High October

by Elena Graf

  Liz jumped into her clothes. She couldn’t run down the stairs in heels, so she took the elevator. She paced as she waited in the entry hall for Maggie. Finally, her patience wore thin. “We have reservations for six,” she called through Maggie’s door.

  Maggie emerged, wearing a black dress, accented by a colorful scarf in peacock colors. She looked every bit the glamorous actress.

  As she took Liz in, her eyes widened. “Is that really you?”

  “I don’t look that different!” Liz’s surly tone was intended to fend off further compliments, but it didn’t work.

  “Yes, you do,” said Maggie, appreciatively touching the shoulder of Liz’s blouse. “I hardly recognize you. But I definitely approve.”

  “Thank you,” said Liz with genuine modesty. “You look pretty amazing yourself, but you always do.” Liz handed her a box.

  “What’s this?”

  “Your fracture is so close to the ankle, you can get away with a shorter boot, especially now that the bones are beginning to knit.”

  Maggie opened the box to find a short, black boot with Velcro ties. Of course, it was ugly, but much less obvious than the gray plastic, full-leg boot she had been wearing.

  “Sit down. Let me show you.” Liz removed the other boot and the inner sock and replaced them with the ankle-fracture boot.

  “My dress boot,” said Maggie, raising her foot to show it off. Liz handed her a new cane finished in mottled blue and black metallic. “The latest for well-dressed invalid. I feel positively elegant!”

  Liz asked her to wait on the porch while she pulled out the Audi.

  “You’re really going all out tonight,” observed Maggie, as Liz helped her down the stairs. “I’m honored.”

  “The parking is extremely tight at Nathan’s.”

  “Liz, let me believe it’s all for me,” said Maggie as Liz opened the passenger door for her.

  As they waited at the light on Route 1 to make the turn, Maggie said, “Remember our date for my twentieth birthday?”

  Liz remembered it well. She’d spent a fortune on tickets for a revival of A Streetcar Named Desire at Lincoln Center because she knew Maggie loved Tennessee Williams. Maggie had worn a long dress and Liz, a black silk pantsuit. Before the performance, she took Maggie to dinner at an expensive Manhattan restaurant for which even she’d needed to save to afford the bill. She anxiously held doors for Maggie, pulled back her chair in the restaurant, confidently paid the exorbitant restaurant tab. After the play, they went to an upscale bar and ordered cognac in crystal glasses. They looked so comfortable in their grown-up clothes no one questioned the fact that, at seventeen, Liz was underage.

  Liz slid down in her seat a little as if she could hide from the memory. “God save us from our youth.”

  “Not at all. You were charming that night, so debonair and gallant.” Maggie reached out and patted Liz’s thigh. “I cherish those memories of you.” She allowed her hand to linger a moment, stroking the fabric lightly with her fingertips. “Tonight is like a date.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is,” agreed Liz reluctantly.

  “You don’t like that idea?”

  “It’s fine, I suppose.”

  Liz parked in a handicapped spot at the restaurant, knowing her M.D. plates would stifle any objections. She tried not to abuse the privilege, and, in this case, her passenger was legitimately disabled. She offered Maggie her arm to help her negotiate the stairs to the dining room.

  “You haven’t changed a bit,” said Maggie. “Still playing the attentive gentleman.”

  “Stop it, Maggie. You’re embarrassing me.” Liz glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone had heard.

  “Oh, I doubt it. Besides, the role suits you perfectly.”

  The waiter arrived to ask for their drink orders. “The elderberry martini is nice” suggested Liz. Maggie agreed to try it, so Liz ordered two.

  “The sculpture in the garden is so interesting,” said Maggie peering at the rusty, steel figures in the rock garden outside.

  “It’s very clever. See? Your eye is drawn to the elements of the garden instead of the dilapidated building on the other side. Like stage illusions in the theater.”

  “Remember when you were stage manager for Antigone?”

  “I remember.” Liz looked up from studying the menu. “You made a stunning Ismene, but you should have gotten the lead.”

  “That director wanted a dark-haired actress for Antigone. One of the few times my blond hair was a liability.”

