by Harper Bliss
“I think I would like that.” Naomi was fairly certain they had crossed over into flirting territory. Maybe that was what had stood out to her when Eileen had entered the coffee shop. Her gaydar had started pinging—not something that happened often in a town like Derby.
“I’ll see you there then.” Eileen emptied her cup and shoved it away from her. She cast one last glance at Naomi, then pushed herself up with one arm. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Naomi.” She grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair and held it in her good hand.
“Likewise,” Naomi said, with a smile.
As she watched Eileen walk off, she thought that the event she’d been dreading to go to on Friday, would now be much more interesting.
Naomi looked at the clock above the door. She had to get back to work. She carried the empty coffee cups to the counter and considered what had just happened.
Eileen-the-mysterious-photographer was intriguing and, Naomi believed—but couldn’t be entirely certain—interested in women. Even so, the woman was nothing like Jane or the other women Naomi had dated. It wasn’t only the obvious age difference between them that set her apart, but everything about her, really. What had stood out to Naomi most, however, was Eileen’s complete refusal to acknowledge why she was at the hospital—to admit any weakness on her part.
On her way to her office, with a little tingle fluttering in the pit of her stomach, Naomi wondered if she had a date on Friday. She guessed she would only find out then.
Chapter Five
Eileen stared out her bedroom window at the falling snow. Since returning home almost one week to the day, the weather had steadily dipped closer and closer to dead-of-winter temperatures, not Thanksgiving time weather. She’d always been sensitive to the cold, something not many people knew. On nights like this, she would never leave the house without cashmere wool tights.
She eyed her right arm, and muttered, “How, though?” Getting into loose pants every day had proven challenging every morning and she’d entirely given up on her favorite pair of skinny jeans. Tights?
Maybe Mack had been right when he suggested working with an occupational therapist. It wasn’t as if she could ask her girlfriend to help since she hadn’t been with anyone in years. Not seriously and certainly no one she could call up and say, “I need you.”
She thought back to her last substantial relationship and struggled to affix a year reference to Tami. Surely that meant it’d been some time.
Work. That was her life. And if she couldn’t work, who would she become?
Shoving that thought aside, Eileen strode to her closet to select an outfit for her… what? Date? Did hanging with Naomi at a local photography exhibition even count as a date? Did women Eileen’s age actually go on dates? So many questions ran through her head.
Selecting a no-nonsense pair of black slacks, she placed them on her bed. A burst of wind slashed her window, the top of the loose-fitting screen scratching the glass.
Sighing, she went back into her closet and rummaged through the suitcase on the floor. She hadn’t managed to find the energy or desire to unpack, convincing herself it’d be a useless effort since her time in Derby would be short. Rooting out a pair of black tights, she made her way back to her bed, her gaze landing on the sheets. They were pure whimsy, part of a nautical collection in which the delicate paisley print turned out on closer inspection to form tiny purple whales with cheerful grins. She wondered if Julia had enjoyed a good chuckle as she’d purchased them for Eileen. Julia had told her on many occasions that Eileen took herself way too seriously, which would be impossible to do while sleeping on these.
Dropping her robe, she eyeballed the black tights. “Only one of us will survive this,” she threatened, knowing it made zero sense. She envisioned the headline: “Woman Dies While Trying to put on Tights.” It was the type of headline Ray Steffens of yesteryear would have enjoyed.
“Ellie? You home?” Her sister’s voice echoed from the entrance.
Eileen snatched her robe from the bed and attempted to cover herself, only managing to get the robe situated on one shoulder before Julia burst through the doorway. Why had she given Julia a key to come and go as she liked?
“There you… are.” Julia lowered her glance to the scratched hardwood floor. “Whatcha doing?”
“Baking chocolate chip cookies. What do you think I’m doing?” Eileen’s lip curled up with displeasure.
“I meant, why are you getting dressed to go out on a night like this?” Julia gestured to the window and the tree branches blowing this way and that.
“Going to a local photography exhibition.” Eileen casually tried to adjust her robe to cover herself entirely without looking like she was, but failed miserably.
