Wild Things (22 page)

I felt sheepish and realized I'd been running on. "I left out the point, didn't I? Well, the motifs in the borders are themselves overtly Christian. But the cabalistic symbols are Jewish in origin. I'm going to ask a Hebrew scholar I know what they are, but I think I know already. One at least represents the belief that the messiah is yet to come."

"Oh," Sydney said. "Sort of the whole point of the Crusades. So whoever wove the original tapestries was making a bit of a statement, weren't they?"

I grinned. "A twelfth-century joke."

"Are you finding them inspiring to look at?"

"Indeed," I said. "The idea that eight hundred years later I can look at something that Eleanor saw — granted she had originals and I have copies — is thrilling. I suddenly realized she must have had a wild sense of humor. She was very intelligent, and I'm sure she recognized the symbols for what they were. She probably enjoyed laughing at her critics because they didn't understand the joke. I feel kinship because I am laughing with her."

I savored my salmon filet with creamed pumpkin sauce. It was incredibly subtle in flavor, and I offered Sydney a bite in return for a sample of her squab with roasted pepper sauce. Before I knew it, we were enjoying decadent desserts, Sydney having convinced them to leave the dark cherry sauce off the chocolate torte, and then Sydney was paying the bill. It was as if no time had passed at all. We'd been so comfortable together it reminded me of how pleasant dining with Eric had always been.

We bundled into our jackets and stepped out into the misty evening. By Chicago standards it was brisk, but I saw people in hats and gloves who looked pinched and miserable.

"Want to see the Castro?" Sydney asked as we stood at the curb.

I glanced around. The fog had blanketed the street, and everything was very quiet. "Isn't this it?"

"We're on the edge," she said. She led the way, and as we walked downhill several blocks the traffic
in the streets and on the sidewalks increased until we reached a corner of Castro Street itself. The street was so busy and brightly lit that the fog receded and it was possible to see for a block in either direction.

What struck me first was not the men in leather and the women holding hands, but the mix of races. Chicago is a divided place. Each neighborhood has its own makeup, and the only real mixing takes place in the downtown district on the job. As I stood there I could see the full array of human ethnicity and race as well as a rainbow of hair colors and dress styles. The only real division was between the genders. Groups were made up almost exclusively of either men or women. And generally, everyone was laughing and obviously having a good time.

We ducked into a bookstore and Sydney bought several novels while I browsed. Then we wandered into a hardware store of all things, and I bought a small rainbow-striped troll that reminded me for some reason of James. I wondered what he would have said if he'd known where I was, walking around in a place where people felt so free to hold hands, kiss, and flirt.

It wasn't until we walked past a bar where men could sit and watch the street that I felt uncomfortable. Even though their ready-for-sex stares weren't aimed at me, it still seemed predatory. But then again the bar in the hotel had predators, too, and they
had
been staring at me. Then I saw a man in chaps with most of his behind exposed. I told myself that freedom was freedom and left it at that. Still, it reminded me of
The Gay Agenda.

As we passed a movie theater showing something
called
Seduction: The Cruel Woman,
I saw women in
leather. I'd never seen anything like them before__
leather pants, hats, vests, some with metal studs, and high boots all in black. The outfits were all slightly different, but from the same theme, like knights with different shields. I smiled to myself as I realized my father would have had a heart attack if he saw them or knew I was looking and admiring.

I saw an older woman with gray hair cut in a pageboy holding a leash that was attached to a much younger blonde with elaborate makeup and teased hair. The blonde was wearing spiked heels so high she was on tiptoe. Her leather pants were so tight I could see the outline of her genitalia. She kept her eyes on the ground and only moved forward when the older woman pulled on the leash.

The older woman saw me staring and curled her lip, then boldly rubbed her crotch. She sneered when I blanched. I looked around wildly for Sydney and realized she hadn't seen me stop. I hurried up the street after her.

My stomach was churning, and I realized that I had harbored a secret hope that the video footage in
The Gay Agenda
had been faked. Especially the scene where two women in leather were demonstrating how to tie up a woman. The scene had ended as one of them picked up a whip, and it had truly horrified me. I could intellectually deal with all the other images, but that one had stayed with me. I hadn't wanted to believe that women did that to each other. But why would women be different from men when it comes to the full range of sexual expression? I knew I was being prudish, but it was a lot for me to absorb all at once.

Sydney had stopped to gaze into a shop window. I was lost in thought until she asked me what I thought of a vase.

I took so long to answer that she shook my arm gently.

''What's wrong, Faith?"

"Did you see that young girl on a leash? I really didn't believe women did that. I thought they made it up. I don't know what to think," I babbled. "It's their lives, but it's... I mean, it does make me uncomfortable. It's just that, well, do you approve?"

"It's not for me to approve or disapprove," Sydney said carefully.

"Don't be a politician," I said with a snap. I was troubled and needed to know what she thought.

"I mean it. It's not my idea of a relationship or sex. But I cannot say I disapprove because it's only a stone's throw from my disapproving of their lifestyle to how most people disapprove of mine."

"But it's not the same thing at all," I stuttered.

"It's about the freedom to enjoy sex — consenting sex — between adults. A part of gay rights is sexual freedom. Without it we'll never have social freedom. But I have to be honest. There's a fine line between some sex and violence, and I do wonder what is healthy and what isn't. I have to accept that I'm not the one to draw the line for anyone but myself."

I looked over her shoulder at my reflection in the shop window. "I don't want people to think that's the way I live."

