Frosting on the Cake

by Karin Kallmaker

  I loved this room as I loved its mate in Chicago. We were just Faith and Sydney here and it was where we loved one another. It was a part of her, not a faÇade.

  All I have ever wanted was for her to be happy. It was easy to think so when I had never dreamed some day she might stop loving me.

  A door slammed somewhere else in the house. It was only four-thirty. Knowing it was probably not her, I still felt slightly faint with hope that it was.

  “Faith? Darling, where are you?”

  I stood trembling in the doorway between our bedroom and our hideaway from the world, unable to speak.

  She burst into the bedroom, dropping her heavy briefcase and other paraphernalia along the way. “There you are! God!”

  Her embrace was at once hungry and arousing. “I have a dinner meeting, but I couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing you for another minute,” she breathed against my cheek. Her hands were pulling my shirt out of my slacks. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  I mewled against her mouth, wanting her with a painful ache. We hardly made it to the bed before she was inside me, her fingers deep and sure, her breath coming in gasps as I clung to her shoulders with one arm and used my other hand to stroke her face, her breasts, her stomach. My own need slaked by her insistent attention, I took what I wanted most from her. The silk of her thighs drew me into the inflamed taste of her. She tangled her wet fingers into my hair and held me there, her body taut with pleasure and anticipation. In the next moment she was limp and her hand dropped back to the sheets. The only muscles in her body that moved were those that clutched at my fingers and tongue. We were suspended in the moment, when all that mattered were the sensations we shared where our bodies fused.

  Her breathing was shallow and fast. I was utterly focused on the next transformation, when the rest of her body caught up to the pleasure. It happened quickly. She was a sensuous river of motion, asking for more. Her hands were back in my hair and I didn’t want it to end yet. I kept her on the edge as long as my own shuddering desire could manage, then we were soaring and falling, both crying. I rested my head on her thigh and let my fingers tell me what she wanted.

  “Faith, oh God, Faith…”

  All I have ever wanted was for her to be happy. Her hips shifted and I stayed inside her where she wanted me.

  “You have a meeting, don’t you?” I could hardly find the strength to speak. How long, I wondered, until she realized that I was not the one who made her this aroused, this fevered? I should have cared, but right then I did not. All I could think about was how she made me feel. I wanted that forever.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I don’t want to go.” Her lips were at my throat as we lay tangled in the sheets.

  It was bittersweet to hear. I wanted her to stay, not to be able to leave me. But she never had trouble leaving me before when her work called. This day I could not help but wonder at the cause of her extreme desire for me, and her unprecedented readiness when she pulled me into her arms. Even at the first, she had not been like this. “Then stay,” I said selfishly. It was a test and either way I lost.

  She did stay, her mouth finding me still slick and eager. I lay gasping for breath when she had finished, and I let her go, then. She showered quickly and donned fresh clothes.

  “I probably won’t be home until two A.M., perhaps later. Then I have a breakfast meeting at six-thirty and I’m hoping to have a staff meeting before that. Some of my poor staffers are sleeping at the office.”

  “It’ll be a tough twenty-four hours.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Her gaze swept over my sheet-covered body. Her mouth quirked in a suggestive smile. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  She was almost at the door, all her papers back in hand, when she pirouetted to face me. “Come here for a moment,” she said softly.

  Aware of my nakedness and her devouring gaze on me, I went to her for a last kiss. Her briefcase slipped out of her grasp and we broke apart at the resounding thud.

  “Damn,” she said, not referring to the fallen case. “I have to go. I really do.”

  “I understand.” I had always understood the limits of her time. I didn’t want to understand why, after five years, she could not get her fill of me.

  Fear that I was losing her had an unexpected effect on me. Sadness—I had anticipated that. Jealousy, too, was no stranger. She slept next to me for three exhausted hours early Saturday morning. Her alarm woke me as well, then her casual hand on my back instantly aroused me.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she murmured, still drowsy. “Me too,” was all I could say without betraying that I was a mess of physical desire. She was out of bed a moment later for a shower.

