Margot was at an age when she thought it useful to tolerate
the foibles of other people. It was no longer worth the effort to
be critical, even in silence. Maturity, after all, meant an
acceptance of varieties of behavior. In any case, the minor
weaknesses of the people in her life produced only insignificant
difficulties for her. Her husband, Robert, played too much golf.
The two boys, now both at Princeton, seemed uninterested in
anything serious. She could do nothing about Robert’s fanatic
devotion to golf, but she hoped the boys would soon outgrow their
vapid attitudes. She was now forty-eight, more and more conscious
of the approach of her fiftieth year and surprised at how
untroubled she was about it. Was she content? She had no idea,
the question always striking her as absurd. One could be content
today and not content tomorrow. Was it possible for anyone to be
in a constant state of contentment? She had her life, the
trappings as one of her friends liked to call the comforts of her
class. The two boys were now young men, and rather than feel the
loss that everyone had said she would feel, Margot instead felt
as though a minor burden had been lifted from her shoulders.
Well, that was done, wasn’t it? If nothing else, she had raised
two children without any bad luck and without much in the way of
chaos. The difficulty was the more she thought about these
things, the more she realized the accomplishments, if they were
that at all, left her unsatisfied. There could be more, couldn’t
there? This question arose now and then, drifting to the surface,
posing itself, then slowly sinking into the deep again.
One day in the city, Margot noticed a girl in a dress shop.
The girl was a salesgirl in one of those expensive little
boutiques with Italian names. The shop was located on a street
noted for such places, a short upper-class street often crowded
with attractive sports cars. Margot liked the street because it
reminded her there were people in the world who cared as much for
beautiful things as she did. The girl had dark eyes, the most
captivating dark eyes Margot had ever seen. Margot told herself
that. She looked at the girl, and then she looked again, and then
she deliberately turned away in order to avoid being caught
staring. Staring was rude and Margot hated being rude. But the
next time Margot looked, the salesgirl caught her at it and came
forward immediately. “Can I help you?”
Their eyes met, those lovely dark eyes fixed on Margot‘s.
“I’m not sure,” Margot said. “I’m just browsing, really.”
“We’ve a batch of new blouses from Milan. Would you like to
see them?”
And so Margot looked at the batch of new blouses from Milan,
finally bought two of them knowing she might never wear them. The
girl took her credit card, wrote up the sale, and before long
Margot left the shop with a package in her hand. But she did not
want the package, she wanted the girl. She realized that as she
stepped out onto the sidewalk, and the force of the realization
hit her so abruptly she thought she might lose her balance and
fall down.
* * *
Many years ago, twenty-eight years ago to be exact, Margot
and another girl had surrendered to each other in a night of
frenetic lovemaking in a college dormitory room. Margot had
always thought of it as her banal dark secret, an inelegant
transgression produced by the passions of youth. Everyone had
them, didn’t they? She could barely remember the girl now and it
certainly had not been a love affair. They’d been together only
that once, all night long, but only that once. The girl had been
experienced enough to know exactly what to do and to do it well.
She taught Margot how to reciprocate, and Margot had been stunned
by how much she liked it, by how much she enjoyed doing things to
another girl like that, secret things, forbidden things, using
her fingers and mouth with an animal lust she’d never thought
herself capable of exhibiting. The girl had never approached
Margot again, and Margot had been too upset by the experience to
think of repeating it. She told herself that wasn’t the sort of
thing she wanted in life, and when shortly afterward Robert
suggested they become officially engaged she quickly accepted.
Robert was what she wanted, Robert and a family and a settled
life of discreet comfort. So she married Robert and she had the
two boys and the settled life of comfort she thought she wanted.
Occasionally during the years she remembered the incident at
college and she wondered what her life might have been like had
she followed the instincts so violently aroused during that one
night. Did she yearn for it? She was never certain, and the
uncertainty was itself an embarrassment, a dark footnote to the
dark secret that seemed to grow more and more insignificant
because twenty-eight years, after all, was a very long time. Now,
suddenly, the secret was no longer insignificant. Why now? Why
had the girl in the boutique upset her so? Margot had no idea;
She thought of it constantly for a week, but she could find no
answer at all. Was it something working inside her without her
awareness? Why this particular girl? The salesgirl was
attractive, but certainly not startling. Margot knew girls who
were more beautiful, women who were more alluring. She’d even
been approached by women on occasion, once in Paris and once in a
hotel in St. Louis of all places, but she had never yielded,
never accepted the approach. Why this girl? Why did she suddenly
want this girl? And then after a week came the second
realization, and with almost as much force as the first: the girl
in the boutique bore a striking resemblance to the girl Margot
had known in college. The dark eyes were the same, the same dark
eyes and the same heart-shaped face, the same rosebud lips.
