Waltzing at Midnight (27 page)

He nodded. “Gorgeous day, isn’t it? And look at these limes.

I’m going to make a tart with these, I think. I just love citrus. Last week they had blood oranges and I made the most incredible roasted beet and blood orange salad.”

“Oh, right, you’re a chef.”

“Chef for hire,” he said, striking an extremely gay pose.

Tyler and I strolled through the market together, talking mainly about food, until we reached the end of the stalls with our tote bags filled with produce. Because of him, I ended up with a dubious bunch of greens called
gai lan
in my bag. I wasn’t sure how I was going to approach that.

“Just treat it like rapini or escarole,” he said. My response to this, which must have reflected my clueless state of mind, made him laugh. “Blanch it and throw it in a stir-fry or just sauté it with garlic and olive oil.”

“We’re definitely going to have to hire you one of these days.”

“No charge for friends. I’d love to cook for you and Rosie.”

“Either way, I can’t wait. Just listening to you talk about food has left me famished.”

He smiled warmly. “I’m kind of hungry too. Hey, let’s get lunch.”

This invitation took me aback for just a moment. Then I 1

decided that I had plenty of time for lunch before Rosie was due home.

“All right,” I agreed.

Tyler and I had a prolonged, fascinating meal during which he made witty remarks about the food, the waiters, the restaurant décor. He was quite a talker, and extremely entertaining. While we ate, he told me a half dozen funny stories about his early, mostly chaste ventures into gayness. I realized that because of his youth and because of my newbie status, we were sort of contemporaries in the gay subculture.

“I heard these old guys talking about Stonewall one time,” he said. “One of my first times in a gay bar, actually. I was underage, so I didn’t even try to order a drink.” Tyler pushed his empty plate to the side of the table. “They said, ‘Stonewall started everything, the entire gay rights movement in America.’ Well, the only Stonewall I knew was Stonewall Jackson, the Civil War guy, you know?”

I nodded. “Yes, I know.”

“So I figured he was some kind of early homosexual pioneer, like the first openly gay military officer or something. I read a couple of biographies of the guy. Not a word about his gay love life, which I figured had something to do with the fact that this happened back in the dark ages. So then, one day in my American history class, as we were covering the Civil War, old Stonewall died of pneumonia and Robert E. Lee’s mournful response was,

‘I’m bleeding at the heart.’ I raised my hand and asked, ‘So, was it Robert E. Lee who was his lover?’”

I laughed loudly at Tyler’s expression, which was self-deprecating and extremely cute. He shrugged, his eyes twinkling.

“Yeah, it was embarrassing,” he said.

“They don’t teach you these things in school, do they?”

“You’ve got to pick it up on your own. I learned quite a bit about the Civil War on my Stonewall quest. Not so much about gay history, though.”

As we were both still smiling over this story, my cell phone 200

rang. “Excuse me,” I said and glanced at the display. It was Rosie.

I answered.

“Hey, where are you?” she asked.

I looked at my watch. It was after one. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was so late. I guess you’re home, then. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’m just having lunch with Tyler Enbright. You remember him?”

Before leaving the restaurant, Tyler and I promised to get together again. I hoped we would. I had really enjoyed his company.

201

It was partly Tyler’s influence that got me thinking more about the history and politics of gay culture, thinking about it beyond the personal, but I had been making tentative forays into this area already on my own. At least I knew that Stonewall had nothing to do with Stonewall Jackson. Having someone to talk to who was in the same boat was an additional impetus, though.

Using the Internet, and borrowing books from Rosie’s shelves and the public library, I began to educate myself. Tyler and I met when we could to discuss these topics, sometimes at a coffee shop, sometimes at my apartment. Our conversations were intense and entertaining, often accompanied by a delectable treat from his kitchen.

On weekends, Tyler sometimes joined me at Rosie’s place and cooked for us, sessions he characterized as practice for his clients. He was an artist in the kitchen, and we couldn’t get enough. He loved cooking for Rosie, too, because she was such an enthusiastic recipient.

On one such Saturday in March, Rosie and I sat on her back 202

porch with two tall glasses of iced tea while Tyler was inside preparing us a Spanish feast of paella.

