Beautiful to the Bone (The Enuis Trilogy #1) (19 page)

What? Please her. It feels so . . . yes.

My body was vivid and my eyes closed, but I easily found Nan’s mouth and moved luxuriously around in it, my tongue attacking exploring and tasting everything —teeth, roof, gums, lips— all at once,
none of it enough,
thick and warm, bitter —
even more addicting
— and tugging me into submission
. I’m willing. Bliss?
Her touch was at once
tender
, then
harsh, clawing at me
, and
in command
, a tight
wonderful
grip over my shoulders, pulling down the front of my dress,
without hesitation, without concern for tearing the dress, without concern for anything.

Nan lifted me up, cupping my breasts, licking my nipples, sucking them
hard. My belly
.
Share!
Please her
.
Whatever she wants
. I wanted
my
mouth
anywhere on Nan’s body.

“Come,” said Nan, the only sound I heard.

She pulled off her own clothes and directed me to the immense chaise lounge where Levi brought me
safely down to his body
, now
naked too
.
The three of us. Pressed against each other.
Hands moved along ridgelines and into caverns,
tropical and sticky and smelling dangerous.
I wanted my
tongue traveling there, tasting along animal, redolent landscapes.

They too!
One of them ran nails across my back.
Yours, to do as you wish
. Someone sucked my nipples
stiff.
A hand probing, opening my thighs,
I accept
. I spread.
Levi’s warm fleshy head in my lap,
pleading,
his tongue lavishing
inside
me. Yes.
Nan offering
—no, forcing!— her magnificent vulva. Yes. My tongue penetrating her magnificence, my tongue acknowledging her magnificence. Viscous. Exquisite brine. Unsafe, complex, sweet. Breath away, somewhere. Nowhere. Levi! Levi!
And then Levi, his member
in my mouth, rigid
. Nan both hands on my mound, elbows forcing me open,
no resistance, no resistance
. In my bush,
sucking my lips
,
engorging
them,
plunging deeper.
I arched.
Fingers
ruling my perineum. Nan! Cries. All of us.
My mouth full of
whatever Levi wanted to give me. Please.
And then it came,
his gift,
a stream
of chalky otherworld velvet.
And my own body
climbing
, climbing to places I could never have imagined or I’d put away, an ecstatic kingdom, Freyja’s kingdom that I’d almost believed and now knew existed. Freyja! I shook violently —
luminescence
—
emptying, emptying, emptying,
in cascading spasms; exquisite
emptying.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“Another?” Levi handed me the next shot of tequila. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Dreamy, exhausted, like I’d been washed clean from the inside out. “That was . . .”

“Recherché. You liked that, didn’t you? Welcome to the family.” He sat across from me on the chaise, completely naked, Mr. Peanut, his own glass in hand, his cock still glistening with victory. Nan stood naked, beatific, above him, holding his dark satin robe.

The velvet sofa teased along my spine and thighs and brushed against my wet vulva. Someone had draped the silky pink kimono over my shoulders, with me half-draped over the sofa’s armrest.

“Drink in celebration,” he said as Nan joined him to cuddle on the chaise, both beaming at me.

“I’ve never had a night like that.” I took another sip.

“You’re happy?” he asked.

“Yes, I guess I am.” I’m sure my crescents were showing.

“Good, because the night is young.”

“Really? I think I’ll be going to sleep; it’s almost midnight. I’m pretty loaded.”
The most loaded I’d ever been or even knew I could be
. I snorted.

“We’ve invited some friends over.”

“You’ll like them,” injected Nan. Her unwrapped body was as magnificent as her face. Whoever’s genes combined to make her . . .

“Friends? I’m not used to being with a bunch of people. This was . . .” I arced my arm over them and the room, “. . . wonderful. I had no idea . . .but I, I’ll be self-conscious and . . . I don’t really want to get dressed.” A contrite smile.

Nan looked at Levi and sat back to hear his answer.

“Isn’t being naked beautiful?” he asked.

“Yes, I guess it is.” I remembered being naked with Harold.

“Then cheers. Consider it research.” He sipped from his glass and passed it to Nan. He tilted his head playfully at me.

“Maybe just one more before I go to bed.” I took another sip.

