She walked around the desk, straightening the nameplate that read “Nicole Shaw, Managing Editor.” At twenty-nine, she was the youngest woman in the history of the Washington News to serve this role, and she was quite pleased about it. Ron embraced her. They agreed to meet for cocktails after work, and he left the newspaper office and walked the two blocks to the law firm and his internship.
On the night of the Pop Rocks encounter, Eva had barely remembered returning to her room. The combination of the wine and the champagne and the romantic evening hit her all at once, and she wasn’t even sure how she had made it into bed after the delicious night.
In the morning, she awoke in her bed and found a note.
Eva,
Seeing you vulnerable and taking care of you brought me many feelings. I want us both to take the day off today and enjoy the city and talk. Call me.
Charles
G-Chat With Charles
[email protected]
9:35 PM Charles: Madame, I owe you an apology.
Eva: Whatever for, darling chef?
Charles: We have been too distant. I feel it is my fault. It is not what I want, and I’m sorry.
Eva: You haven’t done anything wrong. You were right. You had to physically carry me up to bed because I’d had so much to drink, so I was vulnerable. I know you had reasons for not wanting to worry about me.
9:39 PM Charles: You should not have to suffer because of what I went through losing my wife.
Eva: I didn’t blame you. I’ve just been busy in DC- I’m sorry I haven’t been to New York in a few weeks.
9:40 PM Charles: I wanted the evening to be perfect for you. Maybe the popping candy rocks were a bad idea?
9:41 PM Eva: I am spelling out “laughing out loud” right now because I don’t think you would know what the LOL abbreviation would stand for. Pop Rocks. They are called Pop Rocks. And they were a perfectly wonderful idea.
9:43 PM Charles: If I am to be honest, I’m not sure how to handle my feelings for you.
9:45 PM Eva: I am always happy when I’m with you. You make me laugh. I can’t thank you enough for that.
Charles: You fill my heart with joy.
9:46 PM Eva: That is probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me—thank you.
Charles: I am scared to give you my heart because I cannot stand for it to be broken again.
9:47 PM Eva: I understand. But you should know I’m not an alcoholic like my father was. I know how to control my drinking. I know you didn’t mean to suggest otherwise and be hurtful.
Charles: And for this I am so sorry to have even possibly hurt you, but not sorry to have cared.
9:50 PM Eva: Thank you for saying so. I’m sorry you’re dealing with such a complicated woman. You deserve better, someone who would give you 100% of herself.
9:51 PM Charles: There is no better.
Eva: Let’s talk about it when I get to New York. Maybe you can make the banana French toast you know I love.
9:53 PM Charles: Mais oui. Anything for our hotel’s most distinguished guests, madame.
Eva: Well I have come to expect a certain level of treatment, thanks to your generous service, monsieur. I’ll see you in a few days, Charles.
9:55 PM Charles: May time pass quickly until then.
Just a baby, wrote Lisa in her journal. Only this.
She looked at the words, and thought about it for a moment.
Was that really all she wanted?
It didn’t seem to be that simple. If the only important thing in her life was having a baby, she’d be focused on making her marriage better, including having more sex as part of it, scheduling fertility treatments, resting, whatever. Not getting up at 3 AM and not being able to fall back asleep because she wondered if there was a new email from Ben.
What if? she wrote, That Heart song could happen.
She had thought of the song a hundred times lately, and now jotted down the song title: “All I Want to Do Is Make Love to You.” The story in the song was that a woman’s husband couldn’t get her pregnant, so she trolled around picking up hot hitchhikers and taking them to a hotel room to have sex with them so that she could get knocked up. It worked, as proven by the lyric about running into the hitchhiker later on, while with her child. Lisa wrote down the remembered lyric: “You can imagine his surprise, when he saw his own eyes.”
What a ridiculous song, thought Lisa, smiling almost to laughter. How many ways are there to get sperm in this world that a chick has to resort to driving around, picking up potential serial killer/STD carrying strangers, in order to get pregnant?
