As You Were (16 page)

“Why didn’t you tell me those were in there?” Brittany tried to be amiable, but failed.

Tru reined the horse toward the trail. “You didn’t ask.”

“Bitch.”

Brittany followed Tru, and the two of them began the trip home, Tru taking the shorter and easier route this time, to save Brit any additional scratches and discomfort. One comeuppance per day should keep her in line, she thought.

Once the horses were brushed, put in their stalls and fed, the two of them trekked up the path to the house. Tru went directly to the fireplace and began stacking kindling on the grate. “Why don’t you get us something to drink, Brit?”

“As long as it’s not Peppermint Schnapps,” she retorted.

Tru smiled, remembering what had almost happened a few nights ago. “There’s tea, coffee, and...wine—”

Brittany stopped and turned around on her way to the kitchen to stand akimbo. “You want to get me drunk again.”

Tru forced herself to ignore this statement, for fear that a response would tarnish the progress they had made. “Yeah, busted. I’ve almost worn you down.” She lit a fireplace match and set flame to the starter log, fanning the small flame with the Denver Post until it caught the kindling on top. Stacking a few logs atop the kindling, she turned to look at Brittany, but found she had already gone into the hall.

The fire caught evenly as Tru settled on the sofa. A few moments later, Brittany appeared, dressed in sweats and thick socks, and went to the kitchen, returning with wine, handing Tru a goblet. Tru looked up at her curiously. “I thought you were swearing off the evil spirits, as it were.”

“Like I can’t handle a little wine?”

“Well, it’s a little less potent than Schnapps, lucky for you.”

“I don’t have to drink until I’m drunk this time.” Brit leaned back and stared into the fire. She remembered the way Tru looked on stage a few nights ago. She thought of the black shirt that barely hid her cleavage, and felt a slight twinge that confused her, but at the same time made her feel just a little happy. She wasn’t sure how to translate some of her feelings when they were always colliding with each other. “Tru...are you sorry you found me?”

Tru dropped her head back against the sofa and turned to look at her. “Why do you ask?”

Brit took a drink of wine. “Just curious. I know I haven’t exactly made your life easy since I came back here.”

Tru knew this was an understatement, but felt no need to make a comment about it.

“I saw the hospital bill on the desk.”

“Yeah. That’s a corker...you had some independent insurance, but it didn’t cover the deductible or some of the other things...”

“Are you...paying that?”

“In increments, yeah. That’s why I really needed that gig the other night. And the ones coming up.”

Brit looked into the jumping flames at the hearth. “I’m...sorry...”

She remembered all the days and nights she spent searching for her. “Few things worth having come cheap, I guess.”

“Was I worth having?” Brit had twisted on the cushion to face her.

Tru studied her and smiled faintly. “Still are.”

Brittany’s body swayed forward, then back again, and she felt her pulse quicken at the involuntary movement toward Tru. “Shit,” she cursed softly.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I had this odd feeling...”

Tru let a crooked grin invade her face. “I know what it was—”

“What?”

“You wanted to kiss me.”

“No.” Brittany sat back again.

“Okay. You didn’t. Suit yourself.”

“I’m not...I can’t—”

Tru sat up suddenly, holding her wine with both hands. “Brit, do you have to remember those feelings in order to have them?”

“But I’m different, now—” she protested.

“Are you?”

“Tru...
was I...” She took a drink, as if to gather strength. “...were you the only woman I ever slept with?”

Something pained traveled across Tru’s face, and she felt it there, and looked away carefully. “Yes.”

She leaned forward. “And we had this really great relationship that everyone else envied?”

Tru pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. “That’s...what I thought.”
There. I didn’t have to lie.

“What’s that mean?”

Now I have to lie.

“Tru—”

“We were very happy together. Everything was great.” Tru had a strange taste in her mouth, and wondered if she should blame the wine, or the lie. She decided to check the wine first, and took another swallow.

“Tru...
I know I hurt you. Didn’t I?”

Tru sighed, silently hoping the phone would ring, or Dropsi would knock something loud on the floor, or a freak thunderstorm would drown out all ability to hear. “That’s all in the past.”

“Did it have something to do with the night I had the accident?”

