Coming Attractions

by Bobbi Marolt

  “Mmm,” she moaned, and her thighs ached to feel Cory’s tongue within them.

  Cory leaned down. “This isn’t fair to you.” She breathed hot air against Helen’s ear. She sucked gently on an earlobe and traced the edge with her tongue.

  Helen groaned loudly and removed Cory’s fingers from her mouth.

  “I don’t care,” she said and pulled Cory’s mouth onto hers.

  They kissed feverishly, and they battled with their tongues until Helen pushed the pillows from the bed. She scooted downward, closer to the end of the bed.

  “Get up here.” She pulled on Cory’s arm, and Cory attempted to stretch beside Helen. “No.” Helen patted her chest. “Up here. Straddle me. Do it now.”

  Cory moved deftly, avoiding Helen’s injured arm. She grasped the headboard and lowered herself. Helen grabbed Cory’s hip with her good hand and quickly pulled her against her mouth.

  “Oh God, Helen.” She breathed heavily as Helen swiftly moved her tongue.

  Helen bit into Cory’s lips. “It’s as though I’ve never tasted you before this.” She pressed her cheek against the wetness. She licked wide, slowly. Cory grabbed onto Helen’s head and moved swiftly against her mouth. Helen flicked her tongue against Cory’s clit and Cory suddenly came. Helen slipped a finger inside to feel the muscle contractions. With each contraction and release, she pulled Helen deeper.

  “Oh, yes. Oh, Helen.” She gritted her teeth and each groan grew louder until a final shudder told Helen to stop.

  Helen reached up with one hand and placed it against Cory’s chest. She felt her heart pounding against her fingers. Cory’s eyes remained closed while her breaths became normal. She touched Cory’s breast and then she grasped it roughly.

  “I love your breasts.” She squeezed again.

  Cory whimpered and then looked downward. The intensity in her eyes hadn’t subsided, nor had her quick breaths, but she smiled at Helen.

  “My God. That was indescribable.”

  “Happy to be of service,” Helen said lovingly. “Come down beside me.”

  Cory released the headboard and snuggled closely to Helen’s left side. She placed her hand beneath Helen’s nightshirt and then between Helen’s legs. She massaged gently.

  “Just let me touch you,” she said. Helen nodded and held on to Cory’s arm. “I miss your body.” She withdrew her hand and traced circles around Helen’s breasts. She grasped Helen’s left breast and nuzzled against it. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m okay.”

  “I’m sorry for the fight.” Cory nuzzled closer.

  “I love you, Cory.” Helen struggled to her side and faced her.

  “I know. I just—”

  “Baby, Marty and I are friends. Tomorrow I’ll show you why she’s been here so often.”

  “You don’t have to prove—”

  She placed her fingers to Cory’s lips. “Yes,” she said, “I think I do, and I want to show you.”

  *

  The next afternoon, Helen explained her reading time and treated Cory to a select part of the Townsend talent. The best part, Beethoven, she still kept secret.

  After a quick struggle with her removable cast, under the glare of Cory’s disapproving eyes, Helen wheeled her chair to the piano and was off with a memorized Bach minuet. She followed with a Burgmüller piece, for which Cory turned the pages.

  “That was great.” Cory pulled the piano bench alongside Helen. “Do the Bach piece again.”

  Helen played, and on the third measure, Cory joined in with what Helen could only describe as a dark-side version, and the contrast worked.

  “It was tough to learn this,” Helen said. “You’re so damned good. This stuff flies from your hands.”

  “It helps that I’ve been playing since I was four. We all have unique talents. You could write five hundred humorous words on the practical use of tampons versus napkins and I can’t write myself out of a bubble.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Helen slowly picked out a tune on the keys. “Do you know this?”

  “Very well. It’s a Chopin etude. Opus ten, number three. I’ve never played that piece in public, or for anyone, for that matter.”

  “Why not? It’s so lovely.”

  “I think it was meant for someone special. Not an audience.”

  Helen wasn’t special? But she didn’t pursue it.

