As You Were (13 page)

The two women got up, happily, and took the money to the bar. Tru grabbed Brittany’s hand and hauled her, protesting, out of her chair and onto the dance floor.

“I don’t want to da—” Brit began.

“Shut up,” Tru ordered. “We’re going to make a quick getaway.” She did not let go of her hand as the two of them threaded their way through the throng of grinding bodies, then walked toward the door. Once over the threshold, Brit broke into a sprint down the long, dimly lit corridor, bumping those in her path and spilling several drinks on cursing victims. Tru hurried after her, watching her pause at the dressing room door, her arms crossed, mumbling and blinking her eyes erratically. Tru laughed as she arrived. “Hold on let me find the key.”

“Well, hurry up.” Brittany leaned to look cautiously down the corridor. Tru ferreted around in her pocket and produced the key, unlocking the door.

Brittany shivered and made a guttural noise. What had possessed her to come here?

Tru came out with her gig bag and guitar case, taking in the expression on her companion’s face. “Don’t judge the lot of us by them, Brittany.” She handed Brit the bag. “Two bad apples, doncha know. I don’t even know them very well, they’re sort of like gay groupies. They also have an open relationship. Liz sends me flowers before every show, and Jan has been trying to get you to go to bed with her for a year.”

Brittany lifted her hands and waved. “Don’t tell me that. I don’t want to know.”

“No harm done.” Tru started toward the front.

“How can you stand that girl leering at you?” Brittany wanted to know as she followed Tru into the showroom.

“Jealous?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she retorted.

At the forward bar off the mezzanine, Tru waved at Nathan. He stopped arranging the bottles and waved back as if to flag her down, twirling toward the cash register to take out a bunch of bills.

“Hey Nathan, we’re gonna cut out.”

He came around the bar to hand the money to her discreetly, kissing her on the cheek as he did. “Thanks, Babe. We made a haul tonight. You sold about a grand in CD’s. He produced an envelope from under the counter. “And this is your take from the door. Macy was smart to take the door tonight.”

“She’s a risk-taker, that Macy.”

“No risk in that, Raven. You tell her to call me about rebooking you.”

“Will do.”

“Brittany—” he said, taking her hand. “Lovely as always.” He bent to kiss her too, and she did not succeed in appearing unabashed.

The two of them stepped toward the door, but were halted by a girl, holding out the insert for the CD. “Will you sign this for me, Raven?”

The girl was young. Maybe barely legal. “Sure.” Tru set her case down, took the Sharpie marker, and wrote a short message and her name.

“Thank you so much!” the girl enthused.

“Thank you for buying my CD and coming to the show.” Tru clasped the girl’s hand for a moment and Brittany thought the girl might faint.

The two of them stepped out into the crisp Colorado air, Brittany stopping with Tru at the Cherokee. “You made a thousand dollars on CD’s?”

“It adds up. That’s about 65 sales.”

Tru put her cases in the back and closed the door, sorting through her keys for the right one.

Inside the Cherokee, through the driver’s side window, Tru instructed Brit to follow her home.

“How do you put up with women like Jan and Liz?”

“Simple. They’ve never been a threat to us.”

Brittany considered the logic in this for a moment, and then allowed her defenses back up. “There’s no ‘us’ anymore.” She started toward her own car.

14

THINGS DETERIORATED AGAIN WHEN THEY REACHED CASTLE MOUNTAIN. Back in the house, Brittany went straight for the fireplace and put a new log on it. “How do you start this?”

“Did your attitude give you frostbite?” Tru remarked.

“Shut up.”

“Hey—you wanted to stay.”

Brittany tossed her coat on the chair. “I didn’t expect to be put on display like a slab of meat. I was trying to be nice.”

“Bullshit. You were curious as hell.”

Brittany plopped down on the sofa. “I didn’t feel comfortable.”

Tru tossed her coat atop the other. “That’s because you still feel straight.”

“You got any of that ginseng tea left?”

“Yep. I’ll make some.” Acutely, Tru realized that Brittany was learning the same lessons all over again. The gay community could be seedy and unpleasant, like any other community, but ultimately, the quality of life was up to the individual, by choosing friends wisely.

Minutes later, Tru handed Brittany the steamy, aromatic cup. “Yo! Jabot! Calling occupant.” Tru waved a hand in her face. Tru took a seat beside her. “What are you thinking about?”

“You. On stage.”

Tru smiled, cooling her tea with cautious streams of air.

“You are very talented.”

Tru warmed to that statement a little quicker than she liked. “You are, too.”

“Well, it looks like I was, but I don’t seem to be now.”

“It’s in your head somewhere...”

She tapped her temple. “Guess it’s kinda crowded with other questions.”

“Losing your memory can’t take that away. I believe our talents are innate abilities. We have to be willing to polish them. You’re a sculptor and a painter, and a photographer. I love that about you.”

“Really?” Her face turned comical. “Well, if you love me so much, why aren’t my sculptures around, and my pictures hanging all over the walls?”

