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Authors: Georgia Beers

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BOOK: Slices of Life
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She didn’t respond, just let him ramble on. She’d only needed one time to make the mistake of trying to actually converse with him about his views. She ended up so angry and frustrated,
she
needed a massage simply to help loosen the muscles that all felt like taut rubber bands after talking to him. Never again.

“I had Rush on this morning and…”

Cara rolled her eyes now as she dug her fingers into his calf muscle and prepared to tune him out. Rush Limbaugh was not somebody she needed to give one iota of thinking energy to. She wondered if Pierce realized how repetitive he was, how he sometimes managed to use the
exact same
sentences he’d used on her table last week. And the week before that. And the week before that. Deciding he most likely tortured each person he met with identical diatribes and then probably forgot who he’d already hit, Cara went into Zero Attention Mode, as she and Michael dubbed it. While Pierce blathered on, Cara let her thoughts drift to more pleasant topics.

Like last night with Lindsay.

Jesus.

Cara hadn’t been kidding when she told Michael her thighs were sore; they were. Very sore. She lost track of how often or for how long she kept them apart. Or Lindsay held them apart. All Cara knew was she spent several hours flat on her back, soaking wet, and unendingly aroused. She had no idea how her young girlfriend had become such an amazing lover, but Cara knew they could never break up—Lindsay had pretty much ruined her for any other woman.

Cara’s skin warmed, and she thanked god Pierce was face-down and couldn’t see her expression of blissful satisfaction at the flashback. He was exactly the kind of guy who would make a comment. Then she’d be tempted to dig an elbow under his shoulder blade—or something equally as painful—and it would just be ugly all the way around. She took a deep breath and willed herself to calm down, to relax, to put all thoughts and memories of last night into a box and shelve them. For the time being.

When she finally finished with Pierce—who was still going on about impeachment—she covered him more with the sheet and quietly left the room so he could relax for the last few minutes of his time. And so she could do the same.

Michael passed her in the hall, asking in a stage whisper, “Are your ears bleeding?”

“You have no idea,” she tossed over her shoulder as she entered the small office they shared.

Cara took some time to check her e-mail, fill out some paperwork, sign up for an upcoming seminar, drink a bottle of water, and munch on a handful of almonds. Her cell buzzed and she smiled as she opened a text from Lindsay that simply said, “Luv u.” She smiled, both at the message and at the inability of her writer girlfriend to spell correctly when texting. She pulled in a deep, contented breath, let it out slowly, trying to remember when her life had ever felt so…right.

“Cara?” The voice on the intercom startled her.

“Yep.”

“Your next appointment is here and ready for you.”

“Okay. Thanks, Jeanne.”

Cara finished her water, shot a text to Lindsay telling her she loved her too, and headed to the room where her client waited.

Geri Scott was a woman Cara had known for nearly twenty-five years. In fact, Geri had coached Cara’s high school softball team. In her late fifties now, she owned her own landscape architecture company, which she built into a local success story. Luckily, she had a reliable staff of knowledgeable employees because her back couldn’t take much more bending, lifting, or hauling, and she had to give up most of the jobs that required any kind of physical labor—not something that made her happy. She was another standing weekly appointment for Cara, but one she enjoyed much, much more than Judd Pierce.

Cara knocked on the door, then entered when permission was given.

“Hey there, Coach,” Cara said quietly. “How’s it going?”

“Good, Cara. Really good. You?”

“I’m great.” Cara rubbed oil on her hands, moved the sheet draped over Geri’s body, and went to work on her legs. She always did a full body massage even though the issues Geri had were centered on her back; working all the other muscles helped the overall well-being of the body. Geri was a small pit bull of a woman with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. Compact in size, she was solid and muscular. Her back problems were very difficult for her to deal with because they limited her ability to do the strenuous work she loved. “How’s business?”

“Well, summer’s over and fall will be on us before you know it, so things are winding down.”

“But you like that,” Cara said, remembering how tired Geri would get at the end of the summer, how her utter exhaustion would make her long for autumn.

“I do, though I don’t relish it as much now that I’m not doing the hard stuff.” Cara felt more than heard her chuckle.

“But your back is much happier. I guarantee it.”

