Bohemian

by Kathryn Nolan

  “This is fame. Because I do have millions of followers, which fifteen-year-old-me would have puked in excitement over. Just puked all over my Backstreet Boys bedspread. But now, when I see ‘millions,’ my first thought is: ‘how do I get another million?’”

  She slid the sandwiches onto a plate, cutting them delicately down the middle. Even from here I could see the cheese oozing out.

  “Actually, if I’m being brutally honest here, and it’s only because it’s your birthday, my first thought is why don’t I have another million?” She paused, swallowing. “I mean, do people…do people not like me?”

  “Oh, Lucia…” I said, reaching forward for her, but she dodged me.

  “No, that kind of came out wrong,” she said, but it didn’t seem like it had. “What I mean is, could I be doing something better with my spotlight, to attract more people?”

  “Hmmm,” I said, pouring Lucia the beer Gabe had left for her. “So is it a sense that nothing is ever enough?”

  She nodded. “Always bigger, always changing, always more, more, more. Once you get a taste of that, it’s one of the hardest things in the world to give up. It might appear totally irrational from an outside perspective but—”

  “No, I get it. My grandfather experienced something like that once. It doesn’t come close to your life, but The Mad Ones was ‘famous’ for a while, especially in certain circles. There were articles about it, these authors were desperate to do readings. People would drive across the country just to meet my grandfather.”

  “Then what happened?” Lucia asked.

  “I don’t know. From what I can gather from his journals a few things happened. A lot of those authors unfortunately passed away, many of them young, leaving this big hole during that time in literature. The eighties showed up and suddenly no one cared anymore about the revolution. People wanted computers. The landscape of books, and bookstores changed, and about fifteen years ago tons of independent bookstores had to close.”

  “Walmart, Target, Barnes & Noble.”

  “And I don’t know…” I started, sighing, “I also don’t think he wanted to keep up with the times. His business was in horrible debt for more than a decade, and instead of changing his ways, doing online marketing or reaching out to new authors, or thinking of new programs he could offer, he stood his ground.”

  “He refused to change,” she said, taking a big bite of her grilled cheese.

  I did the same. “Fuck, that’s good, Lu,” I said, mouth full of cheese.

  “I know, right? It’s my one thing. And that’s interesting about your grandfather,” she said, blue eyes boring into mine. “When the bookstore was at its peak, those must have been heady days. I mean, can you imagine waking up, in that paradise, and being like, ‘well, got to plan for Kurt Vonnegut stopping by today.’”

  “And then, for the last twenty years, you just see kids coming, faces glued to their phones, no interest whatsoever. In books or literature or any kind of counter-culture lifestyle. No more articles being written about you or your store. No more late-night parties, or camping in the woods. No more young artists showing up in the middle of the night because they heard this the place to come if you wanted to make real art.” I let out a long sigh. “The chasm between those times in his life must have felt awful. Is that what you fear all the time?”

  “Being forgotten?” she asked, and she said it so quickly I got the sense she thought about it all the time. “That’s a tale as old as time for models. And celebrities. You can only stay relevant for so long. I know that time will come for me, and frankly, it’s terrifying. Also because…also because I don’t know what I’d do after modeling.”

  “You’d write,” I said and she laughed.

  “I appreciate your confidence, but I don’t think so.”

  “It’s your dream.”

  “It’s a fantasy, Cal. I need to focus on things like, like—the job in Paris, which will set me up for…”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t actually know yet,” she smiled. “But I’m basically just a pretty face with an ever-growing reputation. I barely got my high school diploma. I don’t have a college degree.”

  She shrugged.

  “For the record, I don’t agree with your assessment of yourself at all.”

  She avoided my gaze, and the comment, reaching forward to steal a chip off my plate. “What do you feel is the main issue keeping the bookstore from succeeding now?”

  “The customers we have now are passionate and devoted. Not enough to make The Mad Ones famous again, but they’re true book lovers. The kind of people who open up a used book and smell the pages.”

