Elena Undone

by Nicole Conn

  *

  Peyton sat at Pinot Latte wondering if Elena was going to show up. They had previously arranged a time to go over some chapter break ideas, but after Margaret had shown up, unexpectedly there had been a silence that felt like estrangement. None of the usual daily e-mails back and forth, no phone calls for the past three days. Elena was a half hour late, so Peyton had to assume she wasn’t going to show. She was just finishing the last of her coffee when she saw Elena’s van parking across the street. She watched her sit for a moment before she exited the car. Peyton watched as Elena made her way to the café. She was wearing one of her “church outfits,” which Peyton hadn’t seen for the last few weeks. Even in her draad n in heb clothing, Peyton saw Elena’s beauty, and it suddenly made her feel as if a whole other person lived inside the Elena that was presented to the world, a whole other life she could have had, then stopped herself from thinking any further.

  Elena walked up slowly, almost diffidently, and sat down. “Sorry I’m late… I…”

  “Sure. No problem.” Peyton cleared her throat, played with her teaspoon.

  Elena toyed with a napkin. “Sorry, I probably should have called this meeting off. I didn’t have time to do the research we talked about. Got caught up in a big fundraiser for the church and Nash has had soccer practice three times this week and…they’re in the playoffs and…” Elena’s conversation slowly lost steam.

  Elena glanced up at Peyton who was looking off out the window. The handsome jawline that Elena always found intriguing was tightening, as if Peyton was stressed. She so badly wanted to see that smile of Peyton’s that made Elena feel like everything was going to be okay, but she appeared as ill at ease as Elena felt, but when she turned to her her expression was unreadable.

  “If you’re too busy, that’s fine,” Peyton replied. “Look, Elena, if there is too much going on in your life, don’t worry about it. I…I totally know how it is when you just have too much—”

  “No!” Elena pounced back, then stopped. “It’s just…well, I guess I don’t understand.”

  “I’m just saying if you don’t have time for this project, it’s totally okay. Look, I don’t have kids, or a husband and a life outside of my work right now—I can’t expect you to have the kind of time…”

  “It looks very much like you have a life outside of this project,” Elena interjected.

  Peyton looked at her confused. “What?”

  “It’s none of my business, really.”

  They sat a moment in silence. “It’s just…I just thought...” Elena tugged at her braid. “She hurt you so badly.”

  “Oh…” Peyton finally realized they were talking about Margaret. “Oh, God, Elena. I’m sorry she interrupted us the other day.”

  “I don’t understand. Are you seeing her, now?”

  “Seeing her?” Peyton wasn’t quite sure how to explain the intricacies and multiple levels of dysfunction of previous lesbian relationships to Elena. “It’s not that. She’s been wanting to try again and I...I’ve been on the fence. But I...”

  Elena waited eagerly.

  “I just don’t want anything to get in the way of my adopting. I...I just need to stay focused on that.”

  “Well, sure. That’s exactly right. You should stay focused on that.” Elena responded. “So, how is that going?”

  Awkward silence. The truth of the matter was Peyton had skipped several of the adoption class meetings in order to connect with Elena. She had been so busy otherwise, she hadn’t returned, even though her desire for a child was still every bit as strong as it had been from the start.

  “Well, I guess I—we,” she smiled, “have been busy. I thought you had found another agency. Any luck?”

  “Yes and no. I found an agency through our church, but…well, I haven’t really followed up.” She suddenly felt guilty.

  “You okay?” Peyton asked. Elena looked at her, into her, as only she seemed to be able to do, and suddenly they both laughed.

  “I guess we’ve both been so busy with this,” Elena put out her hands to express their connection and project, “that we’ve been letting other things…slide?”

  “I’m sorry, that’s the last thing I wanted this to do.”

  “Are you kidding, Peyton?” Elena spoke fervently, “This has been one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. I feel…feel alive. Being with you,” she searched for the right way to put it, “makes me feel good. Happy. And I probably needed a break from all that other stuff anyway.”

