Duet Rubato

by Claerie Kavanaugh

  Another whine and a nod, but her grip on the structure doesn’t loosen.

  “Well, then, you have to show it who’s boss. Can you do that?”

  Her lower lip quivers, and her eyes open a crack. “I, I don’t know.”

  “Yes. Yes, you can. You’ve come this far. I know you can make it another few feet.”

  Something between a cry and a snort erupts from her throat as she glances at the top of the wall, short of reaching the ceiling. “That’s more than a few feet, Lyn. And my body is seriously killing me.”

  “Don’t think about it. Not the height, or how much this fucking hurts.” That gets a small giggle, which sends a warm current of electricity through my nerves. “Think about Lyssa, or how you kicked my ass at boxing a few weeks ago. Or, hell, focus on my voice if you want. Anything to pretend you’re not here.”

  Catie smiles. “I like that last idea.”

  I peck her cheek. “Perfect. Now, let’s crush this thing.”

  It’s excruciating. We stop twice, but eventually, we tag the buzzer and make it to the top. I climb up first, Spidey-style. And because Catie looks like she’s about to pass out, pull her after me. “Fuck yes!” I say, once she’s settled on the edge. Her hands are clammy as a freshly caught squid but I don’t care. I clasp them before giving her a tight hug. “You did it!”

  Her heart pumps like a war drum against my chest, breathing ragged and labored. Happy tears glisten on her cheeks when we pull apart.

  “No.” She swipes at them, laughing. “We did it.”

  Her lips crash against mine, and the rest of the world fades to colors and nonsensical white noise.

  Grinning, I push back, flesh tingling and pleasure coiling in my sternum. She moans as I catch her bottom lip, nibbling and sucking at the sweet flesh before she opens and lets my tongue slip in the gap. Hot, burning shivers course through me as she grinds against me. “I’m so fucking proud of you,” I murmur between kisses.

  “Oh, shut up and kiss me.”

  I laugh, loving her baby-soft skin beneath mine. The back of my neck prickles. People are staring. But I don’t give a damn. “Gladly,” I purr, fisting one hand in the fabric of her thin cotton T-shirt beneath the harness and letting it travel down her side as the other entangles itself in her tousled locks. I tug at the hem of her shirt, and Catie moans.

  “Lyn!”

  I snake my way beneath her top, letting my hand travel as far down her pant-clad hip as I dare. My pants went damp long ago, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold back. We are in a public place, and I’d hate to get booted for indecent exposure. No matter how much my lower region is begging for an excuse. I force myself to breathe; lips swollen, chest heaving. Catie’s lips curl into an adorable pout and I smirk.

  “Lyn,” she whines.

  “I know, firefly,” I whisper, cupping her cheeks and leaning over to nibble her earlobe. “I promise, we’ll finish this lat—”

  My protest morphs into a moan as Catie turns and trails hot kisses along the path between my neck and shoulder, pausing over the pulse beating beneath my jaw to swipe with her tongue.

  “Are you sure you want to stop?”

  Fuck public decency. “No,” I wheeze. “Don't, don't stop.”

  Catie grins against my bare skin. “I won't,” she growls. Then she sucks in her breath as my thumbs find the undersides of her breasts. “Lyn.”

  The wanton in her voice sends me over the edge. I tip my head up to capture her lips. God. I forgot how good this feels.

  “Catherine Klarken!”

  And as fiercely as the kiss began, it’s cut short. Catie springs, smoothing down the creases in her shirt. I snarl, leaning back and scanning the gym for the owner of the insufferable sound.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Below, a woman glowers at our climbing wall from halfway across the gym. Her face is the color of a tomato, green eyes glinting, and a little girl’s hand clutched in her right one. “I come to drop off your daughter whom you so rudely forgot had dance class this morning and this is what I find?”

  Hey, wait a minute. . . I squint a little harder and my heart lodges itself in my throat. Sneaking a glance at Catie, her eyes have gone wide, features frozen in terror. “Is, is that Lyssa?” Catie nods. “What is she doing with her?”

  Catie swallows and opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. I watch the woman, who stalks toward our wall, stopping when the rope around the arena forbids her from going any farther.

  “You there! Holding the giant bungee cord!” I wince as her shrill voice bounces off the walls, and Hector loses his grip on our belays as he faces her.

