Paperback Romance Page 9

  Carolyn was sure of it—Nick was blushing. The color changed the angular and austere face completely as Nick stared intently at the cider goblets. Carolyn could almost seethe surge of will that grappled with some powerful emotion.

  The server returned to ask if they’d decided on a main course. The hard cider made Carolyn’s mind behave oddly, as if her synapses were backfiring valves in an engine. She let Nick select the entree and stared at Nick’s profile, and her mind’s eye colored it again with the vulnerable and open blush.

  Carolyn bit back a gasp. How could I have missed it? Because, like the rest of the world, I saw what Nicolas wanted me to see. But I must be right—Nick is a woman.

  Carolyn recognized an immense wave of relief. So this was why she felt entirely comfortable with Nick. Nick was a woman; it was natural to be able to talk with a woman as a friend. But something else about Nick was incredibly attractive, and Carolyn felt faint with new, contradictory emotions. She remembered the sensation that had swept through her when she’d seen the two women in the Louvre. Hilary and Jane—the devotion they had showed each other had come to mind again and again.

  What will I tell Alison? This new thought blazed through Carolyn’s backfiring brain. Alison—in less than a heartbeat Carolyn reevaluated fifteen years of close friendship. Had it been attraction she’d felt for her all these years? How long have I been wanting something more? She felt as if she’d spent the first thirty years of her life wrapped in cotton. Someone should have told her, given her a test—it would have saved her so much wasted anguish. She’d never have married, never regretted it, never wondered. Why didn’t I know? The vague feelings of attraction were pulsingly concrete now, because Nick was a woman.

  Which means I’m…no, no I’m not! Carolyn wanted to run to someplace where she wouldn’t be alone with herself. She watched Nick nod, and noticed for the first time the soft and downy hair fuzzing the back of Nick’s neck.

  Nick couldn’t know how she felt. If Nick realized Carolyn knew she was a woman, and that Carolyn was fiercely attracted to Nick, then Nick would know…would know what Carolyn hadn’t known until this moment.

  “Carolyn? You’re white as a sheet.” Nick’s cool voice cut into Carolyn’s thoughts.

  Her mind was a maelstrom. “No, I’m fine. I’m…just suddenly very tired.” He—no, she—had managed a near impossible game, in a struggle for the recognition of talent. She knew of many romance writers who wrote other genres under masculine pseudonyms, but Nick was living it, every day. Like George Sand and Gertrude Stein…many well-known women had worn men’s clothing. I can’t let her know I know, Carolyn told herself. She has kept her secret for years. I’ll just go on sharing friendship with her.

  “Well, I’ve ordered us a balanced meal and then I’m afraid I’ll have to hurry to make my plane.”

  Carolyn glanced at her watch. “Oh, I hadn’t realized it had gotten so late.”

  Under the guise of pressing time, Carolyn ate her entree in near silence, hoping she could finish the meal and get Nicolas Frost out of her life before she betrayed her newly discovered secret—and Nick’s secret as well. She yearned to ask a million questions…how long had Nick been posing as a man, and didn’t the disguise make romance impossible? Was Oscar her lover? But no, that didn’t seem likely. She could tell Nick was studying her as they shrugged into their toasty warm coats again.

  Outside the rain caught her by surprise, but she tried to maintain a nonchalant facade as they searched for a taxi stand.

  “Are you sure you’re up to the train trip back to Amsterdam?” Nick turned in the back seat of the cab to face her directly. Carolyn was glad of the darkness.

  “I’m sure. I’m just tired and the trip it’s not that far.”

  “I’ve had fun,” Nick said. “When are you in Salzburg?”

  Carolyn had been alternately hoping and dreading this question. They swapped hotel names since their itineraries overlapped. Carolyn’s heart was beating like the final thirty seconds of Ravel’s Bolero when they pulled up to the train station. She got out of the cab, promising to call Nick in Salzburg, more than a week in the future.

  “Carolyn,” Nick called, after she had gone a few steps. She turned—Nick was getting out of the cab.

  “You’ll get wet.” She hurried back to the cab.

