Chapitre 1
Rebekah stepped along the rue Pavée enjoying of the warm Parisian night. Rays of twilight sun projected their pink flames between the Haussmann buildings of the rue de Rivoli, matching the autumnal red of the tree’s leaves. This year, it seemed Summer had decided to linger until the first days of October, filling the air with an unusual gentle warmth. She paused and breathed for a moment, letting the cool breeze caress her bare shoulders and rush through the folds of her dress making the fine fabric ripple against her skin. She had chosen her favorite summer dress and was taking advantage of these last warm days to wear it before the season of woolen pullovers and heavy coats would turn in. Wearing high-heeled sandals, however, was the dumbest idea she’d ever had in the history of her dumb ideas. “Thank God, those streets are not paved all way to the side walks” she muttered, massaging her aching ankles.
She looked up and froze at the sight of a David’s Star adorning the pediment of the opposite building. She turned away hastily, her heart pumping up blood through her temples. Even though the chances of her mother and synagogue friends being there tonight were slim, she couldn’t help but freaking out like a child caught stealing out of the cookies jar.
Come on girl! Judith only attends holidays services and, by the way, this one isn’t even Sephardi. There’s not a single chance she’d be here and notice you.
She shook her head; if she carried on with this flow of ramble, she would get lost in her usual wicked thoughts and irrational fears. She pulled herself together and gathered her courage, but quickened her pace, willing to take no further risk and flee the Jewish part of the neighborhood as fast as possible.
Way ahead, fancy bars terraces were now filled with a laughing, partying, joyful crowd: party of friends, straight or gay couples... mostly gay though. Young men with tight T-shirts proudly showing off hours of expensive fitness training, tomboy lesbians in baggy pants and Dr Martens shoes, Fems with glossy lipsticks and sexy dresses,... They all formed the cheery Friday evening crowd of le Marais, the LGBT district of Paris. Her gaze traveled the crowd.
Why on earth did they have to conform so much to the cliché in order to be themselves?
Rebekah winced in disdain, but she secretly envied them. They all seemed so self confident and easy going. She loathed herself for being so closeted and self-repressed; but those inhibited feelings and repressed behaviors had to disappear tonight. Tonight, she felt ready for a big change of character. She had made up her mind: tonight was D-Day. Or should I say N-Night? Whatever…
Tonight was the Night. Tonight, she would to put herself out there. She had left the high school right after her last class, declining her fellow teachers’ invitation for their usual Friday after–work drink. She had even skipped her mother’s Sabbath dinner, claiming, ultimate sacrilege, that she had work to finish. She had put on this spaghetti strap summer dress - her favorite - and those damn high heels - definitely not her favorite any more. She had taken a crowded rush hour subway to Saint–Paul’s station. Now, at the border of le Marais, a stone’s throw from rue des Ecouffes and its lesbian bars, she was too close to get cold feet. She was tired of hiding behind her keyboard, browsing countless dating websites, looking for some sad awkward fuck. She wanted something real, genuine, a face–to–face encounter with a real lesbian.
She passed by a group of butch girls and one of them, a cute brunette, turned back and gave her an appreciative glance. She blushed and blinked, looking down. The brunette smiled and winked at Rebekah, which made her blush even more.
Oh come on girl, Don’t be such a prude! She is real, this is real life flirting. Isn’t it what you’ve been looking for? (She paused, pondering) What am I looking for? Certainly not another uptight straight woman, or pretending to be. I’m fed up with straight women seeking for experiment or closeted lesbian pretending to be straight women seeking for experiment. (She paused again, reflecting on all her twisted past experiences) But definitely not a love affair: I’m not one to date. No, I yearn for a one–night stand with an out lesbian. For once, a woman who is sensual and comfortable with her sexuality. For once... not someone like me.
She was rambling again! These constant debates with her inner self should end now.
It’s time for change, remember!
She stopped in front of the bar she had chosen for her big steps forward, and challenged the facade with brave eyes. Let’s change character and face her fears!