  “Baby?” She gave Cory a stern look. “Don’t accuse me again. I love you. Nobody, nothing, will change that.”

  Helen had not only quieted Cory’s fears about Marty, she had also convinced her that what she had just played was the extent of her talent, enough to get by for the show. The sonata was a secret and, of that secret, there was still much to learn.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Helen kept her promise and called Carolyn Ingram. They’d agreed to phone sessions, during which Helen talked about her guilt and dreams. Nightmares pummeled her brain. They scratched and bit into her sleep.

  For weeks, almost nightly, Helen tossed and rolled, banged Cory with her casts, became soaked with perspiration. A pull on the blankets was a tug on Helen’s seat belt. The wind outside the Dakota was the wind that whipped across Helen’s bleeding face.

  Early in their sessions, Carolyn explained that the dreams might be with her for the rest of her life, but that they would become less frequent and gentler as time passed.

  Carolyn also told her a time would come when she could laugh, knowing she had defied death at tremendous odds. It wouldn’t mean Helen didn’t care about the lives that were lost, only that she had overcome the guilt of survival.

  *

  “Blair!” she yelled through the noise of tearing metal and screams.

  She reached with her arm, struggled to push Blair downward. She was blinded by a fiery flash and thrown to the left when the front of the fuselage tore away.

  Helen’s heart beat boldly while she caught her breath. The dreams were too vivid. She experienced her pain over and over and she wondered if she was meant to come out of sleep. Her dreams became late punishment for her survival. Due justice for the infant who perished.

  Cory returned from the bathroom. She turned on the table lamp near Helen and handed her a glass of water and a small hand towel.

  “Sometimes I dream only about the water that poured over me. I shivered from the cold. Blair was…dead…or dying…and I stole as much of her body heat as I could. Maybe she’d be alive if I hadn’t been selfish.” She wiped her sweaty and tear-streaked cheeks.

  “Blair’s injuries were far less than yours. The coroner said she died of cardiac arrest. You helped her and she might have survived, but you couldn’t shield her from fear.”

  “If I hadn’t felt her warmth, I think I might have given up.” She sipped from her glass. “I remember hearing Chopin in the ambulance.”

  “‘No pollen haze.’ That’s what you said to the attendant.”

  Helen chuckled at the thought. “Really? That’s almost embarrassing. With my guts hanging out, I hated it even then.” It felt good to find some humor.

  “And such a wonderful piece. I think you were jealous that night I kept playing it.”

  “Jealous over music? Come on. Well, a little, maybe.” Helen gave her a playful pout. “But I had you for the rest of the day.” She set the water on the table. “Baby, we have five weeks before the show. I know you’re restless, and you’ve been better at going out, but why not see if your manager can reschedule some of your show dates?”

  “I canceled to be here for you.”

  “And I adore you for it, but we need play time together. You know…a cruise, a trip to Kalamazoo…something other than this building. I can’t do that right now. Call Liz.”

  “There isn’t enough room in the aquarium for the new fish you’ll saddle me with.”

  “I’ll buy you a larger one,” she said with a grin.

  “I don’t want to leave you alone. You still need the wheelchair.”


  Helen ran her fingers over Cory’s cheek. “And you still need the stage. Stacey will baby-sit if I need her. Maybe Yoko.”

  Cory raised an eyebrow. “And Marty, I assume.”

  “And Marty. She’s a good friend.”

  The phone rang, and Helen looked at Cory. Yoko? The time was past midnight, an odd hour for conversation. Probably a wrong number.

  “Let the machine get it,” Helen said.

  Two more rings and they recognized Stacey’s insistent voice.

  “Pick up. It’s important.”

  “What’s wrong?” Helen asked when Cory hit the intercom.

  “I’ve been listening to the conversations around the bar tonight. Someone talked to the press about the show.”

  Helen watched Cory become very busy with straightening a bathroom that didn’t need straightening.

  “One of us?” Helen asked.

  “Maybe Colgate’s live-in. They broke up a couple days ago. I can’t get Jenny on the phone.”

