Like a Woman (18 page)

Getting Soft

Taylor woke, surprised to find C.N. curled up against her in bed, spooned into her arms, fast asleep. She felt a sharp jolt of fear.
How could I not have heard her come in?
She fought the rising panic, forcing herself to stay calm, slow her breathing. When C.N. came home after a late night of work, Taylor always heard everything— the first click of the key in the lock, the soft swing of the opening door brushing the thick pile carpeting, the rustle of her lover's coat tossed on the chair, C.N.'s sigh as she took off those too-tight six-inch heels, finally releasing tired, captive feet. Taylor would hear the tinkling of earrings and necklace, the soft velvet jewelry chest as it clicked back shut, the sound of the shower, the lathering and the rinse, the clink of the toothbrush in the glass, the silence of the floss, the soft humming as C.N. oiled her body. But tonight she'd slept through it all.
How could I not have heard her come in?
It took everything in Taylor's power to stay put, to not bolt for the door.

Around her, the bedroom was totally calm, quiet, and an almost full moon filtered softly through the skylight, casting a gentle glow.
Just chill
, Taylor told herself.
You're at C.N.'s. Everything's cool
. Taylor closed her eyes, buried her face in C.N.'s neck, and inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar scent of musk and almond soap.
She showered
, Taylor thought.
She came in, got undressed, showered and got in bed, and I didn't hear a fucking thing
. Taylor willed herself to stay still.
Damn. Maybe Trina's right
, she thought.
Maybe I am getting soft
. Taylor felt the easy yielding of the feather bed beneath her, the crisp, scented satin sheets, the warmth of C.N.'s back, pressed up against her breasts and belly. She tightened her arms around her lover's body, gently pulling her even closer.
You're really getting to me, girl
, she said silently.
Just don't fuck with me, okay? Please just don't fucking fuck with me
. Heart still racing, Taylor carefully matched her breath to C.N.'s deep, steady rhythm, and after a while she too fell back to sleep.

The next morning she woke to find C.N. up, fully dressed, standing over her with a steaming cup of espresso. Taylor looked around, confused. Sunlight streamed through the open French doors. She squinted up at C.N.
How the fuck did you get up without me hearing you?
she wondered.
Damn. This shit is not good at all
.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” C.N. smiled. “Brought you some coffee.”

Taylor sat up and reached for the cup. “Thanks, baby. This smells really good.”

C.N. sat down beside her on the bed and stroked Taylor's hair. “Honey, we need to talk.”

Taylor felt her gut clench.
Fuck
, she thought.
Nothing good ever comes out of those words
. She searched C.N.'s face for a clue, then quickly looked away.

“Sure,” she said, keeping her voice low and easy. “What's up?”

C.N. took a long drag on her cigarette and exhaled slowly. “Jackie's got a top-dollar job for me. You remember that kid she hooked me up with last month, the flaming wide receiver for the Cowboys? Well, looks like he's got himself in some tabloid trouble and needs some serious beefing up on his heterosexual credentials.”

So, what's the problem?
Taylor wondered. Lately, C.N. had been taking less of the traditional escort service jobs and more work providing public cover for Jackie's gay clientele, mostly movie stars and athletes. All this suited Taylor fine, because it meant that C.N. could make just as much money without having to fuck anyone. Even with all the showers and the fancy vanilla-almond soap, the smell of johns never quite washed off on the nights she had to trick.

Taylor looked up at C.N. “Yeah,” she said. “I remember him.” She took a sip of espresso, making sure her hands stayed steady. The coffee burned her lips and tongue, but she didn't flinch. “So, you got another date?”

“Yeah, well, it's going to be more than a date,” C.N. said. “Baby, it looks like I'm going to have to go to Dallas for a while.”

Taylor felt the espresso jacking up her stomach.
This isn't going to end good
, she thought.
I just fuckin' know it
. She wished she were somewhere else, anywhere, maybe catching the freight out of Santa Barbara, riding an open boxcar up the coast, or maybe just sitting down at Venice Beach, watching the waves at dusk with J. Edgar at her side. A sharp split of grief ran through her chest with the memory that J. Edgar was gone, shot dead by the pigs. She fought back the images of cops swarming the junkyard, Jimmy cuffed and bloody in the back of a squad car, Jackson boarding the Greyhound bus.

