Love's Masquerade

by Radclyffe

  “Uh-huh.”

  “By when?”

  “Tomorrow should do it.”

  “Do you know how many books I have?” Gayle screeched. “I’ve been collecting them for years.”

  “No kidding. I’ve seen the piles of books in your spare room.” Suddenly energized, Auden stood and began pacing. Shylock jumped down and followed hopefully on her heels, apparently thinking that food might be in his future. “Seriously, I need a crash course so I can get to know what they’re like. What readers want. I need a...feel...for the style, how they read.”

  “You’re going to have to narrow it down a bit,” Gayle protested. “Otherwise, you won’t leave the house for six months, and when you do, you’ll be blind.”

  “Okay, how about what’s the most popular?”

  “Come here.” Gayle stood abruptly and grabbed Auden’s arm. She tugged her into the next room with a disappointed Shylock following. “Let me show you something.”

  Auden followed her friend into the corner of the L-shaped living room that served as Gayle’s study, then leaned down to look over Gayle’s shoulder as the other woman sat at the computer.

  “You want popular,” Gayle muttered, opening Internet Explorer and scrolling down her Favorites list. “Here we go—Amazon’s lesbian bestseller list.”

  “What is this?”

  “You’ve never ordered from Amazon?”

  “Not books. A DVD once in a while.” Auden scanned the titles. None of them were familiar. “So they...what...rank them somehow?”

  “Mmm,” Gayle clicked through to the page she wanted. “This will just give you an idea of what’s selling. Here—look at the top twenty-five best sellers under lesbian fiction. One, two, three, four...”

  Auden waited while Gayle counted, trying to get a sense of the contents of the books scrolling past.

  Gayle leaned back in her chair and tilted her head. “Eighteen of the top twenty-five are romances or erotica. There’s a mystery or two thrown in, but those are strong on romance, too. No matter when you check this list, and it changes daily, you’ll find the same thing. Romance sells.”

  “Romance.” Auden groaned inwardly. “Like Nora Roberts. Or Jackie Collins.”

  “Well, the dyke equivalent, yeah.” Gayle rose and turned to face her friend, leaning her slim hips against the edge of the desk. “But don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it. Just because it’s not serious literature doesn’t mean it can’t be good.”

  “So—tell me where to start.”

  Gayle shrugged. “You asked for it. Come on.”

  An hour later, Auden stretched out on her bed with a dozen books spanning almost twice as many years arrayed around her, all of which Gayle had recommended as popular examples of the type of book she would soon be expected to evaluate and publish. For the first time, the task seemed daunting.

  “Lord.”

  She perused the pile and settled on one because she liked the cover. It depicted a windswept coast, wild and dangerous looking. Secret Storm.

  “All right,” she murmured aloud, “let’s see how long I last.”

  The wind blew softly in the darkness, caressing her skin with gentle fingers. It was soothing, reassuring, and hopefully, would be healing. The air still held the heat of the day, as did the sand sifting between her toes as she walked along the deserted beach. It was after midnight, and all the tourists had long since retired for the night. This was the time of day she liked to walk the beach. There was something about the darkness and the unending roar of the surf that calmed her. Maybe it was the simple fact that the ocean never slept, never tired. Or maybe it was because she felt so comfortable in the darkness. Who knew, who cared, as long as the peace came?

  Sentences streamed before Auden’s eyes, but she wasn’t thinking about structure or narrative style. With the first words, with the first hint of the wind’s subtle caress, she had done nothing but feel. The loneliness of walking alone, waking alone, being alone ambushed her, and distantly, she ached.

  She read on, unmindful of the time or her missed dinner, wondering, hoping, wishing that this woman who echoed the emptiness within her own consciousness would not always travel alone.

  *

  Rune Dyre rubbed her eyes and rolled her tight shoulders. The cup of coffee by her right hand had grown cold, but she lifted it and sipped absently, rereading for the fifth time the paragraphs she had written. Frowning, she highlighted a phrase, deleted it, and typed something new.

