Elena Undone (19 page)

“Pardon me?”

But Peyton literally could not speak. Because in that very moment she too saw Elena in a new light, her compelling beauty, felt the sweet twist in her stomach and she knew—it was not a light she was going to allow in.

As the shoot gathered speed and momentum, Peyton became more and more stiff, because every moment that Elena came close to her Peyton could feel what she did not want to feel. And as Elena snapped shot after shot, she could not tell why she felt such compulsion toward this woman. But it was undeniable. The draw. Elena kept trying to push it from her, unable to understand what she was experiencing. And Peyton couldn’t believe she had fallen into this self-imposed trap.

*

Elena whistled as she fixed dinner. Tori walked in and picked up a banana, watching Elena continue to warble away.

“Uh, Momma Bear...” Elena held up the teapot. Tori nodded yes, and Elena continued whistling away as she put on water for them both, pointing to a freshly baked batch of cookies. “Momma Bear, are you aware the entire time I’ve crashed here at your house I have never once heard you whistle—a non-verbal expression of happiness or pleasure—bycolleasure the way...so, what’s up with that?”

“Oh, come on! I’m sure I’ve whistled before...I must have.” Elena shook her head, wondering how long ago she actually had whistled, now that Tori had brought it to her attention. As she continued to fix tea, she broached to Tori off-handedly, “Tori… do you know any….well, gay kids at school?”

“Yeah, Chance is gay. You know, the gymnast that goes to Nash’s karate classes.”

“Nash never told us he was gay,” Elena remarked.

“That’s because he thinks you and Poppa Bear are completely provincial and without any awareness of the real world. I’ve told him that you couldn’t be any less judgmental and his dad’s prudishness is merely the product of method acting.”

Elena gave Tori a curt frown, then returned to fixing dinner.

“And, well…do you or Nash know any…well, gay girls?”

“What, you mean lesbians?” Looking incredulous, Tori put her banana on the counter so she could place both hands on her hips. “Excuse me, but the last time I looked you were hanging out with one named Peyton.”

“Yes...but she—she doesn’t…she—” Elena rushed on, not really knowing what she meant or what she was saying.

“Yeah, I know. She passes. She could pass for straight.”

Elena felt like she was becoming educated.

“Anyway, here’s where things are as senseless as doughnut holes. A normal person engages in the pursuit of kissing a mere twenty-one thousand, plus or minus, minutes in their sorry little lives—which boils down to a lousy month when you add it all up. Heck, over the lifespan of an average eighty year old? They’re only havin’ sex six times a year.”

Elena found this information discomfiting on several levels. At that moment Nash walked in, twirled Tori’s hair, then nabbed an apple.

“Yeah,” Tori pontificated onward, “we take more baths and eat more chocolate bars and yet this gay thing’s got everyone’s knickers in a twist—including Poppa Bear.” Tori popped a bite of banana into her mouth and then added, “FYI, he’s no fan of your new friend either.”

“What?” Elena wondered if her voice suddenly sounded louder to them, as it did to her.

“Don’t worry, Mom.” Nash comforted her. “Dad’s just grumbling about how much time you spend together. But I personally think it makes ya kinda cool, not all caught up in the church. Besides which, with her you get to do something you like to do for a change. You deserve to have something that’s not all about the church, and so what if she’s a lesbian? She’s pretty cool and after all the stuff you put up with—and I include yours truly,” he mock-bowed, “you de ped, “yserve to have a good pal you can have fun with. And it just proves you’re open-minded, which makes me proud.”

“Just so you’re completely informed, Nash, according to this specialist, who was on Queen Oprah the other day, straight women everywhere are suddenly wanting to be with other women to experience their newfound—” Tori offered up air quotes, “—sexual fluidity.”

Elena’s stomach suddenly felt queasy. Just as she was drawn to each and every word that sprang from Tori’s mouth, she also was terrified by them.

