Kristin Ashe: Disorderly Attachments Part 2

Fran cautiously peeked under the fabric. "You okay?"

I groaned. "What am I supposed to tell Destiny?"

"Not a thing. That girl's got enough to worry about without telling her a middle-aged crackpot's on her path. Might break her concentration with that big deal she's working on with the schools. Don't go grilling her, either. Two questions into it, and she'll zoom to red alert. Trust me to fix this, and we'll bring your sweetheart into the loop when it's all over."

This was only the beginning of Fran's lecture.

She spent the next hour delivering ice packs from the freezer for my headache and convincing me not to say a word to Destiny.

Everything she said made sense, and before she bolted out the door for a date she'd almost forgotten, she extracted a promise of silence.

Chapter 3.

Too bad I broke my word before the day's end.

In my defense, I had no idea how hard it would be to keep my mouth shut until I saw Destiny, and somehow, she sensed a shift in me before I could say a word.

Maybe I shouldn't have hugged her for so long when she came home at eight with takeout Mexican food, but I couldn't help myself.

"That was nice," she said at the end of our embrace, which progressed into an even longer kiss. "What brought this on outside the bedroom?"

I pushed a clump of shoulder-length blond hair away from her eyes. I m glad to see you."

She backed away and held me at arm's length. "Are you okay? You look terrible. You slept well last night, didn't you? I only heard you get up once."

I'm not tired," I said truthfully. With the adrenaline coursing through me, I could have pulled a month's worth of all-nighters. "I had a long day at work."

"That new case, that woman who called this morning?"

I nodded feebly, thankful I hadn't shared anything more during our phone call earlier in the day. I'd told Destiny I had a new client coming in, but not who or why.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not tonight, thanks."

She slid food from Styrofoam containers onto plates, and we carried it outside, along with two tall gla.s.ses of lemonade, to our four-tiered deck. I lit the lantern on the table, and we sat, side by side, on matching chairs.

"Why don't you tell me about your day," I offered, which made her brighten.

Between bites of burrito and chips and salsa, Destiny filled me in on her current project. Her vision included services for gay, lesbian, bis.e.xual and transgendered adolescents, provided through the Metro Denver Public Schools system. Slowly but surely, she'd initiated contact with the diverse factions that influenced education: the school board, administration, teachers union, parent-teacher a.s.sociations and student councils. I'd never seen such pa.s.sion in her, and it appeared as if she'd set aside everything else in favor of this agenda, one which she claimed could make a lasting difference in the lives of GLBT youth.

"I can't believe I've secured the tentative approval of the superintendent of schools. Her opinion carries weight with all the groups. A parent from the PTA introduced us a few weeks back, and we've had a series of productive meetings. I think I've brought her around, made her see that we need to give these kids a safe environment to express themselves. If we can do that, we can prevent them from dropping out, from running away from home, from committing suicide. I feel like it's going to happen," Destiny said excitedly.

"I'm sure it is," I agreed, my headache beginning to reappear.

"Do you know what a breakthrough this could be, Kris? We'll begin with a pilot program of social clubs for the kids, but can you imagine how far we could take this? We could introduce speakers' bureaus, outreach, crisis intervention, one-on-one mentorships. There's no end to the possibilities. We could set an example for the nation."

She went on to outline successful programs, on smaller scales, that had been introduced in Boston and San Francisco and recited setbacks in Toledo and Dallas, but my mind began to wander.

Back to Lynn, the mysterious woman who had set her sights on my lover.

"Not to change the subject," I said, after Destiny returned from the kitchen with servings of rhubarb cobbler, "but do women still approach you..."

"Approach me for what?" she said lightly, but my plate crashed to the table when she let go.

"You know, put the moves on you?"

"Sometimes," she said cautiously, still standing. "Why?"

"Fran mentioned today that you get a lot of fan mail. Why haven't you said anything to me about it?"

Destiny grabbed the arms of her deck chair and c.o.c.ked it away from me before dropping into it. "I wouldn't call it a lot, and most of it's harmless. You and I don't need to talk about every woman who writes to me because she doesn't know any other lesbians."

"Has anyone done anything inappropriate with you lately, said something, touched you?"

"Not that I'm aware of, but where's this coming from, Kris? Don't you trust me?"

The night deteriorated from there, capping off one of the worst days of my life.

The dirty dishes stayed outside as we moved our heated discussion inside, an argument that stretched without resolution late into the night. The main themes revolved around trust, autonomy and the difference between emotional and s.e.xual monogamy.

I had begun the evening desperately needing rea.s.surance that Destiny would never become involved with another woman, on any level.

I ended it more confused and suspicious than ever.

The next morning, a vein in Fran's forehead bulged. Only a lesbian would bring a date on a date."

"Huh?" I said absently. I'd only been half-listening as I played a game of solitaire and fought off drowsiness.

"I take a woman to Cuisine Couture, top five restaurant in Denver. Not exactly a buddy bistro. Linen tablecloths, hundred smackers for a bottle of wine. Where's she think the relationship is headed?"

"This is Mary Ann?" I said, proud to have remembered the name. I moved two cards and jerked my concentration away from the computer screen.

