by Ann McMan
She knew Grace pretty well.
“Warner,” she’d demand. “Get over here. I want you to meet some people.”
So, she did. Countless people. A slew of names without faces, since most of them were wearing masks or sporting so much cheap makeup it would be impossible to pick them out of a police lineup.
Maybe that was the point. Rizzo’s guest lists tended to be rather eclectic.
Later on, when the live music started, Grace seized the opportunity to sneak off the sundeck and meander down toward the water, where a flotilla of long boats was tied up in the small marina and sea lions lazed about on the piers. The sun was setting, and the air rolling in across the bay was growing a lot colder. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stay out here for very long. Her cheesy toga was too lightweight to offer much protection from the night air.
It really was beautiful. She could understand why Rizzo loved it here. Maybe she needed to make a change—get the hell out of Vermont and start over someplace new? Why not? There was nothing holding her there. Not now. Especially not her career. She liked her teaching job well enough. But colleges like St. Albans were a dime a dozen—self-important bastions of the liberal arts that offered upper-middle class white kids ivy-covered halls, small classes, and boutique majors—all for an annual tuition bill that would dwarf the sticker price on any new Lexus.
Change? Change could be a good thing. Why not move on and try to reinvent herself? She was still young enough to make a fresh start. She was . . .
Wasn’t she?
“I thought that was you.”
Grace was so startled by the voice coming from just behind her that she nearly dropped her glass of wine. It sloshed all over her hand and splattered across the front of her toga.
“Shit!” She shook her hand off to try and disperse the red liquid.
“Oh, god, I’m sorry.” The voice was closer now.
Grace turned around to see that it was coming from . . . Bonnie Parker?
At least, she thought it was Bonnie Parker. The toy tommy gun, the tweed suit, and the black beret were pretty big clues.
She looked lethal. And she looked hot as hell. In fact, she looked a lot like . . . Abbie.
“No way,” Grace said, looking her up and down. “Is that really you?”
Abbie smiled. “I think so. Small world, isn’t it?”
“You know Rizzo?” Grace was stunned.
Abbie nodded. “We met in grad school at Chicago, about a hundred years ago. But we’ve always stayed in touch. I wouldn’t miss a big event in her life like this one—not for the world.”
“I think I’m in shock.”
“I know what you mean. I saw you about thirty minutes ago, shortly after I arrived, and I’ve been trying to make my way over to you to say hello. But by the time I finally broke free from some other college pals, you had disappeared. I came outside to see the view, and saw you down here.” She gestured back toward the cook shack. “Frankly, I was also trying to escape the music.”
Strains of “Now That I Found You” drifted toward them.
Grace struggled to avoid seeing the irony. “Not a big fan of bluegrass?” she asked, with a smile.
Abbie shrugged. “I can tolerate the instrumental parts, but the vocals make my teeth hurt.”
Grace stared at her for a moment, then shook her head. “I just can’t believe we’re both standing here at the same damn party. What are the odds?”
“I don’t know.” Abbie looked smug. “I think I told you that the law of averages would catch up with me sooner or later.”
“I thought you were talking about wanting your luck to change?”
Abbie smiled at her. “That’s exactly what I was talking about.”
“I’m not trying to be dense, but how on earth does this qualify?”
“Do you always underestimate yourself?”
Grace was completely flustered. She had no idea how to respond, so she didn’t make any response. She just stood there. Stupidly.
Abbie gestured toward the front of her toga. “I’m so sorry I startled you, now you’ve got red wine stains all over the front of your costume.”
Grace looked down at it. “That’s okay. If anyone asks, I’ll just tell them I’m Julius Caesar.”
Abbie laughed. “Beware the Ides of March?”
Grace nodded. “Maybe my luck will change, too?”
“Maybe it already has.”
They stared at each other again.
“I’m not sure if . . . are you . . .” Grace didn’t know how to finish her sentence.
“Am I what?”
How was it possible for Abbie to be so damn calm? “Just exactly what kind of life changes are you talking about making?”
Abbie hefted the barrel of her tommy gun before resting it against her shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll embrace a life of crime.”
“That’s one way to blaze a trail.”
“Or maybe I’ll embrace something else.”
“Such as?”
Abbie shrugged.
“Losing your courage?” Grace asked.
“On the contrary,” Abbie replied. “I think I’m finding it.”
Grace could feel her pulse rate going haywire again.
“What are we really talking about, Abbie?”
“You’re a friend of Rizzo’s. You shouldn’t have to ask me that.”
“Rizzo isn’t gay.”
“No. But you are.”
Grace narrowed her eyes. “Does my toga zip on the wrong side or something?”
“Not that I can tell,” Abbie replied, looking her over.
“Then how in the hell would you know something like that about me?”
“Am I wrong?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Abbie smiled. “Maybe I asked.”
“You asked about me?”
Abbie nodded.
“Why?”
Abbie rolled her eyes.
“No. Come on . . . you said you were married.”
“I was married.”