  “Y-yes, ma’am?”

  Her glower grows as she points at us. “Are you the one controlling those . . . girls’ harnesses?” My hands fist as she snarls the word and sticks her nose in the air. I’ve dealt with enough bigoted idiots in my life to know what that tone means. Whores. I grab Catie’s wrist. It’s gone still and cold. She quivers as my lip curls back.

  “Who does that bitch think she is?” I spit.

  “Shit,” Catie whispers. “I’m screwed.”

  “What?” I glance between her and the idiot holding her daughter, who is flailing her arms and demanding Hector belay us down. “Why?” I ask. “Who is she?”

  “Grandma?” Lyssa chirps. “What’s wrong? They’re just kissing.” She motions to the top of the wall and my vision turns red. Grandma? Oh, hell no.

  “That’s Grayson’s mom? What the fuck is she doing with your kid, Cate? I thought you guys broke up before the whole clinic debacle.”

  Catie presses her lips together, not meeting my eyes. “It’s complicated.”

  I’ll bet it is. “Well, you’d better uncomplicate it. Fast. Because Hector is about to—”

  “Um, girls?” he calls, eyes darting between us and the irate woman. “Are you ready?”

  I roll my eyes, but get in position so he can help us down. “Come on, I don’t want her to start a fucking rampage.”

  Catie stays silent, copying my movements.

  We barely set foot on the ground before Grayson’s mother shoves herself against the ropes. Poor Lyssa whimpers as she tugs on her hand. “Ow! Grandma, let me go!” She does, too focused on glaring daggers at me to notice her granddaughter ducking under the ropes and trotting over to Catie. I glare right back.

  “And who might you be?” she sneers.

  “I’m Adaline, ma’am,” I say through gritted teeth. Striding over, I stretch out my hand. She doesn’t take it.

  “I see.” Her eyebrow arches. “And how do you know Catherine?”

  “She’s her girlfriend, duh,” Lyssa says. “Didn’t ya see ’em kissin’ up there?”

  Catie gasps and Grayson’s mother’s face goes red. Oh my God. The kid doesn’t know me and I’ve already scarred her for life!

  “Catherine,” she growls. “What is the meaning of this?”

  I glance back, squelching a smirk at the sneaky grin on Lyssa’s face. That came from her father. Catie clears her throat and shuffles her feet, one hand smoothing her daughter’s hair. “Um, you’re right, baby girl. Addie is a good friend of mine. Who happens to be a girl.” Her eyes flick to mine on the word friend but I do my best to squish the pang of disappointment slicing through me upon hearing it.

  Is that all we are? No. It can’t be. After what happened up there? After what’s been happening for the last three weeks? There’s no way. And yet.

  Something about the suspicious, menacing glint in Grayson’s mother’s eye tells me that’s the answer she was expecting.

  Catie continues, and I blink back to the present. “We were hugging because she was proud of me for making it to the top of the wall.”

  Lyssa rolls her eyes. “Sure, Mom. Whatever you say.”

  Catie sighs and leans toward her. “Lyssa.”

  “Dad told me you like girls. And boys.”

  Hold up. She’s talking to Grayson too? Jesus, how many secrets is she keeping? I glance at Catie,
but she looks shell-shocked. “He did?”

  Her daughter smiles softly. “Kinda had to after I found your high school prom pictures.”

  Catie and I flush as Lyssa sticks out her hand toward me. “Hi, Miss Addie. I’m Lyssa.”

  My jaw drops, but I give her hand a firm shake. “Um, hi, Lyssa. Nice to meet you.”

  “You too.” She grins before turning to Catie. “She’s really pretty, Mom. You picked a good one.”

  Catie giggles and heat rises to my cheeks. “Uh, er, thanks, baby.”

  Grayson’s mother clears her throat.

  Catie stiffens as her gaze darts between the older woman and her daughter. “Are you, um, sure you’re okay with this?” she asks Lyssa. Her words tremble and she fumbles for my hand. I grab on.

  Lyssa nods. “I wasn’t at first, but once Dad explained . . .” She shrugs and gives us both a shy grin. “I’m happy with Dad, Mom. I want you to be too.”

