"I'd like that very much."
"Good," she smiled, feeling the redness of her heart as it pounded in her chest.
She watched Jessica's lean form disappear up the cliffside stairs, and then sat down in the chaise her body had vacated. Droplets of water puddled on the vinyl straps, evidence of its previous occupant. Absentmindedly, Cara pushed at the droplets, feeling the fluid warmth on her fingers. I must be crazy, she thought, as she felt her body responding to thoughts of Jessica. This is a heterosexual, Scarpetti-gene negative woman. The president's daughter. Nothing can come of this.
Forcing her mind to other things, she reflected on the events of her first full day in New York—an extraordinary series of activities. She had awakened in the Southwind Hotel in New York City, held a press briefing at the World Conference Center, and was now watching the sunset at the Long Island estate of the president of the United States. The home of Jessica Mooran.
Punctually, at 8:00, after getting directions from one of the security guards, Cara took her seat in the dining room. Moments later, Tim appeared.
"Good news," he announced as he entered the door. "The president's daughter will be in residence for the remainder of the summer. Security is heaviest when she is present, so I don't think there's a thing to worry about."
"You're right, Mr. Felmar," said Jessica, entering behind him. "Ms. Romero is perfectly safe here with me." She reached forward, switched the place cards on the table and sat in the chair directly opposite Cara.
"Oh good, you're all here," exclaimed Mrs. Anderson, peeking out from the kitchen "I'll begin serving, eh?"
"Why don't you give us a few moments to enjoy our wine," called Jessica, as she picked up the carafe. "May I pour for you, Ms. Romero? Or would you prefer to have Mr. Felmar do it?"
"I would be honored to have you pour. And I would be doubly honored if you would call me Cara."
"And I would feel much more comfortable if you would use Tim, Ms. Mooran."
Delighted to hear the Ms., Cara smiled to herself as she watched Jessica pour the wine. Denim pants and shirt did not distract from the grace of her motions.
"And please call me Jessica," she said resolutely as she finished pouring into her own glass. "Now, I want to hear all about Cali."
The conversation flowed. Jessica, comfortable as hostess, asked about Cali's government, the architecture, the restaurants. Carefully, she refrained from asking about their lifestyles. They could have been talking about England or Australia or any other country. There was no indication of any interest or curiosity about homosexuality. Tim, of course, deferred to Cara on almost all questions, and the table talk had changed to an almost private chatter of conversation between the two women, when Mrs. Anderson interrupted.
"Ms. Jessica," she said, appearing at the dining room entrance, "it's nine p.m. and I must start serving if I am to finish before going to bed."
"Oh, I am sorry. Time just got away from me. Please begin. If you don't finish, don't worry about it. I'll take over. It's just so rare that we have such nice guests." She looked at Cara as she finished speaking. "May I pour some more wine?"
Is the ivine corrupting my imagination, thought Cara, or are those gray eyes glistening sunbeams? "No, I think I've had quite enough. American wines seem to be stronger than Calian. I don't yet know where my limits are."
"I'm sure you'll find them. You strike me as a quick learner."
Challenged, Cara responded, "That depends upon the teacher."
During dinner, she chastised herself for responding to Jessica's attempts at eye contact. She's just being polite, she told herself as she again caught her peering up through lowered lids. You can't go through America thinking heterosexual women are cruising you.
"Excellent," declared Tim, as he pushed away his empty plate. "That, Cara, is a much better example of American food than we had last night."
"It was a typical American summer meal," volunteered Jessica. "Clam chowder, barbecued chicken, corn on the cob, and sliced tomatoes. What could be better?"
"Just leave everything where it is," said Mrs. Anderson as she walked past the table, moving hurriedly toward the stairs. "I'll take care of it all in the morning, eh?"
"She's a great old lady," said Jessica as she nodded in the cook's direction. "And a good cook, besides. Speaking of morning, Cara, I often go for an early morning swim this time of year. Do you think you're up to that? It would be nice to have company."
