by Jane Hardee
“Didn’t tell me what?”
“Forget it. She can tell you herself.” Jess stormed past Camille, not meeting her eyes.
Camille put a hand on Jess’s arm as she tried to pass. “Jess, what is it? If there’s something up with Michael, then I need to know. Especially if it’s going to affect her career.”
Jess looked down at Camille’s hand and decided just because Michael was ashamed of what happened between them didn’t mean she should be. And she wasn’t.
“We slept together,” Jess said without any indication of anger. She heard Camille gasp. “We spent the night together and then she walked away. I haven’t heard from her since. I can assure you, it won’t affect her career.” Jess left the bathroom and headed home.
*
“She must be pissed about something,” Michael mumbled to herself as she put her cell phone down. Camille had been calling her nonstop for almost a week, and Michael was steadfastly avoiding her. Camille wasn’t leaving messages, so it couldn’t be too important. Michael stuffed the rest of her sandwich in her mouth, wiped her hands on a napkin, and readied her tools for detail work. Michael didn’t want to be nagged right now. The last few weeks she had not been able to sleep, and aside from grabbing stuff from the fabulous sandwich shop across the street, she hadn’t been buying food. It was hard to sleep at night and even harder to wake up and pull herself from the warmth of the bed and the warmth of Jess’s memory. The best part of the day was the first second she was awake, before she could fully comprehend her surroundings. In those precious moments, she could still feel Jess’s naked body wrapped around hers.
After losing her nerve once when attempting to contact Jess through text, Michael threw herself even harder into sculpting, but it wasn’t working anymore. She daydreamed when she should be sculpting, and fantasized when she should be sketching. Everything made her think of Jess. While she was ahead of schedule the previous week, she’d be lucky to finish by the opening. Bursts of energy struck her but soon her hands would tire, and the next thing she knew she would be obsessing about Jess again. It was crazy. She was crazy.
Wiping sweat from her brow, Michael knelt next to the bottom of the sculpture in a catcher’s stance. Her quads bunched and pulled the fabric of her shorts tight against her thighs, but this was the best angle to remove large chunks of stone from the base of her sculpture. Michael put her weight on the balls of her feet and, using her upper body as leverage against her pick and hammer, she pounded away at the last remaining rough edge of marble. This was the final section of labor-intensive sculpting before she would be moving on to the detail work. While she was relieved to see the sculpture take form, she would miss the exhausting, mind-numbing work that allowed her to forget everything except the burning of her muscles, the aching of her hands.
With just a little over a month until the opening, the most intricate and difficult sculpting work was still ahead. It was easy to make abstract pieces with no real detail, but she wanted this piece to come alive in the detail. When people entered the lobby of Le Femme magazine, Michael wanted them to experience the beauty and presence of Jess. Michael stood, brushing dust from her shorts, and slipped her tools into her tool belt. Their relationship was done, but at least this sculpture could preserve Jess forever, in a way others could also appreciate. It seemed only fitting that the most important sculpture of her career thus far would mirror the most important person in her life. She knew nothing would ever compare to the real thing, but she wanted people to be as captivated by this work of art as Michael herself was by the woman herself. Michael knew this was a dangerous line of thinking, especially since she needed to at least finish the details of the feet before she headed back to her hotel for the night.
Pulling the bag of detailing tools from the table, Michael glanced at the sculpture’s undefined feet to assess where to begin. Closing her eyes to visualize the final product, she was struck in the stomach by the visceral memory of Jess’s heels digging into her back as she thrust her hips hard into Jess, driving them both over the edge. Sweat had dripped from her brow onto Jess’s breasts and Jess had screamed her name. Yes, it was their first time as lovers, but Michael felt as if she had been born to touch Jess’s body. She felt as though she was put on this earth to do nothing more than caress Jess and love every inch of her form. As the memory rolled through her, it caused a burning in her lower belly, and Michael braced her arms on the work table and tried to get her body under control. She felt guilty becoming aroused when she thought about Jess because her emotions were about so much more than sex. But the sex had been…astounding. Michael had never come so easily, or so frequently. It had become increasingly obvious throughout their night together that Michael’s deep and almost obsessive love for Jess when combined with her ever-present attraction made for the most powerful and intense sexual experience possible. Everything felt new, wonderful, and powerful, as if she had been reborn into another body. A body that was called to answer every sexual desire of Jess’s body.
After a few deep breaths, Michael picked up her carver’s drill and knelt by the sculpture’s feet to begin working. As she inspected the head of the drill she heard someone enter the lobby door. Michael turned to find Marguerite walking toward her.
“Hello, Michael,” she said in her sultry tone. Marguerite was incredibly attractive, and Michael didn’t think she tried to be seductive or sexy, but she was just the same. Under normal circumstances Michael would be intrigued by a woman like Marguerite, but Michael was beginning to realize she was never going to feel “normal” again.
“Hi, Marguerite,” Michael said, jumping up and wiping the dust from her hands and clothes. She wanted to make sure she could answer any of Marguerite’s questions, so she went over to the table and picked up some of her sketches and notes.
