Car Pool (13 page)

“As a matter of fact,” Anthea said, “yes.” Suddenly she gave Shay a blinding flashbulb smile. “This time it’s a fire-engine red Volkswagen bug. A convertible.”

Shay blinked. Convertible? Did she mean bisexual? She glanced at Anthea when she could. She opened her mouth to ask outright, then hesitated. Anthea looked as if she was going to have hysterics — her face was flushed pink. Even her hair seemed to sparkle. She had never seen her so animated. The difference made her wonder what

Anthea looked like when she… Shay stomped on the thought. Fire-engine red? Did that mean a fire fighter? A bisexual fire fighter?

“Mint condition.”

A young, bisexual fire fighter. “Right.” Shay was at a loss for words.

“I’m picking it up on Sunday. Probably test drive all over the city.”

“There’s no need to gloat,” Shay said. A young, bisexual fire fighter with stamina. Fine, she thought. I have an open mind.

“Well, it’s not every day something as cute and sassy comes along. In such good shape.”

Jeeez Laweez. She didn’t have to go on about it. Shay was already green with envy. And she hadn’t thought Anthea would be so fixated on looks. “Well,” she said, “appearance isn’t everything.”

“Oh, of course not,” Anthea said. “Performance is what matters. It’s a classic. A sixty-nine model.” Anthea had a fit of giggles. Shay hadn’t thought Anthea knew how. Lately she’d been more prone to giggling. Ever since she’d been in the pizza parlor with that baby butch.

It had been a surprise to find out Anthea was a lesbian — she just didn’t look the part to Shay. She supposed Anthea could be bisexual. Maybe the baby butch had been Anthea’s moment of conversion. That was a depressing thought. But ever since she’d realized that Anthea was a lesbian, Shay had found it harder and harder to not think about her.

“Don’t be crude,” Shay said, wondering what Anthea would look like with her hair loose. The thought of it in her hands made her body twinge. She was shocked by the way she wanted to touch

Anthea’s hair, and every other place. Maybe she was jealous of the baby butch for being the one who showed Anthea the light. She told herself that she needed to get out there and do some test driving of her own. Sure, she had plenty of time to try and find a date. She could look between three and five p.m. every Sunday.

“Adrian says it really performs,” Anthea said, wiping her eyes.

Shay knew Adrian was Anthea’s closest work buddy. She gave herself the time it took to change over two lanes. Then she said, “Have I missed something?”

“The part about the car,” Anthea said. “That I just bought.”

Shay laughed so hard she changed lanes without meaning to. Finally, she said, “If you have money to burn what are you working for?”

“Because I need to and I want to.”

“Well, sure,” Shay said. “But why on earth NOC-U? For next to nothing? A place were it takes three days to get a lousy report formatted and printed out?”

“It’s the job I’ve always had,” Anthea said. “I got it after my MBA.”

“But… Oh, great. An accident.” Shay let the car drift to a stop. They inched along as everyone ahead of them took a good, long look at two cars stopped in the median strip. “You’d think they’ve never seen two cars by the side of the road before.” She shot a worried glance at her thermometer gauge. This kind of traffic was hard on her car. And it felt like the hottest day of the summer. Tomorrow would be

freezing fog, no doubt. It wouldn’t be this warm again until October.

Anthea rolled down her window and slipped out of her suit jacket. Shay realized she couldn’t take her gaze off of Anthea’s blouse. When she finally tore her attention back to the road, the sight of those soft, full swells under a high-collared silk shirt was burned in her mind’s eye like the afterglow of an acetylene torch. Good God, she thought. It had been too long. They were probably as soft as mounds of Mrs. Giordano’s baby tushy pizza dough. Shay trembled and realized she was salivating, which revolted her enough that she could breathe again. She was not salivating over Anthea. Absolutely not. Anthea was definitely not her type… closeted, apparently rich, and… well, not athletic. Even if her calves were fabulous. Think about groundwater remediation, she told herself. Think about your report to the Water Board. Think of a white bear.

The traffic stayed thick all the way into Oakland. Finally, they left the freeway on Ashby and took surface streets into Berkeley. Almost ninety minutes from the time they had left the refinery, Shay pulled up alongside Anthea’s car where she had left it on Hearst. “What will you do with this car now that you’re bringing home a cute, sassy VW? It’ll probably get jealous.”