"That sounds good. Very good."
"See you at seven-thirty at the pool then, and I'll look forward to seeing you again tomorrow evening," she said, turning to Tim as the three rose from the table.
"Look forward to seeing me, hell," exclaimed Tim as he and Cara reached the stairs. "She didn't even know I was there." Cara looked back and saw Jessica clearing the table. As they reached the small sitting alcove at the top of the stairs, Tim asked hesitantly, "Can we talk for a few minutes?"
"Sure. What's up?"
"Well, I was wondering. Do you think it would be all right if I left you here alone for a few days? Until Wednesday afternoon when the conference begins. You couldn't be in a safer place and 1 could use the time to go back to the city to try to find Barbra."
"Oh God, I had completely forgotten about her."
"That doesn't surprise me," he said with a devilish grin.
"I think that would be a wonderful idea."
"I thought you'd like it. But, are you going to be okay?" he added with a more serious expression.
"Absolutely!"
Sixteen
It was before 7:00 when Cara quickly ate one of the pastries that had been left for her on the dining room table and exited from the main building. She nodded to the two secret service men standing nearby, licked the crumbs from her fingers, and began walking down the cliffside stairs that led to the swimming pool. She hadn't yet alighted on the second plateau when she realized that her hostess had arrived before her.
Reaching the pool, she quietly slipped into a chaise lounge and watched as Jessica danced her body through the water. She swam with an almost effortless motion, her strokes lacking the purposefulness of a long-distance swimmer. On this occasion, Jessica wore a bathing suit, an adornment that, only because of the circumstances, pleased Cara. But nothing could distract her from the beauty of the dark, lean body as Jessica rolled over to begin backstroking.
"Oh, good, you're here," she exclaimed, her face noticeably brightening as she saw Cara watching her.
She makes my whole body smile, thought Cara as she dove into the pool. Coming up at the other end, she swam several lengths before stopping in front of Jessica who had moved to an underwater seat at the western end of the pool least visible to security personnel.
"I knew you would be a good swimmer. You have a swimmer's body, long and muscular. My dolphins would love you."
"You have your own dolphins?"
"No," she laughed, displaying dimples in the hollows of the high cheeks, "at the marine laboratory. When I'm not on vacation, I'm Doctor Jessica Mooran, in charge of the mammals section of the United States Aquarium."
"You look much too young for such a prestigious position," commented Cara, visibly impressed.
"I'm only three years younger than you. I'll be twenty-nine next month."
"How did you know my age?" she asked with surprise.
"That's easy. I picked up a press release from Michael Angelico's office when I first learned that you would be visiting. There wasn't enough information, so I wrote to Cali on my lather's letterhead and requested your press clippings."
"Jessica," Cara asked hesitantly, "is there a reason for your doing all this research?"
"Not a good one. You sounded much more interesting than I thought a lesbian would be. So, I wanted to know more. Curiosity. Come, let's swim," she said as she pushed off the side of the wall.
They swam side by side for almost a half hour, bodies rhythmically moving through the water, droplets of each other's strokes spraying their faces.
They did not speak, continuously swimming. Cara swam as if in a race with her emotions.
Jessica quit first, scampering up the steps and falling onto a chaise. Cara swam for a few more minutes, harder than before, shortening the time between turns, lengthening her strokes, actually picking up speed. If I swim fast enough, she thought, I may outswim my hammering lust.
Exhausted, she collapsed on the lounge next to Jessica's and lay still listening to the sounds of their labored breathing. Looking over at the motionless body, she watched the light shimmering on the long dark lashes caught in the rays of August's early sun. Curled tightly against the nape of her neck, her dark hair glistened against the copper of unblemished skin, leaving meandering rivulets of water drizzling across her back. She's like a flower made lovelier by the rain, thought Cara.
Jessica spoke first. "It is a glorious day, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"I hope you have many days like this while you are visiting us." Her face became pensive as she looked toward a shrub next to the pool. The lovely eyes squinted. "Isn't that a meadowlark?"