Grace still didn’t get it. “And now?”
“Now, I’m not married.”
“But you’re curious?”
“Not exactly.”
“You’re not curious?”
“Well, curious about you, maybe. But not about this.”
Grace sighed. “I think I need another drink.”
Abbie smiled. “I can take care of that. Wait right here.”
Grace touched her on the arm. “Gimme the gun. I’ll cover you.”
Abbie laughed and handed it over to her. “I didn’t know this was hostile territory.”
“You can’t be too careful.”
Abbie met her eyes. “Believe me when I tell you that you can.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“No. This is about getting you some more wine.” Abbie laid a hand on Grace’s forearm. “And maybe a jacket. You’re freezing. Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
Grace watched her walk back toward the cook shack. She was wearing a knit sweater and a tight tweed skirt. She looked a lot more like Faye Dunaway than Bonnie Parker.
Not that anyone would complain about that. The woman was hot.
Holy shit. This is so not happening. The last thing I need right now is to become somebody’s goddamn science experiment.
Abbie reached the steps that led up to the sundeck and turned around and waved.
On the other hand, why the hell not? It’s not like we’ll ever run into each other again.
# # #
They spent the next hour sitting on a bench overlooking the water, watching the flicker of lights on the two bridges.
Grace learned a little bit more about Abbie. A very little bit. She lived in North Carolina, and had been married for six years before her husband died. They had no kids. For the last two years, she’d worked as the executive director of a nonprofit, philanthropic foundation. She liked the work, but felt that she was ready for something differe
nt.
Grace wondered if her desire for something different helped explain why she was spending the better part of the evening sitting on a bench in the cold and trading witticisms with a stranger.
It was clear to her by now that Abbie was flirting with her—testing the waters. Hell. There was enough electricity flying back and forth between them to light up one of those fucking bridges.
So, what was she going to do about it? It couldn’t go anyplace. That much was clear. They lived in different parts of the country, and for all practical purposes, she knew next to nothing about her.
But none of that mattered. That wasn’t what this was about. This was about something that Grace rarely did, and hadn’t done in more than ten years. This was about what Rizzo liked to call “an overnight rental,” or at least it could be, if she played her cards right and didn’t lose her nerve.
She shivered. The breeze off the water was like a blast from an open freezer door.
“You’re cold.” Abbie shifted closer to her on the bench. Grace didn’t mind.
“It’s my own fault for picking such a ridiculous costume. I should’ve gone with my first choice.”
“Which was?” Abbie asked.
Grace looked at her. “Scooby Doo.”
Abbie laughed.
“You find that amusing?”
She nodded. “It’s hard to imagine you dressed up like a giant dog.”
“I don’t see why. It would have had several advantages.”
“Like?”
Grace held up her hand and commenced ticking the advantages off on her fingers. “Well, first, there’s the fur coat.”
Abbie nodded. “I can see where that would have been beneficial.”
“Second, there’s the flea collar. Very useful when you’re traveling in warmer climates.”
Abbie looked dubious. “Okaaayyy.”
“Third, it would have allowed me to do things that I could never do dressed like this.”
Abbie looked intrigued . . . and suspicious. “Is that a fact?”
“Oh, yes. Absolutely.”
“What kinds of things, exactly?”
“Oh, you know . . . dog kinds of things.”
“Dog kinds of things?”
“Yeah.”
“And what might those be?”
Grace had no idea where her newfound bravado was coming from, but she decided to run with it. “Do you need me to show you?”
Abbie took a long, slow breath.
God, the woman was sexy as hell.
“I’ll probably live to regret this, but, yes. Show me.”
Grace took hold of Abbie’s face with both hands. Her skin felt soft and warm. With the small part of her brain that was thinking rationally, she wondered how it was possible for Abbie to be so damn warm when she was fighting to keep her own hands from shaking. As slowly as she could, she leaned forward until their faces were nearly touching. Abbie remained completely still and made no effort to pull away. Their breath mingled on the night air as Grace hovered there. Then, in a flash, she stuck out her tongue and licked the tip of Abbie’s nose. Just as quickly, she dropped her hands and sat back against the bench.
“That kind of thing,” she said.
Abbie looked incredulous. “Did you just lick me on the nose?”
Grace nodded.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Abbie said.
“Why not? You asked me to show you.”
Abbie shook her head. “All I can say is, thank god you didn’t get the Scooby Doo costume.”
“That bad, huh?”
“I’ll say.”
“I guess it was a lame joke.” Grace touched her on the arm. “I’m really sorry.”
Abbie looked at her. In the half-light, her eyes glowed like hot coals. “I’m not.” Her voice sounded husky.
Grace’s head was starting to spin. “I’m confused again. You’re not sorry?”
“Not at all. If you were dressed like a dog, I couldn’t do this.”
Before Grace knew what was happening, Abbie closed the distance between them and kissed her. Hard.
Grace had been kissed before, but never quite like this. There was something raw and uncontrolled in the way they came together. The kiss went on and on. Grace was practically in Abbie’s lap by the time they finally broke apart.
