Vee (4 page)

At the end of the evening, I’m surprisingly
reluctant to leave, despite my lingering tiredness, and I can tell
Vee doesn’t want to either.

“Bathroom,” I say, sliding off my
stool. Vee nods.

When I return, she’s not at the bar. I scan the club
but the light is dim and it’s hard to see far.

“She’s with Daniel,” says a
French-accented voice from behind me. I turn. It’s the pianist. He
holds a snifter of brandy and his bow tie is undone, draped around
his neck, the top button of his white tuxedo shirt open.

“Is she?”

“Over there.” He indicates a
corner on the other side of the bar. Vee throws her head back and
laughs and Daniel laughs with her.

“Hopefully he’s not disappointed
when he realizes he’s not her type,” I remark.

“Don’t worry,” Benoît says. “She’s
not his type either.” He chuckles. “May I buy you a drink,
madame
?”

“Alex,” I say, holding out my
hand. He clasps my hand and his fingers are warm,
pleasant.

“Benoît,” he says. When he lets go
of my hand, he waves the bartender over.

“I’ll have a kir royale,” I say.
Benoît grins at my choice.

“Very French.”

“When in Rome,” I quip.

“Just so.” He glances over at
Daniel and Vee. “She’s pretty. And that hair—I’ve rarely seen such
a shade. She’s your
petite
amie
?”

“She is. And Daniel—you and he
are…?”

He grins then, a bright burst of
joy, showing a dimple in his cheek. “Oh yes,” he says.
“
Je l’aime
.”

I look over at Vee again. She and Daniel are talking
and they seem already comfortable with each other. She’s not that
much younger than he is, actually.

“Vous l’aimez, n’est
pas
?” Benoît asks, leaning on the bar. It
takes me a moment to figure out what he’s asked.

“Very much,” I reply. So much it
sometimes frightens me. This May-December thing hovers at the edge
of my thoughts, exacerbating my tiredness. I can’t keep up. The
bartender brings my kir royale.

“Santé
,”
Benoît says, and we clink glasses. “But you are worried about her
age?”

He’s more perceptive than I’d realized. “We already
get looks,” I reply. “She never notices them, but I do. People seem
to think I should be her mother, not her girlfriend.”

“Are you happy?” Benoît is
startlingly direct.

“Yes. I don’t know what I’d do
without Vee,” I say. And it’s like Vee has heard me, as she turns
to blow me a kiss.

“Then hold onto that, and don’t
let others get you down.” Benoît takes a sip of his brandy. “I
almost lost Daniel and I treasure every moment. Even coming
here—it’s a miracle of sorts. For a long time I wasn’t sure we’d
make it.” A shadow passes over his features and he pushes back the
curls from his forehead. I don’t want to pry.

“Shall we join them?” I suggest.
“Find out what they’re laughing about?”

“D’accord
.” Benoît extends his arm in a very old-fashioned,
gentlemanly way, and escorts me over. “Daniel,
je presente Alex, la copine de Vee
.”

Vee comes over to kiss me. I let go of Benoît’s arm
and slip my arm around Vee’s waist. She leans into me.

“Enchantée
,” Daniel says. He’s drinking whiskey, I see, his hand
fidgeting with the glass, turning it on the bar. Benoît stills his
hand, twining their fingers together.

“What have we missed?” Benoît
asks. “I hope you weren’t telling embarrassing stories about me?”
He raises a brow. Vee giggles.

“Nothing bad, I promise,” she
says. “He was telling me about how you met and nearly tripped over
him.”

“Ah.” Benoît nods. “I suppose I
should be thankful for his duffel bag. Who knows what would have
happened otherwise?” He gives Daniel a fond look and it is obvious
how much they love each other.

“We had a bookstore instead of a
duffel bag,” Vee says, “but it took Alex a year to proposition me.”
She laughs when I pinch her side.

“It wasn’t a year,” I
say.

“All right, ten months. Ish.” Vee
grins at me and her Monroe stud glints in the low light.

“What took so long?” Daniel
asks.

So many things. All the what ifs: what if she
already has a girlfriend? what if she wasn’t gay? what if I was
older than her mother?

