by Bobbi Marolt
“Does that mean no seduction scene tonight? You’re not about to steal my girl-on-girl virginity on this dusty floor?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” She moved closer. “You’ll have to try harder, if that’s what you want.”
Liz rested her forehead on Marty’s shoulder. Marty wished the spotlight covered them so she could see the rich chestnut color that was lost under the dim ghost light. Marty sifted her fingers through soft waves of hair and allowed her lips to touch Liz’s head.
“I guess it’s my turn to confess.” She looked back into the auditorium. “About twenty years ago—”
Marty stopped her with a hand to her back. “The house is empty. Play to me. I’m a captive audience.”
Liz turned to her. When Marty saw an intense and sad look in her eyes, she wrapped her arms around her and loosely held her. Cheek to cheek, Liz breathed nervously and suddenly pulled away.
“Sometimes life isn’t fair.”
“I agree,” Marty said. With the backs of her fingers, she brushed a tear from Liz’s cheek. “My Protestant upbringing taught me that confession is between God and me. If you have something to tell me, tell me out of personal need. Don’t tell me if you feel you owe me one.”
Liz wiped another tear with the back of her hand and breathed a short laugh. “Are you ready for this? I’m about to tell you an incredible story, and I don’t want you to bolt from the theater or from my life.”
Marty raised her chin, took a deep breath, and exhaled. That statement fascinated her. There was uncertainty in Liz’s eyes when she ran her fingers through her hair and rolled her shoulders.
“If you’re uncomfortable, don’t tell me, but I’m easy to talk to, and I promise I won’t bolt.”
“I have one confession, and I don’t mind sharing it because I need to hear myself tell the story and you need to hear it. About twenty years ago, I attended Breakable Goods.”
Marty straightened with that surprise. “That was my show. My favorite.”
“It was my favorite, too, and your performance has remained embedded in my mind for twenty years.”
“That’s terrific. Our cast was the best in town, and we were lucky to have each other. Our reviews were good, but not as wonderful as yours.” She smiled. “Go on.”
“When you walked out on stage, you hit me with a flame thrower. There you were, dressed in a sparkly red dress, and your eyes were bright aquamarine gemstones shining down on me. I couldn’t believe how brilliantly your eyes sparkled. Your fabulous hair was full and thick and bouncy against your shoulders.” She motioned a wide V from her shoulders to below her waist. “Your dress was cut to here. I wanted to yank you from the stage and lick your lipstick from your mouth.” She stopped and her face was brilliant red. “The night I kissed you in your dressing room, your lips felt so damn good. I could have died happy that night.”
The proportion of her revelation was staggering. Liz had entombed her emotions within a loveless marriage while she craved the attention of a woman all those years. At least she’d craved Marty’s attention. Never acting to satisfy that need, she knew all too well the meaning of want. Marty felt sad for her, and listened, captivated.
“Go on. By all means, tell me how lovely I am.” She nudged Liz’s knee. “We girls like that, you know?”
“Lovely? Yes, you were, and even more so now, but lovely wasn’t the word I had in mind. You threw me into a tailspin and you didn’t stop there. Later in the act, when you appeared wearing only a short towel, I said ‘Holy shit.’ My husband asked me what was wrong, and I told him I thought I’d left the curling iron on.” Liz paused and swept her eyes over Marty. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Even now it’s difficult.”
“You wanted to know if the carpet matched the drapes.”
She soured. “Don’t make fun of me. I thought I could trust you to take me seriously.” When she moved to stand up, Marty grabbed her hand.
“I’m sorry. Tell me more, if you want.”
“After that night, I saw Breakable Goods twice a week until it closed. By the time the curtain fell for the final performance, I’d been driven by so much fantasy with the hope that your towel would magically fall away, that I had to find a grip on reality.” She fidgeted and her hand trembled.
Marty pushed Liz’s hair away from her cheek. “Would you like to go out for some air?”
