Substitute for Love (23 page)

She forgot she did not know how to dance.

Murphy good-naturedly clamped her hands onto Holly’s hips and helped her find a simple swaying rhythm. She murmured in Holly’s ear, “Like a lot of things, it comes naturally if you don’t fight it.”

“Shut up,” Holly said, not expecting to feel so fond of the woman. She saw now the easy charm that could slip behind even carefully guarded defenses.

“Say that again and I’ll have to dip you.”

She laughed. The song was winding down and it was time to put some distance between herself and Murphy’s charm. “You’re nice when you’re not being bad, you know.”

“I know.” Murphy smiled with perfect equanimity. Holly was struck with how content Murphy was with herself. For better or worse, Murphy understood herself, and giving the devil her due, she seemed to be completely honest about who she was.

“If I thought you’d go on being nice to me I’d probably fall in love with you.” Holly hadn’t realized she knew how to flirt.

“Can’t have that.”

“Why not?”

Murphy’s eyes were a dark greenish blue and were temporarily empty of their habitual teasing light. “My heart is taken. Sorry.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Don’t tell anyone.” She swung Holly in a circle. “You’re dangerous, you know that? You inspire truth out of me and I can’t have that.”

Holly stumbled, collided with Murphy’s hip and let Murphy catch her before she fell. She ended up crotch to crotch with Murphy, who grinned knowingly. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“Come to bed with me,” Murphy suggested. She nuzzled Holly’s ear.

“It’s tempting.”

“But no.”

“Sorry.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not ready to be a conquest. I hope that doesn’t sound bitchy.”

“You’re ready for something.” Murphy ran her hands up

Holly’s back. “I have excellent instincts. I told you the truth, why don’t you tell me the same?”

Holly frowned. “What do you think the truth is?”

“I’m not your type.”

“Oh.” Holly began to laugh. “Yes, I guess that’s right.”

“Common deal with the newly out. See, you’re thinking that since you’re now a lesbian you have to love all lesbians, take them all to be your sisters and desire them equally, but it’s okay to find some lesbians attractive and others not. In fact, it’s essential.”

“Why essential?”

“Because until you’re willing to see other lesbians as just people, forgetting they’re gay and never forgetting it, you won’t see yourself that way either. At the bottom line, we’re human beings first.”

“That’s an impossible equation — two mutually exclusive propositions equaling a resolution.”

“Welcome to life. I’ve been out since I was twelve, and I just gave you the prime wisdom gathered over the twenty-five years since.”

“Thank you.”

“I should charge you.” The devilish glint in Murphy’s eyes was back.

“Such as?”

“This, of course.”

It was a quick, light kiss, which had a warming effect on Holly’s skin, but did nothing more. She could see now that Murphy wouldn’t be all that unpleasant to wake up next to, especially after a night of guilt-free sexual expertise.

But just someone was not enough.

Jack’s was packed. Perhaps springtime brought out the women. Reyna checked her coat and helmet, shook out her hair and headed for the dance floor. As usual, no one cared that she danced alone, but she felt the difference. Every previous visit she had danced to find a partner, but tonight she shied away from eye contact. She was afraid of what might happen if she made a connection. She couldn’t make herself leave. The black hole was inside her, a vast emptiness of loneliness and anger. She needed … more than sex. She needed… more than escape.

An arm wound around her waist. She opened her eyes and was face-to-face with Irene.

After a stunned moment of recognition, fear surged through her. Mark Ivar had said she was going to get caught. Then her brain cleared enough for comprehension. Irene wasn’t here to catch her. Irene was her for her own desires.

“I hoped you’d be here.” Irene had to shout as Reyna fought down her panic.

“I didn’t know —” Coherence was impossible at that volume level. She pulled Irene toward the patio. Once they were outside she found a corner where they wouldn’t have to yell. “I wasn’t sure I was getting signals from you.”

“I almost told you I’d seen you here when we were alone in your office. But it was too soon. I had to think it through. How it would work.”

“How what would work?”

“Us.”

Irene was presuming a lot. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re here for the same thing, aren’t we? Wouldn’t it be easier, nicer, if we didn’t have to let some bar determine our schedule? All it would take is a research project we’re working on together. No one would suspect a thing.”

