Deaths of Jocasta (7 page)

I ambled toward the front porch, waving at Emma as she greeted her multitudes of guests. Men in dresses, women in pants, some in between, we were all here. Someone even came dressed as a priest. Or maybe he was a priest. You can never tell these days.

Out on the porch, I watched the steady stream of arriving headlights. Always the party of the season, this particular one promised to be special. Things were going to happen tonight.

Someone embraced me from behind, entwining her arms around my waist. It wasn’t the blonde, not tall enough. Two breasts were lodged beneath my shoulder blades.

“I have a question for you,” she said, her voice low.

“And I have an answer. Want to see if they fit together as well as we do?” I pressed my ass ever so subtly against her crotch. Tonight was a night for flirting. Outrageous flirting.

“All right,” she responded, to my voice and my movement. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” she said, resting her head against my shoulder.

“Do what?” I inquired.

“Flirt with you.”

My body felt taut, in need of touch. Eros was afield tonight. First the blonde, now this woman. Who was I to circumvent fate?

“Interested in doing more than just flirting?” I asked.

“Not with me standing here,” said a voice directly behind my mystery woman. A voice that I did recognize.

I turned around to face the two of them. (Never proposition a woman until you’re sure her lover isn’t standing behind you).

It was Alex, her arms still lightly around my waist. Behind her was Joanne.

“Should I go get a drink or something while you two arrange an assignation?” Joanne asked equitably enough, considering the scene.

“We’ll never know now, will we?” Alex sighed, letting go of me.

“Sorry, I didn’t know it was you,” I replied, more for Joanne’s benefit.

“Who did you think it was?” Alex asked.

“I don’t know. Somebody interesting,” I mumbled.

“Do you always proposition women you don’t know?” Alex inquired, laughing.

I was trying to figure out whether Joanne was upset or not. Her face, as usual, was impossible to read.

“Isn’t that the only kind of woman you do proposition?” Joanne said.

“Are you upset?” I countered, deciding the only way to find out was to question her directly.

“No, of course not,” Alex answered for her. “Joanne knows that I’m outrageous only when I’m vertical.”

“That probably wouldn’t stop Micky,” Joanne dryly remarked.

“But it will most assuredly slow me down.”

Joanne shook her head, then chuckled. She didn’t seem upset.

“Besides that,” Alex said. “What goes around, comes around.” Then she continued hurriedly, to cover up the connotation of that remark, “And I still have a question to ask you,” she said to me.

“Ask away,” I replied.

“I realize that it’s not likely. Cordelia said she would, but she’s not here. Joanne claims she can’t and most certainly won’t.”

“Yes?” I asked.

“I have never ever danced a real ballroom dance with another woman. Yerky men, yes. I admit it, I was a debutante. My mother insisted. Cordelia was there, too, she can tell you how much fun it was.” Alex rolled her eyes. “As you well know, I’ve since found better ways to come out.”

“Does she usually ask questions like this?” I asked Joanne.

“Sometimes she’s worse,” she answered.

“Okay, twenty-five words or less: a) Do you, perchance, know how to waltz? and b) Would you consider spinning about the dance floor with me, even though it will probably drive Joanne insane with jealousy?”

“Yes, I know how to waltz. And yes, despite Joanne, I would consider dancing with you.”

“Saved,” Alex interjected.

“But,” I continued, “I’m already spoken for.”

“Too bad,” Joanne commented.

“Darn,” Alex said. “Me, a wallflower. Cordelia will pay for this.”

“She probably had to work,” Joanne said.

“I hope not,” Alex bantered. “If she’s going to stand me up, I hope it’s because she’s having a mad, passionate affair. Not likely, knowing her. But it’s the only acceptable excuse.”

“Want a quick lesson?” I said to Joanne, not wanting to think about Cordelia having a passionate affair that didn’t include me.

“No, thanks,” she responded. “I know when I’m well off.”

I looked them over. Danny was right, well, not quite. “Danny said you were hot. She didn’t say molten,” I let out.

They were both wearing low-cut gowns, Alex in black, Joanne a deep red. Each gown had a voluptuous slit, Alex’s in front, Joanne’s revealing her left leg to mid-thigh. Half seen though the slit were dark textured stockings, held in place with garter belts, purple for Alex, black for Joanne.

“What are you trying to do?” I continued. “Cause a riot?”

Alex laughed, Joanne shook her head self-consciously. “Thanks, Micky, I appreciate it, even if Joanne is too shy to admit she does.”

“I am not too shy. I didn’t think anyone would mistake me for a bluestocking in this getup,” Joanne responded.

“It was tough, deciding what to wear. We thought about one of us in a dress and the other in pants, but could never decide on who in what. Butch and femme present such etiquette problems these days. We thought about both wearing suits, but neither of us have one. So we finally came up with this concept,” Alex explained. “High-class Lesbians of the town, plying their avocation.”

“Too bad I’m poor,” I said, then wished I hadn’t. Some desires should not be spoken.

Joanne and Alex looked at each other, then at me.

“Gosh, isn’t it a nice night? I sure hope the weather holds,” I finally said to break the mounting tension.

“Micky,” Joanne said slowly, “have you ever slept with more than one woman?”

“Consecutively or concurrently?” I asked, now aware of a pulse faintly beating between my legs. “What do you think?”

“Your reputation would…” Joanne began.

“That car looks familiar,” Alex broke in.

It did. It was Cordelia’s. Alex started down the porch steps, heading toward the car.

“Did we just have that conversation?” I asked, suddenly embarrassed and flustered.

“Probably not,” Joanne responded. “Blame it on the country air.” She turned and followed Alex.

I hung back, staying on the porch and moving into a shadow. I was discomfited by what had passed, my longings jumbled. I watched Cordelia get out of the car, Alex hugging her after she did. She towered over Alex. Then Joanne embraced her.

