Capturing Jessica

by Jane Hardee

  “Ally,” the woman replied, close to Michael’s ear.

  A pleasant shot of desire went straight to her groin as the woman breathed against her ear. When searching out female company, Michael preferred woman who were direct like herself.

  “I’m in town on business.” Ally slipped a finger through the belt loop on Michael’s baggy jeans and tugged. “You live in Atlanta?”

  “Home sweet home. What does the rest of your evening look like?” Michael asked, wearing her most devilish grin and pushing all thoughts of Jess from her mind. “Because I’m ready to get out of here.”

  Turning slightly so the woman was now sitting between her legs, Michael rested a hand on Ally’s hip. Michael drew small circles on the soft fabric of Ally’s dress with her finger and watched her pupils dilate. Feeling confident she had secured company for the night, Michael stood to her full height, towering over Ally, and placed some bills on the counter.

  At Ally’s hotel, Michael was treated to a striptease as she sat on the edge of the full bed. Hips swaying, Ally pulled the hem of her dress up a few inches to reveal a substantial tattoo of a blossoming cherry tree and a nice view of her thigh-high stockings, held up by a black garter belt. Michael swallowed in anticipation. Michael shoved the dress higher, interested to see where the tattoo ended. Once the dress joined her high heels on the floor, Ally stepped forward and placed her hands on Michael’s shoulders.

  “You like ink?” Ally ran her hands from Michael’s biceps up to the back of her neck.

  Michael stroked Ally’s thighs, her fingers indenting the smooth flesh. The pale skin with the bright, colorful ink created a striking contrast. Damn it. Where is my sketchpad when I need it?

  “I like thighs,” Michael whispered. Ally’s hips and ass were rounded, leading to firm muscular legs. Fuck thigh gap.

  Michael wanted those supple legs wrapped around her hips, her stomach, her face.

  “I like broad shoulders. And firm muscles.” Ally rubbed Michael’s shoulders again as she straddled her, shoving her back down on the bed. “And I like being in charge.”

  “Yours to command.” Michael’s arousal increased as she thought about submitting to whatever Ally wanted to take from her.

  Michael was not disappointed. Ally had indeed been amazing. They spent the better part of the night pleasuring each other, figuring out what the other liked and responded to. Ally knew what she wanted and had no qualms about bossing Michael around.

  *

  When Michael hopped into her old Scout the next morning, she turned the radio up loud, loud enough to blast away any worries about where Jess spent the night. She tried not to think of Jess at all. It would only make her angry. She should be able to think about her best friend without being overcome with a hollow feeling in her chest. Then on top of that, there was the grueling charade of pretending that she didn’t want to throttle every cologne-wearing, tailored-shirted, bicep-curling moron on the planet. Was that the kind of woman Jess wanted? Someone surface level with no ambition or character?

  She spent every day convincing herself she was fine with unrequited love. We are best friends. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. Camille often asked why she didn’t come clean and tell Jess the truth. No way in hell was that going to happen. The most obvious reason being that Jess did not return her feelings. She was her best friend, and Michael wanted to keep it that way. If she told Jess the truth, she’d be shot down and lose her best friend in one dumbass move. No, she and Jess would remain best friends, and Michael would continue to bury her feelings in hopes of someday having them disappear.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Will you please tell her I called again? This is Ms. Gable, Alex’s teacher. Thank you.” Jess hung up and tossed Alex’s folder on her desk.

  It was the fourth time in as many days that she had tried to get in touch with one of Alex’s parents. Were they not getting her messages, or were they ignoring their son’s progress and education? Alex was a six-year-old boy with autism. Jess tried not to play favorites with her students, but there was something about the way he smiled and interacted with adults, always wanting to please. He was a special kid, and Jess wanted to see him succeed in school. Alex was from a wealthy family, and his stay-at-home mom spent a lot of time at one of Atlanta’s most elite country clubs. She must be very busy with tennis if she couldn’t return a simple phone call from her child’s special education teacher.

