Geneva's Kiss

Life is like a winding road, Janis thought, with crossroads every
few miles and some of them are so important that you look back and
speculate what would have happened if you had turned right instead of
left, left instead of right?

She puffed on her cigarette and gazed down at the deserted beach below
the patio, watching the grey waves wash over the sand as they had done
for millions of years.

There was no doubt she needed a break and when her friend had offered
her his beach house for a week, she had taken it. Life had been so
empty since her two daughters had flown back east to live with her
ex-husband. They had said they wanted to get to know their father and,
of course, she had encouraged them but deep inside it hurt and now she
felt so lonely, so vacant.

The first day she had walked the beach, the cold autumn winds whipping
the sand as she trudged up and down, hands deep in her coat pockets, an
old scarf wrapped tightly around her throat and her hair tucked up
under a faded baseball cap.

The beach was deserted except for an old woman walking her dog and
Janis had found herself brought
into a cheery conversation, although it wasn't exactly a conversation
as the old woman had
bubbled on about the famous owners of the houses along the beach.

It was when she casually mentioned the owner of the house on the bluff
that Janis went pale. "Geneva
Brown owns that one up on the bluff but she's never here," the old
woman said offhandedly. "I guess she's off in Africa or somewhere doing
that good work she does."

For the past two days, Janis had been watching the house on the bluff,
cigarettes burning down between her fingers while wondering and
reliving old memories, memories she had long ago attempted to bury. The
house on the bluff, all glass and timber, facing the wild sea had been
dark and silent everyday, the windows reproachful eyes.

Geneva Brown, a name she had never publicly acknowledged any connection
to but watched on television and read about her exploits in newspapers
and news magazines. Geneva Brown was news; of that there was no doubt.
Strikingly beautiful, she became famous for her years of work amongst
women of third world countries and for admitting openly she was a
lesbian. There were manyprivate moments when Janis was so proud of
her.

The memories had come crowding back; it was sheer luck they met at all.
Her father was a British diplomat, her mother a French Professor of
medicine and Geneva went to college when her parents were living in New
York, preparing to study medicine herself. One night, they had collided
in the library, books falling everywhere and Geneva had fallen with a
bump on her bottom while Janis had
crashed into the shelves, the noise reverberating through the library
like a cannon shot. They stared at each other, wide eyed in shock and
then had burst into laughter until Mrs Jefferson had demanded they
leave the library. Janis smiled at the memory; it was so long ago but
the images were still alive in her
mind.

On the third night, Janis was sipping a Bloody Mary in the darkened
room watching the dim outline of the house on the bluff in the
approaching dusk when, suddenly, the lights in the house came on.
Shocked, her heart trembling, Janis almost spilled the drink as she
stared at the yellow pools of light and wondered if she could see a
shadow moving against the glass. She's here, Janis thought, she's so
close after all this time.

It was when she was walking down the lonely beach, the wind caressing
her hair, the roar of the waves, that Janis realised she had another
moment, another crossroad. This was it, she could trudge up and down
this beach in the cold autumn air or she could face her question, her
doubt.

Janis stopped and looked up at the house on the bluff, in her eyes she
saw a when she walked up those wooden stairs. It was then she knew she
would do it and she really didn't care about the outcome, it was about
closure, and that she needed now most of all.

What would she say? That played upon her mind most of all. How could
she appear calm and possessed when she wasn't? A voice inside her said,
don't lie, be you. After all this time, be yourself and be comfortable
with that.

Should she go back and dress? Janis worried for a moment about her
clothes but tossed that thought aside into the gathering storm, as the
waves grew excited.

The door was in front of her. I feel like Frodo, she thought,
remembering her childhood but she knew she had to push the intercom
button.

"Hello?"

It was that strangely cultured voice that Janis remembered that sent a
cold barb straight to her heart. The casual but controlled answer, a
distance but a closeness that rang inside her and her fingers trembled
on the button.

"Hi Geneva," she said shrilly, "it's Janis, I used to be Janis
Hornsby." She didn't know what to say apart from that, waiting in the
cold autumn air for some resolution of fact, some resolution of thought
and she found her foot was tapping.

"Janis?" Soft and questioning.

"It's me."

The buzzer signalling the door was open was loud and strident in the
night air and Janis unravelled her scarf as she walked inside the
thoroughly modern house, heart pounding loudly.

Janis was unbuttoning her coat when Geneva appeared. "It is you,"
Geneva said in soft surprise, her beautiful face bemused. "Where did
you come from?" They kissed cheeks but there was a distance between
them, the gulf of years.

"I'm staying at a friends house down the beach, I met someone that told
me you lived here and when I saw the lights, I decided to visit. Do you
mind?"

Geneva smiled warmly. "How could I mind? It's wonderful to see you
after all these years. Let me take your coat, come through, we have so
much to catch up on."

Geneva was dressed in jeans, sneakers and an oversize white shirt over
a t-shirt but still managed to appear elegantly groomed. "Coffee? Tea?
Wine?" Geneva asked. "Let's have wine," she added. "It's almost a
celebration, isn't it? You do still drink?" Geneva asked as an
afterthought.

"Yes," Janis smiled, "I still drink."