I glance at Benoît, remembering his words. “I
couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to try.”

“And here we are,” Vee says. Her
lips are on mine and I give in to her kiss, tasting the ginger from
her drink, a delicious zing on my tongue. For a moment, I even
forget we’re in public. We break apart regretfully. The house
lights flicker in warning and Vee sighs.

“It’s too early,” she
grouses.

“The night’s still young,” Benoît
says. “Where to next? Our last night in New York should be
something special.”

Vee looks at me mischievously. “I don’t think the
deli’s open,” I say, wanting to go home, though our company tonight
is fun. Vee laughs.

“Of course it is,” she replies.
“It’s early yet.” She takes Daniel’s free hand. “It has the best
sandwiches in the city.”

“A bit like our favourite café
back home,” Benoît says.

“Lead the way,
ma femme bleue
,” Daniel
says.

“Ma femme bleue
,” I repeat, and Vee sticks out her tongue at me. “I like
that.”

“Just call me Blue,” she says,
tugging on our hands. “I’m starving! Smoked meat sandwiches
await!”

The night air is chill, but no one seems to notice
but me. I zip up my jacket, trying not to shiver. We take the
subway back uptown, and sure enough, the deli is open, as Vee has
said. The warmth hits me as we head inside and I’m grateful for it.
Vee has already taken Daniel over to meet Kyle, but Benoît lingers
by me.

“Ça va
?”
he asks. “You seem a bit tired.”

“It’s been a long day,” I admit as
we sit at a booth on the back wall. The padded seat feels like
heaven and I relax back into it with a sigh.

“If we were in Paris I’d be having
my first café right about now,” Benoît says, chuckling. “But
fortunately I’ve gotten over the jet lag.”

“I’d love to go back to Paris,” I
remark. It’s been so long since I’ve been.

“Come visit,” Benoît says. “We
won’t be touring forever. And I’d bet Vee would like it; she could
hang out with Daniel.”

The pair of them drop into their seats and Kyle
comes over to say hello.

“I won’t even ask you what you
want,” he deadpans to Vee. “But everyone else?”

“Just a cup of tea,” I say.
Anything more and I won’t be able to sleep.

Kyle looks a bit startled, but nods.

Daniel and Benoît are perusing the menu. “I’ll have
the special,” Benoît says.

“Et moi aussi
.”

I rise from my chair when Kyle has gone. “I’ll be
right back.”

In the deli’s small, cramped washroom, I look into
the mirror. My face is pale and lined in the stark fluorescent
light above the sink and I can see every wrinkle, every track of
the crow’s feet at the edge of my eyes. God, when did I get so old?
I open my purse and take out my compact. A bit of powder freshens
my look, but I know it’s effort wasted. Old and tired, and the
powder won’t hide it. I reapply my lipstick, watching as it settles
into the faint creases that have appeared at the edges of my lips
in the past few years. Slowly, mind you, but they’re there, and
more will come. I blot my lips with a tissue and replace the makeup
in my purse. Best to get back out there.

When I return, the three of them are laughing over
some joke. Vee clasps my hand when I take my seat next to her.

“Oh Alex, I’m so glad we came
tonight,” she says, wiping eyes moist from laughing with her free
hand, smudging her mascara. She leans into me and her affection and
the warmth from her body buoy my quickly declining mood. Only a
little while longer, and then we can go back to the
apartment.

When Kyle comes out with our order, there’s an extra
plate on his tray, a white ramekin on a paper doily. He sets down
the plates of sandwiches first, and then presents me with this
small white plate. It’s a crème brulée, my favourite dessert. I
glance up at Kyle, puzzled. This has never been on their menu; I’d
have known if it was.

“Just a little something,” he says
with a friendly grin. He retreats into the kitchen, and I pick up
the spoon beside the ramekin, cracking the sugary, caramelized
surface of the brulée. Beside me, Vee takes a huge bite of her
sandwich and Daniel snorts in amusement.

“Elle est faim
,” he remarks to Benoît, who chuckles.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?”
Benoît asks me, indicating the brulée. I nod.

