule Number Two if they’re gonna hang out with us Back Room Babes.” She tunneled her arm behind Sera and urged her up from her seat, turning Sera to face the assembled femmes. “The thing ya gotta know, Sera, is that every time we meet, Rule Number Two states someone gets challenged to a dare. And you can’t back down or say no if you’re the one that gets herself picked.”

  “Um, like what kind of dare are we talking here?” Sera asked, her sense of the evening’s fun suddenly wavering. Please don’t say demonstrating my oral skills by giving a banana a blow job. Or describing my favorite sexual position. Or, or… The possibilities were terrorizing.

  “Well, it has to be for the person’s own good, ya know?” Janice explained. “Like, if you have a hang-up or something you’re ashamed of, we give you a task that helps you get over it. For instance, last winter, Syna here shared that she wasn’t too comfortable with her body. And just look at her!” Janice pointed at the other woman—a cute, zaftig mommy type in her mid-thirties. “She’s gorgeous. So we dared her to go make naked snow angels on the plaza after midnight, and damned if she didn’t have to do it.”

  “Nearly froze my bits off, but I made some kick-booty body sculptures,” Syna September said genially. “Tourists were taking pictures of them for days. First time I was ever proud of my bod.” She gave a little shoulder shimmy, flipping her auburn hair sassily.

  “Anyhoo,” Janice continued, “it wouldn’t be a true BRB get-together without someone dolin’ out a dare, and someone else having to fulfill it. Tonight’s a little different, since we’re straying from format to go see Zozobra instead of sticking around the clubhouse all night, but I still say we ought to let Sera have a shot at it. What do you gals think?”

  Chants of “Dare! Dare! Dare!” ricocheted through the room.

  Sera could feel herself stiffening up; wanting to retreat. This felt like too much attention, too much pressure from too many strangers. Her gaze automatically sought out the nearest exit. But then a wave of unaccustomed calm washed over her. This wasn’t high school, or one of Blake Austin’s premeditated humiliations. This was all just good fun, with good people who clearly harbored only good intentions. And hey, they were giving her the opportunity to dish it out, which meant she didn’t have to take it—not just yet anyway. You came here to try new things, to open yourself up, she reminded herself. Go ahead, Sera, live a little.

  “You want me to dare someone? Right now?” She plunked her hands on her hips, surveying the women.

  “C’mon, Sera, show us what you got!”

  Inspiration struck. As did the urge to giggle. “Well, I don’t really know most of you well enough to venture a dare, but there is one I have in mind.” A sly grin spread across her face, and the women cheered.

  “Lay it on us!”

  “Yeah, Sera, go for it!”

  Sera held up a finger. “Just a sec, I’ll be right back.” And she headed right back—to the back room. It didn’t take her but a moment to find what she needed. She tuned out the various rubber, latex, and realistic “vix-skin” toys, her eyes seeking humble steel (well, fur-augmented humble steel). She grabbed what she sought off a peg on the wall and hustled back to her new pals, who waited anxiously for her reveal.

  �
�This one’s for my aunt. Pauline,” she beckoned with a grin. “Come on down.” Jangling like a tambourine, Pauline sashayed forward to her niece. Her mien plainly said, “Oh, please, you can’t fluster me. I was sexually liberated before you were a zygote.” Sera took her hand, holding it up for the BRBs to see as if she were a referee proclaiming Pauline the victor in a prize fight. In a way, she was a referee, Sera thought, biting her cheek as she drew out her moment with unaccustomed showmanship. Hey! she marveled, This is actually pretty fun! “Hortencia, you’re next. Get up here.”

  Hortencia looked as if she might refuse to come forward. “Dear, are you sure you’ve got the hang of the rules?” she prevaricated. “I’m sure it says somewhere that you can only dare one person at a time, and—”

  “Horse hockey, Hortencia!” shouted Lou-Ellen. “There’s nothing in the rules that says she can’t dare two for the price of one. You’re just chicken shit.”

  “Bwock, bwock, bocka-bocka-bwwwwwock!”

  The Back Room Babes were convulsed with laughter. Kombucha and margarita mix sloshed over the lips of cups, and howls of hilarity hit the rafters. Sera herself was bubbling over with mirth. “C’mon, Hortencia. Show a little spine. I know you’ve had a tough day, being raised from the dead and all, but I promise this won’t hurt.”

  “Oh, very well, if it’ll stop you ladies from going any more loco than you already have…” Hortencia stepped forward. Sera took hold of her soft, crepe-skinned wrist, holding it close to Pauline’s with one hand.

  And with the other, clamped pink, faux-fur-trimmed handcuffs around both of them.

  Pauline and Hortencia sent up instant squawks of protest, tugging at their wrists but finding themselves unbreakably bound together.

  “Serafina Bliss Wilde!” shouted Pauline. “Unlock us this instant!” She tried for a stern, authoritarian stance, but the sombrero and belly-dancing outfit rather undercut her efforts. With a pang, Sera read a trace of real panic in her aunt’s eyes. Yet even as she second-guessed herself for her impulsive act, Sera noticed Hortencia was biting back a reluctant smile, and she was reassured she was doing the right thing. The wink Hortencia sent sidelong in her direction further reassured her.