Bull’s-eye.
Tru felt the arrow strike and stay. “You can’t remember that night, and I’d like to forget. Can we not discuss it?”

Brittany sighed and watched Tru stare into the fire. The flames were reflecting in her eyes, and caused them to pirouette; but in a gloomy ballet. Brit decided against additional queries, for now. She had hurt her. She had done something to Tru that night, and Tru could not forgive yet, whatever it was.

19

HER HEAD STILL MUDDLED BY THE DREAM, Brittany carried the small bottle of liquor back to the table and sat down. She tried to focus on the trees through the bay window, yet the

glistening panes seemed only to reflect the images which had projected on the screen of her sleeping mind...

The horrible, tomb-like interior filled with water as she pushed on the windows and doors in a hideous dance of slow motion terror. Her mind groggy, escape an unattainable goal, her lungs ached for precious air. Then the face appeared outside the passenger window...a young man’s face, which she knew now to be Max’s. He tugged on the door handle, watching her, and she sobbed, the action drawing water into her lungs. Death was certain, now. It was going to happen. She wanted it to happen quickly...he would not get the door open in time...she relaxed, letting her lungs fill with the icy water as his face hovered over her through the glass, entreating her silently to hold on...but too late...

Brittany took a deep breath, as if to reassure herself that she remained among the living, and the panes on the bay window came back into focus. She took a careful sip of Schnapps and felt the sensation of death shivering on her skin again. A tear crept out of her eye and spilled onto the tabletop, as a cold hand pressed her shoulder, and she spasmed at the unexpected contact.

“Brit? Are you okay?”

She shook her head faintly. “I had a dream about the accident.”

Sleepy-eyed, Tru moved a chair out and sat facing her. She rubbed her eyes and blinked her vision into sharper focus. “You remembered it?”

“Just the part about...
being inside the car...
underwater...
and the part about Max being there, trying to get the door open. And I remember...
I remember drowning...”

Tru felt the bones in her chest give as if a weight had been placed on it. She slid from her chair and dropped to her knees beside Brittany, laying her head in her lap and circling her waist with her arms. “God, Brit...
when you say that, it makes my heart flip over—I don’t know if I could have lived without you—” she squeezed her gently.

Brittany forgot the horrid images long enough to look down at the young woman who held her. She lifted her hand to touch the ebon hair, stroking it slowly.

Tru pushed the welling of grief away and felt the touch of Brittany’s hand in her hair; afraid to move, for fear that Brit would recognize an expression of real affection, and pull away again, put up a wall.

“Truly—” Brit whispered.

Tru lifted her head at the endearment, but saw that Brittany had not remembered what they had shared, but that the name was special to her. She waited.

Brittany cupped Tru’s face in her hands and caressed her cheeks with her thumbs. “You’ve been very sweet to me, and I’ve been awful to you.”

Tru’s eyes welled with tears and she tried to blink them back but lost one down her cheek. Brittany wiped the tear away with a thumb and gathered Tru into her arms, letting Tru lay her cheek against her chest. She stroked her back and continued to hold her close, until Tru thought she would wither inside from the sweetness of it. Brit pushed her back, studying her gray eyes. “Are you okay?”

Tru grinned. “I was trying to comfort you and you’re comforting me.” She sniffed and pressed the back of her hand to her nose. “I think we’ve got this backward.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Brittany whispered. “You’ve missed me...I mean, who I was...”

Tru felt her own walls beginning to materialize and she stood. “Yeah, well...” She crossed to the bay window and watched the shadows from the moonlight play upon the snow-covered ground. The shadows moved like dark wraiths in a ballet, the wind their silent orchestra.

Tru felt Brittany step up behind her, and turned. “You’d better get back to bed.”

Brittany measured the words. “Why?”

“Because if you keep standing there after this, I’m going to kiss you.”
That ought to incite a swift exit
.

Brittany did not flinch. “I think I want you to.”