*
* *
The smoked-glass windows of the lavender store–front concealed the interior of the bar. A sign, above the front door, stated in large pink and violet letters: “Love”, “Life”, “Keep cool and come party!”. In the background, the L word was repeated again and again with various fonts and sizes. Rebekah had been staring at it for ages, hypnotized by the shameful word repeated over and over: Lesbian, Lesbian, Lesbian... She shocked her head. She had to enter now. There were too many Jewish locations in that part of the neighborhood, Sephardi and Ashkenazim this time. The danger of bumping into a family acquaintance here was real. Plus she couldn’t stand on those high heels any longer. “Okay, let’s come in and keep cool, as they say on this stupid sign. Why do they have to be so blunt and straightforward, for God sake!” she muttered. Gathering all her courage, she breathed in deeply, pulled the door and entered the bar.
She instantly regretted that bold move. The place was tragically deserted except for an impressive butch, covered in tattoos and piercings, sitting at the counter. She had come too early in the evening, and this was so typical of her than all she wanted at this moment was for the earth (or rather the counter) to swallow her up. She could just disappear and wait for...
For what? A white rabbit and a magical hole so you can escape life within an imaginary world?
She resisted the urge to run away and, moving forward with unsteady aching steps, she took a seat at the counter. The bartender approached, leaned and whispered, “Are you sure you’re in the right place?”
– “Please don’t give me the do–you–know–this–is–a–lesbian–bar warning. I am perfectly aware, thanks. There’s a huge sign claiming it on the front.” She paused then asked, genuinely worried, “Don’t tell me it’s because of the dress. We’re in a post L Word time, if you must know. I don’t have to wear baggy pants or whatever butch attire to declare myself...”
She broke off. After all, why would she justify herself to a complete stranger? The bartender grinned.
– “It’s not about the dress. The dress is adorable, you definitely should wear that dress, darling! It’s just that you seemed a little, out of... Well, forget what I said, that was uncalled for. What can I get you, love?”
She had looked through Rebekah from head to toe, lingering discreetly on the neckline of her dress. Rebekah covered up her blushing by pretending to be fascinated by the beverage list hanging on the wall behind. It offered, indeed, a wide choice of wines, beers, liquors and cocktails.
A voiced interrupted her train of thought.
– “Bring the Sexy Dress Lady a glass of Kir cocktail. It’s on me!”
The tattooed and pierced client had pulled her stool besides hers. Rebekah hated this bossy way of ordering for her, without any regards for her needs or desires. Plus this nickname “Sexy Dress Lady”! That was very much uncalled for. What’s all the fuss with that dress by the way? Am I overdressed? Or worse, not dressed enough?!
She looked around to gauge the bar’s clientele. Did she stand out that much? The place was empty except for three women sitting near the door, whom she hadn’t noticed on her way in. They were dressed in a casual, peppy way. The blonde facing her immediately caught her eye: she was gorgeous with a pretty pixie haircut revealing the most graceful nape of a neck. Golden locks fell to the side, partially concealing her gaze, except for one bright blue eye fixed on her. A strange heat invaded her body. She whirled around, her cheeks flushed. She breathed out, regaining her composure and raised a finger at her annoying neighbor in a warning.
– “Please don’t pay nor order for me. I am perfectly able to make my own choices.”
The bossy woman nodded and stepped back reluctantly, “I’m sorry”. Rebekah bit her lips, she might have been too harsh.
“Listen, it was nice of you but I’m not looking for...” she paused. What was the nicest choice of words to reject somebody with kindness? “I’m not looking for drink advice.”
– “They happen to make delicious happy hour cocktails if you don’t want to loosen up your purse strings too much. This is not a drink advice by the way, just a friendly suggestion.”
The voice was soft, with a husky, sexy tone, speaking in perfect French with a slight, adorable American accent. The blond beauty had approached the counter. She pointed a finger to the vacant seat next to Rebekah, “May I? I don’t want to intrude”. Rebekah nodded, breathless, unable to utter an intelligible word. She cast a questioning look at the empty table near the door.
