Jackie was aware only of the sensations her tongue and fingers sent her. The sensuality of Leah's body surrounding her fingers, so wet, so yielding but so strong. The heady taste of Leah on her tongue, filling her mouth. She devoted herself to reveling in the beauty of Leah's response and the explosion of her passion.
Like an old radio coming on, sounds gradually reached Jackie's ears over the thud of her own rapid heartbeat. Leah's ragged breathing penetrated first, then another sound, a stifled sob.
She gathered Leah in her arms and let her cry, wondering if she should be gratified or concerned. She stroked Leah's hair and shushed her and waited.
Leah fumbled next to the bed and came up with a Kleenex. She blew her nose and mumbled, "Sorry."
"It's okay." Jackie tried for humor. She scratched her crotch and said in as gravelly a tone as she could manage, "All my women cry."
Leah laughed a little. "I'll bet they do."
All laughter gone, Jackie said, "There's only you, you know."
Leah's smile faded but she didn't say anything. She pulled Jackie into her arms and they snuggled down into the bed.
Now's the time to tell her, Jackie thought. Say I love you. The words formed, but Leah stirred slightly and pulled the covers over them.
"Go to sleep," Leah whispered.
To her surprise, Jackie did.
14
Leah stirred at the sound of a voice and a woof from Butch.
"You know you don't like orange juice, you know you don't."
Jackie's voice. Leah smiled, remembering the cabin. Birds were making a racket outside and white sunshine peeked through the curtains. It looked like a lovely day.
She went to the bathroom and then headed for the kitchen wrapped in her robe. She watched Jackie for a moment, the sunlight draped on her shoulders, her hair like spun obsidian. She was wearing Leah's National Center for Lesbian Rights T-shirt and nothing else.
Jackie smiled at her. "You're blushing."
"No I'm not," Leah said weakly. "I'm just warm."
Jackie laughed and, to Leah's relief, let it go. "You know you don't have any food in here, don't you? Butch is pretty upset about the food situation in general."
Ignorant of Leah's glare, Butch thumped her tail emphatically on the floor.
"I'm starving," Jackie said, her head deep in the refrigerator. "Ah! Well, it's something." She emerged with a package of pre-peeled carrots.
They munched happily in silence, sharing the orange juice between them, until Leah realized they were smiling at each other like idiots.
"About last night," Leah said, then she stopped.
"What about it?"
Leah felt her blush return. "I don't know what to say."
Jackie pursed her lips with a smirk. "Well, I do. Fantastic for starters."
"Well, yes, that does about cover it." She stared at her carrot.
"Lee, look at me."
Leah looked. Saw the sable hair, the translucent skin. She tried to see to the woman underneath.
"Let's go back to bed," Jackie said softly. "I'd really like to."
"I should feed Butch," Leah said.
"Well, then feed her," Jackie said with a laugh.
Leah bustled around the kitchen knowing that two pairs of eyes watched, both with hunger. Butch devoted her attention to her dish when it hit the floor, but Leah could feel Jackie's gaze on her. Leah washed her hands, wiped out the sink, dried her hands, mopped the counter and finally stood twisting the dish towel into a knot. She knew what she wanted. She wanted it so much she couldn't put it into words.
Jackie's lips grazed the back of her neck. Her body's response was immediate and alarming. She broke out into a cold sweat and her knees trembled. Jackie's hands clasped her hips gently and the tip of her tongue feathered under one ear. Leah gasped and Jackie pulled the robe open and gently stroked Leah's breasts.
"You want to, don't you?" Jackie's voice held a plea, though Leah thought the answer was obvious from the hard ache of her breasts. "Say yes." Jackie's voice broke. "Please say yes."
In answer Leah turned to kiss Jackie. Her eyes closed and she felt as though she were slipping down a long water slide into a volcano.
Jackie's hands finally left Leah alone long enough for Leah to catch her breath. Exhausted, she stretched out on the bed. 'Tor a beginner," she murmured, "you certainly know your stuff."
Jackie's answer was a satisfied smile.
