London, England, March 18, 1966
Jack dug in his backpack for a joint and passed it to Felicity, who lay beside him on his hostel bed. Her high school friend from Winnipeg was visiting her in London before beginning his travels across Europe.
“So did Brian ever stop writing to you?” he asked.
“Oh yeah, around Christmas,” Felicity said.
“What was in his letters?”
Felicity shrugged. “Dunno. Never opened them.”
“Ohhhh,” Jack teased. “That’s mean.” He rolled closer to Felicity and nuzzled her cheek.
Felicity had turned this scenario over in her mind hundreds of times since she and Jack had made plans to meet. She had imagined succumbing more often than not, but now, she knew that she was going to refuse.
She gently pushed Jack away. “Jack, I can’t anymore.”
He sat up. “Sure, Fizzy, of course. Is it something I said?”
“No,” Felicity said. “No.” She burst out, “I’m in love!”
“Who is it, Fizzy?”
“His name’s Claude,” Felicity said. “He’s from Grenada. We’ve been together for almost six months.”
“Grenada,” Jack said. “Like your mom.”
“Yeah.”
“She must be happy.”
“She doesn’t know.” Felicity had given up on telling her. Every letter ended with an exhortation to focus on her studies and keep walking in the ways of the Lord. Felicity was so content with Claude, so grounded in bliss, that she couldn’t risk letting anyone into their circle who might disrupt it.
“You never mentioned him in your letters.”
“I guess not. I was just trying to figure things out.”
“You’re happy with him?”
“Very.”
“Is he a good lover?”
Felicity paused for a moment. She told him the truth. “We still haven’t.”
“In six months? Is that what you want?”
“No!” Felicity elbowed him hard.
“Are you sure he likes women?”
“Positive! My best friend at the college is homosexual, and he’s met Claude, and he says he’s definitely not interested in men.”
“Well, have you asked him if he wants to?”
Felicity looked at her hands. “Not outright.”
“Come on, Fizzy, that isn’t like you. Just ask him.”
Felicity said, “I want it to be special, Jack. I’m scared.”
“Wow.” Jack exhaled a curl of smoke. “You really are in love, Fizzy.”
The next day, Felicity zippered into a garment bag the gown Claude had gone with her to choose. When he said he liked purple because it was the colour for a queen, she had tried on a lilac satin number with flowers etched on the skirt in darker purple sequins. Claude had whistled when she modelled it for him. “I’m the luckiest man alive, darling,” he said.
She was the last act of the hurricane relief concert. The hall was full, the audience restless after a long program. They were still whispering and chuckling as Will began to play the sparse accompaniment. Then she sang:
Tis the gift to be simple, tis the gift to be free
Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right
It will be in the valley of love and delight.
The hall fell silent. Felicity could sense that she had the audience’s full attention. “O luce” was next, and she sent it out to Claude, delight of her soul, her light and life. She wanted everyone in the audience to see how much she loved Claude. She wanted Claude to see it. She wanted him to know that she wanted his body to touch hers, enter hers, and she couldn’t wait any longer. All this she poured out, and she was rewarded with a swell of applause. Then Neville came on stage, exhorting people to donate one more time for the rebuilding of the islands damaged by the storms, and volunteers passed baskets around.
Afterwards, at the reception, Felicity found Claude, who was with his usual group of friends. Alison said to Neville, “After Felicity sang, we took in over three times more than after anyone else performed.”
“Still think I’m not doing enough for our people, Neville?” Felicity asked.
Neville gave her a rueful smile before returning to his argument with Clayton about whether an African country could be first to reach the moon if their resources hadn’t been stolen.
Felicity wasn’t in the mood to hear it. “I’m going to get a drink.”
“I’ll get it for you in a minute,” Claude said, but Felicity turned and pushed her way through the crowds, past the tables of grapefruit hedgehogs bristling with toothpicks of cheese and pineapple cubes alongside Caribbean snacks such as patties and fish cakes. She almost collided with a white man in a suit and dark-rimmed spectacles.