Tru failed to control the upward leap of eyebrows, but she managed to remember to breathe, and knew it to be a big accomplishment by itself. Her heart battered her sternum, and she searched Brit’s eyes for the game, but could not find it. Tru stepped forward and held Brit’s face in her hands, watching her eyes for a signal that she would dart away. Finding no fear, Tru leaned in close and pressed her lips against Brittany’s. Something like a pilot light ignited in Tru’s stomach, and she wondered if this was a dream, and knew if it was she wished to remain in this nocturnal fiction of bliss. She spun her slowly to the wall and pressed against her.

Brittany returned the kiss timidly, her hands finding Tru’s waist. Tru broke the kiss and opened her eyes. Brittany’s face had flushed red and she leaned against the wall, her head back. After a moment, she sighed and moved past Tru, squeezing her hand on the way by. “Goodnight, Tru,” she whispered.

The best way to get the better of

temptation is just to yield to it.

~Clementia Stirling Graham

20

Fort Lee, Virginia, 2000

THEY WERE RELEASED FROM FRIDAY NIGHT FORMATION before dark. Captain Brown gave her obligatory speech to the gathered troops concerning a soldier’s responsibility to represent the Army—and Whiskey Company in particular—in an honorable fashion. As she spoke, each soldier silently prayed that he or she would not be assigned to C.Q. duty and be forced to give up the weekend for the good of Uncle Sam.

Tru leaned forward from the line to look for Brittany, who was ten or so soldiers away. Brittany met her eyes for a quick second, and then she faced forward again. Finally, the unfortunate chosen soldiers were announced. Chosen, usually, according to their behavior during the previous week. Those selected broke rank with no less than reluctant chagrin and stood to the side of the Captain, and then she dismissed all the others. Each platoon raced for their respective barracks in a stampede to finish last minute preparations for the weekend.

Private Morgan detoured around the billets to call a cab from the pay phone at the corner and then hurried to her quarters for her overnight bag, anxious to begin the weekend of freedom that all soldiers cherished.

Private Jabot waited at the picnic table in the smoking area when Tru came out. They indulged in chit-chat with the other departing soldiers, relating common experiences and plans for the weekend, and Tru noticed that Brittany was more carefully aloof than usual. “You still want to share a cab with me, Brit?”

Brittany put the tiny Capri cigarette to her full lips and took a pull, the glow of it forming a hazy nimbus around her piercing blue eyes. She considered Tru. “I guess. Which hotel are you staying at this weekend?”

“Well, it seems like everyone in Whiskey Company is going to the Comfort Inn in Hopewell. Supposed to be a big party. So I’m going to the Ramada in Petersburg.”

“Me, too,” She said simply. “Sure. Let’s share the cab.”

Tru saw Captain Brown emerge from the billets and promptly dropped her cigarette, calling the other soldiers in the smoking area to attention. The Captain returned Private Morgan’s salute, responding, “As you were.” In synchronization, the soldiers bent to pick up the cigarettes they had dropped when Tru called them to attention. “I hate when that happens,” she told the others, smiling.

When the taxi arrived, the two of them collected their things and got in. The cabby, his face obscured by the darkness which had gathered quickly around them, was not the talkative sort, for which Tru was silently thankful.

Halfway into the trip, the glow of city lights on passing motels and buildings ushered in a sort of sluggish peace which seemed to descend on both of them. Brittany interrupted the peace with a yawn, and leaned over to lay her head in Tru’s lap. Endeared and excited by this, Tru toyed with her hair and stroked her back and neck tenderly, hoping for some reaction to tell her if Brittany’s thoughts were her own. Had that passionate, wee-hour rendezvous at the barracks given Brittany ideas? If the C.Q. had not interrupted the liaison, would it have gone further?

Tru peered down at the supine young woman lying trustingly within arm’s reach
. At least she can’t run away in the back of a cab...and putting her head in my lap was an obvious invitation to move a boundary...
Tru let her hands convey those feelings which craved expression, and her touch met no protest. Brittany lay still and warm, yet silent, her cheek atop Tru’s thigh.

When they arrived, Tru paid the cabby the full fare and tipped him a couple of dollars before they went inside to register. She turned to look at Brittany. “Want a room alone, or do you want to share the expense for that, too?”

Brittany pursed her lips and looked around in the wallet she held. “It can get expensive alone. I’ll share, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Tru answered, almost too nonchalantly.
My heart doesn’t seem to mind either. It’s jumping up and down in my chest right now
, she thought.