  Secret Passions – Scene One

  I had expected the room to be empty, but it wasn’t. She was sitting in a chair before the desk, one slender leg crossed over the other. Her skirt had abandoned decorum unawares, baring pale skin as it kissed her thighs in a delicate caress. Without even knowing her name, I wanted to trace my fingers over the landscape of her soul.

  As I stepped closer, she looked up, and her very acknowledgment gave me life. Blue eyes, almost green, drifted over my face, leaving heat in their wake. My pulse rose, called forth by her gaze traversing my skin. The breath left my body, my heart pounded. Until the sound of the sea was all I could hear.

  She ought to have been surprised at my uninvited entrance, but that wasn’t what I saw in her eyes. There was a question. Who are you? And without even knowing the answer, there was welcome.

  Let me touch you.

  If she had held out her hand, I would gladly have taken it and followed. Unto death.

  Rune clicked the Save icon, scribbled a note on one of the dozens of Post-its scattered over the surface of her desk, and stood. She winced at a sudden cramp in her back and glanced at the clock.

  Two a.m. Another night without sleep.

  Her head throbbed, and distantly she felt a faint surge of nausea. Sighing, she walked to the window and looked south toward the river. To her left, a string of blue lights outlined the soaring arch of the Ben Franklin Bridge as it curved against the starlit sky. Below her, the city slept.

  She closed her eyes, imaging soft fingers brushing the weariness from her soul.

  Chapter Three

  It was almost two a.m. before Auden finally fell asleep and four and a half hours later when her alarm jolted her instantly upright in bed. She had an eight o’clock meeting with Haydon Palmer, and the last thing she wanted was to be late. As it was, she probably wouldn’t look her best. She usually didn’t on less than seven hours of sleep. Despite her lingering fatigue, she was excited, although the rapid beat of her heart and the butterflies in her stomach seemed to be about more than the first day of a new job. Then, Haydon Palmer’s dark eyes and fleeting grin flashed through her mind, and she smiled.

  An adventure. Yes, I guess that’s what this is.

  As she stood in the shower, savoring the heat working its way into her tired body, scenes from the book she had fallen asleep with kept replaying in her mind. She wondered why she was surprised at how much she had enjoyed the story of the hard-boiled undercover cop and the emotionally wounded FBI agent.

  It’s not as if I’ve never read a romance before. Who hasn’t? They’re practically the staple of the American reading public, if the stands at the supermarket checkout lines and the piles on the new arrivals table at bookstores are any indication of popularity. They just never appealed to me. Before.

  She’d never found much to identify with in any of those stories that she had read as a teenager. Eventually, unable to relate to the recurring theme of the fragile young woman swept off her feet by the domineering, dangerous hero, she had stopped reading romances. She found much more comfort in things that were factual in nature, and the books that she read were grounded and solid—satisfyingly predictable—like her life.

  She stepped from the shower and reached for a towel. “Then what in the world am I doing thinking about publishing romances? Not just romances, lesbian romances. I really don’t know anything about either.”

  But then she thought of the book that had quickly captured her imagination the night before and realized that wasn’t
exactly true. The scene of a woman awakening to only memories lingered powerfully in her mind still.

  The sound of waves crashing to shore beyond the open window was hypnotic and soon had her reminiscing of lazy mornings lying like this with her lover beside her. They always seemed to waken at almost the same moment. Maybe it was the fact that they were so in tune with one another’s mind and body. Whatever it was, they both treasured the rare mornings that they could stay in bed together, watching the sun slowly rise over the horizon, making slow, gentle love until a different hunger drove them from the bed.

  She closed her eyes, remembering her lover’s touch, feeling again those slow caresses and feather-light kisses as they nearly drove her insane. Remembering how she had begged for release from the sweet torture. Making love had been their way of pushing the darkness and evil from their lives.

