by Erica Abbott
“Really?” Kim beamed at her.
“Really,” Jill said.
They talked for a while, going over the final agreement with the Foundation for Kim to follow up when they received Bill Emerson’s letter. As Kim was leaving the office, she passed Jill’s paralegal on the way in. Her arms were full of a giant file.
Jill asked suspiciously, “What’s that?”
“This,” Gina announced, “is the Medicomp matter, and it’s fucked up like a soup sandwich.”
Gina, if profane, was always highly descriptive and pithy. She dumped the file on Jill’s desk, a few documents escaping onto the desktop. “This is set for closing on Wednesday, and the closing is going to be a clusterfuck of the highest order. If you don’t figure out what’s going on, it’s going to cost the client approximately a gazillion dollars.”
Jill said mildly, “You know, most of the time attorneys give work to paralegals, not the other way around.”
“Fortunately for you, I am a nonconformist.”
“And why are we assuming this gargantuan task forty-eight hours before the closing?” Jill asked, her voice still calm.
“Because of an unhappy client whose attorney will not call them back, and three other little words: Gary Infuckingcompetent Watson.”
“Is that his actual middle name?” Jill asked blithely.
“Hell, yes. I looked up the motherfucker’s birth certificate.”
Jill sighed, but said, “Okay. I’ll read through the file now. Reschedule Dillon for Thursday or Friday, and clear the calendar for Wednesday for both of us. If I’m getting sucked into the quicksand, you’re coming in with me.”
“Already working on it. May I schedule a Mafia hit on the Dickhead Watson at the same time?”
“You may not. I remind you, he’s the managing partner’s son-in-law.”
“Yeah, but Walter’s out the door, and we can hope he takes Dickhead with him.”
Jill knew that wasn’t going to happen. Every time she thought about it, her deal with Walter made her uneasy. She said casually to Gina, “You know, I’m getting the feeling you don’t like Gary.”
“Really? And here I thought I was being so understated. Now get to work.”
Jill nodded and said, “Yes, boss.”
Gina put her hands on her hips and looked at Jill. “What’s up?”
“What do you mean? I’ve got this giant file to read, that’s all.”
“Uh huh. So why are you in such a damned good mood?”
Jill merely smiled.
“Oh, my God,” Gina exclaimed. “You got laid, didn’t you?”
“I said no such thing,” Jill protested.
“Well, you don’t have to. Jesus, you’ve got that ‘well and thoroughly fucked’ look all over you.”
“Gina, we’ve got work to do.”
“Uh huh,” Gina said, with a knowing smile.
“Gina.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. After you’ve read this file, you’ll be ready to curse out the Dickhead, so be sure to drop by my desk. I don’t want to miss a word of it.”
* * *
Caroline took a deep breath and punched in Jack Parsons’ telephone number. As she waited on the line for him to pick up, she spent a few moments replaying the most enjoyable moments from the incredible weekend. It was hard to choose a favorite. That first kiss, full of promise and desire? Waking up Sunday morning with Jill’s mouth already on her, demanding and sensual beyond all reason? And then there was the piano bench. Caroline smiled as she remembered the cacophony of the piano keys under her clenching fingers.
Jack came on the line and said, “Caroline. I understand from Walter this morning that last Friday’s meeting was a spectacular success.”
“Very much so. Not only did the Foundation withdraw their threat to try to regain the ownership of the opera house, they’ve agreed to be the official sponsor for Hits You’ve Never Heard.”
“The board will be very pleased. You did a wonderful job, Caroline.”
She warmed at his praise, and said, “Congratulate Walter on his choice of our new attorney. Jill Allen did it all, I was just along as window dressing. She was amazing.”
“I’ll be sure Walter knows that, although I imagine he already does.”
Caroline took another deep breath. “Jack, I have something else to talk with you about, briefly.”
“Of course.”
How to start this conversation? “Jack, when you and the board hired me, was there a discussion of…” She stopped, then tried again. “How much background investigation did you do on the candidates? On me?” She could almost see his frown.
“A fair amount,” he admitted. “Our artistic director is the face of the RMO, and we needed to know who we were getting.”
“Of course. That wasn’t a criticism, Jack. I just wanted to know if…” She still had trouble saying it. Apparently, Terry was right: There was a considerable difference between not lying and actually telling the truth.
She thought about Jill for a moment and let the memory of being together fill her with strength. “Jack, I’m a lesbian. I trust that’s not an issue for the board.”
Jack cleared his throat and said, “Ah, yes, well, we were aware of that.”
“You were?” she asked in amazement.
“Certainly. It was not, and is not, an issue for us. We weren’t planning on putting out a press release about it or place a paragraph about it in the programs, but it’s not a problem. I mean, Barbara and all.”
Caroline gripped the telephone receiver a little harder. “Barbara Forrester?”
“Yes. I thought you knew. She and her partner are very active in local LGBT charities.”
She suppressed a sudden urge to laugh out loud. What the hell had she been so afraid of?
“Why,” Jack asked, “are you mentioning this to me now?”