  Liz frowned. “I always wondered why he encouraged all that touching between Antigone and Ismene. He was suggesting not only lesbianism, but incest.”

  “It was the time. All that weird experimental theater was in vogue. I’m sure he thought it very edgy. He said we were too reserved and needed to be loosened up.”

  “He was a pervert.”

  Maggie laughed. “So you said. You certainly didn’t like him. But I learned a lot from him, and he did offer me a part in his off-Broadway play. Remember when you offered to quit school and get a job so I could become an actress?”

  “That was an idiotic idea. I can’t believe I ever said that.”

  “You were in love, Liz, but I could never have deprived you of your dream of becoming a doctor.”

  “I almost didn’t.”

  Maggie’s mouth parted in surprise. “Why?”

  “I was a complete basketcase after you left. My grades suffered because I hardly ever went to class. I was such a mess I considered dropping out.”

  “Oh, Liz, I never would have forgiven myself if you dropped out.”

  “My campus housing situation was a disaster. Claudia and Felicia had moved out of the new dorm. When you didn’t show up, I was assigned a new roommate. She always wanted me to sleep on the couch, so she could fuck her boyfriend, so I got an apartment off campus and hunkered down. I never went out except for classes I couldn’t miss and to buy food.”

  “That’s why Claudia said she never saw you.”

  “No one saw me. Not even my parents. When I started having suicidal ideation, I knew I was in serious trouble.”

  Maggie’s eyes widened. “My God. I had no idea it had gotten that bad. Why didn’t you get help?”

  “I couldn’t go to a shrink. In those days lesbianism was still on the books as a mental disorder. And the least hint of psychiatric issues could keep you out of medical school or prevent you from getting a license.”

  “So you suffered alone?”

  “Pretty much. What else could I do? I didn’t know anyone like me. I knew they existed, but how would I find them? Then one day I saw an ad in The Village Voice. A support group for lesbians coming out. That probably saved my life. Eventually, I pulled myself together. I ended up with a few B’s to spoil my perfect record, but I graduated magna cum laude and got into medical school.”

  “Oh, Liz. I’m so sorry,” said Maggie with a sigh.

  Liz shrugged. “It wasn’t just you. It was everything. I lost an entire year of my life, but I survived.”

  Maggie studied Liz’s face. “I never wanted to hurt you. Never. I loved you.”

  “I know. You were scared. You were used to being the popular girl everyone liked, so you caved to religious and social pressure to conform. I see that now.”

  Maggie leaned on her hand. “What do you think would have happened if my mother hadn’t interfered?”

  Liz gazed into her martini glass as she considered the question. “Who knows? We might have broken up and moved on to other lovers. First loves seldom last.”

  “But sometimes they do.” Maggie looked directly into Liz’s eyes.

  Liz held Maggie’s gaze. “Then why didn’t you call me after your marriage ended?”

  “I was afraid of your anger.”

  “But now you’re not?”

 
“Oh, I am. I’m sure it’s still there…deep down.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not a vindictive person.”

  “But you’re afraid,” said Maggie, searching her face.

  “Aren’t you?”

  Liz was relieved when the waiter arrived to deliver their drinks, which diverted Maggie from the previous conversation. The martinis were deep red in color and had a pleasant foam on top. “I’m not a big fan of flavored martinis, but these are exceptional. Did you know elderberries have anti-viral properties?”

  Maggie tasted hers and smiled. “It’s delightful. Maine has been full of interesting and wonderful surprises. I’ve really enjoyed being here, but soon, I need to figure out how to get back to New York.”

  Liz felt uneasy. Maggie had agreed to stay until the concert, but until now hadn’t mentioned a word about going home.

  “When you talked about driving down to see your mother. I thought I might hitch a ride.”

  “That probably won’t be until next weekend. I have office hours.”

  “I know.” Maggie sat back in her chair and studied Liz. “I can wait until you can bring me home. You seem to enjoy holding me hostage. You tell everyone I’m staying until my leg is healed.”

  “I figure if I say it enough, it will become real.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind? I’ve been here for three weeks.”

