"I guess that's true. Janica isn't going to be thrilled about the change in plans, but she knows we're doing something important."
"But I thought you said the foundation didn't go along."
"They didn't, but I think I can talk around them. Or I'll apply elsewhere for a different grant and give theirs back." She shrugged and took her plate to the sink.
Sarah blinked dumbly at her sweet and sour shrimp.
"Are you going to finish that? I skipped lunch." Melissa reached for the container.
"All yours," Sarah managed to say from her suddenly tight throat. "There's a couple of pieces of shrimp at the bottom." She studied Melissa's fingers as they gripped the chopsticks. She was feeling disembodied, almost numb, and she didn't know why.
Leslie heard catcalls and whistles and gave up her last pretense at working. She didn't want to name the emotion she was feeling, but every time she thought about the evening she was about to spend with Sarah, she got butterflies, like some idiotic teenager. She'd best go find out what the fuss was all about to get Sarah out of her head.
When she saw the reason, she found it difficult to swallow. Sarah had changed for dinner and she hadn't been kidding about the black cocktail dress. The sequins glittered even under fluorescent lights, and the simple lines of the dress suited Sarah's figure perfectly.
"Down, you animals," Sarah was saying. "You'd think you'd never seen a dress before."
Mark said, "You clean up real good," while Angie and Melody evaluated the fabric as if they were considering buying it.
"This is just a jacket," Melody said. She lifted the lower corner to reveal a great deal more of Sarah's thigh before a tight black skirt came into view.
"Yeah, but I usually don't take it off." Sarah shook the jacket out of Melody's fingers and smoothed it over her hips again. "The dress is a little too revealing for my quaint old heart."
There was general encouragement for Sarah to take the jacket off, which Gene ended with, "Knock it off, youse guys. Sarah's not a pin-up."
Greg, whom Leslie had never heard utter more than two words at once said, "Sometimes the Nineties suck."
Sarah laughed and Leslie realized she'd gotten used to the frequency and tone of Sarah's laughter. "Sorry it's not the Sixties, Greg."
"Yeah, I suppose. If it was the Sixties, you'd be a guy." Greg looked sidelong at Mark. "Mark might like that, but I prefer you the way you are."
"Hey," Mark said indignantly. "I like Sarah the way she is too. And unlike some people, I have a relationship."
"Truce," Sarah said with a puppy-shooing gesture. "Thank you all for your compliments. I think it's time for me to exit stage right."
Leslie held the door open and gave Melody a look that said, "Don't you dare say that Leslie prefers Sarah the way she is too. Don't you dare."
Melody's smirk said she had considered it, and deserved brownie points for keeping her mouth shut.
"I'll go get changed," Leslie said to Sarah as the door to the Cave closed. "They've seen me in a dress, so there won't be another riot."
"I bet you clean up real good, too." Sarah's office phone rang and she ran to catch it. Leslie couldn't believe anyone could move that fast in heels. Sarah would ruin any of Matt's favorite horror movies — the monsters would never catch her, heels or not.
Sarah had been right about the parking situation. They ended up paying a valet to stow Leslie's Volvo in the hotel garage. They wasted no time in scavenging the best "whores dee-ovaries" and took turns standing in line at the bar. When the dining room opened, Leslie was already feeling the better for the mellow Cabernet she was sipping.
They shared their table with four other same-company couples, all infected with the networking bug. Leslie found herself talking nonstop to the two people who worked for Silicon Graphics while Sarah chatted with someone who had also once worked for CompuSoft. There was a free-for-all business card swap and before Leslie knew it, dinner was over.
Then the lights went down and the dinner sponsors began the long parade of thanks to the hard-working volunteers at Digital Queers. The ceremonies took less time than Leslie had expected, then there was a surprise bonus — a DJ and dancing.
A male/male couple at their table immediately headed for the dance floor, closely followed by the man and woman from the investment company. One man, who had been talking mostly to Sarah throughout dinner, addressed the entire table. "Somebody dance with me. It's hard being single."
