by Lee Lynch
“You don’t think she’d really—” Elly asked. She shook her head as if seeing a vision too horrible to face. “No. Dusty can’t get up there without a key anyway.”
“You’ve just told us what Dusty’s acting like,” Annie said. “If I were you I wouldn’t put anything past her.”
“She’s not drunk,” insisted Maddy with simple faith. “Dusty told me she’d never do that again.”
“I think you’re right, Mad,” said Annie, half out the door, “but she shouldn’t be alone now.” She turned to Chantal. “Shall I run you back to your car?”
Chantal, one hip thrust forward, looking taller than usual, finished retying the black chiffon scarf around her neck. “I hate to sound like we’re in a movie, but, Annie, I’m comin’ with you.”
They were nearly silent as she maneuvered the Grape under the highway and over railroad crossings, rushing between ghosts of factories set along trolley tracks so ancient the narrow cobblestone streets had swallowed them almost entirely.
Chantal interrupted the silence once as Annie braked for a stop light, then rolled through the red. “I’m glad to see you have gumption when it comes to other people’s battles, anyway.”
Annie scowled, then sputtered, “I know what to do here, Chantal. It’s a little harder to mount a defense against mass hatred.”
Cooper Rivets was next to the river. The bottom floor was a custom lamp factory on one side and outlet shop on the other. There was a light on in the second floor windows, but the street was otherwise dark and deserted except for Verne’s old MG.
She killed the Saab’s engine and took off her glasses.
“You look like a philosopher in those,” Chantal whispered, tapping an edge of the frames.
Annie whispered back, “I hope that’s a compliment.” She got out, warily, listening.
“Anything?” asked Chantal, halfway out of the car.
“Music. Sounds like Verne’s playing opera loud enough to serenade the river ducks.”
“Would Dusty park out of sight so she could—”
“Never. With Dusty, if she’s mad enough to fight she’s going to barge in and do it. She’s no sneak.” They watched Verne’s windows. “Geez, I hate this. Why can’t we just grow up? The grass is never greener on the other side. It’s all got weeds.”
“Maybe she’s come and gone already.”
They walked toward the next corner. Annie chortled. “To tell you the truth, I can’t picture anything better than good old street-fightin’ Dusty scaring the butch-gel out of Verne’s hair.”
“Sugar!”
“It’s true. I know she’s no saint, devoting all her energy to the business. Elly’s just as much to blame, fawning on Verne. But Verne is the worm in the apple, the snake in the grass, the dirty dog—”
“The slime bucket!”
“The beetle-headed, flap-eared knave! Shakespeare said that.”
“The two-timing double-dealing sidewinder! I always wanted to call someone that.”
“The wolf in sheep’s clothing!”
“Good one, Sugar! Lecher! Swine!”
Annie paused at the corner and looked up and down the street. “Still no old Dodge Swinger.”
“Know anyone who drives a Prelude?” Chantal asked.
They walked closer. She squinted. “Speaking of swine. PBPIG,” she read.
“PBPIG? Does that mean anything to you?”
“Pot-bellied pig. Jo Barker’s car.” Annie felt stunned. “What would Jo be doing with Verne?”
Chantal gave her a disgusted look.
“Oh,” said Annie. “But Verne’s too out for Jo.”
“From what I hear, that art teacher is so outrageous she crosses into a safe zone.”
“That would explain a lot. And you know what?” She told Chantal about Verne meeting Jo outside the bank. “It’s so obvious. Jo’s got a line on a lot of funding sources in this valley. This Verne would naturally cultivate a woman like that. And would be willing to keep a low profile—for profit.”
Chantal took her arm. “I’m sorry, Annie.”
“Actually, it’s good news,” she said, ignoring the wail of disappointment inside. “Elly really wasn’t with Verne tonight.”
Chantal looked at her and asked, “You think the three of them are up there?”
Annie shrugged. “I guess I better go up just to be sure Dusty’s not. But it feels even more awkward now.”
“There’s no one else Jo could be visiting?”
“You heard Maddy. Verne converted this for herself.”
“The neighborhood is creepy.”
