French Kissing: Season One

by Harper Bliss

  Juliette was right, she really was the bossy one.

  JULIETTE

  “The sex is earth-shattering.” Juliette sat at the bar of Le Comptoir with Claire for a quick one after work before Claire’s date with Margot. “It hasn’t been like this in years, or maybe I just forgot.” She looked sideways at her friend. “Are you listening to me at all?”

  “As riveting as the stories of your sex life are to me, I believe I’ve just been stood up again.”

  Juliette scrunched up her eyebrows. “What now?”

  Claire showed her the screen of her phone.

  So sorry. Work emergency. Call after.

  “Jesus Christ.” She shook her head. “But who are we to pass judgement?”

  “I believe I’m beginning to understand how your significant other has been feeling all these years every time you called her to say you were working late.”

  “This probably means I won’t get to see Nadia tonight either, if they’re calling in Margot on her day off.” Juliette signalled Tony to give them the same again. “I know it’s Monday, but let’s get wasted.”

  “I can’t believe I left work early for this. I just wanted one drink to take the edge off, but yes, I think I may have several now.”

  “Are you texting her back?”

  “It would be the polite thing to do.” Claire polished off her half-empty cosmopolitan as soon as Tony deposited the next one in front of her. “But I’ll let her stew for a while.”

  “Do you like her enough to get stood up on what looks like regular occasions?” Juliette had warmed up to Margot considerably since she had driven her to see Nadia on the back of her motorbike, but when push came to shove, Nadia was still living with her and that could hardly sit well with Juliette.

  “She’s got that silent, tough girl act going on, which isn’t really my thing, but I am intrigued. But honestly, we haven’t had a conversation lasting longer than fifteen minutes, so it really is too early to tell.”

  “But you’ll give her another chance?”

  “Depends how she plays it. If we actually manage to go on a date, she’d better make it a spectacular one.” Claire toyed with her phone. “I’d better text her back.”

  Juliette sipped from her daiquiri while Claire composed and sent the message. They both jumped when a phone beeped loudly behind them just as Claire pressed ‘send’. Without exchanging words, they turned around on their bar stools and looked into a leather-clad doctor’s smug face.

  So she did have a sense of humour.

  “Surprise,” Margot said. “My horse awaits outside. If the lady would care to join me.”

  Juliette expected her to end with a little curtsey, but Margot wasn’t the type to take it that far. Well-played, though.

  “I, um, I—” Claire was hardly ever at a loss for words, but she was now.

  Juliette was grateful she was there to witness it so she could use it against her friend when she needed to. A warmth spread through her flesh at the sight of them, and at the sudden thought that, if there wasn’t an emergency at the hospital, she could ask Nadia to come over.

  “Get out of here, you two,” she said. “I’d confiscate both your cell phones so as to avoid any interruptions, but I shall remain realistic.”

  “See you tomorrow.” Claire gathered her affairs and followed Margot out of the door.

  Inspired by Margot’s romantic gesture, Juliette quickly paid the bill and took a taxi to Saint-Germain-des-Prés, where she hoped to find Nadia in Margot’s apartment. She wanted to ask her something.

  CLAIRE

  It wasn’t easy straddling the back of a motorcycle when wearing a pencil skirt, but Claire took it in her stride. Margot hadn’t said where she was taking her, but judging by the route she took, it wasn’t to the restaurant where they had agreed to meet.

  Curling her arms around Margot’s waist—holding on for dear life, really—and feeling her hard stomach through the leather of her jacket was exhilarating though, as was this ride at dusk through their beautiful city.

  The bike rumbled beneath her, the twitches of Margot’s muscles against her body indicated she was in complete control, the wind whipped through the strands of her hair not covered by the helmet and Claire wondered if what she was feeling in her stomach was just excitement or something else.

