Blossoms perfumed the air outside the bookmobile. Inside, a silver stream of light shot through the window, like a river of energy connecting the women assembled there. Lily looked at Aggie and Piper, who waited for the next meeting of The Erotica Book Club to begin. Surrounded by books and friends, the women relaxed in their circle of friendship.
Piper beamed. “Ladies, you’ll be happy to know Freddie and I talked a good deal about me being afraid to tell him about the lump. And lots more personal things too. Like we’re thinking of having a baby.”
“Oh, my dear,” Aggie said. “How wonderful.”
“That’s really exciting.” Lily hugged her friend.
Piper’s eyebrow lifted. “So, tell us about the detective.”
Lily frowned. “I haven’t heard from him.”
“Then I guess we talk about books,” Aggie said.
Piper waved her hand. “I’m proud to say, I started The Lustful Memoirs of a Young and Passionate Girl, and I’ll pass it on to Aggie soon as I’m done.”
“And eventually, we might discuss it.” Aggie poured liquid green ambrosia.
Camaraderie clinked with the cups. In the magic of book club tea, they were alive and beautiful and filled with billowing thoughts of bodily delights.
The door opened and there was a quick flutter of orange wings. When Lily looked up, she saw Hugh Jamison leaning tall and friendly in the well. The butterfly flew past him.
“Is it safe to come in? Anyone reading something to make my ears burn?” He laughed and the women laughed too. Closing the door with a gentle touch, he moved to the librarian’s side.
Lily glowed from tea and desire. “I’m happy to see you.” Everything else faded away.
“We just finished our refreshment, detective.” Aggie pulled Piper toward the door.
Piper grabbed her purse. “Like Aggie said, we’re leaving.”
Hugh escorted the two women out. “Call me Hugh. I came to invite Lily to accompany me to Alsace to return the Book of Cures.”
Aggie waved goodbye. “There is one cup of tea left for him.”
Lily shimmered in the light. She gazed into his eyes, his gray-green eyes.
Their hands touched. He took the tiny cup. The traveling electric current from the touch of their hands blew out the circuits at Nolan Consolidated Electric.
Hugh took a quick swig and the lively potion was gone. “Isn’t the book by Lorenz in the last row? I meant to check it out.”
He drew her to the back of the bookmobile, to the open closet door. His face was a page length away. She leaned forward until only a paragraph separated them, then a sentence, a word and then, a letter. He kissed her. “I’ve been thinking of doing that for some time. Did we ever finish our discussion of chaos?”
“The flap of wings.” She touched his throat and her nerve points tingled.
“The speed of winds.” He stepped down into the door well and flipped the lock.
“Fractals like the edge of ferns.” She pulled the shades down over the front and back windows and rushed back to his arms, her feet skimming over the carpet.
Their bodies zapped together as he kissed her again. “Lily McFae, you fascinate me.”
The errant butterfly quivered and it landed on the cover of Candide. Pieces of clothing floated to the floor. His hand traced the tattoos where her breasts once were. “You are so beautiful. I knew you would be,” he said. “Every part of you.”
“I’m so glad you found me.”
“I followed the butterfly trail and you provided the chaos.” He kissed her ear. “Would you read to me? All night long. Or right now, if you want.” He kissed her ear.
“Are you familiar with Venus in India? It’s quite explicit.”
“Don’t let that stop you.”
She took his hand. “It tells of ‘transparent pajamas, of raging and throbbing.’’’
“Better read it to me quick then, lady.”
“Dickinson’s poem is shorter. Wild Night -Wild Nights!”
“Then that’s the one. Did anyone ever write about wild first encounters in a bookmobile?”
“Not as far as I know.”
He lifted her to entwine them together near erotic novels and poems and essays. Sweet Sonnets from the Portuguese by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. And wild tales of Boccaccio’s The Decameron.
In all kinds of places, the colored rain nourished seeds of lively dropped by wandering sparrows. In the landfill near Neubland Pharmaceuticals, along with other medieval herbs, leaves like elf ears appeared amidst composting debris. Next to Lily’s mailbox in Groverly, seeds of the same plant waited for the sun and rain. And in the garden of the Jardin Estate, the seeds continued to renew their story.
Eventually the electric power was fixed at Nolan Utility, but not for a long time. The transformers kept blowing out from strange currents that disrupted the machinery as the couple engaged in pent up passion. Eagerly. Ecstatically. Erotically.