In Every Port Page 4

  "I'm dying," Jessica told Cat as they began the walk home.

  "We could lie down and just roll home," Cat suggested. "Wait!" Cat held her breath for a moment, then burped. She grinned. "Excuse me, but that felt wonderful. I feel much better now." God, Jessica thought, she's so free.

  "I need some Seven-Up. That always makes me burp," she said after a moment. Had she ever been as young as Cat seemed, as free?

  "I have some. Why do we do this to ourselves?"

  "Freud would say we have destructive impulses."

  "Screw Freud. I think we're just pigs."

  "That describes us very aptly," Jessica agreed, then she smiled. "Did you see the look on the waitress's face when we ordered more garlic bread?"

  Cat burst out laughing. "Don't make me laugh, Jessica, it hurts," she gasped, holding one side.

  Jessica laughed as Cat clung to a telephone pole. "They're probably erecting a plaque to us, memorializing our table."

  "Oh, stop. I can't walk if I'm laughing," Cat said, pushing away from the pole.

  They staggered the rest of the way, laughing about dinner and laughing at the looks they were getting from other people. They probably think we're a couple of crazy women, Jessica told Herself when they got in the elevator. Herself observed that this being San Francisco, people probably thought they were a pair of dykes.

  She felt a sudden chill take over her, and she stole a sideways glance at Cat. Her heart began to pound so loudly she couldn't hear anything else. What are you saying, she demanded of Herself. We're just friends. Would people think we're lovers? Cat isn't a lesbian, she's straight. And I'm not a lesbian either, she told Herself. Life has just been easier with women, that's all. Herself laughed unpleasantly and she shivered.

  They each had a glass of Seven-Up, and Cat applauded when Jessica finally burped and felt better.

  "I have some ice cream at my place," Jessica offered, her voice a little strained. She wondered if she were pale.

  "Are you kidding? I couldn't eat anything for at least a week," Cat said. "I want to go to bed."

  Jessica choked in mid-swallow. She gasped for breath and coughed violently, tears streaming from her eyes. Cat thumped her on the back until Jessica signaled that she wasn't choking to death. Cat couldn't possibly be suggesting — no, she couldn't. Jessica was beset by fears, wondering if Cat was bisexual, wondering if Cat was going to make a pass at her. Wondering why she was so damn afraid of Cat suddenly, and so afraid to go home and be alone with Herself.

  Cat lay down on her sofa, one hand on her stomach, groaning. "Thanks for dinner, Jessica. Really. I may die from it, but thanks for a great last meal."

  "You're welcome," Jessica managed, and suddenly they were talking again as they had at the restaurant.

  Much later, she looked at the stars again. They were sparkling down at a very different person, she felt. Who was she? Was she really a lesbian? Had she been kidding Herself all these years, making excuses for her real sexual preference, with patent lies such as not having enough time to develop a relationship with a man?

  Herself said yes, you are a lesbian. Yes, you've been fooling yourself. And you've done a first-class job of it, too.

  What if people found out, the people who brought her contracts? What if they found out she'd only slept with women? Did everyone know Jessica Brian was a lesbian, everyone but Jessica?

  The panicky feeling stayed with her. For days when Jessica met with clients she read double meanings into people's words, imagined they were slyly suggesting something. At night she lay in a ball on her bed, wondering, agonizing.

  How could she have practiced self-deception so thoroughly? Why had she taken so long to see the obvious truth? She hadn't made some rational, logical choice to be with women, no matter how much she wanted to pretend. She was a lesbian. She wanted to be with women, for physical and emotional reasons. Logic had little to do with it.

  On a foggy afternoon a week later she was closing a consultation with one of the sales reps at the software company.

  "You're really quite special," the woman said, shaking Jessica's hand. When she didn't immediately let go, Jessica pulled her hand away, her heart pounding, her color rising.

  "Thank you," she said brusquely. "I try."

  The woman's face fell a little, but she smiled at Jessica again. "The day's over for you, isn't it? Would you like to go have a drink?"