  Auden had never awakened in the arms of a lover. She’d never had anyone touch her in passion or take her beyond herself to a place of only feeling. She’d read the passage over and over again, and although she had never experienced that connection, the emotions had felt far from foreign. She could see the two lovers, safe and secure in one another’s arms, rejoicing in their love. Someday, she imagined that she would have a lover, but she hadn’t formed an image of what that joining would be like. Friendship, companionship, affection—these things she could envision.

  "...she begged for release from the sweet torture."

  Being moved to such heights she had never considered.

  But I do know a little bit about loneliness.

  Was this romance? If so, then she had been wrong in thinking that she could not relate to it.

  Maybe if I’d read this instead of Danielle Steel, Auden mused as she dressed, I would have changed my mind about reading fiction.

  The fact that the lovers were women hadn’t struck her as odd. Quite the contrary, their love had seemed completely natural. Why wouldn’t it? Her best friend was a lesbian and never kept her sexual adventures a secret. Gayle didn’t share the details, but Auden definitely got the gist. Fleetingly, she wondered why she’d been holding her breath as she’d read, envisioning the lovers’ touch.

  Startled as she caught sight of the clock and saw that it was later than she’d realized, Auden hastily assembled her coffeemaker and waited impatiently for the brewing to finish. She stood at her open window and watched passersby outside, draining the cup as soon as it was cool enough to drink. At one point, she became aware of the fluttering in her stomach again. Nerves. Briefly, she considered calling Gayle for a little moral support, but she remembered that her friend had worked all night at Temple Hospital. The surgical resident was probably just crawling into bed.

  I’ll just have to do this by instinct. It seemed to work all right yesterday. Let’s just hope that Haydon Palmer hasn’t had time to regret her decision.

  Rune sat in front of her computer with a fresh cup of coffee. After four hours of sleep, the most she ever slept at one time any longer, she felt unusually refreshed. Her dreams had been remarkable, too—leftover images of the scene she had written. Tantalizingly erotic, mercilessly taunting visions of a beautiful woman just beyond her reach. Far from awakening frustrated by the unrequited passion, however, she was invigorated by the lingering arousal. It was good just to have the memory of desire rekindled.

  She logged on and checked her mail.

  -----Original Message-----

  From: [mailto:stargrl@worldlink.net]

  Sent: Tuesday March 18, 6:22 AM

  To: Rune@HeartLand.com

  Subject: Re: Dark Passions

  Rune:

  Even though Secret Storm will ALWAYS be my favorite, I just love your new web story. I thought at first that Dark Passions would be too hard to read. It wasn’t at all what I expected. Will this be available in print like your others that have come out already?? I hope so!

  I’ll be first in line to buy one!

  A big fan, Star

  -----Reply-----

  From: Rune@HeartLand.com

  Sent: Tuesday March 18, 7:15 AM

  To: stargrl@worldlink.net

  Subject: About Passion Series

  Star:

  Glad to hear that you liked the web story Dark Passions. Its publication is on hold for now. As you probably noticed on the website, WomenWords has closed and will not be publishing any longer. I’m not sure what will happen with the new publisher, but I’ll post any news I have on the site or the news list.

  Many Thanks, RD

  Rune scrolled through the half-dozen other messages, most from readers, and answered each. When she’d finished, she opened the file she’d been working on last and reread the final passage. Had the face she’d created with barely adequate words been the image in her dream? Sighing, she checked her watch and closed the program. The next scene would have to wait.

  *

  “Good morning, Alana,” Hays said as she exited the elevator and walked across the spacious reception area toward the hallway leading to her corner office.

  “Ms. Palmer,” Alana said demurely, her eyes following Hays as she passed.

  Hays had only been in her office a few moments when the phone rang. “Yes?”

  “A Ms. Frost is here. She tells me that she has an appointment with you.” There was a brief pause. “I don’t see anything regarding that on the schedule that Mr. Pritchard left with me last evening.”

  Rubbing her eyes, Hays sighed. Abel Pritchard was indispensable to her. He was an excellent adviser, he kept her business organized, and he kept her on track. However, his obsessive insistence on an immutable schedule sometimes drove her crazy, and his subtle but persistent efforts to see that she wasn’t overworked only made her more determined to work every available moment.

