I must have dozed off for a bit, because I woke to Josie letting herself into the cabin about an hour later, mugs of coffee in hand.
“Where have you been?” I asked blearily, suddenly so happy for the presence of my best friend.
“Getting us coffee,” she said, tossing her tangled hair over her shoulder and pressing a hot mug into my hands. I gripped it, grateful for the warmth and the caffeine, and narrowed my eyes at her.
“You have sex hair again,” I accused as she slid onto the bed next to me. Her eyeliner was smeared and she looked as bleary-eyed as me.
“Me?” she asked, pointing at herself. “I slept here last night.”
“Funny, because I had horrific insomnia all night and didn’t see you come in once. You left while I took my bath.”
“I—” she started, and then sighed. Took an extraordinarily long sip of coffee. Then said: “I’ll only spill if you do.”
“Calvin and I fucked last night,” I said, and Josie basically shoved me off the bed.
“Details, mija,” she demanded, but I shook my head.
“You go first,” she whined.
I shook my head again. “Girl, you just lied to me about sleeping here. You go first.”
She bit her lip, carefully placing her coffee on the nightstand. And then dropped her head in her hands.
“I fucked up,” she said. “With Gabe.”
“I highly doubt that,” I said, stroking her hair.
I could see the appeal. He was huge, like a gentle giant, beard and man-bun and plaid shirts. Different from her, for sure, but Calvin and I were about as opposite as they came.
“It’s true and everything in the world is ruined,” she said, voice tiny against her hand.
“Did you have sex again? Is that what this is about?”
“Yes,” she said. She looked up, eyes wide again.
“Let me guess. Great sex.”
“Life-changing.”
“Aw, shit,” I said, clinking my coffee mug against hers. “Cheers to you. Why are you so sad, then?”
“Because I fucking hate men. And I never go back twice. But I did, with him…a lot actually.” A fierce blush—so unlike her. Josie’s attitude towards men now was slash-and-burn. “And I think…I like Gabe.”
“You like his dick, you mean.”
Her eyes met mine. “Yeah,” she lied. “That’s probably it.” I didn’t push her, knew she’d want to talk more about it later. But I did wrap her in a big hug. She smelled like Josie, but also woodsy, like bourbon. I was guessing that was Gabe.
“Whatever it is, I’m sure you can undo it,” I said. “You always can.” After a few minutes she pulled away, re-arranging her features until she looked as devious as she usually did.
“I’m guessing you like Calvin’s dick,” she said, eyebrow arched.
I did. I really did. Could a dick be beautiful? Because if so, Cal’s was. Who knew hiding under those layers of awkward, bumbling nerd was a perfectly straight eight-inch cock?
Josie snapped in front of my face. “Earth to Lucia.”
“Hello,” I said dreamily. “What were we talking about?”
She tossed a pillow at my face. “Tell me about how you made all of Cal’s nerd dreams come true.”
I shifted on the bed, tucking my legs beneath me. “It wasn’t like that,” I said. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t what you’d think. Calvin is…Calvin was extraordinary,” I breathed, and a look came over Josie’s face that told me she knew exactly what I was talking about.
“Yeah?” she asked.
I gave her the down-and-dirty details, and by the end she was gripping her mug so tightly I thought she’d break it.
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus.”
“I know, right?” I said.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Spend our extra days here bringing each other to earth-shattering orgasm over and over again,” I said. “And I, well…I wrote him a poem last night.”
“You did what?” she asked, head tilted.
“I wrote. For a long time actually. And it was terrible,” I said, smiling. “But then…it wasn’t so terrible. And I composed something. For Cal. About…about our night. And left it for him.” An uprising in my stomach; the anxiety back in full force. “But then all I could think about was that he probably hated it. And thus—” I said, pointing at the wrecked bed— “the horrific insomnia.”
“It’s like the ears thing all over again,” she said, sighing.
I nodded solemnly. “Yep. I can’t handle the heat, Jo. I’ve never been able to do that.”