“Dallas, huh? That's cool,” she said, blowing on the coffee. “If you want, I can look after your place.”

C.N. looked away. “Yeah,” she said. “Well, that's the problem. I'm probably not going to be able to keep the apartment, honey. They want me there for the whole season. Full throttle ‘het cred.' Hot new live-in girlfriend. Serious romance. Blowing kisses from the stands. Photo ops at the clubs, bathing suit shots by the pool. Spring wedding rumors. His agent is springing for the whole nine yards.” She reached over and put her hand on Taylor's leg. “The money's good, but I'm not sure I can afford to hang onto this place.”

Taylor really needed to pee and felt like she was going to be sick. She wished she at least had her shirt on for this conversation, if not her boots and jeans. She needed to get air, clear her head, but she was unable to move. “So, when are you going?” she asked, trying to buy some time.

“Not for another few weeks,” C.N. said. “So we've got time to figure things out. I'm going over to Jackie's this morning to meet with the agent and work out the final details, so we'll know more after that. Shantelle says you could stay with her for a while, and Eddie says she always has a room if you ever want to pick up more work.”

Fuck
, thought Taylor.
So everyone already knows about this except me?
She said nothing.

C.N. reached over and took a sip of Taylor's coffee. She laughed. “And, hey, Jackie says she's got a great idea. She says we should wrap you and strap you, clean you up, trim your hair, and send you out on the LPGA tour to date some of those closeted women golfers. She says those girls are already getting quite the reputation and she thinks you'd make a really cute boy date for the younger ones.”

Taylor felt the room beginning to close in on her. She forced a laugh. “Yeah, right,” she said. “In your fucking fantasy.” She pulled back the covers and willed herself to stand. “I gotta pee.”

She made her way to the bathroom, closed the door behind her, and sat down on the toilet, head in her hands. It felt good to relax, to just let go, even for a moment. She wished she never had to leave this room, never had to get up again and go back out and deal.

Taylor made herself stand back up. She slowly washed her hands, brushed her teeth, and then splashed cold water over her face. She looked around, wishing she had left some clothes in the bathroom, finding only her boxers. She knew the rest would be lying where she left them, folded on top of her bag, sitting at the foot of the bed. C.N. had cleared out a drawer and part of the closet for her, but Taylor's few belongings never had made it out of her battered old duffle bag.

She put on the boxers and walked back out into the room. C.N. came over to her, taking the girl in her arms. “Hey, baby,” she said. “Listen, I'm sorry if it feels like I'm just springing this on you, but please don't worry, okay. We'll figure it out. We've got a month until I need to go, and then you can stay with Shantelle for a while and, who knows, maybe once I get settled in I can hook you up a job out there. Jackie says this guy's renegotiated Nike contract just bought him a huge new estate with an Olympic-sized pool, stables for his horses, three garages for his cars, guest quarters bigger than my apartment. You know a guy like that is going to need some help running that place.” She brushed Taylor's hair back and kissed her on the neck. “What do you think, baby? Sound like something you might want?”

Something I might want
, Taylor repeated to herself.
Yeah, having you leave me is just what I fuckin' want
.

“Sure, baby,” Taylor said. “Sounds real good.” She pulled away from C.N. and walked over to grab a shirt and pull on her Levi's.

“Okay, honey,” C.N. said. “Listen, I've got to run meet Jackie. I'll only be gone a couple of hours and then we can talk more.” She walked over to kiss Taylor goodbye. “Don't worry, baby,” she said, stroking her cheek. “We'll figure it all out.”

Taylor waited to hear the door shut and the lock click, and then lay back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Something I might want
, she thought.
Something I might want. What kind of fucking joke is that?
She thought about Trina's words of warning: “Don't ever lay your burden down, girl. Trust me. It's easier that way. Once you lay it down, it just gets heavier and heavier, till one day you find it's just too damn heavy to pick back up. Better to just never set it down in the first place. Better to just keep going, one step at a time.”

