Just Yesterday (9 page)

It is three months later, and we are seated in a rather noisy restaurant in the middle of the French

Quarter of New Orleans. This is the fourth of twelve cities that I will be traveling to on assignment for City Magazine. Grace has so far met me in each city, and we’ve managed to plan minivacations around each of my assignments.

We are both uncomfortable with the boisterous crowd, particularly because we are trying to have a serious conversation. But it is our first night in the city, and we quickly discover that the Cajun cooking in this restaurant is nothing short of heaven.

I had been reluctant to talk to Grace about Joanna and probably wouldn’t have raised the topic if she hadn’t asked. But our relationship has grown deeply, quickly. We talk on the phone at least once a day, often sharing long-drawn-out conversations late into the night. It was during these conversations that I found myself captivated by her all over again. Grace is highly skilled in the art of verbal tennis. She takes the art of conversation to a whole new level, volleying words with wit, charm, and cynicism that are nothing short of exquisite. She is highly intelliŹgent, and has the ability to retain and regurgitate every bit of information that has ever passed her way. Conversations often turn into debates, which either turn dry and whimsical, or heated and competitive. I am wildly attracted to her way with words.

But what I really enjoy the most is when Grace shares a verbal dance. Unlike the volley, the dance is a sharing, a give-and-take. A hinting, a subtle flirting, a spoken batted eye. Her words and her voice caress and render me powerless with such ease. Seduction has never been so tantalizing, so mesmerizing, as it has always been with Grace.

Throughout the days there is a constant, steady stream of voice mail messages and e-mail correŹspondence. Grace isn’t bashful with her messages. They are often filled with vivid descriptions of what she would like to be doing to my body at that very moment. Or if her mood is romantic, she sends a quick note echoing the same wonder I am feeling myself, that we found each other again. And when she is too busy to dally over long, romantic messages, she simply calls and breathes the words I love you in a message that I listen to over and over again before finally deleting it to make room for others.

We are constantly figuring out how we can see each other more frequently over the next several months. We go over my schedule time and again as she rearranges her life so that she can meet me. A few days in New Orleans. San Francisco and Miami the month before. Nearly a week in New York City next month. Then Boston and D.C. before heading south again to Atlanta.

Joanna, on the other hand, is acting as though nothing has changed. And in many ways, nothing has. Our relationship is exactly the same as it was before I’d started seeing Grace again. It is a bit strained, perhaps. She doesn’t ask about Grace, and I don’t mention her name.

“Maybe,” I finally concede. “But I don’t think so.” Joanna had been very clear that our relationship is over.

“It’s possible,” Grace offers again. “Sometimes it just takes a while for us to realize our mistakes.”

“You wouldn’t be referring to you and me, would you?”

“Probably,” she sighs, and we stare at each other for some time. Both of our smiles falter, and I know that she is thinking about our past. No matter how much our relationship is now and in the present, our past somehow hovers between us from time to time. And with it the inevitable doubt and worry.

“Maybe we should talk about this when it’s quieter and we can hear each other.” Grace seems to sense my thoughts, and I gratefully nod my head.

We spend the rest of the evening making gluttons of ourselves with food and drink, until at last we can’t possibly eat another bite.

“What would you like to do now?” We are leaning over the table, two cups of coffee between us. “See the sights? Go for a walk—”

“Hold you.” She says the words softly, yet her voice commands my attention. My eyes are riveted on hers, and I feel the current running between us. Passion. Running slow and sweet down my spine before finding my belly and bursting alive.

Her expression smolders between desire and tenderness, and I’m surprised by the physical response the look evokes from my body. My chest begins to swell and I’m nearly overwhelmed with a sense of joy. I’m astounded once again that we have found each other.

Once we’re alone, I sit down on the edge of the bed and pull Grace forward until she is standing between my legs. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I bury my face in her breasts and breathe deeply. Intoxicated, I revel in the feel of her fingers trailing up and down my back as she nuzzles the top of my head.

“I think I have some good news.”

