Embrace in Motion

by Karin Kallmaker

  She backed Melissa up to the wall and pulled her shirt out of her jeans. She got lost in the kiss and the way Melissa's ribs felt under her fingertips. She wore no bra and Sarah prickled all over.

  Melissa broke the kiss with a laugh. "Don't you think it would be prudent to get out of the hallway?"

  Sarah managed to back away. She'd forgotten where they were and here she'd been thinking she was totally in control of the situation. She fumbled for her room key and managed to get the door open.

  Melissa held up a warning finger as she bent to pick up the notebook. "Keep your distance," she warned.

  Once inside they looked at each other, Sarah feeling suddenly very shy. Melissa was looking at her feet. Sarah said softly, "I'm feeling a fraud, you know."

  "Because when you go back home you'll be going back to your boyfriend or husband or whatever?"

  "No," Sarah said, sheepishly. "Because I'm too chicken to say what I feel. And because I sort of misled you — I always have been and always will be a lesbian." Melissa's mouth opened to a tiny O. "Though it's hard to believe, some lesbians grow up to be patent attorneys."

  "Well, that explains a few things. You — well. You really—" Melissa's blush was adorable. "I mean, last night, you were amazing."

  "I don't do this, you know. I don't even know your last name."

  "Hartley," Melissa said, her blush fading. She looked intently at Sarah and said, "You were saving something about being chicken."

  Sarah nodded. "I feel like we should have lunch, talk about our lives and all that. So this will be a little more civilized."

  "I don't feel very civilized," Melissa said.

  "Neither do I." Sarah moved a few steps closer to her. "I'm just hot the kind of person to say, 'Baby, let's go to bed' to someone I just met."

  "But that's exactly what you want to do, isn't it?"

  "Oh, yes." She gave Melissa a cheeky smile. 'That's precisely what I want to do."

  "Well then let's pretend we've had some civilized conversations and we both respect each other as individuals and that we're not really here for one thing and one thing only." Melissa closed the distance between them, standing close enough for Sarah to smell her tantalizing cologne.

  "I think I can do that," Sarah said weakly. She mirrored Melissa's movements by removing her jacket and shoes, then her hose when Melissa stepped out of her jeans, and her blouse when Melissa pulled her polo shirt over her head. A few steps took her to Melissa's arms and they fell together on the bed.

  Melissa's mouth was on her breasts, savoring them with the slow attention that Sarah was fast realizing she had always craved. "I'm so glad you've never been with men," Melissa said. "We weren't exactly safe last night."

  "That's no guarantee I'm safe," Sarah said.

  Over her languid sigh, Melissa said, "I have the feeling you're anything but safe for me."

  Sarah wanted to laugh but Melissa's tongue snaked its way across her stomach. "Even if I were straight I think I'd be changing my mind right about now."

  It wasn't like last night, it couldn't be. Not a tidal wave, but a gentle, persistent crest, at times fierce, and oh so delectable. She savored Melissa's mouth on her, then took her own time returning the pleasure.

  Sarah had no idea what time it was when they finally curled side by side on the bed. So she'd missed the afternoon session. Half the attorneys at the conference were out golfing. This was more fun. She gently pulled on Melissa's earlobe, liking the tiny silver labrys that pierced it. She hadn't seen one in years. "Where do you live?"

  Melissa stretched thoroughly, like a cat, and said, "I'm cabin-sitting for some friends and you've never heard of the closest town."

  "Try me," Sarah said. Her mind readied itself to calculate air fares.

  "Suquamish."

  Deep, deep down inside, Sarah felt what was left of her belief in Romance and Happiness start a conga line. "So it's what, forty minutes to the Bremerton ferry?"

  Melissa raised up on one elbow. "Where do you live?"

  "Snoqualmie. On a good day that's only thirty minutes from the ferry landing in Seattle."

  "Let's skip the afternoon sessions and have some lunch," Melissa said. "I am really hungry."

  "I thought we were pretending not to be civilized." Sarah watched as Melissa reclaimed her clothes.

