Artist's Dream

“Why are you fighting this?”

Cassie looked at her best friend coolly over the rim of her coffee cup, then slowly lowered her lashes, dismissing the comŹment with an ease that surprised her.

“Why must we always have this discussion?” she asked.

“Because I can’t stand to see you wasting away like this,” Kim said.

“I’m hardly wasting away,” Cassie replied, slowly pulling her eyes from Kim and glancing out the window at the approaching evening.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know,” Cassie said, letting out a long sigh. “I just don’t know why it’s so important to you. The whole world’s not gay, Kim. I happen to like David.”

“Oh shit! You can’t be serious!” Kim jumped from her usual chair to stand in front of Cassie, blocking her view of the window. “He’s a farmer, for God’s sake! Not even organic. He probably votes Republican.”

Cassie laughed, and tucked her legs more securely under her. “I’m sure he does,” she said calmly. “I still like him.”

“At least Paul was an artist. At least you had something in common with him,” Kim continued.

“Yes, we had something in common. We both preferred men,” Cassie said dryly.

“At least Paul was sincere enough to finally admit that. You’re still living in denial regarding your own sexuality.”

“Kim, I’m so tired of having this discussion with you. I’m perŹfectly capable of having lesbian friends without being a lesbian. I know you find this hard to believe,” she added, “but not everyone is gay.” She smiled at her friend gently. “I accept you like you are. Why can’t you just accept me?”

“Because I know you, that’s why. You’re thirty-three years old and one of these days you’ll stop trying to find Mr. Right.” Kim looked at her for a moment. “Have you ever really looked in a mirror, Cass?”

Cassie put her coffee cup down, long weary of this discussion. “Shouldn’t you be getting home? Lisa’s probably worried about you,” Cassie said, referring to Kim’s partner.

“Lisa won’t be back from the city until late,” Kim said. “And don’t change the subject. I’ve been there myself, Cass. God, when I found myself attracted to another woman, I nearly went crazy. I dated a dozen men, slept with half of them and convinced myself that I was in love with one of them.”

“Yes. I went to your wedding, remember?”

“Yes. And why didn’t you stop me?”

“I tried, if you recall,” Cassie said, remembering how Kim had cried when she confessed that she had slept with a woman and how Kim had cried again when she told her that she was getting marŹried. And Cassie was hardly the one to try to talk her out of it. What did she know about it? She just remembered how totally unhappy Kim was, and she told her to wait a few months before she decided anything. But Kim had been too scared to wait.

Now Cassie wished she had never told Kim about David. She knew Kim would only bring up this old argument. As sure as Cassie was that she would never enter into a lesbian relationship, she would never tell Kim that she found little attraction in men. Perhaps she was destined to live her life alone, without a husband, a partner, a companion. She was thirty-three years old and had never been in love. Had not even been close, she admitted. And Kim was right about David, they had nothing in common. He was just an attractive man who had asked her out, and she found his company acceptable. That was all. She would not sleep with him. She had not shared her bed with anyone in a very long time. That was something else she found unsettling. She had no desire for sex. She suffered through the few kisses she would allow her dates, but she always ended things when she felt the next step would lead to bed. This was something else she would not admit to Kim.

“It’s all because of your father, isn’t it?”

“Oh, Kim, please. We’ve already been down that road. A hunŹdred times,” she added.

“Just because he’s condemned me, I hardly think he would disown his own daughter.”

Cassie stared at her, picturing herself telling her father, the Reverend Parker, that she was a lesbian. It would send him to his death. Or hers. But that hardly mattered anymore. It wasn’t like they were close. It wasn’t like she relied on him for anything. He was just the only family she had.

“He’s already condemned me just for living here. That and my profession.”

Kim sighed and lifted her arms in defeat. “How long have we been friends?”

Cassie smiled. “Twelve years.”

“Thirteen. We weren’t even twenty.”

“Both starving,” Cassie added.

“Like we’re famous artists now,” Kim said sarcastically.

“We’re hardly starving.”

“No. We’ve done pretty well.”

Cassie relaxed again, thankful the conversation was moving away from her personal life.

“How many pieces will you bring to the show next week?” Kim asked.

“I have seven or eight large pieces that are ready. At least that many more that I’m still working on, but I’ll save them for the fair in October,” Cassie said. “I didn’t have nearly enough last year.”

“Well, if you would quit doing the small trinkets and concenŹtrate on the sculptures, you could have quite a showing.”

“Yeah, but it’s the small stuff that pays the bills,” Cassie reminded her.

Cassie stood for a long moment, staring back at her reflection in the mirror. She brushed the hair from her eyes and let out a deep sigh. As a child, she’d always wished for blonde hair, but she was still cursed with that in-between color. Too dark to be blonde but not nearly dark enough to be brown. She took both hands and ran it through the sides of her hair, tucking the short strands behind her ears. She kept it too short. Perhaps that was why she had a tendency to attract more women than men. And she had to admit, she fit the perfect stereotype—short hair, little or no makeup, casual, natural. But it wasn’t a sexual statement she was making. She had always worn her hair short, and she had never been one for makeup, even during her college days when she actuŹally thought about dating men.

Now, she simply didn’t want the bother. Besides, she liked things natural. That was why she left most of her woodcarvings in their natural state. That was why she was a vegetarian.

But still, Kim’s words haunted her. She should just come right out and tell her. Kim was her closest friend. If she couldn’t confide in Kim, then who? But she had avoided the subject for so long, it had just become second nature to her. And it hadn’t been that many years ago that she had finally admitted it to herself. Gay. A lesbian. She lifted humorless eyes and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Yes, she could admit it now. Why not? It wasn’t like she was going to act on it.

