Painted Moon

by Karin Kallmaker

  "Are you sure you're not sick?" Mary's eyes reflected sympathetic concern.

  All at once, Jackie registered Mary's short, short hair and thin braid, and the demure but still noticeable gold ear cuff. Stop it, she told herself. Lots of women in San Francisco look like that and they can't all be lesbians. She realized she hadn't answered Mary. "Maybe I am. I've been feeling very... strange lately."

  A new voice cut across their conversation. "Sorry to interrupt, gals." Mannings leaned into Jackie's cube. "Could you gather your drawings for the AH project and come with me?"

  Mystified, Jackie did as he'd asked and followed Mannings to the conference room.

  "I'm afraid they don't care for the designs we've shown them and they hinted they wanted something less flashy."

  Jackie let sarcasm creep into her voice. "So you thought of me."

  Mannings gave her his snake-oil smile. "I thought your designs very good but I couldn't very well gainsay Randall, now could I?"

  As Jackie straightened her jacket, she felt a familiar swelling of distaste for Mannings and L&B in general, tempered with the knowledge that she was feeling peevish because it had been her choice and hers alone to come here. At least she wasn't thinking about Leah. At least not much. She hadn't sent the gloves back yet because she didn't know what to put in the note. Thank you for turning my life upside down... thank you for making me want you...

  "This is Jackie Frakes, one of our associates," Randall announced after a nod of greeting in her direction. Jackie realized the general partner wasn't going to admit she wasn't yet licensed. "Jackie was tops in her class at Taliesin, a very exclusive architecture school. You have the designs we worked on, don't you Jackie?" He smiled benevolently at her.

  She did her best to hide her disbelief. The designs we worked on, she wanted to echo. She swallowed her disbelief and patiently set her drawings out on the table facing the row of client representatives and then unrolled the preliminary blueprints.

  A large, stately black woman immediately picked up one of the exterior sketches. "Yes, this is much more what I have in mind. The project blends in." She looked at Jackie appraisingly. "I'm B.J. Taylor, and your name again was?"

  Gratified, Jackie told her and then went into her cost estimates in some detail. She could tell Ms. Taylor and the others were pleased with the efforts she'd put into building out the interior with an eye to lower maintenance and upkeep costs in the long run. She could also feel that Randall was glad to have the clients delve into the details so thoroughly.

  The group got up to leave about forty-five minutes later. Speaking directly to Jackie, Ms. Taylor said, "I'm very impressed. Frankly, we've only seen work like this from one other firm. You've managed to make the inside dimensions unusual but completely functional. Just because the outside blends in doesn't mean the inside should be boring. I would say we'll be deciding between your concept and the one we saw earlier today." There were nods of agreement all around.

  Jackie thanked her and rose to her feet to shake hands.

  Mannings said, "I hope it's not too forward of me to ask who the other firm is?"

  "Neighborhood Design and Aesthetics."

  Jackie could tell Randall and Mannings were hiding grimaces of distaste. Obviously, neither thought Neighborhood Design was in L&B's league.

  Jackie sat in a daze while Randall escorted the clients to the main door and then returned. He was the picture of geniality.

  "I think once they see the depth of experience that L&B can offer NDA doesn't stand a chance." He jangled change in his pocket while Mannings made noises of agreement.

  Jackie found her voice and tried very hard to sound reasonable but firm, the way her father did when his patience was tried. "I'm very uncomfortable with the impression the client has. They're under the impression that I'm licensed."

  "As long as the drawings have my name on them there's no problem," Randall said. Jackie realized he saw nothing wrong with the arrangement. Was this business as usual, she wondered. "Of course they need some modification, which I'll do as I work with the client."

  "I want to be sure I'm clear about this arrangement," Jackie said slowly. Her voice was threatening to quaver. "At this point you're going to take my work and I won't be working with the client at all."

  "The client will expect to work with a partner," Mannings said. "And working with Randall himself will demonstrate that even though the project is small, we take it very seriously."