There was a knock at the door.

“Oh, I better—” I tried to raise myself off the couch.

“You
stay
,” commanded Levi, throwing his robe on and heading for the door.

Anyway, I was too spongy to move. A deep sigh.
Don’t let these people down. They’re your friends; please them.
I did feel good.
You won’t fail them like you failed Harold
.
I plucked at the kimono.

“If it makes you more comfortable,” said Nan, completely naked and making no effort to cover herself. “But it’s really not necessary.”

“Eunis,” said Levi as if we’re meeting a friend on the street,
as if I were a normal-looking person meeting a friend on the street, fully dressed
, “this is Marguerite.” Marguerite stood like a statue, a thin woman, probably sixty or older, with a face-lift that accentuated her age, orange-like-a-first-aid-kit-dyed hair, and especially large, perfectly sculpted breasts revealed despite her full-length fox coat. She leaned over and kissed Nan on the lips and Nan ran her hand under the coat and appropriated Marguerite’s ass. I was astounded but also agreeable to it, as if it all made sense, as if I wanted some too.

“Aah,” said Marguerite. “So nice to feel you again  . . .
Nan
.”

Yes, mimed Nan reciprocating.

Marguerite turned to me. “And to meet you too, Eunis. We’ve heard so much about you.” Suspended in a gentle wet solution I felt no need to respond. Levi took Marguerite’s coat revealing her ample chest and a simple but obviously expensive lace slip. He waited for instruction.

“Where will Eunis be?” Marguerite asked.

“Not yet sure.” Levi waited patiently.

“Then throw it anywhere,” said Marguerite. She turned back to me in my pink kimono. “You certainly are unique.” An appreciative eye blink to Nan. “But that kimono hides the beauty beneath it. Why bother? And I would say that pink is not your color. I’d like to see you in black. Do you have anything like that, Nan?”

“Happy New Year, Marguerite,” said Nan.

“Oh, and Happy New Year,” added Marguerite, smiling at me.
Salvador Dali
flashed through my mind; a fragment from the encyclopedia and reading to Nemo.

“What’s your pleasure? Let’s let Eunis settle in a bit.”

“Of course,” said Marguerite. “I brought some goodies to share.” She opened her left hand revealing six small capsules of blue and green, the same colors as Nan’s tattoo.

“Levi,” called Nan, “please bring Marguerite some liquid. Party’s about to begin.” Marguerite sat next to me on the sofa and smiled. Teeth as white as an egg.

“Aah,” said Levi, quickly arriving with another glass. As he handed it to Marguerite I spotted the entwined blue serpent and green mermaid tattooed on Levi’s shoulder and spine. Then he bent and kissed me, his tongue in my mouth. I could smell myself on his lips; I could taste myself on his tongue. I found myself freely responding. He stroked my hair. I leaned into the sofa,
the magnificent sofa
.

The doorbell chimed.
Heavenly
. More visitors. This time a twenty-something named Maurice with a trim body, a shock of prematurely alabaster hair, and the face of a rare bird. Spectacular beryl green eyes. With him Roberto, a smaller, broad chested, thickly muscled black man, probably in his thirties —hard to say— but
handsome.

“Welcome.” I heard Levi through my blissful fog.

“Here, dear.” Marguerite placed the blue/green capsule on my tongue and brought the tequila to my lips. “Things only get better.”

When I opened my eyes Freyja had touched the entire room. It glowed edgelessly, and it rippled as certainly as the Minnesota ponds and the florescent green corridor of pines leading to Lake Itasca. The walls whispered to me to rise up, to explore their tactility, and I found myself in the Tapestries Hallway pressing my body against the mermaid tapestry, hoping to enter it.

“You must be Eunis,” said an eye-catching strawberry blonde in her forties, naked from the waist down. She smelled of oranges. “I’m Cherry.”

I laughed. “It’s wonderful to see you, Cherry.”

“Come with me.” She put her hand in mine and, as we ran down the hallway laughing, away from the living room, a voice in my head repeated
come with me
, and then many voices,
outside my head (?)
gathered in the apartment. Cherry and I sped through the African Hallway where primitive faces blurred as we passed, her legs equal to mine.

