The Choices of Evelyn Ch. 04-06

Chapter Four – Carlotta.

Evelyn's heart thumped in her throat. The racing blood made her feel dizzy. It also made her fingers fumble as she closed the door of her car. She stood in the late afternoon light that made the copper of her hair glow. My God, was she nervous. Slowly she turned and walked up to the house, clutching her purse and the bottle of wine, wrapped in gift paper.

She wore modest heels and a spaghetti-strapped sundress. The balmy evening breeze caressed her legs. She had brushed her hair into luscious perfection, letting it tumble down her back, where it bounced against her exposed skin with every step she took. Subtle pencil-lines and dabbed-on shadow added expression to her eyes. She'd even glossed her lips.

The wooden walls of the house had been painted white. Its well-kept lawn seemed to go all around it. There were roses and blossoming shrubs, a flagstone path running up to a front door porch with white columns. Evelyn pulled the chain that made a bell chime. Inside, clicking heels approached – as fast as the rhythm of her racing heart. The door opened. The woman in the door frame was about half a head taller. She was in her late thirties, but the proud poise of her body gave her an ageless class – so did the ivory-white blouse and knee length carbon-black skirt. Her elegant pumps had quite daring heels. The dark hair was up; big, horn-rimmed glasses framed her gaze.

"Evelyn," she said, smiling, her voice warm. She grabbed the girl's free hand to pull her in. "So wonderful to have you tonight." There was a slight accent to her English; it betrayed Italian roots.

"Good evening, Carlotta," Evelyn said and there was a hesitant hug, followed by kisses that mostly met the air next to their cheeks. Dior, Evelyn thought, inhaling the perfume.

The house was lovely. Two tall windows allowed the sinking sun to highlight endless stretches of oiled oak floors and the well-polished limbs of antique furniture. There were blue rugs and colored pillows, but most of her attention was drawn to the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, filled with a thousand books, some of them looking ancient. Between two bookcases stood a marble statue of two naked girls, kissing. And between the windows facing them, was a huge copper vase filled with yellow roses.

"Welcome to my house, Evalina," the woman said, smiling as she saw how overwhelmed the girl was. "Please do feel at home." Carlotta took the bottle of wine and led her into what was obviously the dining room. There was a big shining table at the center, but in a niche to the back was a smaller round table. It was covered with white damask and set with crystal glasses and porcelain plates. Lit candles made the silverware sparkle. From an invisible source, Cecilia Bartoli sang Rossini. It was from La Cenerentola, Evelyn knew. Cinderella, how appropriate.

"I'll show you my humble house later, Evalina," Carlotta said, taking off her spectacles. "For now, please be seated. Let's have a glass of bubbles – I'm sure you'll appreciate this lovely Prosecco from my native country." She took the bottle from the cooler, popped its cork and poured some into a couple of slender glasses. The liquid hissed with white fury, then slowly calmed into a clear, sparkling wine. They toasted.

"To a newfound friendship," Carlotta said. Evelyn felt the bubbles dance in her mouth and down her throat. She also felt her muscles relax.

The dinner was wonderful. It started off with a fresh salad, deliciously dressed with oil and balsamico vinegar. Carlotta explained what was in it – fresh pomodori in red, yellow and green, tangy ruccola, roasted pine seeds and freshly cut buffalo mozzarella. And, of course, a subtle sprinkling of Umbrian truffles.

They ate and talked and drank Prosecco. And while they did, the sun went down, night enfolding their candle-lit niche. In the background Puccini's Madama Butterfly became Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor – how sad, how sweet. Evelyn closed her eyes and let the music's melancholy mix with her wine-induced buzz.

Following up on the salad there had been a small dish of pasta picante with a bite of peppers and garlic and a lovely dab of red pesto. Of course, they covered it with freshly ground Parmesan cheese. With the pasta, Carlotta insisted they change to a nice deeply red Barolo wine. Evelyn's gaze was lost for a moment in the ruby liquid. It reflected the candlelight as if tiny fireflies floated inside. She smiled widely when Carlotta once more proposed a toast.

"I could get to love this," she whispered. Carlotta caught her eyes.

"I sure hope you will," she answered, and they laughed. Then the woman rose and asked Evelyn to take her glass and follow her to see the house. When she did she felt the effect of the wine – her heels seeming twice as high, and shaky.

