Hey everybody. Tell me what you think of my writing, be honest please. I can take it. _________________ "We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental."
Sat Aug 28, 2004 5:37 pm
Athena
Joined: 26 Aug 2004
Posts: 314
Location: Berlin
--part1--
Her foot rests gently against the iron railing with its flaking paint and rust. Her caramel skin is a delicate contrast to the 19th century wrought iron balcony. Below and across, the Parisian night is ablaze with light, laughter and music. She taps her foot to the beat of music coming from the Argentinean tango café next door. The autumn night is cool but she is too comfortable to go in for a shawl to cover her shoulders. The red wine she has been sipping keeps a shell of warmth around her skin.
The building across from her view is speckled with windows and lights dimmed by blinds and wispy curtains. She puffs a slim cigarette and taps the ashes in an empty flower pot. She sips the wine and coats her teeth with the bitter juice before swallowing. The air whispers music, lovers on street corners, impatient taxis and desperate men selling roses at unfairly cheap prices. She feels at home in this city, where she only knows the basic words of the language and still looks over her shoulder cautiously as she makes her way down the boulevards. Her friends tell her she is beautiful. Even by Parisian standards, she is a beauty amongst them all and if she would only let herself be seen, in no time she would have admirers lined up just to have the chance to hear and repeat her name. She grins when she hears these compliments; she had never thought herself a beauty just an ordinary woman with a timely face. She whispers her name. Sabrina. Slowly as if speaking words in a language she had only just learned and then faster. Sabrina. With the confidence of a child who knows she is being understood. Sabrina. Sabrina. Sabrina.
She draws the cigarette, hears the scorch of paper through the Tango and exhales a mushroom of smoke. She craves something sweet; something rich and filling. Perhaps she should have taken her roommates advice and gone to the bistro in Montparnasse. At least she could have left them early, returned to her solitude on the balcony with a full belly and the new sounds to keep her company. She sips the wine and feels the sting in her empty stomach. She taps her toes to the sound of an accordion and a woman singing about misery in an infused crescendo of French and Spanish. Her toenails are plain, natural, clear, and straight edged. She could paint them. That would be something to do. It would also mean searching for a manicure kit, extinguishing her cigarette and paying attention not to let her toes rub across the wet nails. She decided it can wait. The gentle breeze, billowing her skirt and chilling her skin is all she wants for the moment.
She is beautiful though she would never admit it. The grace of the Dutch Antilles is in her, though she had never visited the islands and never got a chance to learn its smooth seductiveness from her mother. She was a child, raised in a city much like Paris, with the same life and energy but without the chic of the popular European city that attracts lovers from all over the world. The day she left home, with her most important belongings and the feel of tears stinging her eyes, and the words of goodbye she wrote to her father tumbling through her head, she knew that Paris was a city where she could discover herself and find immense joy and fulfillment.
On the balcony, at the age of only twenty, hungering for food she desperately needs, and Caribbean tendrils hanging down her face she feels a slight and sudden panic. As if she suddenly forgot how to inhale, terror strikes her and her body convulses. Perhaps the wine has gotten to her. Perhaps it is her rash decision or the lamenting wail of the woman singing nearby. Sabrina cries. She chokes and coughs, forcing herself to inhale. She rests the wine glass on the ground and huddles to her knees. Perhaps she just needs to cover her shoulders. A blanket is within view, inside the apartment but she cannot move. Perhaps a good cry will suffice, and then she will move
“Sabrina” She says her name as if it is being said by somebody who has come upon her in her state of fear and loneliness. “Sabrina. Sabrina” She stops crying and can sit up once again.
A figure, in one of those dimly lit rooms is at the window. It is somebody with a red coffee mug in the palms of her hands, wearing an evening gown and a flawless chignon. Sabrina stares at her. She is struck by her very red lips and the cascading black fabric she is clothed in. She thinks she recognizes the dress from the Galleries. The figure sips and seems to be watching the people dancing tango. A man in a tuxedo comes up behind her. His hair is dark, combed back and stiff. He touches the woman’s prominent collarbone and takes the mug away from her. They both leave the window and everything is dark. Sabrina puts her foot back on the balcony and lights another cigarette. _________________ "We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental."
Sat Aug 28, 2004 6:33 pm
Athena
Joined: 26 Aug 2004
Posts: 314
Location: Berlin
Part 2
Astrid walks barefoot into the kitchen wearing the clingy green dress she wore out to dinner the night before. There are smudged dark lines under her eyes and her lips still carry unwashed red lipstick. She smiles sweetly at Sabrina sitting at the kitchen table, lamenting over a saucer of milky coffee. Astrid pours herself a glass of milk and sits at the table.
“You should have come out with us”
She touches Sabrina’s forearm and rubs her wrists before sipping her milk. Sabrina nods her head knowingly and straightens her posture.
“Roland was looking forward to meeting you. I’ve told him so much about you. It would have been fun.”
“Next time. I promise.”
“Yes yes,” Astrid mocks. “Next time. Next time” Sabrina rolls her eyes playfully and sips her coffee. “You must leave sometime you know? It is not good to stay here all the time, with no friends.”
“Yes I know.”
“With no lovers.”
She giggles girlishly and for the first time Sabrina realizes that Astrid is a woman, and not the silly party girl she always held her to be. She is a woman with a lover on the weekends and a job during the week. She is somebody who drinks milk in the morning not coffee, kicks off her pumps after work and carries an attaché of work home with her at night. She is not a child, but somebody filled with energy and passion. Her skin is smooth, hued soft peach at her cheeks, and flawless. Her features are delicately shaped and memorable. Her face is framed by glossy chestnut hair and accented by her thick but maintained eyebrows. When Sabrina saw her for the first time at the airport a month ago she looked to her feet and brushed her loose hair behind her ear. She could not believe that Amber’s older cousin was so beautiful. She was somebody who would fit into the pages of Vogue effortlessly. She regretted Paris in that instant, in that instant of self doubt. Astrid took her by the shoulders and hugged her like a friend she had known her whole life. They became friends in the taxi back home. Sabrina, at the table, one foot on the floor the other on her chair, blushes deeply and rubs her chin across her shoulder. Astrid playfully taps her knee and Sabrina giggles.
“You have come to Paris, the city of love and what do you do? You stay home alone. You must go out and find somebody special. You must go out and look for work. Your money will not last forever.”
“Ok, I will” Sabrina takes a gulp from her saucer.
“You must not just say that but do it. Today you will come with me to the market. You have not seen the Sunday market so you will come with me. We will buy fresh aubergine and basil and eggs. You must take something more than coffee and my red wine. That is no way to live in Paris.”
“Oh,” Sabrina hesitates. “I…ah…today?”
“Oui ma Chéri. Aujourd'hui nous allons commercial!”
“What?”
Astrid leaps to her feet, kisses the peak of Sabrina’s head, does a pirouette, tilts her head to the side, and curtsies. She lift a lock of hair from Sabrina’s shoulder curls it playfully in her fingers then lets it fall as if she has released a feather in the wind. She disappears to her room, humming something that sounds like a Schubert composition. Sabrina’s brow furrows; she drops her head into her face.
The day is cool with a sudden chilling breeze. October in New York, Sabrina can imagine the red and orange leaves in Central Park and the decorative Fall windows at Macy’s. She’s seen similar themes the day she ventured to the shopping district for a few moments. The market is crowded with people yelling offers, people tasting, smelling and squeezing. Astrid is like a child as she darts from stall to stall asking Sabrina if she knows or likes certain food.
“Apples…yes…you like? Do you know the name in French? Pommes? Yes, you know? You eat them? Cashews? Fromage de chèvre? Cream? Shall we buy a chicken? Lamb? Almonds? Do you prefer daisies or tulips for the kitchen?”
She laughs with the vendors, throws her head back and lets out a genuine laugh. Sabrina is always struck my Astrid’s genuineness; nothing is ever done for show. They hold hands as Astrid darts through people, smiling for everybody and saying good day to anybody who catches her toffee eyes. They stop at a stand where an old lady with dirty gray gloves, the fingertips cut off, is selling roses.
“Let’s buy roses. Yes? Shall we?”
“Yes.” The multi colored bouquet brings a smile to Sabrina’s face and suddenly she is grateful for the time out of the apartment. She looks across the flower stall, to another cart where a man is selling roasted chickens and sees the woman she glimpsed from the night before. Her blonde hair hangs loosely at her shoulders. She wears a red scarf, no jacket and a pair of brown trousers. The man who came to her at the window is at the fish cart next to her. She woman points at a chicken, holds her finger under her nose as if deliberating a point, nods to the vendor smiles and takes her paper wrapped chicken.
“Astrid?”
“Oui, Chéri”
“Do you see that woman over there? There with the red scarf? She lives in the building across from us.”
“Oh does she?” Astrid squints, spots the woman and nods. “Oh yes. I see who you mean. I see her around the neighborhood from time to time”
“Do you know her?”
“No, not really. I once said hello when she was at her back window and I was on the balcony. Why? Has something happened?”
“Oh, no. Nothing happened. I saw her last night at her window.” The vendor gives Sabrina a pink rose, says something in French and smiles.
“She says this is for you. For being so lovely.”
Sabrina looks to the ground and manages a humbling “Merci” _________________ "We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental."
Sun Aug 29, 2004 3:07 am
Athena
Joined: 26 Aug 2004
Posts: 314
Location: Berlin
Part 3
For Ro and misfit.
Thank you.
Sabrina inspects her feet; the twisted iron makes a long red welt on her thick heel. She shifts her foot so that the plantar bears the brunt of pressure, then back to the heel. Her lacquered toes are painted in the hue oyster pearl. She likes the iridescent shine in the fading sun. Astrid tried to persuade her to try a darker color, something teasingly feminine, but pearl was the first color to catch her eye. She imagines it’s a color her mother would have chosen. Perhaps when the color chipped and the shine faded she would take Astrid’s advice but the mild, nearly natural color suited her.
