Watermark

by Karin Kallmaker

  She heard movement behind her. Startled, she turned on the tall T-shirt-clad form.

  "I couldn't sleep. And then I thought you might need ... help." Teresa was all concern and earnestness. Rayann felt a million years older.

  "I'm sorry I woke you."

  "No, I just couldn't sleep. Strange room, I guess. Will you be okay?"

  Rayann wiped her eyes. Once they'd begun, the tears wouldn't stop. Just as she had so many months ago to Teddy, she said, "No."

  She didn't know how it happened, but her head was on Teresa's shoulder. It was inappropriate. It was weak. She found a small measure of control and gently pushed Teresa away.

  "Do you want to talk about it?"

  She shook her head. "It'll pass."

  She sensed Teresa was holding herself back and she mentally thanked her for the restraint. Another word and she would start to cry again.

  "I have a confession to make," Teresa said, unex¬pectedly. She looked up inquiringly. "We had met before. Before the elevator, I mean."

  She managed a word around the boulder in her throat. "Really?"

  "Yeah. Do you remember a prissy little insecure employee at your old company? Who quit in the middle of a meeting?"

  Rayann racked her brain. What was she talking about? She searched Teresa's expression, but the light was too dim to read any meaning. "I'm sorry, I don't."

  "I thought so. Well, that was me."

  "When was this?"

  "Early last summer. I was just out of school."

  "Oh. I wasn't myself. It was probably my fault."

  Teresa looked as if she could say more on the subject, but she didn't. "Is it the same problem now?"

  She nodded. So much time had passed and she seemed so far from the acceptance stage Judy's grief book promised. She'd never get there.

  "I'm sorry," Teresa whispered. "Whatever it is . .. I'm sorry."

  "Thank you." Teresa got up, all long legs and curves. Inappropriate, Rayann reminded herself. What was wrong with her? "I appreciate that."

  "See you in the morning."

  Morning wasn't long off. She opened the sliding glass door onto the minuscule balcony. The cool night air felt wonderful on her hot cheeks.

  "Rayann? Don't." Teresa was right behind her.

  "Don't what?" Comprehension dawned. "I am not going to fucking kill myself. If I was going to do that I'd have done it months ago."

  "Sorry," Teresa snapped. "What am I supposed to think?"

  "Leave me alone, just leave me alone."

  "Fuck you. I just want to help." Teresa spun on her heel and stalked away.

  "It was you." Rayann grasped the door as her knees wobbled. The face had never registered, but the voice and words had.

  Teresa slowly turned back. "What do you mean?"

  "In that bar. In the alley behind the bar. What are you, some sort of stalker?"

  The silence stretched out until Teresa stepped closer. "It was me." Rayann could see that her lips were trembling. "I saw you go into the bar and curiosity got the better of me. I wondered what on earth the woman who had treated me like pond slime was doing in a gay bar."

  "Getting drunk. A fact which you took advantage of."

  "Oh, don't go pure and virginal on me. You were the one who didn't want to stop."

  They'd gone over a line that set alarms ringing in Rayann's head. "We have to forget it happened."

  Teresa's eyes were like reflecting pools. They shimmered in the low light and Rayann could see herself, a tousle of hair and tears. "You go ahead and forget. I never will."

  The memory replayed itself on Rayann's body, but this time she wasn't drunk. Hunger consumed her — she needed to be held, touched, loved.

  Teresa's mouth was suddenly on hers, capturing her tiny whimper. She was fierce, then tender, then breathing hard into Rayann's ear. "I'm sorry."

  Her hands found their way under Teresa's T-shirt. "This is wrong."

  She moved Rayann's hands from her back to her ribs. "If you say so. To me it's unfinished business."

  Her thumbs brushed Teresa's nipples, wrenching a moan from her. "We're going to wake up the others. We can't."

  For an answer, Teresa drew her toward the closest bedroom, which was Rayann's. Once the door was closed she peeled off her T-shirt. Rayann swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry. She couldn't think.