“Stop,” she said, shaking her head. “Not many people could do your job. It’s not just…it’s not just once in a while. You are criticized constantly for every little thing that you do. I couldn’t do it. I’d never leave the house. I’d be terrified.”
I swallowed, thinking. Was that it?
“But also,” she said gently, “Lu, what are you going to do? About Calvin?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, sipping my now-cold coffee
“In a week, you’re going home. We all are. If not sooner. The road crews could finish tomorrow and Ray would have us out of here in a minute, back to LA.”
“I know. So?”
“So, you wrote a poem for a man you like who just rocked your world sexually. And you’re just going to…leave him? And not just back to Los Angeles, but all the way to Paris?”
I chewed on my lip, attempting a nonchalant shrug. “I just want to enjoy this week. You should too. With Gabe. We’ll take it one day at a time.”
“Sure,” she said, heading towards the shower. “I guess you’re right.”
“You know I am,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. “Come on, it’ll be fun. A bonus week of sex and adventure in Big Sur. What could possibly go wrong?”
◊
CALVIN
Late at night I’d finally found the passage I was looking for—the narrative Ray needed:
Spent the night at Fenix too drunk and too stoned to drive home. Readings for a full week at the bookstore, culminating in Pete, the owner, letting us have a giant party. He closed the restaurant off from other patrons, and I sat around with a bunch of writers and idealists, talking the night away around the giant pit fire in the middle of the room. Someone kept jumping up and reciting their favorite poems from memory—Keats, Walt Whitman—and others would do the same, pulling out creased and dog-eared copies of their favorite books from their pockets, their bags, their cars.
I loved being in the same room with people who all had to have a copy of their favorite book on them at all time, for a moment like this. A perfect moment. “And your very flesh shall be a great poem,” Walt Whitman had said, and I felt that. Saw grown men cry, stanza after stanza, because they thought it was beautiful.
Isn’t this what we’re alive for? Why else were we put on Earth if not to enjoy the written word? And in the morning, blinking against the harsh sunlight, Pete fried up bacon sandwiches and served strong coffee on the deck, the fog misting over the cliff-side. Nothing could have been better than grease and coffee, fog and ocean, a night well-spent on the floor of an abandoned restaurant as night turned into day. And the day turned into magic.
I’d never been inside Fenix when it was empty, usually it was so crowded with tourists that you waited hours for a table. But the rockslides had effectively stopped business for a few days, and Pete Jr. (the son of the former owner) was more than happy to let Ray and the crew use their location.
“There was a lot of crossover between these two places,” I told Ray, who was scratching his notes into a notebook, nodding along. One half of the restaurant was now hair/makeup/wardrobe, and every cell in my body was aware that Lucia was in the room. Barely dressed. “Parties at the bookstore would end up back here, and vice versa. Fenix was more about the music though, and between the late 1950s and early 1970s the number of cultural icons—in music and literatu
re—that passed between the two was pretty extraordinary.”
“Kind of a bell-bottoms and acid type of thing?” Ray asked and I nodded.
“Spontaneous poetry readings and musical performances happened all the time. A lot of once-in-a-lifetime memories.”
“Jimi Hendrix, whipping out his guitar after dinner and playing a set,” Ray said, grinning. “I fucking love it.” He glanced back at Joanna. “Janis Joplin hair,” he called out and she nodded, as if that was a thing a person would just instinctively know how to do.
“I can see it,” he said excitedly, and then left me, walking over to Lucia and Taylor. “Okay I got it. You two have just fucked in the bathroom and now you’re enjoying drinks, right before The Beatles show up.”
I swallowed a grin, shaking my head and settling on a bar stool. I’d come along to provide “inspirational narrative” (Ray’s words) but also there was nothing to do at the store—no customers. The internet cafe was closed (no internet) so I couldn’t guiltily check my emails and ignore the ones from Edward inquiring about my exact start date back at the company.
And I couldn’t stop thinking about Lucia. Barely 24 hours and my thoughts were bordering on obsessive. Or maybe compulsive.
