by JLee Meyer
“Are you going out again tonight?” Rochelle stood in the doorway of the bathroom, a cocktail in her hand. It was one of the rare nights she was home, not having stopped at the bar with her buddies. She didn’t look pleased.
“Yes. I told you, I’m researching my next paper and I have work to do.” Well, it was true.
“You look like you’re going on a date.”
Laurel tried to sound casual. “I get sick of wearing my crappiest clothes to the library. I’m confused for a student so much of the time. Besides, they’re dirty.” Okay, that was a partial lie. She wasn’t going to the library, but the rest was true, almost.
Rochelle studied her. “Well, you look good. Don’t be too late, we haven’t seen each other in a while. I thought we’d cuddle tonight.” She grinned wolfishly and Laurel’s heart sank.
“I might be a little late, but I’ll try to get home soon. I left your dinner in the fridge.”
“Fine.” Rochelle checked her watch. “Oops, time for my show. See you later.”
Letting out a sigh of relief, Laurel quickly finished and left the house before her partner changed her mind and insisted that she could do research some other night.
*
The woman at the door was beautiful. Her golden blond hair was loose around her shoulders, framing her oval face perfectly. The sweater she wore matched the green of her eyes and clung to the delicate curves of her slim body. Her jeans were not the baggy ones Stef had seen before, but fit like a glove, promising shapely legs and a perfect derrière.
Opening the door, Stef managed, “Hey, Laurel. You look great. Thanks for coming over.”
The conversation was loud as they entered the small dining room, Denny had invited Jock and crew, and although Jock still irritated the hell out of her, Stef couldn’t begrudge the invitation. They’d worked their asses off for weeks now, meeting deadlines, correcting the shoddy mistakes of the previous contractor as they went. When Denny had suggested making the dinner more of a team celebration, Stef couldn’t see any reason to refuse.
Even Mrs. Castic, escorted by Ember Jones, was there. It was hard not to like the old woman because she was very sweet, made killer cookies for the crew, and Stef had noticed that Ember seemed devoted to her. No matter what the girl’s background was, Stef was glad she had a place to stay, rules or not. She was a nice kid. As she glanced around the room, it dawned on her that these people had become a family of sorts to her. And for whatever reason, Laurel’s presence seemed to complete that picture. That thought, after being labeled “ridiculous,” was quickly stuffed to the back of her mind.
Sweeping her arm toward the festivities, she said, “Here’s the whole motley crew. Let me…” But somehow words failed her as she was caught in the intensity of Laurel’s gaze. She had no idea how long they stood together before someone clapped her on the shoulder and interrupted.
“Hey, Stump, aren’t you going to introduce your friend?” Jock eyed Laurel with more than casual interest, from Stef’s point of view. And there was that nickname.
“Jocelyn Reynolds, this is Dr. Laurel Hoffman. Professor Hoffman to you.”
Jock grinned winningly. “Please call me Jock, Dr. Hoffman. Ms. Beresford likes to tease me. So nice to meet you.”
Watching Jock turn on the charm grated on Stef’s nerves. She was even more dismayed when Laurel said, “Beresford? As in the Beresford hoteliers?” She had a confused, then wary look on her face.
Stef shifted, not knowing what to say. “Yes, but they don’t have anything to do with this hotel.”
Her voice cooler, Laurel said, “But you do. You own this hotel, don’t you. I thought you were employed by the owners.”
Stef was silent, at a loss for words. She should have told Laurel sooner. After a month, her failure to mention her name looked like a deliberate deception.
Interrupting, Jock smoothly said, “Well, she works like she’s employed by the owners. You know, Ember talks about how much she enjoys your class. If you ever want to come up to see what we’re doing, feel free. We’re on the top two floors now.”
Laurel turned to Jock. “Well that was very nice of Ember.” She looked around and spotted the young woman. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go over and say hello to her and Mrs. Castic. I want to thank her for the tea and cookies a few nights ago.”
