In Every Port Read online

  "All over, wherever anyone wants me," Jessica said with a smile.

  "Can I have your address?" asked another.

  "Here's my card. I'd appreciate a call," Jessica said.

  "Excuse me, but I've been wondering if I should wear a suit to the office. Would a suit give me more authority?" a pretty brunette wanted to know as Jessica began to pack up her notes.

  "It depends. What do the people on the level above you wear?"

  "Suits — pinstripes."

  "Then buy yourself a suit, definitely. They'll never promote you if they don't think you'll fit in. You'll have more authority because you'll look like someone with power. If you don't want to be promoted because you like the situation where you are, then wear what everyone else on your level wears."

  "I work in a printing office," another woman said, "and a suit is just out of the question. But my subordinates don't take me seriously."

  "Hmmm." Jessica frowned. "Think military. Make everything you wear as crisp as you can. Try razor-sharp creases in pants if you wear them. A little thing like that can be the subtle reminder your people need that you are the one in authority. The situation's similar to a police officer who's only wearing trousers and shirt — but there's never any doubt about who's in charge."

  "Well, the gun helps," the woman said, laughing.

  Laughing easily herself, Jessica answered, "but you can't wear a gun to work, as much as the prospect may appeal to you." She could feel her tension and adrenaline beginning to wear off. "And while you can still act like a human being, remember too much friendliness can result in not being taken seriously when you want something done."

  "I'll try it. Thanks for the tip." The woman was smiling gratefully. "You were terrific, really."

  "Thank you for coming. Here's my card. Write and let me know how you're doing." She smiled pleasantly and picked up her case.

  It had been a long two days, but as always she was the last to leave the seminar room. She stayed as long as any of the women who came to see her wanted to stay. Their personal stories were an endless source of material for her, and they helped her keep current with their concerns and ideas.

  Dinner time in Chicago was approaching, but her stomach was still on San Francisco time. She wasn't hungry, just tired. She needed to relax and come down off the high speaking always gave her. It was like acting and it had many of the same rewards. She still remembered her first professional speaking engagement vividly. It was a moment in her life fifteen years ago she could point to and say what went before was Before. Everything After was a different life, a different person.

  She had given a short but impassioned speech about the attitudes the business world had toward women. Her fee was twenty dollars, a great amount to the tiny budget of the university women's center. The fee had also been a great amount to her — a symbolic amount. She had begun impartially, describing how women would have to learn the male dominated rules and then work to change them. But the atmosphere of the women's center had been charged with encouragement. She heard someone murmur, "Right on, sister," and felt a fire take hold of her as her voice gained power and conviction.

  "They say emotion has no place on the job, that women won't work out because we're emotional. They say showing sympathy for someone in pain is wrong. They say we can't be impartial, that we make up our minds emotionally. But men have demonstrated over and over again that they hire and promote based on emotions, like friendship or trust. When they do it they call it gut instinct. When we do it, they sneer and call it woman's intuition.

  "Perhaps what they fear is that we won't play the game by their rules. Perhaps we'll use our emotions, our woman's intuition, and make better decisions than they have historically made with their gut instinct. They admit they are afraid, but I don't think they've told the truth about why women frighten them. They're afraid we will succeed." There was applause. "They are afraid we will overcome as we have always overcome." There was another burst of approval. "They are afraid and are not used to fear. They are off-balance. Women must pursue this unique advantage, to survive, to overcome, to succeed, to meet our own needs."

  As she left the stage, women touched her, shook her hands, clasped her shoulders, congratulated her.

  Her first speaking engagement, and the evening was a triumph. Perhaps that made what happened next easier. Perhaps the exhilaration made her open to new experience, to see returning the fervent embrace of a woman named Phoebe with her own fervor as a simple thing, very easy to do.

  Phoebe had asked for nothing. Jessica had asked for nothing. They each gave freely, passionately, urgently. Phoebe taught thoroughly, Jessica learned quickly, and before the night was over she felt completely reborn. Walking to her own dorm room she marveled at the open ease she had felt giving Jessica to Phoebe for a few hours, sure that afterwards Phoebe would give Jessica back, intact. Never had anything been so easy; never had anything seemed so right.

