It was these moments, these times of complete abandon that Kiana felt most secure. An oxymoron. Uncertain and exposed, she let go of everything and became sure and protected. She rode the rising heat between her legs, her body curling with uncontrollable sensation. She called out to God, claiming and clutching at something bigger than herself.
“Oh my God!” Kiana screamed. The woman moaned.
The heat waned only to return again, building up, threatening to explode again. She shuddered against the woman’s mouth. Everything she knew and didn’t know swallowed by flames, extinguished against the surface of the sun. This was Kiana’s salvation. Her second coming. She threw it all into the sky as she thrust her hips up—Michelle, Genevieve, Karyn, her mother, gumbo and wine, bikes and bread, bass thumps and shots of whiskey—and it burned away to nothing, only pleasure remained. And she called out to God when she came again. The woman joined her in the bucking climax, the bed thumping against the wall. If only she could have this, the pleasure of coming together with another in a single moment suspended in time. There were no expectations in that moment. There were no disappointments. There were no memories. There was only now, now, now, and now again. Kiana closed her eyes with a wish that now could be all there was, that now could be forever, and that forever could be release. No pent-up pressure of the past, no festering fantasies for the future. Just the numbing, nourishing now.
She collapsed against the bed. A blur of light as the woman rose up from between her thighs. Then darkness.
Chapter Six
Tuesday
Kiana slid out of bed, careful not to wake the stranger who lay beside her. She walked on her toes to the bathroom, stepping over the pile of clothes near the foot of the bed. Once inside, she washed her face with splashes of cold water. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her lips and eyes were puffy, her hair matted on one side. A fog of drunkenness lingered, her thoughts muddled and slow. She sat on the toilet and closed her eyes, trying to remember how her night with Genevieve ended, what led her to the club, and where the curvy woman with jet-black hair who moaned and moved about in the bed came from. Patches of memory—bass thumps and shots, a packed dance floor and a pair of sparkly hot pants—revealed little. She opened her eyes with a deep sigh then glanced over her shoulder at the abandoned cocktail that sat on the edge of the sink. She grabbed it, sniffed it, and swallowed it down. The stale, muted bittersweet of watered down whiskey managed to give her a bit of a jolt. She shrugged and stood to wash her hands and face.
“Kiana,” the woman called from beyond the bathroom door. “Kiana.”
Kiana winced as she toweled her face. She didn’t know the woman’s name. She wracked her brain. Cat-eyes. Asymmetric bob. Full, pouty lips. All face, no name. She opened the bathroom door and stood in the doorway.
“Yes?” she said.
“Come back to bed,” the woman said. “It’s too early, and I’m not done with you yet.”
Kiana smiled. She walked toward the bed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve actually got a lot to do today, so…” She stopped at the foot of the bed. The woman sat up, the crumpled sheet fell from the point of her breasts. Her nipples, pale pink against her light skin, stood erect. She crawled toward Kiana.
“That’s not what I want to hear,” the woman said. She stopped on all fours, directly in front of Kiana. She looked up at her, eyes strangely alert.
Kiana took a step away from the bed. Her phone rang. She dashed to the side of the bed and grabbed it. She looked at the screen and slid the button to answer the call.
“Hey, Karyn!” Kiana smiled and walked toward the windows. She moved her face away from the phone and whispered to the disappointed woman in her bed. “I’ve got to take this.” The woman frowned.
Kiana found her jeans on the floor and pulled them on, cradling the phone between her face and shoulder. “Now before you start, I know I was supposed to answer your call. I know we need to talk and straighten things out. We can do that now. We can settle everything today.” She made a helpless face and shrugged toward the woman again. She seemed to finally take the hint and stomped her way from the bed to the bathroom. Kiana waited until she heard the water splashing against the sink before she continued.
“I know, Karyn,” she said. “I’m a dickhead.” Karyn went in, cursing and yelling into the phone. Kiana rolled her eyes. She’d heard it all before: selfish, brat, stupid, liar, promises, nothing, careless, rude, weak, impulsive, drunk, unclear, impatient, and oblivious. “Karyn, I’m sorry.”
