She sipped her coffee and calmed herself. Tried to, at least. She focused on the prosaic and picked up her torn shirt. Behind her, the hair dryer stopped.
"I'm sorry about that," Jackie said, crossing the room. "A waste of good cloth."
Leah returned Jackie's smile. "Don't be."
"I couldn't get the buttons undone and I couldn't wait," Jackie said shyly. She sat down on the bed. "I could tell you didn't have a bra on ... I'm... I've never been in such a hurry before."
“.I don't really-need a bra. Not like you."
A delicate pink swelled up Jackie's throat. "You're... there's enough to enjoy." She slowly slid her hands under the blanket and cupped Leah's breasts. Leah heard Jackie's breath catch, perhaps surprised to find her so erect.
"I love the way your body feels," Jackie said. The color in her face deepened. "And the way it makes my body feel."
Leah shivered and hot coffee splashed onto the bed. She swore mildly and got up, dabbing at the spill with the blanket.
"It's okay, it was only a little," Jackie said. "Put the cup down."
Leah looked at Jackie, knowing if she let go of the coffee cup all her resolutions would go up in a puff of passion.
"Put it down," Jackie said again, her voice more forceful. "Come back to bed." She rose to her knees and untied her robe, letting it slide down her body. Her breasts were points of carnation pink through the thick curls of her unbraided hair. She shrugged her hair impatiently over her shoulders and Leah swayed, recalling how Jackie's breasts tasted when they were as aroused as they had been last night.
Desperate desire was crowding out good sense. She told herself that Jackie needed her freedom or else she'd always wonder about what she hadn't explored. Jackie was just getting her out of her system, to be able to go on to women who could offer her an undamaged heart and a fresh spirit. And what about Sharla, she asked herself. She needed to think it through. Certainly she could put aside her own throbbing needs — good God, had she ever wanted Sharla like this? Yes, but at the moment it didn't seem possible. She flushed and her composure wavered in a tangle of guilt and passion.
"Is something wrong?" Jackie pulled her robe back to her shoulders and stepped off the bed. She put her arms around Leah's waist. "What are you thinking about?"
"Sharla." She stopped. She could have bitten her tongue off.
Jackie went pale and stood stock still for a moment, then she wrapped the robe tightly around her. "I'm sorry. I forgot." She went into the kitchen and poured herself coffee, her manner brisk.
Leah stood there miserably for a moment. You fool, she cursed herself. You, stupid, stupid fool.
"I'm afraid I'll need to borrow a T-shirt," Leah said before her throat completely seized up. Why had she brought Sharla into it? How could she have been so cruel again — what had she expected Jackie to do? Everything had turned into a mushy, ugly gray. All the contrasts were gone. No light, no shadow. She clenched her eyes for a moment and saw nothing.
When she opened them, Jackie was the picture of composure: She had found Leah a shirt and when she handed it to her, a lock of soft, curling hair trailed over Leah's wrist. It was heavy, like sewing silks. Leah wanted to feel that hair sweeping over her body, to wallow in the sensuous delight of it in her hands. She envisioned herself on her back, Jackie's hair spread over her thighs, Jackie's mouth on her.
Jackie didn't say anything, which was just as well. Leah couldn't have spoken except to beg Jackie to take her to bed. But it was too late for begging and she was too proud. She had begged God to bring Sharla back. God hadn't answered. Sharla had stayed dead. Sharla...
She gathered her clothes and shakily dressed in the bathroom. Jackie said she had called a taxi for Leah. Leah took the dismissal in stride. She'd asked for it. She promised to call.
Later, she was amazed that her legs supported her down the three flights of stairs.
By kneeling on the dresser, Jackie could see down into the street. She waited until the cab came and went, then she sank down onto the ball of linens and bedspread and let the tears leak out of her tightly closed eyes.
She found herself crying like she had never cried before. She tried to chide herself out of it, reminding herself that her life wasn't over, there were plenty of women who weren't recovering from the death of their only love. She wanted to hate Sharla for having ruined Leah for anyone else, but Sharla wasn't the one who had hurt her — Leah had.
