by Robbi McCoy
Ginny nodded thoughtfully. “I guess Rosie’s your first, right?”
My first? Did everybody just assume that Rosie and I were a spring fling? Is that how it was with lesbians? I remembered Jo, then, the turkey farmer, and her partner of thirty-three years.
That was some comfort.
“Ginny,” I asked, “what do you think of Rosie?”
Ginny looked at me suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”
“I just wondered what she seems like to people who aren’t insanely in love with her.”
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Ginny laughed, glanced over at Rosie, and then looked back at me. “She’s the best, Jean. Hang on to her for dear life.”
“I don’t want to feel that desperate.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant she’s very special.
And she adores you, you know. She was just telling us about the incredible job you’re doing for the Vision Partnership.” Ginny leaned closer. “I’ve never seen her so happy. You’re not the only one who’s insanely in love.”
Aura was suddenly behind Ginny, flinging her arms around her and pulling her away from me, nearly knocking her off her chair. Aura was wearing the same tank top and vest I was used to seeing her in. It was her costume, I guessed. She narrowed her eyes at me and pointed her index finger, saying, “I’ve got my eye on you.” I was close enough to her this time to see that the tattoo on her neck was a pair of interlocking female gender symbols.
How bold, I thought, impressed.
Ginny, recovering her balance, said, “She’s just messing with you, Jean.”
Aura’s expression widened into a grin. She was awfully cute.
Maybe not so scary as I had originally thought. Aura leaned against Ginny affectionately.
Rosie appeared, then, with a flushed face, and sank down on the chair next to me. She put her arm around me and said to Ginny. “So, are you ready to get out that Twister game?”
Ginny looked confused.
Rosie said, “In-joke,” grinning at me. Then she kissed me on the mouth for all the world to see. Well, not quite all the world, just the inhabitants of Lesbiana.
“Ginny,” Rosie said, excited, “time to jam.”
Ginny nodded. “I’ll get the Colonel and Jo.”
“I hope you don’t mind, sweetie,” Rosie said to me.
“Of course not. I’m looking forward to this. But who’s the Colonel?”
“Helen. She’s retired military.”
Rosie got her saxophone out of the car and we rearranged the furniture so the four of them could set up in the living room. The 20
rest of us gathered around to provide an audience. The Colonel, on the guitar, seemed to be the leader of this troupe. Jo was the fiddle player. They started off with a raucous Dixieland number.
I sat beside Sue, who was tapping her foot and slapping her knee in time with the music.
“They’re great!” I said to her when the song was over.
“Oh, sure. Do you play an instrument, Jean?”
I shook my head. No, I thought, I’m not musical either. There were so many ways in which I must be inadequate as a partner for Rosie. I was reminded of what Cherise said about these things being over before you knew it, and the phrase “six months” hung over my head like a noose.
The band played something more traditional for their second song, a slow and heavy-on-the-sax version of “Summertime.” It was languorous and seductive. Rosie, who was already flushed from wine, was even redder after blowing her way through the number.
As they prepared for their third piece, Rosie pointed at me and said, “This one is for my beautiful lady, Jean.” She winked at me and nodded to the others. They launched into a lazy version of “The Nearness of You.”
I was embarrassed, and wondered at Rosie’s judgment, considering Sue was sitting right here next to me, but it felt good anyway. Sue didn’t seem offended. She beamed at me as though she was happy for me. Rosie kept her eyes on me while she played the last few notes of the song solo, then lowered her instrument and blew me a kiss.
I noticed Cherise standing near the kitchen door, looking disgusted.
The Colonel slapped Rosie on the back and said, “Okay, ladies, let’s bring up the tempo.” They played “The Lady is a Tramp” then, which everybody seemed to like.
My evening proceeded pretty much like that, swinging up and down. I was hit with too many loaded images, and in the end, I didn’t know how to feel. By the time we left, it was almost midnight. Rosie leaned her head back against the seat of the car 210
as I drove.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I especially liked your song dedication. It was touching.”
“I’m glad you liked it. I meant every note.”
As soon as we’d reached the highway, she was asleep. I tuned the radio into a news channel with the volume low. A few times Rosie woke, startled to find herself moving. Then she’d see me and lapse back into a stuporous sleep. She’d had too much to drink. She woke up when at last the car rolled over the gravel driveway in front of her house.
“Are we home?” she asked, rousing herself. “You’re staying, right?”
I nodded. We went inside and got ready for bed. I pulled on a nightshirt and brushed my teeth in the bathroom. Rosie was in the bedroom talking about Dena’s party balloon shop, something about advertising. I wasn’t really listening. When at last we were in bed, she kissed me and pushed a strand of hair away from my eyes. “Why so pensive, Jean?” she asked. Then, seeing that I hesitated, said, “It’s Cherise, isn’t it? I saw her talking to you. She said something to upset you.”
“She told me about you and Sue, how you tired of her after only a few months.”
“Ah, so that’s it?”
