The Morbid and Sultry Tales of Genevieve Clare (10 page)

“Rock?” I tried to interrupt her detailed account of my life fucking story. But she turned on me.

“Oh no you don’t!”

“Excuse me?”

“Know why I gave you a picture of a dead woman?”

Confusion crossed the face of the ever so patient security guard.

“I know why; you don’t need to tell these fine people.” My anger was just on the edge of slapping and earring pulling.

“You into necrophilia?” she asked the security guard, “‘Cause this right here,” she pointed to me with her thumb, “is the walking dead.”

“I…why are you doing this?” My almost-pissed-off mood was turning to hurt.

“Because I love you, and I want to see you happy, and I think this is your second chance, and I don’t want you to blow it because you’re scared someone you love is gonna die.”

My eyes filled with tears at her words, bittersweet, but mostly sweet. My bottom lip trembled, and all I could think about was getting the hell out of there.

“I want to go home,” I demanded.

“Then go out there and ask Ahren for a ride, because my ass is staying here with hot, weird guy, and hopefully, taking him for a ride of my own. But tomorrow morning, we are meeting at Brewster’s for hangover food, because I know you.” Her voice softened as she moved closer to me. “I know you’re gonna go home and share a bottle of scotch with three dead people, and you’re gonna need hangover food.”

“That’s…that’s not fair, I—”

Then she got close so only I could hear her next words. “He wrote to me, the first couple of years. He sent me emails, asking how you were, and he would have kept doing it if I hadn’t asked him to stop. I didn’t want to lie to you. This is life, Gen. It hurts, it’s messy, but it’s living and—”

I didn’t let her finish. The day had already been too much. I turned and walked right out the door.

****

Ahren

Ahren stood against the wall outside the club, feeling nothing short of invigorated. That kiss, those fucking lips, the smell of her shampoo and sweat… He remembered what it was like to be inside her. But in that moment, he remembered their first kiss by the river.

He’d spotted Rocky first when he arrived, hoping against all hope that fate, God, his parents, hers, whatever the fuck was out there, was helping him. And it had. The note to the bartender had been easy. Knowing she would willingly come to the balcony told him what he already knew. She wasn’t in a relationship, and if he had to guess, she hadn’t been in one since him.

He watched her come outside and check how much cash she had in her pockets. Ahren had taken a cab from his house in Mill Valley because it meant he could drink as much as he wanted. Then he saw Rocky, and instead of getting some random cab back across the bridge, he called Jimmy for a big-ass favor.

“Not a problem,” his cab driving friend was right around the corner. Ahren explained there would be a girl out front, described her, and said to tell her he was free. So when she moved forward a few feet and Jimmy exclaimed, “Gen girl? That you?” Ahren couldn’t believe he knew her.

“Jimmy?” he said into his cell.

“Yep,” the man grinned.

“You know Gen?”

“Yep.”

“Small world,” Ahren smiled.

Jimmy “Hazz” Hazzard laughed then said, “Serendipity,” and hung up. 

Two weeks ago, I’d been kissed by the love of my life.

I hadn’t left the house since.

And the knock, I mean, the pounding at my door could be none other than my traitorous best friend, Rocky.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when she walked right into my bedroom.

“I could have been naked,” I scolded.

“I’ve seen you naked. We went to that Japanese day spa, remember? And I’ve made you shower. Several times.” She did, after my family died.

Damn.

“I could have been having sex.” I was starting to run out of excuses.

“Again, remember the weekend we went to the blues festival on the river and shared a room? Then we picked up those two guys and you had sex in your twin bed, and I had sex in mine? You know, in the same room?” She came closer to my bed where I was dressed in yoga pants and a hoodie, a book about the bubonic plague next to me.

“I could have been masturbating. That would’ve been awkward.” This was all just an act of stubbornness on my part, and she knew that. We’d had our tiffs over the years, but we knew each other inside and out, which buttons we could push until we knew we’d pushed too far.

