Watermark

by Karin Kallmaker

  Vivian lost her cynical edge with a sudden grin. "Not if you learn to accept Plan B with grace and style."

  Teresa laughed. "Well, I managed one Plan B already."

  "And it worked out for the best, didn't it?"

  "Your advice and wisdom far outweigh my own."

  "Plan A is leaving." Vivian nodded in the direction of the bar.

  Teresa glanced over. The man was hugging Rayann. Another woman held her coat, as if waiting for a small child to get ready to go. She had some kind of magic, that woman. The whole world doted on her, apparently.

  She would never understand it.

  "Shall we call it a night?" Vivian sighed. "I had hoped for more, I must say. Kim hasn't called in two weeks so I think we might be fizzling."

  "Sorry. I'm a poor substitute for romance and passion."

  "You're okay in your own way," Vivian allowed.

  "The feeling is mutual. I want to walk over to the bookstores in the Castro, though. If I can't dance I may as well find something to read. I need something for the flight, anyway."

  "I think I'll go home," Vivian said. "It's probably just as well we can't dance. I'm more tired than I thought I was."

  They parted at the door, Vivian turning toward the Muni station while Teresa set off uphill. She im¬mediately wished she was wearing something other than the black pumps Vivian had voted for. She was going to get a blister.

  The direct route up the steeper hills was shorter, and she got to the Castro main drag before her feet gave up. The next Muni stop was also much closer.

  A slow-walking woman ahead of her turned into a bar and Teresa did a double take. Wasn't that Rayann? Going into one of the men's bars?

  Curious, and knowing it was absurd, she followed. A wall of disco music assaulted her when she opened the door. The men in the bar quickly dismissed her,

  and she saw Rayann at the far end, talking to the bartender. The bartender brought her a drink and she downed half of it in a gulp.

  Was that the woman's problem? Drinking? That could account for the Jekyll and Hyde.

  It was more than just her leftover hurt feelings that made her force her way through the crowd to the other end of the bar. Just once, she thought, just once, she would like Rayann Germaine to look at her, really look at her, and take note of the fact that she was a human being. Just once.

  The two men on the other side of Rayann were getting hot and heavy. In a few minutes they left by the back door, which opened onto the alley behind the bar. Teresa slipped onto the deserted barstool next to Rayann.

  The bartender brought Rayann another drink. Teresa leaned forward so he could hear her. "I'll have one of those, too."

  It was a gin and tonic. Rayann didn't look up from her contemplation of the glass until Teresa quite un-accidentally bumped her.

  "Sorry," she shouted in Rayann's ear.

  "No problem."

  Two drinks later, all Teresa could think was, "This is stupid." Rayann was deep into her own thoughts and two drinks ahead of her. Even if Teresa did get her attention, she was clearly in no condition to talk.

  Did she really want to talk? No, all she wanted was acknowledgment. A look of recognition. Teresa realized the gin was having an effect on her own ability to think, but she was still clear on what she wanted. Rayann Germaine had delivered the crudest insult of all — she had failed to recognize that Teresa

  was even there. She wasn't leaving this bar until she had some satisfaction.

  The bartender brought her another gin and tonic, but Teresa hadn't ordered it yet. She waved it away, but Rayann signaled for it.

  "I'll take it."

  The bartender shouted over the music, "You driving?"

  Rayann shook her head and then fished clumsily in her coat pocket. She held up a Muni pass.

  The bartender shrugged and said, "It's your last, then."

  Rayann managed to fumble her wallet out of her pants pocket and handed over a couple of bills to settle her tab. Teresa decided it was high time she did the same. Getting drunk was not why she was here. She pocketed her change and watched Rayann steadily drain the gin and tonic.

  Last chance, she thought. Teresa leaned very close. Too close to be ignored. "Would you like to dance?"

  Rayann's eyes were half-closed, but she nodded. Teresa stood up, but Rayann stayed on her barstool, just opening her arms like she was going to dance while seated. Before Teresa knew it, Rayann's head was nestled under her chin. She was tingling all over. It was a very nice kind of tingling, like she hadn't felt in a long time.

