by Hazel Yeats
“Did you know,” she said, “that this very place was once the hippie capital of the country? Maybe even of the whole of Europe?”
Cara pictured the square in her mind the way she’d seen in old photographs.
She sighed. “I wish I could have been here back then, in the sixties. It was the place for sit-ins, sleep-ins, and every kind of peaceful, pot-induced protest against the established order you could think of. If I’d been around then, I would definitely have been a part of that. It must have been such a great time to be alive.”
Jude looked at her lovingly. Her eyes were dark, her skin seemed to glow. “I think I’m ready for that nightcap now,” she said.
Cara nodded. “Would you prefer the buzzing nightlife at Leidseplein Square, or the quiet splendor of my apartment?”
Jude grinned. “The latter. Where’s your car?”
“Don’t have it here,” Cara said. “Sorry. Parking is hell in the city. Which is why I cycle or take the metro.”
Jude looked at her in amazement. “You’ve cycled in this city and lived to tell?”
“Sure,” Cara said. “We have a special skill. But I took the metro in today.”
“So lead on, then,” Jude said. “Take us underground.”
But as they headed for a metro station, Jude asked Cara if they could take a tram instead. There was nothing to see on the metro, she insisted, while traveling by tram was a wonderful way to be part of the hustle and bustle of the city from a safe distance.
“I’m in love with the sound of the tram bells,” she said. “It’s part of the music of Amsterdam.”
Once in the tram, they sat side by side on the comfortable blue seats, looking out the window.
“This is cozy,” Jude said, moving closer to Cara.
“I live in a very ugly apartment building,” Cara said, out of the blue.
Jude giggled. “You sure know how to make a girl’s head spin.”
“Well,” Cara said, “it’s true. And I thought I might as well warn you now. I know that you dwellers of the canal belt don’t really know how the other half lives.”
“You could live in a tent for all I care,” Jude said. She seemed to be in very high spirits now. It was as if their little falling out at the restaurant had cleared the air and given way to a feeling of trust and lightheartedness between them. Or maybe, Jude was simply an easygoing person. Cara wanted to pinch herself—an easygoing girlfriend, now that was a first. She scolded herself for thinking of Jude as her girlfriend. Too hard, too soon. Would she ever learn?
“What’s that look?” Jude said.
Cara realized that Jude was staring at her and that she had a worried look in her face.
“Are you having second thoughts?” Jude asked. The tram made a stop and she laughed. “Please, don’t make me get off here, in the…” she struggled to read the name on the display. “….Egidiusstraat.” She puffed. “That doesn’t really roll off the American tongue smoothly, does it?”
“I think you’re a natural,” Cara said. “I’d never have known you weren’t a local. And I’m definitely not having second thoughts.”
To emphasize how much she wasn’t having second thoughts, she rested her hand on Jude’s leg. Possessive? So what. She knew it was there, Jude knew it was there—hell, everybody knew it was there. And it felt so right.
When they got off the tram, Cara pointed to a block of flats down the street. “That’s it,” she said. “Are you coming?”
Jude followed her, staring at the building. “I don’t see what’s wrong with it,” she said.
Cara shrugged. “My apartment is on the fifth floor. It would have had a great view if there was actually anything to see.”
“You have a habit of talking down on things for no reason,” Jude said.
The tiled hall was full of old bicycles. Stacks of envelopes were piled on top of the mailboxes on the wall. Cara saw Jude stare at them, eyebrows raised.
“Bills,” she explained. “Friendly and slightly less friendly requests to pay for services rendered. I could have made a living as a process server and never left my own building.”
“Interesting,” Jude said as they stepped on the elevator. She pressed the button for the fifth floor and then nudged Cara. “You still owe me an answer to my question.”
“What question?”
“The information you wanted that was missing from my website. We aim to inform, you know.”
Cara swallowed. “I was just wondering…” she said.
“Yes?”
