In Every Port Read online

  Jessica said to Cat, "Assuage our curiosity and tell us what you do."

  Cat leaned toward the microphone. "I'm the sales manager here at the Regency."

  "How many people report to you?"

  "Seventeen."

  "And your annual budget?"

  "Including salaries and marketing, over two million." There were a couple of gasps in the audience.'

  "And your name?"

  "Catherine Merrill."

  "My first suggestion to you, Catherine —" It felt odd to call Cat that "— would be to change your explanation of what you do. Next time you're asked, try saying, 'I'm the sales manager at the Regency. That includes supervising seventeen people and managing a budget of over two million dollars.' Think of it as your chance to sell yourself. Now people know your title, and they have an idea of how much power comes with it."

  Jessica went on, going over Cat inch by inch, from her neat professional hairstyle to the tips of her navy blue pumps. As she went, she illustrated the major points of her self-image seminar. Cat took it all very well. She walked back and forth and answered questions, and seemed to be enjoying the experience. Jessica's twenty-five minute spot was over very quickly and the response overall was enthusiastic.

  She went out in the hallway with Cat, laughing gaily. Inside she was exhausted with the horrible strain of looking at Cat, noting every inch of her, from the earrings glistening in the beautifully-shaped earlobes, to the pale hose clinging to well-shaped legs. She wanted to tell Cat how much she adored every inch, every last inch of her.

  "That was fun," Cat said, "and you're certainly good. It was easy to answer your questions, but if I'd had to just talk in front of all those people I would have choked."

  "I like public speaking, but I get stage fright all the time," Jessica said brightly. I want to kiss her, I want to hold her. I want to be silly and mushy.

  A harried looking woman emerged from a service corridor. "Ms. Merrill, that woman from the dentists is having a fit over the lunch room set-up."

  "Didn't she talk to banquet?"

  "She says she won't deal with anyone but you."

  "Holy merde!" Cat exploded. Then she smiled and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Elaine, I didn't mean to yell at you. Thanks for finding me. Gotta go, Jessica, it was fun."

  "See you later," Jessica said, waving the suddenly alien Cat away. She was used to Cat's jeans and T-shirts and casual way of taking life. This efficient-looking woman with the brisk air was rather foreign and frightening. And adorable just the same, Herself said.

  Oh shut up, she said to Herself irritably as she collected her case and thanked the planner for inviting her to speak.

  Oh Cat, Herself sighed. So near and yet so far.

  Skip the bad poetry, Jessica told Herself quite firmly. Let's go home and read some Elizabeth Barrett Browning. We might as well do this mooning about thing properly.

  EIGHT

  The City That Never Sleeps

  "Bring your tray-tables to their full and upright locked positions."

  Jessica put her book down and put her tray-table up. Next to her Cat was dozing and at Jessica's touch she started up and fastened her seatbelt.

  "That nap did wonders for me," she said. "I'm ready for this town."

  "I still don't understand why you had to be the floor manager last night."

  "Because the GM couldn't care less about my plans. He enjoys making everyone's life miserable. It's the way he's built."

  "Sounds like a sadist."

  "He is. But he pays well."

  Soon they were in a cab heading for the heart of Manhattan.

  "I wish the driver spoke English," Cat said to Jessica, under her breath.

  "He understood Regency and I think that's all that matters." The driver glanced over his shoulder and smiled broadly at them and they smiled back, glanced at each other and suppressed their nervous giggles.

  The time was late for New York, but barely after nine p.m. San Francisco time when they checked in. They borrowed an iron and ironing board from housekeeping and spent the rest of the evening unpacking. They would be there for eight days. As Jessica lay still that night, listening to Cat's steady breathing, she wondered if it was just her imagination that the room was getting smaller already.

  The shared airplane ride had been a dream come true. She had been able to watch Cat sleep. She worried about the way she was mooning over Cat. It wasn't healthy and it wasn't going anywhere. She was barely functioning most of the time. And every moment was precious. She wanted to save up a lot of them for the time when Cat would go out of her life.

