Claire of the Moon

by Nicole Conn

  Noel stopped.

  “I’m...sorry. I mean about earlier.”

  Noel turned, surprised by the warmth in Claire’s voice. “It’s...no problem.”

  “Well, it is actually. I...I get so...nothing else exists. I’m not used to co-habiting.” Claire took a drag from her cigarette. “This is heaven.”

  Noel relaxed then, enough to join Claire at the window. The moon cast a shimmery glow to the soft waves. “The most beautiful place on earth.”

  “It’s difficult. Isn’t it?”

  “Hmmm?” Noel didn’t follow.

  Claire took a long drag off her cigarette, let the smoke rest in her lungs then exhaled with a noticeable amount of frustration. Silence rested between them until Claire’s jaws tightened ever so lightly and she finished with mild irony, “Sharing paradise with a stranger.”

  ****

  Sweaty, grimy, and breathless from her run, Claire clumped in, throwing off her sweatshirt as Noel boiled water for tea. They politely acknowledged one another’s existence, and Claire wandered to her room. When she returned seconds later sweat glistened on her nearly unclad body.

  Noel did not consider herself overly modest but Claire’s black bikini sportswear with a towel barely draped over her shoulders made her feel exposed herself. She turned inward, occupying herself with the quiet tradition of making tea. As Claire assertively pulled a beer from the refrigerator Noel was reminded of the quintessential bull in a china shop.

  Claire said, “I’m taking a shower.”

  “There’s not much time before the meeting.”

  “What meeting?”

  “The Tuesday night meeting.”

  “Oh that.”

  Claire swigged her beer.

  “You’re not going.”

  “No. But let me guess. You are.”

  “Yes.”

  Claire appeared amused as she began to unravel her braid. “I bet you fill out warranty information.”

  Noel refused to be baited even if something about this conversation made her feel like a prude. “I have no use for warranties...but I do for other people’s ideas.”

  “So do I.” And then Claire added somewhat defensively, “I’m just not the Kaffee Klatsch type.”

  “And you have someplace better to be.”

  “Ohhhh...I dunno. Humpwhale Inn sounds a bit inbred to me, but hey, who knows.”

  Noel contemplated Claire in silence while she fidgeted with her bottle. “I can’t wait until tomorrow to hear what I missed,” Noel said dismissively as she left the kitchen.

  Claire watched her retreating figure, then took a long swallow of beer as she stared out to the ocean. She just wasn’t going to let this uptight anal shrink get to her, she thought tidily and made her way to the shower.

  “It was your idea in the first place.”

  “My idea?” Maggie’s face was shocked, incredulous. The utter betrayal of history.

  “Yes. You know damn well it was your idea. I’m one that’s out of a goddamn nineteen thirty-eight black and white. Non-monogamy didn’t exist then. Anyway, it’s just a fancy word for adultery.” BJ was excited and when she was excited Maggie was alive.

  “I guess it all depends on your point of view.” Maggie was aware the others had all arrived and she and BJ were still airing their dirty laundry. “Besides, that isn’t even what we were arguing about. I don’t care how breeders respond to romance. I’m talking about being out to the whole goddamn universe and how other people respond to that is their responsibility. Not mine.”

  BJ shook her head and added a there’s-no-use-trying roll of her eyes to deflect Maggie’s ire.

  Tara, Lynn and Adrienne stood awkwardly, waiting like school children for their seat assignments.

  “Well sit,” Maggie barked. She waited until they found their individual spots, shook off her anger and motioned Noel to join her by the fireplace.

  “That’s always been your problem, Maggs.” BJ’s voice had a tone of finality to it: this conversation is closed, but I’m going to get the last word in. “You’re trying to educate the universe. You know, some people just aren’t interested.”

  “I don’t give a good shit if they’re interested or not. We’re here and they’re going to have to deal with us.”

  “So shove it down their throats, right?”

  Noel put a hand to Maggie’s elbow to calm her and make peace. “Another friendly debate, girls?”

