Embrace in Motion

by Karin Kallmaker

  A woman's low-toned voice answered him. "The apartment was such a mess that I just couldn't take it. And all my jeans were dirty, so here I am in the usual fright suit."

  "It'll scare the programmers," Richard said.

  My, my, Leslie thought, but he did sound friendly. If Sarah MacNeil was half as attractive as her voice, Leslie might begin to understand why he'd hired her without looking at another resume. Meow, she thought. Richard's not that way.

  She quickly yanked open her desk drawer and pulled out a small mirror. Her hair was presentable, but she wished she'd worn something other than an old T-shirt and black jeans. She'd forgotten that Sarah was starting today. And from the tone of Richard's voice, he'd clearly never discussed that Sarah officially worked for her. Nice way to start off, Leslie thought, feeling inferior and petty. Well, maybe it wouldn't be a big deal.

  She shoved the mirror back in the drawer as Richard's voice drew closer. Sarah was laughing at something he'd said — for the third time in as many minutes. At least it was a pleasant-sounding laugh, not a donkey's bray or nerve-wracking titter.

  "You there, Les? Ah, yes you are." Richard stepped back out of the doorway and gestured for his companion to proceed him. Lordy, lordy, he was being the perfect gentleman. "Sarah MacNeil, meet Leslie Stuart.

  Whatever might have been her next thought was completely lost. She stared at Sarah MacNeil longer than she knew was polite, then somehow managed to tear her gaze away. Now she knew for sure that Richard's gonads had played a part in his decision. She didn't know patent attorneys could look like cover girls — tall, slender, with a coil of light brown hair pulled into a casual ponytail. Melody had said the woman was some sort of athlete, but she was far from the muscle-bound troll Leslie had anticipated.

  She simply had not expected someone so eye-catching. Get a grip, she shrieked at herself, completely unnerved. Richard was introducing Sarah and all Leslie could think about was blue eyes just turning to violet. If this was how she reacted, there were going to be testosterone problems in the programmers' cave.

  "A pleasure," Leslie said, holding Sarah's firm, dry hand for a moment longer than necessary. She shot a glance at Richard. "Richard's told me a lot about you."

  "I'm very glad to be here," Sarah said. "I hope you'll forgive the suit." She gestured down at the crisp navy blue linen. "All my casual stuff is dirty and we just didn't have the energy to do laundry yesterday. The apartment is a mess."

  We? Leslie hoped Richard had heard that as well.

  "I told Sarah she could have waited a day—"

  "No, I needed to come in and get settled. It'll take far less time here than at home. My partner had some business appointments and I couldn't have faced any more unpacking by myself."

  Leslie made herself think about dead kittens to keep from smiling. Richard's gonads had hired another lesbian — it was hilarious. She peeked at him. Well, if he'd understood the use of "my partner," the disappointment didn't show on his face.

  "Well, when you're settled let me know, and we'll put our heads together," Leslie said. "Melody will show you more than you ever wanted to know about your phone and I think your computer is hooked up. If you have any problems with it we've got an entire room full of experts."

  Sarah smiled. From the faint lines at the corners of her pale peach mouth, it was apparently something she did easily and often. "I'll see what I can do before unleashing the experts."

  Leslie watched Richard escort her out of her office. He will still on his very best behavior and Leslie decided he'd missed the clues. Well, this would be interesting. And it served him right.

  "Les, this can't be serious," Mark Davis said. He held out several pieces of papers. "Say it ain't so."

  Leslie took the papers and glanced through them. She kept her annoyance out of her face as she scanned the memo from Sarah to all staff about security measures now in place. She hadn't read her copy yet, and she was still fuming that she hadn't seen it before it was released to everyone else. She knew Sarah had been hard at work on something — her printer had been clicking away for days. She just hadn't gotten up the nerve to go in and find out exactly what. What was she supposed to do, walk in and say, "By the way, in our extremely informal company you report to me, and I want to see everything you do before Richard does." She'd sound like a prima donna, and she cursed Richard for putting her in this awkward position.

