by Bobbi Marolt
Marty studied Liz. She looked comfortable in her happy face T-shirt tucked in perfectly, and Marty felt overdressed, but she smiled. She was the femme to Liz’s deliciously soft butch. Liz could wear flannel for all Marty cared.
“You’re wonderful with children.”
“I think we should go steady,” Liz suddenly blurted.
Marty laughed. “You mean, like, you give me a ring and I put yarn around it? That kind of going steady? High school stuff?”
Liz looked at her left hand and grimaced. “Are you telling me I have fat fingers?”
“No. They’re sleek, like the rest of you.”
“I want you to be my girlfriend. That probably sounds silly, but I like the feeling the thought gives me.”
Silly? Yes, going steady was silly. Marty was in her forties, well beyond the quaint charms and claims of puberty, but of course she wanted to wear Liz’s ring. The idea thrilled her so much that she might even consider playing spin the bottle. No, she’d definitely play spin the bottle with Liz.
“Tell me how the thought feels.”
“Like a cauldron of cuddly contentment.” She sipped her coffee and rolled her eyes. “My editor would probably have a field day with a description like that, but that’s how I feel.” She looked over at Marty and grinned. “How about it? Wanna be my girl?”
Marty hesitated. “I don’t know.” She looked around the table and under her napkin. “I don’t see a ring.”
Liz grabbed Marty’s hand and placed it on the table. She leaned down, inches away from Marty’s hand. “It’s naked, that’s for sure.” She drew a line over the spot where a ring might rest. “Let me see what I can do about that.”
“The diamond district isn’t too far away,” she suggested in jest.
“Champagne taste.” Liz pulled at her outdated T-shirt. “I’m a poor girl.” She took her other hand from her pocket and leaned close to the table again. Slowly, she pushed the cheap prop ring that she’d found on the street, onto Marty’s pinky.
“It’s perfect.” Marty adjusted the ring.
Liz sat up looking proud. “I scrubbed it cleaner than Johnson and Johnson, so don’t worry about that, and I won’t be upset if you don’t wear it. I just wanted to feel closer. I have to go away tomorrow. Knowing you’ll be here when I return makes leaving easier.”
Disappointment filled Marty. “Where are you going?”
“Phoenix. I have a family wedding to attend, and then I’m scheduled for a group of book signings on the west coast.”
“When will you return?”
“Two weeks, just in time to begin working with you.”
Marty looked down at her ring and then back at Liz. “I like the ring. I like that you want to be closer and I’ll miss you while you’re gone. I was hoping we could spend fun time together before we started arguing over dialogue.” She smiled.
“Unfortunately, that’s impossible, but I’ll call you when I can.” She placed money on the table. “Let’s go. I have to finish packing.”
*
Liz snapped the final suitcase and set the luggage near the door. She joined Marty on the sofa and cuddled against her.
“Look at us,” Liz said. “It wasn’t long ago that we sat here and you grilled me on my sexuality.”
“I’m glad I was persistent.” She pushed Liz’s hair away from her cheek.
“Me, too. Would you like any souvenirs from my journey?”
“No,” Marty said. “Just come home and fill the space inside of me again.” She pressed her lips onto Liz’s hand.
“Abby used that line in No Business.”
“I know.” She continued a slow pace of kisses up Liz’s arm.
“Stop.” She pulled her arm away.
Marty looked up. “What’s wrong? I’m feeling affectionate and I’ll miss you.”
Liz pulled Marty into her arms. “We can do better than sweet arm kisses. That stuff is for sappy romance novels.”
Liz’s lips—soft, rough, and soaking—sought every exposed portion of Marty’s neck and face. Her breasts were kissed through their covering fabric and Liz didn’t stop there. Down, lower, painfully slow, Liz’s mouth came to rest on Marty’s exposed knee. Liz pushed the skirt away and ran her tongue up Marty’s thigh. When she reached the hilt, she stopped. “Curls.” She nuzzled against the unexposed hair.
