Painted Moon

by Karin Kallmaker

  His Adam's apple bobbed. "Let's not fight about it."

  Jackie sighed. "I'm not leaving you for another woman, you know. We're leaving each other. And you're the one with someone else."

  He stared stonily at her for a moment then said, "So it's goodbye, then."

  Her own goodbye lodged in her throat, making it ache.

  She pulled off the freeway in Palo Alto, put the top down and took the long way home. The crimson and bronze sunset from the Pacifica cliffs promised a cloud-free! tomorrow.

  The light in the cabin was bad. It was cold. The trips to town for supplies took too long. Washing brushes left the unpleasant odor of thinner hanging in the air, particularly in the loft. The stoves were tiring to maintain. She'd tried making biscuits and burned them to the point of having to throw out the pans.

  She had even written a letter to her parents, not saying much beyond the depth of the snow and that she was getting by on her own. Her parents had made their disapproval of Sharla plain. Unlike Sharla's parents, however, they hadn't told her she was dead to them—they just couldn't see Leah unless she reformed. When she had written to say Sharla had died, her mother had responded with a beautifully copied text of a Brethren hymn accompanied by a gentle note of regret. She had even said that she understood Leah's grief. Since then, corresponding with her parents had been easier. They made no demands of each other. She was able, after all the years of frost, to wish them a joyous Christmas.

  Her own Christmas was deadly dull and she missed the trappings of a big meal and someone to share it. On the days she was honest with herself, she admitted that it was Jackie she missed. For the first time since Sharla's death, Leah felt cramped in the cabin. Cramped and cranky. Even the clank of Butch's collar was getting on her nerves.

  Wearily, she dropped a load of wood next to the kitchen stove. Her listless gaze fell on the phone. Completely on impulse, she looked up Maureen's phone number and dialed without giving herself the chance to think twice.

  "The house is fine," Maureen told her soothingly. "The housekeeping service has been very conscientious. No intruders. I've left the garden alone like you said, but really, it needs some help before spring. Valentina knows a great gardener." Maureen's lulling tone was sensuous. It was completely unconscious on Maureen's part, and more than one woman had delighted in just listening to her, Leah included.

  "I think I'll be coming back pretty soon," Leah said. "I'll do it... it'll be good therapy."

  "You're probably right. It'll be good to see you. Val and I have been worried."

  Tm better. I still feel — like half a person. But... well, anyway. I'm coming back. Coming home again."

  "I can't wait to see you, Leah. Call me the moment you get in. I can't wait." Maureen sighed breathily into the phone. She did it with such innocent sincerity that it made Leah smile. Two years away from her friends — what had kept her away from the people she and Sharla had loved?

  The prospect of going back to her lonely afternoon made Leah search for another topic. "How did the AIDS Dance-a-thon do this year?"

  'I didn't go, but I heard it was a fun party," Maureen began. She summarized the income and expense, and dropped names and news in the categories of Brought in Big Bucks, New People on the Scene, Important Lesbians, the Intimate Friends of Important Lesbians, and Prima Donnas. Maureen was a volunteer in nearly 100% of the hours she didn't spend at her middle-management job in a large insurance company. She had at her fingertips the names of hundreds of people raising money for AIDS, breast cancer, domestic violence, experimental theater and lesbian and gay arts projects. Leah had gotten to know Maureen after Maureen had convinced her to be a jurist for a lesbian art show. "So if you're coming home I'll expect you to be there, okay?"

  'Tm sorry, where again?"

  "You haven't been listening to me at all, have you? I'm talking about the AIDS Foundation dinner."

  "Is that all?" Leah smiled to herself.

  "Of course not. I'll hit you up for about one event a month. Get you into circulation again."

  "I'm not sure I want to circulate," Leah said. Going to dinners and dances alone would be a trial. She was also uncertain about how Constance fit into her future life.

  Maureen tsk-ed. "Of course you do. I'll make sure you meet people who are fun to talk to. More than talk you'll have to arrange for yourself." Maureen's tone took on a definitely suggestive edge.