“Here’s the Kinsey Scale, zero to six. If you score zero you’re straight-straight. If you score six you’re gay-gay.” Tori nabbed a pair of dice from the junk drawer, rolled them for effect. “But unlike men, women scored all over the board—twos, threes, fours—because they experience relationships with less boundaries...more gray. And that’s Lesbo 101 in a nutshell.”

“You trying to tell me something?” Nash inquired, munching on his apple.

“Nash...you are, and always will be, the only one for me.”

Elena smiled at them both.

“Yeah, but that’s not the case for my mother.”

Elena felt a rush of heat spread over her chest, suddenly feeling as if the air in the room had escaped.

“Of course it’s not, Momma Bear,” Tori said easily. “Don’t get so defensive.”

Elena shook her head, fanned herself with the dish towel. “I believe you two are what Tyler calls Twin Flames!” She walked over to them, held them both in her arms. “And you found each other so early in life. Just think of all the time you have to endlessly bicker.”

*

Elena found herself whistling once again as she drove up to Peyton’s house. She smiled at her good mood, got out of the car and walked up to Peyton’s door. She was about to place a nicely wrapped package for her at the side of the front door, when she heard a voice from behind.

“Oh my!”

Elena jumped, scared out of her wits.

“Well, hello there.” It was Margaret watching her as Elena was about to place the package at the front step. Margaret’s face showed nothing of the hospitality from the other day. Dressed in a severe black business suit, hair pulled tightly back, Margaret appeared cool, aloof and clearly piqued.

“You’re the photographer, right?”

“Yes...uhm, I...I was just leaving some proofs for Peyton.”

Margaret observed the beautiful wrapping. “Uh, yeah. Special delivery, eh?”

“No. I was just…I happened to be in the—”

“Oyyy, you
are
a newbie! That’s original.”

“You know...I’ve...really got to be going.” Elena tucked the package beneath her arm and began to walk from the house.

Margaret purposefully stood in front of her, arms crossed. “I’m not sure how much Elena has told you about us...but we’re working on our relationship. Trying to have a baby. I think you know she’s been through a lot.”

“Yes, I know she’s been through a lot.” Elena was not going to shrink from her. In her mind “a lot” happened to include Margaret’s cheating on Peyton.

“And it doesn’t help her to give her all kinds of false hope for something you and I both know will never happen.”

Elena cleared her throat, flustered. “I’m not sure what you’re insinuating—”

“Oh you know very well what I’m insinuating.”

“I...I only want what’s best for her.”

Margaret smiled. “So glad to hear that. I’ll let her know you stopped by.” She cavalierly brushed past Elena, pulled out her keys and let herself into Peyton’s house.

As Elena watched Margaret take ownership she stood a solid moment, uncertain what to think. She didn’t like the feeling that spread through her, that somehow she was less than entitled, and, suddenly, quite surprisingly, another feeling became ascendant. This last inflamed her limbs like wildfire. She was sure she’d never experienced this particular feeling until now, but here it was, in all its savage glory: Jealousy.

*

The young girl runs in crying, crying desperately in pain. But as she keeps trying to talk to her mother, all her mother will do is offer up tea. The girl keeps saying things, yelling them to her mother, but the mother simply does not hear, just keeps smiling as she says, “There’s nothing that a good cup of tea cannot fix.”

“But Mommy,” young Peyton continues to wail. “It...it’s Molly. She—she’s moving....and I love her so...so much. She’s my best friend.”

Suddenly Peyton’s mother looks directly at her daughter, her eyes the color of coal as she assesses her daughter. “Haven’t I always told you a young lady dresses for tea—”

“But Mom…Molly, she’s leaving…I’ll never see her again…”

Peyton’s mom takes her napkin and wipes away the tears, not gruffly, but not with great gentleness either. Peyton continues to sniffle.

“Now get a hold of yourself. I suppose now is as good a time as any to learn this lesson. When you love—expect disappointment.”

