by Lyn Denison
Now it was Tuesday, Crys’s night to go out to dinner with her friends. Mel recalled her speculation that perhaps Crys was involved with one of the women she dined with on Tuesday evenings. If Mel accompanied Crys maybe she could put her theory to the test, see if there was someone else in Crys’s life.
Mel shook her head. That was hardly a good reason to go out to dinner, she chastised herself. Of course, she could simply ask Crys if Crys had a partner. That would be the adult thing to do. Mel sighed, suspecting she didn’t really want to know.
So why was she even considering going with Crys? Maybe she’d enjoy the interaction with other women, she told herself. She’d missed the regular socializing that had been part of her life in Melbourne, even though most of her friends had been Terry’s friends too. That, of course, had made mixing with the usual crowd a little awkward at times, especially when Terry brought her new lover along.
Mel grimaced. No chance of old lovers here. Except Crys. And Crys could hardly be called a lover. Mel had loved Crys but, apart from that one kiss, well. ..
Sitting down again, Mel picked up her pencil, but she made no move to continue working. It seemed as though, as the saying went, her muse had gone. And sitting thinking about Crys and her maybe-lover was not going to have her muse rushing back.
Before she could change her mind, Mel packed everything up and went through to the lounge. Crys was watching the early edition of the news and she looked up as Mel entered the room.
“Sure the leftovers will be okay for your dinner?” Crys asked, muting the volume on the TV.
“Well, I was thinking perhaps I might change my mind. Maybe getting away for a few hours, a change of scene, might clear away the cobwebs. That’s if the offer is still open,” Mel added quickly.
“Of course it is.” Crys smiled. “And I think a break will do you good. You’ve been working pretty full-on, so you must be exhausted.”
“Just a bit stiff.” Mel flexed her muscles unconsciously. “Have I got time for a quick shower?”
“Sure. No need to rush.”
Mel showered quickly and hesitated over what she would wear. Crys was dressed casually but smartly, so Mel chose a pair of dark tailored slacks and then pulled on a pale green angora sweater. She ran a brush through her hair, grabbed her wallet and car keys, and joined Crys in the living room.
“That was quick.” Crys stood up and flicked off the television set. “I was thinking if you don’t want to, well, if you’re too tired to want to bother with meeting new people we could always go somewhere else on our own for a meal.”
Mel was tempted. Although it had nothing to do with being tired. The thought of dining alone with Crys, by candlelight, was more than a little enticing, but Mel wondered if it would be totally sensible on her part. It would only reawaken those heady feelings that she knew hovered so close to the surface. And she suspected she was far too tired to even try to fight them off.
“No, I’d really like to meet your friends,” she said evenly. “As long as they don’t mind me coming along with you.”
Crys shook her head. “They won’t. We try to keep these Tuesday evenings pretty flexible. Well, ready to go?”
“Shall I drive?” Mel held up her car keys. “Then you can relax and enjoy a glass or two of wine.”
“What about you?”
Mel shrugged. “I’ll stick to water tonight. If I have wine when I’m tired I’m almost instantly asleep.”
After a short drive Mel parked the car and followed Crys into the restaurant. It was small and intimate, and a potbellied stove in one corner added a warm, cozy atmosphere. The owner greeted Crys by name and didn’t hide her curiosity when she looked at Mel.
“Mel’s the daughter of a friend of mine.” Crys made the introductions. “Mel, this is Jo, a friend who owns this wonderful establishment.”
“Well, me and the bank,” laughed Jo and shook Mel’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mel.”
Mel warmed to the woman’s friendly face, knowing instinctively that Jo was a dyke.
“Go on through,” added Jo. “Just about everyone’s here, and I might even get a chance to join you all if it doesn’t get too busy.”
Crys led Mel out onto an enclosed side veranda. “Unless it gets really cold, we always eat out here. It’s nice and private.”
Half a dozen women were already seated around a long oval table, and they looked up with interest as Crys and Mel joined them.
