Never Too Late (16 page)

The air was cool and the fog bank was rolling in as she laced her shoes and stepped up onto the wharf. Her gaze kept drifting to the Dream Inn, the boutique hotel that fronted the ocean just beyond the wharf. She sat on a bench and stared at the tall white building with balconies facing the ocean. She’d always wanted to stay there. Why not? She called Sheryl.

“Hey, babe, you’re not gonna believe—”

“Where have you been?”

“I’m in Santa Cruz looking at the Dream Inn. Come over and we’ll spend the night.”

“I can’t. That car you bought me won’t start.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Jamie watched the fishermen lined up along the railing. An older man wearing an A’s cap pulled up his line and checked the bait.

“I was with friends. It was so embarrassing. One of them had to drive me home.”

“You left the car?”

“I called you to come get me, but I guess you had better things to do.”

Jamie rubbed the back of her neck. “That’s why we have Triple A. You call them, they come—”

“I couldn’t find the card. What are you doing in Santa Cruz?”

“I decided to take a drive and ended up here. Come join me.”

“I. Don’t. Have. A. Car.”

Jamie walked to the wooden railing. The smell of fish wafted up from a bucket next to the man in the A’s cap. He dropped his line back into the ocean, and Jamie had a wild urge to fling her phone after it.

“Are you with Penni?”

The icy tone made Jamie clench her jaw. “No.”

“How soon will you be home?”

“I already paid for the room,” Jamie lied.

“You can’t be serious.”

“You’re right, I’m not.” Jamie laughed and the tightness in her chest loosened. “It’s purely spontaneous, no good reason, no plan, fun.”

“How am I going to get around tomorrow? I have things to do.”

Shopping. She watched a surfer wobble for balance before toppling from the board.

“Jamie—”

“Gotta go.” Jamie stood for a long time staring down into the churning water. Sea lions congregated near the pilings, their barks echoing under the wharf. They probably wouldn’t have a room.

She flashed her best smile at the cute young woman behind the counter before realizing she was a graying middle-aged woman about to flirt with a woman who couldn’t be a day over twenty. She’d once been bold, cocky even, when it came to flirting. Where had the time gone?

“Ocean view?” the woman asked.

“Um, sure.” Tucking the keycard in her back pocket, Jamie did a double take when a woman about her age with long tan legs and a disarming smile gave her the once-over. Was she cruising her? A slow smile relaxed the tension in Jamie’s face. It was nice to be appreciated.

When Jamie’s stomach growled she considered her dinner options. Passing on the hotel restaurant, she headed back to the wharf. It was cold, and she ducked into one of the tourist stores. She put on the navy-blue hooded sweatshirt with the
Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk
emblem in white across the front, complete with exaggerated curls of waves beneath the words.

She took one of the quarters the clerk gave her back in change and flipped it. Heads she’d go to her father’s favorite restaurant, tails, her mom’s. She walked into Gilda’s, her mom’s favorite, and headed for an open seat at the counter. She didn’t want to sit at a table by herself.

As a kid, she’d always ordered the fried prawns that came with fries her mom would steal off her plate. As an adult, she favored the Louie salad piled high with crabmeat. At least she and Sheryl agreed on that. Maybe she should go get Sheryl. The thought of listening to her bitch about the car settled Jamie back onto her seat at the counter. She lathered a piece of French bread with butter. She wasn’t on a diet.

After dinner she retrieved a travel toothbrush from her glove compartment and rode the elevator up to the fifth-floor room. It was decorated in predictable blues and greens, the furnishings a retro nod to the hotel’s origins in the sixties. Smiling when she saw the docking station, she inserted her iPod and lunged for the volume control when Melissa blared into the room.

She moved her hips in time to the music. She hadn’t danced in years. Why not? She might as well make the night count. She looked down at her shorts. By Santa Cruz standards she was almost dressed up.

“I’m looking for somewhere to go dancing…a lesbian bar or dance club?” Jamie asked the woman at the front desk with bright-blue eyes and a customer-service smile to be proud of. She’d make a great receptionist but she didn’t need a new receptionist, just a new office manager. She shoved the sour thought aside.

“The main one closed but…” The woman pulled out her cell phone. “There are often meet-ups for dance parties. Yep, there’s one at a bar in Capitola.”

Fifteen minutes later Jamie was standing outside what looked like a neighborhood bar. No line, no bouncer, no purple stamp of a face like the bar in Atlanta. She’d left it on until it wore off. How silly she’d been then.