“I’m starting to detail now. Does everything look okay? I’m on schedule and things are looking good,” Michael said nervously, before Marguerite had a chance to ask.
Marguerite began to appraise the sculpture from top to bottom as she walked gracefully and with confidence completely around it. Michael was ready for any critiques Marguerite had to offer and would adjust her work accordingly. She knew Marguerite to be incredibly shrewd and blunt. Working in the lobby of the office afforded her the opportunity to see Marguerite interact with others. When addressing the construction workers and contractors, she was always respectful and polite, but she made her wants known. Rubbing the back of her neck, Michael watched Marguerite’s face for signs of approval and awaited her reply.
“The pose is strong. I look forward to an expression that matches. I feel confident you will deliver on your promise of fierceness.” Marguerite glanced at the sketches Michael held, and then the dozens of others tacked to the corkboard and spread across the work table. “She is your lover, no?” asked Marguerite, arching an eyebrow.
“What? Who? No.” Shocked, Michael stumbled with her words. While readying herself for any input Marguerite had about her work, she was not prepared for such a personal question. She was about to ask who Marguerite was referring to, but she didn’t need to. It was obvious that this beauty was sculpted from Michael’s heart. The sketches were pointless, as she never looked at them when working. She didn’t need to.
Rather than probe further, Marguerite just crossed her arms and stared at Michael. It had not taken long for Michael to see how Marguerite had become such a successful businesswoman. An authoritative glare from those crystal blue eyes would make even a hardened criminal fess up.
Michael resisted the urge to shuffle her feet and look down. She held Marguerite’s gaze and spoke of Jess for the first time to anyone since their night together. “No. Not lover. Her name is Jess. My best friend. And the love of my life. We were together once before I came here. But we haven’t spoken since,” Michael blurted, turning away from Marguerite. She pulled her T-shirt on over her sweat-soaked and dusty tank top. With all the thoughts running through her mind, she knew she wouldn’t get much mor
e work done tonight.
“La douleur exquise…” Marguerite said, almost to herself.
“Pardon?” Michael asked, not sure if the words were meant for her.
“A French phrase. Roughly translated, it means ‘the exquisite pain.’ The emotional ache of wanting someone you know you cannot have.”
“Aptly put.” Michael sighed in response as she felt the tissue around her heart ache.
“Why have you not spoken with her?” Marguerite’s voice remained soft. It seemed strange to hear her use such a gentle voice. Michael had never heard it from her before.
“She doesn’t love me. She never has. It was a mistake,” Michael continued as she began to put her tools away and tidy up her work area.
“Do you know, Michael, that I considered seducing you when I first saw you enter the restaurant. You are so capable and strong. Yet you present yourself in a humble and kind way. It is very intoxicating,” Marguerite said, as she wandered closer to Michael. “Do you know what stopped me, Michael? What kept me from taking what I wanted?”
“No.” Michael asked, feeling even more shocked. Michael thought back to a time in her life not that long ago when she would have gladly spent a few hours in the arms of this attractive near stranger. And it occurred to her in this very moment that if she were to sleep with any other woman, all she would think about was Jess. And no one would compare.
Marguerite took her manicured index finger and placed it right on the sketch of her sculpture’s face. “Her.”
Michael’s gaze fell to her sketches pinned all over the wall. They didn’t even do her justice. She had never found a way to capture Jess’s true beauty in any medium she had tried.
“This is the woman who holds your heart. It is a cruel woman who would sleep with you when she knows how dearly you love her. Especially if she does not return your feelings.”
Michael was on the verge of getting angry. Her possessive and nearly chauvinistic side would surely rear its ugly head at any comment that would suggest Jess was at fault for any of this. There was not a cruel bone in Jess’s body. “It wasn’t like that. She doesn’t know how I feel. I’ve never told her. I don’t know why she slept with me.” This was proving to be a very insightful conversation indeed. Until she spoke those words, Michael had never considered why Jess slept with her. It was true she wondered how often Jess slept with people she considered friends. But why me? Why now? Her own actions had been much easier to explain. Once Michael tasted Jess’s lips, she had to possess her.
“She doesn’t know the depth of your feelings? Well, then it is you who are cruel. How could you deny her a love this strong?” Marguerite put her hand out and held Michael’s hands. “A love that creates such beauty, a love flowing from your hands.” She slowly moved one hand up and laid it on Michael’s chest. “And in your heart.”
Michael lifted her eyebrows and stared at the ceiling in an effort to keep the tears welling in her eyes from falling. Was she denying Jess the love she would so happily give to her? A love she was letting eat her alive?
“But she doesn’t…” Michael began.
“How do you know? What if she does?”
*
Turning her pillow over for the third time in as many minutes, Jess kept trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. It was after one a.m. and Jess knew she would feel awful the next day if she didn’t at least get a few decent hours of sleep. She especially needed to be well-rested for the last day of school. She planned a class party at the end of each school year. Parents were invited, and there were snacks and balloons to celebrate her students’ accomplishments. All things considered, her school year had managed to go well. The kids made surprising progress, and she was proud to be sending two students on to middle school.
