As the Crow Flies, page 23
“Would you like some hot tea or something else to eat?” Liz asked.
“No, nothing for me. But thank you.”
Liz said good night, made herself a cup of herbal tea, and took it into her bedroom. But even a hot shower and hot tea couldn’t warm her up. It had been a long day after a long drive yesterday, and all the tequila they’d had should have knocked her out, but she was too cold to fall asleep. She lay awake, rubbing her feet on the sheets to warm them until she couldn’t stand it anymore and called out, “Are you all asleep in there?”
“We were,” came Isabel’s answer.
Liz laughed to herself. “Good. I’m glad you’re all warm and toasty, because I’m freezing my ass off in here.”
After a moment of silence came the sound of Isabel giggling.
“I’m glad my hypothermia amuses you,” Liz called back.
Another moment of silence, another giggle, and Isabel said, “You can sleep in here with us…if you’re that cold.”
“Yeah?” Liz didn’t wait for an answer. She jumped out of bed, carefully padding across the dark kitchen and straight into Isabel’s room. The dogs took up the foot of the bed, but Liz didn’t mind curling into a ball, careful not to kick them as she pressed her feet up against what must have been Loosey’s warm back. “Oh, bless you, Goose,” she murmured. With no heat in the cabin, it was definitely a three-dog night, but two dogs, plus the heat emanating from the hot-blooded Brazilian next to her, was even better. Liz faced Isabel, happily melting into the comfort of what felt like a warm cocoon. “Gracias, señorita. I think I can fall asleep now.”
“De nada,” came a tiny voice. “And it’s me who should be thanking you. I don’t know how to ever repay you for today.”
“You don’t have to. Seeing you so happy is payment enough.” Isabel’s face wasn’t far from her own, but Liz couldn’t make out her features in the dark. “I mean, if you really feel the need to repay me, you can always take me to the beach this summer in your Mustang convertible…or buy me a drink…or maybe just give me a lap dance, and we’ll call it even. Whatever you deem appropriate.”
And when an awkward silence filled the room, Liz sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes in the dark. “I’m just kidding. Good night, Isabel. Go to sleep,” she said, and rolled over.
Isabel turned over, too, and as she did her foot touched Liz’s foot, and there came another giggle. “Are you wearing socks?”
“I am.” Liz giggled back. “We gringos aren’t as warm-blooded as you Latinas…but my feet are actually getting hot right now.” Liz used her foot to push off one sock and then the other, and kicked them out from under the covers.
“How haunting. I just love hearing the loons,” Isabel whispered. “I might have to buy a little waterfront cabin up here, something on the New Hampshire-Maine border near the speedway, so I can race cars all day and listen to the loons all night.”
“As long as you invite me to decorate.”
“Of course.”
They were quiet then, the echoes of loons filling the silence. Moonlight playing on the water cast rippling shadows on the walls, and it wasn’t long before their eyes closed and the haunting wails and tremolos lulled them into a deep sleep.
Chapter Twenty-One
Gwen stopped to put on a denim jacket over her sleeveless black dress as they exited the theater. She almost wished she’d worn slacks, and shoes instead of these flimsy silver sandals. It was much cooler than it had been two hours ago when they’d dined outdoors under a white tent on the sprawling lawn. She and Sam had enjoyed the view of the woods and the big post-frame theaters that harmonized well with the rustic ambience of a barn-studio and several old houses dotting the well-landscaped property. Now a National Historic Landmark, Jacob’s Pillow had started as a farm in the seventeen hundreds and later served as a stop on the Underground Railroad for slaves escaping to Canada. In the nineteen thirties a famous choreographer had purchased the property with the dream of establishing an all-male dance company that would change the public’s not-so-masculine view of men in dance.
“Look.” Samantha pointed to a bonfire blazing in celebration of the Fourth of July. Most of the Pillow’s patrons seemed to be heading home, but many were making their way over to the fire.
