Outsiders

by Lynn Ames

  Ren was taken aback by the expression, the pure emotions that flew through the dark grey eyes that looked down and back at her. They reminded Ren of where she was and why she was there. And as Nina murmured the required social nicety in ritual return, Ren learned several things: the confident, nice young woman with an unassuming air who had helped her construct sets and then gone on to her own sound check and performance was not merely a pretty face with a voice, nor was she someone who was kind but essentially stupid with a softness at core that made for weakness. This was someone who did not appreciate deceit or the appearance of it.

  No. There were two things Ren learned, and the first was that she had grossly underestimated whom she met and whom she was dealing with, for in that grasp that reminded Ren of a gauntlet and the now-visored gaze that reviewed her, Nina revealed her core—it was steel.

  ***

  Samantha’s head was tight with an uncomfortable tingling numbness she’d not felt for a long time. Part of it she recognized as the weight of too many minds, too many emotions after a high-level, important, performance. But the rest of it…

  This particular meet-and-greet function was similar to so many others she attended, but the differences were critical and were not so well hidden below the surface. She kept a practiced smile on her face as she moved from group to group. The first held a discussion on cultural impact and relevance of the project—this was really a metaphor for how much do you think we’ll make off this. The next was full of effusive praise for how timely, how daring, how cutting edge it was to include a performing troupe such as Toya’s, a troupe that mixed original works with classics and standards and featured an all-female cast in both male and female roles. Such appeal to the avant garde! And of course, there was Samantha’s and Nina’s band, too, featuring real, out lesbians! And they had a “look” as well as sound that would have mass market appeal! Plus, they already had solid indie cred and support.

  Samantha smiled politely through all of it, answered questions about production frequency, current audience reach versus projected, and thinly veiled inquiries about additions and changes to the current stage show, how to kick it up a notch.

  “After all,” the talking head in the suit blithely continued, oblivious to the warning glance given him by his less obtuse clone, “ya got hot music, hot chicks. Hold on there, Greggs!”—he shook off the obviously cautioning hand laid on his forearm by his colleague—“Ya get a little action going and you’re looking at being in the solid black for the next ten years!”

  It was that last, said with a slight raise to the eyebrows, too-wide eyes, and uncontainable smirk that snapped at the last of her reserves.

  You slimy fucking bastard, Samantha thought, no one’s having on-stage sex for your viewing or other pleasure. “You’ve got the wrong party or the wrong idea. Either way, this conversation is over.”

  She paused a moment for the clone-companion’s attempt at an apology. “I’ve traveled for hours, sound checked, and performed. You will excuse me, won’t you?” The smile she gave him before she moved on was mostly teeth.

  Seemingly interminable moments later, Samantha was at the bar signaling for a bottle of water. When the plastic with its condensed-water skin touched hers, she ripped the cap off and took a slow, long sip, then allowed herself to relax against the wooden ledge.

  The music in this area wasn’t quite as loud as it was in others though it wasn’t completely muted, and as Samantha listened, she wondered if Nina had made suggestions for the play list—it bore her “style.”

  The melody played well to Samantha’s feelings, and she attempted to rid herself of the anger and irritation from the last conversation. The sweet dark tones over hard rhythm brought her back to the things that carried much more weight for her, and she let herself process through them, from least to most important.

  The performance had gone well, and from her place in the wings, she enjoyed watching the troupe that preceded them. The next two nights sold well; no matter how discussions went, the event, in and of itself, was a success.

  Samantha lit a cigarette and inhaled. She had a view of the larger room, including the area reserved for dancing. The rest of the band, the dancers from the troupe—all still in their various stage-wear, just as Samantha herself was—mingled with the other guests and seemed to be enjoying themselves.

  She exhaled slowly and considered Toya’s figure striding off the dance floor in search of whatever through the smoke. The dark suit she wore through the last part of her performance fit her beautifully, accentuated the strength of her shoulders, the narrowness of her hips, let the length of her legs show. The look was sharp, strong, and Toya had left her hair loose, let its straight ebony length brush her shoulders. That touch of softness, the malleable flow of it, was a stark contrast to the unyielding lines and angles. It highlighted them, but instead of clashing, they melded: softness and strength, grace and power.

  It was that melding of contrasts, Samantha admitted, that pointed to the similarity between them, almost as if they were two sides of the same coin—or perhaps the same side of different coins? She didn’t know.

  Samantha’s feelings about Ren were mixed at best; Ren’s presence brought memory with her, memory of a time of pain and confusion. Fucking ironic, Samantha considered as she tapped the red glow between her fingers against the ashtray. Ren’s here, and there’s more pain to deal with.

  Samantha did not know the entire story between Fran and Ren, but she did know that Fran’s turning to Ren back in those days was very much a direct result of Samantha’s own actions. Fran was the source of both the discomfit and the uneasy peace. The truce between Samantha and Ren, hastily hammered into place after they finally met, was a strained thing at best; it was an association forged through ties of friendships and the relations of others. Samantha didn’t really know why but she also held a sense of debt to Ren. And she had no idea how to repay it.