“Well, it’s scary. I’m afraid the same thing will happen with me. I’m afraid of losing you.”
Rosie pulled me closer. “I’m afraid of losing you too. What kind of promise do you want from me?”
Till death do us part, I thought. The same promise I made once to someone. And broke.
“I don’t know,” I whispered feebly.
Rosie turned my face so that I was looking into her eyes.
“I can’t help but be a little cynical, Jean. My love life has had its share of disasters. Even so, I’m optimistic about us. I think there’s a real chance here for something permanent.” She kissed 211
me lightly. “I hope so, anyway.”
I tried to smile at her, but I doubt that it was convincing.
“I’m sorry Cherise upset you,” she said. “Do you want to hear my side of the story?” I nodded. Rosie cradled my head in her arm. “You know, the problem with these lesbians is that it’s one big incestuous family and we all know everything about each other.”
Rosie smiled and then settled into her story. “Sue was twenty-three when I met her, in a rocky relationship with Cherise, who is now a high school teacher, and, as far as I know, clean. But at the time, she had a serious fling going with cocaine, and Sue got sucked into that. I met her at the Women’s Shelter where I was volunteering when she had pretty much hit bottom. She was estranged from her family, unemployed, a drug addict and had begun accumulating a criminal record. She was a mess, really, and, not surprisingly, suicidal.”
“Wow,” I said, thinking about how wholesome and well-adjusted Sue had appeared to me.
“I thought she needed some special attention,” Rosie continued. “I felt really sorry for her, especially because her parents wanted nothing to do with her. Not surprisingly, she developed a crush on me. I knew she was vulnerable, and I thought it was better for her to love me, chastely, than someone else, someone destructive like Cherise. We were physically affectionate, but it wasn’t sexual. She was like a daughter to me. Still is.”
I pictured the tender embrace Rosie had given Sue earlier and felt stupid about all of my assumptions and suspicions. Although there were still so many things I didn’t know a
bout Rosie’s life, the things I did know should not have left me vulnerable to the insinuations of Cherise.
“Eventually, Sue got back on her feet. She got clean, got a decent job. She went on with her life and found someone more appropriate to love. And that’s the story. Cherise is a woman with a grudge. She blames me for breaking up her relationship. Now she’s trying to ruin mine with you by planting doubt in your mind. You can ask Sue about any of this if you want to.”
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“No, I don’t have to ask anyone. I’m sorry, Rosie.”
“It’s okay. I hope you’ll feel a lot more secure, though, soon.
Cherise barely knows me. You can’t give much credence to anything she said. And after what I found out tonight, I’m so grateful that she knows almost nothing about me.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s a vicious woman, more vicious than I would have suspected. It was Cherise who tipped off Kiester, and it was Cherise who told the press about me and Catherine, and about Sue. She’s convinced that Sue and I had an affair, despite what she’s been told.”
“She would do such a thing for revenge?” I asked.
“Looks like it.”
My God, I thought, if I had known, earlier tonight, that Cherise was responsible for causing Rosie to lose the election, what would I have done? Somehow, Rosie, in spite of knowing this, had avoided a scene and had even enjoyed her evening.
“What will you do about it?” I asked.
“I told Sue and Dena to let everyone know. Cherise will find that her circle of friends has diminished.”
“Woe to the woman who does Rosie wrong,” I said, remembering the hapless Tanya Lockhart.
“You’d better believe it,” she said. “Let that be a lesson to you. You walk out on me, girl, and I’ll have the entire sisterhood down on you. You’ll never get laid in this town again.”
I nuzzled into her neck, and said, “I love you, Rosie.”
“I love you too, Jean. And I’ll probably love you tomorrow, so try to relax.”
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Chapter Nineteen
It was just a couple of days later that the office mail brought an interesting invitation from the junior college business department. It was addressed to me, as in, “Administrator, Vision Partnership.” They wanted me to speak at the college about the work we were doing.
When I turned the letter over to Rosie, she said, “That’s fantastic.”
“Oh, Rosie, why don’t you do it instead? I’m no public speaker.”
“They asked for you. And it’s not that big a deal. But if you keep this up, you’ll be in demand, believe me. Cities all over the country will want you.”
“Stop it,” I said.
“This is no joke. Somebody who can make things happen like you’re doing is a valuable commodity. You’re going to get job offers, my girl.” She tousled my hair playfully. “Oh, but in the meantime, I think you should probably pick up a business degree of some kind too. You may as well take your career seriously.”
Statements like that left me dumbfounded.
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I accepted the invitation to speak at the college, the same college where I was taking a class in beginning economics, and grew more and more nervous as the day approached. Rosie helped me with my speech and I memorized everything there was to know about the Partnership. Amy promised to be in the audience. She seemed quite smug to have her mother speaking to her classmates. At least one of my children was proud of me. I was proud of me too.