It had been at least five years ago before she had actually been able to consider the possibility. She was always more comfortable around women, yes, but that didn’t mean she was attracted to them. But she wasn’t attracted to men, either. And she had several lesbian friends, it was true. Did she have any straight friends? But in this small community filled with artists, wineries, organic farms, and vegetarians, the lesbian and gay population was hardly closŹeted. And she knew a lot of them. Most of them. Despite her father’s warnings.

She remembered that day so clearly, the day Kim had told her she was leaving her husband, that she wasn’t going to live a lie any longer. Her father had been home. He had overheard. Poor Kim. Her father had whipped out his worn Bible and proceeded to quote from it with ease, his booming voice still able to send chills down her spine. He had sent Kim away, warning her to stay away from his daughter. Cassie stood up to him that day, one of only a few times that she could remember. Kim was her friend, she had told him, and he didn’t pick her friends anymore. Guilt by association, he had boomed at her. They were all damned to hell and she best not be too close to them when the time came for God to clean up!

She lifted one corner of her mouth in amusement. She could smile now. The fear that her father instilled in her during her childhood was all but gone. She rarely saw him more than once a year. All they did was argue anyway. “An artist! By God, I raised you better. And living out here with them, thick as thieves, don’t think I can’t see it!”

She had bought her house in Sonoma County six years ago

when prices were still somewhat reasonable, and he had come exactly twice to see her. To preach to her, she corrected. But she didn’t want to go there. Not tonight.

She reached up to turn out the light, but riot before she caught the sad reflection in her blue eyes. She loved him, but only because he was her father and she was supposed to love him. But she knew without a doubt that she did not like him.

She lay in bed that night, her thoughts going to her mother, but she stopped them, as she usually did. Instead, she thought about the carving she had started that morning. When she found the piece of wood on the beach, she very nearly passed it by. It was small and she was looking for something much larger. But when she rolled it over, she saw that it was well weathered and very heavy. She had positioned it several different ways, trying to find something, an image that she could transform it into. Then she had looked out over the rocks and saw the seal, sunning itself, its wide eyes never leaving her, and she stood the piece of wood up, its sleek curves mirroring that of the seal. She knew instantly what the driftwood would become.

She still thought it amazing that she could see things in ordiŹnary pieces of wood. She had perfected her craft by doing hunŹdreds of small carvings and selling them to the shops in San Francisco, but her real love was creating the giant wood carvings that sometimes took a month to finish. She had been lucky, selling enough of them to get by, gradually able to command the prices that she felt her work was worth. She sold all eleven pieces at last year’s county fair and was finally able to slow down and work mainly on the giant carvings that would each bring several thouŹsand dollars.

She was finally satisfied with her professional life. Maybe that was why she could find little contentment in her personal life anyŹmore. But she was used to being alone, and this period of self-pity would pass, as it always did.

“Listen to this,” Lisa said, pointing to the morning paper. “Says here that they are expecting the Labor Day Festival to draw nearly as many people as the County Fair this year.”

“That’s good news for us,” Kim said. “Did I tell you Steve bought three more of my paintings for his store?” she asked Cass
ie.

“No. Good for you.” Cassie put her coffee cup down and motioned for a refill. “I guess he’s not having any trouble selling them.”

“The seascapes always do well, although I’m getting bored with them,” she said.

“Honey, take what you can get,” Lisa said, reaching out a hand from behind the paper to rub her partner’s knee. Cassie smiled at the unconscious affection Lisa displayed. Lisa was the only one with a normal job, but she knew full well the struggles of trying to make a living as an artist.

“I know, I just want to do something a little more exciting,” Kim said.

“Then try it,” Cassie encouraged. “The last thing you want is to get stagnant.”

“Like you said, it’s the small stuff that pays the bills. I am workŹing on something that is a little abstract, though not without form,” she said. “Very different from what I normally do.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Cassie said sincerely. She knew Kim had wanted to try different styles for years now but had been afraid. She had made a name\ for herself in natural seascapes and didn’t want to damage that.

“She hasn’t even let me see it,” Lisa complained.

“That’s because … good Lord, will you look at those legs,” Kim whispered, staring down the sidewalk past the outdoor cafe.

“My, my,” Lisa echoed quietly.

Cassie followed their gaze, her eyes locking on the back of tanned, muscled thighs. Khaki shorts prevented any other exploŹration, and she only glanced at the thin, white shirt tucked neatly inside. Dark, neatly layered hair reached to the collar of her shirt, and Cassie watched as the stranger stopped and casually shoved both hands into her pockets as she looked around. Cassie turned back to the table and picked up her empty coffee cup, embarrassed for having stared.

“I don’t recognize her. Must be a tourist,” Kim said.

“With legs like that, she should be a model,” Lisa added.

“She’s probably a dog,” Kim said. “Wait until she turns around.”

“Will you two stop,” Cassie hissed under her breath. “Really, you’d think you’re never around women.”

“Come on, turn around,” Lisa said softly, ignoring Cass
ie.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Kim whispered.

Cassie looked up and again followed their gaze. The woman had turned and was facing them. She was beautiful, staggeringly beautiful, and Cassie felt her breath catch in her throat as the woman walked toward them.

“You know, if we worked out, we could have legs like that,” Kim said quietly.

“Yes, but that would mean we’d have to exercise,” Lisa said.