The Knights of Sheba, Episode 6: "Party" B

The Knights of Sheba 106 B…Start

 

            Claude and Shirley get back to the hotel late.  They are greeted by the woman tending the front desk, who gives a warm smile and a wink at Claude as he passes. Claude blushes and tries not to make eye contact.  Shirley, meanwhile, smiles and waves.

            They walk down the hall together, Claude leading, Shirley trailing.  He unlocks his door and shows her into his dark, cluttered hotel room.  Clothes remain piled around the floor.  A few empty food containers are stacked neatly on his table.  He gathers them quickly and tries to jam them into his trashcan but finds it wanting.

            “Sorry,” he says, looking at her.  He rubs the back of his neck.  “It’s kind of a mess.”

            Shirley nods and looks around the room.  “I understand.  You’re pretty much living out of a suitcase.”

            Claude glances at his empty suitcase and says, “Yeah, pretty much.”

            “Bathroom, over here,” she asks, pointing to a door.  He nods.  “Okay, I’ll be right out,” she says, and she slips inside.

            While she uses the restroom, Claude goes down the hall and asks for the key to the storage closet.  The woman at the desk giggles and gives it to him, and he blushes more and leaves without another word.  He grabs an extra pillow and an extra blanket, and then he returns the key.  Back in his room, he clears a spot on the floor for him to sleep.

            When Shirley steps out of the bathroom, she is wearing nothing but a long t-shirt that barely reaches mid-thigh.  Claude can’t help but stare at her long, shapely legs as she walks. She falls onto the bed and Claude catches sight of her rear before she lands.

            He looks away.

            She pulls the blanket up around her waist and watches Claude clear the floor. “Uh, what in the world do you think you’re doing?”

            Claude looks up, hesitantly and, finding her covered, makes eye contact.  “I’m sleeping on the floor.”

            “I figured out that much.  What I mean is, why?”

            “Because I won’t make you,” he says, dropping his pillow.

            “Right, but there’s no reason for you to, either.  We can share the bed.”

            “No,” Claude says, imagining her rear and the way it filled her underwear.  His blush deepens.  “No, we can’t.”

            “Oh, come on, Claude, we’ve shared a bed plenty of times.”

            “When we were kids.”

            “We’re still young.”

            “We’re plenty older,” Claude says, looking anywhere but at her.

            “Claude, this isn’t that big of a deal, but if you are going to force yourself to sleep on the floor, then I can go to the front desk and rent a room for myself.”

            “No,” he says.  “No, you shouldn’t.  Come on, just let it go.  I’d be more comfortable this way.”

            “No, you won’t.  No one is more comfortable on the floor.  So, just stop being a baby and share the bed with me.  If it makes you more comfortable, we can sleep back-to-back.”

            “It won’t.”

            “Please, Claude.”

            He sighs.  “Fine,” he says, shaking his head.  “I don’t know why I even tried to argue with you.”

            “Neither do I,” says Shirley, beaming.

            Claude climbs into the bed with every intention of slipping out when she falls asleep.  She settles quickly and is out in a matter of minutes, while Claude lies awake, staring at the ceiling, heart pumping and mind racing.  He tries to remember the young girl from his childhood, but the girl he knew didn’t have legs like hers.

            Before he can make it out of bed, Shirley stretched out and throws one leg over him.  Claude sighs and resigns himself to his fate.  No matter how hard he tries, he knows Shirley, and he knows that she will always be at his back, and, deep down, he finds comfort in that.

            He falls asleep with Shirley there beside him just like they did when they were children.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Three demons approach Seere’s vicounty, travelling from Andromalius’ duchy.  They wear dark, tattered cloaks and carry with them heavy satchels filled with loot, and they smile broadly at their return.

            When approaching the city, they are hailed by guards and escorted to the keep.  There, they are immediately granted audience with Seere.  They wait for him in the throne room, holding their satchels tight to their breasts and staring ahead as Ruka watches them.  Even in good times, he is an imposing figure.

            Seere enters from a back passage and greets them warmly.  He wears a long, purple robe with intricate embroidery.  They bow at his presence and wait for him to speak before standing.  “I see you’ve returned, and from the looks of things, you come bearing gifts,” he says, taking his throne.

            The three approach cautiously, watching Ruka as they do.  They set their bags at Seere’s feet and await his appraisal.  “There is more,” says the tall one in the center, their leader.  “Much more, both fitting your description and some entirely outside of it.  We did what we could, but it truly is a magnificent sight.”

            “Oh,” Seere says, pulling open the satchel in the center.  He finds a dark, wooden box with gold filigree cut into the surface, and he pulls it out to examine its contents.  Inside of the box is a soft fabric with three rings evenly spaced on it.  He smiles and sets the box aside on the floor.

            While Seere looks, the leader says, “We were there only a short time, but we saw entire cities, some broken, some standing.  They were abandoned.  No bodies, no blood, just trees and vines and stone, and there was this husk in the sky, floating.”

            “It looked like an eye,” says one.  “Like it was watching us.”

            “Yes,” Seere says, examining the contents of another bag.  Inside is a spear, its blade dulled and aged, its haft broken.  He recognizes it from one of his books.

            “There is much more than that.  We could have brought more, but were afraid it would weigh us down.”

            “I suspected as much.  Genocide is simple.  The extermination of their entire history, however, is not.”  Seere sets the sack aside and graces them with a smile.  “You’ve done wonderfully,” he says, and he carefully undoes the last bag and examines its contents.  Inside is jewelry beset with gemstones the size of eyeball, circlets polished to a shine, and other fineries. “Ruka, see to it that they are paid for their services.”

            “My lord,” Ruka says, and he turns to a guard nearby and issues orders.  The guard goes to the three and leads them away.

            The leader lingers for a bit.  “My lord, will you be calling upon us again.”

            “In the future, yes, but not for now.  Stay alive, however, and I will call.”

            “Of course, my lord,” he says, and he bows again before leaving.

            Once alone, Seere has Ruka carry the satchels to the viscount’s chamber.  There, he carefully extracts their contents, piece by piece, and lays them out on his war table.  Ruka watches nearby, looking bored and, at times, frustrated.  After Seere finishes one satchel, Ruka approaches and picks up the box.  He examines the rings while frowning.

            “Forgive my lack of imagination, my lord, but what will you do with such trinkets?”

            “A great many things,” Seere says, resting the spearhead on the table.  He places the broken haft beside it.  “A great, great many things.  You mustn’t look at each individual piece in terms of what is but what could be.  Myths abound, Ruka.  We have a full stock of them in our library.”

            Ruka returns the box to the table. “Yes, but I fail to see how stories will help us win wars.”

            “Because stories are history, and history is culture.  Everything that we were, everything that we have become, is found within those books.  Again, you must not look at stories and see stories, but see what they could and have become, what history they may be hiding.”

            “If I may, is that how you predicted the reopening of the gate?”

