Talk of the Town Too

by Saxon Bennett

  “Then what it is?” Mallory demanded.

  Gigi could see the scar on Mallory’s forearm. She had caused that. Mallory had walked through the closed sliding glass door after she had found out that Gigi and Caroline had had an affair. Gigi never really understood why Caroline had taken a shine to her. Mallory had long blonde, slightly wavy hair and blue eyes. She was slim with very nice breasts and one of those nicely shaped hind ends. She was gorgeous by anyone’s standards. Why Caroline wrecked her relationship with Mallory, who adored her, was still beyond her comprehension, unless Caroline was a glutton for punishment. Gigi winced and confessed, “I’m writing a self-help book.”

  Mallory started laughing so hard she was bent double, wiping tears out of her eyes.

  “You look like you’re having a seizure. What’s so funny?” Gigi picked one of the books out of the bag and studied the title, Classics of Western Thought. This was possible; lesser beings than herself had done good things. Certainly she was capable of doing something. Besides, she was going to have help.

  “It’s just that you are, shall we say, not the most academically inclined person I’ve ever known. I mean, if you hadn’t been banging the math teacher in high school you never would have graduated.” Mallory sat back down on the bench and wiped her eyes with the hem of her T-shirt.

  “My past performance is not necessarily indicative of my future performance. I can do this!” Gigi thrust the book back in her bag and stomped off.

  “Hey, where are you going? I thought we were going to play racquetball.”

  “To the library. I have to study.”

  “Come on. Let’s play and then I’ll go with you and help,” Mallory offered.

  “You promise not to make fun of me anymore?”

  “I promise. Look, if you want to improve yourself, I’m all for it.”

  “Thank you. All right, let’s go play. Have you told Del about us yet?”

  “Yes,” Mallory said, getting the racquet out of her locker. “What did she say?”

  “That she would kill you with her bare hands if you do anything to hurt me.”

  “I’m glad she’s taking it so well,” Gigi said. She was trying to stuff her book bag into her locker and it wasn’t working.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t carry so many books around at one time,” Mallory suggested as she went to help.

  “It’s part of the training.”

  Gigi was on her lunch break the next day at the photography studio. She was eating an apple, having discovered the amazing land of fruit. It wasn’t the foreign stuff she had once viewed it as. She was forgoing Twinkies in lieu of healthier foods. She was reading a book on great Eastern philosophers. So far Gandhi was her favorite. She hoped God wasn’t entertaining any ideas about having her run around with a sheet wrapped around her private parts spouting platitudes of peace, love and understanding. For one thing, her skinny legs would look horrible sticking out of an oversized diaper. She kept telling herself it was all academic. Gigi looked up from her reading when her boss walked into the room.

  “Gigi, have you seen these proofs?”

  “No.” Gigi took the proofs from Danielle. Each photo showed a person with iridescent colors surrounding his or her body. Each one was different. “It looks like poor developing. Did I do that?”

  “No, but you took the photos. That senior class we shot Monday. I developed them. It’s not the camera or the film.”

  “What the hell, then?”

  “Have you ever seen auras?” Danielle asked.

  “No, what are auras?”

  “They’re the energy that surrounds our bodies. We all have a different ones; each one is unique. That’s what these are photographs of.”

  “Does this mean my career as a photographer is finished?” Gigi suddenly grasped where this was going. Obviously, hanging out with God was starting to have repercussions. Now she took pictures of people surrounded by weird colors and then there was the thing with her feet. The inside of her arches were starting to peel and despite various lotions nothing seemed to work. Caroline had done some research on the Internet and was concocting strange- smelling poultices that she wrapped around Gigi’s feet. She took her shoe off and vigorously scratched the bottom of her foot.

  “Not necessarily. I was thinking that we might branch out a bit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Having you take pictures of people’s auras. It’s all that New Age stuff. Let’s give it a try.”

  “So I still have a job?”

  “Of course, and you might even get a raise if this thing works out,” Danielle said. She winked at Gigi. She handed Gigi her camera. “Now, I want you to take one of me.”

  “Sure.”

  They went to the studio and Gigi started her new career as a New Age photographer. She couldn’t help thinking there might be consequences to this as well. What if people didn’t like the color that their auras came in? She’d have to ask God why everything good seemed to have a downside and vice versa. Was it some sort of cosmic joke?

  Danielle sat down and Gigi took the shot. “What if you don’t like your colors?”

  “I’ll fire you.”

  Gigi was mortified.

  “I was just kidding, relax.”

  Gigi smiled and began setting up the next shot.

  Chapter Six

  On Monday evening just after seven, Helen waited patiently for her daughter at the Chez Nous restaurant. It was a French bistro around the corner from Megan’s office. The floor was tiled in black and white and the tables were painted various colors. Helen liked French things. She had spent a semester in college in Paris and loved it. She took a sip of wine and glanced at the clock on the wall. Megan was late. She was usually so punctual, Helen thought, unless she got held up in court. She wondered if she had come to her senses about Jeff. One human being shouldn’t leave another out to dry. As a therapist’s daughter, Megan should know better.