Inside, Astrid is whisking eggs in a bowl and speaking to Roland on the cordless phone. Every once in a while she rubs the first two vertebrae on her ivory neck or twists her glossy hair in her hands only to let it fall to her shoulders again. An omelet with cheese and garlic butter was on the menu. She often had cravings for morning foods on Sunday nights. She liked to play Bebel Gilberto or Toquinho when she cooked. She said that listening to Portuguese and whisking cream and eggs made her feel like a goddess in the kitchen. The sweet sounds of Samba always made Sabrina drowsy before sunset on Sunday.
The street that evening was clear save the occasional taxi and strolling couple. A dog barks somewhere and somebody lets out a jaunty laugh. The air is pleasant, like stepping into a warm bath. Sabrina closes her eyes. Hearing Astrid’s voice low and seductive on the phone reminds her of the fantasy she held of her mother. She never knew Lotje. She never knew her voice or if she played with her hair the way Astrid did. She’d seen a photo when she was small; a dark woman with thick black curls at her shoulder, in a plain sundress walking barefoot down a Caribbean road. The houses in the photo were dark pink and green with corrugated metal roofs and palm tress scattered around the yards. The woman looked happy, tall and strong with a beautiful smile and her hand at her cheek. Sabrina imagined her dark, delicate hands picking bones from fish, washing clothes with smooth stones at a river, oiling and plating hair. She imagined her knees and wrists smelled like sea salt and that pungent smell when fresh leaves are crumpled. Lotje must have had a raspy voice; that would explain Sabrina’s natural hoarseness and she must have whispered a lot or sometimes not even spoken at all. Maybe she only mouthed words or let soft hums come from her throat. These thoughts comforted the motherless girl. Her father could not provide her with such detail. It wasn’t that he refused, he just couldn’t. The last time he spoke about Lotje, Sabrina was twelve and had just gone to bed. As was customary, he came to her door to see that she was settled and then did something he had not done for many years. He lay in the bed with her and showed her the photo of Lotje. He said it was among her things when she arrived in Miami. He let Sabrina hold it, memorize her mother and the house and the tress and then took it form her. Sabrina loved her father that night and hated him all at once for never showing her the photo again.
She brushes the pad of her little finger across her toenails. They are dry. The gloss and neatness reminds her of what city she is in and she feels more camouflaged in the jungle of beautiful women. Through her parted knees, she sees a light is turned on in the building across the way. The sky is soft pink and hazy purple. The lights around the city are not shining bright but in another few minutes they will be. The tango music will start next door, Astrid will be quiet as she spreads the egg in the pan and turns Bebel down to a murmur, women will laugh as they are hurried around corners and somewhere somebody will sing a nearly forgotten song accompanied by tattered accordion. Sabrina is hungry. She looks at the light through her corduroy knees and sees that the light comes from the blonde woman’s apartment. She puts her feet down and leans forward. She sucks her bottom lip free of blood and then lets the crimson rush back into white flesh.
The man appears in a tuxedo shirt and a black bowtie. He leans against the window and sits on the sill. A pair of hands embrace his shoulders; the nails are bright red again pale skin and the while shirt.
“Sabrina, dinner is ready.” Astrid calls. The tea kettle makes a slow whine and silverware clashes as Astrid rummages for a set of knives and forks. Sabrina stands; her long pants cover her toes and rasp across the floor. She slides the glass door closed and watches the two figures. He still does not move, only his back jerks and his neck seems to go limp. Astrid pours the hot water on loose tealeaves and smiles proudly at the carefully folded omelet and roast chicken slices.
“Bon Appetite.” _________________ "We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental."
Mon Aug 30, 2004 10:32 pm
Athena
Joined: 26 Aug 2004
Posts: 314
Location: Berlin
part 4
Monday morning marks one month to the day she is in Paris. Astrid in a neat tan suit and light blue scarf tied around her neck hovers over Sabrina. She blows a mint stream of hot breath across Sabrina’s nose and lips and watches as her eyes flutter beneath their thin lids. She opens her eyes as if her night’s rest was a quick nap. Astrid smiles warmly, kisses her fingertip and presses against Sabrina’s top lip. She holds a brass key strung with a silky ribbon at one end, over Sabrina’s face and smiles as the honey eyes follows the pendulum. Astrid smells spicy and fresh, like orange and ginger. She places the key in her leather attaché.
The sun slices in through the wooden vertical blinds. The morning seems wet with golden sunlight, like an egg yolk spread across the city. For an instant Sabrina feels wet in her sheets, sticky and plastered but shifting her body in the bed she realizes she is dry, warm and safe. The apartment smells like the mixture of shampoo and soap Astrid used in her shower.
“Today you will leave the house and see Paris.” Astrid’s voice is playful. “Do not come back here until later this evening. The milk was delivered this morning. Do not put it in the refrigerator. I don’t want to drink it cold tonight.” Sabrina nods. Astrid looks at her, blinks slowly and smiles enough so that her laugh lines show but her lips do not spread to reveal teeth. She nods reassuringly and is gone.
Sabrina walks down the street, her pants drag across the concrete. She is careful to avoid spills and puddles. The day is the coolest it’s been since she arrived. She is proud she remembered to pack a sweatshirt with pockets in the front for her hands. She turns the corner, where the street was bustling with vendors from the Sunday market. The street is clear. Only people ambling down the avenue trying to get to work and children on their way to school are scattered along the sidewalk. Her eyes sting and the idea of buying a croissant at the bakery suddenly seems trivial and childish. She sniffles and looks up at the clear sky. She looks back down the street, at the apartment building and wonders if she can climb up six balconies before getting back to Astrid’s. Suddenly she hates the way Astrid looked at her before leaving with her key. She keeps walking.
“Just a croissant,” She whispers to herself. “ A train ticket and a bench in front of the Seine and that will be all for the day.”
The bakery is empty except for somebody shielded by a newspaper and a waiting cup of something steaming on the table. She points to the mountain of croissants and hands the man twenty Euros. He looks at the colorful bill and says something to her in French. He probably cannot make change. He holds the money up and asks her something she cannot understand.. Sabrina wants to run. She is not hungry anymore; she does not want to be a sophisticated beauty in another large city or to experience the zest of living in Paris. She wants to be in bed, even if she felt as if she was drowning in a tangled bed covered in egg yolk.
“I don’t understand,” she flusters. He is annoyed. She turns on her heels to run but a voice in the corner stops her.
“He is asking if you have anything smaller.”
Sabrina swallows. The newspaper comes down to reveal the blonde woman she had been seeing. Her face smoothes and she looks back at the man behind the counter. He is overweight and needs to shave. She shakes her head slowly. He looks to the blonde woman. She shakes her head quickly and returns her gaze to the floppy newspaper. He holds up his hand, shakes the bill and disappears to the back of the store mumbling something.
“He says to wait. He will come back with your change.”
“Ok. Thank you.”
Sabrina leans on the glass counter enclosing an assortment of pastries and doughy treats. She can hear the man arguing with other men in the back. The woman is hidden behind her paper.
“Perhaps you ought to take your croissant and have a seat. He may be a while.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” the woman mimics. Her voce is low and hoarse, like Sabrina’s. She has an accent, not French but European for sure. Her newspaper rustles and reveals her face. She folds the paper awkwardly and stuffs it between the wall and a silver napkin dispenser on the table. “Have a seat with me. You are American?”
“Yes.” Sabrina looks around the empty bakery then seats herself on the empty chair across the woman. She rests her brown bag on the white granite table and peers into the woman’s delicately colored blue eyes.
“Is this your first time in Paris?”
“Yes”
“Do you love it?”
“Not yet.” The woman snorts knowingly. She shifts in her char pulls a cigarette from a crushed box in her pant pocket and holds it between her lips. She pulls a silver and gold lighter from her other pant pocket, lights and takes a deep draw. Sabrina looks uneasily at the woman then averts her eyes to her brown bag. The woman points a finger at the bag and nods gently. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“No.” Sabrina is low and solemn. She wonders if she is coming across as rude and uptight, or as a scared girl trying desperately to play suave in Paris.
“I’m Sigrid.” She holds the cigarette between her pointer and middle finger, close to her palm and blows an effortless line of smoke to her side.
“I’m Sabrina.”
“Beautiful name.” Sabrina starts a smile and ends it quickly.
The man comes back with several bills and a handful of coins. Sabrina jumps to her feet as if long awaited news has just arrived. He looks pleased with himself and Sabrina smiles for him. She feels like Astrid who smiles for everybody. She stuffs the money deep into her pants.
“Merci,” she says confidently. She looks back at Sigrid who is sitting back in her chair, one leg crossed over her thigh and her arm bent at the elbow so she can take puffs of her cigarette.
“You ought not to walk around with your pants so long. They will be black before you know it.”
“Yes, I know. I have to get them altered.” Sigrid inhales, holds the smoke and then lets it out. Her mouth, pink as a rose forms an oval and Sabrina remembers she did not put her rose in water.
“You live in the building across from me. I’ve seen you sitting outside” She is casual. Sabrina likes the way she speaks to her, as if they are old friend who arranged to meet in the bakery that morning. “I see you and that woman you live with. Is she your lover?”
Sabrina drops the bag. She bends her knees and drops to the floor desperately to pick it up. She brushes the bottom of the bag as she spring upright again. The man looks at them curiously trying intensely to understand the conversation between the two women in the store. His mouth forms a dumb “O” as he looks from the pale blonde in the corner to the fiery young woman in oversized clothes.