  Leah rolled her eyes at the kitchen stove. "I'm definitely not in circulation for that. Not yet."

  "Can't be a nun forever."

  "From what I hear, some nuns have plenty of sex. Now, who told me that?" Her voice was bland.

  Maureen had a wicked laugh. "Well, I suppose I do know something about nuns and sex. Having experienced Valentina's rapture repeatedly over the last six years."

  When Leah hung up nearly an hour later Maureen had pinned her down for several events and extracted a firm promise to come to dinner so that Valentina could practice her latest recipes.

  She snapped her fingers and Butch left her spot near the stove to nuzzle at Leah's knees. "Want to go home, girl?"

  Butch's ears pricked up and her wagging tail made emphatic yesses in the air.

  “Leah? Me too."

  9

  I-900-HOT-BUTT.

  Jackie dropped the newspaper as though her fingers were burned. Her cheeks flamed and she picked it up again, carefully arranging the pages so she didn't see the explicit photograph of a male posterior and the phone number again.

  She read a review of a Theater Rhino production, then decided she needed another cafe latte. She made her way across the crowded patio to the coffee bar and placed her order. So this was Sunday afternoon in Noe Valley.

  Her studio was in a less fashionable part of the Glen Park district, but it was easy by transit to get to Noe Valley — the part of the city that overflowed with lesbians. She knew that from reading the weekly alternative press. The men went to the bars in the Castro and the women went to coffeehouses in Noe Valley. At least that's what the advertisements implied. Now that she was experiencing the Noe Valley coffeehouse scene firsthand Jackie wasn't sure what she had thought she'd find.

  Armed with her latte, she reclaimed her chair and went back to reading the gay weekly paper she'd picked up at the door. The calendar section detailed many holiday events for gays and lesbians, including a Messiah sing-along with the lesbian and gay choruses of San Francisco, which sounded like fun. There was a women-only dance on Christmas Eve to stave off the holiday blues, and a businesswomen's group was having dinner and a White Elephant gift exchange on Christmas Day at a posh restaurant.

  The gay and lesbian community seemed determined to provide everyone with something to do over the holidays. Since Jackie wasn't going to be able to spend them with her folks, she appreciated the variety. After a moment she realized that there were probably many people whose families wouldn't welcome them if they tried to go home. She felt a tremor — what if her parents reacted like so many?

  She forced the apprehension away. No, she had always stood firm on the foundation of their love for her. It was concrete with rebar and earthquake-proof. Perhaps her certainty in their unswerving support was making this change in her life easy. Well, easier.

  She spent too much time thinking about it to make it easy.

  The news stories went into detail about items such as child custody cases, local legislation and updates on what fundamentalists were doing in other states to restrict gay civil rights. She found the last type of story the scariest news she'd read in a long time. Didn't these people have better things to do with their time than worry about whom their neighbor was sleeping with?

  She turned the page again and was presented with a view of another rear end — good God, she was seeing more of this model than she'd ever seen of Parker. The headline on a personal ad caught her eye: Hung Hunk Hankers for Head.

  She grimaced. It wasn't that she was a prude — well, maybe she was. It's just that she didn't think that a few
breathless moments with every nerve in her body yearning for another woman's touch meant her entire life was about sex. What about... affection? Trust? The real L-word— Love?

  Her mother had always said that when the critics are out to get you, you have to put on a brave front. Maybe that's what these ads were all about. They made an interesting contrast — on the right was freewheeling sex. On the left a photo of a fundamentalist throwing acid at gay rights demonstrators.

  Her common sense spoke up. You know, Jackie, you have a new job and lots of stress and strain right now. There's no point in trying to figure this all out in a day. Why not go home and make a reservation for the Christmas dinner? And just concentrate on work for a while?

  She frowned again. The reason she was sitting in this coffeehouse was because she didn't know how to spend weekends in her studio. It didn't feel like a home and she now realized that part of the emptiness she had felt with Parker had been the lack of a shared home. Her roots weren't in her apartment and she felt adrift.

