Punk and Zen (13 page)

I don’t know why I wouldn’t let her say “laid.” It’s
not like I didn’t know what it meant. It’s just, well, it didn’t seem right or
polite somehow, as if it would be disrespectful, both to me and to Candace.
That’s it—it would have been disrespectful, and I didn’t want that.

“Hah!” Dee Dee laughed and threw the rag under the
counter. “Good for you, Nina.” Her cheeks dimpled slightly as she looked me up
and down with unmistakable approval. “Good for you. So,” she continued, “what
do you want at my bar?” She spread both hands on the counter to lean on her
elbows and talk with me.

“We’re going out for a late dinner, French, so what do
you recommend?” If anyone knew what went with what, it was the bartender, and
Dee Dee was one of the best.

“Hmm.” She pursed her lips and considered. “Start with
a merlot? Or what about a white?” She shifted to another part of the counter
and searched under the bar.

“Here,” she presented me with two glasses, “start with
white for now,” and she filled the glasses about halfway, “for a fresh palate
and,” she searched a shelf and came back with a dark bottle, “finish with a
good Bordeaux!” She set the bottle on the counter in front of me with a
flourish.

I stared at the bottle. “You’re not seriously giving
this to me?” Even with drinks on the house, that was a pretty pricey gesture.

“Why not?” Dee Dee shrugged. “You never really get
anything from the bar. Most of the time, that is.” Her lip curled slyly.
“Besides,” she continued, “this way you will impress her and you can get, um,
literary.” That sly curve twitched when I raised an eyebrow at her.

Still, I was rather doubtful. I mean, I would have
rather paid for the wine and said so.

“Nina, you make the club lots and lots of money. Think
of it as bonus!” she insisted. “Now, go!” she ordered. “Go give her the glass,
and I will put this in a bag for you.” She waved her hands at me, shooing me
along. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she demanded, a hand on her sharply
arced hip when I didn’t move fast enough.

“I’m going, I’m going.” I raised my hands in mock
alarm and jumped away from the bar, taking the wineglasses with me.

“Don’t forget the Bordeaux!” Dee Dee called to my
back.

“I won’t!” I assured her over my shoulder, and I
carefully returned to Candace, trying not to spill anything. I didn’t want Dee
Dee’s rag to make a sudden and snappy appearance near me or, even worse, on me.

I had a very visceral memory of the sponge. You know,
the you’ve-got-some-dirt-on-your-face, come-here-and-let-me-clean-it-for-you
stinky sponge that every household in creation has. Not that Dee Dee’s rag was
like that; she was a bleach fanatic. It’s just, well, that’s what it made me
think of. I shuddered, remembering the nasty, wet smell of that sponge, but
controlled my hands quickly—I didn’t want to spill the wine.

“Try this.” I offered a glass to Candace as I neared,
relieved to not have to balance it anymore.

“Thank you,” she said as she lifted the stem from my
fingers. “White wine for a fresh palate?” She swirled the wine, then held up
her glass. “To a beautiful summer night?”

I stared a moment, surprised to hear the words I’d
said moments ago to Dee Dee, but I recovered quick enough. “To a beautiful
summer night,” I agreed. Candace lightly tapped her glass to mine, then took a
sip. I did the same—not bad, not too dry, not too sweet. Knowing Dee Dee, it
was probably a German Rhein.

“Very nice,” Candace commented contemplatively.
“Wonderful, in fact.” She sipped again, finishing the glass.

I nodded agreement and did the same.

“So, ready to go?” she asked, regarding me over her
glass. “Because I think,” and she peered out the window, “yes, our car is
here.”

“Oh, yeah, would you just, um,” I glanced over at the
bar, “give me a moment?” I took her empty glass. I wasn’t going to forget Dee
Dee’s gift since she was so politely insistent, and I figured it certainly
wouldn’t hurt my karma if I made the waitresses’ job a bit easier and took the
glasses back to the bar.

“Certainly.” Candace shrugged good-naturedly and
touched my shoulder. “I’ll meet you in the car, then?”

