Embrace in Motion

by Karin Kallmaker

  When she got back to work she met with Richard about her action plan draft and almost forgot that he and Leslie had been arguing about her. He enthusiastically endorsed her Wednesday afternoon schedule, being a big believer in anything that helped kids. But when she saw Leslie in the hallway she almost couldn't manage a smile. Richard was the one who really mattered. There was no reason she had to be chums with Leslie. So what if Leslie didn't like her. The feeling was mutual. But she was not going to let anyone make her feel inferior. It took two to tango and Leslie Stuart was not her idea of a dance partner.

  "Now that you've have a month and a half to explore, how do you like our fair city?" Geoff nodded as the waiter proffered the wine bottle.

  "I love it," Sarah said enthusiastically. "Really. I haven't been up to the Muir Redwoods yet, but I'll get there soon." She watched the waiter fill the glasses with a Napa Valley Merlot. "I hope I'm not going to end up with a thick head again. That bottle in Louisville knocked me out. And I love it here."

  "It wasn't just the wine that knocked you out," he said. "Now that I have you all to myself, I want details, woman."

  "Yeah, she knocked me out all right." Sarah shook her head in disbelief. "If your butthead of a co-worker had bet me I'd fall hard and fast for someone I'd just met and quit my job and leave Seattle in less than three months, I'd have wagered him everything I and my heirs will ever own in perpetuity, and been sure I was going to win."

  "When do I get to meet this Circe?"

  "Stop calling her that," Sarah said. "I have no desire to be cast as the drunken sailor. More wine, please."

  Geoff laughed and topped off her glass. "You didn't answer my question."

  "I would like you to come to dinner next week," Sarah said. "Melissa's a vegetarian, so I hope you like seafood."

  "Love it. So how's your job turning out? Was I fool to pass up applying for it?"

  Sarah made a yum-yum noise when the waiter delivered her Greek salad. She speared a calamata olive and savored its bitter bite before answering him. "Well, yes, you should have applied for it. With one exception, everyone is lovely to work with, the work is exactly what you would expect it to be, and there's a pleasant off-center quality to my boss. He looks like Santa Claus. Or Jerry Garcia."

  "What's the exception?"

  "Well, I've been there what, nearly two months now, and the marketing director still doesn't like me because I wasn't her first choice for the job."

  "Sounds like a bitch," Geoff said. He fastidiously dabbed a crumble of feta cheese off his chin.

  "It's not that she's nasty to me, and everyone else seems to worship the ground she walks on. She's kind of a mother figure, but I don't guess she's much past forty."

  "You don't have to like everyone you work with."

  "I know. She just raises my hackles. It's primal, I guess."

  "Speaking of primal, our annual heterosexual strut is coming up and I wanted to make a date with you."

  Sarah nearly choked on a piece of raddichio. "Heterosexual strut?"

  "The company Christmas party. We always have them the weekend after Thanksgiving. I'd love to parade you around under their noses."

  "Are you sure you want to do this, Geoff? It feels okay to you to give them what they want to see?"

  "Not really," he said, chewing on his lower lip. "More and more I'm feeling hostile toward everyone I work with. I'd love to have them all hanging their tongues out over you and then tell them you're a lesbian."

  Sarah grunted. "Their tongues would probably still hang out. They have the thing that'll fix me, remember?"

  "Well." He frowned into his wine. "Go with me anyway, just to see how the other ninety percent lives."

  "Sure," Sarah said. "I'll wear something slinky. Melissa doesn't like dancing, so I'll really look forward to it."

  "If I find a new job before then, I'll still take you out dancing."

  Sarah grinned. "Good for you. You spend too much time at work to be miserable."

  "Did anyone ever tell you that you have Robert Redford's eyes?" He raised his glass in a toast.

  "Flattery is not going to get you anywhere," Sarah said. She clinked her glass to his.

  "I- know," he answered. "I love it." He leaned back to let the waiter set their entrees down. Sarah noticed the waiter was being especially attentive to them and the attraction was definitely not to her. Geoff glanced at Sarah's plate and said, "I thought you were a vegetarian."

