I.
"Get OUT, damn you to hell!! "
A split second later, a white ceramic vase containing a dozen short-stemmed red roses whizzed through the air, grazing the side of the hapless young man's head. Violently, it shattered against the wall in an explosion of shards, water and rose petals.
"Mishi - " the young man stammered, appealing.
All at once, a wrathful Celtic war goddess in an azure-coloured dress began advancing on him with all the fury of Boadicea facing the Roman intruders. Her long, blazing red curls swirled around her normally beautiful face, now twisted in fury. Her eyes had changed from the colour of cornflowers to that of an acetyline welding torch, and her full, sensuous lips were drawn back in a grimace of hate and betrayal. Arms extended, hands flat out, she pummeled his chest, words punctuating each action:
"What - " (shove) "part - " (shove) "of - " (shove)"get the fuck - " (shove) "out - " (shove) "don't you -" (shove) "UNDERSTAND?!?!?"
And with a final shove, he was out the door.
Stumbling backward, he hit the wall across from Mishi's apartment door, falling on his ass. Mishi continued to advance menacingly...
Darrel scrambled to his feet just before Mishi reached him. He fled down the hall as though Kali and her minions of the underworld were chasing him.
"And don't ever let me see your pathetic face AGAIN!" screamed Mishi. Just before Darrel hit the stairs, a birkenstock sandal hit the rail.
And with that, she turned on her bare foot and stalked back into her apartment, slamming the door with enough force to shake the building.
Once inside, Mishi - whose real name was Michelle Anais Devereaux - closed her eyes while her heart rate and blood pressure began to return to normal. Opening her eyes, she looked at the carnage of shattered ceramic, water broken stems and scattered rose petals on the floor.
She stared at the mess, transfixed, for several seconds. Sighing, we walked slowly over to her sofa and sat down.
Her third relationship in a year, and again it had come to this...
Slowly, rage began to subside, only to be replaced by despondency. Once again, she looked at the broken pieces lying in a puddle on the floor.
All she could think of was how she had never really cared for roses.
* * *
Before Darrel, there had been Jason...
Michelle was a confident young woman with ambition. As such, she admired ambition in other people when she saw it. Jason had definitely been an ambitious young man.
Unfortunately, that ambition consisted of sitting in front of the television whenever possible, drinking beer and watching grown men wearing brightly coloured livery as they chased after rubber or leather balls of various shapes and sizes across assorted fields and indoor courts.
Michelle was a beauty, of that there was no doubt. She was proud of her looks - some might even say she was a bit vain - and yet, she managed to avoid becoming self-obsessed. A genuinely warm and generous young woman, she nonetheless considered herself more than a match for any woman who cared to take her on where men were concerned...
...but she was no match for the Port Landers Lumberjacks.
The last time she had seen Jason, he had invited her over what she'd hoped would be a romantic (and hopefully, passionate) evening.
She'd stood in the door of Jason's bedroom in her sexiest lingerie for about forty minutes, waiting as he sat watching his favourite gridiron warriors go down to their usual defeat. Finally, she got dressed and left without saying a word. Jason had never called after that...she doubted he'd ever noticed she was gone.
Before Jason, there was Akhmad.
Akhmad was from Lebanon. A dark, handsome young Arabian man who worked as a bank executive, he had charm and gallantry to match his looks. Michelle was smitten.
Akhmad, however, already had a love in his life - his truest love, one to whom he could deny nothing and with whom Michelle could never hope to compete.
Akhmad bin-Faisal was a man totally, completely and hopelessly in love with Akhmad bin-Faisal.
He indulged his true love's every whim - including the charms of any and every woman who caught his eye. And he was discreet...oh yes, he was discreet. It wasn't his fault that the sweet doe-eyed woman who ran the plant shop was Michelle's cousin and best friend. They looked nothing alike - how could he have known? (Not that he would have had a chance with her...)
Michelle threatened him with slow castration - by hand - if he ever came anywhere near her or Kathie again.
* * *
Michelle woke up the next morning and looked out the window. Although it was early spring, the trees had yet to blossom, and the interminable drizzle for which the Pacific Northwest was infamous continued to linger.
