Kristin Fouquet
The Moon is New, but Love is Old
Aaron Dobias was in love before he even saw her.
Strolling down Frenchmen Street , he heard the loveliest sound. A siren’s voice called him into an unfamiliar club, a hopeful step into a fool’s dream.
Inside, he saw a gorgeous redhead in a green dress that clung to her curves for dear life.
“Stormy weather. Just can’t get my poor self together.”
Keeping his eyes on her, he shuffled through the crowded club, stepping on a few feet before he found an unoccupied corner by the bar. The number ended and the room rumbled with applause.
She simulated modesty with an impish grin and a half bow. “Thank you. Thank you. I’m Lorelei Roulet and I’ll be right back after a quick break.”
The crowd parted and allowed the torch singer an unencumbered path to the ladies’ room. After she was concealed by the bathroom door, Aaron realized that he had not taken his eyes off her the entire time. As if waking from a dream, he steadied himself and ordered a cranberry juice and vodka.
He overheard the girl next to him complaining about the plastic cups. When the bartender returned with his cocktail, he asked if the girl could have a glass.
The skinny bartender appeared to be barely old enough to legally drink alcohol, much less to serve it. She silently stared at him as he made his request. She gave him a sarcastic smile while shaking her head.
Nodding to the small drink, she said, “That’ll be $7.”
It seemed an unreasonably high price for a dinky drink in a plastic cup, but he handed her a ten without complaint.
The girl next to him said, “Thanks for trying. She’s a cunt.”
She was back briefly. Carefully, she fanned the three ones across the bar and left. Aaron picked up a one and put it in his wallet. Remembering the sarcastic smile, he swiped up the other two.
Lorelei Roulet returned to the room and stopped at the bar. A wink at the bartender was a code for a drink. Then she shifted her attention to Aaron who locked his baby blues with hers and wouldn’t let go. This was reciprocated with a beautiful smile and a small, playful shrug of her shoulders; all without a trace of sarcasm. Her eyes lingered until the cocktail arrived.
He was pleased to see that it was a generous portion in a proper glass. He watched her take a sip, leaving a red bottom lip print on the glass, like a half kiss. Grinning at his own insult of a drink, he took a gulp. He felt satisfied as if his sacrifice had somehow rewarded her. He wondered if that was love.
What happened next confirmed it for him.
She stepped up on stage and smirked at the audience. “Thanks for hanging around, beautiful people. This next tune’s dedicated to that exceptionally beautiful man over there in the corner.”
Suddenly, it seemed that all eyes in the club were on Aaron. He nervously ran a hand through his short black hair and smiled awkwardly at the crowd. Relief came when she started the song and all eyes returned to the sexy redhead.
“Never know how much I love you,” she sang. “Never know how much I care.”
He had certainly heard this song before, but he had never seen it performed to him directly.
“You give me fever, when you kiss me.” She blew a kiss to him. “Fever when you hold me tight.” She wrapped her long gloved arms around herself and shook her womanly hips. “Fever, in the morning. Fever all through the night.”
Sighing deeply, he smiled a silly grin at the voluptuous singer. He didn’t know if he would ever be the same. He did know that he’d be back to see her again, hear her again, and simply be in her presence. This, he definitely knew.
*
Three weeks quickly passed with Aaron at all of Lorelei’s performances. Song dedications had been granted to him along with flirtatious gestures; however most of his attention was requested after the show. He lingered at the bar until he smelled her spicy perfume.
“Aaron, do you mind walking me to my apartment?” she asked in a sultry voice.
The fact that she lived merely three blocks from the club coupled with the knowledge that he suspected no one would attempt anything improper with this high profile fiery vixen did not deter his chivalry. Who was he to decline a simple favor? At 5’9 without heels, exactly two inches taller than he, she appeared to be walking him. Thrilled to be her escort, he gallantly offered his arm. As she held onto it oh so tightly, he doubted if this larger than life creature was afraid of anything.