  Jess knew many parents had a difficult time accepting their child’s disability, but she was a firm believer that you needed to face obstacles and deal with them head-on. It was important for parents to get as much information as possible and learn what was going to help their child be successful. These were their children, for goodness sake, and they needed to take part in their education. She had dealt with difficult students in her early years of teaching when she worked with kids with behavioral disorders, and Alex was not the toughest she had seen. He was a sweet, hardworking boy who wanted nothing more than to learn. Why was his education not a priority to his parents?

  She put aside her anger and packed up for the night. When she walked to her car at nearly five o’clock, the parking lot was almost empty. Her coworkers were always telling her she needed to leave work earlier. Piling her books and papers in the backseat, she climbed into the front of her Passat.

  Because she hadn’t spoken with Michael since Friday night, Jess decided to take a right out of the parking lot and head to Michael’s loft. She hadn’t spoken to Dana either, and Jess wasn’t surprised she hadn’t called. After exchanging numbers, she had made it clear to Dana that sleeping together was out of the question. She had become tired of women wanting to sleep with her rather than forming some kind of relationship first. Jess snorted. Not that it happened that often. She had been out of the closet since her senior year of high school and had yet to feel a deep romantic connection. Jess dated in college, but those few sexual experiences left her feeling unsatisfied, and these days, the intimacy of sex was something she didn’t want to share with just anyone. Sure she felt the desire for sex, but she wasn’t desperate. After all, she could take care of things herself.

  At the bar on Friday, Dana made some excuse to Jess about having to get up early for work, but when Jess returned to her friends, she later saw Dana leave on the arm of some skinny skank, a woman who looked like she hadn’t eaten a cupcake in her entire life. It irritated Jess that she wasn’t worth Dana’s time because they wouldn’t be sleeping together. She had tried to be polite when declining Dana’s offer to go back to her hotel. What happened to just getting to know someone, seeing where things went? She was not the jumping-into-bed type, and she never would be.

  The Atlanta traffic moved at an even slower rate than normal, and she felt exhausted and on edge from her parent calls. Stuck behind an eighteen-wheeler on I-285, Jess scanned the radio channels for something upbeat, something to help her get out of her funk. Seeing Michael always made her feel better when she was feeling down about anything, even work problems. She thought about her best friend and the many nights they had shared and talked about their troubles. Their friendship ebbed and flowed through the years, but they were always there for each other.

  The night before Michael left for college, Jess had come out to her. Michael had been out of the closet herself for several years by then and Jess felt comfortable confiding in her. Their friendship was strong, but Jess feared when they graduated their ties might loosen. After telling Michael she was gay, Jess had been so desperate to solidify and validate their friendship that she impulsively asked Michael to sleep with her. She could think of no other way to permanently bind herself to Michael and make sure she wouldn’t be forgotten. Michael refused but had been kind enough not to make Jess feel stupid for suggesting such a thing. They never spoke of it again, and despite Jess’s fears, their friendship stood the test of time. After college, they both came back to Atlanta and spoke every day. It was a strong bond, and she considered Michael one of the most impor
tant people in her life.

  Jess stopped for pizza, knowing that Michael would be working on her latest project and so engrossed that she might forget to eat. She rode the freight elevator up to Michael’s loft and pulled out her key. They had shared keys to each other’s apartments for years, and Michael’s new loft was no different. Her home was a beautiful place with exposed brick walls and floor-to-ceiling windows on one side. It was an old factory building that had been turned into four identical lofts many years after the factory closed and had a great view of the Atlanta skyline but was far from the chaos of downtown. Michael gave the loft a lot of personal touches to make the large modern space feel homier: mismatched, overstuffed couches and chairs in the living room area; a large, country-style pine dining table; and favorite artwork by female artists on the walls. Michael’s studio was in the back corner near the windows, the best place for natural light.

