Just Like That

by Karin Kallmaker

  “All I did was let them in. You need to thank Caroline—she told them what to do around the windows. I hadn’t a clue.”

  Caroline appeared from the direction of the kitchen, glasses of wine in hand. “Hello, stranger,” she said to Toni. “You were late in last night.”

  “I went out to dinner with Syrah and then decided to stargaze. There aren’t any stars in New York.”

  “Really? Was she a good guide?”

  “Only for part of the evening.” Every word was the truth, but she had a feeling Caroline was hearing more than Toni was willing to admit. “She picked a great pub for dinner, though.”

  Missy, oblivious to their conversation, continued to chatter about how the room looked. “I’ve been thinking about the gardens all week, and I’m going to ask Jane for advice. Even if she doesn’t have time to mastermind it, I think she has wonderful taste.”

  “Well, a week of work didn’t change that tune,” Caroline said in a low voice. “So, darling, I chose a laundry, and she chose a pub. Which of us got it right?”

  “It’s not like that, Caroline.”

  “Then why do you look like you didn’t sleep? Did she get any sleep?”

  “You know I was alone when I got here.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m pleased to think another woman disturbed your sleep.”

  “I’m going home tomorrow, Caroline.” Syrah had plainly been avoiding her today and Toni got that message loud and clear.

  Missy whirled around. “You’re not! I just got back, and I’m taking half of next week off—well, working from here. I need you to be here, just a few days.”

  “You have to stay a little longer,” Caroline agreed. “Otherwise we won’t be able to chaperone her.”

  “Guys, really, I need to go—”

  “Wednesday. Stay until Wednesday. Then at least I’ll have made some plans for this place, too.”

  “Besides,” Caroline added brightly, “tonight’s karaoke night for the local girls. It’ll be a hoot.”

  God in heaven, couldn’t they just let her leave? She wanted to crawl back to New York and bury herself in nothing but work because there was no telling what would happen if she saw Syrah Ardani again. Her voice flat, she said, “It sounds ever so fun.”

  “We leave at seven,” Missy said. “We’re meeting Jane and her friend there.”

  Toni knew that Caroline didn’t miss her sharp intake of breath. “Goodie.”

  “A party of five,” Caroline mused. She sipped her wine, then said, to no one in particular, “I wonder who will end up the fifth wheel?”

  * * *

  “Jane, I’m so tired, can’t I skip this month?”

  “I need you there. I’m seeing Missy for the first time in ages, and what if she doesn’t like me anymore? I can’t just be there by myself. Here, you wear this.” Jane held up Syrah’s only skirt.

  “No freakin’ way am I wearing a skirt for karaoke. It’s jeans or nothing.”

  “Okay, you can wear jeans. And this top. And have a nap, you look like hell.” Jane dropped onto the bed next to Syrah. “What’s wrong?”

  Knowing Jane would never believe a denial, Syrah said, “I really don’t want to spend any more time with the woman. She’s done her work. Maybe she’s left for home already.”

  “You and she really rub each other the wrong way, huh? I think she’s sharp and witty, but I’m not sure, really, that she likes me much.” Jane idly scratched the back of her neck and Syrah thought again that she ought to be in love with Jane.

  Now, more than ever, however, she knew that she was not. As perfect as Jane was, she did not make Syrah feel even remotely the way Toni did. “How could anyone not like you? You have the best heart and you’re gorgeous.”

  “You’re biased. So you’ll come tonight? Please?”

  “Okay, if you’ll let me sleep now.” Syrah closed her eyes as Jane got off the bed.

  “I’ll be back at six-thirty, and you better be dressed. I’ll tell Bennett to wake you.”

  The next thing Syrah knew there was an aroma of coffee near her nose. “Come on,” Bennett said brusquely. “Dinner’s going to burn while I’m up here waiting on you.”

  “Thank you,” Syrah mumbled. “Tell Dad I’m feeling better, and thank you for the break from pouring.”

  “There are still people in the tasting room—busy, busy Friday afternoon.”