  The next day, Sunday, they started out by hiring a horse-drawn carriage for a ride through Central Park. The trees were gold and green and auburn. The air was cool and crisp and smelled of smoke fire. Jessica sat back and watched Cat play with her camera. The cab driver dropped them at the far side of the park on Fifth Avenue and they went over to Madison and took a bus uptown to the Guggenheim. They started at the top of the spiral like everyone else, strolling along and looking at each painting. Initially their different views on the arts didn't conflict too much, until they came to a group of cubists.

  "I can't find the Nude," Jessica said.

  "On the staircase, don't look at it literally.

  "I can't find the staircase," Jessica said stubbornly. Actually, she appreciated Duchamp but it was fun to tease Cat.

  "It's a step outside the traditional art. It was breaking down the old barriers, allowing for more freedom of expression. Cubism was the end of the way it used to be," Cat explained, her voice getting brisk.

  "What about modernism? What about DeKooning and Pollack? What about them?"

  "You faker." Cat slapped Jessica's arm playfully. "You do appreciate modern art."

  "I appreciate it. I don't necessarily care for it. There is a difference."

  "Yes, there is. I appreciate Bach but I don't necessarily care for him. But that doesn't mean I'd shoot somebody for listening to him."

  "Ah," Jessica murmured, "appreciation and tolerance. I wish there were more of it."

  Cat looked at Jessica oddly and only nodded. They continued down the spiral, arguing over which movements had meant more, and whether Diego Rivera was a part of the Ash Can School. Cat said yes. Jessica said no.

  A guide interrupted their good natured arguing, handing them a catalog. The young woman smiled at Cat and said, "I'm sorry, but Diego Rivera painted in the thirties and forties, long after the Ash Can School. He deserves a school of his own, really, but you may place him with Thomas Hart Benton if you want to remember bis time period." She turned to Jessica. "I hope you had money on it," she said with a toothy smile. There was a teasing light in her eyes.

  "No, I didn't, but thanks anyway," Jessica said, smiling back at the guide. Cat frowned, but conceded she might have him confused with someone else.

  Jessica continued to chat with the guide while Cat wandered on to the next few paintings. There was something in the woman's eyes, the way she used her hands that told Jessica she was gay, and that she was interested.

  The possibility of sharing a few pleasant hours with this woman just didn't matter, not anymore. She wanted Cat and only Cat, and she wasn't fit for anyone else. On another trip, maybe a year earlier and she might have pursued a liaison. Eventually she said "Nice to meet you," and joined Cat. There was only a tiny whisper of regret from Herself, and it was all from her libido.

  "My feet are killing me," Cat said a few hours later. They were in Bloomingdale's and loaded down with several bap. "Let's get something to eat and rest up for the walk back to the hotel."

  "How about we get something to eat and rest up for getting a cab back to the hotel?" Jessica suggested.

  "That sounds even better."

  They wandered into a deli and got a couple of sodas and lox and bagels. "Jessica," Cat said suddenly, "do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

  "I never mind the asking, it's the answering," Jessica answered with a smile, and h
er heart began pounding. She prepared to say yes quite simply, yes, she was a lesbian.

  "Have you ever thought about having a child?"

  Jessica blinked. "No, I mean, yes, I have. I haven't ever done anything about it. Can I ask you a personal question?"

  "Sure."

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Because I've been wondering," Cat said slowly. "I'm thirty-two. I don't have any particular guy in sight I think I might marry. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will. But I'd like to have a child, spend a part of my life raising a girl, maybe. Adoption's pretty hard to do, and expensive."

  "So you're thinking about getting pregnant?" Jessica asked. She told Herself Cat would make a wonderful mother.