  “I do that,” she said.

  “Me too,” I said. “Best smell in the world. But the number of those people seems to be dwindling. Or, I don’t know, maybe we’re just not reaching them. My grandfather certainly wasn’t. And it doesn’t matter, since it’s going to be closing either way, but sometimes reading his journals I get so frustrated. They’re half incredibly inspiring: toss off the chains of your old life, live every day like tomorrow could be your last.”

  “And do you believe in that?”

  “I’m starting to, yes. It’s hard not to get swept up in his idealism.”

  “But…”

  “But then, I get the sense he just stood and watched all of his hard work slip away. It wouldn’t have been ‘selling out’ for him to have, I don’t know, a Facebook page. Because if he’d died, but the store was doing well, I wouldn’t have to feel so terrible selling it. And people could have a real bookstore again. A place to sit and read all day, without worrying about things. To enjoy the written word, to listen to authors read their work, to…to bump into poets scribbling stanzas on napkins in the kitchen. To watch their children discover their future favorite books.”

  I grabbed another grilled cheese from the plate. “Additionally, this might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

  She gave me a goofy grin, but a slight blush rose to her cheeks. “Can I please say something about the future you’re not going to like?”

  “Lucia—”

  “Just once.” She held up one long finger “Just…it’s your birthday, and I don’t want to stress you out, but if I don’t say it I’ll regret it.” She cleared her throat. “I think selling the bookstore is a mistake. I know you have a life, and a job, back in San Jose and I get that. But I think that life would always be available to you, if you wanted it. You could get a job as a programmer anywhere. At any time. But this…this, could be the life you’ve been waiting for. Inheriting your grandfather’s legacy, but making it your own. I think he left you this store for a reason, and I believe it’s because he saw something in you. And I see something in you too.”

  “What?” I asked, voice thick with emotion.

  “Passion,” she said. “Drive. The ability to take the store back to its glory days. It was obvious to me the first moment I met you.”

  “Most people just think I’m awkward when they meet me.”

  “Well…they’re idiots,” she said, stealing another chip. We both took a long sip of beer, watching each other over the rims of our glasses.

  “Thank you,” I finally said. “I…well, that’s much appreciated.”

  And completely irrelevant. Since tomorrow I was walking into that office and signing the contract to sell.

  Right?

  She stood up suddenly, brushing off her hands and putting things away.

  “Time’s a-wasting, Calvin,” she said, loading dishes into Gabe’s industrial dishwasher.

  “Can I help?”

  “Nope, you just sit back and enjoy the view,” she said, bending over, flat back, ass pointing at my face. I wanted to fuck her like that, both of our pants barely off, her panties shoved to the side. Hot and hurried. Desperate.

  “This morning, we had coffee. And you wrote me another poem. And cooked me dinner.” I reached forward, I couldn’t help it, and glided my palm up the back of her thigh and o
ver the swell of her ass. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

  “And it hasn’t even really gotten started,” she said, pushing back into my hand.

  I squeezed and she let out a breathy little sigh.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. You know the Crescent Moon Institute?”

  “Oh…I mean, yeah. Everyone around here knows it.” The Institute had been built in the seventies and had a long career as a ‘spirituality retreat’, but because of the cloak of mystery wrapped around it, it still wasn’t clear exactly what it was. There were cottages on site, large buildings, classes…you had to drive up a long driveway just to get to the entrance, and when you could see through the thick plants covering the fence, you could see tents and yurts set up sometimes. String lights and bonfires.

  They were also famous for their natural hot springs. They had two, carved into the side of a hill, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. But you had to be staying there to use them.

  “You ever been?”

  “No way…I’m not even entirely sure what it is, to be honest.”

  Lucia nodded, clearing our final plates and pausing to check her lipstick (flawless) in the reflection of the microwave. She reached underneath the table behind me and brought out two white, fluffy towels.”