Okay both. I’d re-read her poem so many times I had it memorized. Analyzed what it could possibly mean, what her feelings for me were. If you could have feelings for someone you’d barely known a week.
Could you?
It was still a little stormy outside, and it turned the restaurant into a cozy, bohemian hole-in-the-wall. I grabbed a cup of coffee, settled on a bar stool, and took out my books: the Flannery O’Connor collection and a slim volume of Mary Oliver. Lucia’s love for her had re-ignited my interest—plus, since she’d left me something last night, I’d been searching for something to leave her. But I couldn’t find the right fit. The right tone to express my gratitude. I wasn’t a writer, but I imagined you would have to make yourself pretty vulnerable to do what she had done last night.
And maybe that was why she’d spent this morning avoiding eye contact with me.
Lucia was still in a short, clingy robe and Joanna was transforming her hair (Janis Joplin hair) into a snarled mess. Big as a house and kind of dirty looking. She was grunting with the effort while Lucia sat there, cool as a cucumber, and flipping through a magazine. I wandered over as non-awkwardly as I could, and as soon as Josie saw me she half-spit out her water.
Lucia must have told her.
“Mornin’,” I said, lifting my mug of coffee in greeting.
Josie gave me a slow look, up and down, appraising. Nodding to herself.
“Good morning to you too, Calvin,” she said, testing blush on her skin. She tossed me a wink and I coughed a little on my coffee, sliding my glasses up my nose. Lucia didn’t look at me, still staring at her magazine. Josie noticed and tossed me a sympathetic look.
“Hey Cal, thanks for standing in for me, man,” Taylor said, walking up to clap a hand on my shoulder. “That was maybe the worst food poisoning I ever had.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I mumbled, “but also…you know, it was no big deal. Any time.” Yes, any time. Any time, please let me run my hands all over Lucia’s near-naked body.
“I saw the shots, though. Ray showed them to me,” Taylor said, allowing himself to be pushed into a fur jacket, no shirt, ripped jeans and combat boots. He looked retro and way too handsome for his own good.
I looked down at my Chuck Taylors, my old X-Files shirt that said The Truth Is Out There. I hadn’t shaved, and I felt scruffy and un-glamorous, like your best friend’s little brother that you take to the prom because you feel bad for him.
“Oh yeah?” I asked, not wanting to hear his assessment of my modeling debut.
“Wait, I haven’t seen them yet,” Lucia said, finally looking up.
“Really? They’re great. Phenomenal actually. You two have real chemistry,” Taylor said, pointing between us and smiling. All three of us—me, Lucia and Josie—went still as statues.
“Huh,” I finally said, after what felt like a million years, “that’s so funny. Guess I should give up my exciting career to go into modeling.”
Taylor laughed, shrugging. “I don’t know, man. There was something about the two of you. Ray was going crazy about it.”
Lucia and I finally made eye contact—just for a second, but an electric shock went through me when her blue eyes landed on mine.
Like clockwork, Ray appeared, dailies in hand. “You talking about the shoot the other day? I have some of them. Untouched, obviously but…” Ray laughed in disbelief, handing them to Lucia.
“But what?” she asked, before glancing down.
“Shay might want to use these. They’re incredible,” Ray said simply.
I looked at the photos in Lucia’s hand, sure he was pulling my leg. But he wasn’t.
The one on top was me, hands on either side of Lucia’s head, leaning us back into the rock. Storm clouds in the background and rain on our skin. Our lips, almost touching.
We looked fiercely in love.
Fuck.
“Who knew?” she said, tilting her head. Her fingers were trembling just a little. “Calvin the supermodel.”
“Er…right,” I said, laughing nervously. This was too much—too awkward. I needed to get Lucia alone, to tell her how much her poem meant to me. I hadn’t responded in kind, like I usually do, so maybe that’s why she seemed skittish this morning.