“She is a friend. My friends’ cousin. I….ah…I just stay with her.”
“I see.”
“We’re not lovers.” That word makes Sabrina suck her lips inward.
“I see.” Sigrid puffs and Sabrina is annoyed by her calmness. “Then she would not object if I helped you to fix your pants?” Her voice is like a whisper, said only as if Sabrina was the only person who could decipher its pitch.
“What?”
“Your pants.” Sigrid points her red polished finger at the pale green corduroys and the thick line of dirt already built up at the cuffs. “I can take them up for you if you wish. It won’t be any trouble at all unless you have somewhere to be this morning.”
Sabrina looks to her pants and awkwardly tugs at the cloth under shoe.
“I guess I have time.”
“Good. We can go back to my apartment. That’s where I can do it. But first, sit and have your croissant while I finish my coffee.” _________________ "We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental."
Tue Aug 31, 2004 12:56 am
Athena
Joined: 26 Aug 2004
Posts: 314
Location: Berlin
Part 5
For Misfit
Ro
Ladyinnothing
and Dolly...
Thank you for your encouraging words
------------------------------------------------
The door is already open. There is a soft dim of light peeking through. She hears Astrid’s voice slightly higher than usual and bare feet pacing across the floor. She pushes the door open and sees Astrid standing in the kitchen, in her night dress, balancing the phone on her ear attempting to pour milk in a glass. She stares at Sabrina, her horizontal eyebrows amazingly arch and her brown eyes looks as if they had been dipped in melted chocolate.
“Elle est ici.” She nods her head for the person on the other line, clicks the phone off then rests it on the counter.
Sabrina takes off her sweatshirt, kicks of her hard brown shoes to the corner by the door and calmly leans against the kitchen counter. She smiles devilishly, fingering a loose strand of hair that escaped the bun at the back of her head. She takes the freshly poured milk, sips it and makes an awkward face.
“Everything ok?” She asks coyly.
“That was Nadine. I was so worried something had happened. I was ready to call the police.” Astrid throws her hands in the air theatrically.
Sabrina’s eyes widen. She chuckles and takes another sip of milk. “The police! Why? You were the one who told me to go out the whole day.”
“Yes, but it is well after midnight. I expected you home at six or seven. Where have you been the whole day?”
“You wouldn’t believe me”
Astrid pinches at Sabrina’s belly through her thin undershirt. She pours the last swish of milk into the glass Sabrina is holding.
“Come, let’s get ready for bed and you will tell me everything.”
Sabrina uncoils her bun and lets her long auburn curls fall down her back to her hips. She sits in bed, in an oversized tank shirt; her tailored pants are thrown over a chair. Astrid watches carefully as she stretches her smooth arms, yaws and blinks the sleep out of her honey coated eyes. Her collar bones, graceful as a dancer’s arm protrude through her tight skin. She has a small brown mole at the base of her neck. There are pink lines where her brassiere straps rested. The tango music is faint through the closed windows and the bright street lights outside cast a soft yellow glow in the room. Somebody is burning incense in the building. Astrid sits at Sabrina’s outstretched feet. She brushes her fingers across her polished toes. She takes a sip of milk and hands the glass to Sabrina.
“So tell me Chéri, have you discovered yourself today? Where have you been? Have you seen all of Paris? Have you made a new friend?”
“Yes.”
“Yes? Yes what?”
“Yes to all.”
“Enough games!” She tickles Sabrina’s feet and pinches her toe. She takes the glass from Sabrina and sips. “Tell me, where have you been?
“I’ve been across the street the whole time.” She closes her eyes and gins; pleased.
Sabrina followed Sigrid to her apartment around the corner of the bakery. The croissant had not eased her stomach. The gurgles and whines of stomach juices embarrassed her. Sigrid did not seem to care. She walked with a determined gait, like a woman on her way to an important meeting. The face of the building was nothing like the view from the back. Once she pushed the brass lion claw knob they were in a pink marble lobby with white velvet lounge chairs and a banker’s desk near the chiseled stone steps. Sigrid rummaged through her black purse for a key and began to walk up. Sabrina suddenly felt lonely, like somebody Sigrid had known all her life and no longer found interesting. When she was invited to the apartment to have her pants altered, a hot flash of excitement overcame her. She felt important through Sigrid’s cool demeanor, but walking up the steps, her hands holding the cool stone railing, trailing a few steps behind Sigrid in her gray pants and black sweater, she felt invisible.
They stepped into the apartment. Everything was white with subtle hints of color. A red vase, a blue cushion, a jade green elephant on the coffee table, the trunk raised, pointing at the window. A light pink, silk orchid, in a clear crystal bowl, clear marbles at the bottom and one black one. Sabrina’s eyes widened at the sterility, the serene calm and smell of what she could only place as vanilla. She stood with her hands in her pocket, her feet turned in, and her heels resting on the blackened cuffs of her pants. She allowed her wispy curls to fall in her face. Sigrid stood before her. She was very slim and petite. From the balcony, spotting her at the window, staring at her across a stall, or sitting crossed legged, she appeared bigger, more powerful and present. As a woman in her apartment, surrounded by white, her shoes at the door, her hair pale, loose and brushed back she was small. She stared at her visitor. Sabrina looked around the room, at the bright sun, no longer a yellow mess but an intense white ray coming in from the clear glass windows. She caught Sigrid’s cornflower eyes and smiled. Sigrid smiled. Her delicate lips spread and she nodded.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No.” Sabrina shook her head.
“Fine, then.” She paused, blinked smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear and tilted her head to the side gently. “The bathroom is at the end of the hall. You can take your pants off in there and I will give you something to wear in the meanwhile.”
Sabrina swallowed. “Oh…Ok. I…ah… I don’t-“
“I can’t fix them if you are still wearing them” Sigrid walked off, down the hall, into a room and was gone beyond a shadow, in a room where there wais no light. Sabrina looked at the door. She could run. She could turn around, run down the steps, and tug at her pants so she did not trip, past the velvet sofas, across the smooth marble, into the white of day and as far away from that building and Sigrid as fast as she could. She waited for Sigrid.
“Here you are.” She returned holding a light blue pair of pajama bottoms with delicate lace at the ends. “There is a string at the waist. I think they will be ok. Just for the time being.” She watched Sabrina, studied her outstretched hand, the flow of the silk, like an aquamarine stream over bleached stone. Sabrina took them.
“Ok.” She swallowed.
Sabrina looked at herself in the mirror as she unbuttoned her pants and zipped down to reveal a light caramel belly and the cotton panties loose around her hips. She had been feeding mostly on coffee and red wine for one month. Life had become very loose, and not juts at her hips. She slipped the pants down her thighs and cringed at the heart and star pattern on her underwear. She decided that she should invest in better underwear. She rubbed her stomach; the croissant felt like a squashed lump, threatening at any moment to come up. She placed each socked foot carefully into the silky material, closed her eyes and exhaled. She said her name “Sabrina” A hoarse whisper, ended with parted lips. She pulled the pants over her backside, drew the strings and looked at herself in the mirror once more. A bit of hair parted down the middle fell in a diagonal line past her eye across her nose and curved at her chin before plummeting off her face. For a moment she thought she looked like Lotje on the Caribbean road. She turned the light off instantly.
“I like to sew by hand when I can. I have machines of course. I have a half dozen, but I like to sew by hand. It was how I first learned.”
Sigrid cut the pants with a pair of thick shears, turned the cuffs slightly and began to sew. Sabrina watched intensely as the knowing hands poked, looped and pulled. Over and over. The tight thread hissed when she pulled it though the thick corduroy material. She sat in a white padded chair near where the light spilled in from the window, on her heels, her hair delicately pinned with a single wooden chopstick and a pair of oversized glasses rested on the bridge of her nose.
“These are nice pants. They are well made. Did you bring them from America?” She kept her eyes on her work. She pulled the threaded needle in the air. The metal caught a ray of light and shimmered on the wall.
“Yes.” Sabrina sat alone on the sofa, her legs crossed beneath her, her hair spilled into the hood of her sweatshirt on her back and her hands trying not to fidget. “I got them in New York” Sigrid stopped sewing and looked up.
“New York? You come from New York.”
“Yeah.”
I was in New York two years ago. Perhaps we could have passed one another on the street.” Sabrina smiled; Sigrid nodded. She returned to her sewing. “I believe in things like that.”
“What?”
“That people don’t just bump into one another, or stare through windows, across flower stalls, or come up to apartments to have pants mended. There are explanations for things and never just simple ones.”
“Oh.” The muscles on Sabrina’s neck tensed and poked through her skin. She placed her hands on her knees, then under her feet then smoothed her hair.
“Are those pants comfortable?” Sigrid watched her stitches.
“They’re really nice.”
“I made them. I made lots of them and gave them as gifts. You can keep them.” Sabrina sucked her lips inward.
“I…I can’t. They look really expensive and… I mean I hardly know you…and…”
“Sabrina?” She looked at the young woman on her sofa, her tanned skin, unruly hair and light eyes. The crystalline slits focused on the obvious contrast of Sabrina’s color against the lack she was surrounded by. “Have I offended you?”
“Oh no, It’s just that…” Her brow furrowed.
“Yes?”
“I hardly know you and maybe I shouldn’t have come…I uh mean that I think…”
“What do you think?” She rested the pants on her knee. Her eyes were open and inquisitive, as if she were pulling the words Sabrina could not say into her thoughts and repeating them through her eyes. Sabrina sighed, looked up to the ceiling, caught Sigrid’s stare and smiled broadly. It was her first full smile since arriving in Paris. Though a smile of unease, exasperation and fear, it was genuine.
“Nothing. Thank you.”
Sigrid nodded and returned to her work. _________________ "We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental."