  Teresa pressed her down onto the bed, then offered her bare breasts to Rayann's mouth with a quiet, "Put me out of my misery."

  The floodgates were opened. Tears and passion coated Rayann's mouth and fingers. Stretched out on the bed they were breast to breast. Rayann strained

  against the past and found Teresa's quiet need as compelling and arousing as any of her life. She remembered how Louisa had felt against her — it was impossible not to. It was impossible not to feel guilty, impossible not to love every moment. Impossible not to want to do it again, impossible not to hear the echo of Louisa's cries when Teresa trembled against her.

  Rayann could not have said how long their drive to mutual release and satisfaction lasted. It seemed to take forever to get there and it was over too soon.

  When the throb of her heartbeat subsided, all she heard was Teresa crying. "Don't," she whispered. "Please don't."

  "I'm sorry."

  "I'm not." It was true. Guilt was consuming her now that the hunger was gone. But she wasn't sorry.

  "You must think me such a fool."

  The sun was coming up and the soft light outlined the womanly curves of Teresa's shoulders and hips. "No. I think you're beautiful."

  There was a bruised expression on Teresa's face. "I didn't necessarily want this to happen."

  "I know," Rayann assured her. "Neither did I."

  It was time for her to suggest that they put it behind them. It was just one of those things, she should say.

  Teresa put her hand on Rayann's bare thigh. Her mouth looked swollen as it closed around Rayann's nipple.

  Rayann found herself urging Teresa's fingers inside her.

  Then Teresa's mouth was at her ear. "But I want to do this."

  I want you to, Rayann thought. She was beyond words. She let her body say it. She let her body say it over and over.

  Drained and exhausted, Teresa slipped into her own room. Just one of those things, she had agreed while Rayann's hands teased her breasts. They would put it behind them. She'd agreed to that, too, as she kissed the length of Rayann's spine. Continuing was inappropriate, she had murmured, her fingers deep inside Rayann where she so obviously needed them. They couldn't repeat it, absolutely not.

  She curled up in the darkness and touched her fingertips to her lying mouth.

  11

  Teresa was awakened by Tori's pounding on the door. "Breakfast is here! We have to get moving soon."

  She slipped into the shower, then dressed. Finally, when she could avoid it no longer, she looked at herself in the mirror.

  She looked just the same. She peered at the wrinkle. Considering what had happened, she would have thought it would at least be different.

  What she had experienced with Rayann just didn't show. She'd had sex before, but never with such emotional engagement. She had lost herself in

  Rayann's body, drowned in Rayann's passion. She had felt whatever pain it was that stabbed at Rayann and not understood it. She wanted to make the pain go away.

  Which was not, all in all, a good foundation for a relationship. Did she want a relationship with Rayann? Yes. But what was a relationship? Living together? Marriage? A trip to the movies once in a while?

  How did you get to be twenty-eight and not know the answer? She made a face at herself.

  "Come on, Teresa! You want coffee or tea?"

  She went out to the dining cart, her gaze focused on the food. She heard Rayann's voice in her bedroom and relaxed. The inevitable morning-after embarrass¬ment was postponed.

  She drank all of the orange juice, gobbled the toast and started in on the eggs. The phone in Tori's room rang and she hurr
ied to answer it, leaving Teresa alone. She strained to distinguish Rayann's muted words. She sounded distressed.

  You are not responsible for her state of mind, she told herself sharply, but her body wasn't listening. She casually moved toward the painting that hung next to Rayann's door. It was one of those imaginary land¬scapes, all ferns and grottos.

  "Why do I feel this way?" Rayann sounded on the edge of tears. "Well, how should I feel? Christ, Judy, as a friend you can be worthless sometimes." She listened for a few moments. "I know. I know. I let it happen. And I am so... ashamed. The guilt is killing me.

  Tori was coming out of her bedroom, so Teresa managed a nonchalant stroll back to the dining cart.

  Her mind was churning. Ashamed? Guilty? It had been glorious, and Rayann Germaine was ashamed of it? Ashamed of what? Of wanting someone? Of having needs?

