Forging a Desire Line

by Mary P. Burns

  With Emily’s flight to the Middle East set for Sunday night, Charley and Emily spent the rest of the week working on the finalized presentations with the rest of the legal team. Emily had finally brought them in on what was going on after Charley had questioned the wisdom of keeping them out of it.

  As Emily put on her coat to leave on Friday, she told Charley that Terry had talked of nothing all week except the dinner tomorrow night. “I live with a food groupie,” she admitted. “My kitchen counters are stacked with recipe magazines. Have you ever looked at any of them?” She shook her head. “The photos border on porn, but for food. This restaurant had better live up to its stars. Oh, and we’re looking forward to meeting Joanna.”

  When she hadn’t been concentrating on the tasks at her desk, that was what Charley had worried about all week. She and Joanna had exchanged several texts and calls after Joanna had let her know Alexandra was trading shifts with her, Saturday for Monday, which meant their Monday night drinks were canceled. She also wanted Charley to know she’d done her homework, researching both Emily and her wife on Google so she could carry on intelligent conversations with them. She’d even asked her what she planned to wear, and when Charley had posed the question back to her, she’d told her she was undecided.

  “But I promise I’ll look appropriately ‘corporate night out,’” Joanna assured her.

  “I’m not worried about that,” Charley said.

  “But you’re worried.”

  Charley didn’t have an answer.

  “You worry a lot, don’t you?”

  “Worry and anticipation are the twin rulers of my life.”

  “I’ll tell you what. You leave it to me, I promise I’ll look like I stepped off the cover of Vogue, I’ll be refreshingly conversational, and all you’ll have to do is look pretty.”

  Charley laughed. “Yawning silences, remember? You called on me to manage the conversation that night, as I recall.”

  “That was a momentary blip because I had to come clean about Georgia. I’m usually very entertaining in these situations.”

  “I can hardly wait,” Charley said. “And all I’ll have to do is look pretty?”

  “Hanging up now, have to go root through my closets for something to wear. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  That night at Tricia’s, Charley made a beef stew on the stove top and put a meatloaf in the oven. When Tricia came out to the kitchen to collect the silverware and napkins, she asked Charley if the Fifth Regiment was coming to dinner.

  “Very funny. I’m not coming down tomorrow night, so you can reheat the stew, and Sunday, I don’t want to cook. This way, it’s done.”

  “What’s going on tomorrow night? I thought you and Neely were over.”

  “We are. Dinner with Emily. A thank you for all my work recently.”

  “Oh, nice. Where?”

  “Per Se.”

  “Very nice. Just you and Emily?”

  “And Terry, her wife. And Joanna.”

  “Really? Wow. So, does this mean you mean something to her now?”

  “She’s rescuing me.”

  “From what? You’ve never been the damsel in distress type.”

  “Emily seemed to think I should bring someone, and her request almost felt like a test of some sort. I asked Joanna. It seemed safe.”

  “And I was just about to tell you that you didn’t have to come down on Sunday because I hired Ted and he’s beginning Sunday morning.”

  “Good. I didn’t think you’d take my advice.”

  “Well, quite frankly, you were right. Ted was exceptional. Blaire was nice eye candy and I would love to have had that around, but…”

  Charley laughed. “You are such a male chauvinist pig sometimes.”

  “Oh, we can’t say things like that anymore, Charley, it’s libelous. I believe the term would be ‘enthusiastic binary gourmand of the female faction of humanity,’ or some such bullshit.”

  Charley rolled her eyes. “I was planning on coming down for dinner anyway. And you can’t make Ted work those kinds of hours.”

  “We’re putting together a schedule that suits us. I don’t need him that much during the week. Yet. But I do on the weekends. Anyway, not really your business since you’re not his union rep. Are we watching tonight’s college game with dinner?”