“You’re welcome to lock yourself in the car.”
Chantal looked up and down the street, laughed nervously, then stood tall again, those light blue eyes darker with worry.
“Cece would call you my lily white knight. I feel safer with you.”
She checked Chantal’s shadowed face. The woman was absolutely sincere. “No one ever said that to me before. I like it.” She took Chantal’s small hand and they marched to the double door together. Annie pulled at it. “Locked.”
“Just like Elly said it would be,” Chantal whispered. “Dusty could have come and given up.”
“Could have.”
Chantal looked upward. “What’s Verne like?”
She almost laughed aloud at the wave of anger that rushed over her. “Pretty obnoxious. The Goddess’ gift to women. A beetle-headed, flap-eared knave.”
“All too common in these parts,” Chantal commented. “What does Elly see in her?”
“Elly has real talent. Verne’s given her all sorts of strokes for her drawing. Plus Verne’s from out of town, sort of glamorous, and I’d say she’s stirred up Elly’s yen for excitement after years of slaving away at the diner and being settled down. Voila, you have an affair—or a flirtation—waiting to happen.”
“And Verne?”
“Doesn’t look to me like the type to turn down any reasonable offer.”
“Too bad I didn’t meet Verne first,” teased Chantal, batting her eyelashes. Annie dropped Chantal’s hand and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Because I’m so gorgeous—and single, and available—and single,” explained Chantal, grabbing Annie’s hand again.
“You’re too smart for someone like that weasel. Elly’s just in a place where she’s susceptible.”
“Are you this understanding about your own lovers’ roving eyes?”
They’d been standing in the open, Annie half-listening for the sound of a car approaching. It started to drizzle. She pulled Chantal under the lamp shop’s awning. The window was lit by a lamp with a red and yellow Tiffany-style shade that lent a living-room coziness to the dank night. “Do you have a personal stake in my answer?” she teased, not taking her hand away, wondering if she was playing with the right woman this time.
Chantal stepped closer. “I might.”
Their faces were close enough for a kiss, but Annie froze.
“Chantal,” she said.
“Ooh, you never said my name like that before.”
Annie pitched her voice lower. Her heart was doing that wonderful pounding thing it did when she was really into someone. “Chantal.” Their eyes kissed, but Annie pulled back. She heard an unmuffled car revving nearby. “This isn’t safe.”
Chantal stepped back too. She bit her lower lip, eyes still fastened on Annie’s. The cloak of seduction that had surrounded them dissipated. “Damn,” said Chantal. “I really found a good woman this time, didn’t I? I had every intention of being the responsible one if this ever happened to me again, and then—I forgot. Isn’t that ridiculous? I tell Ralph not to be irresponsible, but do I stay cool in the heat of the moment? Hell, no.”
Annie was confused. “Oh,” she said, “you mean AIDS.”
“Isn’t that—?”
“I hadn’t even got that far yet.” Noticing the embarrassment on Chantal’s face, she added, “but I was headed in that direction. I was thinking more about social risks than health ri
sks.”
“Oh, those little things.”
“You want to go talk in the car? Hang around in case Dusty shows up?”
Chantal looked thoughtful. “Have you considered calling Dusty at home to see if she’s there?”
Annie shoved her hands in her pockets and looked to the sky with exasperation. “Crap! Why didn’t I think of that? Better still, let’s run over there.” She took Chantal’s arm. “We’ll come back if she’s not home, okay?”
“Sugar, I can’t imagine a better way to spend the first evening with my white knight than rescuing a dyke in distress. Can you?”
They laughed as they hurried through the drizzle to the car. Annie opened the door for Chantal, then looked up at the loft and listened. “I still hear the opera,” she reported before she raced around the car. “And that was definitely Verne’s punk-haired silhouette crossing the window just now.”
“At least she’s alive,” Chantal said, raising an index finger. “One crisis down.”
