by Roscoe James
Jessie trembled. Marci pulled her back down on the bed and said, “Let it out, Jess. You're safe here.”
Curled in the soft warm embrace of Marci's arms, Jessie did just that. She let go.
* * *
Marci was staring right into Jessie's eyes when she woke up the second time. Jessie didn't close her eyes this time when Marci leaned in to kiss her.
“You've seen my little pink book. What about you? Got a pink book hidden away somewhere? One full of girl names?”
“There's a story. Not a very interesting one, I'm afraid.”
“I want to know.”
“Well, there was this girl in the ninth grade. Stephie, Stacy, I don't remember. She kissed me once at a party. One of those crazy truth-or-dare things. I always took the dares. Anyway, we kissed. The poor girl never knew I ran around with a wet crotch the rest of the school year crushing on her. C'est la vie.”
Marci didn't go on.
“Come on. There has to be more. That can't be it.”
Marci rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Her fingers played across her own stomach, and she reached for Jessie. They kissed, then she pushed Jessie's head to her shoulder and told her story.
“There were a few sessions of nervous fumbling in high school. Not many. The other girls took it more as a dare. Maybe a rite of passage. They never guessed that they broke my heart every time. I didn't let them know.
“Then there was Juilliard. You know. We were all big girls then. I even had a girlfriend my first year. But I think it was more of the same. Kind of some perverse badge of honor she wore around the school to get guys to notice.”
In the few days Jessie had known Marci, the woman had always seemed so sure of herself. So poised. But when Marci paused, Jessie noticed a nervous roaming of her eyes across the ceiling. It was clear she was searching for words that were hard to find. Jessie ran her fingers across Marci's neck, enjoying the warm touch of her skin. When she realized what she was doing, she almost withdrew her hand.
“So, well, then my second year someone found me. An older woman. Well, she was thirty-six. Italian. One of my professors. When I think about it I try to figure out if it was just sex for her or if she really did love me.” Marci turned away. When she looked back at the ceiling, her eyes were glistening. Jessie lowered her hand and took Marci's. She squeezed Marci's fingers and waited.
“Anyway. I've never figured that out. That lasted for two years. She taught me more than what an adagio is or how to pull my bow.” Marci turned to look at Jessie, and when she did, a tear pooled and ran down the side of her nose. “She taught me about love. Doesn't matter what kind. Gay love. Straight love. Tough love. It all really is about love. And devotion.”
Marci turned back to the ceiling. Jessie ran her fingers across a soft sheen of sweat on Marci's skin. She wanted to do something to make the telling easier but was afraid she would get it wrong. Instead she did nothing and waited. After a minute Marci pulled an edge of sheet up, wiped her eye, and laughed nervously.
“There's not much else to tell about that one. Somehow the dean found out, and there was a faculty review… It was a mess. I did learn something, though. I learned that I do love women. That the feeling that had always been lurking was real. I learned that sex isn't love. And I learned that love is about the heart, about how you feel no matter how crazy that feeling may seem. That you can't intellectualize a sentiment.”
“So there's never been a man.”
“No.” Marci laughed anxiously. Then she added, “But my father's been trying to marry me off ever since my mother died. He wants an heir for the empire. Even if the name doesn't continue, he wants the blood to.”
Marci fell silent. The room had grown dark, and Marci had faded into a warm shadow that Jessie embraced lovingly between the sheets.
* * *
A blues riff rang out and woke Jessie. She stretched to turn a bedside lamp on. She searched the disaster site for her purse. She hung over the edge of the bed and pulled her handbag into her lap. Her phone rang again, and she looked up from her gaping purse trying to locate the sound.
With a start Jessie jumped and ran for the door. She stopped and scooted back to the bathroom to grab a towel. Still pulling the towel around her body, she jerked the door open to find a speechless Kimmie, hand poised to knock, staring back.
“Fuck,” Jessie muttered. Her phone rang again, and she grabbed it from the hallway floor in the doorway. She snapped her phone open and studied her kid sister's face while Bernie yelled in rapid-fire short phrases.
“You didn't call so I'm calling you.” Bernie sounded put out.
