Touchwood Page 6

  "Just don't break the car. She ain't pretty, but she's all I got."

  A half an hour later Rayann was standing on the tailgate of the car, keenly aware of the construction workers watching her. When she'd driven up they'd told her she could throw her trash in one of the dumpsters — and pointed to the tallest of the group lining the site.

  Daunted, but stubborn, she lifted ruined books and heaved them up and over her head. They went over the side and dropped to the bottom with a satisfying crash. It hurt to throw away books, but they were ruined — and they did make a lovely sound. She forgot about the construction workers watching her as her body found a lift-shove-push rhythm. Once the books were gone she tackled the ruined lumber. She threw the pieces overhand, listening to them ricochet and ping off the dumpster walls. She practiced putting a spin on them, and the overhead motion reminded her of the tennis she'd cultivated in high school. Boos from the workers broke her concentration. She looked up and saw a figure headed her way.

  A smiling brown woman looked up at her from under a fluorescent orange hard hat. "Hang on a moment and I'll make it easier," she said, walking past Rayann. She disappeared around the dumpster, and then the side began to lower. Eventually the side of the dumpster was level with Rayann’s knees. Typical men — they weren’t going to tell me it lowered. Rayann hopped down from the tailgate and pulled the largest piece of Sheetrock toward her. Two gloved hands joined hers and Rayann looked up in surprise.

  "They're all after your body, and if I don't get you out of here I won't be responsible," the woman said. Black eyes glinted with laughter over high cheekbones that hinted at Native American ancestry.

  "I appreciate it. Thanks for lowering the side, too," Rayann said, slightly out of breath. They worked companionably and in a matter of minutes had completely cleared the back of the car. "Thanks again," Rayann said as the woman slammed the tailgate.

  "De nada. I'm Zoraida." She took off her hard hat and wiped her face with the bandanna tied around her neck.

  "Rayann."

  "Rayann." Zoraida trilled the R. "Very pretty." More trilling, and Rayann became acutely aware of the honest appraisal she was receiving. There was a prolonged silence during which Rayann could think of nothing to say. Then Zoraida said, "Would you like to have a beer sometime?"

  Suddenly Rayann felt a glow. She thinks I'm attractive. I'll be darned Coupledom didn't ruin me completely. For heaven's sake, say something! "When?" she asked. Wow, you really bowled her over with that snappy come-back. For someone who made finding a new lover a priority, you're not being very aggressive. But there was something about Zoraida that told Rayann she wouldn't need to be aggressive, even if it were her style.

  "Whenever you think you can handle it — or me," Zoraida said. She tossed her head and put the hard hat on at a jaunty angle. "We're only on the third floor and there's fourteen more to go. Ill be here whenever you're... thirsty."

  Speechless, Rayann watched Zoraida as she walked away. Suddenly Zoraida turned, walking backwards. "I lied when I said they were all after your body. I don't know about them, but I certainly am." She turned forward again and sauntered into the site. Rayann drove back to Louisa's, a two million megawatt smile on her face.

  Later, showered and grim, Rayann was ready. She knew that Michelle should be back at work on another 72-hour shift, but she might have taken time off to guard her precious possessions while Rayann removed her own. Girded for battle, Rayann thought her jeans and sweatshirt looked tough. All she needed now was a pair of six-shooters, and Zoraida's hard hat. The recollection that Zoraida had found her attractive eased the ache inside a little.

  She went down to the store. "I thought I'd go and get my things," she told Louisa in as firm a voice as she could manage.

  "Need company?"

  "No, I have to do this myself. Thank you for loaning me the car. I wish I'd never sold mine."

  "Why did you?"

  "There were things I needed... and I didn't feel as if... she should pay for them." There, another chance for her to admit she's gay. She has to be.

  "Now, of course, you wish you'd let her," Louisa said, with a smile.

  "I'm not sure," Rayann said seriously. "I never thought of her as a meal ticket." She met Louisa's gaze, for once, and said, "I was never looking for a sugar daddy. Mommy. Whatever." She stopped, realizing how silly it sounded.

