‘Well, boys,’ said Sunny, ‘it’s been a pleasure. Happy hunting.’
Zak gave Sunny a quick hug. I moved in to kiss her cheek, but as I got closer turned slightly inwards, feeling the corner of her mouth on mine as we touched. It felt good, like spilling a secret.
My face exploded. I recoiled as if bitten by a snake.
I looked deep into Sunny’s flashing eyes.
The hand she had snapped into my face was still raised and her stance had widened. She looked alarmingly alert. ‘That was a block, next time I won’t be so measured.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, genuinely taken aback, then had to laugh. ‘Wow.’
I gave Zak a wide-eyed look.
‘See you tomorrow, Sunny,’ he said, and we were off.
We crossed to road. My cheek stung.
It stung even more when I smiled.
* * *
'What’s your favourite song?’
She looked pensive. ‘There are so many, but -’ her face lit up and she bit the inside of her lip to suppress a grin ‘- one of my favorites to dance to is Rockin’ Robin.’
‘Hah! I love it too.’ I found Bobby Day’s version on my phone and this time she didn't hold back. We hit it with overflowing energy, doing our best rendition of a cheeky boogaloo.
The song ended and we fell onto the sofa, our bodies intertwining and tangling, desperate kisses feeding off and into our first meeting, the jungle ordeal, her well-aimed blows, our hopes and fears.
She shifted and reached under herself, pulling out my dog-eared copy of The Sixties that I’d left on the sofa earlier in the day. I expected her to put it aside as we shifted into a new gear, but instead she opened it and inspected the contents page.
‘What’s this?’ she said. ‘Women: Revolution in the Revolution?’
‘It’s a chapter on women’s rights,’ I said, bemused by her shift of focus. I tried to take the book from her but she resisted, moved her body from under mine and flicked through the pages to find the chapter. She went quiet. She was skim-reading the pages. I was stunned.
I was about to see whether kissing her neck would change the dynamic, when she said, ‘You see! Right on. It says here: “It is the job of revolutionary feminists to build an ever stronger independent Women’s Liberation Movement, so that sisters in counterfeit captivity will have somewhere to turn, to use their power and rage and beauty and coolness in their own behalf for once, on their own terms, on their own issues, in their own style - whatever that may be.” Check that out, naked ape. Robin Morgan knows where it’s at.’
She snapped the book shut and with both hands drew my face towards hers, kissing me with a deep, still intensity.