Kimmie's gaze wandered Jessie's half-naked body, and she heard someone yell from down the hallway, “Did you find Marci?”
“Look, I've got this all set up. We need to talk dates. They're even offering above studio rates and room and boar—”
“Hang on, Bernie.”
“What happened to your hair?” Kimmie's hand came up but dropped just as quickly. The cheer squad showed up in a small cloud of cackles.
Jessie had absolutely no words. She was not only speechless; she was dumbfounded. How the hell… She heard a tiny voice from her telephone yelling for her to come back. Her towel dropped, she ducked to grab it, and Kimmie pushed through the doorway.
“Kimmie! Wait! What the hell—” Her dumbfounded hesitation had been enough. She looked over her sister's shoulder and saw Marci trying to do a one-legged hop into black lace panties.
“You guys didn't show up at the house. When you didn't show up at the bar either, I went to check on my reception arrangements. The guy at the desk thought I was there for the room. You know. Bachelorette party and all. He'd recognized Marci from a visit we made on Sunday—”
“Look, Kimmie. I can explain.” A crush of warm bodies piled up behind Jessie, trying to get a look. Marci gave up on her panties and pulled the sheet off the bed in a show of modesty.
“This should be good. Go ahead, Psycho Woman. Explain.” Kimmie turned and faced Jessie eye to eye.
Jessie drew a blank. She had no idea how to explain a naked Marci, an unmade bed, and a trail of clothing strewn all over a hotel room.
“Right. I thought so.” Kimmie pushed her way past the cheer squad and yelled from the door. “Well, at least now I can be sure my fiancé's safe. You won't be fucking the groom. Let's go, ladies. Booze and male strippers are waiting.”
The words cut like a knife.
“Kimmie, please—”
“It's okay, Sis. Really. I don't think the male strippers would interest you too much anyway. You know what I mean.”
“Fucking the groom? What groom? Are you getting married, Jessie?”
She yelled at her phone, “Go away, Bernie. I'll call you when I can.” The man was still talking when she snapped her phone shut.
There was a shuffling of bodies as everyone paraded to the head of the line to inspect the crime scene. Jessie didn't say anything when Charlotte walked by and with a salacious grin whispered, “You are a naughty, naughty girl, Psycho Woman.”
And they were gone. Jessie slammed the door after them and locked herself in the bathroom. She could hear Marci calling her name, pleading with her to come out from the other side of the door.
She didn't answer.
Mom and Dad are right. I am a whore.
Jessie buried her face in a towel.
And a fucking psycho woman too.
* * *
“Don't do it, Jessie. You can't. This is your sister's—”
“I can do whatever the hell I want.” Jessie kept stuffing the pile of clothing that was on the bed into her duffel bag.
When they'd finally arrived at the house, Jessie hadn't found anyone in the kitchen, and the place was dark. She decided her parents were out to dinner while the girls were having their fling. She'd headed straight for her bedroom.
She'd thrown her new white dress on the floor and put on her jeans and a T-shirt in hurried jerking motions. She
'd turned to Marci and spit out the words. “That's right. Get a good look. That's what you came for, isn't it?”
She knew Short Stuff and crew were drooling over a bunch of hard-bodied dancers and talking about the big lez show on the seventh floor.
Marci grabbed Jessie's arm in frustration and jerked her around. “Listen to me. This is your sister's wedding.” Marci spoke the next words slowly, emphatically, like she was talking to some three-year-old she'd caught finger painting the walls of the house. “You cannot miss your sister's wedding. I mean it, Jessie. You'll regret it.”
“Yeah. Regrets. A little late for regrets, don'tcha think?” Jessie jerked free and continued stuffing clothes. Marci stepped in and shoved Jessie away from the bed.
“Is that it? Your sister knows you went to bed with a woman?” Marci was furious. “You regret what we did? Hell, Jessie, you haven't even had time to think about it yet. Give it a while to sink in. Then you can really regret it. Then you can do what you do best. Run away.” Marci marched to the closet and pulled a big suitcase out. She dragged it across the floor and threw it on the bed beside Jessie's messy pile of clothing and started talking a mile a minute. “If that's the problem, I'll make it easy for you. I'll just go home. You can lay low for a couple of days. Then you can show up like you did this last time. I know it won't be as dramatic as being away for a year, but hell, who knows? Maybe your mom will make you some more of those fucking pancakes you love.
