She opened her eyes, and stared deeply into Jamie’s vivid green orbs, opening herself up fully to her partner. Suddenly, completely without warning, her heart started to race, and she felt her emotional barriers slam into place again. "NO!" she shouted, more to herself than to Jamie. Wrenching her body away, she sat up and put her feet on the floor, trying to ground herself. Jamie’s hand touched her back, and it was all Ryan could do not to swat it away. Sweat was trickling down her back and sides, and she knew she was on the verge of a full panic attack.
Getting to her feet, she lunged for the window seat and reached out for the wall. Feeling the cool plaster helped calm her, and she was able to start her breathing exercises. The panic will pass soon. It won’t harm me – it just scares me. The panic will pass soon … Repeating the new mantra, the exercises slowly had an effect, and she started to bring herself down.
Her tunnel vision cleared, and she saw the stark panic on Jamie’s face. "I’m sorry," Ryan whispered, feeling as weak and powerless as a kitten.
Coming to her side, Jamie tentatively reached out, but Ryan shrank from her touch. Swallowing her hurt, the smaller woman squatted down in front of her, so their eyes met. Making her voice as gentle as she could, she murmured, "You have nothing to apologize for. We’re both struggling here, baby, and we’ve still got a lot of work to do. This will pass, I promise you."
"I hope to God you’re right." Ryan stood on her still-rubbery legs and extended a hand, pulling Jamie to her feet. Patting her on the shoulder, she said, "I need a quick shower. You go on to bed."
The smaller woman nodded, sparing a worried look as Ryan turned to head for the bathroom.
Amanda waited until Ryan had vented all of her frustrations, then calmly said, "Whether it seems like it or not, you are making progress. This was the first time in over a week that you had even a glimmer of desire. You just went a little past your safety zone this time. Next time you’ll go a little further, and a little further still each time. Being completely vulnerable with Jamie is going to take a little longer – that’s all."
"But she means so much to me," Ryan moaned. "It would help so much to feel her touch. But it honestly felt like she was going to suck the life right out of me! How can that be? How can someone who I love more than life itself feel so alien and frightening!"
Amanda paused for a moment, then offered, "It makes perfect sense, Ryan. The fact that you were both victims makes it even harder than it would be if you had been alone. Making yourself completely open tears open a scab that’s just started to form. You’re learning to put up some very effective barriers to keep the reporters from getting to you. Doesn’t it make sense that it would be hard to put up one barrier, while trying to take another down?"
After allowing herself to consider that question, Ryan finally asked, "Are you sure I’ll be able to take the barrier down someday?" With a sorrow-filled sigh, she said, "Jamie’s my life, Amanda. Touching her and letting her touch me is life sustaining."
"You’ll be able to take the barrier down, Ryan. I’m certain of it. We’ll just keep working, and over time you’ll welcome each other back to that intimate place. It will come."
"What do I do until it comes?" she asked, desolation filling her soul.
"Small steps, Ryan, small steps. Holding hands, gentle kissing, maybe a backrub … anything that makes both of you feel a little connection. Just don’t push yourself. When you feel any discomfort – back off, and try again later."
"Okay," she said softly. "I guess we don’t have many options."
Strangely, even though she felt very shaky about her inability to be sexual, Ryan was ready to push herself a little where the reporters were concerned. Deciding that she would do well to force herself to drive, she got into the Mustang to drive to her afternoon appointment. A van followed her the whole way, but she repeated her mantra time and again, and by the time she reached the building, her heart rate was barely elevated. She parked in the adjacent lot, and took deep, even breaths as she got out of the car. A man ran alongside her, his voice insistent, but not overly loud. "If you just talk to me for three minutes I can make $100,000!" he said. "Do you have any idea how much that would mean to my family? You don’t even have to say anything important! Just let me take your picture and feed me a line of crap! How does that hurt you?"
She continued to take her deep breaths until she got to the doctor’s office. He was right next to her, yapping away, until she went inside and shut the door in his face, throwing the bolt in place.
