A Matter of Trust

by Radclyffe

  Beside her, Sloan drove with quiet concentration. She was efficient, aggressive without being reckless, and intensely focused on maneuvering the compact sports car through the narrow crowded streets. Michael was surprised to find that she wasn't uncomfortable, even though she was doing something completely foreign to her. She rarely socialized outside the obligatory business meetings, and when she and Jeremy had been forced to entertain, she had done so reluctantly. She simply didn't feel comfortable making casual conversation with near strangers. When she tried to remember the last time she and Jeremy had been out alone together, she couldn't. How on earth she had ever allowed herself to be drawn into this strange outing escaped her.

  "You needn't stay if it doesn't please you," Sloan said as if reading her mind.

  Michael looked at her sharply, studying the angles of her face in the flickering light from overhead street lamps and passing cars that illuminated her features briefly before surrendering to darkness again. In those brief patches of light, Michael could make out the strong chin, sculpted cheekbones, and straight fine nose. She couldn't see the color of her eyes, but she didn't need to. That deep violet was something already etched in her memory. She reminded herself that she had spent the last few hours in this woman’s company, in far more than casual conversation. Contrary to being awkward, it had been amazingly easy.

  "I'm accustomed to looking after myself, Ms. Sloan. Please don't worry about me."

  "Just Sloan," Sloan repeated again. She glanced briefly at Michael, then returned her attention to the road. "I have absolutely no doubt that you are entirely capable of looking after yourself. I only meant that it might not be the kind of entertainment you're used to."

  Michael had assumed it would be some kind of musical performance, probably a jazz band or piano bar. "What exactly does your friend do?"

  Sloan grinned while maneuvering into a parking space on the street. She cut the engine and turned in her seat to face Michael. Carelessly, she draped her right arm over the back of the passenger seat. There wasn't a great deal of room in the interior of a two-seater Boxster, and her fingers glanced unintentionally over Michael's right shoulder. "It's a drag show."

  Michael jumped slightly, more from the unexpected contact than the unanticipated answer. She swallowed, then answered steadily, "Of course, a drag show. Exactly what I was expecting."

  Sloan laughed, appreciating her companion's aplomb. She released her seat belt and pushed open the driver's door. "Come on. I have a table reserved up front."

  Michael waited on the sidewalk for Sloan to come around the car and join her. As she watched the unquestionably handsome woman approach, she wondered what in God's name she was doing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BACKSTAGE IN THE dressing room shared by all the performers, Jasmine sat before a light-encircled mirror at a long table running along the entire length of one wall. She finished applying the last touches of mascara and reached for the lip-gloss to seal the dark crimson shade she had chosen. Carefully, she used a fine brush to shade the edges of her upper lip, and then checked to see that any hint of shadow along her jaw line had been obliterated with a light foundation. She looked up as the door to the dressing room opened, and one of the other performers entered. The statuesque brunette in the form fitting red dress eased into the adjoining chair and studied her reflection in the mirror. After assuring herself that everything was in order, she swiveled to face Jasmine.

  "You should get a load of Sloan's date," she remarked too casually.

  Jasmine turned, arching an eyebrow in surprise. "Oh really? Sloan never said anything about bringing someone."

  "Well, she's at her usual table, and she's got a gorgeous blond with her."

  "Blond, as in natural?" Jasmine repeated, feeling a faint stirring of anxiety. "As in perfect size 6? As in Ingrid Bergman elegant and Sharon Stone sexy? That type of blond?"

  Crystal stood, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in her dress, looking into the mirror again as she made a subtle adjustment to the very expensive body-sculpting brassiere she wore and squeezing her lips together in a slight kissing motion. "That would be the one."

  Jasmine closed her eyes briefly, then muttered, "Oh fuck."

  "Problems with the randy boss again?"

  Jasmine reached for the black sheath dress, lowered it over her head and smoothed it down her body, reminding herself that it was not her problem, and none of her business. "Sloan's okay," she remarked at length. "I just wish she'd settle down with someone."