As they watched Laurel’s lovely backside, Stef abruptly remembered herself and elbowed Jock. “Stop drooling on the professor. And, thanks for saying that. I meant to tell her, I just forgot.”
“No thanks needed. You always hated to tell anyone your last name in college.” Rubbing her side, Jock teased, “Hey, Stump, do I detect some territory that you want to keep to yourself?”
Stef snapped, “No. It’s just that she’s got a lot of class and deserves more than a one-night stand, so I suggest you stay away from her.” She was surprised to see Jock flinch at that description, since she remembered her priding herself on doing just that in college.
Jock recovered quickly. “Are you dating her?”
“No, I’m just keeping an eye on her and the historical stuff. After all, I’m…we are the owners of the hotel.” Stef sounded like an ass, even to herself.
“Uh-huh. You don’t even know if she’s available, do you?”
“Well, I…” Now her neck was starting to itch. Stef knew that meant she was blotching from embarrassment. Double dammit.
“Do you know if she’s a lesbian? Bi? Het?” Jock rocked back on her heels, obviously enjoying the tease. Just like old times.
Stef hated it. “Back off, Jock. It’s none of our business and you know it.”
“Ladies? Do I sense tension here?”
They whirled to meet Denny’s vigilant brown eyes. She’d always been the mediator between them, and Stef was glad to see her. She couldn’t let her temper get the best of her. They needed Jock.
“Sorry, Denny. I know I promised to be good.” Offering her hand to Stef, Jock said, “Truce? I didn’t mean to step on your turf. I was just curious. The professor is hot, that’s all.”
Stef hesitated only long enough to catch a meaningful glance from Denny, the kind that threatened great bodily harm if she didn’t cooperate. She shook Jock’s hand, and at that moment Sika called dinner. She’d prepared hearty food, with several kinds of lasagnas, salads, crusty garlic bread, and good Chianti, sodas, beer, or water to choose from. Laurel seemed to be enjoying herself, pitching in with carrying bowls and such to the long table that they were going to use for the buffet.
Everyone found a place to sit and dug in. Stef quickly arranged herself next to Laurel, reasoning that she needed familiar people around her. They ended up near Ember and Mrs. C, Sika, Denny, and Jock. The conversation was lively, with Laurel exclaiming over the delicious food, Denny and Jock regaling people with stories of their college days on the basketball team, and Ember asking Laurel, whom she insisted on calling Dr. Hoffman, about other classes at Cal. The young woman obviously wanted to attend as more than an observer.
“Mrs. C, how long have you lived at the hotel?” Laurel asked after a while.
The banter paused as all turned their attention to the small, delicately boned woman with the lively blue eyes. Her reserve and Eastern European accent served to make her more interesting.
“Let me see. I visited the hotel in the nineteen forties with a friend of mine, actually many times. That went on through the fifties, and I lived here, finally, in the sixties, I believe.”
“Your name must be in some of the guest ledgers I’ve been looking through. I haven’t gotten to the forties yet.”
Mrs. Castic offered a slight smile. “Perhaps.”
Well, that was vague. Laurel must have thought so, too, because she followed up the comment. “I was thinking about what we discussed the other day. That club you mentioned. Was it the Elysium Society?”
A noise from Sika’s direction along with some coughing drew everyone’s attention to a spilled glass of red wine. “Sorry.” She stood and start
ed mopping the mess.
Denny quickly disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with several dish towels as they all tried to help and not get dripped on.
Sika recovered quickly and said, “Well, I think it’s time for dessert. Laurel, will you help me?”
Laurel trooped after her to bring out the ice cream and chocolate cake that everyone busied themselves with. There were exclamations of being overfed and happy, and a lot of the group thanked their hostesses and excused themselves. Their table was the exception.
Jock asked Laurel, “What is the Elysium Society? Sounds intriguing.”
Shrugging, Laurel said, “I’m not sure. They seemed to hold regular meetings at the hotel, starting in the nineteen twenties. Mrs. C was telling me about being in a book club of sorts. I’ll have to do some more research.”
