Chapter Five
“She’s in love with you, you know,” Karen said to Celia’s back. They had finished their business dealings, and Karen was in a mood to probe. She had seen how Maggie looked at Celia, and she’d seen Celia look back.
Celia was watching Maggie work through the large studio window. The jars of glaze on the shelves behind made her look like a madonna in a stained-glass piece.
Celia turned around. “What did you say?”
“I said she’s in love with you.”
“Who?”
“Maggie. Who else? She won’t have Emily because she’s got her heart set on you.”
“Emily?”
“The other half of rolling about on a dusty floor in the moonlight.”
“I thought it was a one-night stand.”
Karen produced a postcard. “One of many.”
“Really?”
“Maggie has been less than candid. She doesn’t want to hurt Emily’s feelings. If you ask me, it was a case of person as instrument. Unfortunately, Emily appears quite infatuated. Maggie’s gonna have to fess up but she doesn’t know how to do it.”
“Maybe you could help her with that.”
“No, I think you should just tell her that you’d like to be more than friends,” Karen said, taking Celia by the shoulders and shaking them.
“It would ruin our friendship.”
“Why?”
“Because neither one of us is strong enough. Because if it was meant to be, it would have happened years ago.”
“What are you afraid of?”
Celia turned to look at her. “Nothing.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“I don’t know what’s true anymore.”
“You do. Tell me.”
Celia studied Karen’s face, measuring the risk.
“You’ll tell her,” she said flatly.
“I won’t. I only pass gossip that doesn’t count. I swear,” Karen said, holding up two fingers. “Girl Scout’s honor.”
“I was a Girl Scout once.”
“In the heart of every Girl Scout lurks a dyke.”
“Karen…”
“You’re in love, aren’t you?”
Celia confessed. “I’m scared. I can feel myself falling in love. And I see her leaving when she’s through dabbling in social anarchy. I can’t bear that, Karen. So let it be. That’s just the way it is.”
“Celia, you’re a fool if you let her go.”
“Then I’m a fool,” Celia said with conviction. I won’t succumb, she thought. I won’t walk into her life and take what I have no right to. I hurt her once. I can’t do it again.
“I haven’t given her any of the postcards Emily’s sent,” Karen said.
“Give them to her. The property of the post is the person’s to whom it’s addressed.”
“Yeah, right.”
Maggie watched Celia walk off into the desert and took the stack of postcards from her pocket. She spread them out in front of her, face up, studying their shiny fronts. San Francisco looked beautiful. She’d never been there. Harold had refused. Too many homosexuals. The passing years had never removed the sour taste from his mouth.
“Have you ever been to California?” Olivia asked coming up behind her.
“No.”
“You should. So who’s the admirer?”
“What admirer?”
“I’ve been accused of many things, but stupid is not one of them.”
“Her name is Emily. I met her in Jerome.”
“And?”
“And we rolled around together and it was wonderful, but not anything I’m capable of sustaining. I really wish she hadn’t sent these.”
“Because you love Celia.”
Maggie looked at the postcards. What is this thing called love? She had been fond of Harold, but it wasn’t love. She wanted to be with Celia, whatever that meant, but if they hadn’t got together by now, how could she expect them to later?
“Olivia, let it be.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so. Do you have a match?”
“Yeah.”
“May I have one please?” Maggie said, scooping up the postcards.
“Only if you promise to tell me what you really feel.”
They watched the pile burn in the small pit they had dug.
“What did she want?” Olivia asked.
“Who?”
“Emily.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t read them.”
“Why not?”
“Because it can’t be. Why add to the pile of justifications I already have going?”
“What are you justifying?”
“My own incredible inertia.”
“Why inert?”
“Why not?”
Olivia’s eyes got big, and her face was serious. “Because it’s the biggest waste of your life, of your heart. Don’t do it, Maggie.”
“There’s nothing to do. Olivia, I appreciate your concern, but it’s not possible to have everything on one’s wish list. Life’s not like that.”
Maggie stamped out the fire and buried the ashes with the edge of her boot. She shrugged her shoulders at Olivia and walked off without saying another word.
Olivia became obsessed with trying to figure out how to get the two women together.
“If it doesn’t happen, then it wasn’t meant to be. They’re grown-ups, Olivia. They know what to do if they want it.”
“That’s not true, Anna. I bet they’ve never even talked about how they feel.”
“And you think you can make that happen?”
“Possibly.”
“Good luck.”
Celia leaned on the kitchen counter, watching Maggie and Olivia head off in the direction of the arroyo. She mused on the outline of their bodies against the pink and orange of the desert sky. Their easy-stepping profiles seemed appreciative of the feeling a good day of hard work brings to a body. One’s breath in the stillness, the hard dirt beneath the feet, the slow buzzing of the cicadas as they strike up their electric orchestra.
She turned to see Libby scowling at them. It was no surprise Celia and Libby didn’t make good lovers. They didn’t like the same things. Libby was miserable, and Celia knew that Libby honestly did not know why. No amount of loving was going to rid her of it.