“No, I’m okay.” She took a sip from the bottled water. “I never attended another show of yours, but I couldn’t get away from you. For the next twenty years, I saw your likeness on billboards, buses, and painted onto the sides of buildings.” She gave a nervous laugh. “They were striking glam shots, but when you appeared at the bagel shop, with your hair in disarray and a sweaty upper lip, you looked even more wonderful. I damn near fell out of my chair when you introduced yourself.”
“I couldn’t miss the opportunity of meeting you.”
“Imagine my surprise. I was breathless that you knew who I was, and it’s nearly inconceivable that I’m sitting next to you on this stage.” Liz looked into Marty’s eyes. “I’ve seen you dressed in breathtaking theatrical costumes, but I like you just as much sitting here in your scruffy shorts and tank top. Your hair has frizzed from humidity, but the color is incredible. A little salt among all that pepper.”
“Nina mentioned I could use a little coloring.”
Liz placed her hand above Marty’s knee. “What a tease you were.” She looked down at her hand. “You’re all legs.” She moved her hand away.
“You don’t have to let go.” Marty placed Liz’s hand back on her leg. “After you saw my performance, is that when you wrote No Business, Show Business?” Liz nodded but kept her eyes on Marty’s leg. Sometimes her fingers moved against or pressed into the thigh. “Was Abby McNair your infatuation with me?”
Liz raised her head. “Infatuation?” Her voice was shaky. “Crazed and impassioned are better choices for words. Writing you as Abby was the only way I could have you.”
“After that book, Abby was your focus in every book.”
“She sure was. Twenty years ago, you were the young woman that left me and my hormones scattered in a field of debris. That’s my confession.”
Marty was speechless. When she’d made the comment, she hadn’t thought for a second that she was the cause of an unsettling breach in Liz’s sexuality. It saddened her, and the responsibility conflicted with the joy of now getting to know Liz.
“I was twenty-two then,” was all she could think to say.
“I’d just turned the same age.” She turned her hand and held tightly onto Marty’s.
“This is where I need a great line written for me.”
Her voice quivered. “Tell me your thoughts. Even if you’re angry. I’ve probably accomplished nothing, but—”
She placed a finger over Liz’s mouth and outlined her lips. “I don’t know what you expect for reaction, but these aren’t normal circumstances for either of us. I want to kiss you again. Right now.”
Liz blinked and parted her lips for a breath. “Just kiss me.”
A pop exploded inside Marty’s chest, and a current of heat sprang from the center of her breast. As their mouths neared, she closed her eyes. Supple, warm lips greeted her. Marty kissed tenderly when she could have easily bruised Liz.
She welcomed gentle bites and slow, short strokes of Liz’s tongue. When Liz’s tongue slipped between her lips, Marty sucked in a quick breath and pulled away from their kiss. She was still close enough that their lips touched; she wanted them to remain that close.
“It’s difficult not to continue.” Liz brushed her mouth along Marty’s. “Your lips feel wonderful. They’re smooth. So soft. I’ve had many daydreams about kissing you.”
Marty wondered if their kiss might have fulfilled a lifelong fantasy, one easily discarded after the first satisfying bite. The thought disturbed her. She wanted to know Liz and explore where their attraction would take them. She didn’t want to find herself inside a da
rk prop box.
Although their shared, hot breaths suggested more than a kiss should follow, Marty forced herself to back away. “I love how you kiss,” she said, still catching her breath. “It was nice in the dressing room, but tonight you felt different.”
“I let myself feel our kiss tonight. I’ve wanted you for so many years and now you know my secret.”
“I’m surprised and you give me a happy-tingle feeling everywhere, but I have to ask what you want from this.”
“I should have asked this sooner: Are you single? That’s the first thing I need to know.” A satisfied look came across Liz’s face when Marty nodded. “Then I’d like to see you in a more intimate setting and see where that leads us, if you’re interested.”
“We can talk about that. Liz, honestly, you’ve never been with another woman?”
“No. I’ve only been attracted to one woman and she’s sitting in front of me.”