  Maggie stopped to consider how bent out of shape she could get if she wanted to. “Yeah...yeah.” She let it drop. “Anyone make coffee?”

  Tara jumped in with both feet. “Lynn took care of it for us. Such a shinin’ domestic.”

  “Domesticity is sorely underappreciated in today’s culture. The most fundamental task sheds light on primal survival...healing in its pure simplicity.” The words floated out of Shilo, cloaked in a mysterious air of unreality as if her communication were programed from another planet.

  “Of course, uh...darlin’,” Tara replied, uncertainly. “It’s just... I’m so hopelessly impaired.”

  Maggie leaned to Noel and breathed into her neck, “Must have been all that slavery.”

  “When my mother sent me to finishin’ school, they took one look at me and simply knew I was hopeless. My intellect has always been my greatest asset, but it just flies right out the winda when it finds itself in the kitchen.”

  “We all have different talents,” Shilo intoned. “That’s what maintains harmonious balance.”

  Maggie could barely contain herself as she whispered to Noel again, “Jesus Christ...it’s Nirvana-go-Lucky from Crystal Mountain.” Noel stifled a chuckle as Maggie interjected some order. “OK girls...This is the part where we go around, tell each other about our little lives...and get the dish.”

  ****

  “No, no, no, don’t tell me.” The deep, pleasant, almost melodious voice belongs to a tall, dark-haired stranger. His GQ attire and smoldering sensuality are in stark contrast to Humpwhale Inn’s coastal setting. Claire is equally out of place. She is overdressed in a black cocktail dress, hair swept back into a French knot. She does not look directly at him, but through the mirror behind the bar as she lights a cigarette.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Scorpio.” His sensitive eyes sparkle as he and Claire continue their repartee. When Claire smiles it’s like fireworks. “Astrology’s so...”

  “...cosmic.” They’re both flip.

  “Isn’t it though.” He takes a smooth sip of whiskey. “Isn’t this the part where you’re supposed to guess what I am?”

  “Oh, but I know what you are.”

  ‘“It’s the two-step of communication. One forward, one back, until any progress made is forgotten. Innuendo muddies the water.’” BJ read from her book, The History of Communication. “‘Eskimos have three hundred words that indicate snow. And though we think of English as a complex language, there is a great need for more words to accurately accommodate subtlety, nuance—’”

  ****

  He lights her cigarette. She deftly cups his hand. Her blue eyes catch the gleam from his lighter, royal blue aflame as she smiles, white teeth flashing, her lashes even smiling in invitation. She’s been here a thousand times and when his eyes answer back she knows just how she will turn her head, just how she will angle her neck, so. Coy. The effect works. She can see he’s hooked.

  He considers, changes tactics. “You’re not from around here.” Claire barely nods as if his observation is hardly worthy of note. “And you’re not going to make this easy are you?” He waits. “I guess not.” His face softens, his eyes are genuine. “It’s been a while since I engaged in...uh, verbal tango. And you may have noticed I don’t exactly fit into the fisherman’s motif.”

  “You didn’t strike me as local color.”

  “See how much we have in common?”

  “What would bring a nice cosmopolitan boy like yourself to the rural northwest?”

  “I’m an investment brok
er...I’m actually tying up a rather hefty real estate deal—”

  “Ahhh, raping the land—”

  “— for a non-profit health care facility.”

  Claire salutes his efforts as she is taken down a peg.

  Brian watches her readjust. “Let me guess,” he muses. “A high-powered executive with a chip on her shoulder...tired of playing games.” Claire’s eyes tell him he’s guessed wrong. “A runaway heiress. No. Too Frank Capra.” He peers into her eyes. “But you are hiding. From something. Running, maybe. Getting over a rotten love affair.”

  Claire laughs. “And an imagination.”

  “Well, it keeps things interesting.”

  “Yes.” Claire assesses him as she takes a seductive drag off her cigarette. “I bet it does.”

