Claire of the Moon

by Nicole Conn

  Claire’s jaw tightened as she finished off the wine. She closed her eyes. It hurt. But then, she was used to pain.

  ****

  “I’ve been watching you.” Young, brash, generically studly, he was a kid in his early twenties.

  “That supposed to make my day?” Claire exhaled throatily.

  “It’s just you’ve been lookin’ so miserable, I thought I’d come over and cheer you up.”

  Claire’s facade dropped over her like a well-worn veil. “You did, huh!”

  “You betcha.” The kid indicated another round to the bartender.

  “Now isn’t that sweet.”

  “You like to dance?”

  “Depends.” Claire was already bored with this familiar descent into the mundane.

  “I studied movement in school.” He rattled on, unaware that Claire was completely distracted. “Movement and acting. Coach says it’s for sissies—swears I can make it on a football scholarship, more dignity in that ya know—but I’m no yo-yo. I can make a lot more modeling...”

  His voice faded into the relentless country twang rattling out of the jukebox. Claire studied an image of a woman who was long familiar with small talk, the aimless and animated chatter that led to the conquest and conquered. It stared back at her from a mirror lined with Tanqueray and Smirnoff, the face filled with boredom and loathing. What had changed? She glanced at the kid, merrily chatting away to himself, completely self-enamored.

  Abruptly she twirled her bar stool towards him. “You know what, Joe College?” Claire tossed her cigarettes into her purse, slinked off the stool. “I’m sick of this place.”

  Paydirt! His eyes were fire. And he hadn’t even had to try. Yeah...modeling for sure. He downed his drink, eagerly tossed some money on the bar and started to follow.

  Claire threw her purse over her shoulder almost hurling it into his perfect aquiline nose. She barely acknowledged him as she made her exit. “And I don’t need any company.”

  The air went out of his tires as she stumbled forward. She walked uncertainly forward. Dizzy. She had to get out of there. Escape. She knocked against several people on the way out of the crowded bar and then into Brian as she neared the exit. Awkward tension swirled around them mingled with the heavy smoke.

  “Small world.” Brian grinned uncertainly. “Hey, you still don’t have to fuck me... but how about a drink?”

  Claire had already had too many drinks. In her lightheadedness she watched Brian’s gentle smile. He was sincere, sweet, vulnerable. She touched his chin, leaned up and kissed him.

  “Ah...” Brian sighed, “You must be a Scorpio.” Claire’s smile was self-deprecating. “Claire...” He leaned closer peering directly into her eyes. “I can rearrange things. Stay a few extra days.”

  Claire considered a moment, still hazy. “I thought …”

  Brian stopped her with a passionate kiss. “Come on. Let me buy you a drink.”

  “Sure.”

  He began to lead her back to the bar, but she stopped in her tracks.

  “Claire...” His eyes pleaded. “You know something’s here...” He waited, his face hopeful, uncertain. “Just give me half a sign.”

  Claire considered him, hazily, but even in her drunken confusion she knew there was only one place for her to go. “I can’t.”

  ****

  Claire paced her empty motel room. She had spent the night pacing. Her head pounded, her throat was dry, the fury of her hangover plagued her body and soul. It was three in the morning. She had left the bar, found a shabby room, and had lain on the bed staring at the ceiling until the alcohol began to recede and her mind furiously jumped into activity. Now as she paced, she began to rehash her entire stay at this damn writers retreat with the most absurd collection of women ever gathered. A sitcom. She could pitch it to Ben when she got back. Especially her and Noel. The veritable odd couple. Yeah, that would go over well on prime time.

  Her mind raced for hours. Between her sardonic overview of the past four weeks and the throbbing in her head, she was near migraine. She took some aspirin and drew a bath. She soaked for an hour, the frantic activity of dazed neurons soothed by water so hot and punishing she could barely tolerate it. Soak out the alcohol. She sat in the room. She waited until dawn and headed to the beach.

