Radclyffe & Stacia Seaman - Romantic Interludes 2 - Secrets

by Radclyffe;Stacia Seaman

  “You still coming home tomorrow night?” I asked.

  “Yes. There’s not much else I can do here. The client has made up his mind and I can’t stop him from making a stupid mistake. Jesus, why do I keep doing this?” she asked for the millionth time.

  “Because you care,” I said for the million and first time. It was the same old conversation and the same circular reasoning.

  “But lately it seems like I’m the only one who does.”

  “I care,” I offered tentatively. It was a break from our usual routine, but she had opened the door first, and this time I didn’t want the moment to pass.

  “I know.”

  “Do you?” I asked. “Do you really? Because sometimes I’m not so sure you do.”

  I was uncertain if her lack of response was a good thing, but I could feel her listening over the phone. I had her attention and that was enough…for now.

  “I haven’t been happy for a while,” she whispered.

  I swallowed hard, unprepared for her bluntness. My stomach churned and I had trouble breathing. “I know.”

  “This job is sucking the life out of me,” she hurried to explain. “It hasn’t been good for me and it hasn’t been good for you either.”

  “It hasn’t been good for us,” I murmured. “You can quit, you know.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ve talked about this—”

  “Yeah,” she said more forcefully. “It’s just that they pay me a ridiculous amount of money. It’s hard to give that up.”

  “We can afford less,” I said. “We have before and we can again.”

  “I don’t know. The bills—”

  “We can do it again,” I repeated. “We’ve gotten way too comfortable with the extra income, spending on extravagant things we don’t even need. Remember our first apartment, the loft in the Village?”

  “The kitchen was so small only one of us could be in it at a time.”

  “Which was usually me.”

  “Well, you’re the only one who can cook,” she said.

  “That’s only because you kept setting off the smoke detector. The neighbors complained about having to evacuate the building so often they threatened bodily harm.”

  “Oh, stop exaggerating.”

  “Exaggerating?” My voice rose in pitch, partly because I was right and partly because I was happy to lighten the mood. “Hang up and call Mrs. Alvarez right now and ask her how much I’m exaggerating.”

  “Mrs. Alvarez was crazy.”

  “No, she wasn’t.”

  “She walked around her apartment naked.”

  “So did you,” I pointed out.

  “Not when my apartment was on the ground floor on Sixth Avenue and all the blinds were open wide.”

  I laughed. She had always been able to make me do that.

  “It’s nice to hear you laugh,” she said. “I’ve missed it.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “It’s not your fault,” I insisted. “Neither of us has taken time out for the other. That needs to change, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  We drifted back into silence, though less strained than before. I struggled to think of what to say next; wanting to talk—needing to talk—but unsure of the timing and unwilling to reverse the fragile progress we had made. I could hear scratchy static on the other end of the line, a gentle reminder of the tenuousness of our connection.

  “I could go back to teaching,” she said hesitantly, speaking more to herself than me.

  “You used to love it,” I said. “You always came home excited about your day and looked forward to the next.”

  “But the pay—”

  “Forget about that. All that matters is that you’re happy. The rest will come.”

  “You’ll wind up having to darn my socks or something like that,” she said.

  “I don’t knit.”

  “You could learn. You’re fairly crafty.”

  “You could learn to cook,” I shot back.

  “So, you don’t have to knit.”

  I smiled and was surprised to feel a tear creep down the corner of my eye and trickle into my ear.

  “I love you,” I blurted, and meant it so deeply, so unreservedly, I actually hurt. I sat up in bed, turned the bedside lamp on, and hugged her pillow to my chest.

  “I love you too, baby,” she said. “Don’t worry, everything’s going to be okay.”

  “Will it?” I asked, wanting her to believe it as much as I did, and needing to hear it in her voice.

  “Yeah. I should let you get back to sleep. You’ve got to go to work in the morning.”

  “I’m not sleepy.”

