The Last in a Line of Things, Pt. 2
Lauren met Maribelle at the Skipper on March 19th, 1997. It was a nautically themed bar on a small street running between two major ones in a fairly progressive, working class neighborhood where neither of them lived. Chopped and smudgy, Maribelle let Lauren buy herself a drink and sit, sipping, along with her half smile, before she had the bar tended send a cocktail napkin asking if she'd like to dance.
It was not the kind of bar where you dance, but that didn't change the intent of the cocktail napkin.
The laws in the town had recently changed, disallowing the smoking of cigarettes in public buildings. The problem was not a serious one for Lauren, generally, because she did not smoke. Maribelle did, though, and the air was ice outside, despite the quick patting of spring's footsteps.
"Come with me," Maribelle said, "I need to smoke a cigarette."
"It's so cold out there, can't you go without?"
"No," Maribelle's temples rose and she tilted her head towards the back of the bar. "I used to work here. I know the secrets."
Lauren slid out of the booth they had moved to then learned across the bench to get her coat and purse.
"Don't worry about all that," Maribelle said, running her thumb nail up the seam on the hip of Lauren's jeans that were pulled tight over her thighs as she bent at the waist. "I'll have Martin watch our stuff."
Lauren's head went light and she nodded obediently.
Maribelle lead Lauren through a black door just past the bathrooms and into a concrete hallway the smelled, just mildly, of garbage and damp fabric.
"But it's warm," Maribelle said before Lauren could mention the smell, "and i can smoke a cigarette."
Maribelle did not smoke a cigarette though, instead she stood before Lauren, their shoulders squared to one another and slid her hand between Lauren's bicep and the curve of her ribcage. She did it without touching Lauren's breast until her fingers were planted on her side, and then it was only the sliest brush against the inside of the wrist.
"Beg me," Maribelle said, unmoving, her hand firm on Lauren.
"Please..." Lauren said, pressing herself the against Maribelle. "Please, please, please."
The kiss was a knot, a twisted rope being pulled from both ends, tightening and tightening until things began to pop.
"Mari," Lauren said, pulling from her mouth for a moment, but leaving the hand where it had found itself, on the smooth flat behind Maribelle's belt buckle, "I'm getting married tomorrow."
"Congratulations," Maribelle answered, turning Lauren then, pressing her back against the concrete wall, with its thin film of grim.
It was not the kind of bar where you dance, but that didn't change the intent of the cocktail napkin.
The laws in the town had recently changed, disallowing the smoking of cigarettes in public buildings. The problem was not a serious one for Lauren, generally, because she did not smoke. Maribelle did, though, and the air was ice outside, despite the quick patting of spring's footsteps.
"Come with me," Maribelle said, "I need to smoke a cigarette."
"It's so cold out there, can't you go without?"
"No," Maribelle's temples rose and she tilted her head towards the back of the bar. "I used to work here. I know the secrets."
Lauren slid out of the booth they had moved to then learned across the bench to get her coat and purse.
"Don't worry about all that," Maribelle said, running her thumb nail up the seam on the hip of Lauren's jeans that were pulled tight over her thighs as she bent at the waist. "I'll have Martin watch our stuff."
Lauren's head went light and she nodded obediently.
Maribelle lead Lauren through a black door just past the bathrooms and into a concrete hallway the smelled, just mildly, of garbage and damp fabric.
"But it's warm," Maribelle said before Lauren could mention the smell, "and i can smoke a cigarette."
Maribelle did not smoke a cigarette though, instead she stood before Lauren, their shoulders squared to one another and slid her hand between Lauren's bicep and the curve of her ribcage. She did it without touching Lauren's breast until her fingers were planted on her side, and then it was only the sliest brush against the inside of the wrist.
"Beg me," Maribelle said, unmoving, her hand firm on Lauren.
"Please..." Lauren said, pressing herself the against Maribelle. "Please, please, please."
The kiss was a knot, a twisted rope being pulled from both ends, tightening and tightening until things began to pop.
"Mari," Lauren said, pulling from her mouth for a moment, but leaving the hand where it had found itself, on the smooth flat behind Maribelle's belt buckle, "I'm getting married tomorrow."
"Congratulations," Maribelle answered, turning Lauren then, pressing her back against the concrete wall, with its thin film of grim.