The Meadowlark Sings

by Helen Ruth Schwartz

  "And what about you?" asked an embarrassed Cara. "You know all about me. Now tell me about you."

  "There's not much. My mother died in a car accident when I was five. I was raised by Mrs. Anderson who had been with the family before I was born. I have no brothers. No sisters. I love working with dolphins. And I love being on the beach, nude." She grinned.

  And Cara knew it was all right. Those gray teasing eyes told her so.

  It was almost 5:00 when they finally returned to the house. Showering outdoors, still in their bathing suits, she watched as Jessica lathered her limber body and wondered if she could survive three weeks in a state of perpetual lust. When Jessica dropped the soap and bent to pick it up, her petite form touching Cara's, she felt her heart cry.

  "Will you be joining me for dinner tonight?" Cara asked, avoiding eye contact.

  "Of course," she said emphatically, nodding her thanks as Cara scurried to open the door to the main house. "At eight."

  Rummaging through her meager American wardrobe, she finally settled on a dinner outfit of pale blue pants and matching blouse. Not because of their cut or style, which was really rather dull, but because the color called attention to her eyes while contrasting with the richness of her soft blonde hair.

  Standing before the full wall mirror, brushing her hair into an assortment of styles, she spoke to herself admonishingly. "This is a heterosexual woman who has absolutely no interest in you other than friendship. And that, dear self, should be your only interest in her. Stop playing with fire!" Finally, after spending thirty minutes arranging her hair into a perfect French twist, she started out of the room, begrudgingly stopped, turned around and snarled at herself in the mirror. "You're a tough disciplinarian," she muttered as she removed the pins and let her hair flow loose.

  The dining room was empty, giving Cara a few meditative moments alone to admire the spectacular view of the August sunset, glowing pink over the dimming waters. Mesmerized, she had difficulty averting her eyes from the kaleidoscope of color when Jessica excitedly plopped a stack of newspapers on the table in front of her. "Look at this!" she yelled excitedly. "The American press never gives anyone this much attention. Not even my father!" Leaning over her shoulder, she read the headlines aloud as Cara leafed through the papers. " 'Cali Utopia Says Lesbian,' 'Lesbian Speaks Out,' and this one is the best, 'Stunning Lesbian Stuns Press.' " Sherry Ryan gets the thanks for that one, thought Cara as she read the byline.

  "Ms. Jessica, I heard those dishes clatter. You'd better be careful or you're gonna break a place setting," said Mrs. Anderson, bustling out of the kitchen. "Do you want me to start serving now?"

  "Yes, please." Hugging Cara from behind, placing her cheek next to hers, pressing tightly, Jessica chattered on. "I'm just so proud of you. When I first saw that press kit, I knew you would take this country by storm." Suddenly, she stepped back, a flush of crimson highlighting the copper cheeks. "Is it okay to hug you? It is okay, isn't it?"

  "Of course," she smiled, wishing there was a way to inject someone with the Scarpetti gene.

  Jumping up again, Jessica walked to the sideboard, returning with a set of gold candleholders and two delicately tapered candles. "This calls for a celebration. These are part of the Hargreaves collection. I think we should light them tonight in your honor."

  Putting the newspapers aside so that Mrs. Anderson could set down her dinner salad, Cara turned back to see Jessica's gray eyes dancing with the reflection of the twinkling flame. Unnerved by the hug, and now the intimacy of a candlelit dinner, she cleared her throat and tried diverting attention to a more formal conversation. "What is the Hargreaves collection?"

  "It's a collection of the more than seven thousand pieces that Ellyn Hargreaves left behind. I documented and catalogued each piece when my hither became president. Then, through diplomatic channels, I contacted her to see if there was anything she wanted. I really thought it would be the entire collection. There were so many beautiful pieces, like these solid gold candleholders." She paused, tenderly tracing the ornate base with her hand. "But all she wanted was a small book of sonnets by somebody named Jane Mitchell."

  She waited for Cara to respond, but when no response was forthcoming, she continued, "Did you know Jane Mitchell? Was she a special part of her life?"

  "Yes, very."

  "Oh?"