Before anyone else could say yes, Sarah was on her feet and shrugging out of her jacket. "I was hoping someone would ask," she said.
Leslie was glad Sarah hurried to the dance floor with him. She was finding it difficult to swallow. It wasn't often that she was speechless and she was afraid if she opened her mouth all that would come out was a wolf whistle worthy of a construction worker. Under the jacket Sarah wore a strapless thigh-high sheath. Her body wasn't perfect, which made it all the more alluring. Her belly swelled like a woman's, not a boy's, and she did not have buns of steel. And the cleavage—well, that's what took Leslie's breath away. Lightly muscled arms, straight spine, firm calves — she shuddered in places that hadn't shuddered in quite a long time.
She was going to have dreams about slowly lowering the zipper of that dress, taking Sarah's breasts in her mouth, exploring the contours of Sarah's body. What would it be like to dance with her, to hold that body against her own? Why hadn't she realized that the personality she had come to admire was accompanied by a body she'd die for?
This sucks, she thought. Sarah works for me. But that zipper would come down so easily... "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
A tall woman in a pinstriped suit had paused next to her chair. "Would you like to dance?"
"I'd love to," Leslie said. She'd lost Sarah in the crowd, which was just as well.
Her companion turned out to be a more than passable dancer, and when the music segued to a two-step, they stayed on the floor. Just then, Leslie made eye contact with Sarah and she smiled gaily as she and her partner joined the swirl of dancers. When she glanced in Sarah's direction again, Sarah was still looking at her, and with the oddest expression on her face.
Though they danced well together, Leslie had to take a break. Sarah was just coming on to the floor again, this time with a woman who swung her expertly into the salsa beat. After that, Leslie lost track of Sarah's dance partners and barely kept track of her own. All she could think about was not thinking about Sarah. The harder she didn't think about Sarah, the more she thought about her. It was really not a good thing, and yet she couldn't stop herself.
It was almost midnight when Sarah finally collapsed into her chair. Leslie had only been seated a few moments herself.
"I'm bushed," Sarah said. "I had no idea there'd be dancing. This was great. I'm going dancing on Saturday night, too, so my cup runneth over. Thanks for asking me."
"My pleasure," Leslie said. "Did you take dance lessons?"
"Well, let's just say I've had private instruction," Sarah said with a laugh. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were mostly violet. "You know, I have to ask you something, and I hope you won't think I'm being nosy."
"Ask away."
"Are you a lesbian?"
"Oh!" Leslie felt herself blush. "I—yes. I just realized we've never really acknowledged that we have that in common."
"My fault," Sarah said. "I think I would have assumed it except for Matt. Which was quite unenlightened of me."
"Yeah, there's Matt to explain."
"You don't have to explain to me," Sarah said. "Really, it's none of my business."
"Well, someday I will. For now, let's just say I went through a phase and Matt was the result."
Sarah chuckled and then leaned over to pick up her jacket, which had ended up on the floor. Leslie told herself to ignore Sarah's cleavage then thought if she looked away everyone would know she'd been looking, so she kept looking, then had to drag her gaze to the centerpiece when Sarah straightened up.
Sar
ah fanned herself with her dinner napkin. "Shall we go? I can't wait to cool off outside."
Sarah preceded Leslie out to the curb. Leslie handed over the parking stub and they waited under the hotel canopy for the car. The night was clear and cold and Sarah inhaled deeply.
"The air is great here. Almost as good as Seattle."
Leslie realized that Sarah had a mark or smear of some sort on her shoulder blade. "Wait, you've got something on your back," she said.
"What?" Her back muscles rippled. "Please don't tell me it's a bug."
"I don't know what... Oh! It's a tattoo. I'm sorry."
"Oh!" Sarah glanced over her shoulder, her nose wrinkling. "I know it's small, but it's not a bug."
"What is it?" Leslie peered at it, then recognized the symbols. "Why do you have Olympic rings on your back?"
"Tradition," Sarah said. "The men back out all the time, but we women believe in tradition."
