Captain of Industry Read online

  Surprising tears stung at her eyes. “I know I’m lucky. But I’m trying not to be desperate. Trying not to remember that Marilyn Monroe dated almost every producer she ever worked with. So far the only thing anyone seems to want me for is the part of the Doable Girl, and any cookie cutter can play that one. Lots of times by proving in private she’s a doable girl. When there are women willing to pay that price for the part, why do I think I’m worth more? Worth better? Nobody seems to believe me.”

  “Maybe the Ryan Productions movie will change all that.”

  “It could.” Jennifer swallowed hard. She tried not to attach much importance to the fact that Suzanne hadn’t said that she, at least, believed Jennifer was worth more. “I’m sorry, that was intense. I—my agent doesn’t want to hear it. I don’t meet a lot of people who think more than a few weeks ahead. Or believe any doubts and worries I have about my future are justified. They all say the same thing—why can’t I just settle for what I know I can have?”

  Suzanne took her hand to pull her back toward the trail. “Let’s get some food. When is your flight to Vancouver, by the way?”

  “I should be at SFO by one tomorrow.”

  “Not too early a start then.”

  “No.” Jennifer followed Suzanne down the trail, wondering about the sudden change of topic. If Suzanne was already tired of the subject of Jennifer’s career, then she was just like everyone else. The moment she tried to share her worries, most people offered trite, half-assed solutions that would not work for her. And then they stopped listening.

  This fire and attraction between the two of them was temporary, and fleeting pleasures didn’t begin to measure up to how devoted she was to her work. It was a simple fact. Suzanne’s face in the throes of triumphant climax, the tousle of her hair in Jennifer’s fingers, the urgency of her voice begging Jennifer to show her how strong she was—they were moments to put on a mental shelf and that was all.

  The peace of waking up in Suzanne’s arms in the cozy house in Santa Cruz washed across her senses. That feeling had just been the light of the ocean and the aftermath of good sex. That she’d only ever felt that with Suzanne was just lack of trying with other people.

  Sure, Jennifer, there’s a good lesson—make something wonderful into something casual and forgettable. Suzanne was a woman, and there was nothing casual or forgettable about how that made her feel.

  And.

  And Suzanne was a woman, and that complicated all her worries and fears even more. For all that had changed in society, some things were very much the same.

  Would Suzanne ask when they’d see each other again? She wasn’t sure—Suzanne seemed unreadable, except when they were in bed.

  She knew how she ought to answer if Suzanne asked. All at once she was back in the loft, easing herself out from under Suzanne’s arm. She’d known then that being outed in a relationship with a woman would end all her dreams. Nothing had changed. Her head knew it and her heart had no business thinking otherwise.

  Chapter Thirty

  “So when did you watch Casablanca and The Graduate? If I remember the old Suzanne, she didn’t like classic movies.”

  Suzanne delayed her answer until after the waiter delivered their orders, accepted their thanks and beat a discreet retreat. “A couple years ago. I like that channel that does Oscar movies all of March.”

  “Do you have a favorite?” Jennifer separated the halves of her grilled cheese.

  Suzanne was distracted from digging into her bison burger by Jennifer licking melted cheese off her fingertip. She does that on purpose, Suzanne thought. “Return of the King and The Sting. Even I thought the suits in The Sting were the bomb.”

  “You’d look great in the Redford suits. That classic Forties look, you’d rock that hard.”

  “I didn’t think I’d like On the Waterfront but I did.” She studied a spot just past Jennifer’s shoulder. When Jennifer turned to follow her gaze, Suzanne went for the nearest beer-battered onion ring on Jennifer’s plate.

  A fork in the back of her hand brought her up an inch shy of her goal. “You could just ask.”

  “You’ll say no because those look delicious. And so, so fattening.”

  “Oh, that’s cold.” The pressure on the fork increased. “Are you saying I haven’t gotten enough exercise to have earned onion rings?”

  “I would never imply such a thing.” She moved her hand out from under the pointy tines.