  "She was her sister. She died in a car crash several years ago," Cara answered coldly.

  "I'm sorry. I thought it may have been a ... a lover."

  "I know what you thought," said Cara abruptly. "I'm sorry if I disappointed you."

  "No.…Yes. Yes, I am disappointed, but only because I've spent the last couple of years daydreaming that they had a wonderfully romantic relationship. I even fantasized about the love songs she wrote for Jane." She looked at Cara with an expression that tore at her heart. "I didn't mean to offend you."

  It was several minutes before Cara spoke. "The candles are lovely. I will tell Ellyn that I shared them with you."

  "Do you and Ellyn Hargreaves know one another well?" she hesitatingly asked.

  "Yes, very well."

  "I think I'm jealous," she confessed, gray eyes peering directly at Cara.

  Of which one of us. Cara wondered.

  Later that night, her concentration affected by thoughts of the day's adventures, Cara took an indeterminably long time reading the newspapers. Finally finishing, she turned to the television, dialed the newscasts, and watched all the primary reports of the previous forty-eight hours. To her surprise, most stations carried the full press briefing. She was delighted with the results. If there was a criticism, it was that she had come across as a bit chauvinistic, but why not? Calians, she thought, had a right to be chauvinistic. She fell asleep with the television on. Her last thoughts were of Jessica.

  Seventeen

  For the next three days the two women of contrasting beauty were inseparable, almost all of their waking hours spent in each other's company.

  They swam, talked, felt the sun on their backs, smiled incessantly, walked endless hours on the beach, and listened to the sound of the meadowlark. Picnics at Jessica's Lair, a daily afternoon activity, extended into the sunset hour when they would finally wander back, exhausted, two silhouettes against a darkening sky.

  After dinner, Cara would sit in the kitchen in an old-fashioned caned chair with her feet propped up on the stove while Jessica washed the evening dishes that Mrs. Anderson never finished. They spoke and laughed, but mainly they felt—the deep saturated feelings of a friendship being born.

  Ellyn Hargreaves, whose music they both loved, became their constant companion. They programmed her old compact discs onto Cara's watch and brought them to the pool and the Lair and on their walks. At night, they sat together on the surround-sound couch in the entertainment room, filling the air with Ellyn's renditions of the old-fashioned love songs. Sometimes Jessica would lay her head on Cara's shoulder and Cara's heart would swell to infinite proportions. Will I ever again know such happiness? she asked herself.

  On Monday afternoon, their routine changed when Jessica asked her to help her shop for clothes in one of the local boutiques. "I'm so envious every time I think of you in that wonderful Calian outfit. You have such a good sense of style."

  Waiting in the sitting room, Cara commented enthusiastically on each of the eight outfits she modeled. A short pale pink dress garnered particular applause, inspiring Jessica to curtsy. "You are so good for my ego. Now, if you will do me the favor of unzipping me, I will end your torture and reward you with an ice cream cone."

  Behind them, two saleswomen who had obviously recognized Cara, stood with their heads together whispering feverishly.

  "Oh, don't worry about them," laughed Jessica, arching her left eyebrow in the expression that tickled the hairs on the back of Cara's neck. "They've seen my body before and they won't be the least bit jealous."

  "You are so bad," whispered Cara, as her trembling hands grazed the silky skin.

&nbs
p; After a short stroll while eating an ice cream cone, they returned to the estate, Jessica baffled by her feelings of disappointment that they wouldn't be taking an afternoon outdoor shower together.

  "Dinner at the same time?" asked Cara when they reached the stairs.

  "Not for me. I almost forgot to tell you. I'll be having dinner with my fiancé tonight. There's a museum benefit and I promised weeks ago that I'd go with him." She hesitated before speaking again in a soft voice that threatened to become a whisper. "But I'd really much rather stay here with you." And she turned around and walked up the stairs as though nothing unusual had been said.

  Eighteen

  "So, you'll be dining alone tonight, Ms. Romero, eh?" asked Mrs. Anderson as she took her place at the table.

  "I guess so. Mr. Felmar is in the city and Ms. Mooran is attending a museum benefit, so I'll have to enjoy your cooking all by myself."

