Chapitre 2
Kimberley sipped her drink listening absentmindedly at her friends’ cheerful conversation. She had been reluctant to go out at first, but she had to admit that chilling and chatting was all she needed after a hard day at work. Not that her work was particularly difficult or arduous; in fact, she felt privileged to be able to make a living from her passion: research and knowledge. Even so, after a full day of writing and deep thought, she appreciated the lightness and good humor of a friendly chat with Joy and Mary–Ellen. They had decided to return to the bar where they first met, and that had been their lair throughout their student years. She smiled at the recollection of that first year in Paris, right after Harvard College. She had dropped out of law school, and put as many miles as possible between herself and her family’s aspirations by moving from the U.S. to France. She remembered that first year in Paris: the romantic images she had of the French capital cruelly torn to shreds by the raw, simple reality of life in a big city. She had felt so lonely and eager to fit in the French society at the time. How ironic that the first true friends she met were American students just like herself! She smiled with a melancholic tenderness as she recalled their first meeting in that same bar and the bold, funny way Joy had made a pass on her. Joy fondly grabbed her by the shoulders and asked with a grin.
– “Are you thinking about our first encounter?”
Amazing how that woman could read her mind as if it was an open book. She found it a little strange and frightening that, now that they were just friends, they understood each other and seemed to be on the same wavelength, whereas communication had always been nearly impossible when they were having an affair. Joy shook her shoulders playfully almost causing her to spill her drink.
– “You were so disappointed because we were American, remember? This one really wanted to mingle with French girls, and only French girls!”
– “Hey, be gentle! This one wanted to socialize, fit in and improve her French. What was wrong with that?”
– “You’ve always been perfectly fluent in French, Kim. We were all deadly jealous.”
– “With just enough of that sexy American accent to make all the beautiful French girls fall for you!” added Mary–Ellen, “I, for my part, resented you for that.”
They all formed a happy bunch of hopeful baby activists at the time. Joy who had grew her black hair Afro style to mirror her hero: Angela Davis. Sweet and timid Mary–Ellen who used to lay down in every AIDS die-in just to approach a girl she would never dare to talk to. Kimberley who had decided to follow the path of her heroes, Michel Foucault and Monique Wittig, and register for a master’s degree, then a PhD in social sciences in Paris... as far as possible from her uptight, Republican, Southern family.
They remained silent for a while, daydreaming, watching the young patrons as they settled in, chattering happily, ready to party. Joy finally broke the silence.
– “God, they’re babies!”
– “Well, we were young too at the time” reflected Mary–Ellen.
Joy turned to them, “Remember how much we wanted to flee Bush America? We really didn’t see what was ahead of us then.”
They all sighted blankly then Joy cried out, shaking her head in daze.
– “Polls predicted that Hillary would win the popular vote. What went so wrong?”
– “They also said Trump was far behind in Florida and got it wrong. Either way, popular vote doesn’t matter if you don’t win the Electoral College” added Mary–Ellen always eager to discuss politics.
Then came the big discussion, the eternal "why". Why is America going backwards? Why would this land of freedom deny some people the basic right to exist? Kimberley sighed and let her gaze wander, she was tired of dwelling on the disaster or American politics especially since this debate could go on forever. It was too depressing. It reminded her of her parents who had voted for Trump and were ready to re-elect him again. It reminded her of all the disappointment she had felt in them and their foolish, stubborn loyalty to the Republican party. Her mother had been true to herself in a way and showed her true colors. She was this uptight, faithful Methodist with rigid principles: ’hate the sin, not the sinner’. But her father, her beloved father, always loving and understanding, in whose arms she would take refuge when she was heartbroken... His vote had been a betrayal. He had voted against the Gays, against his own daughter, despite all the love he had for her, and she had not been able to forgive him.
Kimberley sighed and closed her eyes, resisting the tears coming under her eyelid. She hadn’t called him in ages. She missed his voice but she couldn’t forgive. She shook her head, chasing the depressing thoughts. She looked towards the counter and noticed... Her. A breathtaking oriental beauty was sitting there. The most attractive woman she’d ever seen. She had long natural curly hair arranged in a messy ponytail. Deep dark curls fell over her shoulders caressing the bare olive skin in the most sensual way. She wore a long flared dress with thin straps in a printed handkerchief fabric that gave her some mysterious Gypsy air. Kimberley couldn’t take her eyes off her olive skin and the fine curve of her legs that could be guessed under the slightly transparent fabric of her dress. She must have been in her early thirties and stood out in the middle of the bar’s barely–twenty patrons.
– “We could debate forever, but truth is that we mistrusted the polls and didn’t want to see what was in front of us. Remember those huge partisan crowds showing up for Trump at rallies across the country?”
– “What happened to the American white working class so this guy got such a strong voter base? Kim, what do you think? Kimberley!”
Kimberly, unaware of her friends’ political debate, was traveling from the long elegant Greek nose to the tempting cleavage, then down along the feminine curves and shapely thighs to the thin graceful ankles.
– “Ground control to Major Kim? Sociological insight needed?” called out Joy, waving before her eyes.
– “What’s wrong with you? You didn’t even bounce back on a social class issue”, wondered Mary–Ellen heading towards whatever had caught her attention then, noticing Rebekah, she froze.