Marty groaned. “Don’t tease me. Touch me.”
Liz pushed Marty’s legs apart. She slid her hand up Marty’s thigh and stopped short. “Say please.”
“Please.” Marty whimpered and jumped when Liz’s fingers touched against the silk of her bikinis. She tingled beyond recognition and pressed against Liz’s hand. “Oh dear God. Please make love to me.”
Liz moved her hand away. “Soon. I don’t want us to be about the invasion of pants.”
“I get that. I really do, but do you have to be such a tease?”
“I could have not touched you.”
Marty released a deep breath. “I guess I know what I’ll be doing tonight.”
Liz’s eyes widened. “Tell me about it.”
“No.” She looked at her ring and then at Liz. “A ring and promises of tomorrow. Are you trying to make an honest woman of me?”
“I never thought you were dishonest. Will you really, uh, you know, tonight?”
Marty stood and smoothed her skirt. “No. I’ll wait for you.”
After a few more smothering kisses and a gentle hug good-bye, Marty went back to her apartment and snuggled into bed. She fell asleep, while remembering Liz and the children laughing and reading.
Chapter Eight
Two weeks passed slowly and quickly. Marty slept soundly on Monday night, knowing Liz would be home on a late flight. She would grab a few hours of sleep, and then they’d meet at the theater.
On Tuesday morning, Marty’s phone rang at seven o’clock and she sloppily grabbed the extension on her nightstand. “Hello,” she mumbled.
“Time to get up, sugar.”
“Why, Nina? Why are you calling me at this hour?”
“I’m looking out for you. Get up, get dressed, and I’ll meet you outside.”
“Why?”
“We’ll walk to the theater. It’s a hot morning and you’ll burn some calories. Brush your teeth, pack a change of clothes, and grab an apple. I’ll meet you outside in ten minutes.”
“I can’t eat fruit after I brush my teeth.”
“You’ll be thankful that you have that apple. Now get dressed.”
“But—”
“Nine and a half minutes,” Nina said and hung up.
Marty placed the phone on the cradle and sat up. She ran her hands through her hair and over her face. She rubbed her eyes. Liz flashed through her mind, and her mood elevated to that of full exhilaration. She sprang from her bed and followed Nina’s instructions to the word.
*
“I’m not all cruel,” Nina said on the stoop outside the apartment building. She handed her an iced coffee. “I know you need your caffeine.”
Grateful for the drink, she took a long swallow and then performed a lively dance down the steps. “Much better. Good morning, Nina,” she sang.
“Nice to see you’re bubbling after my rude awakening. That’s all I’ve got. Now tell me your news.”
“We haven’t walked twenty feet and already you want to know if I got lucky?”
“If you’d returned my call yesterday, I wouldn’t have to ask.”
She looped her arm with Nina’s and picked up the pace. “I was working at home all day. No, I didn’t get lucky, but we had a wonderful day.”
“From what I can tell, the woman has some serious like for you. She gets a high approval rating from me.”
Some serious like. Marty smiled in wonder. Her life had changed with a single glance through the window of a crowded bagel shop. It had been two years since she’d thrown her ex out for her final fling with infidelity, and no woman had caught her attention so quickly since then. Thinking b
ack, Marty had never felt anticipation for anyone, the way she felt it for Liz.
“Nina, do you believe in love at first sight?”
“Me?” Nina took time to think about her answer. “For me? No. It takes a long time for someone to stick in my craw.”
Marty laughed. “You make love sound wonderfully romantic.”
“I’m too coarse to do the gushy thing. Is that what Liz is for you? Love at first sight?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I can only say she makes me go ‘oh yeah’ inside.”
“It sounds like fun,” Nina said.
“Fun? I’m reveling on the greatest human emotion and it reduces to fun for you?”
“Yes. Fun for you and fun for Liz.”
Perhaps it was that simple. “It is fun. I’m crazy about her.”