  ****

  “Well.” Lynn was shy but eager. “I’ve been playing around with this idea for a long time. I mean I’m only a housewife...I’m usually so busy...I’ve only had time for an outline. I hope to get a first draft done while I’m here—while the twins are out of my hair.” Lynn flustered her hands about in her lap. “Anyway, it’s about this planet where men have to go through childbirth in order to be eligible for what I call the alpha society.”

  There was a sort of stunned silence. Lynn watched them expectantly.

  “Why darlin’...how, uh, innovative.” Tara condescendingly patted her on the knee as she picked up a fat flowery-jacketed novel.

  Before anyone could say a word, she opened to a pre-marked page and took a deep breath of anticipation. “‘The heat. Unbearably scorching as his strong, masculine, but gentle fingers touched her dainty hand. Alexandria could not deny the flutterin’ beneath her swelling breasts, for she knew in an instant this handsome stranger could never be an evil traitor at all, but a kind man, of noble birth.’” Tara swallowed, swept away by her own words. “‘Derrick Rochester’s slate-gray eyes bored burnin’ questions through the shock of pitch-black hair that fell over his forehead, givin’ him the appearance of a darin’ pirate. And then she saw his throbbin’ manliness, visible as his lean muscular thighs neared her tremblin’ presence. He held out his hand. The waltz was beginnin’. Dare she dance this dance of forbidden love?’”

  ****

  Their legs are entwined, slithering to the music. They dance well together. Smooth, liquid. A subtle bump and grind. He holds her close, dips her slightly. Their eyes meet. She teases him, glances away.

  Another bar. Another time. The cowboy. She loved cowboys. They were so uncomplicated. They treated you like a queen and were so unstudied in bed. They just did what came naturally. And they smelled of sweet hay, Jack Daniels and sweat.

  It had been a gala celebrity-hosted party where none of the celebrities showed up. Just their names. All of them were the same. Ex-celebrities honoring the nouveau chic. Claire was one of them. Her second novel was already number three and climbing.

  He was coming her way. Definite swagger. She liked that; confidence. He walked up to her, tilted his hat, ever so charming. She wanted to say “Let’s fuck” and cut to the chase, but knew better. He’d prefer a ’lil lady-like maneuvering. Was it worth it? Claire was restless.

  “You’re the writer.”

  “You’re the cowboy.”

  He smiled, underneath a beautiful trimmed Hershey chocolate moustache. His eyes were Reese’s brown to match. Yes she could eat him right up.

  “You write those women’s books, don’t ya?”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a stunt man.”

  “Dangerous.”

  “Excitin’.”

  “You enjoy being on the edge.” It was a statement. Claire learned early on statements were always much more provocative than questions.

  “I like my work, if that’s what you mean.”

  Her voice was soft and silky, a soothing trickle from a fountain. “I’d like to hear all about your work.”

  Later he lit a cigarette, pulled himself up against the double pillows, offered it to her.

  “Ain’t you a surprise?”

  She cocked her brow as she accepted the cigarette.

  “Most wimmin like you, all so cool-like, so untouchable sorta, ain’t exactly a wild bronco ride, if ya catch my drift.”

  “I think I catch it.” She inhaled deeply. When she exhaled her sigh was deep. And her eyes, empty.

  ****

  “Words. Float. Meaningless.” Adrienne’s tone mimicked an Obsession commercial. “Labels-separate. Language-binds. But if there is none?”

  They waited. It appeared the poem was over. Lynn was shell-shocked. “That’s so...”

  “Spiritual,” Shilo supplied as Adrienne came out of her trance.

  “Personally I think we should create a Woman-Language dictionary to incorporate all the nuances we have no verbiage for—”

  “Oh shit!” Maggie cut Adrienne off. “I can see it now. Men pulling out pocketbook translators, stashed right behind the Copenhagen.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a goddamn separatist.” BJ was familiarly annoyed. “Men are just as invested in clearer communication as we are.”

  “Then why do we have such a goddamn time understanding one another?”

  “Because we communicate in two different languages.” Everyone turned to Noel who had spoken for the first time.

