Horticulture
by Cody T Luff
Kitty reserved the back room of Good Rice for her thirtieth birthday party. She splurged on low-sodium, designer soy sauces, plastic gingham tablecloths, two packs of Spring-scented moist towelettes and a bag of tiny chocolates in the shape of marsupials, one kangaroo and one platypus for each guest.
Donna was talking with her hands; she always did. Big flourishing motions that were manly and reckless. After reaching one of her best punch lines all night, Donna stabbed Kitty in the neck with a blue chopstick. It was an accident; everyone at the party could see that. They could also see the powder blue chopstick jutting out of the left side of Kitty’s neck. It was a real party pooper. Kitty did what she could to keep the party going. She tried to make a joke out of it but the damage had been done. Watches were checked, throats were cleared. Several people started making tart little excuses: Kids at home, husband probably worried, the kind of excuses that led back to Kitty’s chopstick.
Donna felt bad. Her face was screwed up in a sloppy look like a child caught kicking the cat. She stayed behind to help settle the check and carry Kitty’s presents to the car. Kitty didn’t let her off the hook; let her feel bad, she thought. She ruined my party. Kitty got in her car and thanked Donna for her help and for the clock radio that Kitty would never take out of the box.
It was hard not to look at herself in the rearview mirror. Kitty nearly sideswiped a taxi on the drive home. What an awful night, Kitty thought. She wasn’t ready to be thirty. Thirty was the kind of number that said you were no longer young. Not old, but not a kid anymore. Nobody had mentioned her new haircut or the pretty red dress she wore. They didn’t even sing happy birthday. It was always that way when you invited Donna to something. She was loud and funny. People liked her.
Kitty’s hoop earring kept catching on the chopstick during left hand turns. She pulled over in front of an all night liquor store to take her earrings off. She sat there in the warm darkness of her car and thought about Donna’s enormous voice.
They had been good friends in high school. The kind of friends who stayed at each other’s houses, even on weeknights. They were in all the same classes, thought all the same boys were cute and hated all the same cheerleaders. When Kitty dyed her hair red it was a given that Donna’s hair would be red within a day or two. When Kitty got her first zit, Donna used red eyeliner to pencil to create a matching one on the same side of her own chin. But there were differences too. Kitty waited to be asked out while Donna did the asking. Kitty lost her virginity in the back seat of Steve Harkin’s Ford Fairmont, and Perry Wills lost his virginity in the front seat of Donna’s Geo Metro. Donna did most of the talking and Kitty, all of the listening.
Typical, so typical of Donna. This wasn’t the first birthday she’d ruined for Kitty. During Kitty’s twenty-first birthday they had gone out to a tequila bar where everyone wore sombreros. Donna ended up stealing a sombrero, unbuttoning her blouse and puking in Kitty’s lap. Then there was Kitty’s twenty-fifth birthday when Donna had gotten them thrown out of the Stud Finder strip club for grabbing a dancer’s “stud,” pulling it twice and screaming “all aboard!”
Kitty started to cry, aware that her makeup would melt and run onto her new dress. She tried to lean her head against the driver’s side window but the chopstick slid over the glass, making an annoying squeaking sound. She settled for pressing her forehead into the steering wheel. The faux sheepskin felt soothing against her forehead.
Kitty’s cell phone blasted to life, playing “It’s Raining Men” too loudly in the confines of her purse. She let it ring, RuPaul’s voice deep inside her handbag. Now there was someone who knew make-up. And calves? God, Kitty would kill for calves like that.
There was a knock on her window; the sound of knuckles rapping forced a little squeak from her lips.
“Hey lady. You okay in there?” It was a man’s voice. A blurry face bent down, staring into her car. She turned, trying to wipe her face, wondering how badly her mascara had run.
The man smiled at her. He had that friendly, scruffy look of a TV sitcom college student.
Kitty rolled her window down. “I’m okay,” she sniffed, trying to smile. The kid didn’t say anything. He was nice-looking in that downtown sort of way. “Thanks for asking.”
“You sure?” he asked.
“Yes. Just a hard day.” Kitty waved a little, to show she was thankful. The kid waved back awkwardly, smiling. He trotted off in the rain, his shoulders moving beneath his jacket. RuPaul came to life again, muffled against the good leather of her Coach purse. She dug her cell phone free and answered.
“I’m on my way home,” she told her boyfriend, studying her reflection in the rearview mirror. “No, we wrapped up early.” Kitty tried to wipe away the mascara tracks dotting her cheeks. Her boyfriend said Donna had called. Twice. “I’m sure she did,” Kitty said. “She made an ass out of herself. I’ll tell you about it when I get home.” They said their goodbyes and Kitty hung up. She glanced back to the street; the college kid was gone.