  “Don’t you need a shower, too,” she called, her head covered in suds.

  I stood there with my toothbrush in hand, swamped by the memory of the first time we had really been together, in a San Francisco hotel. She’d joined me in the shower, still dressed.

  The shower door swung open. “Come on in, the water’s fine.”

  She had a meeting and she was going to be late. I let my robe fall to the floor and joined her under the soapy spray. “This is an efficient use of time.”

  “Mmm,” she agreed. She shampooed my hair and kissed my upturned face. I shivered despite the hot water, and she kissed my mouth this time. I could not help the sounds I made. When her hand searched between my legs she drew back in surprise at my wetness, then pushed forward, pressing me to the cold, damp wall with her body. I was open for her, absolutely unable to hide my panting need.

  She groaned, loud in my ear. “After yesterday, I didn’t think you would—”

  “More,” I whimpered. My feet were slipping but she held me there, answering the sharp jerks of my hips.

  I had never been like this, either, not even at the very first when the thought of her crumbled the lies I’d told myself about not wanting women. I was pleading with her when there was no need. I begged even when it was clear she would give me what I desired. I used words that had never been easy for me. Her breathy answers were lost in the roar in my ears.

  “I didn’t want to seem like an animal,” she said much later, when I was finally able to stand on my own. “I thought I’d have to convince you to let me do that again.”

  “I seem to be…in the mood.” How could I say that part of me was thinking that every time might be the last? Sydney would break with me before she began anything with Alitza. I stood there with the memory of her inside me still sending shivers down my legs and I realized that I had not considered how Sydney would leave me, logistically. Her life was too public and too complicated for her to simply break with me and take up with Alitza.

  There was a time in her distant past when she had been, in her unsparing words, a drunk and a slut. Her drinking had nearly killed her and her epic promiscuity with other women had distanced her from her otherwise loving family. Since gaining hard-won sobriety, she had held herself in rigorous check, never compromising the moral code she continued to live by. When she fell in love with me she was on the verge of running for her senate seat. She promised her supporters that she had no secrets for the press to discover, and that she would not flaunt an affair in front of a wary electorate. She had kept that promise by marrying me, as publicly and legally as a same-sex couple could.

  Perhaps that was why she was unaware of her growing attraction to Alitza. Perhaps that was why she channeled that unrecognized need into passion with me. The cost of leaving me, for her own happiness, was very high, and in the kind of coin her personal wealth didn’t cover.

  I considered this, the specter of Alitza in my mind, as I stumbled onto the molded seat and drew her down to straddle my lap. Kisses wet with shower spray made me feel as if I was on fire from within. She rocked against me, silent and focused on my touch.

  “I love you,” I gasped.

  “Faith…Faith…Faith…”

  I didn’t see her again for almost twenty-four hours. The frenzy at the stateh
ouse in the final hours before the recess was even on the news. Sometime after midnight, I cuddled up in one of the too-comfortable oversized chairs and watched Casablanca. It turned out to be a poor choice because I could not decide which part I was playing. I had thought I was Bogart, ready to give up the woman I loved for the good of her life. But I considered that even if Sydney realized how she felt about Alitza she might not ever act on it. That made me Paul Henreid, accepting the continued fidelity of a woman who loved another. I only wanted her to be happy. It had not occurred to me that her happiness was such a complicated question. I did not know what she would do and what I could bear to accept.

  I thought of her against me in the shower and told myself that I had no reason other than a few glances and a laugh to think that Sydney was indeed falling in love with someone else. I scolded myself that it was all in my head and fell asleep as Ingrid’s plane taxied down the runway.

  I woke up with a crick in my neck and the feel of Sydney’s lips on mine.

  “I’m sorry to wake you,” she said, “but you seemed so uncomfortable.”

  I struggled upright. “You look absolutely exhausted.”