  Sarah already had a bite of filet mignon covered with crumbled Roquefort and a cabernet sauce halfway to her mouth. "Melissa's the vegetarian," she said, savoring the rich flavors. "It's the only thing we're not a hundred percent in synch over. And dancing, like I said. And the phone bill," she added.

  "Oh, domestic bliss. Someday I hope for a little myself, but there are no princes on my horizon. So be happy if your honey makes lots of phone calls."

  "I am. And I don't want to mention it to her. I don't want to get into anything remotely like because I pay the bills she has to economize. That's not fair to her. And it's not as if I can't manage it — I was just surprised at the size of last month's bill. But I'm sure it makes my socially responsible long-distance provider happy."

  "Trouble in paradise." Geoff offered her a bite of his pork tenderloin with sliced portabellos.

  The lemon-herb rub on the tenderloin made her pucker a little. "That's delicious. I wasn't sure a citrus flavor would work like that. Here." She proffered a piece of filet liberally coated with Roquefort and sauce. "No, it's not trouble in paradise, I was just surprised at the number and length of the calls. But she's really working on her documentary and I suppose at some point the expense? will be covered by the grant. I'm just not used to having to watch my budget." Melissa's birthday was December 23rd and Sarah was saving up as much as possible for a laptop as a combination birthday and Christmas present.

  "I can feel my arteries hardening even as we speak," Geoff said after he swallowed the filet. "Money can bring down many a relationship. Don't not talk about it because you have all of it and she has none of it."

  "It's not quite that bad. She sold her car to save the cost of the unavoidable parking tickets — she got nabbed by the street-sweeping patrol twice and that was that. But the imbalance does make it hard for me to bring it up. But I can live with phone calls," Sarah said. "We're hardly in the poor house. Hey, did I tell you I'm teaching an archery class?"

  "Not a peep."

  "It's at a range not far from my office and the kids are mostly great. It's only the second week, but I think I'm going to like it."

  "I didn't even know you played with bows and arrows," Geoff said.

  Sarah sniffed. "I don't play with them. I went to two Olympics."

  "Holy cow." Geoff paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Which ones?"

  "Los Angeles and Seoul." Being with the kids had brought back all the good feelings about the competitions and the sheer love of the sport. She had told Tim Fukai that she was having so much fun she could almost be convinced she should pay him. She sipped her wine and then laughed at Geoff s still shocked expression.

  "Wow," he finally said. "I'm so impressed. How on earth did you take up archery?"

  She found herself telling him about Grannie MacNeil, about her stories of Welsh romance, and the farm in the Cascades that she had inherited, but hadn't seen in nearly two years. "It's really rustic, but I feel so rooted there. A neighbor keeps an eye on the cabin and even took care of a roof leak last winter."

  "Sounds great. When I meet my Prince Charming I'll take him there and let the inevitable romance convince him to stay with me forever."

  Sarah lifted her wine glass. "To incurable romantics."

  Geoff clinked his glass to hers with a wistful smile.

  6

  To love oneself is the beginning of a life-long romance. (Oscar Wilde)

  "Go away, Gene, I've got a hangover," Leslie heard Sarah say.

  Oh, that accounted for the colorless face and barely open eyes
. Damn. She had found out yesterday that Sarah's action plan draft had been on Richard's desk for almost three weeks, and no one had seen fit to tell her. She tried to be grown-up about it, and she knew it was Richard's fault, not Sarah's. Well, if she was being honest, it was her fault as well — she just needed to talk to Sarah instead of hoping she'd pick up on hints and suggestions.

  She heard Gene laugh and Sarah's low-toned rejoinder. Gene laughed again and Sarah said, more loudly, "Have mercy, please."

  Leslie returned her attention to the latest report from the bank. She really, really, really wanted to hire an accountant, but Richard had been gone the last week acquiring video and audio equipment for the full-scale test of Tigger 0.2. There was a muffled crash from the other side of the warehouse and she felt a moment of pity for Sarah's head. Demolishing the previous occupant's telemarketing setup to make way for their staging and camera facilities wasn't particularly quiet, especially when the programmers started yelling at the construction workers.