Opening the door, she stepped into more noise than she expected. It wasn’t big, but there was a nice-sized dance floor at one end. A woman DJ stood shuffling through a stack of CDs in a booth next to it. Jamie ordered a beer and sat at the bar, lost in wondering where the last twenty years had gone until an elbow settled next to her arm.

“Would you like to dance?” The woman had hair shorter and grayer than hers and a turquoise blouse snugged across ample breasts.

“Sure.”
Sheryl doesn’t like to dance and I’m not doing anything wrong.
Jamie hadn’t danced in forever, but by the end of the song she was loose and in her rhythm, and when the woman suggested another, Jamie obliged. Three dances later, she shed the sweatshirt. The woman kissed her on the cheek and said to come join her if she wanted to. Jamie returned to the barstool, guzzling most of the beer. She’d just cooled down when a woman with a blond ponytail and dolphin earrings took the stool next to her.

“You’re a good dancer.”

“Thanks.”

“I sort of dragged my mom out here. She’ll kill me for asking, but would you dance with her?” She pointed to a table toward the back where a woman about Jamie’s age sat alone, looking at the dance floor. “Please?”

“Sure.”

“Great,” the woman said, breaking into a smile.

Jamie approached the woman sitting on the edge of her seat gripping her beer in both hands. Her face was identical to her daughter’s, but her hair was light brown and short with wisps of bangs above brown eyes.

“I’m Jamie. Would you like to dance?” The words came out easily, as if she were still that bold, out dyke she’d once been. She tucked her thumbs into her waistband and added a broad smile.

“Um…” The woman looked toward the bar and scowled at her daughter.

“Come on,” Jamie said, holding out her hand.

“Okay.” A shy smile replaced the scowl. “I’m Becky.”

Jamie laid the sweatshirt on the chair and led Becky to the dance floor. She’d missed the transition from Madonna to Lady Gaga over the years. Becky shuffled her feet, staring at Jamie’s hips as if looking for directions.

“Here,” Jamie said, placing her hands on Becky’s hips and moving her. “Bigger steps…that’s it…now more wiggle.” Becky’s laugh blended with the music, and she lifted her arms and gradually found her own rhythm. “That’s great,” Jamie said.

“This is a lot different than the ballroom lessons I took last year. My husband refused, but I always wanted to learn to dance.” She shrugged. “I got partnered with a woman who was a great dancer, and that’s when I realized…well.” She blushed.

“Better late than never,” Jamie said as a young woman in a cut-off white T-shirt bumped her into Becky.

“I guess. Have you always been a lesbian?”

“Yep.” God, it felt good to be in a bar full of music and lesbians. An awkward moment ensued when the music shifted to a slow song. What the heck? Jamie held out her arms and Becky stepped toward her.

“I’m a better follower than a leader,” Becky said, her cheek close to Jamie’s.

Jamie hadn’t held a woman on a dance floor in years. Becky was soft with plenty of curves and smelled like lavender. Jamie took a deep breath when Becky moved a little closer and then closer still.
It’s just a dance.
Jamie closed her eyes and shut out everything but the music.

When the dance ended, Becky took Jamie’s hand and led her back to the table. Jamie nursed a beer and listened as Becky regaled her with funny stories about her three cats, two lovebirds, and recently rescued dachshund.

“It’s hard to go from living with someone for twenty years to being alone,” Becky said. “I decided sharing my home with animals would be good for them and keep me from coming home to an empty house.”

Jamie twirled the bottle on the table. How often was her house empty when she got home?

“My husband didn’t like animals. Should have been a clue,” Becky said.

Jamie shifted in her seat. She’d once had a lot in common with Sheryl. Did they still? She rubbed the back of her neck.

“I don’t know how this is done but would you like to…um…come meet my menagerie?”

It took Jamie a minute to realize the anticipatory look in Becky’s eyes was meant for her. “Um…I’m sorry, Becky. I have a…I have to leave early tomorrow to get home. I’m from out of town.”

“Oh.” Becky’s eyes telegraphed her disappointment.

“It’s been fun.” She kissed Becky on the cheek. “You’ll find what you want.”

By the time Jamie opened the door to her room her good mood was gone. She didn’t like coming back to an empty hotel room any more than she liked coming home to an empty house. How was she going to get Sheryl to see that they’d drifted apart? Would success matter if they lost each other?

She tugged the sliding door open and went to the railing. The boardwalk was dark and quiet. So was the wharf. The only sign of life was the occasional bark of a sea lion. She’d enjoyed holding a woman who stepped into her arms instead of away from her, being around women who openly expressed their affection for one another.