Maybe it was one of those things — a quick flare of passion that was over for both of them. But that was a lie, on her part at least. She had ached to go to bed with Leah again, offered and been refused. Had she been too bold? She had never done that before, tried to initiate sex. Parker had always been the one to start things, as had her first boyfriend. But she had wanted to let Leah know how she felt. That she wanted to spend the day with Leah, talk, go out, begin a life together. For a brief hour she had been invincible, secure in the power of her love of women, of this woman.
Her body was hot from her crying and memories of how bold she had been by telling Leah what she wanted to do last night. She'd believed she could sense what Leah wanted. She flushed as she recalled teasing Leah, making her wait, but Leah had responded. Jackie couldn't have mistaken the signs. She'd had so few lovers — had Leah found her inexpert? Worse yet, was she just a novelty? A way to forget about Sharla?
She knew the last thoughts were unworthy of Leah, but then again, what did she know? And who was that woman at the gallery? Someone else Leah was using to get over Sharla?
So she had let Leah know she still wanted her. And Leah hadn't wanted her back. Fine. She sat up and wiped her face. She would bear it somehow. There were plenty of other women in San Francisco. She'd been around the goddamned world. It would take more than Leah Beck to set her back.
She bathed her face and threw herself into making the bed with fresh sheets, doing laundry, walking to the grocery store, getting some bagels and cream cheese from the deli and a pint of extra dark chocolate ice cream. She told herself all through the day that she was doing fine and would manage without Leah in her life. Her mental cheerleader worked overtime.
At home again, she looked at the events calendar. There was a Motown dance put on by the career women's group the Saturday after next. She had some stiff deadlines and demanding drawings to complete at work so a dance to look forward to would keep her going. And maybe she'd meet a woman to make her forget about Leah Beck, and maybe she'd go home with her.
Leah picked up her car from in front of Constance's house, knowing she should go in and apologize for leaving Connie to find her own way home last night. But speech was beyond her. Driving was almost more than she could manage.
At home she felt the echoes of the last time she had been in this kind of pain. Butch whined for food, and she automatically dished some out. Then she went into the bedroom, seized the bedspread, dragged it after her into the walk-in closet, turned off the light and shut the door. She crawled into the corner, wrapped herself in the blanket, and turned her face from the tiny crack of light framing the closet door.
She squeezed her eyes closed until there was no color. Just blackness to swamp her in misery. She was beyond tears, but not beyond pain. An image seared across her eyelids — Sharla, unconscious, slipping under the water. Orange stunned her mind's eye — the life jacket bobbed up, empty. She cried out and heard her voice disappear into the clothes over her head.
She was losing Sharla again. Waves of guilt wracked her lungs, mired her in a brackish green wasteland. She was in love with Jackie. She was certain. She loved Sharla — had loved Sharla.
Was it really in the past tense? Was that what was causing her such agony now? She had loved Sharla. Her mind posed unanswerable questions. If she had met Jackie while Sharla was alive, would she have loved her? If Sharla came back from the dead, who would she choose?
You don't have to choose, she told herself. You have loving Sharla to keep forever. All the memories, the passion, the laughter. Waking
to each day with such joy. But now it seemed as if she had to lose a little of Sharla to love Jackie without reservation.
Blue and silver danced in her mind's eye and her aching shoulder muscles relaxed. She concentrated on breathing deeply for a few minutes.
More at peace, she smiled in the darkness and drew a mental picture of Jackie as she had been that morning, the sheet draped around her back.
Her back tensed as Jackie's face went gray. The intriguing face turned away as she drew back at the mention of Sharla. She had hurt Jackie deeply. Even if Jackie didn't return her love with the same depth, they had shared an incredible night together. She wanted to take back the words, but it was over. She was sure that Jackie was done with her forever.
Leah had shown her how it could be between women and now Jackie was free to explore with her adventurous spirit and joyful openness to life. She had expected nothing from her encounter with Jackie and that was exactly what she had ended up with. So why wasn't she happy?
