In Every Port

by Karin Kallmaker

  "How do you survive?"

  "I eat out and pray several times daily to my miraculous microwave. It's the only thing between me and starvation." Cat giggled and Jessica grinned, too. "By the way, I'm off to San Antonio tomorrow, I'll be back in about four days. Would you water my plants on Wednesday?"

  "Sure, convention or seminar?"

  "Convention. I would be loyal and stay at the Regency —"

  "It's gorgeous in San Antonio, opens right onto the Riverwalk —"

  "— but everything's at The Place."

  "What's that?" Cat asked, her nose wrinkling.

  Jessica knew Cat tended to disapprove of hotels she hadn't heard of, so she explained. "A hotel owned and managed mostly by women. It's for traveling businesswomen — the entire concept is. The restaurant has mostly single and double tables. The bar is more like a reading room with a waitress. I know the owner and she's been getting good signals to raise the capital to expand to New York."

  "Sounds interesting. I've been on the GM's — the general manager's — case to restructure the tenth story lounge to accommodate more singles escaping from their rooms for a few hours."

  "Same idea. Part of The Place is also available for lease — corporate living quarters."

  "Sounds nice. Do you think," Cat said impulsively, "I mean, would you mind if sometime I arranged one of my inspection tours to coincide with one of your speaking trips? I like to sightsee but I hate doing it on my own."

  "Sure," Jessica said, having hesitated for a split second. "I have a trip to New York in October, the best time of year."

  "That gives me a couple of months to see if I can come up with a good excuse for a trip. Let's compare calendars later and make some plans. I'm excited already."

  The wine was actually quite acceptable, Jessica decided after her second glass. Cat had convinced her to have a go at layering the lasagna. To Jessica's surprise, the dish came out fine. Maybe the credit was owed to Cat's teaching technique. Maybe it was the way she had guided Jessica's hands with her own, standing next to her while she worked. Maybe it was the fact that Cat didn't care if the process was messy — she just laughed.

  "Don't sweat it, Jessica. There are more important things like how the lasagna tastes."

  "You're right, taste is more important than looks." Herself shrieked and Jessica fought a blush.

  Cat said, "I know a place called Gallager's where the prime rib is not only wonderful, but the servings are huge, worth every penny." Cat grinned and began describing other places she'd like to see when they went to New York.

  Jessica relaxed and told Herself not to read double entendres into everything she said. I can be comfortable with Cat ... I don't have to watch my words, she thought. Herself gave a defeated moan.

  Later, tossing and turning, Jessica wondered if she'd made a mistake. She and Cat would probably get on quite well, and have a great time in New York when they weren't working. But after the way she'd stared at Cat tonight, she wondered if she was in danger of having too good a time.

  She yanked her thoughts away from Cat, Cat's eyes, Cat's hair, Cat's smile, Cat's laugh, Cat's cooking, Cat's swearing, Cat's walk. San Antonio, think about San Antonio, she told Herself.

  San Antonio and Marilyn. Marilyn who called once a week just to talk and give and ask advice. Marilyn, who more than any of the others, was the closest thing to a lover she had. Marilyn, who would help Jessica sort out her mixed up feelings.

  FIVE

  Two and Fro

  A long black limousine with The Place discreetly written on the door was waiting for Jessica. The ride from the airport into the Riverwalk district was long, and in July the weather was unbearably sticky.

  The airline had oversold first class, and she had grudgingly accepted coach in return for a free upgrade to first class next time she flew. Her seat had ended up being directly in front of a five-year old whose quiet absorption in the airplane's mystery ended precisely three minutes after take-off. By the time the plane reached San Antonio, she didn't think the free upgrade had been nearly adequate compensation. But the limo was wonderfully cool, the ride refreshingly smooth, and she began to feel that she might be able to separate her blouse from her body without major surgery.

  She had worn her most comfortable clothes, knowing that San Antonio would be claustrophobic, but even so, her cool cotton slacks and blouse were now a second skin. She wished she had just worn jeans and a T-shirt as Cat had suggested. She now owned a pair of jeans, but the subject of her own self-image was very fragile at the moment. She wasn't any more ready to travel in jeans than she was to admit openly she was a lesbian.