  Relationships with men had always been so hard to work out. After her parents' death she had needed to be self-reliant. Boyfriends came and went. They mostly went after she insisted on keeping a life of her own, and maintaining her business major rather than some course of study men regarded as more "womanly." She'd lost one would-be Romeo when she refused to do less than her best on a test in economics so the other guys wouldn't tease him about dating a brain, and horror of horrors, a libber as well.

  Men were too difficult, too demanding. Relationships were never equal, but always lopsided toward the man's needs, the man's power. Ever since that incredible night with Phoebe, she had decided to not seek out men until she was ready to make the major commitment and could take the time to find an equal partner. She would work hard and when she had finally gained her personal goals, she would look around for a more stable relationship with someone who was willing to be as open and free as Phoebe had been.

  So she had continued dating women because it was a whole lot easier to get to know a woman than any man she'd ever met. At first she had thought the drifting in her personal life would last just through college. Then just through those first lean years when she'd moved around so much. And then she'd decided she wouldn't worry about men any more at all. Sex was great — when she had sex — but it wasn't the most important aspect of her life.

  Jessica kneaded her toes into the hotel room's thinning carpet and sighed. She was dog-tired and couldn't decide how to spend the evening. But she didn't want to sit around remembering the past, wondering about what had happened to Phoebe and Alice and nameless others. Something was very dissatisfying about remembering her past. And if she looked back on her past for too long, something didn't make a lot of sense. Better not to look back at all. Today and tomorrow were all that were important.

  Cut the philosophical crap, Herself said, yawning. What are you going to do tonight? She turned down the bed and plumped the pillows, debating about room service. Leaning back, she looked over her airline tickets for the next morning.

  Why had she booked such an early flight, she asked Herself. Why do hotels make bedside tables so small? Why do hotels bolt the lamps down so you can't move them out of the way when you're working? Why was she thinking about spending the evening alone when she was in Chicago, Herself wanted to know.

  If she were in San Antonio she could call Marilyn. But this wasn't San Antonio, this was Chicago. She fished her address book out of her case. C for Chicago, and Chicago meant Roberta.

  "Hello," the soft voice said inquiringly, a little rushed and harried.

  "It's Jessica."

  "Where are you?" Roberta asked, with wonder and eagerness.

  "At O'Hare. I'm filling in for someone. I just found out."

  "You must be exhausted."

  "I am," Jess said, exhaling heavily. "I am so tired, and I would love to get even more tired." There was a long silence. "Roberta?"

  "I'm here, I was just thinking fast. The traffic's awful right now. I couldn't reach you for at least an hour and a half."

  "I nee
d a shower and I'll order room service. It'll be waiting when you get here," Jessica murmured. None of the women from the day's lecture would have recognized the low, husky tone. "Champagne, something to nibble on ... "

  "Like you," Roberta suggested.

  "I'm hungry too."

  "Where are you?"

  "Room five-sixty-four at the Marriott. Don't kill yourself getting here."

  "I'll try to keep my mind on my driving, but I'm thinking about you, the last time you were here. See you as soon as I can."

  Jessica slowly stripped, hanging her suit up carefully. She ordered the champagne and some munchies, then took a quick shower. Toweling her curly black hair, she waited until the food came, signed the bill and then began contemplating Roberta.

  If a man had walked up to her the way Roberta had, and asked her right out if she'd like to have a drink, she would have used her eyes to castrate him on the spot. Maybe the skin-tight red satin pants had caught her off guard. Whatever the reason was, she'd said yes, she'd like to have a drink. And later, she'd said yes, she'd like to go to bed.

  Roberta had later explained that if she was attracted to a woman she made it plain. She didn't waste any time on women who weren't going to want to go to bed later. She was a consummate pick-up artist and a consummate lover. Jessica hadn't minded being picked up. And right now forgetting about everything and making love for a few hours, no strings, would be wonderful.