  Jennifer studied the rings, then held out the largest and most deeply golden of the lot. “This is for the shower. Can I have some fries?”

  Suzanne made a show of thinking about it, then passed over a handful. “Yeah, the shower was worth it.”

  Jennifer mimicked a mechanical voice. “Your feedback is welcome and valued.”

  On the surface they both seemed relaxed, but Suzanne couldn’t forget what Jennifer had said during their walk. Did she represent “settling” to Jennifer? She rubbed the fork dents in the back of her hand. Take them as a metaphor for what this weekend is going to do to your heart, she told herself. The shower had been every type of awesome, with Jennifer aggressive and playful until Suzanne had finally admitted that she was losing her ability to remain standing. She would never forget the feel of soft sheets against her back and Jennifer’s wet hair on her thighs.

  When they finally wandered out of the pub and into the early afternoon sunshine Suzanne no longer felt like limp lettuce. The streets were reasonably quiet as the afternoon warmed. She’d been in Napa on a holiday weekend for a music festival and it had been wall-to-wall people. This sleepy autumn day was completely different. A couple was emerging from the Welcome Center and a woman was reading a book under a massive oak tree just starting to drop its leaves. The only crowd was on the patio of a celebrity chef’s branded restaurant, and a light breeze carried the scent of fresh bread and barbecue. “That almost makes me hungry again.”

  Jennifer groaned. “I don’t think I could eat for a week. And I’m hoping the clothes fit tomorrow. They measure down to the quarter-inch.”

  “I have one solution.” Suzanne turned Jennifer to face her and leaned in for a nuzzling kiss.

  After a split second Jennifer pushed her away, glancing nervously left and right.

  Suzanne was so startled all she said was, “Oh.”

  “I just—”

  “Nobody cares.” Suzanne turned her gaze to the woman reading her book.

  “It’s not that, I—”

  “Seriously? Still?”

  Now several steps away and looking at her boots, Jennifer started to answer but something in her handbag began chirping. Jennifer grabbed her cell phone as if it were a life preserver. “It’s my agent.”

  So nothing’s changed, Suzanne thought. Jennifer liked a woman in bed but that was as far as it was going to go. Ten years ago, when Jennifer had apparently deleted Suzanne’s contact info and sent back the card and necklace, she’d tried to comfort herself with the excuse that Jennifer had been very young and passionate and scared. She hadn’t known Suzanne would protect her.

  The woman who had this morning covered Suzanne’s body with her own, who had whispered, “I love the way your breasts feel against mine,” was not confused about anything. She had a very successful modeling career, money and fame. Suzanne could give her all the security in the world. There wasn’t anything Jennifer could want that Suzanne couldn’t give her.

  It was impossible to go back into a closet she’d never been in to begin with. Her place in an Advocate feature of queer business leaders, significant donations to marriage and employment equality, they were all part of her public wiki. Depending on the press outlet, the label lesbian often came before entrepreneur. Being with her meant being out. Jennifer would have to choose.

  For a brief moment, not even as long as the space between two beats of her heart, she believed Jennifer would pick her. The thought was incandescent, lighting up a well of pleasure that flooded her skin.

  A look of disbelieving r
elief swept over Jennifer’s face. Her voice stayed calm even as she spun around on her cute little ankle boots in a mad dance of frenzied joy.

  Suzanne knew what the news was before Jennifer ended the call. The glow inside her faded.

  “I got it. I got it.” And then Jennifer buried her face in her hands and began crying in loud, shuddering gulps.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “N-Nothing. I’m happy!” She let Suzanne pull her into a hug and cried against her chest. “I didn’t let myself think it could happen. A big part, even if it is in an art film. I’m finally getting a chance to show I can do something.”

  A vast door had opened for Jennifer and Suzanne knew what that meant for her. The choice had been made, and life with the too-tall geeky girl had lost.