  Elena smiled and Peyton took a long breath, smiled too.

  “I’m so hungry,” Elena stammered. “Do you want to get something to eat?”

  Sometime later they finished a late lunch, sharing more laughter, the previous awkwardness gone.

  “My husband never likes to spend time like this.”

  “Like…what?”

  “Just being. Being silly. Giggling. We’re like that couple over there.” Elena turned to a couple in their mid-fifties sitting completely uninvolved with one another. “You know…where they’ve lived their entire lives together but they have nothing to say to one another.”

  “Hmmmm.” Peyton pursed her lips in sympathy.

  “Is it different with you?”

  Peyton was still confused.

  “You and Margaret? Or women?”

  Peyton smiled bleakly and Elena ran on, “It’s just that I never really thought about what it would be like to be in a relationship with a woman. You know women are so much more talkative anyway. I mean I have a really good friend, Diana, from the church, and she and I spend all our time chatter/ditime ching away, so I’m just wondering, is that part of the draw? Having someone to talk to?”

  Peyton smiled. “Just because it’s a relationship between two women doesn’t mean it isn’t necessarily dysfunctional, Elena.”

  “Not mutually exclusive, hmmm?” Elena smiled back.

  “Well, when I was young and idealistic I believed in the premise that the pairing between two women who are driven by emotion rather than sexual conquest would make their coupling somehow more ‘worthy.’”

  “I can see that. Women just feel things differently.”

  “Apparently not. Lesbians are just like everyone else. Trust me, they have absolutely no claim to morality.”

  “So…what about you and…her?”

  But before Peyton could answer, Wave walked up while they were absorbed in their conversation. She cleared her throat to make her presence known. “Ladies!”

  “Oh, hi, Wave.”

  “Elena…” Wave surveyed the situation and with a subtle smirk added, “I’d ask if you need anything, but it looks like your cups runneth over.”

  As an awkwardness ensued, Elena’s phone rang, Barry on the other end.

  Both Wave and Peyton tried to act nonchalant as it was clear Elena had lost track of time and was being chastised by the bellowing voice on the other end, “…over an hour and now he has no way to get home!”

  “Oh my gosh, Barry—I’m so sorry. No, I just completely forgot. I’ll be right over.” Elena began to gather her things and then looked up at them both apologetically. “I’m so bad. I completely forgot Barry was bringing his mentee for dinner, and I thought Nash had a way home from soccer practice, but his pal didn’t show up…” She realized she was babbling. “I’m so sorry…I have to run. I’ll see you Tuesday,” Elena added as she got up, waved cursorily to both of them and dashed out the door.

  Wave watched as Elena left and then turned to Peyton, shook her head.

  “It’s not like that.”

  “You, my friend, are playing the oldest and most tragic game in the book.” Wave pushed Peyton aside and sat next to her in the booth, put a hand on her dear friend’s arm. “Lonely housewife meets interesting and quite wonderful lesbo to take a midlife walk on the wild side.”

  “My God, Wave can you say ultra straight? Can’t a girl have friends for God’s sake?”

  “Trust me, doll, you two are heading
for that fork in the road —and once you hit the road less traveled there’s going to be one hell of a tarry messifya tarry.”

  *

  Elena sat with a group of the church women at their Church of Holy Light’s annual planning retreat. Every year she had girded herself for the full weekend of meetings dedicated to the following year’s activities, fundraisers and special classes, which ended up being meeting after meeting of endless chatter with very little resolution. This year it seemed doubly difficult to prepare herself mentally and to attend all the sundry and picayune topics.

  Millie was yattering at such velocity and volume that Elena found herself with a spinning headache. Millie was in her three-piece Ann Taylor suit. It was a deep crimson, what she called her “battle suit,” which she wore during the most important meetings. She continued to issue orders to various of her henchmen, then returned to the “central and most global need for funding. All our efforts must lead to one goal. We must support the most important work we have been blessed to do for God, our father. And all this should culminate in our largest tithing event—our annual fall fundraiser to support whoever’s leading the charge on banning gay marriage.”

