“So what now?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I’ll be leaving in the morning. I wish I could take you with me.”
She smiled. “You know what? You’re a sweet guy. You’re gonna make some woman very lucky.”
Grant’s brow furrowed as he watched her begin to dress. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“I was hoping you’d stay the night.”
“Close your eyes,” Kamara said, kissing him gently on the lips. “Dream of me.”
Grant followed her to the door, the air conditioner beginning to cool his nude body. He watched her leave as quietly as she had come, and as her car backed out of the parking lot, he realized that of all the things he’d miss about Atlanta, he would miss her most.
After Dark
Niyah Moore
Pigalle Palace was a notorious hot spot, an epicenter of sizzling sex shops, erotic peep shows, and dazzling strip clubs. It was an adults-only, X-rated, pleasurable adventure for the more risqué crowd and home to one of Paris’s most famous cabarets, Moulin Rouge. After my first few weeks of studying abroad, I was ready to find out what really happened there after dark.
My roommate and I squeezed into the backseat of a tiny taxi to go bar-hopping one Friday night.
Once the door was closed, I asked, “Have you ever been to the red light district?”
She responded in her thick, French accent, “Pig Alley?”
“Pig Alley?” I repeated with a confused look on my face. “I’m talking about where all the freaky things happen. You know, topless bars? Nude strip clubs . . .”
“Oui. Pig Alley,” she said, and laughed in her cute, girlish manner.
?
?Why do you call it Pig Alley?” I asked with a scowl.
“A lot of pigs tend to wallow in all the filthy diversions.”
The fire inside of my curiosity grew wilder. “Let’s go. How far is it from here?”
“Not too far.” She shrugged while lighting a cigarette. “Are you sure you want to go?” She rolled down the small window to blow out a lungful of smoke.
“Positive. I won’t rest until I know.”
“What will you do once there?” She raised her eyebrow with a sleek grin appearing on her face.
I thought about that and, honestly, I had no idea what I would do.
“I don’t know what to expect. I’m just going as a tourist.”
Colette nodded and then smiled before taking another drag from her cancer stick. “Take us to the infamous club on the Boulevard de Clichy,” she said to the taxi driver. “I have a spot in mind first and then, from there, we’ll explore.”
A sly, naughty grin appeared on the driver’s pale face. With rose-colored cheeks, he knew exactly what spot she had in mind and had a hard time trying to conceal his discomfort, but he didn’t say a word or yield a warning. Pulling away from the curb, the taxi drove through the wet streets toward the north side of a town called Montmartre.
Once in the red light district, I wiggled in my seat like a five-year-old kid going to McDonald’s. From the taxi window, I stared out at all the colorful lights reflecting off the raindrops that remained on the car after the rain. In red and blue lights I read: DVDS, PEEP SHOWS, NUDE, NEW GIRLS, and SEX. I was in adult playland. Electric excitement filled me completely and I could feel my toes tingling in anticipation. I crossed my legs to stop myself from squirming.
“Reminds me of San Francisco,” I noted aloud.
“Do you miss home?” Colette asked.