Kristin Ashe: Disorderly Attachments Part 7

"In two. Episode defined her life. Gal wouldn't be a bad catch. Just a snag, or two, come to think of it. Height differences might be too extreme. Make an odd-looking pair, me eighteen inches shorter."

"That's a shallow reason for eliminating someone."

Fran retrieved a stuffed animal from her desktop menagerie, a purple penguin, and squeezed it distractedly. "Have to consider the practical aspect, Kris. s.e.x could be a problem. Bodies wouldn't fit together nicely. Too much of a workout, at my age, scooting up and down all the time."

"I'm sure you could get in shape. Weightlifting, cardio training," I said without a hint of sarcasm as I picked at a loose thread in my polo shirt and silently debated whether to make a run to Einstein's or Bruegger's for lunch. Caesar salad with a garlic bagel twist or sesame bagel with salsa cream cheese and tomatoes and cuc.u.mbers. One restaurant shared s.p.a.ce with Starbucks, which meant an iced mocha. The other was around the corner from Jamba Juice, home of the orange cream smoothie.

Fran's reply intruded into my culinary reverie. "Don't know about the blue tint, though."

My head jerked up. "In her hair?"

"Skin. Round the time of Y-Two-K, drank a potion to protect her from disease. Made her own concoction by electrically charging silver wires in a gla.s.s of water. Now she's permanently discolored."

I suppressed a laugh. "Dark blue?"

"Baby blue," Fran said matter-of-factly. "Nice personality, though. Better than the alpaca farmer. Had to hear all about twenty-two colors of fleece. Dullsville! Lives on ten acres near Evergreen, building a herd. Not too compatible with my downtown lifestyle. Good-looking gal, though. Earthy. More chemistry there than with the one who sues people, that's for sure."

"You met a lawyer?" I said, impressed.

Fran discarded the toothpick and sucked her teeth. "Professional plaintiff. First car accident bought her a new house and trip to Italy. Second, lost sensation in her left foot but won a three-year sabbatical from teaching. Imagine that lifestyle, making yourself as disabled as possible."

"You're a tough critic."

"You ain't heard the half of it. Immediately crossed off the woman who wanted to paint turkey bones and sell 'em as Santa sleighs. Prayed for the timer to go off. Scampered out of my seat so fast, I knocked over a cup of coffee and a chair. Soakin' wet and got a shiner on my shin. Started me at a disadvantage with the bombsh.e.l.l who works for Denver Department of Health and Hospitals."

I did neck rolls, clockwise circles.

My inattention caught Fran's attention. "You listening?"

I grimaced when I felt a jolt of pain in my neck. As I kneaded the area, I said impatiently, "You met a bombsh.e.l.l."

"Sure did. Checks out houses and apartments for unsafe or unsanitary conditions. Better not let her near your place, Kris."

"Funny," I said, not amused by the somewhat accurate implication.

"She's got a nose that can smell the difference between rats and mice. Loves her work. More trash, the better. Gets to see progress after she issues a citation."

Fran retrieved a quarter from a ceramic b.u.t.terfly dish and used it to buy a gumball from her desktop machine. She offered me a coin, but I declined. I'd chewed through three gumb.a.l.l.s earlier in the day, and my jaw was sore.

"True advocate for the poor, the disenfranchised, the mentally ill. Heads into the worst nooks and crannies of Denver and never feels fear. Might care about her work a tad too much."

"Did you put her on your list?"

She smiled brightly. "First name. Reminded me of myself a little."

I cast a disapproving glance. "Your favorite out of the five women you met is the one who's the most like you?"

"You got it," Fran said, unabashed, as she cracked her gum. "Last minute, added the tall, blue lady to the docket. But I have to see if that blue skin glows in the dark. Better check it out in a movie theater. Might ruin the mood between the sheets."

"That would be a deal-killer?"

Fran blew a giant bubble and sucked it in successfully, leaving no residue on her lips or cheeks. "Got that right!"

"When will you find out if you have a match?"

"End of business today. The organizer'll send an e-mail. For now, I'm headed back to the homestead. Need to get started on the transcription."

"Good luck."

"Thanks, kiddo." Fran gathered her belongings and was halfway out the door before she added, "Weird feeling, waiting to see if my life's going to change."