The head of security walked onto the stage. “Sorry, Marty, but the guys are leaving, and I better hustle you two out for the evening.”
“We were just leaving,” she said, while he helped them to their feet. “Thanks for giving us a few minutes.”
When they were outside the Stanwyck, Marty looked at her watch. “It’s late. Are you ready to go home?”
“I’m too wired to go home. Can we walk and talk some more?”
“I’d like that.” She placed her arm around Liz’s waist and they walked toward the central lights of Broadway.
More people had gathered in the heated night air of Times Square, and the mimes played to their growing audience. From the perimeter, they watched the lean actors who were dressed in black tights. Red diamond eyes enhanced their white greasepaint faces, and the remainder of their bodies seemed all arms and legs, save for the fedoras atop their heads.
“They’re great.”
“They are.” Standing behind Liz, Marty held her loosely around her waist. “At the risk of my sounding vain, during your crazed and impassioned moments, did you ever Google me?”
“Once. When I saw your measurements listed on a Broadway database, I closed the window.” She pressed the left button of an imaginary computer mouse. “Click. Gone.”
Marty laughed. “Why did you X me?”
“When I read your numbers, I decided that the Internet was full of lies.”
“That’s probably a true statement in many cases.”
“Not in your case.”
Liz turned and placed her hands below Marty’s hips. She slid them upward and followed her figure. When she reached the sides of her breasts, Marty damned Cupid to hell. If she closed her eyes and opened them again, she’d expect to be surrounded by the sleazy bar or back alley scene, but she preferred better for them.
Internally, she became femme beyond femme and wished the show-stopping towel from Breakable Goods hung from her. In the middle of Times Square, among the swelter of a midsummer night and flicker of garish Broadway neon, she would fulfill Liz’s fantasy. The more she prolonged the thought of dropping the towel, the more she wanted to purr, nuzzle, and knead. Marty looked long into Liz’s eyes. Meow.
“You flow perfectly.”
Her smile nearly shot across Broadway. Against the damp night, her face turned hotter, and then Liz touched the space between Marty’s breasts.
“I want to curl up right here. It’s that deep.”
Marty removed the burrowing hand and pressed it against her collarbone. She was deep and flowing all right, but not in the context of cleavage and curves. “Why, I have half a mind to take you over my knee and spank you.”
A look of astonishment crossed Liz’s face. “Holy shit. That was hot.”
“Again with that?” She looked around them. “Why? What?”
“You used that southern accent in Breakable Goods. Did you do that deliberately, just now?”
Liz moved closer and emanated an unbelievable amount of body heat, even within the sweltering night. Yes, Marty had used the accent on purpose and, cued by Liz’s reaction, she consciously put the soft, southern drawl to further test. “My, my. With that look in your eyes, could I interest you in a personalized tour of Charleston? Perhaps a stroll through the French Quarter?”
Playfully, Liz pushed away. “You’re not fair. Remember me? I’m the one who nearly stalked you, but instead hid for twenty years and then had you dropped onto my lap, two hours before I signed my divorce papers. My God. Your sound sent me right into an ‘I want to fuck you now’ mode, and I never knew I possessed that mode until you walked onto the stage.” She shook her head. “Now that you’ve reminded me of it, don’t use that voice.”
Marty crossed her heart. “I promise I won’t use that accent.” At least she wouldn’t use the character’s voice tonight, but she’d retained the southern seed that had been planted.
“Thank you. I wouldn’t want to do something that I’d regret.”
“You’d regret making love to me?”
“No. I’d regret fucking you. I know I wouldn’t have the sense to stop and I’d wake up with the need to run so damn far away that I’d make sure I never saw you again.”
“Running would take away this complication in your new life. What stops you?”
Liz’s look penetrated Marty. “I’m afraid you’d never find me again.”
Cupid hadn’t stopped with his little heart nudges. She was thankful there was no song for this scene because her vibrato would be well out of control. “We can’t allow that, can we?”
