The Meaning of a Kiss

Dim light from the dressing table cast a warm glow onto the mirror. Gennie Alton wiped the red lipstick from the corners of her mouth and tossed a tissue into the waste bin. The cherry shade blossomed against her fair complexion. Perfect. The heater groaned, releasing a plume of steam into the room. Her elegant appearance challenged the room’s bare walls.

Outside, a gruff voice barked orders and footsteps scampered across the stone terrace. Gennie rushed to the window and from her third-story vantage point, watched Judge shout instructions at an unseen victim. Poor fella. She leaned out, curious to see who suffered his wrath, but a potted rose tree blocked her view.

“Gennie, this is none of your business. Get inside before you fall out and scare your grandmother to death.”

“But you’re down there to save me.”

The portly old man puffed a cigar and shook his head. “Gennie, do as I say.”

“You know, I’m an adult now.”

“So you keep reminding me.” A smile resided behind his walrus mustache. He took a drag of his cigar and blew out rings of smoke. “Are you still there?”

“Don’t worry, I’m going.”

“Gennie.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I assume you’re not too old to dance with your grandfather?”

“Of course not.” 

He nodded, puffed his cigar, and assumed his sentinel position. Gennie slipped inside and closed the window when her grandmother, Evie, strolled onto the terrace. Her satin gown flowed off her narrow back and plumed into a puddle of gold on the pink stone. She whispered into Judge’s ear and patted his arm. He grinned and kissed the back of her hand. One day, that’ll be me. 

The mantel clock chimed eight and soft voices giggled in the hallway. Ginnie checked her hair in the mirror and dashed barefoot down a flight of rustic stairs. The sheer blue layers of her tea dress swished as she weaved past two housekeepers who sat hunched on the landing stools. They smelled of pine oil and soap.

“Martha, Susie, did Tom make it back yet?”

“No. Mr. Randall said the Judge got a telegram from him this mornin’.” 

“What else did he say?”

“Mr. Randall didn’t say more than that.” 

“Well, at least we know he’s still alive.”

Ginnie made it to the bottom of the stairs and strapped on her heels. Her mouth watered from the smell of sugared ham but she was forbidden to nibble on cook’s platters until after service. 

“Gennie, cover your shoulders.” Sarah, whispered as she hurried toward the foyer. “And don’t let Judge see you with all that makeup.” 

“Momma, this is how they’re wearing it in New York.”

“I don’t care. This is Washington, not New York.” Sarah examined Gennie’s face. “The Judge expects you to be respectable.”

“I know, respectable and silent.”

“Gennie B, I’m looking out for you.” She adjusted the lace on her long-sleeved navy dress and sighed.

“I understand.” Her eyes cut to the floor. She stared at her mother’s lace-up ankle boots that fit mud puddles more than dance floors. “Why don’t you wear my shoes tonight? They’d be prettier than those things.”

“And what would you wear?”

“I have other shoes.”

Sarah kissed Gennie’s cheek. “I think Evie will be disappointed if those shoes aren’t on you tonight. Besides.” She clicked her heels together. “These fit me just fine.”

“You deserve better.”

“I don’t need better. I have you.”

Gennie planted a kiss on Sarah’s cheek and left a red stain. “Don’t wipe it off. Let’s see what Evie says when she sees it.”

Sarah chuckled and removed the lipstick with a handkerchief. “Go make yourself scarce and cover those shoulders.” She exited into the foyer through an oversized wooden door. 

Gennie thought her mother resembled a doe and lacked all of Judge’s harsh features. Only her calloused hands revealed she lacked the elegant lifestyle of a Swiss-educated woman. If only.

The weight of the foyer door thud and clicked shut, dividing the household into two worlds. She smoothed the dress around her waist and examined the sparkle of her shoe buckles.

“Miss Gennie, there’s a young man at the back door for you.” Mr. Randall squinted. “Where’s your shawl?”

“Who’s here?”

“That boy from Atlanta, James Reed.”

