Regrets expressed recall the night Coral, and I dredged into our youth. It was mid-1982.
A true-to-life leg of mutton in a gallery exhibition had already triggered my bestie to reveal the 'unspeakable' of Granville. We passed on further reviewing Spencer's artwork.
After she disclosed her experience of the train crash, I suggested we explore a different gallery room. It became a night where artwork kept provoking memories.
Next, the paintings of Balthus pricked us unexpectedly.
"His girls are provocative and complex," Coral said, studying Therese Dreaming.
I hoped - at least her mind on the surface - had distanced Granville.
"Provocative, like Ruby," she quipped, "The deliberate pose reminds me of her."
I looked at the painting and agreed; everything about the girl on the canvas suggested arousal. I recalled a similar angular pose by Ruby in the college library.
She seduced Coral's mind and fingers!
"Yes, Ruby," I managed.
My fancies preferred remembering Coral's college thighs and a purry Jenny at the beach as my finger slid along the glossy exhibition catalogue.
"Complex, like myself then and now," my bestie added, in a lingering ponder at Therese Dreaming.
Suddenly holding her purse high to her bosom, Coral flashed her eyes and thoughts more naked than her body in the boathouse.
"Yes, Ruby and I explored her down south tattoo."
"So — did I."
Coral spared me any elaboration. My bestie twigged to Paris and Ruby after her return from Princeton.
She twisted her hair tightly, "What did her tattoo mean? She shilly-shallied with me. Did you compile more?"
Coral shrugged like it wouldn't change anything, even if the tattoo meant something to Ruby.
I remembered a young Ruby at the spring; I skirted exploring her belief in the emptiness of words.
My bestie, though, articulated the brunette's partial reveal.
"In a vague way, Rubes said it symbolised taking everything immediately. Like later, who knew about later, later wasn't here."
I concurred with a half thumbs up.
I recalled Ruby's words, how she cautioned even sincere declarations lost their meaning, blown like pappus.
I pictured, too, in the gallery, how Ruby, aged eighteen, blew pappus over Coral's face at the spring.
In front of Balthus' painting, I decided to brush the brunette's tattoo with symbolism, "Her sassy statement. Her sexual signature."
My bestie returned a half thumbs up.
Alongside Coral, I preferred not to delve into any tattoo stains under Ruby's skin.
Coral replied, "Yeah, more brazen than Klimt's statement!"
I responded excitedly, " You kept mulling about Klimt's portrait as genitalia like me!"
"Yes, my clearest thoughts came beyond Ruby's heels."
Phew! released Coral; I knew she would unpack a poignant insight. She didn't deliver it immediately; her mind strayed.
"Long after Josh."
I avoided her eyes. I focused on her shoes instead.
I hoped to hear Coral's insightful 'buddy' voice. It came. I took in her face, and I liked her expression.
Coral heeded me, as a friend does, 'soul caring.'
She stressed, "We all deny the rawness of our sexual self at points in our lives, yet we are the custodians of our sensual style. The moments we would like placed in permanent basement storage are important, too."
I smiled back at her (as a friend should.) We understood our mistakes on a boathouse couch and in her hallway.
Leaning forward, I urged her to say more.
"Memory holds our inventory of sexuality, and it can be self-confronting."
Her mouth curled downwards before continuing, "God forgive my game with prosciutto in Ruby's kitchen!"
She tugged her hair, and her eyes migrated inwards, nowhere possible to follow.
My bestie finished, "Our sex lives are a continually modified catalogue raisonne. We must be gentle with ourselves, though. We must find a place for our selfish, incautious scrawls and our giving masterpiece moments."
Her Ruby postscript apportioned generosity compared to where I currently positioned the brunette, "Whatever it meant when she inked her tattoo, it's a stunning work of body art. I like to picture that its meaning changes as she grows in life. Let's push on."
Cocktails, canapés and erotic canvases eventually lost their appeal. Coral and I were done with the exhibition.
We couldn't find a taxi exiting the gallery. The rank outside lay empty, so I suggested a late-night coffee as we waited. Together, we spied a place open across the broad avenue.
We ordered coffee and chose a window table to check for cabs. The café deco amused us, decked in a pirate theme. The framed Caribbean prints on the walls were classy. Palm-lined shores, white sanded beaches and turquoise water.
The skull and cross-boned tablecloths, well!
The kitschy design made us reminisce about the pirate and zombie nurse costumes at our last Halloween — in '74.