Distracted by my growing desire, I mumble a reply and wait for a response. When none comes, I lift my head and look up at her downturned face. She hesitates before dropping down to her knees so that we are now eye to eye.

“Tell me,” I smile, but can’t resist dropping a quick kiss on her mouth.

“Mmm.” Her expression shifts as she leans in for another kiss.

I groan in reply, greedy for her kisses, and gently push her away, smiling. “Tell me your good news.”

Her eyelids are heavy with desire as she pouts sweetly. Then the fog lifts and she is focused. “My agent called this morning.” Her pause is dramatic. “KQTV offered me the weekend anchor job.”

KQTV. San Diego. My mind slides into fast forward, already thinking about logistics. She’ll be less than an hour away. What about Joanna?

“Maybe it’s not such good news?” Grace is cringing, holding her breath, and I realize I haven’t reacted to her news at all.

“Are you kidding? This is fabulous. Honey, it’s so exciting.” I hug her tightly. “You’ll be so close.”

“It will change our relationship,” she says with trepidation. She sounds childlike. Fear is in her voice.

“I’ll get to see you every day instead of once a month.” My hands rise and cover both of her cheeks as our eyes touch and search out the answer to so many unasked questions. “I thought that’s what we both wanted.”

“Are you sure?” Her voice is small, quiet.

“Of course I’m sure. Honey, this is perfect. We’ll have a chance to really plan a future now. Did you accept the job?” I ask as an afterthought.

“Not yet. I told them I’d be in touch when I get back home.”

I can feel my eyebrows pulling together. “Should you wait? Should you call tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” she shrugs restlessly. “I wanted to spend a few days with you first. I wanted to talk to you and see how you felt about it before I gave them an answer.”

“Are you sure you just didn’t want to see whether or not you’d still like me?” I’m teasing her, but know there is just an ounce of truth, and of fear, in my question.

“That’s it.” Her voice dips into a sarcastic drawl as she raises a carefully plucked brow. “I thought I’d come down to New Orleans and try you on for a couple of days. You know, to see if we can still stand to be around each other after a day or two.” She is smiling. But it is definitely a steely smile.

“Hmm. I bet we don’t last a night.” My voice drops down, becoming seductive as my hands grasp her hips.

“I’m not worried about the nights, sweetie.” Her voice is husky as she slides her hands beneath my shirt and traces the outline of nipples with her fingertips.

Our mouths are open and our tongues dancing before either of us can speak another word.

I don’t think that I’ve ever been this happy. At least it’s not the kind of happiness I’ve felt before. This is different. This is a soaring heart. This is looking into another pair of eyes and believing for the first time that maybe there’s something to all of this soul mate crap after all. Maybe I didn’t believe it before because I’d never felt this way for another human being. But I believe it now. I believe that she and I are meant to be together.

Leaving her at the airport is not easy. Although she has stopped crying when we part, I cannot help the tears that inevitably spring forth from my eyes. I know that it’s silly. Particularly when she chides me. But I can’t help the feeling of loss when she walks away from me. And it takes me some time to realize that I don’t trust her yet. I don’t trust the situation, and am waiting for her to pull the rug out from under me. I know how dangerous these insecurities can become. I know I need to shake them.

The next month is busy with change. I finally move out of the bedroom that I’ve been sharing with Joanna for ten years. Even though the change is long overdue, and even though not so much as our toes have touched in several years, it is a dramatic and powerful move. The kittens howl their displeasure, even if we cannot, as they prowl back and forth between our separate bedrooms.

Grace and I have begun making tentative plans for the future. She accepted the position in San Diego, and will take two months to make the transition. The television station in Champaign has already begun making counter-offers, and the stress is beginning to show in Grace. I try my best to be sympathetic and understanding while trying to help plan her move.

“I can live anywhere,” I tell her late one night as we discuss whether I should stay put while she adjusts or if we should find a place together right away.

“I mean, it doesn’t matter if I’m based out of L.A. or San Diego.”