“Mr. Randall he’s not a boy, he’s twenty-three years old.” Gennie pinched her cheeks and secured the pearl hairclip against the back of her head.

“Then why isn’t he with the other men overseas?”  

“Oh, Mr. Randall, some of them need to stay behind to keep us ladies entertained.” She tapped him on the chest and laughed, watching as he stuttered in shock. “Have you ever been in love Mr. Randall?”

“Miss Gennie, a gentleman never discusses his affairs.”

“I knew it. You have had dalliances. Tell me more.” She batted her eyes and waited.

The silver-haired butler, with his chin low and tight, cleared his throat. “I think your boy is waiting.”

Gennie opened the backdoor and found James sharing a cigarette with Mason O’Donnell, the Judge’s valet. “Well, look at you. Someone cleans up nicely.”

James strutted.

Mason smashed the cigarette into the dirt and fanned the smoke away.

“Shouldn’t you be inside helping Mr. Randall?” Gennie asked.

Mason took a swig from a flask. “Nah. He thinks I’m upstairs looking after the Judges’ clothes.”

“Then shouldn’t you get there?”

James took a step towards her, “Never mind him, Miss Alton, you are stunning.” When he smiled his straight nose and prominent jaw balanced his full lips. He lingered with a kiss on the back of her hand.

“Why thank you.” A warmth rushed to her cheeks. She palmed his hand and breathed in his mint aftershave.“Mason, I believe the Judge needs you inside.” 

“And leave you alone?”

“Oh Mason, you know he’s harmless.” She winked at James. 

“Buddy, you know I won’t hurt Miss Alton. I’m here for the party.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Mason, how long have we known each other? Since we were kids, right?”

“Yeah, but the Judge will have my neck if you do anything inappropriate with her.”

“Oh, my goodness. I’m a grown woman and I’m standing right here. Now go back inside before I tell Mr. Randall where you really are.” She turned her attention back to James and adjusted his black bow tie.

“Nah, I think I need to stay, Miss Gennie.”

“Suit yourself.” She wrapped her arm around James’ “Come with me, I’ll take you in through the garden.” 

Gennie guided James along a path that ran between rows of tall hedges. Oil lanterns illuminated the pebble walkway. Velvet piano notes cascaded throughout the garden and voices lifted in laughter. She intertwined their fingers and stopped under a crosswalk pergola.

“James, there’s something I want to say to you.” She brushed the layers that clung to the beads of her dress. “Really I want to ask you something.” Her eyes cut upward and met his stare.

“Why of course, what is it?” 

“How come you’ve never kissed me?”

James smirked and took a step back. “Miss Alton, I don’t think we should be discussing this.”

“Why not. You keep asking me out on dates, and I know you like me. And why don’t you call me by my name? Not just Miss Alton.” She propped her hands on her hips.

“Gennie, It’s not that I don’t want to, because I do. And I like you. You’re different from every woman in Atlanta that I know. But we come from different worlds, and I have to operate according to yours.”

“My world isn’t that different.”

“You’re the Judge’s granddaughter and you live here.” He pointed toward the house and then slipped his hands into the jacket pockets. His thumbs protruded, squeezing the fabric edges.

“Maybe so, but I live on the top floor with the other housekeepers, and my mother works for them when she should be hosting these parties.”

“But you’re their blood. And I have to do what’s right according to their standards.”

“I’m also their blight.”

James touched her cheek. “You are no one’s shame.”

Gennie stepped closer, cutting off the space between their noses. In that moment, she existed in his words. She leaned in, placed her lips against his mouth, and kissed him. Her breath paused, the music sharpened, and a warm sensation traveled throughout her body, electrifying the taste of his lips. The touch of his hand on her cheek softened and rested on her shoulder. Their lips parted. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For that.”

“The kiss?”

“All of it.” 

“I think we need to get to that party.” James took her hand and walked a few steps down the path. He dropped her hand and paced. “Listen, Gennie, I like you a lot, and I don’t want to ruin this with you. But I need to establish myself here in Washington, so I can properly date you, with the Judge’s permission.”