  Damn. Her need for a nap had been ill-timed. She scrambled into the jeans and dark blue top Jane had approved—both a little tighter than she generally preferred—and hurried downstairs to help clear the tasting room. Jane arrived while Syrah was pouring the final red for one of two couples, having sent her father in to dinner. At last she rang up their purchases and turned the door sign to Closed.

  “Go brush your hair,” Jane advised.

  “I don’t like this shirt,” Syrah said as she went up the stairs.

  “Okay, pick something else, but no polo shirts, not tonight.”

  She found a short-sleeved polyester shell that didn’t make her feel as if her breasts were popping out to say “Look at us, look at us!” She wasn’t twenty anymore. A few minutes later they were in Jane’s truck and Syrah examined Jane’s pressed khakis and form-fitting muscle T—lucky Jane in cotton from the skin out. “Why can’t I be comfortable, too?”

  “Well, this will sound dumb, but I think Missy really likes me being butch, and I look more butch if you’re not doing that crossover thing you do, that sports jockette act you sometimes pull off.”

  Syrah gave Jane an incredulous look. “First of all, you look butch all the time. As if you could look femme if you tried. And I don’t have some kind of ‘sports jockette act.’”

  “Yes, you do. You do that ponytail thing and you look about nineteen, then the shorts and polo with the boots. It’s hot as hell, not like you notice the women following you around trying to lick your ankles. I just wanted…to stand out tonight.”

  Syrah shook her head at the vagaries of being in love. Indicating her shirt, she asked, “So what’s this look? Femme tart?”

  “No, it’s sexy, but classy. I like the boat neck on you. I can’t wear that. It makes your shoulders look great. And nobody in this town wears white the way you do.”

  “I’ll probably spill a drink down my front.”

  “And about six women will offer to mop it up for you.”

  Syrah laughed. “You are a good friend.” She didn’t want to think she was going to lose Jane to Missy, but Jane had never worried about how she looked and who thought what of her. She hadn’t wanted to say anything, but she was absolutely certain that Jane’s lip gloss had color in it and there was a suspicious tint of mascara, too. Gilding the lily, she thought, then recalled that the last thing Jane liked was to be compared to flowers.

  “Women pay good money for half what you were born with.”

  Syrah pushed away the memory of Toni’s voice when Syrah had asked to be touched. Beautiful, she’d said, uttered as if the realization had been painful.

  Her head was still spinning. The fear she’d felt in letting Toni get so close was stronger than ever, yet the words from that e-mail haunted her. She might have been able to ignore it if it hadn’t been the newspaper articles that described Toni with words like avaricious, intractable and soulless. Could someone with no soul make love the way Toni had last night?

  “Syrah? Don’t go zoning out on me tonight, okay?” Jane turned the truck into the parking lot of the Dance House. The lot was already crowded, but Jane spotted the only vehicle that mattered to her. “Oh, there’s her car.”

  They were barely in the door when a cheerful “Yoohoo! Jane, Syrah, over here!” drew them across the floor to one of the better tables with a good view of the dance floor and the stage. Caroline Bingley looked overjoyed to see them.

  Syrah couldn’t help but notice that Toni sat between Caroline and Missy, and the two empty chairs were on Missy’s left. Jane of course took the closest and Syrah, with barely a nod at Toni,
slid into the other.

  Nobody said much, but it wasn’t as if Missy and Jane noticed. They were so rapt with each other, flushed and giggling, that Syrah ordered a margarita with salt on the rim to counteract the free-floating sugar. The lights finally went down and the canned disco music stopped. Milly, who had been hosting karaoke for years, opened the show with her signature Ethel Merman impression.

  The night progressed like most of its kind. The less shy were always first up and guaranteed to sing on key. Caroline was effusive in her praise, her eyes sparkling with some kind of glee. Syrah couldn’t look at Toni, but she could feel the tension from her. She was like she had been at the dance, aloof and monosyllabic.

  Syrah would have enjoyed herself, normally, but she was too aware of Toni to let herself go. She had no problem at all accepting an invitation to dance, however, then laughingly agreed to be one of the Supremes for Becky Argost, her steady two-step partner. Becky’s Diana Ross made up for unintentional key changes with a good attitude as they hammed their way through “Love Child.”