With their brisk pace, they soon arrived at the corner of 38th Street. They gathered with others at the crosswalk and waited for the dotted red hand of the crosswalk signal to turn white. Marty looked across the avenue and noticed Liz walking the final steps to the entrance of Bank of America. She wanted to flag her down, but thought better of making a spectacle of herself and embarrassing Nina. She’d see her soon enough at the theater. Just as the light turned white, she looked over her shoulder and back at the bank. A tall man greeted Liz with a kiss to her cheek and they entered the bank.
“Let’s go,” Nina said and pulled her along by her arm.
A twinge jabbed Marty’s stomach. It signaled fear. Her gut reaction instantly shrouded her with the same feeling of inadequacy she’d experienced when she caught Rachel with another woman. She took a deep breath and refused to get crazy over a woman she’d just met. A few kisses do not a girlfriend make. She looked at the ring on her pinky. It’s not like they had professed undying love. Aside from that, Liz had friends and family. Maybe she was kissed by a friend.
Marty beat her feet on the pavement a little heavier. Her confidence had diminished when she caught Rachel cheating on her, but that was two years ago. How does self-confidence suddenly hurl itself under a bus—again?
“Do you think Liz could be using me?”
“That’s always a possibility, especially in your line of work, but I have good character judgment. I doubt she’s anything less than the real deal.”
When they approached the theater, the sight of the building threw her into a better frame of mind. The Stanwyck waited patiently for her. Nina pointed to the marquee and read. “Marty Jamison, Opening Soon. There’s a vague marquee, if I ever saw one. No title to the show?”
“Not yet.” She wrapped her arms around a pillar and squealed. “Hello, gorgeous.”
“You’re crazy.” Nina shook her head and walked toward the entrance. “Let’s go. You have plenty of time to shower and get dressed.”
Marty kissed the pillar and followed Nina to the dressing room. “There’s no romance to you, Nina.”
After a refreshing quick shower, she reentered the dressing room. Liz greeted her with a smile, and any feeling of inadequacy had run its course through Marty.
“Hello.” She gave Liz a bouncy squeeze. “I am so glad you’re home.”
“You’re in fine spirits. Now kiss me, or I’ll—”
Her lips quickly landed on Liz's mouth. No less invigorating than it was on any other occasion, there was promise in their kiss. Then Marty felt guilt.
“Wow,” Liz said when Marty pulled away. “Did someone turn off the kiss switch?”
“I did. I have to tell you something, and I feel like crap about it, but you can clear things up for me.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Here’s an injection of honesty for you. On my way here, I saw you outside Bank of America and you walked inside with a man. When he kissed your cheek, I felt…I don’t know. Left out, I guess. Are you seeing someone else?” Marty watched an additional self-confidence point fly out the window.
“No. He was my ex-husband. Paul and I still have some matters to take care of and money is one aspect.”
Now she felt worse than crap. “I’m sorry. You did say your divorce was amicable.”
“Yes, I did, and you told me you were over your girlfriend.” She sat and pulled Marty down with her. Liz rested her arm on the back of the sofa and let her hand rest on Marty’s shoulder. “What’s happened with that?”
“I am over her.”
“But you’ve not shaken the jealousy.”
“It’s not jealousy. I doubt I’d ever feel that about a man. It’s more than that. I’m trying to trust a stranger.”
Liz moved her hand from Marty’s shoulder to the sofa. “I’m a stranger now?”
“No, I don’t think of you as one, but you are, technically. I’m opening my life to you because I want you here. I want to trust you. Maybe I jumped the gun with you.”
“Regrets?” Liz asked. “Are you giving me the heave-ho?”
“No. God, no. No way do I want that. I saw you with him. I worried that maybe you were seeing someone and what’s wrong with that? You don’t owe me anything.”
“True. I don’t owe you anything.” Liz’s hand was gentle on Marty’s shoulder again. “Relax. You’re babbling and you don’t play martyr well.”
“Then stop me.”
