by Carsen Taite
“Wait not for happiness. You must seek it out.” Bill pointed a hand in the air like he was making a profound declaration. “Besides, we don’t have that kind of relationship yet. Not even sure if I want it.”
West took a healthy swallow from her beer. She got where Bill was coming from. She’d never gone for more than a semi-steady relationship, but she liked to think she was open to more, which was kinda crazy since she had little reference for how committed relationships even worked. Her mother had never been married, and men drifted in and out of her life like fickle shoppers. Hank had been married to Diane forever, but West had always considered them the exception, not the rule. Bill and Gabe seemed perfect for each other, but neither one seemed committed to ruling out others. Who was she to think she could be in a committed relationship? Crazy. “I hear you.”
“Then let’s have some fun tonight.”
“Is that code for I’ve just spotted some guy I want to check out and so I’m ditching you now?”
“Not yet, but I’m keeping my options open.” He wagged a finger in her face. “And so should you.”
“Fine.” She touched her bottle to his. “Options open. And you have permission to ditch me, but don’t leave without saying anything. Deal?”
“Deal.”
They drank their beers while scanning the room. One of the things she liked about Bill was they could be quiet with each other, neither one of them feeling like they had to fill the silence with constant chatter, but tonight the quiet cloaked her in loneliness. Bill didn’t seem to notice, his eyes sweeping the room intently. “Tell me what you see.”
“For you or me?” he asked.
“You. I’m not looking.”
“Whatever.” He jerked his chin to the left. “By the bar. Jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes.”
West squinted in the direction Bill had indicated. “I spy jet-black, but no way can you see eye color from here. If we’re making stuff up, then I see an Emma Watson look-alike standing by the DJ booth and she wants me. Bad.”
“I thought you promised not to be a killjoy.”
“I promised I would come with you, but my mood wasn’t part of the negotiation.”
“Spoken like a true litigator.”
“Got to get practice somehow. Won’t get to do any litigating until next year.”
“How’s it going or should I not ask?”
West studied his face, but saw no signs he was asking for any reason other than friendly curiosity. Part of her wanted to tell him what had happened with Camille after work, but the rest of her screamed no. Besides, she was probably making too big a deal out of it. They’d kissed and Camille had run away, leaving a pretty clear message in her wake.
But the kiss… The kiss had left West wanting more, and she was certain Camille had too before her phone rang and broke the trance, leaving West to wonder what would have happened next if they hadn’t been interrupted.
It didn’t matter. Camille was off somewhere, in her sexy black dress, dating someone else. Another judge, a veteran lawyer? A socialite? She shook her head. Whoever it was, it wasn’t her, and she had no claim on Camille. She should borrow a page from Bill’s book and seize the moment. She was in a crowded bar, surrounded by pretty people. Maybe getting laid was exactly what she needed to get past the angst of whatever wasn’t happening between her and Camille.
“Tell you what,” she said to Bill, “If the next song is slow, you go ask jet-black piercing blues to dance, and I’ll take Emma Watson for a spin.”
Bill grinned wide. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
She kept an eye on the woman by the booth, sizing her up. She was youngish, probably mid-twenties, and she was here with three other women West pegged as friends based on the way they each gazed more at the rest of the room than each other. She wasn’t keen on asking her to dance in front of her friends, but it was clear none of them were going away anytime soon. When the music switched and Beiber’s “Company” came on, she took a deep breath and walked over.
“Hey,” she managed as they all turned to greet her.
“Hey,” the Emma Watson look-alike answered. Bar shadows were playing tricks because up close she didn’t really look like Watson. She was pretty, just not striking. Not like Camille. Hell, one word in and West was ready to abandon this plan. She scrambled to find some way to retreat, but the woman grabbed her hand.
“You’re not leaving are you? You just got here.”
“Sorry, I’m here with a friend.”
“That one?” The woman pointed a few feet away where Bill was deep in conversation with the guy with the jet-black hair. “He looks like he might be staying for a while.”
“You might be right.”
“My name’s Kelsey.”
West looked down at Kelsey’s hand, feeling like if she shook it she’d be all in—not a signal she wanted to send. Which was silly. When she finally reached out, Kelsey’s grip was firm and sure and followed by a question. “You wanna dance?”
She didn’t really, but there were only two other alternatives: carry on a conversation or walk away. Talking was at the complete bottom of her list, and surprisingly, she wasn’t quite ready to walk away. “Yeah, sure.”
Kelsey took her arm and they walked out onto the dance floor. The song was still playing, and Kelsey moved into West’s arms and placed her hands behind her head. West closed her eyes and focused on the rhythm. When Kelsey drew closer, she pretended she was Camille and shivered against her touch. This night might have been about forgetting, but maybe she wasn’t ready to shelve her feelings even if she should.
She’d figure it out later. For now, she’d enjoy being touched by this stranger until she couldn’t pretend anymore.
* * *
“Confess, you don’t like Mediterranean food.”