  Charley dished up the stew and followed Tricia to the living room.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Charley always took time to stand back and look up at the resplendent glass Time Warner Center on Columbus Circle whenever she came over for concerts in Lincoln Center’s Appel Room. The cabaret venue, with its floor-to-ceiling windows, had a spectacular view of the corner of Central Park where south meets west at the imposing statue of Simon Bolivar astride his glorious steed. At night, the winking headlights of the cars moving along Central Park South, the warm lighting emanating from the apartments in the turn-of-the-century buildings along the avenue, and the spotlights on Bolivar provided a luminous backdrop for the concert. It was the same view Per Se had, only the restaurant was several floors higher. She didn’t even glance around, though, when the cab dropped her off tonight, instead making a beeline for the elevator, hoping to arrive before Emily and make sure everything was flawlessly set for this evening. The maître d’ patiently explained that he couldn’t seat anyone until everyone in their party had arrived, and Charley assured him she knew that, that she just wanted to see for herself that everything was ready and perfect because she was dining with her boss, Emily Dunn.

  “Ah, I see.” The maître d’ nodded toward the cocktail lounge. “They came in half an hour ago,” he said. “They wanted to have a drink and take it all in. But rest assured, we are always perfect here.”

  Charley thanked him and walked down the short hallway toward the lounge trying to decide if she should join Emily and Terry or wait for Joanna. She peeked in, not wanting to be seen, and spotted Emily seated by one of the enormous windows. Terry stood next to her, motioning at something out there with her glass of wine. Charley decided to wait for Joanna and went to the ladies’ room to check herself in the mirror one last time, straightening the fine black mesh that covered her shoulders and met the rest of the cocktail dress at her cleavage. Then she walked back to the big glass front door. A moment later, the elevator across the hall opened and several people got off. Charley didn’t recognize Joanna at first, until she registered the graceful athletic way the well-dressed woman walking toward the door moved. Her hair was up, her coat over her arm, and she had on a short white jacket with black thread piping at the collar, down the front and around the bottom, repeated on the cuffs and the pockets. Two buttons mid-torso held it closed, a black silk shawl shirt barely visible beneath it. Black palazzo pants and black heels completed the outfit. The ever-present set of silver bracelets hung on her wrist. For a moment, Charley couldn’t move, stunned by Joanna’s elegance. And then she reached for the door.

  “The cavalry has arrived, ma’am,” Joanna said. “Are there any last-minute items I should know about that we haven’t already discussed in detail this week before we launch this offensive?”

  Charley shook her head and smiled. She wanted to kiss Joanna right here. Right now.

  Joanna handed her coat over the counter to the young man in the coat-check room and took her chit from him. Turning, she held out her arms and slowly did a three-sixty. “This was the best Rock Hudson I could come up with. But you’ve certainly mastered Doris Day, haven’t you?” She brushed a piece of nonexistent lint from Charley’s shoulder. “Very nice. Are you ready?”

  She reached for Joanna’s hand and led her to the bar, where Emily and Terry were clearly watching for them.

  “Oh, my God, is that a Chanel jacket?” Terry asked.

  “It is,” Joanna said. “It was my mother’s. Luckily, it fits me.”

  Surprised, Charley registered another piece of the puzzle, and a new admiration for Joanna’s wardrobe finesse. The topic of family was a place Joanna seemed reluctant
to go despite Charley having told her everything about hers.

  “May I touch?”

  Joanna held out her arm and Terry ran her hand over the material.

  “Do you know what year she bought it? It’s so vintage.”

  Joanna chuckled. “She didn’t. She borrowed it from her sister and never gave it back. But my aunt was fifteen years older than her, so I’m guessing it’s from the mid nineteen fifties.”

  “Ho! I’m surprised your aunt ever spoke to her again.”

  “My mother was the baby of the family.” Joanna looked at Charley. “There’s something about being the baby, you can wrap everyone around your little finger.”

  Charley blushed. Joanna had been listening when she talked about her older brothers.

  “You two look incredibly chic,” Joanna said to Terry. “I admire women with style.”