  She carefully fitted the expensive wig over the thin skullcap that contained her own blond hair. Better for business, better for my nerves, better for her. Especially for her.

  Crystal laughed. "Sloan? Oh, I don't think so. Honey, that one is not the marrying kind."

  Jasmine followed Crystal out of the small harshly lit dressing room toward the shadows at the edges of the curtained stage. She knew better, but it was not her story to tell.

  * * *

  Michael edged her chair closer to the small circular table, trying to avoid being jostled by the bustling wait people and harried latecomers, glancing surreptitiously around the room. It was crowded and noisy. The patrons displayed such a contagious exuberance that it made her smile. It was a party-like atmosphere and she felt herself relaxing despite the strangeness.

  "Drink?" Sloan shouted, leaning near, steadying the teetering pedestal tabletop with one hand. She settled a plate of surprisingly good-looking sandwiches in the center of the tiny tabletop.

  "Wine?" Michael shouted back. Whatever the capacity of the club, she was certain that they had exceeded it by a wide margin. If the fire marshal happened in, they’d all be out in the street.

  Sloan pulled a face. "I wouldn't chance it here. It's most likely something that comes with a screw cap in a gallon jug."

  "Vodka tonic?"

  Sloan nodded. "Safer," she called as she moved off into the crowd.

  Michael watched her wend her way effortlessly through the throng of shouting, jostling people. She moved gracefully, with a subtle air of confidence that suggested she was used to others stepping aside for her. Alone, without Sloan's charismatic presence to distract her, Michael had to wonder at herself. She didn't know this woman, had never been in any place remotely like this before, and worried that she would say something to embarrass herself. Despite her anxiety, she also felt a surge of excitement. She hadn't been away from the office for anything other than business trips in months. This was as far from her usual routines as she could get, and just the diversion she needed.

  "Hi, I'm Sarah," a slender redhead in soft, tan chinos and a white cotton turtleneck announced as she pulled a chair over to the already crowded table. At the look of perplexity on Michael's face she added, "I'm a friend of Sloan's."

  Michael held out her hand. "Michael Lassiter."

  Sarah regarded her carefully for a moment, noting the perfectly styled hair, understated but flawless make-up, and the suit so expensively tailored that it looked casual. "If you're a drag queen, you're the best I've ever seen."

  Michael stared, struggling for a reply that would be remotely appropriate.

  "Ms. Lassiter is a business associate, Sarah," Sloan said smoothly as she wedged herself into the remaining chair at the cramped table, depositing Michael's drink and her own. Looking at Michael, she tried to hide her amusement. The beautiful face showed faint signs of numb shock. "Sarah is a doctor of oriental medicine, Michael."

  That might explain the slight fragrance of spices that clung to her, and the quiet contained expression on her smooth, even features that Michael found oddly companionable. It didn't explain why she was there, or how she knew Sloan, but then why should anything about this experience make sense. "I see."

  Sarah laughed, and laid her hand briefly on Michael's arm. "Sloan never has gotten over being cryptic, even when she doesn't have to be. We met ages ago when we both did a stint in Thailand. I ended up staying behind and studying there. We've just recently reconnected sin
ce I got back to the States."

  Michael nodded, as if that cleared everything up. She saw the look of discomfort pass over Sloan's features, darkening her gaze for a moment. She didn't ask for clarification.

  "Then she invited me to see Jasmine perform, and now I hate to miss one of her shows," Sarah continued as if oblivious to Sloan's glowering expression. "Have you ever seen her?"

  "No," Michael answered, seeing no point in adding that she had never in her life seen so many women who might not be women, and how did one tell any way? Mercifully, the lights went down signaling the beginning of the show, sparing her from any further response.

  And then she was too engrossed to talk.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MICHAEL COULD SCARCELY remember two hours that she had ever enjoyed more. She wasn't certain what was more entertaining - the costumes, the music, or the genuinely talented performers. To her amazement, the voices of the half dozen or so female impersonators were marvelous. Throughout the show, she was aware of Sloan beside her, laughing softly at some joke, applauding enthusiastically for every performer, and bending close during breaks in the entertainment to fill her in on some of the background of the Cabaret. She disappeared once for a few moments and returned with a fresh drink for Michael, setting it before her with a warm smile. She was considerate, attentive, and altogether charming. Michael had never met anyone quite like her.