Thu Sep 02, 2004 1:28 am
Athena
Joined: 26 Aug 2004
Posts: 314
Location: Berlin
PART 6
thanks Ro
She pulled the thread, leaned her head sharply and bit the string. She unfolded her legs, stood and held the pants in front oh her. “Voilà! Your pants are ready!”
“Thank you. They look great!”
Sigrid folded the pants across her arm and handed them to Sabrina. She hesitated to take them. Sigrid doubled the pants and sat on the sofa. Sabrina sat alert, rocking on her bottom slightly and wiping at hair that was already smoothed on her head.
“So, Sabrina. What brings you here to Paris? To the building across from me with your friends’ cousin.” Her voice is pure and silky. Every syllable is pronounced; every emphasis placed on the right letter. She was relaxed on the sofa, her legs stretched out and gently crossed at the knee her elbow propping her body on the cushion. She rested her other hand on the pants between them. Sabrina looked at the pants then to Sigrid’s inquisitive stare.
“I came here because…I came here because I needed to find out something.”
“Yes? And have you found out?” Sabrina looked away, to the plain white counter surrounding the kitchen and glassy steel hood above the stove and copper pots hanging from it.
“I’m still working on that.”
Sigrid sat up and tucked her legs beneath her. She touched Sabrina’s sweatshirt, fingering the material then let go.
“When I first saw you, the first time sitting on that balcony I thought you looked very sweet with your glass of wine and cigarette and those long pants. I wondered what you were hiding. You are very beautiful. Very delicate. But you hide in long loose clothes. I’m fascinated.” She smiled; friendly and curious. She was a woman determined to get what she wanted.
“I’m not hiding anything. I don’t always dress in big clothes. They’re just comfortable.”
“I see.”
“Do you live here with somebody?” Sabrina was proud of her directness and her mimicking silky smoothness. She felt she was doing a good job disguising her fear.
“I live here with my husband.” Sigrid stood and walked to her purse on the kitchen counter. She slipped a cigarette from a new pack, dug into her pocket for the lighter and drew a puff. She looked out her window, took another puff and then walked back to Sabrina. She held the pack out to her. “Do you want one?”
“No, thanks.”
“Claude. That is my husband.”
“I’ve seen him”
“Yes.”
“Have you been married long?”
“For twenty years now.” She puffed her cigarette. The orange flame end was brilliant against the white apartment. Sabrina tried to place her age. She looked very young but her manners were old, classic.
“I married him when I was still a girl” She pointed her two fingers, cradling the cigarette, at Sabrina. “Just like you. I married him when I was nineteen. I hardly knew what I was doing. He was a man, so handsome and so charming. He was what I wanted.”
“I’m twenty.” Sabrina felt foolish for pointing out such a minor detail. Her face turned from tan to maroon. Sigrid seemed to sympathize with her awkwardness. She smiled, drew, then blew the smoke over her shoulder. “Do you like being married?” She felt she had redeemed herself.
“Sometimes when he is home and we spend our time together, I like it. He’s a photographer. He is always away or always at some party or fund raiser where his work is shown. He’s a busy man. But, I knew that when I married him. That is what excited me. After twenty years though…” She puffed hard, savored the smoke in her mouth then blew it through oval lips ”After twenty years of hotels or being left home for weeks at a time it get lonely.”
“Yeah. I bet.”
“But I have my sewing, and my friends.” She leaned forward, squashed the cigarette in a crystal ashtray and took another from the pack. She held it between her lips as she lit it. “I am not French, you know” she said out the corner of her mouth “I am German.”
“Really? I didn’t think you were French, I mean you speak perfect French but you don’t have an accent when you speak to me. You don’t sound German either. You have an accent, a little one but I thought...”
“Yes?” The cigarette was lit and burning a thin line of smoke.
“I don’t know. You just…have a sound I really never heard before.” She shrugged and felt the maroon blush spreading in her cheeks.”
“I lived in Los Angeles for six years with Claude, and we are in London very often, and then two years ago I was in New York.” She touches Sabrina’s sweat shirt. “You really ought to wear things that fit you.”
Sabrina swallowed. She looked into Sigrid’s face, her pale skin and pink lips. Her smooth powdery cheeks and silky white hair. Sigrid had no lines on her face, not like Astrid and her laugh lines. Sigrid looked deceptively pure, like a fragile woman but her presence cause fear in Sabrina. Fear and anxiety.
“Do you have a boyfriend in New York?”
“Not really. I was friends with somebody and then I left.”
“I see. I’m sorry I startled you earlier when I asked if your roommate was your lover. I saw you two at the market holding hands and so I thought you two were in a relationship.”
Sabrina laughed and felt immediately sorry. So put her hands on her face to cool her burning cheeks.
“Astrid is like that. She’s very friendly. She has a boyfriend.”
“I see.” Sigrid puffed her cigarette, balanced it on the ashtray and curled herself on a cushion beside Sabrina. Sabrina struggled to cool her face and hide her embarrassed laugh.
“Why do you find that so funny? Do you think women being together is funny?”
“No,” She blurted out. She straightened herself once she saw Sigrid was not smiling anymore. She looked sleepy, like a small child ready for her afternoon nap. “No, it’s not funny.”
“Have you ever thought about it?”
“No.” Sabrina swallowed. The heat in her cheeks traveled down her neck, across her back and under hear arms. She looked at her pants, wanted to put them on and leave.
“I saw you on the balcony one evening. You were in a skirt; you looked cold. I always see you on the balcony, and Astrid’s shadow inside. I thought your were together at the fair, but you looked lonely with her. You looked as if you wanted something more.”
“We’re not together.”
“Yes I know.”
Sabrina nervously wiped at her forehead. It was still dry, but very warm. She looked at the bright light coming in from outside, the white walls and rug on the hard wood floor. She spotted the black marble amongst the clear ones and felt at ease again. _________________ "We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental."
Thu Sep 02, 2004 5:23 pm
Athena
Joined: 26 Aug 2004
Posts: 314
Location: Berlin
---part 7----
They sat together on the sofa, awkwardly in silence. .
“Why does this make you so uncomfortable?”
“It doesn’t. I’m from New York. I’ve seen it all”
“But you haven’t done it all.”
“Thanks for fixing my pants, I think I should go now” She put her hands on the pants. Sigrid puts her alabaster hand over Sabrina’s. It was soft and warm. She rested her head on the sofa and seemed as colorless as the sofa; only piercing blue eyes and thin pink lips. She lifted Sabrina’s hand at the wrist and studied her palm. She traced a line with her red, manicured fingernail and closed her eyes. She opened them and was met with Sabrina’s curious stare.
Seeing her hand engulfed by Sigrid made her feel as if her hand belonged to somebody else. Somebody else’s caramel hand was being caressed, was limp and boney in another woman’s hands.
“Sigrid?” Her voice was scratchy and hard to come through her throat
“Yes.” She was examining Sabrina’s fingernails.
“I think I should change and give you back your pants.”
“You think so?” She let go of Sabrina’s hand. It hovered in mid air a moment then Sabrina scooped the hemmed pans in her arms.
“Yes I think so. It was really nice of you to do this for me but…”
“Yes?” Her eyes were glossy, like shallow pools.
“I think I better get going.”
She scurried into the bathroom turned on the light and looked at her reflection intensely. She was still the same Sabrina. Still the same young woman, leaning on the counter with a golden tan and thick arching eyebrows and hair that refused to stay where it was put. She closed her eyes, exhaled and opened here eyes again. Still Sabrina. She mouthed her name and watched her lips pucker and end in a small opening. “Sabrina.” She looked to the ceiling, bit her lips and smiled at the awkwardness and the thrill of the moment. She would have never followed a stranger to her apartment in New York and would have never allowed her hand to be touched so sensuously. She looked at her hand. It was the same. The very same hand with visible blue veins and boney knuckles and brittle nails.
The pants were the perfect length. They did not rasp across the floor or collect black dirt with every step. She emerged from the bathroom with the silk pajama bottoms folded across her arms. Sigrid was still on the sofa. Her hand trembled and she fought to bring her cigarette to her lips and inhale. Her face was slick with tears. Sabrina cleared her throat.
“Forgive me for not letting you out. I think you can find our own way.” Sabrina bit her lips, turned her socked feet in wards and bent one knee so that her body drooped. She touched the pajama bottoms.
“Where should I put these?”
“They belong to you now I said. Take them home with you.”
“Look, Sigrid. I’m really sorry but…”
“But what?” The cigarette paper hissed and she let out a relieved sigh. She quickly took another draw, held the smoke then released.
“I didn’t do anything to you.”
“Nobody said you did. Please go. I want to be alone. Please”
“I…ah…” Sabrina looked at her shoes, thrown next to Sigrid’s black pumps by the door. “I lied when I told you I had a boyfriend. I don’t know why I said that. I’ve never really had one. I… I’ve never been very good at being a girlfriends and boys like those really girlie girls anyway so…Sorry I lied to you.” She bit her lip at her carefree rambling. Sigrid looked over her shoulder, at Sabrina standing pigeon towed and self conscious.
“It’s alright Sabrina.” Sabrina nodded and took a step to her shoes. She turned sharply and returned Sigrid’s stare.
“Are you going to be alright?”
“Yes. I’ll be just fine.” Sabrina nodded. She stood still, looking at Sigrid on the sofa, the smoke, the white hair and the black marble that kept attracting her.
“Sigrid?”
“Yes?”
“ I…ummm…. I…
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Why do you start a sentence without finishing it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you scared of me?”
“No!” Sabrina bit her lip and looked at the marble floors. Her lie was obvious.
“Will you come here to me?” She tilted her head up, bit her pink lips together and swallowed.
“Okay.”