We skirted Josh and Ruby and focused on each other until I recalled, "Yeah, Ruby pulled off a top idea."
"With other plans behind it!" Coral cut in with a short, sharp snicker, her hand covering her mouth.
"Oh shikes, I never told anyone, not even you. I don't know why I let it progress as far as I did."
Intrigued, I let my coffee cool.
"Spill the beans," I urged her on.
"We were in our underwear in the storeroom. Nothing saucy to begin."
I liked her start; I tried to position myself in the boathouse. I fancied Josh and me, randy, peeking at the girls in their intimates.
Without interruption, I let Coral's story flow like her hair on a breezy day.
"Ruby's fingers twitched, urgent. She wanted to pet me. My immediate response was a decisive No!"
We all knew a Coral No!
My bestie continued, "Quicker than thinking, Ruby reeled back,' No, through your undies, not inside them."
The crafty minx.
"Christ, Luke," shrill from Coral, "Okay! I said, Okay!"
I leaned closer. I pictured Coral repeating, 'Okay,' in the boathouse storeroom.
My Coral, pacing, organising permission first within her head!
Coral's green eyes gathered an unforeseen lush glint, "Experiencing delight and guilt— I let her rub soak into my heart — jeez, her touch was just right."
My bestie captured the brunette's exact touch in her dreamy tone.
She continued, "Ruby said thank you and coaxed for more with; I appreciate your giving."
Coral's knees snapped shut under the pirate tablecloth, "I took, embracing for myself!"
After a sip of coffee, my bestie unfolded, "Ruby pushed softly into my cotton panties using two fingers. She pressed into my pubic mound, tender and restrained. The wench, she heated me."
My coffee was cold, and I noticed Coral's thighs open and close.
In a full reveal, my bestie's finger circled the rim of her coffee cup, "Ruby stated the obvious, so matter of fact, 'You're wet, my dear."
Coral's finger whirled the cup lip at carousel speed, stating, "Of course, I was wet; Rubes' finger fondles hit divine!"
I wondered what caused their enjoyment to end unfulfilled.
I recalled Coral bursting out of the storeroom and staring out the boathouse window. The brunette emerged and departed in a huff.
Prompting, with a hand roll, I urged Coral to outline, "What halted the touch?"
"Let me finger you, Ruby cajoled me, leaning in and starting to kiss my neck. She added, sweetie, you are a honeypot in creamy underwear. I drew back; I don't know why; yes, I do."
I did, too; then and now, Coral planned to save these experiences for Josh.
My finger slipped unoccupied under the table as Coral's tips touched and slid past each other atop the table.
"Ruby stopped when I asked her to. However, she roused knotty with me. She insisted I sought it. I attracted sensual attention!"
Coral swayed.
"I shook my head, turned, moved and dressed silently as Ruby rummaged unnecessarily through props in her pretty red underwear. The rest you saw. The rest, you know, Rubes in the boathouse and at the skating rink — I knew it wouldn't last! She would relinquish me following a good time with my body."
A silence expanded between us.
Coral pointed her finger at herself, "I disappointed myself. I undermined my future with Josh."
Her hand lodged at her temple, "Too selfish. Ruby lured me, and I folded."
"Me too. I failed Josh, you and myself," I confessed.
We eyeballed with our youthful transparent reciprocation.
Yet we descended into the realm of thoughts beyond immediate unburdening.
Both consciences pricked.
Our all-time, mutual awkward silence deafened the empty cafe.
A taxi ranking across the street stopped our intense confessional.
"A cab," I croaked, "Let's grab it!"
It broke our reluctance to speak about Josh, and we scampered.
In the cab, we talked of art, cocktails and canapés. We chin-wagged the easy stuff before arriving outside my bestie's place.
Coral offered a warm goodnight. We waved before the cab pulled away.
The taxi dropped me off.
I stood on the curb outside my apartment block.
Ruby left Coral.
Ruby left me.
My ego played hard done by, focusing on the 'me moment:' Ruby's sealed lips on a street curb.
My conscience chided selfish surface thoughts.
Two street curbs, two corners of my life, collided—compelling and irrefutable evidence presented by my soul.
I broke out in a massive sweat.
The two curbs would never balance; conscious judgment's weight fell on my decision. Forever beyond appeal because I could have controlled this life moment.
I left Patsaporn Duangnate on the curb.