Margot shuddered now as she realized it, as she realized she had
to see the girl again; she had to see if indeed the resemblance
was as strong as she thought it was.
* * *
The girl’s name was Elena. Margot learned that a few moments
after she stepped into the shop, for the girl immediately came to
her, said she remembered her and asked if she might help her
again. “My name’s Elena,” the girl said.
This time she showed Margot some skirts, but Margot saw
nothing she liked and she bought nothing this time. They chatted
anyway. Yes, Elena did bear a striking resemblance to that girl
Margot had known in college. Margot felt more at ease as she
talked to Elena, but more captivated by the girl than ever. In
order to avoid an appearance of being too forward, she
deliberately cut short her stay in the shop with an excuse that
she had to meet someone. “I’ll come back another time,” Margot
said with a smile. “You’re usually here, aren’t you?”
Elena nodded, her dark eyes unwavering. “Every day until
six.”
But when Margot returned three days later, Elena was out,
not working that day. Margot felt a sharp disappointment, passed
an irritable day shopping at the larger stores, and then an
irritable evening at home coping with Robert’s boring talk about
his business friends. You’re becoming obsessed, Margot thought.
Was she? Yes, she thought she was. Late the next morning she
drove into the city and she visited the boutique again.
This time Elena was there. The girl showed Margot some
blouses that had just arrived. Margot bought three French
blouses, and when she asked Elena if she cared to have lunch with
her, Elena seemed unsurprised and she immediately accepted. “I’m
off in a few minutes,” Elena said. Margot said she would wait
outside in her car.
She sat there behind the wheel of the car trembling as she
waited for Elena. She hadn’t thought it would happen so fast,
hadn’t thought the girl would actually agree to have lunch with
her.
Twenty minutes later she sat with Elena in a chic little
restaurant with enormous menus in French and English. It was
understood, of course, that Margot would pay for it. Elena, no
doubt, would need to work an entire day to pay for her share.
Elena agreed to have white wine, and then after that she allowed
Margot to choose a filet salmon almondine for her. They talked
easily during the meal, Elena telling Margot about her vague
plans to return to college someday. She was only twenty-two years
old but nothing seemed of any interest to her. Toward the end of
the meal, while they were having their coffee, Elena said: “If
you want to go to bed with me, I have the afternoon off and my
roommate’s out of town.”
* * *
Margot almost crashed the Mercedes coupe driving to Elena’s
apartment. She was afraid to talk, afraid to ask how Elena had
known everything, afraid that somehow the spell would be broken
and she’d lose the moment. Once inside Elena’s dull and cluttered
little apartment, Margot immediately felt awkward, out of place
and in foreign surroundings. Elena seemed to sense it and she
smiled. “It’s a mess, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s quite nice.”
“There’s wine if you want it.”
“No, not really.”
It was obvious Elena was waiting for her. Trembling again,
Margot stepped forward and she took Elena in her arms and kissed
her. A light kiss. Then a stronger kiss. Then a third kiss that
was more feverish, more to the point. She was thrilled by the
girl’s soft wet mouth. She wondered how often Elena did this sort
of thing, how often she fell into the arms of middle-aged women
who shopped in the boutique. She moved her hands over Elena’s
body, stroking the girl’s back and hips. Elena remained passive
as Margot undressed her, pulled at the zippers, undid the
buttons, slid the clothes off Elena’s slender body until the girl
was naked, sleek, her skin like silk under Margot’s fingertips.
Laughing, Elena pulled away from Margot and said: “Let’s go
to my room. I like doing it on a bed better than on a sofa.”
Her eyes on the perfect firm buttocks, Margot followed the
naked girl into one of the small bedrooms, a room even more
untidy than the living room, the bed unmade, the shades already
drawn, a faint smell of cologne and sweat in the air.
Elena slid onto the bed on her back and without coyness she
opened her legs to show herself. Margot understood what Elena
wanted, what Elena expected her to do. For an instant Margot
wanted to balk. Did she really want this? There was no love here,
no affection emanating from Elena. Do I want this? Margot
thought. Yes, she did want it. The hunger for it was already so
great, she felt consumed by it.
She looked at Elena’s sex. The girl had an abundance of hair
down there, the dark hair hiding everything, a dense thicket that
grew wild on the insides of her thighs and gave her sex an
animal-like appearance. So hairy, Margot thought. What does she
do when she wears a bikini?