The house was incredible. A wonderfully crafted staircase brought them to a corridor filled with paintings and little statues – and more books of course. There was a huge marble bathroom that had this romantic claw-foot tub she'd often seen in vintage movies, and antique-framed mirrors all around. When they reached the master bedroom, Carlotta turned around and kissed Evelyn full on the lips, making her moan with surprise. Her knees buckled, and she melted into the woman who by now had pried her lips open and dashed her tongue between them. The entire world floated and gyrated. She desperately tried to find a place to leave her glass, but when she thought she'd found one, the precious crystal crashed on the wooden floor.

"Oh, my God!" she gasped.

"My Goddess," Carlotta chuckled. "It'll bring luck," she went on and led Evelyn to the huge four-poster bed. There they kissed again, the woman sliding her hand inside Evelyn's dress. She pushed up the soft satin bra and sent a million pinpricks up and down the girl's spine.

The lovemaking was slow and delicious. Carlotta never hurried while undressing the sweet girl she had caught in her web of candy floss and gossamer. She lazily caressed the white, delicate skin, kissing the tiny cup at the base of the throat, sensing a pulse with her tongue tip. She never hurried while her lips closed on sensitive nipples. She took her time to run her tongue down the chest and into the dip of the belly button. She smiled slowly while enjoying the girl's breathless gasps and little squeals of delight.

"Dio mio," she whispered, as she peeled the tiny thong off sticky pussy lips. The filmy fabric was dark with moisture. So very wet she is, and so very ready, she thought, tasting the juices that seeped from the pouting slit. When her tongue at last found the girl's clit, she was amazed how promptly she came and how desperate she cried out. Evelyn shook and trembled in her embrace, echoing the explosion of her release with a chain of aftershocks.

After she recovered, Evelyn opened Carlotta's lovely silk blouse, burying her face between creamy breasts. They were covered by a lace-and-satin bra. Hard and pointing nipples pushed against the shiny material as she sucked them through the fabric. Carlotta's cries lost all connection to the English language by the time Evelyn's mouth and fingers reached her carefully trimmed mound and weeping pussy. They were both naked by then and Evelyn turned around to swing her leg over Carlotta, offering her own drenched pussy. Their orgasms were fast and furious before stretching out into a string of smaller and sweeter climaxes.

"Now for dessert," Carlotta panted when at last they lay on the bed, exhausted. Their limbs were strangled in a truly Gordian knot of spent passion. They both chuckled. Then the woman sat up, looking down on Evelyn's shining face in its forest of black, tangled hair.

"Seriously, mi amore," she said. "Come on, you must taste my famous Tiramisu!" She jumped off the bed and threw Evelyn a hot, wet towel to clean up. Then she found the girl a pretty silk robe, tying another one around her own waist.

The dessert tasted great, the sweet calories replenishing their lost energy. The coffee was strong and sweet as well.

"Next time I cook for you," Evelyn said as she slid her slippery silk ass onto Carlotta's lap, kissing her face. "I am a good cook, you know?"

She licked Carlotta's fingertips, sucking each digit.

***

After Evelyn returned home from her visit, she lay in bed, still relishing the sweet tingles that traveled up and down her body. Her fingers slowly circled her clit; it radiated a lovely glow. She sighed and thought back to the moment she accidentally met with Carlotta.

Weeks had passed since the awkward incident with Leila. She'd lived like a hermit, working hard and avoiding all kinds of socializing, let alone pleasure. Then, while delivering a pile of flyers to a client, a very elegant woman approached her. She had intelligent brown eyes, smiling below black bangs. She wore a wonderfully tailored longish jacket of a soft knitted material. There were no buttons. It was wrapped around her chest and fell almost to her knees like a soft, pliant skirt. Under it she wore wide slacks of the same color and material.

The woman asked to see the flyer and had complimented her on it. Then she asked if she maybe could help her with a similar problem and they ended up discussing it over coffee. Evelyn assured herself that the meeting was purely business, but when the woman's fingers kept touching her too often to be accidental, her face flushed.

They agreed on a deadline and an appointment, which resulted in the invitation for dinner. And now, after coming home, her mind raced through all the memories and possibilities. Carlotta had agreed on a follow-up dinner at Evelyn's house and the girl already pondered nervously what she would cook. She also worried how her apartment could ever compete with the Italian mini-palazzo she had just left – and this thought was enough to pull her down to earth again.