  "This isn't quite what I had in mind," Teresa said, more to herself than to Rayann.

  Rayann looked up dreamily. "Just what did you have in mind?"

  She hardly hesitated. In a heartbeat the desire was formed and acted on. She pressed her lips to Rayann's, and when she found a soft and eager wel-

  come, she intensified her pressure until Rayann's lips parted.

  A part of her, growing smaller by the moment, was not proud of what she was doing. But mostly she couldn't stop. She changed her position, stepped between Rayann's parting legs and cupped Rayann's face in her hands.

  When Teresa pulled away Rayann was gasping. Her eyes were closed, and she reached for Teresa again. "I've missed you."

  What the hell? She started to push Rayann back, but found Rayann's hands inside her jacket, slowly pulling her blouse out of her skirt. "Don't do that. Not here."

  Rayann smiled sexily and Teresa felt another jolt of desire. "Only your mouth is saying no."

  Teresa arched her back as warm fingertips found her bare skin. She remembered the door to the alley. "This way."

  Rayann followed, her step uncertain but eager. Once they were outside, she pulled Teresa against her so that Teresa had her pinned to the wall. Her mouth was like a fire of longing, burning Teresa's lips and tongue. She was drawing Teresa's hands under her sweater and in the next moment undoing Teresa's blouse buttons.

  Teresa wanted to go on, every part of her did. It would not be the first time she'd done something so stupid. But it seemed very wrong.

  "It's been too long," Rayann whispered, and Teresa realized what was wrong. Rayann had no idea who she was, or rather, Rayann was drunkenly pretending she was someone else.

  Her hands had found their way to Rayann's full

  and soft breasts and Teresa's resolve to end things before it went any further crumbled. Rayann's fingers were inside her shirt, hurriedly fumbling their way under Teresa's bra.

  It felt too good to stop. The next kiss gave her vertigo and abruptly she found herself with her back against the wall.

  "Your turn for once," Rayann whispered. Her hands were under Teresa's skirt now.

  The warm pressure against her crotch was delicious, but it jolted Teresa to where she was. She grabbed Rayann's arms. "We can't do this here."

  "Take a walk on the wild side," Rayann protested. She tried to engage another kiss, but Teresa held her off. Then her eyes snapped open.

  "Oh God," Rayann gasped, then she stumbled to the other side of the alley and was spectacularly sick.

  Teresa felt the cold night air on her breasts. Her entire body was like a vibrating bowstring. She pulled her bra down, buttoned up and then went to help Rayann.

  Rayann gasped, between heaves, "Leave me alone. Just leave me alone."

  Teresa let her mouth have its way. "Fuck you. I just want to help." She stormed back into the club and stood there feeling guilty and enraged and really, really frustrated. Finally, she picked up a stack of napkins and went back outside. "Here," she snapped.

  "Thanks," Rayann mumbled. She wiped her mouth and hands, then leaned weakly against the wall. After a minute she pushed herself upright, wrapped her coat tightly around her waist and walked down the alley toward the street.

  Teresa stood there with her mouth open. What the

  fuck had just happened? You know what just happened, she told herself. That bitch got one look at you and she puked, that's what happened. You
were never real to her. That's been the whole problem all along.

  She walked in the opposite direction to the Muni station, feeling as if she really wanted another drink. But she'd obviously had enough and there was no way this evening was going to end on an up note. She did remember to stop at the bookstore for something to read on the flight to Vegas.

  It wasn't until she was packing the following morning that she realized she'd bought one of those true love romances where girl meets girl, girl has fabulous sex with girl, and girls settle down in the suburbs to live happily ever after.

  Well, it would be good for a laugh. It was certainly not the story of her life. And as for Ms. Rayann Germaine — Teresa pictured her trapped in a Hierony-mous Bosch painting. Her mind's eye painted the passionate mouth and trembling skin writhing in Bosch's purgatory. Writhing in torment and nothing else.