  Catie beams and relief flows over me as she wraps her daughter in a strong hug, tears welling in her eyes. “Thank you, Lyssa girl,” she whispers. “I love you so much.”

  Lyssa laughs and squirms out of her grip. “I love you, too.”

  Mrs. Thomas glares. “Well, I for one, am not going to let my granddaughter be raised by a pair of, of, floozy dykes!”

  “Hey!” Lyssa’s gaze turns sharp as she zeros in on her grandmother. “Don’t call them that!”

  Grayson’s mother scoffs and gestures for Lyssa to follow. “Come along, dear. I’m sure Grayson would love to hear—”

  “He already knows,” Catie says. I watch, dumbfounded, as Lyssa shakes her head and crosses her arms.

  “I’m staying.”

  “What?” Mrs. Thomas shrieks.

  “If you talk to my mom like that, I don’t want to go home with you.”

  “How dare you talk back to me, young lady?” She reaches over the ropes and grabs Lyssa by the arm, tugging hard. Lyssa yelps and Catie lunges forward.

  “Get away from her!”

  The woman though, grows more irate. For a moment, I think she’s going to take a swing straight for Catie’s nose, but she restrains herself when the manager strides over and taps her shoulder.

  “Ma’am, this seems like a private matter and I’m going to have to ask you to take it outside. There are paying customers waiting to use this wall.”

  Her expression changes to placid pleasure so fast I barely see any hint of the rage simmering beneath. “Of course, sir.” She releases Lyssa, who runs to her mother’s outstretched arms, and gives him an extra schmoozy smile. “I was leaving.”

  “Mommy,” Lyssa murmurs into her shoulder, “I’m so sorry!”

  Catie kisses her temple. “Shh, baby, it’s okay, you’re okay.” When she looks up, her eyes are like daggers. “Leave. Now.”

  “Gladly,” she spits.

  I smirk as she turns on her heel and starts toward the doors. Good riddance.

  “Oh, and Cate? Grayson may know, but I’m sure Rebecca will be thrilled to find out.”

  Catie yelps from behind me, still holding her daughter. The buzz of the gym turns to a roar in my ears.

  “Who’s Rebecca?” I choke out once she’s left. Maybe I’m right. Catie is cheating on me after all.

  Catie sucks in a breath and licks her lips. “Evelyn’s publicist. When Lyssa was a toddler, she—” Her words hitch and my brows scrunch. “Never mind, it’s not important.”

  My stomach lurches. Her eyes won’t meet mine. She’s hiding things. Again. “Yes it is,” I grip her arms. “What did she do to you?”

  Catie forces a smile through the tears swimming in her eyes. “Nothing, it’s over.”

  I scowl. “Seriously, after everything, you’re still keeping secrets? You really don’t trust me?” My voice cracks on the last word.

  “What?” Catie grasps my hands. “Addie. Do you really think I would’ve just gone rock climbing if I didn’t trust you?”

  “Oh yeah? Then when exactly were you planning on telling me about Grayson?”

  Catie flinches, then sighs. “Another long story.”

  I scoff. “So you’ve said.” A pause. “You can catch a bus from here, right?”

  She nods when I look over my shoulder, and her brow creases. “Sure, but…”

  Spinning on my heel, I march toward the door. “See you at Bright Light.”

  “Addie, wait.” Her footsteps pound behind mine, but I don’t stop.

  “Catie? Catherine, did you hear me?”

  “Hmm?”

  Sam sighs and rubs her temples with her index and middle fingers. “I said, step up.”

  “Right.” I climb onto the fitting platform and my cheeks heat up. “Sorry.” Sam clicks her tongue.

  “Where is your head today, girl? You haven’t said two words since we started all this.” Two dressers help me into the custom-made outfit Glinda is to wear for the opening and closing numbers. Addie stands to one side, scribbling notes on her clipboard. I shrug and offer an apologetic smile.

  “Guess I’m a bit distracted.”

  Understatement of the year.

  I can’t get the way she looked at me out of my head.

  Her eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them and there was something alarming flickering behind the anger. Disgust? Yes, that was there too, but it hadn’t scared me. Hurt? Almost, but not quite. This was something deeper.