The woman came out the bathroom and collected her dress and shoes. She slipped her dress over her head, ran her fingers through her hair, and tugged on her shoes.
“We can talk about all of it,” Kiana said into the phone. “I promise.”
The woman twisted her lips and walked over to Kiana. She kissed her on the cheek opposite the phone, her hand trailing its way between Kiana’s breasts and down to the unfastened V of her jeans. She slipped a hand inside. Kiana bit her lip. Karyn droned on. The woman expertly found Kiana’s clit and rubbed it. Kiana grabbed the woman’s wrist and held it, stopping the delicious rhythm of her slender fingers. The woman smirked and slid her hand out of Kiana’s pants and shook her head with a sly grin.
“I left my number,” the woman said. She turned and left.
Kiana sighed into the phone while Karyn continued, rattling off flight times and reasons she needed to come home: job, responsibility, and moving on. Kiana walked over to the nightstand. The woman had scrawled her number on the notepad next to the phone. She picked it up and read the number. Just her number, no name.
“No, I hear everything you’re saying,” Kiana said. She ran a thumb over the number and tossed the pad back onto the table. “Karyn, I really just got up. Let me call you back. I promise I’ll call you back.” After a short silence, Karyn just hung up. Kiana blew out a loud breath. She placed her phone on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. She stared at her cell phone, debating calling Karyn back. Just as she reached for it, the hotel phone rang. She eyed it suspiciously before picking it up on the third ring.
“Hello?”
It was Genevieve. She said she was downstairs in the lobby.
“I want to take you somewhere so we can talk,” she said. “Wear comfortable shoes.”
*
Kiana and Genevieve walked up the street in silence. Kiana wanted to say something, but didn’t know where to begin. With no clear memory of just how things ended with them the night before, she didn’t know if she needed to apologize or not, demand an apology or not. She usually erred on the side of her own transgression.
“I’m sorry about last night,” Genevieve said.
Kiana slowed her pace. “I was about to apologize to you,” she said.
“No,” Genevieve said. “I’m the one who went too far. It was obvious you didn’t want to talk about your mother, and I pushed.”
Kiana nodded. She cleared her throat. “Well, I didn’t have to get drunk. You made a nice dinner and I…”
“I also don’t need to impose my own challenges on you,” Genevieve said. “You’re a big girl and have been taking care of yourself long before I came along. So, I’m sorry.”
Kiana looked at Genevieve, her long, orange maxi dress hugging her small hips as the wind blew. Her eyes, bright and clear, seemed to see into Kiana’s very heart. She smiled.
“Apology accepted,” Kiana said. They continued across the street and came up on the Riverwalk. Small groups of people walked beneath the large sign welcoming visitors to the Mississippi River. Kiana and Genevieve made their way to the cement path, walking side-by-side. Kiana looked over her shoulder; the wide Mississippi was brown and calm, a slight tint of blue from the sky reflecting against the rippling surface of the water. Long bulk carriers moved slowly in the distance, the hulls a collection of faded two-tones, orange and white, green and black, blue and red. Genevieve stopped and placed a hand on Kiana’s back, urging her across the small patch of grass and
closer to the rocky shore where carefully placed boulders met the river’s edge. They stepped onto a couple of the larger rocks, finding a place to sit beside each other. They looked out at the water, the ships in the distance, and the modest Gretna skyline across the river.
“It’s not like I imagined it would be,” Kiana said. “The river, I mean.”
“No? What did you expect?” Genevieve said.
“I don’t know. Busy? Ships everywhere, boxes of cargo in nets swinging, people yelling and pointing and running around blowing whistles.” Kiana shrugged.
Genevieve laughed. “You watch too many movies. Old movies.” She bumped against Kiana. “It’s busy at the port and maybe down by the mall, but we’re at the park. It’s a different feel around here, baby.”
