Grenadine - Grenadine
von Dasha K. (dashak@visi.com)
Deutsche Übersetzung von DanaK35 (DanaK35@yahoo.com)
Skinner trommelt mit den Fingern auf das lackierte Holz der
Bar und überlegt, ob er noch einen Knob Creek bestellen soll. Nach ein paar
Minuten gibt er sich geschlagen und macht dem Barkeeper ein Zeichen.
Caroline verspätet sich.
Er wußte das, nachdem sie heute eine Fakultätsbesprechung
hat und diese normalerweise immer länger dauern. Und doch, kann er nicht anders
als sich ein bißchen zu ärgern, als er hier in diesem auf Englisch gemachten
Pub sitzt, umgeben von teuren Anzügen und Zigarrenrauch, Billie Holiday weint
über Lautsprecher ihrer verlorenen Liebe nach.
Der Barkeeper stellt seinen zweiten Drink vor ihm ab und
Skinner schiebt dem Mann das Geld entgegen; dann nimmt er einen Schluck und
genießt den rauchigen Geschmack des Bourbons. Der Geschmack erinnert ihn immer
an seine Zeit im der Außenstelle in Atlanta, laue Abende auf der Veranda,
Bourbon schlürfend und den Grillen zuhörend, während die Sterne am Himmel
erschienen.
Er hört fröhliches, perlendes Lachen zu seiner rechten und
dreht sich um, bemerkt, dass die Barhocker neben ihm von zwei jungen Frauen in
Beschlag genommen worden sind. Sie sind teuer aufgemacht und sehen poliert aus,
mit ihrem
He hears
merry peals of laughter to his right. Turning his head, he notices that the
barstools next to him have been taken by two young women, expensively groomed
and burnished-looking with their buttery golden hair falling over their
cashmere sweaters. The bartender stops in front of them. "What are you
having tonight, ladies?"
The girl
nearest him tilts her head in thought. "Mmm . . . I think a tequila
sunrise."
Her friend
giggles. "A tequila sunrise in the winter, Lucy?"
She nods
affirmatively. "Why not? It'll get me in the mood for our trip to
Cabo."
"Oooh,
that does sound good. Make it two."
The
bartender nods his dark head and begins making the drinks. First he scoops ice
into two highball glasses. Next, a shot of tequila is poured into each glass
and the orange juice after that. He reaches behind him and selects a bottle of
Grenadine from the back bar. With deft hands, he tilts the glass and quickly
pours some of the red liquid in so it settles on the bottom of the orange
juice, bleeding up into its namesake sunset.
The
Grenadine bottle is placed back in a row of bottles, but Skinner can't take his
eyes off it.
He emerged
from the shower and dried himself, wrapping the white towel around his waist.
Striding through the living room, leaving damp footprints on the carpet, he
found her standing on the balcony. She was watching the beginning of the
sunset, the first streaks of crimson and violet in the July sky. He stepped out
into the moist heat of a Virginia summer evening.
Scully
turned around and smiled to see him, her face still flushed from lovemaking and
her own shower. Her red hair was drying into the soft waves she normally
blow-dried straight. It pleased him to see her wrapped in his blue cotton
bathrobe, the hem just touching her ankles. "It's a gorgeous night,"
she said, gesturing toward the sky.
"Not
half as gorgeous as you are."
Her face
flushed deeper and she rose on tiptoe to briefly press her lips against his.
"You're a shameless flatterer, Walter Skinner."
His hand
wrapped around her slender neck and he brought her face to his to kiss her with
long sweeps of his tongue in her mouth. Scully tasted like the mint of
toothpaste, but underneath it he still could detect a faint hint of sex.
A breeze
blew in, lifting her curls and he smelled the smoke from a neighbor's grill.
Down the street came the shouting and laughter of kids playing soccer.
It was high
summer.
Reluctantly,
he pulled away from her. "How about if I fix us a drink?"
When she
smiled he could see the fine lines around her blue eyes, eyes that radiated
affection, but also an indefinable melancholy. "A drink would be
perfect."
Skinner
went to the bedroom, stripped off the towel and put on a pair of old jeans. In
the kitchen he found a half- full bottle of Sauza, a carton of orange juice and
in the deepest recesses of the liquor cabinet, a sticky bottle of Grenadine.
