She found the women's restroom and splashed water on her face. I'm getting a thing for older women. And younger women. And women my age. And women in suits and heels and turtlenecks arid jeans. She leaned her forehead on the cool mirror. She would never be able to tell Louisa just how exhausting this flyer delivery business was. She had another fifteen floors to go.
The agony of the day — and the night that followed — seemed worth it. The week was exhilarating as customers bearing flyers converged on the store. Rayann was glad for the diversion during working hours. The evenings with Louisa spent watching a movie or quietly reading were intimate enough.
When the time came to get ready for the party, she was grateful for her date with Zoraida. Zoraida, she was certain, would completely distract her. As she rinsed shampoo out of her hair, Rayann realized that thoughts of Michelle weren't the problem. The problem was the overwhelming urge to wear Louisa's bathrobe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. The thick maroon chenille smelled like Louisa.
"You look festive," Louisa said when Rayann finally appeared.
"Everything is at least three years old." Rayann, not wanting to wear anything Michelle would recognize as something she had paid for, had changed four times, fruitlessly trying to find an outfit that said "I look good but I didn't fuss." And it was ultimately important that Louisa not get the wrong idea about anything. Just what idea do I want her to get? If she knew the answer to that question, she might stop jumping every time Louisa came within two feet of her.
"You're supposed to say thank you," Louisa said, "not run yourself down." She studied Rayann over the top of her reading glasses. Rayann realized that Louisa, too, was dressed up — her jeans had a razor-sharp crease in them and instead of her usual button-down workshirt, she wore a white cotton blouse with the collar open, nesting the cameo. Gold earrings glinted in Louisa's small earlobes. Louisa's denim jacket was slung over the chair near the door. Rayann swallowed with difficulty as she considered the overall effect.
"Thank you, then," Rayann said at last. She sat down, feeling nervous. Her black corduroy slacks were neatly pressed and so was the white shirt she wore under the forest green pullover. "You look like you're going out too."
"Surprise tickets to the Beach Blanket Babylon revue from Danny. The midnight show."
"Maybe I'll get to meet her, finally."The doorbell at the bookstore entrance rang and Rayann went to the window.
"Must be yours," Louisa said. "Danny'd come round to the back."
Rayann saw the familiar black 4x4 out the window. "Yes, it's my date. Have fun at the theater," she said and she hurried down the stairs through the bookstore. Her heart was beating hard and fast, and she had the sensation that she was escaping to something less frightening — but when she saw Zoraida's black jeans, black T-shirt and black leather jacket and boots, she wasn't so sure.
"Rayann!" Jilly swept around the end of the bar to hug Rayann. As bartender, she wore felt antlers that quivered. "Gosh, it's good to see you. You look terrific as always, better'n the last time I saw you."
Rayann started to say the sweater was three years old, but said instead, "Thank you. Those antlers are adorable."
Jilly giggled. "I know. It's hard to believe an old butch like me would want to wear something adorable, but I'm going to hate taking them off on December twenty-sixth." She glanced at Zoraida. "You're a familiar face, but I don't know your name."
"Zoraida," she said, shaking hands firmly. Golden hoops flashed against her black hair and Rayann was aware that women were turning to stare at Zoraida's dark, exotic looks. Out of construction gear Zoraida was every bit as powerful and confident.
"Spiced rum and coke, right?" Jilly nodded as Zoraida agreed, and then said to Rayann, "Your usual Tanqueray?"
Fixed with drinks, Rayann and Zoraida found two empty stools side by side. "You look like an outlaw tonight," Rayann said.
"Different from muddy boots?" Zoraida held out one foot.
Rayann glanced down at the supple leather boot that encased a surprisingly small foot. "Quite different." Stunning conversation already?
"I love to dance," Zoraida said. "These are, believe it or not, my dancing boots from college. I was a dance major."
"I was an art major. What happened to dance?"
"You mean why did I give up the humdrum life of a dancer for the glamour and excitement of construction?"
"That's not exactly what I meant." Rayann sipped her drink.
"Dance gave me up. I dropped out. I managed to get the construction job because the contractor didn't meet their minority quota for federal jobs. I fulfill three counts — woman, Mexican-American and Native American."