  To fill time, she'd spent all of yesterday composing a two-line note to include with Leah's gloves. That at least was done. Today the apartment had seemed cold and dark. It was too soon to feel lonely, but if she gave it half a chance, she would.

  She wasn't ready for Noe Valley. At that idea she smiled. She certainly wasn't ready for the Castro. At 27, she was definitely a member of the "older crowd" in the coffeehouse and one of a few with monotone hair. Her black jeans were okay, but the Shetland sweater did not exactly fit in. She wondered if the local AIA chapter had a gay/lesbian bulletin board on Internet. She smiled again. Now that was a good idea.

  "I didn't know you lived around here!"

  Jackie glanced up in surprise and found Mary Nguyen giving her a lopsided smile. After exclaiming over the coincidence of running into Mary, she said, 'I thought you lived in the Sunset."

  "I do, but I had a date. Come join us," she said with sincerity. Mary nodded toward a slender, mid-twenties Filipino woman who nodded back at Jackie and sent a look that said Jackie shouldn't even consider joining them. Jackie smiled to herself. San Francisco had a lot more lesbians in it than she'd ever had cause to notice.

  "I don't think so, but thanks. I've just finished my second cup and should head for home." Jackie stood up.

  "Can I ask a stupid question, then?"

  "Okay." Jackie had a feeling she knew what was coming.

  "Where's what's-his-name?"

  Jackie chewed on her lower lip, then realized she didn't feel self-conscious about it. "There is no what's-his-name anymore. And I don't think there'll be any more what's-his-names."

  Mary's eyebrows shot up. "Well! I... I did wonder, you know. When we first met. But then I wonder about most women." She laughed engagingly.

  "I haven't exactly crossed the Rubicon yet, but I'm definitely on the bridge," Jackie said. "Ever since I broke up with Parker I feel okay. Happy."

  Mary stared at her intently. She grinned suddenly. "Let's have dinner again, okay?"

  Jackie found herself grinning back, feeling a little lightheaded. "Yes, I'd like that. Um, well. Let's try again with the work-masks off. Do you still have my number at NDA?"

  "Definitely. Well, I'll call you. Tomorrow."

  Jackie picked up her newspaper and said goodbye, then wandered to the bus stop. Uncertain tomorrows stretched ahead of her, but she could meet them with her eyes wide open and only an occasional blink.

  Butch nosed the door open as soon as Leah unlocked it. With a bark, she scampered around the ground floor of the house, sniffing the corners and reacquainting herself with the furniture. She leapt up the stairs to the second floor, then barreled back down them to whine at the back door, wanting to go out.

  Leah laughed and let her out, then followed Butch into the backyard. She grimaced. Maureen had been right. The yard was overgrown and unkempt, which Sharla would have hated.

  Still, a bright row of purple and white crocuses lined the walk and daffodil bulbs were beginning to break the soil behind them. Unthinkable in the mountains.

  Butch was busily marking the two trees. She would probably wander down the fence and get in the stickers and then come back wanting to be brushed. Leah sighed with something like contentment. Sharla was gone, but some things—like the doggie love of getting dirty — didn't change.

  She went back inside and was glad that it was clean and presentable. She didn't want to spend any time on housekeeping, not with ideas bottled up for the last two years aching to seep out through her fingertips. A new start on New Year's Day.

  She hauled in her suitcases and boxes, then unloaded the canvases. One by one she carried them around the back to the studio, feeling immediately comfortable in its orderly confines. She noticed that she had several new neighbors — the neighborhood had become more prosperous-looking since she'd left it two years ago for the seclusion of the cabin. She wrinkled her nose. Suburbia had caught up with her.

  Hayward was not a fashionable address, but it was one of the least costly Bay Area places to have a view and enough room for privacy. Her house perched on the edge of a deep canyon filled with pines and eucalyptus. In the summer the air was fresh and clean and fog was something she watched blow into Berkeley, far to the north. In the distance San Francisco sparkled in the bright sunlight, but it couldn't be called a city view — hence the reduced price. As she took note of the BMWs and Volvos that now dotted the driveways she realized that other people had figured it out, too.