Sabrina kicked her shoes off and stepped slowly to the white sofa, like a thirsty doe ready to run. Sigrid moved to one corner, her back on the arm of the chair, her knees bent. She puffed the cigarette and then squashed it in the crystal ashtray. Sabrina sat down, hunched over, resting her elbows on her knees. She looked over at Sigrid, through the crook of her elbow at the stunning woman with the soulful blue eyes and lips the color of her pink rose. Sabrina swallowed and felt a knot rising in her throat. She imagined herself at the Eiffel tower, walking along the Seine, eating a crepe and sitting in a café, like she planned, like she wanted to. She sat up straight, closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the sofa. Behind her lids she saw white. She felt the weight on the sofa shifting and knew that Sigrid was approaching her.
“Sabrina?”
She did not move. Her mouth was curved in a tight frown, her heart threatened to burst though her sweatshirt. Her hands were open on the sofa, the palms moist and soft. Sigrid’s scent gathered around her; cigarette smoke and a faint but sweet perfume. She felt Sigrid’s warmth near her cheek, felt her hands on her neck tracing up her chin and then a finger on her lower lip. She felt the hot, tobacco sweat breath on her cheek and Sigrid’s body near to hers.
“Sabrina?” Her voice was soft, like waking a small child from a nap. Sabrina opened her eyes to the ceiling. Sigrid was sitting next to her, her knees pressed to her chest, her head on Sabrina’s shoulder, their hands intertwined.
“Are the pants ok?” Sabrina brought her head down and stared out the window, into another apartment across the street. There was a small child, a small boy putting on a pair of socks and shoes. His movements were careful and accurate as he slowly slipped the socks onto his naked feet and attempted to buckle his shoes. She looked over at the top of Sigrid’s head and leaned her cheek on the white hair. She squeezed Sigrid’s hand.
“They’re perfect.” _________________ "We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental."
Sun Sep 12, 2004 6:56 am
Athena
Joined: 26 Aug 2004
Posts: 314
Location: Berlin
Thank you Sarah
For Ro and Misfit and Mel and Tigs
Part 8
Eyes closed and lips tightly pressed together and the smell of Sigrid, mildly sweet and tobacco dry, she saw Lotje. Sabrina saw Lotje, her mother, a woman she never met, a dark and sturdy woman carrying a sun kissed baby girl in her arms. They were both barefoot, with silver anklets around both ankles and flimsy sun dresses. They walked toward the calm sea, the color or an aquamarine jewel in the sun, coming to shore like a tongue gently licking lips. The water was sensual in its rhythmic teasing and the sand was like flour on her mother’s feet. She saw them together, the wind dancing through their curls, silenced by their love for one another but deeply and carelessly happy. The sun was like a pink rose on fire in the hazy sky and for miles along the beach there was only sand and trees. She opened her eyes and saw the white silk that was Sigrid’s hair. She shifted, feeling embarrassed by her sweaty palms and her moment of uncharacteristic behavior. Sigrid sat up and caressed Sabrina’s cheek with her hand. Sabrina took the older woman’s hand in hers, placed in on the sofa between them and puckered her lips together. Her eyes stung with tears and her ears felt stuffed with cotton.
“Are you alright?” Her voice was low and calm as if speaking to a small child. Sabrina could hear the faint German accent, foreign and rich.
“Sigrid.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?”
“I…”
“Yes?”
“Sigrid…” A tear fell down her cheek, slowly and carefully then curved under her chin. Sigrid followed its wet path with her fingertip. She wiped Sabrina’s cheek with her open palm. Sabrina watched the small boy put on his other shoe and stand up. Another tear fell, and then another. Sigrid used both hands to wipe them gently away. Her hands were like silk, brushing across hot skin, like powdered sand on the Caribbean shores. She pulled Sabrina into her embrace and held the bony young woman in a thick sweatshirt to her own lean frame. She laid Sabrina across her lap, looked into her honey eyes, leaned down and kissed her softly. Sabrina looked back at her, startled, her brow furrowed and her cheeks flushed. Her eyes were golden drops of honey. She unknowingly touched her fingers to her lips as she looked up at Sigrid framed by a halo of light. Sigrid smiled softly, sweetly like somebody pleasantly surprised. She tiled her head to the side slightly, blinked as if studying portrait and then let the smile disappear.
Sigrid leaned in again, gently touched her lips to Sabrina’s, sucked the supple lips and then released. Sabrina’s eyes were closed, her mouth a miniature hole opened as she exhaled. She sat up slowly, her honey eyes still dripped salt water and she wiped at the hairs sticking to the back of her neck. She touched her lips again. They were soft and pleasantly moist. She looked over at Sigrid who was holding a cigarette under her lower lip and thumbing her lighter. She lay back on her sofa, stretched her hand over to the table and gently tapped the butt of her cigarette. Sabrina swallowed hard. The paper glowed bright orange and white then Sigrid blew a stream of smoke through her lips. She eyed Sabrina curiously, like an experiment doing the unexpected but still observed for the promise of new discoveries.
“You’ve never been kissed.”
“How can you tell?” Sabrina looked at her sharply
“Your lips feel new, like they’ve never been used before.” She drew carefully.
Sabrina nodded. “Yes.” Her voice was like a scratch of pencil on old paper. Her eyes dazzled with tears. Her body felt warm, on fire, as if she was trapped at the end of Sigrid’s cigarette. Carefully she removed her sweatshirt and sat, in a white undershirt, feeling immediately cooler. Her hair fell like a sea of copper and brown down her back. She stared out the window at the boy in a black pea coat, leaving the room with red bucket and several shovels. She removed the undershirt, unhooked the plain tan brassiere. The cups lingered over her full teardrop breasts a moment as the straps glided off her polished shoulders and then fell into her lap. She looked down at her breasts; larger than they should be she thought but probably a gift from Lotje and the women she never knew in her family. She bit her lips together and shivered. She covered her chest with her small hands and shivered. Sigrid pressed the cigarette with her thumb into the crystal dish and crawled over to Sabrina. She took the soft caramel body into her arms, the overflowing breasts and the quivering stomach. She placed her hand over Sabrina’s breast. It was soft in her hands, warm and full.
“I feel your heart beating. I’ve got you,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.” _________________ "We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental."
Mon Sep 13, 2004 5:00 am
Athena
Joined: 26 Aug 2004
Posts: 314
Location: Berlin
Thank you everybody for you kind words.
---part 9---
Astrid’s eyes are heavy as she lies in bed, carelessly brushing her finger across Sabrina’s forehead and her closed lids. She looks peaceful as she sleeps, like an island girl asleep in the din of a streetlight, scantily clothed, smelling like sandalwood and vanilla. She pulls the cotton sheets over Sabrina’s shoulders, eases her body off the bed and walks slowly to the door. There is accordion music in the distance and the haunting wail of somebody on the street corner outside. The ancient wood floors creak beneath her pink feet and Sabrina turns in bed, sighs innocently and is again still. Astrid watches her delicate back, the curve of her spine prominent like a seahorse and the wash of curls on the pillow. She eases the door shut and leaves. Sabrina dreams.
Her breasts felt tender in another woman’s hands, vulnerable but safely handled like ripe mangoes. She shuddered at Sigrid’s unfamiliar touch on her bare skin, caressing her stomach, her back, up her shoulder blades and between her breasts. Sigrid’s lips were supple, but stronger than the pale pink against pale flesh appeared. They kissed Sabrina’s mouth gently, along her neck and collarbones. They flowed down a path down from her collarbone, over her breastbone and stopped over the dark brown nipple. Sabrina lay on her back, rubbing her forehead feverishly, her eyes were closed and Sigrid straddled her hips. She felt the sweet sting of her muscles contracting from pleasure as a wave of heat passed through her body. Sigrid sat up; her hair was naturally parted to the side and silhouetted her face. She looked like an ice sculpture. Carefully she unbuttoned each button on her blouse, slipped the soft fabric off her shoulders to reveal a heavily laced brassiere. She unhooked it with one hand, shrugged her shoulders to allow the straps free and placed the delicate lace on the coffee table. Her breasts were small and round, very pink at the nipple and no sign of her age through sag. She looked almost like a little girl Sabrina thought. She lay beside Sabrina and kissed under her chin. One arm propping her head and the other playing with the full, cinnamon colored breasts, she watched Sabrina intensely. Sabrina’s eyes were peacefully closed, fluttering slightly under the lids.
“You are beautiful Sabrina. Every part of you is beautiful” Sabrina swallowed. She was silent and still. Sigrid ran her fingers across her breasts, gently tapped the nipple and her little finger from Sabrina’s breast to the button of her pants. “Are you alright?” Sabrina opened her eyes, dramatically like somebody allowed the light of day after a sentence of darkness. She blinked purposely, turned her head so that she could see Sigrid’s eyes and shook her head, no. Sigrid nodded. She rested her head on Sabrina’s shoulder and kept making the trace from her breast to the waist of her pants.
“My husband never understood me. Claude and I met when I was such a stupid little girl. I grew up near the shore, in a small town near the Baltic Sea. He came one bitter day in December, with his camera over his shoulder wearing a thick black sweater. He came into the restaurant where I was working and his German was horrible. I brought him endless cups of coffee and I was so mesmerized by him. I had never really looked at men before, they never interested me. I was eighteen, stupid, but I knew that when I saw Claude, the Frenchman, the foreigner with his camera, I fell madly in love. I wanted to see what he saw. I wanted to go with him, to leave that town and that simple life and see things. He saw me that night. He stayed until I threw him out and the next morning he came back. He took me out of the village after two weeks and married me in Paris. I learned to love him, and he was everything to me, but I did not desire him. It took me years to know what I desired.”