“That is very true. Things here okay?” Geri asked.

“Love it.”

They made small talk, chatted about superficial things. Cara always found it interesting how they avoided any kind of conversation about their personal lives. Cara knew Geri had been living with the same woman—Ms. Hargrave, Cara’s tenth-grade English teacher—for more than twenty years, and she was pretty sure Geri knew that she was family. She certainly didn’t hide her life. But they never spoke of it. Cara chalked it up to a generational thing regarding what made appropriate conversation or not. Or maybe Geri still thought of Cara as a student and therefore not somebody she should converse with on a personal level. Cara didn’t quite get it. For all the work Geri’s generation had done to be recognized, why stay in the closet? Why not be out and proud?

It was only out of respect that Cara didn’t force the subject somehow. Maybe she, too, still thought of Geri as her coach rather than a peer, and her parents raised her to be respectful of her elders, so she was.

Whatever. It was still silly as far as Cara was concerned; they were all adults. This was the twenty-first century, for god’s sake. She thought about Lindsay, her very particular genre of writing, how hard it was for her to come out to her parents, and how honestly and openly she tried to live her life. A fierce wave of pride hit her and before she could stop herself, the question blurted out of her mouth.

“How’s Ms. Hargrave?” Cara poured all her focus into continuing the massage, keeping her hands moving, knowing that if she stopped—even for a fraction of a second—she would devolve into a panic attack about how she stupidly overstepped her bounds.

“She’s terrific,” Geri said, without missing a beat. “Getting ready to retire in the next year or two, I think.”

Cara’s eyebrows shot up at the openness of the answer. “Good for her. She was a tough teacher, but one of my favorites.”

“She’s great at her job. And I’m pretty sure she’d say it’s okay for you to call her Lisa now, you know.”

Cara laughed. “I don’t think I can,” she said truthfully. “It seems…disrespectful.” Cara thought back more than twenty years, remembered her English teacher, remembered looking at her legs way more often than she should have. “I had such a crush on her.”

“Many of her students do,” Geri replied, again not missing a beat.

“And you two have been together for how long?”

“Almost thirty years. My god, I can hardly believe it.”

“Holy cow!”

“Right? Once time starts to speed up, it doesn’t slow down.” Her tone was wistful, almost dreamy.

“My mother is always saying the same thing.”

“Your mother is right.”

“I’ll tell her you said so.” Cara paused. “Thirty years. Wow. That’s almost my whole life.”

Geri snorted. “Yeah, thanks for the reminder.”

With a laugh, Cara apologized, at the same time, trying to imagine being with Lindsay thirty years from now. She’d be sixty-seven. Jesus, that was hard to fathom. She shook her head and came back to the present.

“How about you?” Geri asked.

“Me?”

“You have somebody?”

“I do. Lindsay. She’s a writer.”

“Nice. How’d you meet?”

Cara was surprised at the genuine curiosity in the question. Geri really wanted to know. What was more, Cara wanted to tell. Why hadn’t they ever talked like this before?

She told the story of the party where she first met Lindsay, working steadily on Geri’s muscles as she did so. She could feel Geri chuckle here and there, especially when she mentioned the fourteen year age difference between them.

“I imagine you could teach her a thing or two,” Geri teased.

“Believe me when I tell you,
she’s
teaching
me
. It’s totally bizarre.”

“Even better.”

When their laughter died down, the natural lull in the conversation allowed Cara to change the subject. “And how’s the back been?” She focused on the inch-long scar at the small of Geri’s back, a testament to the surgery she had two years ago to repair a herniated disk.

“Not too bad.” Geri groaned as Cara worked the muscles in that area. “I try to avoid the muscle relaxants if I can because they knock me on my ass, but I do have to take them every so often. Overall, though, it’s been okay. I’ve been following the orders of my massage therapist and I’ve been careful not to overdo it.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” She dug her fingers into the tissue, working the tension out, visualizing the toxins leaving the muscles. “Not everybody listens to my suggestions.”

“I didn’t say suggestions. I said orders.”

Cara could hear the smile in Geri’s tone. “Careful. I can hurt you, you know.”