With a deliberate attempt to tease, Elena slid a hand down
to her crotch and she slowly opened the long lips with her
fingers. “Don’t you want to?”
Margot looked at the dark sex a long moment, and then she
groaned and she threw herself at it.
* * *
It was like the other time, that time when she was in
college. A frenzy of passion overcame Margot as she pushed her
face between Elena welcoming thighs. Elena groaned and spread her
thighs even wider when she felt Margot’s breath on her sex. “Come
on,” Elena said.
Margot opened the flower. She was aware of the pungent
female scent mixed with a hint of sweat. She pulled the lips
apart and she trembled as she gazed at the girl’s aggressive
clitoris. Margot guessed it was larger than her own; certainly
the shaft looked longer. How absurd it was that so many years had
passed since she’d looked at another woman like this, had her
face this close to it, so close the scent of the sex was enough
to drive her mad with excitement. Oh, you fool! Margot thought.
And then she bent her head to kiss the flower and she stopped
thinking about anything but what she had under her mouth. Now she
was blind and she had to discover everything with only her lips
and tongue. She licked in the groove along one side of Elena’s
clitoris and then down the other side. She felt as though she had
an entire continent to explore, mountains and valleys and rifts,
and down there the deep well of Elena’s opening that was now
exuding a thick delicious syrup. Margot sucked at the opening and
quivered with happiness when she found her nose pressing against
the flap of Elena’s clitoris. This too was like the first time,
that time so many years ago. Margot remembered it. She rubbed her
nose from side to side against Elena’s clitoris as she sucked the
warm fluid out of Elena’s opening. Elena put her hands on
Margot’s head as she began moving her pelvis in circles. Sounds
came out of Elena’s throat, a jumble of words, and Margot
strained to hear them as she continued sucking at the wet flower.
The bed creaking, her body shaking up and down, Elena finally
finished coming. “Oh wow,” Elena said, her eyes closed, her voice
suddenly fatigued. Margot needed to wipe her face. Rather than
use what she expected was a horrible bathroom, she left the room
to find her purse and a tissue. In the living room she discovered
her hands were shaking and it bothered her immensely. Oh dear,
she thought. What a poor soul you are. She dried her face,
replaced the damp tissue in her purse and returned to the
bedroom. Elena was now lying on her side. Her eyes were open, and
when she saw Margot, she smiled and she slowly lifted one leg to
expose her sex. “I could make it again if you want it.”
Margot felt suddenly faint.
“No, I don’t think so. I really have to go now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Elena sat up and shrugged. She left the bed and she came to
Margot, smiled and leaned forward to lightly kiss Margot’s lips.
Then Elena turned and she walked in front of Margot to the other
end of the apartment where the front door was located. “I loved
it,” Elena said.
A few minutes later, Margot was on the street wondering
which direction would make it easier to find a taxi.
* * *
The event burned in Margot’s thoughts for days. Her mind was
filled with images of Elena naked, Elena on the bed, Elena’s sex
unfurled and waiting for Margot’s mouth. First she resolved not
to see the girl ever again. The she realized the resolve was
ridiculous because she’d never adhere to it. After a week she
understood she could not possibly avoid seeing Elena again, and
at the end of the second week, in a state of quiet desperation,
she returned to the shop where Elena worked. But the girl was not
there, and when Margot made an inquiry, she was dismayed to learn
Elena was no longer one of the employees. “She quit,” the manager
said with a curious look at Margot. “I was about to let her go
anyway.”
“Is there any way I can reach her?”
But the woman who managed the shop was already walking away,
obviously uninterested, not at all interested in Margot who was
certainly not a regular customer, not anyone who could be counted
on for a significant sale.
Snooty, Margot thought. She hated it when sales people were
snooty to her. She turned and hurriedly walked out, wondering why
she hadn’t been clever enough to get Elena’s telephone number
while they were together. And now what would she do? Could she
find her anywhere? She walked up the street, past one shop after
the other, all of them appearing copies of each other, the
mannequins in the windows all appearing in the same poses. She
peered through each window with the hope she might see Elena, but
of course in never happened, Elena was gone, Elena had vanished,
the experience with Elena would become a cold memory.
Well, I’m better off, Margot thought. That girl was too
disruptive, disrupting her life, confusing her. She wanted an
orderly life, and a silly obsession with a girl young enough to
be her daughter meant not order but disorder. She would not think
of Elena any longer, all that was finished for good.
But oh those lovely eyes she had, those lovely dark eyes!