Watermark

by Karin Kallmaker

  "You weren't thinking in the abstract anymore." Tori folded her hands on her stomach, looking very wise. "Love is always transformational."

  "Oh, that is true," Rayann said. Her expression was wistful. "That is very true. 'We'll always have the stars.' "

  Tori grinned and rested her hand briefly on Rayann's arm as if in total accord. "I always laugh when he lights the cigarettes at the end. But that movie does cover the way love changes people. Especially the love of a child."

  "My favorite Bette is All About Eve. Hands down." Rayann fished in her satchel. "Air tickets, here."

  "I don't disagree," Tori said. "It's one of my favorite movies of all time."

  Teresa tucked her ticket into her backpack. Old movies weren't exactly her specialty. She liked Tori well enough, but felt divided from her by a lifetime of experiences. Rayann, on the other hand, had no trouble establishing a rapport with Tori. Teresa watched the scenery flick by and felt a little out of it. She could have sworn that the trades reported Rayann's age as thirty-nine, but she seemed older than that. Maybe it was forty-nine. But she didn't look that old. That would make her twenty years older than Teresa, and that was a big gap. Too big, probably.

  What's it to you, she demanded of herself. Too big of a gap for what? Just shup.

  "I thought that was Donna Reed," Tori was saying.

  "She was definitely in It's a Wonderful Life. But I'm not sure she was Benny Goodman's girlfriend in the biopic. You could be right though. Lou—" Rayann paused for a moment. "I'll have to look it up."

  The flight was uneventful. Fasten your seatbelts, drink your coffee, here's your peanuts, please check in the overhead compartment to make sure you didn't

  leave any belongings behind and buh-bye. The first thing Teresa noticed was that it was warm in Phoenix. She shrugged out of her jacket. "That's better."

  "Warm." Tori inhaled deeply. "I like warm."

  "There's our car." Rayann walked briskly down the sidewalk.

  A young man who didn't look old enough to drive was holding up a sign that said, "Liman's."

  The young man introduced himself as "Steve," then spent several minutes fitting their satchels and briefcases in the small trunk of the car. Teresa noticed with amusement that he kept glancing at Rayann. She had that effect on people. Both sexes. If Rayann noticed she gave no indication, but Steve's tongue was draped over the steering wheel when Rayann got into the seat next to him.

  Teresa decided right then and there that she was not going to be a Steve. Yes, she was having some undeniable problems with her own tongue, especially when in unexpected moments she heard something in the timbre of Rayann's voice that reminded her of the alley and the way Rayann had felt against her. But she was not going to be a puppy. Rayann would not respect that — she wouldn't even notice.

  What had locked up Rayann's heart that way? Teresa's observation was that some of the light was getting back into Rayann's inner self, but she was still a far cry from the vibrant, passionately alive — okay, and bitchy — woman she had been.

  Nothing to do with you, Reese. When you get home you're going to ask Lisa in legal for a date. There's far more chance of some fun and double-backed aardvarking with Lisa than you'll ever have with Rayann Germaine.

  *****

  "I am really sorry to have to bring you down here." Cindy Degas tapped across the cement floor of the hardware store.

  "We want to do the job right, Cindy." Rayann had worked with her before. Cindy was the reason she had managed to swipe this account from one of the big firms. "It's not that unusual to get started with shooting and have major regrets about the entire project. Given that we're new partners, I should have anticipated this problem."

  Cindy pushed her lush blonde hair back over her shoulder. "Thanks for not implying we don't know what we want."

  Rayann would never imply that to a client, as tempted as she might be. "These are my colleagues, Teresa Mandrell and Tori Raguza. They are the best. Where's Jena keeping herself?"

  "In the back." Cindy led the way through the idle cameras and sound equipment that cluttered up half of the store. It was the company's most recently built store and they had insisted on using it in the com¬mercial shoot.

  They tromped after Cindy. Rayann muttered to Tori and Teresa, "Cindy and I go back a few years to when she worked for a textiles firm. Step lightly — her spring is coiled really tight."

  "Oh, joy." Tori said.