But what if it wasn’t a stranger? she wrote. What if it was a guy you knew, a guy whose child you wouldn’t mind raising, even if he never knew of the child’s existence?
She wasn’t even sure it was her husband’s fault they couldn’t get pregnant. He had been clocked with a low sperm count, but she knew that if they optimized all the conditions, she really should eventually be able to conceive in one of the months after years of trying. They really hadn’t discussed it all that much. She never got the sense that having a baby was a priority for Jim, at least not like it was for her.
We’re not even really trying that hard, Lisa wrote.
She thought of how Jim never really made it a priority. It wasn’t like he was checking the calendar in the kitchen with the big red star on it every month, the date of her highest fertility. How she’d love it if he did something romantic on that date instead of bringing home a new pair of shoes for her that she didn’t even want.
At least bring me some damn shoes on a red star day, wrote Lisa.
She resented the fact that he didn’t care enough about how much she wanted a baby. And sometimes, deep in a part of her that no one would recognize, she fantasized about driving a Christian Louboutin spike heel right through his eyeball.
At her penthouse apartment overlooking the creek in downtown Keytown, Kate brought Maggie’s tea to the coffee table. She had just returned from teaching her class at the liberal arts college and was happy to unwind. Maggie smiled, thanking her for remembering that Orange Pekoe with honey was her favorite.
They sat beside each other on the plush suede couch, enjoying the view and chatting. Maggie told Kate of her confusion over her relationship with Dave in light of her relationship with Ted, and how all of it was ridiculous in light of her divorce proceedings.
Kate listened. She reassured Maggie that none of it was out of the ordinary and that Maggie just seemed to be playing with boundaries and figuring out what she wanted in her life. Although Kate was once married, she had always identified herself as bisexual and shared an open marriage with her husband before he died.
Maggie asked her, “And what about this new relationship with you? It’s been amazing, but as you know, I’ve never experienced anything like it. Now all of a sudden, I’m trying to figure out if I’m a lesbian, or what’s going on.”
Kate smiled at her. “Well, being with a woman for the first time in your late forties doesn’t automatically mean you’re a lesbian, although many women come out in their fifties. Besides, labels are always the things that cause all the problems for everyone. If only we could all learn to avoid them.”
“You’re right. The experience was just so completely unexpected,” said Maggie. “And so completely natural. Being with a woman is night and day from being with a man, that’s for sure.”
“Oh no doubt,” said Kate, smiling. “It’s like having a girlfriend, but closer and obviously more intimate. It’s like having the secret best friend you always wanted.”
Maggie agreed. “Exactly. I mean, there we were, and you were so open about being bisexual and then me with my big mouth, asking you what it’s like to be with a woman, because I was dating a guy who wanted a threesome with a girl, and I had never done that, and the next thing you know…”
“Yeah, the next thing you know we’re completely naked in the stairwell of the town parking deck,” said Kate, laughi
ng.
“How did that even happen?” said Maggie.
“It’s a good question,” said Kate. “Clearly, since we have homes with bedrooms and beds, we could have chosen a more comfortable location. It was just the heat of the moment. The roof of the parking deck is so gorgeous with the view of the church spires and we had chatted for like two hours after that play was over. The moon…”
“I blame the moon,” said Maggie.
“It’s always the moon’s fault,” said Kate. She put down her tea and slid closer to Maggie on the couch. Maggie took a sip of her tea, smiled mischievously at Kate, and put down her tea as well.
“This setting is a little more comfortable, with the same great view of downtown,” said Kate. She reached up and placed her hand on Maggie’s curly hair, taking a single curl and twisting it gently between her fingers. Her dark blue eyes stared intently into Maggie’s green ones.
“It is a great view,” said Maggie, grinning as her eyes swept down across the cleavage of Kate’s v-neck pink t-shirt. It was Sunday, Maggie had just closed her shop, and they were both in late summer garb of capri pants and t-shirts.
“So how are things with the Scarlet Letter Society?” asked Kate.