Blue and silver streaks mingled in the tears that finally came.
Jackie paid the admission fee and picked her way through the bar so she could be closer to the dance floor. "My Girl" was playing and the lights were dimmed as couples swayed together. When the song ended and the lights went up again, "Rockin' Robin" came on and Jackie looked around for anyone she knew.
"Hey, I hoped you would be here," someone said in her ear. She turned and grinned at Stella, a favorite dancing partner, who seized her hand and pulled her onto the floor. Stella was tall, round, large and a good leader, especially for a swing beat. Jackie threw herself into enjoying the music and the dancing — she could forget about, Leah.
"Go, girl," Stella called, handing Jackie in and out of two turns, a you go, I Go then into a sugar push. When the music ended they hugged and applauded. The D.J. put on "ABC" and Stella twirled her into a different swing step.
Several songs later Stella pushed her off the floor and led the way to the quietest corner of the club. Her lover, Bonnie, was talking to a woman Jackie had met once before. Stella dropped a breathless kiss on Bonnie's forehead and said, "Room for me?"
Bonnie pulled Stella onto the arm of her wheelchair and smiled a welcome at Jackie. "You're good for her — she never gets this much exercise."
Jackie fanned herself. "And vice versa." She nodded hello to Ina.
Ina returned the hello with a mischievous grin. "Can I get you a beer? Or would you like to dance?" She inclined her blond brush-cut toward the dance floor.
"Yes to both," Jackie said promptly. Stella had told her, with heavy maternal overtones, that Ina was a fast worker. Maybe that was just what she needed. "Dance first?"
Ina followed her back to the dance floor where the D.J. had segued to "Surfin' U.S.A." Jackie showed Ina how to do the swim and backstroke. Ina nuzzled her ears when they slow danced to "Dock of the Bay." Jackie controlled the urge to squirm, all at once uncertain about her course of action. Maybe another woman wasn't the way to forget Leah. Not this soon.
To Jackie's relief, the D.J. declared a line dance and the floor cleared for the Electric Slide.
"How do you know this one?" Ina studied Jackie's steps.
"'Soul Train.” When I was a kid they were crazy for 'Soul Train' in Spain. You can do it, it's simple." Ina caught on quickly and when the song ended they left the floor with their arms around each other's waist.
The beer was cold and Jackie felt a little more bold. She munched popcorn while Ina flirted with her and then went back to the dance floor for a long, slow dance to "Me and Mrs. Jones."
Ina nuzzled her ears again and Jackie forced herself to relax. The kiss wasn't so bad—pleasant even — and Jackie again tried to persuade herself that she was doing the right thing. Damn you, Leah Beck, she thought.
They sat out a set and Jackie spent most of it talking to Bonnie who was a library of information about anything to do with lesbians in San Francisco. She knew all the books, all the plays, all the gossip, all the art. Ina joined in a couple of times, but said that politics and activism were not her forte, nor were books or theater. She liked to dance. Her gaze, flickering over Jackie's body, said there were other things she liked.
I won't have anything to talk to her about, Jackie thought. She and Leah hadn't had that much time for talk, but they hadn't found any topics they weren't both interested in. But tonight is just for sex, she told herself. To get Leah out of her system. Ina clearly didn't expect anything else.
Even as she talked with Bonnie, Jackie puzzled over what to do. Just because her sexuality had been turned inside out, did that mean her sexual mores had as well? She hadn't been interested in casual sex when she had been with men, so why should she be now? It was probably safe and her days of worrying about birth control were over. But probably safe wasn't good enough. And her self-image was the most precious thing she possessed. She was angry at Leah Beck, and Ina didn't have anything to do with it.
She sighed. Her self-image had undergone enough change. So even if her body was interested in going to bed with Ina — which it didn't seem to be — her mind was not. Unlike the situation with Leah, she could choose to be with Ina.
At the thought of Leah, her body prickled and she felt lightheaded. Still ready for Leah's touch, but no other. The hurt was there, too.
"Are you feeling okay?" Bonnie gently shook her arm.