  Two actors lounged in chairs, both reading, and representatives from the local technical trade union were drinking coffee and looking sleepy. Rayann could imagine that Cindy was looking at all of them with the sound of a cash register ringing in her head.

  Jena looked as if Cindy had been hand-feeding her tacks. She'd been very upset that she'd had to call for back-up. She'd been in advertising long enough to handle a commercial shoot on her own. She glared at the idle crew. "They all go off the clock in five minutes. Union rules. Since we contracted, they're back at nine a.m. whether we need them or not." The tension of the two unsuccessful days working on the shoot showed in her voice. She definitely sounded less Emma Thompson and more Eliza Doolittle.

  "Let's need them," Rayann said. She raised her voice. "Actors only — could we just run through the script you have."

  The sage-looking older man helped the soccer mom type find a piece of plumbing hardware.

  Thirty seconds later Rayann sighed. "Thanks everybody. We'll see you in the morning." She turned to Cindy. "Where can we work?"

  "I booked the three of you a big suite that has a large conference table, modem hook-ups, the works. You're on the floor above where Jena and I are."

  As they drove back across Phoenix toward the airport hotel area, Rayann found herself squeezed in the back seat with Cindy between her and Teresa. It had seemed preferable to being squished against hormonally challenged Steve. Jena had that honor, with Tori smashed against the window. Cindy was having no problem with the seating arrangement but Rayann was remembering all the times she'd turned down Cindy's overtures. Her reason why — Louisa — didn't exist anymore. But she still had no interest in Cindy. She had no interest in anyone.

  The suite was as large as Cindy had promised. Teresa and she took the two bedrooms on the left,

  Tori one of the two on the right. The bellman dis¬tributed the various satchels as directed, looking a little puzzled at the lack of luggage.

  Room service arrived about the same time they settled down to work. Rayann munched on an onion ring and addressed herself to Cindy. "Now, how is it we all approved a commercial that could have been written for your biggest competitor? There wasn't one ounce of differentiation. All it lacked was that football coach guy."

  Cindy shook her head. "I've been asking myself that all day."

  Jena chimed in. "It's partly the way the actors are delivering. They've seen those ads. So has the direc¬tor."

  "We have to do better." Rayann finished the onion ring and went on to the hamburger. "What are you sketching, Teresa?"

  "I'm just making backdrops of the store. And some paper dolls of the actors. It'll save a lot of work."

  Teresa reminded Rayann of herself ten years ago. "For this you went to the Sorbonne?"

  Teresa chuckled. "This is more fun than copying the Mona Lisa. I mean you finish copying the Mona Lisa and all you have is proof positive that you're no DaVinci."

  Rayann grinned. Teresa did have a tendency to make her smile. Which, she supposed, was good for her.

  Cindy nibbled delicately on her toasted cheese sandwich as she leaned over to look at the sketches. Some of her long, blonde wisps draped over Teresa's shoulder. Rayann blinked. Cindy's radar had obviously picked up something she'd missed. Of course Teresa

  was a lesbian. She'd been crazy to miss it herself. Not that it made any difference. Well, yes it did. It was always great to find out that someone that talented was gay.

  "You know where I think we went wrong?" Tori flipped open her laptop and turned it on. "We were so eager
to differentiate them from the big warehouse chain that we emphasized personal service and ended up looking just like their other major competitor."

  "We want women in the door. And most women won't go into a hardware store unless someone will give them advice on what to buy. And at the same time they're afraid of getting ripped off. All the re¬search suggests that." Cindy swept a nonexistent crumb off of Teresa's sketch. Rayann kept herself from rolling her eyes as Cindy's hand "accidentally" brushed Teresa's.

  Tori pushed the male actor's picture away. "Why is our advice giver gray-haired? That's a little stereotypical, don't you think?"

  "Yeah, it is," Rayann said. "I don't know why I didn't see that either. I must still be a little rusty."

  Jena picked up the photo. "Okay, let's change this guy to a buffed-out hunk. Isn't a hardware store a great place to meet guys?"