  "No. No thanks, really. I do have another appointment this evening, and just enough time to make it home to change to a fresh suit." The suit she was wearing wasn't crumpled, and it was a weak excuse.

  "Another time, perhaps, then."

  When the woman left, Jessica looked down at her shaking hands. "What's happening to me?" she whispered.

  She packed up hurriedly and half-ran to the bus. She ran to her building and up the stairs, locking her door behind her. Her heart was pounding. She sat down on the sofa, her head in her hands.

  Herself tried to reason with her. That woman was just being friendly, admiring you because you're professionally admirable. She wasn't making a pass, just an overture of friendship. And you acted as if you thought she was going to attack you. You wanted to ask her why she thought you were gay. You wanted to demand who she thought she was that she could assume you were available. You're losing your mind, Jessica, losing your mind.

  She got up and rummaged around until she came up with a bottle of scotch. She hated scotch but started drinking anyway.

  You went with Roberta that first night because you wanted to. Your body wanted hers.

  No! She tried to reassemble the shreds of the argument she'd been using for years to excuse her preference for women. I went with Roberta because I chose to. Because I could have just as easily said no. Because it was safer, less risky than going with a man. I just never had the motivation to try it with a man, that's all.

  Liar! Herself lost patience with Jessica. You like women, you've always preferred women to men. You're afraid of being tagged gay, that's all. You'll advise women in your classes to go out and conquer, be honest and be themselves. But not you, not for yourself.

  She had another shot of scotch. You make me sound like a hypocrite, she told Herself.

  You are. Got to hand it to you, when you do something you do it well. You don't have the courage of your convictions. You don't let anyone stay the whole night with you, not because they might think your relationship is something it isn't, but because it might prove to you that you're a lesbian.

  No! That can't be why.

  She had another shot, then another. Not used to hard liquor, she broke out in a sweat.

  What did you do when that asshole in college started feeling you up at the student pub?

  I slugged him. I would have slugged a woman who started copping a feel without my permission.

  He bought you a drink.

  That didn't give him rights.

  Roberta bought you a drink. You went to bed with her.

  That was different…

  How?

  She was…

  Yes?

  ...a woman.

  She drank another shot down. It came right back up. Herself left her in peace while she threw up and then slowly, miserably, undressed. Sweating profusely, she crawled into bed.

  Are you a lesbian, or not, Herself asked slyly.

  I don't know.

  What's a lesbian, Herself asked quietly.

  I don't know. She rides a motorcycle, I guess. She's alone.

  What a stereotype. Like Marilyn, Herself pointed out.

  Marilyn. Marilyn wasn't alone, she wasn't obsessed with sex, she didn't own a motorcycle and she was a respected businesswoman. And she was a lesbian. She had told Jessica so, quite firmly.

  And Jessica had been shocked. Lying in bed with the smell of Marilyn on her, the feel of Marilyn's hair against her breasts, she had been shocked to think she was in bed with a lesbian. And she'd driven the reality of her own sexual preference successfully out of her mind.

  I'm
afraid, she told Herself.

  I don't blame you. Lots of women are afraid. Don't you teach that in your courses? Teacher teach thyself, Herself suggested.

  I tell women to make their image and then stay with it, to take the consequences and the rewards together. I've been hiding this big piece of myself. I was showing the world only a part of me, and showing myself the exact same face.

  How does this change things, Herself asked.

  She sat up but decided that sitting up was a major mistake. She carefully laid her throbbing head back on the pillows. I feel different. I feel scared. I feel alone.

  She finished up a proposal for an in-service training seminar for a large San Francisco bank. She sealed the envelope and sat back.

  She'd been hiding in her room for days now, almost afraid to even look in the mirror. She was afraid DYKE would be written across her forehead. Herself told her she was being ridiculous.

  Just give me a little time, she pleaded. I'll get used to this. The knock at the door shattered the oppressive silence surrounding her.