“Here” said Cherry. It was The Cotton Candy Room.

“Oooo.” I was breathless. “I like this room.”

“Me too.” Cherry hauled me into the lowly lit room. A man and a woman already in the bed sat up —indistinguishable, like twins; monozygotic divided. They hooted and rolled to the left to make room for Cherry and me. The woman fell out of the bed with a thud and laughed in a high-pitched titter as her companion helped her up.

“C’mon.” Cherry led me onto the massive bed, and as the gleeful lookalikes undulated out of the room, Cherry snatched the pink kimono off me and flung it to the floor, revealing me to myself in the mirror. She kissed me all over and I watched myself being kissed. My body
was
quite attractive.

Cherry worked down my belly, her body from behind reflected in the mirror. Her body was lovely too. Flawless skin. Big thighs. Full fleshy buttocks. From her reddish blonde patch, Cherry’s labia hung like fruit
.

All together, we were watery.
Shimmering. Colors everywhere. Perfection.
Let’s see all the loveliness.
I pulled Cherry’s top off but she resisted fully exposing herself, staying pressed down on me.

“Let me see you.” I seized Cherry by her thick strawberry blond mane. “Let’s see all of you, dear Freyja.” She had a twisted, childlike expression and shy, which turned diffident, remorseful. I looked down. She had scars but no breasts.

“Oh.” My stomach dropped. Cherry’s face contracted in panic. “Oh,” I said again, and gently stroking her, I began licking her and smothering her chest in kisses. I had entered a world where I was used and useful, where I could sample beauty without recrimination.
This was joy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Laughter. Opening my eyes told me nothing about the time of day. Parched, I got a whiff of burnt candle wax. My room. My body vibrated.
Wow
. Exhaustion prevented me from sitting up yet my body, despite my thirst, was sinuous, like I was still submersed. I stretched among the tangled sheets.

A man’s shirt hung at the end of the bed —an elegant cowboy shirt, embroidered black and white with a light blue yoke and purple piping, which reminded me of my half-brother, Lyle. I pushed him from my mind and slipped it on. When I got to my feet I was unsteady but relieved that the shirt covered my thighs midway.
Reflexive modesty
. I snapped the buttons closed and, following friendly laughter, made my way gingerly through the empty but war-torn living room to the kitchen.

“Ah.” Nan spotted me and lifted a cup of coffee. “Happy New Year.”

“New Year,” I repeated dazed, shy. Beside Nan in her emerald robe was the small black hunky one. And spread out on the table, my 15 years of scrapbook celebrity clippings, organized by body part.

“Roberto,” he reminded me. “We met last night.”

“Yes.” I was hazy, regarding again my photos.

“Good, you remember me.”

“Did we . . . ?”

“No, we didn’t. Marguerite’s such a hog. But I hope so the next time.”

Next?

He crossed the kitchen, put down his cup, kissed my hand.
Chivalrous, thank goodness.
He turned to Nan. “I’d better get going.” She stooped, he pecked her on the cheek. “As always, the perfect evening. Everything,” he acknowledged me, “so perfect.”

Be appreciative
. I returned his smile.
A whole new world
.
But different —
I smiled to myself—
than Disney’s Little Mermaid
.

As he closed the door I turned pointedly to Nan who returned a sullen stare. “What are my research photos doing here?”

“Research?” She laughed.

“They were in my room.”

“Oh, I thought they’d be fun to look at.”

“So you’re willing to give me feedback?”

“On what?”

I handed Nan her coffee cup to allow for more space on the tabletop. I spread the clippings more evenly.

“Okay,” I said grounding myself. “Pick your most beautiful and tell me why. What part of their face does it for you?”

“They’re all pretty cute.”

“Not cute. Beautiful. Forget as much as possible their movie roles. I get that this isn’t
uber
scientific, but just do it.”

“Right.” She raised her eyebrows, seeing that I was serious. “Okay.”

When she finished creating her Beautiful pile, I asked, “Is there a common characteristic of the beauties? Is it Jennifer Lawrence’s hair? Her eyes? Her mouth?”

“Her innocence.”

“Hmm, okay. But that’s not a facial feature.”

Nan shrugged, gazed into the living room.

