Audrey Hepburn's Pearls: Part I

Chapter 12.2: 1967, George

Chapter 12.2: 1967, George

"What is that pink stuff?" I asked, rubbing my hair with a crisply white hotel towel. We had woken up an hour ago, but slowly. We'd stayed in bed watching early morning TV, curled up together. He'd kissed me and told me he'd order room service while I was in the shower.

Along with the usual spread of scrambled eggs and fried potatoes under silver domed lids, there was this strange pink can sitting in front of Frankie like a prize. He was looking at it in awe.

"You don't know what this is? How can you not know what this is? You don't know the commercial?" he asked, picking up the can and handing it to me.

A sour feeling felt heavy in my belly suddenly, but I swallowed it down deep inside. "Um, no, baby," I smiled, my eyes not following my lips.

"Why not?" he asked, confused, looking up at me like a kid.

I paused, staring at him. He looked so innocent. But I knew he wasn't as innocent as he looked. Not from the stories he'd told me so far about himself, completely breaking any preconceived notions I had about him. Was it my turn?

I gave him a long look, not smiling. He looked at me seriously. His breathing changed to a slow rhythm. He knew something was wrong, and he wanted to know more. I could tell. A feeling of calm overcame me and I sat down with him on the bed, staring at the pink can with the vomit pink bunny on it. 

"Frankie, I don't know that commercial because I was homeless. For a long time. I didn't see any TV's. This must have come out while I was homeless," I explained, sighly deeply. "...Or I don't know. My mom was never that great to me. This bunny here looks like he's for kids. My mom never would have gotten me something like this."

Before I had finished, his arms had wrapped around my waist, his head on my shoulder. He was breathing deeply, taking it all in. He wasn't saying anything, and I preferred it that way. Just from the way he was holding me, I knew he understood. I knew he loved me. No words were needed. It was just a feeling. A good feeling.

I passed the can to him, and he held it in his hands securely. "Did your mom give you this stuff when you were a kid?" I asked, wrapping my arms around him like he had for me.

"Yeah, she did. It was special to me because Eddie didn't like it. He said pink was for girls. But the taste of it. It doesn't taste like anything else. Sometimes she'd bring it to me on a Sunday morning and make a glass up for me, and I'd drink it in my bedroom with her. If I drank it out in the kitchen Eddie would have made an uproar about it, making fun of me. So my mom and I had these special times together because of this little pink can." He was smiling softly to himself, turning the can over and over in his hands absentmindedly.

I kissed his darling cheek and his smile turned to me. The can was set down on the service cart with a metal to metal sound and then he was on top of me, his leg between my legs and he was kissing me and I couldn't think of anything else. My hands rubbed his back as his tongue entered my mouth and I moaned long and deep. But then he kissed me lightly twice, nuzzling his nose to mine and was beaming at me with such joy. 

"Ah, Georgina," he sighed long, "I love you."

My eyes filled with tears. "I love you, too, Frankie," I whispered in my sudden emotion.

His face snuggled into my neck and I held him tightly to myself, my eyes closed as the tears threatened to overflow. 

"Frankie," I said quietly to him. 

"Mm...?" he purred.

"I want to try what's in that pink can. I want to taste what you tasted," I whispered into his freshly shampoo smelling hair.

He began to giggle lightly, pleased. I began to giggle, too, with his joy. 

"Okay," he said sweetly.

Ten minutes later, a frothy, tall glass of pink milk was sitting on the service cart between empty plates. It looked so...violently pink. I was beginning to have second thoughts.

"It tastes good," Frankie was assuring me. He'd taken several sips before, showing me it indeed must have tasted good, but I'd never seen anything so unnatural. 

"What does it taste like?" I asked for the seventh time.

"Like strawberries," Frankie told me again for the seventh time.

"It doesn't smell like strawberries," I whispered smartly to him.

"Trust me, it tastes like strawberries," Frankie replied, laughing at me again.

"Don't laugh at me! Seriously, what is this stuff even made of? I don't understand."

"It tastes sweet. Have you ever had those little red hard candies wrapped in the strawberry shiny foil with the green twisted tops? It tastes like that," he smiled, thinking he had his ace in the hole.

"I've never had that. My mom never bought candy for me," I admitted, looking at him shamefully.

His face turned sad. I hadn't meant for what I said to make him sad. My face fell. The crease between his eyebrows formed, his worried look. Coming forward, he started to kiss me, his arms wrapping around me again. He was kissing me in apology, sorry that my mom never bought me candies. Sorry for everything she'd done. 

And when his tongue entered my mouth, I tasted strawberry milk for the first time. 

I gasped into his mouth. He pulled away quickly with a confused look, deeply worried.  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have used...I'm sorry," he blushed, his cheeks turning a tomato red instantly as he froze in the fear of displeasing me. One he never should have had at all.

"No," I whispered, in shock, staring at him. "No, its not that. Frankie..." I swallowed, the sweetness covering my mouth. What was this stuff? "Frankie...is that what strawberry milk tastes like?"

Comprehension dawned on Frankie's face and with it a smile blossomed. He seemed to rub his tongue against the top of his mouth and then grinned at me. "Yes, that's what it tastes like! It taste like candy!" he exclaimed, excited for me.

I bounced on the bed, hurrying forward to the service cart. He was already there, and grabbed the frothy pink milk for me. "Oh my god, Frankie," I squealed, holding the cold glass in my hands. I'd never felt this way in my life about anything. What in heaven's name was this stuff?

As I drank it down, my body was in pure heaven. I wiggled, squirmed, danced as it went down, delight flooding me. The pink stuff swirled into me like sugar coated angels fluttering their wings into my tummy, singing sweeter and sweeter songs. The last drop dripped into my mouth from the very bottom and there was a left over pulpy artificial powder in a ring. It was such a gorgeous sight. 

Frankie was laughing at me. He poked me on the side and I giggled with him, wiggling in his tickle. 

"I think I just saw five year old Georgina," he laughed, so happy inside. "Its like we're kids together, like we've been together since we were kids now."

I broke into a beam as he took the empty glass from me and set it down. Before he could do anything else, I took him in my arms and pushed him down on the bed, climbing on top of his body. Staring down at him from above, supporting myself like a cat, his eyes turned to ones of surprise and hunger.

I just kissed him then, the taste of candy sweetness between us, passing between us, over and over. Thanking him for showing me what being a kid was like.