Never Say Never (3 page)

“A ball-buster? You?” I was surprised at first, but then I thought about it. I didn’t really pay much attention to office gossip, but I began to recall hearing about several guys that Sara had turned down.
A
cold bitch.
That was the phrase they’d used.

She was nodding, her eyes a little wider than usual, a little sad.

“Who cares what they think?” I didn’t have the slightest idea how to cheer her up. “Fuck Kenny. He was being a jerk. Even Frank thought so.”

She tried to laugh and change the subject, but a few moments later she decided to turn in and left rather abruptly. With a heavy sigh, a heavy heart, and a slightly groggy mind, I found myself ambling down the deserted hallway to the elevators. I managed to find my room and was just pulling my sweater off over my head when there was a knock on the door.

I froze instantly, suddenly certain that Kenny was up to no good. I peered through the peephole and looked squarely into Sara’s eye.

With a laugh, I swung open the door and stepped right into a snowball that splattered cleanly across my face. I was blustering, speechless as I wiped the snow from my face. A screech of laughter and dashing sneakers were careening down the hall, and I wasted no time in hot pursuit. I chased Sara down one corridor and up the next, both of us slowed by our own giggling. She would have gotten away had the elevators cooperated. But I caught up with her and had her cornered. She slipped to the floor, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha!” she giggled. She lifted her arms as if to fend me off. I reached down to grab her.
Grab her? To do
what?
I caught myself and pulled back, realizing suddenly that I was about to make a terrible mistake.
Oh great
, I thought,
what
am I going to do now that I’ve caught her? Tackle her? Tickle her? Kiss
her?
I sobered instantly and squatted down instead.

“It’s okay, you’re safe this time,” I assured her with a smile as her giggles subsided. “I’ll just wait until you aren’t expecting anything, and then you’ll get your payback.”

“That was fun,” she smiled, then took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “I’m pooped.”

“Me too.” I smiled back as the elevator doors slid open.

“You’re lucky that elevator is empty. I’d like to see you explain your way out of this one.”

She looked down at herself, sprawled on the floor in the hallway of a Marriott hotel. “I guess this isn’t very dignified, huh?” She wrinkled her nose and held out a hand. “Help me up.” I stood up and carefully tugged her to her feet. “Don’t forget, when you least expect it . . .” I taunted.

“I can hardly wait.” She grinned and stepped into the waiting elevator.

I stood back and watched the doors slide shut. “Wait!” I shouted. The doors magically opened again. “Yes?” She smiled sweetly.

I stepped closer, nearly leaning into the elevator, aid lowered my voice. “Just what did you say to Kenny back there.” She grinned, her tongue doing that tuck and dip thing that I liked so much. “I told him,” she drew out the words slowly, “that he could take the pool stick that he was fondling so provocatively and shove it right up his ass.”

I threw my head back and laughed loudly.

“And they say I’m a ball-buster,” she shrugged sarcastically, her tone incredulous. “Can you imagine?” She let the doors slide shut again as I remembered to call out.

“Good night, Sara!”

“‘Night, Leslie!”

With a satisfied grin, I whistled all the way back to my room.

The holidays were just around the corner, and I hardly noticed.

We were slightly ahead of schedule with the project, and the approaching holidays made everyone a bit more agreeable and inclined to reach a joint decision. We finally made our selection while huddled together on a plane going home to Boston late Friday night, just eight days before Christmas. I spent that weekend with Susan and her lover, Pam. They had waited for me to help pick out the Christmas tree and decorate. While my heart wasn’t really in it, I appreciated their efforts. I joined them, going through the motions, trying desperately not to obsess about my future and lack of direction.

On Monday I was back on familiar ground, regrouping with the team to go over the details of the presentation we’d be giving to our CEO and the rest of upper management. In the end, it fell upon me to open the meeting and provide an overview of our investigation and the results we’d be presenting. Along with Frank and Kenny, I then sat back and joined the others as Sara took center stage. Every now and then we were called upon to offer up statistics and figures when needed, but the focus of the presentation was squarely on Sara.

