by Claire McNab
And subterfuge was more than prudent; it was essential. Frank Harp made jeering comments and jokes about faggots, lezzies and queers every single day.
My relationship with Zoe was not emotionally intense. Sure, we liked each other well enough, but we had little in common except for the desire that flared between us. It was sufficient; I'd never felt physical fulfillment like this before and each encounter was a delight to my senses.
And I gained something else of great value — an introduction into a gay world I hardly realized existed. For the first time I could relax and be myself. This period of my life was when I met two of my dearest friends, Trish and Suzie, who had been together for six years, and I began to appreciate the invisible gay network that extends throughout society.
Zoe was firmly in the closet, paranoid about being labeled a lesbian. I still don't know how or why the gossip started, but whatever its beginning, its terrifying power became immediately apparent. First the veiled comments, then the open sneers, then Zoe was called up to see Frank.
"The only way to survive is to deny everything," she'd once said to me, and that's what we did.
Frank didn't ask to see me — he called my father instead. I was, I discovered during the searing scene with my parents, regarded as the "innocent party" whose relative inexperience in life and unhappiness at my divorce had made me easy pickings for a predatory lesbian.
I will always be ashamed of my behavior over Zoe, my craven silence. She admitted nothing, nor did I, but she was the one forced to resign, while I was treated as an immature and rather foolish victim. Although at the time Zoe made it clear she didn't expect it, I know I should have stood up for her. I didn't have the guts — not in the face of my mother's loathing. "You want people to think you're one of those women? So everywhere you go someone will whisper behind your back? Is that what you want, Alex?"
My father supported her. "If you want a career, Alex, you won't get very far if word gets around..."
Zoe moved interstate, taking a job with a government tourism department. I stayed at Aussie Affairs long enough to let the talk die down, then, using the excuse that I needed to extend my experience further, took a position in the international hospitality industry with the Hilton hotel chain.
I now knew, irrevocably, that I was a lesbian. I also knew there was no way I would risk my career or my family relationships by being openly gay. My loneliness impelled me into a series of covert, fleeting affairs which always ended with my retreat for fear of exposure. I entered them expecting very little — and that's what I'd got. Physical release, sometimes, but never passion. Never a feeling of wholeness.
In the last year or so I'd withdrawn completely, accepting that for the time being I would have to make my life alone. It might be a cold comfort — but it was still a comfort — to accept that without deep ties to anyone I would be immune to unhappiness. If remaining on the periphery meant I wouldn't experience the heights of emotion, I'd also avoid the depths. It seemed to me a fair and reasonable compromise.
Jackie Luff startled me out of my reverie by shoving a fax in front of me. "Anything else you want?" she asked ungraciously.
I shook my head, tempted to ask what her problem was with me. Looking at her pugnacious expression I immediately abandoned the idea. I was too tired for a confrontation that would almost certainly prompt a denial from Jackie that anything was wrong.
The fax was inconsequential. I glanced at it and put it to one side, then leaned back and studied my hands. The lines on my palms were clear, definite.
In Sydney a month ago Tony Englert had encouraged me to have my hand read at a street market. One Saturday morning I'd been in Paddington looking for some small unusual gift for Sharon Castell's birthday when I'd heard his familiar voice.
"Alex, darling. What are you doing here?" He lived locally, in a renovated terrace house. "Come and have your fortune told. I can guarantee the service because Madame Marcia's an old friend."
"Madame Marcia?" I was dubious, to say the least.
He chuckled. "So her real name's Deb Smith. You have to admit Madame Debbie doesn't sound the same."
It was ridiculous, but I felt a prickle of irrational trepidation when the flamboyant Madame Marcia seated me inside her cramped stall, took my hands and peered attentively at each palm. And strangely, apart from the usual generalizations, I now remembered one pronouncement, although it was delivered no more dramatically than all the rest: "I see a change, a great change in your life. It will happen very soon, and it will be like a thunderbolt to you! A thunderbolt!"
I wasn't superstitious and couldn't clearly remember any other prediction Tony's friend had made that morning. I was cynical enough to believe that Madame Marcia had made similar, if not identical, predictions to all her clients, so why should this melodramatic utterance have stuck in my mind?
My parents, particularly my mother, had been contemptuous-of fortunetelling of any kind. "The future will come soon enough," she would say, her tone implying that it was unlikely to be welcome when it did arrive. Now I wondered if I'd remembered the fortuneteller's words for a negative reason — I was content with my life and didn't want a change, particularly one that could be described as "a thunderbolt."
Would Lee ever have had her palm read? It was easy to visualize her hands. Long, strong fingers; shaped, unvarnished nails. Hands whose gestures reflected Lee's energy, her bold confidence.
Sharon had said Lee played the field. If that were true, then she, like me, had no permanence in her relationships. But perhaps it wasn't true. Perhaps Lee had one woman for whom she reserved the essential core of herself.
I shrugged. It made no difference either way. It was possible to be dispassionate about her, although I sensed a growing respect between us that could be the basis of a friendship of equals.
But also, however much I wanted to rationalize it, I had to acknowledge a physical component — I was fascinated by her mouth. Firm, full lips, with a slight upward curl at the corners.