"I'd noticed."
"Which part? I certainly hope you noticed the woman part."
"I did. Under a fluorescent hard hat."
"Orange or yellow?"
"Orange, I think."
"Ah. I look good in orange."
"You do." I can't stand much more of this.
"Enough chitchat," Zoraida said.
Rayann laughed. "That's exactly what I was thinking."
"I'll bet you weren't thinking what I was going to say next."
"Which was?"
"What's your favorite form of foreplay?"
Rayann blushed. She couldn't help it. She was aware that Zoraida was attracting attention with her vitality.
She knew that several women nearby had heard the question and were now waiting to hear the answer. "No, I was not thinking about that."
Zoraida leaned toward her, putting one hand on Rayann's cheek. She whispered in her ear, "Excuse me but there is a woman who just came in. She is blonde and she is staring at you. Should I let her know I have a firm grip on you?" Her lips nuzzled at Rayann's neck, then her chin, before she leaned back and said, more loudly, "You should start thinking about it. I'll want an answer later, mi novita."
Rayann didn't dare look. It was probably Michelle. "I remember in eighth grade Spanish class I called my best friend my novia. Our book said novia meant best friend or sweetheart, and amiga was just friend. The teacher teased me about it for a long time and said girls didn't call other girls their novia."
"She is coming this way, novia, and now I think I should be kissed — just for effect, you understand."
Rayann self-consciously leaned over to kiss Zoraida on the ear and found herself kissing her lips instead. It was not a difficult task. Zoraida caught Rayann's lower lip in her teeth as the kiss ended.
"Oh, novita, she has gone away," Zoraida said sadly. "No brunette, sorry."
"You said there was a blonde!"
"I lied. Punish me with another kiss," Zoraida pleaded. She sounded penitent, but her eyes were dancing.
"Maybe later when I tell you about my favorite form of foreplay," Rayann said.
"Hello, Rayann."
Every nerve in Rayann's body prickled at the smooth, familiar voice. She turned. "Hello, Michelle." She knew it was her imagination that all talk in the bar ceased as if they were in an E.F. Hutton commercial.
They stared at each other. Then Michelle smiled coolly. "Are you afraid to introduce me to your friend?"
"This is Zoraida."
"It's always a pleasure to meet someone new."
"Enchanted," Zoraida said, giving her attention to her drink.
"You have to meet Laura," Michelle said. She pushed her hair back in the gesture Rayann had seen a hundred times and had found alluring every time — until now. "She's here somewhere."
"I thought her name was Lori," Rayann said.
"Laura is different from Lori," Michelle said.
Rayann smiled serenely. "Ill be sure not to use the wrong name. Perhaps if you gave me a list I could keep them straight. At least the top twenty or so."
"You never knew how to be bitchy, darling."
"Merry Christmas to you too."
Zoraida put down her drink. "Dance with me, novia," she said, propelling Rayann to the dance floor. Once her muscular arms were around Ray
ann, holding her tight, she whispered, "Novia, she is all looks and no substance."
"I can't agree. I was with her for three years. She can be funny and thoughtful and she's usually good-hearted."
"That's the first time I've heard it called that. She hurt you and so I hate her already. When I say 'spin out' step back and do one turn and step back in. Got it? Spin out."
Rayann twirled out and back to Teresa Trull's "Shady Glen." They didn't talk about Michelle again and after a while Rayann forgot about her and gave in to the exhilaration of dancing under Zoraida's guidance. It felt just fine to let Zoraida lead. When the music slowed and Zoraida's lead pulled Rayann close to sway hip to hip, Rayann didn't object. The heat from Zoraida's body increased the heat within and Rayann felt their bodies fuse together.
"You two should get a room," someone whispered in her ear.
Rayann's eyes flew open and Zoraida released her. "Judy!" She hugged Judy, then Dedric, and they left the dance floor, searching for a table. Rayann introduced Zoraida when they all settled in.
"It's about time you got here," Rayann said.
"You look as if you're glad you came," Judy answered.
"She hasn't done that yet," Zoraida put in. Judy laughed and Rayann hoped she wasn't blushing.
