Old Ties, page 5
Cleo removed the pillow and looked at the cat, scratching her ears. “You’ve been a better, more steadfast companion than Romaine ever was. Dammit, this time I’m gonna try. I wish I could just call Frankie and tell her that I need her here, that I need her patience. I need her to teach me to love again. Frankie, break the spell.” Cleo eyed the phone and then shut off the light. I am a coward. Providence, save me from myself.
She spent days having conversations with herself and Marlowe, trying to figure out how she felt about Romaine and how she felt about Frankie. Most of the time she came up with a knot in her stomach and a queer look on her face.
One afternoon Romaine caught her in the middle of one of her one-sided conversations.
“What’s wrong?” Romaine said, climbing up to the porch.
“Nothing,” Cleo said.
“You’re lying. You’re not a good liar.”
“I should be after all those years of living with you.”
“It’s a trait you’re born with. You can’t learn it. Besides, it’s not a good thing.”
“Now, there’s a change of heart,” Cleo said, studying Romaine’s eyes.
“Have you been avoiding me?”
“Why would I be avoiding you?”
“Are you angry with me about the other day…in the kitchen with Frankie?”
“Just because you might have ruined my one chance at happiness?”
Romaine looked away and swallowed hard. “Did I always make you sad?”
Cleo felt an instant pang. “No, sometimes you made me very happy. I’m not avoiding you. I need some space. I need to think about some things.”
“Like what?”
“Where my life is going.”
“You’re not going through the change, are you?”
“No. Now get out of here. I’ve a million chores to attend to.”
“So you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
They looked at each other for a moment. Then Romaine turned. “I love you,” she said.
“I know you do. You just have a funny way of showing it.”
Chapter Nine
“So now that you’ve got a set of wheels you’re not leaving any time soon, are you?” Cleo asked Frankie.
“Why? Would you miss me?” Frankie asked, dodging Cleo’s rather intrusive left jab. Frankie was teaching Cleo to box, and Cleo was teaching Frankie to waltz.
“I might,” Cleo said, stopping the shadowboxing and grabbing Frankie to draw her close.
“Holding,” Frankie said, trying to worm free.
“No, I would miss you. I would really miss you,” Cleo said, looking deep into her eyes.
Cleo had thought about it a lot lately but didn’t have a point of reference for how she was feeling. She knew she was fond of Frankie, but there was something else too, something she hadn’t felt before except with Romaine— sexual energy, a sense of accumulating desire. She wanted Frankie in ways she hadn’t wanted anyone else. The idea scared her, but at the same time she couldn’t stop flirting with it. The thought of Frankie leaving made Cleo hurt. She needed to do something soon, but she wasn’t sure what.
“I’m not leaving,” Frankie said, brushing Cleo’s hair back from her face.
“Will you go to the picnic with me?”
“The annual Pride picnic?”
“Yes.”
“Are you asking me out?”
“I guess I am. Will you be my date?”
“Because you want me or because I’m convenient?”
“Oh what a wicked woman! That deserves a noogie,” Cleo said.
Frankie broke free. “No, no noogies. I hate noogies! We’re too old for that.” She ran into the living room. Cleo tackled her on the couch.
“Noogies have no age limit,” Cleo said, rubbing her knuckles into Frankie’s head.
“No, no, stop!”
“You make the best playmate,” Cleo said, thinking that Romaine never played with her. Everything had to be such a grown-up game. “Apologize then.”
“For what?”
“For saying that you were convenient. I like you. I like being with you. I invited you because I wanted to spend the day with you.”
Frankie looked up at her. “I’m sorry. I’d love to go. Now let me up, you’re squashing me.”
Cleo quickly kissed her cheek and let her go.
* * *
As Frankie lay in bed later that night, she thought about that kiss. She wondered if maybe Cleo felt something for her as well. Maybe she wasn’t the only one falling in love. This scared her more than her own knowledge that she was in love. Hers she could hide; Cleo’s she could not. When Romaine found out, that would be the end. She would snatch Cleo back so fast…Frankie swallowed hard, knowing it was going to hurt, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it.
“So you’re going to the picnic with Cleo?” Alice asked her the next day as they set up for lunch.
“Who told you that?” Frankie asked, instantly panicked that Cleo would think she was blabbing things all over town.
“Cleo did, and she seemed quite pleased with herself.”
“She did?”
“Yes, and you’re lucky. Cleo never goes to the picnic when she’s not with Romaine. I’d say she thinks you’re mighty special. You two sure have gotten on well. Is there something I should know?” Alice chided, raising an eyebrow.
Frankie turned to look at her. “Alice, I’m in love with her, and I’ve never even kissed her.”
“Oh honey, now I warned you about that. Cleo’s no good there. When Romaine is done…”
“I know. But can’t there be one time when it doesn’t happen, one time when it’ll be different?”
Alice looked at her for a moment. Frankie was everything Romaine wasn’t. She was sincere, honest, easygoing, and talented. Frankie was a musician and wrote beautiful songs. You’d never hear them on the radio, but you’d hear them in your head for hours after she played. And these past few months she’d never seen Cleo so happy. Maybe that was why Romaine was worried.