  Jackie gave him The Look. She knew that her work belonged to L&B and they could do what they liked with it. She could even live with losing credit for it. But not to be allowed to work on the project as it took shape — it would be like a chef never tasting her own food. "I would still like to keep my hand in. The client will never know I did the design on my own," she said. She had tried to sound calm, but her tone was belligerent.

  "You're in training. If you want credit for your time..." Randall's voice trailed away significantly.

  Jackie straightened her spine. So she was questioning all the other aspects of her life — sex, love, commitment, everything. But she knew her own value at her work. She wasn't great, but she was very good. Her self-confidence was something they couldn't take. "Then I should not care that I won't even get to work on it?"

  Randall said to Mannings, "I don't think that Taliesin does a good job of preparing students for the real world." He turned his back completely on her.

  Jackie swallowed. Her stomach knotted. "Excuse me, but I think I have the flu. I haven't been feeling like myself for the last few days." She turned on her heel and walked out, trying to look as dignified as her mother had when she'd walked out of an art exhibit she'd found distasteful. She stopped at her desk long enough to pick up her fanny pack, satchel and coat.

  In the elevator to the street she realized she was probably going to get fired, which would mean starting over with another architect. Mannings might not even sign her work-experience certificate.

  She shivered for most of the bus ride home. Somehow she had managed to appear lighthearted at her aunt's. The drive home had been a blur. She'd been feeling weepy all week and tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. Lacking tissues, she used her sleeve to wipe away the trickles. She pushed back the sleeves for a moment and studied the bruises Leah had left on her arms after she'd cried for Sharla. They were fading, but they were the only thing about the weekend that was.

  She stopped at the bakery on the corner and bought the largest, gooeyest cinnamon roll they had and then trudged up the three flights to her studio in the Victorian's attic. Its only good point was lack of next door neighbors. With the door locked behind her she allowed herself a self-indulgent cry.

  When the tears abated she washed her face, took some aspirin and ate the cinnamon roll. She felt better with the sugar buzzing in her system. A creamy cup of her favorite blend of Peet's decaf— vanilla roast — restored some of her spirits.

  When she had reached the stage of upbraiding herself for being a baby, the phone rang. She debated answering it. She decided she would — if it was Mannings she'd sound sniffling enough to convince him she really was sick.

  Her mother's voice poured over the line and Jackie instantly felt better. Then she felt alarmed. "Why are you calling? Is Dad okay?"

  "Yes, everything is fine, although you sound as if you have a cold. Is that why you're home? I called your office and they said you had left."

  "No, just recovering from a crying jag. So what's up?"

  "No, no, you first," her mother said. "Jackson, what's the matter? I knew I should call you today, I just knew it." The light voice sounded a good deal closer than the other side of the planet and it soothed Jackie's ragged nerves.

  "I had a fight with the general partner. I think I'm going to get fired." She filled her mother in with every detail and felt gratified by her mother's supportive and righteous indignation. She didn't want to tell her mother — not yet — about the other problem. Leah's voice whispering, It's like this bet
ween women...

  "Well, dear, it seems to me that the best way to avoid being fired is to find another job first."

  "Where would I start?" Jackie stretched out on the sofa bed.

  "How should I know? There's always the Yellow Pages."

  "Wait, I know! I'll start with the firm the client mentioned today. Neighborhood Design and Aesthetics. Someone there thinks like me."

  "A promising name for someone who won an award for her community neighborhood plan, remember?"

  "Yeah, thanks for reminding me I'm not a worthless slug." Jackie was smiling again.

  "Better now?"

  "Better. Thanks, Mom. Your intuition remains amazing."

  "All in a day's work, Jacks."

  "So why did you call?"

  "I'm going to be in Dallas in the first part of January. I don't suppose there's any way you could fly in over the weekend? I'll arrange for your ticket. It'll make up for not being able to see you at Christmas. I'm so sorry about that."

