“Did I? Oops! Toodles, gorgeous!”
Before Genevieve could protest, her cell clicked into silence. “Well, I suppose being set up is one way to forget about work,” she mumbled to herself before padding off to the shower.
Chapter Four
As the hot water ran through her hair, Genevieve sighed. She couldn’t stop thinking about her appearance at the Supreme Court yesterday. For the most part, she had separated her emotions from her rational mind and stayed focused on the arguments. But there were moments when history overcame her and she found herself glancing at Tori. Their eyes had connected a dozen times during the two hours of oral arguments. Genevieve had expected to feel betrayal when she looked at Tori, but instead they seemed to be exchanging waves of calm support. Support wasn’t something she associated with her one-time girlfriend.
She rinsed the shampoo out of her hair and let her mind wander back twenty years.
Harvard Law School, 1989
Genevieve wanted to stand in the middle of Mass Ave and shout it. She wanted to tattoo it somewhere on her body. She couldn’t get that “Yes!” song from Dirty Dancing out of her head. She wanted everyone to know that she was in love.
Of course she knew that sharing her joy wasn’t an option. But she was also pretty bad at hiding her emotions, and she could tell by the looks Bethany had been giving her over the past few weeks that her roommate knew at least that she was getting laid, and maybe even that she was hopelessly, stupidly in love.
While Bethany bustled around the kitchen with breakfast, Genevieve sat at the table concentrating on her neutral face.
“So do you think Tori will actually be a Supreme Court justice?” Bethany called from the kitchen.
Genevieve started at the sound of Tori’s name and her chair made a scraping noise against the hardwood floor. She hoped Bethany hadn’t noticed. “What? Where did you get that idea?”
Bethany emerged from the kitchen with two plates of scrambled eggs, one of which she slid across the table. “Oh, where does anyone get these ideas? Who knows how gossip gets started.”
Genevieve poked at her breakfast.
“I heard it from Preston after Constitutional Interp on Wednesday,” Bethany continued, “and Walter mentioned it during Parody rehearsal last week. Hey, speaking of the Parody, why aren’t you two writing again this year? You were such a great team last year.”
“I, uh, I guess we forgot about it.” She tried to stop the blush creeping across her cheeks and decided a change of subject was in order. “Have you made any decisions about next year?”
“Well, Daddy could get me a job in the governor’s office, but Austin’s so far from Dallas and it barely counts as Texas. Besides, I really liked working at Oakes and Driver last summer. I mean, I only took the summer internship as an experiment, and I doubt I’ll settle in DC permanently. But I’ll start there for a few years and see what happens. I know I can learn a lot from a firm, and of course the money’s fantastic. Besides, as it turns out, there are a lot of fun things to do in Washington. I went to a party at the White House once, and some of the other summer associates and I went monument-hopping every Friday after work. The city is really beautiful—there’s enough space that I can see the sky, and you know that every Texan needs to see a big sky at night.”
While Bethany continued her lengthy answer, Genevieve’s mind began to wander. Tori had looked so beautiful yesterday, silhouetted in the late afternoon sun when Genevieve had dragged her out of Cambridge on a hike. Tori, who wasn’t exactly an aficionado of the great outdoors, had spent most of their trek holding forth about the balance of powers in the US government. When they returned to Tori’s room in Gropius the conversation had shifted to the local level, leading to a lively discussion about a contentious Cambridge city council meeting that was causing quite a stir. One elected official had announced that the police force was doing such a good job, he wanted to cut their numbers in half. Tori maintained that proposals like that created the wrong incentives for police, who would think they needed to do their job badly in order to keep it. Genevieve attacked his premise, arguing that there was in fact a fair amount of crime in Cambridge, but people turned a blind eye to it. Tori tried to say something else, but Genevieve pulled the shade down and started kissing her, and before long neither woman could string together two words.
