by Hazel Yeats
Cara stared at the reflection of the trees in the water of the canal and took a second to consider this. “Date?”
“You know. Dressing up? Dinner? Maybe a movie?” Jude put her arm round Cara’s shoulder, pulled her close and brought her lips to Cara’s ear. “I’m sensing there’s more to be had here than getting to second base on a bridge in the freezing cold,” she whispered. She looked up at a streetlamp that cast a warm, golden light on them. “No matter how romantic the ambiance.”
“Why Ms. Donovan,” Cara said, “are you trying to say you want to woo me?”
Jude pulled her arm back. “I can’t stand you when you’re cocky,” she said.
Cara was laughing out loud now. She rested her hand on Jude’s shoulder and looked at her. “I want to woo you too,” she said, suddenly serious.
They stopped and began to lean into each other again, but just before their lips met, Jude pulled back. “Whoa!” she said. “I don’t think this is going to work unless we put a little distance between us.” She looked at Cara and shook her head. “I can’t be trusted around you. I used to be so respectable, now look at me.”
Cara sighed. “What about the state you got me in?”
“You do look a little flushed.” Jude grinned. “I’m sure it’s nothing a cold shower won’t cure though.”
Cara pushed her teasingly. “You’re killing me here.”
Jude shook her head. “I hate to think what it would do to Santa’s reputation, as well as to my own, if I got myself arrested for indecent exposure.” She rested her dark eyes on Cara. “So how about that date?”
Cara nodded. “I would love to go out with you.”
Jude took her hand and kissed it. “I promise I will be a perfect lady this time.”
“Ugh,” Cara said. “Where’s the fun in that? Please, promise me you’ll be anything but.”
Jude laughed. “Don’t tempt me, okay? So how about Saturday? Meet me at eight. Here, on the bridge.” She cocked her head. “All star-crossed lovers meet on bridges, after all.”
Cara nodded. “Eight it is,” she said. She leaned over, kissed Jude gently on the cheek, then turned around and walked away.
“Try to behave yourself until then, okay?” Jude called after her.
Cara raised her hand. As she walked to the metro station, she knew, that if she wanted to, she would be able to fly.
CHAPTER 5
“And?”
“And what?”
Inge rolled her eyes. “Duh! Did you meet? Was it her? Was Hot Santa, Hot Writer?”
Cara nodded solemnly. “I did, and she was.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Is it like: met her, done her?”
“Don’t be vulgar, okay?” Myra shoved Inge. “You’re talking about the person my kids adore.”
“More importantly,” said Cara, “we’re talking about my reputation. Which is, as you all know, that of a virtual nun.”
Alice frowned. “A virtual nun? Is that a person who’ll give you digital absolution?”
“Come on!” Inge rolled her eyes. “Stop kidding around. Cara, tell us—did you at least get to first base?”
“Ah yes.” Alice stared off into space. “First base. Good times.”
Cara sighed, content rather than irritated. “Before we get ahead of ourselves here, let me tell you that I had the privilege of both watching Ms. Donovan get trampled by a million screaming children, and of walking with her.” She didn’t feel comfortable revealing that she’d been dressed in a rabbit suit most of the afternoon, afraid it would turn her success story into something that might easily be ridiculed.
They paused as the waitress put down their plates. They were in a new place today, suggested by Inge. It was a low-key venue, with slow service—the staff very young and less than forthcoming. The sisters were sitting in a booth, on faux leather, which Alice complained stuck to her legs so badly that every time she moved, she ripped off a piece of skin. The menu was equally unpretentious, which is why both Cara and Alice made do with coffee and a piece of the appeltaart, with a large dollop of whipped cream on top.
“Walking with her?” Inge’s face expressed pure disgust.
“Indeed,” Cara said. “It was delightful.”
“Walking with her?” Inge repeated. “Delightful? What are you, Charlotte fucking Brontë?”
