Free Love's Awakening by Stuart Kelly Page A

Oliver’s shirt were undone, and the glimpse of his chest, of dark hairs, was enough to get Celia’s pussy stirring.
    “Left my horse at home,” Celia muttered. “My revolver, too.”
    “Yeah. It’s not Paris or London, but it’s something.”
    Azizi was little more than a shack hidden away among the modernity and sameness of Safeway, Chili’s Bar & Grill, Panera Bread and Starbucks. The interior was dusty and grimy, like an Old West saloon. Celia liked it.
    “How do you mix drinks with your cast?” she asked.
    Oliver started on Celia’s drink. “Watch me. I do it slowly. Very slowly. And one-handed, mostly. It’s good for business. My tips are up.”
    “Too bad you didn’t break both arms,” Celia said. “You’d be a millionaire.”
    Oliver winked. “That is indeed unfortunate.”
    “Linda.” The woman across from Celia, the customer Oliver had been flirting with, held out her hand.
    Celia shook it. “Nice to meet you. I’m Celia.”
    “Celia is my stepmother,” Oliver added.
    Stepmother. Celia felt old. Very old.
    “Stepmother, is that right? I’ve heard about you.” Linda’s breath was sour, and Celia edged back. “Sorry about your husband.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Hey, Celia. Is drinking all right with your breastfeeding?” Oliver asked. “You’re still breastfeeding?”
    Celia nodded. “I’m trying to go off, but it’s taking longer than I hoped.”
    “Too bad.”
    “I’ll live. Caleb likes it, and it’s supposed to be better than formula. You want a piece of trivia? You should know this, anyway.”
    “Sure.”
    “Alcohol doesn’t stay in breast milk. It’s like alcohol in blood. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. So I can still pump and keep milk. Just have to give the alcohol time to go away.”
    Oliver frowned. “I think I’d be too paranoid to keep the milk.”
    Celia chuckled. “Me too.” She took her first sip. The alcohol tingled down her throat and burned her stomach. Celia gulped down a second, more expansive sip. “This is good. I haven’t had a drink in close to a year.”
    “We have a drink for you here anytime you want one. Hey, be right back.” Oliver went down the bar to wait on a group of newcomers—three women, one man. He smiled widely and touched one of the women lightly, flirtatiously, on the arm. He said: “Hey, gotta see some ID. Regulations.”
    Lucky woman Oliver’s touching.
    “Sorry about your husband,” Linda repeated.
    “Thank you.”
    “Is he still in the coma?”
    “Yep.”
    “He used to come in here a lot. He was nice. Ordered water. Maybe Diet Coke once in a while.”
    Celia sighed. This Linda, this stranger, probably knew more about David than Celia did. “Yep, David didn’t like to drink alcohol.” Was he afraid liquor would loosen his tongue?
    *****
    When Oliver’s break arrived, he and Celia wandered to a bench in front of Chili’s. “Is this the same bench where your father told you he was transgender?”
    “Yes,” Oliver said as they sat.
    Oliver’s body against Celia was warm, and she had to make a conscious effort not to sink into his touch.
    “Good timing,” Oliver said. “I replied to your letter today. Put it in the mail.”
    “You didn’t have to.”
    Oliver shrugged. “Did you go to church with Grandma again?”
    “Mmm. She likes having someone with her, and it gets me out of the house.”
    Oliver scratched his nose. “So, uh, did you start work yet? That temp job?”
    “Today. Actually, that’s why I’m here. Kind of.”
    “What happened?”
    “I didn’t tell anyone there about your father, the transgender thing, the coma.”
    “I don’t tell, either. People treat you differently.”
    “Ted does, that’s for sure. My boss. He kept telling me to leave early and that it’s okay to take long lunches to visit David. I won’t complain. Ted lets me show up at work looking like this.” Celia indicated her battle-weary features. “The first face the clients see is someone who should work for Ghoul