A good question, since she should have dealt with it much earlier. “Because I’ve begun to see someone,” she explained, thinking the phrase sounded so inadequate for what she was feeling, “and I wanted to make sure the board wouldn’t be surprised when we show up at the next official RMO function.”
“Sounds like a serious relationship.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, good for you. That was rather quick.”
“Yes, um, it was someone I knew from years ago. We, ah, reconnected.”
He chuckled. “I thought you might,” he said.
“What?” She thought she’d misheard him.
“It’s Ms. Allen, I assume,” he said.
Now she really felt foolish. “Yes, it is. How did you know that?”
“My dear, I was there with you at the Friends of the Opera evening. Even an ancient married man like me knows what seeing an old flame looks like.”
Old flame, still burning brightly, she thought. She laughed and said, “You’re smarter than we were, Jack. But we got there.”
“That’s all that matters.” His voice softened to a tone she’d never heard before. “Are you happy, Caroline?”
She blinked hard and said, “I can’t tell you how much, Jack. Thank you for asking. Thank you for everything.”
“Thank you, Caroline. I think the RMO is headed in the right direction. I believe we’re going to have a long and productive relationship.”
She went over her appointments for the week. Arthur came in after a few moments and said, “There’s an e-mail from McKinney. It’s a draft of the new bios on our performers, at least the ones we’ve confirmed.”
“All right. Oh, and you need to tell them Davidson’s agent signed the contract. He’s going to be our Figaro. Give them the agent’s information so they can get what they need.”
“Got it.” Arthur made a note on his ever-present sticky note pad.
“And can we find a time for me to attend Madame Petrovski’s next Young Artists session?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Giving a master class, are we?”
“No, just a little pep tal
k.” She smiled. “Anything else new this week?”
“You’ve got your annual physical on Friday afternoon,” he said, and it took her a moment to remember the appointment with Dr. Sorento. The events of the weekend had driven it out of her head. “May I safely assume you won’t be back after that?”
“Why would you assume that?”
“Because if I had to get a pap smear and a mammogram, I wouldn’t want to come back to work, either.”
She wasn’t getting either one at this appointment, but she could hardly tell Arthur that. “Fortunately, you will never have to face either one of those horrors,” she said lightly. “And no, I suppose I won’t be back. I’ll get an early start on the weekend.”
If next weekend was going to be anything like last weekend, she could hardly wait to get started.
* * *
It was mid-afternoon before Jill got back to Gina. She stopped by her desk and said, “What did you say earlier about Medicomp? A soup sandwich?”
Gina stopped typing and swiveled her chair to face Jill. “Was I right, or what?”
“For the first time since I’ve known you, I’d say you actually understated the situation,” Jill said.
“Damn it,” Gina said. “I thought maybe I was just overreacting.”
“Overreact? You?” Jill joked.
Gina exclaimed, “My God, you’re still in a good mood after wading through that smelly mess of a file? Whoever she was, she must have been a hell of a good lay.”
Jill never talked about her personal life, but for some reason she said, “That wasn’t what it was about.”
“What?” Gina looked startled.
“Let’s just say I’m very happy today for a lot of reasons.”
Gina started to launch into cross-examination, but suddenly her mouth pursed in distaste as she looked past Jill down the hall. “Well, speak of the Dickhead and he appears,” she muttered.
Jill turned around to see Gary Watson strolling down the hall. “Hello, Gary,” she said coolly.
“Allen,” he said.
Gina said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Watson. Just getting in?” She managed to make it sound as snarky as possible without actually insulting an associate attorney.
Gary gave her an unpleasant look, then turned to Jill. “What’s up? Are you going around trying to convert the single girls?”
Jill heard a low growl from Gina, so she moved a little sideways to block both Gina’s line of sight to Gary and her incipient attempt to commit professional suicide.
“Yes,” Jill said. “I’m trying to convert Gina into a Methodist.”
He stared at her a moment, trying to determine whether she’d gotten his jibe, then he snorted with laughter. “How’s that coming along?” he asked.
“Well, at least it’s within the realm of possibility.” She made her point by meeting his look in a challenge.
He turned away and said to Gina, “I understand you took the Medicomp file from my desk this morning.”
“I’ve got it,” Jill interjected, protecting Gina again. “I’m going to handle the closing, Gary.”
He stared at her, and she could see him trying to calculate how far he could go in offending her. After a moment, he shrugged. “Fine by me,” he said, at length. “Client’s being a real pain in the ass.”
Perhaps because you won’t return their phone calls, Jill thought, but didn’t say anything. “I’ll let you know how it goes,” she said.
“Yeah, you do that, Allen,” he said, dismissively. “And I’ll see you after this Friday’s partnership meeting, won’t I?”
So Walter had told him about the deal, she surmised. She wasn’t surprised, but every time she thought about the election of the managing partner, and all it entailed, she squirmed. “I suppose so,” she said to Gary. “Meantime, how’s your golf game?”
He glared at her. “Fine. You’ll have to give me a rematch sometime.”
“Any time,” Jill said, as he stalked away.
“Asshole,” Gina said.