  “I feel worse than that. I was so looking forward to spending a lazy Sunday with you, now that everything calms down for a few weeks, but all I want to do is sleep.”

  “Go to bed, then,” I said. “We’ll do something tonight. Maybe just eat popcorn and watch movies downstairs on the big TV”

  “I like it better up here,” she said, after a prolonged yawn. The home theater downstairs had been primarily used for Bulls’ playoff parties and the State of the Union address.

  “Did everything go as you wanted?”

  Her smile was instantaneous. “Some things got stalled in committee and died there that I wish hadn’t. But the child welfare bill made it out of conference in time to be on the floor schedule after recess.”

  “Congratulations,” I said heartily. “All your hard work ain’t been in vain for nothing.”

  She dropped into the chair across from me. “Lena Lamont from Singin’ in the Rain,”she said, having caught my reference. “Actually, the way it happened was pretty funny. The speaker’s desk was getting buried and it was pretty clear that some of the business on it was never going to surface before midnight.” She shook her head for a moment, clearly annoyed. “It’s no way to run a railroad, you know? Seven months to get the work done and there were hundreds of bills being lined up. At least Litzy and I never let our bill sit—it was the committee chairs who blockaded everything.”

  Litzy. Not even Alitza anymore. “I have to admit as a taxpayer, I’m appalled at what they described on the news.”

  “It’s so dysfunctional I wonder why I do it.”

  “I don’t. It’s in your blood, I think.”

  She smiled tiredly, but her eyes were sparkling. “Anyway, the desk is deep in paper and it was getting closer to midnight. Our bill was on the bottom because we’d gotten it in early in the day. So Litzy grabs another copy as the speaker was distracted and it was like watching Sheryl Swoops doing a layup—she literally slammed the new copy on top of the stack from the floor. She’s five-seven and the top of the stack was at least seven feet. People were laughing and when the speaker turned around he picked it up because it was right on top and brought it onto the floor for recording during the recess. It was…an amazing moment in an insane day.”

  Her velvet eyes were bright with amusement and her lips curved in the smile that had first made me uneasy. Litzy.

  Where did her happiness lie? What could I do to help her? I didn’t know, couldn’t know.

  She was just about to fall asleep, though. That much I could help with.

  “Stop that,” I said firmly.

  Her head jerked up.

  “Go to bed and get some proper rest.”

  She nodded agreement and went back to the bedroom. I followed after to gather some fresh clothing for myself so I wouldn’t disturb her later. The sun was just peeking through the blinds.

  She was stretched on her side of the bed. I was almost through the door to the sanctum when she stirred. “Don’t I get a goodnight kiss at least?”

  Her mouth was warm and eager. I tried to extricate myself only because she needed her sleep. “Night-night.”

  “Uh-uh. Not yet.” Another kiss, this time leaving me dizzy “You’re not the only one in a mood.”

  Stunned by how wet she was, I felt selfish in my enjoyment of it. Did it matter what stirred her passion if she shared it only with me? I wanted her to be happy—why did that have to be with someone else? I wouldn’t be jealous of a fantasy. How could I be jealous of something Sydney wasn’t even consciously doing?

  Her climax left me gasping, close to my own. Her mouth… her fingers, I came so quickly she didn’t seem to realize it and I eagerly accepted her continued caresses. We had never been like this, even at the first.

  Later, her sleep was deep and restful. For a long time I watched her eyelids flutter as she dreamed.

  Jacob’s voice seemed to come from far away. “Senator, I’m sorry to disturb you. Senator Malm is here to see you.”

  Sydney raised her mouth from mine and cleared her throat. “Litzy? Yes, um, tell her to come up.”

  I hurriedly pulled down my shirt as Sydney straightened her clothes. Sydney had slept until nearly three in the afternoon, then devoured the late lunch Jacob provided. We’d talked about family news and my latest book for hours as we shared the Sunday Tribune. My suspicions and worries about Alitza had faded since her desire to reconnect with what was happening in my world was obvious.