“I mean, you agree, right?” The ensuing silence was startling, and Genevieve shook off her reverie to find Bethany staring at her expectantly, drumming her fingers on the table.
“Um, right. I agree.”
“Sure you do. I am so sure you agree that all gun control laws infringe on our second amendment rights. Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
Abashed, she said, “Sorry, Bethie. I’m a little distracted today, I guess.”
“Just today, huh? Because if I was a bettin’ woman, I’d say you’re pretty distracted all the time these days. My mama always said only criminals and people in love are distracted. So, are you planning a bank heist? Because if so, I want a cut.”
“A cut? Why? You haven’t helped steal electrical plans from City Hall, nor can you drive my getaway school bus.”
“I cook you breakfast every morning. Well, every morning you’re here, anyway.” Bethany looked at her knowingly. “I think the lady who keeps you fed gets a few thousand, a least.”
“A few thousand? How much do you think I’m stealing? And I’ve got to pay the actor posing as a security guard, the explosives expert, and the cashier at our corner grocery.”
“Annie? Why do you have to pay her?”
“Last time I was there she told me her dog has cancer. I’m a sucker for a sob story.”
“Some hardened criminal you are.”
They grinned at each other.
“Well, fine, don’t let me in on the details of your, er, bank heist. For now. But Genevieve…” She turned serious for a moment. “Be careful. Not all heists end well.”
Genevieve shrugged. “Well, I haven’t been arrested yet.”
Bethany nodded and stood up. “She who doesn’t make the breakfast does the dishes.”
“Deal.”
She cleared the table, relieved to have avoided any more direct questions about her recent euphoria. But she couldn’t help herself: while she loaded the dishwasher, she hummed the melody of “Yes!”
* * *
Genevieve paced back and forth in her bedroom as she read the newspaper out loud. “Ultimately, Harvard Law School has stood as a beacon of forward thinking and progressive interpretation of the law, and in light of this heinous crime in Texas, I urge the leaders of this institution to advocate for hate crimes legislation.” She felt a bit of a thrill to see it in print. She was glad she hadn’t edited it—it was perfect.
Last week, on a chilly January night in Galveston, Texas, two middle-aged gay men were yanked from their bed in the middle of the night, whipped, hog-tied, and dragged behind a red pickup truck with no license plates until they died. Their bodies were stripped and propped up next to the big wooden “Welcome to Galveston” sign in the middle of the town. The word “faggot” had been painted across their foreheads, and a sign reading “We don’t stand for homos here” had been tacked up on the signpost above them. They had both been castrated.
The incident had garnered national attention for twenty-four hours and was quickly forgotten the following day when playoff football games began. Genevieve was heartbroken for the two men who had done nothing more than share their lives and love with each other. Imagining being pulled from her bed and battered like that actually made her shake. She had dabbled in activism before, and was proud to have spent a summer working for the ACLU, but she had never felt as impassioned about protecting minority rights—gay rights—as she did when she learned of the events in Galveston.
She wrote her letter to the editor of The Record, the Harvard Law School newspaper, in one sitting, and decided it didn’t need revisions. Her language was forceful and she conveyed her appeal with urge
ncy. No one but the editor had read it in advance, and she hadn’t mentioned to anyone that she was writing it. She didn’t need to. She remained confident in her convictions.
The newspaper came out that morning, and Genevieve held her head high despite the whispers and stares. When her last class of the day finished, she strode through the fierce January cold up Mass Ave toward her Porter Square apartment, wearing a black pantsuit, heels, and a fierce expression. Her posture dared anyone to challenge her. By the time she made it halfway home, she had decided she wanted to make a career out of advocating for gay rights.
As she rounded the corner and began to climb the marble steps to her apartment building, she was startled to discover Tori, red-faced and fuming, pacing back and forth in front of her door.
“What the hell were you thinking? Have you completely lost your mind?”