Go on, just go on and say hello and get it over with, I told myself. Better to find out in a dark parking lot if she’s happy to see me or not, than in a well-lit party. Watching Joanne hug her made me realize how much I wanted to be the one in her arms. I couldn’t see her eyes from this distance, but I knew they were hauntingly blue; her hair in the dark appeared black, but I remembered the highlights of burnished umber, the feel of those auburn strands between my fingers.

I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath.
Is it really possible to want a woman as much as I want her?
We had made love once, no, several times one night. I opened my eyes again, unable to not watch her. I wondered what she would do if I just walked up and put my arms around her. I watched her talking animatedly with Alex and Joanne. Then I saw the passenger door of her car open. Another woman got out, a blonde with bright platinum hair, good-looking even at this distance. Cordelia walked around the car to her.

I turned away and slipped into the house.

Maybe it’s time to get a drink, I thought. But I wouldn’t do that, not in front of Emma. For her sake, if no one else’s, I wouldn’t drink away Cordelia having taken a lover and not bothering to tell me. Maybe with my reputation, she didn’t figure she needed to.

Go find Torbin and make him tell you outrageous and distracting stories.
I went in search of him, making sure I got as far as I could from the door where Cordelia and her lover would enter.

Not finding Torbin, I headed for Rachel and the kitchen.

“Micky, honey,” she said on spying me. “Emma’s looking for you and she said to hold on to you if you passed by.”

“Then I’ll consider you to be holding me,” I said, leaning against a counter.

“Don’t you tempt these old bones,” Rachel responded.

“Me a temptation?” I played. If I couldn’t have Cordelia, I might as well flirt with every other woman at this party. Micky and her reputation. “Now, Rachel, you know damn well, a woman with your experience and knowledge, would just wear out a young thing like me.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” Rachel answered. “So I’ll leave you be. Emma wants to dance with you. Now unhold yourself and go find her.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.

“Don’t you dare ‘ma’am’ me. Just don’t trip,” Rachel said as she sent me off.

I went in search of Emma, aware that Alex would be dragging Cordelia to the same place. Suddenly I was glad of the prominence being seen with Emma would give me. Cordelia was from an old New Orleans family, but so was Emma. When Cordelia saw me, I wouldn’t be solitary, standing against the wall, but whirling across the floor as the first dancing partner of the host.

I entered the living room, looking for Emma. She was surrounded by a large circle of her friends. She had just finished telling a story and they were laughing heartily. Glancing around, she saw me. “Michele, dear,” she said, taking my hand and making an opening for me to stand beside her.

I said hello to those that I knew and Emma introduced me to the others.

“So you’re one of Emma’s girls?” the elegant woman next to me asked. I nodded yes. “What do you do?” she continued. “Or are you still in school?”

“No, I’m out of school. Way out,” I said.

“Do you really think,” Emma interjected, “that I would be standing here holding hands with a woman one quarter of my age? Really, I do have some standards. She’s only half my age. And I’m only holding on because Michele is my waltzing partner tonight and I have no intention of letting her escape.” The group chuckled appreciatively at Emma’s easy banter.

“Time to begin this affair in earnest,” Emma said, signaling the string quartet. “Ready for your ordeal by dance floor?” she asked me.

“Only for you,” I answered.

The gentle strains of Bach faded out. Conversation lagged with the music. Emma led me to the center of the dance floor.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said to the quieted crowd, “and all divergences in between, welcome to my annual Gay Gala. And Lesbian, of course. I see some new faces along with many dear old ones. For those of you who don’t know what you’re getting into, we start this evening the old-fashioned way, with that most elegant of dances” (not with me, I thought) “the waltz.

“Whoever you are and whatever you call yourself, I welcome you,” she finished, a grand dame to perfection.

She turned to me with a radiant smile and curtsied.

I bowed to her as the first soft notes of the music began, then her hand was in mine and my arm around her waist.

“You had to pick one with tempo changes,” I said to hide my nervousness. Few couples were dancing; most were watching. I didn’t see Alex and Cordelia.

“At least you’re the right height for this,” Emma commented. “I’ve danced with so few women I could look up to.”

“Better worry about my weight,” I added, hoping I wouldn’t land on her toes.

Somehow, somewhere, I found the steps, the gentle rhythm of the music. Emma was the perfect partner, of course, guiding me, slowing if I got off the tempo.

Torbin is a very good teacher, I thought as my body seemed to know where to go, a whirl that became a pleasant blur, a power and command over my movement, meshing perfectly with the music and my partner.

“You fooled me in the hallway,” Emma said. “You really are quite good.”

“No, the hallway was the truth,” I replied, “this is the illusion.” But it was real, a magic moment, repeated smooth steps that shouldn’t be, but were.

“Is it premature to ask you to do this again next year?” she inquired.

I laughed, caught happily by her confidence in me and the lift of the music.

“Better wait until this is over. I might trip yet.” But I wouldn’t. The night was too special for mundane imperfections. Only one focus was possible, holding Emma, dancing with her, making her happy, that concentration gave me an expertise I didn’t know I had.

Once, when we were spinning about the room, I allowed myself to glance around, but the faces were a party blur.

The music reached its final diminuendo, softening to violins only. Emma and I slowed with it, dancing closer than we had when the music began.

“I finally feel like you’re a friend and not a student,” she said.

“Thank you. I hope I will always be a friend,” I answered, enjoying the familiarity and comfort of her touch, my stiffness forgotten in the moment.

Was our touching each other sexual? Of course, how could it not be, holding her this close, in this perfect dance? And this, in all probability, would be the extent of our sexual relationship, one voluptuous dance a year.