  “You will be at six a.m., and I don’t want you blaming me for your lack of sleep,” she teased.

  “Do I do that?” I was still sensitive to my own complicity in our unhappiness.

  “Sometimes,” she said softly.

  “I’ll be better.”

  “I know. We both will.”

  “I don’t want you to go quite yet,” I pleaded. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

  “Anything you want.”

  Her reassurance loosened the slipknot that was attached to her and had tightened over the last few months the further away from me she had drifted. I hadn’t realized how tightly I had clung to that line, unaware that, like the hangman’s noose, it was suffocating us. For the first time in a long while my body relaxed, and in that instant, I knew I’d be able to sleep. It could only have been better had she been in bed with me, and I ached for her warmth. I snuggled into the down comforter, spooning her pillow and inhaling deeply her fragrance.

  “I’ll come pick you up at the airport tomorrow,” I said.

  “No, don’t do that. It’s insane getting in and out of LaGuardia. I’ll grab a cab.”

  “But I want to. Besides, I thought we might grab something to eat afterward—nothing fast, somewhere nice. Maybe Alfredo’s.”

  “Mmm, that sounds good. I’m a sucker for their bread pudding.”

  “I know,” I murmured. It was quiet again, and I thought of our first date at the restaurant, how she couldn’t finish her dessert and we took it home. We fed it to each other in bed after making love.

  “Let’s be sure and order dessert,” she said hoarsely, as though reading my mind.

  “Okay.” I couldn’t stop the yawn that stretched the word into three syllables.

  “Go to sleep, baby, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  “I love you too. Good night.”

  “’Night.”

  I hung up and pulled her pillow tight against me. That familiar knot, my constant companion, rolled over and went to sleep.

  C.J. Harte was born in New York but lived in many places while growing up. After her family finally settled in the South, she attended college in the Deep South, where she obtained her degrees as well as a significant Southern accent and a unrelenting sense of humor. Her novels with Bold Strokes include Dreams of Bali and the forthcoming Magic of the Heart.

  Crossing Over, Jordan

  C.J. Harte

  Dinner conversation at Jordan’s sorority house had become so predictable. Like most Friday nights, the topics of discussion were dates for the weekend and other social activities, things Jordan rarely participated in unless required to for an official function for her father. This particular evening her sorority sisters were more insistent than usual on discovering her plans.

  “Nothing,” Jordan answered. “I haven’t made any plans other than studying with a friend.”

  “Who?” someone asked. Someone always asked.

  Jordan shrugged. “A friend.”

  “Not that dyke tutor of yours. Do you even feel safe around her?”

  Safe? The only people Jordan felt comfortable around were Mark and Drew. Drew always made her feel safe, and cared about.

  “I’m studying this weekend. No other p
lans.” She resumed eating, hoping her lack of an answer would cause the conversation to shift. She knew all too well that there was always someone who couldn’t wait to announce to the world what Jordan Thompson was doing. She had grown up in the public limelight, her father’s political career having begun when she was only five years old. The higher her father climbed, the more her life, and her brother’s, had become public, too. How much more exposed could her life be?

  Tonight, however, Jordan knew she could no longer play their game. After months of struggling, she had made a decision. Now she just needed to figure out what to do about it. As she looked around the table, she wondered if they would still be as curious if they knew what she really hoped would happen this weekend.

  As soon as dinner was over, she left for her own place. One of the advantages of being Harold Thompson’s daughter was that she didn’t have to account for her coming and going. As long as she conformed.

  Once home, she requested one of her security team drive her to Drew and Mark’s house. These two medical students, she’d come to realize, were her only real friends. She instructed her driver to park someplace where the car wouldn’t be noticed and requested the same of her personal security detail. Tonight she was hoping she would be staying, and she didn’t want to arouse unnecessary curiosity. Tonight she needed an answer.