“Ah.” Julia nodded. “Jane’s photographs. I didn’t know you knew her.” She helped Eileen into her robe, without acknowledging her sister’s need for assistance.
“Haven’t had the pleasure. I met a woman in the hospital coffee shop and she mentioned it.”
Julia clapped her hands. “You’ve been in town less than a week and you already have a date. What’s her name?”
Eileen bit her bottom lip, assessing her sister’s face. “Um, it’s not a date. Just two people meeting up at the same event.”
Julia cupped her ear with a hand. “I’m sorry. Did you say a name yet?”
Eileen darted her glance to the ceiling, but still confided, “Naomi.”
Julia’s hazel eyes darkened a smidge, or so Eileen thought, but upon further inspection, they were back to their normal color. Maybe the snow outside had obscured the street lamps, playing tricks with Eileen’s vision. “And you’re wearing tights with your slacks so you won’t freeze, even indoors. Nice to see that hasn’t changed.”
“I… couldn’t find socks, that’s all.” Eileen’s gaze fell to the sheets on her bed.
“Right.” Julia scrutinized the tights on the bed and then Eileen. “Let’s get you dressed for your non-date. Sit on the edge of the bed.” She swept the opaque fabric into her hand.
Not budging, Eileen said, “It’s okay. I can still dress myself.”
Julia held the thick stockings out to Eileen. “Go ahead.”
Eileen didn’t reach for them. “I’m not going to, not with you watching. You’re getting weirder and weirder with each passing year.”
“How would you know? You’re never around.”
Eileen groaned. “Are you going to help or lecture?”
“Do you want my help?” Julia folded her arms over her chest, the tights still in her hand.
“You might as well while you’re here,” Eileen said in a tone that conveyed it only made sense, as if she were doing Julia a favor.
“Take a seat.”
“I’m not wearing underwear.” Eileen balked.
“Yeah, I noticed that earlier. You can skip that since you’ll be wearing these.” She raised the hosiery aloft to emphasize the point.
Eileen shook her head, appalled. “I’ve never left the house without underwear.”
“Underwear. Right.” Julia flipped around to the antique white dresser on the far side of the room. “Which drawer?”
“They’re still in my suitcase.” Eileen motioned to the closet with her left hand. “I forgot to unpack them earlier.”
Julia rummaged in the luggage. “Oh, wow. I never…” She held up red-licorice floral lace panties and a matching bra. “I don’t think I ever knew this about you.”
“That I wear undergarments?”
“Sexy ones.” Julia spun the panties and bra on her index finger, imitating the actions of a stripper.
Eileen gave Julia a frosty look. “Maybe this is one of the reasons why I never come home.”
“Having your skeletons tango out of the closet?” Julia manipulated the garments as if they were dancing.
“Being judged.”
“I’m not judging you. I’m impressed. I haven’t bought anything like this in years. Too bad it’s not a date, be
cause Naomi would dig these.”
“How do you know that?”
“Uh, she’s a woman, right? Who likes women? Hell, I’d find these sexy if they weren’t on my sister.”
Eileen shivered.
“You must be freezing.”
“Repulsed, you mean. My sister likes my underwear? Yuck.” She made a gagging sound.
Without further comment, Julia assisted Eileen with her clothes. When Eileen was fully dressed, Julia said, “You know, a lot of women like it when others show their vulnerability.”
“I never have.” Eileen pressed her lips together.
“Yeah, but you’re… different.”
Eileen studied the electric sign in the window of the studio located on Main Street. The words The Place flashed in neon pink, eliciting an eyeroll from Eileen. It was a decent size for the likes of Derby, but Eileen couldn’t help thinking if she attended an exhibit in a space like this in London, with that particular name in flamingo pink, it would have been described as overreaching on the hipster level.
“Would you like me to take your jacket?” a young woman asked Eileen.
Eileen weighed the question. The studio was warm. Much warmer than she’d anticipated. If she didn’t ditch the coat now, in all likelihood she’d have to shed it soon and hold it with her good arm leaving her completely at the mercy of… oh, who knew what. On the flip side, taking off the jacket now in the presence of the woman would clue this stranger in about her useless arm.
