Barring Complications

by Blythe Rippon

  The warm breath in her ear made the skin on her back crawl. Rolling her eyes, but seeing no way out of the situation, she stood and walked toward the back of the restaurant. She just hoped the overeager young thing her friends had decided to foist upon her stayed put. A glance over her shoulder revealed Roxie trailing behind her, staring at her ass like it was lunch.

  The door to the ladies’ room was locked, indicating a single-occupancy restroom. Genevieve hoped that meant she would at least get a moment of privacy. As soon as the door opened, she moved to trade places with the woman exiting, only to have a giggling Roxie slip in before she could stop her. Her unwanted guest shut the door and locked them in.

  “Um, Roxie, I was hoping—”

  “I know, baby.” Roxie put a finger over Genevieve’s lips. “I was hoping too. You’re really hot.”

  Oh, Lord, Genevieve thought, what did I do to deserve this? Roxie’s hands had found her sides and were inching closer to her very real, very not silicon breasts.

  “We can’t. Not here.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem. I’ve done it in this bathroom loads of times. But never with a woman as hot as you.”

  Genevieve was debating her options when Roxie began kissing her neck. She hadn’t gotten laid in a while—since relocating to DC she’d submerged herself in the case. But a nooner in the bathroom of an upscale restaurant wasn’t her idea of a good time. Roxie wasn’t exactly her idea of a good time either, and it was clear that Bethany, Tara, and Sonya were playing some kind of joke on her.

  Roxie was sliding the straps of her dress down her shoulders when Genevieve stopped her.

  “Look, Roxie, you’re very sweet.” Roxie pouted, and she amended her statement. “You’re very sexy. But I don’t have sex in bathrooms.”

  Roxie crossed her arms, pushing her breasts even further out of her dress. “That’s not what your friends said.”

  “Oh? What exactly did they say about me?”

  “The lawyer said that the radiologist canceled, and if I wanted to meet the hottest lesbian in DC and show her a good time, I should come to lunch.”

  “I see. And you know the lawyer how?”

  “Oh, I worked a birthday party for one of her coworkers.”

  “Worked?” Genevieve dreaded the answer.

  “Oh, yeah, I strip,” she said nonchalantly.

  “And did the lawyer hire you to sleep with me?”

  Roxie looked offended. “I’m not a prostitute.”

  “Then why are you here?” Genevieve asked in confusion.

  “It’s hard to meet women in my line of work. She said I’d have a lot of fun with you.” She moved closer. “Don’t you want to have fun?”

  “How old are you, Roxie?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “Right. Well, I’m way too old for you, sweetheart.”

  She pouted again.

  “Tell you what,” Genevieve offered, “why don’t we go back out there and let the lawyer think we had crazy monkey sex in the bathroom of this upscale restaurant. That will be fun for me. And how about tomorrow I introduce you to some of the women who work for me, who are closer to your age—that will be fun for you. Win, win. Fun for all.”

  “Are they as hot as you?”

  “Um, sure. Definitely.”

  Roxie contemplated. “Will you at least buy me lunch? I can’t afford what I ordered.”

  “Absolutely. We can even take turns feeding each other.”

  “Okay!” Roxie was surprisingly amenable to the change of plans, and Genevieve guessed it had something to do with the glass of wine she had chugged earlier.

  They returned to the table, hand in hand. Genevieve held her breath the entire walk back, and by the time she reached her chair, her face was red and she was panting. She hadn’t needed to muss her hair; Roxie had done that for her. Sitting down with a stupid grin on her face, she let her voice slur slightly as she asked, “Did we miss anything?”

  It was hard not to break character when Bethany choked on a bite of bruschetta.

  For the remainder of the lunch, Genevieve and Roxie whispered, giggled, and took turns nibbling food from each other’s plate. Occasionally she stole a glance at their lunch companions, whose faces alternated between horror, amusement, and gross fascination.