Kitty waited two days before calling Donna back. When she did, Donna insisted on coming over to apologize in person. Kitty wouldn’t have agreed to it, but it was Donna, and Kitty didn’t get a chance to say much of anything other than “Hello.” When Donna showed up, she was holding a little white gift box twined with a lemon-yellow ribbon.
“I didn’t have a chance to give this to you,” Donna said, sitting on Kitty’s plastic-covered couch. “The clock radio was kind of a joke. Hey, that’s a fabulous shirt. Where did you get it?”
Kitty was wearing a soft, red blouse her mother had bought her for Christmas. She had left the top two buttons undone because the chopstick caught on the collar if she turned her head.
“And it coordinates so well with blue.” Donna motioned to the chopstick and Kitty smiled. Donna was always good at compliments. She had a lot of practice over the course of their friendship.
“I’m really sorry about your birthday. I just got carried away,” Donna teared up, using a Kleenex to dab at her eyes. “You know me, I like to be the center of attention.”
Kitty held out a fresh box of Kleenex and smiled in what she hoped was a forgiving but stern manner.
“I really didn’t mean to ruin it for you,” Donna said, sniffling. “Oh, I’m sorry about that too…” She motioned to Kitty’s chopstick.
“It’s okay,” Kitty said, patting Donna’s hand. “It was just a birthday. Hey, why don’t we go out? Just us girls?”
“But not Good Rice,” Donna said and they both laughed. As they stood, Kitty noticed Donna’s brand new Coach purse.
***
The problem with the chopstick was that it began to grow after a month. It wasn’t getting longer but rather grew powder-blue roots that could be seen under her skin. They were like little Crayola swirls that wandered pretty little threads around her throat and just touched the base of her jaw. Kitty decided these lines were really rather fetching, a graceful necklace she never worried would tangle. But the chopstick ruined the effect with a single dark blue leaf that sprouted near the middle of the thing. At first Kitty tried to pluck the leaf. It was silky and felt like a fake plant you might find in cheap craft store. No matter how she tugged, the leaf remained. Her boyfriend didn’t mind, he said it complimented her eyes and he played with it when they were kissing on the couch. Kitty began shopping for blouses that would leave her shoulders bare.
Her co-workers noticed after a few months and a few more leaves. It was terrifically embarrassing standing in the elevator with everyone looking at her chopstick. The roots had spread the length of her throat and drew soft, blue swirls beneath the skin of her cheek. They caught the light from her computer screen, throwing little prism sparkles around her cubicle. Kitty was adjusting her cubicle lamp, trying to find an angle that curbed the sparkling, when she was called into her supervisor’s office.
“Kitty, you’re a stellar worker. Always on time, always efficient and you have that can-do attitude that this company desperately needs,” Mrs. Carpe said across the immense, pitch-black desk that held just enough clutter to look imposing and productive. “So I was surprised by the reports of you breaking dress code here at Parker, Pleasant and Carpe.” Mrs. Carpe had iron-gray hair that framed her face like an elegant bear trap. She had pendulous breasts, a tapered waist and the kind of complexion that reminded Kitty of the mannequins at the Bon Marche.
“In your employee manual you will find a section that prohibits the display of tattoos. We consider it not only inappropriate, but also unprofessional.” Mrs. Carpe steepled her fingers, long fingers with deep red nails. She wore only a single ring, platinum and severe.
Kitty was sitting in a chair facing Mrs. Carpe. It was the only other chair in Mrs. Carpe’s office and she wondered if it was intentionally uncomfortable.
“But Mrs. Carpe, it’s not a tattoo,” Kitty said, leaning forward and pulling her hair aside. The chopstick’s leaves rustled slightly.
Mrs. Carpe leaned forward, producing a subtle pair of spectacles that Kitty hadn’t seen before. With these firmly in place, she studied Kitty. Those long fingers with the interminably red nails reached out and touched one of the chopstick’s leaves. Kitty shivered.
“I see,” Mrs. Carpe said, softly. “Those swirls are rather fetching aren’t they?”
Kitty blushed pleasantly. “Thank you.”
“My mistake,” Mrs. Carpe said as she slipped her spectacles off, returning to her rigid posture. “About the tattoo that is. Your performance has been anything but a mistake. Exemplary. Perhaps it’s time we discuss your future here at Parker, Pleasant, and Carpe.”
Kitty’s future at Parker, Pleasant, and Carpe turned out to be a promotion and a sizable pay raise. She was elated. PP and C was a multi-branched company that had its fingers in an assortment of pies. The best pie was the PP and C fashion and design branch located in Upland Heights. This was the area of town where one might see someone with a famous name wearing clothing made by someone else with a famous name. Kitty, giddy and breathless, stood in her private bathroom, just off her main office. The lighting was impeccable. She pulled her cell phone from her bag and nearly called her boyfriend. No, she thought, I want to surprise him. She sat behind her obscenely large desk and waited, watching the clock tick.