"Not armed tonight, are you?" Rayann still had a hard time believing Dedric was a cop.
"It's just cleverly hidden," Dedric said.
"She has to carry it. Department policy." Judy made a face. Their club sodas arrived and Rayann saw them glance at each other and touch glasses in a private moment.
"You two look as if you have a long history," Zoraida said.
"Eight years," Judy breathed.
"Eight and a half," Dedric added. "It would be nine years if she hadn't taken so long to make up her mind about whether it was permanent or not."
"You kept me in bed for four months. You hardly gave me enough oxygen to think. You were such a beginner," Judy said, smirking. "It took forever for you to get it right."
"You'll pay for that remark, my ball and chain. You make me sound like the femme in this relationship." Dedric gave Judy a cool, unamused look, but her lips quirked when Judy stuck her tongue out at her.
"Then you're the butch," Zoraida said, arching her eyebrows.
"She's both," Judy said. "And neither."
Rayann sipped her drink. She knew next to nothing about what butch and femme were supposed to mean. She wasn't aware that any of her past lovers — not that there were enough for a valid statistical sample — fit either category. She didn't know which group she fit into either, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be categorized anyway.
The conversation was interrupted when Tina Turner's "Merry Christmas Baby" came on the jukebox and Rayann and Judy got up to dance. Rayann was a little surprised when Dedric and Zoraida didn't follow suit. Instead, they scooched their chairs closer together and talked to each other. Within a few minutes they seemed to be laughing a good deal.
"What's that all about?" Rayann inclined her head toward Dedric and Zoraida.
Judy glanced over. "Oh, I think they share some of the same views on life. Being tough, butch. You know."
Rayann smiled as if she understood. When she was coming out, butch/femme had been passé, or so she had thought. Maybe it was back in style. But what made Dedric and Zoraida seem butch to Judy? Frankly, Rayann hadn't thought of either of them with that particular adjective — only as direct, aggressive and strong women. Was that what butch meant?
"How's business?"
Judy grimaced. "How's teaching?"
"That bad?"As the students dwindled to two a week, then one, then none, Rayann had vaguely worried about the class failing. On the last day it had been a relief. She knew she wasn't cut out to be an instructor. She didn't have the gift of seeing inside her student's heads for their hidden talents, nor did she have enough self-assurance to criticize other people's work — even though someone long ago had said criticism was easier than craft. Michelle had thought teaching a good idea, which was probably another reason why Rayann's enthusiasm had taken a nosedive about two months ago.
The song ended and Judy said, "Women must be getting healthier, or poorer, because my client base is shrinking. I might start wishing I'd stuck with English."
Zoraida met her at the edge of the dance floor. "You're not finished yet, novia." She pulled Rayann to her for a slow dance.
If she's being butch, then I like it, Rayann thought. Certainly Zoraida's approach was different from Michelle's, but then all women were different. Zoraida rocked Rayann in her arms, moving slowly and sensuously. Oh, I like it. When Rayann traced her lips over Zoraida's chin and throat, Zoraida's hands slid lower, to Rayann's hips, increasing the pressure of her thigh between Rayann's legs.
"You're a good dancer," Rayann murmured into Zoraida's ear.
"I don't know that I'd call this dancing." Zoraida's voice was husky, her breath warm as it whispered past Rayann's ear.
They were almost motionless. Zoraida's hands slid under the back of Rayann's sweater. Rayann could feel the zipper of Zoraida's jacket pressing against her. She could sense the outline of fabric under the jacket, not thick enough to hide the swell and tautness of Zoraida's breasts. Melting, Rayann put her forehead on Zoraida's shoulder.
The song ended and the floor lights went up slightly. Rayann pushed herself away from Zoraida, holding her by the forearms for steadiness. She didn't know if Zoraida had been aware of how aroused Rayann had become; she glanced at Zoraida and saw the answer there, a mirror of the desire they shared.
"Novia," Zoraida whispered, "come home with me. We have to finish this dance in a more appropriate place."
Rayann closed her eyes with a shudder. She opened her mouth to say yes — the word was almost out of her mouth. She opened her eyes again, and over Zoraida's shoulder she saw Louisa.
