An Emergence of Green (17 page)

Val’s hands caressed the planes of her back, the narrowing curve of waist. Thought emerged then:
Stop
. But irresistibly her hands curved down over her hips, cupped them.

“Val.”

The word was spoken with such sharp clarity that Val released her and stepped back so quickly that Carolyn stumbled and then caught her balance.

Val stared at her.

Carolyn’s eyes were wide, and filled with consternation.

Val turned away. She thought:
It’s all over, I’ve blown everything.

I knew this.
The words hung in Carolyn’s mind as if written there.
Paul knew this. And I knew it too.

“Val,” she said, surprised at the calmness of her voice. “Would it be all right to have a fire?”

Val turned back to her, her expression dumbfounded. Then she glanced at the fireplace. “I guess so.” She added more forcefully, “I don’t know why not.” In two strides she reached the hearth and knelt on one knee beside the basket of firewood.

Carolyn took a woolen lap robe from the sofa, unfolded and spread it over the carpet before the fireplace to create a smaller, more informal setting in which to talk. Her movements were automatic and instinctive; her mind churned.

The fire was quickly established; Val stood before it with a poker, jabbing at a log—unnecessarily, Carolyn realized.

“Val,” she said. She sat down on the blanket and extended a hand to her.

Val sat on the far edge of the green plaid blanket, crossing her blue-jeaned legs yoga style. Carolyn moved to her on her knees, took her hand. The hand was unresponsive.

“Val, we—” With an abruptness that was pure instinct she ordered, “Val, look at me.”

The eyes that were raised to her were those of a child expecting a blow. Blindly Carolyn reached to her, took Val’s other hand, rubbed both hands in hers, warming them. “Val,” she said huskily, “we’ve been touching for months.”

Val did not answer.

I don’t know what she needs from me.
“Val, can you tell me... how you feel?”
God, I’m groping through a minefield
. “Can you tell me what you…”

“I…” Val cleared her throat. “I don’t know.” Her low voice was off-tone. “I actually don’t know.”

In silence, Carolyn felt the clear truth of this answer, because it was her own answer as well.

My wanting to be with her was more than friendship, more than guilt over what Paul did to her, But I don’t know what I’ve needed all this time, what I was looking for…

“What difference does it make?” Val’s voice had strengthened; her eyes were fixed on the fire.

Carolyn said slowly, “I’m not sure how I feel either.” Not…consciously. Carolyn looked into dark eyes, compelled by their depth and intensity, unaware that her own hand had moved into Val’s hair until the crisp curliness wound around her fingers.

Val’s eyes were heavy-lidded; she was looking at Carolyn’s mouth. As if by hypnotic command Carolyn lowered her own eyes to Val’s mouth, focusing on the full sensual shape of it.

She did not know if she had been pulled toward Val or if she had pulled Val to her, but Val was the one to draw away. Still experiencing the gentleness, the softness, the chasteness of the lips that had so briefly touched hers, knowing only that she wanted them again, Carolyn’s eyes again focused on Val’s mouth.

Under the slow questing pressure of her own, Val’s lips became velvety yielding. She held Val’s shoulders to brace herself, and stared at her mouth. “Do my lips feel like yours?”

Seeing Val’s perplexed look, the beginning of a grin, she realized the absurdity of the question and laughed. Val joined her in tension-breaking laughter.

“I don’t know. Do mine feel like yours, Carrie?”

Both hands in Val’s hair, she held Val’s mouth to hers. Her own lips parted, and tentatively, lightly, she touched Val’s tongue with the tip of her own, and then took her mouth away, pierced by the profound intimacy of the connection. Her arms circled Val, her body yearning toward her.

A fireplace log noisily shifted; as it fell in a crash and shower of sparks, the women broke apart. Val rose to tend the fire.

Carolyn watched her in a prickling of excitement—uncertainty mixed with eagerness. In this exploration of newness she felt safe and in control.

Val came back and sat close to her, her eyes calm, steady. But as Val’s hands came to her hair again Carolyn realized that Val was hesitant to touch her. She took Val’s hands away, held them.

