My Lady Lipstick

by Karin Kallmaker

  With a nod he left off loosening Reynard’s tie to engage in excited conversation with the waiter in a language Paris didn’t recognize. The woman began CPR, counting under her breath as she pumped Reynard’s chest.

  Diana said, “I’ll watch for the ambulance,” and sped away.

  Paris knelt next to Heather. She wasn’t sure Heather even knew she was there. There was nothing she could contribute beyond offering a steadying hand. Then the man was back with a red case that he carefully set down next to the woman. Without a spare word he matched her counting and took over performing CPR while the woman opened the case and pulled out cables and packets.

  Paris gently pulled Heather back to give the pair room to work. Within seconds they had opened Reynard’s shirt and stuck pads to his massive chest. A few seconds more and a mechanical voice from the AED announced, “Shock advised.”

  “Everybody clear,” the doctor ordered firmly.

  Heather jumped when Reynard’s body jolted. The man resumed CPR. The woman closed her eyes as she pressed her fingers into Reynard’s neck again. “I have a pulse.”

  Paris slipped her arm around Heather as she slumped in relief. “I think I hear a siren.”

  Heather nodded while her lips moved in prayer. She was shaking so hard that Paris had to brace herself more securely to give Heather stability.

  Diana’s voice came from some distance away, clear and commanding, “Medics coming through!” Then, “Put your bleedin’ phone down and get out of the bloody way!”

  It seemed like only a few minutes had passed before the EMTs were lifting Reynard onto a stretcher. He wasn’t conscious. Heather and the two Good Samaritans followed in the stretcher’s wake, everything else forgotten.

  The waiters and maitre d’ were soothing the guests into resuming their meals.

  Diana was pale and there was no trace of Anita Topaz’s Hollywood accent. “It’ll be a bit before I can look at food.”

  “That was—dreadful. Shocking.” Paris felt light-headed, disconnected. She was trying hard not to relive the day her mother had collapsed. She caught the eye of the maitre d’. “I’ll take the check,” she told him.

  “No worries about that,” he said. “Mr. Reynard is a treasured customer. There is nothing to settle. Please give Ms. Reynard our best wishes for her father’s speedy recovery. You must return another time.”

  To Paris’s surprise the day outside was just as sunny and cool as when they’d arrived. There was still a queue for a table. The normalcy of it all reminded her again of the day her mother had died when she’d wondered how she could be so full of pain and darkness and the sky still be blue. Like the day her contact information had posted onto the dark web and her voice mail counter had started spinning like a roulette wheel. While she was listening to a harsh male voice salaciously detailing all the ways he would torture her, co-workers were ordering out lunch.

  Fresh air dispelled most of the light-headed feeling but her stomach was still churning.

  “My stepfather had a heart attack,” Diana said suddenly. “It wasn’t like that at all. He was awake and in pain. But he tried to crack a joke to stop my mother having hysterics. Well, hysterics British style, which means she raised her voice.”

  “Is he okay now?”

  “Yes. Regular checkups, does what the doctor says. Sold half his business to cut the stress.”

  “That’s hard.”

  “Not really. Half of a lot is still a lot. He’s in aluminium,” she added.

  Grateful for something to smile about, Paris teased, “Why do Brits say aluminum that way?”

  “Why do you lot say it wrong?”

  “Touché.” Paris added soberly, “I hope Reynard’s okay. For Heather’s sake.”

  “He’s a creep but I don’t want him dead.” Diana shuddered. “I wouldn’t mind if he spent time in a long tunnel with a bright light at the end having a heart-to-heart with Jesus before he comes back.”

  “I’d be happy with that.” Paris steered them around a street musician setting up a portable speaker. “Heather wasn’t what I expected.”

  “Me neither.”

  It was an effort to push away the image of Reynard’s body splayed on the restaurant floor. Trying for a nonchalant tone, Paris asked, “Does her official bio say she’s gay anywhere?”

  “Not that I read. It was a surprise to me. Reynard’s not too happy about it.”

  So Diana had seen it as well. “Did he say something?”