“And I need something to help me face the next one.” Annie got the heater and an old Marian McPartland piano tape going, leaned across the stick shift and pulled Chantal to her. “I think hugging is considered safe on every level.” She slipped her arms around Chantal’s shoulders, aware of a breadth of softness under the gold sweater. It was a shock to feel the difference from the slenderness of Marie-Christine and Jo. A pleasant shock, like settling into bed after a hard day’s work. They touched cheeks and she smelled Chantal’s natural scent, something faintly peanut-buttery. “I like it that you don’t drench yourself in perfume. The stuff makes me sneeze.”
“My last girlfriend wore Brut by the quart. It cured me forever.”
Annie shifted to ease a cramp in her thigh. “I’m getting too old for awkward positions,” she said, “but I’d do it all night if I weren’t so worried about Dusty.”
“Giddy up then.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She was disgusted with herself. Here she was, drummed out of a job, the woman she’d been dating possibly stolen away by a creep, ready for the whole town to tar and feather her, and she was cozying up to the first nice woman to come along. She tried to feel miserable, but she loved retracing her cobbled way through the dark, nearly-empty, rain-polished streets, heart racing to the romance of “You and the Night and the Music.” She loved speeding off on a new adventure, though she’d rather Dusty’s heart wasn’t at stake.
Chantal’s quiet voice sounded studiously casual. “So, have you been tested?”
“Yes, I was fine. That was one reason we split, Marie-Christine and me. I wanted to keep it that way. And,” she said, uncertain of the proper etiquette, “the woman I’ve been seeing?”
“Yes?” responded Chantal with a hint of mockery.
“There’s nothing to worry about there.”
“I see. I was afraid to get it done in Morton River. Getting tested is proof of guilt around here. So I went to the Upton health department.”
“Morton River isn’t exactly dyke paradise, is it?”
“You expected that?”
“No. But everybody seemed so happy here.”
“Compared to what?” asked Chantal. “Connecticut is pretty liberal, but these crazies that want to change the laws, the newspapers say they’re cropping up everywhere.”
“That’s what my ex said about Oregon. When I visited a few months ago, she begged me to bring the message back that it can happen here. And she was right.”
“Another ex?”
“Vicky. I guess you’d call her my great love. But, you know how it is, our paths diverged.”
“You have been around the block, haven’t you, Sugar?”
Annie, giving her a sly grin, revved the Grape and sped completely around a block.
“You’re a trip, Annie Heaphy!” Chantal said, holding onto the roof strap as they careened onto Main Street.
“Don’t worry,” Chantal assured her. “I’ve got settings other than full speed ahead, but it’s hard—I’ve never had more energy. The kids are gone and there’s no man to make demands on me. Coming out’s been like a tonic, though I’ve been without so long maybe I’m not susceptible anymore,” Chantal teased, running a finger along Annie’s arm.
Annie got goose bumps and stalled the car at a traffic light. “You are one helluva sexy lady, lady.”
“It’s all stored up for somebody like you, Sugar. I don’t mind waiting.” Chantal squeezed Annie’s thigh, high up. “And by the way, I’m negative.”
Chapter Ten
The Saab splashed onto Puddle Street. Dusty’s was the only light still burning in this old residential section just the other side of town. She turned off the car and sought Chantal’s startling eyes. They seemed to glow in the dark, right along with her mischievous little smile.
“So do I get that kiss?” Chantal asked.
Annie was all shaky inside, but managed to run a finger slowly along Chantal’s jaw. “I thought you liked anticipation.”
“Maybe I like a little anticipation.”
“Can’t you handle it?”
“Sugar,” said Chantal, massaging Annie’s upper arms with deliberate slowness, “I’m just beginning to get ideas of how waiting could turn out to be fun.”
Annie smiled, but she felt abysmally sad. “I just don’t know what I want, Chantal. I haven’t even been able to digest, you know, Jo and the swine—no disrespect to Jo’s pet pig.”
The drizzle had become a fine warm rain. Annie pulled a plastic poncho from her trunk and they held it over their heads as they hurried up the flagstone path. One of Dusty’s ducks quacked at the little pond. Music Annie couldn’t quite place pounded inside this house too, and Annie’s shaky feeling was no longer excitement, but apprehension.
