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  Marilyn's arms closed around Jessica, holding her tighter. A chill rippled through Jessica and then she was holding Marilyn's mouth against hers, and pulling frantically at their clothes.

  They made love in a hurried and fevered rush of fingers and mouths. When it was over she heard Marilyn whisper good-bye. She fell into a dark and murky sleep, full of dark and murky dreams.

  SIX

  Long, Hot Summer

  Jessica couldn't work. She'd been assembling material for a new lecture series, thinking about maybe lecturing at Golden Gate or San Francisco State, instead of being on the road so much. She'd watched Bjorn Borg win Wimbledon again. She had to admit that for a man he was pretty mesmerizing to watch. She'd done some preliminary work on the book. The publisher wanted a firm publication date. She didn't know what to say.

  The summer was endless. When the weather wasn't foggy it was too warm and she felt limp, like a hothouse plant. She no longer hesitated in thinking of herself as a lesbian. Now she was miserable about being alone.

  She knew of at least one women's bookstore in the vicinity. Her two books from San Antonio had been inspiring and stirring, but she still found she lacked the courage to go alone, something Herself found quite unfathomable.

  It's not you who has to go in, she told Herself, but Me.

  But you'd meet some nice women, Herself said. Some passionate women, too.

  But I can't use a women's bookstore as a pick-up place.

  Well then don't, Herself snapped. Pretend you're a deaf-mute. You could at least buy some more books.

  They are getting dog-eared, she mused. So she went, bought books, looked at the new records, and left again. When spoken to, she was pleasant in return, but nothing more. Finding the sort of relationship she wanted took energy and time. She didn't feel settled enough to even begin.

  Those short trips brought her a rich re-awakening, though, as she discovered her feminism again. She was interested in politics again. And there was so much going on in San Francisco, she found that after years of apathy she was concerned about the issues. The Briggs Initiative had qualified for the November ballot and suddenly San Francisco was the center of the controversy.

  She read the papers every day, following every article about the growing gay and lesbian rights movement in San Francisco. Coalitions were springing up to contest the idea that people should be barred from certain professions based on personal preferences, the most vocal of which were led by Harvey Milk. But the Briggs Initiative was worse than she had first supposed — the proposed law went further. It also said that straight people who advocated (or maybe just tolerated) homosexuality should not be allowed to teach in public schools either.

  She admired Harvey Milk as she watched him not just speak out, but demand that others who had been silent speak out too. He urged all gay and lesbian people to step forward and be counted. He made her feel guilty for not being open about her sexuality. He wasn't afraid — and San Francisco was changing for the better.

  But she was still afraid. She kept her fear, her concern, and her sexuality, hidden from the rest of the world, especially Cat.

  Watching the political scene heat up with the summer, Jessica found concentrating on work a strain. She went to movies alone mostly because Cat was often not at home in the evenings. She tried to not think about where Cat might be. She toyed with her word processor, playing games, spending hours organizing the work she hadn't started and really had no heart to do.

  One afternoon there was a crash outside her door and she went to investigate, suspecting that Cat had dropped her groceries again while she fished for her keys. "At least it wasn't the eggs," Jessica said with a laugh, retrieving an errant onion and two escaping carrots.

  Cat giggled and managed to get the door unlocked. "I knew this load wasn't going to make it, but I told myself I was setting a new world's record for amount of groceries carried up three floors in one trip. The elevator's on the fritz and I'm in a terrible rush. This tomato is history. The butter fell on it." Cat frowned as she collected the carrots and onion from Jessica.

  "Anything I can do ,to help?"

  "I need to change my clothes. Can you dice onions or peel carrots?"

  "I think so," Jessica said. She'd give it her best shot. Lingering here was better than going home and staring at the blank screen.

  Cat reappeared several minutes later. She had traded her lovely lavender suit for a pair of slacks and overblouse of a brilliant rose. Jessica thought Cat was more blonde and fair than ever. She had never noticed Cat's shoulders before, either. They were firm, and strong, but yielding, too. Perfect for laying your head on — she stopped her wandering thoughts.

  "Thanks, I think I'll take over now," Cat said, lying an apron over her outfit.