  “No, he didn’t have to. It was written all over his face.” Diana stopped at the crowded corner for the signal and looked up at Paris. “Do you have trouble interpreting facial expressions?”

  Paris studied the red light, not sure how much detail Diana really wanted.

  “I’m sorry, that was very personal. It’s just—you take in the world differently than I do. I’d like to understand.”

  The light turned green and the crowds of pedestrians divided and flowed around them, but Paris felt alone with Diana. Their gazes locked. Paris felt stripped bare and tears stung in her eyes. “Why?”

  Diana’s cheeks flushed slightly. “I—just to understand.”

  Paris had to look away. “You mean like to help with your acting?”

  “No, no. God no. I’m sorry!” And she flung her arms around Paris.

  The shock of contact overwhelmed Paris’s defenses. She held Diana as tight and close as a lifeline. Diana’s ear was against Paris’s shoulder. This feels so right, Paris thought. Impossibly right.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You took me by surprise is all. I don’t have a great track record with people wanting to understand. I explain and most people tell me how to cure myself. Plus the whole incident with Reynard—I’m adrenaline crashing.”

  Diana let go of her and dabbed at her eyes. “Me too. I’m jumpy. It makes me feel fragile.”

  The light changed again and Paris seized Diana’s hand and dragged her into the crosswalk. “Come on.”

  “Slow up, good lord. I’m running on tiptoe here!”

  Paris laughed. “It’ll be worth it.” She shouldered open a shop door and pulled Diana in after her, arriving moments before a long line of school kids in matching eye-popping orange T-shirts.

  “Ice cream?” Diana peered through the glass at the array of containers filled with creamy, wonderful goodness in every possible color. “You’re a good woman. With good ideas.”

  “I try.”

  “We hardly had breakfast.”

  “I know, but don’t your people put sugar and cream in tea after a shock?”

  “Right, this is the very same thing as a cuppa. Completely medicinal.” To the teen behind counter she said, “A scoop of Cup-of-Joe please.”

  They were soon separated by the press of kids all trying to look in all the containers all at once, but Paris managed to get her order in as well and then pay before the cacophony grew too painful. The tiny shop had no seating, so they escaped to the street again.

  “I think I’m going to live,” Diana said after tasting hers. “What did you get? I couldn’t hear a thing.”

  “Brownie Almond Fudgearoo. Wanna taste? There’s no cooties on this part yet.”

  Diana lip-nibbled the side Paris pointed at. “That’s brilliant. Try this.”

  Paris tried to be equally delicate with Diana’s cone. “I love coffee. That’s really good too. Now imagine if our flavors had babies.”

  “I would gobble that up all day.”

  The tight fluttery sensation of spent adrenaline eased after another soothing mouthful of ice cream. Paris said, “I can read people’s expressions when I’m not stressed. Anxiety disorder isn’t like being on the autism spectrum. They’re two different conditions, but some people deal with both. What happens to me is like on a phone when an app goes haywire and sucks up all the memory.”

  Diana’s expression was thoughtful even as she chased an ice cream drip headed for her hand. “Except you’re not a phone.”


  “I would love to have an expanded memory card.” She made herself not watch as Diana licked ice cream off her red, red lips. “Yes, it’s not like a simple reboot or program tweak will fix it. Though I have a lot of tactics for reducing the impact. Certain situations set off the anxiety cycle and I avoid those. When it’s triggered—” She paused to lick up a drip that threatened her sleeve. “When it’s triggered I have trouble running all the other normal brain activities, like reading people’s faces or hearing tone nuance. Or controlling my breathing or voice level. When it’s bad my eyes are slow to adjust to light and colors get washed out. I get dizzy and can’t breathe.”

  Diana’s eyebrows raised. “And you’ll eventually faint?”

  “That’s happened twice. I’m never doing that again if I can help it.”

  “I get that. I passed out once. It was not like in the movies, I mean, there was nothing elegant or slow motion about it. I went down like a house of cards. Woke up in hospital. It’s horrible, that feeling of your body clock knowing time has passed and your brain having nothing to fill in the gap.” Diana pulled back her skirt just in time to avoid a drip, which landed on her shoe. “Bugger all, that’ll be the devil to get off.”

