Bohemian

by Kathryn Nolan

  Here goes nothing.

  “I quit,” I said, as a beehive of nerves unleashed inside of me.

  Sabine almost fell out of her chair. Since what model, in my position, would do such a thing? The rumors alone…

  “You’re serious.” She looked murderous.

  “As a heart attack,” I said, the beehive nerves causing my fingers to tremble. But just a little. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, and this feedback. I’ve learned a lot during these three months.” My agent was going to fucking kill me. Kill me. “And if I can help in any way at all, just let me know.”

  “Is this really happening? Just because I criticized you?”

  I shook my head. “No, I get that all the time actually. Did you know my ears stick out a little?” I said, tilting my head to show off the body part in question. “It’s really happening because I want to live differently. And I’m sorry I wasted your time—I truly am. I hope you can salvage what you can before finding my replacement.”

  Sabine narrowed her eyes at me. “This is career suicide,” she snapped, the mask lifting.

  “I know,” I said, grinning like a loon. “And it’s going to be great.”

  “They’ll tear you apart in the papers,” she said, standing up. Hand propped on her hip.

  “Let ‘em,” I said. “I won’t have internet where I’m going anyway.”

  I left her office in a daze, saluting my stern makeup artist, and grabbing a bagel on the way out. I traveled home in a daze, floated up my stairway completely unaware of my surroundings.

  The beehive nerves had taken over my entire body; they were dancing the polka on my lungs, my chest, my heart.

  What the fuck did I just do? And did I really just do it?

  I’d kept the book of Mary Oliver poems Cal had given me that night—it was flipped open on my nightstand, turned to the poem I’d been reading the night before.

  When it’s over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement/I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

  I slid out my suitcase, pulled out my phone. A slew of social media notifications popped up, but I ignored them.

  Josie picked up on the first ring. “Oh my god, I have so much to tell you about Gabe.”

  I grinned, hearing the good news in her voice. “Perfect. How do you feel about doing it in person?”

  I was ready—to take the world into my arms. Good or bad, no matter what happened. I’d regret it forever if I didn’t.

  Josie squealed, and then I did too, and buried deep down beneath the bees, beneath the fear and the nervousness and the worry, was something warm and beating, like a tiny heart.

  Joy.

  ◊

  CALVIN

  “Allen Ginsberg once tried to levitate my grandfather,” I said, facing the tiny audience of ten people who had shown up Noel Hartford’s reading tonight.

  The ten people chuckled softly.

  “He wasn’t successful, in case you hadn’t guessed,” I said and they laughed again.

  I still hated public speaking but was trying to get better. At least my voice was only shaking a little bit.

  “But Allen Ginsberg was just one of the hundreds of authors, writers, poets and artists who called The Mad Ones home from the late fifties through the 1980s. Sadly, those readings slowly stopped happening, and the last ten years this bookstore has merely been a quirky local artifact, far from its original glory.”

  Movement at the back, a latecomer. My heart leapt. Every person counted.

  “My grandfather died nine months ago,” I said, and the audience made a combined noise of sympathy. “It was peaceful,” I said, smiling, “and he left the bookstore to me, to take up the mantle. Return it to what it used to be. Which has been hard, for sure. But my goal is to bring the literary community in this area back to life, with readings and writing workshops and authors-in-residence,” I said, smiling when I saw folks nodding their heads in agreement.

  Gabe was there, big shit-eating grin on his face, and I wondered if something had changed with Josie.

  “This is the first reading at The Mad Ones since 1997, and we’re happy to have local poet Noel Hartford, who’s here to read from her chapbook, released last week.”

  Polite applause, Noel beaming like this was the best moment of her life, which it might have been. I slipped away, towards the back, taking the second to last seat near the small Poetry room.

  Noel started and I was immediately entranced, rocketed back to a memory of sitting here, on my grandfather’s lap as a small child, watching someone read. My heart lifted optimistically. This was the beginning. If I could just pay off the debts…

  I was so involved I didn’t hear the latecomer slide next to me, but the scent of coconut shampoo turned my head and I was suddenly face to face with Lucia Bell.