            Seere gives a modest smile.  “If I had to call that anything, I’d call it intuition, or perhaps luck.  No, the myths have given me much more. For example…”  Seere picks up the broken spear and shows it to Ruka.  It glints the midday light.  “This is what those myths have shown me.”

            “And what is it?”

            “A tool,” Seere says.  “Something to bargain with and, if I do it right, it will be the key to our future.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina swings high, purposefully missing, and watches Geneva duck and stumble before falling.  Then, she watches Geneva growl and rub her bottom.  Nina pauses and cradles her wooden sword on her shoulder.  “Are you okay?  Your performance today is in decline.”

            “Fine, just…”  Geneva physically reaches for the word.  “Fuzzy,” she says, gesturing vaguely with her hand.  She staggers to her feet.

            “Will this happen every time I allow you an evening off?”

            “No,” Geneva groans.  “At least, I hope not.”

            “Yes, well, we’re not getting anywhere talking about it.  Let’s continue.” Nina steps in and brings her blade down overhead.  Geneva barely reacts before it lands.

            “Ow!”

            “If you don’t want to be hit, then dodge,” Nina says, spinning dramatically on heel and bringing her blade around.  This time, Geneva dodges, ducking under and stumbling away.

            “Can’t we call it a day,” Geneva asks, retreating.  She blocks a series of quick swipes and catches one to her side.  Wincing, she says, “I’m really not feeling well.”

            “Use the pain as a distraction,” Nina says.  She swings hard and knocks Geneva off balance.  While Geneva stumbles, Nina closes distance and knocks her over.  Geneva lies on the floor, holding her stomach and groaning.  “No time for lament,” Nina says, pacing a circle around Geneva.  “Get up and go again.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Early next morning Claude, prepares for work while Shirley sleeps.  He slept better than he expected and finds himself well-rested, if a bit flustered.  After changing into his uniform, he lingers at the doorway and stares at Shirley.  She is half covered by a blanket and sleeping soundly. 

            After his shift, he returns to his room but doesn’t find her waiting.  He showers and changes before returning to the hall to ask the front desk if they saw Shirley leave.  On the way, he finds Shirley talking with Thomas.  The two are laughing as he approaches.

            “Oh, Claude,” Thomas says, pulling Claude over and patting him on the shoulder.  “You didn’t tell me that you had a lovely lady friend visiting.”

            Claude looks from Shirley to his manager and stammers.  “I—Well—See—Thing is…” He takes a deep breath.  “Sorry,” he says, “I hope I’m not taking advantage of your hospitality.”

            Thomas laughs and pats him on the back again.  “Oh, no need to be so considerate.  I’m glad you finally had a friend up.  Was worried you might be getting lonely, and Shirley here is a real sweetheart.”

            “Well, thank you very much,” Shirley says.  “And, thanks for putting Claude up.  We’ve all been worried.”

            “What, you haven’t been keeping in contact with them?”

            “Not a word from him,” Shirley says.  “Can you believe that?”

            Thomas shakes his head.  “Well, it’s no problem besides.  He’s a good worker, and I’m happy to have him.”  He glances at his watch.  “Speaking of which, I should be getting off.”  He nudges Claude.  “Now that you got a friend up here, might be a good time to go house hunting.  No rush, just a thought,” Thomas says.

            Claude pauses, rubbing his neck.  He looks at Shirley.  “So, that’s my boss, Tom.”

            Shirley laughs.  “He seems nice.”

            “He is.”

            “Well, come on, let’s get something to eat.”

            “Shirley.”

            “Claude, do you really want to make an argument over this?”  She doesn’t wait for a response and leaves him with no alternative but to sigh and follow her out the door.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            They return to the same restaurant and settle into the same booth.  Claude watches the cars drift by.  It is the first time he has been here during the day. It is quieter and emptier inside, and the waitresses seem to have much more energy.

            “So, how was work,” Shirley asks while picking at her meal.  She ordered a salad, and Claude figures it is buried somewhere beneath the mountain of dressing and croutons.

            “Fine. Wet,” Claude says.  “Some days, I’m afraid I won’t get the smell off of me.”

            “Oh, you smell fine,” Shirley says.

            Claude blushes, sips at his water.

            “So, I was thinking,” Shirley says, waving a dripping fork full of lettuce at him, “Tom might have the right idea about you moving out. Claude, I think we should move in together.”

            Claude chokes.  He stares at her for a moment before wiping his mouth.  After catching his breath, he sums up his feelings with a simple, “What?”

            “What do you mean, what? I think we should move in together.”

            “I know, but Shirley…”

            “But Claude,” she says.  “It makes sense.  You’ve already got a job, and I already have a job.  You can’t live there forever, and we’ve known each other since we were kids.”

            “I know, I know, it’s just a big step.”

            “So was moving up here on your own,” Shirley says.  “We’re good a big steps.  Let’s take this one together.”

            “Just let me think about it.”

            “Alright, alright, I’ll stop bringing it up,” Shirley says and glances at his fries.  “Can I have one of these,” she asks, spearing one and taking a bite before he responds.  She laughs as Claude complains about her always stealing his food and, for Claude, the familiarity is comforting.

 

The Knights of Sheba 106…End

The Knights of Sheba, Episode 6: "Party" A

 Episode Six: Party

 

            Geneva staggers, struggles to keep her footing.  Ms. Olivia is quick, decisive, and insistent.  She approaches smoothly and swings wide, giving Geneva an opening, and then closes it shortly after.  Geneva freezes and barely manages to duck under a strike meant for her left shoulder.

            She stumbles farther back, spinning unnecessarily in the process, as if to throw her opponent off.  Ms. Olivia follows close, blade up.  She holds a moment too long, another opening, another missed opportunity.  Geneva flails aimlessly, swings, and trips.

            “Wait, wait,” Geneva yells while seeking stable footing.  Her feet fumble clumsily across the mats.

            “There is no waiting in combat, Ms. Oaks.”

            “There is in practice!”

            Geneva lunges and hits nothing.  Ms. Olivia steps around the attack and leaves Geneva falling forward, and Geneva lands heavily on her chest and fights for breath.  Her sword, meanwhile, bounces a few times on the mat before settling.

            Ms. Olivia stops beside Geneva and taps her gently on the head with her own wooden sword.

            Geneva groans.  “Ow.”

            “She barely touched you,” an elf says from the sidelines.  A whole group of them are watching, and so is Erak.  He is the most displeased of them all, and unlike the others, he doesn’t see anything funny.  Part way through the session he lit a cigarette, and that seemed to take up most of his focus until the finale.

            Geneva pushes herself up into a sitting position and rubs the knot on the back of her head.  She mumbles to herself until Ms. Olivia offers her a hand up.

            “Would you like to try one more time, Ms. Oaks?”

            “No, not really,” Geneva says.  “Seriously, you keep leaving bruises, my parents will start to wonder about these tutoring sessions.  And I’m not brave enough to try another mugger story.”