  Margot slowed down in a street just off the Champs de Mars. She was agile enough to get off the bike quickly—displaying amazing flexibility in doing so—before Claire had a chance to climb down. Margot helped Claire so she could dismount in the least embarrassing way possible and while Claire pulled her skirt back over her knees, Margot popped open the storage of the bike and took out a bottle of wine.

  “Could you hold this, please?” She handed the wine to Claire while she took her helmet and attached it to the lock that fastened the front wheel of the bike to a concrete structure in the ground.

  She grabbed a folded plastic bag from the storage and added plastic cups, a baguette—broken in two to fit the small space underneath the seat of the bike—a tupperware container with cheese and salami, a knife, a cutting board and a blanket.

  Claire wanted to whistle in admiration, but stopped herself, not wanting to spoil the moment with irony of any sort. She was quite perplexed by Margot’s display of spontaneity and, frankly, her desire to woo Claire with a picnic with full view of the Eiffel Tower.

  Margot put her own helmet in the now empty storage space, locked it and turned to Claire. “All good to go.”

  They’d barely exchanged any words since Margot had turned up at Le Comptoir, but, Claire suspected, as far as setting the mood went, Margot was doing a better job than she ever could with words. She followed Margot onto the lawn as the last of the sun dipped behind the horizon.

  Despite growing up in Paris, she’d never come here at night. When you live in Paris, you tend to avoid the most obvious tourist traps, but the spot Margot had chosen, just far enough from a lamp post to not be too lit up, but close enough to allow them to see each other and the magnificently lit-up tower, was perfect.

  They spread out the blanket and sat down, and once again Claire cursed the choice in clothing she’d made that morning. She’d dressed to impress in a restaurant and possibly a bar after, not to ride a motorcycle and sit on a blanket. She had to hike up her skirt a bit higher than made her feel comfortable, but she could hardly complain about the setting, Margot’s manoeuvre and how things had played out. It beat listening to more tales of Nadia and Juliette at Le Comptoir.

  Margot poured them a cup of wine. A Bordeaux from a good year she believed, but Claire wasn’t really paying attention to that.

  “To our first real date,” Margot said, and clinked the plastic rim of her cup against Claire’s.

  “You had me fooled for a moment.” Claire couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear.

  “That was the idea.” Margot had tossed her leather jacket aside and wore a simple white t-shirt underneath. It was the first time Claire noticed her arms and the gentle swell of her biceps. It stirred something in the area covered by her propped-up skirt.

  “Can’t say I saw that one coming.”

  “How could you.” Margot took a sip and locked eyes with Claire over the rim of her cup. “You don’t know me very well yet.”

  STEPH

  Steph’s temples throbbed when she arrived home from the office at well past nine p.m. All she wanted was to soak in a hot, soothing bath, but she only had a shower at her disposal in her tiny flat.

  She’d ordered a pizza on her way home and crashed down on her sofa with Pierrot while she waited for its delivery. She was surprised when her intercom buzzed because Pizza Italia’s delivery service wasn’t usually that fast. She buzzed them in without asking who it was, too tired to pay much attention to anomalies.

  She dug out some cash from her wallet and waited for the doorbell to chime. Instead of the out-of-tune ding-dong that her bell produced, someone knocked on the door—another something her usual pizza guy nev
er did. Maybe he had been replaced or had a day off.

  Steph opened the door and found herself face-to-face with someone holding a bottle of wine instead of a pizza.

  “Thank goodness you’re home,” Dominique said. “I really didn’t want to drink this all by myself.”

  Steph stood with her mouth wide open for an instant, her heart hammering away in her chest. She recovered quickly. “Seriously? You want to drink again tonight after we killed that bottle of whiskey last night?”

  “Depends… are you going to invite me in?” Dominique had that triumphant smile on her face, the one she used for posters and other election promotion material.

  “Well, I’m kind of contractually obliged, I guess.” Steph opened the door wide, scooping up Pierrot before he could make a dash down the stairs.

  “You’re no such thing. Unless I didn’t read the clause that stipulates you need to drink with me whenever I demand it.”