Her breathing was considerably faster than it had been when she got out of the car, but she managed to press the buzzer, indicating that she had arrived. Amanda came out and smiled at her, but her smile froze when she saw the look on her client’s face. "I was followed," Ryan said, her voice tremulous. "There’s a guy right outside the door."
Amanda noted the locked door, and urged Ryan to go inside. They walked in together, then Amanda called the security firm that policed the small building. She explained the situation, and they agreed to send a guard over to clear the hallway.
She sat down and gazed at Ryan with her normal warm regard. "How are you?" she asked softly. "You look pretty good – considering."
"I’m okay," Ryan said, just slightly out of breath. "It was a lot harder in my dreams," she said.
"It always is," Amanda said.
"You know, it’s funny," Ryan said. "He tried to guilt-trip me, and for just a second, I started to see the situation through his eyes."
"And …?"
"That’s a good thing," she said. "It let me see the guys who’ve been hounding me as people. They’re not some version of evil incarnate. They’re just average people who make their living by taking pictures and getting interviews from newsworthy people. The free-lance guys, in particular, just go where the hot story is. I shouldn’t hate them for that."
"Does that realization make you feel differently about talking to them?" Amanda asked.
"Hell no!" Ryan shook her head and laughed, allowing Amanda to hear the gentle, lilting tone for the first time. "We all make choices in this life. Those guys decided to make their living chasing down people – some of whom would prefer not to be caught. I’m not gonna be caught. Those are the breaks," she said.
Amanda gave her a wide smile. "I’d put my money on you in that little horse race, Ryan."
When she left, Amanda walked her all the way to the elevator, mostly to insure that the elevator lobby was free of reporters. She patted her on the back and said, "To the swift goes the race, Ryan. They can’t catch you if you don’t want to be caught."
She got back into the compound without incident, even though she did have to brush off the same reporter when he tried to stop her from getting into her car. Luckily, the security guard was close by, and his impressive bulk convinced the man that he should try again later.
Hopping out of the Mustang, her face broke into a delighted grin when she saw what was waiting for her on the back steps. Two brand news basketballs, both women’s sized and made for outdoor use. Jamie came home not long afterward, and she and Ryan spent the rest of the afternoon working on their dribbling skills, and by the end of the day, Jamie was just about 2,997 hours short of Ryan’s proficiency.
Lying in bed that night, Ryan’s stomach was coiled in a ball of tension. Finally forcing herself to bring up the upsetting topic, she asked, "Did you talk to Anna about what happened last night?"
"Yeah," Jamie said. They were lying next to each other, but not an inch of clothing or skin touched. "Not because it upset me," she added quickly. "I just wanted to know if there was any way I could help you get through this."
"You’re not hurt, or mad at me?" Ryan asked softly, her voice wavering.
Jamie’s hand closed the few inches than separated it from Ryan’s. Threading her fingers between the long, cool digits, she gave the hand a squeeze. "Never," she whispered. "We’ll be okay, Ryan. I promise we’ll get back to where we were. It’s just gonna take a while. You know, I
felt pretty shaky last night, too. I’m not at all sure I could have kept going."
"Really?" There was a full minute of silence, then Ryan said, "That amazes me. You seem pretty much like your normal self."
Squeezing the hand again, she said, "I have a lifetime of practice in how not to show what I’m really feeling, honey. I haven’t had that shield up with you for a long time, but it’s up now. I’ve got nearly as much troubling me as you do. We’ve both got our plates full."
Ryan sighed, both relieved and dismayed that Jamie was as troubled as she. "Amanda thinks we should take it really slow, and not push each other."
"I think that’s a good idea," Jamie said. "Anna suggested we each ask for what we need, and see how it feels to the other person."
Giving her a painfully sad smile, Ryan nodded. "I can’t believe that we could go from being as open as we were in the Bahamas, to needing to ask permission for a kiss." Sighing heavily, she said, "I guess there aren’t many options, though. I’m willing to try it that way."