“Gen.” She let out an exasperated huff.

“Rocky,” I returned and yeah, it was bitchy.

“You’re being an asshole about this. You know that, right?”

I put down my tome of pestilence and pulled my knees up to my chest. “He was right there. Right where you are now, and I looked in his eyes, and everything in me shut down, Rock. I felt it happen, that exact moment when I knew I couldn’t be the person he needed.”

“Oh, hon.” She sat down in front of me and crossed her legs, in for the long haul.

“You know that part, but you don’t know what I did after that.”

I watched her prepare, clearing her face, ready for battle.

“Hit me.” She waved her hands to beckon my words to her body. I couldn’t help but giggle, even though my breath hitched with tears.

“It was awful, but I had to make him go. If I didn’t, I knew he’d stay. He knew me, I mean, he knows me. Even now, he knows how I think.” She looked at me patiently while I summoned the courage to tell her about my shameful behavior, though I didn’t tell her everything. “I told him I knew who I was and that those three months together had been fun, but they proved to me that he was nothing more than a childhood infatuation. I told him I felt nothing for him. He argued it was the grief, that I was just protecting myself, and he was absolutely right. But I looked at him and all I could feel was fear. Crippling fear. And I knew, if he stayed, Rock, I couldn’t have handled it. After his accident and his dad died. The funeral, it was like…”

“Reliving your parents’ and Gran’s funeral all over again. It’d only been a few months and you almost lost him, Gen. We should’ve got you counselling. Mom, Pastor Mike, Chad, even the Brewsters wanted to whisk you away somewhere, some wellness retreat or something.”

“Really?” I was actually surprised since this was the first I’d heard about it.

“Really. But I asked them to give you time. I thought I was doing the right thing, but now…” She looked around my room, which hadn’t changed really. Not in years. Ten to be exact. “Gen, it’s been fun, and I’m not saying you’ve held me back from trying to find my own Mister Right, but there have been times when I haven’t gone on a date or left a club with a guy because I thought you needed me.”

Guilt hit me hard and fast at her admission. “I’m sorry, Rocky. I didn’t realize. I mean—”

“No way.” She put her hands up to stop me from talking. “Don’t take that on. I’m just saying I don’t think it’s a coincidence Ahren came back into your life the day I meet this guy. I’ve been on three dates with him. And the sex…” She flopped back onto my bed.

“Yes?”

“He’s intense, dude,” she said, her head propped on an elbow. “And the first time he kissed me, he grabbed my hips, like, sunk his fingers into my skin and pulled me into him so I could feel how hard he was. Damn, I’m getting wet just thinking about it.”

I smiled for my friend. Rocky always had this confidence I never did and probably never would. The only exception was when I became Genevieve Clare, Professional Mourner. Then, I was confidence personified.

“Gen,” she said softly, shaking me from my thoughts. “Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m mad at myself; not at you. I fucked up then, and I fucked up two weeks ago.”

“Then don’t fuck up anymore,” she said. “I have a message for you…from him. He sent me an email.” She brought it up on her phone and read it to me.

“Dear Rochelle… I’ve always, loved that he calls me by my proper name. He’s the only person who can get away with it. Anyway, I need your help. I’m sorry to put you in this position, but you’re the only person I think Genevieve will listen to. It feels like a lifetime ago that I kissed her by the river. For me, that was the day I fell in love with a fourteen-year-old girl. You can share what you want with her, whatever you think, I leave it in your hands. I’ve spent these last years trying to fill this space inside me only she was able to touch. No one since has ever come close. I sometimes wish I had died in that accident, saved us both the pain we seem to live with…but no more. I’ve decided it’s worth the risk of losing her and having her for one day, than never having her at all.

I took a chance at the club, and I hope I didn’t fuck things up. I won’t rush her, not like before. Ask her to come to the cabin. Thanksgiving night. I’ll wait. If she doesn’t show, I won’t bother her again. I don’t want to bring her anymore pain than she’s already endured.

