by Ann McMan
“Okay. What would you call it?”
“What would I call what?”
“Come on, Vee.” Darien was trying hard to muzzle her frustration, but it was getting harder to rein in. “I woke up and you were gone. No note. No nothing. What was I supposed to think?”
“Maybe you were supposed to think that I was confused, and I needed time to think?”
“Well, you sure didn’t seem ‘confused’ when we were together.”
V. Jay-Jay didn’t reply right away.
“Well?” Darien prodded her.
“You’re right. I wasn’t confused. Not about that part.”
“Thank god. A breakthrough.”
V. Jay-Jay stopped and faced her. “I won’t deny that our physical intimacy functioned fairly seamlessly.”
Darien rolled her eyes. “Physical intimacy?”
V. Jay-Jay nodded.
“Why the hell do you sound like you’re writing an article for the AMA?”
“Look. This isn’t easy for me.”
“Forgive me if I have trouble understanding how that’s possible. You’re the author of four of the most popular—and I might add, erotic—sex romps in our entire genre. Yet when you and I spend the night together, you primly brush it off as ‘fairly seamless’ physical intimacy.”
“I’m not brushing anything off.”
“No?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, what the hell is the problem, then?”
V. Jay-Jay shook her head. “Let’s go down to the beach and find a place to sit.”
“Why? What’s wrong with where we are?”
“Look. I don’t particularly want to have this conversation standing on the edge of a precipice.”
Darien laughed. “Too metaphorical for you?”
“You might say that.”
“Are you afraid I might push you off?”
“Too late for that one. It already happened.”
Darien felt herself begin to relax a little bit. She gestured toward a shady path that wound its way down to the water. “After you.”
They picked their way down to the rocky beach and found a large, flat rock that could accommodate them both. This one was safely inland, so there’d be no possibility of falling into the water. Darien was sorry about that. She wouldn’t have minded another waterlogged encounter. Not even a little bit.
Once they were settled, V. Jay-Jay pointed out a dotted line of boats moving across the water.
“I can’t get over how much traffic there is out there today.”
Darien followed her gaze. “It must be the tournament. It starts tomorrow. I suppose everyone is out scouting their spots.”
“So I guess Quinn’s big day is finally at hand?”
Darien nodded.
“It’s hard to believe our time here is winding down. Two weeks seemed like an eternity to me when I first got here.”
“Me, too. I don’t normally stay in one place this long.”
“I gathered that.”
Darien picked up a smooth, flat stone and threw it at a low angle. It skipped across the surface of the water six or eight times before disappearing from sight.
“You’re pretty good at that.” V. Jay-Jay sounded impressed.
“I’m pretty good at a lot of things.”
“So I noticed.”
They smiled at each other.
“Tell me why you left my room?” Darien asked the question slowly. Quietly. She wanted Vee to know she was serious, and that she cared about her answer.
“I don’t know. I woke up, and . . .”
“And?”
V. Jay-Jay shook her head.
“You can tell me.”
V. Jay-Jay met her eyes. “That’s just it. I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you because I don’t know myself.”
“You mean you don’t know why you left?”
“No. I mean I don’t know myself. I don’t recognize who I am right now. And that scares the hell out of me.”
Darien stared out across the water. As much as she wanted to argue the point with Vee, she knew she couldn’t. Not with any kind of conviction. The truth was, she pretty much felt the same way.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Vee looked confused. “What about?”
“This.” She waved a hand in frustration. “All of this.”
“It isn’t your fault. It isn’t anyone’s fault.”
“I’m still sorry.”
It was Vee’s turn to pick up a small, black stone and hurl it at the water. It didn’t skip, however. It landed with a loud plunk and disappeared immediately from sight. They watched as a concentric series of ripples spread out from the spot where it sunk.
“Well that was lame.”
Darien looked at her. “It just takes practice.”
V. Jay-Jay seemed to be considering her response.
“You think you can teach me?”
Darien was unsure about how to reply. She had a sense that her answer was important.
“I’m not sure. I think maybe if we’re willing to work at it, we can both get better.”
V. Jay-Jay looked back at the water. The circles were all but gone now.
“I guess that’s a start.”
“Can I talk with you?”
Marvin gave Montana a good once-over before he answered. Usually it pissed her off when men did that. But something about the way Marvin was looking at her right now felt different. Not creepy. More like he was really seeing her—not just leering at her boobs or her ass.
“You can talk with me if you can explain how many cars that woman robbed to come up with all these damn twelve-volt batteries.”
Marvin was standing beside the bank of batteries Quinn had daisy-chained together to run the ancient Kelvinator.
“She didn’t steal them. She got them all from Junior.”
Marvin pursed his lips and slowly shook his head.
“What about this piece of shit?” He kicked the base of the refrigerator with his foot.
“She got that from Junior, too.”
“Why am I not surprised?” He bent down and checked the network of cables that all terminated at a small inverter. “How’d she figure out how many amp hours it would take to run this thing?”