  “I don’t mind,” Nick said. “I just wanted…to tell you how much today meant to me. I don’t often get to let my hair down, so to speak.”

  Carolyn bit her lower lip. “It was my pleasure. Friendship, we toasted friendship, remember?”

  “I remember,” Nick said softly. Carolyn didn’t move as Nick bent slowly. Their lips pressed long enough for Carolyn to register how warm Nick’s felt against hers, and then Nick was sliding into the dark recesses of the cab. “See you in Salzburg,” Nick said before the door shut between them.

  She sat on the brightly lit train in a daze, glad of its high speed taking her as far away from Nicolas Frost as she could get. It seemed no time before she was rushing through Schipol Airport, and then headed for Amsterdam, then in her hotel room. The sensation of Nick’s lips on hers still lingered. She stared at herself in the mirror, searching for some sign of difference. No difference—except the slight shudder as she recalled the way another woman’s lips had felt on her own.

  Nick…the attraction was no longer vague. She wanted to see Nick’s body in its true form. She groaned again. Her own body was a flame.

  She took a bath, the water as hot as she could stand it, and her hands explored her body. She caressed her calves, wondering if other women’s calves felt muscular and yet soft. Her hands studied the ridges of her ribs, then explored slowly and thoroughly the yielding gentleness of her breasts. To touch another woman like this…she slid down into the soapy water, her skin on fire, her mind burning with images of Alison, Samantha, Linda, Rochelle—every woman she knew. And now Nick. She slipped her hands between her legs. Did Nick feel like this?

  She rose from the water at last, shivering with emotions she was only beginning to articulate. She burrowed under the sheets, trying to hide, but the word persisted in her head, a word she never thought she’d apply to herself. Lesbian, an inner voice whispered.

  Chapter Six

  Intermezzo

  Alison surreptitiously examined the mail Devon was sorting. There were three postcards which Devon read before passing them on with his usual snide remarks. But no sign of any airmail envelopes. It did not bode well that the last thing Carolyn had written about was some Oscar person and the conductor. And what right do I have to wonder what she’s doing, Alison asked herself. I’m not exactly keeping myself…chaste…for her. What she was doing with Sam was anything but chaste.

  “You’re going to be late,” Devon said. “Hadn’t you better change?”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” Alison said. She shut the door to her office and stripped off her suit and hose. Now that the mail had finally arrived there was no reason to hang around. She stepped into comfortable jeans, pulled on sweat socks and worn tennis shoes and yanked a lightweight sweatshirt over her head. The clothes greeted her like old friends. The first practice of the season was always great.

  Buddies not seen since last September waved greetings as she got out of her car. Sam left the group she’d been standing with and met Alison halfway to the field. “Ain’t it grand to be back on green grass?”

  “I wouldn’t mind being on my back in green grass, not at all.”

  Sam swatted her, but her nose crinkled in a pleased way. “That’s not what I said. But I’d be willing to oblige later.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  “Hey, break it up, you two.” The team captain threw baseball gloves at them. “No flirting before the game.”

  “Flirting is only allowed during innings six and nine,” someone else said. There was a shared groan.

  Within a few hours, out in right field again, Alison felt back in shape and at ease. It was obvious that her weak spot at the pla
te was still a slider breaking inside. Sam batted terrifically as usual, and Alison was surprised to find herself a little weak in the knees as she watched Sam running for first, trying to beat the throw. She was easily the sexiest woman on the playing field and Alison didn’t know why it had taken her so long to notice. Sam slid and slapped the bag just like Ricky Henderson. She stood up, beating dust off the California Raisins adorning her T-shirt. Alison’s knees became downright watery as she considered kissing Sam’s raisins. It didn’t help that as Sam stood on first she sent smoldering glances Alison’s way between pitches.

  Alison nodded as if hypnotized when Sam suggested going back to her place. They got in the van, not speaking, and once inside Sam’s apartment Alison reached for Sam. Her nostrils filled with the smell of sweat and dust and she realized she’d never noticed how erotic it was.

  “Uh, I was going to suggest a shower,” Sam said.