  If I’d had a mouthful of water I would have spit it out. Instead I half-fell out of the chair, but Lucia caught me, laughing silently.

  “What are you doing here?” I whispered in absolute amazement. She was dressed simply in a long skirt and a tee-shirt, hair up in a ponytail. No makeup. She looked jet-lagged and gorgeous.

  “I missed you so fucking much, Cal,” she whispered and if we weren’t surrounded by people, I would have kissed her.

  “Am I dreaming this?”

  She shook her head with a secret smile. “Let’s talk after her reading. I want to hear her poetry.”

  “Um…okay,” I said. “Can you give me a summary of what you want to talk about, just so I can prepare? Like, what’s the topic sentence?”

  She rolled her eyes, giving me a goofy grin. Why were all these people here? Why weren’t we naked? She took out her poetry journal and a pen, scribbling something quickly.

  Roses are red/

  Violets are blue/

  I came back to say/

  I’m falling for you.

  I dropped the piece of paper, grabbed her hand and dragged her into the Poetry room. Pushed her up against the back of the far wall, away from prying eyes and listening ears. We could hear the poet, the quiet applause.

  “Cal, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m the sorriest person who’s ever walked the face of the Earth,” Lucia whispered frantically as I hooked her leg around my waist, sliding my hand up her firm thighs.

  I reached her panties, gripping and tearing them immediately. Her eyes widened. “Wait, what’s happening?”

  “I missed you so fucking much,” I said against her lips, my thumb finding her clit and circling it firmly.

  She jolted in surprise, lips open to moan but I kissed her, covering the sound. “And we have a lot to talk about and we will, but first, you are going to come for me. Right here, right now.” I circled quickly, worried it was too much pressure on her clit—too fast, too soon, but she’d already been wet, and as I stroked, her head fell forward onto my neck, breath coming hot and fast. She whimpered, the smallest of sounds, and I was instantly rock hard and aching.

  “I thought about what you looked like coming every night you were gone,” I whispered as her legs shook. “Dreamed of your taste, the way you smell, the look on your face when you climax. So fucking beautiful, you are so fucking beautiful,” I growled as she panted one word, ‘yes’ over and over, my fingers moving as quickly as possible as she writhed and trembled and came, explosively, my lips on hers, minutes later.

  “What the fuck,” she sighed, head back, as my fingers gently disengaged. I placed her leg down, put her skirt back in place, tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her adorable ears. “I should leave for three months more often.”

  I gave her a hard, rough kiss. “Please don’t ever leave me again.”

  ◊

  LUCIA

  Calvin’s hand was warm in mine as we sat and watched Noel read. She was a beautiful writer, and as she spoke my eyes filled, and spilled over, with tears. I was sitting here, back in this perfect place, Cal next to me.

  I didn’t expect him to give me an earth-shatterin
g orgasm moments after I arrived, but that was Cal for you.

  Everything felt right, like slipping on an old, worn coat, and listening to Noel, surrounded by readers, my fingers itched.

  Inspiration.

  There it was, brimming just beneath the surface.

  I missed you.

  When the poet was done, Calvin gave an adorable speech about the re-launching of The Mad Ones, looking at me the entire time.

  I smiled broadly, nodding. I’d made a list of ideas that I had and couldn’t wait to talk to him about it. And I couldn’t wait to hear his. As people stood and saw me, a few folks recognized me and I waved, friendly, but they didn’t give me a hard time. I got the sense Big Sur would be cool with a former supermodel making her residence here.

  As people trickled out, Cal kept his eyes on me constantly, and after the last person left I heard him throw the deadbolt.

  I looked up and he was right in front of me: crooked grin. Glasses and scruff, hair a mess. Completely fucking adorable.