Gwen watched Sam staring at the blazing flames. Something about the curious glint in her brown eyes, the way she cocked her head in wonder reminded Gwen of how Bertha looked when fixated on an object of interest. She smiled to herself. “Would you like to get something to drink and sit by the fire for a while?”
“Let’s do that,” Samantha said excitedly.
“I could really go for a cup of hot coffee.”
“Coffee sounds great.”
Gwen hooked her arm around Sam’s and led her through the crowd, along a wide gravel pathway. It forked in one direction toward the parking lots and in the other to an outdoor café and bar.
“This is such a great venue,” Samantha commented as they carried their cups back to the fire and grabbed the last of the low chairs placed in a circle laid out around it. “And the performance was outstanding, especially that last dance. Such incredible kinetic power. It was like a fusion of heavy metal and classical music.”
They stared at the bonfire as they talked, leaning against one another’s shoulder in a friendly sort of snuggle, and Gwen was glad for the fire’s heat and the warmth of the coffee cup in her hands. “That’s classical modernism, with its often raw and brilliant elements of jazz and rock.”
Samantha glanced around at people sitting in pairs, their backs to the starry darkness, the fire casting an orange glow on all the faces. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it.” Among the mostly straight couples Gwen picked out several gay pairs. Pride week at the Pillow was in August, the last performance followed by a dance, and Gwen would be sure to get them tickets for that. “To be honest, I kept from telling you this particular performance was set to classical music because I thought you’d pretend to have made prior plans.”
“And miss a date with you? I’d have suffered through almost anything.” Sam smiled over at her. “And don’t make assumptions, because I actually do enjoy classical music.”
“Do you really?”
“Well…in small doses, I’ll confess, but I do have an appreciation.”
Gwen laughed. “Since we’re confessing, I must tell you that I have a thing for the romantic eras and…uh…a love for waltzes.”
“Waltzes!” Sam shot her a look of surprise. “Then you happen to be in luck.”
This time it was Gwen’s turn to be surprised. “You’re kidding me.”
“I kid you not. Years ago my ex signed us up for a ballroom-dancing course through some LGBT group in the city. It’s not something I would have done on my own, but I ended up liking it more than she did.”
“And you learned to waltz. Hmm…” Every time she tried to dismiss her deepening feelings, tried to find reasons not to let herself fall for this incredible but younger woman, something else emerged—another thing in common—to strengthen the force of the pull that was increasingly testing her resistance.
“I’m not ready for Dancing with the Stars,” Sam teased her, “but with a quick refresher course I could certainly manage the box and progressive step…if it’s a slow waltz, you know, at the walking pace. I wasn’t too good at a fast waltz or making turns without bumping into other couples.”
Done with her coffee, Gwen set her cup down and pulled her jacket tighter around herself. “What if you had the dance floor all to yourself, with no couples to bump into?”
“Do you know a place?”
“The perfect place. But we’ll have to go back to the house.”
“Now?”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Samantha finished her coffee, got up, and extended a hand. “I’m ready.”
They strolled back along the softly lit pathway to Gwen’s white Mercedes in the parking lot and took the back roads to Route 8. Fifteen minutes later they were turning into the tree-lined driveway. The headlights lit their way until the porch lights of the grand white house came into view. Rosa was gone for the day, a soft light burning in the bedroom window of her cottage, and with Isabel and the dogs away, Gwen enjoyed a welcome sense of privacy she hadn’t felt in quite a while.
Sam followed her as they walked to the house, but as Gwen climbed the porch steps she felt Sam fall behind and turned to find her searching the darkness. “Looking for ghosts?” she asked.
“Mmm.” Sam nodded. “Do you think she’s around tonight?”
“You won’t see her anywhere but the pond. If she’s not there she’s somewhere out in the ether.” Gwen thought of Rosa’s warning. “But it’s too dark down there, and I think it’s best you stay away from her.”
“Why?” Sam frowned like a teenager arguing a curfew. “This is all so extraordinary, proof of life after death, as you say. It’s changed the way I think about death, the same way it’s changed yours, and—” Sam threw her hands up. “This is what I write about, what you’ve written about. We’ve been given a chance to witness an observable threshold between life and death, a dimension beyond comprehension—we’ve actually interacted with a ghost!”