  “Um…what—”

  “I had Gabe store these for me. We’ll need them later tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re going to the hot springs at the Institute.”

  “Lucia…you can’t use those hot springs unless you’re staying there. Plus it’s—” I looked at the clock— “past ten at night. Everyone will be asleep.”

  “Exactly.” Her hands perched on her hips, chin tilted up. “Which will make it even easier for us to break in.”

  ◊

  LUCIA

  “So…what’s your plan?” Cal asked nervously. We were staring up at the giant wooden fence, blocking our entry.

  “I told you. I’ll boost you over this fence, the alarm will sound, you’ll get arrested, spend the night in jail. I’ll bail you out in the morning…classic 30th birthday shenanigans,” I said sarcastically, eyebrow arched.

  “Lucia.”

  “Okay, okay…I don’t necessarily have a plan, in the traditional sense of the word plan.”

  “…fuck.”

  “Cal,” I said, turning to him, “before you came up here, what was the wildest, most insane thing you’d done? Like in your previous life?”

  “One time I got turned down by ten women in a row at a bar,” he said, hand rubbing down his jaw. “Pretty wild night. I think I ended up going home and binge-watching Game of Thrones.”

  “You’re a real adrenaline junkie, aren’t you?”

  He sighed, thinking. “I don’t know, Lu…nothing comes to mind, to be honest.”

  “No wild nights? Drunken mistakes? Slept with five women at once?”

  Cal laughed, leaning one arm against the fence. He looked hot as fuck in his suit, and even though I was actually a huge fan of his glasses, without them his gaze was even more intense. I’d had to actively work not to strip that suit right off his body the entire night. I wasn’t sure how any woman could have turned him down.

  “Okay wild girl…what’s the craziest thing you’ve done?”

  “Past week? Past month?”

  He looked surprised. “Um…okay, month.”

  “A month ago, I was on camera on a very famous and well-known cable morning show.” Cal opened his mouth but I immediately said, “I’ll never tell which one. And I was being interviewed by a famous news anchor—it was me, I think Taylor was there, a few other models. Some segment called…gah, I don’t even remember. But the point of the story is that ten minutes before I was supposed to go on, Josie and I sweet-talked some of the security and we snuck into this famous news anchor’s dressing room. And took pictures with all of his wigs.”

  Cal’s smile brightened his face. “I gotta say, I’m impressed.”

  “And the week before that I was in Milan and had been flirting with some tech all day. I fucked him in the elevator of our hotel during the busiest time of the day. So everyone was just waiting around, listening to two people going at it.” I paused, tapping my chin. “I’m actually pretty proud of that one.”

  Cal took a step closer, then another one. My back was flat against the fence as he boxed me in, one fluid motion. So smooth.

  “Did you tell me that story to make me jealous?” he asked, lowering his face toward mine. His leg slid between mine, applying pressure right against my clit. “Of how you fucked some other guy in an elevator?”

  “No,” I said, hating the tremble in my voice. “I told you that story because I think you need to take more risks in your life. Like breaking into a potentially secret cult headquarters to swim in their private hot springs.” His gaze narrowed, his knee pressed harder. “Also…I think I felt comfortable telling you that story because the sex I had with him barely registered. I mean, I did it for the adventure, not for the orgasm.”

  “He didn’t make you come?” Cal closed his teeth on my bottom lip and pulled, before releasing me.

  I shook my head.

  “Speak,” he said, and my pulse pounded at the command in his tone.

  How had I gone my entire life only fantasizing about this—fully submitting to a dominant lover? There was no going back now, no turning away. Because the orgasms my sexual partners had given me were few and far between, yet Cal could snap his fingers and I would climax.

  “He didn’t make me come,” I breathed, rubbing myself against his leg. Totally shameless, and yet Cal loved it, arched over my body, watching me.

  “Why not?”