Tequila sunrises, he thought, perfect for a summer evening with his redhead.
After
fixing the drinks, he grabbed the glasses and brought them out to the balcony.
Scully took the glass from him and clinked hers against his. "To
summer," she said.
"To
summer." Another season we get to spend together.
He put his
arm around her and drew her close. Scully took a sip of her drink. "Oh,
that's good," she said after a swallow. He remembered earlier in the day
when she'd said the very same thing, in a surprised tone, as he held her by her
hips and entered her from behind.
"It's
kind of a girly drink," he said, watching as the blush of the syrup spread
through the juice in his glass.
She brushed
a fallen strand of hair out of her eyes. "It reminds me of our first night
together." His heart began to loudly thump. "Except we were drinking
screwdrivers that night."
"Still,
the drinks were orange and I was wearing a bathrobe." Her lips bloomed
into a full grin.
Skinner took
a sip of his drink and yes, the taste did bring back that January night in
Little Rock, when they first came together. "That was a long time
ago."
She reached
for his hand and squeezed it. "I remember everything with perfect
clarity."
"So do
I," he said. All he had to do was shut his eyes and he could summon a
three-dimensional recollection of the first time they'd made love. Her gasp as
he took her nipple in his mouth, the feel of her strong fingers on his ass as
her drove into her, opening his eyes to see her astonished face. The burning
realization that he'd irrevocably fallen in love with her.
Again, she
sipped her drink. "I think it's the Grenadine that makes this drink so
good. It reminds me of my childhood."
"You
were drinking tequila sunrises as a kid?"
Scully gave
him one of her looks. "No, of course not. But sometimes my parents would
have a cocktail party, the room crowded with officers in uniform and their
wives all dressed up and glamorous, everyone drinking Manhattans and martinis. My
father was always the bartender and he'd make Shirley Temples for us
kids." She smiled at the memory, watching the sky. "I loved the taste
of the Seven-Up and Grenadine. For a moment I felt like one of the grownups,
sophisticated in my party dress, having my own cocktail."
He pictured
her in a taffeta dress, sipping a pink Shirley Temple in emulation of her
elders. "Grenadine reminds me of you," Skinner said.
She flashed
him a curious look. "Why's that?"
His hand
began to circle the curve of her breasts under the thin material of the
bathrobe. Leaning over, he suckled at the tender flesh of her earlobe.
"It's red, it's delicious and sweet," he whispered.
She set her
drink down and laid the flat of her warm palm on his chest. "Again with
the shameless flattery."
"I'm
just trying to get you into bed, Scully."
Her hands
began to skim down his chest and stomach until they found the buttons of his
jeans, which she hastily unbuttoned. Despite the humid night, he shivered.
"All you have to do is ask, Skinner . . ."
"Come
to bed with me," he growled.
"Oh,
gladly."
They didn't
even make it that far. Two steps in the living room, they collapsed in a tangle
of arms, legs, bathrobe and jeans on the carpet.
With
unwieldy fingers he unknotted the cord of her robe and spread her legs apart to
savor the ripe fruit of her, sweeter and stickier than the Grenadine, made more
delicious by her husky groans of delight.
Behind
them, through the glass of the balcony door, the sky deepened in color,
grenadine red dissolving into royal blue and fading to black.
Caroline
surprises him with a kiss on his cheek. He shakes his head into alertness and
smiles to see her pretty, animated face, her cheeks flushed rose with the cold.
"Daydreaming,
Walter?"
"A
little," he admits.
She checks
her watch and shakes her head apologetically. "I'm so sorry I'm late.
Those dreadful meetings . . ."
"Don't
worry about it, I understand."
"We
should probably go if we want to make our reservations."
Skinner
sets his drink down and steals one last glance at the bottle of Grenadine. He
licks his lips and is almost surprised to find they taste of bourbon, not
Scully.
He turns to
his new lover and smiles for her benefit.
His only
hope is that dinner and a bottle of wine will be enough to banish his ghosts
for the rest of the night.
"I'm
ready," he says and takes Caroline's hand.
God, he
hopes he is.