by Maggie Brown
Then she saw her. She was dancing with two partners, her lithe muscular body swayed to the music. Her short hair was tousled carelessly, her disinterest with her dancing partners apparent. She looked over; Victoria raised her glass and turned back to the bar. Victoria turned away invitations to dance with a shake of the head while she waited. The next tune began. The player approached Victoria to claim her hand with no expectation of refusal. The woman danced well, the light pressure of her body offered a subtle promise it would be closer next time. The bracket ended, and Victoria pivoted and left her alone on the floor. Victoria smiled. Give the woman half an hour tops and she’d be back with a little less arrogance next time.
Fran looked bemused as Victoria sat down. “Gina’s hardly your type. Slumming it a bit, aren’t you? The room’s full of really nice professionals I can introduce you to.”
“I’m looking for a love-’em-and-leave-’em type tonight. No strings.”
“That’s not like you, Vic. What’s the matter?”
Compelled to answer truthfully by the concern on her friend’s face, she said with some discomfiture, “Fed up with my life, I guess. Christ, all I do is work. I live like a nun, cloistered in my office.”
“Nobody’s sparked your interest over all these years? You were always so damn fussy.”
Victoria’s cheeks burned. “There’s no one.”
Fran offered her a searching look as she caught the blush. “Ah, methinks thou doth protest too much. Doesn’t she…”
A hand tapped her on the shoulder. “It’s midnight, luv. The babysitter will want to go home,” said Wilma.
“Okay, we’d better go. How long will you be in Perth, Vic?”
“We leave Sunday.”
“Would you like to come over for dinner Friday night? I’ll invite Bev and Emma; they’re about the only ones of the old crowd left. Have you anyone with you?”
“Two admins.”
“Bring ’em with you. I’m sure they’d appreciate a home-cooked meal.”
“Sounds good. I’ll bring the drinks. See you then.” As they went out the door, Victoria looked at her watch. Five more minutes. On cue, she felt pressure on her shoulder. “Would you care to dance?”
This time, Gina pulled her close and ground her body back and forth to the beat of the music. No subtlety was in the movements. After a few minutes Victoria took control, and guided them to a dark corner where she ran her hands down the woman’s back. Gina buried her head in Victoria’s neck and nibbled.
“Is there anywhere we can go?” whispered Victoria, though she wasn’t yet aroused.
“A room out the back.” Gina had panted her reply.
By the time they stumbled into the room, Gina had stripped open her shirt. She sucked wildly at Victoria’s neck as she rocked her thigh between Vic’s legs. No more foreplay was offered. As Victoria felt the fingers slide under the waist of her pants, her little bit of arousal vanished like a puff of smoke. She went into a cold sweat. Hell, what am I doing? She didn’t feel any attraction, any passion, only an emptiness that could never be filled by this mindless coupling. She didn’t even like the woman. Victoria wanted to shout she had been turned on earlier in the night by someone just stroking her arm that Gina wasn’t even remotely in Abby’s class. But she was in a ghastly scene she hadn’t written properly, as she allowed herself to be mauled for a reason she could no longer remember. She pushed Gina away and buttoned up her shirt. “Sorry. It’s not working for me tonight.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m all worked up. Can you finish me off?”
“I’m sure they’ll be plenty out there lining up for that job,” Vic flung over her shoulder as she hurried out the door.
“Damn tease.” Gina’s accusation followed her down the hallway.
Victoria felt washed out and numb as the cab sped through the city. Tonight’s fiasco was one of the worst decisions of her life. Shame flooded through her. She suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to cry, though the tears didn’t come. Our family never cries—that had been drummed into her often enough by her father.
As the taxi approached the apartment building, she could see two women come round the corner, hand in hand. She blinked in surprise as the security light from the entrance glowed over them and she recognised Abby.
“Keep going. I’ll get out at the next corner, driver.”