“Okay, listen to me. I like you, Marty, and I want more of you. I don’t know how far we’ll get, but I swear no person will come before you. My affection is yours. What’s more, and maybe this’ll make you shake in your pretty silk drawers, what’s more is I hope liking you turns into loving you. It’s that simple for me, with you. Simple and semper fidelis.”
Marty didn’t respond right away. In her heart, she believed Liz. She believed everything about her. Maybe that’s why she concerned herself with the lack of a conventional timeline. She understood what had been common to her: meet the woman, date the woman, kiss the woman, know the woman, and then maybe sleep with the woman. All her life she’d restricted herself to those familiar dance steps. That control wasn’t so when Liz's heavy kissing binge had knocked nearly all practicality out of Marty. Thankfully, they controlled impulses that would have turned kisses into a satiated night of hot and wet.
Stripped of the limitations of a graduated timeline, Marty felt dropped into the quick pace of a romantic musical. With a few lines of dialogue, their show moved forward. A timeline was a kind of script, in the end. Wasn’t it? Scripts were constantly changed.
Liz turned and leaned against Marty. She loved her scent. She buried her nose against her hair and then nipped at her ear. When Liz sighed, Marty suddenly had to squelch her desire to stand up and belt a heart-pounding, sappy ballad to explain the current scene.
“No response?” Liz asked. “You know, I could have worded that speech differently. I could have said ‘get your head out of your ass and let me care for you, you damn fool.’ Would that have worked?”
“That would have worked a lot quicker. Turn around.” Liz shifted again in Marty’s arms. “I want to trust you, and I welcome thoughts of maybe falling in love with you. Would you now kiss this fool?”
“So demanding.”
Before their lips touched, Nina entered the room.
“Oops,” Nina said. “I hate busting in on your rendezvous, but the production team is waiting for you two.”
Liz moved away. “Let’s go make your star shine.” They followed Nina to the stage.
A table was set up at center stage and there sat Clive—the director, and Marty’s frequent understudy—Allison, and no one else. There was no producer, no musical director, no choreographer, and no chorus line. Their setup looked more like an interrogation than the makings of a Broadway show. Marty couldn’t help but laugh. Her show was a long way from opening night.
She touched his shoulder. “Hey, Clive. It’s been a couple of years for us.”
“Glad to work with you again,” Clive said. “Pull up a chair.”
Marty then kissed Allison’s cheek. “It’s good to see you, Allison.”
“Likewise
,” Allison said and opened her script.
She introduced Liz and sat beside her. “Well,” she said and stretched her legs. She loosely folded her arms on the table. “Does anyone know who the hell bought this property and decided to sucker me into signing? Not to mention, I don’t see a producer sitting here.”
“It’s my understanding that a temporary producer will arrive today or tomorrow,” Clive said.
“A temporary producer? Is that like a little bit pregnant?” Allison asked.
Clive shuffled through some papers. “I think I have the owners’ and producers’ names here.”
Marty looked at him. “Good. I have so much respect for you that I should have your children. I’d like you to tell me why you signed on to this show.”
Clive looked up from his papers. “It’s a funny story. It won’t be easy for you, but I see a Tony with your name on it.”
“Uh-huh. We shouldn’t be on Broadway. We should be in Poughkeepsie or Hartford. Hell, even they’re too good for this play.”
Clive smiled. “Whatever house we play to, you’ll be queen. If you speak it, they will come.” Marty groaned. “My reputation is at stake, too. We have some great stuff here and all of us will work with Liz to make the rest of it great. We’re on your side.”
“You say that like we’re a full company.” She sat up and looked at each person. At least she trusted them. Bert, the stage manager for her previous show, wandered out from the wing.
“Hey, Jamison.” He nudged her arm. “Ladies,” he said to the other women. He nodded to Clive. “I’m on loan from the St. James while they renovate. So what do we have here? This is the Chandler show. Right?”
Marty looked at Liz. “Chandler? How odd is that?”
“That’s the name,” Clive said. He scanned a page with his finger and stopped. “Right. Paul Chandler. Dr. and Mrs. Paul Chandler.”