Jamie stomped back into the room and snatched up the binder from the desk, rifling through it until she found the room-service menu. She ran her finger down the list of scotches. Glenlivet wasn’t on it. She dialed room service and ordered a bottle of Wild Turkey. She liked the name. While she waited she turned on her iPod. Did Carla still like Melissa? Did she still dance? Would they ever have that conversation?

She tipped the young man and poured a generous amount of the amber liquid into a glass. Not cut crystal. She couldn’t stop the laughter that overtook her at the absurdity of drinking cheap whiskey out of a generic glass, alone in a hotel room. The laughter gave way to anger as the whiskey burned its way down her throat. Why couldn’t Sheryl give her this one night? Jamie took another sip of the whiskey, not smooth but with a bite she was starting to like. Once, Sheryl would have jumped at the offer. When had fun been usurped by career paths?

Pulling the sweatshirt hood over her head against the cold, she stood at the railing on the balcony, inhaling the ocean smell she loved. And who wouldn’t go on a ten-year-anniversary vacation because she might miss a minute with some conservative, homophobic jerk? She took another, longer sip as she stared out at the dark ocean, the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs a counterpoint to Melissa’s voice. She’d loved that voice since the first time she heard it blasting from the speakers at Amelia’s bar in San Francisco on a sunny fall afternoon. Penni had convinced her to blow off studying and go up to the city and “cruise babes.” She let the happy memory take her back to days when fun was easy.

“You can’t subsist on studying. Your clit needs attention, too,” Penni said, pulling Jamie out of her chair and tossing jeans, a white T-shirt, and her brown leather bomber jacket at her. “Bus leaves in ten. Dress or go naked.”

They’d cruised the Castro, gorged on burritos, and ended up at Amelia’s, where they melted into a surprisingly large crowd for a Sunday. They were sitting with their backs against the bar, sipping Coronas, laughing at the dance-floor antics of one particularly large but graceful woman, when “That Voice” filled the bar. The crowd of women rose as one and flooded the dance floor, whooping and hollering and gyrating to the hard rock beat. She and Penni looked at each other, shrugged, and joined the sea of dancers. They were sweating by the time they found their stools and beers again.

“Who the hell is that?” Penni asked.

“No idea.”

A gorgeous redhead with C cups conveniently pressed against Jamie’s shoulder put her lips near Jamie’s ear and said, “M.E.”

“Me?”

The redhead laughed, her breasts bouncing against Jamie’s arm. “Melissa Etheridge. Some voice, huh? Clarissa, by the way.” She slid between Jamie’s thighs and draped an arm across Jamie’s shoulders. “New album just came out. She didn’t, but we all know she is.”

“Is what?” Jamie asked, her brain slowed by the rush of blood heading south.

“One of us.” Clarissa cocked her head to give Jamie an appraising look. “Where have you been? She’s the hottest thing around right now. Saw her in some clubs in L.A. over the summer. Cute as hell, and that voice could almost make me come. Wanna help?” Clarissa gave Jamie a flirtatious smile and lowered her eyelids to cover part of her liquid hazel eyes.

Penni tossed her the car keys and said over her shoulder, “Have fun, sport. I’ll find a ride home.”

Jamie’s protests were captured in a soft, lush kiss followed by a thorough exploration of her mouth by an insistent but gentle tongue. When Clarissa tugged her shirt from her jeans and grazed her fingers over her abdomen, Jamie groaned and slipped her arm around the lean waist that fit perfectly into her pelvis. Twenty minutes later they were ensconced in Clarissa’s small bedroom in one of the Victorians in Noe Valley. Jamie did a double take at the law books scattered across the corner table.

“Law school. USF,” Clarissa said before unbuttoning her blouse and tossing it over a chair, revealing those luscious breasts straining their way out of the maroon bra. Clarissa yanked Jamie’s T-shirt out of her waistband and over her head in one swift motion and pulled her down onto the twin bed that made anything but full body contact impossible. Jamie slid one thigh against Clarissa’s center, and they found a rhythm that had them both breathing heavy. Jamie licked her way down the soft skin of a long neck and along the edges of the breasts begging to be released. After biting Clarissa’s nipples into stiff peaks, she gave in to whimpers of need and flicked the front opening clasp, cradling one beautifully full breast in her hand and wrapping her mouth around the other. Sucking caused Clarissa to pump harder on her thigh.