“Oh for crying out loud, Alistair, I didn’t need that visual.”
“Psst, Victoria, I have a secret for you.” He leaned in and whispered, “I sleep with my wife.”
She giggled like a little schoolgirl, and then burst out laughing—at herself, at Alistair, at the whole world. She hadn’t laughed in so long, and now she couldn’t seem to stop.
Alistair kissed her on the cheek and moved toward the door. “Can’t wait to hear your report at the end of the summer about who you’ve slept with!”
He said the last four words with the door open, and from her arm chair, Victoria could see her secretary’s head whip around, his eyes wide. Alistair pointed at him and said, “Gotcha!”
“Please ignore Alistair,” Victoria said to her secretary. “They’ve been messing with his medication and he’s unbalanced.”
“Give my love to England when you go!” Alistair called over his shoulder as he shut the door.
Victoria finished the last sip of her champagne and poured herself another glass from the bottle Alistair had thoughtfully left for her. She turned on the flat screen TV mounted on the wall in between her bookcases and leaned back to watch the coverage. She thought about calling Wallace to join her, but decided she wanted this moment to herself. She would send him flowers and a gift certificate to his favorite restaurant to show her appreciation for all the work he had done on the case.
Her DVR at home was set to NBC and CNN, so she started with MSNBC. The first face she saw was Rachel Maddow, who was telling a story from her days as one of only two openly gay students at Stanford.
“So, I’m surrounded by these other activists who are all protesting a conference at the Hoover Institute. It was a pretty lame protest, and the signs we held were terrible. But just as these men in their business suits exited Hoover Tower, I had this moment of brilliance. I don’t usually brag about myself, but this moment was uniquely great. I grabbed a sign and turned it over and wrote, ‘Thank you for wearing a tie in support of gay rights.’ And those guys were falling over themselves to get their ties off! We’ve come a long way, America.”
The screen changed from a close-up of Maddow to the crowd dancing outside the Supreme Court. Victoria sipped her champagne, and savored the moment.
Chapter Two
Genevieve
After leaving the courtroom, Genevieve invited Nic and her NCLR staff, Jamie and his HRC people, and all the employees at HER to a monster celebration. Her office rented out the back half of some hot new restaurant she’d never heard of—apparently, she “really needed to get to know her new city,” according to her secretary. On her way to the restaurant, Genevieve called Bethany to invite her along. After she’d relayed the address, Bethany suggestively asked if Jamie was going to be there and Genevieve hung up.
They ate and drank and moved around tables to create a dance floor. Nic and Jamie had even danced in relative proximity to each other without trading insults, which Genevieve considered the second most monumental victory of the week. A few weeks earlier, NCLR had turned out in droves for the Race for Equality. At the finish line, Jamie had personally thanked Nicolette Ford in his speech and then invited her to introduce the headliners: their four clients in the gay marriage case. He and Nic had shaken hands, and they seemed to have found a way past their differences.
Two hours into the celebration, Genevieve was at the bar, nursing her second martini when Bethany approached her. “Get on your dancing shoes, G-spot—let’s boogie!”
“Hey, shorty, I think it’s more like, ‘Take off your heels and let’s boogie!’”
“No, I like my dancing partner to be much, much taller than me. And since Jamie Chance is actually pretty short, you’ll have to do. Put your drink down, you tall drink of water you, and sweep me off my feet!”
Genevieve took her hand and led them through the crowd to the dance floor. As Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” blasted from the speakers, she startled Bethany by twirling her quickly, then pulling her close so they were touching along the length of their bodies.
“Can you follow, Bethie?” she teased in her most sultry voice. She started salsa steps while keeping a strong hand on her friend’s lower back, holding her close.
Bethany looked at her with surprise, but managed to follow well enough. Their hips gyrated together to Shakira’s rhythm, and her dancing improved even more when Genevieve slid two fingers under her chin and said, “Look at me, baby.” Their eyes locked, and for a moment their bodies and breath moved in perfect unison.
Then Bethany burst out laughing. “I think the temperature of every lesbian in the room just rose. Even I’m feeling hot! Jesus, Genevieve, no wonder you were able to seduce Victoria Willoughby!”
Genevieve blinked. She stared at Bethany, wondering if she had heard right.
“G-string, sweetie, you’ve stopped dancing.”
Move, she told her feet, and after a moment they complied. She tried to regain the grace she had when they started. “You knew?”
“Well, of course I did. I lived with you, for Pete’s sake. Did you think I was an idiot?”
“I thought we were discreet.”
“Not from where I slept. Anyway, I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you knew where I lived.”
The song faded and the strains of Madonna’s “Vogue” filled the room.
“Can we return to my drink now?” Genevieve asked. Bethany nodded her agreement.
They settled in at the bar, relieved to have their drinks back in her hand. Half of Genevieve’s was already on its way to her stomach.
“So?” Bethany asked.
“So, what?”
“So, do you want to talk about it?”
She hesitated. Years of not talking about it had turned secrecy into a habit she wasn’t sure she could break.
“Yes, actually, let’s talk about it.” Before she could begin, however, Nic Ford appeared at her side.