  "You're welcome. I'll make myself scarce." Cat obviously had a hot date which was just as well. Herself observed that Jessica definitely didn't need to spend any more time with Cat at the moment.

  She opened Cat's door and found herself face to face with a very good-looking man. At least she supposed he was good looking, if you liked bronze and brawny. She looked him over as she called to Cat, "Someone's here to see you."

  "Already? Oh my gosh. You're early," Cat said to the man as she came out of the kitchen. "Jessica, this is Paul, Paul, Jessica."

  Jessica exchanged pleasantries and then went home. That must be Paul the Jerk, she told Herself. She had thought Cat was through with him but apparently he was making a come-back bid. Cat had described him as self-centered and macho, and completely unable to treat Cat as anything but a child. Which was how he had looked to her.

  What's it to you, anyway, Herself asked as Jessica picked out a suit for tomorrow's one-day trip to Los Angeles. Cat is perfectly free to make up her mind, and make her own mistakes.

  She ignored this important point, and concentrated on her reflection. She tried on a new blouse and decided it matched the somewhat avant garde pale rose suit she had just bought. The rose suit looked odd in among all the black, gray and navy blue. It was her conscious effort to emphasize to herself and to others that she was not a cookie-cutter conformist — at least not anymore.

  She looked at her body in the mirror. "Saddlebags. Hmph." But very soft saddlebags, she added, and after a moment she lay down on the bed, thinking about sex, wondering if she'd ever make love again.

  She had burned her little black book. Being alone was better than a relationship with anyone who wasn't prepared for a more lasting commitment. That much had changed in her life. Herself reminded Jessica talk was easy. Wait until you've been without sex for two years, Herself said.

  She'd been to Boston but hadn't called Elaine, nor had she called Roberta when she'd been in Chicago. She'd gone to see Gina sing in New York, but hadn't looked her up afterwards. She was horny a lot, and disgusted with Herself. She had thought she could live without sex.

  "You should have called Elaine," she murmured, "you should have. You would have loved it, she would have loved it. You're both free agents." She'd thought the same thing when she was in Boston but had never picked up the phone.

  She remembered the little pub Elaine co-owned, remembered how she had caught Elaine looking at her, evaluating her body. And she remembered how she had moved her body in response, letting Elaine know she didn't mind.

  At closing time, Jessica had taken her time. When almost everyone else had gone, she had asked Elaine if it would be easy to hail a cab, or if she should call for one.

  "Where are you headed?" Elaine had asked and then she'd said Jessica could walk there quite safely. Elaine had then offered to walk along because it was on her way home.

  Jessica trailed her hands over her stomach and breasts, remembering the way they had talked about nothing, and then when they were in the dark shadow of a building how they had turned to each other and kissed.

  Jessica groaned, envisioning Elaine undressing her, the feel of her short red hair against her thighs, the simple ecstasy they had shared. Remembering, fantas
izing, was all Jessica had.

  The doorbell rang. With a gasp, only moments away from orgasm, Jessica started up off the bed. She grabbed her robe and went to the door.

  Cat was wiping her hands on her apron and looking frantic. "Were you going to take a bath, gosh I'm sorry," she said. "I forgot to buy garlic."

  "It's okay, I hadn't started running the water yet," Jessica assured her, trying to hide how flustered she was. Then she laughed. "What on earth makes you think I have garlic?"

  "I was praying. Silly of me."

  Jessica shut the door and led Cat to the kitchen. "Hmmm. I wonder what's in here." Jessica hunted through a cupboard, pulling out a variety of containers, some marked, some holding ancient mysteries.

  "Ugh! Oh, Jessica, really." Cat had cracked open a container and was now holding it out at arm's length.

  "I think that's some old Parmesan cheese."

  "Old isn't the word. Didn't you throw this kind of thing out when you moved?"

  "I never had the chance. And I was afraid to look inside."

  Cat made a derisive noise. "Is there garlic or not?"

  "There's this." Jessica proffered a container of garlic salt.

  "No real garlic?"

  "Isn't it the same thing?"

  "No, it isn't the same thing," Cat informed her haughtily. "Just like cabernet and thunderbird are not the same thing."