  The riding school was still in business. Its gates were painted fresh white as always and stood open at the dead end of the block. She paused for a moment and listened. Children were playing somewhere nearby. A horse was being exercised, its hooves making a steady clop-clop rhythm on packed earth. The wisteria rustled in the breeze. A bee buzzed lazily not far from her ear.

  What was missing was the sound of Sharla busy in the kitchen or on the phone, pestering gallery owners about forwarding commission payments, booking exhibits, making reservations. She had been a tireless agent and had had good business sense. She had insisted on buying a house as an investment, then gone about having the perfect artist's studio built in the large backyard.

  Leah knew why she had dreaded coming back here — this was home. Where she would miss Sharla the most. A place that screamed for two people to fill it. In all her life she had never lived alone until the two years at the cabin. But the cabin was small and it had been easy to fill up the space.

  Butch barked at her from the door of the studio. Lucky for Leah, she seemed to recall she wasn't allowed inside. "You're not half as dirty as I thought you'd be," Leah told her. She barked again and disappeared back down the hillside. Well, Butch seemed happy to be home.

  She was just unloading the last canvas when a peach and white '57 T-bird cruised to a smooth halt at the curb. Constance's pride and joy, after her art collection.

  "You're a welcome sight," Leah called to her, and she meant it.

  Constance was sparkling with good humor. She opened the tiny trunk and produced a picnic basket. "I knew you wouldn't have had time to stock up on any food, so I stopped for your favorite things."

  "I brought a few things," Leah said. "Food for Butch, mostly. She gets really cantankerous when she's hungry."

  "As if you don't!" With a laugh, Constance disappeared into the house. Leah took the last canvas around the back. She heard Constance in the kitchen and discovered her unloading burgers, fries and onion rings from the hamper, along with sodas.

  Leah laughed. "You are a doll, did you know that? I haven't had fast food in ages!"

  "Just trying to make myself indispensable." Constance helped herself to some fries.

  They settled at the Shaker-style dining room table, Constance saying, 'I have some fabulous news."

  "Do tell." Leah unwrapped a burger and bit into it. Delicious. She could feel her arteries going into shock even as she swallowed the first bite.

  "Well, good news for you, bad news for Henry Eli. He broke his arm s
kiing and won't be able to get his show finished for the March opening. So you can have the three weeks, if you want them. You're practically finished with the Painted Moon series, aren't you?"

  Leah gulped. "Yeah... almost. It came together so quickly. I have more metal work to do, but that won't take long. I'm anxious to get on with the next project."

  "When do I get to see it? You've been so secretive."

  "Not yet. It's too different. I don't feel confident about it yet."

  "Okay. I'm dying of curiosity, though."

  Leah ate another onion ring. "Thanks for bringing this. Thanks... for being here."

  "Any time." Constance put a hand on Leah's arm. "I'm here for you in any way you'd like."

  Leah had a hard time swallowing.

  "It wasn't so bad, was it, the time we spent at the cabin?"

  "It was fabulous."

  Constance sat back and stared at Leah gloomily. "Then why do you look like you're going to cry?"

  "I don't feel—" Leah blinked rapidly. "I love you as a dear friend. But I don't think I'll ever come to love you the way you want me to. I'd be cheating you."

  "What if I don't mind?"

  "You would."

  Constance glanced down, hiding a smile. "I always forget you're you. That religious upbringing. Dearest, I'm not offering you lifetime commitment. I can't give you what she gave you. I'm here to be your friend, to share your bed if you like. I would certainly like it." She gave a half-laugh, part chagrin, part amusement. "I am not a one-woman woman, but I am very choosey about affairs. I've been having an affair with one woman for over fifteen years. We see each other annually."

  Leah didn't know what to think. Trying to make a joke of it, she said, "So I would be part of the harem?"

  Constance laughed again, but with exasperation. "You're not getting the point. No ties, no rules, no exclusiveness. I don't mean to make it sound like there are hundreds of women. Just a few — like you — women who ... turn me on. I don't know how else to say it."