Jill agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly, but instead of bashing him with Gina, she decided to go back to her office to call Caroline. She wasn’t going to let anything, not Gary Watson, not a giant mess of a case, ruin the way she felt today.
* * *
“Hi,” Caroline said when Arthur told her who was on the line.
“Is this a bad time?” Jill asked.
“Not at all,” she said. “And when this phone call is over, I’m going to go tell Arthur to put you through any time you call.”
“Are you sure you want to give me that kind of unlimited access?” Jill kidded her.
God, Caroline thought, I really missed this Jill, the one with the light heart.
“I believe you’ve already achieved unlimited access,” she responded, her voice low and sultry.
Jill said, her voice equally muted, “Don’t talk like that. I have to work late tonight and I’m already crazy to see you again.”
“Oh,” Caroline said, equally disappointed and elated. “No supper tête-à-tête?”
Jill sighed. “Not tonight. I’ve got to clean up a case that’s going to closing day after tomorrow. If I can get through it, I’ll actually make dinner for you on Wednesday.”
“I really, really don’t want to wait two days to see you again.”
“Neither do I. But it’s hardly fair to you to ask you to wait around and come over late tonight.”
There was a pause while Caroline tried to determine if Jill was brushing her off. “Tired of me already?” she ventured.
“Caro,” Jill said roughly, “don’t ever think that. Ever.”
Reassured, Caroline said, “I’m sorry. Promise to call me when you get home, whenever it is?”
“I promise,” Jill said. “I’ll let you get back to work. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
A twinge of sadness went through Caroline, but she all she said was, “Call anytime.”
* * *
Jill was already calling Caroline’s cell phone as she unlocked the door to her condo. Caroline answered on the first ring.
“Hey,” Jill said. “Sorry it’s so late.”
“I told you to call anytime, didn’t I?”
She tossed her keys on the table and hung up her jacket. “I tried you at home first, but you didn’t answer. Everything okay?”
“It’s just fine. How did your work go?”
Jill groaned. “Better not to ask. Sure you’re all right? You sound a little odd. Are you out somewhere?”
“I am, actually. Open your door.”
Jill whirled and jerked open her front door. Caroline was standing there, closing her phone and slipping it into the pocket of her jeans.
Jill turned her own phone off and said, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Caroline gave her a dazzling smile.
Jill stepped back, still a little dazed. When the door was securely shut, Caroline murmured, “I told you I couldn’t wait to see you.”
Jill took her by the shoulders and pushed her back against the door. She brought her lips just next to Caroline’s mouth and said, “What did you have in mind?”
“That depends on how tired you are,” Caroline whispered.
“I suddenly feel much more energized.”
“Do you? Did you get something to eat?”
“I had a sandwich at the office.”
“What would you do if I weren’t here?”
“Probably take a hot shower and go to bed.”
“I think we should do that, then.”
Jill began to gently explore Caroline’s throat with her lips. “You think we should do that?”
“Yes,” Caroline answered, tilting her head slowly to improve Jill’s access. “I think that being a couple means doing what we would normally do, only doing it together.”
Jill moved her mouth carefully to Caroline’s jaw line. “Okay. Except there’s one thing that’s really better with two
people.”
“Mmm. What’s that?”
Jill whispered a detailed description into her ear, and Caroline shivered in her arms.
“That sounds wonderful,” Caroline murmured. “Let’s do that.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Young Artists were meeting in a rehearsal room on the second floor of the RMO opera house—no, the Jonah T. Appelbaum Opera House, Caroline reminded herself happily, as she opened the door.
The rehearsal hall had a small raised platform at one end like a small stage and chairs randomly scattered around a piano near the center of the room. In the chairs were the young artists themselves, twenty or so singers ranging in age from eighteen to mid-twenties, about equally men and women. They were listening, with varying levels of attention, to Madame Petrovski, who was at the keyboard demonstrating some attack technique. She stopped speaking when she saw Caroline in the doorway.
“Welcome, welcome Madame Prince,” she said, standing. “Students, I present to you Caroline Prince, the artistic director of the Rocky Mountain Opera and one of the most important and accomplished sopranos of our generation.”
Caroline, who was used to overblown accolades, managed to get to Madame Petrovski’s side without actually blushing. In an unabashedly theatrical gesture, Caroline embraced Madame, giving her a brush of lips against each withered cheek as if she were greeting an honored guest.
“Madame,” she said. “Thank you so much for letting me interrupt your class. I know how important your time with our students is.”
Madame Petrovski accepted this praise calmly but graciously, as if it were no more than she was due, and turned to her class.
“I asked Madame Prince to attend today,” she announced, “to briefly discuss with us the challenges of the artistic path you have all chosen, from the perspective of a successful artist. Madame Prince.”
She yielded the floor and went to sit down on the side. Caroline suppressed her amusement at the statement that it had been Madame Petrovski’s idea for her to come today and turned to the students, some faces eager, some wary. She was unaccountably a little nervous. Singing in front of hundreds of people came easily to her, but speaking to this group—especially on this topic—was making her hands damp and her throat tight.