            Ms. Olivia casts a glance at the elves around the room.  “Then we will end our training for the day,” she says.  “Put the equipment away and do your stretches.  Then, I will take you home.”  

            “Then again, maybe we could say the first mugger came back to finish the job,” Geneva says, taking Ms. Olivia’s sword and then fetching her own.  She walks them across the basement and hangs them on the wall.  The elves watch her the entire time, as she stretches, as she gathers her things, and they talk. Geneva tries to ignore them.

            She fails.

            Ms. Olivia leads her outside, into the syrupy autumn light.  Six weeks have passed and the seasons have changed.  The leaves, once green, have been set ablaze in a sea of browns, reds, yellows, and oranges.  The grass crunches underfoot, and Geneva has to wear a jacket now to keep warm.

            They get into the SUV, and Ms. Olivia apologizes for the elves. “They’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

            Geneva shrugs. “Realistically? I’d have trouble even without the audience or the commentary,” Geneva says.  “Anyway, doesn’t matter.  I’m used to being made fun in not-so-hushed-breaths.”

            “Regardless, their behavior is unbecoming.  We’re supposed to be the high race, to be an example, and that is how they behave?  Disgusting.”             She starts the vehicle and pulls away from the other SUVs, and they turn down the road away from the compound.

            “Okay, let’s be real here for a second.  It’s pretty disgusting to refer to yourselves as the high race in the first place.  So, really, their behavior is just staying the course.”

            “Still, I apologize.”

            “You don’t have to.”

            “No, I do,” Ms. Olivia says emphatically.  “However I act, whoever I am, they represent me by association.  We should find another option, somewhere else to train without their scrutiny.”

            “Would Erak approve of that?”

            “No, but that hardly matters to me.”

            Geneva looks at her.  “Wow, teach, stick it to the man.  Then again, if that guy disapproves of something, then you know it’s the right thing to do.”

            Ms. Olivia allows a smirk.  “That may be true.”

            “By the way, speaking of things he won’t like, can I have tomorrow off?”

            “What? No. Why?”

            “Why ask why if you’ve already said no?”

            “Just answer.”

            Geneva sighs.  “I don’t really want to explain.  I just want the day off.”  She looks at her again.  “Please?”

            Ms. Olivia glances at her before taking a turn.  “Is it important?”

            “To some people.  Yes, yes it is.”

            “To you?”

            “Those people are important to me.  Yes.”

            “But the reason…”

            “Just say yes or no, please.”

            “Fine,” Ms. Olivia says.  “I suppose a single evening won’t hurt.  But let’s not have this become a repeating pattern.  And you will keep your phone on you.”

            “Oh, yeah, the phone!”  Geneva pulls her backpack up from the back seat and pulls her cellphone out.  It is cheap and discreet, and she is supposed to keep it a secret from everyone.  She checks to make sure that it is on.  “You know, it’s sad.  Every time I look at it, I keep thinking there will be messages on there for me.”

            “Why?  You haven’t given the number out, have you?”

            “No.  Chill.  I remember what you told me.”  She clears her throat and deepens her voice.  “’I’m giving you this phone so that if a demon problem arises I can contact you.  Something about rings and monsters.’”

            “Ms. Oaks, you know I don’t like when you do that,” Ms. Olivia says.  “For one thing, I sound nothing like that.”

            “You sound exactly like that.”

            She doesn’t.

            “Anyway, I’m not an idiot,” Geneva says.

            “Yes, well, still, make sure you keep the phone to yourself, please.”

            “I will.  It’d raise too many questions if someone found out I had it anyway,” Geneva says, and she jams the phone back into her backpack to be forgotten.  “And if my parents do see it, I’ll just say I’m holding it for a friend.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After school the next day Geneva catches a ride home on the bus.  When she arrives, she retreats to her room to study and catch up on homework.  She enjoys the privacy of the evening, almost to the point of forgetting what is coming.  However, Beatrice comes knocking on her door at around six pm, and the illusion comes to an abrupt end.

            The door swings open, revealing her dress-adorned sister behind it.  “It’s time,” she says.

            “No, not yet.  I’m not ready yet.”

            “Sorry, kid,” Beatrice says, taking time to light an imaginary cigarette.  She draws air through her clenched teeth and releases a breath shortly after.  Then, carefully, she taps some invisible ashes onto the floor.  “Got any last words?”  She tries her hardest to sound gruff.

            “I’m too old for this.”

            “Oh, come on, Genie-bear.  Neva-cakes.  Sweetie-poodle.”

            Geneva screws her eyes.  “Sweetie-poodle?”

            Beatrice skips across the room and drags Geneva from her bed.  “You’re going to have a blast.”

            “No, I really won’t.”

            “Not if you keep up that attitude.”  Beatrice shoves Geneva out the door and toward the stairs.  “Now, close your eyes, and I’ll lead you down.”

            “You greatly overestimate how much I trust you.”

            “Oh, please, Geneva, like I’d let anything happen to you,” Beatrice says, guiding her.  “Mom and dad would never forgive me.  So, eyes closed.”

            Geneva sighs and obeys.  She closes her eyes and even covers them for good measure, and she lets Beatrice lead her by the hand.  It is hardly necessary.  She has lived in this house since birth and would know it even in the haze of half-sleep.

            Together they find the stairs and start their way down.  Geneva holds the handrail for support.  “You know,” she says back at Beatrice, “It’s not much of a surprise if I know it’s coming.”

            “Shush your head.  You’re over thinking this.  And you better at least act surprised this time.  Last year nearly broke mom’s heart.”

            “I’ll do my best,” Geneva says warily.

            They alight in the foyer and take a left toward the kitchen.  Geneva feels the entry way before passing through.  Beatrice leads her to the table and places her into a seat before leaving.  Conspiratorial whispers fill the room.  She recognizes her mother’s voice directing everyone.

            “You over there.  Beatrice, right here.  And honey, you stand here.  No, here.  And I’ll go here.  Okay.”  Silence reigns, save for the shuffle of feet. “Okay, Geneva, go ahead and open your eyes!”

            First thing Geneva sees is the darkened kitchen and a row of flames dancing on wax pillars.  A large, white cake is sitting in the center of the table, trimmed with pink frosting.  It holds seventeen candles, spaced evenly across its surface.  Four bodies take shape beyond that as she looks overtop the candle flames.  They synchronize a, “Happy Birthday, Geneva!”

            “Aw, thanks guys.  Mom, dad, Bea, and…Kit?”

            Kit winks and waves at Geneva.

            “Surprised, darling,” her mother asks, smiling.  “I pulled her aside last time you two had one of your little study dates and invited her over.  Thought you might like to have one of your little friends over instead of just your boring, old parents.”

            “Oh, mom, come on.  You’re not old.”

            “Well, thank you, honey.  Now blow out the candles and make your wish.”

            “Right.”  While her mother fusses about the table, Geneva eyes the candles and considers her wish.  After a moment’s thought, and further prodding from her mother, she settles on nothing and gives her greatest blow.  The room goes dark.

