After I woke up from a much needed nap, we didn’t talk much on the way back to my house. The silence and the early morning desolation on the highway gave me ample time to reflect. It wasn’t until we were a mile from my home that I decided to say a word. “Can I ask you a question?”
Paris looked at me and said, “She does speak after all.”
“The silence was nice. I thought we were both enjoying it.”
“What’s your question Sahara?”
“Okay,” I said, “how are you getting home after you know...you drop me off at home?”
Paris stayed silent and grinned as she made a right onto my street. I was surprised at her sudden bout of coyness.
“Fourth house on the left?” I said.
Paris pulled into my driveway, put the car in park, and handed me the keys. We both stepped out of the Mazda and met at the back bumper.
“So, what now? Where do you live?” I asked.
Paris flashed me an impish grin. “I have this friend that I stay with around this area after a late night, or after an assignment.”
“Friend?” I said. “Paris, you naughty girl, you. A friend, huh?”
“He is someone who offers me a place to sleep when I need it. Are we intimate? It’s none of your business, sister” Paris said, with a playful wag of her finger. She then lowered her eyes and took on a more submissive posture, sagged her shoulders, and suddenly realized I had been quite vulnerable and trusting during our little escapade. Paris decided to return the favor. “Okay, fine. We’re intimate sometimes, okay?”
“Doesn’t sound like he looks twenty-one,” I said. “Mr. Butler is a rather seasoned fella.”
“You’re right, he’s closer to my age. Though, on occasion, if I’m picking off a menu, a medium-well New York Steak is always a good choice. But lately, you’re right, I’ve liked things with a little more pizzazz, more energy. A little more youth. So, I’ll have the venison with a scotch.”
“Scotch? Gross.”
“Not a hard liquor fan?”
“Just not a fan of the drinks they order in westerns. Hate scotch, whiskey and gin.”
“What do you like?”
“Tequila and vodka. They sit better in my stomach. I only drink maybe three times a year.” I paused and look at Paris. She didn’t seem like she was in a big hurry to go anywhere.
I looked at Paris and felt that on some level I was somehow being played. But I didn’t care. It had been a long time since I had a boyfriend or a best friend come over and stay at my home.
“Would you like to stay here until you get caught on sleep?” I said to Paris.
“You don’t mind?” Paris asked.
“I don’t mind,” I said.
“That would be great. Just tonight and I’ll be gone in the morning.”
“You can stay as long as you like, I’m serious,” I said, and immediately had flashbacks to my first day of kindergarten where I made friends with Susie Vargas, and promptly had my first sleepover the following weekend. “You’re safe. I want you around. You’re the closest thing I’ve had to a real friend in a long time. It’s kind a refreshing connecting with someone so soon, so fast.”
Paris looked at me and gave me a sweet, genuine smile. “Yeah, me too. I think I made a pretty cool friend tonight.”
“Do you have trouble opening up when it comes to emotions?”
“I don’t like to do it. Life can be sad. Life can be exciting and filled with romance. Love is whatever you want love to be. I’m a fan of love. Not a fan of betrayal.”
“I know about betrayal,” I said, “referring to my ex-boyfriend.”
“So, you never want to be in love?”
“What’s make you think I haven’t been? I am thirty-six after all.”
We both walked to my front door and I took out my keys and opened the door.
“I have so many books I want to share with you,” Paris said to me as I walked in and began turning on every light I saw. It was a habit of mine when I came into my house.
“I like books,” I said. “I’ll let you borrow my Kindle.”
“You don’t have these types of books, I guarantee you that.”
“Oh yeah, those types of books,” I said, thinking about the glimmering one at the chapel, instantly making me excited and nervous. “Where would you go to get such a book?”
“After we sleep,” Paris answered, “we’ll hit a bookstore.”
“Bookstore?” I said jokingly. “You can’t just download it to your Kindle or Nook?”
“A bookstore is the only place you’re going to find the kind of books we’re looking for,” Paris said.
