Femme Noir (9 page)

Max was different. She was a contradiction to me.
Because
she had hooked me so deeply in her sex and
because
I breathed Max in like a drug and needed more and more, I wanted to reverse my modus operandi. This was too intense for me not to know Max. I felt an unfamiliar pang of guilty conscience as I remembered the soft femmes protesting with those same words to me, scornful and passion hungry, five minutes before I dumped them. So this is what it was like to be the girl. Maybe all women wanted this? These thoughts whizzed through my fevered mind as I watched Max take the breeze on the balcony. Even Her Majesty’s skin shone wetly. Max was utterly oblivious to the pedestrians who walked by, some staring. Or she knew and didn’t care. She stood proud and indifferent, her diaphanous robe swelling and shrinking with the current. I had relaxed, noticing that Max and I shared the same rhythm of breath. I could see her half-exposed, taut breasts rising and falling as she sent her thoughts into the night. Mesmerized by those plump globes, I wistfully wished she were thinking of me. Oh, how I wanted to reach up to her, to shout…but that was the kind of thing someone did in high school. And here I was, a respected professional, thirty-five years old, stalking a stranger. Max lifted her heavy curtain of hair and held it with one hand as she fanned her neck with her other hand.

At the sound of a car coming down the road, Max turned. I was tense too, dreading the sloppy reunion of someone, anyone, arriving, claiming Max, kissing her and leading her inside. In spite of that painful image, I couldn’t tear myself away. Even if a lover fucked her there on the balcony, I could not leave.

It was just a random car. I sighed. Max sighed. Then she went inside the house flapping the robe for air and I waited to see where she would turn up. I saw a lamp go on in a huge glass room in the lower right corner of the house. Good God, it was her bedroom. My excitement at seeing this was tempered by anger that everyone else could too. How dare she live this way! Not only no curtains on her bedroom, but also walls of glass on a highly trafficked public street. How could she sleep on a stage? My horror deepened as I realized Max probably would’ve had sex in bed too. Lord have mercy, to be such an exhibitionist. To have all the wild, nasty, acrobatic, jungly, tender, sweet things happen under a microscope. Well, that wouldn’t do. No, it certainly wouldn’t. If Max were mine, those glass walls would have blackout draperies installed first thing. I was so shocked by the idea of dominating, taming, and changing Max that I ignored it completely and instead focused on the moment with her. I panted, trying to get a good breath. My eyes filled with tears and I sneezed, surprised by this occurrence like a horse seeing a snake. I was appalled and fascinated as Max removed her robe, slid into her four-poster canopy bed, arranged herself, and picked up a book and began reading. In the heat of my idiocy, I even strained to see the book title. After a few minutes of nothing else happening, I was a little exhilarated to see that Sloane wasn’t joining her. Where was Sloane? Why wasn’t she drinking her fill from the silken Max fountain? Why was Michelle’s car here? I was confused and even more emboldened to climb the wall and knock on the glass. But I didn’t. Like a vampire, I must be invited inside.

Finally, the park and the lake were quiet. I broke the spell by shaking my head and doing deep knee bends. While Max still read like a mannequin in a store window, I went for a run around the lake. I didn’t care that I wasn’t dressed for it. I didn’t care that the mugginess was like a smothering sheet wrapping me in a cocoon. Without a cunt or a cigarette for comfort, I needed this. I loved feeling the slap of my feet on the pavement. No matter how hard I pressed, the earth always pressed back, supporting me. I paced myself, breathing slowly and deeply, struggling to acclimate to the syrupy air. I felt strangely at home while running. I loved my strong, lean body and everything it could do so easily.

I ran hard. I ran until my lungs heaved and my body streamed with sweat as if I had stepped through a waterfall. I ran to outrun my sex, but it kept up. I wished Max could watch me play ball. I sprinted the last hundred yards, collapsing into laughter on the trunk of my car, overcome with my own dementia. I stretched for a while, figuring I had done four miles, four times around the lake, and that was okay. I enjoyed being an athlete. A jock or a hardbody is what others have called me, but I couldn’t bear to describe myself that way. I gasped, trying to catch my breath. My lungs felt tight and gummy and full of paste. My eyes were still weeping and I felt congested and sneezy. I glanced at Max’s bedroom, wishing only to bum a cigarette, but the windows were dark now. It gave me a thrill to think that maybe Max had noticed me and was pressed to the glass in the blackness, watching me lustfully.