“Woof,” she said when she could find her voice.
Abbie laughed softly against her hair.
“As soon as I can manage to stand up, I want you to push me into the bay.”
Abbie drew back. “Why on earth would I do that?”
“To cool my ass off,” Grace said.
“I thought you were already cold?”
Grace shook her head. “Not anymore.”
Abbie pulled her closer. “Maybe I like having you hot.”
Okay. There was that pulse rate thing again. “I think we should talk about this.”
Abbie kissed across her forehead. “Really? Talking is what you want to do right now?”
Grace swallowed hard and forced herself to draw back. “Of course not. What I want is a whole lot more related to . . . nonverbal communication.”
Abbie smiled and reached for her again. “Me, too.”
Grace held up a hand. “Wait. I haven’t done this in a really long time.” She paused. “Well . . . I mean . . . I haven’t done this. Not in this way.”
Abbie looked confused. “I know I’ve been out of circulation for a while, but how many ways are there to do it?”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“All right. What did you mean?”
Grace took a deep breath. “How about I ask you a question instead?”
“Okay.” Abbie sat back and folded her arms.
“You’ve been with women before?”
Abbie thought about that. “Define ‘been with.’”
“You’re really going to make me work for this, aren’t you?”
Abbie gave her a shy smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be obtuse. This isn’t something I have much experience talking about.”
Grace nodded. “Well, here’s your opportunity to practice.”
“Funny you should say that. I thought that’s exactly what I was doing.”
Grace laughed. “Honey, if that’s what you call practice, then you’re a shoo-in for a reserved seat at the head of the class.”
Abbie smiled. “I’ve always been an overachiever.”
Grace smiled, too. “Lucky me.”
They stared at each other for a moment without speaking. Behind them, the band’s spirited rendition of Willie Nelson’s “I Gotta Get Drunk” finished with a flourish, and a wave of applause rolled out across the small marina. Grace heard the bandleader thank the audience. It seemed clear that the entertainment portion of the party was over. That meant that Rizzo would be making her rounds again. They probably didn’t have much more time to sit here, alone in the dark.
Fuck me, and my damn scruples for wasting it. Women like Abbie sure as shit didn’t come her way very often.
What the hell was she thinking? Women like Abbie never came her way.
She sighed and nodded toward the lighted patio behind them. “I think we just ran out of time.”
Abbie followed her gaze, then looked back at Grace. “Maybe not.”
Grace raised an eyebrow.
“Where are you staying?”
Something fluttered inside her chest. “The Fairmont in Ghir-ardelli Square.”
Abbie smiled. “Me, too.”
“I had a coupon,” Grace explained.
Abbie shook her head. “Are you walking?”
Grace nodded.
“Me, too.” She glanced at her watch. “Want to meet me out front in about thirty minutes?”
Grace nodded again.
“Are you okay?” Abbie touched her hand.
“I honestly don’t know. I feel like I’m sleepwalking.”
“Funny. I feel like I’m finally starting to wake up.”
> “What the hell are you two doing out here?” Rizzo’s voice cut through the darkness. “Get back up here. We’re getting ready to do the cake.”
Grace turned around to see their hostess leaning over the railing of the sundeck. She was framed by the backlight of a hundred Japanese lanterns. Her shape was unmistakable, and so was her air of authority.
“Save me a corner piece,” Grace called out to her.
“Fuck you. Come get it yourself.” Rizzo turned around and disappeared into the crowd.
Grace looked at Abbie and sighed. “She has such a way with words.”
Abbie agreed. “I know. It’s a useful skill for a poet.”
They shared a laugh, then stood up and slowly made their way back to the party. They reached the wooden steps to the sundeck, and Abbie linked her pinkie finger with Grace’s. For some reason, it felt like the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced.
She looked at Abbie. “Did you say thirty minutes?”
Abbie nodded and smiled.
“I’ll eat fast.”
Abbie gave her finger a short squeeze, and then released it when they reached the top step. They separated and rejoined the party.
# # #
Three-hundred-and-twenty-four bucks was the most she’d ever spent on a hotel room—especially one she never used.
Grace unlocked the door with her keycard and stepped inside. It was freezing. The AC was blasting. She forgot that she’d set it so low before she left for the party last night.
She leaned against the back of the big door and closed her eyes.
Good god. Did any of that really happen?
It was so not who she was.
But wasn’t that what they’d both talked about wanting to do? Change who they were?
Right. Who they were, but not how they lived. Today, they were each headed back to their real lives. Alone. Abbie was already on her way to the airport. Her flight for Charlotte was leaving in two hours.
They had made no promises, and no offers to stay in touch. Abbie never suggested it, and Grace didn’t have the courage to offer first. So, they both remained silent.
It was a missed opportunity. She knew it. One she’d probably keep on missing for the rest of her life.
She didn’t even know Abbie’s last name.
So now, she’d collect her shit and head back to Vermont with nothing more than a memory.