"How do you know?"
Jackie's eyebrows arched and she turned her head. "Know what?"
"What I want. When I don't know myself."
Jackie's expression was now definitely smug. "Your body talks to me." The Cheshire grin returned.
Leah tried to recall why she had wanted to give Jackie freedom. None of the reasons made any sense. She didn't want Jackie to find someone else. She wanted to be side by side with Jackie.
Leah looked at her. Love, she thought. I'm in love. With this woman, and if she doesn't want to be with me, I won't get another chance. She didn't know what to do or say. She felt a little giddy. She didn't want to scare Jackie away.
"I have to be in the city by two," Leah said. "The photographer."
Jackie said, "Then we have a little more time." Without opening her eyes she trailed her fingertips over Leah's ribs.
"Oh no you don't," Leah said, pushing the hand away. "I couldn't possibly, not one more time."
Jackie smirked. "That's what you said last time."
"This time I'm sure," Leah said. "And I'm starving. Let's go have some lunch."
Jackie rolled onto her side and rested on one elbow. A Venus, Leah thought. A Venus I'd walk a Milo for. She was definitely giddy.
Jackie quirked an eyebrow. "What's so funny?"
Leah shook her head. "We can shower together if you promise no tricks." She had to get some distance back. Her head was spinning and she didn't trust her instincts.
Jackie promised with mock sincerity while she plainly crossed her fingers, but within a half-hour they were both dressed and out the front door. Jackie followed Leah to a diner in San Leandro that specialized in English breakfasts. They ate indulgently and talked about everything except when they would see each other next.
Why doesn't she ask me to come with her to the gallery, Jackie wondered. Why doesn't she say when she wants to see me?
The bill came and Leah scooped it up. "You bought dinner, remember? Be right back."
Jackie watched Leah walk to the register. She seemed so composed. Jackie didn't know if she had successfully made a dent in Leah's life. Would Leah miss her this evening? Maybe Leah just didn't understand that Jackie wanted to go on together. What more could she have done?
Said I love you. The ultimate risk. Just say it, she told herself. But she couldn't, not when she knew the answer. Sharla. Why ask for, why even expect something she couldn't have?
She had told herself she'd be happy as second best. She wondered how often she told herself lies.
Leah returned and put down the tip. "Ready?"
Jackie followed her to the parking lot, then leaned against the truck. "When will the magazine be out?"
"Next weekend, to coincide with the opening. The story's already done, apparently. Printing presses are waiting even as we speak."
"Well, I won't keep you," Jackie said. She swallowed the lump in her throat — her pride, probably — and said, "When can I see you again?"
After a long moment, Leah said, "When would you like to?"
Tonight, Jackie thought. Tomorrow morning. Every night. She said, trying for a light approach, "I don't know how lesbians do this."
"You're free to do whatever you want," Leah said. Her lashes were low, hiding her expression.
Jackie sighed. Leah clearly didn't want to make any plans, clearly didn't want Jackie in her future. With a flash of anger she said, "That's good. I need lots of room. So many women, so little time."
Leah nodded. "I know what you mean."
Jackie finally blinked and sai
d, "Well, you have a photographer waiting. I'm looking forward to seeing the exhibit."
"Perhaps I'll see you there, then."
Jackie didn't trust herself to speak. She made a show of driving swiftly away, as though she too had somewhere important to be. She spent the rest of the day slamming cupboard doors and asking herself what she had for brains.
Leah watched Jackie drive away and said to the rear view mirror, "Well, that didn't go how I thought it would." Now, of course, there was nothing wrong with her vocal cords. They hadn't been operating a few minutes earlier. Neither had her brain.
That moment next to the truck had been like standing on the edge of a precipice knowing that all the best of life was at the bottom. All she had to do was be willing to free-fall. Why hadn't she just said she'd drop by Jackie's place after the photographer finished? Why hadn't she told Jackie she was in love with her?
Telling Sharla she loved her had been easy — words had never been a problem. Their friendship had paved the way to easier communication when they became lovers. With Jackie she had precious opportunities that she kept screwing up. Words she felt inadequate to say because she wasn't sure Jackie wanted to hear or believe them.
