by Karis Walsh
“Of course not,” Andy said. “Just watch the string while I play C an octave higher.”
Andy dropped the tip of her third finger onto the next string over and brought her right arm around Brooke so she could pull the bow across that string. As she played the fingered note, the open C string vibrated in response, and the whole instrument resonated under Brooke’s chin.
“Wow,” Brooke whispered as the note died away. “You can feel it through your whole body.”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Andy smiled then returned the viola and bow to their case.
Andy turned to face her, and Brooke felt an awkwardness settle over them as the conversation came to a close.
“Come in here,” Andy said as she took Brooke’s hand and led her to the dining room where they sat at the small table.
“I just thought we should set some ground rules here,” she began hesitantly. “You’re probably feeling vulnerable now, and I think it would only muddle things if we were to sleep together.”
“So, no sex is rule one?” Brooke asked.
“Exactly,” Andy said, sounding relieved they were handling this well. “And nothing that might lead up to sex, like kissing.”
“Or touching?” Brooke offered.
“Or holding hands.”
“Or talking about sex.”
Andy nodded, and then paused briefly. “And we need to find you something else to wear to bed.”
“I told you I only have my honeymoon clothes,” Brooke said, slightly irritated. “You have a lot of rules.”
“I’m just trying to protect you and keep us from making a mistake. You can have one of my T-shirts.”
“Then no tank tops without bras like you had on last night,” Brooke said.
“I am not wearing a bra to bed,” Andy informed her, crossing her arms over her braless chest.
“Fine,” Brooke snapped. “Take it off when you’re in your bedroom.”
“Your grating personality will certainly help the no-sex rule,” Andy muttered, trying to hide a smile.
“Thank you,” Brooke said haughtily. “And your compulsive neatness makes you particularly unappealing.”
Andy laughed. “Good, at least we agree on something. We’re both too obnoxious to be sexy.”
Brooke leaned her elbow on the table and propped her head on her hand. “Although we didn’t seem to mind each other’s flaws on Thursday,” she said with a grin.
Andy counted on her fingers silently. “You just broke rule five, I think,” she said. She glanced at the clock and groaned. “I have lessons to teach, and I really need to get going. Will you be all right today?”
“I’ll be okay, don’t worry,” Brooke said, hiding her dismay at having a whole day to spend alone, dwelling on her problems. “You teach the viola? I thought you just did the symphony and weddings.”
“None of them pays enough on its own,” Andy shrugged. “Most musicians either have regular jobs as well, or they do anything musical that comes along, like I do. I teach a couple of days a week.” She got up from the table and wrote a number on a notepad hanging on the fridge. “I’ll be home a little after five. Here’s my cell number. Call if you need anything.”
Brooke nodded. “I’ll be okay,” she repeated, trying to reassure both of them.
Andy looked at her closely, as if reluctant to leave. “We can talk more when I get back,” she said. “I know you have a lot of decisions to make, and I’ll do what I can to help.” With that she left, heading into her bedroom to change for work.
Chapter Nine
Once she was alone, Brooke made an attempt to clean up some of the mess she knew bothered Andy. Deciding whether to cancel the wedding had consumed the past few days, but now that the choice had been made, Brooke faced countless new challenges. Straightening the apartment was more manageable than facing her mess of a life. She made up the sofa bed and folded it back, and then she stuffed most of her clothes into her suitcases and pushed them into a corner. Without more storage space, there was no way she could improve the bathroom situation, so she simply shut the door to hide the clutter.
Once she finished, she sat on the couch with Andy’s old bathrobe clutched in her lap like a security blanket. Looking around, it was obvious to see she didn’t belong in this place. Even after her efforts, anyone could tell there was an alien presence that had imposed itself on the apartment. Andy’s belongings, her life, were ordered and tidy, while everything about Brooke spoke of confusion and chaos. For some reason, she hadn’t been able to fit the clothes she took out of her suitcases last night back into them this morning, so some of her shorts and tanks were piled on top of them. A disorganized pile of summer sandals had been unsuccessfully hidden behind the cases. Except for one pair of jeans, she didn’t have any clothes suitable for a Seattle autumn. She had been so distracted when she packed for her honeymoon she couldn’t remember what she had with her, so last night when she had been desperately searching for something less revealing to wear to bed, she had emptied both cases. She had wanted to reassure Andy that she didn’t usually fling all of her shit on the floor, but she’d been too embarrassed to tell her why she had displaced everything.
The scattered summer clothes might upset Andy’s orderly nature, but to Brooke they were uncomfortable evidence of her aborted honeymoon. In the light of day, alone in the quiet apartment, Brooke faced the full impact of the choices she had made. She had been completely focused on running away from Jake and her old life, and she had spared little thought about where she was running to. She needed to find a job, even though she had few qualifications and no idea what kind of career she wanted. And while her bank account might cover a few weeks in a hotel, it couldn’t possibly stretch enough to pay for an apartment of her own. Brooke knew her parents would help if asked, but returning to them for money seemed like a big step backward. If they were supporting her, they would expect to have some say in the decisions Brooke was finally ready to make on her own. She hadn’t thought through the financial side of her escape, and she knew she couldn’t rely on Andy’s goodwill to keep her rent-free for long.