            Her father turns on the lights, and her mother starts dividing the cake while chatting excitedly with Kit.  She thanks Kit for coming, comments how surprised Geneva was, and laughs at something Kit says.  Geneva watches the surreal scene playout in silence.

            She takes a moment to consider how strange it is that she is being trained to fight monsters by an elf and how Kit being at her birthday is somehow more unbelievable to her.

            Everyone gets a slice of cake and a scoop of ice cream.  They sit around the table, chatting, sharing stories.  Geneva’s mother asks Kit how classes are and thanks her for helping Geneva to study.  She keeps using the word date, and Geneva can feel her cheeks growing redder with each passing moment.  Eventually, when unable to hide it anymore, she makes an excuse to escape and brings Kit with her.

            “So, you ready for tonight,” Kit says, setting her plate aside.  Her portion didn’t last long.

            “Nervous,” Geneva says, fiddling with her fork.  She draws tiny spirals in the icing.  “You know, we can always hang out here.”

            “This will be fun, Genny.” Kit touches Geneva’s leg lightly, watches her blush.  “I promise.”

            “Well, if you promise then I guess I’ll just have to go, huh?”

            “Yup.”

            “Should I get ready?”

            Kit shrugs.  “There’s no rush.  We’ve got plenty of time, and I wouldn’t mind hanging out with your family a bit longer.”

            “Sorry I haven’t told them.”

            “I haven’t told my parents.”  Kit smiles at her.  “And why should I?  It’s not their business.  It’s ours, and I like it that way.  Not that I am against showing you off.”

            Geneva stammers, stares at her plate.  “And my mom.  Sorry she’s such a spaz.”

            “Oh, stop that.  Your mom is sweet.  She’s just excited that you brought home a friend.”

            “She’s embarrassing,” Geneva says.  “Do you really like her?”

            “Of course.  She’s always nice to me, so I’ve got nothing against her.”

            “Well, of course she’s nice to you.  You’re not her daughter.”

            “That does seem to be how it works, huh?”

            “I don’t know.  My parents don’t seem to harp on Beatrice half as much as they harp on me.”

            “That’s because I’m low-key,” Beatrice says from the doorway.  Light spills out from behind her, illuminating the yard.  “Mom’s been looking for you.  Wants to ask if you’re still going to that thing tonight.  Oh, and hi, Kit.”

            “Hey, Beatrice.”

            “I was planning on going,” Geneva says.  “Why, did she change mind again?”

            Beatrice shrugs.  “How am I supposed to know? Why not ask her yourself?”

            Geneva rolls her eyes.  “Fine.  Kit, you want to come back in?”

            “What, she need your permission or something,” Beatrice asks.

            “Beatrice, would you just shoo?  Shoo!”  Geneva waves her hands at Beatrice, who makes whimpering noises and scurries back inside.  Kit laughs, and stands, and follows Geneva inside to the kitchen, where Mrs. Oaks is busy cleaning after the party.  When they enter, she looks at them.

            “Oh, Geneva, just the person I wanted to talk to.”

            “I had heard.  What’s up?”

            “I was wondering if you’re still going to that other party tonight.”

            “I was hoping to.”

            “And do you have all of your homework done,” her mother asks with a stern, motherly look for added effect.  It involves a perfect tilting of the head that exposes an unnerving amount of pupil in the eyes.  Geneva nearly shivers.

            “Yes, I have it all done,” she lies, almost smoothly.  “That’s what I was doing when Beatrice came up to get me.”

            “So, you aren’t done, but you were doing it?”

            “No.”

            “You don’t sound sure.”

            “YOU don’t sound sure.”

            “Geneva Evelyn Oaks, you know I hate when you do that.”

            “Sorry,” Geneva says, fixing her eyes on the ground.  When she meets her mother’s gaze again, she’s pouting.  “Pleas, mom, can I go?”

            Her mother stares for a moment longer.  “Yes, you may, but only if you promise to get your homework done after you get home.”

            “I promise, and I swear, up and down, whatever that means.”

            “Okay, good,” Mrs. Oaks says, putting the remaining cake into the refrigerator.  She goes to her purse.  “Will you need money?”

            Geneva looks at Kit, who says, “No, Mrs. Oaks.  We’ll be fine.  Just hanging out with a few of my friends.”

            “Okay, dear, and there will be adult supervision?”

            “Yes, ma’am.  My friend, Chelsea, her mom will be there.”

            “I don’t think I know a Chelsea.”

            “I met her outside of school.  She’s cool, in her church’s choir.”

            “Oh, that sounds nice.”  Geneva’s mother smiles.  “Well, come say goodbye before you go, Geneva.”

            “Okay.”  Geneva waits for her mother to leave the room before turning to Kit.  “How much of that is true?”

            “Fifty percent?  I mean, I did meet Chelsea outside of school.  And she does go to church.  I think.”

            “You’re totally a bad influence on me.”

            Kit grins.  “Well, I am dangerous.  Have I ever told you about the time I got in a fist-fight at school?”

            Geneva fans herself.  “Mercy me,” she says, and they laugh.  “Well, I guess I should go get ready.  I’ll be down in a bit.  And something about something more comfortable.”

            “I’ll be waiting,” Kit says, and before Geneva can go she gives her a quick kiss on the cheek.  Geneva’s entire face turns red.  She rushes up the stairs before her parents can ask why.

            In her bedroom, Geneva disrobes and puts on the outfit she prepared for the night.  She wriggles into her pair of good jeans while Beatrice slips into her room.  They make eye contact in Geneva mirror.  “Yes,” Geneva asks, sucking in her gut.

            “Well, aren’t you cute?  Getting all dressed up for your date?”

            “Maybe.  Is there a reason you’re bothering me, or is your life just that boring?”

            Beatrice looks thoughtful.  “Life’s boring,” she says, jumping onto Geneva’s bed.  “I like her.”

            “I’m glad?  This isn’t some awkward segue into a sisterly-threesome, is it?”

            “Not yet,” Beatrice says.  “Just wanted to tell you.  Glad you got all of that sorted out.”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, and she hesitates to take her shirt off.  After doing it, she pulls on a black top with a plunging neckline, or at least plunging by her standards.  She poses, holds her stomach.  Then, she turns to Beatrice, who is picking her toes.  “Hey, Bea, I just wanted to say—Well, thanks.  For, you know.”

            “You’re welcome.”  She stands from the bed and approaches Geneva, adjusts her collar.  “And I’m proud of you, Geneva, and I love you.  No matter who you are, or who you love.”

            Geneva hugs Beatrice, who is momentarily taken by surprise and hugs her back.  They stay like this for a bit, and then Beatrice breaks away and goes to the door.

            “And, Geneva, remember.  She won’t respect you if you put out on the first date.”

            “I don’t know, Bea.  All those nice gentlemen you go out with seem to respect you.”

            “That’s because I’m good at it.  You?  You’ll need to keep her waiting.”

