Ledge Walkers (3 page)

"If you're asking if I can go without sex,” she said, “then, yes, I can. If you're asking if I can go without Holly, the answer is no. I'm a junkie. I admit it, but I mean, just look at—Never mind; don't look at her.” She sniffed and then laughed. “You guys have probably seen more of her than you ever thought you would. But for Christ sake, you took two drunks, threw them in a vat of vodka, and told them not to drink. I have to drink. Otherwise, I feel like I'm dying of thirst."

Kris thought for a moment and then asked, “Have you felt this way with anyone else, Laura? What about in relationships before Holly?"

"I'm telling you honestly: I never felt this way until the first time we were together, and we have been this way ever since. It's mutual. Isn't it, Hol? Have I ever wanted to go there when I didn't think you wanted to go with me?” She looked at Holly, who vehemently shook her head.

"Never, babe. Never,” she replied, and then she tried to glance around the room from her prone position. “I want her as much as she wants me. Sometimes more."

Kris apparently wasn't satisfied with that. She asked, “Were you guys sexual right way?"

The two laughed with each other, remembering, and I suddenly noticed poor Janice shifting uncomfortably next to her massage table. I bet she would never again say to a group of nearly naked lesbians that touch could help a couple with bonding.

Holly said, “We didn't have sex for the first year we dated ... not until the moment we decided to spend the rest of our lives together."

"And we've been dying of thirst ever since.” This time Laura gave Holly a tender kiss and smiled at her.

"Holly, what about your other relationships? Were they this sexually charged, too?” Kris continued her march toward understanding.

"Laura was my first. Laura is my last.” Tears now filled her eyes, and “aw” spread throughout the room.

"And have you guys ever attempted anything like you did today?” Kris asked, and I imagined her scanning some diagnostic checklist in her mind.

"No. I think it's just that it's safe with you all. Our guard is down when we're all together. We love you guys,”

Holly said, and then added, “But we have learned a few lessons the hard way, and so we made some rules."

Suddenly, the group wanted to know. The mood lightened considerably.

"Well, let's see,” Holly began. “Alison you will be happy to know that we have a rule never to shower together again at the Y."

Our prone yoga instructor gave a thumbs-up, and the group laughed. Even Janice laughed.

"We only buy vehicles with bucket seats, and our hands cannot cross that middle thingy,” Holly said, her upraised hands trying to help us envision exactly what a “thingy” was.

Laura admitted, “When Holly has a class she's posing nude for, I'm not allowed within a two hundred yards.”

She paused and then added, “And we cannot both be in the kitchen when one is cooking. We set off the alarm once when French toast caught fire. Well, actually they kind of exploded.” She looked at Holly, and they both laughed.

"Oh, and we never go into a lingerie shop together,” Holly confided.

Then in unison, they yelled, “Or dressing rooms!"

"Oh God, do you remember that?” Laura asked, and I knew what that religious talk would get us: prostration on the naked altar. She was glued to her in seconds, this time kissing her and saying, “Oh God, I want you."

"Whoa,” Kris quickly interrupted. “You were doing good there for a moment. Stick with us."

Laura pulled herself up a bit with a desperate release of air, and both their heads tilted toward Kris.

"Does it always have to end in thebig way?” she asked, and at first I thought to laugh at the euphemism, but I then realized that they still teetered on the ledge and anything explicit might send them plummeting.

"No. Sometimes foreplay just jumps into afterplay with no play in between,” Laura reasoned. “Sometimes we just end up holding each other. Sometimes we just end up laughing. Those times are amazing, too.” There was no “Oh God” involved, but her body genuflected into Holly again. She stared at her, smiling. Without breaking her gaze, she asked, “So what do you say, Dr. Maltry? There's nothing wrong with us, is there? We're just lucky and madly in love. I told you!"

Suddenly “doctor” looked rather funny standing there, wrapped in a St. Mike's sheet, her hands resting on her professor's podium that just happened to be her lover's butt. Hardly a clinical setting, but I knew that Kris would divulge what she sincerely believed. She was that way. Despite how intrusive it all seemed, I knew her heart was in the right place.