  “We seem to be walking toward the hotel,” Paris said. “If you want to change your shoes.”

  “I have to say, I’m at a loss,” Diana said carefully. “I don’t know how to help you with the movie deal now. Reynard’s in hospital.” She didn’t need to say that he could be dead. “Everything is up in the air now. I don’t know what to do next.”

  “It’s Sunday in New York. There must be tons of things to do.”

  “I mean about Anita Topaz.”

  “I think that’s moot now, don’t you?” Paris judged her ice cream as having reached that perfect soft stage such that a large bite wouldn’t freeze her teeth. The chunks of brownie were dense and chocolatey—worth the risk of brain freeze. When she was able she continued, “Whatever has happened, Reynard and the company will take some time to recover. I realize that Heather Reynard might be the new big boss. She didn’t sound in favor of making changes to the conference agenda, did she?”

  “She wasn’t in favor at all. I’m not sure she even knew about a movie offer. I’m sorry about that. It might have only been Reynard’s bait.”

  Paris sighed. “So all this… For nothing.”

  “We got ice cream.”

  Paris gave Diana a crooked smile. “You got to see Hamilton.”

  She hung her head. “That I did. I wish I could say I was sorry about that. I really hadn’t seen it and wanted to.” With a quick glance at Paris she added, “That much was true.”

  They walked in silence for a few minutes, ducking around tourists craning their heads back to see the tops of the skyscrapers. Paris took note of the fact that dripping ice cream cones meant people gave them a wider berth. That would be fun armor in an urban game—Cone of Large Drippage increases zone of protection. She pushed away the pang of lost opportunities. Being with Diana made the past softer somehow.

  Their cones were finished by the time they reached their hotel bellman, who opened the door with a cheery, “Welcome back.”

  The lobby was quiet and cool compared to the street behind them. Diana was licking her fingers, which was so distracting that Paris almost missed her question. “Were you planning on going back to Boston today?”

  “Yes. I didn’t think there’d be any reason to linger.”

  “Someone will miss you if you don’t turn up as planned?”

  Was Diana asking what Paris thought she was? Anything seemed possible without the shadow of Reynard looming over her. “No. I could stay another night. If you have something in mind.”

  Diana’s head was turned away as she pressed the elevator call button. “As you said, it’s Sunday in New York. I’m sure there’s a museum or two open. I’ve heard tales of a very large park. I like this place.” She cracked a lopsided smile. “And willingly could waste some time in it.”

  Only the place? But Paris couldn’t bring herself to ask such a perilous question. Her stomach was in a slow flip-flop and all the warnings her head had been sending her went silent. Instead she asked, “Just how many times have you been in As You Like It?”

  Diana laughed. “I’ve lost count.”

  The elevator car was crowded and stopping at nearly every floor, giving Paris a chance to breathe. I get a few more hours with her, she thought. For the moment, it was all that mattered.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I get to spend a few more hours with her, Diana thought. Not pretending to be someone else, not buried in lies and subterfuge. We can both be…natural.

  It was, perhaps, the one thing she was worst at. As a skill it had never seemed important, not the way it did right now.

  “I can’t wait to get out of this wig,” she said as she keyed opened their door. “The scalp glue is itching.”

  “Isn’t it all uncomfortable? The contacts and the shoes and everything?”

  “I love these shoes.” Diana sighed as she took them off. “But I’m only good for a few hours before my back reminds me of all my previous activities at its expense.” She carried them to the sink in the minibar and found the little bottle of dishwashing liquid the housekeepers stashed under the sink. She stirred a few drops into a mug quarter-filled with water and whisked the solution with a coffee stir stick until there was foam.

  “You look like you’re in a Hogwart’s potions class,” Paris said.

  Diana lifted an eyebrow at the teasing smile. “I wish.”

  Paris’s smile widened. “You were frowning so seriously about it.”

  “It’s a costumer’s trick. Works on leather, even fur.”