            “Ouch, Bea.  Ouch.”

            “Truth hurts,” Beatrice says, and she steps back into the hall.

            Geneva shakes her head and returns to the mirror.  She poses, smoothing her stomach and trying to imagine that she is someone else.  She leans in and fiddles with her eyes brows, and she wishes her forehead was different.  Then, she sighs.  “I’m about as good as I’ll get, and better than usual.”  She stares at herself.  “I should go.  Kit’s waiting.”

            Geneva returns to the kitchen, where Kit greets her with a smile and no small amount of praise.  Together, they go to say goodbye to Geneva’s parents, who demand she be back before midnight.  Her father gives her a hug and mutters something about how big his girl has gotten.  Her mother gives her a longer, tighter hug, and tells her to be back before curfew on threat of grounding.

            “Love you, too, mom.”

            They stay embraced for a few seconds longer, and Geneva looks to Kit, who waits patiently in the entryway.

            “Mom? Can I go?”

            “Not yet,” she says.  She lingers a moment longer and then releases.  There are tears in her eyes.  “You girls have fun.”

            “Thanks, Mrs. Oaks, Mr. Oaks.  I had fun,” Kit says, waving as Geneva hurries to her side.  They both return the sentiment.

            Together, Geneva and Kit step into the cool October air and walk across the yard to Kit’s car.  Kit opens the passenger side door for Geneva.

            “You know, you didn’t have to lie to them about the fun,” Geneva says, getting in.

            “Don’t be mean, they’re sweet,” Kit says, closing the door.  She rounds the car and gets in on her side.  “Your parents could be a lot worse, you know.”

            “I know, I’m just kidding.”  Geneva fastens her seatbelt and tries to smother the butterflies in her stomach.  “So, where are we going again?”

            “Just a little party.”  Kit looks at her.  “I told you. It’ll be small.  It’ll be fine.”

            “I know, I know.  Small.  Fine.  But what’re they celebrating?”

            “It’s the weekend and their parents are out of town?  That’s not important.  What is important is that all of my friends are there, and you get to meet them.”

            “Right.  All of your friends.  Are there.  And you’re showing me off.  Because I’m your girlfriend.”  She laughs and stares at her shirt.  “I should have went with the blue.”

            “You’re fine, Genny.  You look hot.”

            “Kit.  Please, I look cute, at best.”

            Kit starts the car.  “Here we go.”

            “I’m just saying, I’m a four, a six on a good day.”  Geneva feels her hair.  “And today is not a good day.”

            “Listen, I’ve seen you with a whole Cheeto in your hair before, and even then you were better than a four.”  Kit looks at her before pulling away from the yard.  “And today you don’t have any Cheetos.  I think.  Either way, you look good.”

            Geneva adjusts her shirt, hoping to hide her belly.  “You think so?”

            “I know.”

            “Okay.”  Geneva takes a deep breath.  “I can do this.  I can do this.”

            “You can,” Kit says, touching her leg again.

            Geneva smiles, anxiously, and feels her cheeks warm.  She looks out the window.  “Hey, Kit, think we can maybe pretend your friends won’t show up?  Might take some of the pressure off.”

            “Sure,” Kit says.  “I’m sure they’ll all be at home.”

            “Thanks.  Think we can pretend that we’re going to go see penguins?”

            Kit glances at her.  “Penguins?”

            “Yeah.  They look so cute, waddling around in their little waiter’s outfits, not judging anyone.”

            “Genny, my friends won’t judge you.  At least, so long as you don’t bring up that penguin thing.”

            “Oh, Kit, lovely, naïve Kit.  You were doomed from the start.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Claude rinses his hands and dries them.  “Okay, I’m done.”

            “Hey, don’t forget your check,” Eddie says.  He is bent over the grill, scrubbing it vigorously before the end of his shift.  Eddie is a short, stalwart man with squared shoulders and strong forearms.

            “Today is payday?”

            Eddie nods in return.

            Claude exits the kitchen and tries to remember the date.  He reaches the office and does the punch on his card.  Then, he goes to the front desk for his check.  The clerk, a tall, bespectacled woman named Joan, is busy with some paper work.  She looks up when Claude rings the bell.

            “Sorry to keep you waiting—Claude.”

            He laughs.  “Sorry, couldn’t resist.  I was coming by to grab my check.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” she says, going to a nearby draw and sifting through envelopes.  She pulls one out and sets it on the counter.  Claude signs for it.

            “Thanks,” Claude says, tapping the check against the counter before turning.

            “No problem.  Oh, and did you see your friend?”

            “My friend?”  Claude looks back at her, and then at the empty foyer.

            “Yes.  A pretty girl came by calling on you. I told her you were in the kitchen, and she told me not to bother you, and said she would wait.  I think she might be around the dining room.”

            “Really?  I didn’t see her.  What does she look like?”

            “Short, long hair.”  Joan smiles.  “She seems really sweet.”

            “Short?  Couldn’t be,” he says.  “Thanks, Joan, I’ll go find her.”

            “Good luck.”

            Claude pockets his check and returns to the dining room.  He finds it empty, save for one of the cleaning ladies, who is busy vacuuming the carpet.  Just as he is about to go ask her, Claude sees the women’s restroom door open and she comes out.

            And she is just as he remembers her, short, slender, wide hips, and long auburn hair.  The only difference Claude can note is the color of her eyes.  They seem bluer than ever before.

            They lock eyes, and she smiles at him.  She takes the first step, and they meet in the center of the dining room.

            “Shirley?”

            She giggles.  “Yup.  Long time, no see, Claude.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The party is going by the time they arrive, and it isn’t much like what Geneva imagined.  When Kit first proposed an outing on her birthday, when Kit first used the word ‘party,’ Geneva imagined roadside brawls, drugs in the bathroom, and sex everywhere.  As they cross the lawn, Kit holding Geneva’s hand and leading the way, Geneva is glad to see perhaps only one drunk person there, muttering to a group of friends who are keeping an eye on him.

            “So, this is what a high school party is like?”

            “Some of them,” Kit says.  “If you’re smart, you avoid the ones that aren’t.”

            They enter the house and step into the stale air of a gathering.  There are bodies from wall-to-wall.  Music struggles to be heard over the voices. 

“Whoa,” Geneva says, “People.”

            “Not too many.” Kit looks at her.  “Right?”

            “This isn’t too many?”

            Kit laughs.  “Just wait until I take you to a club.”

            “Is that a domestic abuse joke?”

            “Geneva.”

            “Seriously, though, I don’t know if I can handle all that.”  She follows Kit in, watchesh er wave at people, and smile, and greet someone from across the room.

            “You’ll manage,” Kit says.  “Now, come on, let’s make rounds.”

            “Rounds,” Geneva parrots, and she stumbles after.  A whirlwind of greetings follows.  Kit glows under the attention.  Geneva, meanwhile, does her best not to wilt while keeping pace and being arm-candy.  To her, that means keeping quiet and smiling without smiling too much.  She lets Kit hold her hand even as their palms grow sweaty.