Heat kindled in my belly. “You didn’t claim Leonardo DiCaprio. What’s wrong with his face?”

“Shit, I dunno. I’d sleep with him.” She swung her head in mock weariness between the pile and me. I stood my ground. “Too much baby face.” She rubbed the back of her neck, aggravated too.

“Specific part.”

“Chin. Put a beard on it.”

“Why do you like Penelope Cruz?”

“Shit! I’d sleep with her too!”

“Because?”

“Her lips! And I’d also take Maggie Q . . .”

“She’s not in this group!”

“ . . .for her legs. Give me good body parts!” Then swiping the photos off the table, she said, “I’m done!”

I wet my lips. I ran teeth over tongue.
Breathe
. One by one I retrieved the photos off the floor. “Alright, okay.”
Breathe
. “But some of them are less beautiful than others.”

“Not really. You can see even from Roberto that
anyone
can be perfect.” Her deep pool eyes were frozen solid.

Really?
“Oh come on, he was just being kind.”

The brooding slipped away from her face restoring
its
perfection, as if a tide had reanimated a beach. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“What?”

“Last night.”

“I think so. But it was a bit much.” I reached for mooring, the coffee pot.

She reached her arm across, obstructing me. “A bit much?”

Part of me wanted to grab the pot and smash it across her spectacular face.
Where did that come from?
“Well, for me, a country girl.”

“Did you learn something about beauty?”

I detected sarcasm. “I’m not sure, I think I did, maybe.”

“Do you still think I’m beautiful?”

My tongue moved along the inside of my cheek. “Yes, of course.”

“Which part? Of my face?”

Be the scientist, not the adversary
. “Your eyes. Your lips. Your eyebrows. The way your hair frames it all.”

“Okay.” She removed her arm from the pot. “Okay.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” Just that quickly, she was childlike again.

“Did I meet Atara?”

Nan wagged her head, smiled. But she’d stiffened, almost imperceptibly. “Atara?”

“Yes, Marguerite seemed to think I knew her. I think so, so much drifted in and out last night.”

“There was no Atara here. Marguerite was fucked up like the rest of us, like you. I’m sure you imagined many things. And I hope you’ll keep imagining. We love having you here.”

I felt unsure and it must have shown.

“Really,” she said. “I’m sorry if I was short.” She looked at the clock. “I’m going to take a shower, okay? It’s almost six o’clock.”

“Six! Six at night?” Having no windows was disorienting. Experimenting was disorienting.

“Yes.” Her eyes heavy, embraced me. “Drink a lot of water this evening.” She patted my shoulder as she exited the kitchen.

I cradled the coffee cup in both hands. She was a peculiar one. But hadn’t that been the case with every person I’d gotten to know? And I shouldn’t forget, I reminded myself, how considerate she’d been to me.

I wandered to the living room. It was still enchanting although after the last twenty-four hours it was terribly messy and disorganized with ashtrays spilling over, pillows askew, and glasses and bottles left on shelves and the floor. I started to pick up a pillow.

“Quite a party.” Levi entered the room dressed in casual business slacks, a dress shirt, and holding his briefcase. “You were a hit! I guess you’re not as shy as you made out.”

A hit?
“Well, you certainly made me feel comfortable.”

“Mmm, yes.”

“Luckily, New Years comes just once a year.”

“Not in this house.” He walked over to me. “May I kiss you?”

After last night that seemed appropriate. “Sure.”

He leaned over and, running his fingers up my left thigh, kissed me, rather tenderly. “You’re quite a woman.”

I couldn’t pull away —I’d spill the coffee. I spoke into his chest. “We should talk, don’t you think? That was very intimate. I’ve never done anything like that. I want to get to know who you are, what you do, what’s important to you.”

He removed his hand. “I think you already know. It’s the same as you. Anyhow, I’ve got to go.” He checked his wristwatch.

“It’s New Year’s Day.”

“Got to be somewhere in the morning.”

“On January second?”

“Actually a very busy season; new product coming in all the time. Gotta go. Nan’ll take care of you until I get back. Bye.” He put his free arm around me and gave me a gentle squeeze. “See you soon. You’re a sweet woman and delicious and don’t you forget it.”