At the thought of Andy, Brooke pulled the robe a little tighter against her chest. She had come here wanting sex, wanting to lose herself in Andy’s strong, confident embrace if only for a short time. She had hoped a repeat of Thursday night would give her the validation she craved, the assurance that the decision to leave Jake was the right one.
But Andy didn’t want a brief sexual encounter. She had offered friendship instead, and her gentle exploration of Brooke’s experiences in college gave Brooke a growing confidence in her own judgment, a confidence that had been badly shaken over the past few years. Brooke had thought of Andy as a gorgeous lesbian, someone who could make her feel good and give her a taste of real passion. But her short time in Andy’s apartment had given Brooke a glimpse of Andy as a real person, not simply a sex partner. Her compassion and focus and independence attracted Brooke more deeply than she had anticipated, but they also scared her. For years, she had been too willing to let strong people control her, and she desperately wanted to protect the fragile possibilities of her new life. Already Brooke could sense Andy had higher expectations of Brooke than she had for herself. To help her find a job, accept her sexuality, stand on her own two feet. To help her make permanent changes when all Brooke had been looking for was a respite from the weariness of life. She couldn’t live up to those expectations, couldn’t match Andy’s drive and talent and confidence, until she grew more sure of herself. The woman was too damned competent, and Brooke knew she looked like a spoiled child in comparison. She wanted to grow up, but she wanted to do it on her own terms—not Andy’s or anyone else’s.
Brooke rose finally and went into Andy’s bedroom. She looked around this room that held no sign of her own presence, except in her memory. In her mind she could see the tangled sheets, smell their mingled aromas, taste her first experience with another woman. But in reality, there was only space for Andy in this tidy, sp
arse room. She quickly crossed to the closet and hung up the bathrobe before borrowing a sweater. She held it to her face, filling herself with Andy’s fresh, soapy smell before pulling it over her light summer top. She needed to get out of this place, take a walk in the open air, and then come back and get her things. Andy wasn’t Jake or her parents, she wasn’t trying to take over Brooke’s life, but Brooke didn’t trust herself to resist her strength. She wasn’t going to trade one cage for another. She took the key Andy had left, locked the apartment door behind her, and knew that by the time Andy returned, she would be long gone.
*
Brooke wandered down Tenth Avenue to the commercial district on Broadway and found a small café without any difficulty. She ordered a nonfat latte and sat at a window table. The Capitol Hill area was so different from her normal downtown haunts that she felt like she was in a different city altogether. This really was a good place for her to hide out, she mused as she stirred several packets of raw sugar into her drink. There was little chance of being spotted by any of her parents’ friends in this eclectic neighborhood.
She took a sip, almost moaning with delight at the taste of sweet, milky espresso, and watched the world walk past her window. The district Andy lived in was a magnet for Seattle’s gay and lesbian community, but Brooke was surprised at the sheer diversity of people she saw. All ages and types were represented, and she relished the thought of the anonymity such an area afforded her. She could start over, be anyone she wanted, in a place like this.
Brooke finished her coffee and slowly wandered down the street, window-shopping and relaxing more and more as she walked. The streets were perfumed by the various ethnic restaurants that were getting ready for the lunch crowds. She was so accustomed to the upscale chains that made up a lot of downtown’s shopping district that the number of unique eateries and stores was refreshing. She found a vintage-clothing shop and went inside to look for a small thank-you gift for Andy. She could leave the present with her good-bye note.
The sales clerk, a girl who appeared a few years younger than Brooke with long black hair and blunt-cut bangs, smiled at her from behind the counter when she entered the shop. Brooke returned the smile and then busied herself among the racks. She didn’t see anything that looked right for Andy, but she pulled out a silky blue shirt and held it up to herself in the mirror.
“That’s a beautiful color for you,” the clerk said, coming to stand behind Brooke. “It makes your eyes look so blue they’re almost clear.”
“You’re sure? I’ve been told they look too cold when I wear this color,” Brooke said, tilting her head to one side as she regarded her reflection. She had tried on a dress this color for a party at the law firm, only to change at the last minute because Jake said it made her eyes look icy. He hadn’t meant it as an insult, but she had been particularly sensitive to the adjective since he had used it occasionally in the bedroom. It wasn’t one of the words Andy had used to describe her, Brooke thought with a smile.
“Whoever said that is crazy,” the girl said with another smile, holding Brooke’s gaze in the mirror. “You look anything but cold to me.”
Jesus, she’s flirting with me, Brooke thought in amazement. In all her life she had never had another woman, except Jan, make any sort of move toward her, and now after just one night with Andy she looked like a lesbian? She stared more closely at herself in the mirror and wondered what had changed. Whatever it was, it felt good, she thought, surprising herself with the realization. It was like she was being seen as herself for the first time, and she grinned broadly at the clerk.
“If you think it looks good, then I’ll take it,” she said. Nothing wrong with a little flirting in return.
The clerk took the shirt from her and led her back to the counter. “These would be perfect for you,” she said, pulling a pair of sapphire-blue earrings out of the front case. The costume jewels were dangling in a setting of black filigree, and Brooke knew Jake would hate them. I’ll buy you some real sapphires, not those cheap paste ones, he would have said.