“Great. I’ll be right there.” And back to the bar I
went.

Dee Dee hurried over, package in hand, as I approached.

“Here,” she announced, placing a medium-sized, baby
blue gift bag on the counter as I set the glasses to one side. “If you don’t
get to discuss your books, it will not be the fault of the wine!”

She laughed as I peered into the bag. She had wrapped
the bottle in black tissue paper and placed a little silver ribbon around the
top. As I reached into the bag for it, Dee Dee stopped me.

“No, that is for later, after the books!” Dee Dee
grinned with secret mirth. “Promise?”

“Fine, I promise,” I agreed. Impulsively, I leaned
over the counter and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you. That was just so very
nice of you.”

Dee Dee stood up straight, put her hands on her hips,
and nodded from side to side. “So, go!” she shooed finally, picking up her rag
to wave at me. “What are you waiting for?”

“Have a great night, Dee Dee.” I lifted the bag from
the bar so I could go meet Candace.

“French—hah!” I heard her call to my back. “You let me
know when you want
real
food,
liebchen
!”

I laughed as I walked out, visions of sausage and
sauerkraut with large mugs of beer in my head, although maybe I was wrong. I’d
have to investigate, I thought, just to make sure—and maybe take some Southern
Champagne, otherwise known as Coca-Cola, with me, just in case it was truly, well,
whatever. Coke would make it all better.

I was still thinking about Coke as I walked to the
car, owned by one of the many local companies that exist on the Island. For
whatever reason, there are no yellow cabs or gypsy cabs on Staten Island; the
county doesn’t allow them. If you want a car, you have to call and reserve one.
That’s just the way it is. Most of them seem exactly like regular cars and
don’t have any identifying marks except the phone number on the door. But I
could tell which one I was going to because the door was still open for me.

“There you are!” Candace exclaimed as I slid in.

“Where we going again, ma’am?” the driver asked as I
settled the bag by my feet. I didn’t know, of course, so Candace gave him
directions.

“By the way, earlier, did you say your surname is
Boyd?” Candace asked with studied nonchalance as she settled into her seat. I
could tell it was an act, though, because her eyes were way-wide, and she
pursed her lips too tightly.

“Yes, why? What’s yours?” I asked her with a grin,
trying to set her at ease. You know, for a moment there, she’d looked as if
she’d seen a ghost.

Candace blinked and recovered herself. “Oh, it’s…I
didn’t hear you clearly, that’s all. Mine is Neils, by the way. Candace Lindsay
Neils, actually.”

“Well, it’s nice to officially meet you, by the by.” I
held out my hand. I was surprised that I hadn’t told her my last name before. I
usually always tell people because there was one thing that really, really
bugged me, to the point where I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to do it. What
is it with lesbians and no last names? That just so pisses me off.

Candace stared at, then finally shook my hand. “The
pleasure is all mine.” She grinned back. “So then, what’s in the bag?” She
reached over me for it, but I caught her shoulders as she lunged across my ABC
lap.

“Hey, that’s for later,” I reminded her as I released
her.

Candace twisted her body so that she faced me, and she
reached across my legs to lean on her hand. “Confident, aren’t you?” She
reached her free hand around my head and pulled me toward her.

“Now, now,” I admonished as my mouth closed in on hers
and I wrapped my arms around her waist, “that’s colonist to you,” and I lightly
flicked my tongue between her lips, then slid it in. Oh, but she could kiss,
and when she sucked on my tongue, squeezing it with her mouth, the sensation
sent a chill down my throat, through my chest, and shot through my stomach. I
could feel my lower abs tingle with want, not to mention everything else. Great
technique, I thought. I’d have to try it sometime.