“Did Crys say private? She means exclusive,” laughed a dark-haired woman, dimples bracketing her laughing mouth.
“Margie is our comedian,” Crys said as she and Mel sat down in the two remaining seats. Crys then proceeded to introduce everyone else. “Loretta. Billy. Sue. Josey. And?” Crys raised her eyebrows at the woman sitting beside Josey.
“Crys, this is Ingrid,” Josey put in quickly.
Crys smiled at the woman. “Nice to meet you, Ingrid. Everyone, meet Mel Jamieson. Mel’s my friend Angela’s daughter.”
“Don’t worry, Mel. You don’t have to remember who we are all at once,” said Billy, who was obviously the oldest of the group.
“No. Ingrid is still trying to sort us out,” Billy’s partner, Loretta, added easily. “You’ll get the hang of us eventually.”
“I’ll do my best,” Mel said with a grin. “And feel free to test me before we leave.”
“Ah, to be young and have a retentive memory,” sighed Loretta. They all groaned.
“Don’t be fooled, Mel.” Billy leaned forward. “This woman’s memory is lethal. I can guarantee she never forgets a thing. Or lets me forget either.”
There was much good-humored teasing, and then they all consulted their menus, everyone offering Mel recommendations.
The meal was delicious, and Mel relaxed, completely enjoying the company of Crys’s friends. And yet she was still aware of Crys sitting beside her, her arm brushing Mel’s as they ate, her knee so close beside Mel’s.
Just before dessert arrived, Crys excused herself to go to the bathroom and Margie decided to go with her.
“Don’t worry about Mel while you’re away, Crys,” said Billy with a wink at Crys. “We’ll look after her. I can start by asking her about her etchings.”
Mel laughed delightedly. “Now, etchings I can discuss till the cows come home.”
She chatted with the other women, answering their interested questions about her experience in the publishing industry. Yet part of her was waiting for Crys to return. When Crys and Margie rejoined them, Mel glanced up and it seemed to Mel that Crys looked a little flushed.
Was Margie the woman Crys was involved with? Mel wondered. Then she reminded herself not to watch the interaction between the two women too closely in case Crys, or any of the others, noticed her interested regard.
Margie Donovan was perhaps a little older than Crys, her dark hair flecked with gray, but she seemed a very nice, outgoing person. It was certainly obvious that she and Crys were good friends. Mel’s heart sank. Margie was also a very attractive woman and had obviously known Crys for some time. If Crys was involved with anyone in the group, Mel decided it had to be Margie.
“Crys says at the moment you’re working on your next book,” remarked Loretta, and Mel forced herself to concentrate on the conversation.
She told the women about Wendy the Wombat, and they all decided that the book sounded like a surefire bestseller.
“Did you hear they’re having Roger Woodward at the music festival?” asked Sue, the quiet redhead. She turned to Mel. “Are you interested in music, Mel?”
“I like most types of music. Not too keen on jazz, though,” Mel admitted.
“Nobody’s perfect,” said Billy with a mournful look. Loretta gave her a nudge.
“Don’t give Mel a hard time, love. Everyone is entitled to her own likes and dislikes,” she said and turned back to Mel. “Did Crys tell you about our local music festival?”
Mel shook her head.
“We have the Tyalgum Festival of Cla
ssical Music each year, and it’s quite world-renowned.”
Sue enthusiastically took up the story. “They have outstanding performers and also focus on highlighting the talents of some of Australia’s most successful young musicians.”
“It was an amazing coincidence. You see, two musicians discovered by chance that the very unpretentious community hall has the most perfect acoustics you can imagine,” continued Loretta. “Quite a phenomenon really. The festival’s very popular with music lovers. It’s on in a couple of months, and we all go every year. It’s absolutely wonderful. You’ll have to bring Mel along, Crys.”
“I’d love to go,” Mel said, and Crys nodded.
Eventually they called it a night and Mel drove them the short distance home. Once inside they walked along the hallway toward their rooms.