"Tell me about it. Call me when you know something."

"Will do. Meanwhile, I plan to have that transcription available for your perusal in the morning."

Perfect.

Knowing Fran Green's two-finger typing, I calculated the transcription would take all afternoon and evening, forcing her to skip a round of following Carolyn O'Keefe.

Which meant she wouldn't see me!

At six o'clock, I was at the Botanic Gardens, trying to see without king seen.

I'd come in disguise, but nothing elaborate enough to hold up under close scrutiny.

Behind a vine-covered trellis, crouched against a marble bench, I watched the main stage of activity at the Urban Teens fund-raiser. Most patrons, dressed in summer casual, had gathered in a large square of gra.s.s sunken below the surrounding stone pathways. In the center of the lawn, servers dispensed beer, wine and soda from a drinks cart.

On the level where I stood, three tents sheltered overflowing banquet tables. One area was dedicated to salads: almond cherry chicken salad, lemon crab salad, smoked duck and mango salad and cuc.u.mber shrimp salad. I didn't hesitate to eat the richest food in the world, in support of some of the poorest citizens of Denver.

After sampling the salads, I made my way to the appetizer station and consumed prosciutto-wrapped asparagus tips, roast beef with caramelized onion glaze, ham with red onion marmalade and goat cheese and chive tea sandwiches. I topped off those by lavishing crackers with artichoke, black olive and sun-dried tomato spreads. I avoided the crab legs and chilled prawns, but not much else escaped my grasp.

At the third table, I set up a long-term stakeout. Devoted to all manner of desserts, I figured, accurately, that it wouldn't attract a crowd until later. Also, Destiny had sworn off sweets, and I wanted to avoid her and the certain confrontation that would have erupted if we b.u.mped into each other.

While all of the desserts on the table tempted, I saved my desire for two chocolate fountains, dark and light streams of joy. From stainless steel apparatuses, warm chocolate cascaded down six levels of heaven. Unable to choose between happiness and too much happiness, I waded in both. I dipped pound cake, sponge cake and yellow cake, particularly enjoying wedges of cheese blintz. I sampled cherries, strawberries and raspberries and added frozen bananas, cubes of vanilla ice cream and chilled meringue b.a.l.l.s. Ignoring glares from the caterers, I threw in cashews and homemade potato chips from an adjoining table.

I spent more than an hour alternating between snacking and watching ladies in stilettos drop into the gra.s.sy area, often missing the arms of their well-intentioned escorts.

Finally, when my stomach felt bloated beyond relief, Carolyn O'Keefe appeared with an entourage.

For some time, I watched her work the crowd with skill and ease. In every cl.u.s.ter of people, she seemed to know someone well enough to hug- That person generally introduced her to others, and she shook each stranger's hand with a double-handed clasp, making direct eye contact before release. She listened intently, eyebrows arched upward with interest, mouth turned downward in rest, until her thin lips broke into one of her frequent, charming smiles. If a monologue dragged, the smile froze and her eyelids opened and closed rapidly. In a few instances, she glanced at her watch, but most of her exits were seamless works of art.

She often gestured with her hands, waving them in counterclockwise motions, fingers stretched out.

And that's what I drew a bead on, her slender fingers.

I started to see them touching Destiny, inside her, driving her to ecstasy.

My thoughts became more wretched.

I no longer could see Carolyn O'Keefe standing in her green blazer and pants and white silk shirt with wide lapels. I envisioned her horizontal, wearing only the thick gold chain around her neck; her head thrown back, mid-o.r.g.a.s.m, long neck fully extended, taut to the point of fracture; her light makeup glistening with perspiration; her strong cheekbones flushed from the rush of blood; her shoulder-length brown, gold and blond hair splayed across a pillow, the side part lost in tumbling; her dark, sunken eyes seized up in climax; her red lipstick tattooed across Destiny's body.

The sight of Destiny Greaves, at the Botanic Gardens, not in bed with Carolyn O'Keefe, highjacked my thoughts back to the present.

Frighteningly, I hadn't seen my lover arrive and could only hope she hadn't spotted me.

It alarmed me that I had no idea where she'd come from or when. She simply appeared one moment at Carolyn O'Keefe's side, and my pulse quickened with their every movement.

