by Tiana Laveen
A stray dog raced past, sniffing the ground for fallen food as his ribs oscillated under the thin, gray skin of his short-haired mutt-frame.
“It just so happens, Mr. Know-It-All, I am not in a relationship right now.” She smiled.
“Oh, it just ended this morning?” Mark teased.
He realized how he was coming across, and he wasn’t trying to be an ass, but he needed to make sure that the ‘product’ he saw on the shelf was in fact what he was bidding on.
The dead don’t lie, unless it is in a coffin, but the living tell untruths as soon as their eyes open in the morning. We say “good morning” when we don’t give a fuck how another person’s morning is half the time and ours sure as hell isn’t good. It’s one big, colossal lie. In the ugliness lies the truth, always.
“No, it was quite a while ago, actually and I’m ready to date again. Well, I was until.…Anyway, Mr. Inquisition, I could ask you the same thing.”
“I’m a free agent.” He lowered his eyes and leaned in closer to her, a slight smile spreading across his face. He threw up his hands then placed his elbows on the table. “I wouldn’t try to get into any heavy conversations with you right now. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page is all, just trying to get to know you better. I’ve been having a really good time by the way.”
“Me too…” She looked away despondently.
“Your sister, right?” he asked softly as he moved his hand across the table and gently reached for hers.
She nodded. “It doesn’t feel right for me to have a good time.” Bijou looked down at her lap. “I just wish I could push a fast forward button to see if this will ever stop hurting. I want to be happy, I do, to have a good time. But I just don’t feel right about it, I guess.”
“That is exactly what you should be doing. This is not the time to be alone, to barricade yourself from the world. You know,” He held onto her hand tighter, intertwining their fingers. “I lost someone I loved, too…someone really close to me. I know what you’re going through.”
“Did you? What happened?”
“It was my brother.” Mark looked away then back up at her. “He died in a car accident. We were very close. Like you and Rhine, sometimes we fought, but that was my brother, my blood. I left Miami, like that!” He snapped his fingers. “I had to get away after that – I couldn’t take seeing the same people roaming free, scott free, while he was dead.”
Bijou looked at him, in obvious confusion.
Mark sighed and clasped her hand a little tighter. “This was all over some weed, Bijou. He wasn’t smoking and he wasn’t selling anything, but he was in the house of someone who did. They left the house, a car chase ensued. The guy driving, my brother’s friend, lost control of the car and they crashed. He lived. My brother and another guy died.”
“Mark, I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I don’t like talking about it, but I’m talking about it now, because I want you to know that you are not alone, Bijou. I know how you feel.”
He watched Bijou look down at her lap. “I’ve seen people die from grief, when actually, the person they were grieving over wouldn’t want them to do that. I realized that after a while.”
“Die from grief?”
“Yeah, it’s possible. Let me give you a case in point.” He released her hand and reared back in his chair. “A husband loses his wife or a wife loses her husband…doesn’t matter their age. I can usually predict it, too.” His eyes narrowed. “I can see that wife falling apart at her husband’s casket. If she alienates herself, and stays that way for a long time, she’ll have health problems to match her broken heart and I’ll see her in a year or two…”
“Damn, that’s morbid!” Bijou chuckled nervously.
“Morbid? Nah, it’s life, Bijou. That’s what being in love, and loving someone, a sister, brother, mother, lover will do if you let it eat you. I understand grief. Grief is my business, my line of work. Without grief, people would just tell hospitals to do whatever with the bodies, and walk away. Grief is what makes someone spend their last dime on a coffin and plot. I’ve been on the observation end, just about every day out of the week, and I’ve been on the up-close and personal end, too. Death never takes vacations, naps or siestas…it never stops. It’s always there and always will be there, but life won’t always be there, Bijou. Life and time are the only two things you can’t get any refills on. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.”
* * *
Bijou sat back again and deliberated over the words Mark had spoken. No one had said anything like that to her before. She’d had her share of loss too, and once again he made her feel so comfortable she knew she’d be opening up and sharing some of the details.