Liz shook her head. “No. We can’t. Are you taking me seriously?”
“Yes, but in a matter of hours you’ve changed from ‘I’ll be a friend’ to someone who wants to ravage me beyond all recognition. I’m amazed, I’m amused, I’m flattered, I’m scared, but there’s a teensy part of me that wants to blush and say ‘Who? Li’l ol’ me?’ ”
“Thanks for not saying it with the accent.” Liz sat on the concrete, against the George M. Cohan statue that prefaced the seating area. She pulled Marty down with her. “I guess I did throw us together.”
“Yup,” Marty said and hugged her knees.
“Are you really scared?” Liz asked. Marty nodded and leaned back on her hands. “Why?”
“I just turned forty-two and I’m at a point in my life where I can have just about anything I can imagine. I can explore the Arctic, if that’s what I want. Tomorrow, I can insist that someone produce a revival of Gypsy and give me the coveted role of Rose, and they will, but I can live without those things.”
“What can’t you live without?”
“I want to wake up to a woman I love. I want the privilege of serving her breakfast in bed and then starting her bath water. I want to love her, fight with her, have her call me the biggest jerk she’d ever met, comfort her, and I want the knowledge that she feels the same way I do. Hell, I’d even clean her ears with Q-tips if she asked. Not exactly avant-garde, am I? What do you want, Liz?”
She ran her finger down the bridge of Marty’s nose. “I like you. I don’t know what we’re sitting in, on this grimy street, but I like being here with you. I still want to see where we end up.” She yawned.
Marty responded with a yawn, and she pointed down Broadway. “The Marriott Marquis is a few feet away. Let’s get a room. I think we’re tired enough to not screw this up tonight.”
*
After individual showers and then wearing thick hotel robes, it was time to call it a night. Their suite had two beds, and sleeping arrangements seemed obvious. She pulled back the blankets on the opposite bed, after Liz stretched on the king-size bed near the window.
“I agreed that we’re too tired to mess this up tonight,” Liz said. “I didn’t agree to not falling asleep in your arms. Now come over here.”
Marty slipped into Liz’s bed and their bodies fit easily together. They kissed lightly, twice, and said good night. Liz turned her back and moved Marty’s hand up to her breast. Marty closed her eyes and, with her hand gently surrounding her firm breas
t, was content to sleep.
“I think I’ve just hit the Broadway lottery,” Liz said.
It was a great night at the Marriott Marquis.
Chapter Five
Ten hours later, Marty arrived home. Her prior twenty-four hours were the most satisfying she’d had in years.
She'd picked up some fresh daisies from the local vendor and arranged them in a vase. Now it was time to call Nina and give her the gossip she wanted. Afterward, she’d change her clothes and then head over to Liz’s for the afternoon.
When she opened her phone to make a call, the battery was dead. She connected it to the recharger and then grabbed the house phone. The red message light blinked and she pushed PLAY. The voice was her manager.
“How do you feel about beginning rehearsal sooner? Call me.”
She dropped onto a chair. What did she think about it? She thought the idea was insane and she immediately returned his call.
“Hey. How are you?” he asked.
“Hi, Adam.” Her voice walked the fine line between cordial and sarcastic. “I’m not ready to begin rehearsal, that’s how I am. What does sooner mean? Tomorrow? The next day? You told me the end of September. My contract says the end of September. My body tells me the end of September. I’m tired. I have another five weeks before we begin and I’m taking the time off.”
“How about this? The contract for The Lawton Theater isn’t concrete. If you begin now, you can get the Stanwyck. The acoustics there love your voice.”
Shit. He may as well have handed her a million dollars in cash. The Stanwyck talked, but she waited to respond. He didn’t need to know she was a sucker for that theater.
“I know you love working there,” he said.
Bastard. “Adam, the Stanwyck is my baby, but this show isn’t fit for Broadway.”
“Obviously, the owners of the theater feel differently. You know how flexible they are. Didn’t anyone tell you Marty Jamison brings in the cash? What do you think?”