"Who?"
"An old lover, Diane."
I suppose I must have looked a little stunned. Nara was old enough to be my mother, and I hadn't thought about there being older women who were lesbians. Then I felt really stupid.
"I've shocked you," she said. "I'm sorry, but I thought... well, let's just say I'm sorry. It's just that you do look a little bit like her when she was your age. It's your eyes, more than anything."
I felt so stupid that I was at a loss for words.
Perhaps I should be going," Nara finally said. She put down her coffee, looking disappointed.
"It's not you," I managed to say. "It's me. I don't know what I am anymore," I blurted out. "I mean ... I do know what I am. I don't want to be that way."
She gazed at me solemnly, then said, "Why ever not?"
I realized that if I told her I thought it was a sin, that I'd burn in hell, that my faith would condemn me, that it was contrary to nature, then I'd be saying all those things about her. Nara wasn't Catholic. She wouldn't understand that every Communion reinforced what I'd been taught. That every liturgy sang redemption for what I'd done with Renee if only I never repeated it. I didn't want her to think I was condemning her when I condemned myself.
But I found myself telling her about Renee. The shame and degradation she'd made me feel. Withholding sex until I agreed to do it her way. And then making me beg her to do it her way. What I wanted was nothing. What I needed was nothing. I was nothing to her and nothing to myself.
It wasn't easy to say some of it. At times I had to stop so I could gain my composure again. It was easier when she sat next to me and took my hand, and gently stroked it without saying anything. I felt her understanding and support, and it helped me finish the entire bitter tale.
When I paused to wipe away an errant tear, she said gently, "Faith, have you ever asked yourself what you would have felt if Renee had been a man who had treated you that way?"
I shook my head. "I... no. No, I haven't."
"Think about it. Was it how she treated you or that she was a woman that still upsets you so?"
"That's irrelevant. In addition to fornication, my sin was in lying with another woman."
"Forget the church for a moment." She said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world to do.
"I can't," I said, slowly. "I know there are hypocrisies, I know there are conflicting rules, I know how women are second-class citizens, I know the violence that's been done in Christ's name." I took a deep breath. "I know it all. And it doesn't change what my faith gives me."
"Your faith or the church? Are you sure they're the same?" Nara leaned forward to touch my knee. "Not all churches believe I'm an abomination, you know. There are many different Christian faiths."
I shook my head again. "I know you're trying to help."
"I wish I could give you peace," she said in a whisper. "I like you, Faith. I like you very much. If I'd had a daughter I'd have wanted her to be like you." She pulled me against her shoulder and I rested my head. "I'd have wanted her to know that sex should be an ecstasy and that how it works for you doesn't matter as much as the joy you experience and you give your partner."
I mumbled from her shoulder, "My mother told me that a wife submits to her husband's desires and in return he gives her children." I wanted to ask her how I reconciled what I knew myself to be with the lessons my mother and father, the nuns and priests had drummed into my head. They were truly irreconcilable differences.
Nara laughed in my ear. "I don't think your mother would approve of me."
"My mother doesn't approve of anyone." I sat up. "I should stop trying, but it's an ingrained habit."
"What you should probably do is talk to someone," Nara said. "I have a friend who might be able to help you think this through."
"Thanks, but —"
She went over to my desk. "I'm writing his name and number down right here. You only have to call it if you want to. I won't ask."
"Thanks," I managed.
"I've really got to go," she said. "Can you call a cab?"
We talked about inconsequential things until the cab came. I saw her down to the building door, and she gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Call me for lunch again. I'd really enjoy it," she said.
Before I went to bed, I looked at the note Nara had written, then slipped it into my desk. I knew that she had meant well, but I didn't need therapy, I needed absolution.
* * * * *
"Gallimaufry" James said from my office door.
"Hmmm." I tried to looked puzzled. "Let me move this jumble of stuff out of your way. What a hodgepodge my office is."
He glared as he sat down. "Is there a word you don't know?"
I grinned. "I've only done better when we ruled out scientific and medical terms, remember?"
He grunted and then looked around my office with a sigh.
"I've moved, you know. Left the nest."
"Really? Was it something I said?" He looked pleased.
"You know it was. I got my own place, and here's my new phone number." Suddenly, I wanted to tell him more, but after unburdening myself in front of Nara — who must have thought me distinctly odd — I wasn't ready to do a repeat.
He took the little card and then shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "I think I pulled a muscle." He pressed his hand to his side. "This whole part of my body is killing me."
"Maybe you should go to the doctor."
"Now who's giving advice?" He continued to knead his side with a wince. "I suppose I shall just have to get used to having aches and pains. Something you wouldn't understand."
"I'm only five years younger than you, you know."
He sighed. "I'm definitely middle-aged. It's the stage of life when you think you'll feel better tomorrow."
I persisted. "How long has it hurt?"
"A couple of weeks. A month, maybe. I don't know how I could have strained it."
"Carrying too many books, probably." I watched him for a moment. "We pay through the nose for our health insurance, so use it."
"Yes, mother," he snapped. "Oh, I suppose if it's not better by next week, I'll go. Satisfied?"
"Yes," I said primly. "Where's my Dilbert?"