  Louisa laughed. "It's funny how the concept of sugar mommies don't pop up much in literature."

  Rayann made a joking response as she left the store, her suspicions about Louisa's sexuality still unconfirmed. Of course, what was she supposed to say? "I used to be a sugar mommy? I once had a sugar mommy?" Get real, Rayann. She'll tell you when she's comfortable.

  The drive, in early afternoon, was only slowed by the usual backup on the Bay Bridge. Her first stop was at her mother's office. Armed with one of Louisa's business cards, she parked in a loading zone, and transferred empty boxes from the cab to the truck bed, hoping the parking monitors would think she was delivering something and cut her some slack. She hurried into the Transamerica Tower and took the express to the seventy-third floor. She swallowed rapidly as her ears popped twice on the way up.

  Her mother's new office had moved further away from the reception area. Rayann was aware this was an increase in status, but was a little peeved when an officious young woman in a suit offered to help her find her "party." She looked as if she thought Rayann had wandered in off the street. Rayann wished she had a six-shooter handy. Take me to your leader, she'd say. Instead, she explained she had something for Ann Germaine. The robot replied that "Ms. Germaine wasn't available," and that she would give anything Rayann might like to leave to her.

  "I'm her daughter," Rayann said bluntly, but she smiled when the robot became a human being.

  "Sorry, her office is this way. She's really not in, but you'd be surprised how many people try to butt their way in to see her."

  Rayann forgave the woman when she saw her mother's office, complete with the words "Creative Director" under her name. She hadn't known her mother was now the head of Creative. Prom her days in graphic design, Rayann knew the creative director of any ad agency was only a few steps removed from God.

  She put Louisa's card on her mother's desk, and wrote a note explaining that she was living and working at the address on the card. Then she wrote, "Sorry about yesterday. Give me a little time and then I'll probably be interested in any pro bono you know about."

  Feeling better about the world in general, Rayann returned to Louisa's El Camino, which did not sport a parking ticket, and drove back through the Financial District to the South of Market area where Michelle's apartment was. The parking space was empty, so Michelle was not home. She could make this short and sweet.

  She cleared the bookshelves, then packed her albums, the rest of her clothes, videotapes and her favorite coffee mug. One boxful was the cooking equipment she had paid for and the bottle of authentic basalmic vinegar Michelle had recently bought her as a surprise gift. I wonder if it was a guilt offering, like when the unfaithful husband suddenly brings home flowers to the little missus. Should that have tipped me off? Prom under the bed she drew her Macintosh in its padded case, and two large boxes of diskettes. Finally, she dismantled her stereo components: receiver, speakers, turntable. The equalizer and CD player were Michelle's. From the back of the closet she found the tubes of her posters and her dusty but still serviceable portfolio case.

  Everything, without any piling or squeezing, fit in the back of the El Camino and Rayann realized how little she could call her own. It wasn't that she put great stock in possessions, but surely an almost thirty-year-old woman should have more to her name than an odd collection of wood and a bottle of basalmic vinegar.

  She stared at the ironwood block, knee-high and eighteen-inches square. It represented a creative failure, but had cost a fortune. She had piled Michelle's stuff unceremoniously on the floor, finding a pair of her own earrings in the process. It took all her s
trength to leverage the block onto the sofa, then onto her shoulder. She nearly fell down the stairs with it, which probably would have killed her, but finally it was in the back of the El Camino, mostly unscathed.

  Her last task was gathering and wrapping the chess pieces she'd carved, all female pieces with meticulous design work on the base of each figure, she could probably sell the set, but she had always liked it too much to consider parting with it.

  A quarter hour later she was on the Bay Bridge with the sun dropping behind the Financial District skyline. Another half hour and she turned up the streets to The Common Reader.

  "Do you need some help?" Louisa left her stool behind the counter as Rayann nosily entered carrying her suitcases. Rayann declined. "Are you... well, ask if you want some help. The back door would be faster." Louisa went back to her perch. There were various stacks of invoices on the counter.

