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Genevieve, Part 2, ConclusionOct 24 '02 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line Because I have a dirty mind, our heroine enjoys a brief love scene. Other than that, nothing that will warp your mind!
* She was happy to go on a date again. Tisha's offering snapped Gen out of her one-track mind-set. She had been working so much, during so many nights, that she was no longer accustomed to just letting loose once in a while. Most nights she was home, staring up at the ceiling, if Renee or Tisha weren't accompanying her on the couch in front of the television. Gen was in a rut, and Tisha implied that it had to stop. The date was simple. Gen and Frank went to the pool hall. She knew she wasn't good at the game, and Frank insisted he wasn't either. Well, at least they were perfectly matched. The first game went as expected: about thirty minutes was needed to finish the game, since the game could not go any slower. Eventually, however, Gen managed to sink the eight ball and win the game, and were now preparing for the second match. "Actually, my friend possibly might have lied to you about me!", she joked, as she emptied the pockets around the pool-table. Frank's eyes narrowed in modest suspicion - "What would that be? You're wanted by the law? You're married? You have a boyfriend.....?" - before his eyes brightened with humour. "No.....my name. People always call me Gen, but it's not entirely correct.", she tensed with anticipation of her own punch line. "My real name is...... Genevieve!" "Pretty much the same thing, I suppose....", he inquired. "No, no, no, my man.", she insisted, stopping her task of lining up the balls. "Gen sounds so slangy, conventional. Genevieve, on the other hand, is very exotic - makes me sound important." The two laugh. "So we're very full of ourselves, then?", he asked. "No - but I am a special person, many will never realize that, but it's true." "Well, Goddess Genevieve, we'll just see how special you are when we play another game of pool!", passing her the cue. The second game was under way. Neither were great players, and they knew it. If Paul Newman walked off the black-and-white screen of The Hustler and searched for a new group of suckers, he would have a hard time with these two, because he`d have to pretend to play even more horribly than ever before. But occasionally, one of the duo will strike a good deal with luck, and hit the perfect shot. "Wow, I can't believe that - did you see it?", Frank asked. The white ball grazed the side of the 12 ball, which rolled directly into the cup, not touching any other ball, or the edges of the cup. Straight on! "Pure luck!", she teased. "You realize those tables aren't constructed properly. The banks are crooked." "Girl, I think it's just because you aren't winning - how could the tables be wrong??" They began another game, with only their uncertain talents to counsel them. Amazingly, Gen was able to successfully break on her first shot, as opposed to merely cracking the white ball against the others with little effect. Gen thrilled slightly at her strong effort. The actual game, despite this promising beginning, however, proceeded in fits and starts. Their playing was so erratic that a spectator could have watched two or three games at another table before turning back to see Gen and Frank still picking at their first. After about ten minutes, Gen and Frank both had equal numbers of their suit out of play. Gen, on a whim, decided to experiment with an impossible shot involving the three-ball. The three-ball was only inches away from the right centre pocket. The issue was that a crowd of assorted balls, of all colours, stripes and numerical identifiers, stood in the way of the white ball ever striking that desired number three. The only way it could be done was if the ball moved at an angle against the left side and returned to the 3, pushing it into the pocket. She called the ball, saying that she hoped to bring some actual skill in this game. Her heart ached with the potential of success. The white ball rolled away from the gathering of the high balls and the eight-ball, until it ricocheted from the left banks and travelled back to the right side of the table, this time on the other side of the crowd. The white ball, determined, slapped the 3-ball upon its centre, spinning it right into the hole. "Now that was a perfect shot!", Gen said truthfully. Frank was very impressed. The two of them finally broke their bad streak. For about the next five minutes, they were great. They both believed that they would be able to complete that elusive game in record time. Until Gen knocked Frank's 11-ball by mistake, followed by Frank sinking the 8-ball before his 10 and 12, that is. * Somewhat tired, the two entered Gen's apartment. They were only lukewarm, even while wearing their sweaters and jackets, as the weather had turned breezy after they left the pool-hall. And the apartment was not much warmer, as Gen already knew and Frank discovered after having taken off their jackets. "The weather isn't so great. It's that time of year.", said Gen. "It's always like this.", Frank responded. "Obviously you haven't been here long." "It wasn't cold when I moved here.....must've been one of those abnormal winters!" Gen went to the fridge, opening it to reveal a scarcity of items. "Frank....do you want anything to drink." Her eyes searched the culinary void. "There's not very much here....." "Anything you like...", he said approvingly. She reached for the orange juice, the closest to the front. There was at least enough left for the two of them. "Here's some OJ, if that's all right??" "Sure.", he said. The orange juice flowed from the carton spout; the liquid sloshing around the sides of the glass. Gen heard glasses rattling from the cabinet. "I`ll have some as well, mayhaps!", Renee declared. "Oh, hi, I never noticed you....", she said, startled. "Yea, well, I`m just getting ready to