"Lix, wait for me! Lix!"
Lix turns just a second to look at Bel and pointing a finger at her feet: "Darling, I told you those shoes were not very practical to walk here".
Marrakech, beginning of June 1958. It's scorchingly hot, almost 35°C.
Of course, Bel being Bel, is wearing gorgeous red pumps.
Not very practical indeed when you have to thread your way through the crowd in back alleys. Especially when you also have to avoid donkeys carrying all sorts of stuff and hawkers hailing you to sell you fruits, spices, carpets, Turkish slippers or complete tea sets (Mademoiselle, seulement 30 dirhams pour ce service à thé, très bonne affaire!).
Lix, wearing her usual (and very convenient thinks Bel with envy) white shirt and tucked up sleeves coupled with beige trousers - and good god she looks even more like Katherine Hepburn than usual - slows down and points at a small café a few feet away: "There we are, darling".
Right. That's the place Lix has been telling her about. Where they apparently sell "the best hashish of North Africa".
Lix's words yesterday. Bel was reluctant at first, but after all, aren't they here to try everything?
Although, Bel's quite sure Lix has done drugs before.
Bel examines the entrance. The café is apparently called La Médina. Mostly men in burnous, drinking coffie and smoking hookah. Doesn't look too dodgy. Actually, it doesn't matter whether it's the right place or not, or if it's nice, Bel decides. She's exhausted, sweaty, thirsty and she's craving for a glass of water or, hell, she'll even take a hot mint tea. She just wants to sit somewhere and rest. The heat is oppressive.
"So, how do you know this place?" she asks Lix.
"Oh, just a tip from one my contacts in North Africa. A French photographer I met during the war. He told me about that fantastic café where you can get high on the best quality hashish. But it's in the back. In the front, it's just a regular café".
*Another* contact of Lix, thinks Bel. Does she really know that many people? Of course, being a foreign correspondent, she has to. But, still, it's impressive. Suddenly, Bel thinks about something else: "Wait, are they going to let us go in the back?"
"Of course, darling. We are two westerners, so they know we have some money and we are willing to spend it in this café. They are going to welcome us with open arms". Lix winks at her. "Follow me".
The owner speaks French and Arabic, but no English. As Lix predicted, he's too happy to show them the way to the back. They go through two rooms full of people drinking and listening to music and eventually end up on a terrace hidden behind a curtain.
The terrace is almost empty, only two other people and they're sitting on pouffe in the opposite corner.
Bel notices the view. The whole of Marrakech lays before her eyes. Suddenly Bel doesn't regret the hour in the unbearable heat it took them to reach this place.
"It's amazing. Thank god I'm here with you, Lix. Otherwise I think I would have spent all my time at the hotel.
I never would have seen the real Marrakech without you".
And that's true, she's not just being nice, she means it.
Lix smiles and lights a cigarette. "My pleasure. Didn't I tell you this country was the most marvellous place to get lost? Although, one thing I do miss is whisky. It's very expensive to get any alcohol in those Muslim countries but whisky? Forget it. Impossible. The only thing I could find was some cognac. "
Whisky. That word alone is enough for Bel's mind to snap back to Freddy. Strange how the brain works sometimes.
Freddy lying in his bed, at the hospital. Freddy covered in blood. Freddy almost dying.
Her face must have changed because Lix reaches for her hand and squeezes it. "He's fine, Bel, Freddy's fine. Everything's going to be alright". Bel feels so transparent with Lix who reads her like an open book.
And Lix is right of course, Freddy is recovering from his beating. Slowly, but he's going to be fine.
It's just that Bel can't help but feel guilty. Guilty for not coming with him to talk to Kiki. Guilty for not insisting he be careful (but she knows, deep down, that it wouldn't have made a difference, this is Freddy after all). Just guilty, absurdly guilty.
Hence the trip to Morocco. Lix's idea (obviously) but Freddy's insistence (otherwise, she never would have left). "Moneypenny, I'll need another month to fully recover and I can't have you there in my room, looking dejected. I can't take it. You've been here with me since the beginning, you need to take your mind off things. So, go to Morocco, have fun, try new things. Go, I insist. I want you to go".
So, she did. Freddie had also mentioned that, while there, they could gather information on the country recent independence. "Take the pulse of the country".