“Glad you enjoyed the evening,” Crys said, stifling a yawn. “See you in the morning.”
“I did enjoy it,” Mel said honestly. “And Crys, I really liked your friends.”
Crys smiled. “They liked you, too. Night, Mel.” And then she was stepping into her room, closing the door behind her.
Crys wiped her hands distastefully on a piece of rag, grimacing at the grease and dirt smeared on her skin. The tractor was on its last legs, well, wheels, actually, she thought grimly. And she wondered for the umpteenth time why she was bothering to baby it into keeping going.
She knew she should trade it in on something more reliable, but she was disinclined to go into debt, not when she was just getting ahead. Maybe next year it would be different.
Crys poured herself a drink from her water bottle and leaned back against the tractor. From here she could see the study window. Mel would be working away on her illustrations. She was extremely talented, and Crys thought the work she’d already done was fantastic. No wonder she and Marie-Therese had done so well.
She smiled faintly, thinking back over her mistaken assumption that Mel’s boyfriend had run off with her writing partner. It had seemed logical to Crys, allowing for the fact that Mel seemed at pains not to mention either of them. And no matter what Mel said, Crys suspected there was something amiss that Mel wasn’t talking about.
Crys took a long, cool drink of water, and last night’s dinner with her friends and Mel came into her mind. Mel had really enjoyed herself, seemed to relish the break from working. And she had fit in so well with everyone.
Crys smiled crookedly. Even Margie, who had apparently set herself the task of watching over Crys, had been captivated by Mel’s easygoing nature.
When Margie had followed Crys to the bathroom, Crys had known she was in for an interrogation.
“Well! What a cutie!” Margie exclaimed when she and Crys were alone.
“I take it you aren’t referring to me,” Crys said dryly, and Margie rolled her eyes.
“You are too. But in this case I was meaning your young friend.”
“Yes, Mel is nice. She was even likable as a teenager,” Crys said carefully, making an effort to keep her tone light.
“Is she the one?” Margie asked, and Crys blinked in surprise.
“The one? I don’t think I know what you mean.”
Margie gave an exclamation of disgust. “Of course you don’t.”
Crys met Margie’s gaze, but she was the first to look away. “She’s Angela’s daughter, Marg. I’ve known her since she was a kid.”
“She’s not a kid any longer, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Margie stated blithely. “And she’s also not exactly, unmoved, shall we say, by you.”
“Unmoved?” Crys swallowed. “What do you mean?”
Margie laughed softly. “She’s got it bad, love. Just like you have. Have you slept with her yet?”
“For heaven’s sake, Marg. Of course I haven’t. She’s young enough to be my daughter.”
Margie blew a disbelieving raspberry at Crys.
“And for your information,” Crys continued, “she’s straight.”
Margie laughed mockingly. “Oh, Crys. Pull the other one. She’s no more straight than I am.”
CHAPTER TEN
Crys digested this comment and felt her pulse rate increase. “You don’t know that, Margie.”
“I’ll bet my house on it. Trust me on this.”
Crys took another steadying breath. “She’s just broken up with her boyfriend of six years,” she said with somewhat less conviction in her voice.
“We’re all entitled to one mistake, love.” Margie raised her eyebrows expressively. “I’ve even made that one myself.”
“You have?” Crys looked at her friend in surprise. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“I was a mere child.” Margie waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Fortunately it didn’t take me long to realize what the problem was. No harm was done, and I moved on” — she winked at Crys — “to better things. So why can’t Mel have done the same?”
Crys frowned and turned away to reach for a paper towel. “I’m attracted to her, Margie. I really am. And I don’t know what on earth to do about it.”
“You could start by kissing her.”
“I didn’t mean that literally.” Crys crumpled the paper towel and tossed it into the bin.
“I know you didn’t. I was just being my usual facetious self.”
“You, facetious? I don’t believe it,” Crys said dryly. Margie gave her an old-fashioned look.