“Far from it.” Cara thought back to the very un-Victorian kiss she and Jude had shared. “Although I have to confess to knowing very little about Miss Brontë’s love life. To the point where I have no idea if she even had one.”
“I thought you were supposed to read that old stuff all the time?” Alice said.
Cara shrugged. “I never really got how any couple made it past all those complicated social codes. All I know is that there was a lot of courting and pining going on, but I’m not sure anybody ever really got down to business. And even if they did, it must have taken them hours to get all those skirts off.” She scooped up a spoonful of whipped cream and put it in her mouth, moaning a little as she felt the velvety substance touch her palate. She seemed to be unusually sensitive to anything physically appealing these days, even sugary treats, which she’d never been particularly passionate about before. It was as if Jude’s kiss had enhanced all her senses. She wondered longingly what effect sharing more than just a kiss would have on her. The prospect alone made her tingle and rendered her oddly breathless, as if the oxygen were suddenly sucked out of the room.
“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” Inge asked, obviously intrigued. “You do realize that only half the couple would have been wearing skirts?”
“Yeah, right,” Cara said. “It was our generation that invented the possible coupling of two skirted people.” She smiled. “Nobody had ever tried it before. It was quite the eureka moment.”
“And besides,” said Alice, “men had complicated wardrobes too. Vests, suspenders, waistcoats, neckties, breaches—it can’t have been easy getting into those pants either.”
Myra cleared her throat. “Not that this isn’t fascinating,” she said, “but let me just steer us back on topic here. Did Ms. Donovan happen to mention when her new book is coming out?”
“No,” Cara said. “She did not.”
“So what did you talk about?” Alice studied her nails. “Rabbits?”
Cara shrugged. “Life. Literature. The future of the planet.”
“Did she like…bring that out in you?” Alice kept probing.
“Why? I talk about life and literature and the future of the planet all the time.”
“You do? When?”
“Alice is right,” said Myra. “You sound different. More like the eloquent Cara you used to be. I always pegged you for a poet, but lately…” She hummed. “Not so much.”
Cara cocked her head. “Thanks.”
“I’m just saying that Jude is having a profound effect on you. Already.”
You have no idea, Cara thought.
“And that’s wonderful,” Myra continued. “It’s all coming together for you now.” She wobbled her head from side to side, trying to see past her stomach. “Could somebody please check if I’m wearing matching shoes? I can’t see them, but they feel individually different.”
“I’m not going down there,” said Inge. “Chances are that if you can’t see your feet, you definitely can’t wash them.”
Alice bent down and looked under the table. “They’re identical,” she said, pulling a face. “The shoes, I mean. And that’s pretty much the only positive thing I can say about them.”
“My ankles are a little swollen,” Myra explained, “which is why I switched to a more comfortable type of footwear.”
“I hope it’s all worth it,” Alice said.
Inge stiffened. “How can you even say that?” she whispered. “It
’s worth any sacrifice.”
“I’m sorry.” Alice shook her head. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Cara reached out her hand and gently put it on Inge’s shoulder. Inge shrugged it off. Something that was dark and grave began to fill the atmosphere, like a toxin.
“I’m almost sorry they’re the same,” Myra said finally, trying to lighten the mood. ”I could have started a new trend.” She eyed Cara. “But anyway.”
“What?” Cara said.
“I find the idea of you hooking up with Jude Donovan a little out there, frankly. It’s like something out of a movie. Surreal.”
“It didn’t feel surreal at all,” Cara said. “It felt very natural. It was as if I’d known her all my life.” She smirked, bracing herself for the comments that were bound to follow her uncharacteristic sappiness.
Inge leaned over to the floor, making loud gagging noises.
“You’re just jealous.” Cara pushed her. “I bet Bart doesn’t seem like much of a catch now!”
“Will you be seeing her again?” Myra’s eyes grew wide. “Could you…you know, set up a private thing for the kids?”
“I don’t know,” Cara said. “We’re going out for pasta Saturday.”