“Well, I love that we’re reading books now,” said Maggie. “Or at least pretending to.”
“As your friendly neighborhood literature professor,” said Kate, “I love that you’re reading books with the infidelity theme. What a great way to explore the issues you’re facing together as women.”
“I think it really helps to see how women have handled their, um, ‘flings’ across the years, in books, anyway,” said Maggie.
“Well, it is certainly true that they haven’t fared very well when they cheat on their husbands,” said Kate, smiling.
“I know. The poor things. It’s really the reason our club exists. I hate that there are women out there, holding onto all this shame and guilt, feeling like they’re alone in wearing the symbolic red “A” shirt 24-7,” said Maggie. “I actually wish I could somehow find new women to join the group, but that would be a pretty awkward Craigslist ad.”
“I always see it this way: for an affair to take place, three people are involved. There’s the spouse who is having the affair, because their needs are not being met at home, the spouse who is being cheated on, and the affair partner who was in the right place at the right time,” said Kate. “Our society blames the cheater, often hates the cheater. The person being cheated on is the victim in our culture, and often the hero in literature. But I don’t think the cheater is always the bad guy. They can be, but many times, let’s face it, the cheater wouldn’t have cheated if they’d been happy in the first place.”
“Well, I obviously don’t think the cheater is always the bad guy either,” said Maggie, “especially since I’m not only the president of that club but also a member.”
“American society is so puritanical when it comes to fidelity,” said Kate. “We act like we’re this bunch of Victorian churchgoers with only the highest moral values. But our media and advertising, Internet porn habits, sex clubs, you name it, everything points to the truth of what Americans can often basically be, which is pretty kinky.”
“That we are,” Maggie agreed. “That we most certainly are. It’s like we’re a bunch of nuns walking around nodding reverently to one another, but under our habits, we’re wearing slutty lingerie, garters, and nipple clamps, with Ben-Wa balls in our hoo-has.”
“You know, I think those nipple clamps would totally show through Sister Elizabeth Anne’s habit,” laughed Kate.
“Hey, before I forget to mention it, your lovely daughter has been most helpful in acquiring copies for us,” said Maggie, “and even likes reading the books herself.”
“Zarina was always a reader,” said Kate. “I mentioned our friendship to her. Are you worried she’ll figure out we’re having a fling?”
“A fling,” laughed Maggie. “What a great word. Yeah, I gotta admit to thinking about it when I’m at Zoomdweebies. Great shop name by the way, 80s girl. I’ve talked to Eva and Lisa outside the shop about being sure not to mention anything incriminating in front of Zarina while we’re at meetings.”
“You know, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if she found out,” said Kate. “She knows I have been with women, and she’s open about experimenting with her own sexuality. She likes that adorable Stanley, but she’s isn’t sure she wants to be in a committed relationship with a guy. She said she’s been thinking about girls lately.”
“Really?” said Maggie. “Huh! Well I guess that apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Kate let her right hand leave Maggie’s soft curls and trail gently down her neck. Maggie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Kate’s fingers swept across Maggie’s clavicle.
“I love this spot,” she said, touching the small, soft pocket between Maggie’s clavicle and her neck.
“I know just the one,” said Maggie, and she reached out her right hand to touch the exact spot on Kate’s neck. Kate sighed softly. She leaned over and kissed the soft pool of flesh on Maggie, leaving the spot with a gentle lick. Maggie traced her hand across Kate’s shoulder and down her arm. She felt the goosebumps form on Kate’s arm.
Kate reached over and touched the two bottom edges of Maggie’s worn, vintage REO Speedwagon concert shirt and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Maggie smiled. Kate gently lifted the t-shirt over Maggie’s head.
They had time. There wouldn’t be the rush of a frenzied passion and fear of discovery in a public parking deck—as much fun as that had been. This time, they’d be able to really enjoy each other.
Kate looked down at Maggie’s black lace bra. “Beautiful,” she said.
“So are you,” Maggie said.