"Well,” she began after some thought. “The best I can say is that you are cursed with a blessing or blessed with a curse, depending on how you'd care to look at it."

"Blessing,” they both said and somehow seemed to interpret it as permission. The kissing began again for the hundredth time, and as odd as it sounds, I could feel myself disappear; I could hear the stopping of clocks. It was a lonely feeling, and I bent down to kiss Claudia on the cheek. She rolled over, smiled, and kissed me in kind.

"You okay?” I asked.

"Yes, I am,” she said. “I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Why don't you take Laura out back for a smoke? Preferably before she starts praying again. I'll finish the massage thing with Holly."

I thought that was a good idea. I moved over to their massage table and made the offer to Laura. At first, she was reluctant to pull away from Holly, but with some coaxing from both Holly and me, she stood, wrapped the sheet around herself, and with wobbly knees, turned to leave the house with me. I steadied her with both hands, feeling as though I was touching something that did not belong to me. What coursed through her belonged to Holly, and for the first time, I did indeed understand that it had nothing to withit. It had to do with them. It was far more emotional than it was sexual.

I aimed the shorn Sampson through the sliding glass doors. I had discovered her weakness, without a doubt, but there was absolutely no triumphant joy in it. It made me need to look more at myself than at her—at the part of me that wanted so to defeat her. But, her weakness was also her strength. It was a connection to someone, and in that instant, I understood the paradox.

I made her sit down on the step so her back was to Holly, and then I got us both a cigarette from my pack on the porch's end table. I lit her cigarette and then mine. We sat in silence, side by side, and I had a hard time trying to fathom where she was in the world, if she was there at all. It suddenly dawned on me that pulling a jumper back from the ledge might have proven easier than trying to pull her back from the edge of herself. She had shown a different side of herself—her vulnerabilities—to others, not just to Holly as was customary. I wasn't sure how she would think of me now. Would we be closer? Awkwardly more distant? For some strange reason, I thought back to our Murder Mystery Weekend and to the guilt I had for ‘killing’ her. That was as scripted as this, but this time I was the scriptwriter.

We continued to sit in silence, and the discomfort in it eventually dissipated. Now, peace ruled.

Claudia and Holly eventually got my attention and with it my acknowledgement that the massage session was over.

"They're done, Laura,” I said. “We can go back in now. Come on. Holly's waiting for you."

She smiled until it slowly turned into a beam. She looked at me and most assuredly asked without questioning,

“Holly whipped, huh?"

"Holly whipped,” I agreed, returning the smile. “More power to ya."

She slid her arm around my shoulder, and with geisha strides, we made our way back into the house, into the open arms of the ones we loved.

Everyone sat around on the living room floor patiently waiting her turn in the bathroom to get cleaned up and dressed. The mood had changed. The usual laughter was very low key. Pensive maybe. Had we all learned something? Would we all pull our partner a little bit closer?

Finally, it was Ginny who lost patience with the waiting. “For gosh sakes!” she said. “Who is holding up the line?"

Alison looked around and surmised, “Holly and Laura."

Faster than even the thought could reach the tongue, all of us yelled, “Dressing room!” at the top of our lungs.

The boisterous laughter returned full tilt.

Kris yelled down the hall, “Laura McCallister, come out with your hands up!"

We waited, expecting silence or a few Oh-Gods to make us giggle like schoolgirls. Instead, the door slowly opened, and Laura peered around the corner, toothbrush in mouth. Through the froth of toothpaste and a grin, she asked, “Put my hands upwhere?"

It wasn't what we expected, but nonetheless, the giggling commenced. Two minutes later, they both emerged.

The once again puffed-up Laura did her little peacock dance down the hall. She entered the living room and looked at each of us, knowing exactly what we were thinking.

"Wouldn't you all like to know?” she bantered. “You had your chance, ladies."

Holly pushed her through the throng, all the while shaking her head at us and rolling her eyes. To this day, I remain unsure if she was denying that anything had happened in their makeshift dressing room or if she was merely shaking her head in disbelief at the audacious ledge walker.