Tru’s smile faded as she recalled. “I packed them up for you.”

“Why?” Brittany slouched back into the sofa, cradling her teacup.

Tru put her cup down on the coffee table. “I didn’t think you’d be back.”

“Did I say that before I left?” She sipped and seemed unaware of the developing tension in the room. Tru squirmed, picking up her cup again for a drink. “Tru—”

“Brittany, don’t. It’s been a long night. I’m tired. Let’s ...let’s not have this conversation—”

“What conversation are we having, exactly?”

“Stop.” She put her teacup back on the table and stood, moving to the fireplace to retrieve some kindling. She began to stack it erratically on the grate.

Brittany studied her, then set her cup down too hard on the table, some of the tea spilling over the rim. “Well, fine. I’m going to take a shower—” Brit didn’t miss the pain that swept across Tru’s face, as she turned at the sound of china on the table top. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Go take your damn shower.” Tru spat the last word as if it were poison.

Brittany turned, perplexed, yet disinclined to prod this obviously fruitless discussion any further. If Tru was going to be unreasonable, she wouldn’t waste the time prying information out of her.

She ran the water hot, tested the temperature, and glanced at the bathroom door. Locking it securely, she was unsure of exactly why she felt the need to have it that way. She didn’t really think Tru would come in there. While she was...naked. She wasn’t that bold.
Helki might do it, though.

As the water warmed her shoulders, she thought of Tru’s face. First, they had been talking about the night she left, then, when she had wanted to take a shower, Tru seemed hurt and angry.
What nerve did I touch?
Brittany felt a headache coming on and put her head under the spray.

Tru finished her tea and stared at the hall doorway. She had been sitting in this exact spot that night. She heard Brit drop the soap, and thought of the silly joy that fluttered in her chest at the familiar sound. All that domestic trivia that slips past the consciousness, without any value...none, until those things are suddenly gone. She missed the comfort of their rapport, the easy way they kissed and talked and played. Tru released the pent-up air in her lungs and pushed all the memories away. There was a phrase they had both picked up in the Army from drill sergeants who were either correcting themselves or giving a soldier permission to relax: “As you were.” She stopped herself from going further into the past by saying it out loud. Not until seconds later, did she recognize the ironic, wistful quality in that statement. ‘As you were’ was exactly how she wanted—needed—Brit to be.

Brittany plucked the soap from the coated wire rack, losing it several times as it zipped out of her hands, wondering if her amnesia had also made her forget how to hang onto a bar of soap. She thought of Tru, her sudden anger.
How will I ever remember things if she wants to pick and

choose the memories for me?
It wasn’t fair, and Brittany decided she’d pursue it again when she finished her shower.

Moments later, while rinsing the conditioner from her hair, she noticed a small shadow creeping along the ledge below the opaque shower door. Alarmed for a swift moment, thinking Tru had come in, somehow, she soon recognized Dropsi, the feline having slipped in unnoticed before she closed the door. An evil grin crept to her lips as her hand eased toward the shower door handle.

Tru heard the commotion coming from the master bath, heard the door come open, and watched a very drenched Dropsi race through the living room, her ears back and her eyes wide.

“I hope this is mine—” Brittany said, indicating the robe she had put on over her still-damp body.

Momentarily, Tru’s amusement took over as she watched the cat perch on the ledge of the fireplace, licking her paw and rubbing her sodden ears. Tru knew the cat had not fallen into the shower accidentally. Then Brit’s statement registered, and she looked at the robe. An agony from the past struck her as soundly as a wrecking ball. That’s the robe, the towel, and the place she had been standing...

“Tru...is this my robe or not?”

Entranced by the awful clarity of memory that Brittany constantly wished for, she whispered, “It’s yours...”

Brittany fluffed her hair, rubbing locks of it between folds of the towel, and took a seat on the sofa, watching Tru flip through channels on the television, without really engaging any of it. “Tru—”

“What?”

“I’m sorry if I said something wrong before.”
Maybe starting with an apology will disarm her.

A smirk played on Tru’s mouth for a quick second, then evaporated. “I can run, but I can’t hide.”

“What’s that mean?” Brittany rubbed the towel over her hair and shook her head to loosen the long ripples of mane.

“Forget it.”

“Why did you clam up so fast before?”

“I said forget it.” She tossed the remote on the sofa beside her, pretended to watch a documentary about Egypt on the Discovery channel.

Brittany stopped drying her hair. “Maybe I don’t want to forget anymore. Maybe I want to remember, now.”

“I don’t.” She stood.

“Sit down, Tru. “ Brittany followed Tru to the fireplace and watched her fence with the logs, thrusting fiercely with the poker as if it were a rapier. “Let’s get this out in the open—”

Tru, like a badger, cornered in her own burrow: “No! I said no, and I mean no! Remember something else!” Tears sprang to her eyes and her face flooded beet red. “Remember how much you loved me!” A sob escaped unchecked and Tru covered her face awkwardly with one hand, dropping the poker on the hearth with a clatter, and bolting down the hall.

