The Lonely Hearts Club (25 page)

“I sort of got the sense that you liked an open field, too.”

“Yeah, well. When you’re working eighty hours a week, it’s tough to do much more than grab a few hours of fun wherever and whenever you can get it. It’s simpler not to make too much out of it.”

Reilly nodded. She understood the working part, and how easy it was to use that as an excuse not to reach out, not to connect to anyone. She hadn’t meant to connect with Liz. It had happened so effortlessly she hadn’t even noticed. She wasn’t even sure when it had happened. She could see herself lying flat on her back in the hospital lobby with Liz leaning over her, amusement and concern in her warm green eyes, and she remembered feeling pulled in and never wanting to leave.

“Did you ever find yourself stopping,” Reilly mused, “in the middle of a sentence, or maybe in the middle of a kiss, and realizing that it wasn’t enough. The words, the kiss, whatever it was you were doing—it wasn’t enough to get you as close as you wanted to get?”

Parker stared at her. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

“Why?”

“Because I know exactly what you mean, and it scares the hell out of me.”

“Me too,” Reilly said.

*

“Oh no,” Candace said when Liz came down from the second floor, having changed into the clothes she had worn the night before. “You’re not going anywhere yet. I want the details about Bren’s mystery woman.”

“I told you,” Bren said, “I don’t have any details. Nothing happened.”

“That’s not what Liz said.”

“Me?” Liz exclaimed. “I didn’t say anything.” She shot Bren a sly look. “Although I did get an eyeful.”

“See!” Candace put her hands on her hips. “There
is
something I don’t know.” She pointed her finger at Bren. “You. Tell.”

“All right,” Bren said, examining Liz with concern. “Are you okay? You’re a little pale.”

“I think last night is catching up to me,” Liz said ruefully. “I can’t party like I used to.”

“Come on,” Candace said, taking Liz’s hand. “Let’s sit outside on the deck. It’s shady out there. Bren, bring her something to drink.”

“I’m okay,” Liz protested, but she allowed Candace to lead her outside. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and she did feel more tired than usual, but she was beginning to accept that she wasn’t going to feel like herself again for six months. She settled down into the Adirondack deck chair and put her feet on the small wooden stool that went with it. Bren handed her a glass of sparkling water. “Thanks.”

Candace perched on a stool next to Liz’s feet and put one hand casually on Liz’s ankle. Then she fixed Bren with a stern glare. “Tell.”

Bren leaned against the wood railing and studied her hands, trying to think of how to explain to her friends what she hadn’t been able to explain to herself. Sometimes, when she was wordless like this, she found it hard to believe she was actually a professional writer. She sighed. “She emailed me about my books.”

“So did thousands of other readers,” Candace pointed out. “I know. I have your website bookmarked, you sneaky bitch. I read your blogs. I can’t believe I didn’t know it was you.”

Bren tried not to grin.

“If you laugh, I’m pushing you over that railing,” Candace threatened.

“Okay. Okay. I won’t laugh,” Bren said, laughing. “And I do get a lot of email—you’re right.”

“But something about
her
was different,” Liz suggested.

“Yes. She recognized what I was doing with Jae—the direction I was taking her character. She knew it almost before I did.”

“I could’ve told you that Jae was looking for a dominant lover,” Candace said, smiling smugly. “Us take charge girls
are
kind of popular.”

Bren regarded Candace with interest. “Is that how you see yourself? A femme top?”

Candace ran her fingers absently up and down Liz’s lower leg, her expression contemplative. “I never thought about it quite that way, but I know I like to be in charge in bed—most of the time. So what do you think? Do I qualify?”

“There aren’t any absolutes, you know,” Bren said. “No clearly definable sexual types. All you have to do is look at a roomful of lesbians to tell how different we all are. But there are some similarities, some common desires, that distinguish us as well.”

Liz tilted her head back and watched the deep blue sky, filled with white fluffy clouds, revolve slowly overhead. The air was hot and still. They had spent countless lazy afternoons, the three of them, just like this—sitting around debating sexual politics or philosophy or a hundred other things. It had never occurred to her that someday they might be discussing their own lives in the same way. “You always were the deep thinker.”

Bren chuckled. “God, there’s not much thinking that goes into what attracts us to someone, and what satisfies us in bed. Wherever those urges come from, I think they’re far deeper than anything we can tease out in a discussion.”

“Let’s get back to the sex,” Candace said. “So Jae wants a woman to control her. I already told you I knew that.”

“It’s more about
how
she wants to be controlled,” Bren said. “She wants to be controlled in every way—physically, emotionally, sexually. She wants to give up
all
of her control.”

Candace studied Bren for a long moment. “Is that in the next book?”

“Yes,” Bren said.

“When?”

“As soon as I get the damn thing written,” Bren exclaimed, exasperated and amused.

“Candace, honey,” Liz murmured, “you’re doing that avoidance thing again.”

“What avoidance thing?” Candace asked archly.

“Where you talk about sex when you’re nervous about something else.”

“I do not,” Candace stated adamantly.

“Yes you do,” Bren and Liz affirmed.

Candace pursed her lips and fell silent.

“So Jae—what’s her real name, by the way,” Liz asked.

“I don’t know,” Bren replied. “She told me it’s Jae, and that’s how I??ve been thinking of her.”

“Kinky,” Candace interjected.

Liz swatted Candace on the shoulder. “Shut up. Okay, so Jae recognized where you’re going with your character and that made her stand out in your mind. What else?”