As the cabbie drove off, she moved back into the shadows to watch. She stared as Abby bent forward and kissed the woman before she disappeared inside. Victoria felt such a surge of anger she nearly screamed out, “Who the hell are you kissing now, Abby? You were supposed to be home hours ago.” But she didn’t say a word. She waited in the foyer for ten minutes before she crept up to bed. And as she lay under the covers awake, her own indiscretion faded away as the more urgent problem surfaced. What had Abby been up to and who was the woman she was kissing? Was she going to see her again?
* * *
Abby woke up totally refreshed. She hummed a tune as she poured a bowl of muesli and remembered the fellowship with the nurses. It was good to be alive. She would take Fiona to get her hair cut in a more flattering style and they would buy some clothes. A shopping spree got the juices flowing. A sharp click of the latch told her the Scot was back from her morning walk.
“Want some breakfast?” Abby asked. “There’s plenty of cereal, bread, fruit and yogurt. I see there’s a fancy coffeemaker here. I’ll put it on.”
“That sounds good. I’m sorry I was too tired to wait up for you last night. What time did you get home?”
The scrape of a door opening sounded and Victoria appeared wearing a bathrobe and a glare. “Yes. What time did you get in, Abby?”
“I…” She stopped suddenly as she peered at Victoria in horror. “What’s that on your neck?”
“Vic! How could you?” squeaked Fiona.
Abby narrowed her eyes and spat out the words. “It’s a damn hickey, isn’t it?”
Victoria didn’t speak as she looked down shamefacedly. She groaned and walked quickly to her room. In the mirror, she could see a round, bright red patch above her collarbone; it couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than it was. Half an hour later she came back to the kitchen, dressed in her pin-striped grey suit for the morning meeting with the white blouse underneath buttoned up to the top. She tipped some cereal into a dish, not looking at either of them as she began to eat.
She finished, dabbed her mouth with the napkin and said to Fiona, “I’m seeing the accountant of the Hillside Mine today. Could you start on the costing for the shipping this morning? I’ll need it by Friday.”
As Fiona fidgeted, Abby interrupted. “That’s three days away. I’ll give her a hand to enter the figures so it won’t take all day. We’re going shopping for a few hours. I’ll have to get those clothes you promised me and Fiona needs some too.”
Victoria frowned at the Abby. “Do whatever you want but don’t dare tell me what Fiona will do.”
Abby flicked her eyes down to her neck and back again. It was over in a blink. When she spoke, her tone was mild with no trace of anger. “I would like her to go with me if you could spare her, please. She really needs new clothes to go overseas with. I’m prepared to work tonight if we’re not finished by dinnertime.”
Victoria moved her shoulders in a defensive hunch. “All right, she can go, but finish that work today.”
Abby waggled her fingers in the air. “Credit card, please.”
Victoria bypassed her and handed it to Fiona. “Make sure you get receipts,” she said curtly before she marched out the door.
Shopping—how Abby loved it. With no budget worries, she danced on air. After leaving Fiona with the hairdresser under strict instructions for the style, she waltzed down the street to the exclusive boutiques. An hour later she already had three parcels when she went back to pick up the Scot.
Abby had a vague notion what the improvement a good styled haircut would make to the older woman, but was not prepared for the trans
formation it made. Fiona looked ten years younger.
“Fiona, you look fabulous. Now for some nice suits for work first.”
Rather guiltily they snuck back to the apartment after two and made arrangements with the manager to collect the parcels they hadn’t been able to carry. Abby lay back in the chair completely satisfied. It had been a fruitful day, though more things were needed which she figured could be bought in Japan. They had enough clothes for the time being. The dressing up parade with the new purchases, which was the best part, unfortunately would have to wait. Work had to be done. By the time Victoria arrived back they had almost finished. “All done?” she called out.
“We will be in half an hour,” replied Fiona.
“I’m going for a swim in the pool. Dinner’s at seven at that Italian place across the street.”
“Right-oh.”
After the last entry was recorded, Fiona sighed with relief. “I’m glad ye were there to help me. It’s so much easier with two people.”
