by Erica Abbott
Stop it, Jill told herself, and she shifted the pillow under her head. She waited for sleep to find her, but all that found her in the night were more memories.
* * *
The setting sun was cradled between two peaks of the Rockies to the west, and Jill had to shade her eyes as she looked in toward home plate from first base. At fifteen, she was taller than all the other players on the youth softball team except Mark Johnson, and he was faster than she was, so he was in center field. But she had good hands and could catch everything, even the wild-ass throws Spence made from shortstop. Aunt Renata had stopped coming to games, terrified that Jill would break a finger or a wrist and be unable to continue her piano lessons.
“Strike one!”
Jill stood up, relaxing a moment between pitches. Her dad was working the evening shift, driving an RTD bus to carry commuters home from work, but her mom was here in the stands, clapping for the United Methodist coed team. She glanced into the stands to where her mom was sitting, and then thought her heart might start beating out of her chest.
Halfway up the rickety bleachers was a girl with dark red hair, sitting alone.
“Ball two!”
Jill shook herself, realizing she’d missed a pitch. C’mon, Allen, one more out. Focus.
The male batter swung at the next pitch, hitting a hard grounder to short. Spence, who had plenty of time to wait for the ball to get to him, decided to charge it instead.
Oh, crap, Jill thought. Spence was okay if he had time to set his feet, but his throws on the move could be anywhere from halfway into right field to inside the dugout.
Spence released the ball and she saw it tailing away, back toward home plate. She couldn’t catch it and stay on the base, so at the last moment she stepped off the bag, caught the errant throw, and tagged the runner on the arm as he ran past her.
“Out!” called the umpire. “Ball game, guys.”
The coach for the Baptists came trotting down from the third-base coaching box to protest the call, but Jill didn’t care. She’d made the play, and the game was over.
“Hey!” Jenny, the pitcher, called over to her. “Nice play, Jill!”
Mark and a couple of the other guys said nice things to her, too, as they grabbed their bats and bags to clear out the dugout for the next team. Spence didn’t say anything to her, but that was par for the course.
Jill dumped her mitt and bat by her mom.
“Great game, honey,” her mom said. “Ready to go?”
Jill was searching for Caroline. She was still sitting in the stands, as if waiting for…someone. Jill felt her heartbeat speed up again.
“I see a friend,” she said to her mom. “Can I walk home? I promise I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
Dinner was late on nights her dad had the evening shift. Her mom looked at her carefully and said, “Who’s your friend?”
“Caroline. She’s over there.”
Her mom looked over, apparently relieved that the friend was a girl rather than a boy.
“She’s one of Aunt Rey’s students,” Jill added encouragingly.
That was apparently enough of an endorsement. “Okay,” her mom said. “But no eating junk before dinner.”
Jill rolled her eyes and said, “Cross my heart. Will you take my stuff?”
“Yes, I’ll take your stuff,” her mom answered fondly. “See you soon.”
Jill stepped up and over the metal bleachers until she reached Caroline. Now that she was here, she hardly knew what to say. “Hi,” she managed.
Caroline looked up at her. Amazing eyes. “Hi. You didn’t tell me you were some kind of Steve Garvey at first base.”
Jill sat next to her in faint shock. “You know who Steve Garvey is?”
“Of course. Opera singers are allowed to understand baseball, you know.”
“It’s just a church softball league.”
Caroline smiled at her. “You’re a good athlete, Jill,” she said, and Jill felt as if she’d won an Olympic medal.
“What are you doing here?” Jill asked her. “Just hanging out?”
The smile broadened. “Just hanging out,” she agreed.
The metal seats shook as a heavy body plopped down in front of them. Spence. “Hey, Jill. Who’s your friend?” he said, smirking at Caroline.
Caroline offered her hand, as she had the first time she met Jill. “I’m Caroline,” she said.
At that moment, Jill felt a deep and irrational hatred for Spence. She didn’t want to sit here and watch Spence flirt with Caroline. Or, worse, watch Caroline flirt with Spence.