go out, actually. Jeff's picking me up and we're going out on the town!" "Well, this was my night," happily pointing to Frank. "Frank, this is my roomie, Renee." Frank gives a wave of the hand and greets her kindly. "So what did you guys do tonight?", she queried. "Lost at pool....", Gen flatly stated. "The usual!" "Guess what?", Renee began. "The bookstore wants to compete against the big guys; they are remodelling everything; putting up a café, changing a lot of the books, setting up special readings, etc. It`s really cool, and it means a lot of hours for me!" "At minimum wage, no doubt.", Gen ribbed. "Oh, so what..... I`ve been called, and I will answer that call!", she beamed victoriously. "Anyway, I gotta go...see you guys!" Renee stepped out of the apartment, leaving Gen and her date alone to do....well, anything they so desired. For the next while, they concentrated their strength on the bitter cold of the apartment, wrapping themselves in blankets, and engaging in light banter to distract from the pinching of the air. The seconds and minutes accumulated .......... Nearly midnight....... neither wanted to leave the other's company. The television was on, the two spoke until words failed them, yet they did not want to part. The room was quiet in the most soothing of ways, and it was clear that both of them had their minds on situations that weren't necessarily platonic. They looked at each other nervously, wanting to touch, but waiting for that moment when it was absolutely safe. Gen was the one who leapt first. She rumpled her body until it laid across the couch, her head upon Frank's lap, with her eyes staring upwards to his face. "Hello.... what are you doing way up there?", she absurdly asked. "Where should I be?" She tilted her head upwards, feeling a strain upon her neck as she did, and was able to awkwardly kiss him. "That's where you should be...." "Well, ummm....", he evaluated. "Is this a wish or a demand?" "I wish for you to be here, I demand that you supply me with an answer!", she ordered amusingly. She laughed frankly. He laughed with joyful uncertainty, which he wanted to recifty by returning her soft kiss. The mutual response created a more vigourous embrace; her hands clung to his neck as her mouth met his. Absently, his fingers slid across the lower portion of her backbone. He caressed the slither of exposed skin underneath the hem of her shirt. Continuously, he rubbed it with his fingertips, feeling the coolness of her body in this cold room. Their gentle passions continued, offsetting the chill of the air. "It's a bit nippy here, don't you think?", Frank whispered, breathing heavily. Gen's eyes liquefied, her body relaxed. "Yes, it is very cold....", she smiled, her mouth anxious, before Frank rubbed her lips with his index finger. "If I weren't so polite... I'd ask you if I could stay a bit longer...." "And if I weren't so polite, I'd ask you to stay, too!", she responded. Their eyes stared for what felt like hours, saying all the things that they were too polite to say. * As they made love, the alarm clock radio sang, adding to the hasty ambiance. Gen's head felt lighter than air, resting upon the pillow. She felt Frank's hands tightly squeezing her thighs, as he savoured her sex. She played with his hair as he tasted her. "This is wonderful ---- with the music.", she cooed. "But..... if only it were in French!" "The language of love..... hmmm....", he exhaled, looking up at her. He let his sensual appetite extend to the softness of her stomach, the curves of her breasts, and her tender neck, until his face met hers, and their bodies joined. "Yes.... the singers are more passionate.... their words sound beautiful, always...", she murmured. She slid her hands along his rib cage as he went deeper within her lively frame. She could feel his breathing, his heart about to explode. No doubt his body could feel similar motions within her body. "Words.... I can't concentrate.... on the words right....now!", he breathed, barely able to laugh, although he knew it was funny. He felt her moving with him, feeling the urgency within her sex. She was a great woman; she was lively, amusing, chatty, even during love-making..... Gen gripped the top of the backboard, pushing her frame harder against him. She bit her lip, her orgasm building within her. The sensations surrounding her were chaotic; as she was about to climax, her head buzzed with the songs emitting from the radio nearby, just as if a mosquito was fluttering about inside her ear. The songs were the usual; the English stuff. She never thought of English songs when she thought of using music for seduction. For a fleeting moment, she realized something. Music was the background, never the forefront. Music was never really appreciated by those she knew. Bland copies of bad songs played from faulty loudspeakers in malls; cheap jingles sold useless products in commercials; bombastic music decorated movie scenes. Music was just time-filler. Even now. The radio didn't have to play. It could have went off the air. "Oh.... Genevieve!", he moaned, calling her by her true and authentic name. His tounge even pronoucned the name in its proper accent. As if he were her French lover, just as she is his now. She felt his thighs press harder and faster against her inner thighs, sensing his powerful climax. "Oui.....oui...", she smiles, playfully interjecting a new language to the passion. Her mouth weakened, unable to stay closed, while her eyes fell closed; her body surrendered. She squeezed his body as her orgasm pounded inside her trembling frame. Afterwards, she lay still, exhausted, and no longer cold...... * "Gen...... you were wonderful....", Frank breathed, as the two rested languidly beneath the rumpled sheets. "Gen? What happened to Genevieve???", she exaggerated. "Do you realize that you're sleeping with a star?" "Hmm... what do you mean?", he grinned. "I was named - no, inspired - by Genevieve Bujoud!", she grandly stated. Pause. His eyes