  All those paths of thought ended in the same place as her eyes found, then tracked, Fran crossing the floor, arm in arm with her old friend. She took another sip, watching the dark head draw closer to the golden one as together they stepped onto the dance floor.

  Has Fran told her what’s going on? Samantha wondered as she ignored the increased beat of her heart and left her cigarette to burn in the ashtray. She noted the way they moved, the slight distance between their bodies, and as one song slipped into another, she was unaware that she, too, was being observed.

  A wordless emotion filled and welled up through her, strong enough to make her blink, to turn away for a moment. When she looked once more at the dancers, she stared at the last thing she expected to see: Nina approaching the pair as the song changed once more. Samantha put her water down on the bar and unconsciously leaned forward as she watched, the music that filled the air gone beneath the beat that hammered her within. The exchange was brief and seemingly polite, even friendly, but the conclusion shocked her: Nina cut in and was dancing—with Ren.

  Samantha leaned back, released the breath she didn’t realize she held, and blindly reached for her water once more. Her fingers trembled slightly as she raised it to her lips, and took a long pull. The water soothed and cooled on its way down, and a feeling flooded through her as it did. The emotion increased as she saw Fran look for her, then make her way over—it was relief.

  ***

  “How do you prefer to be addressed…Toya or Ren?” Nina asked as they moved through the opening bars of a tune that she had requested earlier. She had, in fact, arranged the majority of the set list, since she wanted it all to be right.

  Eyes, slate-blue and shiny, stared back at her and the slightest of grins—or was it a smirk— played in their corners.

  “It depends on the situation.”

  Nina paid attention to the tone, where the tension was and wasn’t in the body before her, as well as the expression she could see.

  “This situation,” Nina told her, her own smile sharp and angular as it cut across her face and s
he acknowledged the game they played. “This here and now.”

  The hint of a grin became a smile that mirrored Nina’s as the rhythm that sounded around them changed. “Are you always so…acquiescent?”

  “Hardly,” Nina retorted. “I’m being polite…allowing you a choice before I make one for you.”

  It was very confusing. All Nina truly knew about Ren Toya previous to this day was her first name, that she was related to Graham’s wife, Maeko, that at one point she and Fran were something more than friends and, after viewing clips of her group’s performances, that Ren had a great concept going with even better execution. And it turned out now that person was someone she spent a few hours with earlier, working very companionably.

  The name confusion she could mostly excuse—mostly. In the few times that Ren was mentioned over the last years, both Samantha and Fran probably assumed they’d mentioned it, but she never picked it up. When they were once again introduced just a short while ago, she remembered the cultural difference, but still…She enjoyed the confusion. I knowshe did, Nina reflected, her conclusion based on what she felt in that hand shake earlier and saw before her now.

  Between that time and this, Nina was also caught up with the same meet-and-greet niceties as Fran and Samantha. Although social obligations separated them, Nina still kept an occasional eye out for them during their various wanderings.

  When Nina spotted Samantha by the bar, her first intention was to put arms about her beloved partner, ask how she was, then plan their exit, but there was something about Samantha’s demeanor that stopped her. Nina read a tension to Samantha’s shoulders, stress in the lines of her back, as she watched somethingand Nina honed in on that.

  For a moment, she saw what Samantha saw, felt what Samantha felt, as they watched Fran and Ren move together. Nina didn’t stop to think, she just did. And now she was dancing with—“Toya,” Nina decided. It was how shemet her, her first association. If she thought of her as Ren, she couldn’t consider her objectively at all. Ren was someone who’d been connected to Fran in ways Nina didn’t want to think about. Ren was someone that Nina instinctively knew had hurt Fran as well. Toya was someone Nina worked beside, was someone she could get along with. Maybe someday, Nina would be able to call her Ren. Today was not that day.

  “You’re letting me lead.”

  “I’m letting you think that.” Nina laughed outright, and with the slightest twist of her leg and a shift in her hand position, proved it.

  Toya laughed back. “Touché,” she agreed, and moved in tandem. “And do you always…how does that phrase go…switch hit that way? Isn’t that…deceptive?”

  “I am what I am—I don’t pretend to less, more, or other,” Nina answered as the space between them narrowed for the next step. “What are you?”

  “I am whatever I want to be, whenever I want, with whoever wants me to be it.” Toya’s body, quickly, briefly, brushed against Nina’s and despite the layers they both still wore from the stage, Nina recognized clearly the subtle protuberance that bumped against her thigh. She pushed slightly away.

  “Thank you for the dance,” Nina excused. “I should—”

  Toya stepped closer, this time deliberately leaving the slightest breath of space between them. She brought her face closer to Nina’s shoulder. “Does this scare you? Play with your sense of who you are?”

  “Youdon’t scare me,” Nina said pointedly and turned away.

  Toya slid into step behind her and gently touched Nina’s shoulder. “What about that?” she asked softly and inclined her head in another direction. “Does thatscare you?”

  Nina followed Toya’s gaze through the crowd to find Samantha and Fran, sitting together on one of the many scattered sofas. They were so close their knees touched, crossed over into each other’s body space. The way they leaned into each other made Nina’s heart smile, and that smile grew while she watched Fran reach across the space between them and brush the hair off Samantha’s cheek.

