Fragrance of the Night

Fragrance of the Night

    Darkness shrouds the night. Mists roll in from the river. Streetlights cast their glow, through the shimmering haze, on the stores and restaurants which line Decatur Street. Figures of tourists move by like apparitions haunting the night air.
    I walk by the gates of Jackson Square, breathe deep the heady aroma of alcohol and woman’s perfume, and feel the moist night breezes caress my soft female face. I think how my life is so caught up in images. I interpret the world through images. There are gender images, such as the Botticelli Venus, which are etched in my mind. Then there are the images of Chagall, of androgynous beings from some mythical region of the mind.
   In my mind’s eye I can see, myself as a wide hipped, big breasted Venus figurine, from some Paleolithic cavern in France. I still cannot fathom how these images coalesced to form my conscious mind. But they are there in the depths of my subconscious ocean, shaping my world, guiding my every thought, feeling, and action.
    On this particular night, I feel the people around
me with hallucinogenic intensity. I see a young lesbian couple, one with short butch hair and jean shorts. She has an image of a witch emblazoned on her upper back. The woman holds her hand as they walk in front of me. She wears a short black leather skirt and a leather vest. She has a dog collar wrapped around her neck.
    I think of how these atavistic notions of ownership in relationships still pop up in the modern world. I wonder how far we have come from the days when women were chattel. Now, it takes the form of fantasy.
    However, these instincts still shape our world. It amazes me that men will pay women to tie them up and humiliate them. These dark mysteries of the human soul never cease to create wonder in me.
    What perplexes me the most is how I fit into the picture. I think the couple looks intriguing, so I follow them around the corner, past the Pontalba Building, and through Pirates alley. They seem as mesmerized by the night as I am and don’t notice me.
    They go into a bar and I sit at the end of the counter. The butch girl looks at me briefly and I smile at her. I wonder how I appear to her. I wear a long black evening gown, and my hair is in a pony tail. However, each individual’s perception is different. My perception of myself, when I look into the mirror, may be completely different from her’s. She sees me in the context of her emotional history. I cannot imagine what I mean or represent to her.
    I begin to apply lipstick and notice that both of them are watching me. The one in the black leather mini skirt gets up and walks toward me. I feel butterflies in my stomach as she approaches me. She smiles and reaches out her hand saying, “Hi my name’s Ariel. My friend and I couldn’t help but notice that you were watching us. Aarona, was wondering if you would like to join us for a drink.”
    I daintily rise from my seat and follow her to a chair next to them. Ariel, sits between me and Aarona. Aarona, reaches out and shakes my hand, smiling. Her hand feels warm and moist in mine. Aarona askes me what I do.
    I say, “I do some free lance photography. I dabble in oil painting.”
    Ariel asks, “Oh, please tell me, do you do
portraits?”
    I say, “On yes, in fact I had an exhibition at a gallery on the image of women in popular culture and through the ages. It was mostly nudes, many with mythological themes.”
    Ariel, pushes the hair out of her eyes and says, “I’d love to see them. Would you show us?”
    I sip my merlot, taste the crisp grape flavor, savor it for a moment, and then say, “I’d love to.”
    They follow me to across Bourbon Street, with its flashing neon signs promising to fulfill every male fantasy.
    We arrive at my apartment on Dauphine Street and I fumble in my purse looking for the keys. I unlock the door. They follow me up the stairs and into my living room/art room.
    Aarona, looks at the painting of Eve biting into the apple and says, “How delicious.”
    Ariel stands in the corner looking at my version of the Virgin of Guadalupe. Ariel looks enraptured as she speaks haltingly saying, “I can see the pain in her face. This is truly moving. What does it say abo-ut you?”
    I ask, “You mean as an artist or a woman?”
    Ariel laughs and says, “As woman of course.”
    I stand next to Ariel, as she places her hands on her hips and gazes into the sad frightened eyes of my Virgin Mary. I say, “I think it represents the pain in my soul; the agony of existence. I am terrified of life, especially at night as I feel my heart beat in my chest. I feel the terror of existence, but then I ask myself how I am going to enjoy the experience. Even, existential fear must be appreciated and fused into one’s life as a motivating force. Death is what defines or punctuates our life.”
    Ariel turns and looks at me. She says, “I see the same sorrow in your eyes.” I feel a tear form.  Ariel reaches up and brushes it away from my eye. Ariel asks, “You said that you do portraits?”
    I say, “Yes sometimes.”
    Ariel says, “I want you to paint me and Aarona. Please, it would mean so much to me. I want to see us reflected in your vision.”
    They pose nude. Aarona sits on the old couch and Ariel curls in a fetal position with her head resting on Aarona’s lap. Aarona gently caresses Ariel's long brown hair. When I finish they get up and walk up to me to see the painting. Ariel looks at the image and seems to study it. I wonder if she sees my reflection of them reflected in her own mind. I cannot imagine what she sees or feels as she gazes at my work.
    Ariel says, “I see us in a way I never did before. You have captured the gentleness and love we have in a way I never before fully appreciated. Thank you so much.” Ariel stands on her toes, embraces me, and  kisses me lightly on the lips. Then Aarona kisses me and hugs me with her strong manly arms.
    They spend the night with me. I lie naked, nestled in the spoon position between them. Aarona lies behind me with her right arm draped across my chest. Ariel lies in front of me with my right arm laid across her breasts. I feel the smooth warm curve of Ariel’s backside pressed against my thighs and sex.
    I caress her hips, with feather soft fingertips making spiral patterns across them. She sighs. Aarona’s muscular hips and thighs are pressed against my soft derriere. Aarona’s breasts press softly against my back, and my breasts press softly against Ariel’s smooth back. I feel their chests rise and fall with each breath. I hear the ticking of the clock and feel my heart beat. Somehow, my night terror doesn’t seem so great with them here.
    In the morning we sit silently at the breakfast table. Ariel says that my face glows. I say, “You two have really touched my heart. I discovered a peace that I never knew existed. Please stay with me for a while. I would like to do a series on you two.”
    Aarona says, “I don’t know if I want everyone to see us in this way. I want the special thing we had to be private.”
    I say, “Of course. I feel the same way. I will never sell or show anyone these paintings. They are a celebration of the magic we experienced together. They are for us alone.”
    In the weeks and months ahead I paint them in my spare time. We never experience the closeness again we had on that night. I know that they let me into their world for a brief time, but that they are committed to sharing their lives with each other for a lifetime. I cannot intrude on that in the future. However, I will always remember that night and how the dark space I live in was illuminated for one brief flicker in eternity.