Nectar of Venus
Author's Note: This is set in the time period soon after Brenda leaves Sonny following their short-lived marriage in 2011. She has either returned from Rome or never left. Read and review!
The residual crust of sleep brushed out of opening eyes. High-pitched yawn. The mirror - oh, no, is that a blemish? - sleep-tousled hair and a marked lack of facial makeup betray the muted and incredibly beautiful superficial beginnings of superficiality. Cosmopolitan rectangular spectacles resting on the edge of the nightstand reflecting the title of an urbane treatise on sustainable living are pushed up the bridge of the nose. Squint. Scrutinize. Sigh. Time for breakfast. Yogurt and granola with a crisp green apple nicely complement organic cereal and a steaming mug of chai tea. 10:00 a.m. Time to prepare for the photoshoot. Cosmetics and designer slacks and swiveled hips in front of a full-length mirror, just to be certain. Checking on the new arrival, fast asleep in the throes of childhood bewilderment. My little root, plucked again and now again and yet an additional time. How much will he remember? Flashbulbs and swish and rack after rack of clothing interchanged with an ease unachievable in life and love. This all used to mean something. No, I will not wear the wedding dress. Salty droplets coagulate and voice cracks. Yes, I will wear the garter belt and the push-up bra. Is is lunchtime yet?
Plastic cars zoom down an imaginative racetrack, using maternal glances and wide smiles for fuel. It's time to touch myself, spiritually as well as physically. Yoga poses held, held and slowly released. Contortion of body accompanies cleansing of mind. For now. Ok now, class, let's do the swan.
How could this happen? How could he say those things? Oh, pernicious pantheon of power and darkness that I once loved, how could this be who - what - you truly are? Dissolution into a fine mist of tears and empty air, enfolded comfortingly in the simultaneous embrace of a best friend (forever) and a newfound partner/lover. Liquid nitrogen leaves cracks and scars, they patiently explain. But it is used, possibly here, for cryopreservation. Oh, god. I'm loved. I'm selfish and I'm loved and I've been such a muddleheaded little fool. Life has been kindly unkind to me, and I don't deserve what I have. (Charity work tomorrow, pencil it in.) Except this. So warm, so aflame with unearned loyalty and earlobes that taste like cinnamon. (Apparently, Emma likes applesauce and my young delight likes rooibos.) It's just right. So right. Time for them to stroke my body along with my self esteem, dipped in frigid fluid and ruthlessly shattered by a "coffee importer" with noble intentions and a viper inextricably implanted in his right Armani-clad shoulder. I melt into the caresses as my temples are massaged. "You earn our love every day - it's the little things." Her fingers are so cool, his cheek is so formed. With scarcely a second thought they melt and explode, melt and explode me, tingling, over and over. Fade out in front of the diminishing fire and the fleece blanket that now covers us all. Is my nectar sweet? "Yes." "Oh, yes."