“They’re lovely,” Brooke said. “I’ll take them too.”
The clerk started to ring up the purchases when Brooke noticed a tattoo of a rose on her wrist. She reached out to touch it gently.
“That’s pretty,” she said. “I’ve always wanted a tattoo.”
“You should get one!” the girl encouraged, making no move to pull her hand away. “Imprints is just two doors down. They’re real artists there.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Brooke said nervously. “Did it hurt?”
“A little, of course,” the girl answered. “But it’s worth the pain.”
Brooke thought about that as she took her change and bag. She was about to leave when the girl stopped her.
“You live around here?” she asked, her voice casual.
“I’m staying with a friend nearby…for a while.”
“Well, stop in again sometime. It was nice to talk with you.”
“You too, and I will,” Brooke said, feeling like a different person than the one she had been just last week. As if to drive that idea home, she found herself standing in front of Imprints a moment later, staring at the sample pictures in the window and trying to ignore the large sign that said: Walk-ins Welcome. She and Jan had been planning to get tattoos together when they were at Gonzaga. Brooke had gone home, but Jan now had a dove on her right shoulder. That was for the best, she told herself. She could be rebellious with earrings, but not with a permanent tattoo.
She stopped then and questioned what she had been saying to herself. Was she really being rebellious buying those earrings? No, she liked the look of them, the way they matched the blouse, the way the salesgirl had picked them for her. It was as if every decision had to pass through a filter created by her parents and Jake.
Well, not this one, she thought, and pushed into the shop before she could falter in her determination.
“Hey, there,” a scraggly young man welcomed her as she approached the front desk. A couple of other people were in the process of getting tattoos, and neither was screaming in pain, so Brooke pushed on.
“Hi,” Brooke answered, stopping about halfway across the shop. “I was thinking of getting a little tattoo on my ankle, but if I need an appointment I can come back some other time,” she added, half hoping he’d tell her to come back.
“Cool, I can do an ankle tat now, no problem,” the kid answered.
Crap, thought Brooke.
“Do you have an idea, or do you want to look through the books?”
“I’m not sure. Do you mind if I look?” Brooke asked. The book of sample tattoos was huge and seemed like a good way to stall for time.
Brooke stepped forward and opened the book while the young guy hovered near her. He probably smells my fear, Brooke thought, and he doesn’t want to go far in case I try to run. She flipped quickly past pages of skulls and bloody daggers, flowers and rainbows, not sure exactly what she wanted. How could she choose a symbol to represent herself if she was just discovering who she was? She stopped on a page filled with animal images, and an old memory resurfaced. Maybe it wasn’t a matter of reinventing herself, she decided, so much as remembering who she used to be before she handed control of her life to other people.
“That one,” she said, pointing.
“No problem,” the kid said, filling out a form and handing it to Brooke. She signed the consent form without reading it, not wanting to hear about the things that could go wrong. Her foot would probably rot off, and her lawyer father would say she had it coming for signing without knowing all the facts.
Brooke followed him back and took off her sock and shoe while he gathered his supplies.
“I’ve never had a tattoo before,” she told him, relieved she had at least shaved her legs that morning.
“I kind of figured,” he answered, cleaning off her ankle.
Well, if she was looking for reassurance and coddling, she wasn’t getting it from this kid, Brooke decided.
She gritted her teeth and told herself it would be okay. Just get past the first jab, and the rest would be easy.
*
Brooke walked the short distance to a grocery store, wanting to stop random people on the street and show them her new tattoo. But she was under strict orders from Teddy, her tattoo artist, to keep her bandage on for two hours, so she would have to wait. Since she still didn’t have a present for Andy, she decided to just buy a new carton of soy milk to replace the near-empty one she had used that morning. It wasn’t much of a gift, but it was something.
She wandered through the health food section of the store, limping slightly only because her ankle felt strange, and found herself distracted by all of the frozen vegetarian items that were available. She picked up a package of fake chorizo and remembered a dish she and Jake had eaten in a Spanish restaurant a few weeks ago. That was an idea. She could make dinner and leave it in the fridge for Andy tonight. She put the sausage in her basket and added several more ingredients from the produce aisle. While she selected a bag of frozen artichoke hearts, she decided that as long as she was cooking it might be okay to stay just one more night. That way they could eat together, and she would have someone to admire her tattoo. Brooke couldn’t remember when she had last spent time on her own, doing exactly what she wanted to do, and she smiled at the thought of sharing her afternoon’s activities and revelations with Andy. Tomorrow was soon enough to face the realities of her new independence, and she didn’t want to end the day in a lonely hotel room, eating takeout by herself. One more night wouldn’t hurt, would it?
*
Andy unlocked her apartment door, resigned to the idea that Brooke had most likely returned home. She had spent most of the day, while her students struggled through their scales and simple pieces, convincing herself that both of them would be better off away from each other. She was startled by the rush of relief she felt when she saw Brooke’s suitcases in her living room. Even more surprising was the almost-tidy state of what had been a disaster area just this morning.