  When the check had been paid and they were standing outside the restaurant, Roxie announced that she had to get to work. Genevieve drew out their goodbye.

  “I’ll miss you, baby. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? And we can do that thing I promised you.” She snaked her arm around the stripper’s waist and whispered into her ear, “Thanks for playing along. You’re very sweet.”

  Roxie pulled back and spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. “You’re fun. See you tomorrow!” She kissed Genevieve on the cheek, pinched her ass, and blew kisses to everyone else before she departed.

  Genevieve turned to her friends, a lovesick grin on her face. “Wow, guys, she’s amazing. And so young to be a radiologist!”

  They gaped at her until she couldn’t stand it anymore and burst out laughing. “What on earth were you thinking? Was there ever a radiologist?”

  Sonya had the decency to blush. “Yes, actually, and I think you might like her. But she got called into the hospital and couldn’t make it.”

  Genevieve turned to Bethany. “So, you improvised.”

  She shrugged. “Best I could do on short notice.”

  “Uh huh. How hard up do you think I am, anyway?”

  “Sweetie, you were checking out the hostess when you walked in, and she is decidedly unattractive.”

  “I was looking at her pants! They’re nice pants!” Genevieve protested. She was looking at her pants. Right?

  “I can’t believe you did it in the bathroom!” Bethany said with a bizarre mixture of repulsion and pride.

  “I did no such thing, thankyouverymuch. Now, can you finally tell me what we’re doing today?”

  Each woman pulled a flask out of her purse, and Bethany had two. Offering the extra to Genevieve, she said, “We’re getting drunk and going monument hopping!”

  Genevieve stared at her. “You do know it’s December, right? Isn’t it a little cold to spend the day outside?”

  Tara giggled. “That’s what the flask is for, sweet pea! Besides, we hired a driver, so if we get cold, we can just hang out in the limo for a while.”

  Genevieve couldn’t help but smile. “You people are such nerds. Your idea of a good way to play hooky is a tour of DC’s monuments?”

  “And Schnapps. Don’t forget the Schnapps,” Tara said. She and her sister clinked flasks before taking a drink.

  Sonya shrugged. “I’m along for the ride. But I can think of worse ways to spend the day. Dental surgery, for example.”

  “Okay, yes, this sounds better than dental surgery. So, where’s this driver and which monument are we hitting up first?”

  As Bethany and Tara walked toward the limo parked across the street, Sonya linked arms with her and announced, “Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial, here we come!”

  Chapter Six

  Three days after oral arguments, Genevieve wrapped up her workday with a conference call to Nic and Jamie. They needed to coordinate their interview schedule for the upcoming week. Genevieve thought—and she didn’t know if this was cynical or naively optimistic of her—that winning the public relations war over gay marriage might matter in the months between oral arguments and a final decision in the case. If Jamison was on the fence, or O’Neil, or anyone else for that matter, seeing support for gay marriage surge across the country might tip them to her side. So she, Jamie, and Nic would spend the next six months on an exhausting schedule of interviews and appearances.

  She had made an effort to schedule her interviews that week so that she would be back in DC by Friday afternoon. She could have pretended that it was about work-life balance and keeping her weekends free. But she knew better.

  She had run into Tori at the pool once. Once. And yet she ha
d convinced herself that if she showed up at the pool at the same time the following week, she would find Tori there. So, here she was, on her way into the Harbour Club a little before seven. She was nervous—more nervous, perhaps, than she had been earlier that week in front of the nine justices. It was really just the one justice who made her palms sweat and her stomach flutter.

  Certainly she was telegraphing to anyone paying attention that she didn’t have a date on Friday night. Or, maybe this was a date. Of sorts. After she waved her keycard at the sensor on the reception desk, she spotted Tori descending the stairs to the locker room.