Claudia hit the button on the coffee maker and cranked up the gas under the teakettle. I knew she desperately needed an Earl Gray, and I knew I would give my life for coffee. While we waited, the group took to straightening up, folding massage tables, and helping Janice get her things to her SUV.

I spied Ginny off to the side. I approached her, put my arms around her, and asked, “So how's my favorite professor?"

"Been better. Been worse,” she replied very matter-of-factly, but the hug was returned nonetheless.

"Anything I can do to get you into the never-been-better category?"

She smiled and replied only with a shake of the head.

"Well, let's see, other than in college, you've given me lectures on trust, patience, honesty—and God knows what else,” I said. “Want me to regurgitate any of those for you? They're awfully good."

She smiled and gave me a swat on the arm. I convinced myself that that constituted progress.

"Well, stubborn woman, I just want you to remember that I love you, Claudia loves you, and my other favorite prof over there loves you, too."

I saw her stiffen, and then she crossed her arms over her chest.

"She does,” I reminded her.

"I know she does,” she said, but there was no solace in the acknowledgement; it was merely a fact.

"Trust, patience, honesty—I can poop ‘em out like nobody's business. All you have to do is ask."

Ah, she laughed!

"You know,” she said, “sometimes I wonder how you ever keep your job with some of the stuff that comes out of your mouth."

"Hey, that paper would make a fortune if they stopped giving me assignments and just let me write what I thought! Isn't that what freedom of the press is for?"

Okay, she rolled her eyes that time, but she still laughed.

I kissed the top of her head. “Trust, honesty, patience,” I whispered and quickly retreated.

In my haste, I still managed to spy Alison out the front window chatting it up with Janice. Yoga meet Massage.

Massage meet Yoga.That had some possibilities.

I had not even made it to my second swallow of coffee before Claudia clapped her hands again. Everyone, including the smiling Alison, gathered around the kitchen's island. After what had just happened in our ‘gym class,’ I wondered if there was dread or excitement about moving onto the next. I also wondered if Claudia would even acknowledge it.

"So now that we've learned there are much better things to do in gym class than badminton, let's see what we can do in our next class,” she said very calmly. “Now we move on to Art Class—"

Anybody who knew Holly predicted the “Oh, that is so sweet!” that rushed her mouth and collided with Claudia's dissertation.

"You, Miss Crawford,” Claudia said, wagging a finger, “will be on your best behavior this class, or it's detention for you—alone!"

Holly's jaw dropped. Then she laughed and said, “Okay. I will. I promise."

The resulting laughter from everyone did nothing to add any oomph to her vow.

"Okay, who here—other than Holly, of course—has hadany occasion since being out of school to make a decoupage? Hands please."

When no hands rose, she asked, “Paper mache?"

No hands.

"Shadow box?"

Still no hands, but the natives were getting restless, and I knew they would start beating their drums. She sensed it, too, and started rattling off, “How about pictures made with glued macaroni? Popsicle stick people? Pipe cleaner animals? Pine cone ornaments..."

For the first time in six years, I welcomed the bellman's deranged tune. I made a dash for the front door, as Claudia's list dwindled, and she said, “So did those art teachers teach usanything we needed to know to grow up to be strong, healthy women?"

The same resounding “No!” blasted forth, just in time to impact our visitor through the opening door. His eyes shot wide open, and he froze in place.

"Women!” I said to him. “Just come on in. It's safer than it sounds."

He did so, somewhat reluctantly. He put a large box next to the front door, and I led him to the back of the group.

"Makeup, ladies! They should have taught us ... the fine art of makeup and facials!"

The whooping and hollering began, and I feared that Charles would run from the house screaming. If he did, I would go with him.

When Claudia handed the imaginary mic over to me, I introduced him. “Everyone, this is Charles."

I am not at all sure who started it, but a third-grade exaggeration of “Good morning, Charles” filled the room.

"Good morning, everyone,” he said quite pleasantly.

"Charles is a dear friend of ours,” I said, “so be nice to him. And a little hint: He does not like to be called Mary Kay, Estee, or Avon Lady, so do not do it! I warn you: He has one mean pinch."