***
She found him in the bathtub, covered in soapy foam, wearing a sodden brassiere. It must have been Donna’s because she was on top of Kitty’s boyfriend, making loud sex noises in her manly voice. Kitty stood in the doorway, her mouth open. A single leaf from her chopstick fluttered crazily to the bathroom floor, landing in Donna’s discarded panties. Kitty knew Donna had found Kitty’s boyfriend attractive. Everything of Kitty’s Donna found attractive. Donna had even mentioned him, pressing Kitty for details on their sex life. For a moment the only sounds in the bathroom were the sloshing of water, Donna’s deep-throated grunts and the occasional gasp from Kitty’s boyfriend. Then Kitty burst open, something between a wail, a scream and the kind of sobbing only small children are capable of.
The boyfriend left immediately. There wasn’t much to say as he and Donna untangled clumsily, groping for clothing. He did not look at Kitty as he left, stopping only to take off Donna’s brassiere and set it limply on the bathroom counter. Donna was another matter. She stayed, wrapped in one of Kitty’s soft yellow towels following Kitty around the apartment struggling to apologize as Kitty sobbed, her hands held out to her sides, fingers splayed wide.
“I’m so sorry. Kitty, I am so, so sorry,” Donna said, one hand holding the yellow towel up and the other grasping at Kitty’s elbow.
“Why do you always do these things to me?” Kitty’s throat was already sore, so her voice rasped out in a high-pitched squeal.
“I don’t know,” Donna said, stopping in the living room near Kitty’s plastic-wrapped couch.
Kitty stared at her friend, her cheating, towel-wrapped friend. She glanced at the beautiful, free-standing shelf she ordered a year ago to house her collection of ceramic kangaroos. Kitty’s hand shot out of its own accord, selecting Big Ted, a large, yellow-vested kangaroo from her lifelong collection. The marsupial flew past Donna’s ear, smashing into the row of commemorative Rachael Ray plates on Kitty’s faux hearth.
“How can you say you’re my friend? How can you stand there, naked, saying you’re sorry?” Kitty screamed. She reached for another kangaroo.
“I’m not naked,” Donna said, crouching behind the couch. “I’m sorry, I really am.” Donna peeked over the couch and Kitty threw wide, shattering the marsupial against a framed watercolor. Donna’s mouth fell open and she stood, nearly losing grip on her towel. Kitty grabbed another figurine but Donna was pointing at her.
“Oh Kitty…” she said, her eyes wide. “Kitty, look.”
Kitty did not give up her kangaroo as Donna stepped around the couch and pointed at Kitty’s neck.
“You need to look, Kitty.” She did not move at first, not until Donna’s wet hands led her to the bathroom and wiped steam from the mirror.
Kitty saw herself, her red, puffy eyes, her hair hanging in loose strands and a circus kangaroo clutched tightly in her bony hand. She turned slowly and the chopstick’s leaves made a light swishing. There, nearly hidden in the rubbery foliage was a small, bright purple flower. The center of the flower held a pinpoint of light, glowing like a minute birthday candle. Donna brushed back a few of the chopstick’s leaves and they both watched the flower glow.
“It’s lovely,” Donna said.
***
Kitty was quick to rise in the Fashion and Design branch of PP and C. She changed offices at Upland Heights twice in as many months. She even got Donna a job as an office assistant in the building. Kitty worked late and enjoyed her work. She was a design manager now, the kind of person she had always dreamed of being. She set schedules, hired people and everyone laughed at her jokes. They had to.
Donna’s job had been a kind of olive branch between them. So Donna slept with her boyfriend, so she did it in Kitty’s bathtub. So what? It’s not like it didn’t happen before. Kitty would just need to accept that whatever she had, Donna was likely to have as well. They were friends after all. Kitty wrote Donna a letter of recommendation and performed some verbal posturing to several lower management types in the building. It wasn’t long before Donna was an office assistant and making twice what she had been making at the little bookstore she’d worked at since college. They had lunch together every day. Kitty would end up buying but she didn’t mind.
The secret to Kitty’s rise was her vine pattern. She had sketched out a beautiful little vine in blue pencil on the back side of her time sheet. It wasn’t more than a doodle but it was really capped off by the dot of yellow highlighter she hid near the middle of the vine. Her supervisor had discovered it as he went over her time sheet and a fashion fad was born. Now everything was covered in blue vine print and Kitty was making the big design decisions for all of PP and C Fashion and Design branch. PP and C was releasing a new fall line of clothing and it was already dubbed “Kitty’s Pride” collection.
Over lunch one day, Donna said something that Kitty kept close to her heart. They were eating together, in Kitty’s office, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows and giggling like children.
“I don’t know what you saw in him,” Donna said. “He was terrible in bed.”