  “But I thought we had voted to stay away from the political elements of this battle,” Diana pleaded.

  “I know we have a strict policy and a politics protocol—after all, I’m the one that designed our policy points. But this is just too big of a fight and we have to be there to help those in the trenches fighting on our behalf. This is the one issue where we must all band together, gather all our resources. Do you have any idea how wealthy…the…those well, the men are, anyway?”

  Elena’s head swiveled to her as all the other women excitedly jumped in.

  “Do you have any idea what they refer to themselves as?” Millie continued, her eyes too wide, her voice too shrill. “The Purple Mafia.” This was followed by a whisper, “You know…the Gay Mafia. Now why do you think they use a term like that? Why, they know themselves that they’re evil!”

  Elena quietly excused herself. She couldn’t even take in the words Millie was spouting—she just knew for the sake of her head not exploding off her shoulders that she had to exit.

  She found a nice lonely willow tree to sit by, removed her phone from her purse, looked to see if she had any messages. She was about to pop the phone back into the purse, but glanced back at Millie’s rigid back as she organized her minions. She retrieved her phone and began to text.

  *

  Peyton lounged on her sofa at the gazebo, looking at the last proofs of the photos she and Elena had taken, a variety of 8 x 10s, not only going over the shots, but the events around photographing several of the women Peyton had interviewed for the book. One was a serious bodybuilder and aerialist whose musculature was sculpted of the most exquisite lines; another was a pregnant mom; and the third was a series of photos Elena roohotos Ehad taken of an eighty-seven-year-old spiritualist/healer who worked with disabled children.

  Elena had taken photos of this master healer teaching these adorable children by utilizing a sort of gentle laying on of hands, a new way to move their knobbled knees and palsied limbs. What made all this more amazing is that the woman had been blind since she was four and was now in her late eighties. Elena had captured the gritty beauty of the woman’s arthritic and gnarled hands upon the soft children’s flesh. The entire photo shoot held a spirituality and a poignancy that Peyton had never witnessed before. Elena had revealed so much of her own self in the manner in which she had depicted the older woman’s vocation with her own avocation and it truly impressed Peyton.

  Peyton thought back to the previous week when Elena had taken the shots. “You were so good with her and the kids,” she had told her.

  “Oh my gosh, Peyton. They were such a joy to shoot.”

  And Peyton remembered the electric excitement in Elena’s eyes, and wondered how she could ever have given up something that she so loved.

  Peyton glanced through the photos one more time, laid them to one side, sighed and closed her eyes momentarily.

  Peyton’s phone buzzed. She shook off sleep, trying to clear her head. She picked up the phone and read the text:

  Oh my god...I feel so out of place here. Elena.

  Peyton stretched, trying to clear the bugs from her head, stared at the text a moment.

  R U Ok? Peyton texted her back.

  These people feel like strangers.

  Is it possible for u to go home? Peyton shot back.

  No. :( But looking forward to R photo shoot Friday.

  For the next half hour Peyton tried to support Elena’s efforts at the retreat, giving her as much positive feedback as she could, and then suddenly Elena’s texts stopped, no goodbye even.

  *

  “Where the heck have you been?” Barry walked up behind Elena, terrifying her. “I’ve been trying to find you everywhere. We’re supposed to be hosting cocktails in ten minutes. You’re not even changed.”

  Elena looked up at him, exasperated.

  “What?” he asked, exasperated right back. “What’s with you?”

  He sat next to her and studied her for a moment, then said, his voice calm and proficient, as if he were addressing one of his parishioners, “Everything okay here? Tell me what you’re feeling. Break it down for me.”

  “Ughhh….”

  “I’m sorry.” Barry cleared his throat, studied his wife. “Okay…what’s going on, El?”

  “Don’t you ever get...get sick of all this?”