  Their outfits hadn’t registered with Charley, but now she studied Emily and her wife. Although Charley had met Terry only once in person when she’d come to pick up Emily at the office one Friday night, she didn’t think of her as tall. Perhaps tonight it was the black suit perfectly fitted to her willowy form, or maybe it was the legs of the slacks ending at a pair of four-inch black heels with quarter-inch red grosgrain ribbons slashed at an angle across the toe, but suddenly, Terry seemed Geena Davis tall. The collar of the suit jacket and a cherry red shirt stood up against her neck, the shirt unbuttoned as far as propriety would allow. Charley had always thought Emily could wear a burlap sack and looked stunning. She was in a long-sleeved cherry red dress with black buttons down the front, black piping at the collar, sleeves, and hem, and black heels. Charley noticed the reds in both outfits matched. Even if they shopped together and were partial to the same designer, the chances of hitting identical reds was one in a million because matching a color outside a dye lot was nearly impossible. And while the two women reminded Charley a little of Barbie and Ken, or Barbie and Barbie, a pairing she’d always dreamed about when she was eight or nine, she had to admit Joanna was right, they were quite a stunning pair.

  As they walked to their table, she overheard Joanna and Terry talking fashion designers and wondered how this side of her had never come out in their Monday nights together.

  True to her word, Joanna effortlessly kept all the conversational plates in the air as course after course of delicate, delectable, exquisitely arranged food was delivered to the table by a phalanx of waiters. She pulled gossip about the authors she represented from a usually highly professional Terry; got Emily to talk about her first job in high school waving one of those giant arrows outside a car dealership in her hometown of Los Angeles, leaving Charley out of breath with laughter at the visual. And then she told them about growing up all over the world on Marine and army bases until her father landed the coveted position running the Imperial Beach Navy SEALS base in California. Charley was astounded. This was information she’d been trying to glean for weeks, and she tucked it away.

  “So, Charley, you’re dating the admiral’s daughter.”

  Charley didn’t miss the amusement in Emily’s expression. “Oh, we’re not dating. We’re just friends.”

  Joanna glanced at Charley.

  “Ah, I see,” Emily said, unconvinced.

  Sometime later, with Terry and Joanna still deep in conversation about food, recipes, and the New York Times food critic, Emily turned to Charley. “We’re going to have to break this up or I’m afraid they could talk food all night.”

  Charley sighed and rolled her eyes.

  “You didn’t know she was like this, did you?”

  “About food and recipes? No. We usually go out for drinks.”

  Downstairs after dinner, Charley told Emily she’d hold down the fort as usual while she was in Abu Dhabi, and she and Joanna let Emily and Terry take the first cab.

  “Where to now?” Joanna asked.

  Charley looked at her, surprised.

  “I thought you might want to debrief.”

  “You really are the admiral’s daughter, aren’t you?”

  “Actually, I just want to spend a little more time with you. We could go back upstairs to Dizzy’s Coca Cola Club.” She hesitated. “Or, I just live down the street at Forty-Third.”

  Charley considered her proposal.

  “And I have a bottle of Moet & Chandon in my refrigerator. I thought we might need it while we dissect the evening.”

  Charley laughed. “You did, did you?”

  Joanna hailed a cab and directed the driver to Ninth Avenue at Forty-Third Street. Charley leaned in against Joanna as the cab pulled out of Columbus Circle.

  “I know your neighborhood pretty well,” she said. “Used to spend a lot of time there.”

  “Really?”

  “Mmm.” She ran her thumb and finger over the piping on the collar of Joanna’s jacket. “Right after college. It was quite the neighborhood, after the Village.”

  The cab pulled up outside the building. It was right next to the Westway Diner. “How long have you lived here?”

  “Twenty years.” Joanna paid the driver and leaned over Charley to open the door for her. “Came after nursing school to take care of a very good friend who had AIDS. And because I was chasing a girl who lived here. She got away. He died and I inherited his rent-subsidized apartment, so I stayed.”

  They made the walk up the five flights of Joanna’s brownstone in silence. She led the way to a door at the end of the hallway. A Nantucket basket hung on a hook, a bunch of lilac tulips spilling out of it.