  5

  Rayann quickly regretted opening her eyes. Behind her closed lids she tried to decide where she was. She remembered the woman — had she gone home with her? She wasn't wearing anything.

  She risked another peek and was much relieved to recognize her old bedroom. She was at her mother's house. Now she vaguely remembered giving the cab driver her mother's address because it was closer and she needed a bathroom as soon as possible. Jim had been the one to let her in. Her clothes were neatly

  folded on the chair, so her mother had at some point helped her get into bed.

  Her head ached too much to move.

  What had she been thinking? What had she been trying to achieve? Orgasm with some stranger, as if that could ever be enough? How could she even have contemplated it?

  Even now she could feel that woman's body against hers — but was she really remembering that, or just longing for Louisa, wishing she could make love with her one last time.

  / want you, I'll never stop.

  Behind her eyelids she could see Louisa giving her the look that said, "I'm taking you to bed the moment we're alone." It had always left her trembling.

  She wanted to run away from her memories.

  I loved you for more than the sex, you know that. Please tell me you know that.

  Softly, comfortingly, the reply came. I know.

  Rayann managed to sit up. It didn't seem right that all she could think about, all she could remember was the sex. The accident hadn't just taken away the best lover she had ever had, it had taken away the laughter and shared joys, the morning coffee and teasing banter. She'd lost all of Louisa, not just her body.

  In the two weeks since Louisa's death, Rayann had longed for Louisa's body. The longing fueled her guilt. She hadn't loved Louisa enough, not nearly enough.

  Her mother had left a note on the bedside table. She and Jim had left for a wedding reception but would be home in time for an early supper, and would she please consider staying. They were probably worried about her, just like Judy was. She wished

  everyone would stop worrying. Of course, showing up drunk and sick in the middle of the night wasn't going to inspire confidence.

  She found aspirin, showered, and resolved to show her mother and Jim that she was fine. She could hold herself together long enough to do that. She would prove to them that she was not having a breakdown, that she was getting on with her life. She knew that Tony Hand was waiting for her call, eager to hear that she was on her way back to work. But she just couldn't take that step. Going back to work would mean leaving Louisa behind. It would mean admitting the impossible had happened.

  You're not dead. You're not gone.

  As she brushed out her hair, Rayann took stock of the ravages that four months of grief and anger had taken. All that time spent waiting for Louisa to die, and now two weeks of living with the reality of it. Her skin was dry and brittle, her eyelashes thin, her eyebrows overgrown, her hair limp and streaked with more gray. She'd aged ten years. She was the epitome of a "before" picture in an advertisement. But she had no idea what an "after" picture might look like without Louisa there, holding her, making her think, giving her courage.

  She'd slept past noon, and shaking off hangover lethargy was hard. She found a recent copy of Advertising Age in her mom's office and took it into the backyard. The dappled August sunlight made her drowsy. She rocked in the hammock and relived the day she'd met Louisa, agreed to live in her house and work in the bookstore. Remembering that day made her think of Michelle, the faithless lover that Rayann had bolted from, right into Louisa's life. God, she

  hadn't thought about Michelle in ages. What a point¬less relationship that had been. Michelle's income had given her the freedom to pursue sculpture and teaching art. But she wasn't cut out to be an artist. She forgot who she had said it to, but she really did like advertising.

  The whir of the garage door brought her out of her doze and she tried to look energetic and alert when Jim and her mother came in the house.

  "You look a little better than you did last night," Jim observed, giving her a quick hug.

  "I feel better. My stomach's still telling me that I had twice a few too many."

  Her mother glanced around the kitchen. "You haven't eaten anything, have you?"

  "Not yet — I wasn't sure what dinner plans were and didn't want to spoil my appetite."

  Her mother let the lie pass and offered to make coffee. "Or we could hop back in the car and go out to eat. Reception appetizers and sugary cake always makes me hungry for dim sum. We'll be way ahead of the rush at my favorite place on Webster."