He handed over his Tribune in return for my Times. "It's performance evaluation time for Dilbert."
"I remain very glad not to be working in corporate America."
"We wouldn't survive a week. They seem to want something called pro-duck-tivi-tee."
I frowned. "I'm stumped. I have no idea what that means."
He chortled in his nefarious way, then got up with another wince. "Maybe I'll go to the doctor this week."
"Maybe you should. Otherwise, people will think you're an algophile."
He left after giving me a particularly fine glare.
* * * * *
My mother called me at my office on Friday to tell me that Meg had come. She seemed truly happy and talked almost nonstop about the baby. I assured her I would come for Mass on Sunday and stay for supper afterward. I was relieved that she was ready to make peace.
In the last two days as I concentrated on my research of Eleanor's life in France, I hadn't thought about Sydney very much, to my heartfelt relief. Work would obviously be my cure, and I threw myself into researching events leading up to Eleanor's decision to leave for England.
Eleanor had had a safe, secure life. She was married to the most admired prince in Europe, and she was the most powerful woman in Christendom. Everyone admired her beauty and wit, and she was considered a shrewd businesswoman in dealing with her lands. King Louis was a monk at heart, and most biographers dwelled on the way Eleanor influenced him. More than one of Louis's advisors felt she had undue influence, ignoring the fact that the Aquitaine was still Eleanor's. That made Eleanor her husband's chiefest and wealthiest vassal, let alone any call she may have had on him because she was his wife. So I didn't see her influence as undue, not in the least.
In 1147, she insist
ed Louis take her on crusade with him. I was becoming attuned to the way she thought, and could hear her firmly stating that she was not going to sit idly at home counting linens and supervising harvests while the men went off to have their fun. Unfortunately, the result was disastrous. Most biographers put the blame squarely on Eleanor: She dallied in Spain, flirted with Sultans, and so on. Only a few include the information that Louis found travel an appallingly messy and expensive business, and fighting made him ill. When he wanted to call the Crusade off, Eleanor wanted to stay and help defend the castle of one of her uncles. Louis dragged her to Spain with him against her will, and a few weeks after their departure Eleanor's uncle was killed. Adding insult to injury, the king's advisors persuaded Louis to make Eleanor pay the debts they had accumulated on their journey.
Eleanor never forgave Louis. Though they would have another daughter within a year, she was already planning her divorce.
When it became clear that the twenty-seven-year-old Eleanor would win her divorce suit — the clerics of France being eager to get rid of a troublesome and sonless queen — the male nobility of Europe descended on her in a feeding frenzy. It may be that the clerics and Louis's advisors thought that they could wrest the Aquitaine from Eleanor in the divorce. They were not successful, and there was no shortage of men who wanted to be its master. And no doubt they thought they would be Eleanor's master, as well. A single woman again, during her journey home from Paris to Poitiers she eluded two would-be abductors who intended to force a marriage on her, by rape if necessary.
Courtiers of every type — Saracens, even — rode into the Aquitaine. Poets, musicians, and lettered men tried to win her. Men from age twelve to sixty pressed their suit. One of them was Henry Plantage-net.
What was it about Henry that made her choose him? The decision was all hers. He was barely eighteen when they married and not yet king of England — and even that wasn't assured. The crown his mother, Maud, had fought for might go to her son, but there was no guarantee. Henry's legacy was no more than potential when Eleanor agreed to the marriage.
After reading all the material I had, with more to come, I thought I had found my angle. Maybe she chose Henry because she couldn't change the world through Louis, nor do it by herself. She needed a man as strong and as ambitious as she was by her side. And Henry really wanted to change the world, not keep it as it was. For Henry, changing the world meant a minor French duke, himself, becoming duke of nearly half of France and then king of all of Britain. It would make him the chiefest prince in Europe, surpassing the hated Louis and his family (who had not supported Maud's claim to Britain) and rivaling the pope himself. If she could help Henry achieve his ambitions, she would be the queen of something she had helped build: the Angevin Empire.
Forget the paneled rooms and fine silks of France. Forget having all of Europe at her feet. She would experience the danger of securing a throne if Henry did succeed Stephen. She knew she would be vilified in France if she married Henry. Out of the wild times that would surely follow their marriage, she could create order. So she turned her back on her civilized Aquitaine and sailed for the wilds of England.
* * * * *
I was writing furiously and not sleeping much, but I still presented myself at my parents' in time to leave for Mass on Sunday. I was astonished that my mother kissed me; I hadn't seen her looking this happy in years.
"David is just the smartest little boy. Come look," she said.
My father gave me only passing notice, being engrossed in dangling a bear in front of the chubby toddler. Meg's greeting was exuberant, and even Michael had more smiles than grimaces. All in all, I felt like I'd walked onto the set of The Waltons, and I didn't have any speaking lines. I played with David a little, but having never had any maternal urges I let my mother supplant me after a few minutes.
In a flurry we all piled into the enormous Lincoln Town Car that was my father's pride and joy. We were always early because my father liked to arrive before the other ushers. I saw my mother to the family pew and then walked up the long aisles to admire the stained glass from the back of the cathedral. I always did it, and I badly needed something to feel unchanged to me.