  "Maybe you'll want to shoot the breeze," Gene said from the doorway. "Sarah's hung. First time I've seen her less than bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She told me to go do something that is anatomically challenging."

  "You deserved it, I'm sure," Leslie said.

  Gene looked at her quizzically as he sat down in her guest chair. He spoke in a lower tone. "You know, that's the first time you've said something supportive about her. What's with you two?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about." Leslie knew she lied badly.

  "I'm not the only one who's noticed. You're both nice people except around each other. Then you're both like magnetically polarized ice cubes."

  "Ice cubes can't be magnetized," Leslie said.

  "Oh yeah?" Gene's raised eyebrows reminded Leslie that he was the one with the advanced physics degree in addition to his other sheepskins. "Look, yesterday she asked me what a Herbert was. And you and Dick are the only ones who use the expression around here —"

  "Oh shit," Leslie said, appalled. "She... must have overheard me and my big mouth shooting off like I was my kid or something. Damn. It's all my fault. Technically she works for me and I feel completely shut out of what she's working on, and I just haven't brought it up. I was hoping time would take care of it."

  "Talk to her about it," Gene said. "She's not going to bite your head off. But not today," he added, hastily. "She's not really herself."

  "Okay." Leslie pushed a stack of papers at him. "Be a darling and sort these for me. That is, if you don't have more pressing work to do."

  "Bank statements? Ick."

  "I'm done doing this all by myself—from now on all management gets to share the pain. I want an accountant in here."

  "You have my vote," Gene said, holding the statements as if they'd been dipped in dog doo. "I guess I can sort—"

  There was a burst of agitated voices from the direction of the Cave, then several doors slammed and more arguing ensued. Leslie could have sworn she heard Sarah moan. Gene quickly put the statements down without even bothering to hide his relief. "I think I'd better go see what that's all about. I'll come back."

  "I believe that just like I believe everything Rush Limbaugh says."

  "That is so cold, Leslie," Gene said as he disappeared.

  Leslie sat back in her chair and doodled a pencil across one of the bank statements. So other people had noticed that she and Sarah weren't exactly friendly. It wasn't that surprising, and Leslie guessed she should do something.

  She fished in her desk for a chamomile tea bag and a bottle of aspirin. She got a mug of hot water from the kitchen, dropped in the tea bag and then knocked quietly on Sarah's door jamb.

  Sarah was munching slowly on a saltine and looked up from an unholy thick book. She hastily put down the cracker and sat up straighter, her eyes red-rimmed.

  "Don't, don't," Leslie said. "Gene told me you were indisposed."

  Sarah looked at the mug with a nervous swallow. "If that's hair of the dog that bit me, I might just be sick."

  "It's tea. And here's aspirin."

  "Ah," Sarah said. "The old remedies are still the best. I didn't have any tea at home." She reached for the mug and closed her eyes as she inhaled the light fragrance. "Thanks. I don't do this very often. For some reason when Geoff and I — he's a fellow patent attorney. When we get together we do destructive things with a couple of bottles of wine."

  "Wine hangovers are the worst," Leslie said.

  "Why is that?" Sarah took another sip of tea. "This is great."

  "I don't know. I'll have to ask David — he's the one with the organic chem background. And he makes his own beer."

  Sarah glanced up at her and there was an awkward pause.

  "Listen," Leslie said, not quite knowing how to start. "Can we get together tomorrow, when you're feeling better? I think we have a lot of stuff to talk about."

  "Let's talk now," Sarah said. "I'm not good for much else."

  "You should go home. You look like death."

  "Can't go home. There's a day-long meeting of minds going on in our apartment. My girlfriend is producing a documentary."

  "How interesting," Leslie said. It figured that someone as together as Sarah would have a girlfriend equally together. "Well, I guess we could talk now, if you're up to it."