“Spencer Dacono,” he answered. “Star shortstop.”
“Really?” Caroline murmured.
“I haven’t seen you around before, and believe me, I’d remember,” Spence continued. “Do you go to T.J.?”
Caroline looked puzzled, and Jill said, “Thomas Jefferson High School. She just got to Denver, Spence.”
She badly wanted to take Caroline and get out of there, somewhere away from Spence, and the other softball players, and the parents. Somewhere private.
A little shiver ran through her. Somewhere private?
“I’ll be going there in the fall,” Caroline said.
“That’s cool. I’m on the football team, too.”
“Third string,” Jill cut in.
Spence shot her a dirty look. “Why don’t you go and hang out with the other lezzies in the parking lot?” he sneered at her. “It’s the only way you’re gonna get lucky, Allen.”
Anger and embarrassment boiled over her like lava, and Jill started to rise from her seat.
Caroline put one hand on her arm and said to Spence, “Are you always such a jerk, or is it just when you make a lousy play?”
“What the hell…” Spence sputtered at her.
“You’re a pretty awful excuse for a softball player,” Caroline continued sweetly. “You went oh-for-four, and I’ve seen ten-year-old girls make better throws than that last crappy one you made. Why don’t you run along and work on your game? I don’t date little boys.”
Spence stomped away, muttering, “Stuck-up bitch.”
Jill swallowed hard and said, “That wasn’t necessarily a smart thing to do.”
Caroline laughed. “Please. He’s a punk.”
“He could make your life miserable.”
“Really?” Caroline seemed genuinely curious. “How would he do that?”
Jill found her nails were digging into her palms. “Well, for one thing…he could start spreading a rumor that you’re a…that you’re gay.”
Caroline laughed again, then stopped suddenly. “Is that what he did to you?” she asked.
Jill couldn’t talk. She nodded numbly.
“Is it a rumor?” Caroline asked.
“What?”
“Are you?”
Jill’s stomach twisted inside of her. What do I say? If I say yes, how fast will she run in the opposite direction? Straight girls can’t afford to be friends with queer girls. In the end, she wouldn’t lie. Lies would ruin everything, she knew that.
“I’ve never…” she began, trying to avoid answering directly. “I’ve never even been on a date. Unless you count the seventh- grade mixer, when I went with Johnny Miller.”
Caroline was smiling at her again. “Did he get a goodnight kiss?” she asked.
Jill shook her head.
“We won’t count that, then,” Caroline said firmly. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
The words wouldn’t come. Finally Jill nodded, then managed, “I think so, anyway.” She waited for Caroline to get up, to leave, to call her a name, or just spend the rest of her glorious life ignoring Jill.
Instead, Caroline said, “Well, okay, then. So what do you think about the Rockies?”
Jill looked at her, astonished. She was going to sit in the bleachers, and watch a softball game, and talk about baseball with Caroline Prince, who didn’t hate her and didn’t think she should be burned at the stake. How
had that miracle happened?
* * *
Terry’s bijou kitchen was painted a bright yellow, a fitting match for her morning persona—invariably cheerful and upbeat.
“Do you want some eggs?” she asked Jill as she stirred her spatula into the skillet.
Jill muttered, “Terry. I never want eggs.”
Terry chuckled and finished cooking. She brought her plate to the café table, just about big enough for her plate and Jill’s mug of coffee. “How about some toast? A bagel?”
Jill was apparently making an effort to be less than her usual surly morning self. “Half a bagel,” she said. “Thanks.”
Terry brought Jill her meager breakfast, and sat down to attack her eggs.
“What’s the green stuff?” Jill asked.
“Basil. Sure you don’t want some?”
“Really sure. But thanks.”
Terry cocked her head and asked, “Are you sure you don’t need more to eat? You were, um, using up some serious energy last night.”
Jill lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “Was that a compliment?”