I shook off the silver beads of sweat and pulled roughly at my crotch, deciding I would return to my hotel alone. Max was alone, so I would be. We’d be alone together. I liked that.

Once in my hotel room, I tore off my clothes and collapsed into bed, asleep even before my skin cooled.

Chapter Ten

For unclear reasons, perhaps best not examined closely, I had decided to follow the Amber lead. I had curiosity and time—two ingredients that could result in any outcome. So I had arranged for the wake-up service to call early so I could talk to this bookstore woman, have a nice run, eat lunch, and get to the funeral.

I fought my way out of heavy layers of sleep to hear the phone ringing. My genitals still throbbed and twitched from last night’s spying. I derived a perverse pleasure from this teasing torture. Was Max calling? I couldn’t find the lamp switch, so I groped for the phone, knocking it from the nightstand. I had what I guessed to be a sinus headache.

“Hello?” I croaked.

“This is your eight a.m. wake-up call,” a computer voice said. I hung up and stretched.

I turned on the television and saw that the local weather people were issuing dire warnings. “Don’t go out at dawn or dusk because of the mosquitoes; don’t go out in midday; check on neighbors and relatives; watch children and the elderly; make sure pets have shade and water; do not exert yourself in any way if at all possible; stay hydrated; allergens and smog are strong; use sunscreen if you must be outside, and these are the warning signs of heatstroke…” I turned it off, flopping back on the bed, yawning.

I needed information. Sloane might know. Darcy might know. I sat up and scrubbed my eyes. I called Max’s number and the woman who answered said neither Max nor Sloane were home. Take a message? No. I hung up and rummaged through my pockets for Darcy’s number and dialed.

“Darcy, go!” Darcy barked after half a ring.

I laughed, still not used to the way she answered the phone. “This is Nora.”

“Yeah, what’s up? What’s going on?”

“Well, I don’t know anything about this city and I want to go for a run.” The thought lazily crept across my mind of just running around Swan Lake again. “In a pretty place. And then I need to eat. Know any restaurants?”

“Going to the funeral later?”

“Yeah.” I squinted at the clock, wanting a cigarette. The smog of smoke would cushion me from Darcy. I also needed some aspirin. This woman put me on edge. I hoped fervently that Darcy, Ava-Suzanne, and Jhoaeneyie would be busy and I could eat by myself or try Sloane again. I dreaded calling Sloane because I was so afraid of seeing her, fresh from bed and sex-rumpled, happily giddy and deeply satisfied and smelling like Max. And if anyone in the world could recognize that, it was me.

“Well, Riverparks is the place to run. It’s miles of paved path on the riverbank. I used to run there all the time.”

I tried and couldn’t picture Darcy’s doughy body running anywhere.

“But I’m into isometrics now. You know what that is?” Darcy continued.

“Yes, but where—”

“I do it twice a day and it really shows. Ava-Suzanne can sure tell the difference.” Darcy chuckled. “I would come run with you, but I get shin splints. I really miss it, though it can be bad on your joints. Are you sure you want to run?”

“Yeah, I’m used to it. So how—”

“Well, suit yourself. No more of that high-impact stuff for me. I’ll be starting Pilates soon. Ever heard of it?” She pronounced it “Pie-latts.”

I rolled my eyes. Ain’t this some shit, I wanted to say. Instead of opening the drapes onto the criminally bright, scorching day, I switched on the dim bedside lamp and studied the Tulsa map. The city was bigger than it looked. “Yeah, I’ve heard of Pilates.” I pronounced it correctly. “Now,” I said as I would to an ornery freshman on my team, “what river is that?” I scratched my stubbly head. I’d need to shave my scalp before the service.

“Arkansas River, can you find it?”

“Sure.”

“Okay then, now, where to eat…you like Tex-Mex?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, hold on.” Darcy covered the receiver and I could hear her talking. Then she said, “Ava-Suzanne says why don’t we all meet at Café Kokopelli around one?”

I rolled my eyes and groaned inwardly. I had asked for it, hadn’t I? “That would be fine.”

“Then we could share a ride to the funeral.”