"No shit," Leslie said, feeling her jaw drop. "You went to the Olympics?"
Sarah turned all the way around with a grin. "You really didn't read my resume, did you? It's right there."
"I am so impressed. I've never known an Olympian before."
"Well," Sarah said, turning back to the car, "you might think that. But we're everywhere. Aren't you glad you haven't been telling Olympic jokes around me?"
Speechless for the second time that evening, Leslie could only think that Sarah was one surprise after another. She'd expected a one-dimensional attorney but Sarah had dimensions Leslie didn't even know existed.
"My girlfriend is probably still up, if you want some coffee," Sarah said as they pulled up in front of the apartment building.
"No, I'm fine. I stopped drinking about two dancing hours ago." Leslie hadn't actually met Sarah's girlfriend, but she'd seen her once when she had picked Sarah up after work. She felt a little thud in the region of her stomach and realized she had needed a reminder that Sarah wasn't in the market for a new girlfriend, just as she herself had told Matt only two days ago.
"Well, see you tomorrow," Sarah said as she got out of the car. "I had a lot of fun," she added.
If only, Leslie thought as she drove home. If only Sarah had put her jacket back on, then Leslie might not have spent the next several hours trying to get the image of Sarah's thighs out of her head. If only almost-forty women with offspring didn't produce anti-endorphins in every eligible lesbian they met. If only Xena Warrior Princess would backflip into her bedroom.
Sarah
ROMANCE (ro-mans, ro"mans') [Middle English, from Old French romans, romance, a work written in French from Vulgar Latin] romance (noun); romanced, romancing, romances (verb)
1. A strong, sometimes short-lived attachment, fascination, or enthusiasm for something or someone.
2. Ardent emotional attachment or involvement between two people, characterized by a high level of sincerity and devotion; love.
8
... Motion is a harmony, and dance
Magnificent.
(Willam Wordsworth)
"I hope that I get a chance to talk to people about what I'm going through with the foundation," Melissa said. She snapped her suitcase shut and turned to Sarah. "You don't mind my being gone for four days, do you?" She ran her hands under the waistband of Sarah's sweats.
"Really, I don't, enjoy yourself. I'm sure the symposium will be very helpful. Besides, I'm going to that Christmas party tonight, remember?"
"That's right," Melissa said with a pout. "Having fun with some guy."
"Who likes to dance, and you don't," Sarah reminded her. She rubbed her nose against Melissa's.
Melissa kissed her, then sighed. "I guess we'd better get going or I'll miss my flight."
Sarah was unsettled by the knowledge that she was rather glad Melissa would be gone for a few days. She needed some quiet and the last week — certainly brightened by the evening of fun she'd had with Leslie — had nevertheless been stressful at home. Melissa's unhappiness pervaded everything she did. They'd be talking about something else and Melissa would refer to "it" and Sarah would always know that Melissa was referring to the "situation" with the foundation.
She needed to think. She could hardly tell Melissa she thought the foundation was in the right. After all it was their money given on specified terms, and Melissa was not making a minor change to her proposed project. Why did she have to listen with a critical ear, not a supportive one? Melissa had never asked for Sarah's opinion, only her support. What did it matter to Sarah if Melissa ended up turning down the grant? She didn't know the answer—but she knew it mattered — it mattered a lot.
On the drive back from the airport she went on cross-examining herself — the more Melissa complained of feeling trapped and ill-used, the less sympathetic Sarah felt. She wanted to tell Melissa about law school, where unfairness was so monumental it drove some students to suicide. And was it fair when you lost a match because a tiny puff of wind put your arrow a hair's breadth out of the gold — or won because the puff caught someone else's arrow?
Life was not fair, she wanted to tell her, but Melissa had dreams, and she didn't want to quash them. If she'd learned anything in life, though, she'd learned that dreams didn't come true by wishing — it took hard work, perseverance, focus.
Where was the passion she had felt only a few weeks ago? Where was Happiness? Where was Romance?