Anthea arched her eyebrows. “I think there’s room enough in my life to drive two cars.”

“My, my,” Shay said. “You are adventurous.” Maybe there was room in her life for two women. Stop that! My God, Shay thought. What was happening here?

“Oh stop,” Anthea said. “Actually, I feel quite decadent. I’ll have to make good use of both of them and make them last the rest of my life. One for commuting and one for fun.”

“A convertible,” Shay said with a sigh. “I’ve always wanted a convertible.”

“Would you … no, Sunday’s your day off.”

“What?”

“I was wondering if you’d like to come with me to pick it up? You’d be doing me a favor,” Anthea said. “Adrian was going to follow me home in my car and I was going to drive him home again which was going to take an incredible amount of time. This way you could follow me and I’ll drop you back. I’d even… buy dinner. I was going to take Adrian and his friend — the guy who’s selling me the car — out to someplace they like.”

“Well,” Shay said. You shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t. It would take up your only free day. She needed groceries and she had books to return. She said, “I’d love to.” Oh shit.

“I’ll pick you up at two.”

Anthea was gone in a ripple of silk and legs. Shay drove to her apartment parking lot in a daze. As she locked the car and then walked around the corner and up the two blocks to Luciano’s, she tried to decide if Sunday was a date. No. Couldn’t be. She was doing Anthea a favor. That wasn’t a date. No way. Just a friendly arrangement. Right. She had given up the few hours of her precious free time for no reason at all when her brain was mired with

constituent parts per billion and velocity heads. As she opened the door to Luciano’s she decided it was definitely not a date. And she was a fool to think otherwise.

Anthea flicked through hanger after hanger. Black suit, gray suit, navy blue suit, black skirt, white blouse, white blouse, gray suit, a navy blue skirt. So much for the hope that the back of the closet would reveal something to wear. She sighed and started at the beginning again. The brighter suits in the front broke up the monotony, but one fact was very plain: she had no apparel appropriate

to joyriding in a cute and sassy car. Sitting next to Shay, no less. Her closet was only half full, and it was one hundred percent business clothes. Even the slacks were formal. Why on earth didn’t she own a pair of jeans? Finally, she selected a pair of linen pants — basic black. Basic boring.

She turned to the shelves where her sweaters were stacked. Something for riding around in the sun with the top down. The sun had been shining since it had come up over the hills — unusual for summer — but the temperature wouldn’t go over sixty-five. The turquoise cashmere Lois had given her caught her eye. It was lightweight and it didn’t clash with her hair. She would just forget the source. Dressed, finally, she hurried out to her car and headed for Shay’s.

When she got there she realized she didn’t know if she should wait or if Shay would mind her going to the door. Shay was so private about some things, like about working a second job. An old woman was helping another even older woman down the stairs from the second floor. When they reached the bottom step, the two women parted company with a wave, and one headed for the street. The other woman squinted at Anthea, then waved.

Anthea got out of the car, certain she was about to meet the redoubtable Mrs. Giordano.

“You are here for Shay? She is upstairs. Oh, there you are,” Mrs. Giordano said as Shay appeared at the top of the steps. “Stop wiping dishes, your date is here,” she announced, waving at Shay. As Shay came down the stairs, Anthea found herself on the receiving end of an appraising stare. “You work with Shay?”

“We don’t work together, but we work for the same company.”

“You’ve been there a long time? You have the pension plan?”

“Yes,” Anthea said. Mrs. Giordano was an odd inquisitor. “I’m vested one hundred percent.”

“Good, good. Shay is such a nice girl,” Mrs. Giordano said.

“A woman, not a girl,” Shay said as she joined them.

“In my day,” Mrs. Giordano began, “a woman tried to stay a girl all her life. But it’s not my day anymore. Now I’m supposed to say right out I’m an old woman. Well, it’s true.” She gave Anthea another piercing glance. “You two have fun on your date.” She turned to Shay. “Remember, you have to work tomorrow.” Her eyebrows arched significantly as she gave Anthea a last look and went back up the stairs.

“I gather I’m to have you back by curfew,” Anthea said with a smile.

“I told her it wasn’t a date exactly. …”

“Not exactly,” Anthea said. Her body abruptly goose-pimpled. She had the feeling that everything had changed. “Well, let’s go.”