  It’s not as if I can kick you out. Steph didn’t say it out loud. She didn’t mean it, either. Last night was a bit of a blur. She didn’t remember much after the second glass of whiskey—which was really not the type of liquor Steph excelled in drinking. There was a lot of ranting by Dominique, a lot of cursing at her husband and her father and the party leader, who was just a front with a younger face—according to Dominique—because everybody knew Xavier Laroche was still the one pulling the strings and setting the course—as right-wing as possible.

  “You’re very welcome in my humble crib. Truth be told, I hadn’t expected you to show up here again. Not posh enough for you.” Steph deposited her cat on the sofa and took Dominique’s coat. It smelled of her perfume, a scent she’d gotten quite used to over the past week. That wasn’t in the contract either.

  She fetched two wine glasses from the kitchenette and held them out so Dominique could fill them. She looked at Dominique while she uncorked the bottle with a corkscrew that somehow always remained on her coffee table. PR was an alcoholic business, as much inside as outside the home.

  “I have my reasons for being here,” Dominique said while filling their glasses. Steph sat down next to her. She would have vacuumed if she’d known she’d have company.

  “I’m sure you have.” Steph arched up her eyebrows, waiting for some sort of revelation.

  “I’ve come to realise I was very rude to you yesterday. I must admit I had a few, even before you arrived, and I kept banging on about myself without even once stopping to ask about you. That’s why I’ve come.” She said it as if she was giving a speech in parliament, confident and totally convinced of her own justness.

  “You’ve come to ask how I’m doing?” Steph looked into Dominique’s green winner’s eyes.

  “To even out the balance.” Dominique drank some more wine. “There are two other people on this planet who know what you know about me and you’re the only one I’m on speaking terms with.” She narrowed her eyelids. “Unless you’ve told your bosses.”

  Steph shook her head, glad she hadn’t had the chance to tell Claire and Juliette when she was about to. “I haven’t. You can trust me.”

  “I know I can.” Dominique put a hand on her thigh and Steph felt the impact shoot all the way through her. She didn’t remove it. “Tell me about you, Steph. I take it you don’t have a girlfriend?”

  Steph sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, caught between a rock and a hard place. She decided she might as well play. After all, most nights when she went to Les Pêches, she felt as if she had invented this game herself. “I don’t. I guess I haven’t met that one person yet who can sway me into domesticity.”

  “If there’s one thing that’s overrated.” Dominique squeezed Steph just above the knee before withdrawing her hand. She gulped down the rest of her wine and set her glass on the table. “That’s really all I needed to know.”

  “Does that mean you’re leaving already?” Steph sat up a little straighter, holding her wine glass in both hands in front of her chest.

  “No. I wouldn’t dream of it now.” Dominique held her gaze, her full-wattage smile dimmed to a crooked grin. “I wish I had more time to dedicate to this, but I am an incredibly busy woman, so I’m just going to come out and say it.” She reached out her arm and, without asking, took Steph’s wine glass out of her hands, depositing it on the table next to hers. “I’m very attracted to you, Steph, and let’s just say I’m hardly in two minds about wanting to kiss you right now.”

  NADIA

  Nadia had half-expected Juliette to turn up. What she didn’t see coming was the way Juliette shoved her against the front door the instant she closed it behind her and kissed her with such intensity it seemed her life depended on it.

  This is what they did now. Instead of talking about their problems and attempting to find a way out, they tried to fuck them away. Nadia didn’t want to say it out loud, but it was typical of Juliette. The mere thought of a real confrontation, of having to face an emotional, intimate issue head on, made her clam up. Or kiss her as if they’d just met, hormones still unsettling their blood.

  Nadia was hardly brave herself, and she reciprocated Claire’s kiss with a desperation unknown to her, as if clinging on to something she knew she stood to lose.

  “We have to talk, babe,” she tried, when they came up for air. Before she had a chance to say more, Juliette pressed her swollen lips against hers again, ignoring Nadia’s plea.