  She excused herself to the ladies’ room and waited in line. When she made her way back to their table she realized, with profound horror, that Jane was doing a solo.

  Jane, who had said often of herself, “If bricks could sing, they’d sound like me,” was singing “Close to You” with her heart out on her sleeve for all to see.

  Friends did not let friends do such things.

  She grabbed Becky, who looked as nonplussed as Syrah felt, and the other two Supremes with a muttered, “Nine-one-one.”

  The four of them sandwiched Jane at the microphone, and fortunately she began to laugh, which stopped the singing. Off key they crooned “golden starlight in your eyes of blue” as they swayed back and forth in exaggerated rhythm. The painful silence gave way to laughter, and they bowed their way off stage, playing it to the hilt.

  The moment they were in the semi-dark of the nearest alcove, Syrah demanded, “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Just the one. Missy loves that song so I said I’d sing it for her.”

  “Girl, you have got it so bad.”

  Milly’s voice cut across them. “A new face tonight! Everyone, welcome Caroline.”

  “B-flat, please,” Caroline said, not looking the least bit nervous, and after the opening lines of “You Are So Beautiful” it was clear why. Her voice was smoky, like violets and rose petals, deep, rich, intense, and there was no doubt at all to whom she sang. Syrah saw Toni take an almost nervous swallow from her drink, and even from where she stood, Syrah could see the bruises she’d ignored last night. She suddenly felt quite ill and dragged Jane outside with her.

  “What’s with you today?” Jane stood, hands on hips, glaring at Syrah.

  “Something happened last night,” she began, but the club door opened and it was Toni who stepped outside. “Oh, hell.”

  Jane stared back and forth between the two of them. “I think I’m in the way,” she said finally, leaving Syrah to look anywhere but at Toni.

  “I think we should talk.”

  “Not now, Toni, I can’t. I’m so tired, and so confused.”

  Toni caught her hand and Syrah felt herself melting inside, but she tried as hard as she could to strengthen her resolve. Don’t believe her lies. Don’t let her get too close. She is a master of manipulation. She shuddered when Toni kissed her fingers.

  “I think if we talk, we can find some way to work something out here.”

  “What do you mean by ‘something’? An affair? Until you leave and I stay?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. But I can tell you’re upset and so am I. Maybe last night shouldn’t have happened—”

  “It shouldn’t have,” Syrah said passionately. “It made everything so much harder.”

  “But it did, Syrah. Meet me for lunch tomorrow, please?”

  “It’s the growers’ trade show tomorrow.”

  Toni frowned. “I forgot. Your father had mentioned that. Sunday, then. Meet me Sunday for brunch before the tasting room opens. I’ll get a picnic.”

  “Okay,” Syrah said, feeling weak. “Sunday. Ten-thirty?” Syrah wanted to ask a thousand questions, starting with what Caroline meant to Toni. Why was Toni doing this to her? She let go of Toni’s hand, though it was hard to do so.

  “Ten-thirty.” Toni stepped back, a muscle in her strong jaw working, then turned quickly to go back into the club.

  Released from Toni’s dark-gray gaze, Syrah staggered against a car and tried to catch her breath. Her body was so heavy with desire that she couldn’t think. She didn’t really know who Toni was, so how could she want her? How could she want to drag her into the nearest back seat and see if they could find that incredible high together again?

  She managed to pull herself together enough to go back inside. Their table was empty and she spotted Caroline and Toni on the dance floor. Toni was relaxed now, laughing even, as she said something to Missy, who passed by in Jane’s arms.

  The music changed and before Syrah could sit down Toni had her by the hand. She heard someone say, “Jane, sweetheart, there you are!” and just as she forgot her own name in the tight embrace of Toni’s arms she saw one of Jane’s old flames pulling her onto the dance floor as well.

  Toni, watching Jane, had gone a little stiff, but after a few moments they moved together like they shared one set of bones between them. The thin fabric of her shirt let through all the heat of Toni’s body. It felt to Syrah as if she was falling down a well, but the water at the bottom was dark. Shallow or deep, she didn’t know, and that fear rose up again, making her shake ever so slightly in Toni’s arms.