  She tried to look poised and calm when she reached the hotel. She found, gratefully, that Marilyn had seen to it she was already checked in and would be taken directly to her suite without waiting.

  The bellman set her bags out, explained the room's amenities, introduced her to the authentic English butler, and then refused his tip, explaining that Ms. Spartla would have his hide if he accepted it.

  "As Ms. Spartla's guest, Madam, everything is on the house," the butler explained, and he left Jessica gazing around her in awe.

  She had stayed at The Place twice before and had thought the regular guest rooms quite an experience. They didn't bolt the lamps to the tables. But this suite was… decadent. There was no other word for it. The suite was two-storied, with a striking fifteenth floor view of the sprawling San Antonio area. The carpet was deep and soft enough to sleep on.

  On her last trip, on the last night, she had met Marilyn. They had shared a wonderful evening of wine and lovemaking. When they weren't making love they were talking about their careers, sharing professional advice and telling stories. And Marilyn had assured her the next time Jessica came to San Antonio she'd find out just how they did things in Texas. She hadn't been prepared for quite this much hospitality. Repaying it would be a challenge and quite probably, recalling Marilyn's passionate nature, very enjoyable.

  She spent fifteen minutes exploring the suite. The bathroom alone was a religious experience. This, she told Herself, is quite possibly the most hedonistic arrangement I've ever seen. Herself urged her to take advantage of the opportunity, so she started water running from the four taps which filled the huge sunken tub. It was larger than most Jacuzzis and she was looking forward to a long cool soak before going over her notes for tomorrow's lecture.

  The doorbell rang and she went to answer it, feeling absolutely adolescent in her delight over having a doorbell to her hotel room. A waiter wheeled in a cart, set out several items expertly and quickly, bowed, and vanished.

  There was a large bowl of strawberries, another of peaches, fresh cream, an assortment of crackers and cheese, and two snifters of brandy, resting in holders over a low flame. She salivated and then shivered with anticipation. Marilyn did everything thoroughly, took her time, and was only satisfied with the best.

  The doorbell rang again and this time Marilyn was there. She greeted Jessica in her cool way, and went to the phone. Jessica watched her, slowly appraising the long legs, and the perfect body which was only partially disguised under an exquisite black suit. It would be impossible for anyone to forget Marilyn was a woman, but Jessica had seen Marilyn's style at work — she countered the warmth of her beauty with an extreme coolness of attitude that stopped flirtation cold. Yet Jessica was willing to bet Marilyn's employees believed she was competent and fair.

  At the moment, however, Jessica wasn't concerned with Marilyn's competence. She imagined the buttons of Marilyn's blouse slowly coming undone. Jessica felt her body flush with desire and carefully examined her feelings. The last time with Marilyn she would have said the breathless passion she felt was just a natural and understandable desire for sex. Now she admitted the truth. She wanted to be with a woman. She wanted to feel soft skin and taste Marilyn's passion because Marilyn was a woman.

  The truth at last, Herself crowed. See, it wasn't that hard.

  I'm shaking like a leaf inside, scared
to death, and you think it wasn't hard to admit? She snapped out of her reverie when she realized Marilyn was watching her with her cool intimate smile as she spoke into the phone.

  "I'm in fifteen hundred, but you can call only if there's a fire, and then only if it's on this floor. Otherwise you handle it. Thanks, Suzanne. Hello, James, this is Marilyn. I'm in fifteen hundred and Ms. Brian and I would like complete privacy until further notice. Thank you." Her voice had a soft drawl, but she gave instructions with a poise commanding assent and respect.

  "I can finally relax, Jessie," Marilyn said as she turned from the phone. "You look washed out, darlin'," she added, the drawl coming out fully, the tone changing from professional to personal. "Let me help you relax."

  "I was going to take a bath," Jessica said. "I don't feel very relaxed at the moment. And thank you for all this. I'm a little overwhelmed."

  "I worked hard for this place and it gives me incredible pleasure to share it with someone I care about and who appreciates it," Marilyn said, walking toward Jessica. She put her hands on Jessica's shoulders. "We're also lucky there weren't any Presidents in town, or we'd have been in the Junior Suite. The bathtub is much smaller in the Junior Suite." She pressed her cool lips against Jessica's for a moment. Jessica's pulses leapt with the thrill of it. Her body responded to Marilyn. "The bathtub in here was used in Hollywood Roman epics. I haggled my own self with a junk dealer for it. So I would be more than delighted to help you take a bath in it," Marilyn said.

