Reality Bytes

by Jane Frances

  “And then I’ll take you out to dinner to celebrate?”

  Lisa shook her head gravely. “I was thinking we could grab a movie, have an early dinner and an early night.”

  Cathy nodded, her response just as grave. “An early night is probably a good idea. You’ll be tired from all that organizing.”

  “And you’ll be exhausted from passing all those tiny cakes around.”

  “Absolutely.” Cathy shook the hand held out to her. “Okay, it’s a deal.”

  Cathy had been looking forward to their evening all afternoon. Actually, she’d been looking forward to some unstructured time alone for what seemed like weeks now. Their combined work schedules were demanding of their time; Cathy’s accountancy practice, although she had eased off on her historically long hours, was as busy as ever, and Lisa’s tiling business was thriving. Add to this their social commitments, their sports and their hobbies and in the last three weeks, the distraction of combining two households, and it seemed there was rarely time for them to just be together and do nothing in particular. Even tomorrow, Lisa’s thirty-third birthday, was not their own. They had wanted to keep the occasion quiet and low-key, but Joel—Lisa’s friend, business partner and party-planner for most of the decade they had known each other—was having no such thing. Since there were only five days between her birthday and them flying out, he thought it a prime opportunity to have a knees-up.

  “Girlfriend.” He sniffed, looking to Cathy for support. “If you think you’re going to run away to an Italian love shack for a month and not let us give you a decent send-off, then you’ve got another think coming.”

  So late morning would see Lisa and Cathy, and over a dozen of their friends, descend upon Joel’s house for a Champagne brunch. Then it was off to Lisa’s parents’ place for a birthday dinner. Most of tomorrow was therefore written off as far as quality couple time was concerned.

  All the more reason to make the most of tonight.

  Fresh from her shower, Cathy pulled track pants over her hips and a lightweight pullover over her bare shoulders. “Did you end up getting a movie?” she called as she headed back down the stairs, not really caring if Lisa had or not.

  “Yep.” The answer came from the kitchen that opened to the living area that looked out to the ocean. “It’s on top of the television.”

  With no further clues coming from the kitchen, Cathy detoured to the living area to check on Lisa’s choice. It was Audrey Hepburn’s Roman Holiday. Cathy smiled. Lisa was well and truly in Italian mode.

  Well over a month ago, while sitting at traffic lights on her way to work, Cathy decided Italy would provide the perfect backdrop for their first anniversary. By that same afternoon she had booked the flights and spent most of her time in between appointments surfing the Internet, checking out hotels and working on an itinerary. Throughout the day, Cathy was confident she had made the right decision in overriding her and Lisa’s joint plan to celebrate their first year together at a beachside resort in Broome. Her confidence remained as plans fell into place over the ensuing days; travel arrangements, accommodation and activities were confirmed. It wasn’t until the arrival of a reminder that passports needed to be sighted before tickets could be issued that Cathy’s confidence wavered.

  “Damn,” Cathy had muttered under her breath. A seasoned traveler, she knew the legalities involved with international travel but had until this point ignored them, entertaining instead the fantasy of making the holiday a real surprise. Cathy imagined deviating at the last moment from the domestic to the international air terminal and whisking Lisa onto the plane, their journey timed with such accuracy Lisa would be unaware of their destination until the captain did his welcome aboard spiel just prior to takeoff.

  A nice fantasy. But not really practical. Especially since Lisa’s travel wardrobe would now need to consist of more than the shorts and bathers she planned on taking to Broome. Cathy slipped the reminder notice into her briefcase and worked on how to break the news of the change in plan.

  That night saw them toss the coin for their living arrangements, so they were both too preoccupied with the details of that project to worry about what corner of the globe they would be jetting off to.

  Cathy stretched out her temporary reprieve until after dinner on Sunday. Still seated at the dining table, Lisa was scanning the moving house to-do list they had constructed, eyes darting from item to item on the page they had managed to fill. “Do you reckon we can get all of this done before we go? It’s only four weeks until we leave.”

  Cathy squirmed in her chair. No brilliant ideas for breaking her news had occurred, so this opening was as good as any. “Actually we haven’t quite got that long. We fly out on a Friday.”