Camille looked up from pushing food around her plate into Sadie’s questioning eyes. Truth was she loved Cafe Izmir with its cozy dining rooms, attentive service, and incredible selection of Middle Eastern tapas, but tonight her mind was too tangled up with thoughts about the kiss she’d shared with West. Every time she took a bite of food, her stomach pitched and swayed. It wasn’t the food, it was her mood, torn between being relieved to be anywhere West wasn’t and disappointed that she wasn’t sharing this intimate dinner with her.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been a horrible date.”
Sadie put down her fork and reached for Camille’s hand. “No, you’re not, but I can tell you have something on your mind. Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” Camille looked down at their intertwined fingers, the pseudo intimate touch. She should feel something, shouldn’t she? Sadie checked off so many boxes on the perfect date list. Determined to try harder, Camille said. “Work stuff. You know…”
“I do,” Sadie said. “It sucks to have jobs where the things that bother you the most are the things you can’t really share with anyone else. Confidentiality blows.”
Camille laughed at the blunt remark. She liked this woman, she really did, and she made a resolution to try harder. She picked up her fork. “And for the record, I adore Mediterranean food, especially this place. It’s one of my favorites.”
“Excellent. Then you better dig in before I claim dibs on that last dolma.”
The rest of the meal was spent swapping stories about their careers, and Camille shared a glossed over synopsis of her work history. “And now here I am with a lifetime appointment to a federal bench.”
“That’s some kind of tenure. Is it everything you imagined?”
Camille started to say yes, but the truth was this experience was nothing she could have ever imagined. If someone had told her she’d develop a crush on a law clerk she’d been pushed to keep, she would’ve said they were crazy. But now she was locked in for the next year and she was going to have to figure out a way to make it work without crossing the line she’d plowed through early this evening. “It’s a bit more challenging than I would have thought, but nothing I can�
�t handle.”
“I have no doubt.” Sadie raised her wine glass. “To challenges.”
“To challenges.” Camille tipped her glass against Sadie’s and drank to the toast.
“My personal challenge now that dinner is over is to convince you to help me work this food off. I hear there’s an excellent dance bar on Cedar Springs.”
Camille’s gut told her to beg off. She’d barely been able to do justice to the date so far—bright lights and disco balls would hardly help. But after moping her way through dinner, she owed Sadie some fun to round out the evening. She liked that Sadie hadn’t suggested they return to Luxe, instead selecting one of the more down-to-earth places in the gayborhood. A big bass beat and a wide-open dance floor might be exactly what she needed to clear her head. “Consider me convinced.”
Sadie drove, insisting it was silly to take two cars, so Camille acted as navigator, pointing out some of her favorite Dallas spots to Sadie along the way. Playing tour guide was a perfect task to keep her mind from wandering to thoughts about West and what she was doing tonight. By the time they reached the club, Camille managed to shove the memory of the kiss to the back of her mind and shift her entire focus to her date. As they walked through the door of S4, Sadie took her arm and Camille didn’t move away. Progress.
“Is it always this packed?” Sadie asked, her mouth close to Camille’s ear, her voice warm and inviting.
“I haven’t been here in a while.” Camille scrunched her face. “Actually, I can’t remember the last time I was here.” She’d been a political animal for the last five years, and although she’d never kept her sexuality a secret, there was a big difference between being a lesbian and being a lesbian running for judge who frequented bars where go-go dancers wiggled their butts for cash and the upstairs room featured a drag show every night. She cared just as much about her reputation now as she had then, but the security of a lifetime appointment meant she should be able to indulge every once in a while. She cast a long look out over the crowd, but there wasn’t a sign of any stuffy lawyers or judges in the place. “Let’s get a drink.” She grabbed Sadie’s hand and tugged her through the crowd.
They ordered extra dirty martinis from the buff bartender, and then climbed the stairs to the second floor balcony, scoring a table by the railing from a couple of guys who, judging by the smoldering looks passing between them, were headed home early for a little privacy.
“Dallas is much more fun than I thought it would be.” Sadie raised her glass.
“I was just about to say the same thing.”
“Let me guess. You’re all work and no fun.”
“Ouch. That makes me sound like a bore.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I know how hard it can be to find time to indulge when you have a high pressure career, but I also know it’s absolutely essential.”
“Spoken like a true doctor.” Camille sipped her martini, enjoying the briny olive juice against the earthy juniper flavor. “Is this the perfect medicine?”
“It’s a good start.” Sadie clinked their glasses together. “When you’re finished with this dose, we’ll head downstairs and add a little exercise to the de-stressing program.”
Camille pressed against the railing and watched the writhing crowd below, letting thoughts of the upcoming trial and West Fallon recede against the rhythm of the music and the mellow course of gin through her veins. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d let everything go and just enjoyed life without questioning the consequence of every action, however small. Everyone on the dance floor seemed to have already found the secret to having fun—moving in time to the music, hands in the air, hands on each other. She took another sip of her martini determined to relax enough to join them.
When she reached the bottom of her glass, she started to turn back to Sadie and tell her she was ready for phase two of the program when a familiar face caught her eye. West, moving through the crowd. Camille leaned further over the railing, but West was gone, lost in a sea of bodies. If she’d really been there in the first place. Camille felt a hand on her back and looked over her shoulder at Sadie who wore a quizzical expression.