Sydney half smiled. "I know what you mean. I get really testy when people assume that being a lesbian is only about sex. And that lesbians must think about
sex all the time. And that all lesbians wear leather and are sado-masochists." She shrugged. "Sometimes people can get past the stereotypes and sometimes they can't."

"Am I being silly?" I thought of the years I'd wasted in a closet I wouldn't even name because of stereotypes.

"Well," Sydney said, 'look around you. How many women on leashes do you see?"

I frowned. "None of course."

"But believe me, if the radical right brought cameras through here, they'd have five minutes of footage of that one woman on a leash and five seconds of the other hundreds of women who are not on leashes.'*

"Like in
The Gay Agenda"
I said. "Have you seen it?"

She hissed. "I was so angry I nearly threw up. It's so incredibly wrong. But they keep updating it and sending it out, and I swear half the footage isn't even necessarily gay people. S and M is not exclusively a homosexual practice. Heterosexuals do it too and no one films it as a part of a heterosexual agenda." Her eyes blazed with indignation. "When a local talk show featured clips from it, my mother called me and said how angry it had made her because they made it sound like their footage of the most outrageous and flamboyant gay people they could find was representative of all of us. Most people are smart enough to see through that kind of lie, and those that aren't, well, they won't vote for me anyway."

I managed a laugh. "My parents are definitely not smart enough. If I hadn't already left, they'd have
kicked me out. I couldn't tell her my father had hit me, not because I was ashamed of it, but because I didn't want to upset her on my behalf. "I went to a Dignity support group meeting and I'm not alone in being exiled from both family and church. But my brother and sister are still talking to me."

"I'm glad for that," Sydney said. She patted my arm, then let her hand run down it until she could twine her fingers with mine. "I was really crude when I came out to my parents. I didn't so much come out as fall down on another woman at a family gathering. They forgave me, something I can still hardly believe."

"Your parents are darlings," I said enviously. I took a deep breath and nodded toward the window. "That vase is very pretty."

Sydney let go of my hand and said, "I've got nowhere to put it. Oh well."

We continued window shopping down Market Street for a block or so. The pedestrians were just like those in a Chicago suburb, except that most couples were same sex. I began to recover my sense of the simple freedom of all types of people happily going about their lives without glancing over their shoulder. Even though the woman on the leash had shocked me, I wasn't going to let it overshadow the rest of what I saw: everyday people doing everyday kinds of things. Two women with their arms around each other's waist emerged from a Mexican restaurant completely at ease with each other. I wondered if I'd ever reach that stage.

I asked Sydney something I'd been wondering about. "Do a lot of people want to talk about your sex life? I mean, when you ran for office before?"

"They wanted to, but since there's nothing to talk about it's a rather short subject."

"Is that what it takes? Do you have to be celibate if you're gay and want to hold public office?"

Sydney stopped walking and looked at me. "I hadn't really thought about it globally. For me, well, now that I think about it, the other gay politicians I know do share a sense of higher burden. Our opponents are ready to jump on anything no matter how innocent and accuse us of sexual aberrations. Just about everyone I can think of is either in a highly visible monogamous long-term relationship or completely without rumor of any relationship. There are probably exceptions. Of course that doesn't include the people in the closet. It isn't fair, but that's the way it is."

I read between the lines. She was as much as telling me that we really did have no future, whether Eric was in the picture or not. Eric was out of the picture as far as I was concerned, but Sydney could very well not want to hurt him further by being with the woman he might have been falling in love with. She owed him so much. Sydney's gratitude to her brother plus her political ambitions equaled no relationship with me.

The sooner I left her company, the better. There was a new pain inside me, and being with her was only making it worse.

"I'm getting a little tired," I said. "If you want to stay I can take a cab back. Or the subway. It's right up the street."

"I've got a speech to review," she said, looking serious. "Let's call it a night."

As we turned toward the subway I thought we
weren't just calling it a night. We were calling it quits. Whatever hopes I had cherished that our chance meeting would undo the past were gone. And I would pay for my night in her company hy having to say good-bye again.

10

Strength and honor are her clothing.

—Proverbs 31:25

There were no cabs in sight and we were almost to the subway when a woman coming out of a coffeehouse exclaimed, "Sydney! I didn't know you'd be out and about tonight. We could have had dinner or something."

We stopped. The other woman, about my age with large, sparkling eyes, must have realized that Sydney wasn't alone. She seemed taken aback, then looked pointedly at Sydney and inclined her head toward me.

"Angie, this is Faith Fitzgerald, a friend from
home. We ran into each other at my hotel. Faith, this is Angela Davis Washington."

It was obvious that Angie didn't think it was a surprise at all. "You look familiar," she said. "I know. You and Syd were at Liz's. A couple of months ago."

"Another coincidence," Sydney said.

"Really," I added, wondering why the point was so important to Sydney. I remembered Angie now. We hadn't been introduced, but she'd been wearing a stunning dashiki that had caught my eye.

"Secret's safe with me," Angie said. "Where are you headed?"

"I have a speech to work on," Sydney said. "So it's back to the hotel for me. How about you, Faith?"

"I need to review my notes," I said. We took our leave just as several other women joined Angie, some calling out to Sydney that they'd see her tomorrow.

"Damn," Sydney was muttering under her breath.

"What's wrong?"

"Angle's a delegate to the party convention. She's never going to believe that we're not having an affair. A big part of my strategy is my image. Angie isn't going to tarnish me, but she's sure to mention that I appear to have a girlfriend at long last. As everyone knows, a lesbian with a girlfriend means kinky, scandalous sex. From there it's just a stone's throw to rumors of orgies and blood sacrifices."