  The memo was damned heavy-handed. Instant termination for removing any copies of the program, any notes, memos or technical writing from the premises by any means manual, mechanical or electronic, or by any other means... blah, blah, blah.

  "I work on it at home, sometimes," Mark said. "This is really inconvenient."

  "Richard okayed it," Leslie said, "and it says Gene did too. We can't afford for anyone to lose a disk or have a friend of a friend poking around in someone's hard drive at home. You know this stuff goes on."

  "No one even knows we're working on something," he said. "This is way overkill."

  "As soon as we apply for the trademark name we'll have industry know-it-alls descending on us in droves. Besides, when was the last time you worked on it at home?"

  "Okay, a couple of months ago. But I could have at any time," he said. "Other guys do. Miles proofs code during football games and Angie likes to do yoga in between runs."

  "There's a TV here and we'll get Angie some mats, if that's what it takes. Look, I know this will take some getting used to, but you have to see it this way, Mark. It's in your best interests to protect the software from any prying eyes. You've got a couple hundred shares of stock by now that could increase ten or twenty times overnight. You'll be driving that Viper you've always wanted."

  Mark grimaced, looking very much like Matt on meatloaf days. "Yeah, I guess. This is really a pain, though."

  "Don't even think about testing the rules. It says there will be spot searches of backpacks and satchels and I'm sure Sarah means it. She hasn't said anything she didn't mean so far. And I would miss you."

  "Pain in the ass," Mark muttered. Leslie frowned at him but didn't comment. Her own feelings were too close to his for her to chew him out. Mark suddenly shrugged. "But a nice pain in the ass, if you know what I mean." He wandered out of her office, leaving Leslie to wonder what everyone saw in Sarah — everyone but her.

  "I have no idea why she doesn't like me," Sarah said. "But I can feel it. I'm glad I don't have to work closely with her. She said she wanted to review my action plan, but I really don't feel I should give it to her until Richard has approved it. She is, after all, just the marketing person."

  Melissa helped herself to more rice. "Maybe she feels a little threatened. It's a small company and she's been queen bee for quite a while."

  Sarah thought about that. She supposed it was just a simple case of jealousy, but Richard had such high esteem for Leslie that petty motives didn't seem in keeping with someone he'd respect so much. Of course she respected his opinion of people because he thought highly of her, and told her so, which meant her reasoning was getting rather circular. She shook her head to clear the confusion. "Could be. I get the feeling that I wasn't her choice for the job."

  "Exactly what is her job?"

  "Marketing and some administrative stuff, mostly. They use an outside accounting firm, but she's the liaison with them. They're talking about bringing in an accountant, though." Sarah looked up from the pad thai she was eating out of a container. Their neighborhood overflowed with good eateries and take out. "I'd welcome the extra dynamic in our little corporate structure. I'm not used to such a small company."

  "But you like it, don't you?" Melissa looked up from the curried prawns in alarm.

  "I like it very much," Sarah assured her. "Another bonus—there's an archery range about ten minutes from the office, so I can go practice for a break. Melody found it for me — I didn't even ask. She's a sweetheart."

  "So is the woman administering my grant. She's been very helpful opening doors. There are art galleries in
San Francisco around every corner. I think I want to do a whole segment on where you can find lesbian-created art in San Francisco and another on how lesbian-created art is displayed in non-lesbian settings, like the stuff they have at MOMA and the DeYoung."

  "It sounds really interesting," Sarah said. "I'd love to see some of the exhibits sometime."

  "I should have a script in another month, and by then I'll have met enough people to find the right women to do the production. Are you going to finish that?"

  Sarah handed over the pad thai and half-listened as Melissa described several of the women she had in mind for her production. The other half her attention turned over the situation with Leslie. Leslie hadn't really done anything hostile. Just... well, it was the silence. Sarah had seen her with other people and knew she wasn't acting the same around her for some reason. Not as friendly, nor as forthcoming.

  Give it time, Sarah thought. I don't need her eating out of my hand, but surely we can work together.