            Names and faces become interchangeable, and after a few minutes Geneva gives up on remembering anyone and accepts the reality of the moment.  She is surrounded by strange people, in a strange person’s house, while being shown off like jewelry.  The novelty wears off quickly and leaves her feeling tired and, somehow, naked.

            Eventually they find a corner in the living room and stop there.  The people here seem to have less energy than the other partygoers, but still more than Geneva has on a good day.  A few are drinking alcohol, but in measured doses.

            “So, you’re Geneva,” says a tall, redheaded girl with a nose piercing.  Geneva can’t remember her name, but she wants to call her Rebecca or Becky.  “It’s nice to finally meet you.  We’ve heard so much.”

            “Yeah, well…”  Geneva looks at Kit and finds her busy with someone else.  Without anyone to take over, she braces for conversation.  “Hope they were good things.”

            “They were,” says Rebecky.  She sips a soda casually and looks good while doing it.  Geneva can’t help but think that she would buy that soda if she saw this girl in a commercial drinking it.  “She said you were sarcastic, but you seem nice to me.”

            “Well, hate to shatter the illusion, but I am sarcastic.  At least, more sarcastic than nice.  Just a little overwhelmed right now.”

            Rebecky laughs.  “Not used to big crowds?”

            “Not outside in the real world,” Geneva says, and Rebecky laughs again.  “Seriously, though.  First party I’ve ever been to.”

            “Well, fair warning.  You should get used to them.  Kit’s a bit of a party girl.”

            “Is she now?”

            “Yeah, don’t worry though.  She’s not crazy.  No drugs or drinking.  Just likes to have fun.”

            “Yeah.  Fun.”  Geneva casts a glance at Kit, who is talking animatedly.  Suddenly, Geneva misses the safety of a sweaty palm.

            After a lull, Rebecky says, “So, heard you play video games?”

            “Not lately.  Kind of in trouble because of my grades.”

            “That sucks.”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says.  She tries to remember what her mother told her about making friends.  After a discarding a few nuggets of advice she says, “So, uh, what’re you into?”

            “Everything.  Anything that’s an experience.  Went base jumping a while back.”

            “Base jumping?”

            “Yeah.  So, it’s like, you jump off of really tall things with a parachute.”

            “Oh,” Geneva says.  “Sounds safe.”

            “Sarcasm?”

            “Sorry.  It’s pretty much a second nature to me.”

            Rebecky shrugs.  “It’s fine, but you should try is some time.  Total rush.”

            “Yeah, no offense.  Don’t think I’ll be jumping from anything too tall for a while.”

            “Except for Kit, maybe.”

            Geneva blushes, and Kit leans into the conversation, hanging from Geneva’s shoulder.  “Hey, you two.  Talking about me?”

            “A little,” Rebecky says.

            “Not telling her any embarrassing stories about me, are you?”

            “Not yet.  Give us a few minutes.”

            Kit laughs.  “Hey, Genny, Rachel wants to show me something, and I need a new drink.  So, I’ll be right back.  You want anything?”

            “Uh, sure,” Geneva says, and she gives Kit her drink preference.  Then, Kit kisses her on the cheek and leaves.  Geneva, still blushing, looks at Rebecky, and then at all of the people around her.  She smiles anxiously.

            “You two are cute together.  And you really seem to make her happy.  I’m glad.”

            Geneva takes a deep breath.  “Thanks.  To be honest, I’m new to all of this dating stuff.”

            “New to dating girls or…”

            “Dating in general.”

            “I see.  Well, you’ll get used to it.”

            “Like parties?”

            “Exactly.”

            After that, Geneva settles in.  She keeps to her quiet corner and watches people mingle, and she wonders why they are so comfortable with the loud music and the even louder conversation.  While she waits, a tiny girl with curly blond hair and pink highlights comes sauntering through the crowd. She has her nose and right eyebrow pierced.

            She stops in front of Geneva, hips cocked to one side, and looks her over.  It is an act of appraisal, and judging from her expression, Geneva isn’t much to look at.  “So,” she says, her voice surprisingly deep, “You’re Kit’s little girlfriend.”

            “Well, I don’t know about little,” Geneva says, poking her own belly.  “But, yeah, I’m Kit’s girlfriend.  As surreal as that is to say.”

            “Surreal is right.”

            “Uh, who are you?”

            “I’m Eve.  Kit’s ex.”

            Geneva pauses to digest the information, looks for Kit.

            “Or, well, guess I’m not her ex.  We never dated.  Just had sex.  A lot.”

            Rebecky notices Eve and comes hurrying over.  “Eve.  What’re you doing here?”

            “Just talking to Kit’s new girlfriend here.  Telling her about old times with her lover.”

            Geneva’s cheeks burn, and she looks to Rebecky for help.  What she gets is a halfhearted frown and a muttered, “Eve.”

            “What?  I’m not saying anything isn’t true, I can tell you that much.”  She approaches Geneva.  “Hey, lighten up.  You’re so stiff.  Everyone is saying so.”

            Geneva looks around the room.  Suddenly, it feels like all eyes are on her.

            “Come on, girl.  If you’re going to be hanging out with this crowd—and you will, if you’re dating Kit—then you need to relax some.”

            “Sorry,” Geneva says, and she imagines turning into a turtle and retreating into her shell. Without a shell, she finds comfort in backing toward the corner.  “Not used to parties.”

            Eve smiles so sugary and sweet that it makes Geneva sick just looking at it.  “Don’t be sorry, just let Eve take care of you.”  She slips a slender arm over Geneva’s shoulders and leads her away, into the sea of people.  As they depart, Geneva looks back for help from Rebecky, but she finds that the other girl has disappeared from view.

            Geneva is led to where all of the drinks are.  Various colored liquids in big and small bottles are scattered across a kitchen counter with stacks of red solo cups towering beside them.  Eve pulls away and performs alchemy with the liquids, pouring here, mixing, stirring, and then hands Geneva the finished product.

            Geneva smells of it, and it makes her stomach twist.  “What is it?”

            “Confidence,” Eve says, her smile lingering.  “Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never drank before.  What, did Kit get you straight out of the womb?”

            “No.  I mean, I’ve never drank, but…”  Geneva looks for help but finds herself all alone and surrounded by people.  She looks back at the cup.

            “Then it’s time to live a little, don’t you think?”

            Geneva takes a deep breath.  “Just the one drink.”

            “That’s all it’ll take.”

            Geneva nods.  “Right,” she says, and she holds the cup poised against her lips.  “Right,” she says again, and she downs the contents with one gulp.  Fire spreads across her throat and fills her stomach, and she can feel the cake churning.  She winces and wipes at her mouth.  “Ugh!  People really drink this stuff?”

            “People love that stuff,” Eve says.  “You’ll get used to it.”

            Geneva smacks her lips and continues to grimace.  “Not sure I want to.”