The first six times, she had only allowed him into the carriageway, feigning modesty along with some mention of a messy apartment. It was in that carriageway, damp and dark as a dungeon, that he first kissed Lorelei. Her energetic tongue explored his mouth with expert nimbleness. She pressed her voluptuous body against his. The gaslights flickered teasingly. Their passion tempted him to take her right there on the wet cobblestones, but he was patient.
His patience paid off on the seventh night.
In the carriageway, she whispered, “I cleaned the place. You wanna come in?”
“Sure.”
She took his hand and led him into a small apartment just off the brick courtyard. Inside, she turned on an accent lamp.
“Sit down,” she said, motioning to a purple velvet sofa.
He obeyed.
She pressed the play button on her stereo. “This is my new CD.”
Then she turned to him and began taking off her dress. Royal blue satin fell to the floor. Lorelei was a magnificent sight, art incarnate. He held his breath as she unhooked the blue strapless bra and stepped out of her lace panties. Wearing only blue satin pumps, she removed her hairpins, releasing her long red hair from the French Twist. It fell down over her shoulders and touched her pink nipples with familiarity.
He was overwhelmed. He would definitely be back tomorrow night.
*
These late night trysts were thrilling. He told her, “You excite me.”
She put on another of her CDs. “What do you want to drink?”
“Whiskey,” he replied as he got comfortable on the sofa.
Returning from the kitchen, wearing only heels, Lorelei held two rocks glasses half full of liquor. She put the glasses on the oval table next to them and sat down. Grabbing her long wavy locks with both hands, she pulled them to the right and tucked them over her shoulder. She leaned back and took a drink, crossing her shapely legs in his lap. Then, she sunk three of her fingers in the whiskey and dripped the liquor on her nipples.
Tonight, he licked whiskey off of her. Other nights, he sampled vodka, wine, scotch, champagne, and a myriad of liqueurs. He had never enjoyed Crème de Menthe before. He couldn’t imagine growing bored of her. Lorelei was a dream.
*
Sometimes dreams, even exceptionally pleasant ones, turn into nightmares.
Lorelei was at the club surprisingly early, almost an hour before her gig. She sat at the bar, wearing her green satin dress and her hair twisted up, but she hadn’t yet applied her make-up or sprayed on her perfume. Her face was hidden by the Real Estate section when Aaron walked in.
“Darling,” he said worriedly, “I came as soon as I could.”
Lowering the newspaper, she produced fresh tears, the trusted accomplices in her scheme.
“Oh, Baby. What is it?”
“They’re raising my rent. I’m going to have to move from my home.” She threw herself on him in desperation.
“Well, Honey, how much are they raising it?”
“They’re doubling it.”
“Wow,” he declared. “That’s a punch in the wallet.”
Her face transformed into the saddest girl’s pout. “The wallet? What about my heart?”
“Ah, yes. Sorry. ‘Home is where the heart is’ and all that, right?” He sighed. “You know, Darling, if I could, I would help you out with the finances but, the paper doesn’t really pay me that much.”
The girlish pout morphed into the determined face of a shrewd businesswoman. “Well, Darling,” she said as if it had just occurred to her. “I was thinking that if you didn’t have to pay the rent on your place uptown, it would be a cinch to make the rent for my apartment. You are there every night anyway.”
She smiled in anticipation of his answer.
He appeared puzzled by the concept. “You mean live together? You and me, same sock drawer and everything?”
Letting out a wicked laugh, she hugged him. “Darling, I don’t wear socks.”
Pulling him by his jacket lapels, she said, “Listen. You don’t have to answer yet. Just promise to think about it. I have to go get all dolled up now.”
“Vodka, cran?” the skinny bartender asked. “Give ya a glass,” she sweetened the deal.
He nodded then concealed his handsome face with both hands. To an outsider, he had the slumped posture of a man who had just lost his job or his wife or both. The weight of the world seemed to be pressing upon him. He shook his head and mumbled, “What to do?”
The cocktail arrived and he reached for his wallet.
Even the sarcastic bartender felt for his conundrum. “On the house, old man.”