She continued without waiting for an answer. "There's an old fable about the meadowlark and Cali that Mrs. Anderson used to tell me when I was very young. Would you like to hear it?"
Cara nodded.
"It seems that right after the great earthquake, all the meadow-larks in this country stopped singing. At first people were very upset, but then, after a while, they got used to it and they stopped listening for the little songstresses. Except for a woman by the name of May Ling whose favorite bird was the meadowlark. She kept listening and listening for the flutelike song. Then one day she was told that her baby would have to be sent to Cali, and she stopped listening because she couldn't hear anything except the sound of her own tears." Jessica put her hands to her face and made motions of wiping her eyes. "She was inconsolable. There was nothing anyone could do to make her stop crying. She just cried and cried. Her husband asked the doctor what to do and the doctor told him to send the infant to Cali as soon as possible so that May Ling would stop crying. But that didn't work. She cried even harder. Finally her husband asked her what would make her stop crying. And she said she would stop only if she got a sign telling her that her baby was happy in Cali. That night, her husband prayed and prayed. And the next morning, a miracle happened. May Ling was sitting in the kitchen crying when suddenly a meadowlark flew in the window and sat on the table in front of her. Shocked, May Ling stopped crying, and just as she did, the meadowlark puffed up its chest, opened its mouth, and began to sing. When the bird finished, May Ling looked at it with tears of joy in her eyes and said, 'I promise to never cry again, if you will tell the meadowlarks to sing whenever they see a happy child in Cali.' And as if by magic, all the meadowlarks throughout the country suddenly began singing. May Ling never cried again, and to this day, the meadowlarks still sing."
She smiled, an inhibited smile of embarrassment, and waited for Cara to comment.
"That's a lovely story. Very sensitive. Very sweet."
"Are the children really happy in Cali? Yesterday, you told me about the country. Today, I would like to know about the people."
She propped herself into a sitting position, prepared to listen attentively. "What's it like growing up in Cali?"
"Really very special. In Cali, there is no such thing as an unwanted child. Adoptive parents must meet very strict requirements. To pursue the goal of adopting a child, they must want a child very badly. There are many tests they must pass—psychological, emotional, financial. There are Calians who have been turned down several times, while there are others who have two or three children. So, our children—who are really your children—are almost always raised in good, loving homes."
Her gray eyes opened wide. "What about biological children? Doesn't anyone ever have their own child?"
"The ship goes two ways," answered Cara sadly, knowing that almost no Calian residents could claim Cali as their country of birth. "Some Calians have had children, through intercourse or fertilization implants, but our laws are very specific. No one can live in Cali unless they test positive for the Scarpetti gene. All citizens are randomly tested for the gene before their sixth birthday. Those who test negative are immediately deported."
Her face openly displaying her confusion, Jessica finally asked, "Isn't that reverse discrimination?"
"Yes," said Cara politely.
For just the slightest moment, Jessica's face clouded over, and then she giggled softly, "I guess you're entitled." She stood up and turned her chaise so that she and Cara would be facing each other. As she bent over, small beads of perspiration trickled from her navel. I would love to lick those beach, thought Cara. Again sitting, Jessica asked solemnly, "What if the United States reinstituted abortions? How would that affect your country?"
Cara, hoping her flushed face would not reveal her carnal thoughts, delayed answering. "The sun is getting quite hot. Let me think about that while I swim a few laps."
She dove as high and far as she could, feeling the chill spread from her outstretched hands to her toes. The cold water slapping at her body felt good. Lazily, she swam, finally stopping at the side of the pool opposite their chaises. She turned her back to Jessica and looked our at Long Island Sound. She stayed that way for several minutes, reminding herself that this was the Sound, not the Pacific. This was America, not Call. This woman, this sensuous woman with the incredible sculptured face was heterosexual.