  Betrayal. Raw and rebellious and panic-inducing, like a starving lion let loose in a colosseum of unsuspecting tourists. She’d looked at me like that once before. And it was a feeling I hoped I’d never experience again. Like I was a lost cause, a hopeless case, someone better to walk away from than fight for.

  God knows what Addie thought had happened. I’ve tried to talk to her countless times since but it doesn’t matter. She won’t say a word. Hasn’t since she left the rock climbing gym and Lyssa and I had to catch a bus back home before I had Brayden drop me at the theater.

  It’s driving me insane.

  I’m not sure what I’m going to tell her. But she deserves to know something. I owe her that much.

  The scratch of her pen against the paper makes goosebumps crawl up my bare arms without the whir of sewing machines or snips of sheers through fabric to distract me. The costumes are pretty much finished now, most of them hanging up along the back wall, waiting for Helmsworth’s seal of approval. I bite down on my inner cheek.

  I can’t let her distract me. What would Lyssa have to say about this dress?

  A smile creases my lips as one of the stagehands closes in on my right, blocking Addie from my view as she slips the thin spaghetti strap over my shoulder, its edges bejeweled with periwinkle, rose, and lavender crystals.

  “You look like a princess, Mom!” Lyssa’d say. And I admit, I feel like one. Sam’s design is rather brilliant.

  The dress itself shimmers pearl white. The skirt and bodice are dotted with crystals in the same colors adorning my shoulders. They’ve been sewn in the shape of gardenias

  The harness we’re using is similar to the one from this morning, called a single-point. It’s identical to the one I wore as Wendy, except Sam added extra padding so it doesn’t kill my inner thighs, thank God. She built the frame of the gown around it. Two pieces of fabric Velcro and clipped together in the back, leaving an extra hook peeking out from the seam at the bodice to secure me into the bubble. The skirt isn’t full; more a wedding dress silhouette than ball gown, without the gathers of fabric. She made it hug my curves in all the right places.

  A dresser, Josie, fastens the final piece of Velcro into place while another, Roni, straightens the straps and smooths the skirt creases before stepping back.

  “Well? How does it feel?” Sam asks, the tape measure in her hand. I stare at myself in the mirror.

  I rotate my shoulders and swing my arms up, down, and side to side, testing my range of motion. The person in the mirror imitates me.

  All that’s missing is a crown.

  “Well, I won�
��t have any trouble getting into character,” I say with a laugh. “I already feel like a princess, much less an heiress.

  Sam beams. “Awesome! So, I don’t need to make any adjustments?”

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t thin—Ooh!” Maybe trying to step down hadn’t been the best idea. Roni catches my arm and helps me gather up the skirt. “On second thought,” I amend with a grin, situating myself back in front of the mirror. “Can we—is something funny, Samantha?”

  “N-no.” Her palm covers her mouth and her cheeks puff, but the glint in her eyes gives it away.

  I shove her shoulder as she steps forward and pulls a pincushion from her back pocket. “Try doing this in three-inch heels.”

  A small chuckle escapes. “Maybe we better raise the hem before Helmsworth sees.” She bends down, flicking her tape measure like a lightsaber, snapping the air. “Let the force be with us.”

  I cluck my tongue. I understand the reference thanks to Brayden. “Such a dork are you.”

  She gives me a cheeky grin. “Work hard we must if defeat the Dark Lord we shall.”

  A stifled laugh catches my attention from the far corner of the room, but I focus on the fitting.

  Twenty minutes later, the skirt is all hemmed to above my ankles and I’m strutting down a makeshift catwalk flanked by rolls of leftover material.

  “Work it, work it!” my dresser, Josie, shouts.

  “Ms. Klarken, over here!” Roni mimes snapping photos and Josie thrusts her pen and paper in my direction.

  “Will you sign my playbill?” she shrieks.

  I’m laughing so hard I barely stay upright, but strike a few poses anyway.

  I look like a loon.

  Right now, though, I don’t care. This is the most fun I’ve had in days.

  A throat clearing stops us. My head shoots toward the door. Helmsworth, glowers at us over the rims of her rounded reading glasses.

  “If I recall, you three are costume designers. Not flying monkeys,” she deadpans. A devilish smile turns up her mouth. “Although, that can be arranged if you’d rath—”

  “We’re sorry, Ms. Helmsworth.” Sam pipes up. “We were—”