She wondered what Michael was doing now. Probably sleeping. Jess selfishly hoped she was sleeping instead of out with friends…or a girlfriend. The thought sickened Jess. Michael was a flesh-and-blood woman, and after their night together, Jess knew she was an incredibly passionate one. How long would it be before Michael found someone else to pleasure? Michael kissing and touching her until the only thing that could escape from her lips would be Michael’s name?
Jess flopped onto her back, swore, and threw a pillow across the room. Staring up at the painting above her bed, she was tempted to pull it off its nail and throw that across the room as well. The painting of fireflies floating underneath a willow tree had been a present from Michael when Jess moved into this apartment. Jess remembered feeling so moved, especially when she found out Michael had built the frame for the canvas herself. The summer evenings in Dogwood Bluff were full of fireflies, and they would catch bug after bug until they couldn’t find any more. Jess felt cruel putting them in jars the way some kids did, and they developed a catch and release method when it came to the glowing insects. Jess’s heart began to ache even more when she thought of Michael and the way she had let those fragile bugs fly out of her hands as a child, just because Jess wanted her to. No matter what Jess wanted from her, she would never hold Michael back from what she wanted to do in life. She had to let her go too.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I’m looking for Michael Shafer.”
Michael’s head snapped up as she heard a woman say her name from the lobby in an aggravated tone. In a rush she put her tools down on the floor and jumped up to meet the woman in the lobby before she barged into the work area. The construction workers had draped some dark green plastic from the ceiling to give her privacy to work, and she rushed to move it aside and secure it closed behind her before anyone could enter.
“I don’t care if I’m not on some goddamned list! I’m going in there!” The woman’s loud voice echoed in the nearly empty space as she glared at Jim. She was standing in front of his tall desk with her arms crossed, tapping her expensive-looking shoe on the tile floor. It was around noon and Michael was relieved most of the crew was on their lunch break. The men had left in a rush, leaving tools, paint, and ladders placed haphazardly all over the open space.
Oh, no.
Sara had the same lustrous brown hair as Jess, but the similarities ended there. Unlike Jess’s voluptuous curves, Sara was short with a slight frame. Her eyes were brown, not deep sapphire like her sister’s. It had been years since Michael had seen Sara, and in all their time growing up together she had never heard her so angry.
“You,” Sara snapped as she saw Michael approach, her eyes wide and furious. “We need to talk.”
Before she responded, a dreadful thought entered Michael’s brain. What if something had happened to Jess? An accident? “Sara, what is it? Is Jess okay?” Michael asked. All thoughts of awkwardness and what Jess must think of her fled from her mind. If something had happened to Jess, Michael would never forgive herself for walking out on her.
Sara again glared at Jim, who excused himself for a smoke break.
“Physically, yes. Jess is fine,” she replied in a less hateful voice.
Now in front of Jim’s desk a few feet away from Sara, Michael sank down against the heavy wood to sit on the floor and rubbed her face roughly with her hands as she let the relief wash over her. Then the rest of what Sara had said sank in. “What do you mean ‘physically’?”
“What the hell have you done to my sister, you asshole?” Sara screamed as Michael jumped up and backed away from her, holding her hands up in exasperation.
“What…nothing…I mean…” Michael stammered. Dropping her hands to her sides, Michael was not going to fight off Sara’s anger. She had every right to be angry. So did Jess.
“First you won’t talk to her about the kiss, then you sleep with her, then you won’t speak to her? Do I have everything straight?” Sara counted the events off on her fingertips, her voice had lowered considerably but was still icy.
“No, I…wait, kiss. What kiss? With Stevie? Why would I want to talk to her about that?” Michael asked, getting angry herself. She understood Sara coming over here to defend her sister
, or even to scold Michael for making a mess of things, but no one was going to try to make her feel bad for self-preservation. Michael was not going to stand by and be forced to endure discussions about Jess and Stevie’s sexual chemistry. Had she slept with Stevie that night? Michael’s head began to hurt as she ran through all the possibilities and mistakes that were mounting up in front of her like trash at a landfill.
“You’re a real asshole, Shafer. How drunk were you that night? The only person she willingly kissed that night was you.” Sara set her briefcase down and walked around the desk to sit in Jim’s cushy office chair, apparently intending to stay for a while.
“Kissed me…Jess kissed me?” Michael shut her eyes tight and rubbed her forehead. Bits and pieces of that night had returned to her, but a lot of it was still unclear. Wait…
“The dream…” Michael said to herself as she rubbed her bottom lip. The dream of kissing Jess had been so real, so vivid. The taste of Jess’s lips, the feel of her skin. Even the smell of her. It was the most realistic dream Michael had ever had. What if it hadn’t just been a dream?
“Dream? Yeah, like a dream come true for Jess. It changed everything. So then you sleep with her, and what, forget she exists?” Sara barked. She must have noticed the deeply wounded look in Michael’s eyes at that comment because she again lowered her tone. “Jess is one of the most wonderful, positive, and selfless people I’ve ever known. Lately she will hardly take my calls, she’s lost weight, she was even missing work until summer break started. I don’t know what happened between you two, or what you even want to happen, Michael, but you need to talk to her. You need to tell her how you feel because this is killing her. And she deserves better.”