  Rayann unloaded her clothes into the dressers, then took the outside backstairs down to the car. Her back and legs ached from the afternoon's exertions. She filled her arms, then plodded stoically up the stairs, through the back porch, into her bedroom. She stacked everything in the huge walk-in closet. She piled more clothes on the other bed. She set her Macintosh case in the corner where she could get to it if she felt some sort of creative urge — which she rather doubted would happen. She hadn't used her Mac since she'd typed Michelle's last paper. She hadn't used it for herself since she'd given up her job. Stop sniveling! You didn't have to give up your job. You just wanted to be available when Michelle was available. For all the good it did.

  "Looks like you're making yourself comfortable. You need some space, though," Louisa said from the doorway.

  "It'll all fit when I get organized," Rayann said. She wiped her shirt sleeve across her sweaty forehead. "If you lived in a newer house the room would probably be half this size, but as it is there's plenty of closet space and shelves. And I love the wardrobe and all its nooks and crannies."

  "So do I," Louisa said. "Well, I'm glad you're making yourself at home."

  Rayann smiled and wondered if she had imagined Louisa's fleeting expression of wistfulness. "I brought some videotapes from my collection. Maybe there are a few movies you haven't seen. They're in here." Suddenly her heart began to pound. Would Louisa recognize the significance of Lianna and By Design? Had she ever heard of Two in Twenty?

  Louisa bent over the box and read the titles. "Do you know I've never seen Star Wars? Hard to believe it's been out since the mid-seventies. Wait until Tucker finds out you have it."

  "I have Empire and Jedi, too," she said, calming herself. For goodness sake, get a grip. There's no reason to suddenly feel naked

  Louisa looked up from the box. "I was going to start some dinner. You must be starved."

  "I am. But I want to finish moving everything in. I'll worry about organization tomorrow."

  "It's a casserole so you can microwave some when you're ready. Mind you, I'm not very good with the fool thing except for heating coffee, so you're on your own."

  "Why do you have one, then?"

  "Teddy thought I should have one. So just help yourself."

  Rayann focused on a stack of clothing to hide the rush of tears at Louisa's persistent kindness. "Thanks, Louisa. I appreciate it. You've being very good to me."

  "Goodness has nothing to do with it," Louisa quipped as she left the room. "I'm not losing a bedroom so much as gaining an indentured servant."

  Rayann went back to moving. If she stopped she'd drop. The last load was the stereo components. She stacked them up and then decided she was too tired to carry them upstairs to her room — there was no space for them anyway.

  "I don't think these will fit in my room," she said to Louisa as she went through the back door into the bookstore. "And you have a nice stereo in the living room already. I don't know why I took them except they're mine."

  "Enough reason. It's been a quiet evening for a Friday." Louisa stood up and stretched. They were the same height, but Louisa seemed taller somehow. "Would you mind if we set them up down here — oh, for heaven's sake put them down. You look done in. The casserole's very good, by the way, if I do say so myself." Louisa unloaded the components from Rayann's arms.

  Rayann shook her arms and swayed slightly.

  "Casserole sounds like ambrosia right now. I'm really tired."

  "I knew you shouldn't have tackled Emily today." She stared at Rayann's arms.

  Rayann smiled. "It sounds as if we were playing football." Rayann rolled her shoulders forward and back, then winced. She felt the intensity of Louisa's gaze on her face. "What did you want to do with the stereo?"

  "I'd love to set it up down here. And play something nicer than what that old radio will tune in. All I need is a table of some sort."

  "I have the perfect solution," Rayann said. She ran out to the garage with the last bit of her energy, and struggled back to the bookstore with the ironwood block she had been going to hide with the camping equipment.

  "Are you nuts?" Louisa hurried to the door and pulled half the block's weight onto her own arms, which seemed more than up to the task. "You're going to destroy your back. What on earth is this?"

  "Ironwood."

  "Feels like it." Together, they set the block upright in a corner near the register. Louisa stared down at the block. "What were you going to do with it?"

  "I don't remember now." Rayann set the receiver on top of the block, the turntable on top of the receiver and the speakers to either side. "I saw something, someone, stretching and... reaching... and it's gone now."