  “So they’re different. The only thing important is the language of loving...” Shilo became mystical as BJ rolled her eyes. “...the universal dance, the ‘primal’ connection.”

  “Ya’ll talkin’ about the evil deed?”

  Maggie deflected Tara. “No, she’s talkin’ about the great debate.”

  “Well, as far as I’m concerned that’s all the language we need,” she said in fiery persistence.

  Maggie saw the claws and thought with renewed interest: perhaps there lurked the spirit of a rebel underneath Tara’s ample bosom. “That’s exactly what the cavewoman said after she was raped, I bet.”

  “Maggie!!”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Maggie gulped her beer. “Shilo, your turn.” Shilo didn’t respond. “Earth to Shilo... You know, what you’re working on.”

  “Oh...oh yes.” Shilo rejoined their frequency. “An herbal cookbook with an emphasis on chakra nutrients to heal inner-child deficiencies which can not be accessed through re-birthing.”

  “Oh—Kay.” Even Maggie found herself at a loss for words. “You heard it here, folks.”

  “And what about Dr. Benedict?” Tara needled, “Ya’ll wrote The Naked Truth. Stirred up quite a hornet’s nest.”

  “Noel’s like that.” Maggie’s voice was full of admiration.

  “Tell me, Dahk-tah. Don’t you think some things are better left unsaid?”

  “Yes,” Noel agreed. “And I’ve noticed how well you’ve adhered to that economy of expression in...what was it?”

  “Lust in the Night,” Maggie answered for Tara. Tara was noticeably rebuffed as Noel nonchalantly sipped her tea.

  ****

  Her back glistens in the glow of the motel sign as she rides his muscular form below her. She falls forward. Her breath is ragged, raspy. Her eyes are closed. When she opens them there is a sadness in them. Before the emptiness can fill them up, she leans back. She slides forward as she extricates herself from him, takes a pack of cigarettes from the night stand. She lights up, passes the cigarette to him and exhales. He takes it, tries to touch her face gently, but she moves before he can make contact. She takes the cigarette back and then hides behind a smile. Practiced. So practiced even she barely knows it’s not real.

  The sounds of desperate search echoed from the bathroom. Noel shifted on the couch trying to refocus on the report she was reading but the noises continued and grew louder as Claire rummaged through the contents of the hutch, opening and closing each and every drawer with entirely too much emphasis. Noel watched her, irritation mounting, holding the report futilely in one hand as Claire’s hunt resumed in the kitchenette. Noel’s nerves finally gave out

  �
��Can I help you with something?”

  “Aspirin.”

  Noel got up. Moments later she returned with a bottle, holding it out to Claire with condescension. “Rough night?”

  “No pain,” Claire shrugged, “no gain.”

  “There might be an easier way.” Noel returned to her seat as Claire gingerly slouched into the chair opposite her.

  “You would know, right? That’s what you do isn’t it? Tinker with fucked up psyches.”

  “Hardly a term I’d apply to my practice.” Noel pretended to read the dry, endless text.

  Claire shifted. She attempted to find a position that would remotely make her feel like being inside her skin again, but as the pain behind her eyes continued to twist like burnt pokers in the back of her brain she gave up. She decided to try and make Noel miserable as well. “Let’s just say I’ve never met a shrink who was any less fucked up than the people they are trying to fix.”

  “We’re only human.”

  “If a surgeon was missing a big piece of themselves, like say a hand, or an eye, I’d expect him or her to find another profession.”

  “We’re all missing pieces. It doesn’t mean we can’t help someone else find theirs.”

  Claire chugged some water, throwing back her head as she gulped the aspirin. She tossed the bottle onto the couch near Noel. “You therapists are so good at handing out aspirin...and the obvious.”

  “Well, if it were so obvious, I doubt you’d be struggling so successfully.”

  Noel walked from the cabin, leaving Claire’s swollen head to digest this as well as could be expected at such an ungodly hour of the morning.

  ****

  “I want another room!” Noel grabbed the book from Maggie’s lap.