  "Well, if you insist," Jessica said, smiling at Marilyn. She led the way into the bathroom.

  Marilyn undressed first, donning one of the bathrobes hanging in the closet. Jessica closed her eyes as Marilyn began undressing her, peeling away the blouse, unzipping her slacks. The cotton camisole came next and then her panties and last, Marilyn unhooked Jessica's brassiere and cupped the swells in her hands.

  "I've tried to forget how your skin feels," Marilyn murmured, "but it is just as soft as I remember." She gently propelled Jessica into the cool water, and turned on a low setting of the underwater jets. "If you lie back right here, you can almost fall asleep and not worry about the water at all."

  "Oh, this is heaven," Jessica breathed, her feet floating in the cool water as she lay back. The jets pulsed softly against her thighs and back. Her shoulders rested comfortably in a niche.

  Marilyn went into the main room and came back with the cart. She sat down on the edge of the tub and began feeding Jessica strawberries and peaches dipped in the cream. After a while Jessica sat more upright, thoroughly relaxed and thoroughly prepared to get very, very intimate. It felt right, so easy, so good. She couldn't deny it. She didn't want to deny what she felt — not any more.

  She sipped the brandy, feeling the heat of it burn down to her toes. It was as if she were drinking electricity in contrast to the cool water. She felt the prickle of its potency in her nipples, between her legs. Eyes closed, she opened her mouth for another strawberry and instead received Marilyn's lips brushing against hers.

  Jessica felt her passion exploding as a fire flashing through her. Marilyn's mouth was warm and inviting, eager and alluring. Without hesitation, Marilyn stepped out of her robe and Jessica's eyes didn't leave her as Marilyn went to the steps leading down into the water.

  She fell back to appreciate Marilyn's body as she stepped gracefully down the steps. She was the perfectly balanced combination of beautiful features: item, Betty Grable legs; item, Racquel Welch breasts; item, Marilyn Monroe derriere; item… Jessica gave up her cataloging as Marilyn relaxed onto one of the underwater shelves and lay back. Her breasts were above the water and Jessica slowly, deliberately tasted each. Marilyn wound her arms around Jessica and pulled their bodies firmly together.

  She slowly moved down Marilyn's body. Marilyn slid back up out of the tub to lie on the edge and Jessica floated between the long legs. Her lips went to Marilyn's blond tufts, her tongue seeking to part Marilyn, to drink the passion she knew she would find.

  Marilyn gasped and pulled Jessica into her, then fell back, arching, arms flung out to either side. Jessica breathed in deeply, savoring the taste and smell of Marilyn's sweetness. It warmed her far more powerfully than the brandy. When Marilyn cried out and went limp Jessica went limp as well, clinging to Marilyn's legs, breathless.

  Marilyn sat up slowly and pulled Jessica up out of the water into her arms. Jessica let her head fall back and her mouth opened to permit Marilyn's seeking, the pressure of Marilyn's lips making her quiver.

  Stretching her out on the thick rug, Marilyn toweled Jessica, starting with her feet, toweling and rubbing, massaging, slowly working up her calves and thighs, over her stomach. Marilyn paused, chasing drops on Jessica's breasts with her tongue.

  With graceful ease, Jessica rolled over Marilyn, locking her mouth in a deep kiss. With a gentle wrestle, Marilyn rolled on top again and resumed toweling her. Jessica stretched and coiled around her, soaking in the luxuriousness of being massaged from head to toe. She closed her eyes and let Marilyn's mouth wander over her.

  A flick of a warm tongue over her stomach, soft lips pressing on her thighs, a hint of teeth rasping over one nipple. She felt a swelling heat rising in her body. Each touch of Marilyn's mouth to another part of her made her tingle and tremble. Finally Marilyn's hands brushed where her mouth had been, lightly at first, then with more pressure, more warmth.