But then again, everything seemed the same when they were in the car. Except they were headed for San Francisco and traffic was a lot lighter than usual. She pressed up a selection of CDs and they cruised into the city to the bouncing tones of the Manhattan Transfer. She handed a sheet of paper to Shay. “Tell me what Adrian wrote down.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Northwest corner of Market and Noe. Adrian is meeting us there and then he’ll direct us to his friend’s house. The one with the car.”

“Oh, take this exit,” Shay said. “Noe and Market’s just a block off Castro.”

“I don’t know where that is,” Anthea admitted.

“This is your first time to the Castro?”

“Well, I was there once, but I felt… out of place.”

Shay chewed on her lip for a few moments, then said, “Well, I’ll help you streak your hair purple if you like. Or we could go shopping for leather chaps. But you don’t have to go the whole nine yards all at once.”

“I’m not sure I’d fit in,” Anthea said. “I guess I’m a little conservative.”

Shay smiled. “That’ll change.”

“Or maybe not.” Anthea frowned. “I am what I am. I’m not flamboyant. I’m not political —”

“There are those who say, um, just having sex with another woman is political.”

“I don’t feel that way. It’s private. It’s … a choice I made.”

Shay frowned slightly, then chewed on her lip again. “But if it’s a permanent choice it’s going to affect your life.”

“It hasn’t so far.”

Shay looked out the window. “It’s only been a short while. At the light drive ahead about four blocks.”

“Okay. What do you mean, short while?” Anthea wished they had never started talking about politics. Lois would have been spouting the latest straight—

people-are-out-to-get-us story from the Sentinel by now. Keeping up with each insult and thoughtless act made Anthea tired and depressed.

“Wasn’t… um, that woman. I mean wasn’t that… .”

Anthea blinked, then realized what Shay’s line of reasoning was. She was peeved that Shay couldn’t believe Anthea had been a lesbian for more than a few weeks. What was she missing, a dozen earrings and pink triangles hanging off her ears?

“No, that was not my first time. My first time was in a professor’s office at the University of Chicago with a teaching assistant. Some fifteen years ago. Since then I’ve had enough practice to keep my skills up and I even lived with another woman.”

“I’m sorry, I just, I mean I hadn’t realized… .”

“Well, now you know.” Anthea didn’t know why she was so bothered. “We come in all shapes and sizes and we can’t all belong to Queer Nation.” There, that was why she was upset. Shay sounded just like Lois all over again.

“I know that,” Shay said. “Look, I just wasn’t expecting it. I had ruled you out without really thinking about it — shame on me. You don’t have to join Queer Nation to prove you’re a lesbian.”

“One of the reasons I’m not involved in the activist agenda is that I’ve been discounted once too often because I’m not suffering because I’m gay. This lesbian writer was on a talk show — everyone says she’s a ‘thinking lesbian’s lesbian’ — and said that lesbian affluence was a myth. I felt like she’d slapped me. She went on and on about visibility after she’d just made me invisible. I don’t need to be treated like dirt, certainly not by other lesbians.”

Shay said quietly, “You know, I do understand where you’re coming from. You haven’t had any firsthand experience with oppression. It doesn’t make you less gay. But have you ever tried to do anything that pushes the envelope?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for example, let’s say you wanted to get married. But you know it’s against the law. So you never try to get a license so, in a way, you haven’t been deprived of a right because you never tried to use it. You’re saving the government the trouble of denying you rights by denying them to yourself.”

Anthea hadn’t really thought of it that way. But what didn’t she have that she wanted? She sighed. She decided to change the subject. “Where are we?”

Shay seemed grateful for a new topic. “Rapidly passing through a corner of the Mission district on our way to the Castro. I tried to find an apartment around here, but I couldn’t afford it. I love the variety of neighborhoods. You can walk to just about any kind of deli or grocery you might desire, and there’s entertainment of all kinds.”

“I’ve always lived in Berkeley, right where I’m living now,” Anthea said. “Where do I go?”

“One home all your life — turn left at the light and then we’re on Market — I can’t imagine it. We moved around so much. Stay in the right-hand lane.”

“It feels like I moved since the fire. It was rebuilt from the foundation up.”

“How awful — you lost the house you grew up in to the fire?”