Read Intimates: A Journey Towards Sacred Sexuality Page 3
CHAPTER 3
The one thing Lil didn’t especially like abut Cilla was her pattern of drinking: a glass of wine when depressed, one when something smack-in-the-face good happened, maybe two or three when "just bored out of my mind," and whenever else—just about any time for any reason. The pattern was: one glass, then she stopped counting...not stopped drinking, just stopped counting, till she drank the bottle...and if it was anytime before ten p.m. she’d drink the bottle and any others around. Miraculously—and the word poked itself into her brain at these moments of reflection—miraculously, she never got stinking drunk. "You’re drunk," Lil could say that, but it was only because Cilla had stopped talking. Full Stop. Mute. Tongueless. Not falling down or dropping things or wetting her panties, just stone-cold silent. So, Lil knew when Cilla was profoundly drunk.
Cilla has been silent for over ten minutes.
"I went Round-the-World...and I still can’t tell!" The first glass...he last as to count.
"Maybe, you’re not his Smoky Angel!?"
Another...but no one’s counting.
"Not me?"
"Let's see, think about it. What did he say when he called?"
"He didn’t. Zav did."
"Really?!"
"Said Mark would be moving in next month, end of semester and, and just assumed, said, "Pick you both up at 7," like it was a set thing or something....thought you knew."
"Aw, can’t be him. Why’d a guy do something like this?"
"Like...?"
"Like fawn all over you with gifts and stuff and not stake his claim. Not want something back for it. After all, it’s his time, now." His time—the End of Courting, the Beginning of Coupling—her time.
"Like, his taking off before the date ends. Goes against the way we’ve all been taught to Play."
Looking blankly at each other. Lil not wanting to judge. Cilla off into a zombie space.
"Not everyone’s as Bad as Zav." Slurred titter.
Silent. But she could still see his eyes. No. Still feel them. Isn’t that what this guy’s about? What makes him different? You so interested?
Like all night he’d never let you out of his sight. Even when out of the room, you could feel them, couldn’t you? The scarf...even when you first took it off, like you couldn’t! Incredible. He’s still here—spooky! Hmmmm. Hell, how can I tell her? The first guy you really—Really!—wanted to undress you with his eyes! To look at you and examine every piece of your body. Not like all the others; not to date, anyway... Like when he held my hands he was seeing what I was touching, how I hold the salt shaker, how I fold my hands in prayer, wipe the sweat after gym..Great Mother! I could see it all over him...he had to have sent me all those things. But, didn’t care...doesn’t care—why? ...How can I tell Lil? That—they were my gifts to him? Hell, what does that mean?...Is this how Coupling feels?
Mother! I’m his Smoky Angel, I know it!
"Maybe, you should’ve worn something, at least one?"
"Creative? You were feeling pretty rotten; down. Can’t hide that from me, Sister."
"Accountant. I don’t think you can fully understand." Fades off into sighful reverie.
Lil didn’t catch the "can" at first. Her mind was racing along some psych profiles she’d been studying in "Abnormal Psychology," her first upper-division class; the profiles had fascinated her.
"Janus ...." almost whispered.
The two were speaking in the same room but not on the same plane.
Cilla was almost at absolutely silent...last drink.
"Two-faced or double-sided or maybe just a Trickster...what did Doctor Madden say about that type? ...Perverse? Ugliness from some lingering meta-genetic pollution?...Wow, wouldn’t that be something!" Wild thought.
"He’s deep. That’s what he is—deep."
It was as if a dead-bolt had clunked into place, securing the door. The thump of perfect silence actually drew her to a physical turn. She watches Cilla exhale and sink into the mattress. Pillow drawn over her eyes.
Lil knew that she could only leave.
"Every ledger has two columns. Debits. Credits. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha!...He certainly is creative!" Deep.