Paperback Romance Page 18

  As Alison stepped to the plate she decided she was getting payback for the mess she’d made of her love life. She was playing Mighty Casey in front of a former lover and the woman she loved, not to mention the women she knew who would razz her mercilessly if she struck out. It was early in the season and everybody—everybody—knew her hitting didn’t get hot until August. But it was not August. The first pitch, a fast, sinking slider, whistled past Alison and slapped into the catcher’s mitt before Alison even had a chance to get the bat off her shoulder. Strike one.

  Okay, I’m in deep shit, she told herself. A curve, it’ll be a curve. She guessed right, got a healthy piece of it and took off. She was headed for second and Sam was across home plate when the umpire called the ball foul. Damn. It had had the length to get over the fence, but had finally curved into the parking lot. The fans sat down again, their spiraling cheer of excitement fading into either groans of disappointment or sighs of relief.

  Her heart was pounding from running and anxiety. She fouled off the next pitch—a piece of shit sucker ball. She stared at the pitcher and decided she was about to get a sizzler. She was right. She connected, but not solidly and knew the ball was going to fall somewhere in deep centerfield.

  Alison lived by one rule of batting: if you hit it, run like hell. She ran. And when the centerfielder caught the fly ball she’d just keep running, right out of the park all the way home to hide in shame. The ball hung for a long time. As she rounded second she saw the centerfielder scrambling into position, her glove raised. The right fielder was streaking toward the same area to back up the catch. They were both calling for the ball. Sam was already at home plate, screaming and jumping. She headed for third and when the crowd collectively gasped and then started hollering she guessed the ball hadn’t been caught. She didn’t have the time to look back—she looked at the base coach. Shit, she was being waved home.

  “Run!” Alison could hear from her teammates shouting from the dugout. As she passed the stands on the third base line, Alison could swear she heard one particular voice chanting, “Run, Alison, run!”

  Sam screamed, “Slide inside!”

  Alison hit the ground on her chest, her right arm extended. When she stopped sliding she looked up through the choking dust. She could feel the smooth plate under her palm. Ringing in her ears was the one word she wanted to hear, drawn out into two syllables by a hoarse umpire: “Seeeee-afe!”

  The catcher threw her mitt and mask to the ground in disgust. Alison squealed when Sam jumped on her and within seconds everyone was playing dog-pile-on-Alison. Alison was laughing hysterically and thinking God, I love this game. Then her scraped chest started to send needles of pain through her body. Her leg felt like she’d pulled a muscle in her calf, probably as she rounded third. Her arm ached enough to be broken. She pushed at the bodies on her with more and more force.

  “Get off, I’m dying. Get off!” Abruptly, the women moved aside. Alison looked up. Two of her teammates had a cooler full of Gatorade. Alison scrambled, but didn’t get out of the way in time. She was drenched. Green liquid dripped into her eyes.

  Sputtering, she got to her feet, shaking her jersey away from her soaked body. She wiped her eyes and looked right into Carolyn’s concerned face. Oh fine, she thought, there’s nothing like having no dignity at all.

  “You’re bleeding,” Carolyn said.

  Alison looked down her jersey. Red blotches were starting to mix with the green goo. She winced. “That stuff was not made to clean wounds.”

  “Hey, sorry, Al, didn’t realize,” said the woman with the empty cooler.

  “It’s okay. At least it’s washed away some of the dirt.”

  “Everybody, this is Carolyn,” Sam announced. “She’s…new.”

  Someone quipped back, “Yeah, but is she single?”

  Her color high, Carolyn said, “Do you need help getting home?”

  Alison bent over, her hands on her thighs. “I’m okay.”

  “Sam’ll take care of her,” the coach said. Everyone laughed except Carolyn, Sam and Alison.

  Carolyn looked quickly at Sam, who stared at her feet. She then studied Alison and Alison heard her say under her breath, “Oh…”

  Alison looked up. “I’m going to be a mess tomorrow,” she said to Carolyn. “But can I take you out to dinner? So I can…explain and apologize.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Carolyn said. She bit her lower lip, making a red spot in an increasingly pale face.