Happiness and love to you and your mother. I can’t thank you both enough for what you did to take care of Genevieve all these years.

Always,

Ahren

“I take it back,” she said, her words full of emotion. “I don’t want Cos. Ahren is hot, and I bet his dick is huge.”

“Rock,” I giggled through my tears, wiping my cheeks.

“Gen, fuck you if you don’t think that right there is the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard. He’s willing to let you go because he loves you that much.”

“Just like the first time,” I said.

She was right, it was romantic. And furthermore, he knew me, just like I told her he did, and there was no way in hell I was saying no to that. And maybe, just maybe, I could tell him honestly why I’d asked him to leave.

“It looks like I’m celebrating my first Thanksgiving in ten years.” I smiled.

She threw up her arms and cried, “Halle-fucking-lujah!”

****

I had a lot on my mind, but first and foremost, I had a date with Bryce Oskin. Ruby gave me a warning stare when I entered The Elms, which I translated as Cheryl being more out of sorts than usual.

I nodded, walked past the front desk decorated in pumpkins and felt bats, and took my bag of goodies and Brewster’s box to the common room. The minute I was in earshot, I heard him bellow to Cheryl, “If you ain’t Ruby or that Genny girl with the nice titties and full ass, you can fuck right off.”

I giggled in response to his generous description of me and nodded at a flustered and embarrassed Cheryl. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and scurried away.

“You flatter me, Mr. Oskin,” I told him on my approach.

I hadn’t done it on purpose. Well, maybe a little, but I wore a v-neck t-shirt underneath my vintage three quarter coat. It was a monster of a thing with huge brass buttons and fake fur at the cuffs and collar, perfect for the windy November weather outside.  As soon as I took it off and unwrapped the scarf from my neck, Mr. Oskin’s mouth dropped open.

“You tryin’ to kill me with those double D’s?”

“Just a D, actually, and why on earth would I be trying to kill you?” I was still smiling at his vulgar, but welcomed compliment as I settled in for show-and-tell time.

“To get your money quicker?” he replied.

“I’m not exactly starving, Mr. Oskin.”

“Whatcha got in the bag there, cookie?”

He tried to peek inside, but I quickly snatched it away and held it to my D cup.

“We need ground rules,” I told him.

He looked to the ceiling and said, “Knew you were too good to be true.”

“Now, now. First of all, if anyone asks, I give you all your contraband. I don’t want Ruby ever getting in trouble.” Considering it was probably only a matter of time before the Feds came a calling with some questions about her ex.

“Agreed. Now what’s in the bag?” He tried to peek again.

“Second,” I shook my finger at him, “you have to be mindful of your sugar. I don’t know how to check your blood and all that, and furthermore, I want to enjoy my cake without you going into cardia-coma-glucose whatever.”

“Gotcha. Anything else?” he said, sounding bored.

“I don’t want to be responsible for any deaths.” I peeked at the magazines. “How’s your heart?”

“I’m old. How do you think my heart is?” His eyes went from my boobs to the bag, back to my boobs then the cake box.

I let out a long sigh and got on with it. “Okay then. For your autumn cake selection, we have maple and buttermilk layer cake with a pecan and maple buttercream frosting. Or, we have a pumpkin spice cake with cream cheese and vanilla bean frosting. I should have brought something chocolate,” I said, looking between the two options. “Next time.”

“I’ll have half a slice of each.”

Almost done with our excellent cake, Mr. Oskin looked over at me and asked, “You the gal that lost your folks a while back?”

Not like I didn’t have reminders all the time, but they seemed to be on the rise. “Yep, that’s me.”

“This why you do what you do?”

“Part of it, yeah,” I replied honestly.

“What’s the other part?” he asked, licking the frosting from the tines of his fork.

“I’m obsessed with all aspects of death and dying. I’m kinda morbid like that.” I quickly finished my cake and closed the box, thus ending his line of questioning.