  "Well, does garlic keep forever?"

  "Almost."

  "There might be some in this old cookie jar, hang on," Jessica said, climbing up onto the counter. She reached into the back of the top shelf. "Ah ha!" She handed Cat the jar.

  Cat yelped as the jar slid through her fingers and smashed on the floor. "Don't jump down!" she ordered. "There's glass everywhere — oh merde! Are you cut?"

  "No, I'm fine. I couldn't help it," Jessica gasped. She didn't want to look at her foot.

  "(Jet back on the counter. Oh, you did cut yourself," Cat moaned. "It's all my fault."

  "Don't be silly. It's just a little cut."

  Cat continued to mutter while she found the broom and swept the shards into a paper bag. "Stay there," she ordered when Jessica began to climb off the counter. "Okay, keep your foot off the ground and lean on my shoulder."

  Jessica tried to keep her foot up, but she was also acutely aware of her robe beginning to come untied. She felt hot and fevered where her body was pressed against Cat's.

  They hobbled to the sofa and Cat sat down on the coffee table, putting Jessica's foot in her lap. "Oh yuck, there's a piece in it, come on, we've got to get to the bathroom and rinse it out. It's really not too bad, just bloody."

  "You're getting blood on your outfit. It'll never come out of silk and it's so lovely on you," Jessica bemoaned.

  "Oh, pooh. Come on."

  They managed to get Jessica's foot under the faucet, but only with considerable coordination from a one-legged Jessica trying to keep her body covered, and from petite Cat trying to keep them from falling. She bit her lower lip and blinked back tears as the water stung the cut. It didn't hurt that much, but the cut was still very sensitive.

  "Come on, lie down and I'll bandage it up. I received a Merit Badge for first aid," Cat said, swabbing carefully at the cut with peroxide. She bound a wad of Kleenex wrapped in a layer of gauze to Jessica's foot with masking tape, tsking the whole time. Jessica concentrated on Cat's lively description of Girl Scouting as she lay on her stomach, painfully aware of the thinness of her robe. She could feel the warmth of Cat's breath on her damp foot. It felt good to be cared for.

  "I don't want you to get up. Leave your foot elevated so the bleeding stops. I'll check back on you in a couple of hours."

  "A couple of hours? I can't lie here that long!"

  "What do you need? I'll bring it here."

  "The book from my office, and today's paper on the coffee table and a glass of water."

  Cat brought them all and then left, saying, "I'm leaving the door unlocked, and I'm taking the garlic salt."

  Jessica tried to read and then she worried about being able to get to LA in the morning. The meeting was a university advisory committee for the women's studies program. She didn't want to miss the meeting because of the contacts she made. The terminals were a long walk, but maybe if she dug out the cane she'd used when she'd broken her ankle a couple of years ago she could manage.

  The room began to grow dark but she didn't feel like turning on the light to read. In fact, her bed was rather warm and cozy and she drifted, thinking about the future, dreaming about the past.

  "Hey, Jessica, wake up," someone was saying. She stirred a little then opened her eyes.

  "Cat," she whispered softly, dazedly wondering what Cat was doing in her bedroom.

  "Come to check your foot, pardner." Cat peeled off the masking tape she'd used to bind the gauze to Jessica's foot. "It's stopped bleeding. I brought some real gauze and tape."

  Jessica tried to hide her shiver as Cat lifted her foot and sat down on the bed. Cat's hands were gentle and warm and Jessica closed her eyes.

  She was making a big mistake, and she knew it even as she did it, but she imagined Cat was always going to be there, that Cat would wrap her foot, then lie down next to her and hold her, and kiss her and make everything better. Cat's lips must be very soft, she told Herself. Cat's body must be so very passionate, she imagined. She shut her ears to the warnings Herself was shouting — something about straight women and heartache.

  "You feeling okay?" Cat asked.

  "Sure. I'm just sleepy." She sat, not really caring that her robe was starting to open, wanting Cat to see her body, wanting Cat to want her.

  "Don't get up," Cat ordered. She looked flushed from her exertions. "And you probably shouldn't do a lot of walking tomorrow."