  Mark, Drew’s gay roommate, greeted her at the door. “Drew’s on call until eleven. I’m due in then. Come on in. I’m heading to Miami tomorrow as soon as my ER shift is over.” Mark headed back to his side of the house with Jordan following.

  “I’m guessing David is also planning on taking the weekend off.”

  “I haven’t seen him in six weeks.” Mark was all smiles. “We aren’t planning on going anywhere or doing anything. Just spending time together. And I’m going to catch up on my sleep.”

  Jordan had long admired the relationship Mark had with his lover. What amazed her most was the comfort she felt around them. Their love was obvious. It reminded her of her parents.

  “Got a few minutes to talk?” Jordan asked.

  “If you don’t mind talking in my bedroom,” Mark answered. “I’ve got to pack some things for the weekend.”

  “Sure.” After a few minutes of small talk, Jordan finally gathered her courage. “Mark, when did you know?”

  “I’ve always known. I learned early to listen to my heart.” He sat on the bed next to Jordan, laughing softly. “We’re Latin, you know. My mother believes in being guided by her emotions—I guess I inherited that from her. What’s your heart saying?”

  Jordan was not surprised by the question, just how to answer. “I’ve lied to myself, denied what I felt, kept this a secret for so long I almost didn’t believe it was real. Tonight, at dinner, I sat listening to everyone gossip about who they were going out with, who’s getting engaged, who’s sleeping with what guy. I couldn’t stand it. I felt so out of place, especially when they started asking me again about my plans. I don’t know what to do, Mark.”

  “Tell her. Show her.” He took her hand. “Drew’s probably as nervous about this as you are.”

  “She’s had a lot more experience with being gay than I have.” Jordan’s surprise had little to do with the fact that Mark had immediately known Drew was the cause of her discomfort, but more with the idea of Drew being unsure about being involved with her.

  “Yes, that’s true, but none of the other women were President Harold Thompson’s daughter.” Mark laughed. “Sorry, I was thinking about her family. They’re not wild about her associating with you.”

  “I know.” Jordan couldn’t hide the pain. “What am I going to do?”

  “I…” The phone rang and Mark grabbed it. “Hold on a minute while I get this. Hello.” Mark paled as he listened. “Not a problem. Be there in five.”

  “What’s going on?” Jordan asked anxiously.

  “Drew’s going to be late. There’s a multiple motor vehicle accident coming into the ER. Sounds like a long night. I gotta go.” He slipped his shoes on and kissed her on the forehead. “Go ahead and watch TV until she gets home. I’m sure she’ll appreciate you being here. I just don’t know when that may be.” Seeing her hesitation, Mark added, “If you want to, that is.”

  Jordan nodded and hugged him good-bye. He was such a good friend. After he was gone, she wandered around the empty house, finally settling on his bed to watch TV and wait.

  *

  An obnoxiously loud commercial on the television woke Jordan from a restless sleep. Staring at the clock, she realized it was after two in the morning. Disappointment filled her as she fought back the tears. The last few months had been difficult. She couldn’t continue to ignore her feelings even though she wasn’t naïve enough to believe her family and friends would understand her involvement with a woman. The very public attention she would expose her entire family to if her relationship was discovered would be the source of pain to people she loved. And the scrutiny the relationship would receive was daunting. But Drew was in her final year and if Jordan didn’t make a decision soon, she might lose her and any chance for the love they might share.

  Jordan started to shake with an unfamiliar longing. Her indecision was crazy-making. She needed an answer, and the one night she’d finally gathered her courage, Drew wasn’t home! Her courage was fading. Discretion, and fear of making a fool of herself, dictated she leave as quickly as possible.

  Jordan walked quickly through the silent house, not wanting to even imagine what could have happened. As she passed the door to Drew’s bedroom, she stopped briefly and touched the door.

  “Oh, Drew,” she whispered, resting her head momentarily against the closed door.