"One and the same. How's she respond? Invites me to a Rockies game. Tells me friends from Kansas coming in. Peachy, I tell myself. Making progress. Gal's bringing me into her circle of friends."

"The date didn't go well last night?"

"Understatement of the year. I had to pay for my own ticket, and picture me sitting in the back of her SUV, between the two friends."

I grimaced sympathetically. "Who was in front?"

"Floozy named Molly. Two of them birds held hands across the stickshift. Rude. Dangerous, too. What am I, chopped liver? Ground my teeth to a nub making conversation about the drought with those Kansas farmhands."

"No need to get nasty," I said mildly.

"No offense intended. Ursula and Rita own a farm near Topeka. Nice enough couple. Felt bad not saying good-bye."

"You left that abruptly?"

"Quick as I could. Soon as we got to the stadium, left my seat to get a brat with kraut. Mary Ann followed and asked what I thought of Molly, her date. I said, 'You serious?' She nodded, and I gave her a good look at my backside and left. Caught a cab home."

"Don't be discouraged," I said, responding to Fran's forlorn expression.

Ever since her 33-year relationship with Ruth had ended the previous winter, Fran had been on a slew of first dates, but not many seconds.

"I've got a friend e-mailing everyone in her address book, trying to land me a date. Wants me to write a physical description of myself. Pluses and minuses. Can you believe that?"

"What's wrong with describing yourself?"

"I ain't no steer at auction."

"You know people care about physical features."

"You try it."

My voice rose an octave. "Me?"

"Never mind. I'll do it for you, see how you like it. Pluses: nice teeth, even and white. Cute nose and ears. Sparkling eyes. Well-sculpted calves. Trim legs and narrow hips. Good-sized chest. Physically fit. Average height and weight. Look a little younger than your age, thirty-seven, but not much."

"Okay, okay," I said, uncomfortable.

"Not done. Minuses: Short fingernails. Posture not as erect as it could be (blame it on the b.o.o.bs). Too many freckles. Dry skin, need to use more moisturizer."

"I notice you didn't mention my hair."

"a.s.set and liability."

"Thanks," I said, acknowledging Fran's rare display of diplomacy.

It was bad enough that I'd been born bald and remained hairless for years, my wispy locks combed up in early J.C. Penney portraits, but my adult surplus had developed into an even greater disadvantage. In nine months, I'd gone through five hairdressers as I searched for one to style, rather than hack, my thick, brown hair. My second crown in the back, or cowlick, or whatever, apparently didn't help. Leave those hairs too long, and they formed an ugly helmet. Cut them short, and they stuck straight out the back of my head, like a makeshift shelf. Hairdresser number one? I'd tolerated mediocrity for years but had to fire her when she labeled the unruly section "dog hair." Number two I loved, but she retired before our second appointment. Number three moved to Crested b.u.t.te, a half-day's commute away. Number four worked at a salon in lower downtown, with snooty clientele and no parking. Number five's cut was too ordinary to justify the sixty-dollar price tag. Number six I hadn't met but needed to urgently. "Do you want me to list your features?" I offered.

"No need. Going to check out speed-dating, let the girls see for themselves. Can't beat it. Meet five women, spend ten minutes talking to each, move to the next seat. At least all the partic.i.p.ants know this ain't no chum club."

"How odd."

"Latest rage, Kris. Have to go with the times."

"Who arranges these?"

"Sponsored by the Grays."

"The social group for lesbians over fifty?"

"That's it! Didn't know you were up on the community."

"Destiny mentioned them the other day. They called to rent office s.p.a.ce from the Lesbian Community Center."

"She have room?"

"She will. The incest survivors group is moving out."

"Can't go wrong renting to the Grays."

"In this speed-dating setup, what do you do after you've met all the women?"

"End of the night, everyone fills out a slip listing the names of the ladies who caught her eye. Any crossover, organizer e-mails both parties, puts 'em in touch."

"What if no one chooses you?"

Fran guffawed. "Doubt that'll be a problem, but them's the breaks. Go back another week, fresh crop of gals. Graze the Grays, catch my drift."

I smiled. "You believe you can orchestrate love like this?"

"Random approach ain't working. Have to dedicate myself to the hunt, focus my efforts."

"Okay."

"You ain't convinced?"

"Not really."

"That's because you have someone in your nest. Bully for you, but I'm babeless. To correct that situation, I'll need luck and timing. What if a dame's attracted to me, but no sparks here? Or what if I go loopy, but nothing there? How about if we both feel comfortable, but no fireworks? Flames, but no contentment? More complicated than it seems. Only way to beat the odds. Volume."

I sighed. "How about a cat?"

"No can do. Not until they breed one that meets my requirements."

"Which are?"

"No shedding, no shredding."

I laughed, a hollow sound. The more I tried to concentrate on Fran's woes, the more my own interrupted.

Fran looked at me carefully. "Everything go okay with Destiny last night? Didn't say anything, did you?"

"No." I changed the subject before she could sniff out deceit. "Are you ready for Roberta Franklin?" I asked, referring to a new client who was scheduled to walk through the door in two minutes.

"You betcha. But I need to run something by you."

"About Destiny?" I said, instantly alarmed.