Her finger circled Sabrina’s breast, caressed her belly and eased themselves under the button of her loose pants. Her hands rested gently between Sabrina’s thighs, over the cotton underwear, around the elastic and then finally found their way to wet curly hair. Sabrina’s body shuddered, she sighed and formed a deep well at the base of her neck. Sigrid took her hand away and placed it over Sabrina’s heart. She watched as the young woman relaxed on the sofa, breathing carefully again, eyes closes like a secret, lips red like a whisper.
“Claude never understood why I would get so sad those first years. He took me all over the world with him, made love to me every night as if we were new lovers, but he still never understood me. He would leave me in different cities for weeks at a time, alone with nobody to comfort me when I woke and did not know where I was. He would come back and bathe me in kisses and take me to restaurants and lavish boutiques and for a while I always imaged I was going to be alright, and then when he would leave I would be desperate again. Claude never understood me then, and he still doesn’t today.”
Sabrina opened her eyes, slowly like a bloom to receive the sun and stared at Sigrid questioningly. They lay, coupled together, like missing pieces of a puzzle, long lost, recently found, and vowed never to split apart again. A mild ease came over Sabrina as she felt Sigrid’s delicate heartbeat against her breast. She memorized the smell of vanilla wafting in form somewhere, Sigrid’s soft skin against her and the delicately pleasurable feeling between her legs where Sigrid fingers touched. She put her hand on Sigrid’s powdery soft breast, squeezed, released, and let it stay there; dry, soft and perfectly fitted.
Thu Sep 16, 2004 1:47 am
Athena
Joined: 26 Aug 2004
Posts: 314
Location: Berlin
I'll be out of town all weekend. Part 11 will come Monday night.
For Ro and Sarah.
Thank you both!
---Part 10---
The egg washed city wakes her from her dream and she smiles before she opens her eyes. She rolls over remembering seeing Astrid beside her before her eyes had shut, but only finds an empty, cool space. The clock on the wall shows that it is half past nine. Astrid is at work, and she is home alone. She hears voices on the street outside. Paris is alive and at work. She sits up; her matted curls stick from her head at awkward angles. It’s time to wash them again. She lets her body fall to the bed as she looks up at the old fan with its Victorian design painted on the blades in cheap gold paint. She wonders if Astrid did it, or of she took the apartment that way. The smell of vanilla is still on her. She closes her eyes and remembers lying in Sigrid’s arms for hours while the blonde woman gently teased her breasts and stroked the base of her neck. She remembers the tension, the sweet pleasure and her vulnerability when Sigrid touched her. She can smell the smoke, and the mildly salty taste in Sigrid’s mouth. She imagines the sea where the fair skinned woman grew up, a skinny woman, a stupid girl, powdery soft with intense blue eyes, bringing coffee to the chilled man in a black sweater. She imagines how he must have taken pictures of her, asking her to pose for him in coarse German and then finally taking candid shots of her when she served other customers. Pictures of Sigrid doubling her apron, wiping her hands on a towel, pouring a cup of coffee, wiping her brow, stealing looks at the foreign man, giggling with the other girls in the café, walking home along white washed fences where poppies grew and sand heaps after being blown in from the beach. She desperately wanted to see those photos. Perhaps Claude kept them after all those years. Of course he probably did; why wouldn’t he?
She twisted in bed, staring at the melted yellow morning light seeping through the wooden blinds. She feels Sigrid’s touch on her skin, very much like the first time her stepmother embraced her. It was as if that moment in time would never fade away and after the initial discomfort the unease and danger, she succumbed and hungered for more. She sighs, loud and dry from her stale mouth and flops in bed before resting on her back and looking at her ceiling. She tastes Sigrid in her mouth, feels her breast on hers, feels her hand on Sigrid’s back, soft and curving much like her own. She remembers he hands between Sigrid’s thighs, damp, warm and mildly pungent. She decides it’s time to wash her hair.
She looks at her body, nude, with an in intimidating mess of hair flowing down her back. She looks at her breast, full and round, her hollow belly, the slight hipbones over tight skin, the shock of wiry black hair between her legs, and the leanness of her thighs. The mirror ends at her thighs. She does not see the Sabrina she always recognized, but somebody familiar. It was the same change she witnessed when her father remarried and just when she was feeling comfortable being Sabrina with a mother; she started growing breast and menstruating. At twenty, in clothes twice the size she needed she was just starting to feel comfortable and then came Sigrid. She steps into the shower, turning away from her image quickly to receive the stinking kisses of water running down her body. She almost despises the freshness of her favorite shampoo; the brand Astrid introduced her to, as it conquers the vanilla smell.
Her key, attached to a satin ribbon, dangles around the door handle. She loves how she can communicate with Astrid through such small gestures. Feeling quite hungry and chilled from her damp hair she decides to go to the bakery where she fist spoke to Sigrid. The street is empty, save for a few small girl children, lackadaisically ambling to school in pleated blue uniforms and old women with scarves wrapped around their heads, hunched over from age and years of worry. The contrast of images makes her brow furrow slightly for a moment and then smooth. The taxis whiz by at maniac speeds and her pants do not collect dirt. She opens the glass door; a small brass bell rings over her head. She looks over to the corner where she saw Sigrid. It’s empty. She looks over to the end of the bakery and sees the back of a man with dark hair, and Sigrid sitting opposite him. Sabrina is frozen, her mouth parted slightly, her eyes stinging but dry.
“Oui mademoiselle?” It is the large man again, in a paper cap, an off white t-shirt stretched around his girth and a doubled apron tied around his waist. He leans against the counter and taps his hand on the glass counter. His fingers are thick, like a mechanic’s not a baker’s. Sabrina turns to him, irritated, flustered, heart broken. Her lips quiver. She swallows hard. He tilts his head to the side and nods for her to speak.
“Voulez-vous un autre croissant ?”
“What? I’m sorry Qua? ” She squints.
“Voulez-vous un autre croissant?” He is irrigated by her doe eyes and statuesque stance. She looks back at Sigrid and the man who must be her husband. She feels a vein in her head throbbing. Her heart beats steady. He is speaking to her, rambling and she steals tactful looks over her shoulder at Sabrina. Sabrina feels her ears fill with cotton. The smell of coffee and buttery croissants is overbearing. Her heart thumps. She feels like she can only exhale. New breath does not enter her body. The man throws the bag with the croissant on the counter. The soft thump startles her to look at him. She puts her hand over her chest. She inhales. The man sitting with Sigrid has stopped talking. She feels their eyes watching her. She feels a set of blue eyes and a set of deep brown ones boring into her body, spilling her blood on the bakery floor.
“Cinquante s'il vous plait”
Sabrina turns, she catches a glimpse of Sigrid calmly receiving a light from Claude, leaning over the table and holding a black lighter at her cigarette. The bells ring angrily over her head and she runs down the street. _________________ "We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental."
Fri Sep 17, 2004 2:13 am
spirospero
Joined: 21 Sep 2004
Posts: 10
Location: Atlanta, GA
360 degrees
I am so enjoying this! Not only is it visually stunning, but is fully engaging to all the senses. I can almost smell "L'Heure Blue" wafting in the background (Catherine Deneuve's fav. parfume). Anxiously awaiting the next installment... _________________ "While I live, I will hope."
Tue Sep 21, 2004 9:32 pm
Athena
Joined: 26 Aug 2004
Posts: 314
Location: Berlin
---part 11---
Paradiso&Lei & spirospero & misfit & Ro & Sarah & Tigs & Mel.
thank you all.
She leans against the corner of a brick building, her head is bowed and resting on her bare forearm. A deep burn rises from her lungs and into her throat. Her stomach churns, slimy digestive juices acid burns the back of her throat. She swallows, wipes at her stinging eyes and trots down the busy boulevard. She aimlessly descends the steps of a Metro stop and stares blankly at the man in the glass cubicle. Her eyes are wide and glossy, like a junkie feinting for another hit, but her veins, indigo, uncut and rising through her taught skin show no signs of abuse. She slides a bill through the rectangular slot and keeps her eyes on the man with skin the color of virgin mango flesh and intriguing eyes like a cat. She holds one finger against the glass but will not remember any of this. He purses his pale lips together, slides her change back through the slot and quickly diverts his eyes to something in the cubicle Sabrina cannot see. She takes the purple ticket, the loose bills and coins, stuffs them in her pant pockets and stumbles to a tunnel with the number fourteen and Madeline written in purple.
She sits alone on the train, an old metal catacomb, running underground on smooth bus wheels, with primitive doors that must be opened manually in order to get on and off. In New York, the trains had been updated to fancy silver bullets with computerized voices that announced every stop. She sits on a folding seat near the door, and stares at the pink cartoon rabbit in coveralls dramatizing the pain experienced when hands are caught between the doors and the written warnings in three languages. She stares at the sticker, at its simplicity and absurdity of using a cartoon rabbit and not a human figure. Why would a rabbit be wearing coveralls and what would one be doing riding the Metro through Paris? She shakes her head free of her wistful thoughts and looks at the woman sitting before her. She is wearing a black Muslim Hijab, only her sorrowful eyes and thick eyebrows and the bridge of hr nose show. She stares intensely at Sabrina. Her charcoal eyes are piercing, hot and intense. Sabrina catches her gaze, like a snake charmed by music. She sits up straight, leans hr head to the side and reflects an equally sorrowful gaze. The woman in black lowers her dark lids over her eyes, adjusts her feet perfunctorily and turns her head out the window. Sabrina stares at her, hoping to capture her gaze once more. For the first time since seeing Sigrid that morning, her senses return to her and she can concentrate on something, on the mysterious woman in a Hijab, riding beneath Paris alone, clutching a small black bag in her lap. The train stops, the people flow out. The woman darts out of the train, making small but quick steps to keep pace with the exiting crowd. Sabrina stands in the doorway, spots the pink rabbit cartoon and quickly moves away from the doors. She follows the Muslim woman taking long but slow strides. Madeline is printed along the tiled walls. She does not know where she is, or what she will find, but the woman is gone, alone in the world again, relieved from an awkward moment of staring with a stranger.