“It smells heavenly already,” Rosie said, closing her eyes.

I agreed with a murmur, looking lazily out across the yard to the field where Vita and Violet stood grazing on spring grass.

“You remember Sue?” Rosie asked.

“Yes,” I said, thinking, how could I forget that cute little minx?

“She’s invited me to a party, an anniversary party.”

“Anniversary of what?” I asked suspiciously.

“She’s been with her girlfriend Dena two years next weekend.”

“Do you want to go?”

Rosie nodded. “Yes, I do. I was wondering if you would want to go too.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“Are you kidding? I’d love to show you off. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Sue’s been cut off from her family completely. This will be exclusively lesbians.”

“I’d like to go,” I said. Uncomfortable or not, I had to jump into this some day. And I didn’t really want to let Rosie loose unchaperoned among a group of women whose common ground was their sexual preference for their own kind, especially if Sue was one of them. She could still be doting on Rosie, despite this girlfriend of two years.

“Ladies,” Tyler called through the kitchen window, “dinner is served! Who wants sangria?”

So it was settled. Rosie was going to bring me into the inner circle. I became more nervous as the date approached and started asking questions, like what should I wear.

“Just dress casual,” she said “Whatever you’re comfortable in.” Right, right, I thought. She wasn’t being very helpful. “What sort of thing will happen at this party?” I asked. “I mean, what activities. What will we be doing?”

She looked at me brightly, raised her eyebrows, and said, 203

“We’ll talk, have some food and drink, and then…well, we usually play a few party games. Our favorite is naked Twister, but the way we play it is a little harder than the conventional way because you don’t just have your hands and feet on the colors.”

She was gesturing with her hands in a way that I couldn’t make any sense out of, and I was suddenly assaulted with images of naked women’s bodies all twisted together in a pile, and I felt my legs start to tremble. “Oh, I can’t describe it,” Rosie said. “It’s hilarious, and it usually ends up in an all-out orgy, as you can imagine.” She stopped gesturing and looked at me. “Oh, sweetie,”

she said, slapping me on the back, “you’ve gone all white. Hey, it’s a joke. Sorry, I didn’t realize you were that scared. Believe me, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

I started breathing again. “No naked Twister?”

“Of course not. Maybe this was a good idea after all. Maybe we can dispel some of the stereotypes lingering in your mind.”

She looked like she was trying not to laugh at me.

Sue and Dena lived just outside of Angels Camp. It took us over an hour to get there and when we arrived, there were several cars parked in front of a small house inside a split rail fence.

Before ringing the bell, I buttoned the top button on Rosie’s shirt, hiding her lovely cleavage. She widened her eyes at me.

The door was opened by a woman in jeans and a T-shirt bearing the words, “She Wears the Pants, but I Wear the Strap-On.”

Rosie shrieked with laughter. If Amy had been standing beside me, I would have now been saying “OMG!” The woman in the doorway was thin and lanky, about sixty, with dark gray hair cut in a short, spiky style.

“Hi, Rosie,” she said, opening the door wider.

Rosie hugged her, saying, “Jo, how’s the turkey business these days?”

“Oh, it couldn’t be better. Just great.” Jo turned to me and arched her eyebrows. “Rosie, is this your girlfriend?”

“Jo, this is Jean,” Rosie said, looking proudly at me.

“Ummm,” murmured Jo, biting her lower lip. “I heard she was cute, but, damn! Come with me, sweetheart.” Jo slung her 204

arm around my waist and pulled me inside. Rosie winked at me and followed us in. Jo introduced me to several of the twenty or so women in the house. While she was briefly distracted, I said quietly to Rosie, “Turkey business? Is that some kind of euphemism or something?”

Rosie laughed. “No. Jo raises turkeys. She has an organic turkey farm.” Rosie leaned her head against mine, saying, “Not everything is a sexual innuendo.”

Rosie took our lentil salad into the dining room while Jo continued introductions. I saw that there was a couple there I knew, Ginny and Aura.

When Ginny saw me, she smiled wide and hugged me.