Alice knew Romaine was worried because she religiously quizzed Alice on Cleo’s doings. Romaine thought she was being sly, but Alice knew better.
“What am I going to do, Alice?”
“Leave town,” Alice blurted. She regretted it a second later.
Frankie slumped down on a stool and buried her head in her arms, groaning.
“No, no, honey, I didn’t mean it. Ah shucks, I was just kidding.”
Frankie looked up. “No, you weren’t.”
Alice sighed and put her hands on her hips, her thinking stance. She waited, then asked, “What do you think Cleo feels?”
“I don’t know. I get mixed signals.”
“Have you asked?”
“Asked her what?”
“If she has feelings for you.”
“I can’t do that.”
Alice sighed again. “I know you can’t. I don’t know what to tell you. Pray. Pray Romaine goes away. Pray Cleo stops loving her. Pray you stop feeling this way.”
That night Frankie prayed. She didn’t know which of the evils to pray for, so she prayed for the love to figure it out and let her know.
Chapter Ten
Frankie sat on the bed, watching Cleo finish dressing.
“Will Romaine be there?”
“Yes, darling. Does that make you nervous?” Cleo asked, sitting down to put her shoes on.
“A little. Romaine is rather formidable.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let her do anything formidable to you. What did she say to you that day you cut your hand?”
“I’ll never tell.”
“We’ll see about that,” Cleo said, straddling her and pinning her to the bed. “Torture.”
“You can’t do that. We’re grown-ups,” Frankie replied, thinking of the countless times her brother had done the same thing to her.
“So? Torture is a grown-up construct. Are you going to talk?”
“My lips are sealed. It wasn’t a big deal. Really.”
“It must have been something or you wouldn’t think her formidable.”
Cleo started in, and Frankie squirmed beneath her.
“Cleo, come on.”
“Tell me then.”
Cleo was strong. Frankie wrestled to no avail.
“All right, all right. She said that I was no competition for her, so I’d better watch it.”
Cleo rolled off her, propping herself up on one elbow. “She’s got a lot of nerve. You have her worried,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because she knows I like you.”
“So am I a pawn that you two use to hurt each other?”
Cleo looked at her with hurt in her eyes. Frankie instantly wished she hadn’t said it.
“No, darling, given the chance you might find I’m falling in love with you,” Cleo said, swallowing hard. She had deemed today the day for letting Frankie know that she wanted her for more than a friend. She had lain in bed last night thinking about how she smelled, how she smiled, how it felt to touch her. She found herself craving that touch.
Frankie sat up and looked at the floor. “Whose chance? Yours or Romaine’s?”
“I believe it’s up to providence. We’ll have to wait and see,” Cleo replied, concerned. This scene wasn’t in her daydream script.
“See if Romaine comes back?”
“No, see if I take her back.”
“That’s a given, isn’t it?”
“No, not this time. Stop looking so gloomy,” Cleo said, getting up and grabbing Frankie’s hand, lifting her from the bed. Cleo pulled her close.
Frankie melted into her arms.
“There now, do you feel better?” Cleo asked, running her hand across Frankie’s cheek. She lightly kissed her, letting her lips linger. Cleo grabbed Frankie’s hand to drag her in the direction of the park.
“Come on. We’ll be late for the potato-sack race.”
* * *
Cleo and Frankie won the race and were recouping on the blanket beneath a tree. Frankie was telling her stories and sucking on a long strand of green wheat. Cleo lay on her side, admiring her profile. Frankie finished and began to tickle Cleo’s face with the blossoming end of the grass. She traced her lips, then her neck, and was about to take it a step further when Cleo reached out to kiss her. Someone picked that moment to kick her sandal. Romaine, with Cynthia. Frankie blushed. Cleo sat up and, for the first time since Frankie had known her, looked perturbed.
“What?”
Romaine was taken aback. She quickly recovered.
“We want you guys to come sit with Alice and the rest of the group. The drag queens will be on shortly. I know you like them, and I didn’t want you to miss the show.”
“Where are you sitting?” Cleo asked.
“On the left side of the grandstand. Are you coming?”
“In a minute,” Cleo said. “We’ll meet you there.”
“All right,” Romaine said, taking Cynthia’s hand and carting her off.
“I think you upset her,” Frankie queried.
“Paybacks are hell,” Cleo said, picking up the blanket and shaking it. “Besides she was rude.”
Cleo wrapped the blanket around Frankie’s shoulders and picked up the picnic basket. Frankie began to walk off.
“Wait, we were about to do something before we were interrupted,” Cleo said, pulling on the blanket, drawing Frankie near. Frankie went weak. Cleo kissed her softly, deeply, ardently. This was no friendly kiss. This was a lover’s kiss.
“It won’t be today or tomorrow, but it’ll be soon. I know I ask a lot from you, but if you’re willing to wait, I’d like to give us a try,” Cleo said, swallowing hard.
“I’ll wait. I’d wait for you forever,” Frankie blurted.