  "We've got all the time in the world to be civilized now. That is, if you'd like to see me back home."

  "Even if I had to swim Puget Sound myself."

  Melissa stood smiling at her, the gray in her eyes gleaming silver. Even though Sarah sternly told them not to, Romance and Happiness continued their conga line, adding Fate to the celebrants.

  Debra said, "Where are you off to in such a hurry? Big weekend plans?"

  "I'm picking someone up at the ferry and I don't want to be late." The last thing Sarah needed was an interrogation from Debra.

  "Anyone I know? Of course not, I don’t know anybody. So— does this person have anything to do with the little hop in your step for the last week and a half?"

  "I don't know what you mean."

  Debra crossed her brown eyes and said, "Give me a break. You think I'm dumb or something?"

  Sarah's lips twitched as she picked up her briefcase. It was full of work, but she doubted she'd have a moment to do any of it. She planned to spend every moment with Melissa. She shooed Debra back out of her office and headed for the elevator. Debra followed, her heels clicking on the lobby tiles. Sarah only looked at her after she pushed the call button. Every inch of Debra quivered like a curious poodle.

  "You've got to tell me something, or I'll just die before Monday! A name, anything."

  "Melissa," Sarah said patiently.

  "Melissa Etheridge?" Debra's eyes were like dinner plates. "That's why you're being so secretive! She and Julie are mommies! This is really, really bad karma."

  Sarah rolled her eyes. "Keeping jumping to conclusions like that and you'll sprain something."

  "What am I supposed to think when you won't tell me anything? I don't have a life, I have to live through yours. And lately yours has been as dull as mine. I'm going to go nuts."

  With anyone else Sarah would have been irritated. With Debra she wrinkled her nose and said, "Good. You're a little too sane to work here. I'm not saying another word."

  As the elevator doors closed Debra said, "You'll pay for this, Sarah MacNeil. I better get a full report on Monday or else I'll —"

  As the elevator descended Sarah mentally finished the sentence. Or she'll make my life a living hell.

  Willowy. That was the word Sarah had been searching for ever since Geoff called Melissa "cute." She'd never really understood what willowy meant until Melissa walked across the pier toward her, blond locks lifting in the sea wind, pencil-leg jeans clinging to every curve of her calves and thighs, and the ever-present bomber jacket unzipped to the waist. Even the knapsack didn't ruin the elegant sway of her hips. No, not beautiful, not really even cute, but incredibly attractive to Sarah's eyes.

  Melissa swept her into a warm embrace, then after a small hesitation, she kissed Sarah full on the mouth. The kiss lengthened until Sarah self-consciously broke away. The ferry pier in Seattle was not the best place for two women to make out. She took Melissa's suitcase and noticed they had attracted some leering attention, but in truth most of the passengers and dock workers were going about their business. Still, once they were in the car, Sarah lost no time putting some distance between them and the pier.

  "Nice car," Melissa said. She ran one finger over the teak dash.

  "I bought this car the day after I paid off my last student loan. I didn't want a sedan, at least not yet. I guess I thought I wasn't old enough." The Jaguar XJS was conservative on the outside until the top went down. On the stretch of 1-90 between Seattle and Spokane, which took her out to Grannie MacNeil's farm, she sometimes opened it up to as much as 160 when the highway was deserted. Claire, after Jenny, before Jane, had raced as a part of the Jaguar team.


  "It's you," Melissa said. "Deceptive on the outside."

  "Why thanks," Sarah said, taking the shortest route to I-90 to cross Mercer Island. It was a warm, late summer afternoon with leaves in deepening green blowing in the sea wind that had cleared yesterday's clouds. "I thought you were going to compare me to the motor or something. You know, runs hot, fast idle, lots of get up and go."

  "Well, it's all true, just not my style of compliments." Melissa turned away from the panorama of Lake Union nestled against evergreen hills. "God, it's good to see you."

  "I feel exactly the same way," Sarah said. "I was half afraid you would change your mind and —"

  "Weren't sure your heart would go pitty pat when you saw me?"

  "I was never in doubt about my feelings," Sarah said, shooting a happy grin across the car.