  "So I think I'm going to try to do this as an ensemble. I read about it in the book by Kelli Martin. Did I tell you I met her?"

  "No, I don't think so," Sarah answered. "Who is she?"

  "I met her at a conference about a year ago. She was promoting her book, How to Produce Your Own Documentary. It was great, especially since I never went to film school or really studied the process. She recommended a couple of ways to do it, and I'm going to try the ensemble approach. She said that if you have a compatible group of people, you can try to have a mutually supportive creative process. I can't think of anything more supportive than lesbians working on a lesbian project together."

  Sarah opened her mouth to ask what Melissa had studied in school, then thought better of it. She was under the impression that Melissa had studied film, arts and theater extensively, which was why she wasn't following the more traditional route of learning by working on other people's projects. Instead, she said, "Well, sisterhood is powerful and all that, but I have heard some horror stories—basically that lesbians working together fall prey to the same problems as any other group. Shared lesbianism doesn't guarantee compatibility."

  "I think I can avoid it if I follow Kelli Martin's method. We have to air a lot of issues and make sure that we really are compatible when it comes to politics, ethics, expressions of sexuality, animal rights, what art really is—really talk about things that matter. It takes longer, but the results can be really good. I talked to her about it when I met her. She was on a panel."

  "If you think it will work, you should give it your best shot," Sarah said earnestly. She smiled. "I don't know anything about it at all, so you can ignore me completely. I'm just an English lit grad, with a minor in archery, and then there's that law degree — completely off your topic."

  "English lit is perfectly respectable," Melissa said. "That law degree, though, well, I won't quote Shakespeare—" She squealed when Sarah threw a pad thai peanut at her.

  "Don't you dare," Sarah said. "Lawyering keeps us in pad thai."

  "I know," Melissa said, sobering. "And I respect it."

  "Thank you." She wondered if now was a good time to talk to Melissa about the money situation, which wasn't exactly great. Last month's hundred-dollar long-distance bill had been a shock.

  "Let's go down to the Castro Theatre and see Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. It's only playing this week," Melissa said.

  "I didn't see it the first time around," Sarah said, "though everyone said it was a hoot." She could hardly say money was a little tight and then agree to go to the movies, and she did want to see it. Give it time, she thought. Time will work with Leslie, and time will smooth this problem out, too, she told herself. They had plenty of time.

  "They might not be willing to complain formally, but I've had a visit from four programmers in the last week over this."

  Sarah paused in the outer office. She had a scheduled meeting with Richard, but apparently he was busy with Leslie.

  "Les, you know they like to blow steam at you. Once they vent, you won't hear any more about it from them. Gene and I both thought these procedures were a good idea—"

  '"Procedures' is a little mild, don't you think? They're CompuSoft all over. Instant termination is not something we do here."

  "It is now," Richard said shortly.

  Sarah realized they were arguing about the new security procedures. She knew she should quietly step out of earshot. Eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves, she heard Grannie MacNeil saying. But Leslie's next words kept her rooted to the spot.

  "She's really won you over, hasn't she?"

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Richard's voice was low and in a tone Sarah hadn't yet heard from him.

  "When we discussed her resume, I warned you I thought someone from CompuSoft would change MagicWorks into something we didn't like."

  "If you think I hired Sarah because she's attractive I do believe I've never been so insulted."

  "I didn't say that. Besides, in case you didn't figure it out already, she's gay. I was talking about CompuSoft's methods."

  Aha, Sarah thought. Now I know where the CompuSoft fascist remark came from.

  "Sure you were. Listen, Les, you and I both know it had to be done. And Sarah is willing to play the heavy and Gene and I were more than willing to be chicken and stand behind her. I don't know why you've got a bug under your collar about Sarah —"

  "I do not!"

  "You do so. And I knew she was gay."

  There was a long silence and Sarah realized her face was hot with embarrassment.

  "Well, aren't we the grownups," Leslie finally said. "I'm sorry, Richie. I guess I should have told you that I really resented your going over my objections the way you did. And ignoring the work I'd already done."