  Rayann pressed a hand to her stomach. "As long as there aren't any chicken feet I'll be fine. Don't you guys want to change?"

  Her mother would have skipped it, but Jim quickly said, "I'm dying to." He disappeared upstairs.

  Her mother picked up the copy of Advertising Age Rayann had abandoned on the counter. "Are you heading back to work soon?"

  The question made Rayann angry, and she knew it was irrational. Her mother wasn't being deliberately cruel. When she didn't answer, her mother put the

  magazine down and crossed the room to draw Rayann to the table.

  Once they were seated, she fixed Rayann with her direct gaze. As the years passed, looking into her mother's face was more like looking into a mirror. But she'd never have that piercing gaze, Rayann thought. Her mother was so much stronger than she was.

  "You're too much like me," her mother said. "You don't like getting advice any better than I do. But out of everyone you know, I'm the only one who under¬stands how hard it is to go on."

  Rayann bit her lower lip. Only after Louisa had died did Rayann realize she had a common bond with her mother, who had lost her life mate, Rayann's father, to a heart attack. Ten years ago she'd still thought her mother cold, a belief that dated from her father's funeral, when her mother had not cried.

  She hadn't cried at Louisa's burial. At times of extreme grief they both went cold.

  Her mother's eyes were filled with tears now. "I know what you're going through. The disbelief, the anger — God, the guilt. Do you know how many nights I went to sleep asking myself if I pushed your father into working too hard? If I encouraged him to have one too many cheesecake desserts?"

  "He was perfectly fit, Mom — it was congenital, the failure. I had all those tests to make sure it hadn't been passed on."

  "I blamed myself anyway. If I'd loved enough, cared enough, it wouldn't have happened."

  Rayann closed her eyes. Although she knew her mother had gone through the same loss, she rejected the idea that anybody could understand. Her guilt was

  different — she needed only to have lingered for one more kiss that morning, or called when she got to work. Anything to put Louisa one minute later on her walk.

  Her mother patted her hand. "If you want to talk, I'm here, sweetie. And even though you won't believe me, life goes on. It has to. That's what life is — a force that cannot stand still. Moving on does not mean you loved her less."

  "I know that." Intellectually, she did. Her heart didn't believe it for a second.

&n
bsp; They sat in silence for a moment, then Jim came into the kitchen. He put his arm around Rayann's shoulders on the way to the car, as affectionate with her as he was with his own son. Dinner was light-hearted on the surface, but Rayann knew she had to face going home when it was over. Tomorrow would come and she would have to fill another day.

  / miss you.

  Of course.

  Las Vegas was a trip. The fantastical hotels and casinos, surrounded by fountains and pools all at odds with the blazing desert heat, made Teresa shake her head. What had Carla called it? A city built by losers. She'd read that there wasn't enough water to support the city anymore, and yet she could see two more large casinos under construction.

  The whimsy of the architecture — faux Roman next to an Egyptian oasis across from a circus big tent, all crowned with neon marquees — was garish in the hot afternoon sun. The sheer excess of it was the worst of

  American culture, but it succeeded so well at excess that she gawked along with the other people in the shuttle.

  The shuttle driver regaled everyone with stories of big wins. She learned that the Hello Dollar slot machine was due to hit and gathered she should hurry down with her silver dollars to get lucky. The heat slapped her as she stepped from the shuttle. Moments later she was engulfed by the chill of the hotel air conditioning. She glanced over her shoulder — five feet from the door and she couldn't tell if it was day or night. The ringing of slot machines filled her ears. Carla's offhand remarks about the psychology of casinos was taking some of the excitement out of her first experience.

  In her room she abandoned her leggings and T-shirt and shrugged into a short skirt and lightweight top that was better suited to the heat and more presentable. It was so cold inside she could wear the cute little jacket that went with the skirt. She didn't want to embarrass her father by looking like a scruffy student at dinner. She was an assistant curator. She stood up straight, then relaxed. She was also on vacation — the first vacation of her working life.