“Don’t screw this up, Cara, okay?” Myra shook her head. “Not this time.”
They had dinner at Magna Plaza, a luxurious shopping mall between the Royal Palace and the New Church. The interior of the nineteenth century, neo-gothic building consisted of a central hall with galleries and two upper floors, surrounded by arcades and crowned by a sunroof. It had a stylish brasserie on the ground floor, with beautiful wooden features, shiny mirrors, and splendid, crystal chandeliers. Cara thought it was a great place for an official first date.
She was happy. It was noisy, it was warm, she had wine, she had spaghetti; and sitting across from her, her eyes sparkling, her long legs occasionally touching her own ankles under the table, was this stunningly gorgeous woman that she was only just getting to know.
Cara looked across the table, hoping to lock eyes with Jude. She was looking breathtaking tonight, without having compromised the corporate look that seemed to be her preferred style. She was casual chic, in a writerly sort of way—a white silk blouse, black cigarette pants, and a similar grey jacket to the one she’d worn at the bookstore. The blouse had one button too many open for this to be an innocent dinner with a new friend, revealing a light swell of the perfect skin, and the tiniest strip of a red lace bra. Cara tried not to stare. Jude’s unusual necklace obviously had an adjustable chain, for the pendant now rested not between her collarbones, like last time, but between her breasts. She wore dime-sized, silver hoops in her ears—two in each—and Cara’s eyes lingered on them, straying down the curve of Jude’s jawline to her delicate neck. Her perfume, something light and floral, wafted toward Cara like a caress. She didn’t wear any makeup—the smooth, olive skin obviously not needing any. On her lips, there was a hint of color. Just that.
Cara cleared her throat. She remembered, once again, kissing Jude on the bridge, in the cold night air. She realized that if there were a respectable way to do so, she’d suggest skipping desert and going outside to find out if the magic of that first night was still there. She was as mesmerized by the gorgeous writer now as she was each time they met—she’d actually been counting the hours until their date.
She took a piece of garlic bread from the basket and offered it to Jude, who accepted it with a smile. Cara was reminded that not only was this her favorite restaurant, it was her favorite part of the night, and definitely her favorite part of a relationship. It was all so new and exciting. There were all these things to learn about the woman sitting across from her, and to imagine about her. The fact that she’d kissed Jude once before only heightened her expectations. She loved the blueprint for this kind of night—the playful but polite conversation, the subtle shift to a more personal choice of subject, and then, finally, the stage where the inhibitions dissipated as cheeks became flushed, wine bottles empty, and stares meaningful. Tonight the air was thick and sticky with promise.
Jude looked around. “I’ve never been here before,” she said.
Adults didn’t seem to know Jude when there were no kids or Bunny books around. People definitely looked at her, but without recognizing her. She was out of context here, to Cara’s relief.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Cara said. “This was once Amsterdam’s main post office. It was converted into a shopping mall in the early nineties. The exterior was completely rebuilt, keeping the original decorative elements intact.”
“It’s wonderful, and very cozy,” Jude said. “Grand but intimate, just the way I like it. Do you come here often?”
Cara didn’t want to kill the mood by admitting that she tended to take new lovers here, so she shook her head. “Not exactly often. When I go out, it’s usually with my sisters, and we tend to select grand café’s with fewer tourists—you know, the darker and smaller places, with those frighteningly narrow steps leading down to the restrooms.”
Jude took a sip of wine. “Sounds like you guys are pretty tight.”
Cara nodded. “It’s not always easy, but yes, we’re tight.”
“You’re lucky.” Jude took another napkin from the dispenser and dabbed at her mouth. “So where’s the badge? You owe me the story.”
Cara moaned. “What about the polite preliminaries? Are you sure you want to move to the subject of my bad career choices right away?”
“Absolutely,” Jude said. “Why not? Other peoples’ careers fascinate me.”