  Cat stormed in. She hardly paused for breath. "Do you have any cold wine? Beer? I can't believe my boss is such a bastard. The waiters are on strike and there weren't any strawberries. Can you believe how muggy it is? I wish there was some sunshine. What a merde of a day." She went through the living room like a whirlwind, then into the kitchen where she grabbed a can of coke out of the refrigerator, then left it on the coffee table.

  She dropped into the rocker and rocked furiously. "I'm not tough enough with the conference planners. The damned union won't give up even one thing to get enough people on the floor to meet the obligations for tomorrow's events. I can't get any contracts signed until the strike clears up, and he says I'm not tough enough with the conference planners!"

  You're not making a lot of sense, Cat," Jessica observed.

  "Do I have to make sense with you?" she asked plaintively. "I've been coherent and logical all day long. I just want to gripe for a while."

  "Okay with me. What should I do?"

  "Say poor Cat and how awful."

  "Okay. Poor Cat."

  Cat glanced at Jessica, grinned, and rocked furiously. "Two of the sales reps are having an affair and I think they're padding their expense accounts and traveling on our money to sleep together since they're both married. So another thirty-five cents an hour is going to cure all of the union's problems. I just don't know."

  "How awful." Jessica was relieved Cat hadn't noticed anything different about her. Maybe to Cat she wasn't any different.

  "Let's go get drunk at O'Malley's."

  Jessica hesitated. She felt very fragile and somehow completely overwhelmed by Cat's energy. Forgetting all about everything sounded quite tempting. She still remembered the scotch hangover and promised Herself moderation. "Okay. Just a little tipsy."

  O'Malley's was a simple neighborhood bar just down the block and around the corner. It was a little early for the usual crowd, Cat explained, and she and Jessica slid into the recesses of a booth with two Long Island iced teas.

  "This stuff ought to do the trick," Jessica said after a taste. The drink was very strong, but it went down very easy.

  "Mmm. It's made of one-part of just about everything that's over a hundred and twenty proof with a dash of Coke for color." Cat took a big sip. "Merde, what a day."

  "So I gathered," Jessica said. "Are you French?"

  "No, why?"

  "Merde."

  "Oh," Cat said, and she smiled slightly. "My dad would beat the merde out of me if I swore. My gym teacher was French and I picked up her favorite swear word. My dad never knew what it meant."

  "Where's your dad now?" Jessica asked.

  "He and my mom died," Cat closed her eyes for a second as if to concentrate, "four and a half years ago. Continental pair that they were, they were speeding down the autobahn when they went into a skid."

  "I'm sorry," Jessica said.

  "They were together," Cat said, and she shrugged, but Jessica sensed that under the nonchalance Cat had adored her parents.

  "Well, you can go ahead and complain. You don't have to make any sense, but I'm listening."

  "That's nice to know," Cat said with a sigh. She leaned back in the booth and closed her eyes. "I really don't need to talk. Today was just one of those days. I talked to myself the whole way home. One thing after another kept coming to mind that I wanted to bitch about. It's good just to know there's someone to listen."

  Jessica leaned back too, glad she wasn't sitting in her place agonizing. If she drank enough Long Island iced tea, maybe she could forget about all the suddenly unanswerable questions. Damn the hangover. Marilyn had said that Jessica always knew the answers. What a laugh!

  Cat was rambling on about nothing in particular, and Jessica remembered to say Poor Cat and How awful occasionally. It was nice and undemanding.

  She looked around the bar and noticed how many couples there were. In another booth opposite, across the bar, two women were huddled close together, laughing softly as they clinked glasses. They were oblivious to anyone who might be staring at them, including Jessica. She glanced around. She was the only one staring at them. But they made such a lovely picture. She wanted to remember the contented, beautiful faces, the light from the sputtering candle illuminating the lovers with a benevolent glow.

  "You look kind of strange, Jessica," Cat observed, and Jessica came back to reality with a bump.

  "I do?"

  "Yes. As if you had bad news."

  "No, nothing like that. Just trying to make a decision."

  "What kind of decision?"

  "Between two choices, and I can't have both, just one or the other."

  "Hmmm. I hate those kind of choices. There's usually no going back."

