by Erica Abbott
“You’re right, time has passed. And it doesn’t matter. I’m the same woman you loved once. Older, yes. But I still care for you, Jill. I came back here, even after all this time, to find out if we had a chance. Why won’t you at least talk to me about it?”
Jill went still, emotion receding from her face until it was blank and expressionless. “I won’t go back to that place again,” she answered slowly. “I’m glad we got this out in the open, but we’re not going to be together. I don’t love you, Caroline. I just don’t, all right?”
Caroline stared into her eyes until Jill looked away. You hate lying, Jill. Why are you lying to both of us?
* * *
Coffee. Jill stood up from her leather desk chair and stretched cramped limbs. Only caffeine was going to get her through the rest of the afternoon and evening. She leaned down and punched in her paralegal’s extension.
“Yes, Jill?” Gina answered right away.
“Gina, caffeine emergency, I’m afraid. Have you had a break yet?”
“Yes, I went down to the bakery in the lobby with a couple of people and got muffins. You want one?”
“No, but could you send a runner down there and have him bring me a large macchiato with two shots? I’m going to need a bigger hit than the coffee in the break room will give me.” She hated to use runners, who usually delivered and picked up documents around town, just for a coffee run, but it didn’t make financial sense for the firm to pay her hourly rate for the twenty minutes she’d be in the elevator and downstairs in line.
“Absolutely. Need anything else?”
“No, late lunch today. I’m fine. Thanks, Gina.”
She decided to give her eyes a few moments of rest. She took off her reading glasses and tossed them on the file she’d been reading, a complex tangle of title policies, quitclaims, and special warranty deeds, and picked up her remote. Punching on the music, she sat down again and turned the sound down low.
She leaned back in her chair and tried to blank her mind for a minute before she went back to work. But then Caroline’s voice filled the room, and she was back to the woman she’d been trying to avoid thinking about for a couple of hours.
Damn her, anyway. I can’t believe she actually came back for me. What would have happened, what would our lives had been like if I’d seen her that evening? A reconciliation, a pledge to remain together, somehow? Or more bitter words, in person this time, recriminations that we could never have been able to take back?
It made her head hurt to think about it. It also made her feel better, in a way, that Caroline hadn’t just stayed away, that she’d at least tried. But what a weird chance that the only night Jill didn’t come home was the night Caroline was there, waiting for her.
Maybe it had been fate, or rotten luck, or bad karma. But maybe it had been for the best. One of them would have had to make a sacrifice that neither wanted to make. Caroline could never have achieved the level of fame and gotten the opportunities she’d had if she’d stayed in Denver, been only a regional singer. She needed to go to Italy, France, New York, to succeed. And Jill had to stay where she was, build her skills and her reputation.
It would never have worked out between them. If she’d seen Caroline that night, it would have only made the inevitable breakup more painful later.
Jill believed everything she was telling herself, every word. She also believed it was too late to go back, to try to rekindle whatever she and Caroline had shared. But she couldn’t get Caroline’s words to leave her heart.
“I’m the same woman you loved.”
“I still care for you, Jill.”
“I came back to find out if we had a chance.”
She came back for me again, Jill thought.
She dropped her head into her hands. Two weeks ago, she was settled into her life: alone, but settled. Today nothing made sense. Caroline had emerged from her past, stepped out of her memories into her life, and now everything was a jumble.
No, she told herself harshly. Maybe you still love her, but it can’t happen, not now. She will break your heart again. Something will happen. She’ll get a job offer in Paris or San Francisco or New York, and she’ll leave, and the pain will be twice as bad as it was before. She’d barely survived losing Caroline when she was twenty-five. At forty-three it would devastate her. She could not take the chance. She would not.
There was a light tap on her open door and she glanced up, startled. “Ms. Allen?”
The runner looked to be all of nineteen, still all gangly limbs and bad skin, a Colorado Rockies baseball cap backwards on his head. “Are you okay?” he asked hesitantly.
She dredged up a reassuring smile. “I’m okay. Just in desperate need of coffee. Thanks for getting it.”
He brought her the paper cup, nestled in its cardboard holder, and a flat document envelope. “This was delivered a few minutes ago and I thought I’d bring it in to you.”
He still sounded hesitant and she broadened her smile for him. God knew the runners were yelled at, loudly and often, by everyone from partners to the paralegals, and this one had at least taken a bit of initiative.
“Thanks,” she said again. “Way to keep your eyes open. That kind of thinking will do you a lot of good in this firm.”
He strutted out of her office on the compliment, and she opened the envelope after a bracing swallow of the coffee, a little strong but smooth and creamy on her tongue.
It was, as she had expected, the document package from Bill Emerson’s associate. Jill forced herself to put it aside until she finished her current project. Time enough later to attack Caroline’s legal problem.
* * *
When Jill’s cell phone rang, she jumped and then fumbled for the remote, to turn the music down. She found the phone under a file folder and looked at the caller ID. Great, nothing like a call from an ex-girlfriend. Sighing, she answered, “Terry. What’s up?”
“I’m making a bet with myself. You’re at the office, aren’t you?”