  After dinner, we settled down to watch an old favorite, What’s Up Doc. Streisand’s musical comment that a kiss was just a kiss made Sydney suggest we see for ourselves. The kiss had led to her hands under my clothes and an undeniable realization between us that we were ready yet again—to go to bed.

  Jacob’s voice on the intercom interrupted her mouth’s almost bruising exploration of my earlobes and jaw. My intention had been for us to retire to the bedroom the moment I caught my breath.

  Sydney seemed slightly annoyed. “We promised no work today, so I can’t imagine what she wants.”

  She left to greet Alitza in the hallway and escort her through the thankfully tidy bedroom. I braced myself to watch Sydney with her, again, and a deeply felt prayer resounded within me, a prayer that I would see nothing because there was nothing to see.

  Alitza halted just inside the door, obviously surprised by the sight of me. “I’m so sorry—can you tell I’m single? I completely forgot you have a life, Syd.” We murmured appropriate pleasantries to each other.

  “We were just watching a movie,” Sydney said, with an indulgent smile. “What’s up?”

  “Just this. The final print copy was delivered as I left tonight—”

  “You said you were taking the day off, like I did.”

  “I lied,” she said glibly. “So sue me. Anyway, I thought you would want to see it.”

  Sydney took the thickly bound newsprint pages, according them some reverence. “It’s hard to believe that all those hours came down to this.”

  She handed the tome to me. It was her conference committee bill, the product of an entire legislative year’s negotiations. “How wonderful,” I said, meaning it. “Something substantive after all.”

  “Thanks, Litzy. I almost want to frame it. I was trying to describe your layup last night to Faith. I don’t think I did you justice.” Sydney was gazing at Alitza with her deep brown eyes, her velvet eyes, a look I remembered so well when I had been trying hard not to fall in love with her.

  “I played college b-ball,” Alitza explained to me. “It was nice to find that I still had the moves.”

  I asked about her college career, all the while watching Sydney’s eyes. They varied between shadowed and bright, and as the next few minutes went by there was hunger dwelling in them, as present when she looked at Alitza as when her gaze would shift to me. She offered Alitza
something from the small icebox hidden in the entertainment center. Returning with a diet soda, she met my gaze over Alitza’s head. It was a look so hungry that for a moment I could not breathe.

  Alitza seemed unaware of the undercurrent I could feel emanating from Sydney. She sipped the soda and talked only a little bit of shop, then skillfully drew me out on my own work. “I only recently realized who you were,” she said, sounding chagrined. “I’d even read two of your books, but never connected that you were also Sydney’s Faith. I loved Eleanor, by the way. It wasn’t hard to see your inspiration.”

  It was then that Alitza looked up at Sydney with her feelings plain on her face, an unconsciously offered intimacy. I knew abruptly that Sydney read it as part hero worship and put her own feelings—emotions that swam unveiled in her own eyes— in that category. The two of them deeply admired each other, and had found surprising support and encouragement in spite of their conflicting party affiliations. But there was more than that. I felt it. Neither of them yet seemed aware of it, but it was only a matter of time.

  Alitza left soon after. “I know you’ve got more pleasant things to do than rehash the last year,” she said to Sydney. “We can always do that Wednesday night.”

  I looked a question at Sydney and she explained. “I’m hosting a thank-you party for the conference committee members. I hope we’ll be able to continue the bipartisan feeling even though our work is done.”

  I nodded, understanding it as part of Sydney’s dream of building cross-aisle relationships as a way to conquer the legislative logjams that helped no one.

  “My apologies again for dropping by without warning,” Alitza said to me. “If I’d realized you were down from Chicago I’d have left it for tomorrow. I should know how short time is for relationships—that’s why I don’t have one.” Sydney had told me Alitza was divorced, having left an abusive husband almost a decade earlier. I had no idea if she’d also left heterosexuality behind. I only knew that the way she looked at Sydney was beyond intellectual.