Whatever had she been thinking? The woman was way out of her league. She must be crazy to assume Carlotta would seriously care about her. Oh, but the lovemaking had been wonderful – and there had been the lovely, lovely dinner and... Ah, yes, girl, but don't get your silly hopes up. Look where the woman comes from and now look at you. More accurately – look at what happened to all your other hopes. It's a massacre of killed crushes and impossible loves. You're cut off from your family and just ended a slut's career at a shady club. Your ex despises you, and your business hardly feeds you. Familiar voices invaded the sweet pink clouds of bliss. Her mother's nasal whine telling her she was no good and never would amount to anything. Her violent father virtually radiating his disdain for her not having been a son. Their poisonous response when she came out of her closet. Tears flushed her eyes as she shook her head.

Planning and preparing the return visit of Carlotta drug Evelyn through a nightmarish swamp of anguish and near panic. Sheer nervousness had her tremble when the doorbell rang, but the woman at the doorstep radiated sweetness, both arms wrapped around a huge bouquet of roses.

All of Evelyn's stress melted away when Carlotta took her in her arms, right on the doorstep and kissed her into a jellylike puddle. More praise followed when they ate at her candle-lit table – wonderfully spiced chicken, with orange, cinnamon and roasted almonds, served after a virtual fleet of small Middle East dishes Leila had taught her: baba ganoush and hummus, smoked eggplant and pink sliced beets. With it she poured a red wine from the south of France.

They had an intense conversation about their pasts and their shared tastes in music and vintage movies. Before she knew it, they'd wandered away from the table to end up in bed together – and everything had colored pink again. Yes, she'd sighed, this is so wonderful. Stop your damn worrying and let your guard down, girl. This woman is too special to lose. Let her in and she'll chase away your fears.

Love her, girl, love her to pieces, dammit – and you'll be loved like you never were.

***

And now, not even four months later, she wondered if everything really hadn't been just a mirage again – the warmth, the closeness, the love.

Oh, sure, they'd been incredible months. She'd been taken to New York where Carlotta had to meet with her publishers. She was a novelist, you know. They stayed in the Plaza Hotel, no less. They saw shows and shopped till they dropped. And amidst all of that they made love with never abating passion. Later-on, they flew to the City of Angels, where they lived the Californian dream, driving around in a convertible car, wearing huge sunglasses and feeling their hair whip around their faces. They had once again shopped and dined at all the "in" places; they had hung around pools and met with stars and starlets at Hollywood parties. Even the simple things back home had been good, like spending weekends at the ocean's coast nearby, tanning in the autumn sun, making out behind rocks and splashing wildly in the surf.

But Christmas came, and Carlotta told her she would be off to spend the holiday season with her family in Tuscany. She obviously never even considered taking Evelyn with her. It took the girl days to gather enough courage to mouth her desire to come with her and meet her family. Carlotta had gasped – then laughed uproariously.

"Oh, but my God, cara mia!" she'd cried out. "That would be impossible, a fiasco. My dear Daddy would have a heart attack if he wouldn't kill me first. Taking you? Introducing you?" And she had laughed again, shaking her head. Evelyn felt her heart sink; then it slid slowly into an ice-cold place.

"They... don't know?" she asked. Carlotta must have seen her distress. She grabbed Evelyn's hands and kissed her cheek.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Listen, sweet honey," she said with all the warmth she could muster. "Mama knows, although she assumes it is just a whim – a phase, she still calls it. But my Daddy is very, very conservative. In our country we are old nobility, honey. We have age-old ties to the Church. Oh God, he would die learning his favorite daughter was a lesbian. He would be the risée of the town.

"And he would certainly disinherit me."

"I... I understand, I guess," Evelyn mumbled, trying hard to hold back the tears that crowded her eyes.

Carlotta left two days later. Things had been busy for both, so the only good bye there had been was a short chat on their mobile phones. Evelyn had stammered she loved her. Carlotta had paused. Then she said she had to go – and was gone.

Evelyn sat up in her bed and wiped the moisture from her eyes. Carlotta would be gone for three weeks and everything would be well again when she returned. Of course, everything would be – wouldn't it? She'd been very egoistic to demand Carlotta should take her with her. It might have destroyed her life, severed her ties with her family – Italian, you know? So important, family.