Jude’s no-nonsense attitude wasn’t quite what Cara had expected. She was friendly and obviously at ease, but she didn’t seem quite as accessible as she had the first time, at least not the way she was after they kissed. Maybe that Jude needed to be coaxed out first. And she wasn’t sure she was up to the task. She wasn’t sure she was up to any task other than being physically appealing.
“It’s not really a story,” she said, wiggling in her chair. “I quit, that’s pretty much all there is to it. It wasn’t for me.” She curled some spaghetti round her fork. “I’d rather talk about your career choices.”
Jude raised her eyebrows. “You know all about those already.”
“The Santa gig?”
“Oh, that,” Jude said. “I like to do one thing each year, incognito, that gives me a chance to meet my readers outside the obvious places like children’s book stores and libraries. Last year I was a clown at a county fair, somewhere in…” She thought long and hard. “I’d like to say it was…Groningen?”
Cara nodded. “That’s not impossible. Was it very flat, very windy, and very grey? And was it full of grassland and tractors that were stuck in the mud; and did you not understand a word anybody was saying?”
Jude laughed out loud. ”Spot-on.”
“Then it was probably Groningen.”
“So this year, I chose to stay a little closer to home. And I definitely wanted my gig to have something to do with Christmas. I know that your Father Christmas is a pale version of ours, but I thought I might do my bit in bringing him to life for the little ones.”
“Wow,” said Cara. “There’s no doubt that kids are definitely your thing.”
Jude shrugged. “I guess so. Meeting my audience is an essential part of what I do, but it’s not just work, it’s something I really enjoy.”
Yikes, Cara thought. She has the right answer to just about everything. She took a sip of her wine, her heart sinking as she realized, in a split second, that if she didn’t come up with an inspiring story of perseverance and commitment of her own, this might very well be not only the first but also the last meal they’d share together.
“And they really enjoy seeing Bunny,” Jude said. “You were very good at playing her, by the way. I was impressed with your magnificent improv. I was actually thinking of hiring you full time.”
<
br /> Cara smiled. “I’m definitely going to give that offer some thought.” She moved her glass across the table, leaving wet stains on the wooden top. “Have you ever wanted any of your own? I mean kids?”
Jude took her time answering, which made Cara fear that her question was either inappropriate or painful. She cursed her lack of discretion, which tended to rear its head just when it mattered the most. And to think that her very own sister had been trying unsuccessfully to have a baby for longer than any of them cared to remember. Cara had sat with Inge countless times and shared her despair when yet another month passed by, when yet another period came. And the clock was ticking.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I tend to—”
“No, it’s okay,” said Jude. “I just…why would you think I don’t have any of my own already?”
Cara let go of her glass. “Do you?”
Jude nodded.
Cara didn’t know what to say. Somehow, she had never considered that Jude might be a mother. Now that it turned out she was, her situation suddenly became a whole lot more complicated. Was there…another mother? A father? Was Jude’s lifetime partner still a force to be reckoned with, somewhere in the background? Had their breakup been temporary? And if there was a chance she’d patch things up with Laurie, would she have moved halfway across the world and gone on a date with someone new? Someone she had wanted to make out with so badly she had done so in public?
“Did I shock you?” Jude asked. She reached across the table and lightly touched Cara’s arm. Cara’s skin seemed to sparkle at the touch, but she couldn’t concentrate on enjoying it. All this new information was just too distracting.
“No, no,” she said. “I was just…wondering about a few things.”
Jude pulled her hand back. “Tell me what they are, okay? You can ask me anything.”
“Okay,” Cara said, “I’ll be perfectly honest.”
Jude nodded.
“I’m beginning to wonder what we’re doing here. Your signals are a little mixed. You have children, apparently. And an ex-partner, who is a woman. Were you raising a family with this Laurie? Or were you…with a man when you had them? Is there a chance you’ll patch things up with someone? Are you moving back to California? Were we just…having a bit of fun the other night?” She shrugged. “Not that there’s anything wrong with having fun. I just like to know where I stand. Or…”