  “Yeah, I do.” She took a step and limped. Yep, she’d pulled a muscle. She saw Carolyn start forward, but Sam was there first, steadying her.

  “I’m already filthy,” Sam said to Carolyn. “You don’t want this v-i-l-e green stuff on your gorgeous shirt. It looks like a little something you picked up in Italy.”

  “It is,” Carolyn said, her voice distracted.

  “So we’re on for dinner,” Alison pressed Carolyn.

  “Okay.” Carolyn was staring at the ground.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven,” Alison said.

  “Okay.” Carolyn studied Alison’s jersey for a moment, then said, “Well, I guess I’ll head home. It was a great game. See you later. ’Bye Sam. ’Bye everybody.” She walked away, her brown feet clinging gracefully to espadrilles.

  “Come on, slugger,” Sam said, half-carrying the limping Alison toward the dugout. “And put your tongue back in your mouth before you bite it off. And one last thing, I want to be best maid at the wedding.” Sam sighed when Alison let out an hysterical giggle.

  ***

  Carolyn dressed with care for dinner. She tried on at least four different outfits, discarding each one because Alison had seen it. She looked over the clothes she’d bought in Europe. The new black silk pantsuit was the obvious choice. She chose a thin shell in brilliant emerald to wear under the jacket and then studied herself critically. No, it was all wrong for Alison. Nick had said Carolyn looked edible in that combination, but Carolyn couldn’t dress that way for Alison. Color flamed in her face as she remembered the outline of Alison’s body under her drenched jersey.

  Alison and Sam. It had come as a shock. Carolyn still couldn’t control a shiver of dismay every time she thought of it. She did not understand why Alison had reacted the way she had in Rome, and her own feelings were entirely too complex—a double blow of realizing Alison was also a lesbian and that she was quite unavailable. Her heart had headed for the moon only to drop back into reality with a thud. She continued to reexamine their past friendship. Alison had never indicated…anything, but then Carolyn hadn’t been ready for anything.

  She looked at herself in the mirror again. She saw what Nick had meant about edibility. She changed the shell to a less flattering yellow. There. She was ready for dinner and ready to scream.

  The doorbell rang before she had the chance to consider changing again. Alison stood nervously in the foyer. Carolyn recognized her outfit in an instant—Alison had bought it at Carolyn’s insistence. The vivid purple shirt bloused over sleek patterned pants that tapered to Alison’s ankles. At the time, Carolyn had said it made Alison exotic, insisted Alison would turn heads. She’d been right—she’d just given herself whiplash.

  “You know,” Alison said, “it’s a gorgeous day out there.”

  Carolyn laughed with relief, more at ease. She knew what Alison was getting at. “And you think it would be ideal if only we were in a convertible.”

  Alison blinked innocently. “Okay, we’ll take my car.” Alison helped her take the top off the Mustang and then Carolyn followed Alison’s directions to drive them “Downtown, James, and step on it.” At an intersection they were ogled by beer slime in a pickup and Carolyn understood, finally, why Alison had always been able to treat ogling men as if they could not be less important to her. She found herself giving them a look that was a twin sister’s to Alison’s. After they pulled away she found herself grinning at Alison who laughed and hollered, “Yeeee-hah! It took you a while, but you finally saw the li
ght!”

  They weren’t far from the women’s bookstore in midtown when Alison told her to take any parking spot she found. Carolyn slammed on the brakes, backed up half a block and expertly parallel parked. “How’s this?”

  “Very nice,” Alison said. “I need to see a chiropractor now, but otherwise, good. A nine point eight, taking into account the difficulty factor. With the Dixieland Jazz Festival in full swing, I thought we’d be looking for days.”

  “Do we have a reservation?” She hoped so—the restaurant up the street was packed with people, all of whom looked like they were from out of town. Heat radiated from the swell of bodies overflowing onto the sidewalk.