Dusty opened the door. “Heaphy? What are you doing here?”
At the sight of her friend, Annie realized she’d been holding her breath. “Are you all right, Dusty?”
“Don’t tell me the scene at the diner’s all over town already.”
“No, we stopped there, then went to Verne’s to make sure you didn’t do anything foolish. This is Chantal.”
“Glad to meet you, Dusty.”
Her tone gruff, Dusty commented, “It’s a funny time to be saying that, Chantal.”
“It’s true anyway. I’ve always admired you from afar.”
“Not much to admire these days.”
“You’re hanging in there.”
“I don’t know how much longer. You two want to come in out of the rain?”
“Do you want company?” asked Annie.
“Hell, yes. I’m about to go insane. Did you see her?”
“Elly?”
“No, Lily Tomlin.”
“She was pretty scared that you might have been drinking.”
“Was she now? You’d think after all these years she’d know she can trust me, even if I can’t trust her.”
“Maddy stuck up for you like a kid for her mom.”
“She’s a good kid and a damned hard worker. We keep her weird sister on mostly to make sure the family has that income.”
The main room was beamed and spacious. It would have been barn-like in the flickering light from the TV except for Dusty’s paperbacks in homemade bookcases and Elly’s matted but unframed drawings clustered on every available patch of wall. Two bulky white and black cats slept soundly at either end of the couch, one on its back, legs in the air, the other slopping over the sides of a small pillow. They snored and wheezed.
“I’ve been watching M.A.S.H. reruns and playing some of my old albums that she hates to listen to.”
Annie and Elly had once had a friendly little one-night-stand before Dusty appeared on the scene. Though over twenty years had passed, the memory of that quick intimacy always made Annie feel squirrelly around Dusty.
Dusty broke the silence. “By the way, I haven’t been drinking.”
“Annie stuck up for you too,” Chantal said.
“Thanks. It gets kind of lo
nesome.”
“I know,” Annie said. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch more. It’s this darned am-I-fired-or-not business.”
Dusty peered at her and replaced her glasses. A car approached the house. Dusty stood stock still, hope so palpable it filled the air like a fog. The car’s sound gradually died and left an audible stillness. In the basement, the furnace kicked on and Dusty jumped. That seemed to return her to them.
“You have news about your job?”
“Dream on. No, it’s the memories. I’ll be grabbing a bubble pack of eyeglass repair kits at work and remember Kim. She was blinded and brain damaged in a car accident. I remember the feel of her hand clinging to mine and how hard she cried when a whole patch of wintergreen she’d babied was trampled by mistake.” No one said a thing.
She looked at Chantal. “But I enjoy the new job.”
“Right, Heaphy, and I’d rather manage a McDonald’s.”
As far as she could tell, Dusty really hadn’t been drinking, but in the dim blue light of the TV, her short hair was uncombed, her stained white work clothes smelled sweaty and her face was old with grief. The gruff, jovial manner she usually presented to the world was only gruffness tonight.
“You really stirred up a hornets’ nest, Heaphy. I thought we were over and done with that gay-bashing stuff. Now all of a sudden, between the military and the politics out west and the Norwoods’ outrage, gays are in the papers every night. I’m seeing queer-hating graffiti around town and some of my customers, well; they look at me like a germ under a microscope.”
“What can I say, Reilly?”
“I know it’s not your fault. It just puts me on edge, feeling like we’re all going into battle when we don’t want to and don’t know much about fighting. Elly and I may have our problems, but I was at least keeping it together at work before I got turned into a dangerous dyke overnight. Now—well, there’s always more breakups when life gets harder.”
“With any luck,” said Chantal, “we’ll hear some wedding bells too.”
Dusty looked from Chantal to Annie.
Annie opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out except a spurt of nervous laughter. She cleared her throat.
They went into the dim kitchen, a neglected-looking room that smelled of cat food and obviously was used less for cooking than as a repository for gardening tools, how-to books, rain gear and junk mail. The room, with one of the ceiling bulbs burned out, had an out of control feeling, like Dusty’s clothes and manner. The cats meandered after Dusty.