  "I've been thinking maybe that's why I believed Paul when he said he'd changed. I didn't really care if he had or not — I was subconsciously trying to get pregnant. I tried so hard to make it work with him... I faked a lot of things." Cat smiled a little sideways. "Especially to myself, but it wasn't great. It wouldn't be like when — well, if he and I went to a movie and one of us didn't like it, we'd fight. It wouldn't be fun, not like when I go to the movies with you. I was depressed a lot. Oh, I don't know. I'm sorry I brought it up. It seems rather morbid to be talking about Paul and biological clocks in the most spectacular city in the world."

  "Most spectacular city on the eastern seaboard, if you please," Jessica said teasingly, lightly. Her pulse was racing and there seemed to be a sudden shortage of oxygen. Cat had just said she found Jessica more fun at the movies than Paul. Would she someday make the next leap and realize Jessica might be more fun in bed? "I like San Francisco," she went on. "And talking about having a baby isn't morbid. Just think about the idea very carefully first, think about your finances particularly."

  "I have. I can't possibly afford a baby — the time away from work, the extra insurance, the responsibility, the stress. Forget I brought it up. Can I ask you another personal question?"

  "Okay."

  "How'd you get so experienced? You have good advice on almost every topic."

  "My mom always said I was born forty years old. I don't know, common sense mostly. I try to think matters through by balancing logic and emotion."

  "Lucky you, you can keep your emotions under control." Cat sighed. "I've only learned to do it because of a series of bad mistakes where I didn't stop to think before I did something emotional."

  "I don't have a perfect record," Jessica said softly. I screwed myself up by falling for you, she wanted to say as Cat raised her eyebrows. "My heart has gotten me in trouble. I'll tell you about it sometime when I'm too drunk to think better of it."

  "Deal. Ready for more shopping or go back to the hotel?"

  Jessica stood up and bounced experimentally on her toes. "There's enough bounce left in me for one more floor at Bloomingdale's."

  The floor of their choice was the lingerie floor. Cat confided that silky, slinky lingerie was a major vice of hers. "I glide around my place, the queen of all I survey. I think I'd be shocked for someone to actually see me in some of them."

  "I think I know what you mean," Jessica managed to say, fighting a blush as she pictured Cat in the pale rose negligee Cat was considering.

  "I'd have to get the boudoir slippers too. Nope, I can't afford it. Let's get out of here before I decide I can." They got on the nearest escalator and headed for the street. "Saved in the nick of time," Cat laughed. "My American Express card is already just about worn out."

  "Oh, darn it all," Jessica exclaimed. "Here, sit down and wait for me. I think I set my sunglasses down on one of the displays. I'll be right back." She hurried off before Cat could decide to come with her.

  When she returned there was another bag Cat couldn't see tucked inside of the Big Brown Bag she was carrying. It's a birthday present, she told Herself, a Christmas present. Never mind that it's not exactly the thing one woman gives another as a gift. Never mind that before she wrapped it she would hold it to her face and imagine it caressing Cat's body.

  She lay awake again that night, listening to Cat breathe and Herself began to worry. Look, you've got to stop this. This is silly. You just can't go around like a love-sick dog for the rest of your life. Tell her how you feel and take the consequences.

  But she'll never speak to me again, she said to Herself, and I'll never see her again. We won't even be friends because she'll be afraid I'll jump her every time she comes inside the door.

  Which would be just as well, Herself said back. Then you could get on with your life. For chrissakes, you've wasted the whole summer, not to mention some very wonderful opportunities for some very choice sex. The woman in the museum, for example.

  What about the woman in the museum?

  You were attracted to her, she was attracted to you and you could have had a very nice time.

  Sex isn't everything.

  Herself laughed uproariously. You're a basket case, Jessica. You haven't even prepared for the lecture tomorrow. You're just going to use the same old material and hope no one has seen you before, as if that were possible on this circuit. There's nothing new about you, Jessica. You're hopeless. She isn't good for you.

  But I've never been in love before. It's something I want to do.