She drove home as quickly as possible and dashed into her workshop. She carefully loaded the four Yes canvases into the truck.
Once she was on the freeway she second-guessed herself. She didn't want to start over on her reputation as an artist. But the work was the best she had ever done. She didn't relish controversy. But the highest art pushed at people's minds.
She hadn't wanted to display the paintings before Jackie saw them. At the same time she felt the only way to show Jackie how she felt was to tell the world. How would Jackie respond, she wondered. That Jackie liked having sex with her — that was monumentally clear. What if Jackie wanted nothing more?
Everything was still a muddle. Mushy, incoherent gray.
She got to the gallery early and Constance wasn't there yet. As she set down the last canvas she heard Constance's rapid footsteps behind her. Leah turned to look at her, feeling as frightened and defiant as a teenager caught after curfew.
"You're out of your mind," Constance said.
"Yes, I think you're right. But I have to."
"Why? Why now?" Constance came closer, lowering her voice.
"Because... I am starting over. Because who I am now isn't who I was, even when I did Painted Moon. Overnight I changed. Because I fell in love again."
"Darling, I don't understand."
"I think... what you said was right. About not putting any lesbian content in my work before. I was out, but I wasn't out." She bit her lower Up. "I'm in love. I don't think she loves me back, but I can't think of any other way to prove it to her. And I need to prove it to myself. I'm afraid... I'm afraid if I hide this work I'll forget that I could love someone again. And I'll go back to the mountains and bide..." She choked and Constance put an arm around her.
"You're out of your mind, but I love you for it."
"I can't go on hiding, I want to be out in the light again. Where Jackie can see me. Where Sharla would want me to be. So—"
"You're taking the bull by the horns and screaming for the world to take a long, hard look at you. All of you. In my gallery." She squeezed Leah briskly and let her go. "Hell."
Jackie paused in the doorway and caught her mother's eye. She gave a tiny wave and Jellica winked at her. A man with a warbly voice and smoker's cough didn't seem to be running out of breath any time soon, and Jackie thought she'd rescue her mother in a few minutes if she hadn't already extricated herself. Jellica would be tired, having arrived just this afternoon and been transported directly to the museum.
Jackie used the spare minutes to examine her mother's work again. The last time she had seen it was in London when she'd joined her parents at its unveiling. She stood at the back of the room and watched the crowd mill around the sculpture. They rubbed their hands as though they were stepping up to a fire. Weavers was indeed warm, inviting, comforting. The three figures could have been anyone's grandmothers. From their fingertips, yarns streamed in all colors. How, Jackie wondered, had her mother so accurately gauged the drape of yarn when carving it.
The warbly man was still talking, so Jackie crossed the room and said in a worried tone, "Won't we be late?"
The warbly man said, "Oh, are you going to the Reardon opening? I never miss it."
"I don't think so," Jellica said.
"It's one of the leading art galleries in the country. A new exhibit tonight I'm sure there will be no problem with your getting in."
"Maybe we will," Jackie said, "but we're running late for a dinner engagement."
The warbly man finally went away and her mother gave Jackie a prolonged hug. "So good to see you. There, that hug's from your father. He demands a full report from me on the state of your happiness. That turquoise is pretty on you." She pushed Jackie away and studied her face. "My demand at the moment is dinner. Where?"
Jackie laughed. "Nob Hill. It's quiet and we can talk all we want."
"Starting with your love life. You have a new set of worry lines."
Jackie wrinkled her nose. "It's really not fair that you can read my mind."
"Mother's privilege."
They linked arms and left the gallery, stopped only a half-dozen times by curators, art students, the fundraiser and an aide to the mayor. The last pressed tickets to the Reardon opening on them, saying he wanted an international artiste like Jellica Frakes to know that San Francisco was a hotbed of artistic discovery.
"It seems the whole world is going there," Jellica said as they got in the cab.
