It had been stupid of me, to hope I'd see her in the airport. We were done now, the tour was over, I was finally home, but of course she wouldn't necessarily know that. There was nothing to say that she was as obsessed with me as I was with her, nothing to say she'd have tracked our tour dates and would know when I'd be back in the city. Besides, there was more than one airport in New York, and plenty of arrival times. The fact she wasn't waiting for me didn't mean anything.
And of course she wouldn't be waiting for me at home. She didn't know where I lived, she didn't know what mood I'd be in when I got home, it all made perfect sense. It didn't mean anything. And why would she have left a message on my answering machine? I mean sure she had my number, but hey, phone calls weren't free, and she knew I wouldn't pick up.
With a sigh, I flopped down in a chair, beginning to thumb through the stack of mail that was waiting for me like always post-tour. Bills, mainly. Letters from the few fans bold enough to send one to every single Gene Simmons listed in the phonebook in hopes one of them was me. I always admired them for that level of tenacity, but I never really did anything with them.
A lilac envelope caught my eye and I lifted it from the stack, smiling as I looked at the front. It was addressed to me, with only a lipstick kiss as the return address, and most telling of all was the small doodle of a monkey in the corner. A big dumb ape. Heart fluttering, I carefully opened the envelope, pulling out the photo tucked inside. My eyes widened as I looked at the picture of Beatrice. She was nearly naked, wearing only a very small set of lingerie, posed like a pin-up girl. I let my gaze wander over every inch of her, frowning slightly as I looked at her right arm.
There was a smudge on her skin, just below her shoulder, and I stared at it for awhile, debating whether or not I could see her having a tattoo before deciding it must just be a smudge on the film itself.
I flipped over the photo, looking at the note written there. Her handwriting was neat and legible, with little loops coming out from some of the neatly printed letters, halfway blending them together. It pricked at something in the back of my mind, but I couldn't figure out what before settling on the fact it sort of resembled my handwriting.
Gene--
Staten Island Ferry, Monday night, 8pm
--Bea
That was all she wrote, but it was more than enough.
Monday night rolled around and I found myself walking down the docks to the ferry, hands in my pockets, whistling absentmindedly. My heart was fluttering almost as much as it had the night I first performed with KISS. I was thrilled to see her and terrified to see her at the same time. I wanted to ask her to date me but I knew I had to tell her I had banged a groupie and broken my promise.
"Simmons!"
I jumped, whirling as my name was called, feeling my entire body grow hot despite the cool September air. Beatrice was walking toward me, heels clipping against the sidewalk. She was dressed in a perfectly tailored white suit, with a skirt instead of slacks and a jaunty matching beret placed on her head.
"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" she teased as she reached me, dancing her fingers up my arm and across my shoulder before curving her hand behind my neck, bowing my head down, moving to kiss me.
I wanted to, yearned to, but instead I just shook my head, putting a finger on her lips. "No," I murmured. "Don't...don't do that yet."
"Why not?" she asked, eyes wide with surprise and confusion and hurt as she took a step back. "What happened? Did I--"
"No, no, you didn't do anything wrong," I said hastily, putting my hands on her shoulders and giving them a reassuring squeeze. I could feel her muscles tensing up as she looked at me, eyes darting over every inch of my face, wrinkles of confusion marring her brow.
"Then what happened?"
I dropped my gaze and dropped my hands, turning away. "I'm sorry. You were right to doubt me. I uh...the first...after the first concert I ended up sleeping with a groupie. I'm so sorry Bea, I wish I hadn't, I-I don't know why I did, she wasn't worth it, she couldn't hold a candle to you in any way, you're--"
She kissed me, very effectively shutting me up, and I closed my eyes, letting myself fall into the kiss. Without thinking, I slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, before at last we broke apart.
There was a pause as I looked at her, the noise of the waves and the throngs of people milling around us fading away to nothing. All the world was, was her.
"I told you to do what you wanted. You came back, that tells me everything I need to know. Now come on, we'll miss the ferry!"
I let her take my hand, lacing her long and slender fingers through mine, dragging me down the dock until we reached the ferry, walking up the stairs to the topmost level and standing beside each other at the railing. The ferry horn let out a blast, the boat rumbling as we began to move away from the dock, staring the 25 minute journey from Manhattan to Staten Island.
"I'll be right back, stay here," Bea said, kissing me on the cheek and walking off.
I leaned against the railing, looking at the choppy waves, stirred up even more by the ferry's movement. White foam bubbled and frothed before being swallowed by the deeper blue-green of the water, two halves always fighting for dominance, neither ever winning.
She had forgiven me, just like that. She had expected it, she had prepared her response, and her response was to forgive and forget and just move on. She was wonderful and perfect and I didn't deserve her, but all the same she was mine.
"I thought you might be hungry."
I tore my gaze from the water as Bea spoke, a smile spreading across my face as I looked at the soft pretzel she was offering.
"I am, actually! I appreciate it," I said, taking a bite and letting out a satisfied hum.
She stood beside me again, pressing against my side, and my free arm went around her waist, holding her close. With a content sigh, she closed her eyes, taking a bite of her own pretzel. I smiled as I watched her. It was a small bite, barely a nibble, so that her lipstick remained perfect. Her tongue darted out, licking away the salt the pretzel had left behind, and I wanted nothing more than to feel it against my skin.
We didn't say anything, just stood by the railing and ate our pretzels, the wind tangling our hair together as it rushed past us. I appreciated the silence. I didn't want to deal with the small talk, bothering with any casual pleasantries of how the past two and a half months had been for both of us. If she had asked how my tour had gone, all I'd have been able to say was that it was miserable and I spent every day longing for the end, longing for her.
I finished my pretzel first and took advantage of freeing up a hand to wrap both arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder. She grinned, ripping off a piece of her pretzel and holding it up to me.
"I'll be nice, don't worry," she teased, and I gratefully accepted the bite, feeling her fingers against my lips, her deliciously smooth skin calling for me to cover every inch of it in kisses.
"Thank you," I said, opting to just settle for kissing her on the cheek and squeezing her waist, feeling her body move in response to my actions, pressing closer against me, and the longing to make her mine got stronger.