Genevieve took a step backwards, startled by the frenzied look in her eyes. “Geez, Tor, calm down. Let’s go inside.” She reached out, but Tori flinched and swatted her hand away.
“Fine, yes, inside.” Tori crossed her arms and pursed her lips.
Genevieve held the door open and followed her seething girlfriend up the stairs. When Tori stood in front of the apartment door tapping her foot, Genevieve held that one open too.
“Is Bethany home?” Tori hissed when Genevieve had locked the door behind them.
“I don’t know. Bethie? Bethany, are you home?” When no answer was forthcoming, Genevieve shrugged and proceeded into her bedroom. Tori slammed the door behind them.
“How could you have done this to us? I don’t understand.” Tori resumed pacing, her heels striking against the hardwood in an unnerving rhythm.
“What do you mean, to us? I wrote a letter advocating for hate crimes legislation, not about our relationship.”
“You might as well have bought a billboard, Genevieve. How could you have published in a newspaper that you’re a lesbian? You could have written the whole thing without adding that little tidbit.” Tori was gesticulating frantically, as though her motions could turn back the clock and undo Genevieve’s decision to out herself.
“Oh, that’s what’s bothering you? Who cares? I didn’t say anything about you, or us. I simply said that my position on hate crimes is inspired in part by my position as a lesbian. And I said that probably everyone knows gay people, they just don’t know they know. You know?”
She poked Tori in the ribs in an attempt to lighten the mood, but Tori shrugged off her touch. “I believe it’s important for me to be who I am publicly—for smart, pretty, successful women to be upfront about this. Visibility is important. It may be the key to political power for gays and lesbians in this country.”
“If you think you’re going to be successful after this, you’re horribly naïve. No one will hire you.”
“I disagree. I think this will actually help me get a job. Well, only at some firms, obviously.”
“You’ve just sabotaged your career,” Tori insisted.
“No, I don’t think so. Gay rights is the next big legal frontier. And I’m going to be a part of that fight. Hell, maybe I’ll lead the fight!”
“Genevieve, I can’t. I can’t do this…this…whatever it is we’ve been doing. I can’t do this with you anymore. I’m sorry, but I want a career and I can’t afford to be associated with this. With you.” She moved toward the door, but Genevieve stopped her with a shaking hand.
“Are you serious? You’re…you’re leaving me because of this?”
Tori turned, and Genevieve was flooded with relief as their eyes met. Tori’s held such love for her, such depth of feeling. But the moment faded almost instantly, and those eyes turned cold again.
“Good luck, Genevieve Fornier. You’ll need it.” And Victoria Willoughby walked out of her life.
Genevieve could only stand in the hallway between her bedroom and the apartment door, paralyzed with shock.
She had just summoned the energy to move when the door reopened. She spun back toward it with such joy that it took her a beat to realize it was Bethany standing before her. Her heart sank even lower when it occurred to her that her roommate might be just as homophobic as her now ex-girlfriend. On top of everything else, she might need to find a new place to live.
“My, Genevieve, you look awful,” Bethany said as she took off her coat.
A small cry escaped Genevieve’s lips before she could choke it back, and Bethany rushed to her side. “Oh, sweetheart, what happened? Is this about your article in the paper?” She wrapped surprisingly strong arms around Genevieve and led her to the couch as sobs began to wrack her body.
“You know,” she drawled, “I think you’re very brave, and I’m proud to be your friend. And if anyone gives you a hard time, you just tell ‘em your roommate owns guns and knows how to use ‘em.”
Genevieve cried harder at that, and let herself be drawn down to the couch. It was so absurd that her girlfriend had reacted to her letter by walking out on their relationship, while her roommate was offering full-throated support.
Bethany held her while she cried, stroking her hair and handing her tissues at regular intervals. Around dinnertime she brought over a blanket, tea, and soup, and when Genevieve said she didn’t have the strength to make it to her room, Bethany brought her a pillow and tucked her in on the couch.