Maybe it is the wine. She smiled as she ran her finger along the wine glass rim. No, it’s just him, I like him. He just makes me feel so comfortable, when I’d rather be anyone but me, right now. This has been a terrible time. When is the right time to stop falling apart? I’ll feel guilty for not feeling guilty anymore. Isn’t that just crazy? This is so unbelievable. A frown spread across her face.
“What?” he whispered as he stroked his chin and leaned in closer across the table, moving the candle over so he could gain better access to her.
“Just thinking…you are sexy, you know that?” She laughed again and bit her lip, not believing what she’d just let roll off her tongue.
“Thank you, I’m glad you feel that way because I already thought that about you for a while now.”
They both were quiet for a few moments. Bijou was grateful for the interruption of their food being brought to the table. She unwrapped her silverware and placed the napkin over her lap as she surveyed her fish, Caesar salad and orzo rice. Mark examined his steak and shrimp dinner closely, then cleaned his steak knife with his napkin, occasionally looking up at her.
“Does it look good?” he asked, smiling as their eyes locked.
“Uh, yes, it looks great, you’re more than welcome to have some,” she offered, pushing her plate closer to him.
“Sure, I’d like to try your salmon, after you try it first.”
He cut into his steak. Bijou watched him slice it thinly, with expert precision. The medium rare meat fell apart on his plate, the juices pooling and glistening with oily circles dancing in the trail on their way to his double stuffed baked potato.
You want to try my dinner, huh? Are you sure that’s the only thing you want to try, Marky Mark? I see the way you’ve been looking at me tonight. You’re lucky I like you back, or I’d throw water in your face to cool you down.
She sliced a piece of fish off; the succulent pale pink perfection glided over to him on a silver fork. Mark opened his mouth and accepted the morsel as she placed her fork inside. He slowly chewed, closed his eyes briefly.
“Tastes like Heaven.” He laughed lightly. “That is really good…Hey, you want some steak and shrimp?” he asked.
“Sure, I’ll take a piece of shrimp.”
Mark searched his plate for a large one.
Generous. That’s nice…
He brought the fork towards her mouth, and watched her take it. She looked at him smile, and wondered what he was thinking this time as his eyes once again narrowed…
* * *
“They did that well, I taste a little coconut, too. I wasn’t expecting that.” She grinned as she returned to her plate.
“Yes, it’s funny how things happen that we don’t expect.” He waved to the waiter.
“OK Mark, what does that really mean? You talk in parables sometimes, you know that?” She took another bite of her fish.
“You already know what it means, there is no hidden meaning. Like in your photography – when we spoke yesterday, and you were telling me about some of the cool places you got to shoot at. Sometimes, you notice something is even more beautiful than it was when you were standing there, shooting it. You didn’t expect the rose to be more gorgeous, the child’s smile more beautiful, the man’s eyes more alluring, b
ut the art captures it. Life is art, that’s why we love it, Bijou. I work with death, but I’m trying to preserve life…the life and sanity of the family help make the deceased look how they did or better than they did in life, and encourage those that remain, to reclaim their lives.”
“You know.” She smiled as she took a small scoop of rice onto her fork, “I know it’s not common for a guy in your position to do what you did for my sister.” Bijou shrugged. “She was beautiful though, Mark. You really are gifted.”
“Thank you; I appreciate a rose who appreciates a weed.” He smiled. “I actually have a love of art. I like to work with my hands…”
The sexual innuendo hung in the air for a few moments. “I like to draw, fix things, put things together…including people, broken people.” Heaviness webbed itself between them, along with a strange sense of carnal tension.
“No, I’m serious,” she said as she leaned slightly to the right, still looking down at her plate. “She almost looked like a doll. Everyone was talking about it after the funeral, how amazing she looked. I couldn’t believe it.” Bijou ate another bite full of rice.
“Thank you.” He took a sip of his wine. “It’s not something I particularly enjoy, but if I’m going to do it, if I’m asked to do it, I do it to the best of my ability.”