Val asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Are you?”

She slid her arms around Val, then yielded to Val’s arms gathering her into softness, into the rich soft contours of her body.

She was aware of the rhythmic thunder of surf, the ticktock of the grandfather clock and its chiming of two, then of the quarter hour, then the half hour. Suffused with warmth from the deep pleasure of Val’s arms, she lay on the blanket, her back to the fire, her head on a soft pillow. She traced the delicate shape of Val’s ear with her tongue and felt Val quiver.

Val shifted, propped herself on her elbows, her body curved over Carolyn. Carolyn’s arms circled her; she caressed Val’s shoulders, down her back; she slid her hands up under Val’s blouse, the bra a barrier over the smooth warm flesh. Carolyn unhooked it, her arms drawing Val onto her, the released breasts another spreading softness on her body. She slid her palms over the smooth planes of Val’s back, sinking her fingers into the soft flesh.

Val lifted her body; Carolyn filled her hands with creamy heaviness, curving and pliant, overflowing and incredible. As if wanting only the sensation of Carolyn’s hands on her breasts, Val lifted her body fully from her. Tautness had quickly formed under Carolyn’s palms; she released the rich full breasts to gently take the nipples between her fingertips.

The clock chimed three o’clock. Carolyn lay breathing the fragrance of the sun from Val’s tanned skin and rolling her face in Val’s breasts, absorbing in unending greed the pliant round smoothness. Again her lips closed around a swollen nipple; again she took it into her.

Val pulled her up into her arms. Her kiss was aggressive, her tongue swift thrusts. Without gentleness a hand moved down over Carolyn’s throat and inside her shirt. The nipple tingled and hardened before Val’s fingertips touched it.

The hands on the buttons of Carolyn’s shirt were impatient. Carolyn thought:
Poor small breasts, not nearly the feast hers are…

The big, soft hands cupped and caressed Carolyn’s breasts; Val kissed her, her tongue stroking as slowly in Carolyn as it had slowly and sweetly stroked her breasts. Still kissing her, Val gripped Carolyn’s hips, pressing them up into her. Her hands came to the belt of Carolyn’s pants.

Val rose to close the drapes. In the gray of the room Carolyn lay nude, watching Val, hearing the crackling of the fresh log Val had tossed on the fire, the faint barking of a dog on the beach, the thunder of surf.

Val knelt beside her, pulling off her jeans. Firelight made copper-gold highlights in her dark hair, gold tones on her skin. Carolyn’s glance slid away, then boldly back: The triangle of hair was a curly black thatch. The wide hips were fleshy globes, large and powerful, stark white etched into the dark tan.

Memory pulled at her, forcefully tugged at her mind. Something she had seen in a place that was green.

Val came to her; the big soft hands were warm on Carolyn’s body, moving so caressingly down her that Carolyn closed her eyes to feel her body shaped by them.
Val’s hands,
she thought;
the beautiful hands of an artist.

Val’s body was arched over her, close but not touching her, and Val’s hands moved under her, to clasp and lift her hips. She pressed Carolyn up into her, between her thighs. Carolyn pulled Val onto her. Val’s body was warm and strong, and like silk, like cream. Enveloped in softness, Carolyn clung to her, gripping Val’s back, gripping her shoulders, arching into her, pleasure rolling through her with each stroke of Val’s tongue within her.

She had taken her mouth away from Val’s to breathe. Between her legs Val’s palm was warm, unmoving; Val’s swift breathing matched her own. Her body jerked as Val’s fingers found her; she was astonished by her own wetness. She shuddered as the fingers began to stroke, and she heard the sound of Val’s breath catching in her throat.

Urgently Carolyn rotated her hips in the rhythm she needed; then stopped; Val’s fingers, a perfect pressure, had taken the rhythm from her. Carolyn spread her tense, quivering legs fully open.

She tried to hold the tension in her, then to hold a tiny part. But it drained out of her; and her body sank back onto the floor. Breathing deeply, she opened her eyes, soothed by the hand that lay, warm and still, between her legs; by Val’s lips tender on her face, and the rhythmic surf that seemed now a part of her.