The two women pooled their money on the desk and accepted the two keys. Brittany went to punch the elevator button and Tru joined her, telling Brittany she was going to leave her stuff at the desk while she ran over to the liquor store on the corner to get some wine, and then join her in the room. Brittany turned as she stepped in the elevator and said, “Chardonnay.” Tru smiled as the doors closed between them.

When she returned, Brittany was puttering about, unpacking, and switching channels on the TV.

Finally alone together, they began to settle in, sipping the wine. To Tru, Brittany seemed no less elegant holding the plastic cup with the Ramada Inn logo on the side than if she had been holding a Waterford goblet.

She watched Brittany while leafing through a magazine that might as well have been upside down. Brittany—soft and inviting wearing that big pink shirt, her wavy, luscious blond hair falling free over her shoulders—knew that Tru watched her and was pleased without knowing why.

Brittany disappeared into the bathroom for long moments, and emerged with a plastic dish. “Want to help me frost my hair?”

Tru looked at her directly, happy for the opportunity to be near her for a justified reason. “Sure.” She tried not to seem overly enthused; birds tend to take wing when startled. And Brittany was like a bird. Freedom-loving, her flights controlled, but easily startled and fragile if handled roughly.

Brittany carried the mixture of gold highlights over to the bed and sat down, handing the dish to Tru. “Just use this brush and sort of paint in the highlights. Pretend you’re Picasso.”

“Picasso painted some pretty goofy-looking things in his day.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Brittany decided with a meaningful smile.

Tru refused to allow her hands to tremble as she held the dish with the mixture. Dabbing the brush, she held it aloft, studying Brittany’s hair for a starting place.

“Get the front first, then do it all over.”

Tru thought wistfully that this was how she wanted to make love to her, too. “I may not do this right—”

“It’s easy. Trust your instincts.”

Tru again found double meaning in those words—ironic, coming from Brittany.
Yeah, take your own advice, fraidy-cat.
She leaned down in front of Brit, aware of the soft scent of her perfume.
What was it?
If Tru were to give it a name, she would have called it,
Drive Me Crazy.
She tried not to inhale too often, but holding her breath was making her light-headed, so she had to rethink that action. Brushing the highlight mixture on gently, slowly, she purposefully prolonged the task. While Tru alternately studied her hair and stroked with the brush, Brittany watched her face, unmoving, but the awareness of Brit’s attention on her caused Tru’s heart to pump faster as those blue eyes flickered over her features. She took her time, leaning very close every so often in order to dab the areas she thought needed a highlight.

Tru tried several times to stop, fearing the continual closeness would make her do something rash, like toss the bowl across the room, grab this temptress, and fall on top of her in a lip-lock. There was some wisdom in the evolutionary design of humans; it was a matter of utility that they could not normally see the thoughts of others. Certainly, the images in Tru’s mind would have sent Brittany screaming down to the front desk to get another room.

The swift realization emerged that this opportunity to be near the object of her desire, was becoming personal torture on many levels. But Brittany coaxed Tru on, insisting that she needed more highlights, though Tru was sure if it went on, the task could have been handled more quickly with a full color job, rather than strokes from a brush. It was rather like mowing the lawn with scissors. But Brittany was still not bolting for the door, nor showing any signs of discomfort. The shoe was on the other foot now. Brittany was perfectly content to drive a person crazy. Tru knew that foreplay came dressed in many disguises, but wondered if Brit fully understood that was what she was doing.

The process continued for over an hour, with Brit insisting on Tru’s meticulousness, and Tru getting closer and closer to hyperventilation. Each time Tru leaned close to paint a strand, an ache settled at the apex of her thighs; a maddening itch that lived internally and thus, could not be scratched, except in the same way. Tru had never felt such an intense, vehement desire. She leaned down to face Brittany, checking the frontal appearance of the frost, their faces inches apart. Brit whispered, “Talk to me, Tru...”

The words sliced through her like a hot velvet knife, a knife Tru wished would cut her again and again, while she lay spent in grateful pools of blood. “About what?”