“There you are!” Naomi appeared at her side, her jasmine perfume permeating the space. “You look fantastic.” Without any prompts, Naomi eased Eileen’s jacket off, taking extra care with her right side, and handed it over to the young woman, who in return gave Naomi the coat check slip. “Thanks so much for coming tonight.” A grin split Naomi’s face. Her stunning dark eyes, high cheekbones, flawless skin, and narrow chin were all perfectly proportioned, giving Eileen the itch to capture her image.
Alas, that wasn’t possible. Casting her photographer’s eye aside, Eileen said, “What do you know about the exhibit? Or is it best for me to go in cold?”
“It might be best to fill you in some. Jane’s work can be…” Naomi’s voice trailed off as an older bickering couple passed them on their way out. When the coast was clear, Naomi continued, “The star of the show is Bitsy, a doll.”
Eileen pivoted her head to scrutinize Naomi’s face and quirked an eyebrow. “That’s intriguing.” Really? A doll? Maybe the flashing signage was the least pompous part about the evening.
“Isn’t it just,” Naomi gushed.
Eileen couldn’t gauge if Naomi’s reaction was sincere or mocking. The twinkle in the woman’s hypnotic eyes conveyed so many emotions, while masking a defining one. It wasn’t as if they were deceptive, rather processing more thoughts than most.
Naomi briefly patted Eileen’s good arm as if Eileen was in on the joke. It stirred a tingling sensation within Eileen. Naomi explained, “The show is titled Life in Bits.”
Eileen tore her gaze from where Naomi’s hand had touched briefly and stared into her sparkling eyes long enough to make a blush appear on Naomi’s cheeks. “Bitsy and Bits.”
She glanced to her right, seeing the first piece. The doll, with scuff marks on its plastic face and a tattered green and blue dress, lay in a pile of leaves on the side of a dirt road, as if had been left there years ago and completely forgotten. Eileen stood perfectly still, taking in the piece designated “The Forgotten.”
Naomi shifted on her feet, seeming unsure how to interpret Eileen’s reaction.
Eileen nodded and they moved on to the next photograph. In this shot, Bitsy, still with scratched face and torn clothing, sat in a field, with other dolls strewn about face down. Only Bitsy’s face could be seen. Eileen leaned closer and detected a tear in the corner of one of her eyes. The title was “Refugee Child.”
“Interesting,” Eileen muttered.
Slowly, they made their way to the other pieces, each showing Bitsy in provocative works, including protesting outside an abortion clinic, but Eileen couldn’t determine if Bitsy was for or against the cause.
After viewing the last offering, Naomi steered Eileen to a quiet corner. A waiter passed by with glasses of wine and Naomi snagged two, seeming to question her decision when she held onto both. She took a sip then asked, “What do you think?”
Eileen relieved Naomi of one of the glasses, but didn’t partake. “It’s interesting.”
“Ha! You’ve said that or a variation of that statement after viewing each one. And your face has been priceless. I don’t recommend you play poker.” Naomi leaned closer and whispered, “Ever.” Her melodious laughter tickled Eileen’s ears, blunting the words.
Eileen, knowing she’d been snared by Naomi’s observation, didn’t mind in the least, an unusual reaction that she’d have to ponder later in solitude.
Eileen smiled then said, “It’s not that I don’t like portraiture. I do. It’s a passion of mine, really. No matter how hard most individuals attempt to mask their feelings, more often than not, it’s their eyes that can’t lie. And the lines around the eyes—you can see their whole lifetime, the good and bad.” Eileen paused. “I’m not saying you can determine everything that has happened to a person from their face but you get a sense of their emotions. An insight into their psyche. And, from my assignments in war zones, I’ve seen people enduring the worst moments of their lives. It’s not easy to witness, but my job calls for me to record as much as possible for others so they can experience what’s happening.”
“War zones? Really? That sounds incredibly dangerous.” Alarm flashed in Naomi’s expressive eyes.