So easy with her… so very easy…

How was it that Val would want to come? But Val’s mouth came to hers, sweetly sensual, searching. Soon, like a glass refilling, desire rose again, sensations slowly emerging to vividness and more penetrating than before, as if the patterns laid among her nerve ends were widening. At the first touch of Val’s fingers her pleasure was deeper, and she knew that what she would feel again would be much stronger. Dimly, just before she came, she heard chimes of the clock, but not the number.

She said thickly to Val, “I want you to…to…”

But she was overpowered again, by the lips that dominated hers, by hands that caressed with tantalizing sureness, by fingers that came to her again and this time moved slowly, unhurriedly.

Afterward, drugged with lassitude, warm in Val’s arms, she stared over Val’s shoulder into the gray of the room—gray that enveloped and overcame.

Sharp popping of a log in the fireplace awakened her. The pervasive warmth of her body blissful, she sank back toward sleep, then realized that her head lay on Val’s shoulder and Val’s arms held her, one hand moving almost imperceptibly in her hair. The blanket was pulled up around her; the fire was reduced to embers.

She lifted her head to stare at Val. “How long did I sleep?”

Val smiled, touched her cheek. “About twenty minutes.”

“I can’t believe…Carolyn propped herself on an elbow. “That’s terrible.”

Val smoothed Carolyn’s hair back. “Some people might consider it flattering.”

“I didn’t…you didn’t…” She looked away in embarrassment. “What time is it?”

“A little after five.”

“It can’t be!”

“It is. We need to get back.”

“But you…we didn’t—”

“I’ll take a raincheck.” Val’s smile was gentle, amused.

The languor of her body had begun to dissipate. She was not ready to leave, did not want to. She cast about for an excuse. “Can I take a shower? Is that all right?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Staring at Val’s powerful nude body, Carolyn followed her up the stairs to the bathroom.

“I need to keep my hair dry,” Carolyn said. She pushed this first thought of Paul firmly out of her mind.

In the thrumming of warm shower spray, she stood on tiptoe with her arms around Val, her face pressed into Val’s shoulder. Finally Val reached behind Carolyn to turn the shower taps off. Carolyn said heedlessly, “Couldn’t you leave Neal with his grandfather just a little longer?”

Val wrapped her in a large white towel. She dried herself, then took Carolyn’s hand and led her downstairs. Suddenly she scooped Carolyn off her feet and stood holding her, chuckling. “Humor me,” she said.

Carolyn wound her arms around Val’s neck, enjoying and admiring the strength of the woman who held her. Something about Val’s strength. Again the elusive memory nagged at her.

Val knelt and gently placed her on the blanket in front of the fire. The room had cooled. Val added another log to the fire and poked it into flames.

Carolyn watched her, hypnotized. The memory she had been trying to recapture for months struggled to break clear.

And then she remembered, and was stunned by the power of the memory. Six gigantic bronze sculptures in a park in Chicago when she was nine. Enormous, magnificent, mighty statues of female bodies. Sculpted by whom? It had not occurred to her then to wonder.

“Why are they so big?” she had whispered to her mother, awed by the powerful hips and thighs of the bronze women towering over her.

“They’re supposed to be, that’s all,” her mother said, her voice terse, disapproving.

Carolyn’s gaze was finally drawn to a plaque imbedded in the ground. “What’s a fertility symbol?” she asked her mother.

“You’ll know when you grow up,” her mother said darkly, taking her by the hand and tugging, pulling her away as Carolyn stared longingly backward.

She had put the statues out of her mind. She could not bear her mother’s threat of what she would one day learn about these great, round, glorious sculptures of women.

Val walked to her. In wonder, and in anticipation that contained a touch of fear, Carolyn stared at her. She seemed overpoweringly female.

Val sank down beside her, and as if she were unwrapping a gift, opened the towel, smoothing its folds, her dark liquid gaze in leisurely contemplation of Carolyn’s body. Her voice was husky: “You’re lovely as spring.”