“Thanks,” he said and downed it. He didn’t stop drinking until the ice froze his upper lip.
People began filling the club. He raised his index finger to the bartender to get another drink before he’d have to wait.
Lorelei emerged from the powder room. Her face was made-up and smiling. She left a whiff of spicy perfume in her wake. The crowd was drinking her in even before she began to sing.
Oh, she was good. “This first tune is for my sweet lover.” Blowing a kiss to him, she began, “Give me a kiss to build a dream on.”
Holding on firmly to his resolve, he smiled, but Aaron was not going to give in so easily. He listened attentively to “Ah sweetheart, I ask no more than this.” He nodded sweetly but he remained reserved. Cohabitation was a serious issue. It changed everything. Things were perfect now; why tamper with perfection?
Then, she pulled out the big guns. Her voice deepened as she sang, “I touch your lips and all at once, the sparks go flying.”
He put his drink down and faced her. He clutched his barstool with both hands as she sang the mother of all kiss tunes with more passion than ever before.
His knuckles whitened as she belted out, “I can’t resist you, what good is trying?” His mouth became dry as he heard, “What good is there denying you’re all that I desire?” His mind wandered to the cognac on her breasts the night before. “Since first I kissed you, my heart was yours completely.”
Yes, yes, yes. Oh, yes. Why wouldn’t he live with her? Why wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t that be a fantasy? He nodded emphatically to her. She smiled widely.
She sang, “If I’m a slave, then it’s a slave I want to be.” He mouthed the words along with her.
Together they sang, “Don’t pity me; don’t pity me.”
*
Aaron opened his eyes quickly. His heart was racing. A large cockroach ran across his face.
“Aaah,” he screeched as he sat up.
Finding one of his brown wingtip shoes next to the bed, he chased the roach into the kitchen. He slammed the shoe against the brick wall. Missed, dammit! The second attempt was successful. He wiped the bright yellow guts off the bottom of his heel. His heartbeat slowed as he disposed of the insect carcass into the trash can.
“Shit,” he mumbled as he saw the condition of the kitchen.
It was a galley kitchen; a hallway with some appliances was a more honest definition. This strip of possibly 60 square feet connected the 2 main rooms, the living room and the bedroom. It had a set of French doors leading to the courtyard on one side and the other had a refrigerator, sink, and stove. He winced at the trash and the amount of dishes in the sink.
As he picked up white pastry bags filled with confectioner’s sugar and crumbs, he no longer questioned the cockroach’s choice of feeding ground. Was it always this filthy? It had seemed much cleaner before he moved in.
He used to just wake up, get dressed, and head home to prepare for work. Now that he lived here, he had to sneak around quietly, like a thief, so as not to wake the darling diva. She had made a little bit of room in her closet and the medicine cabinet; anything of his that could not fit in these spaces was not allowed. Compromises were not her priority. At this time of the morning, uninterrupted sleep was the only thing she valued. Once, he thought it would be sweet to kiss her cheek before leaving. Even with a black satin sleep mask on, she punched him in the face, an amazing shot.
He always let out a huge sigh of relief when he tiptoed out of the apartment on his way to work.
*
The ends of the candle were burning closer to each other. It was a few minutes after midnight when Lorelei and Aaron came home.
“What would you like to drink, Darling?” she asked.
“Oh, anything, Darling. You choose.”
As she went to the kitchen, he yawned and sat down on the purple sofa.
He smiled at the B&W photograph on the mantle. It was a beautiful thing, a work of art. The classic boudoir portrait was of Lorelei in a marabou feathered boa reclining dramatically on a chaise lounge. Staring dreamily at it, his eyes began to flutter with fatigue. Lorelei’s face seemed to call him to her. He found himself on top of her; her soft flesh and the marabou boa made a lovely feather bed. Suddenly, something was poking him. He looked into her smiling face but, it mutated into an angry mask.
She screeched, “What are you doing? Sleeping?”
He opened his eyes with a start. “What?”
“This is our only time together! This is the only time we can be alone and you do this to me?”