  "Bingo. Ford at the road, so to speak." She was surprised she could speak so lightly about something that was beginning to gnaw at her insides. She felt as if she were going to explode. Who am I? What am I? What am I going to do?

  Are you really any different, Herself wanted to know.

  I don't know.

  "Earth to Jessica."

  "Sorry. This is powerful elixir," she said, waving a hand at her drink.

  "Guaranteed amnesia. Forget your troubles. Have another."

  "No, I'm pleasantly fuzzy at the moment. Let's go get some pizza around the corner." The picture the two women made was beginning to look so tempting that she wanted to go over and ask them how they'd achieved such beauty between them. She needed to leave before she completely lost her sense of propriety. Screw propriety, Herself said.

  They found they both hated anchovies. They quickly disposed of a medium pepperoni and a pitcher of icy beer. Sated, they wandered back home again.

  "Why did I eat in my suit?" Cat asked.

  "Because you were all worked up and wanted to go out."

  "We could have put on some jeans."

  "I don't own any," Jessica admitted, rather ashamedly.

  "What!" Cat exclaimed shrilly. "No jeans? What do you do when you want to relax?"

  "I wear slacks, a sweater. What I'm wearing now."

  "With make-up and nylons? Girl, don't you know how to relax? Don't you have any T-shirts?"

  "Where would I wear them to?"

  "Nowhere, silly," Cat lectured. "You put on a T-shirt and some jeans and you lay around. You don't have to impress anyone. My favorite T-shirt says 'Live long and prosper' on it."

  "Guess I need to buy some jeans," Jessica ventured as the elevator stopped at the third floor and the cage doors slid slowly open.

  " 'Night," Cat said. "Hey, wait a minute." Jessica hesitated, her key in the lock while Cat disappeared. After a few moments and some frantic rustlings, Cat reappeared. "Here. You gotta start somewhere."

  She took the bundle and mumbled a thank you. As she undressed and hung up her slacks in the "cleaners" part of the closet, she remembered the bundle she'd put down with her purse and padded back to the living room for it.

&nb
sp; Holding it up in the bedroom, she had to laugh. It was a worn purple T-shirt that said WOMEN DO IT BETTER & LOOK BETTER DOING IT. It smelled of laundry softener and Cat's subtle perfume.

  She held it against her body for a moment, then put it on and went to sleep.

  "Hi, neighbor! Hang on a second," she called, and she ran up the steps to take one of the grocery bags from Cat.

  "Thanks, you saved my life! That's the one with the eggs, of course, and it was going to fall any second."

  "Why do you always try to bring the groceries up in one trip?" Jessica asked as she unlocked the door to the building and rang for the elevator.

  "Because I do. Don't know why. It's a compulsion, I guess. Could you get my door?" Cat asked breathlessly as they got out on the third floor.

  Jessica carried the bag into the small kitchen. Cat set her bags down with a thump and gave a satisfied sigh. She asked, "Would you like a diet Pepsi? Or how about a glass of wine? It's Friday and I'm actually off for three whole days in a row."

  "What kind of wine?" Jessica asked. "I'm very picky." She realized rather suddenly that she felt comfortable with Cat.

  "It's ordinary Chablis, miz conniesewer." Cat pulled the cork out of a half-finished bottle and poured them both a glass, then went back to unpacking the groceries.

  Jessica sipped in peace, noticing how graceful Cat was, how her hair shone in the dim kitchen light.

  Look, Herself said, I wanted you to realize you were a lesbian. But that doesn't give you license to start mooning over every woman you see. You'd be as bad as some construction worker then.

  But I'm not mooning, just admiring. Cat's straight. I'm not in any danger of getting involved. Herself muttered.

  "I was thinking of making lasagna for dinner. Would you like some?"

  "Home-cooked food? Really?" Jessica almost squealed. "I didn't know anyone cooked any more."

  "I do when I have the time. Lasagna's easy. I'll show you as I go."

  "Don't bother. I'm all thumbs in the kitchen. Teaching me is pointless."