Wild Things (21 page)

I could see it cost him an effort to let the matter drop. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm Louis to your Eleanor?"

"Silly," I said, affectionately. "You are not a naive and pious monk. And I'm not a brave, adventurous queen."

"Hmmm," he said as he opened the door. "If I'm Louis and you're Eleanor, then someday I'll look forward to seeing who your Henry is."

"Henrietta," I said, trying to make him smile. I thought abruptly of Renee. I knew that she would gloat when she found out she'd been right about me. No matter, let her gloat. She would never be my Henry.

As I locked the door I told myself I'd already met my Henry. She'd kissed me in a field of gold. But I was no Eleanor of Aquitaine. I'd left my home far enough behind. I needed to feel reconnected with my classes. I wanted to call Nara and cement what seemed like a promising friendship. I would be happy to stay in one place mentally for quite a while.

* * * * *

"Syd, that was possibly the greatest speech of your career! We're off to a
fabuloso
start!"

Sydney returned Carmen's hug and said with a laugh, "I practiced on the plane."

Carmen propelled Sydney from the head table and through the milling crowds leaving the opening luncheon of the National Conference on Homelessness. "I expected you to give the implementation of Measure D, but you also gave us a snapshot of the entire federal funding picture. And your slides were great. You've given people something to focus on in the roundtables."

Sydney was feeling a little high. She'd worked hard on the speech, and the result was worth it. Carmen, the other cochair, was one of the most brutally
honest people Sydney knew. If Carmen said it was good, then it must have been.

She spent the afternoon in roundtables and then shook about five hundred hands at the reception. She discovered that the rumors of her running for the Illinois State Senate had surfaced, probably spread by the other Chicagoans present, because many of the women commented on it and wished her well.

After the reception, she took leave of everyone and walked briskly down Market Street. She wasn't staying in the main conference hotel because she wanted to avoid the inevitable friendly groups that gathered in the bar. She was capable of having club soda and enjoying herself for a while, but being in another hotel made it easier to leave early. Besides, she had another speech in the morning and wanted to run through it one more time before doing a little sightseeing on her own.

The Palace Hotel had a lovely old-world feel and was only two blocks away. It sat at the nexus of most of the city's mass transit, was in the heart of the business district, and was only a stone's throw from the Museum of Modern Art. Sydney thought she'd see the museum tomorrow during the one break in her schedule. Tonight she wanted to visit the Castro District. She'd been there before but hadn't been sober, and as a result she didn't remember much.

Fog was rapidly settling on the city, and Sydney hastened her pace. It felt almost like rain, but the sky had been beautifully clear all day. She skirted the subway steps and nearly fell over a woman and toddler huddled together under a dirty blanket.

"I'm sorry," Sydney said. She reached into her handbag and gave the woman a twenty. Without a word the woman scooped up the child and blanket and hurried down into the subway. What a life, Sydney thought. Half the people at the conference would have said Sydney had done the wrong thing. Handouts didn't solve homelessness and only encouraged the government to expect individuals to help. True, she thought as she looked at the retreating woman and child. But promises of social service programs wouldn't feed the little one tonight. She would never miss the twenty dollars.

She started to turn back toward the hotel when a woman coming up the subway steps caught her eye. No, she thought. I'm just wistful, that's all. Still, she couldn't look away. To her intense frustration, seeing someone who looked a little like Faith happened weekly and every time it happened she was no more able to look away than she was now.

Except now she wasn't just imagining and hoping. Now she was sure. It was Faith. Damnation! She'd forgotten that Faith would be in San Francisco as well. But why should she have worried about it? The city was enormous. How could they be in the same place at the same time?

She told herself to duck into the hotel, but she remained rooted to the spot regardless of the harried commuters who were pushing against her. She willed Faith to look up. And then she did.

Her face was as cool and serene as Sydney had ever had seen it for one moment, then a flame seemed to erupt from within and Faith's eyes glowed. When she reached the top step she stood looking at
Sydney, and Sydney gazed back, as if she had crossed a desert and Faith was the oasis.

"Eric's favorite hotel," Faith said. "But the conference isn't here. I checked. I... I didn't do this deliberately."

"The thought never crossed my mind," Sydney said in a low voice.

"You told me to stay away. I did." A surge of commuters jostled Faith, and Sydney realized that talking in the misting fog in the middle of rush hour was not exactly productive.

"I know," she said, reaching to take Faith's arm. She pulled gently, and Faith followed without demur. She led Faith up the hotel steps and into the gleaming teak and brass bar just inside the door.

They settled into a booth across from each other. Faith said nothing, just continued to look at Sydney, her green eyes glowing with something almost fierce.

"Don't look at me like that," Sydney said, crossly.

"Like what?"

Sydney looked down at her hands. She should leave. Seeing Faith was exactly the wrong thing to do. A waiter hovered at her elbow. Distracted, she said, "Club soda."

Faith ordered a club soda as well. "You didn't order two fingers of Glen," she said with a little smile.

At least that much of her self-defense was working, Sydney thought. Five minutes ago I was all put together, ready to slay my dragons and conquer the world. "I'm not upset." I'm a fucking basket case, that's what I am.

Faith frowned, looking puzzled. "I didn't think you were."

"Look at me," Sydney said, holding up her trembling hands. "Jesus, Faith. Why are you doing this to me?"

"I'm not doing anything," Faith said, her tone going sharp. "You brought me in here. I'd be quite happy in my room looking over my notes from today."

"Fine by me," Sydney said. Better to show Faith anger than the emotion roiling around inside of her that she wasn't willing to name.