St. Anthony's congregation numbered over three thousand, making it the third largest church in Chi-cagoland. Without exception the ten o'clock Sunday Mass was standing room only. Its size warranted a head usher, my father, who supervised fifteen other men who took turns as ushers.
Meg and my mother were gathering a steady flow of congratulations on David's winsome manners and Meg's return to Chicago. I looked my fill at the brilliant hues in the stained glass, then decided I'd wait in the foyer for a while. Meg and Mom were talking a language I didn't understand, and I was better off on the edge.
I looked over the bulletin board to pass the time. I wanted a television and a bicycle, and there was a chance someone would be selling one or the other. While I searched, a young man in a clerical collar came into the church by the street door, tacked a paper to the board, and went out the street door again, rather than back toward the sacristy. Not a St. Anthony's priest, obviously, since he was wearing jeans. All of this was odd enough to make me curious about what he posted.
It was a vivid pink flyer that read, "DIGNITY is about being cherished by our church as much as we cherish it. Gay men, lesbians, bisexuals and transsexuals, or any other person who needs support are welcome at our weekly meetings." An address and a twenty-four-hour hotline number were at the bottom.
In a daze, I read the flyer again. How could this group exist? Did they ignore the passages of the Bible that plainly condemned homosexuality? A support group could not rewrite the Bible.
I took the flyer off the board, knowing it would be removed as soon as one of the priests saw it. There had been something automatic about the way the priest had put it up, as if he did it every week. If so, it was removed every week because I'd never seen it before,
"Faith, what are you doing?"
Startled, I turned to face my father. He was too close for me to hide the flyer. It only took him a moment to recognize it. "By all means, take that trash down and throw it away. Those people — we have to check the board vigilantly." The street door opened and several parishioners came in. "Put it in your pocket out of sight, for heaven's sake."
I did as I was told, folding the flyer into a small wedge and slipping it into the pocket of my sweater. Even when I was settled and clearing my mind to take Communion, which I felt I sorely needed, the flyer burned a hole in my pocket. I fancied I smelled sulfur.
* * * * *
With Eric still away, I found myself feeling rather low over the next several weeks. I began spending more time in my apartment making notes on my books and not going into my office every single day. I took pleasure in grocery shopping and making my apartment into a home, but I felt unsettled and out of sorts. James gave me a particularly vicious tongue-lashing for being what he called an indolent sloth.
Not having seen Sydney, I was able more and more successfully to forget how she had made me feel. And I did miss Eric. We'd gotten quite comfortable with each other.
He called me toward the end of his business trip just to say hello and explain that he had to stay in Hong Kong another week.
"Let's plan to do something fun on Halloween, though. I'll be back in plenty of time."
"I'd love to. I have a hankering to dress up like Eleanor just to get the feel of it," I admitted. "Something like what Katharine Hepburn wore in The Lion in Winter"
"I'll be Peter O'Toole, then."
"You have to yell a lot," I said. "Henry liked to address people at the top of his lungs." I pictured Eric in chain mail and a leather jerkin. He would look the part, except that he didn't have a chance of duplicating the swagger and sweat O'Toole had put into his portrayal of Henry.
"It's a date. Who knows where we'll go, but it sounds like fun."
We chattered for a while about football, a passion of his I was beginning to share, then he said he had
a few more calls to make and then he had a meeting with his clients and their general contractor.
About five minutes later the phone rang again.
"Faith, this is Sydney. I'm on pain of death from Eric to make sure you're doing fine in your new apartment."
Her voice, light and friendly, shook me in an instant back to that moment at the pool table and her arms around me. It was as if I hadn't spent the last month putting her out of my mind.
"I'm doing fine, really. I was just talking to him."
"He said he thought you sounded a little lonely and insisted I take you to dinner in his stead."
Irony is only funny when it happens to other people. I opened my mouth to say she really didn't have to worry and heard myself say instead, "That sounds wonderful. I'm getting tired of my limited cooking repertoire. I'm not in your league at all."
"I'm hardly cordon bleu. Can you make it this Friday night?"
"Yes, that would be great. Shall I meet you somewhere?"
"At the City Club. It's on the thirteenth floor of the Wrigley Building. Let's say seven-thirty. Don't worry if I'm late. They'll seat you and ply you with delicious little things to eat until I get there. Though I'll try not to be late," she added. "It's just that things come up."
"I understand. And I'm glad you called. It is nice to have something to look forward to."
She hung up with a cheery good-bye, and the phone rang again almost immediately.
"Faith, it's Caroline Van Allen. I hope I'm not calling too late."
"Not at all," I managed. Why on earth would Eric's mother be calling?
"I was just talking to Eric. He told me you and he had a desire to do fancy dress for Halloween."
"We decided it would be fun," I said, wondering where this was leading.
"I'm having a fundraiser at the house on Halloween — so nice that it's a Saturday this year. I'd love to have you and Eric join us. Fundraisers can be tedious sometimes, and family makes it more fun. In fact, I was hoping to persuade you to come up for the weekend with Eric, He speaks of you often, and I'd like to meet you. My husband is a great admirer of your books, by the way."
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