Of course. For Freddy, there had never been anything more important than the story. Despite her anxiety over his condition, Bel feels a surge of irritation. The story, the story. That's all Freddie ever cared about. That's what put him in the hospital in the first place.
The waiter, with a wink, has just brought them the hashish, along with some refreshments (which, he insisted, are on the house): dark Turkish coffie, hot mint tea and water. Bel drinks indifferently all three.
Lix expertly rolls the cigarette and adds the cannabis. Then she prepares a small pipe for Bel.
"There you go, darling, just breathe in" says Lix, handing her the pipe.
Bel's never done drugs. Ever. But tonight she feels reckless. Also she wants to feel good. Drugs make you feel good, don't they? So, the same way she'd decide to jump off a cliff, Bel takes the pipe and inhales.
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Bel feels like she's floating. Walking on clouds that keep disappearing under her feet so she has to hold onto somebody.
And somebody happens to be Lix, who's practically carrying her through the streets. Lix doesn't mind.
She doesn't mind at all actually, having Bel pressed against her. At first she doesn't think much of it, focused on the idea of having to go back to their hotel. But the longer it takes - and it takes quite some time to go back, everything looks different at night - the warmer Lix starts to feel.
She thinks it's Bel's body that's spreading its heat throught her own, but no. She's the one burning.
Oh for god's sake, Lix. Get a grip. You're really going to sleep with your friend after you drugged her up?
Lix has to reason herself.
She's not desperate for a shag. When they were in Casablanca, she could have slept with many younger men who were clearly willing to show her *everything* about their country. She didn't though. Why? It's not like she owes anyone anything.
So what then? Lix loves Bel obviously. They've been friends for years. They've always had each other's back. Always supported each other. Why mess it all up?
Lix is so deep in her thoughts she doesn't notice they've arrived. Bel, who seems to get better by the minute but is still being half-carried by Lix, has to stop walking for Lix to notice they're right in front of the hotel.
They're in their room. Twin beds. A small bathroom. Clean. Not bad for a small hotel in Morocco. Not bad at all. Although the electricity often come and go.
Bel sits on her bed and looks at her with her big blue eyes.
Right, thinks Lix. Right. She has to say something to break the silence. But the silence creeps in. The more she waits to say something the more awkward she feels. Her tongue is stuck. Her mouth is completely dry. Probably the effects of the drugs. Damn, her contact didn't lie. That was some good hashish.
Lix right at this moment would do anything for a glass of whisky, the feeling of the burning liquid in her throat.
Finally, Bel says: "Can I have a cigarette? I think I forgot mine at the café".
Lix is relieved. Things aren't awkward after all. Bel wants a cigarette. Everything is fine with the world.
She lights a cigarette and hands it to Bel and suddenly this gesture seems incredibly intimate. She's done it before of course, more times that she can remember. But now in this room, alone with Bel who is smoking and looking at her, everything seems different.
Lix feels the heat coming off her face. She's blushing. Good god. Blushing. Like a school girl. This nonsense has to stop.
Lix, decidedly, sits next to Bel on the bed: "So, did you like it? Did you have a good time?". She doesn't add her usual "darling". And this absence seems to resonate in the room.
"Absolutely. Your contact was right." Bel smiles. "But Lix, how about we leave tomorrow? I'm tired of Marrakech. Let's go back to the coast, I want to see the sea again and hopefully we'll get some air there".
Lix is too happy to talk journey details to notice the way Bel's looking at her. She loses herself in the planning for the next day (even if it's close to 2am and really they should be sleeping).
Suddenly Bel's hand is on her cheek and Lix's mind freezes. Bel's lips search hers and when they find them, Lix has stopped thinking. Bel pulls back, looks at her hesitantly. "Bel, this is a bad idea" Lix manages.
"Probably. Or maybe not. Who knows?" Bel says. "But what I know is that I want to and you do too. I felt your body against mine when you were carrying me".
Lix doesn't know what this is. Comfort? Pain? Experimentation? "All right, darling". The "darling" is back. How easy did it roll off her tongue. No more awkwardness. No more hesitation. Lix knows what to do.
She takes Bel's mouth in her own, deepens the kiss, Bel moans when she brushes her tongue against hers. Lix is now only focused on Bel's pleasure and her own. Because if there's one thing she knows, it is that you never know when happiness and pleasure are going to come you way and you've got to grab it while you can.