  She wandered for miles, but nothing could still the nervous energy pumping through her veins. She ran. She ran from the memories of the past fifteen years, from the life she had so securely placed herself in, autonomously in control, sustained by an illusion of never needing anyone. She ran to escape her loneliness, her demons, her failures. But they followed tight on the imprint of her soles on the sand. She stumbled. Her body no longer had the strength to run. Her soul was tired of running. She had run all her life.

  And now she was at the end of it. It was strange how it happened. You came up against yourself one too many times and it was over.

  She couldn’t feel the cold of the water as the waves washed over her body. She could only wonder, dumbly, at the betrayal of her physical being to succumb to the icy undercurrent. That would be the ultimate end to this race. Her body was void of feeling, the freezing water lapping against her thighs, as casual as lotion being spread over her limbs. She could feel her flesh against the sand, her bent knees torn by the gritty grains. And in that moment, she knew if she did not move soon, she would not move at all.

  ****

  Noel bent her head into the cutting wind as she stumbled against the gale force. An angry dark blue gray loomed ominously on the horizon as the storm teased its way up from the sea. Frightening and exhilarating. The perfect back-drop for her mood. It would cleanse her. From Erika. From...Claire. Claire, who crept insidiously into the perimeter of her consciousness, taunting, cruel and relentless.

  She headed to the rock. Her rock. If she made it through the torrent of wind she might find some measure of solace. She wasn’t sure how, but she held the hope that its strength would feed her.

  She dodged the rushing tide as she jogged to the west side of the crag several hundred feet before her. She continued on, steadfast, the whipping gusts throwing her body off balance.

  ****

  Claire stumbled towards The Rock, with a sense of purpose she did not begin to understand. She held her body upright as she rounded the east side.

  When she approached its broken core she saw her.

  In the same instant Noel became aware of Claire.

  Noel entered the heart of the crag. Claire tripped towards her on her path, and fell into her from sheer impact of the wind and the rough sand shifting about her feet. Breathing as if for life, her eyes angry at the final betrayal of her old self, she reached out, grabbed the back of Noel’s neck, pulled

  Noel’s lips to her own, savagely, impatiently, hungrily. Noel clasped Claire to her as their embrace lasted an eternity, filled with the anguished longing of hours, days, endless moments of desire, pain and rage.

  Claire pushed herself away. They were both shaken.

  “That’s because...I...will never see you again.”

  ****

  Noel packed the last of her equipment, bags, books, as Amy shuttled the remainder of the boxes to the car. Maggie strolled in, and leaned against the frame, watching Noel carefully. Noel deflected any memories as she moved abruptly past her out onto the deck.

  Noel noticed Amy waiting patiently by her side. “Yes?”

  “Do you want the Oxburg material for your lecture?”

  “No. I don’t think that will be necessary.” Noel dismissed Amy and attempted to get past Maggie without any speeches.

  “BJ and I will be there. At the lecture.”

  “Great.”

  “Amy looks different.”

  They both glanced at the transformation. A long flowered skirt, gargantuan purple sweater and baby’s breath adorning her hair had replaced the fastidious attire of several weeks earlier.

  “She’s been working for a colleague. Ex-hippy, liberal from Reed.”


  “Ahhhh.” Maggie chuckled, then turned a concerned frown to Noel. She knew Noel was suffering. She only wished she could absorb some of her friend’s pain. Damn, life was a bitch. This sober shit wasn’t much fun either. But the sex. Un-fucking-believable. “You know how I can be sort of a shit when I get to feeling loose. I’m sorry. About Erika, although I’d guess that’s not exactly the primary concern on your mind—” Maggie shuffled, not sure what to say. Her eyes were kind and serious. “Why don’t you stay awhile. BJ’s going back to the city. We can spend some time. Hell, I can...oh, I dunno—”

  “Maggs!” Noel turned to her, smiled. “You are the biggest pain in the ass.”

  Maggie shrugged with acceptance. She was.