  "Just because I'm a chicken shit doesn't make Sarah a Herbert."

  Leslie laughed. "Not automatically. I just think she's proving herself to be one anyway."

  What the hell was a Herbert?

  "Look, we're still a warm and fuzzy place to work, but there's too much riding on what we do now for us to be sloppy. Sarah is disciplined, whereas you and I are not."

  Oh, great. Leslie would really love being compared to her.

  "Disciplined is one word for it," Leslie said in a scathing tone. "You and I used to make fun of people like her."

  People like me? Sarah was so flummoxed she turned on her heel and quickly strode back to her office. She grabbed her competition bow and quiver from the corner, scrawled a note to Melody and slammed her way out of the warehouse door.

  Fifteen minutes later she screeched into the parking lot of the nearby archery range. She'd been meaning to check it out for several weeks. She filled out the membership forms and plunked down a credit card. She was glad she hadn't made money an issue with Melissa, not when she was now indulging herself so thoroughly.

  She strode to the far end of the range. It was fairly deserted and she didn't have to share the target. From 77 yards away, the gold center looked as big as her thumbnail. She nocked, sighted, focused and let fly.

  Shhhhhhhwoshhhh-ipppp.

  Bulls-eye. So I'm disciplined, am I? She nocked again and let fly. Bulls-eye. A Herbert, whatever the hell that is. She emptied her quiver of its twenty arrows in less than three minutes, shooting far faster than competition rules. She drew a long breath, released it slowly, then examined the target. A few arrows were in the blue, and the rest clustered heavily in the gold and red.

  "Nice shooting," a voice said from behind her. She turned to find an Asian man about her age stepping toward her. They shook hands and he said, "It's been a while since I've seen someone shoot like that. I guess I can assume you're the Sarah MacNeil."

  Sarah arched her eyebrows.

  "Tim Fukai. I'm the owner, and when the clerk gave me your application I wondered if I could be so lucky, so I moseyed down to see."

  "Oh, well, I guess I am the Sarah MacNeil. I never thought about it like that."

  He looked at her bow with
the curiosity all archers share, and Sarah handed it to him. "A little heavy, isn't it? What am I saying, obviously not for you. The full five feet, three inches?" He rested it on the floor and tapped the upper tip against his chin. "Hmmm. I have a feeling you don't need this," he said, gesturing at the stabilizer with its minimal weight.

  "Looks funny without it," Sarah said. The bell rang, signaling a cessation of all shooting. Tim followed Sarah out to the target and helped pull the arrows free.

  "Nice fletchings," he said, running his hand over the plastic feathers with their rainbow pattern.

  "A gift," Sarah explained. Jane had given her the expensive Easton XlOs with custom fletchings. In the final analysis, she valued them far less than the carbon fiber arrows she'd used in the Olympics, so she used the XlOs for daily practice.

  "Well, I'm glad you joined us," Tim said as he handed over the arrows he'd collected. "I don't suppose you have two hours a week to spare?"

  "Not really —"

  "For kids who need to develop a skill they can feel good about, as well as self-confidence. Kids who can't possibly afford to pay an instructor, and never one of your caliber."

  "I've got a full-time job —"

  "More than half of whom are girls who need positive role models if they're going to start thinking they're worth respect."

  Sarah saw the fanatical light in Tim Fukai's eyes and had a feeling he wasn't going to take no for an answer. He began to smile as if he realized he'd gotten under Sarah's armor.

  "I supply the range, bows and arrows, and you give them living proof that you can make something of yourself with practice, tenacity and just a little bit of skill. Put a little gold in their eyes, you know what I mean?"

  Sarah found herself nodding. The man had the charisma of an evangelist. "I tell you what. You make it two hours on a weekday for eight weeks. Say four to six on Wednesdays — an after-school thing. I think I can talk my boss into that. And after that we'll talk again and see if we'll go forward."

  Tim broke into an ear-to-ear grin. "I knew there was a reason to get up this morning. I love the sport, but I'm not a good teacher and I never made it past state championships. You're just what I've been looking for."