Jill looked at her watch. It was after nine. Shit. “What do you get if you’re right?” Jill asked dryly.
It was Terry’s turn to sigh into the telephone. “God, you’re incurable. I left you a voice mail at home two hours ago, and foolishly said, ‘Call me when you get in.’ What was I thinking? That I’d get a phone call before two a.m.?”
A little irritated, Jill said, “Did you call me just to harass me about my job? Because I think you’re no longer in charge of my schedule.”
There was a beat of hurt silence before Terry said, “Well, that was unnecessarily bitchy.”
Jill rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. It’s been a bad day.”
“Apology accepted. But aren’t all your days at work bad days?”
“Some are worse than others. What’s up?”
Terry sighed. “I really need to ask you a question, and I don’t want you to get mad and hang up.”
“Well, that’s certainly helping my attitude going in,” Jill remarked. “What’s the topic?”
“Caroline Prince.”
Of course it was. The woman was suddenly everywhere: on her desk, in her conversations, in her mind. “What about her?” Jill asked warily.
Terry answered, “Look, Jill, I’m not asking for a full description, but can you at least give me some idea about what your relationship was? I mean, I was assuming that you had some kind of crush on her or something, but…was there more? I mean, did she lead you on? Is she some kind of manipulative tease or something?”
Jill fought off a sudden chill. “Why do you want to know?” she demanded. “You’re not thinking of asking her out, I hope.”
Terry laughed. “Do the words ‘out of my league’ mean anything? Don’t be silly.”
Jill persisted, “Then why do you want to know?”
Another sigh. “She called me this afternoon,” Terry admitted. “She wanted to know if I knew anybody in public relations. She didn’t know I’d started out in PR. I guess
she figured a free-lance writer might have some connections.”
Jill leaned back in surprise. “I see. Did you tell her you used to work for McKinney?”
“I did. Then I asked her what she needed, trying to figure out if they’d handle it. The Opera would be kind of a coup for them, especially if they can take the account away from MediaPoint. When she told me what she wanted, I was wondering…”
“What?”
“I think I can get Julia, my old boss, to let me do the work on contract for them. You know, I’d do the leg work, interviews and so on, and they’d help with the big stuff, like the media purchases, printing, and marketing.”
“Did you tell Caroline that?”
“I sort of suggested it to her, and she sounded enthusiastic. Apparently they need somebody right away, and their previous firm is too busy with bigger fish. But we didn’t settle anything yet.”
“And before you take the job, you want to know if she’s a bitch on wheels, is that it?” Jill asked.
“Well, yeah, something like that.”
Jill ran her fingers through her hair, trying to decide how much to tell Terry. She’d been completely non-communicative about her relationship with Caroline in the past, not the least because Caroline had kept her sexual orientation to herself. Caroline had never thought being a lesbian would really help her career, so she had tried to keep her private life, well, private.
“Jill? Are you still there?”
“Terry, listen. Take the job, okay? Caroline would be no problem to work for, and probably better than a lot of artistic types.”
“I can’t help but notice that you haven’t answered my question about your relationship.”
“It’s not really any of your business, Terry,” Jill said with asperity, “and it has nothing to do with whether or not you should do public relations work for the Rocky Mountain Opera.”
There was long pause before Terry said, “I think we should have a drink.”
Jill recognized the tone of voice. Terry was not about to give up. “Terry, it’s late.”
“Yes, it is. A few years late, I think. Meet you at O’Donnell’s in half an hour.”
“Terry—”
“I’ll see you there,” she said, and hung up.
Jill threw her cell phone into the middle of the documents in the RMO file.
* * *
Jill fiddled with the handle on the mug of her Irish coffee, and looked down at her bowl of soup, wondering why she’d ordered it.
“Eat,” Terry said, and Jill remembered: Terry had insisted that she have something resembling dinner. Jill picked up her spoon and obeyed.
Terry was looking at her thoughtfully, her eyes bright with curiosity behind her glasses. “Tell me,” she said simply.
Jill wiped the corner of her mouth and said, “Terry, this is personal. I want you to keep it that way.”
“Attorney-client privilege?” Terry asked, a little amused.
“No. Private, as between Caroline and me. I don’t want you to talk to Caroline or anybody else about it. Okay?”
Terry sighed. “Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“I get it, Jill. I promise.”
Jill relaxed a little. Terry’s promise was good, she knew. “I met Caroline when we were in high school. We were friends, and then—well. We lived together in college and while I went to law school. My parents thought we were just roommates, but we weren’t. We were lovers.”
Terry stared at her. “You lived with her? For what, six years?”
“Almost seven. Then she won the Operalia competition in Paris, and I was about to graduate from law school. I stayed here to finish, and take the bar exam, and get a job. She went off to become an international opera sensation, and I didn’t see her for eighteen years. Not until you invited her to dinner at Varga. End of story.”
Terry leaned forward and snatched a cracker from Jill’s plate and munched on it thoughtfully. Jill sighed. She knew very well that Terry was far from satisfied.
As she expected, Terry said, “Well, not exactly the end. I do have a couple of questions.”