“She asked Viv.”
“Viv?”
“Yeah. Viv did all the load calculations.”
Marvin rolled his eyes and stood up. He looked around the rest of the boat. “I don’t know why they approved this hunk of debris for that damn tournament. It’s like a floating junkyard.”
“Maybe. But it meets all the requirements.”
“Yeah. All of them but one.”
Montana was confused. “Which one did we miss?”
“The one that says you need a functioning brain stem.”
“Come on, Mavis—Marvin. She’s not that bad. And she really believes she can do this.”
“Oh, yeah? I once knew a guy who really believed he could fly. It all went pretty well for him until the day he jumped off the top of Symphony Towers.”
“It’s not gonna be like that.”
“For your sake, I hope not.”
“If you feel that strongly about it, why are you helping her out?”
“Why are you helping her out?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. You. I don’t see anybody else lining up to help crew this thing.”
Montana thought about it. Why was she helping Quinn? It had started out innocently enough. Just casting lessons. Then teaching her how to drive the boat. When Junior started going out with them on their morning excursions, the whole enterprise took on a different flavor. Now it was more like a quest. Something she felt a certain ownership of. Even though she agreed with Mavis . . . Marvin. They didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell at winning. Still . . .
She looked at him—the tall man who chose to go through life dressed like a woman. It was obvious that he was on some kind of quest, too. She was tempted to
point that out to him, but she knew it would be a mistake. He’d probably just toss her overboard.
She decided to play it safe.
“I don’t know why.”
He stared at her.
The wind shifted and the scent of something wonderful drifted down to them from the inn. Marvin noticed it, too. She saw his nostrils flex and flare.
“Prime rib,” she said. “It’s on the menu tonight.”
“What did you want to talk with me about?” he asked.
She shrugged. She didn’t know where her shyness was coming from. It wasn’t typical for her. He didn’t wait for her to figure it out.
“Lemme save you some trouble. I’m not the first man in the world to put on a dress.”
“I know that.”
“And before you ask—no. I’m not a fag, and I’m not a drag queen.”
“I didn’t . . .”
“And I’m not a transvestite, transsexual, transgender, or fucking Trans Am. I’m not a trans anything. I’m just a man who wears a dress. Period.”
“Then what about Mavis?”
“What?” He practically barked the question at her.
“What about Mavis? If you’re just a man who puts on a dress, then why not be Marvin in a dress? Why invent Mavis?”
He glowered at her. “You got some balls, little girl.”
Montana could feel her face getting hot. She hated it when she blushed.
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Why the fuck do you care what my reasons are?” He was still staring at her, but he didn’t look angry any more. He looked interested—almost normal. At least for him—her.
He looked like Mavis.
“I honestly don’t know why,” she said.
He sighed. “Tell you what.” He slapped his massive hand against the side of the green and white Kelvinator with its purple Astroglide decal. “You buy me a hunk of that prime rib tonight, and maybe I’ll tell you a story.”
She considered his offer. Two could play at that game. She smiled at him.
“Deal.”
“Well, that was unremarkable.”
Towanda rolled to her side and wiped her mouth on a towel.
“Fuck you. I told you I was out of practice.”
Viv laughed. “At least we didn’t wake up the Canadians next door.”
Towanda tossed the towel aside. “Not this time, anyway.”
Viv stretched and folded her arms behind her head. It lifted her breasts to a tantalizing height. Towanda found it hard to look away. Viv noticed.
“See something you like?”
“Maybe.”
Viv laughed.
“I don’t know how you always manage to do this.”
Viv was slowly running the sole of her foot along the outside of Towanda’s leg. “Do what?”
“Tie me up in knots this way.”
“I thought you liked being tied up?”
Towanda pushed Viv’s foot away. “Not this kind of tied up.”
“Is there another kind?”
“You know there is.” Towanda crawled up the bed to lie beside her. “I don’t know why we keep letting this happen.”
“Because it’s terrific?”
“You just said it was unremarkable.”
“Baby, where you’re concerned, unremarkable is still terrific.”
“You’re so full of shit.”
“I know.”
Towanda looked at the clock on the nightstand. “I need to call Barry.”
“Screw Barry.”
“Been there, bought the t-shirt.”
“Honey, by my calculation, you’ve bought about five of those t-shirts.”
“You can’t blame me for all of those. Barry already had three kids when we got married.”
Viv was running her fingertips in tight little circles across the taut skin of Towanda’s bare abdomen.
“Well you sure don’t look any the worse for wear from the two you cranked out legitimately.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
Viv kissed her shoulder. “You tell me.”
Towanda snuggled in closer to her. “This feels weird. And wonderful.”
“I keep telling you.”
“I know, I know. I can’t do anything about it. I’m in too deep.”
Viv slapped her lightly on the derriere. “Would you knock it off? You’re married—not undercover in the mob.”