  “Oh,” Alison said, following Carolyn’s gaze, “we’re not going there. Around the corner and up a half a block.”

  They stopped at an unassuming doorway to a restaurant she had never noticed. It wasn’t full and she noted that the diners were all women. They were shown to a table on the back patio.

  “You never brought me here before,” she said, regretting it immediately. What a stupid thing to say, she thought.

  “Well, that was obviously a major mistake on my part. Let’s order and then talk.”

  After they had selected entrees, there was an awkward silence. She had felt much more comfortable in the car. The urge to scream became stronger.

  “I’m sorry,” Alison said suddenly. “I thought I had what I wanted to say all worked out.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  “Yeah I do. I’ve been gay since before I met you,” Alison said. “I’ve always loved women. I kept waiting for a chance to tell you when we were rooming together, but it never came. And then I thought if I did tell you you wouldn’t want to room together again. I liked you too much to risk it. And then it was too late. After five years, after ten, how could I just say, oh, by the way, there’s something I meant to tell you ten years ago. It was easier not to talk about it, and we always had lots of other things to talk about.”

  “I understand.” Carolyn sipped her water. “Really I do.”

  “And after college, when we stayed friends, I started to think I was in love with you. You were unattainable but that didn’t matter. And then you got married and…”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Carolyn said, her heart beating high in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to meet Alison’s gaze.

  “I have to.” Alison was quiet while their salads were served. “Anyway, when I decided to surprise you in Europe I was ready to tell you…everything. And I was too late.”

  Alison wasn’t the one who’d been too late—Carolyn had been too late to take the love offered. If only she’d seen it. She could feel hot color stealing into her cheeks. Perhaps it was for the best because it hadn’t really been love. Just like what she’d felt for Nick hadn’t really been love either. No, she wasn’t in love. Not at all. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be…I acted like a spoiled child. I think I was more infatuated with the idea of being in love with you, but I’m over it. I’ve had time to reflect. I want to…go back to the way we were. Best friends. I’ve missed you, for the last year,” Alison said, her cheeks flushed. “I’ve missed you,” she said again, softly.

  “I’ve missed you, too.” Carolyn looked down at her salad. “This looks good,” she managed to say. Nuevo California cuisine—a single leaf of romaine was graced with two croutons and a lemon slice. She was hungry now. By the time she finished the salad she’d be starving.

  They ate in silence. She noted for future reference that it only takes two minutes to eat a romaine lettuce leaf, no matter how small your bites are. Their plates were taken away and Alison, who had been carrying an unusually large purse, produced a wrapped package which she handed to Carolyn.

  “What’s this?”

  “A coming out present.”

  Carolyn unwrapped it and found a publishing guide for gay and lesbian writers. “Is this a hint?” She gave Alison a suspicious smile.

  “Oh yes. A very big hint,” Alison said unashamedly. Her bravado softened as she said, “I just want you to know that nothing has to change between us.”

  We’ll go on being all business, Carolyn thought. Well, it would do. She wanted their friendship back as well, but this was a start. “I’ve been thinking about it and—I’m glad we’ll still be able to work together. If I do finally decide to start a book. I don’t know. I don’t really feel like a lesbian yet. I mean, I know I am, I told Curt…”

  “You told your brother?” Alison seemed amazed. “Just like that?”

  “What else would I do?”

  “What if he’d thrown you out?”

  “Out of what? His life would have a hole in it if he didn’t let me be a part of it. I’d live.”

  “Shit,” Alison said. “Life is so easy for you.”

  “No, it’s not.” She felt slighted. “It was very hard.”

  “Don’t you know why I never go home? I’ve been back twice in all the times I’ve known you. My mother invites men over for dinner while my father tells me all the things ACT UP has done and tells me to defend myself. Going home makes me miserable. So I don’t.”

  “I’m sorry,” Carolyn said. “But that doesn’t make what I had to do any less difficult.”