He was quite a man. I’d never dreamed of such a relationship, but who was I to know? And on his return I would ask for his support.

***

While Nan was in the shower I slipped quietly out of the apartment, hood drawn, imagining a cleansing swim at the Ondine. I left a note saying I’d be back. I didn’t want a chaperone, I needed to get out, alone. I needed time to think.

So many people, so many looking at me
. The way they looked at me. It
felt
good. I was blushing. And Levi and Nan had been great but . . . but what?
Couldn’t I just be happy
?
For once!

A block away from their apartment I began phoning Elizabeth. The line was consistently busy and dumping to a message: the mailbox was full. I kept walking, invigorated by the crisp New Year’s air. After the fifth or sixth try at reaching Elizabeth, I resolved to walk all the way to her place after my swim, checking the entire time to see if anyone followed me.

Forty laps completed the delicious unbottling of my body and the maintenance on my psyche that had started at Nan’s the night before, a grand way to start the New Year! Reinvigorated by my frolic in the pool, and with almost no one on the street, I found the walk to Elizabeth’s that much sweeter, dreaming of DNA samples, extracted efficiently from the swamp. There had been many attractive people at Levi and Nan’s —most of them actually.

Was there something universally beautiful about them?
Their touch
. But even those weren’t homogenous. And what about the alcohol and the pills? Definitely tainted research. Nonetheless, beauty in everything. That couldn’t be bad, could it?

And the sex . . . that was —if not beautiful— cathartic. Was it dangerous?
Sharing carnal liquids, possibly incubating disease? It certainly wasn’t reasonable.
I’m gathering, shameful as you may see it, Harold. You didn’t expect me to stop what you started, did you?

I sighed.
It’d been days since I’d even thought about Harold, or about the blank, lost spaces that came with him. I could appreciate that too.

“Post, lady?” The guy shoved the headline in my face:

Mother gives birth to frog child

And below it:

Cops close in on Times Square Hacker

I bought the paper but there was nothing really new. No mention of Zoe. Yet it started my head blathering again. As I approached Elizabeth’s the flurry of usual questions had regained mass and velocity. Real world decisions couldn’t be put off indefinitely. I needed my job, I’d needed to confront Warring.

I rang Elizabeth’s bell. Nothing. Then again. Nothing. I started down the brownstone steps. The door cracked open. I turned at the sound.

“Eunis?” It was Roddy.

“I’m sorry, I was —I’ve been trying to call but—”

“Elizabeth isn’t taking calls right now.”

“I’m sorry, this was a bad idea.” I continued down the steps.

“Wait!” He dashed after me. “Come in, please.”

Look at him
. “I’m intruding.”

“No you are not. Just stay for a few minutes.”

Elizabeth’s couch, with its rough, uneven grain and rather worn and drab shade of coral, compared unfavorably to the refined sofa at Levi and Nan’s. Roddy brought me a glass of water, welcomed as the previous evening’s drugs had begun to reduce me to one of Carver’s dehydrated mountings. Roddy sat across from me, attentive, his eyes —I saw for the first time without my shaded glasses— cerulean, with green-tinted opal; a Minnesota morning sky reflecting off the water. Moist.

“Where’s Elizabeth?”

The focus in his eyes evaporated. “She . . . She went into rehab this morning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s best for her and for Syd.”

“Is Syd okay?”

“She’s in the bedroom, asleep. She’s fine, but seeing her mom like that —again— it’s tough on a kid.”

We sat uncomfortably in silence, me nodding like a donkey, not sure what to say next. I noticed the even texture of his skin, like distressed well-worn leather. Pliable. Skin texture was a cue to fertility and health. But that was a study of women. Thornhill again. And then there was that book,
Love At First Sight
, “a ground-breaking theory of attraction” using celebrity couples as case studies. Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt were on the cover. Enough said.

“You don’t have any kids, do you?” he finally asked.

“No.”

“Not yet.”

“No, never.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I made sure of it.”

“How do you mean?”

“I made sure of it. I took care of it years ago.”

“But you’d be a great mom. Why would you do that?”

“I’m not giving birth to a monster.”

“Eunis, whatever someone said to you in the past is not everyone’s viewpoint. I know; I’m an attorney.”