  "So why would you doubt mine?" Melissa slid one hand slowly over Sarah's denim-covered knee. Then it slid upwards and Sarah involuntarily opened her thighs. She sighed with a smile, then her foot slipped off the gas pedal.

  "Enough of that," Sarah said. "Let's get home in one piece."

  "Whatever you say," Melissa said. "I really deserve a break because I worked very hard this week."

  "Doing what?"

  "More than twenty women asked for a precis of my documentary project at the writer's conference, so I wrote it and sent them out. I'm hoping I'll get a grant to do it. Marsha Davis, the executive director of the Rainbow Foundation, was particularly interested."

  "That sounds exciting," Sarah said. "What's your documentary about?"

  "It's a survey of lesbian-created art, particularly video and film. Photography, too. I want to focus on lesbian works with no male influences."

  "If they're lesbian-created where does the male influence come in? I mean of course virtually everything a lesbian may do is influenced by male society—from Michelangelo to art history classes, and so on."

  "I'm more interested in the act of creation than the outcome. If a lesbian focused her energies and life to be separate from men and ended up painting just like Michelangelo I would still be interested, because her process and her struggle to have a lesbian identity would be the real story."

  "Oh." Sarah didn't quite get it. "But if the work is just like Michelangelo's how does it become Lesbian art with a big L?"

  "That's just what I mean." Melissa bounced enthusiastically in her seat. "It's not Lesbian art, whatever that is, but Lesbian-Created art." She threw a grin at Sarah. "Big L, Big C. I've got lots of ideas but never had any money to put them out there."

  "That's a common complaint. Orson Welles had to beg, borrow and steal to produce Citizen Kane because he wanted to do it outside the studio system." Sarah found making conversation a little difficult, not because she wasn't interested in what Melissa was working on, but because Melissa's hand still rested lightly on her thigh.

  "Well, I'm really outside the studio system. Not that I'd want to be inside. As soon as you walk in the door there are men everywhere who can't wait to take your ideas and tone them down for mass market, and the women are almost as bad. There have been so many writers I admired and when they went mainstream they weren't worth reading any more. I want to make it big, but I still want to be a real lesbian when I'm done."

  Sarah swerved out from behind a van that had decided to move into the fast lane and slow down. "Just what is a real lesbian?" It had been a long time since she'd thought about the politics of being a lesbian.

  "Well, a real lesbian doesn't have anything to do with men."

  "What about a woman who realizes she's a lesbian after she's been with men?"

  "Well, she's a lesbian, but not... well, maybe real isn't the right word. It just seems like those of us who always knew have a different outlook."

  "You're probably right," Sarah said. "I always knew, but one outlook isn't necessarily more valid than another. It's just that we've all walked a different path to the same place."

  "I'm not sure we're in the same place. Case in point — I was working on an anthology with a woman I thought was a real lesbian. We needed some money to keep going and she went to her ex-husband — I didn't even know she'd been married. I thought we had a lot in common. When I found out, I bailed and the real bitch of it is that she got it published and all the credit and all the money, when a lot of the work was mine. I don't want to get burned again by a woman whose first instinct is to run to a man for help."

  "How did where the money came from change the content of your book?"

  "You sound just like she did." Melissa looked out her window with a small frown.

  "I don't mean to," Sarah said, alarmed. "I do spend a lot of every day with men, but I don't think I'm less of a lesbian for it."

  Melissa's frown lifted. "I have to admit that your credentials are not in question." She traced a line along Sarah's thigh with a lazy finger.

  "I'm glad you had a productive week," Sarah said, trying to change the subject. "I had to really buckle down, but I managed to get through some work."

  "I also took some photos of some of the big names at the conference and sent a proof sheet to Curve and The Advocate. Maybe they'll buy a photo or two. The cash would be good. I had to do it anyway since I got into the conference on a press pass. Then I was so jazzed I think I sent out almost a hundred precis of my novel. My second one, not the first. I think I'm going to have to rewrite the first one because I can't seem to find a market for it. But I don't want to change it just to sell it. This guy I met at Putnam said it had too many women in it and since there were some straight women, why weren't there any men? Talk about clueless."

