The Cabaret Narrative
At any cost, no one, either man or woman, has ever fucked with my mother..
She was the most progressive, cultivated, voluptuous, and sensual woman any one had ever seen.
Her family left her a small inheritance and she used it to become the youngest and most brilliant woman in our town.
She was a real revolutionary.
Everything about her, from the way she dressed, her work, her alluring beauty, and her decision to become a single mother went against the grain and she knew it.
Her decision to have me alone showed her conviction to the counter culture.
Everything I know came from her.. my extensive knowledge of numbers, my love of chamber music, my ability to tell what is true fine art from a forgery to name a few.
And the simple fact that I was regularly eating, savoring really.. a fine truffles before my tenth birthday.
I owe it all to her.
Having her, as a mother was fascinating, almost delirious at times.
My life was nothing like my friends'. But for one thing, I never knew my father.
There were never any men around. She was so discrete, unattached, almost secretive. She was the kind of person who rarely spoke.
She always used to say this to me, "You have two ears, but just one mouth for a reason.. You should speak half as much as you listen."
Her penchant for silence was far from accidental. It wasn't just that she was a private person. My mother had a lot to keep quiet about. In fact, her livelihood depended on our ability to keep our mouths shut. Few people ever knew about it.
She would often tell me her stories, packed with thrill, some uncanny, and some adventurous.
But of all her enchantment and adventures, there was one that she considered her masterpiece. One story that she told with more vigor, vanity, and excitement than all the others.
She called it her "best work". And it was funny because it was never clear just what she had did, or what made it so special from the rest. All I really know about that particular, and in her words "ambitious" caper is the mark:
Kim Sebastian and Kim Miguel.
The two brothers of a wealthy family. One a Philanthropist, the other a novelist. Both on worlds' apart, for they never understand each others' view.
She often spoke of them, in fact. And always with the utmost sincere and profound intellectual admiration.
I would listen her intently. Trying so hard not to ask questions.. but always asking too many in the end, causing her to snap out of it and change the subject.
I was always suspicious, that it was more than just asimple deed. Especially when Kim Miguel wrote a best-selling novel whose protagonist mysteriously resembled my mother.
But unfortunately, neither the novel, nor my mother ever revealed exactly what precious and vulnerable thing she did from him that day.
Of course, in the end I figure it out.
After years of stalking around the house, searching for some hidden object, it finally came to me… There wasn't any mysterious treasure hiding around in every corner… It was her diary! That scorched- looking integument layered material hidden and locked inside a chest in her drawer.
************
Circa 1994
I am so tired of having to define myself to others. Black or white, sweet or savory, friend or lover, paramour or polygamy, dominating or submissive, saint or whore.
Fuck to everything having to be labelled and classified!
It all started last summer, when Kim and Kim showed up a few days apart at my tavern.
I don't usually get involved with customers, but as fate would have it I really liked both of them.. same sexes, siblings, with almost the same names!
Perhaps that is precisely what turned me on.
After eavesdropping for a while, I introduced myself and between one drink and another I serve up my impeccable specialty…
The Kalashnikov.
Call it plain mischief or just "playing the game", but the truth is that little shot of vodka with lemon, coffee, and cranberry juice got them more than a little bit excited. It was incredible how well we got on and what great conversations we had.
It was getting late, but I wanted to make sure the night would go on further. Finally, it ended with an exchange of numbers. We were getting it on no doubt.
Obviously we made another date, but this time during daylight hours, a sure sign that things were getting serious.
I loved the simultaneous relationship with my two Kim's. So easy to repeat scenarios and moments. One thing led to another and asyou can imagine we ended up having an affair.
And it was so good, damn good!
Two lovers,
Two flavors,
Two smells.
With same names.. aaahhh!!
This intensity lasted for months!
With each other always as good as the other in every ways, every fuckin' time.
But all good things must come to an end…. at least that's what they say.
Jealousy reared its ugly head, and the fact that they both are brothers having almost same names only made matters worse.
They both started to ask me uncomfortable questions, and began to drop by unannounced at my tavern, or at my other spots.
'Spontaneity!' They said.
'Controlling.' I thought.
In the end, what had to happen happened. One afternoon there we were, the three of us, nothing to say to one another.
If instead of real life, if this was only a French indie film, the three of us would have ended up fucking and living happily ever after as a trio.
And though that proposal did cross my mind, I finally decided that it was far better to keep my mouth shut.
The fight, if you can call it that, was very civilized.
Both Kims' were in agreement of one thing: Neither wanted to continue as is.
So, I had to choose between them:
"Are you straight?" they asked me!
"Make up your damn mind Marie".
They gave me a few days to think it over… how generous!
Meanwhile, they both decided without consulting me that I couldn't meet up with either of them.
"Time to reflect" they called it.
So, I did just that.
What they failed to understand is that if youput too much pressure on Marie, she's out. You lose.
Now my new love is this beauty. Which, by the way I named… Kim.
After 20 long years of wondering and searching.. as it turned out, the thing she did. Her greatest work…
Was me.