What would it be like to kiss her...
Don't even think about it. She's completely open about being a lesbian, and if you make a move on her, you'll be outed, Alex. Why should she keep your secrets?
I frowned. I certainly couldn't afford — and didn't want — a fling with Lee, presuming it was even a possibility. What, then, did I want from her? Respect. An appreciation of myself as a person. To be accepted as an equal — not inferior, not superior, but just as myself.
CHAPTER SIX
I had been involved for the past six months in the organization of the Tern Island convention. The Australasian tourist industry, through A.P.P., had enticed tour wholesalers from all over the world with one purpose in mind — to make them aware of the range of products that our ground operators had developed to service in-bound tourists. We might well have one of the most spectacular continents on earth, but it was useless just to point out a sensational waterfall, an awe-inspiring gorge, or unique and fascinating wildlife; wholesalers wanted exhaustive details regarding which local tours covered the best "must see" locations that suited their particular niche markets.
Some wholesalers sampled a selection of tours and then were happy to let us act as their agent and mix and match for them. Others, like Lee Paynter, had a hands-on approach and insisted on experiencing most of the individual tours themselves. The first days of the convention were designed to allow the delegates to sample first-hand some of the beauties of Queensland and to relax in the luxury Tern Island had to offer. At the end of this week, however, as a climax to the convention, A.P.P. was presenting the equivalent of a trade fair, where the very best of Australian and New Zealand ground content would be shown. So far everything seemed to be going to plan, but I was nervous about the success of the second half — it was make or break time.
I spent the next day attending to last minute details of the exhibitions and checking through the package for Lee that had been expressed from Sydney. Our head office was efficient, not only providing
all the information I'd requested, but presenting it in an elegant customized pastel-blue briefcase. The comprehensive documentation included a synopsis of each tour, with timetables, maps, graphs, illustrations and cost structures detailing the range of options.
In the late afternoon Sir Frederick came striding into the administration block. He was in high good humor, rubbing his hands together and smiling. "Excellent cruise, Alexandra, excellent. Did you know Tony was an amateur astronomer? He brought a small telescope with him — built it himself, he said. Last night we all took turns to look at the heavens." He shook his head. "The night sky's glorious, I can't imagine why we didn't think of doing this before. I'm going to suggest the Ocean Dream have someone well-versed in astronomy for future cruises, since it was such a success."
Jackie Luff bustled up with messages and reminders, but he waved her away. "Later, Jackie. Could you arrange for a pot of coffee and something to eat? Alexandra and I will be in my office."
Jackie directed a malevolent look in my direction. I was beginning to suspect that it was the attention Sir Frederick paid to me that was the problem, although I couldn't decide if Jackie's dislike was motivated by jealousy or just sheer bloody-mindedness.
Sir Frederick was full of hearty goodwill. "Sit down, sit down! I see we have the information for Lee Paynter. Let's go through it, shall we? You're pleased with it?"
I was tired and irritable and had already checked every detail, but of course I was politely agreeable, even when Sir Frederick brought his chair around my side of the desk and sat knee to knee with me. I moved my chair until there was a reasonable distance between us. He flipped through the sections, commenting now and then, but it seemed to me it was an excuse to keep me there. I was pleased when we were interrupted by Jackie's entry with a tray of refreshments, because it gave me an opportunity to stand up and do a coffee-pouring, what-will-you-have-to-eat routine.
I sighed to myself when Sir Frederick made it clear we were to resume our former proximity. He sipped his coffee, then said warmly, "I'm very pleased with the job you're doing. You've already demonstrated your organizational skills, but dealing with someone like Lee Paynter's another matter. She's made it perfectly clear to me that she's impressed by you." He leaned forward to pat my hand. "That's excellent. Excellent."
The hand-patting sealed it. I moved my hand from under his as obviously as possible, and he certainly noticed the gesture, although he seemed not the slightest abashed. Inwardly I groaned. Steve was right, blast him. Sir Frederick's interest in me was not wholly professional — in fact, looking at his warmly approving expression, it clearly wasn't professional at all.
I cursed silently. This was a complication I didn't need. I resented the fact that I'd have to spend time working out a strategy to achieve the difficult task of discouraging Sir Frederick and not compromising my job at the same time.
Fearing that any moment he might say something we would both regret, I gulped down my coffee and hastily gathered up the material from the tour briefcase. "Would you like me to drop this off at Lee's cabana?"
"Why, yes." He was still beaming at me. "She should see it as soon as possible."
I made what I hoped was a graceful exit and walked with rising anticipation towards the beach. I wanted to see Lee again, not for any particular reason, but because she was one of those people, I had decided, whose energy flows into the space around them, so that they move in a field of electric vitality.
I wasn't prepared for the disappointment I felt when my knock went unanswered — it was ridiculous, because I knew I'd be likely to run into her later in the evening. Scribbling a brief note, I left the pastel briefcase propped up against her door and went to my own cabana to shower and change for dinner.