Terry ate eggs and responded happily, “You bet. You were especially wonderful. I slept like a contented baby. Did you sleep at all?”
“I did, some,” Jill answered.
Terry felt inordinately pleased with herself. Jill sleeping much was a rare event, and she decided to take credit for it.
“Are you feeling better?” she ventured. “About last night, and everything. I really am sorry about Caroline Prince.”
She didn’t miss Jill’s tiny flinch, but Jill said, “I’m really fine. It’s all in the past, and I’m over it. I was just surprised, that was all. You were trying to do something nice, and I really do appreciate it.” She drank coffee and held Terry’s gaze a moment. “You’re a good friend to me, Terry. I mean that.”
Coming from Jill, that was tantamount to a declaration of undying fidelity. Terry finished her breakfast, smiling. “So what’s on your agenda for today?” she asked. She wasn’t angling to spend more time with Jill. Jill never lingered after one of their nights together. Terry figured it was because Jill had to escape from anything approaching intimacy. It was one of the reasons Terry had left Jill in the first place.
Jill stretched and finished her coffee. “It looks like a nice day,” she said. “I think I’ll get my clubs and go to the driving range for a while. I’ve got a contract to review this afternoon, but I should spend some time outdoors, I think. What about you?”
Terry gestured toward her living room, strewn with papers, laptop, and various items of discarded clothing. “Saturday is house-cleaning day. Tonight, I’m going with some friends to Her Bar. It’s Cajun Night. Sure you don’t want to come with and have fried catfish?”
She knew the answer. Jill hated the club scene and loud music—unless it was loud opera music. “No, thanks,” Jill smiled faintly. “But have a good time.”
I will, Terry thought. But you’ll be home, alone on Saturday night, brooding about Goddess knows what. Caroline Prince, probably.
Chapter Four
Arthur greeted Caroline first thing Monday morning with, “Which crisis would you like to hear about first?”
“And a good morning to you, Arthur,” Caroline responded sweetly. “How was your weekend?”
Arthur cocked a well-defined eyebrow at her. Caroline wondered if he actually got them waxed. He folded carefully manicured hands on his desk. “I had a lovely time, thank you. I went biking with a friend, then we stayed in a cute little bed and breakfast in Loveland, the Lilac Inn. An amazing garden.”
“Sounds nice,” Caroline said, a little wistfully.
“I’ll forward you the webpage,” Arthur said. He looked at her appraisingly, then asked, “How do you feel about personal questions?”
“Asking or answering?” Caroline smiled.
“Touché.” He smiled back. “Tell you what, I’ll go first. The friend and I are actually dating, have been for a few months. His name is Brad.”
He seemed to be assessing her reaction. All Caroline said was, “Good for you. Serious, or too soon to tell?”
Arthur relaxed a little and said, “It’s lasted longer than a single weekend, so of course it’s serious.”
Caroline laughed.
The perfect eyebrows went up and Arthur said, “Your turn. Seeing anyone?”
“Arthur, I’ve been in Denver less than three weeks. Not even a prima donna can work that fast.”
She said it lightly, but her memory of Jill’s face on Friday came back to her, clear and sharp. What had she expected, really, after the way they had ended? Jill was angry, hurt, bitter, and why shouldn’t she be? Caroline had felt for a long time that she herself had plenty of reason to be bitter, but she had also begun to put those feelings away long before she returned to Denver. Jill had been shocked to see her, and needed a chance to recover before healing could begin.
Caroline had had two days to recognize that her fantasy that Jill would be glad to see her was…well, fantasy. Much of her Saturday had been spent in tears and regret, but Sunday had been devoted to planning. The road back was going to be a long and difficult one, but if Caroline knew anything, she knew hard work. Jill would be well worth the effort. And God knew she had the time for it now.
Arthur was looking at her curiously, and she realized she’d been lost in her thoughts. She mentally shook herself. “For future reference, Arthur, in my world a ‘crisis’ is pretty much confined to ‘the theater is on fire’ or ‘the lead tenor has just fallen into the orchestra pit.’ Anything else is either a manageable event, or, in my experience, an artistic snit. Other people do not define our crises for us.”