Bren averted her gaze and immediately knew they would pick up that now
she
was avoiding the answer. Before they could both call her on it, she sighed and said, “She understood that I wanted to be the one controlling her. Jae that is.”

“Oooo, Brenda Louise, you are
so
bad,” Candace sighed.

“And you thought we wouldn’t approve?” Liz asked. “That’s why you didn’t tell us?”

“No!” Bren shook her head. “No. I didn’t quite get it myself until I started writing it in my books. And then I realized what I wanted and well, that’s it, really.”

“And…that’s what she wants to give you?” Liz asked, clearly thinking out loud.

Bren smiled. “Yes, that’s it exactly. That’s what she wants to give me.”

“What are you going to do?” Liz asked.

“I don’t know,” Bren said, thinking how the true balance of power was so different than the perception. “Whatever happens will be up to her.”

*

Liz drove home thinking about Bren’s revelations. On one level she was surprised, because Bren had always been the one to keep Liz and Candace grounded, back in their crazy days. No matter what kind of drama they found themselves in, Bren was always the voice of reason. It wasn’t that Bren was boring, she was just so safe. She was the one they counted on when the world shifted beneath their feet. But on another level, Liz admitted she had always sensed that Bren was far more complex than the placid surface she allowed the world to see. Liz wondered how it could be that a stranger had read Bren’s books and discerned something far more intimate about her than her best friends. Perhaps it had something to do with artistic revelation and the inability to hide one’s self in something as intimate as one’s art. She didn’t know. The law was more often than not a place to hide one’s true feelings, rather than to expose them.

And yet, she thought of Reilly, and how easy it had been to be open with her. How she had been able to talk to her from the first moment, and had never felt the need to hide anything. In many ways, Reilly was like Bren, providing a solid sense of safety and comfort. Liz shook her head, because Reilly was not Bren. What she felt for Reilly she’d never once felt for Bren. Reilly flat out made her hot.

Liz pulled into the parking garage with a sense of melancholy. She was happy for Bren and the door that seemed to be opening in her life, even though she was a little worried that Bren might get hurt. Bren probably worried about her that way, too. After all, that’s what friends did. She could be happy for her and at the same time feel a little jealous that while Bren was on the verge of an exciting new experience, she was going forward alone during a time that she had thought would be one of the happiest in her life.

“Oh, stop with the self-pity,” Liz muttered as she got off the elevator on her floor. “After all, it’s not the first time life turned out differently than you expected.” She placed a hand on her stomach and looked down, feeling more than seeing the swelling in her lower abdomen. “You hear that in there? You might not be showing up exactly the way I planned, but we are going to make the best of it. More than that, we’re going to have fun. We’re going to have a great life.”

Laughing inwardly and grateful that no one was around to hear her, Liz fit her key to the lock. When the door opened before she had chance to turn the key, she jumped back with a small cry.

“Sorry,” Julia said, leaning her shoulder against the door as she held it partly open. “I heard you talking and thought we might have company.”

Shocked, Liz had the disorienting sensation that she had been thrust back in time. Julia looked like she’d just gotten out of bed, and in fact, she was still wearing a robe. Liz’s robe, she noticed, that was a little too small and a little too short for Julia, revealing way too much of her.

“Julia,” Liz said, trying desperately to gather her wits, “there
is
no we.”

“Well, darling,” Julia smiled slowly, “that’s what I’m here to talk about.”

Liz edged past Julia, still trying to adjust to the shock of seeing her at all, let alone in her apartment. When Julia had first left, her absence had been a hollow ache that had echoed throughout the rooms and finally settled around Liz’s heart. Now that Julia had suddenly returned, Liz was bombarded with conflicting emotions. Most of all, she was angry. Angry that Julia thought she still had the right to walk through a locked door and back into Liz’s life. Angry at Julia for all the times they had talked about their future and Julia had never said that their dreams were not the same. Angry at herself for refusing to see the truth, even when she had lived with it. She was confused, too, by the instant pull of recognition, of familiar connection, that she’d experienced the moment she’d seen Julia’s face. She hadn’t thought she had any feelings left for her at all.

“What are you doing here?” Liz crossed the room and deposited her purse and car keys on a side table. She smelled coffee, and the sense of déjà vu strengthened. How many times had she come home from the office on Saturday morning, after having gone in before dawn, to find Julia waiting for her. Julia always slept late on the weekends and never started grumbling about Liz’s absence until at least noon. In the beginning of their relationship, Julia had waited in bed and they would make love until the afternoon turned into evening. In recent months, even longer than that when Liz thought of it, Julia more often than not had met her with angry silence or complaints about her working too much.

“I thought it was time we talked face to face,” Julia replied. “Every time I phone you, you’re too busy and you never return my calls.”

“Perhaps there’s a message in that.”

“I know you’re angry. You have a right to be.”

Liz spun around. “I’m so glad that you think so.”

Julia smiled patiently. “I didn’t handle things right at all, I know that. That’s why I’m here.”

“You don’t live here anymore. I didn’t change the locks because I knew that you had left some things behind, but I assumed you’d call first before coming over. It never occurred to me that you would just walk in when I wasn’t here.” Liz gestured to the robe. “And you’ve certainly made yourself at home. Did you sleep here?”

Julia’s expression darkened. “Didn’t
you?
”

“I stayed at Bren’s. Yesterday was her birthday.”

“I’ll send her a card.”

Liz sat down on the sofa and folded her arms across her chest. “You haven’t explained what you’re doing here.”

“I took the redeye back from a meeting in LA. I thought about you all the way home, and I wanted to talk to you.”

“That’s what the phone is for.”