  They changed and met outside their respective rooms. This time Tori wasn’t wearing a robe over her swimsuit, and Genevieve was surprised by how well she’d kept herself in shape. She wanted to take a moment and just look at her former girlfriend, but Tori was already walking toward the pool. As she watched, Genevieve’s face grew hot and her heart beat faster. Thank God she was going to work off some energy, because being this close to Tori in a swimsuit was making her feel like a law student again.

  They dropped into the water, nodded briefly at each other, and pushed off from the wall. It was immediately apparent that Tori was the faster swimmer. She would often reach the wall slightly ahead of Genevieve, and then take her time turning around. Genevieve wondered if she normally did flip turns, but was holding back to stay with her. It was an odd feeling. She had always been the superior athlete, introducing Tori to wall climbing, then running and hiking. She assumed that she had remained more diversely athletic, but Tori’s single-minded focus on swimming had given her the edge in this particular arena.

  They settled into a comfortable rhythm, and when she took breaths Genevieve was able to admire the way Tori glided through the water. Stroke after stroke, she wondered what they would say to each other if they could. She conjured scenarios where they reconnected by rehashing their past, and encounters where they acted as though no time had passed and simply focused on the future. She wondered if they would discuss cases and the law, or their families. Or all of it. Or none of it. Or if Tori would apologize and take back the words she had said.

  There was so much between them. Time. History. An open case before the court, and a pool of water. It would be so easy to just swim into Tori’s lane, grab her, and kiss some sense into her. Much easier than trying to talk to her.

  She’d probably get slapped for her trouble. Tori still wasn’t officially out. In fact, Genevieve thought bitterly, maybe being in such close proximity to a known lesbian was making her uncomfortable. After all, they were touching the same water. Maybe she should be happy that Tori hadn’t quit the Harbour Club when she found out that Genevieve had a membership there.

  She put her head down and increased her speed. There were times, and this was turning into one of them, when she was so angry about the way Tori had left her that she couldn’t stand it. She swam faster and faster until she hit the upper limit of her endurance, and when their fifty laps were done, she pulled herself out of the pool and walked to her private dressing room without looking at Tori. When she emerged again she was famished, but couldn’t bring herself to go upstairs to the café.

  As she walked out the front door of the Harbour Club, the cold December air hit her face like little daggers.

  * * *

  The following Friday evening, Genevieve once again found herself in a swimsuit in the Harbour Club. Tori was there when she came out of her dressing room, and her eyes were filled with sorrow. Genevieve stared for what felt like a long while. She wasn’t sure what had changed, but she felt better this week. Less angry. She could see the regret etched across Tori’s face and she wanted to reach out and smooth the worry from her forehead and cheeks. Instead, she did the only thing she was legally allowed to: she shrugged and headed toward the pool.

  Their laps were slower this time, and more in sync. Genevieve didn’t steal glances at the woman in the lane next to hers, focusing instead on the way the waves collided when their strokes were in unison. She envisioned the water they were sharing as molecules cascading over one another, attached by polarity. She blocked out everything else.

  Her post-swim shower was short, and she intentionally beat Tori to the café. She didn’t know if Tori had waited for her the previous Friday, but she wanted to spare her any doubt this week. Five minutes later, Tori entered and glanced around the restaurant. Her posture visibly relaxed when she saw Genevieve.

  They ate at tables as far apart as the restaurant would allow and never made direct eye contact. But Genevieve was acutely aware of Tori’s presence, movements, and gestures. They took their time eating. When they had paid their bills, they exited the gym together, walked to the parking garage, and got in their cars. Genevieve followed Tori through the garage gate and absentmindedly continued to drive behind her. Two blocks later a black hatchback got in between them, and she shook her head at herself.

  At the next light she turned, not really caring where her new route took her.

  Chapter Seven

  Genevieve recrossed her legs and leaned against the arm of the chair that ABC’s Madison affiliate station provided to guests. The tape on the wireless microphone was itchy, and its battery pack made her suit bulge in the back and pull a little in the front. She ignored it and smiled at Lana Brown, the anchor, as she waited for her next question.