Squeezing her fingers, Jamie said, "I could use a hug. How about you?"
"Yeah. I could use a few thousand myself." Stretching out her left arm, Jamie placed her hand on Ryan’s back and pulled her close. Automatically, their bodies molded together, until they were pressing against each other all down their lengths. "Is this too close?" Ryan asked.
"Not nearly close enough," Jamie said with a sigh. Ryan gently stroked her back, and soon Jamie fell into a deep sleep. Wiping a few tears from her eyes, Ryan disentangled herself and eased her partner onto her side. Kissing her cheek, she scooted to the other edge of the bed and wrapped her arms tightly around herself, curling up in a fetal position as she watched the hours tick away on the bedside clock.
Part 8
The next day they got a little more adventurous and decided to play golf at Pebble Beach, their first venture out together since the reporters had descended upon their sanctuary. Since they were both in the car, every reporter followed them, and when they pulled into the parking lot, a long line of SUV’s and vans pulled in right behind them.
Getting out of the car, Ryan stared at the ground, refusing to make eye contact with anyone, no matter how much they begged. She had on a baseball cap, bill facing forward, and it was pulled down as low as she could get it.
The club was open to non-members, and to their dismay, two of the intrepid reporters managed to procure and pay for a round of their own. Normally, the wait for a tee-time was months long, but the day was cool and drizzly – and many vacationers had chosen not to brave the wicked course on a rainy day.
Jamie wasn’t about to let the reporters ruin their day, so she spoke to the starter, and he agreed to send a marshal out with them to keep an eye on things and make sure the men behaved. By the second hole, the marshal decided that the reporters were following too closely, so he moved another group between them, ignoring the outraged squawks from the men.
Standing on the third tee, Ryan looked around, asking, "Where’s Chip? I assumed he’d be playing with us today." She said this with a definite edge to her voice, and Jamie waited a moment to answer, not wanting to further aggravate her partner.
"I don’t know, honey. I assume he’s doing his job."
"And that’s … what?" she asked, the edge still in place.
"He’s a golf pro," she said, knowing that Ryan knew exactly what he did for a living. "He’s probably giving someone a lesson."
"I’ll just bet he is," she grumbled, turning to address her ball.
Watching her from behind, Jamie decided to let the matter drop. She knew Ryan was looking for a fight, but she had no desire to give her one. Every time she looked up, Ryan was staring at her, but still she refused to rise to the bait.
Normally, Ryan’s little bouts of pique were short lived, and ended as soon as she realized she was being childish. But she had a lot of staying power today, and she continued to glare at Jamie for nearly an hour. On the eighth hole, the larger woman couldn’t take Jamie’s refusal to engage any more. She stood in front of her, blocking her from being able to get out of the golf cart. "How many times have you seen him since we’ve been here?"
Jamie took a deep breath, trying to decide if she should even answer. She knew this interaction would come to no good end, but she didn’t have many options, so she told the truth. "Twice. I played a round with him that first day, and he watched me on the driving range yesterday." She reached out and grasped the waistband of her lover’s slacks, holding on so Ryan didn’t storm away like she had a tendency to do. "I know you’re having a hard time keeping things in perspective, but it hurts my feelings when you question me like this. I have no romantic interest in Chip, or any other human being. You’re the person I love, Ryan, and you can trust me implicitly."
"I can’t trust him," she growled. "It’s obvious he has a crush on you." She narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice. "And he probably thinks he can get you."
"What does that mean?" Jamie knew she was being pulled into an argument, but she couldn’t stop herself.
"Nothing." Ryan took a club at random and hacked at the ball, sending it shooting along the ground no more than 100 feet. "Fuck you!" she yelled, glowering at the innocent white orb. She strode down the fairway, the wind carrying most of her invective-laced commentary away so that Jamie couldn’t hear it.