Four Cape Cods at the club had his vision blurred. Through the fog, she looked absolutely frightening. “Darling, I just fell asleep.”
Her ego was enormous; to call her an egomaniac was to be kind.
“I know what you did. I am asking how you could when you could be with Lorelei Roulet?” she shrieked.
“Darling,” he said sleepily. “I wake at 6, get to the office for 7. I leave work at 6, pick up your dry cleaning and whatever else you need. I get home about 7 or 7:30, help you get ready for your gig, go to the club. We get home around midnight. After sex, I tuck you in then I clean the apartment. I’m functioning on about 4 hours of sleep a night.”
She straightened her back with indignation. “I am an artist. Do you want me to be your maid?”
“No, Darling.” He had no energy to fight with her. He whispered, “I’m just tired.”
“You think what I do isn’t work?” She didn’t wait for a reply. She picked up her purse and slammed the door.
He got up. Hearing her angry stomps on the cobblestones, he decided not to follow. Instead, he put on her CD and returned to the velvet sofa. Listening to Lorelei’s sweet voice and staring at her beautiful portrait, he sunk deeply into the cushions and even deeper into a delightful dream.
*
Fighting with Lorelei was not a dream. As Aaron sat at the bar knocking back cranberry juice and vodka, he thought about their latest fight. He played it back in his mind in an attempt to pinpoint where it had started.
He came home, put the milk in the fridge then brought her a whiskey while she bathed. As she dried off and powdered herself, he fixed her another drink and helped her decide between the blue or green satin dress. Bingo! He chose the wrong milk and the wrong dress.
As he assisted her in getting dressed, she started, “Oh, Darling, I don’t drink skim milk.”
Having difficulty getting the dress zipped, he said, “I’m sorry, Darling. Help me out here. Suck it in.” Laughing playfully, he added, “Maybe you should drink the skim.”
“What?” she screamed.
The outburst startled him. As he forcibly pulled the zipper upward, it caught a bit of her fleshy back.
“Ow! You passive aggressive louse, you did that on purpose!”
She spun around and put her hands on her hips. She poked him in the chest with her right index finger. “You, you little man.” Returning her hand to her hip, she said, “I am a gorgeous woman. You don’t even know how lucky you are.”
He was usually reasonable and level headed, but the poke and the “little man” had pushed his insecurity button. He heard himself saying things that up until now he had only thought, causing a strange feeling of personal betrayal.
“Lucky? Oh yes, I am ever so lucky to have the distinct honor of picking up your garbage that you leave strewn about the place as if it were a bus terminal. Oh, and do I ever revere how fortune has shined on me as I leave work and then have the opportunity to run around town doing your errands. And, when I do finally get home to you, my precious, you never offer a word of gratitude, but instantly order me around like your servant. Yes, I am a servant in this roach infested mini manor where I willfully sacrifice to the goddess who would not even grant me permission to bring my own record collection.”
“Record collection? Is that what all this is about?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Why would you need other music when you get to hear my divine voice live every night?”
He didn’t have an answer to the outrageous declaration of hers. He was dumbfounded by her logic.
Putting on her green satin pumps, she said, “Let’s go. I’m going to be late. We can fight about this later.”
So, I have that to look forward to. Skim milk and the tighter dress of the two had been the culprits. Aaron leaned his head back and downed the last of his cocktail.
Lorelei came out of the ladies’ room. Avoiding his eyes, she made her grand entrance. Throughout her first set, she seemed to be putting all of her energy into flirting with a young blonde man near the stage. She sang, “Don’t know why, there’s no sun up in the sky,” to him without averting her attention.
This in particular annoyed Aaron, as it was that very tune that had bewitched and entrapped him into this new life. He felt his resentment rising. The skinny bartender brought him drink after drink without comment. Finally, he had had enough of it all.
He stood and gave her a ghastly glare.
Realizing that even he had his limits, she backed down. Lowering her head in a groveling gesture, she said into the mike, “This next song is for my love, Aaron. We had a bad fight tonight and I just hope he can forgive me.”