Irene was suggesting … Reyna wasn’t sure. “What about… I’m confused.”

Irene tipped her head as if she couldn’t fathom what Reyna didn’t understand. “We’re both the same. Here for… something a little dangerous, a little kinky. But it’s not as if we’re …” She glanced to the side where two women were entangled in the dark. “Like that. We’re normal.” She shrugged. “It’s just a little naughty sex.”

Reyna had to close her eyes. All the papers she’d written, the press releases she’d composed, the research she’d misrepresented floated up at her. What else could Irene think of her?

It was something she couldn’t pretend. She could live in an airtight closet but it didn’t change what she was. Of all that he had demanded of her, Grip had never asked her to say she wasn’t a lesbian, or to say that she was straight. She was seen in social settings with men; it was a lie of implication. Her moral lines had gotten so muddy, but this one she was sure of. She would say nothing if possible, for her mother’s sake, but she would not, could not pretend to be like Irene. Here for sex, yes, but she was not contemptuous of the women she seduced.

“Think about how easy it’ll be. We can stop coming here.”

“No, it won’t work.”

“Why not? When I realized who you were, and I saw you leaving with a woman, I thought it was a perfect arrangement.” Irene’s voice grew husky. “The woman you left with? She came back a few hours later and was happy to talk about you. From what she said, I’m sure we would have a good time together.”

“I can’t. It won’t work.”

“This is better?” Irene was incredulous.

“It is for me.”

“But I —” Irene studied her for a long moment. “You’re not trying to tell me that you’re one of them, are you?”

“I’ve said all I’m going to say.”

“Does your father know?”

Irene might have simply been curious, but the question broke Reyna’s nerve. She backed away, wanting the woman’s hands off of her.

Irene made a grab for her arm. “You can’t be serious.”

“Nothing will work between us, Irene. You’re not looking for anyone like me.”

“Because you’re a lesbian.”

“And you’re married.”

“Is that the problem? My husband and I have a sound working relationship, and many shared goals. We agreed long ago that we didn’t put a high value on a shared sex life. People wouldn’t understand, so we’re discreet.”

“Sounds like an ideal arrangement for both of you.”

“And it can include you.”

Stop talking, Reyna told herself. Walk away. She said,

“Someday you’re going to fall in love with some woman you fuck.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“And then you’ll realize that you can’t substitute shared goals for a shared life, a complete life, the future. You can try like hell to make it work out, but in the end you’ll have two choices: make the leap to honesty or blow your brains out.” She thought of Marc Ivar’s tortured daughter and felt overwhelmed by her responsibility for the lies she helped perpetuate.

Irene’s mouth was pinched as she regarded Reyna. “Honesty, a quality you wouldn’t know much about, it seems. If you are a lesbian.”

“You’re right. I have my reasons.” She swallowed hard. “But you’re right. I’m in no position to judge you.”

Irene stared at her for a long moment, then her mouth softened, but only slightly. “I seem to have miscalculated, then. I assume we have each others’ discretion?”

Reyna nodded. “A lot depends on it, for me.”

Irene apparently had no compunctions about judging her. “I’ll bet it does.” Her gaze doused Reyna with contempt.

Stung, Reyna said, “At least I wake up knowing who I am. At least I wake up normal.” Irene shoved off from the railing and stalked back into the bar.

Fear-induced adrenaline seeped out of her, leaving her shaking. She took some deep breaths, then headed to the bar for water, club soda, anything. She felt too off-balance to get back on the bike just yet.

The music had toned down, along with the lights. Melissa Etheridge crooned how much she wanted to be in love while bodies pressed and twined, parted and merged in what at times seemed an utterly random pattern of dance. Kisses were shared, shoulders bared, teeth flashed. She reached the bar in time to push back the faintness and close her eyes.

She felt as cold as a statue, and empty of all feeling. A glass of water was all she wanted before she left, because she wasn’t entitled, hadn’t earned, didn’t deserve anything more.

“I think I’m going to go,” Holly shouted in Jo’s ear. Geena and Tori had left more than a half an hour earlier.

“You haven’t given anyone a real chance. Just ask someone to dance. Anyone at all.”