Jill sighed again and had more soup. “Terry, can’t you drop it? It’s a long time ago.”
“Still. Why isn’t Caroline out? She could do a lot of good for the LGBT community.”
“I know. When we were together, I asked her to consider it, but she was just starting out and wanted to establish her career without the ‘lesbian opera singer’ label attached. I didn’t agree with her, but it was her decision. It’s not my place to out her.”
Terry said, “Okay. But what I really want to know is what you haven’t told me yet.”
“What’s that?”
“How did you feel about her?”
Jill pushed her empty soup bowl away. “And that really is none of your business.”
“Isn’t it? Do you remember when I moved out?”
They were getting into uncomfortable territory. Jill shifted uneasily and said, “Of course.”
“I told you why I had to leave. You couldn’t commit to me emotionally, Jill. You haven’t committed to anyone or anything in all the years I’ve known you, except maybe your job. I thought you just weren’t able to make a commitment, and now I find out you lived with the same woman for seven years? How do you think that makes me feel?”
“It had nothing to do with you, Terry.”
Angrily, Terry responded, “It had everything to do with me! Jesus, Jill, listen to yourself. You couldn’t really love me because you were still in love with her. You’ve always loved her, haven’t you? There isn’t any room in your heart for anyone else.”
Numbly, Jill murmured, “I don’t love her anymore.”
“That’s bullshit, pure and simple. I used to wonder if I could have gotten to you somehow, if I’d been a different person, a better girlfriend, or something. It never once occurred to me that you were already taken.”
“Terry, don’t. She’d been gone for a lot of years by the time I met you.”
“What the hell difference does that make? Shit, you’re still in love with her.” Terry seemed to be calming down, and she added, “Not that I blame you. She is gorgeous. I’ve never met a woman so charismatic in my life.”
Jill repeated, “I don’t love her—”
Terry cut her off. “You can tell me that. You can tell her that, and knowing you, I bet you have. You can even tell yourself that, Jill, but it’s still bullshit.” She shoved herself away from the table, and drained the last swallow of her wine.
“One way or another,” Terry pronounced, “you need to settle this. If you don’t, you’re going to be alone the rest of your life. Finish with her, Jill, however you have to do it. And when you are finally done…” She hesitated, then went on, “When you’re done, call me. We’ll have another talk.”
Jill heard the invitation in her voice, and wondered at it. Was it true? Had she been unable to make a success of her relationship with Terry, or any other woman, because she wasn’t over Caroline? She considered whether what Terry suggested was even possible, whether she could really leave Caroline behind, finally. Now that Caroline was here, and they could talk, could she put their relationship behind her and move on? Or was she doomed to remain trapped in yesterday, still committed to a woman from her past?
Jill was feeling stacked with emotions, emotion piled on top of emotion until everything was so jumbled and confused that she couldn’t find anything.
“When you’re ready, call me,” Terry repeated softly. She gathered her purse and jacket, then touched Jill lightly on the arm before she left her alone.
It was late when Jill got home. She was tired to the bone, but wondered how long it would take her to get to sleep. She drank a glass of wine, a full one, standing on her balcony, looking the city lights.
When her mind was finally exhausted from running in circles, she undressed and went to bed, staring into the darkness for a long time, remembering.
* * *
She had gotten home from the library late that night. The concept of causation in her first-year torts class was kicking her butt, and she’d spent an extra hour with her study group going over it until her brain was fuzzy. She opened the door to their studio apartment and reached for the light switch, then stopped.
There were candles lit on the nightstand and the dresser, casting the room in soft yellow light. From the bed, Caroline said, “I think we have enough light for now.”
Jill dropped her backpack, heavy with books, with a thump on the small table they used for meals. Across the studio, the sheet and comforter were pulled up modestly to Caroline’s bare shoulders. Jill swallowed with difficulty. “Tough day?” she managed.
Caroline laughed, the silvery sound that always made Jill weak in the knees. “The usual,” she said. “You?”
“Tough enough,” Jill managed. “Are we going to sleep early?”
“No. Just to bed.”
Jill had her coat, scarf, and hat off and draped on the chair in a moment. She crossed the room, pulling off her sweater. “Did I forget an anniversary?” she asked.
“No special occasion.”
Caroline leaned forward to kiss her, the covers dropping to her waist. In the candlelight her breasts shone as if in soft moonlight. Jill fumbled with her jeans.
Caroline stoked her cheek gently. “You don’t have to hurry, sweetheart. We have all night.”
Jill groaned, kissing her again. “How can you still do this to me?” she asked, finally getting her shirt off and tossing it onto the floor.
“What?” Caroline asked with mock innocence.
Jill pulled the covers away, and gazed at Caroline’s body. “After five years,” she murmured, “you still make me crazy.”
Caroline smiled at her, an incandescent smile that burned Jill from the inside out.
Jill got her arms around Caroline, but Caroline deftly turned in bed, getting Jill beneath her. She nipped at Jill’s throat and said, “Me first, sweetheart.”
Jill surrendered joyfully to her.
* * *