The conversation quieted as Cara focused on the flesh beneath her hands, kneading, pushing, pressing, feeling the tissue shift, the knots dissipate. She paid close attention to the sound of Geri’s breathing, using it to gauge when she should use more or less pressure. This was what she loved most about her job: she knew she was helping. She was making a difference in somebody’s life. The human body was an amazing machine, one that Cara had no hope of ever understanding completely, but she did her best to learn the newest sciences and massage techniques in order to best serve her clients. Geri would leave this room feeling better than she did when she arrived and Cara played a big part in that. It was a satisfying feeling that filled her with pride. She couldn’t imagine having any other career.

Finished with her work, she gently covered Geri back up and laid her hand on the small of her client’s back.

“All set,” she said softly. “You can lie here for as long as you’d like. Jeanne will make your next appointment for you on your way out.” As an afterthought, she added, “Tell Ms. Hargrave—Lisa—I said hello.”

Quietly, she left the room and headed toward her office.

She had the sudden urge to call Lindsay.

THE LANDSCAPE ARCHITECT
 

Geri Scott was not aging gracefully. She was fighting it every step of the way and it was really starting to piss her off. Her body was falling apart, or so it seemed to her. She couldn’t lift things like she used to; any time she tried, her back pain stabbed through her like she’d been punctured with an ice pick. Nearly thirty years of sports—including softball, field hockey, and basketball—did her knees in for good. They snapped and popped like bubble wrap whenever she attempted to squat. Now she needed help back up to a standing position. And now the knuckles in her hands were beginning to ache.

It was all so unfair.

Her old man bequeathed her the arthritis, of that Geri was sure. Recalling her father made her drift off into her own thoughts as, alone in the room with Cara gone, she relaxed on the massage table. Geri also inherited her father’s work ethic and his love of working with his hands. Tom Scott was a mason in his heyday, a good one. He taught his only daughter that there was no work more honest than good, hard, physical labor. He loved it, and so did she. Geri’s fondest memories were of helping her father build things. Together, they made the shelves that still hung in the living room of the family home, the picnic table in her parents’ back yard as well as the one she had in her own, and the hutch that held her mother’s good china. When she began cultivating an interest in landscape architecture, he helped her design the front of her parents’ house, her grandparents’ house, her Uncle Jim’s house, and her own.

Sometimes, it was hard to watch him work. He moved so much slower than she remembered, a painful reminder that he was no longer a young man, that she wouldn’t have him forever. His knees were his biggest issue, which meant, of course, that he used his back much more often than he should for lifting. Geri tried to keep a close eye on him and not let him lift things he shouldn’t, but she missed a lot. More importantly, he hated being made to feel old and frail, so he was not always grateful for help. More often than not, it made him downright cranky.

Geri Scott was a carbon copy of her father. She was only now beginning to realize it.

If only she could convince him to have a regular massage. Oh, he’d never go to Cara. A woman younger than his own kids touching him like that? No way. He was nothing if not old-fashioned and he’d find that all kinds of inappropriate. But Geri was sure Cara could recommend an older male massage therapist. Her dad wouldn’t be cured, but he’d feel so much better, at least for a little while. She always did.

Sitting up slowly, she focused on her breathing the way Cara had instructed her. Her legs dangled over the side of the table as she took the time to feel each muscle group, flex them, stretch them. Though she knew it wouldn’t last more than a couple of days, Geri felt almost like a new woman. It was this sensation that kept her coming back week after week, like the one beautiful drive in an otherwise crappy golf game that made you want to play another eighteen frustrating holes tomorrow, just in case you might hit it like that again.

Plus, she enjoyed Cara’s company, liked talking to her. Surprised as she was by the direction today’s conversation had gone, she wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable. She’d pegged Cara as a dyke-in-the-making more than twenty years ago when she coached the girls’ softball team. She and Lisa’d had a little betting pool going between the two of them. In the fifteen years Geri coached, she was eighteen for twenty. Not a bad record and a pretty solid testament to the fact that her gaydar was spot-on accurate. She was actually amazed the subject hadn’t come up sooner, as Cara never seemed the type to not speak what was on her mind. Next time, Geri would have to take the lead, get the conversation started.

BOOK: Slices of Life
4.41Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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