“How attracted to her are you? As in seriously attracted?” Margie asked, and Crys nodded unhappily. “Then let her know that. Kiss her, you fool.”
“I already have kissed her,” Crys admitted, feeling her face grow hot. “Twice.”
“Twice? You have? Did she like it?”
“I think she did. I certainly did,” Crys added with a grimace of self-derision. She folded her arms and leaned back against the wash basin. “Actually, she kissed me the first time. That was about eleven years ago.
“Eleven years!” Margie’s mouth opened and closed for a moment before she pulled herself together. “She must have been—”
“Just seventeen,” Crys finished for her. And then it was all coming out, including Crys’s guilt over the way she’d handled the situation back then. “And when we kissed the other night I—” Crys swallowed. “I pushed her away again.”
Margie’s face was unsmiling as she listened to Crys’s story. “You pushed her away? Good grief, Crys! Why? If you’re attracted to her and everything, well” — Margie shrugged expressively — “What’s the problem?”
“I thought she was…I didn’t want to take advantage of her. She’s vulnerable, just getting over a broken relationship.”
“Console her,” Margie said shortly.
“And she’s Angela’s daughter.”
Margie pursed her lips as she considered that. “And I take it Angela doesn’t know her daughter’s a lesbian?”
“I don’t know that either,” Crys said unhappily. “Although I’m sure Angela would have said something if she did know.”
“Well, I can see you wouldn’t want to jeopardize your friendship with Angela, but if you do think this is the real thing, Crys, don’t let the chance for happiness pass you by.”
“Angela will love it if I—” Crys shook her head. “It doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“If Angela loves her daughter, she’ll come around. She doesn’t have a problem with you being a lesbian, does she?”
“No. But I’m not her daughter,” Crys replied. “God, Marg! If Mel and I got together I have absolutely no idea how Angela would react.”
Margie put her hand on Crys’s arm. “When it really comes down to it, it’s simply you and Mel. And after all you’ve been through, Crys, you deserve a little happiness for a change.”
“I don’t know about that, Margie. I didn’t exactly do the right thing when I took the easy way out with Mel all those years ago.”
“That sounds like the old I-don’t-deserve-to-be-happy syndrome. And what do you see as the right thing anyway, Crys? What mo
re could you have done? When she told you she thought she was a lesbian you discussed it with her.” Margie marked off the points on her fingers. “You made suggestions that she talk to a gay and lesbian info line. You didn’t take advantage of her immaturity. And, let’s face it, Crys. We’d all give our k. d. lang CDs to have a nubile young thing throw herself into our arms. Well,” Margie grinned, “in our dreams.”
“Right.” Crys laughed too.
“But, seriously, Crys. Don’t let Mel slip through your fingers if you think you two have got something going there. It’s worth taking a chance or two, don’t you think?”
Crys shrugged, unconvinced.
“Take some free advice from an old crone who’s been there and done that before today. You know how long nights are when you’re alone.”
Crys looked at the other woman, and something in Margie’s eyes made Crys pause. Crys had known Margie for years. She had been a friend of hers and Diane’s. Did Margie mean…?
And then Margie was laughing softly again. “Just exert your considerable and experienced charms and Mel will fall like a ton of bricks. She’s more than halfway there now,” she added as she opened the rest room door.
More than halfway there? Crys couldn’t allow herself to even begin thinking Margie might be right.
If the kiss she and Mel had fleetingly shared the other night was any indication…Crys’s knees turned to water at the thought, and she quickly turned back to the tractor, fiercely concentrating on the job she was supposed to be doing.
A couple of days later Crys walked into the kitchen, stopping when she saw Mel pouring herself a cup of coffee.
Since her conversation with Margie, Crys had been careful to give Mel her space. With Mel working in the study and Crys outside, physically it had been easy. Emotionally Crys wasn’t so sure.
“Taking a break?” she asked as Mel turned around.
“I thought I would. Oh, and Margie just rang.”