“It wasn’t a bed, it was a bathtub, and he seemed to be good enough for you,” Kitty said, pushing at Donna’s arm.
“But not for you. Not good enough for you.” Donna said this with a fork full of moo goo gai pan halfway to her lips (chopsticks were forbidden on this floor of PP and C’s fashion and design branch).
“What do you mean?” Kitty said, setting her food down.
“We’ve known each other for so long now. Haven’t we? You’ve always been meant for great things. I knew that the day I met you.” Donna chewed and stared at her friend.
“Thanks, I guess.”
“No. Look, you’re special and I love you. Everything about you. I mean look at this place,” Donna gestured, Chinese food flinging from her fork. “Just being near you, good things rub off.”
“Like boyfriends?” Kitty laughed.
Donna grinned. “Sure. Boyfriends. Jobs. I feel like we grew up together, like we’ve grown together. You know?”
“I think so.”
“We’ve got deep roots, you and I.” Donna set her food down. “Now, I want to hear all about you and that guy from HR. Spare me no detail.”
Kitty touched her chopstick, playing with its leaves idly. She told Donna about the HR guy’s hairy chest and his fondness for Ethiopian food. As she did so her fingers trailed along the blue enameled wood of her chopstick to the place where it entered her body. They had roots, all right. Deep ones.
There were problems. Summer designs were due and PP and C, no matter how well “Kitty’s Pride” was selling, wanted something fresh for the new season. Kitty didn’t have anything fresh. She was still stuck doodling vines and purple flowers. Not to mention that the chopstick had sent runners down her left arm. Every time she moved, the little leaves rustled and she sounded like paper or bed sheets. Kitty had designed a single sleeve shirt as part of the Kitty’s Pride line and now had to wear them exclusively. The little chopstick vines wound all the way to her wrist where several of the softly glowing flowers had sprouted. There were more root swirls too, spreading across her collarbone and down over her left breast. Donna had claimed these swirls were “hot” and Kitty should show them off. While Kitty loved fashion, she was against what she thought of as “slutty” clothing. She designed a compromise and her single sleeve blouse revealed enough cleavage to make Donna happy and to preserve Kitty’s integrity.
To make matters worse, the Kitty’s Pride line was getting hammered by Gear Boy. Some machine shop worker had entered the fashion world with one hell of a splash. He was into gears and pistons and not so subtle sexual images. People were calling it ‘Industrial Chic.’
“That rustling is getting pretty bad,” Donna said over coffee in Kitty’s office.
“I know.” Kitty shook her arm and a few leaves fluttered to the carpet.
“Do they do that a lot?” Donna said, pointing to the fallen leaf.
“Sometimes. In the shower mostly.” Kitty shook her arm again. A few flowers started glowing softly near Kitty’s armpit.
“Do you think you could get me a promotion?” Donna asked, speaking over the lip of her coffee mug.
“You just started a little while ago, Donna.” Kitty picked the fallen leaves from the floor, balling them up and tossing them in a little bin behind her desk labeled “compost.”
“I know. But I think I can do better than this.”
Kitty narrowed her eyes, trying to recall Mrs. Carpe’s facial expressions. “Better than what?”
“Better than office assistant,” Donna grinned.
“But I just got you that job,” Kitty said, her voice high-pitched and childlike.
“Sure, but you’re a big shot. Can’t I be your assistant?”
Kitty stared at Donna for a long time, steepling her fingers à la Mrs. Carpe. Donna grinned at her.
Donna had her way and Kitty had to fire someone for the first time. Jeremy had been a very good assistant and Kitty said she would write him a letter of recommendation, but Jeremy still seemed intensely depressed as he cleaned out his desk and was escorted by security out of the building. Donna didn’t wait for him to make it to the elevator before dropping her box of framed pictures and Norfin Trolls on her new desk. Kitty watched Donna place a large spider plant on the stylish little filing cabinet before she went into her private bathroom and cried.
***
Kitty noticed the berries only because people kept asking her about her new perfume. She had worn the same perfume since high school. It was named Excitement and smelled powdery and reminded her of lockers and textbooks.
“Wow, you smell practically edible,” Armand from accounting said to her in the elevator. He was handsome and wore open-throated shirts with a tasteful amount of chest hair curling at the button. “Maybe you would like to go out for a drink?” he said, standing very close to Kitty. She was blushing and he smiled at her in such a way that she felt edible. They made plans for that evening and Armand got off the elevator. Kitty stayed on and sniffed the air. Something did smell sweet. Almost like strawberries with the musky smell of sex. It smelled like the fruit department of a grocery store in a naughty fantasy. Kitty ran her hands down her sleeveless blouse, her skirt and finally down her arm. Her hand came away with several dark shapes. There were tiny berries, terrifically purple and shaped like a miniature pears. They smelled wonderful.