I had watched Sara in this environment on a number of occasions and had no doubts that it was one of her true strengths.

But this was the first time that I watched with growing pride and admiration. Perhaps my judgment was becoming clouded, but I don’t think so. Sara had an amazing ability to step in front of a group and wrap a special charm around her audience. She was able to take the topic of software, a usually dull subject, and make it seem magical. She knew just how to paint a picture, lead an audience down a path. She knew when to smile, when to interject humor and above all, how to smooth ruffled egos and answer tough questions without appearing overbearing or arrogant.

In the end, I was convinced that it was Sara, and not the software product itself, that was the star of the meeting. It was a complete success, and everyone agreed that we should move forward with the purchase as quickly as possible.

The meeting adjourned, and everyone filed out, thanking us and congratulating us on all of our hard efforts. Sara and I were left alone in a suddenly quiet room. She looked at me, sighed heavily, and jokingly wiped her brow.

“Whew, I’m glad that’s over.”

“You were incredible,” I told her, beaming. I wanted for a brief moment to reach out and hug her. Of course I didn’t. “How did you ever learn to talk in front of people like that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged and stepped closer, sitting down in one of the chairs that surrounded the conference table. “But I’m exhausted.”

“I can’t believe how good you are at speaking like that. You had them all right here.” I pointed to the palm of my hand. “I get nervous just thinking about talking in front of a group.” She brushed my compliments aside. “Do you think we sold them?”

“You know you did.”

She laughed. “Yeah,” she mused, “I guess so.” She was thoughtful for a few moments. “It’s kind of a letdown, though. After four months of being in high gear, we do this silly little dog and pony show for the big wigs, and then what?”

“Well,” I sat down in the chair across from her, “that depends.” She cocked her head to one side, curious.

“Assuming that they actually go through with this acquisition, the next step is selecting a team who will learn everything there is to know about the software and the people who might use it. It will probably mean spending a few weeks in Chicago, training.” I stopped and felt my heart swell as a slow grin spread across her face. “Then, of course, that team would have to come back here and work together, installing, testing, training other people. Then there’s repackaging, selling, training clients. There’s no end, really. Interested?” I asked.

“Of course. This is our baby and I want to be the one who delivers it!” she laughed and then stopped short. “You’re still going to be involved, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely. I’ve actually been a little depressed that it might be over,” I admitted. “I’m glad you still want to be a part of it. After all,” I teased, “playing pool in Chicago just wouldn’t be the same without you.” We were on cloud nine for the rest of the week.

Against my better judgment, I was quite smitten with Sara. I even let her convince me to attend our annual Christmas party, which always before I avoided at all costs. I arrived at the party alone and was instantly uncomfortable. When I found Sara, she was hanging on the arm of a tall, dark-haired man whom she introduced as James. Warning bells went off in my head as I felt familiar jealousy rising inside of me.

She convinced me to join them at their table. She was going out of her way to be gracious and entertaining while I tried my best to behave and look like I was enjoying myself. I swallowed my pride and danced with James, just to appease Sara and make her happy. I hadn’t been on a dance floor with a guy since high school, but I managed to smile and shuffle my feet for a full three minutes, all the while wondering what the hell she saw in this guy. I made my exit shortly thereafter. My resolve to get out of there didn’t waver even when Sara pouted. I was completely ashamed of myself. How could I keep lying like this? In one evening, I had compromised principles that had taken me years to develop. I felt like a teenager. The next few weeks were spent kicking myself, reminding myself of who and what I was, and doing everything possible to quell my growing infatuation with Sara.

By mid-February, contracts were signed, the buyout was completed, and I was on the road again. Sara and I were banished back to Chicago, where a particularly brutal winter was in progress.

I poured myself into work, putting in ridiculous hours, intent only on absorbing everything I possibly could about the software.