“You’ve interacted with a ghost. That’s the point, Sam. I’ve been seeing her for the longest time, waiting for me in that one spot, her face without emotion. But until the day I saw her engaging you, I’d never seen her move, never seen her expression change. That’s why it came as such a shock to me.” Gwen put a key in the door lock. “I don’t know what it is about you or what it means, but I think it’s best if you don’t pay her any more attention.” Sam didn’t respond, but Gwen heard her frustrated huff of resignation as she opened the door and let them in.
A black cat greeted them in the foyer, and Sam stopped to pet it while Gwen turned on some lights. “I’ll show you where we’ll dance,” Gwen said, and led them into the dining room to a set of double doors that disappeared into the wall when she slid them apart. She flipped two light switches and the room came to life, the faceted crystals of the chandelier sprinkling the floor with enchanting patterns of light. “Will this give you enough room without bumping into anyone?”
“I’ll say.”
“Isabel calls it my ballroom.”
Samantha’s mouth opened as she took in the empty space. Left to right it measured a good thirty feet, and at least twenty across to a wall of tall, white-paned windows that looked out onto a slate patio surrounded by shrubs and blooming flowers. A few white cast-iron bistro tables and chairs gave the patio the feel of an English garden from an earlier time.
“Yep, I think Isabel’s right. Ballroom would be the proper term,” Sam said. “It appears to meet all the criteria.”
Gwen placed a hand on the small of Sam’s back and pointed to the left. “The bar’s over there. Why don’t you make us drinks while I put on my dancing shoes.”
“Sure.” Sam smiled. “What can I make you?”
“A gin martini, shaken and very dirty. You’ll find olives and a bottle of brine juice in the refrigerator behind the bar. Make it taste like the ocean for me.”
“The ocean?” Sam gave her a sideways glance. “As you wish, Professor. I feel like you keep testing me, giving me assignments.”
“So far you’re earning straight As.”
“Well, in that case, Dr. Laraway,” Sam rubbed her hands together and began unbuttoning her shirt cuffs, “let’s see if I can simulate the ocean for some extra credit.”
“You do that. You’ll find plenty of sodas and mixers for whatever you want. And if you’re hungry,” she said on the way out, “Rosa should have left a small platter of cheese and fruit in there.”
Gwen went upstairs to freshen up and slip into black pointy-toed flats that dressed up her black dress as it were, then gave herself another spritz of perfume on the way out. Sam was busy at work when she returned, with several open bottles and a shaker on the bar. Gwen went to the sound equipment on the other side of the room. “You’re familiar with Sleeping Beauty, of course.”
“Of course,” Sam called back to her. “I have a thing for Disney villainesses.”
“Not princesses?”
“Nah. Princesses are too sweet and simple. I prefer a more edgy, complex woman. Besides, the villainesses are far sexier.”
“I’ll have to keep that in mind.” Gwen laughed. “Do you remember the theme song?”
“To Sleeping Beauty? Hmm…I can’t remember the title offhand, but…” Sam put the top on the martini shaker and paused before she started shaking: “Da-duh-da…da-da da-da…duh…da-da…da-da…”
“That’s it. ‘Once Upon a Dream.’” Gwen sang along with Sam’s humming.
“Yes. ‘Once Upon a Dream’!” Sam called out as she vigorously shook the shaker.
“It’s my favorite from Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty ballet—’The Garland Waltz,’ or ‘Grande valse villageoise.’ When Disney first produced the movie in 1959, lyrics were written for it, and it became ‘Once Upon a Dream.’ And then for the movie Maleficent, the more recent remake of Sleeping Beauty, Lana Del Rey covered the song.”
“So we’re dancing to Disney?”
“Well, I adore this version, and it’s really downtempo, a good starting point until we get used to dancing together.” Gwen put the song on repeat and walked over to take a stool at the bar, the hauntingly sultry voice of Lana Del Rey filling the room.