  Just then Megan came flying into the restaurant, located her mother and then plopped down in the chair across from her. “Wow, sorry I’m late.”

  “Court?”

  “Exactly, and you know how everything goes wrong when you’re running late.” Megan poured herself a glass of the water from the carafe on the table.

  “You looked stressed,” Helen said, taking her daughter’s chin and turning her face toward her. Megan winced. “What happened to your face?”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Did he do that?” Helen asked, praying that Jeff had not turned into some kind of stalker. Megan had told her that he’d been calling a lot and Helen had been worried ever since.

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Jeff, the man you were going to marry.”

  “No,” Megan replied. She took a sip of water.

  “So what happened to your face?” Helen said, looking at it again. Megan had a scrape that ran the length of her chin.

  Megan pulled away. “It’s really all right.” She signaled the waiter. “Can I get a martini with olives?”

  “Certainly,” the waiter replied. “Anything for you, ma’am?”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you.” When he had left, Helen said, “So you were saying?” She wasn’t going to let her off the hook. She wanted to know what was going on and she wouldn’t rest until she knew.

  “I fell off my bike at South Mountain this past weekend.”

  The waiter returned with Megan’s drink, and Helen asked for a few more minutes with the menu.

  “I didn’t know you mountain-biked.”

  “It’s a new sport.” Megan sipped her martini and looked out the window.

  “Like the fishing thing.” Helen could tell Megan was avoiding her. She had discovered over the course of their mother-daughter relationship that Megan tended to downplay things, places or people that were becoming important to her, as if she were afraid that by sharing them they would somehow be spoiled or taken away from her. Helen thought it might be tied to Lars’ leaving th
em.

  “Correct,” Megan said, picking up a menu and perusing its contents.

  “So who’s opening up all these new vistas for you?”

  “Mother, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were analyzing me.”

  Helen studied her daughter’s face. Megan looked a lot like her. She had shoulder-length blonde hair that was streaked almost white in places from the sun, and she had her father’s blue eyes and full lips. She had Helen’s slim nose. She was a very pretty young woman and that had always made Helen nervous. When Megan was a child people commented on how pretty she was, Helen would downplay it so Megan grew up not focusing on her looks. This made her all the more appealing. “I would never. I’m simply exhibiting the normal amount of motherly concern over a daughter who happens to be experiencing some unusual life changes, that’s all.” Helen flipped open her menu in order to distract Megan from pursuing this line of questioning.

  “Life changes?”

  “Well, you’re behaving differently and you have a new friend.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Megan surveyed the menu. “What are you going to have?”

  “Soup du jour and the stuffed crab croissant. So who is he?” Helen continued to study the menu, which was absurd because she’d already decided.

  “It’s not a he, it’s a woman from work. Her name is Rafferty and she’s the boss’s daughter.”

  “I see,” Helen said, closing her menu. “Girl time is good.” She was secretly relieved. Helen didn’t want Megan rushing into anything while she was still rebounding. “So you really like Rafferty?”

  “Yes. I like being with her. She’s quirky and smart and, I don’t know, exciting. Jeff was not exciting.”

  The waiter brought them bread and cheese and then replaced the water carafe. Helen ordered another glass of wine.

  “Newness is always exciting.”

  “I know, but how do you really know if it’s love? I walked out of Jeff’s life and after two weeks I’ve stopped thinking about him. And I was going to get married. That scares me.”

  “It is possible that Jeff was in love with you and you were in love with the concept of being loved. Does that make sense?”

  “Not really.”

  “What I mean is, being loved and adored is a heady thing and it creates an infatuation that can parade as love, then something changes and you start to see the person for who they are,” Helen explained.

  “And what you thought was love dissipates.”

  “Correct.”

  “Some people get married on that, don’t they?”

  “Yes, they do,” Helen said, thinking of herself. Lars was a prick with a good sales pitch.

  The waiter came to take their order.

  “Have you decided?” Helen asked Megan.

  “I think I’ll have the same thing as you, the soup du jour and the stuffed crab croissant.”

  “Have you tried them before?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, they’re absolutely marvelous.”

  “I’ll have another martini,” Megan told the waiter.

  Helen raised her eyebrows.

  “I can still legally drive, Mom. Stop worrying, everything is fine. I’m feeling a lot better lately.”

  “Okay, I’ll try. So tell me, how did the case work out with the

  American woman and her Brazilian lover? Does she get to stay?”

  “Yes, but they have to move to Vermont.”

  “Vermont?”

  “Yes, they can legally wed there and then the Brazilian can apply for citizenship. It’s not really a win, more like a circumlocution. Rafferty thinks it’s a cop-out. She’s gay, you know, so she takes the civil rights thing really seriously.”

  “And you just like to win the case.” Megan smiled. “Well, of course.”

  When their order arrived Megan ate with a relish. Helen breathed a sigh of relief. She always felt better when Megan came clean. It just took her a while. Her daughter had always been her toughest patient.

  “This is marvelous,” Megan said after she’d taken her third bite of crab.