  Reason returned and Jessica settled back on the bed. She was a fool. She took a deep breath to clear her head. "Sorry, I'm flying to LA for the day. But I have a cane and I'll be careful."

  "Well, okay. If your foot starts to bleed again you should have it looked at. Maybe you should anyway."

  "I'll keep an eye on it."

  "Here, let me help you get under the covers."

  "No, really, I can manage," Jessica protested. She had nothing on under her robe and now she desperately didn't want Cat to see her. She felt as if desire were written all over her.

  "Come on, don't be silly. I'll arrange the pillows around your foot so you can elevate it. You can't do it yourself."

  Jessica continued to protest, but Cat overruled her. The robe slid off her shoulders and Cat drew back a little as Jessica attempted to nonchalantly cover her breasts with it.

  "Where do you keep your nightgowns?"

  "I, uh, I usually don't wear one. One of the benefits of living alone," Jessica mumbled.

  "I know what you mean." Impersonally, Cat pulled Jessica's robe away as she slid between the sheets and then Cat put a pillow under her foot. She tensed as Cat arranged more pillows around her foot to keep the sheets from pressing too hard on it and Cat's hands brushed over her calves and ankles.

  "More water?" Cat asked.

  "No, I'm fine. Thank you," Jessica said as Cat flicked off the light. She couldn't see Cat's face anymore.

  "What are friends for?" Cat emphasized friends with a laugh Jessica thought sounded strained. "Paul will wonder what's kept me. Sleep well. Be careful tomorrow."

  She waited until she heard the door close and then she buried her face deep into the pillow, wrapping her arms around it. Fool, you complete fool, she cursed Herself. Why Cat? You're not in love with her, you're just horny! Stop thinking about her, stop it!

  She tried to remember making love with Marilyn, and she filled her ears with the sound of Marilyn's voice on the telephone.

  Do you want to lose a friend? You know she doesn't care for you that way, she's straight, Herself said emphatically. Herself reminded Jessica that she had been warned.

  There was Roberta, Roberta's mouth, she remembered, and for a while the memory
distracted her. Eventually she fell asleep.

  The alarm jarred her awake what seemed like only minutes later and she fumbled for the snooze button.

  "Oh lord, oh lord, oh lord, get up," she muttered aloud, "gotta get on a plane, come on." After a moment she remembered why she was sleeping on her stomach and she gave her foot a few preliminary twists. So far so good.

  She took a shower and taped some more gauze to the bottom of her foot and added an extra layer for padding. It still took forever to get dressed and finally she practiced with the cane on her way to the kitchen. She got out some yogurt and opened the blinds.

  The yogurt tasked like wallpaper paste. The sun was dim and unfriendly. It was a wretched day, she told Herself, just a wretched day. Her black mood had nothing to do with the fact that from her window she had seen the bronze and brawny Paul getting into his car in his clothes he had been in last night.

  It's got nothing to do with you, you fool!

  She limped down the three flights of stairs, holding her head up high, telling Herself it didn't matter. Life went on.

  SEVEN

  The Fine Art of Self-Torture & Other Diversions

  Jessica finally began the book in earnest, pulling together the four or five existing theories about male/female roles in the workplace she liked, while finally committing her own to paper.

  It took a lot of research and reading, which was just as well, because by working hard she didn't spend any time counting the number of times a week Paul visited Cat, nor the number of times she noticed Cat coming home in the morning to change on her way to work.

  She communed daily with her word processor, setting up reference files and endless footnote material which she would glean for content when she sat down to begin actually writing. After several hours she would take a break, play word processor hangman, and then go back to work.

  Cat was available to go to the movies, every once in a while, or they sometimes split a pizza. They saw The Deerhunter and Annie Hall and Cat insisted that Jessica see Star Wars. And sometimes she enjoyed the luxury of watching Cat when Cat was watching something else, studying her, noticing the crinkle around her eyes when Cat smiled. She didn't even mind that Cat would only drop by when Paul wasn't around. Jessica basked in Cat's bubbly and vivacious temperament. Cat's fire was absorbed into Jessica's coolness and Jessica rejoiced in the heat of it.