  A knock on the door brought her out of her fantasizing, remembering the mesh of faces and places and nights. She was breathing hard and was just a little shaky when she opened the door to Roberta.

  They hardly exchanged a word. Once the door was closed, Roberta leaned back against it, undoing the tie of her long coat. Jessica took in the black spike heel sandals and the silk stockings. As the coat parted, scarlet garters and a lace garter belt came into view.

  The coat slid to the floor. Jessica fell to her knees, kissing the bare abdomen, running her hands over the bare hips, up the firm bare arms, until she brushed the bare breasts. Herself reminded Jessica that Jessica didn't think sex was all that important. Jessica told Herself to mind its own business.

  "I didn't want to waste any time undressing," Roberta said and she bent to kiss Jessica's upturned face. Only moments before, her lips had been dry, but now they were wet and hot, pressing feverishly against Roberta's. Roberta broke the kiss and bit urgently at Jessica's lower lip. She became disoriented, feeling drugged and incoherent, lost in passion.

  Roberta pressed Jessica down to the floor, and held her body over Jessica. Jessica ran her hands over the firm muscles rippling over Roberta's shoulders, forearms and back. Roberta began brushing over Jessica, flesh touching flesh, hard muscled thighs pressing against Jessica's softer skin.

  Roberta taught gymnastics and dance, which gave her endurance. Jessica wallowed in letting Roberta take over completely, submitting gratefully to the other woman's strength. Roberta began working her fingers into Jessica's tired neck muscles, pressing, stroking, pressing, stroking, working her way inch by inch down the length of Jessica's spine. Then the fingers worked their way back up Jessica's shoulder blades. Warm hands caressed her ribs and the soft flesh of the sides of her breasts.

  The hands crept to her front, pressing, stroking, then teasing and caressing until she shivered. Roberta drew back, her hands caressing the front of Jessica's body until one finger stroked gently, persistently and the fire burned through Jessica.

  She murmured in pleasure, her body arching in response. Rocking, she moved against Roberta who slid both arms around her hips and pressed her mouth into Jessica. Jessica groaned and then sighed deeply.

  On and on their lovemaking went, Jessica receiving and giving, swimming and drowning, floating and wading. Her own primal need was frightening and overwhelmed her, and slowly it was filled. She scarcely felt the hardness of the floor under her as on and on the passion consumed her, fingers and tongues and teeth the connection between their straining, needing bodies, meeting in the dark.

  As she settled into her seat on the airplane the next morning, she was faintly worried she didn't remember going to bed. She had only the dimmest memory of Roberta leaving after a prolonged and fevered kiss which had almost — but not quite — made Jessica want to pull her back into the bed for the rest of the night. She'd never spent the night with anyone, not the entire night.

  She fell asleep almost immediately after take-off, vaguely dreaming about Roberta. They were exhausted dreams of red satin documents with signatures from top to bottom, and rolls of toilet paper dancing on hotel lamps. Her dreams were intruded upon only by the drone of engines and the clink of coffee cups.

  THREE

  Home Again, Home Again

  The place was a royal mess.

  Jessica put her suitcase down with a thump and surveyed the stacks of boxes and all her furniture crowded in one corner of the living room. She bent to pick up the key that Vince's Rapid Move had shoved under the door.

  With a sigh of depression she went to the kitchen. The movers had even helped themselves to her only cold soda and had used all the ice. She repressed a swell of self-pity, blinked back some tired tears, and wandered into the bedroom.

  Well, her bed was in the bedroom. So was the microwave. Jessica smiled while her eyes filled with tears. She felt like Jessica Through the Looking Glass. She went to her office and saw her huge roll-top desk up against the window, all the way across the room from the DESK HEBE sign. And the desk was the only furniture that had been put in the office — the books, bookshelves, word processor, and other items all marked OFFICE were in the living room. She tried to decide how much she was going to deduct from what she owed Vince for the botched job. She wondered if Vince would send his Uncle Vito after her if she deducted anything. Maybe she should get Vince to come back and do the job properly.