“How you sound…”
“How I sound?”
“When you…you know.”
“Jesus,” said Jude, putting her hand on the wall for support.
“Just to name something.”
“Please, don’t name anything else,” Jude said, “or you’ll make me faint.”
“We can’t have that.” Cara grinned. “We’re here, by the way.”
The elevator doors slid open and they stepped out into a narrow lobby with five doors on either side. Cara opened her front door. It had a peephole.
“No cats?” Jude said, walking into the hall. She opened the door to a wonderfully spacious and bright living room and stepped inside.
“No cats,” Cara said. “And no taste in interior design to speak of.” She kicked off her shoes. “And I’m okay with that.”
“What do you mean, no taste in interior design to speak of?” Jude was standing in the middle of the room, surveying it. “I never know how to respond to people’s modesty.” She unbuttoned her coat, took it off and hung it over a chair. “Am I supposed to contradict them, or to tell them that I too think they suck at whatever they claim to suck at.”
Cara shrugged. “It wasn’t my intention to be modest. It’s just that most people who see my place for the first time tell me that walking in here is like walking into an anemic Ikea catalogue.”
“Most people are full of it,” Jude said. “What’s wrong with buying furniture from a place that sells it? Who has time to scour the flea markets for hidden treasures and spend months fixing them up? I know I don’t.”
“Have a seat.” Cara pointed to her comfortable grey couch.
Jude sat down. She took off her jacket and draped it neatly over the armrest. She made herself comfortable, sinking back into the cushions. “Maybe the place could do with a little more color,” she said, looking around. “A couple of throw pillows and houseplants might liven it up. Other than that, I think it’s quite tasteful. And I love your collection.” She pointed to the wall-to-wall bookcase. “Who has real books anymore?”
“I’ll give you a tour later,” Cara said, walking into the kitchen. “What will you have?” She picked up a bottle from the cooking island and eyed it suspiciously. “This is empty, I’m afraid. Which leaves us with a choice of some leftover Tequila or…” She began to open and close cabinets doors “…as it turns out, some leftover Tequila.”
“I’m not sure,” Jude said. “I guess I’ll go with the Tequila.”
Cara nodded. “Excellent choice.”
She poured the drinks, walked into the room, handed Jude a glass and sat next to her, close enough to ensure a subtle and seemingly undeliberate touching of thighs.
Jude looked at her glass doubtfully. “On second thought, I’m not sure how wise it is to drink this after all that wine. I’m not really used to so much alcohol.”
“It’ll go to your head.” Cara sounded as if she couldn’t wait for that to happen.
“So what exactly was the Tequila left over from? Did you have a bash?”
Cara laughed. “A bash? Hardly. I’m all work and no play, didn’t you know?”
“Poor you.” Jude turned toward her, breaking the contact between their thighs, but making up for it by staring into Cara’s eyes and putting a hand on her knee. “Poor, beautif
ul Cara. No fun in your life, ever?”
Cara shook her head.
“Maybe we could…” Jude moved her hand up Cara’s leg, slowly, from the knee to the thigh, and higher still, her thumb leading the way. Just as Cara was about to gasp, she stopped.
“Tease.”
Jude smiled. “Good things come to those who wait.”
“I’ve been wondering,” Cara said, feeling a familiar tingle in the pit of her stomach, “about your necklace.” She stretched out her hand and touched the delicate silver design, resting her fingers lightly on Jude’s skin.
“Someone had it specially made for me,” Jude said, “by a silversmith. It represents two things that are opposite to some, but not to me.” She brought her own hand to the necklace, finding Cara’s fingers there. “I stopped seeing the person who gave it to me, a long time ago, but it’s still a reminder to me that such a thing is possible. To be united, and still, somehow, free.”
Cara nodded.
“In my experience,” Jude said, “it’s pretty much impossible to have both.” She shrugged. “I either wind up with someone who takes the freedom a little too far, or with someone who can’t stand to be apart for ten minutes.”