“Ah, the star of the evening,” he said, and clinked his glass to hers. “I didn’t catch your name”
“Felicity Alexander.”
“What a poetic name. I’m Lindsay Fletcher. Your performance was outstanding. Where else do you sing?”
“I’m a student. At the Guildhall.”
He whistled. “Top-notch school. Who’s your teacher?”
“Philip Cook. Do you like opera, Mr. Fletcher?”
“I love opera, Miss Alexander. I love the States, too. I sometimes do business there.”
“I’m not from the States,” Felicity said. “I’m from Canada.”
“Oh.” He blinked. “Would you perhaps like to have dinner some time?”
Felicity looked over her shoulder for Claude. “I have a boyfriend.”
“Ah.” Lindsay said. “Well, I won’t keep you, but just in case, here’s a card.”
“Barrister in criminal defence,” she read. “Dean, Fletcher and Simpson. Fletcher, that’s you?”
“No, that’s my father. I’m not a partner yet.”
“Do you want to be?”
He laughed. “All in good time. Now, you’d better go and find your boyfriend. Give me a ring, if things change.”
Felicity was so consumed by her feelings for Claude that she had forgotten she might be attractive to other men. That she could enjoy conversation with other men, who appreciated the same things she did. She tucked the card into her purse. Just in case.
Felicity found Jack, and introduced him to Will, and to Neville, Claude, Clayton, Lester, Gerald, and Alison. They talked and laughed together while eating copious amounts of rice and peas and curried chicken. They tramped in and out of the hall to smoke weed outside. Several people gushed to Felicity about her singing. When Jack said he had to get back to his hostel before the doors were locked, Felicity walked him out.
“I like him, Fizzy,” said Jack. “And he definitely likes women, and he’s nuts about you. Try him tonight. You sounded beautiful, you look beautiful, you have him in the palm of your hand.”
When Felicity returned to the reception, Marlene was talking to Claude and Neville. She had her hand on Claude’s arm. As Felicity got closer, she heard Marlene laughing, “Oh, that’s what the petite bourgeoisie are for, darling, never mind about the means of production.”
Felicity slid in beside Claude and he immediately lifted the arm Marlene was clutching and put it around Felicity. “My dear one,” he said, bending his head low to nuzzle her cheek.
A steel grille fell over Marlene’s face. She looked Felicity over, and said to Claude, “I see she’s still wearing her hair according to the white man’s standard.”
“Nah,” Claude said, “Felicity is her own woman. She does her own hair for her own reasons.”
Marlene turned her back on both of them, and said to Neville, “Now, what about the patriarchy?”
“Ready to go?” Claude asked Felicity.
Neville said, “Taking her home, eh?” He gave his usual wink, and everyone but Marlene laughed.
They went down to Felicity’s dressing room so that she could gather her belongings and change out of the gown. Claude said, “Hold on a minute,” and pressed her up against the wall, where they began kissing and pawing at each other. They were so engrossed that they didn’t notice the dressing room door bang open. Alison and Marlene stood there, holding garbage bags. “Oh!” said Alison. “Sorry, Claude, thought you were taking her home.”
“We’re leaving now,” said Claude, scooping up Felicity’s flowers and not seeming troubled in the least. Felicity wiped her lipstick off his chin as Marlene stared at them.
They crossed Trafalgar Square. Although it was dark, there were still a few tourists and pigeons wandering around. Claude led Felicity to Nelson’s Column and sat down on the top step, patting the one below him. Felicity settled herself between his legs, shivering with the nearness of him.
“Are you cold, Cinnamon?” He took off his overcoat and wrapped her in it. Felicity breathed in his smell from the lapel and tilted her head back against his knees to look up at the stars, barely visible amid the city lights.