  Alison slid slowly to her knees. “Later,” she murmured, her hands unbuttoning the fly of Sam’s 501s. She pulled Sam’s jeans down and rubbed her lips over the thick, tight curls, savoring the tingles the coarse hair brought to her skin. Sam leaned back against the nearest piece of furniture, the back of a sofa, and Alison tipped her head up, mouth burrowing and tongue diving.

  “Wait, let me get my balance—” Too late. Before Alison could grab hold Sam went backwards over the sofa and collapsed on the cushions, her legs in the air and feet waving while she giggled.

  Alison laughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. With a banshee yell she dove over the sofa after Sam. The wrestling match that followed was entirely satisfactory, to Alison’s mind, as the goal seemed to be relieving each other of unnecessary clothing. She had no idea how she ended up under the coffee table but all she had to worry about was smacking the back of her head on it.

  “You pick interesting places to make love,” Alison said later. “I hope you treated those rocker cushions with some sort of moisture repellent.”

  Sam was on the floor on her back staring at the ceiling. “It will add a certain something to the ambience of this room.” She focused on Alison’s face. “You’re pretty good, you know that?”

  “So are you.”

  “Heard from Carolyn lately?”

  Alison looked sharply at Sam. “Why do you ask that now?”

  “Because you’ve just answered the real question. Don’t worry. I can wait.” She rolled over onto her stomach in a flash of long legs and tumbled hair.

  “Sam…” Alison’s protest about using Sam and fairness and what wasn’t right and what would be the correct thing to do died on her lips as Sam nibbled at her kneecaps.

  ***

  “I hate the fact that she’s alone in Europe,” Alison said.

  Sam rolled out of the jumble of sheets and blankets and regarded Alison with a steady gaze. “Then why don’t you go after her?”

  “I’m chicken.” Alison gathered an armful of blanket and rested her head on it.

  “Look, Ally, don’t think I’m being altruistic about this. I can tell you’ll never be free to really be with me until you’re free of her. I’ve been in love with you for quite a while and I didn’t know why you never noticed. I thought it was racial—I mean, you made a good friend, but maybe you didn’t like black women in bed, I didn’t know. Well, you obviously do like black women in bed, at least this black woman.” Sam took a deep breath.

  “I don’t know why we hadn’t—” Alison let her voice trail away. She wanted to be honest. “If I didn’t notice how gorgeous you were because you’re black, then I’m not too proud of myself.”

  Sam spoke pensively. “Maybe that has something to do with it, but you haven’t been with anyone else on the team—not that I know of.” At Alison’s shake of the head, she continued, “I think your mind is more attached to Carolyn than you think.”

  “I haven’t exactly been celibate since I fell in love with her.”

  “Thank God. You have a nice technique.” She looked away from Alison. “Look, if I’m going to lose you to her then I’d rather it was sooner than later. While what you do to me is very pleasant, I’m not willing to live a half-life for it. I hold myself in too much esteem for that.”

  A half-life. “Is that what you think I’m doing with Carolyn?”

  “Only you know that,” Sam said. “I just know that I’ve never made a woman c-r-y twice.”

  “How do you know white women don’t cry afterwards?” Alison hadn’t thought Sam had noticed while they were in the shower. Touching Sam had been so sweet and yet she had wanted to weep.

  “Give me a little credit,” Sam said.

  “Maybe I’m cracking up.”

  “Well, either go after Carolyn or see a therapist,” Sam snapped. Then she sighed. “Sorry, I thought I could be a big girl about this. I love you, Ally. I thought I could do this until I made you love me back, but I was wrong. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you should get dressed now.”

  In a daze, Alison retrieved her clothes from the various parts of the living room. She went back to the bedroom and watched Sam from the doorway. “You’re being awfully good to me.”

  “I play to w-i-n,” Sam said, with a smile. She tugged her hair back and expertly wrapped a bandeau around it. “Now you know what you’re missing.”