“It’s clear you’ve never been to a Faderman family reunion.”
Viv seemed to consider that. “Although Barry’s mother does exude a certain Meyer Lansky quality—which I’ve always admired, by the way—I’d have to say that in the aggregate, the Fadermans are more like refugees from a freak show than members of the mob.”
“True. But there’s just no way I can get out from under it all. Not with the kids still so small.”
“Someday you’ll have to explain to me how a nice Catholic girl like you ended up married to a cantor with three kids.”
Towanda shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Famous last words spoken by every person who ever bought an Edsel.”
“Barry’s not an Edsel.”
“Really? What would you call him?”
“I don’t know. Edsels were at least exotic. Barry’s just—dull. He’s more like a K car.”
Viv chuckled. “You don’t think we could manage the kids?”
Towanda pushed back and stared at her.
“What?” Viv asked.
“You want to try and wrangle five kids?”
Viv shrugged. “Why not?”
Towanda snuggled back in. Viv was just being crazy. She’d never last a week with her brood. Most days, she didn’t even think she could handle it—and she had Barry to help out. He was a total dweeb as a husband, but at least he was a good father.
“Things are just better the way they are,” she said. “We don’t need to change them.”
“You’re okay with sneaking around and cheating on him like this?”
Viv’s hand was doing wonderful things—gliding in and out of the moist space between her thighs. She shifted her legs further apart to allow her greater access.
“I wouldn’t call this cheating, necessarily.”
The hand stopped. “Wanda?”
“What?”
“You just had your tongue halfway up my twat. If that’s not cheating, I’d like to know what the hell it is.”
Towanda took hold of Viv’s hand and pushed it back between her legs.
“It’s not cheating if your husband doesn’t care what you do.” Her voice was husky. She didn’t want to have this conversation. Not right now, anyway. “Barry doesn’t care what I do.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Oh, for the love of god.” Towanda rolled over and straddled Viv. “If you’re not going to finish what you started, then I’ll just take matters into my own hands.” She began to bump and grind against Viv’s trapped hand. Her movements grew more frenetic. Come on, Viv. She kept moving. Faster. Harder. Surely, Viv wouldn’t be able to keep holding out? Not when it felt this good.
“Wait.” Viv was in motion beneath her now. “Wait a goddamn minute.”
God. The woman was strong. She was lifting them both off the bed with her bucking and thrusting. The headboard was slamming into the wall like a piston.
Towanda was on her back. When had that happened? Viv’s hot face and fire red hair swayed crazily in the space above her before starting a slow descent down her writhing body. My god. It felt like the woman was everywhere all at once. She knew she was moaning. Crying out. She didn’t care.
The last thing she heard before exploding into sweet oblivion was the muted sound of an angry Canadian, pounding on the wall of the room next door.
Essay 10
“I said to my soul, be still and wait without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing.” –T.S. Eliot
They taught us everything w
e needed to know about living.
All of our work was focused on life: how to sustain it, how to prolong it, how to extend it. When reasonable measures were exhausted, we resorted to extraordinary measures. We never quit. We never gave up. We never stopped looking for that magic bullet, that Holy Grail, that last, best hope. We never lost confidence or broke faith with our higher calling. To do so would mean failure—would mean defeat. And we were incapable of admitting defeat.
Arrogance. That was our real creed. Our pearl of great price. We were taught to believe in the infallibility of science. In the manifest destiny of research, clinical trials, emerging phyto-remedies and advancements in second-line therapies.
I was part of the medical oncology team at Memorial Sloan Kettering. I dealt with cases like hers every day. Everything about her cancer was textbook. It presented in all the usual ways. Pain during vaginal intercourse. Difficulty urinating. Abnormal discharge between menstrual periods. Unintentional weight loss. And, later, persistent pain in the pelvic region. But she didn’t tell me about any of it—not in any of the ways that might have made a difference for her—or for us. She said that was because she always understood how it would happen. It was how her mother died. And her grandmother before her. Her people were Persian. They understood inevitability. They knew how to wait. She said she’d been waiting her entire life. Now it was here—and she no longer had to wait. The advent had occurred. Her magi had come at last. But the gifts they bore were not happy ones.
“Truth is not happy or sad,” she explained. “Truth is not right or wrong. Truth is just true. It has no value. It cannot be altered because you will a different outcome.”
She said she knew me and she knew that I would never give up. She said it was her job to accept the outcome for both of us. She said that for me, enlightenment would come when I learned the virtue of acceptance.
Carcinoma sarcoma. That was her diagnosis. The cancer had already spread to her lymph nodes and invaded her bladder and bowel. The biopsies proved what we already knew. She was staged at IVA. Surgical cures were not possible. She would have refused them in any case. She also refused radiation and chemotherapies.
“I want to die with a full head of hair,” she insisted. She knew how much I loved her hair. How I gloried in it. “I want to die as I lived. Whole. With all of my parts.”