  “That’s fine, Alana. I arranged the meeting myself.”

  “Mr. Pritchard prefers that only appointments on the day’s calendar—”

  “Yes, I know precisely what Mr. Pritchard prefers.” Hays’s voice was edged with irritation, and she paused, letting her temper cool. Alana was only doing her job. “Please show Ms. Frost to my office.”

  A second passed; Hays thought she could feel the receiver freeze in her palm. She grinned. Alana will be giving Abel an earful momentarily.

  “Yes, Ms. Palmer.”

  “Thank you, Alana,” Hays said softly as she lowered the receiver.

  When the door to her office opened only seconds later, Hays stood and smiled as Auden entered the room. Her new director looked vibrant. Aware of an unaccustomed surge of anticipatory pleasure at their meeting, Hays wondered when it had happened that the business had become only a responsibility.

  “Good morning.”

  “Yes, isn’t it?” Auden smiled, her nerves vanishing at the sight of the warm welcome in Haydon Palmer’s eyes.

  “Please.” Hays gestured to one of the leather sling-back chairs in front of her desk where Auden had sat during the interview. It was amazing that their first acquaintance had been less than twenty-four hours before; Auden Frost had already assumed such a marked presence in her mind.

  “Thank you.” Auden settled in, crossing one stockinged leg over the other. She wore a navy suit, thinking that it was too soon to dress informally. She noticed that Haydon was dressed much the same as she had been the day before, although this time the charcoal-gray trousers and jacket were cut more casually and she wore a plain open-collared white shirt with them. The publisher looked every bit as attractive as she had the previous day, although the shadows beneath her eyes seemed slightly deeper. Auden felt the smallest jolt of concern.

  “Are you still of a mind to take this job?” Hays asked as she resumed her seat.

  “Are you still of a mind for me to have it?”

  Hays grinned. “I rarely change my mind once I’ve decided on something.”

  “And I never give up on a project once I’ve undertaken it.”

  “I thought you might reconsider once you had time to reflect on the specifics.”
Hays watched Auden carefully, wanting very much to see the light of excitement dance in her eyes again. Such a small thing. And such a pleasure.

  “No,” Auden said firmly. “I spent the night planning a crash course to get to know my new field.”

  “Must make for an interesting syllabus,” Hays replied, laughing. She leaned back, aware of her tension only as it left her. Auden would be staying. “You’ll probably have some new additions when I give you the names of our recently acquired authors.”

  “I read quickly.” Auden recalled falling asleep with the book on her chest, something she had done countless times in her life. The difference had been that the evening before, she hadn’t read with her normal efficiency and focus. She’d lingered, savored, reread passages. She hadn’t wanted to rush the experience; it was too surprisingly pleasant. “I’ll be up to speed before very long.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” Hays leaned forward again and placed both hands on the top of her highly polished walnut desk. “Then you and I have a lot of organizing to do. Before we get down to talking about personnel, projections, and deadlines, we need a name.” She laughed softly at the quick look of confusion that passed across Auden’s face. “For the new division.”

  “Oh, of course.” Auden blushed, aware that Haydon Palmer’s gaze had not strayed from her face for an instant since she had walked into the room. The intensity of that scrutiny was both unusual and exhilarating. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Uh-uh, not me,” Hays said with a shake of her head. “I thought we’d give the honors to the new division director.”

  “I don’t have any idea what might be appropriate,” Auden protested. To her surprise, Haydon rose and came around the front of her desk, stopping only a few feet away. She leaned her hips against the front of the desk and tucked her hands into her pants pockets. The jacket flared behind her, drawing the white shirt taut across her chest. Fleetingly, Auden thought that she had described the publisher appropriately to Gayle the day before. Lean and tight and nearly vibrating with tension. She caught her breath as she felt the energy pour from the woman in front of her, stirring her own excitement.