They watched the water. The sky clear, a few puffs of clouds dotted the horizon; with the mild warmth in the air and the gentle breeze, the scene was peaceful.
“I’m glad you called,” Kiana said. She sighed. “I haven’t been totally honest about why I’m here.”
Genevieve raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
“I’m here for a wedding, but…it’s my ex-girlfriend’s wedding.” Kiana tapped her toes against the rock beneath her feet. “I’m here to stop it.”
“Oh, I see,” Genevieve said. She stared across the water, her voice going low and soft. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“That she’s getting married on me?” Kiana said. She looked at Genevieve, but Genevieve didn’t look at her.
“No. I’m sorry that that’s the reason you’re here.”
Kiana hadn’t expected her to be so honest, though she should have. Genevieve seemed incapable of lying. Everything about her was open, clear, true. Genevieve wouldn’t look at her. It was obvious the woman liked her, and it was hard for Kiana not to appreciate the interest. It felt good to be wanted. She didn’t want to use Genevieve the way she’d used others before and after Michelle, nameless encounters with women whose desires were used against them in ways they didn’t realize until the morning after.
“Genevieve, I’m not trying to play you,” Kiana said. “I guess that’s why I’m being honest with you. It’s just that things are really fucked up for me and they have been for a while now. Since Michelle left. The way we ended was just…” Kiana shook her head. She didn’t know how to describe the way they ended. She tried to think back to those last days before she left. Not much came back, but just thinking of Michelle brought back glimpses of happier times—snowball fights and snow angels at three a.m., snowflakes glowing against the streetlights, dancing to the drummers at Bongo Beach then looking out at the water daydreaming about Africa, nursing shots and beers at their neighborhood bar pretending to care about whether or not the Bears will make it to the playoffs.
“Does she know you’re here?” Genevieve asked.
“What?” Kiana brought herself grudgingly out of her reverie.
“I said does she know you’re here?”
Kiana chuckled. “She invited me. How fucked is that?” she said. “I must be a glutton for punishment or something.”
“Yeah, you right,” Genevieve said. She finally looked at Kiana. “Apparently, you need to figure some things out. Talk to her. It’s obvious you’re not over her.”
“I don’t even know what to say,” Kiana said. “I have absolutely no plan.”
Genevieve stood. She looked down at Kiana and reached out her hand. “Come with me,” she said.
Kiana looked up at Genevieve’s hand then up into her eyes. “Where are we going?”
Genevieve smiled. “For a ride.”
Kiana chuckled. “Last time you offered me a ride, I ended up on your little green bike hanging on for dear life,” she said.
“Yeah, you right,” Genevieve said. “It’s not a bike this time.”
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“Trust me, baby,” Genevieve said. She pushed her hand forward, a playful grin settling on her lips. “I mean you no harm. Maybe I can even help you. You need calm. You need caresses from the wind and kisses from the sun. Come with me.”
Kiana smiled and shook her head. “There you go talking in stanzas again.” She reached up and took Genevieve’s hand.
They strolled the length of the Riverwalk, their silences dotted with small chitchat about the city’s rich history. Genevieve told Kiana the story of Mardi Gras, the slow, muddy river beside them all the while.
“So basically, it’s just wildin’ out before starting Lent?” Kiana shrugged. “Then you spend the next month depriving yourself of the things that make you happiest. That’s kind of sadistic isn’t it? Suffering through withdrawal and deprivation for what? It’s not like you win anything for making it through those days. And then you go right back to doing what you were doing before anyway? It seems pointless.”
“When you put it that way, it does sound pointless,” Genevieve said. “But you’re missing one very important part of the whole thing. The challenge of it. The ways you change, what you discover about yourself through the sacrifice of that thing or those things that you do without thinking.”
Kiana shook her head. “Whatever.” She looked up as they arrived at the port, walking across a short footbridge to the Canal Street Ferry. “So this is the ride, huh?”