The blonde decided to skip the hole, since the group behind them had caught up to them and she didn’t want to allow them to eavesdrop. She drove by her partner and demanded, "Get in. We’re going to 9."
Ryan looked like she wanted to argue, but after a pregnant pause she walked around to the passenger side and climbed in. They rode in silence to the 8th green, noting that the group ahead of them was just finishing putting out. As soon as the foursome left the green Jamie decided to putt a few balls just to waste time. She dropped three onto the surface and forced herself to concentrate, managing to two-putt each of them over the long, curving, undulating green. Ryan stayed in the cart, looking sullen and withdrawn. When Jamie finished, she drove over to the ninth tee, then turned and stared at Ryan until the dark head finally turned her way. "I have no interest in Chip, Ryan, and whether or not he has a crush on me is immaterial. There are dozens of women who have crushes on you, and I don’t try to prohibit you from seeing them. As a matter of fact, two of the women from your past openly admit that they’re in love with you." Her eyes sparked with fire as she added, "And I’ve never … ever … tried to make you feel bad about that. I never would – because I’d be doing so only to hurt your feelings. I’d appreciate the same consideration."
She got out of the cart, went to the tee, and hit a surprisingly good shot, despite the anger that coursed through her veins. Crossing her arms over her chest, she waited patiently, finally realizing that Ryan was not coming. Turning, she saw her sitting with her feet up on the edge of the cart, head buried between her raised knees. She was obviously crying, and Jamie sighed deeply, feeling like she’d reached her limit of emotionally draining experiences. Wanting nothing more than to pick up her bag and play the round alone, just to avoid another scene, she nevertheless walked over to her partner and sat next to her in the cart. "Do you want to leave?" she asked softly.
"Yes, but they’ll see me crying. I don’t want to see my picture in the tabloids looking like this."
Jamie looked around, noting that the reporters were more than a hole behind them. "Hold on," she commanded, and took off, driving the electric cart as fast as she could. She maneuvered them around the course, going backwards down some holes, and cutting across a fairway or two. They approached a small building somewhere on the back 9, the structure well hidden by trees and shrubs.
"Where are we?" Ryan asked, looking around confusedly.
"This is one of the cart barns. No one will be around here until the end of the day when they store the excess carts here." She got out, then took her wallet from her bag and stuck it into her pocket. "Come on. Let’s go for a walk."
"A walk
?"
"Yeah. We can cut across right over there and be by the shore. Let’s go."
"But your clubs …"
Putting her hands on her hips, Jamie stared at her partner for a minute. "Take a guess what’s more important to me. You or those fucking sticks? Now, come on."
She started off, with Ryan having to run to catch up with her. "Jamie, it’s okay. I’m better now. I’m really sorry for what I said …"
"We’re going for a walk," she repeated, scowling.
"Okay, okay." Ryan shoved her hands in her pockets and walked alongside her partner. They crossed a fairway or two, lurked behind a tree as a cart sped by, then took off again, making it to the shore unmolested. They found a spot that the passing golfers would likely not see, and sat down on the springy, longish grass, both of them silent for a while.
"With all of the things that have happened, I understand that you’re on edge," Jamie said. "I promise to support you, no matter what, but it wounds me to have you doubt my fidelity."
"I don’t," Ryan said, giving her a pathetically sad look. "I really don’t, Jamie."
"Then what is it, Ryan? What else should I think when you’re obviously upset that I played golf with a guy I know?"
"It’s stupid and childish and doesn’t even merit talking about," she mumbled. "Can’t we just forget it?"
"No." Jamie put her hand on her leg and said, "I want to know what’s going on in your head."
"No, you don’t," Ryan said, shaking her dark head firmly. "It’s a bad place to be right now."
"You know what I mean. Tell me why you’re upset about Chip."
She wrapped her arms around her knees and gazed out at the surf for a few moments, collecting her thoughts. "I felt like you’d rather be with him than with me," she said quietly. "He’s not a psycho."
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