“I’m not so sure it’s impossible to have both at all.” Cara liked what she heard. “Anyway, it’s beautiful.” She let go of the necklace, but allowed her fingers to trail down, hiding them in the fabric of the shirt, until she felt them enveloped by soft, warm flesh.
Jude’s breath hitched.
Cara wanted to put her glass on the table, but she knew that to do so, she must remove her hand.
It was a dilemma of sorts, that Jude watched her struggle with for a moment, the corners of her mouth curling up. “Let me help you,” she said finally. “Something tells me you’ll be needing both hands here.” Her voice was low, like a purr. She took the glass and put it on the side table next to the couch. “You really didn’t think this through, did you?” She shook her head. “Amateur.”
“We’ll see who’s an amateur,” Cara whispered as she started to unbutton Jude’s blouse. Jude leaned over, looking for Cara’s mouth, and she grabbed her wrists, keeping both their arms suspended in the air. Cara, frustrated though she was, tried to resign to her hands being tied. She concentrated, instead, on the kiss; gentle, lazy almost, similar to before, but without the urgency.
“There is a point of no return here, you know?” Jude’s voice was muffled, her lips brushing Cara’s.
“Reached and passed it,” Cara whispered. As soon as she had her hands back, she continued unbuttoning Jude’s blouse. Jude leaned back slightly, giving access, watching Cara’s every move with interest. When Cara was done, she slid the soft fabric over Jude’s shoulders. Drawing from rich experience in sliding women’s blouses over their shoulders, Cara was surprised at how alarmingly intimate it was to see Jude like this. It was fairly innocent—it was nothing you couldn’t see in dressing rooms, in swimming pools, at beaches. And still. It was as if there was an unusual intensity to it all—as if they had crossed a line that had very little to do with sex, but everything with connectedness, with trust. Cara shivered, not because she relished it, but because it startled her. She tried to restore the balance by upping the ante, running eager hands over Jude’s shoulders and hooking her fingers beneath the bra straps.
Before she could drag them down, Jude moved out of reach of her hands. “Let’s wait a second here, okay?”
Cara dropped her hands in her lap, ready to scream. “What’s wrong? Please, don’t tell me we’re taking another rain check.” She exhaled loudly. “There aren’t enough cold showers in the world—”
“Don’t worry. No rain check.” Jude smiled. “I just thought that maybe…you know—is there a place where we’ll be a little more comfortable? Like…a bed?”
Cara got up, holding out her hand to Jude as if she were asking her to dance.
Jude got up too, trying, for some reason, to readjust her blouse.
“Don’t bother,” Cara said. “There is a bed, and this…” she tugged at the shirt, “…is definitely coming off.”
“Who’s corrupting me now, huh?”
“I am.” Cara practically dragged Jude down the hall. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
“Oh, and so you know,” Jude said as they entered the bedroom, “I’m quiet.”
Cara looked puzzled, as Jude’s hands began to wander over her body, the fingertips as light as butterflies. Jude pulled Cara’s shirt out of her jeans and over her head. She brought her hand to Cara’s head and opened the clasp that was holding her hair up, watching it fall and running her hands through it. She grunted and buried her face in the wavy blond locks. Her gaze shifted, and she moved her hands to Cara’s jeans. She opened the belt, the button, the zipper. The urgency was back—her motions growing impatient and determined.
“Quiet?” Cara loved the way Jude was all over her.
Jude stuck a teasing finger inside Cara’s panties, making her gasp.
“When I…you know.”
Cara unhooked Jude’s bra, then her own. She filled her hands and marveled.
“That sounds like a challenge.” Cara bent over and gently bit Jude’s earlobe. Jude giggled, as she crouched down and began to tug at the denim of Cara’s jeans with impatient fingers. Cara knew her panties would be next, and as she felt the fabric being slid down her legs, slowly exposing her, she was afraid she’d come before they even made it to the bed.