Kitty’s summer line came out and was received with great fanfare. She had named it “Fruits of Love” and the theme was decidedly racier. Kitty started to see Armand on a regular basis. There was talk of appearing on magazine covers and maybe a spot on a famous talk show. Kitty changed offices again.
The berries didn’t wither or rot, they seemed to replace themselves as quickly as they fell off. Kitty would often wake in the morning to see her sheets covered with tiny purple stains and flattened berries. This led to her interest in jams and she started a line of preserves through the PP and C Sundries Branch. While not as big a hit as her clothing lines, “Fruit of the Vine” preserves were well regarded in foodie circles. There were some changes to Kitty’s wardrobe that made her blush at first but grew on her quickly. The chopstick vines had begun to spread down her left leg and the root swirls that covered her left breast where now sprouting little leaves. Kitty began to have her clothing custom made and her blouses and skirts were cut in ways that showed a lot of leaf. The one advantage she could see was that flowers bloomed regularly in her hair. During sunny months, the little purple blooms glowing with a soft yellow light lit her hair up magnificently. She looked mysterious and the sort of sexy that was only achieved in Photoshop. She had begun to keep bottled water on hand at all times and linger for hours in the tub.
***
“I don’t think I can do this,” Kitty said to Donna the night before her talk show appearance. They were in Kitty’s penthouse and had both drunk too much wine.
“Don’t worry. You’ll do fine,” Donna smiled. She was leaning back in Kitty’s extra plush couch, her bare toes tugging at the deep shag carpet.
“I’ve never been on TV.” Kitty had begun to take her clothing off when she was home. The leaves circling her stomach and left thigh were tightly pressed during the day beneath her custom clothes. Donna didn’t mind. They were such old friends.
“I mean…what if they notice,” Kitty said, her face flushed red from the wine, a soft blue from the vine swirls covering her cheeks.
“Notice what?” Donna yawned.
“The…well…the…”Kitty motioned to her throat.
“Oh. I can’t even see it.” Donna leaned forward, she brushed her friend’s leaves to one side. “See, I can only see it if I push these leaves out of the way.”
“You think so?” Kitty said.
“I do. Nobody will see it.” Donna refilled their wine glasses.
“I wish you could do it for me,” Kitty said as she took her glass.
“Me too,” Donna said.
“Did they really pick me over Gear Boy?” Kitty asked.
“Your stuff with the berries pretty much did him in.”
“I kind of liked his stuff. Those barbed wire shoulder extenders were pretty hot.”
“I didn’t like those,” Donna sniffed.
Kitty smoothed a few leaves and thought about metals and pistons and just how sexy hydraulics could be.
“Don’t worry,” Donna said. “You’ll do fine.”
***
The talk show appearance went well, save for a few tabloid comments on Kitty’s new, more revealing clothing. She’d worn a slashed skirt and a small wrap that covered her right breast. Kitty had been forced to place a small, adhesive piece of jewelry over the more sensitive parts of her left breast. There just was no forcing all those leaves, flowers and berries into a blouse anymore. She would have been more embarrassed, but Armand made many comments on how ravishing she looked, barely clothed in anything at all. She was invited to more talk shows and one of them late at night.
***
Donna didn’t actually make love to Armand in Kitty’s office. They really hadn’t gotten very far before Kitty started shouting. She’d been watering her ficus near the window when they came stumbling in. Armand was obviously drunk and Donna was obviously in charge. She’d thrown Armand on Kitty’s desk and was attempting to unbutton his fly when Kitty started screaming. She threw the watering can at them and Armand fled, shedding water. Donna stayed and hung her head.
“I didn’t see you,” Donna said.
“I was standing right here.” Kitty wished for a heavy kangaroo to throw.
“I mean, with all the leaves and the ficus there….”
“Why do you always do this to me?” Kitty stamped her feet and berries showered the floor.
Donna didn’t say anything. She simply stood, her face red, clutching her arms to her chest.
Kitty moved closer, the root tips that had begun to poke from her toes clinging to the carpet. She brushed leaves out of her face so Donna could see the expression there.
“I do everything for you and you always do this, always ruin it.” Kitty felt the tears start and a cinnamon potpourri fragrance filled the office.
“I don’t know,” Donna said, turning away from her friend.
They are available in the form cheapest cialis in australia of tablets, Capsules, Liquids, and Topical as per international acceptance standards. Never viagra samples http://www.midwayfire.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Approved-Minutes-7-11-17.pdf Take More than One Tablet a day. It is generally viagra cialis for sale advised to have these on an empty stomach with water an hour prior to the demonstration. Store the medicine in room temperature away from moisture and heat. viagra online cheap – Important InformationGeneric cialis Sildenafil citrate which is PDE5 inhibitor. “You don’t know?” Kitty shouted, a great rustling sound. “You don’t know? You’re my best friend and you don’t know why you hurt me all the time?” The little flower lights that peppered the dark spaces between Kitty’s leaves brightened, flashing.