She blinked. Louisa was still there. Now Louisa was looking their way. Then Rayann saw a leather-clad arm around Louisa's shoulders.
"Novia?"
Rayann forced her attention back to Zoraida. She'd been about to say something, but whatever it was had completely escaped her. "I'm sorry, I saw someone I knew." Rayann glanced at Louisa again. Louisa raised her eyebrows and smiled.
Zoraida turned to look in the direction Rayann was indicating, and as the next song began, she herded Rayann off the dance floor. "Who? Which one? Not the blonde bitch again?"
"No. The tall woman, with the black and silver hair — over there in the denim jacket, next to the woman wearing the leather jacket."
"You mean the woman next to the butch in the bomber jacket?"
"Yes. That's the woman I work for," Rayann said.
Zoraida looked at Rayann for a long moment. "I thought it was the one who broke your heart," she said slowly.
"Why would you think that?"
"Because of title expression on your face. Never mind."
"Michelle didn't break my heart," Rayann said. She was confused.
"So, the woman you work for, is it all work?"
"Of course!"
"Why of course! She's very... riveting for her age."
"She and the woman she's with are a couple," Rayann said.
"And that's why it's all work?"
"No, that's not what I meant... I'm not, I mean…"
"That's not what your face told me when you first saw her."
Rayann was aghast. Zoraida had gotten the completely wrong idea. "After the way you danced with me, what expression would you expect me to have?"
"One that I was responsible for." Zoraida put her hands in her back pockets, her expression one of studied nonchalance.
"What's it to you, anyway? You said no strings, remember."
Zoraida smiled at that and shook her head, looking at the floor. "I did say that, didn't I? It's my motto. It's just... I like to know the score."
"I'm free," Rayann said stubbornly.
"Free to come home with me tonight?" Zoraida moved closer again and Rayann's bod
y reminded her of the wonderful sensations Zoraida had engendered.
"I didn't think I'd see you again this evening," Louisa said. She had crossed the dance floor to where Rayann and Zoraida stood. "But at least you can meet Danny finally."
"So you're Rayann. It's a pleasure," Danny put her arm around Rayann, giving her a bruisingly enthusiastic hug. Her arms felt as tough as oak. "Where're you all sitting?"
"What a surprise," Rayann managed. "I thought you were going to a midnight show."
"It's a ways till midnight," Louisa said. "Danny and Jill go way back so she had to put in an appearance. I've only been here a couple of times, but it's a nice place." She looked at Zoraida, one eyebrow lifted slightly.
Rayann, completely bemused, performed introductions. She found herself introducing Louisa and Danny to Judy and Dedric and sat helpless while everyone scuffled for two more chairs. Okay, now we're all sitting down. What am I going to do?
Rayann donned a veneer of rationality. She joked, aware of Zoraida's arm against hers, just as Dedric's was against Judy's. She studied, when she could, the spare, hardened features of Danny's face, noticing how different she seemed from Louisa. Zoraida had immediately called Danny a butch — was it the leather jacket? Zoraida wore a leather jacket. Did that make Zoraida butch? Judy seemed to think so. If Danny and Zoraida and Dedric were all butch, did that make Judy and Louisa and herself all femme?
It's beside the point. No, she answered herself. It's important. If I don't figure this out I may never figure Louisa out. Which is what I want to do.
Rayann hoped no one else noticed her shaking hands. She wanted to go home with Zoraida. She wanted to have a fantastic, mind-blowing night of sex. She needed to — it was the only solution to the insane, unstoppable, inappropriate infatuation she'd developed for the woman she saw every morning, every night and most times in between, the woman right over there who was sitting next to a full-fledged butch who looked as if she'd stepped out of a golden oldie lesbian paperback. In fact, Danny looked as if she could beat the daylights out of anyone at the table — with the possible exception of Dedric — but it wasn't the threat of Danny's physical presence that made Rayann think twice about any half-baked ideas she had about herself and Louisa. It was the unmistakable signs of a longtime friendship and respect between Danny and Louisa. She would not, could not, be responsible for endangering it. If she tried she was no better than Michelle.
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