We made out the whole way to Manhattan, and by the
time we got to the restaurant, I was stretched out along the backseat with my
back against the little side window and Candace on top of me. Somehow, the
driver got paid, and we stumbled out of the car, bag in one hand and the rest
of me busy with Candace. I don’t know how we got through dinner, but I do
remember that the maitre d’ gave us a private table, and between feeding each
other with our fingertips, sharing glasses of wine, and trading little kisses
throughout, I don’t even know what we ate, never mind how we left the place or
came to the conclusion that we would go to hers. It made sense, though—it was
definitely closer and positively more private than mine.

Finally, somehow, maybe the Bordeaux we’d opened as we
walked had teleported us, we were in her apartment—somewhere on Sixth and
Avenue A, I think—and in her bedroom, the Bordeaux half gone as I sat on the
edge of the bed and poured out another couple of glasses on her night table.

Candace lay on her side propped on an elbow, watching
me through hooded eyes and wearing nothing but her boots. “I love the way that
looks on you,” she purred, an appreciative light in her eyes.

I glanced at myself, then back at her. “Glad you like
it, since you requested it.” I smirked slyly.

It had been an unspoken yet understood thing between
us tonight—despite the fact that I doubt either of us had questioned that this
was exactly where we’d end up—we weren’t rushing, perhaps to compensate for the
last time. No matter what the reason might have been, we teased, we tortured,
we tantalized each other to that promise of sex, and whereas we mauled each
other on the way through her apartment to her bedroom, we slowed as we got
through that door, and Candace fumbled for, then found, the light switch.

We blinked at each other for a moment in the
half-light, then kissed each other languidly. She removed the bottle and the
bag from my hands and led me to the bed. I slowly rolled her dress up and off
her, and she rolled mine down. I have to say, that as sexy and revealing as
Lycra combined with whatever other material can be, it’s really not that easy
to remove. It’s for looking, not for touching, that’s for sure, and we giggled
a bit as we fumbled with the stretchy fabric.

We stopped kissing and caressing a moment when Candace
grabbed my jacket from where it had landed.

“Would you wear this?” she asked me with a sensual
twist to her mouth.

Wordlessly, I put it on and Candace slipped her arms beneath
it, pressing her skin to mine. I had to have some wine before I just fucked her
again and again.

“Drink,” I muttered hoarsely, gasping for air. “I need
a drink.”

Which is how we ended up as we were at the moment, as
I handed her a glass.

Candace accepted it with a smile and held her glass up
to me in silent toast, and I matched the gesture. Candace sat up to twine her
arm around mine and switch drinks so that I’d have hers and she’d have mine.

We each took a sip, and then it was time, and more
than. I placed my glass on the nightstand and leaned into her, kissing her
neck, gently pushing her back onto the pillows. Our mouths met again as I
slowly lowered my body over hers, and as I shifted more fully onto the bed, she
reached a leg over mine and urged me between her thighs.

“Are you okay?” I murmured softly in genuine concern,
propping myself up on my hands so I could see her expression for myself and
know for sure.

Candace gazed up at me, raised her arms over her head
a moment, then placed them on my ass, running soft trails up and down my spine
under the jacket. “Fabulous,” she said into my eyes, then trailed her glance to
my chest. “Magnificent, your breasts are magnificent,” and she brought her
hands away from my back to touch them, tracing their contours, filling her
hands with them.

I arched my back, pressing my lower body into her and
my nipples into her palms. My eyes closed when her thighs came up to embrace my
hips, and she tilted hers in such a way that her lovely cunt met mine. I opened
them again when her hand reached between us to spread those luscious lips—hers
and mine—and I don’t know which one of us sighed as my aching hard clit moved
against hers, sliding and grinding in warm wetness.

I spread my thighs and pressed them against her, increasing
the contact and the pressure, moving slowly, building the sensation.

“Oh, this is wonderful,” Candace moaned, and I admired
her expression, openmouthed and head back, below me. When her eyes finally met
mine she smiled, then reached for the wine. She took a sip, then passed it to
me.

I took it from her, riding her pussy in a smooth,
languid wave as I straightened my spine and tossed my head back to drink.
“Mmph, it is,” I agreed, handing her back the glass.

She set it on the table and reached to shut off the
lamp.