Eileen shrugged her left shoulder. “Adrenaline and wanting to expose the truth—that keeps me in the moment. It isn’t until after the dust settles that I contemplate the danger.”
“Wow.” Naomi shivered. “I had no idea. I feel a bit foolish for inviting you to… this exhibit. What must you think of Bitsy?”
Eileen smacked her lips. How could she say what she truly thought? The pretentiousness of this photographer. Thinking a doll could express true human feelings. Eileen had witnessed firsthand refugees fleeing their home countries. War zones. The smells. Sounds. The sobbing. The hatred. Fear. Desperation.
To avoid making Naomi feel even worse, Eileen said, “It’s always good to support art.”
Naomi laughed, seeming much relieved by the answer. “If you say so.” She moved closer conspiratorially, her shoulder pressing into Eileen’s good arm. “Between you and me, I’ve never fully understood Jane’s vision.” She pulled away and took another sip of wine. “I only came to show my support for my ex. She’s always been sensitive, especially about her work.”
Before Eileen could ask how long ago the breakup was, a woman with short, spiky hair approached.
The woman tossed an arm around Naomi’s shoulders and planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek. “Here’s my girl.”
Naomi jabbed an elbow into the woman’s side. “Ex-girl, you mean.” As she spoke, Naomi’s glance sought Eileen’s. “This is Jane, the photographer.”
Eileen nodded her acknowledgment, thankful Jane didn’t offer a hand to shake. Although, she didn’t appreciate Jane’s manhandling of Naomi, who seemed to like it even less.
Jane returned the nod, before turning her full attention back to Naomi, and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Why do you have to say ex-girl?”
“Because it’s the truth.” Naomi wiggled out of Jane’s grasp, nearly spilling her wine onto the white cement floor.
Eileen saw a woman waving at Jane, trying to get her attention. “I think you’re needed over there,” Eileen said, slanting her head toward the woman. Jane left without another word.
A hand pressed Eileen’s shoulder from behind. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Turning her head, Eileen gaped at Melissa, the girl she’d left without officially ending the relationship when she’d fled Derby to pursue her photography career.
Her hair was grayer, reminding Eileen once again to make an appointment to have her own grays taken care of. The inquisitive creases around Melissa’s eyes attested she hadn’t lost her spunk.
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder, Eileen could only think to say, “Oh, hi.” What else could she say really? Hey, I’ve been meaning to explain why I left the way I did but could never find the right words so yeah… you look good.
“I didn’t know you liked art like this. Back when we dated in school, you had very strong opinions,” Melissa said to Eileen. “Even the Mona Lisa irritated you.”
Eileen shifted slightly to block the hypocrisy of Jane the Artist trying to hawk a picture of feigned suffering, when the homeless rate in America was on the rise again. Not wanting to turn into the guest people avoided for spouting the truth, Eileen responded to Melissa’s Mona Lisa comment. “She doesn’t have any eyebrows and don’t get me started on the smile. At first glance, it looks like she is, but then it’s hard to determine.”
Melissa laughed, turning her attention to Naomi. “How are you, dear?”
“Good. And you?”
Eileen watched their greeting, remembering that in Derby everyone knew everyone else. And, she picked up on Melissa’s emphasis of dear, as if to alert Eileen to Naomi’s younger age.
Melissa turned her focus back to Eileen. “You always did see things in black and white terms. I thought of you, when was it, gosh… it’s been years.” Melissa tapped her fingers against her forehead. “Anyway, I read a news article that explained the Mona Lisa did originally have eyebrows, but over the centuries they’ve completely faded. As for the smile, the Italians have a word for it: sfumato. It means blurry, ambiguous, and leaves things to an individual’s imagination.”
Eileen’s posture stiffened. “Are you implying I lack imagination?” Her eyes skittered over another one of Jane’s pictures, wondering if that was what counted for imagination in Derby.
“What?” Melissa placed a hand on her chest. “Not at all. Just defining the term.” Melissa’s phone rang, bringing a frown to her face when she glanced at the screen. “Would you excuse me?” She gave Eileen’s shoulder a squeeze and exited via the back door of the studio.