looked up, as if to magically find knowledge about this Miss Bujoud. "....who's that?" She playfully taps him on the head. "You mean you've never heard of this girl - she's only a famous Quebecois actress!" "I..... I don't know much about that -- sorry.", he said tenderly. "Oh, young people today!", she giggled. "They don't know anything." They readjusted themselves so they laid on their sides, looking at each other. "But don't you think that French sound better when associated with love.", Gen grinned, tapping Frank on the chin. "Yes..... well, when you were speaking French, that is......I doubt I`d be paying attention to the music, though.", he admitted. "Speaking of which.......do you listen to a lot of French music." "Sometimes.... but there really isn't a lot of places around her that sell it; all my French CDs are old.", she replied forlornly. "Go to a record store around here, and you`d be paying twice as much if you even find a French CD. It's robbery." "Too bad....", he stated. "I find that the English music, though.... is more direct.", she emphatically pronounced. A rap song began playing on the radio. "Right there, that example of music; Eminem, he`s really brutal with his words, and I kind of like that. I know...." "You like Eminem!?", he interrupted, somewhat shocked. " Wouldn't he be your worst enemy!" "Well, I really wouldn't consider him my worst enemy! He doesn't know me for one .....", she grins, making a jab at those who consider strange artists' words to be personal attacks. "...so why should I feel offended. He says what he feels like, and I still go about my day as usual...." Frank guffaws in an almost adolescent tone. "So then it eases your mind when he talks about raping his wife?" "No!", feigning shock. "But, in a way, it's good to just say what you feel like sometimes. And somehow it seems more..... frank..... in English. French is soft, beautiful; it never sounds as ugly, as rough, as it does in English. Certainly not to those who don't speak French, anyway." "So... what music do you like? English or French?" "Both! It's all good. I just don't think that I have to define myself in terms of one language, one culture - I'm me, so what....." "So obviously, you're not a separatist, then!" "No, of course not.....besides, listen to my accent, how French is it?!" Gen had to laugh to herself about how unusual this conversation was in the situation she and him were in at this moment. "..... but, nevertheless, I've seen both sides of the picture. And the only problem I see is that of people not being comfortable with themselves. They have to let everybody know, damn it,", mocking that particular ideology. "....that they are this way and nothing else. Anyone who is not like them is a hindrance." "I know that sort of stuff floated around during the referendums.", Frank understood. "But is it really that extreme?" "Yes!", she spoke emphatically. "I ought to know..... dad was like that. I've lived that life; my dad tried so hard to drill those ideas into us. But he wasn't cruel." She paused. "He tried to set things right, in his view. And I'm grateful for all that he did. But I really don't want to be that way. I don't want to tell people who they ought to be. And I don't want to tell myself that I can only be a certain way. I`m just me - Genevieve, some people call me Gen, I speak both English and French flawlessly,", said with mocking immodesty. "...and I listen to a lot of music," She then gives him a lusty look. "...... and I'm a real bad girl!!" She gives him a vigorous kiss on the mouth, before letting her head rest upon his shoulder. "Thanks for a fun evening, Gen....", Frank said, rubbing her arm reflexively. ".....no problem...,", she cooed. She was no longer cold, even though the heater was still disabled. The presence of her date warmed her. The two barely attempted speech as of this point, merely relaxing and allowing their minds to roam. Frank eventually went to sleep first, while Gen continued her dreamy half-sleep. Her eyes floated up to the ceiling again, in thought. Her thoughts turned to the present, and to the things which made her happy, which in turn formed a secure image of herself. * "The date! So how did it go?", Tisha wondered. "Hopefully you weren't too tired to enjoy it..." "I had a lot of fun...", Gen smiled reverently. "You made a good call.... we were perfectly matched for pool, at least. And you know what, he actually called me Genevieve! So very polite, and elegant!" She wanted to say that , even if she was rather timid on revealing its proper context. "He treated you like the classy lady you are, then?", Tisha said proudly. "But do you expect him to always call you that?" "No, not really....", Gen said relieved. "It sounds ...... too formal, really. Gen sounds much more casual. I think I`d be driven nuts if he kept calling me Genevieve all the time. The name isn't a big deal - I don't feel any less of a person if everyone called me Gen!" They laugh, as Tisha begins: "Well, then, you won't feel diminished if I call you Sally! Okay, Sally, we better quicken the pace....", as she got off of her chair. ".....because our lunch break ends in ten minutes!" Gen follows her friend's lead, and the two rapidly return to their jobs. Outside, the two women faced the crowd of bitter cold gathering rudely between the coffee shop and the call centre. The cold pushed them into feeling more vitalized, more tolerant of waking up to the real world. A car parked into an empty spot near the walking women. Before the driver turned off his car, he was turning down his music, and Gen, at least, was rather intrigued at the driver's choice of tunes. French rap -- what an innovation. Her brain was disorientated, and she was unable to make a sober judgement on the music's merit. She was about to mention her curious pleasure to the driver as he got out of his car, before she swallowed her words, sensing the potential discomfort.  |
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