  Lisa shook her head sorrowfully, “Cathy, you’re getting vague in your old age. We leave on a Sunday.”

  Lisa’s eyes had opened wide when Cathy told of her plans. “Italy? But I thought we were going to Broome? We’ve already made the bookings and everything.”

  “I thought maybe your folks might like to go to Broome.” Now that she was started, Cathy’s words spilled out in a rush. “We could give the holiday to your mum as an early birthday present. I mean, they wouldn’t have to stay the whole four weeks—we could alter the hotel and flights for just a week or two, or whatever.” The travel papers that had been burning a hole in her briefcase all weekend were placed on the table. “I can cancel these if you like, but I thought Italy might be nice.”

  “Nice,” Lisa repeated dumbly, staring at the Italy itinerary before shifting her gaze back to the to-do list, sitting next to her left elbow. “We’d better get cracking then.” Lisa looked again to the itinerary. “If we’re going to get me shifted in properly before we leave…” She grinned when she finally shifted her gaze to Cathy. “For Italy.”

  It was at that moment Lisa’s obsession with all things Italian began. Along with the phrase book came an Italian cookery book, and Italian fare had since featured on the menu for many a home-cooked meal. Lisa’s atlas was the first item to be brought to Cathy’s, and she pored over the maps, cross-referencing them with their itinerary. Cathy had visited the country twice before and so was questioned incessantly, despite protestations the visits had been with her parents, prior to her teenage years.

  “I can’t remember honey,” Cathy would remind Lisa of this fact when yet another question was fired. “The details are fuzzy.”

  “So it will be like we’re both discovering the country together.” Lisa appeared pleased at the thought.

  “That’s right.” Cathy’s heart tugged almost painfully. Her feelings for the woman sitting next to her were so strong, sometimes it felt she couldn’t breathe.

  But breathlessness wasn’t currently a problem. Cathy again inhaled the lingering smell of cooked onions and garlic. Lisa was busy sprinkling grated parmesan on top of the assembled lasagna. “That looks good enough to eat.”

  “Not quite. It’ll take about forty minutes to cook. If I start heating up the oven now we’ll be eating by six-thirty. Will you be hungry by then or is that too early?”

  “I’m already starving to death.”

  Lisa smiled at the exaggeration, switching on the oven and indicating with a nod to the open bottle of red and two glasses arranged on the island bench. “Can you pour? I think it’s had enough time to breathe.”

  Two generous glasses poured, Cathy settled onto one of the chrome stools that flanked the island bench and clinked her glass against Lisa’s. “Salute!”

  “Salute.” Lisa stood on the other side of the bench, the makings of a garden salad laid out in front of her. “You do realize”—Lisa glanced at Cathy as she swapped her glass for a cook’s knife—“I haven’t yet had a proper welcome-home kiss.”

  “I would have given you one”—Cathy scraped her stool away and padded barefoot to Lisa—”but it looked like you’d already made yourself so at home, there was no need.”

  The knife was laid onto the chopping board and Lisa turned
to Cathy, eyes alight as she reached out to her. “Come here, woman, and give me the welcome I deserve.”

  Surrounded by Lisa’s arms, Cathy smiled into her eyes. “Benvenuto casa, Lisa.”

  “Grazie.” This time there was no exaggerated accent. Lisa’s voice was at once gentle and full of longing. “Ti amo, Cathy.”

  Cathy experienced the heart-skip that came whenever a moment of complete understanding passed between them. How she loved this woman. “Ti amo, Lisa.”

  More oft-experienced reactions followed. The quiver of anticipation in the moment before their lips met, the involuntary groan as Lisa’s hands swept under Cathy’s pullover, fingers skimming beneath the waistband of her track pants to settle lightly on her hips. The reaction of Cathy’s hands was no surprise either. They mimicked Lisa’s, sliding under Lisa’s T-shirt but heading in the opposite direction. Her fingers soon found Lisa’s breasts. Softness filled her hands. Lisa gasped as Cathy tweaked an already taut nipple between thumb and index finger.

  Then the phone rang.

  “Ignore it.”

  “Ignore what?” Cathy asked. She had no intention of speaking to anyone, her mouth eagerly seeking Lisa’s, her fingers continuing their play over Lisa’s breasts.