  So cross it off your list and get on with your life. Herself pouted and refused to discuss the matter further so she went to sleep.

  Cat was up first and out the door to catch a train to the Long Island Regency where the first day's lectures and tours would be held. Jessica wasn't speaking until ten so she took her time, arriving around nine to survey the audience and get a feel for the audience.

  A clothing consultant was first up and Jessica didn't envy her one bit. She was getting every argument Jessica had ever heard about why women shouldn't conform to male business standards. She wanted to explain for the thousandth time that male didn't automatically mean bad. It might mean stupid, it might mean dull and conservative, but not necessarily bad. But she wasn't on the podium, some other unlucky woman was.

  "It's up to you," the speaker said. "But you need to be aware of the consequences of dressing in a way that your bosses, the people who set your salary, might think means you don't belong. You might be the one in a thousand who can wear anything and command respect. The rest of us have enough battles to fight without worrying about our clothes getting us into trouble."

  "But isn't it up to women to make things change and not just act like men?" another asked. Jessica cringed at the heavy layer of makeup and the low-cut blouse. That woman would go through life wondering why men saw her not as a professional but as a sex object.

  Her turn to speak came soon enough. The topic was very narrow — how to handle on-the-job harassment and survive. Her speech went very well and she was satisfied with her presentation.

  She went to the hotel's coffee shop for lunch and was invited to join a group of women from the morning session. They were very flattering and Jessica felt her ego getting all shiny. So what if she was a total emotional mess. At least she still had pizzazz.

  The afternoon passed quickly as she sat in on other sessions. After the last session she went up to her room. As she stepped out of the elevators and headed down her wing, another woman and a bellman came out of a room. Jessica stopped short in startled recognition.

  "Marilyn!"

  "Jessica, what on earth! How long have you been here?"

  "Since Saturday night. You're leaving?"

  "Yes, but I can trim it about fifteen minutes. I'll get my bags downstairs," she told the bellman and she and Jessica went back into Marilyn's room.

  Marilyn pulled her into her arms and Jessica felt her senses melting. It had been a long time since she'd been kissed like this — the last time had been with Marilyn, in fact.

  She closed her eyes and felt a delirium sweeping over her. Marilyn caressed her through her jacket and skirt, then her jacket slid to the floor and teeth nibbled through the thin material of her silk blouse.

  Jessica clung to the shoulde
rs now pressing against her thighs, trying to maintain her balance. Hands swept up under her skirt, caressing her through her nylons. Lips pressed against her stomach and she felt their fever through her clothes.

  She ran her fingers through the thick hair, breathing rapidly, breathing hard, lost in sensation.

  "Oh —oh Cat," she whispered.

  Marilyn went rigid. Jessica opened her eyes, expecting Cat to be kneeling in front of her. She gasped.

  "Oh God, Marilyn, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  Marilyn got up and walked to the other end of the room. Jessica reached out for her, tears in her eyes. She let her arms fall back to her side.

  "I'm so sorry."

  "So who is this Cat person?"

  "My neighbor."

  "Convenient."

  "No, not really."

  Marilyn turned to look at her and then dropped her gaze. "I'm the one who should be sorry. After last time we'd pretty much decided we wouldn't do it again, didn't we? And you know what, I've been mentally and physically faithful to Sherry since then."

  "The woman in Corpus Christi?"

  "Yeah. But seeing you again —" Marilyn put her hands over her face, then drew a deep breath. "I shouldn't have touched you. It undid me."

  "I'm sorry," she said again.

  "So is this Cat the woman of your dreams?"

  Jessica nodded and she couldn't stop her tears. "I really love her."

  Marilyn's expression softened. "Sorry I was a bitch. You're not happy are you?" Jessica shook her head. "She's with someone else?" Jessica shook her head again. "She doesn't like you?"

  "She likes me a lot, I think. She's straight. I watch her go on dates and we decided it would be fun to go to New York together instead of going alone and I listen to her breathe…"