“I totally get that, that’s how I feel about my photos of proms – there is no passion in that, but I do it the best way I can. I much prefer the more candid opportunities.”
There was a brief silence.
“Your eyes…”
“What?” Bijou asked, her eyebrow arched.
“I noticed your eyes the very first time I saw you. They are this rich, dark brown color, nearly black, and I can almost see your entire cornea and there is a light brown ring around it. Your pupils are always glimmering…the darkness, the black always shining and catching the slightest of reflections, making them doe-like. You have heavy eyelids…your eyes are large and have a slight slant at the edges…it’s sexy, alluring and mysterious. You have the eye everyone draws for female characters in comic books-the kind no one really has, but everyone wants.”
Bijou’s face looked confused as she listened to Mark. That expression soon morphed into a grin so wide, she almost exposed her gums.
“So you’ve been looking at me, that hard?” she laughed. “And what is with all these technical terms instead of just saying eyeball? I can tell you this much though, I’m flattered.”
“Hey, you know we have to go to mortuary school. That is how they teach us…and like I told you, I love to draw. I used to draw cartoon characters. The girls always had eyes like yours, lashes so long you almost trip over ’em.”
They both burst out laughing. He enjoyed watching her twist and blush.
“Even though your father owned the business, you had to go to school?” she redirected.
“Of course! They won’t let someone practice embalming, or step a foot close to a corpse without credentials. We’d get sued. This isn’t like the 1920s where anything goes.” He chuckled. “There are procedures now. Of course, school was easy for me since I knew most of it already, but I still had to be certified.”
Bijou nodded. “So, is this what you love, is this your passion? I forgot how much pain I was in, Mark, because the attention suddenly turned to how beautiful she looked, like she was alive and getting ready to rise and speak to me.”
Mark clung onto her words like he was parasailing on each syllable. It was moments like these when his job was so important to him. Giving her some peace, even for a few seconds, made the long hours he worked worth it.
“You know how some dead people look…well…stiff?” she continued. “Rhine looked like she was still alive, still breathing. She didn’t have that dullness you see with people, Black people in particular. She wasn’t gray, or anything like that. Her skin glowed, it was incredible.” She seemed to drift away in thought. “And…the service. The way you had the service set up, and the vestibule, you’re really talented, you know? Well, enough of that, let’s talk about something else.” She shifted her weight again. Mark could see she was uncomfortable. It was the last thing he wanted to happen, especially since he’d taken so much time, and invested so much energy into trying to ensure that she could relax tonight.
“Sure, anything you want.”
He leaned back and listened to her discuss her upcoming projects, her family, the house she’d just purchased five months ago and her dreams of going to Ireland one day to take photos. She shared how she’d love to shoot a modeling portfolio for someone famous, especially since she really loved fashion, and her desires to get out of Shreveport, Louisiana one day and tour the world, on something besides her typical annual cruise ship rides.
He listened, nodded, replied occasionally, but mostly just took it all in. He was enjoying her to the utmost – immensely. The sound of her voice was intoxicating; feminine yet mature, deep and sophisticated. She enunciated each term clear as a bell and her deep Southern twang accented the words like a small, gold dusting, versus distorting it, forcing one’s ear to be lost in incomprehensible translation. She was the real Southern belle – vulnerable, mannerly, real, coy, shy and mysterious. Something was brewing just under the surface, beneath those doe like eyes and that calm, cool and collected exterior. She’d endured pain and bounced back like a beach ball but she covered it with lacey black veils, large tortoiseshell sunglasses and a gleaming smile framed in ruby lip-stain. She crossed her legs appropriately, never put her elbows on the table and ate in small bites, but deep inside, she was so much more.
What secrets are you keeping, Ms. Bijou?
Mark realized immediately that Bijou was an onion and she intrigued him to no end. He was willing to peel her back, layer by layer and even if she made him cry, he’d keep going because he knew that if he got her hot, he could season her with his kisses and she’d be an absolutely delicious seven-course meal…bon appetit.