Claude said, “We’re in the shadow of the South African embassy. That building is evil. I can’t rest as long as our brothers and sisters struggle, Cinnamon. We must all use our skills and talents for the Revo. I was so happy to see what you did tonight. Bon jay, I must admit, we overlooked the effect of inspiring people to revolt through music.” He squeezed her shoulder, and went on, “My father always said that no one is going to give you anything, son. Anything you want, you will have to fight for. And, Felicity, the fight is just beginning.”
Felicity snuggled closer. After a moment, she heard a loud groan from Claude. Turning to look at him, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He grimaced as if gripped by a strong pain.
“Tell me.”
The words rushed out. “I’m sorry. You might hate me, but I want you so much.”
A waterfall crashed through Felicity. “Want me how?”
“Want all of you. Your body and my body. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t —”
Now was her chance. Felicity laid her head in his lap. “I want that too.”
“You do?” he asked. She twisted her neck back to look at his eyes, sparks in the dark. “I’ve longed to for so long. But I didn’t think you would.”
“Why not?” How could he have missed the signals of her desire?
Claude let out a gusting sigh. “When I was with Marlene, we didn’t make love to each other for over a year and then one day, she was upset and crying because she felt like she was ugly and worthless because of her skin and hair. Her whole life she was taught that women like you are beautiful, and women like her are not. I’d never seen her cry the whole time we were together. So I suppose I was trying to show her she wasn’t ugly, and it just happened. But after we, you know, she was crying even more, saying we shouldn’t have done it, she wanted to wait till marriage. That’s what nice girls do. Then she worried and worried that she might be pregnant. And then she started hounding me to get engaged so it wouldn’t be as wrong, and I knew that wasn’t what I wanted, so I had to end it. Sex ruined our relationship.”
“It won’t ruin ours.” Felicity reached back to Claude’s crotch and gave it a quick squeeze. She could feel how hard and swollen he was and thrilled to the realization that she was doing that to him.
“Oh Felicity, don’t,” Claude said. “It hurts so much.”
“Well, let’s go and get rid of that pain.”
“Are you sure, Cinnamon? Once you cross that bridge, you can’t cross back,” Claude said, and Felicity realized he thought that she was still a virgin.
Felicity stood up, taking charge. “Where can we go? My landlady doesn’t allow me to have men over.”
“Nor does mine allow women to visit,” Claude said. “But I don’t care. I’ll sneak you in.”
As they began walking, Claude asked, “That Jack you introduced me to. Was he ever your boyfriend?”
“No,” Felicity said. “Just a friend from school.”
“Good,” Claude said. “Bon jay, I don’t like the idea of you and a white man together.”
It wasn’t a lie, Felicity told herself. It was just a small omission. “I don’t like the idea of you and Marlene together,” she said, and Claude laughed.
“What I felt for her is nothing compared to what I feel for you.”
When they got to Claude’s place, they took off their shoes and crept up the stairs. In the dark, they fell onto his bed and undressed each other. The sex itself was fast and unremarkable, born of urgency and need. “I’m sorry it was so quick,” Claude said. “Was it awful for you? I’ll be better next time.”
“It was great,” Felicity said. The moments he had been inside her had reduced her to water absorbing the full warmth of the sun. Claude’s haste wasn’t like Brian’s ineffectual quick releases. It had had power and passion behind it, even as it was over too soon.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” he asked, and she realized that she was supposed to have been a virgin.
“A bit,” she lied. “I’ll be all right.”
“Poor Cinnamon,” he said, reaching down and gently touching her between the legs. “Let me look at you.” He switched on a lamp. “Bon jay, you are beautiful.” He flattened his palm against her head. “I love your Kopf.” He kissed her shoulder. “I love your Schultern.” Wriggling downward, he said, “And your Knie. And your Zeh.” He raised himself back to face her. “Augen. Ohren. Nase. Mund.” Each word was pronounced perfectly, months after he had last spoken them. He covered her mouth with his and began kissing her again. When he came up for air, he whispered, “Next time, I want your hair to be curly.”