“But.”

“You’re too good to be sneaking out here like a servant. I won’t have it this way. I respect you.”

Her smile pressed against her cheeks. “Are you implying what I think you are? Because, if you are, then my answer is yes.”

“Well, I need to impress the Judge first, which is why we need to go to the party.”

Gennie wrapped her hands around his arm, pulled him close, and planted a kiss on his cheek. “This is as far as I go. Now it’s up to you to mingle and let all of them so how smart you are.”

“Aren’t you coming to the party?”

“I’m not allowed. Evie says it would raise too many questions. Although, I’m sure people know momma’s here and not in London.” She wiped the red smudge off his lips and cheek. “Besides, you don’t need me in there. Once they get to know you, they’ll beg to do business with you.”

Gennie attended every summer party from the kitchen doorway. For fifteen years she danced in the hallway and avoided the waiters as they maneuvered around her. She knew each band member’s name and unbeknownst to Evie, slipped them extra tips on behalf of the Judge.

Her grandparent's parties taught her the value of observation, the importance of mediation, and the strategy of flirtation. She watched social climbers become the upper echelon of the Washington elite and she knew a perfect forty-six-degree bottle of champagne would bring out the best and worst in a crowd. 

As the clock struck eleven-thirty pm, Evie and Judge escorted guests to the foyer where Mr. Randall, Martha, and Susie handed them off to their drivers. Sarah waited, peering through the hallway door. Her cue from Evie was a blink and nod, a signal they had shared since Sarah was a girl learning social graces. 

On command, Sarah dashed up the stairs and left Gennie by the door. She stuck her head out and looked for lingering guests, before joining the Judge underneath the two-story chandelier. He took Gennie’s hand and led her to the terrace. The pianist played a serenade and the Judge wrapped his arm around her waist and moved them with grace.

“Did your grandmother select that dress?”

“No. I picked it out.”

“I assumed so. Where’s your shawl?”

“I don’t need one. It’s summertime.”

His mustache twitched.

“Aren’t you hot in your jacket?”

“Whether I’m hot or not is inconsequential young lady.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. The smell of cigars lingered on his coat. “Grandfather.”

“Yes.”

“Did you get a chance to speak with Mr. James Reed tonight?”

“The young man from Atlanta?”

“Yes, the one who owns the paper mill.”

“What about him?”

“Did you like Mr. Reed?”

He leaned back and looked down at her. “Why so curious?”

“I just think he’s nice and has potential.”

The Judge opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Tom.

“I should’ve known you two would be out here.” He tucked a military hat underneath a slinged arm. Two scratches crisscrossed his cheek.

Gennie jumped into his arms. “Tom, you’re home.”

“What happened to you? You’re a woman now.”

“Thank you. I keep reminding everyone that I am.”

Tom spun her around and released her back into the Judge’s arm. “I can’t believe you grew up.”

The Judge patted Tom’s shoulder. “It’s so good to see you. Your mother will be relieved you made it back. And so soon.” 

Tom glanced around “Why Simon, you’re still playing here.”

“Still here.” He ran his hands down the keys and tapped the last deep note.

“Gennie, it’s late and someone needs to let Evie know Tom has arrived.”

“Why me?”

“Why not? You’re going that way.”

She looked at Tom. “See, they think I’m still a child.” The scruff of Tom’s cheek brushed hers as she kissed him goodnight. 

The Judge embraced Gennie and smashed his fuzzy mustache into her cheek. “My dear, if you were still a child I wouldn’t be so worried about losing you.” He kissed her again and softened his voice, “Good night, my little butterfly.”

She returned the kiss, slipped off her heels, and raced up the main marble stairs. The following morning, Gennie woke to the sound of voices in the hallway. The drapes were drawn but when Sarah opened the door, hallway light spilled into the room. 

“Gennie, you need to come with me.” Her voice sounded like a butcher’s cleaver hitting wood.

“Is something wrong?”

“It’s the Judge. He died in his sleep.”