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  “I’ll have to bring Rafferty here. She’d love it.”

  “So does Rafferty have a girlfriend?”

  “Mom!”

  “I know, I’m prying again.” Helen had her soup and told herself to relax.

  The next day during the staff meeting, Megan noticed Bel eyeing her cut chin. It was nearly healed, and Megan had taken great pains to use a clear Band-Aid. Still, it was apparent she’d done something to her face and it wasn’t a pimple. Rafferty’s bandaged elbow only added to Bel’s consternation. Megan saw her tuck her arm under the table to keep it hidden. Rafferty had tripped over a rock when she came running to see if Megan was all right after she flipped over the handlebars of her bike. Rafferty was an avid mountain biker and she wanted to share her passion with Megan, telling her it was a total rush. Rafferty had several bikes so she lent one to Megan, who took to it the same way she took to fishing, with excitement and enthusiasm. She just wished she wasn’t so klutzy. Bel had taken a long weekend to go with Harold to Palm Springs so she had been off on Monday. Megan knew it was just a matter of time before they were to be interrogated.

  Bel maintained her composure until she was through doling out the week’s assignments. At the end of the meeting she held them back. “Rafferty and Megan, a word, please.”

  Megan and Rafferty exchanged looks. This was a good thing or a bad thing. Megan figured on the latter.

  Bel shut the door behind them. “I want you two to stop this daredevil fourteen-year-old-boy behavior. I don’t need my two best lawyers in body casts. Is that understood?”

  Megan could tell Rafferty was about to say something along the lines of “Mind your own business,” but she gave her a stern look that stopped her before Rafferty got into a full-fledged argument with Bel.

  “Yes, ma’am,” they both echoed in unison.

  Bel opened the door and said, “By the way, I took the liberty of canceling your skydiving lessons for next weekend and purchased you symphony tickets instead.”

  Megan wondered how she’d found out about the lessons. “I hate the symphony,” Rafferty whined.

  “In that case, I’ll use them and take Harold. Have a nice rest of the day, ladies.”

  “So, now what are we going to do this weekend?” Rafferty asked.

  “How about a hot tub, a steak and lobster dinner and a really cheesy chick flick with lots of cold beer,” Megan suggested. “After you go to the chiropractor and get your neck fixed.”

  “At least she didn’t find out about the rock gym.”

  “It was my fault I dropped you. I can still see the safety line flying through my hands and being helpless to stop it. I am so sorry.” They were taking rock-climbing lessons at the rock gym. It had been Megan’s idea. Everyone had a partner and the instructor had been just as mortified as Megan when Rafferty flopped down on the padded mat in front of the climbing structure. Luckily she hadn’t been that high on the wall.

  “I’m fine. It’s just a little kinked, that’s all.”

  “So what about dinner?”

  Rafferty smiled. “Only if we can go hiking on Saturday morning and I can get skinned knees or something. She has no right to tell us what we can and cannot do outside of work.”

  “But she does have the power to give us all the shit cases. Retribution sucks.”

  “Sometimes I hate working for my mother.”

  “I know. Hey, I went to this great French bistro with my mom last night. Want to go there for lunch?” Megan was trying to distract her. Rafferty, she knew, was going to obsess about this episode for the rest of the week until she could defy her mother on Saturday. Until then, Megan was going to have to keep her busy.

  “What time?”

  “How about one?”

  “Can we make it about one-thirty. I have a little midmorning errand to run.”

  “Are you go
ing to that place where you get your shoes all dirty?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Are you going to tell me about these little disappearing acts of yours someday?”

  “Perhaps.”

  It seemed an eternity before the weekend came. Rafferty had been crabby most of the week. Megan got everything prepped before Rafferty arrived. She had snuck out of work early so she could shop and have a chance to clean up. She had purchased a dozen multicolored sunflowers for the dining room table but she had abstained from candles. She thought those might be too overt. She was quite aware of her intentions for the evening but she was pretty sure Rafferty didn’t have a clue.

  Megan had been grappling with her feelings ever since the fishing trip. She decided that she had fallen in love that day on the bank of the stream and this time it wasn’t infatuation with someone else’s love of her. It was her own private love. She didn’t know exactly how one went from being straight to being gay, but she was pretty sure that you fell in love with someone of the same sex and you dealt with the polemics later. In the case with the American woman and the Brazilian woman, the American had been straight and fallen hard for her about-to-be deported lover. Megan had asked her about that and the American told her that one day it didn’t matter anymore what people thought. She loved this woman and consequences be damned. Megan admired her courage.

  Although Megan had never been with another woman, she was one and she felt that qualified her as knowing enough. She knew what she liked in bed, so how hard could it be to make another woman feel good. She wanted Rafferty—as a friend but also as a lover. She wanted the sensation of holding Rafferty, of being inside her, of making her quiver with delight. The doorbell rang and broke her train of thought.

  “It smells wonderful in here,” Rafferty said. “And the flowers are a nice addition. We should have candles.”

  “I’ve got some,” Megan said.