Arthur was grinning at her. “Oh, Madame Prince,” he said enthusiastically. “We are going to have a good time working together, you and I.”
“I’m already grateful to you for the heads-up on the board members on Friday. Now, why don’t you get us both some coffee and come into my office? I can give you the summary of the meeting, and you can update me on this morning’s tantrums.”
They sat over by the coffee table in Caroline’s office. After getting Caroline’s recap of Friday’s board meeting, Arthur asked, “Do you keep a calendar, or do you use a device synced to your computer?
Caroline laughed a little and said, “Neither, really. Most of my career someone else was keeping track of me.”
Arthur said, “In that case, and with your permission, I suggest we use a calendaring system set up on the computer. I can keep it for you, and you can go on anytime and check your schedule. I’ll also print out a hard copy for you every Monday morning so you can see what your week looks like. Let me see your cell phone.”
Caroline handed it over, and he punched a couple of buttons, then nodded. “You’ll be able to check it from your phone, too, once I set it up.”
Caroline was faintly amused at this brisk display of efficiency. “Am I going to be that busy?”
“You bet you are,” Arthur said. “Everyone wants a piece of you—singers, agents, the board, costumers, musicians, you name it. And it will get worse the closer we get to the season. So I’ll keep your calendar, set appointments for you, and you can tell me times you don’t want to be available. I’ll block those out and refuse to bow to threats or bribery.”
Caroline lifted an eyebrow. “Bribery? Are you susceptible to being bribed?”
Arthur looked around the otherwise empty office carefully and then murmured, “Even Achilles had a weak spot.”
Caroline was beginning to really like Arthur. “Your secret is safe with me,” she said solemnly.
He nodded gravely, and then whispered, “Chocolate.”
“Ah. I understand.”
“So,” he continued in a normal voice, “this way people can get in to see you but I can keep you from being overwhelmed with too much at once.”
Caroline smiled. “Overwhelmed. You mean, as opposed to singing a high C on stage in front of hundreds of people while you’re weari
ng a ten-pound wig and a costume apparently designed specifically to cut off your air supply?”
Arthur waved his hands. “Piece of cake compared to running an opera company,” he smirked.
“I’m relieved to hear it. So what do we have today?”
* * *
Jill leaned back in her office chair, rubbing her forehead in frustration. When she’d been a lowly associate, a serious talking-to from a partner would have sent her back to her office quivering in terror—inside, of course. But Bryce had taken her criticism of his performance on the commercial lease with an annoying mixture of defensiveness and aggression. He hadn’t done anything wrong, the client hadn’t given him enough information, or it was just a few details that he’d gotten incorrect, nothing that important.
God, Jill thought. It was all about the details. That was why their clients paid the fairly outrageous bills Worthington & Steele sent. She wasn’t feeling very optimistic at that moment about Bryce’s chances at making it to senior associate.
Thirty-five minutes with Bryce had put her behind. She picked up her voice mail messages as she opened her e-mail program. Two client calls, and a message from another associate with a question. She scribbled notes and cleared the voice mail—she hated the blinking red message light on her phone. For some reason it always reminded her of a bomb about to go off.
Seventeen new e-mails—how was that possible? Jill sighed and began to sort through them. Several in-house announcements: a shower for one of the paralegals, a meeting notice for a committee Jill had no plans to attend, a note about an out-of-service copier. She deleted those quickly. Notice of a bar association committee meeting she did need to attend was transferred to her calendar. An update from another partner, two more questions from one of the law clerks, a contract another associate was forwarding to her for her review, all saved. There were also several commercial e-mails that somehow made it through their server filters.
In the midst of the dross was an e-mail from Walter. She opened it and saw an attachment. It was an e-mail invitation to the RMO Friends of the Opera cocktail party that Friday. Black tie, no less, to be held at the downtown Plaza hotel.