  As the lights came up, Michael found herself pressed against Sloan at the tiny table. The noise level had not abated, and if anything the raucous crowd had become even more celebratory as the evening progressed. She and Sloan had to lean almost forehead-to-forehead to hear each other.

  "Well, what did you think?" Sloan inquired, her eyes alight with pleasure.

  "It was wonderful!" Michael replied enthusiastically. "In addition to how wonderful they sounded, they're so beautiful to look at. The costumes are gorgeous. They remind me of Birds of Paradise!"

  Sloan laughed, and nodded. "I'll have to remember to tell Jasmine. She'll love that."

  At the sound of Jasmine's name, Sarah leaned forward to join their conversation. "Jasmine has a wonderful singing voice, don't you think?" she declared, more a statement than a question.

  As Michael nodded her assent, Sloan studied Sarah carefully, catching the tone of admiration in her voice. Sarah’s face was flushed with pleasure, her eyes bright with excitement, and she appeared altogether effervescent. Sloan had a feeling that she knew why. It had not escaped Sloan's notice that Sarah had been at every one of Jasmine’s performances since Sloan first brought Sarah to the Cabaret. She also couldn’t help but notice the way Sarah’s eyes never left Jasmine, whether Jasmine was on stage or enjoying a drink at their table after the show. She knew for a fact that Jasmine never saw anyone socially outside of the club, and wondered if Sarah really appreciated Jasmine's story. She said nothing, for she made a point never to involve herself in the personal affairs of other people, particularly her friends. She simply said, "Jasmine’s fantastic."

  At that moment, the subject of their conversation appeared from the hallway behind the stage, threading her way carefully between the crowded and disorderly tables to where they sat. Sloan gallantly rose and offered her chair at the table. Jasmine thanked her with a quick kiss on the mouth. Sloan couldn't help but grin, rubbing off the faint smudge of lipstick with her finger.

  "I'm so glad all of you stayed," Jasmine said, taking the offered seat. She crossed her legs, the hem of her dress riding up to expose trim smooth legs beneath sheer stockings. A stiletto-heeled red satin shoe dangled from her foot. "You all looked like you're having such fun, and I didn't want to miss a minute of it!"

  "We were just saying how wonderful your performance was," Sarah remarked, her attention totally focused on Jasmine.

  Sloan was certain she saw Jasmine blush, even in the dim light of the smoky room. Beside her, Michael echoed Sarah's praise. She was pleased that Michael had enjoyed the show. She was still surprised at herself for impetuously inviting her to come. It wasn't something she generally did - inviting near total strangers, particularly straight married strangers, out on the town with her. She just had the feeling, sitting in that cold glass-enclosed, high-rise office late on a Friday night, that Michael Lassiter was lonely. Why exactly she should care was another question altogether, and not something she wanted to look at too closely. The fact that she was very aware of Michael's arm against her own at the crowded table was also making her uncomfortable. She glanced at her watch, and saw that it was after 1 AM.

  With something close to relief, Sloan said to Michael, "It's getting late. Would you like me to drive you back to your office, or may I take you home?" It wasn't until she had said it that she realized it might be misinterpreted as an invitation to something more personal. Hastily, she amended, "I mean - if you don't feel like driving, I could drop you anywhere you like."

  Michael smiled faintly, pretending not to notice Sloan's discomfort. "Actually, I took the train in this morning. At this hour, I'm going to need a cab."

  "Nonsense," Sloan said firmly. "I'll take you home. It's no trouble at all. Are you ready?"

  Michael glanced over and saw Sarah and Jasmine engaged in animated discussion, Sarah's hand resting lightly on Jasmine's forearm. Most of the patrons had begun making their way toward the door, and with some regret she realized that the evening had come to an end. "Yes, of course," she said, quickly rising.