  "You look tired." Tori was rifling through the jelly packets.

  "I didn't sleep well."

  "Rayann said the same thing. I slept like a baby, though. I need a new bed."

  Teresa choked down a forkful of eggs. When Rayann finally came out of her room she could not look up.

  "Good morning, Teresa. Is there any coffee left?" She sounded hatefully cool and composed.

  "I think so," she managed to answer. She handed the carafe to Rayann without actually meeting her gaze. Rayann sounded as if she was having no trouble putting it all behind her, even the shame and the guilt of really great sex. Teresa felt consumed by the old anger. If she wanted to be honest with herself, she'd gotten so angry the first time Rayann criticized her because she had had a bad case of hero worship. She had thought she would learn from Rayann and turn into another successful lesbian in advertising. Instead, she'd found out her idol had a bad temper and the ability to skewer just about anybody.

  Well, Rayann was not her idol anymore. She was not someone to be looked up to, not in the least.

  Damn, Teresa thought. Not an idol, just human. A woman with weaknesses mixed in with strengths. You can't love an idol, she told herself.

  Crap.

  Once again Rayann was putting her in uncharted

  territory. The creepy butterfly feeling was back. She had no idea what to do next. She had never been in love before.

  The actors were professionals. They learned their new lines quickly and had no trouble adapting to the changed roles. The director seemed much more awake to Teresa and it was clear that the shoot was going to go smoothly. Jena no longer looked suicidal and Cindy was joking with everyone.

  You could have had sex with Cindy, she reminded herself. But no, you had to get in bed with the boss's boss. That was not smart. Another in a long line of stupid moves.

  The stupidity of it became even more apparent over the next week. She was aware of Rayann at every moment. It was as if she'd developed a Rayann sonar. She knew when Rayann was on the phone, when she was walking by, where she was headed. She could sense when she was angry or sad or tense or frustrated.

  She never sensed happy. She never sensed that Rayann paused near her cubicle and wondered, just a little, how Teresa was doing.

  Like the entire history of their nonexistent rela¬tionship, Rayann was pretending that Teresa the person didn't exist.

  What did she want from Rayann? She had asked herself that so many times she didn't know the answer anymore. She wanted to understand her. She'd found Rayann's picture in her backpack and couldn't help but study it. She wanted to know what it was

  that had sucked all the joy out of her, but left her with such a capacity for passion.

  Rayann had plenty of uses for Teresa the artist, though. It seemed that Jim Dettman only assigned her to projects that involved working directly with Rayann, including an endless stream of brainstorming sessions for new clients and old, and even a sketch of a C.E.O. for a company's annual report.

  Rayann was walking toward her now. Every muffled tread on the thick carpet was like an ex¬plosion to Teresa.

  "Have a minute? I've got good news and a request for some of your scarce leisure time for a worthy cause."

  "Sure," Teresa said.

  "How about my office?"

  She knew the moment the door was closed. They were alone and it felt as if the room was electrically charged.

  "The good news is that Philip approved quarterly bonuses this morning. And you are going to get one. Congratulations."

  She managed a quick flick of eye contact. "Any particular reason?"

  "How about working like a dog? You've put in really long hours and you've been very productive." Rayann's voice was a little hoarse, as if she had a cold. "I think actually you're working too hard. So I have a gift of a couple of days off with the condition that you use them right away. Also, Philip agrees that you should be moved up to the next salary grade. You may not have been in advertising very long, but your work — especially in groups — is that of someone with a great deal of experience."

  "I learned a lot from my boss at the museum. She was good with people."

  There was a short silence, then Rayann said, "I'd like to get your help with a pro bono project, if you're interested."

  "What kind?"

  "It's for the Tenderloin Housing Agency. They want to raise money for a commercial garden that is otherwise going to be turned into a parking lot by day and a junkie hangout by night."

  "A community garden, right in the middle of the city? That's going to be some expensive corn."