They sipped the wine in silence for a moment. "Tell me," Geneva asked
finally, "are you writing?"

"I write for a magazine. It's not much."

"Have you written those books you threatened to write?" They smiled at
that.

"No, I never found the time," Janis confessed. "Things seemed to get in
the way."

Geneva nodded sympathetically. "Yes, it's difficult."

"You seem to find the time for so much. I've watched you over the
years."

"Have you? I often wondered." Silence settled over them like a dark
cloak, a few spots of rain rattled against the glass as the storm
rolled in from the ocean. "It's raining," Geneva said suddenly, turning
to look, brushing a strand of hair back with one finger, a gesture
Janis remembered from so long ago. "You'll have to stay and tell me
everything," she said with a mischievous smile. "You are trapped by the
storm." They both laughed and Janis kicked her shoes off and pulled her
legs up under her on the sofa.

"Everything?" Janis asked with a giggle and it suddenly felt like they
were both in college again.

"Yes, I insist. Children?"

"Two girls, twelve and fourteen, Emily and Jody." A flicker of pain
passed over her face but she quickly gave a small smile, a brittle
smile. "They've gone to live with their father for a while."

"Photos?"

"Of course," Janis smiled and pulled her purse out to show Geneva
pictures of her daughters.

"Beautiful," Geneva smiled. "They both look like you, they both have
your extraordinary hair and eyes. Which one is Jody?" Janis tapped the
photograph and Geneva nodded. "Is their father the guy you married
straight after college? What was his name, Brad? " She was still
examining the photographs when she asked, her face hidden by her dark
hair.

"No," Janis laughed self-consciously. "Brad was a disaster, I'm
surprised you remembered his name. It was over in six months."

Geneva looked up, her dark eyes reflecting the rooms soft light. "Six
months? You should have called me." It wasn't a reproachful remark,
more of a question.

Janis turned to watch the rain running down the glass. "Another
crossroad," she said, almost to herself. "Yes, I should have but I
didn't, couldn't." Geneva offered the photographs and Janis put them
back into the purse. "I met their father at a magazine I was working
on. We've been divorced nine years and now he suddenly wants to
discover his children again. I miss them of course but it had to happen
sooner or later," she said bravely.

"They'll always want you, Janis," Geneva said softly. "You must know
that."

"Yes, in an intellectual sense but I feel like the purpose of my life
has vanished." Janis shook her head and smiled again. "Tell me about
the famous Geneva Brown. There was that story that you and your partner
got married in India or somewhere?"

Geneva laughed. "Yes, it was news for a while. Alison and I have been
together for eleven years. Her father is ill so she's been looking
after him for a week or so. She's due back in the morning."

"Are you happy?" Janis asked quietly.

"As much as anyone, I think. You?"

"Sometimes."

They talked until the storm passed away, old memories, and the early
glimmer of dawn sent pale light along the ravaged sand.

"I should go," Janis said, placing her glass on the coffee table.

"I'll walk with you," Geneva said, stretching like a cat. "I need some
fresh air."

Wrapped in their coats, the wind still strong in their hair, the two
women walked slowly across the wet sand. A boat, just a small dot with
a sail, drifted across the horizon as the grey water ran up and down
the sand near their feet.

"Geneva?" Janis said, standing still to watch the boat. "Do you
remember that time at college, after the concert in the
auditorium?"

Geneva kept her eyes on the small boat as well, the wind flicking her
hair around her face. "It was snowing, you had that dreadful red beret
on and you were so happy and so beautiful."

"We stood there in the snow for what seemed like ages," Janis said
quietly, remembering and both women knew they had been steadily working
through the night towards this memory, to resolution.

"You came close and I couldn't resist so I kissed you." The words hung
in the cold hair.

"Yes," Janis whispered, "you kissed me." They glanced shyly at each
other and smiled. "What a kiss," Janis said softly, eyes on the boat,
"a kiss to haunt me."

"I've thought of it often, wondering."

"So have I."

"It was a kiss to begin things, not end them."

"I know, I behaved badly, I'm sorry."

They turned to each other, fragile smiles and welling eyes. "It's been
good to see you again," Geneva said.

"And I. Can we meet again?" Janis asked.

"Of course, we have much to remember." Geneva leaned down and kissed
Janis on the cheek, her lips warm against the chilled skin. "I must go,
Alison will be here soon."

"Of course. Thank you, Geneva," she said quietly.

"What for?"

"Your kiss, it's lived with me for my life."

"And mine. Write to me?" With that, Geneva strode down the sand to the
wooden steps, turning to wave, her scarf flying like a flag, her hair
jumping into the wind, one last wave before bounding up the
stairs.

That was the last time Janis saw Geneva Brown.

Geneva died in a plane crash in Afghanistan, so typical of her and her
life. Janis crept in to the
funeral, stood at the back and watched Geneva's parents comfort a
crying woman that Janis intuitively knew was Alison. She has hair just
like mine, Janis thought and that stray thought made her cry all the
more.

I'll never forget you, Janis said to herself as the cab drove away from
the cemetery, I will never forget you, I promise. I will never forget
you and I will never forget your kiss, Geneva's kiss.