  He pulled me towards the couch. I had tons to say. And a gift to give. I reached into my pocket, closing my hand around the thin piece of paper.

  “Josie told me you’d kept the bookstore open. I was so fucking proud of you, Cal,” I said. He squeezed my hand.

  “Thank you. It’s…well, it’s been a lot since you left.”

  “Tell me,” I said. “Tell me everything.”

  Silence for a moment. He looked so comfortable in the store. He looked like himself.

  “The day after you left, I had the meeting with the investors. Or, was supposed to. I was ready to sell, totally over it. I wanted—” he looked at me, “Well, I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted, but my time was up. Then, right before I left for the meeting, I found this letter my grandfather had written me. The lawyer gave it to me the day she read the will.”

  “What did it say?”

  His smile was huge. “All the right things to wake me up. I’ll let you read it someday.”

  “I’d love to,” I breathed. “And I’m really happy you found that letter. I mean, you would have made a good life for yourself wherever you ended up. But I think, if you had sold it, moved back—”

  “—I would have regretted it. Deeply.” His eyes glittered emerald against the crackling fire.

  “So…you’re living your dream now,” I said, nudging his shoulder “What does it feel like?”

  He rubbed his hand down his jaw. “Exhausting. Exhilarating. I don’t know, Lu. Every day it feels like I’m fulfilling my wildest dreams. But then this place is in so much debt…” he trailed off, a look of frustration on his face. “It was way easier to be like ‘look at me! I’m achieving my dreams!’ before I had to fully confront how much shit this place is in.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  “Things like tonight, hosting readings with authors and poets. Gabe is helping me with the finances and the accounting. I’m taking some marketing classes, trying to figure out the best way to lure customers back

  I nodded. “I love that you’re bringing authors back. I think that idea is beyond perfect.”

  A timid smile. “Thanks, it felt right. Felt like my grandfather was here tonight actually.”

  “I felt that too,” I said softly. My hand grabbed the paper. Be brave.

  “You know, my grandmother cried every time she heard a good poem,” Cal said.

  “A woman after my own heart,” I said with a wry smile. “It just happens. I’ve never been able to control it.”

  “And I hope you never do,” he said firmly, leaning forward to kiss me until my head spun. “Did you really leave Paris for good?” he finally asked, a slight look of disbelief.

  “You look like my agent,” I joked. “Well, except my agent is no longer my agent. Because I fired her.”

  “Lucia…wow. Why?”

  I shrugged, biting my lip. “Because I was miserable in Paris. I used to love being a model, I really did. And that contract with Dazzle is going to be the right opportunity for someone else, someone who wants to be in the spotlight for as long as they can. But it doesn’t feel good anymore. I feel like I had to wear a second skin.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to live a life where I’m not myself anymore, even for a job. Especially for a job.”

  I looked at him. “You taught me that.” I kept going before I lost my courage.

  “I was also miserable because I was pining for you,” I said, and realization dawned over his face. “Every day. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t write. Everything around me was brilliant but I just felt…dull. And the moment I got to Big Sur, as soon as I stepped into The Mad Ones…”

  I searched for the right word. “Magic.” The sand was silver beneath our feet. “And as soon as I saw you—” Cal reached forward, brushing a tear that was sliding down my cheek, — “as soon as I saw you, my heart was just so happy.”

  He placed his hand on my chest, right over the organ that was beating rapidly—in excitement. In anticipation.

  “I brought you something,” I said, hands shaking as I took out the piece of paper.

  “A poem?” he asked and I laughed.

  “It’s not a poem,” I said. “It’s a check.”

  He took it from me, brows furrowing, and when he saw the amount, he almost dropped it.

  “That should cover all of the debt, right?” I asked. “Josie asked Gabe, who gave me a ballpark number.”

  “Lucia, this is an extraordinary amount of money. Where did you—”

  “That’s all the money from the photo shoot for Shay Miller. A chunk of my savings. And the first three months of work for Dazzle. They probably won’t end up using any of my images but they still had to pay me. A lot.”