  Sarah nodded. "Look, I just want to get something off my chest before we talk about work. I know I wasn't your choice for this job, but I hope that I am proving to you that Richard made a good selection."

  Leslie flushed. "That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. I saw the action plan you've developed and I was really impressed. But I also wanted to say that I need to be more included in your thought process, but I know that I'm partly to blame for the situation. Richard's to blame too, because I know for a fact that he never told you I'm technically your supervisor."

  Sarah blinked. "No, he never told me that."

  "He wouldn't. It's just the way he is. He's in charge of Gene and all the areas of programming and production, and I'm in charge of everything else. It used to be a really simple dividing line when we had two programmers doubling as tech support, and a couple of people stuffing MagicBullet into mailers and taking orders over the phone;"

  Sarah seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "It still... makes business sense. I just wish someone had told me. I can see how you must feel. I mean, in a company this size fussing about a chain of command can get out of hand. But you do need a little structure."

  "And we have a little. Angie and Paolo work for me since they maintain the Web site and our on-line ordering system, along with their other work as Tigger programmers."

  "Oh." Sarah slowly opened the aspirin bottle, extracted two, tossed them in her mouth and chased them with a swallow of tea. "It wouldn't have made any difference if Richard had told me. I'd have taken the job. He called you the marketing person."

  Leslie sighed. "I'd slap him if we weren't best friends from way back. He's not being denigrating when he says that. He considers marketing, sales, negotiating and graphics to be great mysteries and he's in awe of anyone who can do them. So—infrequently, I'll admit — he's in awe of me. He is also in awe of accountants and lawyers." She nodded toward Sarah. "Oh, and plumbers."

  Sarah smiled slightly. "I'm in awe of plumbers. Well, a lot seems clearer to me, so thanks for talking about it. I — I hope we can just start over."

  "Not on the work you've done, which is great," Leslie said. "But on our working together."

  "It's a deal. And thanks for the tea. I think I'll live."

  "Hey, it's a mom thing. There's very little that hot tea and aspirin won't fix." Leslie hesitated for a moment, then decided to go for a complete truce. "By the way, you're not a Herbert."

  Sarah opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. "How did — Gene can't keep a secret to save his life, can he?"

  "That is a true statement," Leslie said. "What did he tell you it meant, anyway?"

  "A fuddy-duddy." Sarah made a pifiing so
und into her tea.

  Leslie chuckled and got to her feet. "He's mostly right. A Herbert is someone who is overly fond of rules and regulations and has no imagination. Like I said, you're not a Herbert."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence," Sarah said, with another wan smile.

  Leslie felt better as she went back to her office.

  So Sarah was a human being, not just an attractive suit with a black hole where the heart ought to be.

  Sarah said a general hi to the half-dozen women lounging on various pieces of furniture and received a couple of "heya, Sarahs" in return. There were several new faces tonight. Melissa blew her a kiss.

  She went to the bedroom, though she hardly needed to change out of jeans and a blouse, but if she lingered in the kitchen or living room she'd get pulled into the discussion. And after her significant faux pas last week, when she'd played devil's advocate on the question of capitalism versus socialism, she had no intention of getting caught up in another debate by the growing ensemble.

  "I just don't think we should out anyone," Leeza was saying with her usual passion. "If the artist doesn't call it lesbian, then we shouldn't either."

  "But then we're just going along with a lie." That was Janica, the pro-socialist debater from last week. "Someone has to name it so we can all own it."

  Sarah closed the door and settled down in the rocker with the reading material she'd brought home, but she set it aside, feeling grumpy. She didn't want to stay cooped up in the bedroom. It was a beautiful fall evening, a little hazy, but the sunset was carnation pink and the temperature barely below 65. A drive up to Diamond Heights would probably yield a spectacular view, but the thought of shoe-horning the car back out of the garage, which she knew she was lucky to have—well, it was too daunting. A walk would be nice, she thought, and she could certainly use the exercise. She found an overshirt and headed for the door.

  "Are you going out, darling?" Sarah turned to Melissa, who looked a little frazzled.