            “Come on, give it another shot,” Eve says, holding up another cup.  “This is my favorite drink.  It’s a bit sweeter.”

            “No thanks, I’m good.”

            “Kit told everyone that it’s your birthday today.  How old did you turn, seven?”

            “No.”

            “Then how old are you really?”

            “Sixteen.”  Geneva shakes her head.  The room sways slightly.  “Er, seventeen.”

            “See, you’re old enough to make your own decisions.  So, act your age and drink.”

            Again, Geneva looks for help, and again, she ends up with a red solo cup in her hands.

            A few minutes later Kit approaches, and she finds Geneva alone on one side of the counter, surrounded by a collection red solo friends.  On the other side of the counter, Eve watches, smiling as she fixes drinks.  Geneva downs another cup, and Eve says, “See, not so bad.”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, shaking her head.  “I can barely taste how awful it is anymore.”

            “There’s the spirit.  Here, try this,” Eve says, handing Geneva another cup, which Kit intercepts.

            “I think she’s had enough.”

            Eve glares.  “What, you her babysitter?”

            “I’m her girlfriend.”

            “Fine,” Eve says, and she takes the cup for herself.  “Whatever.  Have fun with her then!”  She hurries away before Kit can respond.

            Kit turns to Geneva, who falls into her in a fit of giggles.  “Kit, look, Kit.  I finally loosened up.”

            “I can see that,” Kit says, stumbling against Geneva’s weight.  She points to the nearby cups.  “You drink all of these?”

            “I was thirsty.”

            “You must have been.  Come on, Genny, let’s go find you a seat.”

            “I’m good,” Geneva says, swaying.  “The world is spinning, Kit.  Not me.”

            “Yeah, that happens when you drink this much.”

            “No, what I mean is, like, I can feel the world spinning.”  Geneva braces against Kit and stares at the room.  “And it’s taking the room with it.”

            “Come on, Genny.”

            “No, no, I’m good,” Geneva says, staggering away.  She nearly falls forward into the open fire pit, but Kit catches her and pulls her away.  Geneva gives her a pitiful look.  “Kit.”

            “Yes?”

            “I’m not good,” she says, and she vomits on their feet.

            Kit stops, stone still, and holds Geneva up as she continues to vomit.  She sighs when Geneva finally stops, and she does her best to smooth back Geneva’s hair.  “You done?”  Geneva nods, weakly, and Kit rubs her back.  “Come on, let’s get you home.”

            Geneva groans.

            With help, Kit gets Geneva to the door.  On the way, she apologizes to her friends and explains what happened.  Her friend is patient and tells her not the worry, and she does it while showing them out.

            The air outside is cold and moist.  Geneva shivers until Kit gives her a coat.  Holding the coat tight to her body and leaning for support, Geneva says, “Kit, did you tell that girl that I’m sorry about her shoes?”

            “I’m sure she knows,” Kit says, still holding Geneva up.  They make it to the car, and Kit leans Geneva against it while pulling the passenger door open.  She directs her inside and buckles her in.

            “Hey, Kit,” Geneva says, staring at a blurry blonde image with freckles that is standing in the cold, autumn night.

            “Yes, Geneva?”

            “Thanks and stuff.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After meeting in the lobby, Claude and Shirley stare at each other for a few seconds.  Then, Shirley invites Claude to supper.  He agrees, hesitantly, and lets her lead him out to her car, which is packed full of her things.

            They ride, in silence, about the town.  Shirley asks for Claude’s recommendation and, without anything to recommend, he suggests the place where Marisa took him.  After that, silence settles again, and Claude doesn’t know whether to welcome it or not.

            They arrive and go inside.  Claude holds the door for her.  She thanks him and smiles.  They sit in a corner, by a window, where they can watch the highway.  It isn’t until they give drink orders to a tired looking woman with vibrantly dyed violet hair that conversation starts new.

            “Claude, it’s so great to see you.  You’re looking good,” Shirley says as she appraises him.  “If a bit thin.”

            “Haven’t had time to exercise.”

            “Is that all?  Are you eating well?”

            Claude thinks of the free meals at the hotel.  He sips his water.  “I’m well fed.”

            “That’s not what I meant.”

            “I’m fine, Shirley, and I’m more worried about you.  What are you doing here?”

            “Well, it’s kind of a long story, but my boss had this friend who was looking for a good secretary up here.  Her last one retired, and so I came up to fill the position.”

            “You moved up here?”

            She nods.

            “But what about your life back home?”

            “I can see my family on the holidays,” she says.  “How often do you get an opportunity like this?”

            “Like what?”

            “To see the world, Claude.”

            “But what about your friends?  Your, well, everything?”

            “You came up here, too,” she says.  “What about your friends?”

            She sounds hurt, and she looks worse.  Claude looks out the window.  Outside, the streetlights are flickering to life.  Their synthetic orange clashes with and drains the color of the actual sunset.

            “Claude, I missed you.  We all did.  And I still don’t understand why you had to come all the way up here.”

            “I just do, okay?”  He looks her in the eyes and is disarmed by how blue they are.  For his entire life he has seen those very same eyes almost every day.  The night before he saw them in a photograph, but only now does he notice their color.  “Shirley, you know how it is.  It’s my destiny.”

            “I know that, and if you had let me finish, I was going to say that.”  Her tone shifts, from hurt to stern. “Claude, I know you’re…”  She pauses, looks around the diner.  The only other customer, a bum across the building, is too occupied with his coffee to notice them.  “I know your secret.  So, I understand that sometimes you have to do stuff like this. But I still don’t like it.”

            “You don’t have to like it, but it doesn’t change anything.  I have a responsibility to the world.  I have to be here.”

            “Like I said, I know.  We all do, and that’s why I think it would be wrong of me to stay at home while you’re off fulfilling your destiny.”

            Claude pauses to digest her statement, to tear it apart.  When finished, he sums his thoughts up with a simple question: “What?”

            “If something is happening here, something important, then you shouldn’t be here to fight it by yourself.”

            Claude sighs.  “Shirley, it’s…”

            She puts her hand up to stop him.  “No, Claude.  You don’t have to understand.  If your destiny is to leave, then it’s my decision to follow.”

            “But…”

            “And it’s also my decision to pay,” Shirley says, spying the waitress’ approach.

            “Now that’s not…”

            “Come on, Claude.  It’s the twenty-first century.  Why can’t a girl pay for a meal?  Besides, that new job I got?  It comes with a big raise.  So, eat up, because I intend to put some meat on those bones.”

            “Fine,” Claude says, somewhat warily.  “But, if you insist on paying, then I insist on putting you up for the night.”

            Shirley beams.  “Sounds good.  We haven’t had a sleepover in years!”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Kit drives Geneva home and, on the way, keeps a close eye on her.  In return, Geneva litters heartfelt apologies and appreciations between drunken chitchat.  The ride home seems much, much shorter than the ride to the party for Geneva who, by arrival, has her face pinned flat against the passenger window.