“Do you want another drink or are you ready to dance?”
Camille wavered. If she said she wanted another drink, she could use the time while Sadie was getting it to scour the crowd again, but if they went down to the dance floor, maybe she’d run into West. Either prospect both excited and horrified her. She had no business thinking about West at all, especially not when she was out on a date with another woman. After their kiss, she’d rejected West’s advances, and that had been the absolute right thing to do, but apparently, it hadn’t been enough to kill the desire. This obsession was making her crazy, paralyzed, and distracted. She was here with a smart, beautiful woman. Someone her own age who understood professionalism and didn’t challenge her every move. The right choice was clear. “I think I’m ready—”
Words fell away when she spotted West again. She was in the farthest corner of the room, half on, half off the dance floor. Her body swayed in time with the beat, but her movements weren’t about the music since she appeared to be moving in response to the woman whose hands were running down her body. Camille stared, transfixed, as West’s head titled back, eyes closed, as her dance partner’s hands moved down to cup her ass. Was she groaning against this woman’s touch? Was it the same husky, sexy sound she’d made when they kissed at the office?
Camille gripped the railing as her stomach roiled, but she couldn’t look away. She was locked onto West, her mind crawling with questions, all of which added to her growing ache.
“Camille, are you okay?”
Damn. In the span of seconds, she’d completely forgotten about Sadie. They’d been talking. Sadie had asked her something. Asked her to dance. And she’d almost said yes. Now the idea of being in such close proximity to West and the woman clawing her was unthinkable. “Actually, I’m feeling ill.”
Sadie eased an arm around her, and Camille resisted the urge to pull away. “Sit down,” Sadie said. “You look a little pale.”
Camille fanned her face with her hand. “I’ll be okay. Really.” She pulled away gently. “But I think I need to go. Probably a bit too much work this week, but there’s more to come so I better not overdo it.”
Sadie stood. “I’ll drive you home.”
“No, don’t be silly. Stay here. Have fun. I’ll get a car.”
“You’re the one who’s silly now. I came here to have fun with you, not be by myself. At least let me take you back to the restaurant. Maybe the fresh air will help you feel better.”
Camille gave in, even allowing Sadie to hold her close as they walked down the stairs and out of the bar. They barely exchanged two words on the ride back to the restaurant, but she didn’t think Sadie knew the true source of her discomfort. When they arrived back at Izmir, she couldn’t get out of the car fast enough.
“You’re sure you’re okay to drive?”
Camille nodded. “You were right. Fresh air was exactly what I needed.”
“Text me when you get home?’’
Camille agreed, but only to hasten her departure. She knew she should’ve apologized for the abrupt end to their date, but she couldn’t manage even the simplest nicety. The drive home seemed to take forever, and more than once she considered pulling over at one of the bars along the way to get something to take the edge off, but kept driving. When she finally pulled into the garage of her townhome, she yanked the keys out of the ignition and tossed them on the seat beside her, letting her head fall onto the steering wheel. She was hurt, angry, and sad, and the whirl of emotions left her drained. Hours later she woke, still in the car, stiff and sore, but firmly resolved to never let West Fallon get under her skin again.
Chapter Twelve
West stood in front of the mirror wishing she’d become a barista instead of a litigator. Despite the hard lighting and the funhouse mirrors, the suit didn’t look too bad, but claustrophobia
was already setting in, which didn’t bode well for the long couple of weeks ahead.
“Stop fidgeting. You look great. Well, except for the bags under your eyes. Maybe you shouldn’t have stayed out all night with Emma Watson.”
She didn’t have to turn around to see Bill standing in the doorway of her dressing room. “I didn’t stay out all night with anyone. One dance. That’s it. You’d know that if you hadn’t ditched me at the bar.” She’d danced the one song with Kelsey and then, forced to open her eyes and face the fact Kelsey wasn’t Camille and never would be, West had mumbled some vague excuse and gone outside to get some air. Later, when she went looking for Bill, he was deep under the spell of Mr. Piercing Blue Eyes and told her she could take the car, he’d catch an Uber home. That was the last time she’d seen him until he met her today at Northpark for this shopping debacle.
“Let’s not get into who ditched who and return to the subject of your clothes. You do look great.”
“Great is not the word I would use.”
“You’re acting like it’s the first time you’ve worn a suit.”
“I can count on two hands the number of times, and most of those were for moot court competitions in law school. So far for this job I’ve managed to get away with blazers and chinos. Not the same thing at all.” She ran her hands down the crisp lines of the navy blue jacket. “I feel like I’m going to work at a bank.”
“It’s perfect. You think I’d let you buy anything that made you look bad?”
“Maybe.”
“Shut up and try the other one on.”
Bill pulled the curtain and wandered off. West peeled off the suit and jammed it back on the hanger. One down. Regular work days were one thing, but everyone dressed up during a trial, and she didn’t want to stick out. She could make do with three new suits and a few extra shirts so she could rotate. The suits would come in handy later when she was interviewing for permanent jobs, if the Southern Poverty Law Center didn’t have a position open by the time she fulfilled this commitment.