The training was grueling, leaving little time for anything else.

Our off-hours were limited to an hour or two each night. While Sara and I spent most of that time together, it was somehow different from before.

The Christmas party had served as a wake-up call to me. I remembered the pain of coming out to people who couldn’t cope with it. I thought of my bother who hadn’t spoken to me in nearly seven years. I remembered the friends whom I had trusted and lost. I had been lucky though, compared to so many of my friends. The rest of my family accepted me completely, and I had managed to maintain a few friendships with a couple of straight women who knew I was gay. But I wasn’t going to allow myself to suffer another loss. Not now. And I knew somehow that continuing with Sara as I had would only cause pain.

My defenses were up, walls neatly in place. Sara sensed the change, and it saddened me. I could see the question in her eyes and expression. I had silently pushed her away, and she was both hurt and confused.

We were far less playful than before. No midnight dashes down hotel hallways. We laughed and joked, spoke about our work and about politics. We debated. We even argued. But we rarely talked about anything personal. While we did talk a lot about family and what we had been like growing up, I didn’t ask her about James or other boyfriends that she mentioned.

And whenever she broached a topic remotely uncomfortable for me, I avoided her eyes and her questions. I had, over the years, become remarkably good at answering one question with another. I maneuvered every personal question back to her. If she was catching on, she wasn’t letting me know.

The topic of double dating came up exactly twice. The first time, I managed to make some quip and change the subject. The second time, however, I’d had enough and told her so. “I am not even slightly interested in going out with any man, regardless of how well you think I’d like him.”

She was stunned by my tone and responded with silence.

Then she followed with, “That guy must have really hurt you.” My reply was a groan, and the topic was dropped for the last time.

Throughout those weeks I remained outwardly calm and controlled, while inside of me raged a battle. In the quiet moments before sleep each night, I would lie awake, mulling over the turmoil I was feeling, weighing my options over and over.

It wasn’t even a matter of my attraction for Sara. It was much simpler than that. I liked her. I cared about her. And I hated lying to her. I wanted so much to be honest and get that one thing out in the open between us. I wanted her to know that I was a lesbian so that we could move on. But each time my mind was made up, my resolution would crumble.

I didn’t want to lose her. Worse, I didn’t want to suffer the humiliation and rejection that I felt certain would come. I’m not sure if that certainty was based on a real evaluation of our relationship or on past experience. Either way, I remained frozen, unable to get the words out.

I telephoned Susan nearly every night, exasperating her with my inability to come to terms with my dilemma. It was simple to her.

“Look, just tell her.”

“What if she can’t handle it?” I’d whine.

“She’ll be fine,” she assured me yet again. “And besides, if she can’t handle it, then her friendship isn’t worth the energy that you’re pouring into it.”

“I know. I just don’t want her to hate me.” Susan was patiently impatient. “Leslie, you’re a mess.”

“I know.” I was especially obsessive knowing that after seven weeks, our time alone was nearly over. Pretty soon we would be returning home to Boston once again, and I wanted us to deal with any problems while we were away from the office.

“You’ve either got to deal with it or let it go.”

“I know.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

Susan’s groan would have amused me under different circumstances. Unable to choose action, I chose not to choose.

Instead I played the endless game of weighing the choices over and over in my mind until I was exhausted, and disgusted, with the process.

In the end, Sara forced the issue. On our very last evening in Chicago, we decided to go out to celebrate. We ended up at what had become our favorite Mexican restaurant, and I was trying desperately to appear upbeat. Inside I was depressed and panicking. As much as I kept telling myself to spill my guts, I knew I couldn’t do it.

We took our time over dinner, chatting lightly and sipping margaritas. When the waiter cleared away our dinner plates, Sara hesitated only a moment before ordering another round of drinks. “I’m not ready to call it a night,” she explained, and I silently agreed. I didn’t want the night, or our time alone, to end.

The fresh drinks appeared before us and Sara toyed with a straw, slowly stirring her drink.