  Paris turned away to look at the view. Diana dabbed soap foam over the blotch on her shoe while stealing glances at the long, lean line of Paris’s body. Sunlight limned her smooth brown skin and almost black hair with gold. With her shoulders at ease and hands in her pockets she looked as comfortable as Diana had ever seen her.

  Comfortable, strong, vulnerable—alluring. Diana forced herself to look at the stupid shoe. Drooling was unbecoming. “Would you like to see Central Park?”

  “It is a beautiful day. I have the right Adventuring Gear.” Paris turned from the window just as Diana looked up. “Jeans, walking shoes.”

  “You told Heather you were in game design.” She pressed a dry paper towel into the toe of her shoe, hoping the faint outline of the ice cream was gone, but her gaze was on Paris. “What kind?”

  “Multiplayer quest and RPGs—role playing games. I wrote and co-wrote story lines and characters. Game dialogue, tutorial scenarios, song lyrics for bards. It was a small company—large now.”

  “And you left to become a writer? Anita Topaz?” When Paris didn’t answer she looked up, worried that she’d once again asked a question that Paris found painful.

  Paris had sat down on the fainting couch in front of the window. One hand was idly running over the gold velvet in a way that sent a hot shiver through Diana’s body. “Not quite. I left. Then I invented Anita Topaz and went on telling stories. Adventures and love, a touch of magic sometimes.”

  Diana heard the flash of grief in Paris’s voice. She’d already hit a raw nerve once today, and the day had been tumultuous enough. She gave her shoe a final dab and said, “I’m ready for Adventuring Gear too.” She couldn’t look at Paris at the moment. “Meet you right back here in ten minutes.”

  The bedroom had been cleaned and the bed made, but clothes were still strewn over the chair from earlier. It seemed like days ago, not only a few hours. She managed to work off the wig without looking in the mirror. She couldn’t find the courage for it. The twisted braid was a little loose now, but what did it matter? Her role as Anita Topaz was over. Now she was Diana. A Diana with no agenda except to spend time with another woman, a woman she found fascinating and attractive.

  Was this a date?

  No.

  Yes.

 
; No—a date required mutual interest. She’d been so gobsmacked by her own feelings and their sheer intensity that she hadn’t a clue about what Paris might feel. While she was well aware that a wide range of men usually found her attractive, especially when she meant to use their befuddlement to her advantage, she didn’t know if women were the same. Women like Paris, that is. A lesbian. A butch, Lisa had said.

  Paris had agreed to stay another night. She’d been under the influence of shock and ice cream, though.

  A quick rinse in the shower removed the heavy foundation and eyeliner she’d used to create Anita Topaz. Feeling much fresher she pulled on black jeans and a royal blue silk blouse, adding a simple gold chain and twisted knot earrings. Her beloved peacoat would be perfect if the day turned chilly.

  The makeup mirror reflected a face that looked a little pale. She thought of Paris’s hands stroking the velvet on the couch. A tremor of desire showed in the tightening of the fine lines around her mouth. She wanted to cover them with foundation, change her face, make it a mask.

  She settled for a little mascara and a light touch of blush. And felt naked. She added Maniac Red lipstick for courage.

  From the depths of her largest suitcase she found an over-the-shoulder leather bag perfect for the accumulation of treats to take home. Her sister-in-law-to-be liked a super sweet, sticky pecan and toffee concoction she might be able to find. She dumped the contents of this morning’s purse into it and added a traveler’s tube of Nurofen tablets and an energy bar.

  Feeling almost giddy and not wanting to jinx it by wondering why, she found Paris leaning against the bar, an open can of soda in hand. She looked just like Paris-from-the-bar, too. Simple jeans, sturdy boots, and a dark green hoodie over a T-shirt with an elfin gaming character Diana didn’t recognize.

  “Ready?”

  Paris shook her head as if to clear her vision. “You’re…you.”

  “I’m me.” Diana spread her arms with a shy shrug. “About to go out in the world using my real name. It feels kind of weird.”

  Paris slung a lightweight backpack over one shoulder and said nothing, but the slight lift to her eyebrows was enough.