“Oh, I’ve already promised Sloane,” I lied.

Cool silence. “Sloane? Sloane Weatherly? Not a good idea, but whatever. Café Kokopelli is at Thirty-fifth and Peoria. Can you find it or should we pick you up? I’ll be in the BMW.”

“No, no, I can find it. Is it near Swan Lake?”

Darcy paused meaningfully. “It can be if you like.”

“I’ll find it, don’t worry,” I said hastily. “See you there at one o’clock.” I laid out my funeral clothes, put on baggy shorts and T-shirt and headed out.

I reached my rental car and there was heavy moisture and condensation clouding the windows. I had missed the fog as it had gathered during the night and spread through the streets, touching everything before it melted. I snapped on the air conditioner and turned on the wipers. I drove to the bookstore, which was midtown and close to Max’s. I had to exert all my will not to dump the game plan and just drive over to Swan Lake, bust in on Max, and roll all over her, tangling both of us in body-warm bedsheets, laughing, breathless, rubbing skins. I was home at last. Later, I promised myself. Later.

The bookstore was in part of an old foundry that had been lovingly restored and that had kept the original exterior. There were spectacular oak and sweet cherry trees all around the building. Their leaves were turning brittle and yellow and falling into heaps on the sidewalk. The ornamental lawn was crisp. Some marigolds in boxes were the only plants thriving. The foundry had been converted to shops. I went inside. It was a huge space, nicely cool and dim. I heard the phone ringing insistently over the New Age music. All I could see were bookshelves. Hundreds of them. Mismatched and packed to bulging. The smell of incense was overpowering.

“Look out!” A woman whizzed by on Rollerblades and stopped at one of the phones. She wore a tiny gauzy skirt and a tight half shirt. She had short straight brown hair, closely cropped. She had tattoos on her arms, her legs, and her belly. She wore fifteen rings on each hand, five earrings, and a navel ring. “Light and Love,” she snapped, thoroughly put out. “Yes, I do readings over the phone, but I can’t right now, I’m swamped. You need to call back either after I’ve closed or before I open tomorrow.” She hung up.

The phone rang. I stood next to a shelf that was labeled “Ouspensky and Gurdjieff.” I was fascinated and wanted to watch. I noticed the heads of many other browsers among the shelves.

“Light and Love,” the woman barked. “Yeah, we have the Ephemeris. What year and type? Uh-huh. Rosicrucian? Yeah, we have that. Until nine p.m.” She glided to a customer service area that was in the center of the enormous room and raised three steps. She went up and sat on a stool. “Bear, are you still here?” She was exasperated.

“I told you, Amber,” a man whined. My look sharpened. Bingo. That was the woman. “I’m dating a faerie. Is that weird?”

“No, we’ve all done that a time or two, am I right? But I can’t help you.”

“Don’t you have
anything?
Any book about this that would show me where her head is at? I need to get into her headspace.”

“Well, I know an alien abductee you could talk to.”

“Whoa.” Bear laughed, holding up his hands. “That’s a trip.”

“Other than that I don’t know. Like I said, the faerie section is over there. Everything we have about faeries, headspace and otherwise, will be there.” She pointed and added, “Perhaps a therapist could help more.”

A woman approached the counter and held something out to Amber. “Can I use black tourmaline for anger?”

“You bet.”

“But what about for creativity?” she persisted. Bear wandered off to thumb through the faerie section again.

“For creativity, you want this,” Amber said, handing the woman a stone. “Tiger eye. They also come in blue, but those are rare. This will work fine.”

A large golden retriever wandered past me, followed by a little boy, barely a toddler. I noticed the poured terrazzo floors slightly streaked with Amber’s wheel skids.

I began browsing. In a glass case, I saw embroidery sets called “Stitches for Witches.” Next to that were tiny cast iron cauldrons no larger than a tennis ball. On top were elaborate candleholders bearing likenesses with their names: Cat Wizard, Wolf Council, and Wizard Retreat. On the wall were mounted dragon sconces for sale. I stopped short when I reached a locked deep glass cabinet filled with wands. They were all types, from simple dark wood to elaborate, gem-encrusted with their own purple velvet carrying cases. On the end of each wand was a very sharp crystal. I sucked air at the price tags—$1,500!