Jackie turned the tickets over and read the full name of the gallery. No, she thought. The world's not this small. But Leah had said she was opening her exhibit tonight. At "Constance's" gallery. And the big opening was at the Constance Reardon Gallery. "Maybe we should go," Jackie said. "But first I'll fill you in on my love life. It's sort of relevant."
Mason's was elegant and quiet, and served, on Angela's recommendation, a killer chocolate soufflé.
Through appetizers and the house's specialty filet mignon, Jackie related the entire story. Toward the end of it she found it hard to tell. Her reasons for alternatively staying away from and then seducing Leah started to sound flimsy. Her evidence of Leah's continuing devotion to Sharla seemed a little thin.
"It sounds to me like you're running away from the truth."
"I'm not running from anything." Jackie studied the point of her fork.
"You do think you deserve love, don't you?"
"Of course I do... why wouldn't I?"
"I've been doing some reading." Her mother sipped her water and didn't meet Jackie's gaze. "Researchers suggest that some... homosexuals subconsciously sabotage their relationships. They feel they don't deserve happiness because they live in sin."
"That's absurd," Jackie said. "I don't... that's ridiculous."
"I had to ask. You aren't behaving in a completely rational way."
"But, Mom," Jackie said, "I know I'm right about what Leah wants. She's said exactly nothing. And I tried to give her the chance to say she wanted to see me again." She put down her fork and stared dolefully across the table. "And, well, I can't tell her how I feel because there's no point. She'd just feel guilty. She'd stop seeing me for my own good. Not that she's seeing me now, but you know what I mean."
Her mother rolled her eyes and ate the last bite of her filet mignon. "If you say so, dear. But eventually you're going to tell her. I know that much about you."
"Maybe so. But by then, maybe she'll love me just a little. Maybe want me around." She hung her head. No, she thought, I can't live that way. I can't start the family I want on those terms.
"Petit cherie," her mother said, her tone admonishing.
Jackie nodded and folded her napkin. "I take it all back. I can't live on scraps." She sighed and stared at the ceiling for a moment, then looked back at her mother. She managed a wry smile.
"Be sure to tell Dad that I'm in love and boy am I happy."
The waitress returned to collect their plates and asked if they'd like dessert.
"My daughter and I both require a chocolate soufflé. Extra sauce."
Jackie laughed. "Chocolate cures everything, doesn't it?"
"And gives the extra edge you'll need to walk into that gallery. To say hello and it looks nice and pretend you're not in love — that will take a great deal of chocolate." Her mother tilted her head with a philosophical air. "Bon appétit."
"Someone take an axe and split me down the middle," Leah muttered at Constance, who shot her an I-told-you-so look as Leah kept going. She had spent most of the night walking back and forth between the two rooms. She'd just finish talking to one critic about Painted Moon when VIPs demanded a word with her about Yes. To Constance's delight, three of the Painted Moon canvases were sold already, and one of the Yes series.
In response to the critic from the Los Angeles Times, she said that no, she didn't believe Yes was indicative of her future work. Nor was Painted Moon. She said the same thing to a reporter from The Advocate. One look at her history would show that she rarely used a previous series as a foundation for the next.
Maureen and Valentina had been wonderful, kissing and hugging her and adding simple, heartfelt praise. They'd melted into the crowd when Associated Press asked her opinion, as a lesbian artist, about censorship.
The questions seemed endless. Yes, she was pleased with both series. Yes, she was a lesbian. Yes, she had used a live model. No, she would not give the model's name. No, she did not consider herself a gay activist. Yes, she believed in gay civil rights. Yes, she considered herself a feminist. Yes, she supposed that if Painted Moon celebrated winter—which she wasn't really sure it did — then Yes celebrated women.
She wanted to say many times, "What a stupid question." And "Why have you never asked me about my sexuality before?" And "When are you going to ask me about the work, not my lesbianism?"
Constance had been right. Dead right.
"Darling, Jellica Frakes just came in." Constance's whisper was loaded with excitement. "She's looking at Moon Pines. I can tell she likes it, likes it very much."
Painted Moon Page 15