  They tightened around her and Syrah couldn’t ignore the swelling of her body and the memory of last night. Toni had been so vulnerable, she couldn’t have faked that. She wasn’t “manipulating” Syrah with her hands stroking so sinuously along her spine. The look in Toni’s eyes was not “a lie.”

  The song ended and Syrah could not have said what the music had been. She peeled herself out of Toni’s arms. Jane gave what’s-her-name a polite peck on the lips and extricated herself.

  “Off with the old and on with the new?” The woman held onto Jane’s arm overlong. “Same old Jane.”

  Jane was too kind to shake off the restraining hand. She covered it with her own. “Even I can change.”

  Syrah stayed poised to intervene if what’s-her-name turned rude. Jane and the woman had gone out a few times last winter, just after Syrah had arrived home again. All these months later wasn’t the time to make a scene.

  She was aware suddenly that Toni had gone back to the table. “Let’s join the others,” she said to Jane, and the woman finally let go. “That was weird. I thought she was the one who broke it off.”

  “She did,” Jane whispered. “But she’s had too much to drink.” Jane asked Missy to dance again, and they moved to the floor even though Missy looked subdued. Jane said something and a smile returned. Syrah sat down with relief.

  She stole a glance at Toni. Caroline, who hadn’t moved throughout, had her hand on Toni’s forearm, slowly tracing the bruises there. She looked a query at Toni, who nodded. Syrah heard Caroline say, “I’m so sorry, darling.”

  She wanted to go home. She hated those bruises and yet they didn’t matter at all to what she wanted. If she stayed she’d probably end up on the hood of Toni’s car again, willing to do nearly anything. She loved this feeling and yet it revolted her, too. Was she really attracted to Toni or was Toni’s attraction to her what was making her so damned hot?

  The evening wore on, and Toni did not dance with her again. Aspen, who tended to fall in love over a gesture, asked Syrah to dance and she said yes simply for something to do. Hopefully Aspen wouldn’t think it was the beginning of forever. After that more partners approached and Syrah was increasingly aware that she didn’t have to sleep alone tonight, but right now the thought of any other hands but Toni’s left her cold, even if the heat of another woman against her as the
y danced was making her pulse pound in her throat.

  Missy and Jane were increasingly inseparable, but when it was clearly time to go, Jane made it plain she was taking Syrah home. Missy and she made a date for dinner the following evening, though, and Jane was all smiles when they got in the car.

  “I’m going to spend all day tomorrow cleaning up my place. I want her to see it. I told her about it while we danced. I don’t think she’ll mind it. I just want her to know who I am before we…you know.”

  “I know.”

  “So what happened between you and Toni? You started to say something happened last night.”

  “We got carried away. Hands did things they shouldn’t have.” Syrah knew she wasn’t succeeding in making it sound like nothing.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Wish I was.”

  “And so?”

  “Did she seem all that eager to be with me tonight?”

  “Yes, for her she did. And you—I’ve never seen you dance with anyone like that. Like you wanted to breathe through her lungs.”

  Syrah groaned. “It was that bad?”

  “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Jane…she’s going home. Back to New York. I’m not living in New York. I’m not moving into her world. Can you seriously see her moving into mine?”

  Jane was quiet as she turned a corner, then she said, “I can’t, actually.”

  “And so…nothing. Plus, I don’t know if I can trust her. I don’t know what she’s going to tell the court about us, really.” She described the e-mail to Jane, who immediately told her to ignore it.

  “Nobody with the truth to say can be believed if they won’t give their name.”

  “The articles had names, places, dates—the number of people who lost their jobs and how much money Toni’s investors made. I just don’t know who she is.”

  “Can’t you give it time? I think she really cares about you.”

  “Does that matter? I can’t let myself trust her.”

  Jane pulled around to the back of the house and Syrah slowly got out. “Was the sex good?”

  Recalling how Toni’s second climax had brought Syrah to one of her own, she said with choked honesty, “Like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”