They stood holding each other. Cleo took her hand and led her to the grandstand. Frankie was in heaven. She was in love, and it was all right.
* * *
Romaine turned around, saw them kiss, saw them stand in rapture. She pushed sunglasses up to cover her tears. Cynthia took her hand, but Romaine pulled back. She looked away and never saw the hurt in Cynthia’s eyes, never heard the whispered apology.
Chapter Eleven
Frankie went around to pick up Cleo. A strange car was in the driveway. Cleo heard Frankie’s bike and came outside, folding her arms across her chest.
“What’s wrong?” Frankie asked.
“It’s Romaine,” Cleo answered.
“Is she here?” Frankie asked, knowing that Romaine drove an expensive sports car of some sort, curious if this was the one.
“No, Cynthia is.”
“I don’t understand,” Frankie said, putting her hands in her back pockets, beginning to wonder why they weren’t having this conversation inside.
“Tonight Romaine told Cynthia that she needed some space, some time alone.”
“In other words, piss off,” Frankie said.
Cleo nodded. “Needless to say, she’s not taking it well.”
“But what is she doing here?”
“She needed to talk to someone,” Cleo said matter-of-factly.
“What does that have to do with you?”
“I’m the only one who can begin to fathom Romaine’s unusually cruel behavior.”
“She stole your wife. Why would you want to have anything to do with her?”
“Someone has to help. I’ve been there. I know what it feels like. They always run to me,” Cleo said, looking past her.
Frankie felt her jaw tighten. She hated how Romaine ruled over everything like some viper queen. She’s an addiction these women can’t get past, including Cleo. Why doesn’t one of them tell her to fuck off and take a good long walk, preferably in front of a fast-moving train? Frankie thought glumly. Romaine always wins.
“Do you clean up all her messes?”
“Someone has to,” Cleo replied.
“No one helped you.”
“Yes, someone did.”
“Who?”
“You.”
Frankie looked away.
“Don’t be angry. I can’t leave Cynthia alone. It’s bad. She loves Romaine, and she doesn’t understand why this is happening.”
“I’m not angry. I’m disappointed,” Frankie said.
Cleo took her hand. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
Frankie looked at her and kissed her savagely, a kiss of possession. She got on her bike without saying a word.
Cleo watched her ride off. She went back inside and poured Cynthia a brandy, handing her the box of tissues.
Fucking Romaine. How can she be so cruel? Cleo thought, as she sipped her brandy and waited for Cynthia to compose herself. She makes all of us fall in love with her and then she turns our love, faith, and devotion back on us to taunt and torment. Our emotional landscapes become naked, raw hurt. We turn to one another to dress wounds that only a beloved can truly heal. Love, the best and most devious of human games.
“Is it me? Is it something I’ve done?” Cynthia looked up.
“No, it’s her.”
“What does she want?”
“I wish I knew. I wish someone knew.”
“What am I going to do?”
“Stay away for as long as you can.”
“What will that do? She’s all I ever think about. I love her. Can’t she see that?”
“Romaine only sees what she wants to. She’s frightened that you have feelings for her, so she runs. She does it every time.”
“What am I supposed to do? Pretend I don’t?”
“If you want her to stay interested.”
“I can’t fucking believe this,” Cynthia said, tears building.
Cleo held her hand, cursing the day Romaine was born.
* * *
The next day Cleo brought Frankie a present. Frankie was at the counter of the café when Cleo walked in holding a white daylily and a small package.
“This is for yesterday, for spoiling our night,” Cleo said, holding out the peace offering. “I’m sorry.”
Frankie blushed. “You don’t have to be sorry. I didn’t mean to be angry with you.”
Cleo shrugged. “Open it.”
Inside the small box was a leather pouch and seven polished stones, each one different.
“Whenever you have a moment in your life, one you’ll never forget, good or bad, put one of the stones in the pouch. When you’ve put them all in the pouch, you’ll have learned everything you need to know to live a life of harmony.”
“Thank you,” Frankie said, studying the stones. The purple amethyst would be the first stone to go in the pouch. It would be the moment she told Cleo she loved her.
“Is she all right?” Frankie asked, feeling a rush of guilt for being angry with Cynthia in her moment of need.
“She’ll live, like we all do. Will you come for dinner tonight?”
“Is this another date?” Frankie asked, smiling.
“Yes, this is a date,” Cleo said, taking her hand.
“You’re getting better at this, you know.”
“I know, thanks to you,” Cleo said, smiling.
Chapter Twelve
Romaine stood outside the screen door, peering in.
“Cleo are you there?” she called out.
Cleo, fresh from the shower, came to the door in her white bathrobe, her hair dripping.
“I’m sorry to barge in, but I need to talk to you,” Romaine said, looking suddenly disconcerted, her habitually cool exterior unusually disheveled.
Cleo opened the door.
“What’s wrong?”
“Did Cynthia come here last night?”
“Yes. You got what you wanted, obviously.”
“What?”
“Breaking it off. She’s distraught, and you’re free. Do you want a beer?” Cleo said, pulling two cold ones from the fridge.