  Alison didn’t drive straight home after Sam dropped her back at the practice field. She drove aimlessly, trying to think clearly. Sam had probably saved her a fortune in therapy, but she still had a lot to think about. She couldn’t just go after Carolyn, could she? If she told Carolyn how she felt…the worst that could happen was that they would only have Carly Vincent in common and that would drive Alison mad with irony.

  She took an offramp near midtown and drove down G Street with purpose. Enough waiting, she told herself. If you lose Carolyn, Sam will be there to fill the gap. And she could get used to having Sam in her life. She just needed to be free. As she parallel-parked, Alison caught sight of herself in the rear view mirror and laughed. Carolyn didn’t even know she had a hold of Alison. And while she could be quite happy with Sam, it would only be if she knew Carolyn would never love her.

  She took a deep breath and looked at the door to the travel agency. Linda owed her a favor or two. She could find out exactly when Carolyn would be where. It will be easy, an inner voice whispered. She’s probably lonely by now. She’ll be glad to see you.

  “Nah!” Alison spoke for the benefit of the woman in the mirror, who looked far too hopeful.

  ***

  Carolyn’s first day in Madrid was spent in the bazaars in La Gran Via shopping for yet more presents to take home with her. Her two nephews were easy, and she found a pair of long silver earrings that would look great dangling from Alison’s pale earlobes. She’d never seen a double-sided axe on an earring, but the work was delicately detailed, and Carolyn would suggest that the next time a publisher got nasty Alison could hack the representative into little bits.

  The shopkeeper had given Carolyn a warm, toothy smile, with a flash of something in her eyes that made Carolyn blush. She’d asked, after Carolyn had spoken to her in passable Spanish, if Carolyn was an American companion, compañera, and at Carolyn’s blank stare, elaborated by asking if she were a tortilla-maker, a tortillera, which was quite possibly the oddest question anyone had ever asked her. Carolyn had mumbled a vague response about tortillas being her favorite food and escaped, her heart beating high up in her throat.

  The symphony that marked the middle of her stay was more informal than any of the ones she’d seen to date. Even the music seemed willing to go with the flow—why sweat and hurry? It floated around her ears in soothing eddies of sound. The selections honored Spanish and Portuguese composers, concluding with a whimsical and fresh series from Carmen.

  The second day she spent at the Museo Cerralbo and Museo del Prado. In Amsterdam she’d feasted on Rembrandt; here she feasted on Valasquez and El Greco. She walked past a bullring throbbing with yells of “Olé”but the ver
y idea of attending made her queasy. She’d read Hemingway and that was as close as she was going to get. She had a feeling the real thing was a lot less romantic than Hemingway’s descriptions.

  At siesta she sat in her room to write another letter to Alison—she was itching with the need to say something, to get things out in the open. She’d always been able to write each letter completely through, without second-guessing herself. But she had to tell Alison the truth.

  Dear Alison:

  I’ve discovered something new about myself—

  The second draft was even less satisfactory.

  Dearest Alison:

  I’ve—

  The third draft had only the date on it for the longest time, and then Carolyn realized siesta was over. She wandered back to La Gran Via where the merchants were spreading out their wares again. She had a tall frosted lime concoction at a cafe, then she wandered back to her room and ordered something similar from room service. The tequila gave her courage.

  Dear Alison:

  I’m having a wonderful time and wishing you were here. The pace of life in Madrid would do you good. Everything is mañana, tomorrow is soon enough. She prattled on for a while about Madrid and the museums and then finished with:

  Ally, there’s something I’m not telling you and it’s quite deliberate. I’ll tell you when I see you. You’re my best friend, and if you stop caring for me I don’t know what I’ll do, but what I have to say could change everything. As always,

  Carolyn

  ***

  Linda confirmed that Alison could, by leaving within forty-eight hours, meet up with Carolyn on her first night in Rome. There was no way she’d catch her in Salzburg. Alison kept a firm grip on the letter. She knew it shouldn’t change the promises she’d made herself about being cured of Carolyn, but it did. She’d read it, and between its lines, at least twenty times. Maybe she was jumping to the biggest conclusion of all time, but she preferred to think of it as a leap of faith.