  They called good night to Sarah and Jasmine, and got rather absent-minded waves as the two of them continued in intense conversation with scarcely a break. Sloan smiled at her two friends, and lightly took Michael's hand to lead her through the crowd.

  "They seem to be very good friends," Michael remarked casually as she and Sloan stepped out onto the street. She was still holding Sloan's hand, and it was surprising strong, smooth and warm against her skin. It wasn’t at all unpleasant, that soft sure touch.

  "They just met not long ago," Sloan informed her, "but they do seem to get along very well." She didn’t ordinarily discuss Jason and Jasmine’s connection, and although she thought Michael might understand, she changed the subject. "I'm really glad that you enjoyed the show."

  As she spoke, she released her grip on Michael's fingers, disengaged the alarm on the Porsche with her remote, and opened the passenger door for Michael.

  "Oh, I did," Michael replied, settling into the front seat and strapping on her seat belt. She shifted in the seat so she could face Sloan as she drove. "Thank you for inviting me."

  For a moment, Sloan was uncomfortable, very aware that Michael had just contracted for her to do a job, and that she didn't know her very well. Usually when she was alone with a woman she felt a little more certain of her moves. Tonight had been different. Michael Lassiter was not someone with whom you indulged in a casual dalliance. Sloan had a feeling that Michael wouldn't even know the rules. She glanced at Michael, surprised anew by her quiet elegance and composure. Grinning, she said, "Sorry if the evening took you a little by surprise."

  "Not at all," Michael laughed. "Once I figured out that the most beautiful women were all men, and all the handsome ones were really women, I wasn't confused at all."

  "Well that's the first time I ever heard it put quite that way, but it does seem to sum it up." She looked at Michael and said without thinking, "Except for you. You're very beautiful, and most definitely not a man."

  Michael stared, her skin flushing hot at the compliment. If Jeremy had ever called her beautiful, he'd never said it in exactly that tone. There was something slightly sensuous in the way Sloan said it. Michael watched the moonlight flicker across the other woman's face and realized at that moment that handsome was exactly the right word for J. T. Sloan. She was not exactly masculine, but beautiful was not a strong enough word for her attractiveness. She was lean and muscled, with features too chiseled to be anything but androgynous. Michael realized she was staring, and forced her gaze away.

  "Thank you," she said softly, not knowing what e
lse to say.

  The Porsche hurtled through the night, each of them very aware of the other, neither of them feeling the need to break the silence. When Sloan pulled into the circular drive in front of a large stone mansion in one of the older, wealthier sections of the city, Michael was strangely disappointed. She glanced up at the familiar edifice and realized how cold and impersonal it seemed. Lights were lit in strategic windows, turned on and off at irregular intervals by the electronic timer. This gave the semblance of an inhabited home, when in fact she and Jeremy were rarely there at the same time. Often, their separate business obligations took them in opposite directions across the country for strategy or marketing meetings. Days would pass when one or both of them were out of town, or they would simply be coming and going at different times. They rarely shared a bed, and she noted with relief that his Ferrari was not in the drive. For some reason, she did not want to lie down next to him that night.

  Sloan came around the front of the car and opened the passenger door. As Michael stepped out, Sloan said, "I was planning on spending some time in your offices tomorrow. Can you notify security in the morning and let them know to expect me?"

  "You don't need to worry about that. I'll be there working. Just tell them to call up for verification when you come in."

  Ignoring the slight surge of pleasure that statement provoked, Sloan simply nodded. "Good night then, Ms. Lassiter," she said softly, her deep voice oddly husky. She resisted the strong urge to brush her fingers across Michael's cheek.

  Michael hesitated for moment, leaning forward almost imperceptibly, drawn by the quiet intensity of Sloan's tone. Finally, she simply smiled, and walked away. Sloan climbed back into the car, but she did not drive off until the massive front door had closed firmly behind Michael Lassiter's figure. Even then, the memory of that parting smile lingered in her mind.