Startled, her heart aching, Brittany hurried after her, catching her by the arm in the hall and turning her around. “Hey! Stop...please. I’m not trying to hurt you—”

Tru sobbed again, moving away.

Brittany pulled her close, held her tight. “I’m sorry, Tru. I wish I could remember what horrible thing I did to hurt you...maybe I could make it right if I could remember but I can’t— please...don’t shut me out...not now—” Brit continued to hold her, stroking her hair, suddenly

very at ease with Tru’s trembling body next to hers. She leaned back, one arm still around her, and brushed the jet-black strands away from her red, swollen eyes. “Don’t cry, Truly...”

The endearment only brought fresh tears, and Tru felt helpless, overwhelmed by the tenderness Brit showed her. Yet, she’d rather be the one to spoil the moment before Brittany realized she held a lover she couldn’t fathom ever having. “Aren’t you getting a little too close for comfort?”

Brittany made a face. “Shut up,” she said, holding her close again.

Tru buried her face in Brittany’s neck and inhaled the fresh scent of her. It filled her veins like a drug and momentarily she forgot her pain. She could feel Brit’s pulse—strong and quick.

Brittany leaned back to study her with soft eyes. “Will you feel better if I get you a stiff drink?”

Tru gave a half-laugh. “It better be stiff enough to hang a coat on.”

Brittany laughed, a bubbly, alto sound that came from deep in her throat. The sound made Tru feel warm inside. “One coat-rack cocktail coming up.” She stepped away and went into the kitchen while Tru headed to the bathroom to splash her face.

As they sat on the sofa taking shots of Peppermint Schnapps from German shot glasses, Tru let the thick, luxurious liquor warm her, and watched Brittany enjoy it a bit too fast.

“You’d better cool it with the Schnapps, Brit—you’ll get hammered. And you’re a royal bitch when you’ve got a hangover.”

“Well...” she said dreamily, “You’ll have to lock me in the bathroom and slide Alka-Seltzer under the door ‘til I’m civil again...” Her speech had begun to slur, and she stared into her empty shot glass. “...or am I a royal bitch all the time?”—a giggle erupted in her throat.

“That’s a loaded question from a loaded royal bitch.”

Brittany found this tidbit uproariously funny, and laughed harder, leaning over to grab the bottle. “All aboard! We’re loading up!” she gurgled. She lost her balance and fell on Tru’s knees, and almost into the floor before Tru caught her.

Still laughing, she twisted to face Tru, peering up at her with a silly grin. “Yur very preddy, Tru—why don’ you like men?”

Tru looked down at her, smiling. “Because women look better in jeans.”

Brittany cocked her head to the side, considering this. “Mags sense.” She forgot her original desire for a refill and stared at Tru, who still held her across her lap. “Yuuur... lookin’ at me funny— “

“Well,” Tru tried to be glib. “You’re funny-looking.”

“I thought you thought...
that women were good-lookin’, not funny-lookin’...
which am I, really?”

“You’re a goddess, Brit.”

Her eyes brightened. “Really? Which one?”

“Artemis. The Goddess of the moon and the hunt.”

“Oooo! The moon AND the hunt?” She considered Tru for a long moment and then tested airily, “Do ya like to kiss Moon-Hunt-Goddesses?”

Tru cleared her throat. “Don’t start anything you won’t let me finish.”

Brittany explored Tru’s face, almost sleepily. “What if I said you could finish?”

Tru’s pulse raced. Warnings popped up like red flags in her mind, but she ignored them. “I’d finish.”

Brittany said nothing more, but ravished Tru with her eyes.

Tru bent slowly and touched her lips to Brittany’s. When she leaned back, Brit’s smile had faded into some smoldering recess inside her eyes. Brittany buried her fingers in Tru’s hair, guiding her down to her again.

The kiss was timid at first, then Tru let go of her second thoughts and poured every ounce of emotion she had stored up into it.

Brittany moaned softly and pressed herself closer to Tru, urging her. Tru’s hands explored Brit’s body—familiar places made new from the passage of time. Tru ached to make love to her completely, and tugged on the belt of her robe, letting the cloth fall open at the front. She dropped kisses on Brittany’s chest, trailing to her stomach and lay her hand there, lovingly. She closed a hand over a soft breast...soft like the rest of her, she remembered well. It was too much. Tru had to have her again. She sat up and looked at Brittany, whose eyes were closed, her breathing steady. “Brit?”

Her only answer was her breathing. She had fallen prey to Schnapps.

Tru sighed heavily, making a grand effort to still her pounding heart. Sadly, she looked at Brittany’s silky body, exposed to her in that trust-place, sleep. Softly, she closed the robe, tied the belt, and slipped out from under her.

She covered Brittany with a blanket and turned out the light, the glow of fresh-fallen snow touching that lovely face. She’d go lie down, but sleep would not come easily.