Had it gotten muddied by the money? How shallow that would be, Sarah thought. How stupid to jeopardize the feelings she had for Melissa because of a few dollars.
She sat in the living room and looked out at the city she was coming to love. She wouldn't be here, wouldn't be changed for the better, if not for Melissa. Living here had let her discover a love of teaching and a genuine affection for kids — she looked forward to her classes more than she had thought possible. She felt more a part of developing a software product than a cog in a machine protecting one. She liked the ever-present babble of the programmers instead of the speakerphone conversations of other attorneys. Seattle still, called to her, but she had Grannie MacNeil's farm — her roots were safe.
She owed this new sense of self to Melissa, or to her love for Melissa. A love she'd never declared, she reminded herself. They'd never talked about forever, or commitment, or monogamy for that matter.
She had never told Melissa about the Olympics, never really given her anything of herself except her body... and her checkbook. Could she blame Melissa for not giving back more?
She continued to brood as she dressed for Geoff s Christmas party. She started to put on the same dress she'd worn with Leslie, having picked it up from the dry cleaners the day before, then something made her put it back in the closet. She did want to make an impression on Geoff’s co-workers, for Geoff’s sake, but not... well, she had really worn the dress for Leslie, to dismiss any last vestiges of Herbertness from Leslie's image of her.
She selected instead a dress better suited for dancing, in deep emerald with a sequined bodice. It was a gift from Jenny, the ballroom dancer, and had a flaring skirt, high-necked halter, and a dramatic plunge to the small of her back — at least it appeared backless. There was actually a closely matched flesh tone fabric of Spandex and cotton blend that allowed a wide range of movement, covered her bra straps and kept rivulets of perspiration from running down her back. Black seamed hose with flocked roses at the ankles made her feel decidedly rakish, and she hoped Geoff appreciated the time it took to get them on properly.
She was waiting at the window when Geoff s taxi pulled up and she hurried out the door to save him the walk up the stairs. He whistled when he saw her, which reminded her of the programmers at work, and she twirled as she reached the street.
"You look great in a tux," she told him. "Will I do?"
"You'll do, sweet thing," Geoff responded. "I will be the envy of every man there."
"I don't know about that," Sarah said, settling in the taxi. "But I'll ruffle your tie and gaze adoringly into your eyes, because I said I would.
.." She hesitated, because she didn't want to seem judgmental and ruin their evening.
"But you don't really accept that it's necessary. Well, neither do I," Geoff said. "I'm a finalist for a job at Carsey-Mellon Foods—"
"Wow," Sarah said. "That's a huge outfit. I bet their legal department is up there with CompuSoft's in size."
"I think so. And they have a gay and lesbian employee group and domestic partners benefits, not that I have one of those. I'd sacrifice the last ten percent of my pension vesting if I left H and G, but I'd be a lot happier. I hate biting my tongue when they make remarks about Hawaiian marriages, and last week someone was reading a snip from the paper about the increasingly lower turnouts for the annual memorial march for Harvey Milk and said it was good riddance. I wanted to punch him. I'm afraid I will one of these days."
"Let's dance the evening away," Sarah said soothingly. "Just don't get me drunk like last time — I had a hangover that nearly killed me."
Geoff chortled. "I didn't have any ill effects, but then you finished that last bottle all by yourself."
"Did I? No wonder. You're a bad influence."
"Hah!" He promptly insulted her morals and they bickered the rest of the way to Kyoki's. Geoff kept his hand proprietarily in the small of her back as he shepherded her through the lobby to the large banquet room. She didn't remind Mr. Butthead, when Geoff introduced her, that she had seen him before at a hotel in Louisville. They sampled sushi from the buffet, then tossed off a thimbleful of warmed sake that burned deliriously all the way down. Most of the banquet room was devoted to the dance floor, and a four-piece ensemble was tuning up.
"That's Mr. Hansen, the H of H and G Chemical. And his wife, Lorraine," Geoff whispered in her ear. "G is no longer with us, and all of the corporate culture springs from Mr. Hansen's narrow brow."
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