Before deciding to escort Paris to my room, I gave her one last steely, still playful, glare. “Anyway, my bedroom is in the back and it has a bathroom. So, you can sleep anywhere you want. I have a bed in another room. I have a futon in another. The other room is packed with books, bean bags, blankets, but has a TV.”
“Got cable?”
“Not in that room,” I said.
“You mind if I just sleep on the floor in your room with some blankets?”
I looked at Paris and felt comforted by thought of sharing a room with someone who I could chat with well into the morning. It has been a long time since I had a sleepover. “I don’t see a problem with that.” I didn’t know if she snored or had any other annoying bedroom habits, but I wasn’t going to worry too much. Throwing stones through glass houses and all that stuff. My last real boyfriend said I suffered from late night, ninja flatulence. As if...
I nodded my head toward the room and paced into the hallway but Paris stayed behind. I turned around and said, “What you waiting for? I’m pooped, do witches not need sleep?”
Paris replied, “Allow me to make you breakfast before we go to bed?”
I looked at Paris and it had been so long time since anyone cared if I went to bed, or ate breakfast, or lived, or died. And to top it off, she wanted to make me food. I was as hungry as I was tired so I walked her to the kitchen and I sat at my table and watched Paris make me a three-egg omelet with bacon, and while managing to put together a fabulous hash brown dish with a potato and an onion I thought had gone bad in the refrigerator.
We ate, laughed, and acted like besties until the morning sun blazed in through the kitchen window.
We eventually put our dishes in the sink and headed to my bedroom to get some well-deserved sleep. I immediately crashed on my bed, and Paris came in and set up her pillow right next to me on the floor.
Something odd happened before we went to sleep though. I knew Paris had nothing on her when she came into my home, not even a purse. She stepped into my bathroom, still wearing the black dress she had on with the high black stockings, and three minutes later, she stepped out of the bathroom wearing a tight little white football jersey that had the number 11 on it, with a pair of pink sweats.
“How did you...,” I said. “Never mind, I really dig those sweats, but doesn’t sleeping in that jersey make you all itchy?”
“Nope,” Paris replied with a smile.
“Didn’t know you were such a sports fan,” I said.
“What, aren’t you?”
I paused and didn’t respond; instead, I snuggled deep inside my plush comforter. My bed was absurdly and unnecessarily large. I had a California king. I knew the carpet of my house was a hard, rough surface. So I threw her down a couple of blankets I had up on my bed. However, a few minutes after I had turned off the lights, and we said our goodnights, I heard her tossing and turning on my carpet. .
“Paris!” I said.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Would you like to sleep on the bed with me?”
“Are you sure?” Paris said.
“Yeah, all my friends used to sleep in the same bed with me when they used to spend the night. I mean, it’s been a while since anyone has spent the night, but I didn’t mind then, and I sure don’t mind now. Also the thing is huge. You’d actually be farther away from me th
an you are now on the floor.”
“What happened to your friends?” Paris said. “They don’t come around too often anymore?”
“Let’s just say it’s just one of those things where everyone reaches a certain age, and life expects you to all of a sudden grow up, move on...to another state, or a state of mind...you know, like raising a family...the American Dream.” As soon as I finished my bitter pontification, Paris got up and climbed over me and got in the bed and laid next to me.
Was this weird? I’d just met this woman tonight and I was already trusting her to sleep next to me in a bed? She had a way. A poetic way that spoke to my heart when she wasn’t being crass. And I knew if I allowed myself to take this person in, I might open up to something that I never knew existed within myself.
“Question?” I asked Paris.
“Yes,” Paris said.
“Do you like girls?”
Paris laughed, and rolled over toward the wall. She never answered, and never put a move on me. I immediately felt like a lame homophobe. Going without real human interaction for a long time, really made one a paranoid, socially awkward shut-in. I seriously hoped to lighten up. I was being recruited to become a witch for goodness sakes!
I had to disavow all sense of prudishness.
Chapter Eleven