“He wasn’t that great of a guy, Kitty.” Donna said, turning back to face her. “He came on to me.”
“Just like the last one did?” Kitty said, her voice low. Her vines were quivering.
“Kitty, look—I’m sorry. Maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe I’m jealous, okay?” Donna’s face softened, her eyes wet.
“Jealous?” Kitty moved to her chair, trying to brush the dead leaves from its thick leather seat.
“Look at what you have. Look at everything you’ve done.”
Kitty stared at her friend, holding leaves away from her face.
“You’re so gifted, Kitty. Everyone likes you, you’re on TV, you’re a celebrity.”
Kitty sat down, berries squished beneath her.
“I just want to be like that. Like you. I want to be like you.”
Donna leaned across the desk, attempting to take her friend’s hand somewhere beneath the leaf cover.
“He’s just a man, right? He’s not your friend. Like me,” Donna said and she smiled.
Kitty let her leaves fall back into place over her face. From somewhere inside the bunches of glowing flowers Kitty said, “Just a man.” The leaves brushed each other, shaking in a soft hush. “Just a man.”
***
Kitty left. She wasn’t very good at leaving and found she didn’t have much of anywhere to leave to. She’d never been all that into bars, at least not when she was alone. She ended up in a little place near the university. It had low lights and the wine list consisted of coolers and Boone’s Strawberry Hill. Kitty found a corner booth and tried to disappear. It was karaoke night but only one patron had signed up. He was making his way through his fourth rendition of the Eurythmics’ “Sweet Dreams” when a man slipped into her booth.
“No thank you,” Kitty said, staring through her leaves and into her wine cooler.
“You’re that designer. From PP and C.” The voice was thick, rich, a bit like a distant engine revving up.
“I’m…” Kitty didn’t finish. She’d looked up and immediately recognized the man seated across from her. He wasn’t traditionally handsome, his chin was small and his jaw rounded. The hydraulics that ran from his jaw to his collarbone were flattering in that simple, industrial way.
“You’re Gear Boy,” Kitty said.
“George,” Gear Boy said. “Just George.” He stuck out his hand and it was a moment before Kitty realized he wanted to shake. His palm felt warm and the bolts that attached his knuckles were smooth. He smelled like speaker wire.
“I like your leaves,” George said. “ I mean, I always have. You know, when we were competing and stuff.” George smiled and his teeth flashed a lovely chrome in the neon bar light.
“I like your…bolts.” Kitty tried smiling and pushed a few leaves from her face so George could see.
“Doesn’t seem like your kind of place.” George motioned and when his arm moved Kitty could hear muffled rushes of pistons and gears.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Kitty said.
“You’re hot. I mean your style is hot. You should be making money hand over fist. I would expect, at the very least, a martini bar. Got to keep up those appearances.” George kept smiling and Kitty could see the words of a beer sign reflected in his front incisors.
“I just…needed something else tonight.”
George nodded and was silent a moment. Kitty decided she liked George’s hair. Thin copper wire, styled in an old-fashioned way that reminded her of black-and-white movies. She wondered how it would feel against her fingers.
“I wasn’t competing. I mean, not with you. I wasn’t really competing with anyone,” George said, looking into his beer bottle.
“Fashion is a tough business,” Kitty said.
“Don’t I know it.”
“You’ll do fine though,” Kitty said. “Your stuff is really good. Sexy. I like the pistons and stuff.”
“I always liked your stuff better. It’s softer, you know? Touchable.”
Kitty stared at this man, this Gear Boy. Without thinking she reached across the table and took his hand.
***
When they made love, little bursts of steam escaped George’s joints, fluttering her leaves. He wasn’t very experienced but he was gentle and he touched her face, pushing away flowers to find her cheek. They talked afterwards in the hotel George had rented, his warm, coppery hand stroking her back and flicking away berries.
“I don’t really want to go back,” Kitty told him.
“Neither do I,” George said, his voice soft, his servo motors humming gently.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said.
“Leave. That’s what I’m doing. Going back to New Mexico. I’ve always wanted to work with clay, you know? Be a potter.”
“Really?” Kitty asked.
“Yup. Since I was a little kid.” George’s hand slipped up her back and stroked Kitty’s neck. She shivered.
“You could leave too. Just for a little bit. Get your head on straight. I don’t think I’ll come back, but you…you’re something around here. They love you here.” His fingers touched Kitty’s chopstick and an electrical tingle flooded her body. “What’s this?”
Kitty sat up, turning away, “It’s nothing. An accident. From a while ago.”
“Let me see,” George said playfully.
“No, it’s gross.”
“If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” George said and the light caught his chrome smile and sprayed little shards of it around the room.
“Yours?” Kitty asked.