Abby smiled at her. “We make a good team, don’t we?”
“Aye, lass, we do. You caught on very well to the business. You should think about this kind of work after we get home.”
“As much as I enjoy the challenge, my art comes first. Now put on that lovely green dress and blow your boss away.”
Abby slipped on the new blue dress and went to look in the mirror. Simply fab. The design was unpretentious; it fell softly over the contours of her body with the hem just above the ankles. But oh my, she looked a million dollars. No doubt you got what you paid for and the dress had been very expensive. She told herself though, she must be more conscious of the price in future. It wasn’t her money. Abby slid on her silver sandals and went into the lounge, anxious to see Fiona dressed up. Underneath that frumpy exterior she’d discovered an attractive woman ready to burst forth.
Chapter Fifteen
“Chop, chop, you two. I’ve booked a table for seven thirty,” Victoria called out.
At the sound of footsteps she turned, a lump caught in her throat. Abby looked stunning. The blue dress matched her eyes, and the frock really brought out her curves. Victoria couldn’t keep her eye off the hint of nipples poking against the fabric. Her own nipples had begun to harden. Damn it! Down girls! She was tempted to swat them back into submission. She pulled herself together and said nonchalantly, “New dress?”
Abby twirled. “You like?”
“Um—it looks good.”
“Wait until you see Fiona.”
At the sound of her name, the Scot appeared. Her dull secretary had been transformed into an attractive, fiftyish siren, buxom rather than large, her stylishly layered hair made her look handsome rather than wholesome.
The expletive burst out before Victoria could think. “Fuucckkk, Fiona. You look awesome.” She looked at her slyly. “Better watch out. I could go after you myself.”
Her assistant simpered and batted her eyelashes. “Ye know I’m straight, Vic.”
Victoria winked. “I can always use another toaster.”
Fiona disappeared into the bedroom for her purse. Victoria rested her hand on Abby’s shoulder and whispered. “Thank you.”
A murmur came back. “You’re welcome. She was in there all the time. I only brought her out.”
* * *
Friday arrived to everyone’s relief. They’d been busy all week, with virtually no time to see the city except for a quick double-decker bus ride one evening through Kings Park and the botanical gardens. Fiona preferred a quiet night, but Abby was eager to accompany Victoria to Fran and Wilma’s. She needed the break.
She liked the couple immediately. They were chalk and cheese, yet obviously very happy in their relationship. While they sat talking over predrinks, Wilma fed their two small children, Mel and Tim, and bundled them off to bed. There was no mistaking which woman was their biological mother; both had the cutest red curly hair. Abby watched wistfully as their parents kissed them goodnight. Maybe that could be her one day.
She was fascinated to see another side of Victoria as she and Fran ribbed each other, discussing old times as if it were yesterday. Bev and Emma made up the rest of the group. Abby presumed that they too were gay, until Emma mentioned her husband, though Bev with her close trimmed hair, androgynous face and muscular body, shouted she was a lesbian. Victoria introduced Abby as an assistant. They smiled politely and made her feel welcome, though struggled to include her in the conversation. She didn’t mind, happy to sit back and listen.
In the dining room, Victoria pointed to the chair beside her and Abby found herself relaxing as they ate.
“Are you still unattached, Vic?” asked Bev.
“Yep. I’m the perennial bachelorette, married to the business. What about you?”
“I’m still on my lonesome.”
Victoria looked at her with amusement. “What, nobody snaffled you up yet? A good-looking chick like you.”
Bev leaned forward over the table with a glint in her eye, “I’m waiting for you, lover-girl. Just give me the call and I’ll be over in a jiffy.”
Abby glanced at her in surprise. By the adoration on her face, the woman wasn’t joking.
Fran sniggered. “Give it up, Bev. She made it plain years ago she wasn’t interested.”
“Times have changed, moron. She’s still available and I’m thinking of moving to Sydney. I’ve been offered a job with the firm over there.” Bev looked Victoria directly in the eye. “Would you be interested if I did?”