  “I don’t mind at all. I’ve been enjoying your company. In fact, I was going to ask if you’d like to go camping in Acadia once your leg is healed. We have an Indian summer when it’s warm enough to go without a jacket, but the nights are crisp. The old Mainers call it ‘High October.’”

  “I don’t think I’m up for camping these days. My back couldn’t take sleeping on an air mattress.”

  Liz laughed. “Neither could mine, but the place I have in mind is quite civilized. They have little cabins with real beds and linens, a full bath, even WiFi.”

  “You make it sound so enticing. Let me think about it. I’ve been imposing on your hospitality for a long time.”

  “Impose away. It’s pretty quiet up here when all my summer visitors leave.”

  Maggie gave her a penetrating look. “Are you lonely, Liz?”

  Liz gazed back into the hazel eyes. “No, but sometimes the winters are hard. I keep myself busy. I’m involved in a lot of things.”

  “What about sex?”

  Liz blinked. Maggie was asking her about sex. “Are you offering?”

  Maggie laughed softly. “I don’t know. Are you?”

  Maggie’s steady gaze was making Liz anxious. She said in a breezy voice, “Don’t worry. Plenty of women are interested in me. I’m considered quite a catch, you know.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

  “I’m sure you are.” The gleam in Maggie’s eyes was equally suggestive. “And they’re right. You are quite a catch.”

  ***

  They each drank another elderberry martini during the show. On the way home, Liz streamed Judy Collins songs through the Bluetooth in the car, and they sang along.

  “What an amazing performance!” Liz said. “Hard to believe she’s closing on eighty.”

  “Her pipes are not what they used to be, but she did a great job of modulating her voice to make the best use of it. I have to do that sometimes. Menopause changes women’s voices. Our throats get dry just like our vaginas.”

  Liz was silent as she considered the information.

  “You’re a doctor. Why am I telling you?” Maggie wondered aloud.

  “Yes, but I never thought about it that way. See? I learned something tonight.”

  When they arrived home, Liz gratefully took off her shoes. She almost never wore heels anymore, and she’d always hated them. On stocking feet, she headed to the kitchen. “Would you like a glass of wine?” she called to Maggie. “I’m too keyed up to go straight to bed.”

  “Yes, that would be wonderful. We can sit on the porch and listen to the night sounds. It’s so relaxing.”

  Liz brought the wine and sat down beside Maggie on the wicker love seat. Maggie moved closer. Where their thighs touched, it tingled.

  “I’ll really miss this when I go back to New York,” mused Maggie with a sigh.

  “The city has its own night sounds.”

  “Yes, but this is very special.” Maggie put down her wine glass. She took Liz’s glass out of her hand and set it down too.

  Liz smiled, getting the idea. With the lightest touch under Maggie’s chin, she gently turned her face.

  “I was wondering when you would finally get around to this,” whispered Maggie.

  “Do you mind?” asked Liz.

  “Do I mind?” mocked Maggie, closing her eyes and moving closer. Liz could feel her sweet breath on her skin. She took her face in her hands. Her lips against hers were velvety soft and warm. They parted, welcoming her inside. Maggie’s mouth was tangy with white wine. Her newly washed hair smelled grassy like a summer field in June. They explored one another’s mouths as if it was the first time, the desire just below the curiosity and the slight hesitation, in case it all went wrong.

  But it didn’t. Maggie responded with equal enthusiasm, gently filling her mouth with her tongue, teasing. She molded her hand around Liz’s breast. Her fingers lightly traced its curve ending at the nipple, which instantly responded to her touch. Maggie smiled and released Liz’s lips. “Who taught you how to kiss?” She asked, allowing her fingers to graze Liz’s cheek.

  “You did.”

  “I did a damn good job.”

  “Yes, you did.” Liz reached out for her again, but this time, Maggie only gave her a quick, friendly kiss.

  “Not tonight, Liz. It’s too soon. We’re not ready.”

  Liz swallowed her desire.

  Maggie got up. “Good night, Liz. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it.”

  “I did. Every bit of it.”