  The phone fell silent midway through a ring, its sudden halt magnifying the sounds of breath and kisses and lovers’ desires.

  “Let’s turn the oven off,” Lisa suggested.

  Cathy nodded and began them on an entwined crab-step toward the oven. Food was no longer a priority. Both she and Lisa were already panting softly, bodies drawn tight, need expanding with each touch. The bedroom beckoned, and if history was anything to go by, dinner would be a burnt offering by the time they reemerged.

  “Ignore it,” Lisa repeated her earlier instruction when a mobile took over from where the landline had left off. The ring tone told Cathy it was Lisa’s, and its volume said it was some distance away, probably charging via the power-board tucked behind the entertainment unit in the living area.

  They continued their crab walk, coming to a halt less than a foot from the oven. As if choreographed, they reached together to turn the oven off, and in unison stood upright again. Every part of their bodies that could touch, did touch.

  The house again descended into silence as whoever was trying to get through gave up.

  “Cathy.” Lisa drew a hand to Cathy’s face, cupping her cheek. Cathy met eyes heavy-lidded with desire, and she heard the want in Lisa’s voice. “You are so very beautiful. It’s no wonder I can never get enough of you.”

  “Please, Lisa.” Cathy ached in her need, Lisa’s expression so profound she felt her heart would burst. “Make love to—” Her words were cut short, her mouth encased.

  “Jesus Christ!” Lisa was suddenly gone from Cathy’s lips and she scowled. Cathy’s mobile, dropped on the island bench along with her keys when she arrived home, had begun to ring. “Whoever that is sure is determined to get through.”

  “Ignore it.”

  Lisa nodded, but this time her kiss was distracted. “I can’t.” She pulled away and stalked to the bench. “What if it’s some emergency?”

  Cathy couldn’t think of anything more urgent than her current need to have Lisa inside her, but she caught the tossed phone, quickly reading the name on the display. She also coughed, hoping to clear the “I was just about to have sex, so piss off” tone from her voice. “Hi, Emma. What’s up?”

  “Justine’s…”

  Cathy frowned and moved a few steps. The reception was bad, of late a problem occurring with increasing frequency. She made a mental note to add a new mobile to the shopping list. “Sorry. What?”

  “Justine’s getting…” Again Emma’s voice trailed away. Cathy was almost sure she heard her sniffle. But maybe not. The phone crackled.

  “Wait a moment, Emma. I’m just going to move outside.” Cathy quickly crossed the floor. The sliding doors leading to the balcony were not locked, so it was only a matter of seconds before the phone was at her ear again. “Justine’s getting what, Emma?”

  This time the sniffle theory was confirmed. The reception was much clearer now, but the sniffle was all that came.

  “Emma?”

  Lisa, who had followed Cathy outside, raised her eyebrows. Cathy could only shrug, not able to convey what was happening, as she didn’t know.

  Maybe Emma would tell Lisa. While Cathy had known Emma for years, both of them longstanding members of a women’s wine club, it wasn’t until the arrival of Lisa that they extended their friendship beyond club activities. Lisa and Emma were fast friends, having “clicked” from the first time they met. “Emma, I’ll put Lisa on, okay?”

  The phone was passed over and Cathy leaned against the toughened-glass and stainless steel railing, designed to provide a wind barrier while maintaining an almost unrestricted ocean view. The sound of waves was distinct, only the road that followed the curve of the sand dunes separating them from the shoreline. Cathy tuned out the ocean noises, concentrating instead on Lisa’s half of the conversation. She wilted when Lisa said, “Sure, Emma, come over.” Immediately Lisa silently mouthed, “Sorry.” It was voiced out loud when the call ended a few moments later. “Sorry, Cathy. Emma’s in a right state. What else could I do?”

  “It’s okay.” Cathy gleaned from Lisa’s side of the conversation that something had happened with Justine, the woman Emma had been lusting after for goodness knows how long. Cathy looked through the balcony doors in the general direction of the kitchen. “I guess we may as well get dinner on the go.” She sighed. “And set the table for three.”