Genevieve awoke the next morning with a renewed sense of determination. She wouldn’t live in the closet and she refused to let her sexual orientation negatively impact her career. She vowed to continue promoting hate crimes legislation during her last few months at Harvard Law, and she swore to herself that she would devote her legal talents to protecting gay rights.
But above all, she was determined not to let Victoria Willoughby’s harsh words change her mind.
* * *
Twenty years later, Genevieve shaved her legs and thought how ridiculous it was that she could know someone for such a short time and yet be so profoundly altered by her. She had only known Tori for two years in law school, and they’d spent the first getting to know one another and trying to deny their mutual attraction. They lived apart for a summer. They spent fall semester making love and losing themselves in each other. And they spent the spring estranged.
It was funny, too, how some pains could still hurt so much, years later.
She turned the shower off, grabbed a towel, and buried her face in it.
Chapter Five
Two hours later, clad in an understated black Kenneth Cole dress, Genevieve walked into Obelisk and felt almost every set of eyes in the room turn to her. She knew her appearance held no hint of her morning’s agonizing trip down memory lane. She scanned the room, noticing the hostess in Armani pants, an older woman with a head scarf doing a crossword puzzle, a group of men in suits clearly on a business lunch, and finally two perfectly styled blonde bouffants bobbing up and down as Tara and Bethany gestured to her. Sonya glanced up from the wine list to smile at her as she approached.
Genevieve pulled out the vacant seat between Bethany and the radiologist, a very sexy young woman in a hot pink dress who lasciviously dragged her eyes up and down Genevieve’s body. “Hi,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Roxie. I think you’re my date for lunch.” The handshake lasted much longer than it needed to.
“Genevieve. Nice to meet you. No one mentioned you were my date.”
Roxie licked her lips. “I think I just did.”
It was going to be a long lunch.
They ordered two bottles of chardonnay and a bruschetta appetizer before settling into conversation—which, Genevieve quickly learned, meant discussing every detail of her time in front of the justices.
“Did you have to answer questions about states’ rights?” Sonya asked.
“Who did they interrupt more, you or that worm arguing against marriage equality?” Tara wanted to know.
“I forgot to ask yesterday, is Jaworski as ugly in person as he is in photographs? Because that wart on his forehead should have its ow
n zip code.” That was Bethany.
Genevieve fielded the questions with charm and humor, though she was a little distracted by the woman seated next to her, who didn’t say a word but continued to mentally undress her. It wasn’t that she was thrown by a woman wanting her. She just wasn’t used to one who made zero effort to hide it—and whose breasts were falling out of her dress in the process.
The waiter arrived to take their order and Bethany turned to Genevieve. “You’re not going to work today, right? Because we all took the day off, and we’ve got the whole thing figured out.”
Genevieve opened her mouth to ask what their afternoon would hold, but before she could speak, Roxie leaned into her, peering at her eyes.
“Are your eyes really that blue, or do you wear colored contacts?”
In the pause that ensued, Genevieve struggled to come up with a response that was polite, could in no way be mistaken for flirtation, and would successfully shut down further inquiries about her body. She was still formulating her reply when the three other women at the table snickered.
“Roxie, dear, she had them dyed.” Sonya was trying to keep a straight face. “It’s the latest in plastic surgery. Didn’t you know?”
Still staring, Roxie said, “Wow, that’s so cool!”
“Ask her what else she’s had surgically altered,” Tara encouraged. Genevieve could feel her face turn red. Not that anyone was looking at her face anymore.
“You too? Awesome,” Roxie said.
Genevieve coughed. “Excuse me, I have to use the restroom. Bethie, join me.” She wasn’t quite sure what was going on here, but she planned to weasel it out of her former roommate.
Bethany just laughed. “I don’t have to go.”
Roxie leaned closer, and Genevieve could smell the Herbal Essences on her hair. “I’ll keep you company, beautiful.”
Barring Complications Page 15