Returning to Jessica, she lightly dried herself with a beach towel, and continued the conversation. "You asked whether reinstituting abortions would affect my country. That's a yes and no. With the absence of the homosexual constituency that existed before the exodus, I don't think America will ever have enough liberals to again support an abortion law. However, if they did, and if women aborted fetuses because they harbored the Scarpetti gene, my country would pursue a genetic alteration program that would enable Calian women to have gene-positive children so that homosexuals would continue to maintain a balance of ten percent of the world's population. We have the technology available now, but it's highly classified and we will not permit genetic alteration unless we are threatened with extinction."
"What a horrible thought," exclaimed Jessica quickly. "To think that someone as extraordinary as you could even possibly be destroyed because of ignorant prejudices. Come," she said standing up, "I don't want to think about that. Let's go down to the beach. I've brought a picnic basket with nice surprises for lunch."
Eager to feel familiar sand on her feet, Cara jumped up and led the way down the final set of stairs. At the bottom stood two security men.
"I'm wearing a VIP locator that keeps the secret service informed of my exact location at all times," explained Jessica.
"Where could you possibly be hiding a transmitter?" asked Cara as she put her hand out to the security man who helped her down an oversized step that had obviously been battered by the waves and tides. Turning around, she instinctively reached for Jessica who, perceptively, gave her hand and smiled with her eyes.
"The transmitting disc is actually located in the earring of my left ear," she explained as they began walking. "You needn't worry about the security men. We'll be out of their sight in a few minutes."
What a strange thing to say, thought Cara.
The beach felt good. Hot. Familiar. Pure. As they walked, she watched the lazy waters of the sound embracing the shore. It must be an outgoing tide, she thought, seeing the valleys of sand being drawn to the sea by the strong undertow. Instantaneously she was reminded of the last lines of a poem she had written some fifteen years earlier— a poem she hadn't thought of since its creation,
I love you more than that, as the sea loves the shore: I cannot love you less, I dare not love you more.
Was it a prophecy?
They walked almost a mile, Cara enthusiastically picking up treasures. Mostly stones. A few shells of unknown origin. Jessica shared her joy, commenting on each choice, picking up a
few of her own. They laughed at the discovery of a hermit crab, kicking and fussing as Cara mistakenly disturbed his morning nap. They smiled at the brightly colored sails out at sea, and at each other.
"This is one of my favorite spots in the whole world," said Jessica as they rounded a bend and reached a beach area that curved inward, interrupting the straight shoreline of cliffs. "It's very private. No one can see us. I call it Jessica's Lair." Her head cocked to one side, she-used her hands to emphasize the sense of it all.
"Has anyone ever told you how adorable you are?" Cara asked with a sober expression.
Casting her eyes downward a bit longer than necessary, Jessica reached into the large picnic hamper and removed an oversized towel, spreading it on the ground and placing the basket on top. "Now we can relax," she said as she slipped her forefinger into her black bikini bottom and began slowly sliding the bathing suit down over her hips.
"No," yelled Cara, feeling a catch in her throat as she saw the flash of lighter skin. "I can't allow that." She paused and took a deep breath. "Jessica, I'm a lesbian…a homosexual from Cali. You're the president's daughter. We can't be seen together nude."
"Why not?"
"Please," implored Cara, grabbing her wrist. Feeling light-headed, almost dizzy, she held tightly until Jessica finally relaxed her arm.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," she said with an ingenuous expression. "I didn't know how much it mattered to you."
A few unfilled minutes passed between them, Cara wondering whether she had behaved properly. Finally, Jessica spoke in her rich American voice, "Let's eat!"
Going through the picnic basket was a culinary delight. There were several kinds of pate, salmon salad, whitefish salad, chicken with capers, assorted rolls, desserts of several kinds, and a variety of herbal teas. Cara, realizing she was hungry, ate with her customary zeal, chattering between bites about the food in Cali.
"I love to watch you," said Jessica, gazing at her through sun squinted eyes. "You're so alive. So vibrant. You must have been raised by wonderful people."
The Meadowlark Sings Page 9