  His palms slid up my rib cage, stopping just below my breasts.

  “He didn’t…he wasn’t like you,” I said.

  “And what am I like?” His thumbs slid up, stroking my nipples. But only once.

  “In control,” I said on a moan. “Of my pleasure.”

  “I own your pleasure,” he said simply, like it was the oldest known fact in the world, stroking again, and I was about to say fuck it and just let Calvin ravish me against this fence when his face changed.

  “Lucia, look,” he whispered, pointing. He moved his leg and I fell forward in a horny heap against his chest.

  “I have a better idea,” I started to say, but then I did look.

  “Oh, shit!” I said, shoving Cal on the chest. “It’s a fucking hole!”

  ◊

  CALVIN

  It was a fucking hole all right, right in the middle of the high wooden fence. Lucia crouched down, and I realized now why she’d worn all black.

  “You dressed like a cat burglar,” I pointed out, “so you wouldn’t be seen tonight.”

  “Maybe,” she said, voice muffled as she attempted to wedge the fence further apart. “And you wore a dark suit, which means neither one of us will get caught.” She looked up, winking. “My plan is working.”

  “You said you had no plan.”

  “Did I?” she said breathlessly, sitting back on her heels. “Also, I think I fixed this hole. Fixed it so we could slide through, I mean.”

  “Do you think I’ll do well in prison? Emotionally, I mean. I could always go back to school, get that Master’s degree I always wanted…”

  “Chill, nerd,” Lucia groaned, and then shimmied her way through the hole. I blinked—there one second, gone the next.

  “Lucia,” I hissed. No answer. I crouched down to peek through a hole that would allow me in just fucking barely. Her gorgeous face appeared, laughing silently. “Come and get me,” she whispered.

  “If I slide through here, I’m going to get stuck and firemen are going to have to cut me out.”

  “Classic 30th birthday shenanigans, Cal,” she said, reaching through the hole to grab my arms. “And that won’t happen because I’m going to pull you.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “This is fun. Now come on,” she sa
id, giving me a look that told me her naked body and wild, primal sex awaited me on the other side. So I got down, in the dirt, and gave my hands to Lucia.

  “If we wrote a poem about this moment, what would it be?” I said through gritted teeth, working my body through the fence as Lucia yanked on me.

  “This isn’t a poem,” she said, slightly out of breath. “This is a moment in your life you’ll remember forever, when you’re back at your boring-ass office job, doing whatever-the-fuck it is you do with numbers—”

  “Software engineer, and I—”, my hip was caught on something, but if I jiggled it I could just—

  “And you’ll remember this time a snarky supermodel pulled you through a fence hole at a mysterious spirituality retreat.”

  With a hard yank, I slid all the way through—with my face in a pile of dirt, my tie smearing mud everywhere, my shoes getting caught on ragged edge of the fence. I looked up, to see Lucia surrounded by moonlight, and burst into nervous laughter.

  “Shhh,” she said, laughing too. “Shhh or we’ll both go to jail.”

  “I’m sorry it’s just—” I said, trying to catch my breath, “it’s so quiet and I have this feeling that any fucking second now a giant security officer is just going to wallop me on the head with a flashlight.”

  A pause. Hands back on her hips, corner of her lips twitching. “Excellent use of the word wallop.”

  “Thank you,” I said, still flat on my back, dirt on my face.

  “Are you ever going to stand up?”

  “No, I, uh…I like it here. Feels safe—” But I barely finished the sentence before she hauled me up, dusting the dirt off and straightening my tie.

  “Christ, you’re strong.”

  “Have you ever held lion cubs? They’re heavy. And squirmy. And you need to bring the volume of your voice way down,” she said in a dramatic whisper. I bit my lip to keep from laughing—it was the whispering. And the drama. And the fact that we were now standing in the middle of a large field, dozens of cottages, and not a single soul was out except us. She took my hand, leading the way in the darkness.