  “Oh, I know,” Alison said. “Your family is…nice. There is no other word for it. Like politically correct Cleavers.”

  “I think I’m insulted.”

  “Don’t be. I’m so jealous I could spit,” Alison said. “Oh, I almost forgot this.” She handed Carolyn a newspaper clipping. “Devon saw this in the New York Times.”

  Carolyn saw Nick’s picture. “You told Devon about Nick?”

  “Actually, all I told Devon was that there was a hell of a book in Nicolas Frost’s future—we were brainstorming new business. Music industry people—go ahead and read it—are already speculating that the Maestro’s soon-to-be-released first recording has Grammy potential.”

  Carolyn skimmed the article. “I have to start a scrapbook,” she said absently. “This is a very flattering piece. She really is arriving.” She told herself she’d done the right thing. Given up incredible passion with Nick so she could come home and not be in love with Alison. Right. She glanced at Alison and an awkward silence fell between them, dispelled by the fortuitous arrival of their entrees.

  “Yummy,” Carolyn said. Her shrimp in garlic sauce was really cream sauce with two butterflied shrimp, three brussels sprouts and a baby carrot. It did look gorgeous on the plate. Her stomach growled. She realized Alison was laughing.

  “I come here because it’s woman-owned and organic,” Alison said. “And when I’m dieting. Eat hearty.”

  Carolyn tried to eat slowly and savor the subtle flavors, but it only took a few minutes to nibble up the shrimp. She even gagged down the brussels sprouts. When their server offered to bring a dessert menu, Carolyn refused, saying she couldn’t possibly manage another bite. Alison paid the check, the epitome of elegance, and then they walked slowly back to the car.

  As she buckled up, Carolyn’s stomach growled—loudly. Alison dropped her hauteur and said, “I’m starving too. So much for elegance. Let’s go to a drive-thru.”

  Carolyn didn’t need another hint. The Mustang achieved G-force when it leapt out of the parking space.

  Chapter Eleven

  Harmonics

  Within a mere five minutes they had left midtown and were crossing the American River. Carolyn swooped down Fair Oaks Boulevard, headed for fast-food row. “Where do you want to go?”

  “How about the Colonel?”

  “You got it.” She swore as a car cut her off, making her slow down and subsequently miss the longest light in Sacramento County. As they coasted to a stop, she ran her fingers through her hair. Any semblance of style had been ruined by the wind. “This is just like old times.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Alison’s tone was so serious that Carolyn looked at her in surprise. Alison was
pale underneath her healthy tan. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s not like old times.” She was shaking her head. “Oh shit. I thought I could do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Be friends.” There was a trace of a smile on Alison’s face. Her eyes were huge and Carolyn found herself getting lost in them.

  “Don’t say that,” Carolyn whispered. “Why can’t we go on being friends? Ally, don’t ruin it.”

  “I can’t help it.” Alison was staring dully ahead of her, then she suddenly slammed her fist on the dash. “God damn it, how can I possibly be friends with you,” she shouted, “when I’m in love with you!”

  Carolyn’s foot slipped off the clutch. The car jumped, then stalled. She got the Mustang started and then said, as casually as she could manage, “What about Sam?”

  “Sam’s history. I’ve been in love with you for ages.”

  Carolyn looked around. The corner of Fair Oaks Boulevard and Howe Avenue. Henceforth a sacred site. Her lips curved in a faint smile that grew. “Yeeee-hah,” she said quietly to Alison.

  “What about Nick?” Alison’s dazed expression hadn’t changed.

  Carolyn stared past Alison at the middle-aged man and woman who were listening to their entire conversation from the safety of their Fairmount. She grinned at the woman and inclined her head at Alison. “She’s in love with me.”

  “But what about Nick,” the woman asked, dead serious.

  Carolyn fought back a bubble of laughter. “Nick’s history.”

  “Oh good,” the woman said. The light turned green. The man at the wheel of the Fairmount gave Carolyn a wild-eyed look and floored it. The Mustang pulled out more sedately.