“It’s not pretty,” George said. “But I’ll show you anyway.” He stood and turned slowly and Kitty couldn’t help but admire the little bolt heads that peaked out of his skin along the length of his spine. George gestured awkwardly, one finger pointing to his mid-back. A jagged, purple line curled just left of his spine.
“Skiing accident. Two surgeries. Ruptured a disk.” He grinned over his shoulder.
Kitty was conscious of her nakedness beneath her flowers and leaves. With shaking hands she parted the canopy of herself and revealed her chopstick. “Good Rice. A friend stabbed me. On accident.”
George leaned in for a closer look. His warm copper smell was heavy in the room.
“Gnarly,” George said and kissed her.
***
Breakfast out and back to the hotel. Steam and the whisper of leaves. Kitty didn’t think Donna could take this one. She wondered, as she lay in George’s arms, his face buried in a swath of softly glowing flowers. She wondered if anyone missed her. It was only the second day of her self-imposed exile. Kitty imagined Donna sitting at Kitty’s desk. Taking calls meant for Kitty, going through her drawers, using her private bathroom. Kitty felt George’s hands tighten around her waist.
“You’re thinking again,” he said, his lips moving against her shoulder.
“I’m just…I don’t know.”
“Angry. Worried. Hurt.” He wasn’t asking.
“Yes.” Kitty rolled to face him and a shower of berries peppered George’s body. The smell was spicy, soft. His copper, her jam.
“Go,” George said. “Leave. Go somewhere you’ve always wanted to go. Take time. Just be.”
“What about… us?”
“I’ll be in New Mexico. I won’t be hard to find.” He kissed her and she could taste pennies.
“You think so?” She pushed her face against his chest.
“Yeah,” George said, his fingers twining through her canopy.
***
Kitty made arrangements. She had become very good with arrangements. Some people were fired, some were hired. Hierarchies were dissolved and a few new ones were put into place. Donna took over Kitty’s duties in October. Kitty’s leaves were just starting to turn from blue to a rich and reddish purple. The public was scandalized by Kitty’s apparent lack of clothing; somewhere beneath those beautiful flowers there was a nude woman. The controversy drummed up by the Save Our Children’s Morality organization only added to the popularity of Kitty’s newest line of clothing: “Baring Nature.”
Kitty withdrew from the public eye, purchasing a small house in rural Japan. She was surrounded on all sides by rice paddies where she sometimes stood for hours. The locals, mostly elderly Japanese farmers, avoided her and she relied on weekly deliveries for food and housewares. Kitty stayed in touch with Mrs. Carpe from PP and C. There was never a shortage of money.
Kitty was lonely, but that had been the idea. She was in a place where she couldn’t speak the language, where few people recognized her and she was safely away from Donna. At night she dreamed of steam and copper, fingers running through her leaves. Still, she was lonely.
The two students showed up at the very end of October. They were from the local agricultural high school. One was a very tall, hunched boy by the name of Kenji and the other was a dark-skinned girl by the name of Momoko. They knew English; well, they knew some English, and were eager to practice with a native English speaker. They didn’t seem to mind that Kitty spent her days completely nude or that the chopstick had sprouted heavy limbs that forced her to list to the left any time she walked anywhere. Kenji and Momoko wanted to study in Australia or Britain. America was nice too, Momoko would say, but Kenji liked Australian women and Momoko liked British men. They met several times during the last week of October before the day that changed things entirely.
Momoko brought her grandmother along for a visit and the grandmother brought along a cloth bag. Everything was normal except that the grandmother didn’t speak until the sun started setting.
In the middle of a conversation, Momoko’s grandmother leaned over and said something to her granddaughter in rapid Japanese.
“My grandmother wants to know if you are feeling okay,” Momoko said, smiling.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Kitty said, thrilled to be socializing in any form.
“My grandmother says that you are too much,” Momoko said, struggling with her English.
“Too big?” offered Kenji.
“No,” Momoko said.
“Too fat?” Kenji tried again.
“No, no. Too much…too grown,” Momoko said, looking at her grandmother.
Kitty shook her head and a few leaves fluttered to the tatami mats.
“No. Overgrown,” Kenji said; he smiled.
“Overgrown?” Kitty said and Momoko’s grandmother pulled a set of polished shears from her cloth bag.
***
The act was sensual. Nothing like a lover’s fingertips but the feeling of a hot bath and the warm hands of a master masseuse. The kind of sensuality that loosens everything inside, turning body parts into warm liquid.
They worked together, Momoko’s grandmother offering expert suggestions to her granddaughter and Kenji as they pruned. The more of Kitty that was revealed the more Kenji forgot what he was doing, nearly snipping off Kitty’s left big toe. Momoko’s grandmother sent him outside and the two women kept snipping and trimming until Kitty lay naked, shivering on the tatami mats.