            “Seriously, Kit, I’m so, so sorry,” Geneva slurs as she staggers out of the car.  She falls, securely, into Kit’s strong, thin arms and blushes faintly.  They stare into each other’s eyes.  “Thanks.”

            “No problem,” Kit says, shutting the door with her free hand.  She guides Geneva, carefully, to the front door.  On the way, Geneva nearly tumbles again.

            “No, no,” Geneva says, hanging from Kit.  “Really, thanks.  You’ve been a peach.  A queen.  A real gentle—er—lady.”  They stop at the door, and Geneva leans against the doorway.  “Give me a second.  I’m going to barf.”

            “Go ahead,” Kit says, holding Geneva hair and rubbing her back.  They stand there, Geneva hunched and panting, and Kit waiting.

            Geneva straightens.  “Never you mind.  I’m good.”

            “I’m glad to hear it.”

            “You mad?”

            “No.  I’m not mad.”

            “You sure,” Geneva asks.  She is resting with her back against the door while Kit fiddles with her keys.  Geneva starts sliding sideways.

            “Yes, I’m sure,” Kit says, catching Geneva and righting her.  “Mostly, I’m worried.”

            “Oh.”  Geneva waves her hand.  “Oh, don’t be worried, silly Kitty Kit Cat!  I’m fine.  Just a little dizzy is all.”

            “That can happen when you drink.”

            Geneva makes a sound, with her mouth, that she imagines to sound like a scoff.  In reality, it sounds something more like a halfhearted belch.  “I didn’t drink that much.”

            “You drank plenty,” Kit says.  She sighs and flips the key, hoping to find the lock in the dark.

            “Could drink more,” Geneva says.  “Like a fish.  You know, they’re the ones with the real problem.  Them fishes.  Should probably have a sit down with them. Talk to them.”

            “We can do that tomorrow.”

            Geneva snorts with laughter.  “Kit, you’re silly.”  She slaps Kit across the chest, gently, and then laughs more.  “Anyone ever tell you that your boobs are huge?”

            Kit twists the knob and feels it give.  She pulls Geneva to her again.  “Okay, let’s get you inside.”

            “Inside?”  Geneva groans.  “Oh, no.  My parents.”

            “The lights are off, don’t worry.”

            Geneva takes Kit by the waist and pulls her close.  They fall, gently, into the door and stare, their faces drawing closer and closer.  Kit is wide-eyed; Geneva smiles.

            “Uh, hey, Genny, what’re you doing?”

            “Being inconspicuous.”

            “What?”

            “Whenever people are watching in the movies, you always kiss so whoever doesn’t get suspicious.”

            “Wouldn’t your parents be more suspicious if they saw us kissing, considering things?”

            Their lips touch, lightly, but it is not full contact.  The air is tense and warm, warmer than it should be.  Geneva wets her lips.  “Kit?”

            “Yes?”

            “Did you know you’ve got freckles?”

            “Uh.”

            “Uh oh.”

            “What now?”

            Geneva turns to the side and vomits on the lawn.  She starts to fall forward, but Kit catches her and hauls her back up.  She holds Geneva hair and says, “There we go.  Get it all out of you.”

            “Kit,” Geneva groans.

            “Yes?”

            “I’m never drinking again.”

            “Let’s hope not.”  Kit pulls Geneva to full standing, rubs her back.  “You better?”

            Geneva nods pathetically.

            “Okay, then come on.”  Kit opens the door slowly and keeps Geneva steady.  She checks the living room and kitchen before moving carefully across the foyer to the stairs, where she nearly carries Geneva up the first few steps.  Partway up, Geneva grips the rail and holds.

            “I’m going to barf again.”

            “No, you’re not.  Not here.  Just make it to the bathroom.”

            “Kay.”

            They continue their ascent, one step at a time and reach the hall.  Geneva remembers it being less blurry and braces against the wall for support.  It doesn’t keep everything from shifting.  She shuffles, slowly, toward the bathroom and passes it.

            “Geneva?”

            “I can make it,” Geneva says, with the determination of a drunk on a mission, and she marches forward.  Kit follows along, unwilling and unable to argue.  When they reach Geneva’s room, they stumble their way inside.  Geneva manages to reach the bed before collapsing.  With effort, she rolls onto her back.  Then, she begins to giggle.

            Kit closes the door.  “You okay over here,” she asks, approaching the bed and waiting for instructions.

            “I’m good.  Here.” Geneva lifts her legs and points her feet at Kit.  “Shoes.”

            “Alright, alright,” Kit says, taking Geneva foot in hand and undoing her shoe.  She drops the first and then quickly removes the second.  Then, she swivels Geneva around and throws her legs onto the bed.  “Anything else, you brat?”

            “Mmhmm.  Come here, Kit.”

            “Why, what’s up now?”

            Kit leans forward, and Geneva pulls her into a kiss.  To start, it is simple, clumsy, but Geneva twists and yanks Kit into the bed with her.  She pins Kit against the sheets and puts weight behind the kiss, and Kit embraces her.

            They tumble along the bed and stop against the wall.  Kit is pinned, halfway on top of Geneva, their legs tangled.  Their kiss breaks, briefly, long enough only for a breath or two, and then they resume.  Geneva jams her tongue into Kit’s mouth and presses tight against her.

            Kit’s hands drift down and find home on Geneva’s hips.  From there, she launches a successful expedition into Geneva’s shirt.  A thrill climbs Geneva’s spine.  She feels the hand on her stomach and deepens the kiss.  Just as Kit is about to cup one of Geneva’s breast they part.

            Geneva pulls away and nearly falls from the bed.  She is caught by the quick wit and quicker reflexes of Kit, who seizes her by the arm and pulls her back.  “Are you okay,” Kit asks, breathless.  “Did I do something wrong?”

            “No, you didn’t.  I didn’t.  We.”  Geneva blushes.  “Sorry.”

            “No, no, it’s fine, it’s fine.  You shouldn’t apologize.  You’re still drunk, and it wouldn’t be right,” Kit says.  “I should go.”  As carefully as she can, Kit crawls over Geneva to leave.  As she finds the floor in the dark and plants her feet, Kit feels Geneva’s hand on hers.  She looks back.  “What?”

            “You don’t have to go.”

            “Geneva?  Are you sure?”

            Geneva nods.

            “Okay then, scoot over.”

            Geneva slides over, pressing against the wall, and lets Kit climb in.  Then, she yanks the blanket over them and turns her back to Kit.  They settle together, in the quiet and the dark, and for the first time, Geneva feels the warmth of another body in her bed.  It is strange but comforting.

            She looks back over her shoulder at Kit and realizes just how drunk she is.  The shadows undulate.  She whispers, “Kit?”

            “What?”

            “Do you think you could hold me?”

            “Sure,” Kit says, rolling onto her side and slipping one arm around Geneva.  Shortly after, she hears Geneva snoring, and she smiles and settles in, finding sleep herself.

 

The Knights of Sheba 106 A…End