Taylor sighed, stood back up, and began to make the bed, fluffing up the down pillows, shaking out the comforter, smoothing down the six-hundred-thread sheets, folding them back over the blanket and tucking them tight, just how C.N. liked.
Damn, I'm gonna miss this bed
, she thought. She stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water pound down on her body, the double massage showerheads turned on full blast. C.N.'s question continued to work at her.
What do I want?
she asked herself, feeling like the words were in some language she couldn't comprehend, or like it was a trick question on some test she'd been too loaded to study for.
I want to be back in bed and have this day start all over again
.
I want to be lying there holding you in my arms and your head is on my shoulder and it's a Sunday and don't neither of us have to go anywhere, and none of this is happening, or is ever gonna happen
. She let the water pound down on the back of her neck and shoulders, adjusting the temperature when the hot began to run warm, trying to catch a few extra minutes before it all ran cold.
Yeah, fool
, she laughed at herself.
You are fucking dreaming
.

Drying off, Taylor looked at the array of C.N.'s makeup, lotions, and creams sitting on the counter—night creams, face creams, exfoliants, body oils, facial cleanser, makeup remover, body-firming lotion, moisturizing pore-refining facemasks.
How does she even keep track of all this shit?
Taylor wondered. She reached for the bottle of Egyptian musk. Taking her time, she rubbed the lotion slowly into her arms, face, belly, chest, and legs, wondering if she was making a mistake carrying her lover's scent away with her.

Taylor dressed, pulled on her boots, and took one more walk through the apartment. In the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator, considered pocketing a couple of apples or maybe some cheese, but instead just shut the door, taking nothing. She turned toward the den where C.N. kept her library, but stopped, stood in the doorway, leaning back against the jam, eyes closed. She pictured the dark mahogany bookcases, always freshly dusted and oiled, lined floor to ceiling with all the incredible books she'd dared allow herself to desire. She thought about the hours she spent standing in that room, inhaling the scent of books and oiled wood, the cases taller and wider than she could stretch her arms. She thought about the nights she spent curled up reading in C.N.'s bed, waiting for her to come home, surrounded by armloads of books she'd carefully chosen from the shelves, feeling wealthy beyond imagination.
Fuck it
, she thought, turning away.
How can you carry out a whole fucking library? How would I even know which ones to steal
?

Avoiding the den, Taylor walked back into the bathroom and opened the sink cabinet where C.N. kept her stash. Crouching down, she smiled at the sight of the empty bottle of Lysol toilet bowl cleaner. Taylor knew there was easily a thousand dollars hidden inside, probably more. She remembered the time C.N. first showed it to her, grinning, saying she guaranteed no man who ever broke into her apartment was going to think of looking there. “Safer than a goddamn bank, I'll tell you that,” C.N. had laughed.

Taylor shut the cabinet, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door, stopping to leave her key on the table. She wondered if she should leave a note, but what would she say?
“Have fun in Dallas. Catch you later.”
Or,
“Hey, baby. I figured out what I want out of life. I want my own goddamn bed.”
Or,
“I'm sorry if I'm being an asshole. You've been real good to me. I don't know what the hell I'm doing.”
Or maybe just,
“I'm outta here. And don't worry, I didn't touch your fucking Lysol.”

In the end, she just left the key and walked out. As she hefted the duffle bag onto her shoulder and headed for the stairs, she thought,
Trina's full of shit. This don't weigh so much. In fact, it's light as a motherfuckin' feather
.

PART FOUR

Surfacing

birthing

who brought whom into this world? true, it's from my flesh they gather sustenance. true, it's from my hand they find their place in time. the birthing so easy it delights. souls so sweet that even as they cry and rage their bodies swell with hope and lead me to what i have not dared to ask of life. for i, too, am being born. released by babes and ancients from this middle ground to which i've clung with such tenacity. afraid to take my place within this very moment. afraid at times to even risk a breath. yet these stories take my hand as children who lead with faith and joy. i step into these vastly precise moments of mattering, where focus is fine and vision is grand. where time unclenches its whitened fist, unfolding into this soft-palmed moment where the chest expands and the earth sighs back. life inhaled deeply, mixing cellular, and exhaled as stories on a page. giving life to those who next take air. no need to spank the newborn into breath. these moments where the birthing is easy, and both writer and characters emerge
.