  Sarah didn't ask what she really wanted to know, which was if Melissa had published anything. She didn't want to sound like she thought publishing was the only proof of worth when she knew perfectly well that a lot of fine writers languished undiscovered for years. Instead, she asked, "Have you been trying to publish it for a long time?"

  "Ages. About three years. I wrote it in college, when I was coming out and discovered the underground society of women. Have you ever noticed that women know where to gather? And they naturally gather together? Not all women, but those who are less involved with clubs or men. For instance, the liberal arts majors and non-sorority women."

  "I know what you mean. The women athletes always have a place where they go —"

  "And it's not quite the same place as I mean," Melissa said. "The jocks —"

  "Are you calling me a jock?" Sarah arched her eyebrows in mock anger and accelerated hard when the van finally merged back out of the lane.

  Melissa flushed. "I don't mean it as an insult."

  "I'm teasing," Sarah said. "I was a jock. And I noticed that while we jocks were sitting in the student union drinking our beer, there were a lot of really interesting-looking women hanging out near the salad bar. I always assumed they were what was left of the Women's Center."

  "They probably were," Melissa said. "The centers may have closed over the years, but the need is still there. For a separate space that's not about men and dating and —"

  "Oh, now I always assumed that there was a lot of angst about dating, just not about dating men."

  Melissa laughed. "You've got me there. But it's a different kind of angst. Not as angry, not as desperate."

  Sarah didn't say that she'd seen some desperate lesbian relationships. The woman in Jane's life right before Sarah had been desperate when the relationship ended with Sarah's entrance, desperate to find someone, anyone who would keep her in the merry-go-round of Jane's social circle — where everyone was a celebrity of some sort or another and non-celebrity girlfriends were left behind after the relationship had run its course. In the end, Sarah hadn't liked the casualness of it — the way affairs always ended with a wave of a hand and both partners wondering what kind of woman they'd hook up with next. Seeded tennis players and pro golfers were always in great demand.

  Melissa was saying, "So I concentrated on making it a snapshot in time. The way a lot of women liv
ing in the outer streams were shaping their lives and society. That's what it's called — Outerstream. As opposed to mainstream."

  "What's your second novel about?"

  "Living on borrowed time. Which is what I feel like most of the time."

  "Why?" Sarah stole a glance at Melissa, who was shrugging her shoulders.

  "I want to write and photograph and document our lives. But those aren't things you can make a ready living at, not when the topic is lesbians. So I housesit and find space in collectives and keep moving. I'm afraid I'll get stale if I stay in one place for a long time, but I'm always worried about where I'll go next. I could have stayed a year at a ranch in South Dakota, but there was no electricity—you know, real separatists, living like the Amish — and my computer, ancient though it is, needs electricity. There was an editor at Simon and Schuster who was interested in a story about separatists, too. I can't imagine trying to write in longhand though I know until the last hundred years that's exactly how everyone wrote."

  "No electricity is a little too rustic for me, too."

  "And then there's the bathing thing. Heating my own hot water was not my idea of a luxurious bath."

  Sarah laughed. "My grandmother lived pretty much that way till the day she died. She had electricity the last twenty years of her life, but other than that she had a very simple, natural way. But she always maintained that everyone deserved hot running water. She remembered the date and time it was installed in her cabin and celebrated it the way some people celebrate the Fourth of July. She was quite a character."

  "I think people should live more simply than they do," Melissa said seriously, "or rather that we could all live more simply than we do. I like living in the cabin, though it's lonely sometimes. I drive over to the market for what I need and the woodpile is still plenty tall. The people who lent me the cabin are house-sitting for friends in New York who are house-sitting for friends in Venice — and so on. I've got it definitely through the winter, maybe until June."

  "It sounds lovely." Sarah accelerated to avoid traffic merging in from the 405, then settled into the number one lane on the Sunset Highway, skirting Lake Sammamish to the south. "We'll be at my place in fifteen minutes or so."