“They'll just think it was another one of your big scenes to make them all suffer. Maybe a warning shot across the bow or whatever it is those navy guys do to get someone's attention. One of those don't mess with me shots. Cause if you do mess with Psycho Woman she'll go away. Right?” Marci started pulling neatly folded clothing out of a dresser drawer and putting them on the bed beside Jessie's messy pile. “Hey! And if you hurry you can make it back to the party and pick up one of those stripper guys. Yeah. That works. He can whisk you away for a couple of days and fuck the stink of my pussy off of you.”
“You don't get it, do you? You and I did it! We did it all! I did a woman! And everyone knows!”
Marci stopped and shoved Jessie, “I was there too, Jessie. They saw me too. They know what I was doing. You don't see me running around—”
“That's different. They know—”
“They know I'm some sex-starved dyke? That's what you think? I'm the token gay girl in the group?” Marci leaned close. “I've got my secrets too, Jessie. I guess I thought just this once it might be worth the sacrifice. Oh, and you didn't do a woman. I did. Well, a psycho woman.”
Marci pulled away from the stare-down contest and went on. “We can't have that, can we? The stink of another woman's pussy on you. No. Besides, you were just fucking, right? I was just another name for your book. But you might want to put me in there with an initial. You can't have anyone knowing I was a girl. Your girl. Even if it was only for a day. Sorta.” Marci rifled the closet and pulled a couple of things out on hangers. “And that's a good question, Jessie. What are you going to do with that book, anyway? I mean are you going to sit around when you're old and read it when you get lonely? Maybe when you're famous you can sell—”
“Marci!” Jessie tried to trap her, but she sidestepped and went into the bathroom still talking a mile a minute.
“You know? Maybe you should put my name in there anyway. Not just an initial. The whole thing. Yeah. Draw a big circle around it. A little lesbian slant to your past. I haven't seen a celebrity yet that didn't get some extra mileage out of that one. Too bad we didn't make a tape—”
“What the hell is going on in here?” Her father's voice filled the confines of the messy room, and when Jessie turned she tripped on a piece of clothing on the floor. She sat hard on the carpet with the grace of a walrus. He was standing in the doorway in his boxers and a white T-shirt. He looked sleepy-eyed and mad. She felt like she was a kid again and her father just caught her fighting with Kimmie.
Marci stuck her head out of the bathroom. She wiped the tears away and said, “Mr. Butler. I'm sorry. I really am. I hate to impose, but my father just called. There's a family emergency, and I'm going to have to go back home. Do you think you could drive me to the airport?”
Jessie's father looked at the mess on the bed. Then he looked at Marci. Jessie's mom was in her robe, peering around her husband's arm from the hallway, her hair in a hairnet. Then his gaze fell on Jessie. The silence was deafening. When Jessie looked away and stared at the floor, her father cleared his throat.
“Sorry to hear that, Marci. Sure. More than glad to.”
“Do you think you'll be able to make it back for the wedding, dear?” Her mother was trying to push past Jessie's father to see if she could help. He wasn't having it.
“I'm not sure, Mrs. Butler. But tell Kimmie I'll call her tomorrow.”
“Well, we'll go fix some coffee.” Jessie's father turned to his wife. “Won't we, Martha? You just give a holler when you're ready to leave. Take your time.”
Jessie sat on the floor rocking, her hands trapping her knees, staring at the piece of clothing tangled in her boot for the fifteen minutes it took Marci to get her things together. When Marci's feet stepped into view, Jessie looked up.
Marci stood waiting.
When Jessie didn't move or say anything, Marci wiped another tear off her cheek and stormed out of the bedroom. She said over her shoulder as she left, “I can do whatever the hell I want to, too, Jessie.”
Then Jessie could hear her talking to her father in the kitchen.