I stood in front of an audience of about two hundred students, business majors. I had dressed in a conservative knit suit, pants and blazer, a silk scarf arranged in the breast pocket. The students seemed to pay attention, some even took notes. Several times as I spoke, I thought how odd that I should be here, speaking as an expert on these topics. The students, raptly listening for the keys to success, had more education than I did. Would any of them know it? Were any of them my own classmates? I was definitely insecure. Rosie sat in the front row, ready, it seemed, to catch me if I fell off the stage.
“We’re talking to a French manufacturing firm,” I said, bringing my prepared speech to a close, “about opening up a major west coast distribution center here. I’m optimistic about it.
This company will employ at least a hundred people, people like yourselves who ought to be able to work in the community where you grew up and went to school. We want to be sure that when you graduate from this school or from a four-year university, you’ll have a good job waiting. That hasn’t been the case for a long time. New, high-tech industry hasn’t been coming here. I see that changing, right now, right before our eyes.”
I concluded by thanking them for their attention and opening the floor for questions. Now I was going to have to wing it. Rosie, I noticed, had a huge Cheshire Cat grin on her face.
“Ms. Davis,” asked a young man, “does this school play a part in your plans?”
“Yes, very much so. We’ve been working closely with the college to make sure that educational programs are in place to support the type of businesses we’re attracting. We don’t want 215
to be teaching our students skills that aren’t needed by the community, so, yes, I’ve been giving information to the school to help it shape its curriculum. One new class which is a direct result of our cooperative efforts is computer graphic design, which will be offered in the business department for the fall semester.
Graphic design is a skill much in demand in the advertising industry and, as in practically every other discipline, there’s been a radical shift toward total digitization in recent years.” I paused, glanced at Rosie, then said, “You see, we believe very strongly that no part of our community can operate independently. What we’re trying to do is draw all factions together so that the right kind of progress will happen. The government has to respond to the needs of business, and business has to participate in the community, and the schools must evolve to support the entire structure. It’s a very simple idea, and certainly not new.”
The next question came from a woman. “Bringing new business to the area is commendable and exciting, but so many businesses are struggling, shutting their doors. Is your organization involved in any way in preventing this trend?”
“I’m glad you brought that up,” I said. “We are involved in that.” I explained about the Chevrolet dealership that was still operating due to our intervention, and about another business we were helping to resolve a labor dispute. “This isn’t always possible,” I said, “but we’re dedicated to making the attempt. This is hard work. It’s harder than most people realize just to get local government and businesses to talk to one another. Cooperation is a new approach for them.”
I took about a half dozen questions, and then, running over the time I’d been allotted, brought it to a close. They clapped.
Loudly. It was a rush. I stepped off the stage to the side of the room where Rosie greeted me with a rather absurd handshake.
Well, it was appropriate for the setting.
“You’re marvelous,” she said. “I can’t get over it. Once you got going, you were just incredible. You sounded like you’d been doing this all your life.”
Yes, that’s the way so many new things felt these days, like I’d 216
been doing them all my life. It was like I was remembering who I was after having been an amnesiac for twenty years.
Mr. Winkle, the instructor who had arranged the talk, approached and shook my hand. “Quite inspirational, Jean. I’m glad I asked you in. Can I take you to lunch? I’d like to ask you a few questions myself. Rosie, will you join us?”
“I’m afraid I can’t. I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll see you later, Jean.” She winked and took off.
Suddenly Amy was there, her arms flung around me. “Oh, Mom, you were really good up there. I was so scared you were gonna freeze or flop or sound like a ditz. But you didn’t.”
I laughed. “What an endorsement.”
Mr. Wi
nkle seemed amused. I introduced him to Amy and the three of us went to Risso’s for lunch.
When Rosie called me that evening, I was still high.
“I’m so happy for you, Jean,” she said.
“I’m sure some of it sounded familiar to you.”
“Yes. Now where did I hear this stuff about business and government cooperating before?”
“Okay, so I stole your platform.”
“It’s in the public domain. I want to see you do more of this sort of thing, out in the public eye, not just behind the doors of people’s offices. It’s good PR for the Partnership and for the city.
I’m really proud of you, you know.”
Yes, I knew. And that was probably why I started planning courses for the fall semester which would put me on track toward an MBA.
I was already feeling pretty good about myself when the most extraordinarily uplifting day occurred that same week. The afternoon that Dr. Chandra Patel walked into my office, I didn’t immediately recognize her because she was wearing a white lab coat and slacks and I had only seen her before in elaborate costumes. But as soon as she smiled at me, I knew who she was.
“Jean,” she said warmly, “I’ve come to ask you a favor.”
I bolted from my chair and stepped toward her, taking her extended hand, which, it seemed to me, she expected me to kiss 21
rather than shake. So it ended up being a limp grasp instead. I don’t know if it was the idea of her money or her regal manner, enhanced by the British accent, that intimidated me, but I was never relaxed in her company. I knew my voice sounded unnatural as I said, “Dr. Patel, welcome. Have a seat.”
“No, no,” she said, waving the air. “I’m just here for a moment.
It’s my lunch hour.”
“Well, what can I do for you?”