  "Don't beat yourself up about it. I understand Dad's commitments. But I'd love to see you in January, that would be great. It's about a three-hour flight from here, easy to do even if I don't have any time off. Of course, if I'm not working, I'll have all the time in the world." Something in her heart eased knowing she'd be able to see her mother face to face. She could talk to her about Leah.

  "Tell you what. You make your flight arrangements as soon as you know what you can do. Take my American Express number. Charge the ticket to that." Jackie wrote it down. I’ll call you next Thursday and get your itinerary."

  They talked for a few more minutes and Jackie felt enormously better after her mother had hung up. Her sinuses were almost normal again and her headache had faded away. She felt better than she had since the weekend — since Leah.

  She groaned and rolled over. Why did she go on remembering? She dreaded seeing Parker again. She was afraid that when he touched her she'd think of Leah. If not of Leah, then of women. She knew he wasn't the life partner she'd dreamed of finding. She was feeling sexual desires he'd never satisfy — that he'd never try to satisfy. You'll imagine my mouth on you and wonder what it would have felt like.

  She wondered, oh how she wondered. Like she'd never wondered before. How could she know she wanted something she'd never had? And it wasn't just wanting it, it was wanting to do it. Her head filled over and over again with visions of Leah's kitchen. This time it was Leah with her back against the counter, Leah with her legs opening...

  She covered her head with a pillow. Damn it, damn it, she thought. It would have been okay to realize she needed to break with Parker. That wouldn't have been nearly as hard as realizing she should reconsider her every assumption about passion, about sex, about what made her libido tick.

  She tried to shut her eyes against thinking about how Leah had made her body feel, but it didn't work. It had been an enormous surge of passion, like nothing she had felt before1 — the thrill of creating new designs, skiing a challenging run of fresh powder, helicopter flights. They all paled in comparison to the way Leah's fingers had felt taking her.

  She'd realized too late that she would have happily stayed with Leah. Forgotten about her job, her family. Stayed and made love. You'll imagine my mouth on you...

  When she could think past the promise of passion, she could feel the pull of comfort. It had felt right to be in the company of a woman. The ease was something she hadn't felt since graduate school. She'd shared her living quarters with Kelly Baines for all three years. Neither of them had dated much — school hadn't left much energy. They'd studied together, worked in Taliesin's communal kitchens together and had called each other best friend. Or had it been more than that? With neither of them knowing enough to reach across the small gap between their beds in the winter, their cots in the summer.

  Kelly and she had both taken apprenticeships in Boston but at different firms. Jackie had had another choice, but going to Boston with Kelly had been the only option she'd considered. When she started dating Parker, Kelly became distant. They'd never had a fight, but Kelly's simmering, unspoken resentment of Parker had pushed Jackie to agree to move in with him. When she'd met Kelly for coffee to tell her she was moving to California, Kelly hadn't seemed to care and nonetheless had seemed real pissed about it.

  She threw the pillow across the room and sat up. This endless revisioning of everything she'd done in her entire life wasn't getting her anywhere. Her headache was coming back. She seized the phone book and looked up the phone number for Neighborhood Design and Aesthetics. It was just after six o'clock, but she knew if it was anything like every other architect's office she'd worked in, there would still be people working. At least she would find out who the G.P. was and could send a resume properly addressed tomorrow.

  A woman answered the phone with a brisk tone. Jackie asked for the name of the G.P.

  "Angela Martine." The voice didn't quite snap, but Jackie knew whoever it was on the line had better things to do with her time than answer general inquiries.

  "Do you happen to know if she or another partner is looking for an architect in training?"

  "Are you looking for a placement? Because we just lost someone."

  "Yes, yes, I am. I'm currently with a firm, but I think I need to find another situation." Jackie stopped herself from spilling out the whole story. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be wasting your time."

  "Are you in your first or second year of credit?"

  "Second, if you would accept the training I've done so far. My degree's from Taliesin."

  There was a silence. Then the woman said, "Come and see me early tomorrow morning. Say seven-thirty?" She sounded as if she already regretted her impulse.