  The door was open earlier. I’m sure of it. Her pulse increased. Could she have come home and I didn’t hear her? She hesitated. No sounds emerged from behind the closed door. Jordan’s emotions were roiling, fear battling desire.

  “I must know,” she whispered and turned the knob.

  The light from the living room cast a long beam bisecting the darkened room. And highlighting the naked back of Drew Hamilton. She was stretched across her bed asleep, light and shadow playing across her skin.

  Jordan’s heart raced, her pulse pounded, warmth traveled up the length of her body. She wanted to touch the bare skin. In the dim light she could see a scar on Drew’s left shoulder. She remembered when Drew had injured that shoulder in some bull riding contest and required surgery. Jordan wanted to kiss every inch of the scar. A soft moan escaped before she could stop it. She had never wanted anything or anyone this much.

  A sheet covered the lower part of Drew’s body but her bare feet had crept out. She was lying on her stomach, a pillow clutched in her left arm. As she turned to her side, she pulled the pillow tight against her chest, almost as if she needed to feel safe.

  Jordan slipped into the room, shutting the door, like her life, behind her. She crossed into Drew’s bathroom and undressed. Seeing a T-shirt hanging on the back of the door, she slipped it on, enjoying the familiar smell. The simple act of putting on Drew’s shirt warmed Jordan from the inside and gave her courage.

  “Here goes,” Jordan whispered, walking into the darkened room. She climbed into the bed and slowly moved up against Drew’s back. Her heart raced. The reality was so much sweeter than her dreams of Drew had been. She buried her nose in dark, curly hair and smelled Drew’s shampoo. She gently placed her hand on Drew’s shoulder. My parents are wrong, she thought. How can anything this wonderful be a sin or perversion? She took a deep breath and basked in sensual delight. She allowed her hand to slowly move down Drew’s arm.

  Drew’s first awareness was the warmth against her back. As if her own dreams had been answered, she turned and pulled Jordan into her arms. The familiar delicate, sweet perfume was a safe smell. She kissed Jordan’s forehead, her cheek, her eyes.

  The grin growing across Jordan’s face could’ve lit up the room. She felt at home. She felt loved. She could start to put the years of bein
g lost and awkward behind her. If Drew didn’t want to be in her future, she would survive, even though she would hurt for a long time. But at last she knew she belonged in the arms of a woman. She whispered, “This woman.”

  Jordan lowered her head to Drew’s shoulder and rested her arm across Drew’s bare waist. Drew’s arm pulled her closer and she sighed, allowing her body to relax into peaceful slumber.

  “I’m home.”

  *

  Drew finally surfaced from her exhausted but trouble-free sleep. As she came fully awake, she realized a woman was draped across her. The woman moaned and cuddled closer. Jordan! Many evenings she and Jordan had fallen asleep on the bed watching TV, but they had both been completely dressed. Drew’s breath caught as Jordan’s lips moved near her breast, sending a warm breath of air across the now aroused nipple. She couldn’t help but respond and moaned softly.

  “Mmm. Does that mean you’re in the world of the living?” Jordan shifted and kissed her. “Oh, God, Drew.”

  Drew smiled and Jordan sought her mouth. Their legs entwined and Jordan held her breath as Drew’s tongue circled her lips. Jordan pulled back, gasping for air.

  “Are you awake or asleep?” Jordan asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t care as long as this dream doesn’t end soon.” Slowly opening her eyes, Drew looked into Jordan’s eyes. “Jordan, do you know what you’re doing? Are you sure?”

  “I wasn’t sure until I was lying next to you and felt how wonderful this is. I don’t know what I’m doing.” Blushing, Jordan hesitated and rethought what she needed to say. “I mean I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, but I know what I want to do. Help me.” Then letting her heart lead, she said, “I love you, Drew Hamilton. And whether you want me or not, I know I am a lesbian.” The familiar, dimpled smile encouraged her. “I’m just an inexperienced lesbian.”