* * *
Six weeks later…
“Come on now, stop being silly!” Bijou laughed as she chased Mark through his parlor, his worn dark jeans fitting him to a “T.”
“You’ve taken enough photos of me, today.” He continued to walk briskly, forcing her to keep on his heels into the kitchen, her bare feet clapping against the cool linoleum as she chased behind him. He glided his fingers over his well-built pecs and opened the refrigerator door, illuminating the chiseled body he worked hard to keep in shape at the local gym any chance he could. He knew he was showing off, but he didn’t care.
“You want some more pop?”
“No thanks, I shouldn’t have had the one I had, but I was craving a Coke so bad.” She snapped another photo as he tilted the milk jug to his mouth, his Adams apple pivoting with each deep gulp.
“Gross, by the way.” She laughed as she snapped another photo.
“Hey, it’s my milk,” he said between gulps then placed it back inside. He turned towards her, his eyes narrowing as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and blinked when the flash from Bijou’s timeworn camera stopped him in his tracks. “With all the fancy cameras you have, surely, you could have picked one that wasn’t an old relic to take my photos with tonight.”
He laughed as he took her hand and led her into his living room, their bare feet skipping along the floor until they reached the over-stuffed tan and coffee couch with cream colored throw pillows. Mark sighed as he threw himself onto the couch.
“I love antiques, you know that; you can look around and see that, but that thing is going to make me go blind.”
He rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes, the clock striking ten in the evening on the dot. Bijou sat down beside him and nestled her face on his chest. She traced his chest hair with her index finger and rested comfortably against him, their bodies in sync. Mark smiled down at her as he ran his fingers softly through her tousled hair. They sat quietly together until Bijou yawned.
“Uh oh, someone is getting sleepy,” he teased. “We w
ere supposed to watch that movie tonight. Looks like you won’t make it.” He continued to run his fingers through her hair and began to stir under her. “Well, let me put my shirt and shoes on and get ready to take you home. I’ll only be a sec. Your shoes are in the parlor.”
Bijou sat up and stretched. Mark could feel her glare on him as he stood up. He began to make his way up to his bedroom to grab the shirt he’d removed earlier due to the extreme heat in the house when he heard his name called out.
“Mark, wait.” She yawned again.
“Yeah?” He turned towards her, standing on the second to last step of the stairwell, and ignored the new chill in the air.
“Can I stay?”
“You want to try and stay up and watch the movie?”
She rolled her eyes, shook her head and gently bit her bottom lip. “No. What I have planned does not include watching television…”
* * *
“Are you sure this is fine?” he asked as he re-entered the bedroom and stood in front of Bijou as she wrapped the sheets around her body.
“Yes, of course. I like sleeping in men’s clothes anyway. It is far more comfortable.” She smiled as she brought her knees up to her chin.
“OK, as long as you’re comfortable. Also, I turned the air off.” He tugged on his boxers and slid under the sheets with her.
“Oh, thank God! You like it blasting. I know it was hot earlier, but goodness, Mark, it’s like a freezer in here. How can you even stand it? Matter of fact, I’ve noticed it gets cold here a lot at night, since I’ve been over more lately.”
“Yeah, I have been putting it off but I have a repair guy coming out. Something is wrong with the thermostat. It’s been reading wrong and I’m sure the programming is screwed up. It’s really odd, too, because it’s practically brand new even though the house is old. Oh, it tends to creak a lot in here sometimes, so don’t be alarmed.” He reached over and gave her a gentle peck on the lips. It was one of a long line of kisses they’d shared since their first date, when he dropped her off at home and was granted permission to cover his lips with hers. He didn’t want to seem high-schoolish, but he could’ve sworn he felt sparks flying. Her soft lips had glided across his, and he fought everything in his power that evening to not slip his tongue inside. That goal was abandoned soon after though, and they’d had a few heated make-out sessions in which his body was wrapped around hers like a glove…pressing against her, melting with her up against her living room wall or along his couch in front of the television. Their comfort level continued to grow until it reached the pivotal point – so much that fighting the inevitable was now futile.