Destiny had approached Carolyn, the first person all evening to make "at move. Nothing untoward about Destiny's handshake or Carolyn's usual grasp, but Carolyn broke pattern when she immediately dismissed the three women in her huddle.

She and Destiny were alone.

Facing each other, they appeared relaxed, but I noted Carolyn's animation had ratcheted up a notch. Her gestures stretched to the full reach of her limbs, her smile broadened, and her laughs grew louder.

When Destiny spoke, Carolyn tilted her head to the side and gazed at her thoughtfully. She often nodded vigorously and grabbed Destiny's arm tightly.

Her bare arm.

Despite the cool weather, Destiny had worn her mauve sleeveless shirt, and the blazer that matched her black pants was nowhere in sight. I felt like running and throwing a blanket over her.

When someone interrupted, which happened several times, Carolyn pulled Destiny to her side and claimed her with an arm draped loosely around her shoulder.

Her bare shoulder.

Each time, Destiny detached gently, without drawing attention to the withdrawal, and she focused on the newcomers until Carolyn discreetly dismissed them.

I could see what made Destiny good at what she did. She possessed the same people skills as Carolyn O'Keefe but applied them with less calculation.

Watching her, I couldn't help but think about her activism and the role it played in our relationship. Every day, as Destiny put her life on the line by walking through the front door of the Lesbian Community Center, I remained in the shadows. She claimed the separation was good, healthy even, that my leading a "normal" life outside the strife of conflict and politics helped ground her. But I knew it hurt, the short range of my risk tolerance and limits of my partic.i.p.ation.

Destiny couldn't stop, and I couldn't start.

I couldn't stretch my activism past the ordinary rebellion that most lesbians expressed. Every day, I committed an act of defiance by loving a woman and, frankly, that was all I could muster. Unlike Destiny, I had no desire to defend all gay people. She supported them in their acts or heroism and stupidity, courage and cowardice, revolution and revolting behavior. She had more faith and determination than anyone I'd ever met, and she performed her job without question or fear, as if shielded by a protective dome of strength or denial.

The protests, the parades, the campaigns, the causes-I couldn't push myself to partic.i.p.ate, other than as a sympathetic listener.

But Carolyn O'Keefe could.

Obviously.

I couldn't stand any more.

I knew I'd throw up if I kept watching my lover and my enemy. Twice, food had begun a lurching ascent, and I'd willed it down, but I wasn't sure I could continue to win the intestinal war.

I left my post and traipsed down a winding path until I reached the west end of the gardens. There, I sat on a slab of rock in the j.a.panese gardens and contemplated unBuddhist-like thoughts.

I hadn't gotten far in the possibilities for revenge when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned and gasped.

Chapter 9.

Destiny mistook my shock and guilt for surprise and pleasure and gave me a big hug.

I detached, afraid Carolyn O'Keefe might appear from behind a bush or tree.

She kissed my cheek. "No one can see us. If someone does, who cares? They'll never recognize you in this big floppy hat and sungla.s.ses," she said, playfully removing both. Before I could invent a plausible reason for my appearance, she said excitedly, "How lovely! You came to support me.

I nodded and smiled meekly.

"I tried to get your attention earlier, when you were by the buffet table, but you must not have seen me."

"No," I said truthfully.

"Then I found Dr. O'Keefe, and I couldn't get away. I was afraid you'd left."

"I never saw you," I said untruthfully.

"I wish you had. A little of her goes a long way."

"She's the woman you showed me on TV?"

"Exactly. She wanted to introduce me to her colleagues."

"Who have you met so far?"

"No one with any influence. It's almost as if she wants me all to herself. She's too intimate."

"How so?"

Destiny must have heard the bristle in my voice, because she instantly backtracked. "Maybe I'm imagining it, but she touches my arm too often."

"I'm sure she doesn't mean anything," I said, calculating that a lie would elicit more than an accusation.

"Or maybe she does." Destiny sighed. "She seems to collect people. I only met her a few weeks ago, but she calls all the time, sends e-mails every day and asks personal questions, off topic. Twice, she's referred to me as 'her discovery' Remember when you asked about women being attracted to me?"

"Of course," I said softly, my heart racing.

Destiny took a deep breath, her brow furrowed. "This might be one of those situations."