  “Do you know who they talked to?”

  “No, but sniff around to your colleagues. Maybe get a lid put on it. Whoever it was, they named names.”

  “Thanks. I’ll get on the phone tomorrow.”

  Cory stood in the doorway. Helen recognized it as the same look she’d had when she was concerned about Marty.

  “Come here,” Helen said and pulled back the blankets for her. Cory climbed under. “Tell me what’s going on behind your pretty green eyes.”

  “I’m not ready for this.”

  “Are you having second thoughts about the show?”

  “I’ve realized that I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and find myself named as someone’s hot tip on page four.”

  Helen reached for her. “I can’t do anything about it until the morning. Try to put it out of your mind.”

  “How? My reputation is at stake.”

  “It’ll mean your reputation on show night as well.”

  Cory looked at Helen. “It happened when I was a senior in high school.”

  “What happened?”

  “I opened my locker and there was a note hanging there. It said ‘Cory and Lisa are queer.’ I wanted to climb inside the locker and never come out. That’s the feeling I have now.”

  “I know that feeling. We all do. That’s why we need to come out. To make it easier for the next person. We can be each other’s strength, baby.”

  “How can you be so calm?”

  “For the most part, I’ve stopped being afraid of who I am.”

  “I’m not backing out, Helen.”

  “Good. Try to sleep, then. I’ll make some calls the first thing in the morning.”

  Cory turned off the light. Helen held her closely, keeping her safe from whatever demons lurked in her mind. They didn’t talk, but Cory was awake, tossing and turning, and probably seeing that locker open again and again.

  When Helen finally slept, she dreamed of pushing on Blair, but it was Cory in the seat next to her. Cory opened her belt and stood up. The plane dropped.

  “This isn’t safe,” Cory said.

  Helen watched Cory walk down the aisle and into the fireball.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Helen hung up the phone, satisfied with the information Sam furnished. The leak was given to Amanda Read, and that told Helen two things: A, the big mouth knew little about Amanda’s reporting style, and B, Cory would feel less threatened than if the leak had been told to anyone else.

  The fact that it was Amanda was good fortune in its finest moment. It wasn’t without reason that she was the biggest in the industry for her gossip column. Amanda wasn’t a career breaker. She would scrap an item if she felt it more slanderous than entertaining.

  Helen motored herself to the kitchen alcove. Fresh coffee, toast, and fresh sliced pineapple waited on a table set for a queen. A crystal and silver morning was a wondrous change from the preceding night. Cory sat there, proud of herself. Helen pulled up beside her chair and gave her a kiss.

  “You’re sweet,” Helen said and kissed her again. “I love you.”

  “This is my thank-you-for-loving-me breakfast table.”

  “And a fine table it is.”

  Helen looked into Cory’s eyes. Sparkle had replaced fear. Once more in her white sweats and with her hair tied back in a Peggy Sue ponytail, Cory was deliciously edible. Right after coffee, Helen would gobble her up. She’d crawl out of her casts and metal brace and that horrible scar on her chin and throat. She would take Cory into her arms and have her, bite after tender bite, leaving nothing but a lovely memory of the woman who had stolen her heart.

  “What did Sam say?” Cory asked.

  “He said it was Amanda Reed. I called and gave her our address. She’d already told Sam that she thought she should talk to me.”

  Cory flashed her trademark Fanny Brice smile. “Our address?” She grabbed cream and sugar from the counter.

  Helen rolled her eyes and laughed. “Yes, our address. She’ll be here at two.”

  Cory danced over to Helen. “Our address, as in yours and mine?” she asked eagerly. “So you’ve moved in?”

  “You’re a pest.” Helen tweaked Cory’s nose.

  “But you love me and it’s our address. You said so.”

  Helen brushed Cory’s bangs away. “Do you want me forever, my sweet woman?”

  “Forever, Helen.”

  “When Amanda leaves, we’ll discuss the possibilities.”

  Helen figured Amanda, with her short, salt-and-pepper hair, was in her early fifties. She looked motherly, in an elegant way. They’d met at a charity auction sponsored by the local papers, but that was the extent of their relationship.