The bath water is hot, spiced with ginger and orange blossom milk soap. Steam rises from the water rippling around her body, weaves through her wet curls, settles on her face and drips down her chin. Her knees and breasts are like tanned islands discovered in the milky colored water. She inhales the thin cigarette, holds the smoke a moment then exhales. Her wet arm is limp as it hangs down the side of the lion claw tub and onto the oyster shaped tiled floor. The first time she stepped in the bathroom the shape of the tiles reminded her of the oyster crackers her father poured into his clam chowder. The bathroom is silent, the apartment and the street below is silent. It is too early for the Argentinean woman next door to start singing and too late for the hustle and bustle of evening commuters. The sun makes its dramatic descent, past the Eiffel tower, between the Arc de Triomphe, and past Notre Dame. A flock of pigeons circle the mauve skies around Sacre Coeur before taking to branches and steeples. The sun castes a dark veil over a limestone figure of the virgin Mary and signals artists along the Seine the pack away their recreated oil paintings on unmounted canvas. The feel of Paris changes to the delicious top of a stiff crème brulee, as the orange street lights are illuminated and the lights in the tower sparkle like Christmas flares. Night falls on Paris as Sabrina slips deeper into her bath.
She hears the key turn in the door, and hears as Astrid, in her black or navy blue pumps sliding across the wooden floor carrying something that sounds like a paper bag full of groceries. She hears the refrigerator open and hears the crinkle of a bag.
“Mon chéri, êtes-vous à la maison?”
“Oui. Je suis dans la salle de bains”
Sabrina slides deeper into the water. Astrid enters, in her under slip and light green blouse opened. The remnants of her lipstick are still quite pink as she enters the bathroom in stockinged feet holding a small carton of yogurt and a spoon. She unties her chignon with her free hand and kneels beside the tub.
“Your French is improving.” She smiles sweetly. She rips the foil lid off the yogurt and dips the spoon into the thick white cream. “How was your day?” She stands on her knees, kisses Sabrina’s wet head and sits back on her heels. The kiss makes a smacking sound; a sound Sabrina always appreciated. She nods and turns hr head away from Astrid. Suddenly the water feels cool and she feels a chill come across her skin. Astrid slips a hand into the opaque water.
“Aren’t you chilled? How long have you been in here.”
“I don’t remember.” Her voice is chipped, saturated with tears that refused to come all day. She sat on park benches, on steps and at café’s all day, trying to force tears past an imaginary barrier that crumbled the moment Astrid entered the bathroom. The tears feel hot, welcomed on her cool cheeks as the rolled down her neck, between her breasts and onto the unseen body beneath spicy, clouded water.
“What has happened? Sabrina? What is it?” Astrid has a tinge of hysteria in her voice. The elbows of her blouse are soaked dark green and sagging as she leans over the water, attempting the hold Sabrina’s face. Sabrina sobs large bubble like tars, and allows a guttural cry to emerge from her throat. The burning finally starts to ease out of her body.
“Come. You must come out of this water.” She grabs a large white towel from a white wicker stool, and holds it open over Sabrina. The crying young woman stands, hunched over by the cold air engulfing her wet, naked body and holds onto Astrid’s shoulder for support as she steps out or the water. Astrid wraps her tight, holds her in a protective embrace and lads her to her bedroom. Sabrina sits on Astrid’s unmade bed, shaking and jerking involuntarily. Astrid unwraps the towel from Sabrina’s body quickly, slips a soft sweater over the burnt honey skin and ties the towel around the glistening curls hanging heavily to the bed sheets. Astrid’s movements are quick and instinctual. She slips a pair of knit socks over Sabrina’s cold and pruned feet and wraps the sheets from the bed around her shoulders. She stoops before Sabrina, who has stopped jerking and chattering and crying and furrows her brow. She sits beside the pathetic body, with eyes like glass marbles, wrapped in bed sheets, and holds her toweled head to her breasts and rocks gently. _________________ "We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental."
Thu Sep 23, 2004 4:44 am
Athena
Joined: 26 Aug 2004
Posts: 314
Location: Berlin
Thank you ALL!
---part 12---
The air smells like Sabrina, like an island woman far from home trapped in the scents and sensuousness of an island inherent in her blood, whose shores she had never seen. She looks like the woman from the sea, scrubbed clean by the gentle waves over her body, new and soft like a child’s foot, who had never walked before. She looks like a woman who could carry baskets on her head, adorned with rough gold jewelry walking barefoot down dirt paths, swinging her luscious hips beneath a linen dress. She looks like a woman from paradise, wrapped in delicate sheets, her face pressed against another woman’s chest. The smooth skin between Astrid’s breasts smells like L’interdit, like a true French woman who goes to Sunday markets and wears scarves and tailored trousers. Her room is shaded in hues of pearl, her bureau littered with perfume bottles, hair clips, dangling earrings and necklaces, an undershirt trimmed in lace, a silver canister filled with sweet powder and a love note tucked into the mirror. The world seems like a mirage in that room of feminine scents and mysteries tucked into honey and ivory skin.
Astrid lifts Sabrina’s chin. She studies the straight nose that flares ever so gently, the sunken cheeks and deeply flushed lips as delicate as the skin of a peach. Sabrina’s eyes are open, glossy like polished beads, looking into Astrid’s face but not seeing her. Astrid holds Sabrina’s head as they both lay back on the bed, looking at one another, trying desperately to find one another in the room of soft light and island scents.
“Has someone hurt you?”
Sabrina closes her eyes. She feels the tears at the back of her throat, the salty sting in her lungs from trying to hold them back again. She opens her glossy eyes and stares at Astrid. She suddenly feels ashamed; ashamed of her nakedness under the sweater, wrapped in another woman’s bed, peering into the questioning face of somebody who is normally smiling. She feels guilty for making Astrid worry. After all, she knew Sigrid was married. After all, they had only just met. Why was she taking the sighting so bitterly? After all, it was something she never dreamed of, would never do, never wanted, not really.
“Has somebody put his hands on you Sabrina? Please…” Her voice is deeper, cracked and desperate. She swallows hard, and shuts her eyes.
“No,” she manages.
Astrid opens her eyes wide, a tear escapes. She embraces Sabrina in a tight hug. “Then tell me what has happened to you. What has happened?” She is frustrated and deeply panicked. Sabrina feels foolish. She had never seen Astrid so concerned. She is the one who dances around the apartment, playing samba and adhered to her self devised rules of femininity like listening to Bebel Gilberto when she whisked eggs or only playing Andres Segovia when she had an occasional cigarette on her balcony and spraying perfume on her ankles when she had a date with Roland because, you never know.
“I saw her with her husband this morning. I saw them in the bakery where she first spoke to me. She ignored me. She pretended not to know me! You were right.”
“About what? What did I say?”
“You asked if she seduced me. I thought… I don’t know.” She cries helplessly, like a child wandering the beach alone for hours, completely oblivious to her position in the world then coming to the frightening discovery that she is lost. “She was the one! She was the once who kept…she made me feel something for her and then she ignores me! Why? Why did she do that to me?”
Astrid strokes the red, raw face and kisses the peach like lips. She traces her fingers down the baby hairs laying peacefully along Sabrina’s forehead and holds the young woman to her. She does not speak or offer a look of consolation. She only lets Sabrina’s lashing tears take them into sleep, deep in the night, in a room of melted light, Caribbean air and two hearts pressed together in a warm and protective embrace.
Julia was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee and reading a book with a red hardcover; a loan from the library. The morning was hot, the air-conditioner in the apartment was turned to high. In her last month of pregnancy Julia found any clime other than one comparable to the frigid Arctic unbearable. Sabrina approached her in the kitchen, wearing a cardigan over her sun-dress, something Julia bought for her, and sat at the table in front of her step-mother. Julia looked up over the edge of her book, squinted and smiled sweetly at her eleven year old step-daughter. Her normally chiseled face was delicately rounded and framed by loose strands of soft red hair. Sabrina liked to stare at her, trying to detect what would possess her father to fall in love with and ultimately marry a woman who was the complete opposite of her mother. Julia was fair, delicate and shy, all things Lotje was not. In the kitchen that morning, the sun spilling in hot from the condensing windows littered with green plants, Sabrina stared at the woman trying to be her mother, who would be a real one in a matter of weeks. Julia looked over the book once more, at the staring girl, with barrettes in her tangled, golden hair. Her father had been cutting it very short, like a boy’s because that was the only way he could handle it as a single parent, and then Julia came into the picture. She was the only one to tame the wild curls so they were allowed to grow, and that they did. Her emerald eyes questioned Sabrina’s stares. After eighteen moths of living with one-another, several baths, an occasional story at bedtime and days upon days of sitting and combing hair, the two were still very much uneasy with one another.
“Hmmm?”
“My hair needs to be combed.”
“Oh yes, of course.” She answered like a person expecting another statement but relieved for something completely different. Sabrina often had the impression that Julia was scared of her, was waiting for the typical abusive step-daughter behavior Julia had probably read about in her heaps of child-psychology books. She put down the book, rested her hands on the small of her back and teetered down the corridor and into a bathroom.
Sabrina always liked the feel of Julia’s hands in her hair. When it was short, her father brushed it hastily before school, and wrapped a pink or purple headband around her head because, you never know. Julia’s hands were gently as she parted the hair with her fingers every morning and ran a comb through the silky curls. She usually liked to part it in half down the middle, and brush it smooth at the roots, tie it with a ribbon and curl the ends around her fingers. She always took her time and never let Sabrina leave her seat if a ribbon was loose or a section of hair was not even with the other.