It was a perfect reflexion of her mood.
She dragged herself into the shower, then into the kitchen where she proceeded to make her strong, dark, bitter coffee. She had always liked it that way - no cream, no sugar, dark roasted. Few outside of France and the Mediterranean countries would have survived the first sip.
Sitting on the sofa, she sat her steaming mug on an end table and picked up the remote to her TV-VCR combo, pressing "Power" and "Play." A whirring sound and a low hum; the screen came to life. For a split second, there was only electric blue, then a brief moment of static. Finally, the last bit of an inane jingle proclaiming the virtues of some imitation French cologne, a station ID, followed by haunting piano music and a voice-over in a man's rich baritone: "And now, the second half of 'The Young At Heart.'"
For twenty minutes or so, Michelle was able to lose herself in a series of twisted, convoluted and badly written plots in which idle people with lots of money (but no apparent employment) led troubled lives, either having an illicit affair, breaking up with a paramour, trying to break up someone else's affair or marriage, or otherwise trying to control other people or find validation through sex.
Just as millionaire industrialist Victor Moudrakis was about to walk in on his young wife in bed with his own son (from a previous marriage), the phone rang. With a sigh, Michelle hit the pause button.
She let the answering machine pick it up; this was the beginning of her weekend, and she really didn't want to deal with anybody. Still, if bimbo Cheri had deleted something from the library database, Michelle would have to run down there and fix it...
"Hi, you've reached Michelle Devereaux at 503-555-6972. Please leave a message, Thanks!"
*BEEP*
"Hey, 'Chelle - 's Kathie - ya home - ?"
Michelle stopped the videotape and picked up the phone.
"Hey, sweetie."
"'Chelle, you okay? You sound really down."
Michelle sighed again. "I'm fine...just a little tired, that's all. What's up?"
"Just hadn't heard from you for a couple of days. Hey, how's it going with Darrel?"
Michelle laughed. "He's lucky I didn't rip his penis off and stuff it down his throat."
"Oh, no...did you two break up?"
"Honey, I'm not sure we ever got together." She sighed again. "It's nice to hear from you."
"I'm free for lunch, if you want to talk about it."
"Not really."
"You don't want to talk about it, or you don't want to meet for lunch?"
Michelle smiled. "Oh, sweetie - I just don't feel up to going out today."
"Oh..."
"If you have time, you're welcome to come over. I'd love to see you."
"Oh - well - hang on..." Michelle was treated to about thirty seconds of Kathie's favourite folk-singer. "Hi - you still there?"
"Uh-huh."
"That'd be great. Twelve-thirty O.K.?"
"I'll be here."
"See ya then. Love you!"
"Love you too." Gently, Michelle placed the receiver back in its cradle.
* * *
Kathie arrived at exactly twelve twenty-nine, clad in her usual outfit - khaki shorts, white socks and sneakers and a pale green t-shirt and baseball cap with her store's logo and name - "Greenhouse Annie's Garden Shop" - embossed into the fabric in dark green thread. Her long, dark brown hair was tied back into its usual ponytail, and she had her transport - a twenty-one speed mountain bike worth more than some peoples' automobiles - next to her as Michelle opened the door.
Nodding to her bike, Kathie said "You don't mind, do you?"
Michelle shook her head. "Feel free," she said.
Kathie wheeled the bike into Michelle's apartment as the latter closed the door, then turned to her.
"Hi there," she said, opening her arms.
"Hi, yourself," replied Michelle, entering her cousin's welcoming embrace.
The two women stood there, arms around each other, for almost two minutes without saying a word. Finally, they stepped back from each other, holding each other at arms' length. Michelle patted Kathie's cheek tenderly.
"Thanks, Kat...I really, really needed that."
Kathie smiled. "I can tell." They took each other by the hand and walked into the living room, where they sat on the sofa together.
They sat quietly for a few moments, just looking at each other, sharing the special rapport they'd developed since they were young girls growing up together. It was a bond that didn't necessarily require words. Even after having known and loved Kathie for most of their twenty-four years, Michelle found it refreshing.
You're the only person I don't have to impress, she thought lovingly.