  "Well, you needn't be bored while ya do it. I've saved today's Modern Woman magazine for you. There's a really nice article about your visit to this country."

  "Good heavens," exclaimed Cara to a beaming Mrs. Anderson. "I had no idea that the United States would give me quite this much attention."

  "I'm real proud of you, Ms. Romero. Real proud," she said emphatically as she walked over to the table and picked up Cara's hand, delicately wrapping it in her own pudgy fingers. "I've read every one of those articles, and there isn't one that you can't be proud of. That speech was really something, and it's about time this country learned something about Cali. Our government, and that means President Mooran too, doesn't want us to know anything, eh? They don't want us to know that maybe they made a mistake thirty-five years ago."

  "And you, Mrs. Anderson," she asked sincerely, "do you think the United States made a mistake?"

  "I know they did. I was in my thirties when it all happened. I saw those people going nuts. Blaming homosexuals for everything. Like they were responsible for all the things that were going wrong in this country. And those preachers! Showing dirty pictures every time you turned on the TV. All they wanted was money. Fools! We were fools to allow our children to be taken from us." She paused, releasing Cara's hand that she had been patting affectionately.

  "Did you lose any children to Cali?"

  "No. Never had any. I was married for only a couple of years. A lazy man, he was. Ended in divorce. I've been working for the Moorans for thirty-four years. But my first cousin, a nice man by the name of Gerald, he went over on the very first ship. In 2020. He was a carpenter. The best darn carpenter I ever knew. He never did anybody any harm. But," she smiled, "I bet he's happy now. I guess in the long run, the exodus was a good thing for your people, eh?"

  "I guess it was. Yes, I guess it was."

  "Well, I'd better move on and serve you some dinner," she said, walking toward the kitchen, "or you'll be replacing Ms. Jessica as my scullery maid." She chuckled. "It's a little game we play. Almost every night when dinner is delayed, I tell Ms. Jessica that I'll take care of the dishes in the morning. And in the morning, when I come down, the dishes are always done. She's my darlin' little leprechaun, that one!"

  A tinge of jealousy passed through Cara. The possessive expression of endearment awakened an emotion she hadn't felt in a long time. It hurt. In less than four days, the idea of sharing Jessica had already become painful. You've got it bad, she admonished herself. Instinctively, she ran her fingers through the wayward shock of hair that fell across her forehead.

  Reviewing some material for the conference, she had fallen asleep still fully clothed when she was awakened at midnight by the noise of the wind clattering past the open balcony door. Quietly, she got up and closed it, and without hesitation, walked softly across the hall to Tim's room.

  Entering his suite, she crossed to his balcony and peered out the glass to the spot where the limousine had been parked. Jessica had not yet returned. An hour later, she had almost decided to go back to her room when she saw the car emerge from the moonlit forest. Spellbound, she watched as an exquisite Jessica stepped from the car. Dressed in a short white gown, she appeared even more breathtaking in the moonlight than Cara's imagination had allowed her to fantasize. Exiting behind her was a shorter replica of Tim. They put their heads together, discussing something he had said. Transfixed by the activity, she continued to stare, feeling her heart plummet to an undetermined spot. She watched them kiss, grateful that it was not long and lingering. When he reentered the waiting limousine Cara almost cheered.

  "Now, maybe I can go back to sleep," she said aloud as she noiselessly returned to her room.

  Nineteen

  Tuesday morning sunlight streamed into her room through the balcony door. That'll teach you, she thought, when she realized that in her haste to get to bed after returning from Tim's room she had forgotten to pull the drapes closed. She lay in bed, not quite awake, and watched the dust dance in the hazy yellow beams. Stretching with joy, she softly whispered in a singsong voice, "She didn't have sex with him. She didn't have sex with him."

  She forced herself to stay in bed until 7:00 a.m., and when she could no longer possess her soul in patience, she jumped up, showered, put on her bathing suit, gathered her beach towel, and raced down to the swimming pool, almost knocking over a maid who was trying to enter the house.