“I don’t know why you let them go off like that when there are still things to be done.”
“Watching the sun go down in the desert is one of them,” Celia said, smiling.
“I hardly think so.”
“Libby, you’re the only one to have passed through here and remained totally untouched by the beauty and serenity. Peace is to be found here. Don’t you want to experience some of that?”
“I came here to learn, not fawn over the local flora.”
Celia looked at her, sadness clouding her eyes. You can’t save her, only she can do that. But first she must know she is dying slowly each day without ever having lived. Celia put her arm around Libby’s shoulders.
“I wish I could show you the desert through my eyes, teach you to love it like I do.”
Libby looked into Celia’s eyes, her own becoming cloudy and filling with tears. Celia wiped them away. “Why don’t you try? Show me. Help me to see.”
Celia held her. “I don’t mean to hurt you, Libby.”
“Then why do you?” Libby asked between sobs.
“Because I’m a selfish woman who isn’t ready for another failure. Because I know I can’t make you happy.”
“You don’t even try,” Libby said, breaking away.
That night Celia took Libby to bed, only this time they didn’t make love. They talked. And they held each other, a mother holding her lost daughter.
In the morning Celia turned away from Maggie, feeling torn and confused. She wanted to be alone again so she could find herself. She felt the edges of depression closing in. Her sanctuary was turning against her.
Celia knew what she should do, but she couldn’t muster t
he energy or courage to do it. I am a coward. I should tell Libby that no amount of emotional coercion can keep me, that it’s over, that love out of pity isn’t the right kind of love. Then I should march up to Maggie and say, Look. I don’t know how you feel, but I love you and want you. And if that isn’t what you want, please tell me so I can stop wishing for things that will never be.
Instead, she found herself in the office, sobbing. She heard Anna, Olivia, and Maggie come in the kitchen door. She wiped her eyes, shuffled some papers, and tried to avoid looking at Maggie when she walked in.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve been crying,” Maggie replied.
“I have.”
“Why?”
“I feel lost sometimes.”
“Is it something I’ve done? It’s not the postcards or anything, is it?”
“No, it’s not that. That’s your affair.”
“No, it’s not anything like that.”
“I know, Maggie, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just having a bad day.”
“Is it Libby?” Maggie asked.
“That’s part of it.”
“And you don’t want to talk about the other part, right?”
“Right.”
“If you want to talk…”
“I know.”
Maggie walked off. Pangs of hurt and jealousy tore at the corners of her heart. She was jealous that Celia had spent the night with Libby. She knew she had no right to feel that way, but she couldn’t help it.
* * *
Maggie and Olivia sat by the stream dangling their feet in the cool, clear water.
“How do you feel about having slept with a woman? You were married once, right?”
“What is your obsession with my love life?”
“I care about you. You’re my friend, and I want to help.”
Maggie looked at her blue-eyed friend, deciding.
“Talk about it, Maggie. It will make you feel better.”
“All right, I’m scared. I still find it strange.”
“Why strange?”
“It feels odd to have experienced a lesbian relationship now. Why not twenty years ago? I’ve spent most of my adult life being straight, and now this. It’s confusing.”
“Maggie, have you ever heard of compulsory heterosexuality?”
“No.”
“Well, basically it means that we are all taught from the moment we’re born to be straight. Everything is laid out, and we simply follow it.”
“Do you mean I could have been a lesbian all along and never known it?”
“It’s highly possible and would certainly explain what you’re feeling. You’ve never been in this environment before, but once in it you are simply responding to your natural instincts.”
“I feel stupid, like I should have known a long time ago that I was different.”
“You are who you are now, and that’s all that matters. So fess up. Are you in love with Celia?”
“Am I that obvious?”
“You both are. Why do you think it twists Libby’s shorts so?”
“Is it foolishness on our parts?”
“It’s only foolishness when you deny that it’s real. If you love Celia, let her know.”
“How do I that? Walk up and say, Hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you something?”
“Or you could just look her in the eyes, kiss her, and go from there.”
“Seduce her?”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Maggie, you’re going to have to be the one to make the move. Celia won’t do it. She’s afraid—more afraid than you are. It’s up tp you, Maggie. Be the strong one.”
“What about Libby?”
“Fuck her. She’s just a passing fancy. Don’t give up a life of happiness for a surly bitch who hangs on for selfish reasons.”
Maggie lay on the Navajo rug with her legs in the air, trying to stretch the ache from the small of her back. She had spent the afternoon kneading clay and listening to Olivia and Anna recount psycho-bitch stories after she had been silly enough to ask what psycho-bitches were.
“Tell her, Anna,” Olivia said.
Anna smiled her quirky smile. She was the embodiment of an imp. She was short, stout, strong, and tanned like the rest of them. Her round face took on a mischievous air; her hazel eyes sparkled. Anna was a storyteller.