  A bottle of wine, the dregs of the picnic basket, and the discovery of To Have and Have Not on the cabin’s cable feed was enough to fill the evening. Suzanne didn’t bring up the aborted public kiss while Jennifer talked about Lauren Bacall as if her life depended on it.

  We’ll just let go, Suzanne kept telling herself. It won’t be hard, but I have a life, so does she. We’ll just let go.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Somebody believes in me.” The little voice whispering in Jennifer’s ear didn’t stop. She wanted the filming to start tomorrow. She tried to tell herself that one part wouldn’t guarantee people took her seriously afterward, but maybe it could. This role had range and subtlety. A pampered, kept woman who carries money across the border for a small-time casino boss appears to be the victim of circumstance when a huge sum goes missing.

  Up to that point it wasn’t much to write home about for range. Emphasis on makeup and cleavage, bosom to heave on cue. In this movie, however, she’d be revealed as the master manipulator of cops and robbers alike with a core dramatic shift required in the final scenes to turn the story on its head for the audience. Somebody thought she could pull it off.

  Phillip had had to repeat the news twice. Then she’d been overwhelmed with a giddy loss of reality, unanchored from the ground with her stomach swooping like a roller-coaster ride. She wasn’t even sure why she’d cried and remembered only the firm security of Suzanne’s embrace.

  Except this morning, with the mist rising from the oak grove and their suitcases back in the car, Suzanne was aloof, almost taciturn. Her mind perhaps already back on business?

  “This was lovely, thank you.” Jennifer settled into the passenger seat and glanced at Suzanne.

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked the place.” She started the car.

  In the long silence that fell, while Jennifer pretended to listen to the CD Suzanne had pushed into the player, it dawned on her that Suzanne wasn’t going to ask if they could see each other again. That would make it easier, she thought.

  Except it hurt. It wasn’t supposed to, but it did.

  There were too many good things within her reach but she couldn’t have all of them. She accepted that, or at least she thought she had. She had thought that whatever this thing with Suzanne was, it wouldn’t be any harder to give it up than it had been in New York. Tilden and Tilden, as promised, had tripled her work in just weeks, then doubled it again. Her image was everywhere. And there had been a couple of small parts in movies with lines and a stint in a short-lived off-Broadway play. Holidays and birthdays came and went in the continual blur of work.

  Now she wasn’t as young, already past thirty, and staring the same choices in the face all over again. She knew Suzanne didn’t think she had anything to be afraid of if she announced she was with a woman. Suzanne had never had her hand out, her dreams nearly in her grasp, all the while knowing a puff of gossip could blow it all away.

  Suzanne didn’t have a terror of ending up with a frustrating life of pats on the head, gropes from photographers, being called honey and baby and Jenny for a few more years before the ticking clock ended even that. She didn’t want to be sixty and thinking that thwarted life had been the “good ol’ days.”

  Nothing had changed, not even the fact that she loved being in Suzanne’s arms.

  Except this time Suzanne didn’t seem to care what Jennifer did. It had been fun. Now it was over. And it hurt.

  They emerged from the tunnel north of San Francisco into a drifting mist that was too much like Jennifer’s mood. As traffic slowed for the Golden Gate Bridge approach the fog closed in on the car. Then to Jennifer’s amazement the thick white drapes parted. In what seemed like only moments the sun was shining down on them, the ocean spread blue and clear on one side with green and rocky islands dotting the bay on the other. The orange towers of the bridge and spires of the city sparkled in the clear, bright sunlight.

  She found her breath. “That was incredible.”

  “The fog is often worst just before it lifts.” Suzanne glanced at her watch. “It’s rolling out at eleven, probably back in around three.”

  “I’ll be sorry to miss it.”

  “Will you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad you’ll miss something then.”

  Jennifer cocked her head to look at Suzanne. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I didn’t mean to say that aloud.” She swerved to avoid a minivan whose driver didn’t seem to understand the meaning of the lines on the roadway.

  “But you did.”

  “Look, we’ve had a great time. Let’s just leave it at that. It’s what you want.”