  Liz remained on the porch to finish her wine. The evening had stirred up so many memories she had tried to forget. That production of Antigone was the last of the season before summer break. It was hot in the theater and under the spotlights, Maggie visibly perspired. Liz remembered the sexy feel of her sweaty body through her costume—sheer evening pajamas with wide-legged pants. When they kissed in the wings between scenes, Liz boldly went up the pant leg and took what she wanted.

  The director had suggested that the young actresses dispense with underwear. They’d agreed to go braless but wore nude panties to preserve their modesty. After all, it was a Catholic college. As Liz watched in the wings, she could see Maggie’s pert nipples through the thin fabric. When Maggie came offstage, Liz pulled her behind the traveler so that she could caress them.

  What were they thinking? It had been such a risk. Anyone could have come upon them fondling one another behind the curtain. If they’d been discovered, who knows what the administration would have done? They’d expelled students for less.

  The memory of Maggie’s sweaty body recalled the night Liz had helped her out of the body slimmer. The feel of her bare skin had been enough to bring back all the lust Liz had felt on those hot nights in the little student theater.

  Liz touched her lips as she thought about the kiss they’d shared. She imagined Maggie in bed in the downstairs guest room, the sexy nightgown she wore to bed. Liz had caught a glimpse of it when Maggie had left her robe open one morning.

  Liz could knock on the door.

  No, she couldn’t.

  Maggie was right. It was too soon. They weren’t ready.

  Chapter 10

  Maggie yawned and stretched. Like a cat, she thought, Maggie the Cat. She’d once played the role in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. She adored Tennessee Williams’ plays—Streetcar, Glass Menagerie, Iguana, Suddenly Last Summer. Tortured, lonely, eccentric people who can only r
eveal the truth of their lives under duress. One would never know from looking at the image Maggie presented to the world, but she was ideal to play Tennessee Williams’ faded heroines. On the surface, she’d seemed the perfect wife, the perfect mother, but below the surface lay the secrets.

  She turned the alarm clock so she could see the time: 9:35. She never intended to sleep so late, although there was no place she had to be, and Liz would be at the office all morning. Maggie lay in bed, listening to the sounds outside the window, birds singing, of course, but also the chipmunks chattering to one another, the hum of a bee foraging in the zinnias in the flower bed below her window. When she’d first arrived, she’d thought the woods were so quiet, and they were, compared to the noise of traffic in New York City. In fact, the land around Liz’s house was vibrating with sounds and full of life.

  She closed her eyes again and thought of Liz’s kiss, which instantly returned her to their darkened dormitory room four decades ago. It had taken weeks of furtive embraces, caresses on the cheek, kissing one another on the hands and face before mustering the courage to kiss on the lips. How different it had been to kiss a girl after enduring the rough-faced boys who had clumsily poked their sloppy tongues into her mouth. Liz’s face was bright and smooth and her skin so soft. Like baby skin. She kissed neatly, like she was sucking honey from a spoon.

  Maggie smiled to herself. Grown-up Liz kissed with more confidence, but she still kissed like she was tasting honey, slow and easy, but with obvious pleasure, sometimes even a little smile of delight. There was no doubt Maggie had been excited by that kiss. She imagined how it would feel to be caressed and probed by her friend’s strong, competent hands. Maggie imagined Liz stroking her and opening her with her fingers. The thought so aroused her that she reached under her nightgown and touched herself.

  The orgasm, when it came, was deep and satisfying. Maggie brought her fingers up to her face. Her own female scent excited her. Maggie lay in bed thinking of Liz. Did she ever imagine making love to her? Did she remember their last time together in Maggie’s tiny bedroom in her parent’s house? Maggie remembered every detail vividly. She had come home from a date with Barry, guilty at leaving Liz alone to go out with him to the movies. Liz was surly and standoffish when she returned. Seducing her had taken effort. Maggie had blown gently into her ear, which was guaranteed to excite her. When she’d gently flicked Liz’s clitoris with her tongue, she’d come within seconds. Afterwards, all was forgiven, and they’d lain in one another’s arms, pledging to love one another forever.