That morning was the first day of summer holiday, her father was out of town for the week, camp was two weeks away and for the first time in her life she was trusted to somebody who was not her father for more than a few hours. Julia, held the hair in her hands, smoothing it with her palms, twisting it into a fat roll and then coiling it all into a medium bun. When she was finished she stood before Sabrina, smoothed a stray curl back and nodded. Sabrina stood to go but Julia leaned down and hugged her. She had never been affectionate with Sabina, not for lack of want but the uneasy, unknown distance between them always prevented her. Sabrina stood straight, her arms at her side, feeling the intrusive belly on her body and the rose oil smell on Julia’s neck. Julia let go, and Sabrina ran to her room. Whenever she spied Julia playing with or being affectionate with her younger brother and sister, she felt a tug in her heart and desperately wished she had hugged back that morning.
She dreams and cries softly in her sleep. Her voice and Julia’s voice and Sigrid’s voice and Astrid’s voice all become intertwined, like play of voices, no light, no stage, but a drama of voices all speaking at once.
“Why don’t you love me?”
“You have hurt her enough for one day.”
“Please let me see her.”
“I want to be a mother to you.”
“She is asleep.”
“Please give this to her.”
“Come to mommy Emily and Aaron.”
“Julia…I…I…”
“Finish your sentences Sabrina!”
“Please tell her I’m sorry. Please!”
“You hurt her badly.”
“Sabrina do you love me?”
“Sabrina, I love you.”
“Sabrina, I love you.”
“Sabrina I love you.”
“Sabrina. Sabrina. Sabrina!”
She jolts from sleep. Her face is raw, her pillow is still wet. The pants she wore while Sigrid was altering her pants are on the side of the bed, where she thought Astrid was also sleeping.
Last edited by Athena on Tue Sep 28, 2004 7:37 pm; edited 1 time in total
Mon Sep 27, 2004 6:25 am
Athena
Joined: 26 Aug 2004
Posts: 314
Location: Berlin
---part 13---
The morning is slated with gray and hues of white and dark blue brushed through the sky. The panes glisten with streams of rain water, soaking the sill, seeping in through the cracks and dripping gently to the hard wood floors. The phone rings, and Sabrina looks in the direction of the kitchen. She unfolds the sheets from her body, lazily, knowing she will not answer in time and pulls the sweater to cover her naked hips. The floor is chilly and harsh on the bottom her feet. The ring is persistent. She tugs at the end of the sweater, covering herself for the person on the other end. She twists her lips, bites them gently and lifts the receiver.
“Bonjour?”
“Hello? Sabrina is that you?”
“Daddy?”
“Sabrina my God! I don’t believe this! Sabrina, Baby, why?”
She slinks to the floor in a stoop. She bows her head and allows the avalanche of hair to cover her face. Tears mingle with the hair, stick to her face, itch her skin irritably but she holds the phone in a deathly tight grip.
“Daddy? Daddy, I’m so sorry. Daddy…I…I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Sabrina, why have you done this to us? Are you alright? Why did you leave us like that?”
“I don’t know, I’m just so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“You didn’t mean to run off to a foreign country without telling me or your mother? Sabrina it’s been a month for Christsake! We had people looking for you! Julia posted your photo all over the city, the children have been crying for you! Sabrina how could you do this to us? How could you leave us like that?”
“Dad…” Her face is contorted, gelled with tears and clear mucous. Tight and red around her melted honey eyes.
“Are you at least ok?”
“Yes, Daddy, I’m fine. How did you know where I was? How did you find me?”
“Amber, of course. She saw the flyers, and saw the report they did about you on the news. She told us that she helped you. Sabrina the whole city is here worrying about you, praying for you and your safe return. We’ve even been seeing a counselor, preparing for the day when they tell us they’ve found your body. We all thought you’d been kidnapped Jesus Christ! We thought we had lost you.” She hears his voice break and the suffering tone he assumes because he does not cry. She hears him clear his throat and can imagine is normally brisk Nordic looks turning deep red, the corners of his eyes pinched, like hers and the bright blue vein in his neck bulging purple.
“Daddy, I’m fine. Please don’t come. Astrid has been really good to me. She has been really good to me.”
“Sabrina how could you do this to us? What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Goddammit! How can you not know? What makes somebody have breakfast with her family then board a flight to Paris without telling her family or giving them he slightest hope that she is not buried in some ditch, raped and murdered? Tell me! Sabrina how could you do this to us? How?” He exhales deep and hard in a drawn huff.
“Daddy I couldn’t take it anymore.” Her voice is soft as a whisper, hard to come through her throat.
“What? What couldn’t you take?” He screams, high and loud. She hears Julia in the background crying softly and encouraging him to clam down. She is probably at his side, stroking his arm and kissing his shoulder.
“ I couldn’t take living at school and coming home on the weekend and seeing you and Julia and the kids all happy together, as if I had never ever been there! I hated you. I hated how perfect you all looked without me! I hated that nobody ever stared at the four of you when we went out and always assumed I was the nanny when I was with you. I hated that people asked me if I was adopted if I called Julia mom. I hate that Emily and Aaron look like you and Julia and I look like…And I look like my mother, not like any of you!”
“Sabrina, who made those assumptions about you? When did they say this to you?” She hears Julia crying, harder, pleading with him to have a chance on the phone.
“That’s not the point Dad! THAT’S NOT THE POINT!”
“Sabrina.” Julia is crying. Barely able to hold her tone. “Baby, we just want you to come home ok. We just want you home with us again. Whatever it is we will fix it. Just let your father come get you ok.”
“You don’t understand!” She springs to her feet and shakes feverishly. “I can’t. I don’t belong there. I can’t.” She hangs up the phone, bends over hugging her arms to her belly and slinks to her bedroom.
The phone rings, insistent, desperate, pleading. She slips her pants over her thighs, zips and buttons and slides her feet into a pair of tennis shoes. The phone rings. She grabs the keys from her dresser, shoves them in her pocket. and slams the door behind her. The phone rings.
Her hair is like a mop over her face, soaked in the rain, trickling water down her neck and into the back of her sweater. She looks to the left, to the right; the streets are empty in both directions.
“Sabrina,” a voice calls from above. She bows her head down, shaking cold and wet, ready to vomit swallowed tears. She looks up through her dark, wet lashes and sees Sigrid’s face above her; pale skin and shocking red lipstick. The sky seems to be shifting, land for the first time she feels as if the earth is spinning whether is turning with it or not. “Sabrina,” She screams. Sabrina runs. The rain beats at her mercilessly as she runs in the city of smeared lights and rain drops. The cool water runs down her back, on her thighs saturates her shoes and blinds her as heavy drops settle on her lids. The air is like water, heavy and wet, fresh and stagnant at once. She runs, bumps into something soft, a person and falls backward to the ground.
“Pardonnez-moi! Sont vous d'accord?”
She wretches backward, wailing loud seeking refuge against the wall. He offers a hand in a tight black glove as he tries to shield his face with a briefcase. He squints as he reaches for her. Sabrina wipes at her face with her drenched sleeves. Her bottom throbs from falling on the cold, wet concrete. People gather around the man, they talk among themselves, watching Sabina in the corner, wailing, rubbing at her face and trying to brush the defined curls away from her face. The man stoops down to her. “Madmoiselle? Sont vous d'accord? Sont vous blessé?”
“Je la connais. Quittez-nous s'il vous plaît”
“Elle m'a rencontré par hasard. je ne l'ai pas touchée”
“Je sais. Quittez-nous s'il vous plaît. Je l'emmènerai à la maison. Je suis désolé”
Sabrina blinks the tears out of her eyes. She sees Sigrid before her, feels her hands on her arms, lifting her, guiding her upwards. She sees’ Sigrid, squinting n the rain, her hair plastered to her head, rain water running down her cheek in thin lines.
“Come Sabrina, lets get you home.”
She stands in her wet clothes, in Sigrid’s white bedroom, overcome by vanilla and the white gardenias on the dresser. Sigrid lifts the sweater over her head, pulls the loose pants down her hips and gently eases Sabrina to sit on the edge of the bed. Sabrina shivers uncontrollably in her naked skin as her lips turn from crimson to blue. Sigrid wraps a towel around the sopping hair, and puts a towel around Sabrina’s cool shoulders. She unzips her black dress at the side, slips out of it and the black lace slip and stands before Sabrina in a pair of cotton panties.
“Lets get under the covers, I’ll warm you up.” Sabrina lays back on the bed, her svelte body is like a dagger against the white sheet. Her face is pale, hollow in the cheeks and emotionless. Sigrid lays down beside her, puts her arm over the breasts with saluting nipples and draws her face into Sabrina’s neck.
“ I fell in love with a woman when I was twenty-two. We were in a rented house in Madras, on a two year stay in India. Her name was Lochana, we called her Lo. She told us that she was twenty-five years old but she looked more like fifteen or sixteen.” Sabrina turns her head and stares at Sigrid’s pale face and slick hair. “She had eyes like a fawn, so big and bright. Whoever she met just couldn’t help but stare. It was like looking into your future when you looked at her. She cooked for us, tidied the house and took care of our laundry. For weeks she could hardly even look us in the face. When Claude and I were around she scurried around the house, so quiet and fearful of us. It was on that trip that I learned that I was pregnant. Claude had to go to Beijing for several weeks and offered to take me along but…I said no. He did not know that I was pregnant or else he would have stayed with me and taken me to my parents home in Germany. That is what he says now. That is what he promises he would have done if I told him.” _________________ "We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental."
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