  “You’re looking well, Helen,” Amanda said. “The city was worried about you.”

  “I’m getting along. I’ll be out of the chair soon.”

  “I guess you know why I’m here.” Amanda looked at Helen and then at Cory. “I got a call from some young twerp. Frankly, she mentioned a ‘coming out’ show and told me you two are lovers. She wanted me to fix it so Cory wouldn’t be accepted to the Boston Light Orchestra. Can you imagine that?” Amanda laughed.

  Helen locked eyes with Cory. She could almost hear Cory’s heart pound from ten feet away.

  “Excuse me. I’ll get the coffee.” Cory abruptly stood and they watched her leave the room. Amanda looked back at Helen.

  “I struck a nerve. The story’s true, isn’t it?” Amanda whistled. “I just thought this was a great opportunity to meet you out of the professional air. I never—”

  “Don’t use the story. We’d like to remain anonymous until the show,” Helen said.

  Amanda studied Helen curiously, shook her head. “I want to say you don’t look like a lesbian, but that’s too much of a cliché, even for me.”

  Helen took a breath. “You can make or break us.”

  “I could, couldn’t I?” Amanda shook her head. “Come on, Helen, you know my reputation. I’m not a bitch.”

  “Cory’s probably thinking the opposite right now.”

  She looked toward the kitchen. “I feel terrible. Get her in here.”

  The door swung open and Cory placed the tray on the coffee table. Her color was back.

  “Cory, you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t use the piece.”

  “I know. I listened at the door. Thanks, Amanda.” She poured the coffee and sat with them.

  Amanda drank from her cup. “It all makes sense now. The commotion over your columns—especially the black sheep column. I couldn’t figure out what you were doing.”

  Helen shrugged. “Rabble-rousing. Who was your source?”

  “Mustn’t tell; you know that.” She picked up a scone.

  Helen let the question remain unanswered and trusted Amanda with her information. After a half hour of friendly conversation and two servings of coffee, Amanda looked at her watch.

  “I have to run. Mondays are my busiest days and I still have a Joey Buttafuoco piece to finish.”r />
  “People still read that stuff?” Cory asked.

  “They eat it up.” Amanda rose and walked over to Helen. “I’m happy to see you’re doing well.” She turned to Cory. “And don’t worry about me. I hope you’ll knock New York’s socks off.”

  *

  The moment Amanda had mentioned Boston, Cory became another woman. Helen felt the tension throughout the week, and Cory never mentioned the possibility of Helen moving in permanently. Her fear stayed, even with Amanda’s reassurance, just as the high school locker had stayed open for all of those years. Cory suddenly didn’t like the idea of exposure. Any time Helen made a comment concerning the show and its closeness, Cory would either shrug or make no acknowledgment.

  Not until Thursday afternoon did Cory perk up. Helen was in the bedroom and heard her whistling and bustling about. Helen joined her in time to see her pop a champagne cork.

  “What’s the celebration?” She held the glasses while Cory poured.

  Fanny Brice was back, alive and well. “I’ve been invited to a tea party.”

  “You’ve heard from Boston?”

  “You’re looking at the new maestro for the Boston Light Orchestra.” They clinked their glasses and sipped.

  Helen was thrilled for Cory. A dream come true, now clenched tightly in Cory’s hand. Boston waited for their new conductor and April first was her expected date of arrival.

  March sixth was the group’s show date, and that left plenty of time in between for Boston to forfeit its decision, should attitudes be swayed. Helen wondered if that would be legal.

  “It’s nearly show time, baby.” She picked up the letter, scanned the page, and looked at Cory. “This is something you’ve wanted longer than you’ve known me.”

  Cory sat on the sofa. “I love you.”

  “I have no doubt about that.” She placed the letter on the table and leaned back into her chair. “But I think you have a serious decision to make. I don’t want a life with you where I have to tuck you away into a closet. What do you want?”

  “I want you and Boston.”

  “With me, you could lose Boston.”