“They are girlfriends that make your life hell. They scream at you for everything. They’re control freaks. You can’t please them. What works one day will get you hanged the next. They flirt and tease one minute and slap you five seconds later. They are the Tasmanian devils of love. They make you wonder why you love them, and when you threaten to leave they instantly become the seductive sweet woman that made you love them in the first place. But two hours later, after seriously fucking your brains out, they revert. It’s awful, and a prime example would be Libby. Watch her, and you’ll know exactly what we mean.”
“Well, I’ll definitely steer clear of them.”
“What do you mean? You attempted to drown one of them,” Olivia said, smiling.
“I did not.”
“Whatever you say.”
Maggie was still embarrassed about throwing Libby in the pool. She had apologized to Libby, and they had gone on tolerating each other. Maggie was secretly relieved the other two apprentices, Kate and Madeline, had not yet arrived to see anything. It was bad enough putting up with Olivia’s teasing.
They all teased one another, and only Libby found it offensive. Libby hated Olivia, and now with Kate and Madeline delivering quips whenever they got the chance she was pushed beyond her boiling point.
Olivia, of course, was the ringleader, and Maggie was a willing foot soldier. They had all been called into Celia’s office for a counseling session at least once.
“You called her a tit-head?” Celia asked, sitting on the corner of her desk as she seriously considered her friend.
Maggie stood at attention, ready for the court-martial.
“You make me feel like I’m twelve years old.”
“At the moment, you are. Now please tell me what is going on. This is not how it’s supposed to be. We’re supposed to be women in harmony with one another, working together.”
“Well, Libby’s the stick in the smooth-running cog. She may be in charge, but her leadership skills are definitely lacking. She has it in for Olivia, and she consistently assigns her the worst chores. It’s not fair. I told her so, and in the process called her a tit-head.”
“That was before you threatened to drop the piece she’s labored over for the last two weeks.”
“All right, I admit that was extreme, but she taunts me. She asked me what I was going to do about it. I was driven to a demonstration.”
Celia rubbed her temples. “Maggie, please. I need your help. I know she’s difficult, but all of you banded together is not fair.”
“The woman is a fiend,” Maggie said, sticking her hands in the back pockets of her clay-covered shorts.
“She needs some understanding.”
“And we’d give it if she wasn’t so nasty. She doesn’t want any of us here. She’s made that more than evident.”
“Maggie.”
“All right. For you I will try to refrain from acts of violence, but being nice depends on her.”
“Thank you.”
Maggie walked to where Celia stood by the window and brushed the stray hairs from Celia’s shoulders.
“I don’t mean to be difficult. I’ve been so well-mannered for so long. I’ve buried things I shouldn’t have, held my tongue when I wanted to scream. Now I feel free, and saying what’s on my mind is part of it. I’ll try to be more compassionate, but I won’t let Libby walk over me or my friends,” Maggie said, looking deeply into Celia’s eyes.
They both tried to read the other’s unspoken words. Celia broke away, looking out the window. She wished she
could tell her friend all the things she felt, but she hadn’t the courage.
Celia found Maggie on the rug.
“You know, for an old gal you sure have nice legs,” Celia said.
Maggie opened her eyes and looked at them. “You really think so?”
“Yes. Practicing a little yoga?”
“Trying to stretch my back. It hurts.”
“You were on kneading detail today. Takes a lot out of a person.”
“I thought I was getting stronger, but after this afternoon I’m not so sure.”
“You are getting stronger,” Celia said, sitting down next to her, taking an arm and rubbing it.
“That feels good,” Maggie said, closing her eyes and arching her neck to feel Celia’s closeness. Maggie missed being close to Celia. But ever since she had crossed over the line, both women guarded themselves, afraid to be too close. They no longer joked using sexual innuendos, which might mean something. Right now, none of that mattered. Now they were content to be in each other’s presence, whatever that meant.
“Want a back rub?”
“Sure.”
“Come on then.”
“Where are we going?”
“The kitchen counter doubles as a massage table.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I am,” Celia replied, taking a bottle of lavender oil from the cupboard.
“What’s that?”
“Oil. Take off your shirt,” Celia commanded, spreading a white sheet across the countertop.
“You’re serious about this.”
“Yes. I took classes, as a matter of fact.”
“So you know what you’re doing?”
“You’ll find out. Shirt off and up on the table. Normally it’s a naked affair, but this is close enough,” Celia said, pulling at the hem of Maggie’s skimpy running shorts.
“And we are in the kitchen after all.”
“Exactly.”
Maggie lay on the smooth sheet, her body covered lightly in oil, listening to the soothing sounds of Joni Mitchell on the stereo. Outside, afternoon was fading into twilight.
“Try to relax,” Celia commanded, working the tenseness out of Maggie’s shoulders. “This is supposed to remove stress, not create it.”
“I’m on the kitchen counter half-naked.”
Saxon Bennett - The Wish List Page 8