– “My friends had to leave early. I’m all alone. I’m Kimberley by the way.”
– “Rebekah, nice to meet you.”
Nice to meet you! That was the understatement of the century!
She relished the chance to grasp a closer look at the slender, snub nose that gave her a pert air and the adorable dimples at the corners of her mouth. It should be such a pleasure to tease them with my tongue and kiss that delicate mouth...
She had to tear herself away from the tempting view of the soft, plump pink lips and focused back to the beverage list.
On the wall, keep your eyes and the wall! Stay cold blood and self-controlled!
– “Sorry, what were you saying?”
Rebekah’s eyes widened as she panicked, have I just spoken out loud?
She was loosing her mind near that woman, she really needed to cool off.
– “I’ll have a cocktail then, something strong. What do you suggest?”, she asked.
– “Strong, that’s interesting! I’d go for something sweet, but if you like it strong, you should have a dry Martini or a Bourbon Aperol. The latter isn’t on the list, but Steph can make you one to satisfy your craving. What do you fancy?”
Rebekah looked at her, puzzled. Did she intended to sound so suggestive and damn sexy?
But Kimberley was smiling back with a perfectly innocent look.
– “Let’s go for Bourbon Aperol then” she said with a suddenly hoarse voice. She cleared her throat, “Hum, you said you preferred it sweet. What will you have then?”
– “A Sex on the Beach.”
Rebekah nearly choked, but recovered, and managed to order with a rather normal voice.
– “So you’re a regular?” she asked, and as Kimberley wondered, she added, “You know the bartender by her name.”
– “Oh that. I used to come every evening or so, years ago. Steph was already a customer here before she took over management of the bar. But the place has changed over the years and I changed my scene, or I grew older.” She whispered in the most adorable way, “Way too many twenty somethings, don’t you think?”
Rebekah looked around. At this hour, the bar was indeed filled up with girls in their early twenties. She remembered coming here once when she had just turned eighteen. She had ordered a Coke, gulped it down, and fled, avoiding that scene in a typical Rebekah way. The setting was completely different from back then. The DJ booth, that used to be in a basement room, had been moved to the back of the room and played loud techno music. The decor was a modern minimalist style with bright colors, shiny plastic furniture, and the metal counter top was covered with a matte glass slab. It was elegant but a bit cold and the place had lost its old charm.
– “Do you recall the artificial grass on the ceiling?” she asked Kimberley.
– “I do. The owner also changed the name; Les Scandaleuses” she uttered the name with a bit of nostalgia, “I miss the old name. It sounded fearless with a hint of scandal. "3W" is less appealing... W for women I guess.” She paused, “I’ve never get the grass rug on the ceiling. That was really weird.”
– “Well, you know... grass, because we say in French that lesbians graze on the grass.”
– “What? I can’t hear you”
Music was now playing at full blast and it was nearly impossible to have a perceptible discussion. Kimberley leaned over and Rebekah moved closer to her to whisper in her ear. An intoxicating scent of jasmine with a hint of vanilla tickled her nostrils. A delicious chill ran through her spine down to her pelvic. The proximity of that woman caused her unexpected and uncontrolled sensations. She grasped for some air and came closer to her, her lips almost touching the pale skin. She closed her eyes, resisting the urge to kiss her.
– “The grass rug was a reference to the lawn eaters”, she whispered.
Since Kimberley remained perplexed, she explained, with a voice suddenly gone hoarse: “It’s a French expression. A lawn eater is (hesitating)... the rug muncher who makes you come.”
She watched her reaction and saw with pleasure that she was no longer the one with reddened cheeks. Kimberley hid her face in her hands, then tilted her head back, and burst out laughing. Rebekah decided she wanted to hear that laugh at least one more time in her lifetime. Kimberley bent over and whispered back, “Would you come to my place? I have an old brandy since you like it hard.” She grinned and added “I’m just referring to liquors of course.”