  Louisa put her hand on Rayann's shoulder. "Well, as soon as you want to start on it, I'll find something else to hold the stereo up. In the meantime I think it looks nice."

  "Probably the world's most expensive stereo table," Rayann said wryly. Louisa's touch sent a warm flush through her shoulder, and she recalled a similar flush when Zoraida had been so outrageous earlier. A perfectly normal response for someone on the rebound. Still her shoulder felt cold when Louisa withdrew.

  She untangled the cables and plugged the pieces together. When she was done she felt settled. It was always the same when she moved. She felt as if she were home once the stereo was put together. At Michelle's there had been foreign components and it hadn't felt like hers anymore. Not exactly theirs either.

  'It gets AM, doesn't it?" Louisa peered at the knobs and buttons. "I'm a real baseball fan. If you don't like baseball already you'll have to learn, I'm afraid."

  Rayann frowned and held back a giggle — relief and exhaustion played tag with her rapidly fogging brain. "I don't know. Aren't there... two leagues or something? Because the A's never play the Giants except when they did in the Series. They should play more often. It would save money, wouldn't it, because they could take public transportation to the games." She fluttered her eyelashes for good measure.

  Louisa looked away and Rayann could see her rolling her eyes. Then she shook her head and gave a patient sigh. "I follow the A's, and they're in the American League. You may have heard of them. My friend Danny and I go to a couple of games every year."

  "The American League. Hmmm. So you're basically a supporter of the DH rule. Don't you think it takes away some of the strategy in the use of middle relievers? But then I can't blame you for liking the A's. They're a real class act. One of the best cheap thrills in the world is watching the ninth-inning relief strike out three in a row. It would take something away from the mystique if the pitchers batted. But then again, some pitchers can lay down a bunt that hugs the third base line like —"

  "You big faker," Louisa said. She grinned. "I bet you know the starting lineup and their lifetime averages."

  'I'm San Francisco born and bred, but I have always liked the A's," Rayann said as she found the plug-in and turned the receiver on. "Ever since BillyBall." Static, then she tuned to a station that played the quiet new age music she loved. A soothing piano melody wrapped around her.

  "Lovely," Louisa said. "I like th
at station, too. You know, I think we're going to get along just fine."

  Rayann forced a smile, trying to fight the memory of similar music, the fireplace, Michelle and lovemaking. "As long as you agree that the best thing the A's could do is get a right fielder with class." Louisa protested and they argued good-naturedly. It was very comfortable.

  That night, unable to sleep, Rayann went into the living room and turned on the lamp next to Louisa's easy chair. She hoped she wasn't disturbing Louisa, but the strangeness of her room had suddenly overwhelmed her. The magazine she picked up held her interest for a few minutes, but after a while she let her head fall against one of the chair's wings and found her eyes in line with the photographs that crowded the curios cabinet. Ted Thatcher looked out at her frequently, as did Louisa.

  Interested in these younger images of Louisa, Rayann got up to study them. The earliest photos appeared to be of Teddy alone. They were dated by his age in months, then years old. When he was five or so, Louisa suddenly appeared in the pictures too. She smiled radiantly at the camera. Rayann studied the lines of the smile; they would later become the laugh lines on the Louisa she knew.

  Teddy's high school graduation photo revealed a boy who hadn't quite grown into his knees and elbows hugging a mother who still beamed at the camera. He looked as geeky in his picture as Rayann did in her senior portrait — the clothes said he had been only a few classes ahead of her. Then his college graduation photo. Rayann held them side by side for a long time. Louisa still smiled at the camera but it was — controlled. Teddy, who had shared his mother's smile in the past, was almost, but not quite, glowering at the camera.

  Rayann went over the photos again and decided that Louisa's radiance was not directed at the camera, but at the person holding the camera. Someone who had taken the photographs, but never appeared in them. And in all those pictures there was no sign of the man who had supplied some vital genetic material in Teddy's creation. There was the sudden change in Louisa's expressiveness which had taken place while Teddy was in college but her eyes were always the same — dark and intense.