Lips Touch: Three Times by Lips Touch; Three Times Page B

slit had
been opened in the lining of reason, letting madness sidle in.
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    "Sahib!" a little street boy cried, running up to him.
"Yes, little man? What is it?"
    "The old memsahib, she say give you this, Sahib," the
child told him breathlessly, tossing something at James's chest so he had to
catch it. It was a little parcel of brown paper, and as the boy ran off, James
unfolded it. It was weightless; it seemed empty, but as it fell open, a mass of
darkness hit the ground at James's feet, dark and quick as paint splashed from
a bucket. It was his shadow, and it was crisp beneath the lamps of the Agent's
gates now, as if it had never been gone. Inside the little parcel, on the brown
paper, was scrawled one word. Believe.
    James's soul trembled, just a little.
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    NINE The Kiss
    Inside, Anamique was watching for James. A pianist had been hired
for the evening so that she might not have to entertain at her own party, and
the fellow was playing a rowdy ragtime tune. Others were dancing and laughing,
but for Anamique the party wouldn't begin until James arrived. She looked in a
mirror and saw a strange girl looking out. She smiled. She'd had her hair
bobbed. Her sisters had sculpted it into finger waves and it looked glossy and
sleek against her cheeks. She wasn't a girl anymore, and she wasn't wearing a
girl's gown either. She wore a jazzy shimmering shift that fell to mid-calf,
and in her stockings and strappy shoes her ankles felt naked. Her shoulders
were bare too and she felt daring and sultry and alive.
    She saw James reflected in the mirror and she turned. He'd just
come in and was looking for her. She watched mischievously as his eyes swept
the room, passing over her twice before finally fixing on her face with a flash
of surprise. His startled brown eyes dropped to her shoulders, then down to her
ankles and darted quickly back up to her face as a blush overspread his cheeks.
He stood immobile for a moment, clutching a bouquet of flowers, before crossing
the room to her in a rush.
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    "Ana ..." he breathed. "You look ... ravishing
..." He was flustered, and couldn't keep his eyes from straying down to
her white shoulders. Anamique wanted to dance with him so he would touch her.
She wanted him to cup her shoulders with both hands and whisper in her ear,
close, his lips touching her so her whole body would shiver like flower petals
in a breeze. She wanted him to kiss her. Looking up into his eyes and seeing
the radiance in them, seeing the future in them, she was so full of
happiness she thought she might burst. She had to bite her lip to keep from
singing.
    A flicker of anxiety passed through James's eyes when she bit her
lip. She laid her hand on his arm and looked up at him, silently asking with
her eyes, "What is it?"
    Whatever it was, he shook it off. "Look at me, stammering
like a fool! You've taken my breath away, Ana, my beautiful girl. I haven't
even told you happy birthday yet! Well, happy birthday. Now dance with
me!"
    He took her hand and led her to the dance floor, and all evening
long they danced and danced. Around them the party happened. There were
streamers stretched over their heads, and people drank and gossiped, and
khitmutgars moved among them with trays of cakes, but Anamique didn't pay
attention to any of it. She closed her eyes and felt James's breath stir the
fine hairs at her temple and, when he bent to whisper to her, she felt the
softness of his lips for an instant on her earlobe. But he said very little, and
late in the evening she realized that he hadn't once implored her to speak.
    He also hadn't told her that he loved her. She saw the flicker of
worry in his eyes now and again, but more often she saw a distance growing in
them, like he was far away and getting farther, following
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    some dark trail of thoughts away from the circle of their tangent
bodies.
    A sick dread began to fill her. Perhaps, she worried, she'd waited
too long. Perhaps her eccentricity had lost its charm and become