Kathie stroked Michelle's forearm gently. "You sure you're alright?"
Michelle nodded. Kathie shook her head. "Uh-uh - this is me you're talking to, remember?"
Slowly, Michelle got up. "Come on to the kitchen with me," she said.
As she prepared a ham and turkey sandwich on sourdough for herself and an avocado, tomato and grilled tofu on whole wheat for Kathie, Michelle finally admitted her disappointment. "I - I guess I'd been hoping it would turn into something special this time," she said despondently.
"I am so sorry, 'Chelle - if I'd known what a sleaze Darrel was, I'd never have introduced - "
Michelle cut her off as she brought plates to the table. "Now, don't go there, Kat. It wasn't your fault."
"I know, but - "
"'But' nothing, Kat. Men are just shits, and that's all there is to it."
Kathie was silent at that. Michelle picked up part of her sandwich and started to eat. "Anyway, it's not like he really broke my heart."
"No?"
Michelle shook her head. "Didn't nearly go that far." Then, she put her sandwich down. She was suddenly silent, staring at her plate.
For a moment, Kathie thought Michelle was going to cry. She reached over and took her hand. "If he didn't break your heart, what did he do?"
Michelle looked up, dry-eyed, but pensive. "It's what he didn't do that's the problem." She sighed and picked up her sandwich again. "You know, Kat...just once in my life...I wish I could know what its like to care that much."
Kathie raised an eyebrow at her cousin. "You know," Michelle continued, "just see what it is I'm missing out on." She giggled despite herself, and Kathie grinned for the first time since her arrival.
* * *
A half-hour later found Kathie and Michelle back on the sofa sipping tea, talking and giggling like schoolgirls.
Michelle could always count on Kathie to bring her out of the darkest moods.
" - I mean, my face doesn't stop any clocks, does it?" Michelle was saying.
Kathie gave her cousin a soulful look. "I've always thought you were beautiful," she replied.
Michelle grinned. "Damn straight," she agreed. "And let's not forget charming."
Kathie giggled, nodding.
Michelle continued: "I can usually get a guy if I want..."
"Maybe that's the problem," Kathie suggested.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, maybe it's not enough of a challenge for you." Another woman making that statement might have been catty and jealous sounding. Kathie was matter-of-fact about it, with no trace of envy or resentment.
Michelle thought about this for a moment. Finally, she shrugged. "You think if someone was harder to get, he might be more worthwhile?"
Kathie replied "It's a thought." She took a sip of her tea. "Anyway, babe - I'm hardly an expert on men."
Michelle smiled at her cousin. "I think you could be," she said earnestly.
Kathie again raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Michelle patted Kathie's bare thigh gently. "You sell yourself short, sweetie," she said. "You're really quite the looker."
It was true. Kathie was, in her own way, as much a beauty as Michelle. Unlike Michelle, however, it had always seemed an embarassment to her. Kathie grinned and blushed, slapping Michelle's arm playfully. "Now see here, you - "
"I'm serious!" Michelle insisted. "You've got that 'girl-next-door' look, a great figure - you ought to show your legs more often," she added, patting Kathie's thigh again. "If you want, I can take you shopping sometime - "
By now, Kathie was about to collapse in a fit of laughter. "Hey - I thought we were talking about you!" she giggled.
Michelle took Kathie's hand again. "All I'm saying is, if you and I got 'foxed out' and hit the bars together - those shits wouldn't stand a chance!"
"You mean, men?"
"Same difference."
Now they were both nearly doubled over with laughter. Impulsively, Michelle threw her arms around Kathie. She returned the embrace, and they hugged each other close.
"Oh, Kathie...I love you," said Michelle, looking into her cousin's warm brown eyes.
Kathie put a hand on Michelle's cheek. "I love you, too, babe," she replied.
For a moment, they just gazed into each others' eyes, not speaking. For a moment, Michelle thought...
But the thought was gone before it had even formed. Kathie leaned her head against Michelle's shoulder. "Do you remember that summer you spent with us on the farm when we were fifteen?" Kathie asked.
"Gosh, sweetie - I should. That was what, ten years ago?"
"Nine."