“Jean,” she exclaimed, “you and Rosie? Wow. I didn’t see that coming. How’ve you been since the election?” Chatting with Ginny, I recognized that she spoke to me much more intimately and affectionately than she had before. We were sisters now. And that’s how it seemed with all of these women. They had a kinship with one another. Even Aura was now my friend.

Jo then introduced me to her partner, Helen, a woman about her own age, and I learned that they had been together for thirty-three years. Now those two probably had some stories to tell, I thought, awed. I remembered Rosie’s CD with the label, “Helen, 1995.”

“Are you a musician?” I asked.

She smiled. “I’d like to think so. Has Rosie played some of my work for you?”

“I’ve heard a couple of songs. Really beautiful.”

“Thank you. Maybe later you can hear us in person.

Everybody’s here tonight, so we might have a little jam session later on.”

“Oh, you’re the jazz band, then?”

“Yes. Jo and I, Ginny and Rosie.”

After I’d met everybody in the front room, Rosie reappeared at my side with a glass of wine.

“There’s Sue,” Rosie said, indicating a woman identical to the photograph on Rosie’s dresser. I realized with dismay that 205

whatever had transpired between Rosie and this girl was not in the distant past after all. Rosie moved toward her with me in tow. When Sue looked our way, she smiled in recognition, then broke through the circle of friends she was engaged with. Rosie released my hand to greet her. They hugged each other close and tight, Sue’s head nestled under Rosie’s chin. Rosie’s eyes were closed, I saw, and she looked like she was holding a beloved child.

Don’t be jealous, I warned myself. At last they moved apart and Rosie introduced me.

As the evening progressed, I relaxed more and more. Rosie, as always, was at home in a crowd. Much of the time I was beside her, doing my best to make her proud. Tonight, in everyone’s eyes, I was her mate. And she was mine, I realized. Rosie belongs to me, I thought, triumphantly, so the rest of you sad lot just crawl into a corner and die.

But Sue and Dena, at least, didn’t seem too envious. They were affectionate with one another, touching and kissing, and jointly holding the knife that cut the cake. Okay, I thought, so maybe everybody isn’t after Rosie.

After getting a plate of food, I went and sat in the living room to eat it, leaving Rosie in conversation with Jo. Rosie moved easily in all of her worlds, despite the huge differences between them.

She adapted so gracefully, could talk to anyone, and seemed to really enjoy people in a way that left them feeling good. She was a genuinely warm person. No wonder I fell in love with her, I thought. And Sue over there. And Tracy, and who knows how many others.

Sue was sitting on Dena’s lap in the dining room. They were eating from the same piece of cake, Sue working the fork.

I watched, thoughtful, as Sue and Dena kissed. It was strange watching two women kiss. When one of them is you, you just do it, you feel it, but you don’t see it. It doesn’t feel strange. The strangeness would wear off, I thought, in time. It was strange because it was new and because all my life I was on the other side.

I’ve crossed over the boundary of another world, like an alien visitor to this planet of Lesbiana.

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“Hi,” someone said, startling me. I looked up to see a young woman with one of those modern hairstyles, cut close on the sides and back, longer on top. Her hair was bleached blond, but just on the top, with the back and sides dark brown. She wore dark eye makeup. She looked exotic, harshly sexual. Heavy gold-colored bracelets adorned her wrists. In one ear she wore a huge gold hoop, and in the other a diamond stud.

“Hi,” I said.

“You’re with Rosie, aren’t you?” she asked, sitting beside me.

I nodded. “I’m Cherise.”

“Jean,” I said.

“How long have you two been together, Jean?”

“About four months.” Cherise made me uncomfortable.

“Oh, not long, then. Although with Rosie four months is really an accomplishment, I guess.”

“What do you mean?” I’d grown defensive.

She shrugged. “Oh, you know, so often these things are over before you know it. Don’t you think it’s wonderful that Sue and Dena have made it this long? Two years, and they’re still in love.

I’m so happy to see it. Sue deserves this.” Cherise gazed silently at Sue for a moment, then turned to me and said, “I thought she’d never recover after Rosie dumped her. The poor child was a mess. And to make it worse, Rosie had broken up a perfectly fabulous relationship to get her. Mine.” Cherise scowled. “Sue and I were together for four years before she met Rosie. And, then, those two, it was less than six months and it was all over.