New Zealand and each Australian state had their own representatives promoting tourism, and every evening audio-visual presentations designed to catch the attention of even the most jaded of professional travel operators were shown during the latter stages of dinner to a captive audience. The program tonight began with the spectacular beauties of the Northern Territory. Image after image — Kakadu National Park, the MacDonnell Ranges, Ayers Rock, the Olgas, the Eqaninga rock carvings, Standley Chasm, Katherine Gorge — cascaded across the screen in combination with the timeless sounds of the clicking sticks and didgeridoos used in Aboriginal corroborees. It pleased me that the presentation ended too soon, leaving the audience hungry for more.
I had been watching for Lee and had seen her, looking a little sunburnt, come in late to dinner. Now, as coffee was served, she came over to my table. Before she could speak, I said, "You got the additional tour information? I left it at your cabana."
"I had a quick look at it. I was impressed."
Her comment embarrassed me. Perhaps she thought I was fishing for compliments because I'd been responsible for putting the package together. I know I sounded abrupt as I changed the subject with, "How was the cruise?"
"Great. Can I buy you a drink? I'd like to go over some details about tomorrow's tour with you."
Inwardly reluctant because I was feeling brittle and on edge, I nevertheless agreed. I walked with her silently, thinking how much I disliked the lounge bar, not only because of its noisy, almost frantic, conviviality, but also because its pseudo-tropical decor grated. I could stand just so much split bamboo, plaited curtains and garish artificial tropical flowers, not to mention the archly named cocktails.
Lee obviously shared my aversion. She halted in the doorway, grimaced at the cacophony, then suggested we go outside by the floodlit pool where only a few of the white tables were occupied. I knew that my well-schooled expression showed none of the tension I felt, and the bottle of French champagne she ordered I welcomed as something to abate my anxiety.
Lee raised her glass in a toast. "To the next weeks. Let's enjoy them."
She wanted additional details about her itinerary for the following few days and I answered succinctly. I hoped to make it an early night, but courtesy made me ask perfunctory questions about the overnight cruise. Lee seemed happy to talk for hours. I hid my impatience and eventually the champagne relaxed me to the point where I was chatting with superficial animation, although with little concentration.
"Alex?"
I was jerked to attention. "Sorry, I didn't catch what you said."
"We've finished one bottle of champagne between us. Do you want another?"
"No, thanks. Actually I might call it a night. I'm tired."
Lee stood. "I'll walk with you."
We left the goodtime noise of the bar for a perfect tropical night, so perfect it was a cliché. A huge yellow moon sailed serenely in a velvet sky, a soft breeze blew exotic scents from the shadowed gardens, and coconut fronds whispered overhead. We stopped at the edge of the sand to gaze out at the silvered water sighing onto the pale sand.
"This is too good to be true," I said. "It's rather like being on a film set."
Lee's smile shone white in the moonlight. "What part are you playing?"
"Myself."
Lee laughed softly. "You're such a woman of mystery, Alex, I don't know who that is."
Disconcerted by the warm intimacy of her tone, I turned and began to walk along the upper side of the beach, passing in and out of the black serrated shadows of the palm leaves. Lee paced with me, silent.
We might have been alone on a deserted island: the noise from the bar had faded, to be replaced by the ripple of water running gently up the sand and the faint rustle of leaves as the warm perfumed air moved gently under the silver light.
Lee's cabana was next to mine. I stopped at the short path that led to it. Low subtle lighting made the path discernible, but did not dispel the darkness under the trees. "Well, goodnight..."
"So soon?" she said. She sounded amused. "And on such a romantic evening?"
As we stood facing each other I was silent, mesmerized by the moonlight, by the soft air, by her physical proximity. She took my hand. The contact was enough to compel me to take that o
ne step into her arms.
I could smell her light perfume, feel the taut muscles in her back, hear a murmur deep in her throat. We kissed gently, carefully... But then Lee's mouth opened beneath mine, her tongue flickered along my lips, her arms tightened about me.
I wanted to draw back. Lee was making demands I couldn't, wouldn't meet. I heard myself groan. It wasn't enough. Part of me wanted more, more. Lee's lips had shocked me into an electric craving. Involuntarily I opened my mouth fully to her insistent tongue.
Drowning in sensation, I struggled to assert some control. Be careful, you'll melt, you'll be lost.
It was easier when I held Lee at arms' length. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean... Forget it happened."
"Forget?" Lee's voice had a faint tremor that was both exciting and frightening. "I doubt that I'll forget."
Conscious that Lee hadn't moved, I made myself walk at a controlled pace to the refuge of my cabana. Closing the door behind me, I stood in the cocoon of darkness. How could I have been so unbelievably stupid, so determined to stall my career? I snapped on the light. Agitated and angry, I began to move aimlessly about the room. I could clearly hear my mother's words, a well-worn phrase so often repeated: "If you play with fire, you'll get burned." My family had a store of such sayings, most of them concerned with the results of careless, immoral or foolish behavior.
What had I done? For a moment's gratification, for an impulse I'd made no attempt to control...
I went into the bathroom and examined myself in the mirror. I was pale, the contrast of my black hair and dark eyes more emphatic, but my face was familiar in its composure. I watched my lips turn up in a humorless smile.