Michelle tried to remember some of it. Kathie's mother - Michelle's Aunt Patrice - had moved to a small rural farming community about three hours from Port Landers that year. Until that time, they had lived across the street from Michelle and her widowed mother.
That summer had been fun, Michelle recalled. Especially when their grandmama came to stay for a few weeks.
"You remember all the wild stories Grandmama told us that summer?" asked Michelle.
"Oh yes...her 'Flapper Katie' days," said Kathie, smiling at the memory of their late grandmother's stories of her own sordid youth - stories filled with hot jazz, nights of dancing the charleston and black bottom, short skirts, rouged knees and rolled stockings, flivvers, petting parties in rumble seats, and bath-tub gin and bootleg whiskey served in back-alley speakeasies.
"I still miss her," sighed Michelle.
"Me, too," said Kathie. She sat up and looked at Michelle brightly. "But you know what?"
"What?"
"The funeral was months ago - we've mourned. I think it's time we had a celebration."
"A celebration?"
Kathie nodded. "I think Grandmama would want us to celebrate her life. After all, she was a hundred and one, she'd seen it all and done it all - "
"That's for sure," Michelle grinned. "So - what are you doing tonight?"
"Oh gosh, babe. I'm sorry, I told Elsa I'd help her with inventory tonight."
Michelle nodded. "How is she doing?"
Kathie replied, "Elsa's great. She knows the flower business in and out." She chuckled. "Of course, her English could still use some work."
Michelle nodded. "Hope I can meet her sometime. Maybe she could come with us."
"Maybe - but tonight's just not good. We'll probably be working until midnight. And then - oh, shitcakes!"
"What?"
Now it was Kathie's turn to sigh. "Easter rush - and then Mother's Day...'Chelle, I'm sorry - "
"Don't be. It's your business - I understand." Michelle then raised her teacup. "But the first minute things slow down at the shop, you and I are going to have a hell-raising night on the town in honour of Grandmama."
Kathie raised her own cup and touched it to Michelle's. "To Grandmama," she said solemnly.
* * *
Michelle and Kathie stood at the door, arms around each other as they said good-bye.
"Give me a call in a day or so - maybe we can do lunch again," Kathie said.
"I'd like that," replied Michelle.
They hugged. "In the meantime," said Kathie, "I think you should get dolled up yourself and go out tonight. It'd do you some good."
"I'll think about it," said Michelle. At the moment, it didn't sound like a bad idea.
Again, Michelle and Kathie gazed at each other. Moments like this, Michelle's love for Kathie would just well up out of her heart - and she could see it in her cousin's eyes as well.
Slowly, Kathie's face moved closer to Michelle's...
At the last moment, they gave each other a peck on the cheek and rubbed their noses together playfully. "Love you," said Kathie, turning with one hand on her bicycle and the other on the doorknob.
"Love you," Michelle replied as Kathie stepped into the hall, wheeling her bike. "Talk to you soon."
"Bye," said Kathie, blowing her a last kiss. The door of the apartment closed, and she was gone.
* * *
Michelle stood at the window with her tea cup in her hand, looking down into the street for a long time after watching Kathie ride away. She thought about that summer, when - after almost nine months of being apart - they were able to spend time together.
Kathie had become intensely interested in plants that summer. Her stepfather (Michelle's Uncle Herman) had set a small plot aside for her, and she had planted almost everything that would grow in that area. When they walked along the country lanes or through the woods, Kathie seemed to know the name of every single flower, bush and weed.
The best part - for Michelle - had been the all the nights they would stay up together, giggling and whispering in Kathie's bed, finally falling asleep with their arms wrapped around each other.
They also rode horses and bikes that summer...paddled a canoe in a nearby lake and gone swimming...and hung out with some boys that Kathie knew from school.
They even got a hold of some grass and gotten "high" a few times.
Then there was the night (one of the times they'd gotten "high") before Michelle had to go home. The night that, even now, neither of them could really talk about.
Because it hadn't really happened...had it...?
Oh well, thought Michelle, turning away from the window and heading to the kitchen. Don't obsess over it.
After all, didn't experts say that virtually everyone fantasized about it at some point in their lives?