“There isn’t anyone I want to ask. I don’t know how to do the rest.”

“It’s easy,” Jo scoffed. “You say, ‘I’m Holly, let’s dance and then go to bed together.’ “

“Maybe that works for you.”

“Not anymore it doesn’t.” Sandi wagged her finger in Jo’s face. “You’ve used that line for the last time.”

“It worked on you.”

“You mean it worked on you.”

They bickered companionably and Holly glanced at her watch. Maybe if she hadn’t waited so long — it just seemed like everyone was paired off for the night.

“What about her?” Jo nudged Holly toward the end of the bar. “She’s hot. Ask her.”

She followed Jo’s gaze, then shook her head. Her vision swam for a moment, and the music seemed to choke her ears. She was panting, all of a sudden, and felt a ripple of heat across her arms and back.

Jo gave her a push — she couldn’t know.

One step closer, then two. Look up, Holly thought. It’s me, look up. You’re nobody to her, she told herself, but she couldn’t stop her silent plea: Look up. It’s me.

The other woman’s head came up, then abruptly swiveled in Holly’s direction with recognition.

Jo and Sandi passed her on the way to the dance floor. “You have her attention, now,” Jo said. “Go get her!”

Another step. She stopped, not at all sure she had an invitation to approach. The other woman’s eyes — amazing, melting eyes — seemed to be pleading with her to keep her distance, but then one hand raised and turned palm up. Her fingers curled in resignation or invitation. Holly couldn’t be sure.

Holly touched the curling fingertips with her own. The jolt shuddered every nerve. It was a new sensation; she had not known skin could hunger.

A tug on her hand, then a moment when they stood toe to toe. It ended with hands on her waist, something whispered that might have been a prayer.

Then, the kiss.

Reyna breathed in the scent of her hair as their lips met, then was lost in the soft, moist heat of the other woman’s mouth. She was welcome there, needed, and a moan grew between them, shared, mutual.

Holly knew she could blame it on the music, blame it on the night. Blame it on her body, on her mouth, which had never wanted like this before. She had no choice, but to be here was a choice. Mutually exclusive propositions leading to a resolution. She heard the other woman’s low moan, felt hands in her hair. Their mouths parted, then merged again.

Was this a tidal wave? Reyna filled her hands with silken hair, cupped the other woman’s face and drank from her mouth an urgent tenderness that left her aching for air and more kisses. She tried to revert to who she needed to be. Sexy, but aloof. Sexual, but not friendly. It was just for the renewal, just to vanquish the black hole. She did not want to know this woman’s name, did not need to understand her dreams and hopes, could not want to hear her voice speaking of things she loved. She did not want to hear her name in this woman’s sighs.

She could not have these things, so she must not want them. She was here for the sex, something honest and clean, freely given.

She traced those soft, welcoming lips with her forefinger, and when it was kissed, she offered more fingers, then could not bear another moment with her mouth bereft of such sweetness. These kisses were harder as arms coiled around shoulders and hips.

Her lungs clamored for air — she had forgotten to breathe. She gasped to fill her lungs while her mouth begged to return, to taste again.

The other woman said something, but it was lost in the music. Reyna put her ear next to those soft lips. “I’ve never done this before,” she heard.

Reyna answered with the truth. That it was the truth surprised her. “Neither have I.”

Holly had a vision of that defining moment when she had launched herself across Clay’s office, hoping to find her heart’s fulfillment. She had not felt like this, but surely this was no less impulsive, and no less likely to end in disaster. Her mind tried to make her pull away, to find restraint, but her body was saying yes, yes to hands on her breasts, her face, her hips.

Her heart wanted a place in this moment, longed to build on it. Her body pushed her heart out of the equation — she had to explore this mystery, to solve this puzzle, to find new constants for her life. And her body went on saying yes until her mouth said yes, she wanted to go someplace to be alone. She remembered at the last minute to wave good-bye to Jo. She didn’t know if Jo saw her and then couldn’t think about it anymore.

Yes, she said, yes. Finally, she asked for a name. Reyna sounded like an ancient queen or a Greek goddess. She held the name inside her mouth and knew she would need it, that she would finally know the passion that would force the name out of her along with sounds she had never made before, moans and pleas she could not even anticipate.