  It was hard for Jess to believe how modern the loft felt inside, since the outside hallway still had exposed studs and rusted ironwork. She pulled the elevator gate open with one hand, balancing the pizza and her purse in the other. The large elevator was one of the reasons Michael chose the live / work loft. She no longer needed to rent a studio space because she could have large media like stone and plaster delivered. Jess heard loud music playing, walked in, and set the pizza down.

  A large plastic tarp hung from the ceiling to keep Michael’s studio separate from the living area and prevent her furniture from being covered in dust and debris. Jess pulled back the tarp to find Michael working with a chisel and large hammer. Before Jess looked at the sculpture, she watched Michael in action. She bent at an angle to work, and her broad shoulders tensed as she held a chisel in place and pounded it with a steel hammer. Chunks of stone fell to the floor around her feet, but she took no notice. Michael insisted on working barefoot, and below her long khaki shorts, dust covered her feet and calves. Watching Michael work, it occurred to Jess why she stayed so muscular without working out. When she sat back on her haunches, Michael’s biceps became more pronounced as she made more precise chips in the stone.

  Jess wondered about the stark differences in their bodies. She envied Michael’s defined physique, as she herself was on the short side of average and rather curvaceous with large breasts. There was a time when she had been attracted to Michael, but that was just a schoolgirl crush. After all, Michael had been the only lesbian she knew. When her eyes settled on Michael’s well-shaped rear, she swallowed and cleared her throat. She reminded herself that the importance of their friendship outweighed any possible physical attraction.

  Michael turned around. She lifted her face mask and grinned, then pulled a dusty rag from her pocket and wiped her hands. “What do you think?” Jess got distracted by the trickle of sweat sliding down Michael’s neck and took a moment to answer. There was something sexy about a woman who worked up a sweat, to see her so engrossed in what she was doing that she forgot everything else.

  “No comment?” Michael raised the towel to dry the sweat from her neck and face and ducked past Jess to turn down the stereo.

  “It looks fantastic,” Jess said, turning back to the sculpture to keep her eyes off Michael’s body. What was wrong with her? It had been years since she’d thought of Michael that way. She followed Michael to the kitchen area and tried to act normally. Just think about something else.

  “Hawaiian Special!” Michael opened the box and inhaled the scent of pizza.

  Jess found two beers in the fridge and pulled two plates from the open shelving. She placed a plate in front of Michael just as she took a bite of pizza and plunked on a bar stool.

  “Thanks. What would I do without you?” Michael said, chewing a mouthful of pizza.

  “Probably starve.” Jess came around the counter and sat near Michael, but avoided her eyes.

  “School okay? You didn’t bring too much home, did you?” Michael often told Jess she worked too hard, yet Jess knew it was also one of the things she admired about her.

  “The kids are great. It’s just the parents. I don’t even want to think about them.” Jess put down her pizza and rubbed her temples.

  “Sure. What do you want to talk about? Anything going on this weekend?”

  “Actually, I have been meaning to ask you a favor,” Jess said. She had been putting off this discussion.

  “I should have known you wouldn’t get the Hawaiian Special without asking for something. Spit it out.” Michael took a long swallow of beer.

  Jess placed her hand on Michael’s arm and instantly regretted it. Her tan skin was soft and still damp with sweat. And she could feel the hard muscle underneath. Clearing her throat, she pulled her hand away. “I want you to come with me to Stevie’s birthday party Friday night.” The muscle Jess was just admiring tensed.

  “Nah, I’ve got a lot going on,” Michael said, jerking her chin toward her work area and indicating her nearly finished sculpture.

  “Come on, please,” Jess begged. Michael had always been standoffish with Stevie. Jess couldn’t figure out why because Stevie was funny and fun to be around. She could be a little flirty at times, and immature, but for the most part Jess thought she was a good person. “I really want you there. And you guys have never really had a chance to get to know each other.”

  “Maybe another time.”

  “Michael, please…for me?” Jess said, hoping her voice sounded sweet and innocent. She attempted to make puppy dog eyes.