  “...The irony being that by not allowing ourselves to be integrated into the mainstream we are exercising the most paradoxical form of homophobia. Afraid we will lose our sense of identity by allowing any of our subculture to fit in. Fitting in is not a crime. The political factions demand we take a stand and be quote, other...with the same rights. It is admirable and I applaud lesbians who carry a banner and wave the Lesbian Nation’s flag over their heads. But there are other women who desire to be lesbian, and love women, and still integrate themselves in a way that makes their lives full. Let’s remember a common theme of many of our marches in the eighties. ‘Unity in diversity.’”

  The applause was resounding. Dr. Noel Benedict searched the blur of faces filling the auditorium. Someone escorted her offstage and took her to a lobby where she began signing her latest book, The Politic of the Politically Incorrect Lesbian.

  Noel scanned the eager faces as she put pen to page. The line was interminable, and the drain of answering the same endless questions put her on autopilot. All she could think about was getting the hell out of there.

  ****

  She went back. She didn’t know why. Maybe she thought being there would ease the pain. Maggie might be right. Maybe she was simply being masochistic. She didn’t care. She was tired. Exhausted.

  She slept. Dreamt. Hazy dreams all jumbled, scattered, Erika drifting in and out, Maggie warning a gale storm was on its way in. Noel needed to leave. The storm would swallow them up. But she couldn’t. She had to find the lighter. Claire’s lighter. Claire floated in, in bright vibrant colors, like the painting in her room, larger than life. Even her skin tones were deep royal blues flanked by magenta and indigo shadows. They were entwined in each other’s arms lying on the beach near a fenced sandbar, as if they were the star-crossed lovers out of From Here to Eternity. The giant tidal wave lurking in the background suddenly rushed over them and carried Claire out to sea. Noel’s arms were empty as Claire’s hair, a brilliant shimmering gold, washed away in the waves, never to be seen again. It was like an ancient Grimm’s Fairy Tale in its surrealism, and left her feeling empty. And terribly lost.

  She thought about the dream now as she sipped her tea. Well, some things never change. But she had. The pain of Erika was gone. The pain of Claire had replaced it, she thought ruefully. But it wasn’t the same kind of helpless, senseless pain. She loved Claire. She loved her for bringing Noel back to a part of herself that had left the day her mother died: her fire. In all of its vagaries, moods, dramas and pitfalls, life was exciting, and though she’d told her patients a million times nothing was ever gained without risk, it was Claire’s ability to incite emotion, raw and untamed, in all her humanness, that had pumped life back into her veins. She would always love her for that. It didn’t even bother her pragmatic mind that she was being uncharacteristically romantic about the whole unrequited “thang” as Claire would call it. It simply was.

  ****

  Hours later Noel shifted her position. She had sat at the window reading, and then drifted off again into another dream she couldn’t remember. Something had awakened her. She stretched and got up. She had left the lights off. The dark felt peaceful and safe. After several moments she wandered into the bedroom and lit a fire and warmed herself against the setting chill.

  She heard Maggie’s footsteps on the deck and then the door open. Probably coming to check up on her. She loved her wonderfully cantankerous friend, but what she needed was solitude. Noel stoked the fire and turned to greet her.

  But it wasn’t Maggie. Someone moved cautiously in the darkened shadows.

  It was Claire.

  Her stance was nonchalant, although her being there was not a casual remark. And she was different. There was a softness in her gently pleading eyes. Her hair appeared a silvery golden in the moonlight, wrapped partially back in a Desdemona braid that brought out the fullness of her Renaissance beauty, beguiling and magic. Noel could merely stare at the ghostly apparition before her, fearful of making a move lest it evaporate into thin air. But she was real.

  Claire could not move. The endless moments they had faced each other off flooded her mind. She did not know how to approach this woman, how to span the chasm of fear.

  Their eyes struggled as they assessed one another, wary opponents.

  Noel watched Claire assume an old air of defense as she walked to the bed. She threw Noel’s new book on it. “You forgot to sign this.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I was there.” Claire’s voice betrayed this incidental information. “I didn’t want to be. But somehow...I ended up there.” A twitch developed by her eye. She rubbed her forehead in frustration, attempting self control, but there was none, and she knew it. “Just like I ended up here.”