Ember, listening intently, piped up. “Why don’t you ask Dr. Jacobs? She might know about it.”
Laurel appeared to lose some of the color her glass of wine had placed in her cheeks. She’d also lost the smile Stef found mesmerizing. “Maybe so. I’ll have to ask.” Her voice was so soft Stef could barely hear her.
Ember must not have noticed, because she followed with, “Well, she’s your partner and the department chair and all, so I thought, you know, she might help.”
Stef lost all of the air from her lungs. She stared at Laurel, who seemed engrossed in her napkin, refusing to look up.
“Okay, well, it’s getting late,” Denny said, clearly picking up on the tension. “We all have early days tomorrow, so how about we wrap up for tonight?”
She must have elbowed Jock because suddenly Jock was standing. “Yeah, come on, kid, I want you on the job by seven tomorrow. Mrs. Castic, may I escort you back to your rooms?”
Mrs. C was quick to accept.
Ember seemed about to protest when Jock said, “I’ll give you your list of chores for tomorrow as we walk back.”
Before Stef could register more, she was watching the three of them exit the dining room, Mrs. C framed by the two tall women, one on each arm. Denny and Sika were clearing dishes. Stef offered to help but Sika told her to sit, she and Denny had it handled.
Laurel still refused to look at Stef, instead busying herself gathering her small backpack to leave. “Thank you for a great evening. It was such fun. Is it okay if I come back tomorrow to resume work?” She seemed to be asking permission, all over again.
Numbly, Stef said, “Of course. I might not be around, so if you could get here before we lock the outer doors, that would help.”
It seemed they had both had held back critical information from each other. Stef knew she shouldn’t be surprised to hear about the existence of a partner, especially after Laurel had dodged her only attempt to get personal information. But that didn’t matter now, because her fantasy was shattered and the reality of the truth made her sad in a way she had never before experienced.
*
Driving across the Bay Bridge toward Berkeley, Laurel was almost ill from the turn of events of the evening. Things had been going so well. The women were interesting, humorous, immensely likeable. Stef and Jock had almost argued over her, and she was so flattered she’d felt giggly. Although she was startled to learn that Stefanie was from one of the largest hotel families in the world, when she thought about it, how could she be angry when she’d withheld a much more critical piece of information?
Mrs. Castic was fascinating and obviously knew much more than she was saying about the history of the hotel. She’d been cagey in their few previous conversations, and Laurel had the feeling her measure was being taken. More questions bubbled up in her mind. She wished Sika hadn’t spilled the wine the moment she mentioned the Elysium Society. Everything seemed to come to a crashing halt after that. Laurel could still see the look on Stef’s face when Ember innocently dropped the bomb about Rochelle being her partner.
Even though the topic had never come up before, even though she hadn’t lied except by omission, she felt guilty. She could argue she was being silly. After all, neither she nor Stef had ever been anything other than friendly and businesslike. Yes, very friendly, but why should that matter? Just because she had a partner, nothing would change. And that, she realized sadly, was the problem.
Aside from the fact that she didn’t want to share the project for professional reasons, she didn’t want to tell Rochelle for personal reasons, too. The hotel, the project, was her territory, the women her new friends. They liked her for who she was, not as Mrs. Dr. Rochelle Department Chair. Without Laurel realizing it, Rochelle had narrowed her world to just the friends and colleagues Rochelle knew. She controlled everything, and Laurel had allowed it.
The driveway gravel crunched as she rolled to a halt behind Rochelle’s car. She could see the flickering of the TV in the living room. Rochelle had probably fallen asleep in front of it. With an audible sigh, Laurel locked the car and trudged up the walkway. Now she would have to rouse her out of her drowse and help her get to bed. Rochelle was larger than Laurel and often nasty when awakened. Laurel never knew what was waiting behind the door. She steeled herself and went in.
“You’re late.” Rochelle was standing just inside the door. The tone in her voice made Laurel’s stomach tighten. It signaled displeasure and anger. She knew it well.