They woke up to a bright new day. No regrets, no doubts.
Cara was exhilarated to find that Jude didn’t seem to feel the need to discuss the state of their relationship after ‘you know, last night,’ knowing all too well that the simplicity of sex on the night you had it tended to turn into the most complicated thing in the world in the cold light of day.
“I can’t believe you told me you have no accomplishments.” Jude’s voice clinked like an ice cube in a glass.
“I can’t believe you told me you were quiet.” Cara smirked.
Jude rolled over, straddled Cara, and leaned forward to kiss her. “I guess your accomplishments and my volume are somehow connected. You are one talented woman, Cara Jong. Remind me to rewrite that resume for you, okay?”
It was going to be a great morning, one of the best Cara could remember.
CHAPTER 7
“I can’t believe you’re dating Jude Donovan,” Myra said. “And she has a child! I never knew that. You’re practically a mother yourself, now. Especially since there’s no father.”
“There is a father,” Cara said.
“A gay friend donating his sperm in a turkey baster and then joining the foreign legion is hardly a father.”
“He never joined the foreign legion,” Cara said. “I don’t even think the foreign legion exists anymore. He’s doing volunteer work in Africa somewhere. And he didn’t exactly donate his sperm in the turkey baster, he just—”
“Okay!” Myra pushed her hand in Cara’s face. “We get it! Enough sperm talk. But really, I can’t believe you’re dating Jude Donovan.” She nodded approvingly. “Well done.”
“It’s not really dating,” Cara said. “It’s…seeing. I’m seeing her.”
“How is that different?” Myra rested her hand on her stomach. She was a little less bouncy, being in her third trimester.
Cara shrugged. “I don’t want you guys to get all overboard here, the way you do.”
“So what’s she like?” Inge asked.
“She’s amazing.”
“How’s the sex?”
Cara wasn’t prepared for the question, nor for its impact. Vivid images of her night with Jude began to bombard her thoughts, and it was as if not nearly enough oxygen was making it to her head.
“I don’t know,” she said stoically, bluffing her way through it. “We’re not in that place.”
“That good, h
uh?” Inge patted her on the shoulder. “I’m impressed.”
“Do they ask about me?”
Cara nodded. “All the time. They’re desperate to meet you. I’ve been giving them updates ever since we met at the De Bijenkorf, when you were so horribly cruel to me. They know everything.”
Jude stretched out her hands and put them on Cara’s hips, pulling her closer. “Everything?” she said coyly. “They know everything?”
Cara leaned over and put her lips on Jude’s ear. “Yes,” she whispered, delighting at the goose bumps raising all over Jude’s arms. “They told me to have my way with you any chance I get.”
Jude writhed and giggled as the tip of Cara’s tongue touched her ear. “Have your way with me? That’s what they said? Exactly, what is your way?”
Cara pushed her down gently on the bed, and showed her. Twice.
“What’s up?” Cara kept her phone between her chin and her shoulder, balancing her laptop in the air with one hand and an empty coffee cup with the other.
“Not much,” Inge said. “I was just wondering how you’re doing.”
“Fine. You?” Cara put down the computer and the mug on the coffee table and fell down on the couch.
“Okay. So how’s it going with Jude?”
“Pretty good.”
“Come on, Cara, give me something here. Don’t make me beg.”
“If you must know, we went out last night. We had a beef croquette at Febo’s. From the vending machine.”
Inge gave a snort of disgust. “Febo’s? Really? Why? Not that I’m not a fan, but isn’t that a bit tacky for a date?”
“It’s part of Jude’s education in Dutch culture,” Cara said. “Which is long overdue. She has managed to stay 100 percent American and that has to stop.”
“So you spent the entire night at Febo’s?”
“No, we went to the movies afterward.”
“What did you see?”
“The Hunger Games.”
“Really? Isn’t that for kids?”