“Congratulations, again, Genevieve.”
“And to you, too, Nic. We couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Well, I’m not sure about that. But thanks for saying it nonetheless.”
Before Genevieve could get out an introduction between Nic and Bethany, Nic had cleared her throat twice and blurted out, “Genevieve, do you want to dance?”
She caught the smirk on Bethany’s lips and knew she’d get a lecture later about bringing it on herself with her salsa dancing display.
“Sure, Nic, let’s dance.”
The speakers were pumping out “Single Ladies,” and Genevieve was surprised to find that Nic was a good dancer. She expressed a creativity and ease with her body that was masked by her usual stoic demeanor and butch gait. They made each other laugh with antics and melodrama and, for one verse, a hilarious literal enactment of the lyrics. By the end, Jamie had joined them and the entire room was trying to recreate the moves from the video. Genevieve’s secretary, who had taken the role of DJ, built on that momentum by spinning up “Cupid Shuffle” and everyone not already dancing joined those on the parquet floor for a big group dance. It felt like the best wedding reception Genevieve had ever been to, which, she supposed, was appropriate given the occasion.
Two hours later the party had wound down, and Bethany and Jamie were the only ones left. Genevieve was almost as exhausted physically as she was emotionally. They were loitering by the bar when the waiter approached them with the inevitable black leather envelope.
“I’ll get this, Genevieve,” Jamie offered.
“Why, because HRC has more money? I think we drank more.”
“Why don’t you just send the tab to Nic?” Bethany suggested. Her drawl was slower than usual. “She doesn’t seem to appreciate you,” she added to Jamie.
Jamie looked startled. “Um. What?”
Genevieve cut in. “So, Jamie, big plans to get married now? Gay married?” she said pointedly, glaring at Bethany.
“Well, we live in Virginia. It’s still not legal there.”
Genevieve shrugged a little. “We tried. Sorry we didn’t win the jackpot.”
“What will HRC do next, Jamie?” Bethany asked. She moved closer to him and Genevieve had to choke back a laugh when he stepped away, looking concerned.
“Um. We’ll continue our state-by-state strategy.”
Bethany slid next to him again, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye while directing his answer to Genevieve. “We’ve got campaigns going to legalize gay marriage in four states this summer, before the November elections.” He took another step away from Bethany, only to find himself backed against the bar. A little of his drink sloshed onto his shirt.
“Which states?” Genevieve asked.
Now unable to move his body away from Bethany’s advances, Jamie pulled his head back as far as he could. It gave him a couple of extra chins, and Genevieve burst out laughing.
“Hey, Bethie, give him a break.”
Bethany turned around. “What’d I do?” she asked innocently.
While Genevieve rolled her eyes, Jamie scooted out of harm’s way and reached for a napkin. He patted his shirt dry.
Genevieve smacked Bethany on the arm. “You said you were going to behave.”
“Did I? I don’t remember that.”
Jamie had regained his composure, mostly. “Um, Genevieve, does HER want to partner with us on any of these campaigns?”
“Thanks for the invite, Jamie, but our next priority is trans rights. We’re working on anti-discrimination measures in three states right now, and that’s going to demand all of our labor and resources.”
“Do you have to do any fancy footwork about devoting an organization called Her Equal Rights to trans issues?” Bethany asked.
“Not at all. One of HER’s fundamental principles is that gender matters culturally and in terms of personal identity, but shouldn’t matter legally. Working to protect trans rights is a logical extension of that notion.”
“Indeed. I’d be interested in hearing about your strategies and progress,” Jamie said.
“Maybe we can set up a monthly meeting. Our organizations should coordinate more than we do.”
“Great! I’ll have my office call yours. And Nic’s too.”
With a small smile, Genevieve opened the envelope and stopped in surprise. The paper inside was a receipt rather than a bill.
“Let’s split it,” Jamie offered.
“There’s no need. It’s all taken care of.”
He looked at her curiously, but she shook her head.
“It wasn’t me. Bethie?”
“Why would I buy drinks for your employees?”
“Must have been Nic then,” Genevieve said.
“I always knew she was a good egg,” Jamie said with no irony whatsoever. He gave Genevieve a hug and hurried away before Bethany could wrap her arms, and perhaps her legs, around him.
“And another one gets away,” Genevieve joked, leaning against the bar.
“Who cares? Look at that fine piece of ass.” Bethany watched his departure and licked her lips.
“Still gay, Bethie. He’s still gay.”
She shrugged. “I’m just a woman who appreciates beauty when I see it. C’mon, G, let’s go to your place and watch movies for the rest of the night. I haven’t seen Steel Magnolias yet this year.”
Genevieve linked arms with her as they exited the restaurant. “A tearjerker? I thought we could watch something a bit more celebratory.”
“Steel Magnolias is a profound celebration of life in all its complexities.”
“Please tell me you’re joking. Please tell me this is some bizarre Southern form of torture that you would never inflict on such a dear friend.”
In response, Bethany tossed her trench coat over Genevieve’s head. As Genevieve struggled to push it off, she heard Bethany chuckle. “It’s like two pigs fighting under a blanket.”