“Whatever it is you’re thinking.”

Tru cleared her throat quickly and continued to paint. “You don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”

“Maybe I do.”

Tru met her eyes, seeking verification. “Okay. I was thinking that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

“What else?” Brittany urged.

Tru feared she would not survive this conversation, much less the rest of the evening. “What do you want me to say?”

“Just talk to me, Tru. I like your voice.”

Tru’s mind looped into chaos. She considered telling a joke, but doubted she could remember one. It was so much easier to sing a song on stage to a room of strangers, than to speak intelligible words to this woman who vexed her so. She considered a story about her childhood but couldn’t decide which one. She considered the truth about what she had really been thinking, along the lines of
‘why don’t you just lie down and let me do wonderful things to you?’
but worried that her admission would result in the sudden flight of the Brittany-bird. Mysteriously, she wanted the torture to continue; she was the prisoner in love with her chains. At least by frosting her hair, she could be near this tantalizing creature who made her ache in places she had forgotten. “I have no idea what to say,” she admitted honestly.

“Do I make you nervous, Tru?”

Each time Tru heard her own name from that throat, she felt blood rise to the surface of her skin in sundry locations. Brittany might as well have taken a section of Tru’s soul and kissed it. “Why do you ask?”

“Your hands are trembling.”

“Too much coffee today, I guess.”

“Your face is red,” she pressed.

Tru blurted the first excuse that came to mind. “It’s hot in here.”

“No—” Brit tapped a finger on Tru’s chest. “It’s hot in here.”

The tiny circle where her finger had been began to burn as if a lit cigarette had been held to her skin, and Tru believed she’d have to stifle an oncoming scream. Instead, she huffed and relaxed her arms to raise up, put the color on the chest of drawers, and lit a cigarette.

“I think that’s enough,” Brit said, smiling at her hair in the mirror, and disappearing into the bathroom.

Tru slammed a hand against her chest and took a deep breath and blew it out shakily. “I think that’s too much,” she corrected softly.

With Brit in the bathroom, Tru used the time to regain an alarming degree of lost composure.
Brittany is straight, and is teasing me...But oh, how exciting is the game.
Tru stretched out on the bed to finish her cigarette, angry at the blood pounding between her thighs. Had there been anyone who had affected her this way? Her first lover had evolved into her best friend, and most of her other relationships had been short-lived. She always seemed to hook up with the “new meat”—the women who had never been with another woman. This scenario always ended in the same fashion: another woman would intrigue the newcomer, and Tru would see only the flying gravel from her pursuing heels.

Each of them had intrigued or fascinated her in some way. But an unfamiliar energy thrived between herself and Brittany, defined partially by Tru’s view of Brittany as the first woman she found stunning and classically beautiful. A lot could be said for physical attraction. Personality and inner beauty aside, the hormones respond best to visual stimulation, and they don’t give a flying rat’s ass whether or not the stimulation is spiritually profound or one dimensional. This is at the crux of all sexual impropriety. It feels good to be horny and it feels good to be close to beauty.

Tru heard bath water running and knew Brittany would be closed up in there for a while longer. She imagined Brittany getting undressed and stepping into the steamy water, easing herself down slowly into the warm bubbles...the expression of pleasure that would be on her face...Tru shook the image away and put out her cigarette, which had burned down to the filter. Instead, she recalled that silky Texas voice:
Talk to me, Tru
... and shivered violently. Tru wanted her fiercely—even knowing that Brit toyed with her and that her needs were more likely than not to remain unquenched.

“Tru—” came that voice beyond the door. “Would you bring me some wine?”

Tru sat up, aware that she’d have to walk in and pretend that Brittany was a friend—naked in the tub. She poured the wine, spilling some and cursing. She carried it to the door, and knocked. “Are you decent?” She tried to sound flippant.

“That’s debatable,” came the reply.

Tru took a steadying breath and opened the door.

The bubbles sheathed Brittany up to her underarms. Had there been no bubbles, Tru would have certainly lost her aplomb
. Thank God for bubbles...damn the bubbles...
She set the wine on the edge of the tub and turned to the mirror, trying to get away from the image of her. But there it was. Their eyes met in the glass.