  Cindy tucked her hair behind her ear. "Let's change him into the FedEx woman in a tool belt. Now you're talking."

  Teresa made a sound between a groan and a giggle. "Who picks the actress?"

  Cindy laughed in her megawatt sultry way. Rayann felt compelled to say, "Don't go there, you two."

  Teresa looked properly chastised, but Cindy was not repentant. "Maybe we should go after the lesbian

  dollar. We are the leaders of the do-it-yourself move¬ment, after all."

  "No way," Jena said. "You girls have Xena. I want my hunk. Hey — Kevin Sorbo in a tool belt. Yummy."

  Rayann pointedly addressed herself to Tori, who could at least be counted on to be mature. "We need to shift the copy from helping her find what she's looking for to helping her understand what she's buying and why. We can get in that point about the premium quality of the house brand items."

  "God, Rayann. Work, work, work." Cindy slumped in the chair next to Teresa. "Actually, I think we can tone down the grandfatherly advice angle. I think that is what's bothering me. Most of our store clerks are well-trained. Nobody else trains like we do. They know their stuff and they come in all shapes and sizes and ages. And we're proud of how many women work in our stores."

  Tori was typing like crazy. "Let me work on this for about ten minutes, okay?"

  Cindy waved her hand at the entertainment armoire. "The TV can be used as a display monitor. I checked. All we have to do is ask the concierge for the right cable. They said they had everything."

  Rayann relaxed and finished her hamburger. "What did we do before all the conveniences of an office could be found everywhere we went?"

  "We had lives," Tori muttered.

  Cindy spluttered into her soda. "Ain't that the truth."

  Teresa tore several sheets out of her sketchpad. "So what does this ungrandfatherly advice-giver look like? You want to use the same actor but make him a little less Grandpa Walton?"

  "I have a novel idea." Rayann looked ceilingward for a moment. "I am rusty. It's quite obvious. We switch roles. The woman is the professional, the grandfather the one who needs advice."

  "Oh, I like that," Cindy said. "I'm going to have to run it by the powers-that-be, but I like that. The warehouse chain does imply that a little in their ads, but we can do better."

  "All the research says that many women trust women more readily than men when it comes to subjects they feel they don't know much about. And that's a change. Fifteen years ago it wasn't that way at all." Rayann got out her own laptop. "Let me write up a brief memo you can use with your boss, Cindy. There's valid market research. This is not radical."

  The room fell quiet as everyone busily tapped. Cindy went to the phone in one of the bedrooms and ordered up the monitor cable and a miniature inkjet printer.

  They finished before ten. Jena cried exhaustion and headed to her room on the floor below. Cindy insisted on taking the rest of them downstairs for drinks.

  Tori excused herself after one round. Rayann wanted to excuse herself as well, but something made her stay. Maybe it was the way Cindy so obviously had plans for Teresa's night. Teresa was starting to show signs of resistance, but Cindy didn't hear no as quickly as she heard yes. Rayann wondered if she was just a little piqued that Cindy wasn't flirting with her at all. No. She was just a little worried on Teresa's behalf. She was so young.

  Not that young, she amended. But young enough. And attractive enough. She could see why Cindy

  preferred her. Over the last ten years Rayann had lost her youthful slenderness, and the last year had taken its toll on her face.

  Well, that's a new perspective, she thought. She sipped her soda and tried to remember the last time she had felt like the old one in the crowd. A long, long time. Had she aged for Louisa — in the sense of learning more about the things that Louisa liked that had happened before she was born? Definitely. She could talk Big Band with the best of them now.

  "Grunge is passe, don't you think?" Teresa put a little air between herself and Cindy. "I used to like entire albums, but lately I feel lucky if I like one or two tracks from some of my favorite bands. Beck, Goo Goo Dolls. Even Green Day. I liked their debuts, but the follow-ups were disappointing."

  Rayann had never heard of the bands Teresa mentioned but Cindy was nodding. Cindy couldn't be a year younger than she was. Cindy was also closing up the space Teresa had created.

  "I like Tori Amos. And though I blush to admit it, I did like some of the Spice Girls stuff. Do you go to a lot of concerts?"