  “Ms. Fornier, please explain to our viewers the different potential outcomes of this case.”

  “Okay, Ms. Brown, there are three options.” She nodded to one of the technicians, and he clicked some buttons on a laptop. Just behind the camera, she could see on a large screen what the broadcast looked like: a split-screen with a three-quarter length shot of her on the right and her visual aid on the left. She suppressed a frown. The image her office had sent was visually appealing, but she wished it were clearer. She would need to use some gestures, too, to help clarify her breakdown.

  She directed her first point to Lana. “First, we lose. The Court determines that the federal government is not legally obligated to recognize gay marriage. The government continues to deny benefits and, really, full citizenship to gay couples. My clients would remain married in Iowa, but that’s it.”

  She glanced at the technician again, watched him bring up another bullet point on the slide, and spoke straight to the camera. “The second option is we win, and we win big. The Court completely overthrows DOMA, forcing the federal government to recognize gay marriage. And, the Court rules that gay marriage is a fundamental, protected right, and requires every state in our country to begin issuing marriage licenses to gay couples immediately.”

  Lana interjected. “From your standpoint and that of your clients, that’s the preferred outcome, yes?”

  “Absolutely. From the standpoint of my clients and gay people all over the country, that’s not only the preferred outcome—it’s what is morally right. It’s the government performing its function to protect its citizens from discrimination.”

  She glanced at the tech again, but he was too busy looking at her legs to notice. She refrained from rolling her eyes and cleared her throat instead, prompting him to quickly advance to the next visual.

  Returning her gaze to Lana, she delivered her final point. “The third option is something in the middle. The court requires the federal government to recognize gay marriage licenses if a state issues them, but doesn’t go so far as to require states to issue them. Gay marriage would remain illegal in many states, but my client’s marriage would become legal federally. So, Alabama remains free to issue marriage licenses to gay couples, or deny them.”

  “I see. And would you consider that a victory?”

  “Yes, definitely. It would mean that my clients are federally married, which is what started this case in the first place. Additionally, we at HER, and HRC, and NCLR, well, we have our goals. Our dreams for a more equal country. But we’re also realists; we know these things take time. So, yes, federal recognition would be a huge victory. But Lana, can I ask y
ou a personal question?”

  Though Lana smiled amiably, Genevieve could see her unease when she said, “Sure.”

  “Are you married?” She had done her research and knew the answer already.

  “Yes, I am. Twelve years last month.”

  “Congratulations to you and your husband.” She turned to the audience and encouraged them all to clap for Lana’s marriage, smiling when they happily complied. “Do you remember being engaged?”

  “Well, it was a long time ago. But, sure, a little.”

  “What if someone had told you that you and your husband could get married. Definitely. Absolutely. In this hypothetical scenario, you’re guaranteed marriage at the end of the story. But no one is sure when. You just have to hang out and be engaged, until someone tells you the wait is over.”

  “I don’t like waiting.”

  “Neither do I, Lana. Neither do I. I was one of those kids who found my Christmas presents two weeks before Santa came, unwrapped them all, and then rewrapped them before my parents caught me.”

  Lana and the audience laughed. “I see your point. Now, Genevieve—can I call you Genevieve?—there’s been some speculation that the Court might decide unanimously in favor of gay marriage, especially in light of this 9–0 habeas decision about Guantanamo that just came down.”

  Genevieve’s smile was genuine. “Justice Willoughby wrote an excellent opinion. It was a bold move to include such strong language, and still get the backing of all eight other justices. It’s definitely historic. A game-changer, really—I’m eager to see what the other two branches of government do with the detainees now.”

  “Do you think the Court could issue a similar unanimous opinion, legalizing gay marriage everywhere?”

  “I guess we’ll have to see. Obviously, the country is moving in that direction. I certainly wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of history, but I can’t speak for the Justice Jamison, for example, or Justice O’Neil.”