  "It's going to take hours just to be able to sleep tonight," she observed to the empty room. Here you are, in the middle of a mess, Herself said. You were going to pay one way or another, so you should have just gone ahead and paid the penalties. She ignored Herself. She didn't even know where her slacks were, and she had no intention of moving anything while wearing a suit. Shrugging, she had to smile. Her other choice of apparel was the flimsy nightgown in her suitcase, or nothing at all. Moving furniture in the nude was not her idea of a fun time.

  "Hel-llo," a voice called from the doorway. Jessica held back a gasp of alarm and then calmed herself. Axe murderers didn't have light, feminine voices. She walked briskly back to the living room remembering she had left the door wide open.

  "Excuse me, I hope I didn't startle you."

  She had only a brief impression of vaguely remembered sparkling brown eyes before the envelope in the woman's hand caught her attention. The woman was the one with the grocery bags who she had run into on the doorstep. If she remembered Jessica, she gave no sign.

  "The movers asked me to hold onto this for you. They didn't want it to get lost."

  Jessica opened the envelope, read the contents, and then laughed mirthlessly. "Of course, the only thing that really mattered to them — the bill. Look at this place," she appealed helplessly.

  "Oh dear," the woman sympathized. "It is a mess. I was home, too. If only I'd known, I'd have watched them for you. I'm so sorry." She put her hands on her hips.

  Something in the way she stood, even though the woman was several inches shorter than Jessica, made Jessica realize the movers would have done exactly as she asked. "Oh thank you, that's nice of you."

  An awkward silence followed and they looked at each other. Jessica smiled. "I'm Jessica Brian."

  "Catherine Merrill. Everybody calls me Cat."

  "Pleasure to meet you," Jessica said, and they shook hands quite gravely.

  Cat raised one shoulder expressively as she surveyed the jumbled mass of furniture and boxes. "They really were thorough. Nothing is where it makes any sense. As I say at work, this is merde."

  "The microwave is in the
bedroom," Jessica said, and then smiled more naturally as Cat laughed. "And I don't even know how to begin to find something to change into so I can start making sense of this mess."

  "I might have something you could fit in," Cat offered, sizing Jessica up with her eyes. "My jeans would be a couple of inches short, but I'll bet we're the same size."

  "No, you're much smaller than me," Jessica protested. Cat was at least four inches shorter, and Jessica was only five-four.

  "I'm what you'd call solid pack. Short, but solidly built. Come on, I'll find something. You have to start somewhere." She went across the hall to the other door with Jessica following slowly behind. Jessica realized that even though Cat was shorter, she was plump and generously filled out where Jessica was slender.

  Cat was right, they wore the same size. On Cat, the jeans were attractively tight. On her, the jeans hung a little, not clinging at all, and were very short. She looked at her reflection. She didn't own any jeans of her own, just the neatly tailored slacks she'd preferred ever since high school. She looked different somehow, and it wasn't just that the jeans were too short. Maybe it was the different background.

  She turned to consider the modern dramatic decor of Cat's bedroom: art nouveau torch lamps, brilliant red comforter on the queen-sized bed, Georgia O'Keeffe print, neat dressing table. The overall effect was very different from her pale blues and traditional oaks.

  "A new fashion statement," she announced from the doorway of Cat's bedroom. "But they're a lot better than the nightgown in my suitcase. Thank you very much. I think I'll be able to get the bedroom assembled enough to sleep."

  "Let me help you out," Cat volunteered, hopping up. "I'm bored silly."

  "I really should protest and say I can handle everything myself, but I'm not a fool. You will have to let me buy you dinner at least." She smiled, heartened by Cat's energetic offer.

  "Deal."

  They went back to Jessica's and surveyed the mess. Fortunately the floors were all hardwood parquet tile. The heavier pieces, including the dressers and bookshelves, slid over the floor with only a little pushing.