Jackie started, then looked at Ina. As good an excuse as any, she thought. "No, not really. I suddenly feel very weak."
"I can drive you home," Ina offered.
Jackie stood up shakily, cursing herself. Just thinking about going to bed with Leah left her drained. It wasn't fair. "No, I'll be fine. I had a really long week at work and not much sleep. I suppose it's catching up with me." She smiled to allay Bonnie's obvious concern. "I'd better go now."
Ina looked resigned and she was already eyeing the dance floor for another partner. Jackie made her goodbyes and walked to her car. The snapping wind cleared her mind and even as she drove away she kicked herself. So much for being seductive and seducible.
Damn you, Leah Beck, and the snowstorm you rode in on.
13
At the edge of her hearing, Leah knew the phone was ringing again. She continued to ignore it. Every ounce of energy she had was directed at finishing the five canvases she was working on simultaneously.
Today was rubine red for depth and to give translucency to the creamy figure that would be painted over it. Her back was killing her but she remained bent over the first canvas, working laboriously with a wide tipped brush. Here would be a knee and the inner curve of thigh. The canvas immediately to the right already had the outline of the same shapely leg, but smaller. It was topped by round, voluptuous hips. Hips that looked as though they would move like a dancer's.
In the third canvas she used more red where eventually a breast would emerge, along with the arm, shoulder and stomach of the same woman. A woman she could paint a thousand times from memory now. A thick braid of hair dangled from the open curve of the body and there Leah intended to use braided blackened pewter tied with a ribbon of bronze.
In the fourth canvas, a long line dominated, taking shape as the swell of the same hips as before, the downward curve to the waist and a rising line of what would be ribs and the delicate curve of armpit leading to shoulder. Again the braid would figure prominently, coiling over the waist with the ribbon dangling and the braid itself loosened, suggesting a loss of composure and lack of restraint. This could easily be her favorite canvas — her favorite of what she would allow to be exhibited.
The fifth was hers and hers alone. Her heart was in every stroke. It would be all she ever had. Jackie's face, her eyes, her lips, slightly parted. "Jackie Saying Yes" was for Leah's comfort. The blue and gold of her eyes, the black lights in her hair, the sweet, pale pink of her lips.
The next day she worked in a bluish gray to outline the figures and a reddened gray to fill. She found that she had properly gauged the amount of rubine underneath, and
in the right places the skin color took on a richer tone. The flesh looked transparent, which should, she thought, tempt the viewer to concentrate and try to see through the paint to the real woman.
Day after day she continued with new shades, each layer building the figure and suggesting where the body was the warmest. She spent days on the backgrounds alone, painting white on white until she really thought she would touch cotton sheeting when the paint dried.
It took nearly a week for her to produce an acceptable braid with the pewter strips. She left the incoming messages on the answering machine and only when she was done, the braids anchored into the canvases and the canvases coated with the last sealers did she feel she could rest. Butch sat meaningfully by her empty dish when Leah went into the kitchen. The answering machine blinked frantically.
She treated them both to steak and added a half bottle of wine for herself. She replayed the messages and found that Valentina had called five times with lengthy pleas for Leah to call her back. A telemarketer wanted her to refinance her home. Constance's messages went from "I'm not really speaking to you, but you have to call me this minute" to "If you don't call me, I'll sue." Maureen had called once about a fundraiser and Jackie had not called at all. Well, Leah had promised she would call her. She wondered what Jackie was doing, who Jackie had met.
When her appetite was sated she treated Butch to a long, thorough brushing followed by a walk to the riding school and along one of the trails. Butch was panting happily when they got back to the house and ran barking to the woman who clambered out of the T-bird at the sight of them.
"Didn't you get my messages? Do you have any idea what happens next Sunday?" Constance's agitation was such that she was standing on tiptoe. "The photographer from the Chronicle Sunday magazine is taking pictures for the magazine spread and you haven't even begun the installation!"
Leah froze and stared at Constance. "Oh my God. I completely forgot. I'm so sorry—"
Painted Moon Page 13
