“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.”
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