Sam had rolled up the sleeves of her black shirt, and it was unbuttoned just enough that when she leaned down to put the brine back in the refrigerator, her cleavage and the outline of a black bra gave Gwen an intense rush of quiet desire. “Most people don’t realize the waltz is an incredibly romantic dance,” Gwen said, trying to distract herself from the sweet ache Sam was giving her. “They confuse it with the minuet, which is also in triple time, but a far more prudent and stately frolic without the tight body contact of a waltz.”
Sam filled two martini glasses and placed one in front of Gwen. “I really like this song. It’ll make for a slow-motion waltz, which is just what I need to get back into practice.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get you back into practice.” Gwen regarded her with a suggestive smirk as she lifted the toothpick from her glass and pulled an olive off with her teeth. She chewed it slowly, then raised the glass to her lips. It was wonderful having Sam here all to herself, and for a moment she imagined they lived here together, just the two of them, Sam working by day in one of the guest rooms turned into a study, or in the gallery with its mood-setting lights illuminating the library table where she’d write, in view of the pottery she was coming to love. Perhaps in the early mornings she’d write on the porch, or on the patio overlooking the gardens, her avian muse beside her. And soon enough there would be the welcome disturbance of several more crows if Bertha started a family.
“How is it?” Samantha stood behind the bar, her dark eyes expectant, and Gwen was suddenly struck by her sex appeal. Her hair had grown a little since they’d first met, and the evening breeze had tousled and swept it forward. It was a particularly nice look, Gwen decided, the look one’s hair has after lovemaking, and she had an urge to run her hands through it, mess it up some more.
“Well?” Sam waved a hand in front of her face. “Have I transported you to the ocean?”
“Ah, yes. It’s perfect, Sam. One sip and I was somewhere sailing on a schooner, the salty air in my face.” She touched a fingertip to the foam in her glass. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone shake a martini so vigorously as to produce sea foam.”
“No flotsam and jetsam, I hope.” Sam smiled as she came out from behind the bar with another martini glass in her hand and touched it to Gwen’s.
“Are you having one, too?”
“I am. My sweet tooth prefers sweet drinks, but I decided to try a tastes-like-the-ocean martini just to experience what you like.”
“I like you,” she said and watched Sam take a sip. But when Sam’s mouth puckered, she laughed. “Not good?”
“It’s pretty awful.”
This made her laugh again. “Sam, don’t be silly. Let me make you—”
“No, no.” Sam held up a hand to her. “I’m determined to enjoy this.” She took another sip without puckering this time. “Geez, that’s strong. Another five minutes and I’ll be too drunk to know what it tastes like.” She set her glass on the bar. “Now…about that dance, Professor.”
Gwen parted her lips in a flirtatious smile. Another sip of her drink and she got off the stool and offered her hand. “Madam…?” she asked, and led Sam to the middle of the room.
Beneath the crystal chandelier, Sam took Gwen’s hand in hers and placed the other flat against her shoulder blade while Gwen raised her free hand to cup Sam’s shoulder. Perfectly postured, heads held high, Gwen pressed the right side of her torso against the left side of Sam’s. “Do you want to be my lead or follow?”
“I’ll be your lead, although you might have to lead me leading you for a minute.”
“My pleasure.”
“Let’s try the basic box step.”
“Okay…visualize the box,” Gwen said as they began moving to the music. “On the downbeat your left foot comes forward into the left corner…right foot slides forward into the right corner…and now the left foot comes over to close with your right foot. Step, slide, close…nice. Now the right foot steps back to the right corner, left foot back to the left corner…and close. One-two-three, one-two-three…now let’s rotate the box by making a quarter turn.”
“Counterclockwise.”
“Always counterclockwise.”
The quarter turn was tricky, and they had to begin again a few times, but despite what seemed a waning confidence, Sam quickly remembered the waltz, and within minutes they were moving as smoothly as if they’d danced together a hundred times. For half an hour they danced, alternating between the box and progressive step, until they slowed to a stop.