  Her eyes penetrated Noel’s, direct, full of heat as she moved towards her, barely able to maintain her breathing, ragged, sharp, intent. Noel put a hand to Claire’s face to help steady them both. Claire grasped it in her own and pulled Noel to her as they tumbled onto the bed.

  Claire greedily enveloped Noel in her arms, struggling against the confines of human movement, tearing at her, hungry, injured, impatient, wanting only to have her inside. Noel’s lips parted, trembling, desperate to feel Claire’s tongue, her soft wet lips as her mouth bruised Claire’s with need, ravaging without boundary. Noel’s hands swept to Claire’s hair, her fingers shaking, mercenary in their mission.

  The contact was too intense to bear. Noel stopped. Dizzy. Desperate to regain control but their momentum was already a beast of its own making and swept them forward.

  Claire’s hands clutched Noel’s face, aching to touch her jaws, then turned Noel’s face commandingly so that Noel was directed to Claire’s arched and exposed neck. She wanted Noel to take her, to hurt her, to mark her, to quell this agonizing need in her. Noel’s teeth plunged into the gracefully curved muscles, as Claire screamed, raw, anguished at the impact of pleasure pouring over her, infusing her, igniting the flame, the essence of desire.

  Noel’s mouth traveled to Claire’s. She stopped. Her arms trembled as she pushed herself away so that she could look into this woman’s soul who had tormented her beyond pleasure.

  Claire returned the penetrating gaze. “I’ve waited so long.”

  “Forever.”

  “Forever.” Claire could barely utter the words as their lips met; an interminably engulfing embrace, searching, then frenzied, consuming.

  Claire tore at Noel’s clothes. She needed to feel her skin. It was beyond reason. When her bronzed skin touched Noel’s smooth sinewy flesh Claire felt as if her skin would melt into Noel’s by osmosis, their bodies gripped in sacred union. Claire pushed Noel to the side, moved on top of her, painting her body on Noel’s as if it would be her last act. Then it began. Deep. So deeply buried inside her, it ravaged to be free. Her body spurred by the compelling hunger within, gained momentum, urgent, escalating, grinding into Noel with primal need, gasping, trembling without control as she came swiftly, without warning, simply from the impact of being with this woman. This woman. She embraced the sweet explosion of her senses, grasping Noel to her as Noel shuddered in the same exquisite moment.

  ****

  The warmth of Claire’s mouth. Her full lips, her tongue against her own. The heat of her skin. H
er smell. The light acrid-sweet linger of cigarettes married to her perfume. Sensual. Alluring. Noel’s palms tingled on the fine-toned skin, as if she could feel each separate hair on this woman’s golden-tanned flesh.

  Noel’s stomach twisted, aching sweetly as her lips explored every nuance of Claire’s body, as her mouth traveled, memorizing every contour, the dip from her quivering ribcage to the flat plane of her stomach, the curve of her hip, her solid muscular thighs, waiting until she could hold off no longer.

  Wet. Exquisitely wet: the truth of desire. Hot. The taste of Claire. The swollen sweetness. The tenseness as she arched and Noel felt Claire peaking. Wracking. Claire’s body convulsing gracefully as she came. Hard. And again.

  Claire’s hands reached for her and as her body lay upon Claire’s, their bodies breathing as one, Noel knew she had finally come home.

  Claire’s lips. Upon her mouth. Her eyelids. Claire bit her jaw as she gently pushed Noel to the side. Her hair cascaded upon Noel’s face, shrouding them in silk. Claire’s tongue upon her breast now, teasing her...she was always teasing her, and now her fingers, lightly upon her nipples, and she thought of those same fine hands dancing on the keys, as they now played her, commanding, demanding her until Noel thought her body would explode if Claire’s mouth did not find her soon.

  And when her tongue fed Noel’s hunger, her body filled with uncontrollable arousal, the light pierced behind Noel’s eyes, as she came, came without shame at her desire for this woman, who shattered all restraint and brought her to the core of her fire.