“My grandmother says that you let it go on too long,” Momoko said as her grandmother was pulling a simple-looking robe from her cloth bag.”Too long. Too overgrown and plants get sick. Can’t make new growth.” Momoko helped Kitty into the robe and they sat together in the dim little tatami room, little dying flowers glowing weakly against the sunset.
“Gone on too long,” Kitty said, staring at her bare hands and pink toes.
***
She hired Momoko’s grandmother as a gardener and asked Momoko to look after the house while Kitty was away. The best part about returning to the United States was delicious anonymity. She wore simple clothing with collars high enough to conceal her newly-trimmed chopstick. It was little more than a blue nub. The root whirls still covered her skin but had faded to such a soft blue that they were nearly invisible. Kitty was waiting in Good Rice when Donna arrived.
“You said you weren’t coming back,” Donna said by way of greeting. Kitty’s friend was thinner; her dark suit flattered the curves that remained.
“You look good,” Kitty said. Donna didn’t sit down at first. She stared at Kitty for a long moment before moving into the booth beside her.
“What do you want?” Donna asked, sounding very much like Mrs. Carpe.
Kitty blinked. Her smile flattened out. “Look. Look at me!” she said, excitement making her voice quiver.
“What? What do you mean?” Donna pulled her hand free and gave Kitty a once over. “You lost weight. All that rice, huh?”
“No. Look.” Kitty made motions with her hands, moving away imaginary leaves.
Donna stared blankly and nodded. “Sure. Uh, nice. Why are you back?”
Kitty deflated. She stayed silent for a moment, studying Donna. There were fine lines near the corners of Donna’s eyes. Her hair was pulled back into a severe office bun.
“If you’re worried about the new line coming out, don’t. So I haven’t been as successful as you. Yet. I’ll get there.” Donna’s eyes were crisp and flat.
“I don’t care about that. I mean, maybe I did but I don’t anymore,” Kitty said, looking at her friend’s hands laid flat on the table.
“You know you were pretty lucky,” Donna said. “If I hadn’t have stuck that chopstick into you, you wouldn’t have made it very far.”
Kitty flinched. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, Kitty. Right after I stuck that thing into your neck your life was perfect. You came up with these amazing fashion designs and rocketed up PP and C’s corporate ladder like you were from NASA.”
Kitty’s hand went to the nub of the chopstick in her neck. It was smooth; Kenji had sanded it gently down to avoid any splinters.
“I want that kind of luck,” Donna said.
“Why do you think it was luck?” Kitty asked, her voice soft.
“Look at you. You’re nothing to see. You barely have a spine as it is. All through high school I did the talking, I did the leading.” Donna slipped a paper-wrapped set of chopsticks from the central bowl on the table.
“It wasn’t luck,” Kitty said.
“I want it now. You gave it up and I want it.” Donna smiled at Kitty and opened the chopstick packet. “You’re going to give it to me.” Donna grabbed Kitty’s hand and slapped a chopstick against her palm. Kitty watched as Donna unbuttoned her collar. “Right in the neck. Just like I did for you.”
Kitty sat, holding the chopstick as Donna leaned over, pulling her shirt open.
“Come on,” Donna said. “Right in the neck.”
There was a part of Kitty that knew what was going to happen next. Maybe it was that part that did it, that stabbed the Good Rice chopstick into Donna’s neck. A part of her that enjoyed the moment of tension before Donna’s flesh popped and the chopstick bit deep. It was the part that knew there would be an ambulance and an assault charge. The part that knew there would be some blood and people screaming over their teriyaki bowls. It’s the part of herself that Kitty liked the most. Sure, Donna was going to recover, but the process would be a long one. Sure, Kitty would be spending some time with the State, but she had lots of money and celebrity to spend to ensure that time would be short. Kitty was proud of the way the chopstick went in, proud of the surprised look on Donna’s face. She could have done without the blood or the handcuffs but she was happy things worked out the way they did. Kitty’s only concern was that she was a ward of the State; that the prison wouldn’t allow gardening tools in the cells. The leaves are hard to gather up but at least her cellmate is friendly. They talk about their youth, their plans for when they are finally free, their dream lovers. Kitty’s cellmate describes a well-muscled man with soft hands and oh so firm buttocks. Kitty brushes at the flowers glowing in her hair and talks about finding a quiet man, loyal, handsome, with a love of pottery and whose servo motors hummed so gently after love-making.
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About the Author
Cody T Luff has published in Paper Tape, Pitkin Review, Ink Speak, SplashLife.com, Clockhousewest.com and edited the fiction anthology Soul’s Road. He has an MFA in creative writing from Goddard College and teaches fiction, memoir, developmental reading and college writing. But perhaps more importantly, he grew up in Montana and is named after a horse (although his parents deny this).
“Horticulture” © 2013 Cody T Luff
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