  “I know you’re home alone,” Juliette hissed in her ear. “I have plans for you.” She planted her palms on the door next to Nadia’s head, her arms stretched along Nadia’s cheeks. At least this was new. Different.

  Nadia used the opportunity to take in the image of her estranged partner. She was still in her work outfit. Stark white blouse, pitch black pants suit. Nadia had always preferred her in jeans and a t-shirt. Maybe it was symbolical.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “You’ll see.” Juliette took her by the hand and led her to the guest bedroom, as if she owned the place.

  Nadia followed. She didn’t mind Juliette pretending to take control like this, but she knew it wouldn’t last, knew it was just a front. Something Juliette had basically made a career out of.

  Juliette kicked off her shoes—as if finally allowing herself to sink to Nadia’s barefoot level—and cupped the back of Nadia’s head in her palms. “We’ll talk later. I promise.”

  The promises Juliette had made her over the years and never kept. Nadia could still pinpoint the exact moment she’d decided to start holding them against her. The day it had all become too much and what she’d done in response. The secret she’d been keeping.

  “Okay, baby,” she said, wrecked with guilt, finding Juliette’s hands with her own in her hair. “But let’s do it my way.”

  Nadia gave. It’s what she did. But in giving, she also took. Juliette knew that and that was why their relationship had worked so well, until Nadia had decided to change her boundaries.

  She stripped Juliette of her blazer slowly, mindfully, wanting to counter the mad physical frenzy they’d fallen into of late—as if it could somehow undo the previous months of emptiness between them. Her blouse was next to go and, no matter what had happened, no matter how ignorant Juliette had been and how reckless Nadia had acted, seeing her lover stand in front of her like that, as good as stripped bare, still felt like home.

  Nadia willed herself to push the regret from her brain and started on Juliette’s trousers.

  JULIETTE

  Nadia’s fingers undoing the button of her pants made Juliette shiver in her skin. She wondered if Nadia knew this was the only way she could feel as if they were on the same page, as if they were in synch with each other the way they had been effortlessly for years, before it had all started to unravel. Slowly, almost imperceptibly—at least to Juliette.

  It’s not that she didn’t understand, but it was hard to admit. It was failure. And this, the way Nadia’s hands roamed across her skin, this was so much easier.

  In the
end, all it did was prove that lack of passion was not the real reason they’d drifted apart. That it was just another symptom.

  Juliette watched Nadia take off her own clothes. She’d dressed in white linen slacks, comfortable and homely attire, which meant she was somehow starting to feel at home in Margot’s flat. Juliette wouldn’t let it happen. Not if she could help it. But first, Nadia’s naked skin. The sight of it. The coconut scent of it. It represented the best years of Juliette’s life.

  Nadia took a step closer and pressed her warm flesh against Juliette’s. She curved her arms around Juliette’s waist and held her so close, the only way she could be closer was inside of her. She let her hands trail up Juliette’s back, until they found the lock of her bra and undid it.

  This was a practiced routine, executed thousands of times before, but this was not their bedroom, and afterwards Juliette would ask Nadia to come home. She’d beg her if she had to. The actions were the same, but the sentiment lurking behind them much more powerful.

  Clad only in panties, Nadia pushed Juliette onto the bed. As soon as her back hit the mattress, Nadia hooked her fingers under the waistband of Juliette’s knickers and tore them down. It was always a statement before they really got stuck in, Nadia’s way of showing what she had in store for her.

  Before she joined Juliette on the bed, Nadia stepped out of her own panties. Her dark nipples stiffened and Juliette salivated at the prospect of taking them into her mouth, if Nadia would let her.

  Nadia lowered her body onto Juliette’s, the meeting of their skin familiar and exhilarating, and for a little while, it all fell away. The quiet insults. The growing rift. The distance that had gathered between them. It wasn’t there anymore when Nadia kissed Juliette beneath the ear, it evaporated with the silent sighs already escaping from Juliette’s mouth.