  “How do you know what I want?”

  “It’s pretty plain. You can’t be with me and not get outed. I’m not going to hide. Your career matters to you.”

  “Yours matters to you.” Suzanne clearly thought there was a difference.

  “It does. But I’m not hiding who I am.”

  “You don’t have to in your field. Science rules.”

  “You’ve never heard of Alan Turing, have you?”

  “You’ve never heard of Lizabeth Scott. Name one out gay actress who has even been nominated for an Oscar.”

  Suzanne laughed and to Jennifer’s ears it dripped with patronizing disbelief. “You’re like a prima ballerina who wants to win a gold medal in ice dancing too.”

  “Et tu, Brute? With all this—” She gestured at herself. “Why can’t I just be happy?”

  “With all that—” Suzanne waved a hand at Jennifer and then at the vista outside. “And all of that already at your feet.” She put her hand on her chest. “And all of this, yes, I guess I don’t know why you’re deciding it’s not enough.”

  “You haven’t even asked me if I want more of you. Of us.”

  “I know the answer, Jennifer. And why are you waiting on me to do the asking? Are you thinking I’m the man in this relationship?”

  “You’re the one with all the success and nothing to lose. In your profession you have all you need to be safe and going on climbing. I’m not safe where I am, and it’s really easy to head down instead of up.”

  “There are people I want to work with. And yes, money to make.”

  “And nobody will care that a lesbian is doing it. That’s your world.”

  “There are people who want to chew me up because I’m a woman who dares to be smart and doesn’t have her wagon hitched to any man besides Nikola Tesla.”

  “Your money protects you. It makes those people irrelevant. They hide their bigotry because you have something unique they want.” She’d been at this ten years, and knew the score. “People think I’m unique and that’s why I get paid really well. But if I died tomorrow they’d hire a replacement for every modeling job I have within twenty-four hours, and the only thing they’d change is the length of a hem. Maybe.”

  “Then why do you do it?”

  “It pays my bills, and rather well, thank you.”

  “A big bank account isn’t the only way to measure success. I used to think it was and then I grew up.”

  “That’s incredibly easy for someone with millions in ready cash to say. I do the job that pays me but
I want a better one, one that I love doing. Isn’t that what we’re all supposed to want? Live our passion? But for some reason when I put that first, I’m chasing childish dreams, and you think I’m old enough now to know better.”

  “That’s not what I meant. We are talking about me right now.”

  The sparkling day outside seemed suddenly a lie to Jennifer. She didn’t know why she hurt so much, like a chisel cracking at her chest from the inside. The city of dreams and love, rainbow flags snapping in the wind, and no part of her felt welcome. She’d been at home in Suzanne’s house, in her bed, in her arms, but now that all seemed like a something from a romantic movie. A beautiful lie. Love, happening to someone else.

  Love. She didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like, but surely not this. Not this confusion and fear and pain.

  Suzanne muttered a curse at a driver who turned left in front of them. “I think this is a bad time to talk about any of this.”

  “There’s a better time?”

  “When I’m not driving in sucky traffic—damn it, here. Fine.” Suzanne dug one hand into the middle console and dropped a small jeweler’s box into Jennifer’s lap.

  She knew a light blue, white ribboned Tiffany’s box when she saw one. This size and shape would hold a bracelet or pendant. “What’s this?”

  “A gift.”

  “From Tiffany’s.” She thought of the engraved bracelet Suzanne had given her standing in Times Square. It had felt liberating and encouraging, an honest expression of support. Completely different from New York and how the Tiffany’s diamond necklace and a card asking to resume contact had felt. Now it was more jewelry, after a fancy setting for sex. “Is this something I put on as proof that you’ve added me to your collection?”

  “What the hell?” Suzanne’s anger was loud and clear. “What are you talking about?”

  There was a last moment when Jennifer thought of their first night, then the morning in Santa Cruz. The powerful exchange of passion. All the easy moments. The deep and happy thrill that ran through her at the sight of Suzanne.