  Michael elbowed her in the ribs, giving a lopsided smile. “Fine,” she said with a groan. “Count me in.”

  *

  Wiping her brow with the back of her hand, Michael stepped back to examine her sculpture’s lips. A few more touches and she would be complete. A group of well-known female doctors had commissioned her current project for their new office on Decatur Street. They wanted a dramatic sculpture for their lobby, and Michael’s realistic and contemporary style fit the bill. She’d made them a limestone statue of a beautiful nude woman, standing tall and proud, feminine but not too delicate, and her expression brooding. The facial features showed determination; the brow was furrowed, and the mouth, pursed.

  It was important for Michael to portray strong personality and believability in all her pieces. She wanted them to come to life. Her sculptures varied in size, shape, and medium, but Michael had a knack for capturing realistic facial expressions and postures. One gallery owner commented that most of her sculptures sported “resting bitch face.” That was fine with her. She hated works that portrayed women as docile, delicate, weak creatures. Michael often finished her female sculptures with a claw-chisel to give them a rougher, less refined look. Unlike most sculptors, Michael did not need clay models of her work to reference as she sculpted. Her professor at the Savannah College of Art and Design had hated this and required as part of her grade that she create models. Michael kept the models in the corner as she worked, much to his annoyance. Michael learned early that her hands and fingers did most of the carving and not her eyes.

  Placing the hammer and chisel in her tool belt, she looked into the statue’s eyes. She liked to feel connected to her work, as if she knew the form, and the form knew her as well. Michael stepped back and looked at the statue from head to toe. She ran her hands over the torso and legs and face. Something didn’t feel right. The expression looked softer than she had intended. This wasn’t a woman she recognized. This woman was a pensive stranger. She was waiting for something, brooding.

  This happened more often these days. She sought to create something beautiful, yet when finished realized that the work reflected a deep restlessness. Things were going great, and she was getting more commissions all the time. What did she have to be restless about? Maybe the word wasn’t restless. Maybe it was lonely. No, that wasn’t it either. It’s not loneliness…it’s Jess-less-ness. I’m pathetic. Michael felt an urge to chisel the face right off the sculpture’s head. Instead she grabbed the broom leaning against her work table and vigorously swept the deb
ris left from hours of sculpting.

  As promised, Camille stopped by to check on Michael’s progress, but Michael wasn’t ready to show it quite yet, so Camille brought up Michael’s new plans for the weekend.

  “But why the hell did you agree to go? You hate Stevie. Every time she gets near Jess you look like you want to crack a beer bottle over her head.”

  “That’s because I do,” Michael said, hiding in her studio behind the tarp. She didn’t want to talk about her jealousy. She could not stand Stevie. Like Dana, she was a good-looking, cocky lesbian who hit on anyone with big boobs. Especially Jess. It was one thing for Michael to watch Jess get hit on by a total stranger. It was something completely different for her to subject herself to a night of torture watching someone touch and flirt with Jess. It was hard for Michael not to laugh when Jess suggested that she and Stevie get to know each other. The only reason they had never had a conversation of more than three sentences was because Stevie was constantly trying to get into Jess’s pants. It was Jess’s final plea that had convinced her.

  Michael, please…for me?

  Michael both loved and hated it when Jess said her name. It was so sweet to hear her name leave those beautiful lips, but it came with a reminder that Jess would never say her name in a more intimate way. A way she had dreamed of for so many years. As she looked into those big blue eyes, her resolve had crumbled.

  Michael stopped sweeping and peeked at Camille from her studio. “I agreed to go because…”

  Camille returned from the kitchen area with two glasses of wine. “Because you’re madly in love with her, and you worship the ground she walks on, and you would do anything for her?” Camille said in a rush, as she sat down on Michael’s big red couch and tucked her legs beneath her.

  “Something like that.” Michael dumped the dust pan in the large trash can and came from behind the tarp and joined Camille on the couch.