Grace seems preoccupied, and I’m not sure if she is listening or not. But I’ve been combing the Sunday Times for hours, trying to find an apartment in the right location.

“Honey?” When she doesn’t reply, I prompt her again. “Are you there? What do you think?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighs, and I feel a prickling sensation along my neck.

Patiently, I try to explain. “I just need to know whether to look for a one-or a two-bedroom apartŹment.”

“Two,” she replies briskly, her business voice in evidence. “Either way. Two.”

I hate that she sounds so distracted, hate that I can’t quite get through to her. But I know I’m being unreasonable and overly sensitive. I am still stinging from Joanna’s reaction when she’d learned that Grace was moving.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she’d scoffed. “I’m still betting she stays put.”

Even though I’d defended Grace, Joanna’s words fed the nagging doubt in my mind. But I know that my fears are irrational. So I keep reminding myself of the tremendous stress Grace is under and that it will all soon be over.

“Okay, honey.” I make my voice light. “I’ll look for two.” I hesitate before deciding to sign off. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I was flying out first thing in the morning for New York. “What time will you be in?”

“My flight gets in at four. I’ll meet you at the hotel. Did you get tickets for the show?”

“Yep,” I say, enthusiastic. “Wednesday night.”

“I thought it was Thursday.”

I check my memory. “Honey, you said you were leaving on Thursday.”

There is a pause. A hesitation. “Oops. I was going to surprise you. I changed my plans. I’m staying with you all week.” She drops her voice seductively. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

I chuckle in spite of myself, and feel the glow spread through my limbs. “I can’t wait. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Liz. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Bye.”

I eye the phone for a moment or two, pushing away the fear that I know is unreasonable. Finally, I pick up my camera bag and begin checking my equipment.

It is late. I am waiting in a hotel room in New York City. Grace should have been here two hours ago and I am extremely anxious. Agitated. And nearly starving.

Finally there is a knock at the door and she greets me with a long, tired hug that lasts a full minute.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers in my ear, and I can feel the tenseness in the muscles of her back.

“Sorry I’m so late.” She kisses me earnestly before picking up her bags and dumping them unŹceremoniously inside the room. “Have you been here long?” She is throwing open the closet doors and kicking off her pumps. “I’m starved. Do you mind if we just order room service?”

“Sounds good to me.” I smile and retreat to the bed, where I lounge back and watch her unpack and change her clothes.

We discuss what to order for dinner, and I place the call while I wait for her to join me on the bed.

When she lies down and pulls me into her arms, I note that her hips are pointier than usual. “You’ve lost weight,” I tell her, and begin to rub the muscles of her arms. “You’ve been a wreck lately.”

“The last few weeks have been tough,” she admits, and I notice the darkness beneath her eyes. “But it’s good to see you. I hate it when we’re apart.”

I smile and touch her lips briefly with mine.

She closes her eyes and hesitates briefly. “Honey, I need to tell you something.”

I don’t like the sound of her voice. I remain quiet as I search her face for some clue.

“Liz. Honey. I don’t want you to get upset, okay?” Naturally, my stomach lurches and I am instantly upset. I realize that I am holding my breath.

I stare at her, unblinking, and hear the strain in her voice.

“I’m going to meet with some people at a local station here in New York on Friday.”

My stomach lurches in earnest now, and while I am no longer holding my breath, I find that I cannot breathe.

“They saw some of my tapes a couple of months ago and have been talking to my agent. They’ve been trying to get me to interview for the past month and I kept saying no because I’d already committed to you and San Diego.” She stops talking, but it’s too late. I feel my wall lifting, falling into place. I can’t talk even if I want to.

“When I told my agent that I was going to be here this week he convinced me that I should just talk to these guys. So I said okay. It’s no big deal, Liz. Honest.”

I am quiet, digesting her words.

“Honey?” She lifts her head enough to meet my eyes.

“What if they offer you the job?” My voice is dead.

“They won’t.” She sounds certain. “And anyway, I’m not interested.”

“Is that why you’ve been so preoccupied lately?”