  Adrift in the pool, propelled by the pink mist, was a yellow chair float, an indication that someone had been there before her, but Jessica was nowhere to be seen. It surprised Cara that security people were allowed to use the pool, but thinking no more about it, she dove in and climbed into the seat. Closing her eyes, she leaned back and thought about the glorious day ahead. It was to be their last full day together before the conference. They would picnic again, she supposed. Or perhaps play tennis. Were there stables? Maybe they could go riding. But it was the idea of a picnic that pleased her most of all. She liked being close to Jessica. The occasional touch of that lovely hand, even if only in narrative gestures, made her smile.

  By 10:00 she had tired of sunbathing and swimming. Disappointed by Jessica's continued absence, she went down to the beach and asked one of the security men if they had seen her. Obligingly, he pulled out his monitor, no bigger than a business card, and squeezed it several times. A few seconds later, it emitted a series of musical notes. "Nope. She didn't get by me. She's not on the beach."

  "Do you know where she is?"

  He nodded politely. "Yes ma'am, the monitor just told me, but I'm not allowed to give out that kind of information. I'm sorry."

  "That's okay," she said as she began to walk in a westerly direction. After only a few steps, she decided that it was a great day for a workout and broke into a slow run. Long Island Sound looked like strings of diamonds dancing on blue silk, the sand was firm, and she needed to clear her head of Jessica.

  "I can't believe she's a lesbian," muttered the security man under his breath as he watched the long blonde hair waving in the wind, rhythmically matching the effortless strides of her long lean body. "She's a beauty. Looks just like an all-American beauty."

  "What's that you're saying, Bob?" asked his partner walking up alongside of him.

  "I sure wish she wasn't a lesbian."

  "Yeah," he chuckled, "you and a few million other Americans."

  She ran a few feet past the Lair, smiling to herself in reminiscence of their first picnic, then turned and stopped to sit for a few minutes. Stretching her body against the coolness of the grass, she considered removing her bathing suit, which had dried too quickly in the morning sun when she thought she heard a noise. A sound, barely audible to one without martial arts sensitivity training, abruptly stopped her from making any further movements. With little motion, she cast her eyes to the left. Seeing nothing, she slowly circled to the right. There, in her direct line of vision, not more than fifteen yards from her head, she saw the doe with her twin fawns.

  It's magic, thought Cara, who had never seen a white-tailed deer. Moving only her eyes, she watched the fawns cavort in t
he high grass, springing up, racing forth, chasing, while the doe, ears alert, ignored them and pulled at the berries on the nearby shrubs. Losing interest in the game, the smallest fawn tried nursing on its mother, who gently nudged it away with her nose while licking its ears and neck. Walking slowly, oblivious to Cara's presence, the doe moved around the bend, quickly followed by the two little ones.

  Sitting up, she smiled at the disappearing white tail of the fawn. "I've been nurtured," she exclaimed aloud.

  It was past noon when she entered the dining room of the main house. "I'm hungry. I forgot to pick up a pastry this morning," she said to Mrs. Anderson, who was by herself in the dining area. "Will I be eating alone?"

  "I think so. Ms. Jessica went for a very early morning swim. Had a late breakfast, she did. I don't think she'll be having any lunch today. But I have the perfect cure for your hunger. Maine lobster salad on a hard roll with sliced tomatoes and slaw on the side. How's that for your gurgling belly?"

  "Sounds good to me," she responded, thinking about the pool float and the body who must have sat in it before her.

  "You know, Ms. Romero," said the likable housekeeper as Cara was finishing her last crumbs, "if you don't have any special plans for this afternoon, you might want to go down to the workout room. It's in the basement. Fully equipped with the latest stuff, I hear. Might be a nice way for you to spend the day, eh?"

  Thanking Mrs. Anderson, Cara decided to return to her room first to change clothes and rest the recommended half hour before heavy physical activity. Diverting herself from thoughts of Jessica, she purposefully telephoned Vanessa who had promised to spend most nights in Cara's apartment. She's probably screwing her brains out about now, she grinned as she looked at her watch and saw it was 10:30 a.m. in Cali.

  After punching in her special diplomat's code on the phone monitor, she turned off the visual and waited for Vanessa to answer.

  "Anisette's residence," said the husky voice at the other end.