“So, I’m going to find the bathroom and, um, well, use it,” I said, backing away slowly, bumping into about six techs and spilling coffee down the front of my shirt. “So…” I quickly glanced at Lucia, “So, yeah.” I finished lamely, turning away, praying that she got the message. That she would follow me down the winding, dark hallways.
But she didn’t.
In the bathroom, I took off my shirt, scrubbed the coffee stains out of it. Put it back on. Examined my appearance in the mirror. Wondered, briefly, how someone like Lucia could ever find someone like me attractive. I put my glasses back on, ran my hand through my hair.
I mean, really. Dramatic shots in the rain were one thing. Reality was different.
I looked back down the hallway. Nothing. Jesus, didn’t people always do this in the movies? Now I’d just been awkwardly in the bathroom for a really long time.
So I washed my hands resignedly, shrugging at my reflection. Opened the door, and came face-to-face with Lucia. Her Janis Joplin hair like a lion’s mane, eyes dramatic with black eye shadow. That short fucking robe clinging to her lithe body.
“Sorry,” she said, biting her full bottom lip, “I thought you were kind of, you know, wanting me to come back here but I wasn’t sure, and then Ray was asking me all of these questions and you were still in the bathroom so I thought maybe you were just, you know, in the bathroom, so I wasn’t sure, but now here I am and we’re only allowed breaks for 5 minutes,” she finished, breathless and adorable.
I smiled. She smiled. And then I placed my palm against her chest and pushed her into the open pantry closet across the hall. Kicked the door behind us, and in total darkness, pulled her in for a soul-searing kiss.
◊
LUCIA
How a man as timid as Calvin could kiss like he’d spent the entirety of his life studying the art of kissing I’d never understand. Because this was an all-out assault on my lips—my head, bumping against the wall, his hands crushing my face, his lips and tongue setting every nerve ending in my body on fucking fire. I held his wrists, giving it right back to him, our bodies already starting to move together in a heavy, grinding rhythm.
“We have four minutes now,” I said dutifully, tilting my neck to allow his lips access. His right hand slid up my thigh, parting my silk robe, and cupping my pussy. I opened my mouth on a moan but he covered my mouth with his other hand.
“You’re going to have to stay quiet, Lu,” he groaned against my ear, his fingers beginning to rub soft circles right over my clit. Pleasure began radi
ating in small, powerful circles, from his fingers, through my cunt, down to the tips of my toes and the top of my head.
“Why did you want to see me?” I sighed, loving his mouth against my neck, his fingers working magic between my legs. “And we only have three minutes now.”
“I wanted…I needed to tell you how much I loved the poem you left me.”
Relief coursed through me, washed together with the mounting pleasure, leaving me breathless, practically weightless with total happiness.
“I read it over and over. Committed it to memory,” he said. “It was beautiful.”
“Oh,” I sighed, “I was…fuck, I was nervous.”
He pulled back, although his fingers kept moving slowly. “Nervous for me to read it?”
“Nervous you wouldn’t like it. It’s the first thing I’ve written in seven years. I figured it was terrible,” I said, tracing his cheekbones with my fingers.
“You did that for me?” he whispered, and the moment was so perfect, another poem—the consuming darkness, the shape of his lips, our urgent meeting.
I already knew I’d write about it later.
“Yes,” I said simply, and then his fingers started moving more quickly. I was going to come, and soon, if he kept it up. “Yes, yes, Cal, just like that—” I moaned, my hips pumping against his. I felt him smiling against my lips, the total darkness adding another layer of eroticism. The tiny space, our quickly disappearing time. “Two minutes…”
“I bet a dirty girl like you can come in two minutes,” he said, thrusting two of his long fingers inside of me and hooking up, hitting a bundle of nerves that made me briefly black out. His palm ground against my clit and I bit his shoulder to keep from crying out.
“Please,” I said, nodding in affirmation, hands fisting in his shirt. I dragged his mouth against mine, practically inhaled his tongue. I was close. Not at the precipice, but I could see it rapidly approaching.
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