  "No, I just listen to a lot of all-night radio."

  "Rayann, you're mistreating this child."

  "She's a professional," Rayann said.

  "I'm not a child." Teresa's eyebrows had come together.

  "I'm just teasing," Cindy said. "You are not a child."

  Teresa smiled a little nervously. "Well, this will be my first opportunity for an early night in about two weeks, so if you'll excuse me, I'll turn in."

  "One more," Cindy pleaded.

  "No thanks. See you in the morning."

  Rayann admired the deft way Teresa had escaped. Cindy was watching after her. When she disappeared from view, she sighed.

  "Any chance you'll stay another night?"

  "Leave her alone, Cindy."

  Cindy turned her sharp, eager gaze on Rayann. She scooted across the booth seat until her knees touched Rayann's. "Do I hear a proprietorial tone?"

  "She's my employee."

  "She's also a free woman, unlike you."

  Rayann realized then that there was no way Cindy could know about Louisa. It wasn't as if she'd sent out notices to everyone she had ever met. She swallowed hard. "Louisa died last year."

  Cindy's temptress fagade melted. "Oh, Rayann, am I so sorry. I didn't know."

  "Of course you didn't. She was crossing the street and she was hit by a drunk driver." It was all she could bring herself to say.

  "That's awful. Oh, that must have been terrible for you."

  "It was hard," she admitted. "Well, Teresa's not the only one who has been burning the midnight oil. I could use a good night's sleep."

  "I'll walk you back to your room. Maybe I can change Teresa's mind." Cindy the temptress was back.

  "Give it up, Cindy. You struck out." She started to sidle out of the booth but Cindy caught her hand.

  "I'm beginning to think that you have hang-ups about sex."

  "Why, because I never went to bed with you?" Cindy's hand was warm. It was real flesh and blood.

  "Partly. And you seem so gung-ho to keep Teresa

  out of bed, too. It used to be that being gay was about being sex-positive. As in there's nothing wrong with two happy adults having fun together."

  "I'm too tired to debate the politics of sexual liberation with you. Not tonight. It takes two to foxtrot." She pulled her hand away from Cindy's grasp and cursed herself for missing the warmth of it.

  "I understand that. But what's the deal with monogamy? I don't want to be callous, but what's stopping you now?"

  Rayann's anger made her see white. "That is a callous question, but I'll tell you. I gave her my word. I gave her my
vow. I gave her my love. And she was all I could ever have wanted. And I still love her."

  "You love the memory of her."

  "You are an incredible bitch, Cindy."

  Cindy shrugged. "So I've been told." Her ex¬pression softened. "I'm sorry. I was just pissed. Teresa's very nice, but she's not you. I wasted all night when I have the feeling..." She put her hand on Rayann's shoulder. "I have the feeling that with a little persistence, I might discover a new volcano."

  Her body was crying out for intimacy. She couldn't deny it. Cindy had no idea just how sex positive Rayann could be. But not tonight. "See me in a year." Her tone was not as light as she had hoped it would be.

  "Who are you? Queen Victoria?" Cindy's fingertips brushed her ear.

  "You're being callous again."

  "Your heart is racing."

  "It does that."

  "Don't cheat yourself." Her other hand snaked over Rayann's thigh.

  Suddenly Cindy was too close. There was no air. She snapped, "The answer is no, Cindy. Don't act like a guy, okay?"

  Cindy sat back. "Well, that's pretty final. Two San Francisco lesbians in my lap and I'm going to bed alone. Who would have thought it?"

  "Goodnight, Cindy." She slid out of the booth.

  Cindy tossed off the last of her drink. "Sweet dreams."

  Her dreams weren't sweet, they were nonexistent. Somewhere around three, Rayann roused herself and went out to the main room of the suite to forage for milk in the mini-bar. She drained the pint and stood looking at the twinkling lights.

  She didn't know when she started to cry. Maybe she'd been crying all along and there had been no tears. She cried because she was faithless, because a quick tumble in bed with Cindy had tempted her. What kind of lover had she been? How could Louisa do this to her?