– “Oh I see. Jeez, she’s stunning!”
Joy suddenly threw banknotes on the table and stood up.
– “Oh God, time passes! Mary, we should go. Mare! Close your mouth, you’re drooling.”
She took the redhead by the arm and led her towards the exit as Kimberley protested limply.
– “Guys, don’t go. I’m sorry. You don’t have to go. I’ll behave”.
– “Behave!” exclaimed Joy, “We don’t want you to behave, Kim. You might be The One who will ward off our sex–deprived curse. We have to go! I don’t want to be in the way of that milestone.”
Mary–Ellen stroking her chin tenderly encouraged her : “Yes, we have to. And you have to go for that stunning woman... who’s staring back at you by the way. So go for her and make us proud, sweetie.”
They left hastily, leaving her alone.
*
* *
Kimberly walked hesitantly towards the counter. She had witnessed the stark way she had turned down the tattooed woman and felt suddenly timid. What if she’d rejected her? She hesitated an instant, took a deep breath, gathered her courage and based on the principle that who tries nothing, get nothing, she spoke.
– “They happen to make delicious happy hour cocktails if you don’t want to loosen up your purse string too much. This is not a drink advice by the way, just a friendly suggestion.”
She had taken her most cool and endearing tone. Kimberley pointed the vacant seat next to her. “May I? I don’t want to intrude”.
Rebekah nodded and cast a questioning look at the empty table near the door.
– “My friends had to leave early. I’m all alone. Perfect, now she’d think I’m desperate... I’m Kimberley by the way”. She tried to sound aloof and casual.
– “Rebekah, nice to meet you.”
Her voice sounded like sweet music to her ears and brought a smile to Kimberly’s lips and... an unusual warm wave into her heart. Rebekah was still studying the beverage list and she seized this opportunity to grab a longer look at her. She couldn’t take her eyes off her strong-featured yet delicate visage. She was a classic beauty with an exotic je ne sais quoi. Kimberley decided she was a mysterious Oriental queen straight out of an Arabian Nights tale. Rebekah parted her lips and mumbled indistinctly, Kimberley fought against the immediate urge to capture them with a kiss.
– “Sorry, what were you saying?”
Rebekah suddenly looked unbalanced and fragile. Kimberley’s heart jumped, she longed to hold her tight and cuddle her for comfort. Brand new and overwhelming desires were running through her mind near that woman and she needed to cool off. At this moment, Rebekah spoke again and her voice stroked her ear in the most sensual way.
– “I’ll have a cocktail then, something strong. What do you suggest ?”
She uttered the first thing that came trough her upset brain.
– “Strong, that is interesting! I’d go for sweet but, if you like it strong, you could get a dry Martini or Bourbon Aperol. The latter is not on the list but Steph can arrange one to satisfy your craving. What do you fancy?”
Rebekah gave her a puzzled look. Kimberley bit her lips, she had sounded way more suggestive than she intended to. She smiled back in a pitiful attempt to seem candid.
– “Let’s go for Bourbon Aperol then” Rebekah’s voice had gone hoarse. She cleared her throat and turned to Kimberley asking, “What will you have?”
– “A Sex on the Beach”.
Kimberley was out of character there.
“Where are those pick-up lines coming from, for God sake? I really need to pull myself together or she’s gonna think I’m some sort of lesbian Casanova” she thought. But at the same time came to her mind insane and disturbing images: mixed fantasies of marriage, tender caresses and wild fucking. Cool off, girl! Cool off, right now!
– “So you’re a regular?” The question snapped Kimberley out of her reverie. “You know the bartender by her name.” She glanced at Steph who was watching her with a mocking look.
– “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 scene.” She whispered “Way too many twenty somethings now!”
Rebekah looked around, “Do you recall the artificial grass on the ceiling?” she said much to Kimberley’s relief, glad to let the conversation shift to less dangerous topics.
– “I do. They also changed the name: Les Scandaleuses. I miss the old name, it sounded fearless with a hint of scandal. 3W is less appealing... W stands for women I guess.” She paused. “I’ve never liked the grass rug on the ceiling. It was weird.”
– “Well, you know..., since we say in French that lesbians graze on the grass.”
Music was now playing at full blast. Kimberley leaned over her: did she say something about lesbians and grass?
– “What? I can’t hear you”.
Rebekah moved dangerously closer and whispered in her ear, her lips almost caressing her skin. A thrilling shiver immediately ran through her entire body. The proximity of this woman made her tremble and loose balance. She had never felt such an attraction before, for anyone.
– “The grass rug was a reference to lawn eaters.”
Kimberley looked at her, she still didn’t get it. She couldn’t think any more, her mind was a blur. Then Rebekah launched, “It’s a French expression. A lawn eater is (she hesitated)... the rug muncher who makes you come.”
The sentence exploded in her ear like a bomb whose shock wave struck down her fragile balance. Kimberley hid her reddened face in her hands, tilted her head back, and laughed nervously. Then, driven by a sudden bravery, she leaned over and whispered.
– “Would you come to my place? I have an old brandy since you like it hard.” She grinned: “I’m just referring to liquors of course.”