  Taken aback, he took some moments to consider her question. “Well, sure I do. We all do. But, it’s just temporary.” He put a hand on her arm. “We all have our bad days.”

  She shrugged him off her, then felt badly, took his hand in hers. “I’m sorry…guess I’m missing Nash.”

  “Trust me, he’s not missing us.” He winked at her. She smiled back. He was probably right about that. Nash and Tori had gone off to spend the weekend with Tyler and Lily. Tyler had purchased tickets to take the kids to Wicked presumably to give Elena and Barry a bit of a break. When Elena had dropped the kids off, Tyler had made a sarcastic comment about her “mysterious disappearance.” Tori had jumped in to explain that “Momma Bear is on a project. She’s shooting again.”

  “Do tell!” Tyler insisted, his tone teasing, as, of course, he already knew she had been spending copious amounts of time with Peyton “working on the Women’s Glory Project.” Lily had arched a brow. Tyler smiled enthusiastically and Nash summed everything up with “Yeah, this is a great opportunity for mom to have something of her own.”

  “Isn’t that the truth!” Tyler heartily agreed.

  Elena was thrilled that Tyler and Lily had the kids this weekend. It was an opportunity for Nash to have a break from all the zealotry. She wasn’t sure how long it was going to be before Nash and Barry arrived at an unresolvable stalemate around the church, Barry’s role in it, and the resentments Nash harbored toward all the hypocrisy he rebelled more and more against. She feared a huge falling out in the not too distant future.

  “Elena!” Barry snapped. She shook her head, rubbed her throbbing temples as Barry’s voice grew tight. “Look, I’ve got to lead the evening prayer now, and then we have to host this thing, so are you able to do this?”

  He looked intently at her, his expression not quite pleading. She nodded silently.

  After the endless cocktail hour, an even more endless banquet dinner, Elena was completely exhausted from all the smiling, idle chitchat, earnestness and fanaticism that had all but echoed from the walls. She had a teeming headache.

  Now she and Barry were in bed, and as he read his notes for his sermon the following Sunday banwing Sumorning, Elena got out of bed and escaped into the bathroom.

  She felt a little guilty that she had put the phone in the bathroom to charge because she had done so with the express purpose of being able to text Peyton later:

  Sorry I had to dash—unexpected interruption… But I want to thank you, P�
� U make me feel like I can get through anything.

  She waited a moment. Then hit Send.

  *

  Peyton walked up to the front door, glanced about, uncertain. Was she really doing this? Before she could knock, or decide not to, Elena opened the door. Peyton smiled.

  They both felt a bit awkward. After all, Peyton had never seen Elena’s world. Almost all of their exchanges had taken place at Peyton’s home, Pinot Latte, at the park or a photo shoot.

  “Hey.” Peyton shuffled.

  “Please, come in.”

  Elena gave her an extremely brief tour. There wasn’t much to show. Nash’s very fifteen-year-old-boy room cluttered with posters of soccer players, the occasional band photo and a collage of photos Elena apparently had taken as a walk down memory lane for him and Tori. Down the hall was Tori’s guest room, feminine, the bed piled with Tori’s clothes, but when they reached the closed master bedroom door Elena merely pointed at it, and then they were quickly in the kitchen, which was separated only by an arch from the dining room and conjoined living room.

  On the dining room table, Elena had placed a variety of Danish, which she offered Peyton. “Wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry before the shoot.”

  Peyton tried to be polite. “Nah...I’m fine. Really. I just finished swimming and had a big lunch. But thank you. For going to all this trouble.”

  “Well, then…” Elena looked expectantly at Peyton. “We should begin.”

  Elena’s garage/studio was cramped, but served its purpose. In the space existed two universes. One side was comprised of the usual garage paraphernalia, shelves of hammers, bolts, a room fan, boxes, clutter. And on the other side, a sheer set of drapes had been set up to cover both corners of the wall, one serving as a backdrop, the other as a framing wall, where many beautiful shots had been hung—photos of Nash, Tori, scenic and artistic shots.