  "The land has a toxics problem that won't clear it for residential use. But it can grow flowers. They have a local nursery willing to provide the organic know-how, and I think we can get our wholesale nursery client to kick in the first year's plants. What they need is something I thought you would really enjoy — a mural for the building walls alongside the garden. They have all the eager young painters lined up and all the supplies have been donated. But they don't have a design."

  Teresa forgot she wasn't looking at Rayann. "That sounds really interesting. Will I need to submit a design for approval?"

  "Yes, but they have no real concept in mind. How¬ever, they specifically want to avoid anything political. They'd love to underscore the purpose of the garden."

  Teresa was rapidly considering ideas. "Where's the location?"

  Rayann gave her a slip of paper. "Address and the name of my contact at THA. I'm glad you'll do it." Rayann's gaze lingered and Teresa felt herself flush¬ing.

  She dropped her gaze to Rayann's desk. "What happened?" She indicated a long scratch.

  "Henry dropped a VCR. The desk survived, the VCR didn't. He was trying to lift too much." She ran her finger in the groove. "It can be repaired."

  "Well." Teresa glanced at the paper. "Thanks for this. And the bonus and the raise. My cup runneth over."

  "You earned it, Teresa." She was at the door when Rayann said huskily, "Teresa."

  She loved the way her name sounded when Rayann said it, but she couldn't turn around. "Yes?"

  "Look at me."

  She slowly turned and her gaze was pulled into the well of Rayann's eyes.

  "I just want you to know that you really earned it. The money, it ... it has nothing to do with what happened."

  "I never thought it did. I don't believe you're that kind of person." Rayann would not pay someone off to keep an embarrassing secret.

  "And I didn't think you would need incentives to — to forget about it." Rayann closed her eyes as if that was the only way to break their eye contact. "It sounds so sordid, put that way."

  There was nothing sordid about it, Teresa wanted to say. "I never said I'd forget about it," she whispered and she made her escape before Rayann could say anything more.

  What had she done? For the thousandth time, Rayann wondered how she could undo the distress she had obviously caused Teresa. It had been wrong to

  unload first her grief then all her pent-up physical needs on someone so young, so obviously inex¬perienced. Well, she wasn't inexperienced at sex, but life was another thing. She seemed
so ... unsuspecting.

  She ran her finger into the groove left by the VCR. The desk had a thick veneer of cherry over pine. The pine that showed could be stained to match the cherry.

  "I got your tools." Henry hovered at the door. "That place was neat."

  She took the leather roll from him. She'd had all of her chisels sharpened. Since Joyner's birth, an idea for a window hanging for Joyner's room had been buzzing around in her head.

  "I'm real sorry about that." Henry rubbed the groove as if that would make it go away.

  "Don't be." Rayann had a sudden impulse. "In fact, it can be the first part of a new artwork." She unrolled the coiled pouches and selected a grooving tool. "It could be the branch of a tree or the arch of a vine." She smoothed the groove, then selected a smaller tool. A familiar and long-absent calm settled on her as a many-fingered leaf sprouted from the original groove.

  It was hours before she wearied of bending over the desk. The office had in fact gone quiet. No one was working late on such a beautiful evening, apparently. She looked out the window in disbelief at what was left of a searing red sunset. A quarter of her desktop was covered in twining vines and leaves, the sharp white of the pine showing through the cherry in vivid contrast. Washed with a brown-green dye and filled with veneer it would be gorgeous. Of course, Phil wasn't paying her to decorate desks.

  She rolled up her tools and confronted a wave of sadness. You're really gone, aren't you, Lou? I'm moving on.

  Acceptance. She felt a wrench of loss and realized how she had clung to the pain as a way of keeping her distance from life.

  "You should just put up a sign."

  Rayann jumped. Teresa was framed in the doorway. "What?"

  "A sign. A great big one with full disclosure."

  Rayann was certain she did not want to have this conversation with Teresa. Teresa was obviously upset, but Rayann couldn't fathom why. "We probably shouldn't do this."

  "It would say, 'Dear World. Whatever you do, don't care for me. Don't help me. I am in too much pain. I'm the only person in the world who can understand my pain, so don't ask.' "