Victoria slid her hand over the table until it touched Abby’s. “You never quit, do you? Come on, Bev, we’re good friends, so leave it be.” She turned to Emma. “What have you been up to?”
Thankfully, once Emma got started on her husband and children, nobody else could get a word in. Then when Vic’s hand nudged hers, Abby nearly laughed aloud. For all her self-assuredness, Victoria was just a big ol’ wimp. She began to stroke Vic’s knuckles with her fingertips as Emma waffled on.
Wilma gave their hands a quick glance and said, “What was your last name again, Abby?”
Abby slipped her fingers off, embarrassed by Wilma’s interested regard. No need to continue anyhow; Bev was frowning at Abby like she’d cheated her out of her last dollar. “Um…Benton.”
“How long have you been working for Vic?”
“Not long. I was hired to accompany her on the trip.”
“She’s came with us because she’s a wizard at languages,” piped in Victoria.
Wilma gave another quizzical look. “I thought I’d heard your name somewhere.”
Abby squirmed in her seat which seemed suddenly too hard. “My main job was an interpreter. I was pleased to get the position so I can put those talents to good use.”
She was rescued by Emma who rose from the table. “I have to get back to the kids, unfortunately.” She looked at Bev. “Are you right to go or do you want to catch a cab?”
Bev looked at Victoria and Abby, and said with more than a little resentment, “There’s no point in me staying. Oh, I forgot to tell you, Vic, I ran into Gina yesterday. She’s rubbishing you around town about what happened the other night at the club.”
Abby turned quickly to Victoria. Spots of red coloured her cheeks. Victoria shrugged. “Don’t believe everything you hear, old friend. Her version would have been rot.”
After they drove off, Fran threw an arm around Victoria’s shoulder. “Don’t think you’re going yet. Ten years has been too long.”
While the others sat down in the lounge to talk, Abby ranged through the room to examine the paintings on the walls. It was something she loved doing. Usually she found some gem and here was no exception. A small Margaret Olley hung in the corner.
“Exquisite, isn’t it,” murmured Wilma behind her.
Abby cast an eye reverently over the oil flowers on the canvas. “It is indeed. You have wonderful taste. All your pieces are delightful.” She turned to look at the redhead. “It’s good to see you have a lot of originals
and not the usual reproductions.” She smiled. “Prints of the masters excluded, of course. Nobody can afford those.”
“Vic’s got a few. You’ll have to get her to show you her collection.”
Abby’s eyes widened. “Has she indeed? Now that’s interesting.”
Wilma moved on to the numerous photos on top of the piano. “Here we were in our heyday.”
Abby studied them. Victoria featured in many, younger and more carefree, her hair a little longer; her posture seemed somewhat more relaxed, but still held the same slightly defiant bearing. “It’s nice to have these to look back on, isn’t it? She and Fran must have been really good mates.”
“They were. Vic broke Fran’s heart when she moved east.”
Abby’s smile faultered, her next remark caught in her throat. A framed picture stood at the back, a print of her Archibald entry.
Wilma, following her gaze, chuckled. “Did you go and see it? Fran thinks it’s priceless.” She took it off the top. “Come on. I want to see Vic’s face when she finds out we have it.”
Abby was barely able to grind the words out. “Don’t, please. I really mean it. You can’t bring it up now.”
“Why not? It’ll be a laugh.” She deftly avoided Abby’s clutching hands and took it over. “Have a look at our latest artwork, Vic.”
Fran rolled out a hearty laugh when Victoria went rigid. “Terrific likeness, old girl. The artist’s got you down to a T.” She poked Victoria in the ribs. “What’d you do to him—cut off his balls?”
“Let it go, Fran. I don’t want to discuss it.”
“Yes, let’s get on to another subject. Victoria hates the painting, so give her a break,” begged Abby.
Fran chuckled. “Are you kidding me? I’ve being dying to have a go at her about it. So come on. What did you do to him when you saw it? Knowing you, you wouldn’t let it go.”