“I think I've got everything I came with. In fact, I'm sure I'm not leaving anything behind. I'm really sorry about this, Mr. Butler—”
Jessie's mother jumped in. “Don't you worry about that at all, dear. If I find anything I'll give it to one of the girls. I'm just so sad to hear there's a problem at home. Are you sure there isn't something we can—”
“Martha. If there's anything we can do I'm sure Marci will let us know. Won't you, sweetie?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Butler.”
“And I mean that. Anything.”
“I will, Mr. Butler. Thanks again.”
“There's nothing in the laundry… Nothing else here of yours?” Jessie's mother couldn't stay out of it.
“Not a thing, Mrs. Butler. I'm absolutely positively sure of it.”
Jessie sneaked past the kitchen and out the front door. She ran for the lane and headed for the old quarry. For sanctuary. She pulled the cloth she'd unwrapped from her boot to her nose and breathed deep.
She could still smell Marci on the dress she'd worn earlier in the day.
Chapter Six
Jessie opened her eyes and stared at Debbie snoring on the floor. From the shadows on her window, she knew the sun was well on its way to high noon. She rolled between the sheets with a smile for Marci. But the other side of the bed was empty.
Fuck!
She got out of bed and hit the bathroom. By the time she'd showered and dressed, she found her mother in the kitchen setting the table for lunch.
“You know, you didn't even say good-bye to that Marci girl last night. You really should have. The poor girl seemed so upset. Your father said she cried all the way to the airport. I wonder what—”
“I said good-bye, Mom. Before she left.”
And suddenly, there they were. Jessie was alone in the kitchen with her mother just like that day she'd come home from high school.
“I know what's—” Jessie stopped and held her tongue. Somehow the game had gotten old.
“What's that, Jessie?”
“Never mind.”
Even if it wasn't a game this time. Even if she really had fucked Marci. Even if everyone had managed to barge into the room and get a gander. The thrill of the chase was gone. She heard noises from the back of the house and headed out the back door. She knocked out a Marlboro and lit up as she walked.
Halfway to the barn she met her father walking to the house. He looked up just as she came around
the old smokehouse. “Dad, can I—”
“Here's what you can do, young lady. Your mother has spent at least an hour making lunch for our guests who were all out late last night having a good time. You can turn yourself around and march yourself right back into that house. Then you can sit down at the table like decent folk do and eat lunch with everyone else. You can talk and jabber with the rest of the girls, and you can help your sister enjoy some of the most important days of her life.”
Jessie pulled up short.
“And there's another thing I want from you before this week is out. I want you to say something nice to your mother. I want you to have a conversation with her that lasts more than five seconds, and I want you to tell her how good every meal she puts in front of you is. That's all I want. Then you can go off to Chicago or wherever it is you have to get to so fast that you're already half-packed. Got that?” Her father didn't wait for an answer. He just walked on past.
Jessie kicked the dirt and muttered something she didn't want her father to hear.
“I heard that, young lady. And I want you to go see your Nana. Every time I see her she asks if you're dead. Now get your ass in the house.” Her father didn't even turn around.
She hit bottom so hard she bounced. Twice.
* * *
Jessie pulled her new white handbag up, the one Marci had given her, and fished for her cigarettes. She zipped her purse shut and stopped to look at it. Another reminder of Marci.
She lit up in front of the same vending machine she'd been dancing with an eternity ago and exhaled. The nightmare was winding down, and the only thing Jessie wanted was to get the hell out of Dodge.
She'd gone to see Nana, her father's mother, that same day. She found her sitting in her wheelchair in the TV room of the nursing home watching a soap.
“Just a minute, dear. I have to see what that nasty Gerald has done. He's such a terrible man.” Then she'd been all smiles. Mind as sharp as ever, Jessie's eighty-four-year-old grandmother had given her a dressing down. Then they'd gone back to Nana's room to visit. Jessie watched the gene pool that her voice had come from fiddle with her bedside radio until she found some easy listening and thanked God or whoever for giving Nana to her. Just as Jessie was leaving, her Nana had her pull a box out of the closet.