  Marilyn settled beside her, her breasts pressed into Jessica's side, and one firm finger began tracing down Jessica's body, over her shoulders, between her breasts, down her stomach, headed for Jessica's heat and wetness. It slid between Jessica's legs, entering her, immersed in flowing passion. As her center parted, her mouth parted and a soft sound of delight and desire escaped her. Jessica pulled Marilyn's mouth down to kiss her again, feeling the pleasure building between them. She sighed deeply as Marilyn stroked her, sliding, brushing, letting Jessica grab at her, pulling the pleasure deep within her.

  Yes, yes, yes, she chanted to Herself. This is what I want!

  Yes! Jessica clung to Marilyn's softness and shuddered as orgasm rippled through her.

  There was more brandy, more bathing, more lovemaking. Much later, alone with her notes, Jessica was unable to concentrate. Every moment with Marilyn had been exquisite, but there was a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was ambivalent, scared.

  Restlessly, she paced in front of the window, only partially appreciating the San Antonio nightfall. Okay, she was a lesbian, and Marilyn was a lesbian. Was she falling in love with Marilyn?

  Oh come off it, Herself protested. You just can't be happy, can you? You finally admit to the truth and now you want it all. You want to be In Love. When are you going to grow up?

  She ignored the question and studied her notes, reviewing her opening remarks several times. After dark she went for a brisk walk along the Riverwalk, then back to her room to watch the news, which was uninspiring as usual. Did anybody really care if Skylab re-entered Earth's atmosphere? She ignored the TV and dozed, telling Herself she should get up and go to bed.

  There were soft lights and soft music, a soft touch and soft murmurs. They seemed to surround her as she wandered among outstretched arms that were caressing, calling, desiring her. She was tempted to give way to each, to enjoy the varied pleasures, steep in their sensuality. But she searched on for a particular face, a particular body, a particular smile.

  Her heart pounding, Jessica jerked out of her doze, her back cramped. She hadn't meant to fall asleep in the chair . . . what a strange half-waking dream.

  I wonder when I'll stop thinking about sex all the time, she asked Herself. I wonder if the news in any city will ever be worth watching? I wonder if I should mention Letitia Baldrige's new book tomorrow?

  The first day's programs went very well, and she was able to relax and enjoy lecturing. The only rough spot in the day had come when she tried to tactfully explain to the class of saleswomen from all over the United States about too much makeup. Several of t
he women had vocally resented Jessica's statement about the difference between models and professionals.

  "Maybe if I give you an example. My neighbor is a very attractive woman. She used to be a model. She noticed one day that she wasn't closing her own sales. She'd get to a certain point and then clients would ask to see her boss before they'd sign. She realized it was a common problem for all women like her — dressed up-to-the-minute fashion-wise, chic hair, dazzling eye makeup. But the more conservatively dressed women, the ones who still dressed sharply — showed they had flair and style in small ways, but wore very little makeup — those women didn't have that problem. They closed their own sales. They kept all their commissions that way.

  "So she started wearing just foundation, blusher and a hint of eye makeup. She went to a simple but sophisticated hair style and kept it the same from day to day. And she started closing her own sales. Clients stopped triple-checking facts with her, or going to her boss. She told me it still goes on… Yes, did you have a question?"

  "No, not a question," said a well-dressed woman with an understated elegance. "An observation. What you're saying goes on in my company too. All our client representatives are male, every single one. And some of them will work with a female sales rep for a couple of months then suddenly ask to see me or my boss before signing. I couldn't figure it out. The attractive women in my unit got the most contacts, and they got to the final draft a lot quicker than I did. But they didn't get the signatures at my rate. Well, one day, in front of me, this one client told my boss how smart he was to use such terrific 'bait.' Then the answer hit me. The clients didn't take the really pretty women in my unit seriously.* When I told one of my friends about it she was really upset. It isn't fair to her that her looks work against her, but at least she realizes the score now. Now she plays down her looks."

  "Thank you," Jessica said sincerely, "that's very helpful to me. I agree, it just isn't fair to be evaluated on your looks, but think about it — if you see a client in a polyester suit you immediately assume he's a jerk, right? Right. Same client, pinstripes, he just might be okay, right? So why is it such a surprise that the client looks at your makeup, a part of your attire, and decides, based on what he or she sees, that you're either smart or sexy." She smiled and her voice took on a sarcastic edge. "Everybody knows the two can't possibly go together, right?" She received several smiles of comprehension in return.