She took her cell phone from her nightstand, swiping through pictures. She smiled when she saw two girls, one black, one red-haired, posing on Brooklyn Bridge; the wind blew their new dresses against their bodies. She saw the same two women, now just wearing bikinis and huge sun-glasses, lying beside an incredibly blue swimming pool – sipping tropical long drinks. She sighed again and swiped on. Candlelight dinners she saw, and the feeding of giraffes at the San Diego Zoo. She saw Carlotta trying on ridiculously expensive hats at Sacks of Fifth Avenue. There were pictures of the two of them in ankle-long evening dresses, visiting the New York Met. 'Rheingold,' she remembered, Wagner. And there were pictures of a pale, copper-haired girl, stretching her slim body on a bed – shamelessly naked, shamelessly smiling.

Then she found a stray picture of her and Olivia. The two of them posed at La So's salon, celebrating their ill-fated engagement. Evelyn noticed the telltale signs of drunkenness in her eyes, her mouth smiling an inane grin. It was hard to fathom the captured feelings as she looked at the photo. It made her wonder; was it just drunkenness? She remembered feeling happy when that picture was taken. Maybe it was because she'd been taken care of. No responsibilities. Okay, it had been a silly show with the ring and the fake engagement – but then again... she'd never fought Olivia's rude dismissal of her say in the matter, had she? No. And still she smiled brilliantly.

Was that it? Looking at her face in the picture, she realized now what she didn't see. There was no protest, no offense. What had been her true feelings back then? Had there been any? Did it matter? She might have been happy then, or not; she sure wasn't now. In these past months, Carlotta had grown... indifferent. She'd felt a growing arrogance of the woman. And a growing despair in her response to it.

Lying in darkness she damned her doubts. Why couldn't she just be like others... understanding and being grateful to have found someone? Why couldn't she just try to... to love her and be happy? Did Carlotta love her? Evelyn shrugged. Why ask? Why strife for the impossible when there was so much already? They'd had the sweetest of times, hadn't they? Carlotta completely spoiled her – taking her to see the world and meet interesting people. The woman must love her. And yet...

Of course, she did. She maybe just didn't have as much time for her lately, being so busy all the time. Maybe Evelyn's need of sex was more intense than the woman's. Was she too greedy? Were her constant cravings unnatural? Did she want too much, too often?

It was great when they were together, wasn't it? They had fun! She remembered Los Angeles... She remembered the weekend on the beach... But did she truly remember everything? Or did she forget how she'd been left alone for days when Carlotta "met friends?" Did she forget how often their planned dates had been cancelled, recently? Or forget how she stood abandoned at parties, hugging her glass, just seeing unknown and uninterested faces around her? Why did she overlook the times Carlotta simply forgot to introduce her? Or take her to her family?

Evelyn slapped her pillows with powerless fists to fluff them for her tired head. But she couldn't sleep. So, she rose and took a shower, hugging her naked body as the hot water cascaded off her skin. She rubbed herself dry with a soft towel and blow-dried her hair. Then she found the short blue skirt and the knitted top they'd bought in New York. They... She grabbed her coat and left the house. The night was chilly. A first dusting of snow whitened the ground.

She shivered and walked to her car.

***

Chapter Five – Zelda.

"Please undo the buttons of your blouse," the black woman said. "I need to see your tits." Evelyn gasped. It wasn't the question itself that caused it; this was La So', after all. She'd stripped here before, even in public, though often drunk. But this was different. For one, she was stone sober. And secondly, she'd sworn to never again set a foot in this place, let alone sink into its treacherous quicksand again – stripping and flirting and making out. Hadn't she? Still, here she was, gawking at a tall dark woman, while the last drop of an ocean of tears dripped down her face.

She felt empty, shaking on her legs. Her fingers itched to give in. It must be the woman's understanding. She was a receptacle to pour all her misery into, and yet she feared her. The woman wasn't sweet or easy, not at all. Maybe all she was, was being there, at the right place, the right moment? She was a self-assured woman, big and curvaceous and proud of it. Her eyes were forceful, and most of all, she had her voice. It seemed to lend power to everything she said, sounding dark and hoarse; a layer under a layer, under...