  The palpably obvious emotion in Fran’s lingering touch, the expression that played across Samantha’s face, was discernible to Nina even from where she stood. It once again filled her heart to ache with the beauty of what she saw, stretched it with the intensity of how so very much she loved them. Those emotions were netted in with the fear of losing either one of them, for Nina was very aware of the crazy reality thrust upon them that might make that happen all too soon.

  But in this here and now, Nina gratefully welcomed and allowed her true feelings for Fran and Samantha to rule her.

  Love softened her mouth, cleared her eyes to true blue and made the almost-silver ring that surrounded them flash. Nina worked her jaw and swallowed down the fear. She let love fill and square her shoulders, set her spine with pride. “No,” she answered with uncensored honesty, then faced Toya’s raised-brow appraisal. “That I embrace.”

  Nina neither saw nor cared about the open-mouthed reaction she left behind her as she walked away.

  ***

  Fran was delighted. Preliminary buzz for the performance was better than good; it was damn good, and some of the casual discussion she’d had with the potential investors and partners had gone from cocktail chitchat to opening-round negotiations. Although she knew much better than to take anything other than officially agreed-upon and signed contracts as guarantee, it augured for a strong and positive position, especially when she considered the verbal promise she’d received from one of the larger interested backers in the presence of Ren’s own representation.

  She’d not noticed when either Samantha or Nina had left the party and so, full to brimming with excitement that she half-expected her skin to vibrate, Fran thought of nothing other than the news she had and the discussions they would have over the next few days. They’re probably sleeping, she reminded herself as she carefully slid her key card into the lock then quietly opened the door.

  Music played, loud enough to hide the sound of the door as she shut it but low enough not to be heard in the hallway, and light glowed from just around the corner where the room opened into larger space. Fran stepped quietly forward.

  The image froze her, stunned her mind into complete immobility as well, leaving her able to do nothing other than witness. Sight and sound melded, swelled in her throat and became the air she breathed, stopped her heart and took over with an almost painful rhythm as the mirror played its unblinking image for her.

  They moved together and they were one. They moved again and revealed open heat and hunger. The movement continued and they already possessed each other; now they possessed her. She had known and deeply loved them both, and when Samantha pressed her face to Nina’s back, rubbed her cheek against the soft skin that covered the sharp angle of the shoulder blade, Fran viscerally remembered. She could taste Nina’s skin in the place where Samantha’s lips touched, felt Samantha’s open kiss there, right there.

  Nina’s head turned, exposed her throat and the length of her body. She arched her neck and the mirror lay bare the reflection of raw desire even as Samantha filled it. The intensity that flowed between them overran and filled the room, and the aching twist of love followed a whisper that Fran saw but could not hear, turned Nina’s head once more until her eyes, their eyes, reflected back to the glass, to bounce and lock with Fran’s, frozen as she watched and loved and missed and wanted.

  It was too late for her to move, too late to stop for them, no way to pretend or undo. Love and desire together spun a web, sent their net through the air and caught her within. Now Fran could feel Nina’s body yielding to hers, the delicate taste of Samantha on her tongue. Her own hands curved and curled, landscapes of love alive in her palms and under her skin, electric and knowing, until it seemed as if the very knowing itself was what made her blood flow, her heart beat.

  Yes, Fran was caught in those eyes, wrapped in the energy that blanketed and made her one with them; the pleasure pushed, edged to pain, a tearing burn into her heart, her body. The fine line point of Light closed in, tighten
ed, rendered time and distance meaningless, and when the moment came, it took them all.

  ***

  Ren was restless. The time zones played havoc with her sleep schedule, and unable to stay still any longer, she dressed and left the room.

  “Isamu,” she addressed the guard outside her door, “I’m going down to the lobby for coffee and possibly a paper—I would prefer if you stay here.” There was no need for him to protect her in what she was sure would be a lightly peopled lobby, and if there were to be any danger, it would more likely occur somewhere much more private, somewhere like her rooms. To leave them unattended as well as unoccupied was foolish.

  Isamu silently nodded acquiescence and displayed the press-button pager he held. Its indicator light glowed a solid green. Ren touched the pendant she wore. Should she need to, the press of it in just the right place would cause the device Isamu held to silently vibrate and change the light from green to red—the signal that she needed immediate assistance. Since the final dissolution of her father’s operation, she had yet to need it.

  Precautions in place, Ren took the elevator to the main lobby. The hotel had a small twenty-four-hour café where Ren could do exactly as she planned: find the cup of coffee she wanted, obtain a copy of the most recent Wall Street Journal, and ensconce herself in a comfortable spot in the ample seats that made up the lounge next to the café.

  Ren sipped and read at her leisure. The lateness of the hour was no deterrent to the occasional murmur of voices from people coming and going to the concierge or the reservations desk. Porters with loaded trolleys walked behind her at random intervals and it all combined to become a soothing background noise.

  Though it was not addressed to her, a familiar voice cut through her pleasant reverie, and Ren craned about to see Fran at the reservations and check-in desk. Surprised, Ren got up from her seat and walked over with her cup. “You’re up late,” she said over Fran’s shoulder.