  "I'll be there." Jackie tried to keep from sounding eager, but she couldn't help it.

  "Who are you?"

  "Jackie Frakes. Who should I ask for?"

  "Me. Angela Martine."

  Jackie stammered her thanks as she ended the call. She eagerly spent an hour putting together her portfolio, which boosted her self-esteem a bit. She zipped it closed, then went for a brisk walk to tire herself out. She would be poised and self-assured and needed a better night's rest than she'd had all week.

  She did sleep, but only after she relived again the breathless moments with Leah in her kitchen. The way Leah had seemed to know how to touch her breasts. The way Leah's fingers had known...

  You'll imagine my mouth on you...

  Angela Martine was in her mid-fifties with rich, black hair that grayed at the temples, forming a severe frame for a hawk-like nose. Her no-nonsense voice carried a faint accent — Mexican, maybe, Jackie thought. Angela briskly directed Jackie into her office. She felt some of her self-assurance slipping away as she sat down across the cluttered desk from Angela and was met with a frank stare. Aztec, that was it. Angela's profile could have come right off an Aztec sculpture.

  "Before I spend any time looking at your portfolio, maybe you should tell me why you're looking for a change in jobs." Angela leaned back in her chair, her face unreadable.

  "Well, for reasons I won't bore you with, I made a mistake in accepting a position with Ledcor and Bidwell. I should have stayed at the firm Taliesin had placed me in — Ellis and Ellis out of Boston. My situation at L&B is that I recently did a set of drawings for a small project which the client has ended up preferring. The G.P.'s name is on it and he isn't going to let me do any further work on the project even though during the presentation I thought I developed a good rapport with the client. The client was left with the impression that I was licensed and would be their contact—false pretenses, in my opinion." Jackie couldn't tell if Angela was shocked by that or was wondering why Jackie had been upset. "I would have been able to swallow the situation and finish my training except I ... made another mistake in judgment." Jackie stopped for breath and Angela cut in.

  "You let them know that it upset you."

  Jackie nodded.

  "Well. You were absolutely right about making
a mistake in accepting training at L&B. We have four L&B refugees on staff already." She lifted one shoulder dismissively. "They're a big firm. If you play the game their way you'll be prominent in the field. They do a lot of work. We move in different circles."

  Jackie nodded again. "Anyway, it seemed that if I wanted to take back some control over my career, I should look for a firm that... suited my ideals more closely."

  "Why us?" Angela was dispassionate again, regarding Jackie with a black marble gaze.

  "The name of the firm intrigued me. When I called last night, I was going to get some information —"

  "To look us over —"

  "Basically. I don't want to leap before I look again."

  "Let me see your resumed" Angela held out an imperious hand.

  Jackie handed it over and then occupied herself by studying the project photographs on Angela's walls while she read. Her Taliesin-trained eyes liked what they saw — smaller, residential buildings. A lot of in-fill housing. Renovations of small apartment buildings and residential inns. NDA's projects appeared to range all over the greater Bay Area in a variety of neighborhoods. Jackie made a mental note of the locations of several of them so she could look up the specs.

  "How's Dr. Joe keeping up with life?"

  Jackie started, then smiled. "He's doing great." Her smile broadened as she recalled Taliesin West's oldest resident instructor and greatest story-teller. "He's simply amazing."

  There was a glimmer of an answering smile from Angela. "It's been about fifteen years since I've seen him. I was doing research on-site." Angela returned her attention to the resume. After a moment she extended her hand again. "Your portfolio."

  Jackie crossed her fingers as Angela leafed through the pages. The Boston firm had let her take copies of the work she'd contributed to, and in her humble opinion, there were some fine conceptual designs included. Her graduate projects had been considered quite good. The last page was a handwritten note from Dr. Joe himself, telling her one of her graduate designs had received an honorable mention from a Japanese design school awards program. Somehow L&B had made her feel ashamed of having gone to "impractical" Taliesin when in fact it was something she was very proud of.