He was halfway out the door when she began singing, “Every time we say goodbye, I die a little.”
In the doorway, with his back to her, he stopped and listened.
“I wonder why a little, why the gods above me, who must be in the know, think so little of me, they allow you to go.”
Dammit, that voice. Everything in him was telling him to go. Go to the apartment, go pack his bag, and walk out forever. That damned voice.
It called, “When you’re near, there’s such an air of spring about it. I can hear a lark somewhere, begin to sing about it.”
The voice had so much emotion in it. It sounded like it was going to crack with despair.
“There’s no love song finer, but how strange the change, from major to minor.”
Much to his surprise and even more to hers, Aaron turned around and stepped up on stage.
As she sang, “Every time we say…”
He silenced her with a long deep kiss.
The crowd applauded the passion and drama unfolding in front of them.
A couple from Iowa faced each other in disbelief. The wife said, “You never see this in Des Moines .”
*
Unfortunately for Aaron, he was seeing too much of this drama lately. It became a ritual, some sick mating dance of theirs. Fighting became foreplay. It was a dangerous game and it tormented him. Sleep deprivation and the emotional mood swings of living with Lorelei were taking their toll on him.
“Darling, did you notice that I was a little off key a few times last night?” She asked.
A red flag went up in his mind. Entrapment! Step over this landmine! Even though he had heard a sour note or two the previous evening, he said gingerly, “No, I didn’t notice that.”
She sipped her whiskey with a shaky hand. “Yes. I suppose only a musician with a well-trained ear would have picked up on it. I actually thought I was having a panic attack.” She finished the drink and steadied her hands. Shrugging, she said, “I think my bra was just hooked too tight.”
He sighed. “Hmm.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
Guarded, he chose his words carefully. “Well, I was just thinking that maybe we need to take you shopping. You deserve to have some new things: new lingerie, new dresses.”
If only Lorelei could have accepted this without becoming insulted, things might have been different for them. However, she felt her ego being attacked and that would not do.
“New things?” She was vexed. “That is just your nice way of saying that I’ve outgrown my old things!”
He tried to calm her. “I just think you should be comfortable, Darling.”
Pulling her purple cotton robe tighter around herself, she declared, “I am comfortable. I am very comfortable with me. I have a perfect hourglass shape.” She walked over to him and grabbed his crotch. “But you, little man, I fear I am too much woman for you.”
She released him and went into the kitchen.
He could feel the blood reddening his face. “Well, with all those almond croissants buried in powdered sugar that you devour every day, I believe that you could stand to take a couple of hours off that hourglass.”
Lorelei found the nearest object, a ruby glass vase, and hurled it at him. It narrowly missed his handsome face before hitting the wall.
Staring at her in horror, he was speechless. He was unsure if he was pissed that she almost hit him with the vase or if his anger had a deeper meaning. Perhaps, like the red glass fragments on the floor, he wondered if she had also broken him and would sweep him aside. Then, he remembered that he was the only one whoever swept anything around here.
“You are not worthy to lick the bottom of my well worn heel.” She smirked. Glancing with a pout in the direction of his crotch, she said in a baby voice, “Well, little man, I have a performance to give and I must shower now.”
Aaron went into the kitchen furiously searching for a weapon. Knives seemed too gruesome. The black cast iron skillet appeared to smile at him. He lifted it off the stove and crept into the bathroom. Hunched next to the sink, he concealed himself behind an orange and white striped beach towel that hung from the bar. He watched and waited.
Through the milky white shower curtain, Lorelei’s actions were fluid. She gracefully arched her neck as she washed her hair. Putting a leg up on the rim of the bathtub, she lathered it and began shaving.
Such nonchalance enraged him. The ease in which she could erase her anger completely infuriated him. He found her casual bathing to be insolent. It became apparent that now her mind was occupied with her next audience and how they alone could affirm her existence, a thoroughly Aaron-free affirmation. He got up.
Do I really want to kill her? Yes! But, really? Maybe, I’ll just knock her out. I’ll just hit her really hard. One blow. Maybe, I’ll just give her a good scare!