Peyton’s eyes are large with disbelief.

Peyton’s mother cannot handle the pain she sees, nor the pain in herself, and grabs her daughter to her. “It’s just what happens.”

Peyton kept thinking of the dream as she sat at her front steps until Wave snapped her out of her memories by sitting next to her. Wave was in one of her favorite jumpsuits that only Wave could pull off, a tattering quilt dress made of countless snatches of fabric topped by a huge pair of sunglasses. Wave cocked her head, then, lowering her sunglasses, she looked at her good friend.

“Soooooooooup,” Wave hissed in her sexiest voice.

“What?” At first Peyton didn’t understand, then realized Wave was teasing her, as she had done so for days about “soup” referring to Elena’s offer to bring her some while she had been sick. Wave had decided it was the code word for Elena and all the presumptions Wave attached to their relationship.

“Oh for God’s sake.”

Wave laughed at her friend, then became serious. “Gotta tell ya, Lombard, this thing is gettin’ way out of control: the unbuttoning the shirt, the wanting to take care of you when you’re sick—and how ’bout all the eye blazing that goes on between the two of you...who does that?”

“Eye blazing? Really.”

“You’re the writer! Call it what you want!” Wave sighed, shaking her head. Peyton also shook her head.

“You gotta grow some mini-cajones STAT and tell her what’s going on.”

“No, no no…” Peyton shook her head emphatically.

“She’s straight, Lombard. Married to a pastor. Not to mention she’s culturally challenged...” Wave shivered. “It’s kinda twisted how much you’ve got goin’ against you here.”

“You belabor the obvious. You know what—I have to go out of town for an assignment, and I’ve already decided, when I come back I’ll just be less available,” she declared, reassuring herself as much as Wave. “Actually, Unavailable.”

“Oh, the I’m too busy, I’m too much of a chickenshit to tell you what’s really going on treatment, fade into the woodwork action?”

“Yep.” Peyton gazed at nothing in particular. “That’s the plan.”

The next morning Peyton woke much earlier than she liked, unable to sleep, thinking endlessly about her latest dream, what it meant, and that Elena had already called several times since she had attempted to drop off the proofs that Margaret had unceremoniously, contemptuously informed her of the night before.

“Oh yeah, Peyton—she stopped by, all primped and ready to impress you with her ‘special delivery,’” Margaret had taunted. “You are playing with dynamite, sweetheart, and you know what happens when girls do that don’t you?”

Peyton had begged off their dinner, which had made Margaret even meaner than usual. She’d pouted, cajoled, pulled every trick in the book, and it was at that moment that Peyton realized she was in real trouble. Margaret was no longer even a consideration in her mind. She was ancient history. Because Elena was all that she could think about.

She’d done everything, swum laps thinking about how to purge this straight woman from her mind. How to rid herself of the face that constantly loomed in her thinking. No matter what she was doing, Elena intruded, capturing her from whatever her mind was on, compelling her to replay every moment they spent together, thinking about the shape of her hands, the way she moved so deliberately, gracefully, thinking of her hair, her eyes, the way they seared into her with a simple glance, how she held Peyton’s gaze with intensity and thorough confidence; and yet, nothing, nothing whatsoever had transpired between them.

“But it has,” Margaret warned. “Don’t play stupid, Peyton. Don’t play like you have no clue what’s up here.”

“What do you want?”

“I’ve told you over and over again. I want to give us another go. Come on, before Church Lady ever showed up you know you were considering it…and if you think you stand a chance in hell with her, Peyton, you’re seriously delusional.”

“You’re right, Margaret. I have been delusional.” Peyton stood up from her desk, held out her hand.

“What?” Margaret stood there.

“Your keys, Margaret. I’d like them back.”

Margaret stood unmoving, stolid, implacable. She glanced down, and when she returned her gaze to Peyton, she had her game face on, her saucy you-don’t-really-want-me-to-leave-smile, but it was quivering in uncertainty.