Faith pressed her lips together and started to slide out of the booth.

"Faith, don't go. I'm being a bitch." I can't do it, Sydney thought. I can't send her away. She smiled as charmingly as she could manage. "Forgive me."

There was a long silence after Faith settled in again and the waiter brought their drinks. Then Faith said, "Have you talked to Eric lately?"

"No," Sydney said. "He's in New York, isn't he?"

Faith nodded. "I broke up with him, Sydney. He was upset, but not devastated."

"I'm glad you told him," Sydney said. She'd avoided talking to Eric because she knew the topic of Faith would come up, and she didn't want to find herself in a position where lying was the only way not to reveal what she already knew. Eric could put two and two together as well as anyone.

Faith sipped her club soda, looking as if it was just a way to pass the time. Sydney watched a drop run down the side of her glass. It merged with another, then split again. No distractions. A life that can bear examining. If she wanted to be an Illinois state senator she couldn't give the media anything to
gossip about, like a new girlfriend. Especially one who until recently had been dating her brother. Getting involved with Faith would mean putting off running for office, perhaps indefinitely.

"Have dinner with me," Sydney said. She felt as if she was watching a play with herself as the lead character, and she had no idea what her next line would be, and no idea if it was a comedy or tragedy. "I was going to go to the Castro district. Every time my aide, John, comes to San Francisco he goes to this restaurant he says is fabulous."

Faith was nodding, her eyes looking glassy. "I'll meet you back at the main door in fifteen minutes or so."

Sydney nodded and watched Faith leave. She realized she was alone in a bar for the first time in a long, long time. But she felt no temptation. The most tempting thing in her life had just walked out the door.

She really had been able to put Faith away in her mind. But it was just like in the first days when she had been sober. She was fine until she saw a bottle of Scotch or smelled alcohol, and then the longing would come back so strong she'd give in. She had lived the first seven days of sobriety over three times. After the weekend at her parents' she'd thought of Faith hourly. Then daily, and then weekly. But it had taken two seconds in Faith's presence to undo all the forgetting.

She couldn't twelve-step, her feelings for Faith, nor could she hide away from temptation like she had from alcohol. She couldn't retreat to a remote cabin and read for months. If they ran into each
other two thousand miles from home, what would it be like when they inevitably ran into each other in Chicago?

She knew that Faith believed in God in a far more personal way than Sydney did. Sydney was skeptical enough not to believe in divine intervention. This was just a stupid coincidence because they had both taken Eric's advice about where to stay. But the chance encounter had shaken the Ice Queen to her very foundations.

She muttered to herself all the way back to her room. Why had she asked Faith out? She couldn't do this. Alan Stevens would kill her. Mark O'Leary would kill her. John, who wanted very badly to be a senator's aide, would kill her.

Men. What did they know about that incredible light in Faith's eyes when she looked at Sydney? They would never know that the light promised passion like nothing Sydney had never experienced before. In the elevator she shuddered, remembering Faith's wetness and urgency and the silk of her skin against Sydney's fingers. Alan, Mark, and John — none of them would understand it. Alan and Mark would most likely think Faith had a nice caboose and leave it at that. John never noticed women unless they had power.

She unlocked her door and told herself that none of them would be able to resist the very thing that made them feel whole and alive, nor would they expect it of one another. Why was she the one who had to just say no?

Dry up, she scolded herself. You once believed that alcohol made you whole and kept you alive.

Faith is nothing more than another addiction, she told herself sternly.

She looked at herself in the mirror. My name is Sydney, and I'm a Faith-a-holic. She sighed heavily. That was not going to work.

* * * * *

Sydney was watching me from the moment I left the elevator. I'd dressed sensibly in slacks and a sweater and carried a rain jacket. I hadn't believed Eric when he said that it rained fog in San Francisco, but he'd been right.

She had changed into slacks as well, and wore an elegant suede bomber-style jacket over a close-fitting white button-up shirt. Like her John Adams costume, the effect had masculine overtones, but there would never be any doubt in anyone's mind that Sydney was a woman.

I had promised myself not to say a word to her about how I felt or how she made me feel. She didn't want me to, she said, though at times what she said and how she looked at me were two different things. Sometimes what she said was conflicting. Still, I would say nothing. But I could look all I wanted.

"The doorman assures me a cab is fastest, even though the subway goes right there," Sydney said.

"Whatever you say," I said, and off we went in a cab. The driver seemed intent on breaking speed records, and if I didn't look at the other cars I was only half terrified.

We were briskly deposited in front of a restaurant called Ma Tante Sumi. Looking up and down the
quiet, fog-shrouded street, I was struck by how much this street was like any other. Passersby appeared to be on their way home from work. From the way my father and
The Gay Agenda
had carried on, I had expected half-naked women and men in dresses on every corner.

The restaurant was small, and the cuisine a combination of Japanese, French, and Vietnamese. Each course had two choices, and in the pleasure of the excellent food I found myself relaxing.

"The tapestries are in excellent condition," I told her after she asked. "I'm pretty sure that they are copies of paintings that copied original tapestries, and faithful reproductions at that. The Christian motifs woven into the borders are faithful to other art from the time of the Second Crusade, but there are some esoteric cabalistic mystical symbols as well. The paintings were probably done in the high French Renaissance when they didn't mind risking censure for duplicating the symbols. The tapestries I'm looking at were done in the early seventeen hundreds on a British royal commission. Whichever of the Williams it was would not have asked to have those symbols added, so they must have already been there in the original tapestries."

"And what does that tell you?" Sydney looked interested and a little amused.