Bella Luna

Bella Luna

by

Matt McGuire

We decided to spend a weekend in Asheville on a whim. You made reservations at a quaint little Bed and Breakfast called the Bella Luna and we packed a couple bags with enough cool and comfortable clothes to see us through Sunday and we left.

As you drove I kicked my shoes off and put my feet on the dash, the windows open and the air conditioning on with my hair tussling softly in the breeze. We both smoked then and we ducked our shared pack of Marlboros out the windows on either side of your Ford Escape. Green, steel, and concrete sped by as Julian Casablancas crooned. We stopped for gas and I bought you a rose in a small glass tube and you were in love with me.

We entered Asheville through Biltmore and got a couple of iced lattes at the Starbucks near the estate. I sat and smoked, sipping my drink and you talked about your children and what a bastard your ex-husband was being. You always talked about what a bastard your ex-husband was being and I listened politely with a chorus of goddamns thrown in for support. I remember you were wearing a tight yellow sundress that showed how good your tits were then and you were brown and lovely and your toenails were painted Clemson orange like I liked them. Your teeth were always just a shade yellow from the smoke but the missing two didn't show and you had nice hazel eyes that danced when you laughed. You said people always commented that you looked a little like a Downs baby. Your hair was medium length and brown with blond highlights and smelled of nicotine and baby shampoo. You always wore that goddamned patchouli then but for some reason it didn't infect your hair. You had good dancer's legs for a short girl and your feet were perfect and just a little hairy in your worn, chunky sandals.

We had a late lunch at a middle eastern cafe of lamb, spinach pie, and olives. The pie was good, the lamb not so much. You drank some brand of Spanish wine that you couldn't quit raving about and your teeth turned from antique white to burgundy. I kissed you and tasted the wine which made that little spot at the back of my mouth get really tense and tart but I sipped my coffee and lit a cigarette while you watched a fairly attractive belly dancer shake her bells. I fingered my anniversary chip in my shorts and played along.

We walked through town to a bookstore where I got another iced latte and you browsed the self-help section while I thumbed through a paperback copy of The Flanders Panel. The day was hot but the air conditioning made us not want to return to the street and we sat and chatted about what I was going to do to you once we checked in to our room. You liked that. The chatting. Your legs were crossed under the table with one of those sandals dangling from your heel and I liked to watch the curve of your foot and your toes lazily stretching, keeping time with the twenties rag playing throughout the store.

We paid the attendant at the garage on Lexington and drove back to Black Mountain where we were staying, my hand up your dress now as you steered. I tasted my fingers, soda and sharp, but let you concentrate so we didn't end up on a guardrail.

We crunched up the gravel to the entrance of the Bella Luna and I collected the bags as you went inside to speak to the owner. An early middle aged hippie couple owned the place. They were both trim, fit, and tan and wore Chacos and expensive hiking shorts. A large portrait of their robust family, fenced in golden retrievers, graced the portal.

“So glad you've arrived. The weather is quite magical” was all the woodsy, rough handed, curly brown wife said as she handed you our room key and hefted our bags up the stairs to our room, us following behind and me noticing the muscles ripple in her buttocks as she ascended the stair. The room was quite large and dominated by a king sized four poster with a handmade quilt tucked over two massive feather pillows. A small table with two chairs sat in front of a sashed window and the adjoining bathroom boasted a large tub with jets and a collection of locally made soaps and shampoos. I sniffed the soap which smelled strongly of orange blossom and sage and then reentered the bedroom where you were texting someone by the window before lying your phone on the table and surrendering to my ungentle embrace.

We made love hard at first as we always did when we'd built up to it all day and then again softer, longer, and playfully in the afternoon shadows. Heavy with fatigue we lay in the large, cool bed and slept naked with only the quilt covering us. We discovered that you could step out onto the roof from a door in the hall outside our room and we smoked with the day ending over the tops of the maples ringing the house. I felt fine and I told you I loved you and you smiled and blew smoke in my face. You decided that you needed some more wine so we went out to the local Harris Teeter and you bought a bottle of Pinot Noir. I opted for a seltzer and we got some good cheese and a cheap box of crackers and sat up late watching Golden Girls reruns. You were drunk and insisted on a giving me a blowjob so I watched the bob of your head rise and fall as Rose babbled on about Dorothy's insensitivity. I imagined you briefly sucking your ex-husband's cock as I was about to come and made it last till the episode was over. In the night I laid my head on your chest and listened to your heart beats, your breath heavy with red and the blue green light from the television draped over your tits, your double chin, and your hair spread out on the pillow. I was happy, but I didn't know it then. I suppose I've always known it more strongly in retrospect.

I stepped out onto the roof for a smoke and watched the moon rise over the trees. My wife wouldn't be home for a week. I checked my phone, and the only message was an invite to another damn baby shower. I slid the bar home and stood close to the ledge, my cigarette dangling from my lip. I felt myself waver slightly. I began to embrace the void, to yearn for the leap, but I caught myself and returned to safety. The moon shined on, impenetrable and unaligned.