  “Lucia, I’m not sure if I can accept this,” he said, face filled with concern.

  “It’s a good-faith gesture,” I said softly, placing my palm against his cheek.

  “Of what?” he asked, voice choked with emotion.

  It was time to jump. The doors were flung wide open, the whole world outside. It was scary and hard and I didn’t know what the future held but I had to do it.

  I had to.

  “I’m in love with you,” I said. “Madly. Hopelessly. And all the other words a poet would use. And if you’ll have me, I’d like to stay here. With you, in Big Sur.” I let out a long breath. “There, I said it. And if you won’t have me, I will kindly show myself out and will then drive all the way to Mexico where no one knows me and I can live out my days as a recluse.”

  Calvin cupped my face in his hands, smiling broadly. Laughing. “These past three months, all I’ve done is regret not asking you to stay with me. Because I love you so much, Lucia Bell, I don’t know what to do with myself. And please don’t live as a recluse in Mexico.”

  “Well, I don’t have to now,” I said, feeling the need to dance ecstatically across the floor.

  If fireworks had exploded out of the cash register, directly in front of us, we wouldn’t have noticed.

  “Do you feel a bit like we’re jumping out of the airplane, but without the parachute?” Cal asked, pulling me hard against his body. His lips hovered near mine.

  “Yes. But what’s the worst that could happen?”

  “We both go bankrupt,” Cal said, ticking on his fingers. “You realize I’m not the man of your dreams. Two weeks in you realize how much you miss being famous and you go absolutely stir crazy up here without Netflix and Snapchat.”

  “Well…” I said, pretending to consider, “I mean, all of that is technically true. But also, our other options are: go back to our old lives. Be miserable for decades. Retire, be filled with regret that we hadn’t been young and uninhibited and decided to run a bookstore together.” I shrugged. “Have terrible sex with people we don’t really like. Never read or write or be truly happy.” I paused. “But, in all seriousness: what are we waiting for? This is our life.”

  “This is our life,” he said softly.

  “Wild and precious. And ours. Togeth
er,” I said. “Now can we please make out now?”

  And Cal laughed his deep, rich laugh. Joyous and free. He grabbed my hand and I was up against a wall in an instant.

  “I have thought about this,” Cal said as he tore away my skirt, my shirt, my bra, “for three fucking months.”

  I gasped as his teeth closed against my neck, biting possessively. I threaded my fingers in his hair, holding him close as he made quick work of my underwear. He stepped back for only a moment, swearing under his breath when he saw me naked.

  I never saw a man get undressed so quickly in my life.

  “Calvin,” I squealed as he picked me up, throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me to the bedroom. He tossed me onto the bed and my mouth watered, staring at his abs flexing in the moonlight. His hand around his hard cock, stroking. His mouth was everywhere, his tongue on my clit before I could take a full breath.

  “I got myself off to fantasies of you at least twice a day,” I moaned, squeezing my legs around his head. Keeping him there.

  He responded by finger-fucking me to an electric climax, my back arching completely off the bed. Holding my wrists down he spread my legs, fucking me in long, even strokes for what felt like hours. Sweaty, panting, my orgasms as tangled together as the bed sheets.

  And when Cal finally groaned with a shaking release, I felt our lives intertwine in a way that was scary and beautiful and soul-shaking.

  We talked all night long, the ideas pouring out, our excitement over the business a tangible thing, our thirst for adventure tethering us together.

  Cal’s fingers stroked my hair gently; he was half-asleep and so handsome lit up by the moonlight slicing through the curtains.

  I could hear forest sounds, the pounding of ocean waves. Big Sur was breathing, the night alive and filled with magic.

  Somewhere in the world, a little girl wrote poems in her bedroom, pouring herself onto the page.

  Somewhere in the world a little boy sat and marveled at the strange and wonderful universe he discovered through books.

  “Lucia,” Cal said sleepily.

  “I’m here.”