He held the skillet high in the air, both hands on the handle as if it were a baseball bat. Even a quick glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, the sight of an unfamiliar madman, did not deter him. Only one thing could stop him. Fortunately, it did.
Lorelei sang, “This aching heart of mine is singing.”
This stopped him cold. The weight of the skillet was now more than he could bear. He dropped it to the floor with a loud clank, displacing a couple of black and white tiles with its fall.
He got into the shower.
She kept singing, “Lover, come back to me…”
He cupped her breasts. He loved the heaviness of them. Excited, he buried his nose between them. She stopped singing. Before she could complain, he put his mouth on hers, dissipating any negativity from the songbird. Never taking his lips from hers, he lowered his saturated trousers and backed her into the corner of the shower. He made love to her against the cool tiles. The only sounds were the running water and her voice singing in his head.
*
The power struggle continued for months. Every night, Lorelei pushed Aaron to the brink with her viciousness but, always pulled him back in with her voice. He hated himself for feeling powerless to this weakness. They both knew the score. The mystery was gone.
The once dangerous game had become routine. The fighting as foreplay had been reduced to trite contempt. Their insults had escalated in frequency but, had declined in creativity.
Her overused “little man” no longer affected him.
He shrugged. “What else ya got?”
“You’re lousy in bed,” she shrieked.
He was tired, so tired of it all. “Fine, stop sleeping with me. We hardly ever do it anymore anyway.”
It was his turn to try to hurt her. “You know, in the beginning, you reminded me of Rita Hayworth in Gilda. I was crazy for that movie when I was younger. It was frustrating, though, because it was in B&W and I always wanted to see her fiery red hair.”
Her face softened with the compliment. Touching her red hair, she said, “I’ve always loved Rita Hayworth.”
“Yeah, but now, you just remind me of Jessica Rabbit.”
She straightened her back defensively. “You mean the animated sex symbol?”
He nodded.
“Well, I don’t mind that. She was hot.”
Shaking his head, he explained, “Oh, no. No, you misunderstand. I don’t mean as she was in the movie. I mean if cartoons could age!”
Her face twitched with fury. Out of insults, she decided to use her only weapon, her voice. Yet, when she should have sung, her ire got the better of her and she screamed instead.
As loud and as high as she could strain her voice, she screamed, “I hate…” but, then something unexpected happened.
Her lips made the circle to form the word “you” but, nothing came out. Eyes wide, she clutched her neck as if her own voice was choking her. She attempted to speak but, there was no sound.
A wave of excitement and hope washed over him. He saw his opportunity to get out once and for all. He could hardly contain his glee. “Did you lose your voice?”
She tried desperately to sing but, all she could produce was a hoarse whisper.
This was the first time in six months that he felt in control of his life. Packing was easy. Now grateful for her earlier selfishness, he gathered his few possessions in less than ten minutes.
On a notepad, she wrote, “You can’t leave me.”
“Watch me,” he said. “This has been a long time coming, Darling.”
She underlined “You can’t leave me,” on the notepad and then added “…voiceless.”
He closed his suitcase. “Oh, I’m sure it will return in a day or so. I’ll call the club and let them know you can’t make it tonight.”
In a last attempt to keep him, she ran to the stereo and fumbled for her CD, Lorelei Roulet: The Voice. Before she could press the play button, he yanked the cord out of the wall.
“Sorry, Darling. Not this time.” Blowing a kiss to her, Aaron walked out, a free man.
* * *
Musical Credits
Hoehler, Ted and Harold Arlen. “Stormy Weather.” 1933.
Cooley, Eddie and John Davenport. “Fever.” 1956.
Ruby, Harry, Bert Kalmar, and Oscar Hammerstein II. “A Kiss to Build a Dream On.” 1935.
Villoldo, Angel G. “Kiss of Fire.” 1903.
Porter, Cole. “Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye.” 1944.
Romberg, Sigmund and Oscar Hammerstein II. “Lover Come Back to Me.” 1928.