Kate ran her fingers slowly down from Maggie’s clavicles and across her breastbone. Her hands gently found their way across the peaks of Maggie’s breasts, bringing both to attention. Maggie sighed in pleasure and reached behind her back to unhook and remove her bra.
“You, too,” she said, motioning towards Kate’s t-shirt.
“In a minute,” said Kate, smiling, and she leaned down and brought her mouth to Maggie’s newly exposed breasts. Maggie put both of her hands in Kate’s long, dirty blonde hair, appreciating her soft hair.
Kate bit down gently, looking up at her for permission. Maggie moaned out loud and said, “That feels incredible.”
Kate attended to Maggie until Maggie couldn’t take it anymore. She reached over and grabbed at Kate’s t-shirt, which Kate whipped off and tossed off the couch, revealing her seamless red bra.
“I love the color scarlet.”
“I love the way you say “scah-let,” said Kate.
Maggie leaned over and kissed Kate full on the mouth. Kissing a woman, she thought, there’s another thing that is completely unlike being with a man. Their smooth, supple lips came together. Minutes went by where they did nothing but kiss, their hands exploring each other’s hair, wrapped behind each other’s necks. Maggie reached down and found Kate’s bra strap, unhooked and removed it, realizing this was the first time she’d done this on another woman. There hadn’t been time for this level of nudity back in the parking deck.
Kate wore a smaller cup, but her breasts were already fully engaged by the time Maggie’s thumbs found them. Maggie gently circled her hands around Kate’s nipples, then more firmly, sometimes stopping to squeeze them between her thumbs and her index fingers. Kate groaned.
“Let’s just get naked,” said Kate.
“Right on,” said Maggie, laughing.
They did. Pants and panties were on the floor in a matter of seconds. Kate tossed her head in the direction of the bedroom. Maggie followed. They flopped onto the bed.
“You’re beautiful,” said Kate, gently running her hand down Maggie’s back. Maggie shivered. Kate gently rolled Maggie over to her side, and they lay facing each other, on their sides, each appreciating the feminine silhouette of the other.
&
nbsp; Maggie looked at her. She was amazed at how much less self-conscious she felt about her naked body in front of another woman versus a guy, she’d thought it would be the other way around. But somehow maybe women just naturally accepted each other more easily than they were even able to accept themselves.
“You are a very lovely woman as well, professor,” said Maggie. She’d been nervous about the whole “what do you do with a girl” thing the first time they’d been together, but this time she knew not to be nervous. She’d let her instincts take over.
Kate brushed her fingers down Maggie’s side, across her arm, down her waist and hips, and around to her rear, which she squeezed gently.
“Your curves are amazing,” she said.
Maggie placed her hand on Kate’s hip bone, tracing the valley there between her side and her tummy. Kate was thin and small in figure, but she had a shapely ass, which Maggie now ran her hand across.
“I’m completely jealous of your ass,” said Maggie, smiling at Kate.
“You know, it’s not a bad ass,” said Kate. “I don’t love all my features, but the ass has come in handy for filling out the jeans.”
Maggie slid toward her for a better feel. Kate slowly dragged the palm of her hand across Maggie’s chest, raising goosebumps on Maggie and eliciting a sigh of pleasure. They kissed again, gently at first, then more firmly, their tongues exploring each other’s soft mouths. Kate let her hand travel down Maggie’s middle and between her thighs. Ever gently, she circled her fingers around Maggie’s center. Maggie gasped in pleasure.
Kate shifted her position on the bed, straddling Maggie on all fours, so that their mouths could explore one another.
Maggie said simply, “Mmmmm…”
Zarina lounged across the brown leather couch in Zoomdweebies. It was a luxury she didn’t normally allow herself, but it was a slow day in the shop and no customers were in the store. Her head was on the huge orange suede pillow, her leg was draped over the top of the couch, and she figured if she heard the ding-a-ling of the bell above the door, she could sit up quickly and not look like a total slacker.
The Scarlet Letter Society Page 10