Genevieve groaned. “Can’t we just watch Mean Girls instead?”
* * *
“Lovely to see you again, Ms. Fornier,” said the young woman at the reception desk of the Harbour Club. She returned Genevieve’s key card after swiping it. “Just so you know, we’ll be renovating the upstairs café soon. It will be closed starting on Monday.”
“Oh, well, thanks for the update.”
So this would be the last Friday she would have access to the café for a while. She headed toward the locker room feeling something akin to disappointment, even though the café’s food was mediocre and its aesthetic a bit dated. As she walked past the personal locker room assigned to Nicolette Ford, she once again gave silent thanks to her for the fitness center recommendation. She had never seen Nic at the Harbour Club apart from that first day, when she had made the necessary introductions for Genevieve to be admitted to the exclusive facility.
Arriving at the door bearing her name, Genevieve reflected once again that it was a stroke of astounding luck that the room next to Victoria Willoughby’s would be vacant right when she joined the club.
She undressed, tossed her clothes onto the vanity counter, and pulled on her swimsuit. On the way out she gave herself a once-over in the mirror. The suit looked good on her. Her eyes looked more relaxed than she’d ever seen them in this particular mirror. Perhaps the lack of tension in her shoulders might mean she would swim faster.
Not that she had any complaints about a slow, steady pace with a willing partner.
She rifled through her bag for her goggles and cap, and by the time she found them she heard sounds from the room next door. Suddenly it seemed very important that she brush her teeth before opening the door. Once her breath was minty fresh, she again prepared to leave, but then an irresistible urge to floss overtook her and she reached for the Glide. At last satisfied with her oral hygiene, she reached for the door handle, hesitated, inhaled deeply, and pulled open the door. She and Victoria emerged at the same moment.
They looked at each other. Genevieve took a moment to get over the usual shock of how good Tori looked, her broad shoulders and narrow waist perfectly accented by her suit. Her red hair was pulled back into her swimming bun, drawing attention to her high cheekbones and emphasizing the green in her eyes.
Those eyes were peaceful and she had an unguarded look of happiness that Genevieve wasn’t sure she’d ever seen, even in their most intimate moments all those years ago.
Genevieve smiled. It felt so good, so much like comfort and contentment to share a long look with the woman in front of her. Tori blinked and returned the gentle grin, and Genevieve lost track of time as she stood there, just looking. Remembering. Relishing being able to openly look with no fear or hesitation or shame.
Finally Tori nodded, and they turned together and walked toward the pool.
They had gone swimming together once in law school. Twenty years later it seemed to Genevieve that they took a little longer to warm up, and maybe they swam a little slower. But apart from those subtle differences, in some ways it felt as though no time had passed.
They swam their usual Friday routine: twenty laps, water break, twenty laps, another water break, ten more laps. Their strokes were steady, though maybe a little faster than usual. There seemed to be a current of electricity in the water.
When they finished, Genevieve climbed out of the pool first, toweling off and drinking some more water. She watched with clear admiration as Tori stretched her shoulders, back, and legs in the pool, and when she was done, Genevieve extended her hand and pulled her out.
It was the first time they had touched—really touched—in over twenty years. It took them a little time to let go.
As she followed Tori from the pool to their individual locker rooms, she struggled to keep her eyes from wandering downward. Maybe it was a Pavlovian response: Tori triggered her twenty-something hormones out of habit.
After showering, Genevieve opened her gym bag, which she’d carefully packed the night before. She’d had a long internal debate between professional and casual which ended on casually sophisticated. She tuc
ked her jeans into brown riding boots and buttoned up a loose white shirt. After drying her hair, she pulled it into a low ponytail, then threw on a scarf to complete her outfit.
When she emerged into the hallway, Tori was leaning against her dressing room door, waiting for her.
As per usual on Friday evenings, the café was deserted. Genevieve could feel Tori’s hesitation as soon as they walked through the doors. She strode over to the table Tori typically chose, sat down across from her usual seat, and opened a menu, partly as a bit of a power play and partly so she had something to look at while Tori vacillated.
The menu let her down, at least on the second front. She had the damn thing memorized at this point, and was rereading the description of her favorite salad when Tori slid into the opposite chair. She tried to keep her exhale of relief below an audible level, but was fairly certain she failed.
Before an awkward silence could descend on them, the waiter arrived to take their orders.
“Vegetarian omelet and a glass of Chardonnay,” Tori said. She was as much a creature of habit as ever, Genevieve mused as the waiter turned his attention toward her.
“I’ll have the kale salad and the Zinfandel.”
He departed and they were left with no distractions, no shields. The legal barrier between them had been lifted, but they had spent the last hour with each other in complete silence. Suddenly Genevieve was terrified that they didn’t actually have anything to say to each other. Unbidden, she heard in her head the last cruel words that Victoria had spoken to her at Harvard Law School, and she was paralyzed.
Chapter Three
Victoria
This will not be awkward, Victoria vowed. So what if her body still wanted Genevieve’s? Did it matter if they couldn’t find a way to talk to one another?
She was certain of one safe topic of conversation. “Congratulations on winning the case, Genevieve.”
Barring Complications Page 19