“It’s just…”

“Don’t you like it, Alex?” Vee
asks, resting her head on my shoulder. “I called Kyle before we
left for the deli, and he went and picked it up at the restaurant a
few doors down. Just for you.”

Unexpectedly, my heart is in my throat and my eyes
prick with tears.

“Alex?” Vee is uncertain, and
Benoît and Daniel have stopped talking. All eyes are on
me.

I take a deep breath and dab at my eyes with the hem
of my sleeve. “It’s nothing,” I manage to say. When my gaze meets
Vee’s, she smiles at me, and I feel a surge of love. This woman
loves me. At this moment, I don’t care that there are twenty years
between us.

“Ce n’est pas
rien
,” Benoît observes.

“C’est l’amour
,” Daniel answers.

“Of course it is,” Vee says.
“Right, Alex?”

I nod. I do love her, more than anything.

Vee’s
Notebook

(originally released in ANYTHING SHE WANTS, 2013,
Ladylit Publishing)

I found our story in those notebooks, the
soft-covered Moleskines Alex always buys at the bookstore. The ones
I keep in stock especially for her, even though my boss thinks
she’s slightly nutty. She always buys them from me.

‘Sylvia, my brightest star, my
desire. My lust, my soul.

She was Lia to her co-workers at the bookstore,
Sylvia to her mother, who clicked her tongue disapprovingly at her
bright blue hair and her Monroe stud. But to me, she was simply
Vee.

Before you start to think I’m some
sort of pervert, let me assure you. Vee is no nymphet, for all that
I wish I had the talent of Nabokov.
’

I read about us as she slept beside me, that first
kiss in the darkened doorway. She’d tasted of coffee, of sweetness.
Of maturity and the woman I want to be some day. And, to be honest,
the writer I wish I could be. But one step at a time. Maybe this
notebook will be my first story.

By the way, I love my combat boots with a passion,
and I own more pairs of fishnet stockings than I can remember, but
one day I want to be like her. All elegance and poise, icy cool
like Catherine Deneuve in ‘The Hunger’. She wears her dark hair in
a chignon, her face tastefully and dramatically made up, so
sophisticated that I could stare at her all day.

I put my hair in a chignon once, but since I’d just
dyed it purple and blue, it looked absurd. A fancy hairstyle on a
punk like me. Ridiculous. I was making so much noise that Alex
burst into the bathroom to see what I was up to. And she laughed
too. We laughed so hard we ended up on the floor, the tile cold on
my bare ass. I’m taller than she is and her towels never seem to
cover all of me.

“Oh, Vee,” she said, wiping the
tears of amusement from her eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

Her lips were on mine, soft yet demanding, and I let
the towel drop, an invitation she couldn’t resist. I don’t know
what she sees in me, my lanky body, the smallest breasts known to
man, my knobby knees and skin so pale it has a blue tinge. I’m
twenty-one and I look like an adolescent boy with A-cups.

Alex tugged at my chignon, which had already started
to come loose. I didn’t put it up right, trying to remember the
steps on the video I found online. The hairpins clattered to the
tile. She ran her fingers through my hair, spreading it over my
shoulders in a purple and blue wave.

“I love your hair,” she said,
twining a lock through her fingers.

“You should try it,” I said.
“Except you should go dark blue, almost navy. Or maybe
pink.”

“On a woman my age?” she asked,
raising a carefully plucked brow. She was still in her velvet
dressing gown, but she had the poise of one of those old movie
stars, like Elizabeth Taylor, or Marlene Dietrich. Even sprawled on
the bathroom floor with me, she looked regal.

“Why not? I’ll do it for you.
There’s temporary color we can use.” I keep a stock of colors I’ve
bought from a shop down in the East Village. I’ve used it myself
when I couldn’t decide what color I liked best.

I slid my hand into her gown, cupping her soft
breast, my fingers teasing her nipple. Her breath caught as I
pressed my lips to her neck, nibbling gently along her jugular. I
loved to hear her gasping moans, the little whimpers in her throat.
I pulled apart the two sides of her robe, baring her from head to
toe.