“If you don’t mind,” Genevieve said. She grabbed Kiana’s arm and led her through the gate and into the terminal to board the boat. “We have to hurry. It leaves soon!”
Kiana looked around as they rushed through the station. It was nondescript with white walls, gray floors, and large windows. A timeline of New Orleans provided a burst of color along the back wall of the main lobby. The timeline—a collection of paintings detailing the birth of Mardi Gras—echoed the story Genevieve told. Maskers in bright purple and yellow costumes throwing candy and trinkets, krewes on horseback waving banners and flags, jesters dancing in the street, confetti of every color swirling around it all. A day of joy and abundance before the solemn weeks of sacrifice to follow.
“You do this a lot?” Kiana asked as she boarded the ferry behind Genevieve. “Just ride the ferry for no reason?”
“Not really,” she said. She led Kiana around the corner of the wide vessel and across toward the railing. The ferry was mostly empty. Only two cars had boarded on the opposite side. Three bikers, parking their bicycles against the wall of the two-story control area at the bow of the vessel, walked across the empty expanse of the ferry, settling on the very back of the ferry to lean against the railing and talk among themselves.
“So this is for me? Another touristy thing for me to experience while I’m here?” Kiana said. She grabbed the railing at the stern of the ferry as it moved away from the port. The movement was slight, the ferry gliding across the water, turning almost imperceptibly.
“Something like that,” Genevieve said. She gathered the length of dress around her knees and sat carefully on the metal deck of the ferry. She let her dress drape her legs and pulled her knees against her chest and looked up at Kiana. The orange highlighted the golden flecks in her eyes, the warm glow of her smoldering honey skin.
Kiana sat beside her, crossing her legs at the ankles and playing with the loose, untied laces of her sneakers. She looked over her shoulder at the bikers then at Genevieve, who stared out at the river, a breeze rustling her short curls.
“This is nice,” Kiana said. Her morning drink was wearing off, but she didn’t care. She felt good.
“Yeah, you right,” Genevieve said. She smiled at Kiana though something about it seemed sad.
Kiana sighed, thinking that maybe she shouldn’t have divulged her mission. The ferry floated beneath twin bridges, their metallic white grates glowing against the clear blue sky. Kiana marveled at them, their symmetry, their length. The bridges seemed neat and orderly. Purposeful.
“I’m going to talk to her today,” she said, looking up at the bridges as they passed underneath.
“What are you going to say?”
Genevieve said.
“I don’t know,” Kiana said. “I’ve never really been good at talking about my feelings.”
“I think you’re better at it than you think,” Genevieve said. “Open yourself up, baby, like you started to do with me.” She reached out to the railing and pulled herself to her feet. She turned and looked down at Kiana. “And maybe no drinks this time. Maybe go into this conversation with a clear head, a clear heart.”
Kiana sighed. She pushed herself up from the metal deck. She moved next to Genevieve and leaned against the railing. “Maybe you’re right.”
The ferry reached the final stop on the outbound route to Gretna. Kiana and Genevieve watched the bikers exit and the two cars. A small group of pedestrians boarded the ferry, and it began its slow turn to head back to Canal Street and the main station. Genevieve marveled at the bridges on the return trip, but something else caught her attention off the side of the ferry.
A long warehouse, filled with gigantic green and purple jester heads, orange and red plumes of feathers sticking out of glittery platforms, and oversized mirrored balls, ran the length of the riverbank.
“What’s that?” Kiana asked, pointing.
“Storage,” Genevieve said. “The Mardi Gras off-season.” She smiled.
“It’s kind of sad,” Kiana said. She recalled the timeline at the station. The party captured in the paintings—the colors, the celebration, the movement. All of it crammed into a dark warehouse until next time.
“Why do you say that?”
“This amazing party just tucked away up the river. Out of sight, out of mind.” Kiana shook her head. “Just stuffed into this storage space until everyone’s ready to have a good time again.”
Genevieve smiled and leaned into Kiana.
Let the Lover Be Page 7