  “There’s no great rush.” Lisa took the step necessary so their bodies were back in contact. “Emma’s already downed a few drinks. She said she’d catch a taxi…” Cathy’s hands were guided back under Lisa’s T-shirt, to her breasts. “After she’s had a shower. So we’ve got at least an hour. What’s say we take this upstairs?”

  Cathy laughed, nodding toward the street. “Or at least, take it back inside.”

  “Mmm.” Lisa’s lashes fluttered, her nipples hardening under Cathy’s palms. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Although in agreement they should go indoors, neither appeared in any hurry to do so. Cathy was pinned against the railing, Lisa’s mouth at her neck, her hands roaming everywhere.

  “Please—” Cathy’s body twitched, reacting sharply to the thigh Lisa pressed between her legs. “I can’t stand this anymore. Let’s go inside.”

  This time they stuck to their mutual agreement for retreat, turned toward the door and fell in step. But something instinctively told Cathy they had spent just that bit too much time on the balcony. Sure enough, by step three an electronic chime echoed from inside the house, signaling someone was at the gate that barricaded the driveway from the road.

  “Shit, what now?” Cathy said as she rolled her eyes skyward. Unless Emma had caught a jet-propelled taxi, it surely couldn’t be her.

  They turned back to the street.

  “It’s Toni’s car.” Cathy didn’t know why she was whispering, especially since they were both in quite plain view.

  “Maybe she hasn’t seen us,” Lisa suggested hopefully.

  “Yeah, right.” Cathy harrumphed. The sun was setting upon them and their only protection was waist-high clear glass. They would have been seen. Sure enough, a hand emerged from the driver’s window and waved. Cathy waved back, stretching her mouth into a smile. Her forced smile turned genuine, wickedly so, once focused on Lisa. “I bet you any money she’s on her way to Heather’s. She won’t stay long.” Cathy laughed out loud when Lisa turned on her heel and announced she was going to switch the oven back on and set the table for four. “And she definitely won’t hang around for dinner, she’s liver-cleansing, remember.”

  Toni followed Emma onto the balcony, pulling up a chair to sit opposite her at the outdoor table. The balcony lights were off, but enough light filtered from the lounge room that they could easily see each other. Well, at least Toni could
clearly see Emma. She was not quite certain what Emma could see at the moment, the bottle of bourbon that had been her constant companion all evening now almost two-thirds empty. To be fair, not all had been consumed by Emma. Toni had taken a shot before dinner and another before the play button was pressed on the DVD. Now, with the movie on pause while Lisa took a trip to the bathroom, Toni followed Emma outside to beg another swig.

  The bottle was pushed to Toni’s side of the table even before she had the chance to ask. Toni took a chug, a liquor burn quickly spreading down her throat, to her stomach. She handed the bottle back. “Thanks.”

  “You want one?” A cigarette packet, also half empty, was offered.

  Toni hesitated before plucking a cigarette from the packet. She rolled it between thumb and forefinger, again considering. The decision was made and she nimbly adjusted it to sit between index and middle finger. The actions of a smoker came back to her as automatically as if she’d only had her last cigarette the day before, Toni leaning forward and cupping her hand around the blue gas flame Emma also provided. In reality her last cigarette had been a good nine years ago, a particularly bad bout of the flu completely removing the desire to smoke.

  Not all the smoker’s actions came automatically. Toni drew back too fast and the smoke choked in her throat, making her cough violently. It tasted awful too. Toni’s eyes watered and she coughed again, stubbing the cigarette into the ashtray Lisa had grudgingly supplied.

  Now that that particular activity was aborted, Toni didn’t quite know what to do. Never normally at a loss for words, she found she was currently rather tongue-tied. Something was up with Emma. She didn’t know what, and she felt she didn’t know Emma well enough to ask—which was rather a shame since tomorrow, Lisa’s birthday, marked a full year since they had met. But, if one were to draw a line in the sand, it would clearly show Emma and Lisa on one side, and Cathy and Toni on the other. While Cathy and Lisa’s partnership saw a merging of their social circles on the bigger occasions, for the most part their get-togethers were either with one set of friends or the other. So the odd party or large-scale dinner had been the extent of Toni and Emma’s involvement, and even then they never had a real one-on-one conversation; their chitchat was trivial, the type that occurs when socializing as part of a group.