“I got home as soon as I could.” Laurel tried to sound matter-of-fact but felt the tension in her throat. She knew Rochelle wouldn’t miss the quaver in her voice and that this sign of weakness would only encourage her.
“Doing research, were you?”
The detachment served to elevate Laurel’s anxiety. Rochelle knew something. She was setting a trap. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“At the library?”
Laurel fought down panic, tried to think. Rochelle knew she hadn’t been at the library. “No. I was in San Francisco, interviewing an elderly woman for my project.”
“Oh, yes. Your boring research project. The one you are doing just to meet your minimum requirement to stay on tenure track. That one?”
Rochelle swayed just a bit, and Laurel fought the urge to run. Maybe it was all a ruse, maybe she was just upset that Laurel hadn’t been home as much as usual recently. That alone was grounds for punishment.
“Yes. What’s the matter, Rochelle? You sound upset.”
Rochelle stopped a foot from her, now in the light. Her eyes were mean and Laurel could smell her breath. The alcohol scent was overwhelming. She tensed, hoping to talk Rochelle out of her anger and get her to bed.
“I talked to Harry De Silva.”
Harry was Rochelle’s best drinking buddy, a professor in the history department, and Laurel had never liked him. He hit on her, making slimy innuendos and trying to touch her inappropriately, always behind Rochelle’s back. When Laurel complained Rochelle took his side and said it was all in her imagination. She’d never once protected her from him.
Feigning uninterest, Laurel said, “And?”
“He told me that the buzz in his classes was all about you and the great ‘find’ you’ve made in some hotel in San Francisco. Like you’ve unearthed the mother lode of historical feminist information.” Rochelle suddenly grabbed Laurel by both arms, her fingers digging deeply and shook her. “Tell me about that, Laurel. Tell me all about it.”
Trying unsuccessfully to pull away, Laurel said, “Stop it, Rochelle. You’re hurting me.” Lately Rochelle had been acting this way more often. She would shove Laurel, and even slapped her occasionally, but she always regained control of herself quickly. Something about her belligerence seemed different tonight.
“Who do you think you are, lying to me? You think you can pursue a find like that without me as your primary author? Do you?” She was spitting the words, twisting her hands to pinch Laurel.
Suddenly she let go and Laurel stumbled back, cracking her head on a nearby wall sconce. She tried to keep her feet under her and escape, thinking of the lock on the spare bedroom door. She’d used it before when Rochelle was drunk
and would try to come in. Rochelle never mentioned those instances, either not remembering or pretending nothing happened. She lurched in the direction of the bedroom but Rochelle was on her again, this time grabbing her wrist and slapping her hard enough to send her to the floor.
Stunned, she lay still, trying to orient herself. Her mouth was open; she didn’t know if her jaw was broken because she couldn’t seem to move it. Before she could gather her thoughts, she felt a searing pain in her side as Rochelle kicked her hard enough to knock the wind out of her. After a moment, she sensed Rochelle still standing over her, panting.
“We’re not through with this subject. I have an early meeting. I’m going to bed.” Rochelle staggered and needed a wall for support but managed to make it to their bedroom, where she slammed the door.
Relief flooded through Laurel, then she hastened into the spare room, locking the door behind her. She wasn’t going to risk Rochelle having second thoughts about her reprieve. Leaning on the door, she slid to the floor, the coppery taste of blood in her mouth. Her lips felt puffy, and she gingerly touched her face. She crawled to the only mirror in the room, an inexpensive full-length one she used to make sure everything was zipped and in order before she left for work each day. Even in the poor lighting, the results of her inspection weren’t good.
Her lip was not split, but she must have bitten the inside of her mouth, because it was swelling. The side of her face showed Rochelle’s handprint clearly, and now that the numbness had worn off, her jaw was aching. When she tried to open and close her mouth, she heard clicking and her jaw seemed to stutter. Tears fell as she sagged to the edge of the bed.