  “How do you do that?” Charley marveled.

  Joanna took Charley’s hand and guided it inside the basket. She felt a deep glass filled with water.

  “It’s my one extravagance. The tulips don’t always last long. But I have flowers in this basket every day.” Joanna unlocked the door and opened it. “Frank bought it when we took a trip to Cape Cod that first summer that turned out to be his last trip anywhere. He thought it would look nice on the door, I thought it needed flowers. He made me promise to keep flowers in it in his memory.”

  Charley looked away, tearing up. “God, I hated those years.” She walked into the apartment.

  “You lose friends?” Joanna turned on a floor lamp near the door and soft light spilled across a sizable Oriental carpet of woven maroons and cream. Charley looked around the brick-walled room at the mix of dark Bentwood and Mission furniture, antique mirrors and 1920s Vogue magazine covers on the walls. A cut-glass vase on the coffee table held more of the tulips. A framed Erté lithograph of a Zeigfeld showgirl wearing nothing more than diamonds hung over the couch, commanding attention. She wondered if it was a reflection of who Frank had been or if this was all Joanna.

  Charley turned to her. “About the time you lost Frank, I lost count of the number of funerals I’d been to. But I think it was taking care of and burying my best friend from high school that…well, broke me.” She turned away, took off her coat, and draped it over the nearest chair. “I knew after that that I couldn’t make any more friends in the gay community.” She looked at Joanna again. “I don’t know any gay men anymore.”

  Joanna hugged Charley and kissed her forehead.

  “My ex is dying of cancer,” Charley said, just managing to stop the tears as they tried to spill out, blinking them back, willing them away. She felt Joanna inhale and slowly let it out.

  “This is going to be a bigger debriefing than I thought.”

  “I just killed the champagne moment, didn’t I?”

  Joanna led Charley over to a small cabinet and opened it, revealing a bar stocked with bottles of all sorts of liquors. Without a second thought, she picked up the bottle of Laphroaig single malt, Joanna pulled out two snifters, and they sat down on the couch. Joanna pushed her heels off and tucked her feet up beneath her. “Tell me everything.”

  By the time Charley finished, pearl gray had stolen into the black of the night sky, and the contents of the bottle were significantly lower.

  “I should go.”
Charley stood and put on her heels. “It’s far later than I thought.”

  Joanna retrieved her coat and held it for her. Charley slipped her arms into it, turned around, and kissed her. “I know you said you couldn’t do this. I’m not asking you to. That was thank you.”

  Joanna pulled Charley close and kissed her back, one hand firmly on the small of her back, the other clasping her shoulder. “You’re welcome. And it’s earlier than you think it is.”

  Charley looked at her questioningly, lost in the warmth of her emerald eyes.

  “We can talk about it the next time we have Monday drinks. But listen, you should have my card so you can help Tricia research private nursing companies. If you google us, everyone else comes up. We do mostly long-term care, like I told you. But we do occasionally take on short-term clients who just need help pre-hospice. You said you’re not really sure what Tricia needs?”

  “She hasn’t wanted to talk about it, but we need to address it very soon.”

  “It’s a hard thing to confront. It’ll be hard for both of you to confront.”

  “I know…” She leaned in for another slow, sweet kiss. “Thank you for tonight. I think I rather like the ‘proceed with caution’ zone.”

  Joanna smiled slightly and walked Charley downstairs. She watched the cab pull away and Charley looked out the back window so she could see her until it turned the corner.

  As the taxi made its way up an empty Forty-Second Street, Charley felt a kind of peace she hadn’t in a long time, and a turmoil she hadn’t felt in an even longer time.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The remnants of a headache wreathed Charley’s head when she let herself into Tricia’s apartment late Sunday afternoon. She hadn’t had that much scotch, or that little sleep, in quite a while. Ted was just leaving. “Please tell me you weren’t here all day.”

  “Nope. Came about noon.”

  “Don’t let her work you until you drop.”