The Fifth Stage Part 7

46.

"What's happening on G.o.d's little acre? Have a meeting of the silicone sisters today?" I'm referring to a weekly brunch at the country club where pseudo-genteel ladies discuss their favorite plastic surgeons with the zest of good ol' boys talking about their favorite c.o.o.n dogs. In truth, very few families in Spring City are more than two generations away from sod-busting hillbillies.

"I go for the entertainment value." Elizabeth dances around Jitterbug's sniffs and slurping kisses. She settles on the loveseat and pats the dog on the head. "Old Birdie McElroy got a snoot full of sherry and dropped her pillbox hat in the lobby fountain. Took the maintenance guy twenty minutes to dig it out of the filter."

I laugh as I pull my skirt up to my waist and strip off my pantyhose.

"Still going shopping with me next week?"

"Sure, if we can be back by three. The kids have some kind of practice every day next week." Elizabeth tucks a strand of her shoulder-length hair behind her ear and looks at me. Her charm seems effortless, as if she naturally has the kind of simple beauty and confident air that other busy moms have to work at.

I toss my pantyhose on the floor by the coffee table and plop down on the sofa. "We can make it a short day."

I'm glad she's decided to join me. When I'm by myself, I have too much time to think about the way my life was supposed to be at this point. Fantasies pile up until I almost believe my lover will be there when I get home. I can almost convince myself it's all been a bad dream, that it never happened, but when I slip the key into the lock and open the kitchen door, the house has that smell of emptiness, the stale aroma of lifeless air that clings to my skin until I admit the truthLora is gone.

Elizabeth is reading my thoughts. Her tone of voice says she's here to rescue me from myself. "Any big plans for this weekend? We're having a little get-together on Sat.u.r.day night and we'd love for you to come."

I rub my temples and try to erase the images etched into my brain.

"I'm going out tomorrow, but Sat.u.r.day's good. Tonya's been after me to go bar whoring with her on Sat.u.r.day, and I've been looking for an excuse to get out of it."

"Hold on! You're going out tomorrow night? I don't believe it."

She leans toward me, her eyes expectant, ears keen.

"It's not what you think."

"Is it a woman?"

47.

"Yes," I say in a flat voice. I have no high hopes for the evening, and I surely don't want Elizabeth to get all excited about it. If she catches a whiff of romance in the air, I'll never hear the end of it.

"So my little Claire has a date." She giggles as she leans on the arm of the loveseat. "Tell me all about it."

"There's nothing to tell. The girl that manages Choppy's asked me to look at a filing cabinet she's having trouble with. Sweetened the deal with a free drink."

Elizabeth sits back. "Let me think. Is she the one with brown hair, dimples, nice body?"

I nod.

"She's cute." Elizabeth blows a kiss in my direction. "Please kiss and tell. You don't know how I miss those raunchy girl talks we used to have. Before you came along, I had to get my jollies from those true confession rags at the grocery checkout."

I chuckle. "Don't give up on the rags. I won't be doing any kissing or telling. My racy story-telling days are over. Besides, I don't think I'm Rebecca's type."

"What's her type?"

"The one with a p.e.n.i.s."

"You never know, Claire. Looking at a filing cabinet sounds like a pretty flimsy excuse to have c.o.c.ktails."

"Shut up," I say with a groan. "She's looking to save a buck on a service call."

"But it could be something else." Elizabeth twists her gold necklace around her index finger and starts humming a sappy wedding song.

"Stop it. I don't even think she's gay."

"Oh, pooh. These days, you can't tell by looking."

"How can you tell?"

"I'm not sure, but I don't think it's by looking."

She has a point. In our younger years, my lover and I weren't an easy peg. We enjoyed being feminine even when we threw on our coveralls and put up the drywall in our first house. But when two women reach thirty-five and have lived together almost half their lives, it doesn't matter how much makeup they wear or how often they get their nails done. Chances are there's something else going on.

Some of the single ones are harder to figure, though. There are all kinds of reasons a thirty-something woman might live alone. Maybe she's divorced or separated, or maybe she just likes her independence, but I have no idea if Rebecca Greenway lives alone. I don't even know where she lives.

48.

A thought has been bugging me for the past few hours, an undeveloped idea that seems to be coming together. Since I've been single, I've come in contact with lots of s.e.xy straight women, charming women with beautiful faces and lovely bodies, but I've never had the kind of adolescent crush I seem to have on Rebecca. Do I suspect that she might be gay? Have I picked her up on my gaydar screen but convinced myself that she's off limits as a means of keeping my distance?

I close my eyes and snuggle down into the sofa. "I don't know how to tell about women either. I'm out of practice."

Elizabeth's voice flows over me, a soft, breathy lullaby. "It's time you got back into practice."

I open my eyes a little and see her sitting there, brows knitted together, mouth turned down at the corners. We should drop this conversation, but I go on. "I've always been with someone. I don't know anything about how to approach a woman."

"Does she know what happened?"

"No, and I'm not telling her."

"She should know, Claire, especially if she's interested in more than a filing cabinet."

"If by some crazy chance she is interested in me, I still don't want her to know." I raise my hand, telling Elizabeth to drop it.

"Why not?"

"I'm not the only person in the world who's gone through this kind of thing. It happens every day to all kinds of people. If I told her, it would make me sound like an even bigger loser than I really am."

Elizabeth looks hard at me. "Telling the truth doesn't make you a loser."

Truth? Elizabeth doesn't know the truth from axle grease. I'm the only one who knows everything, right down to the real reason I have this G.o.d-forsaken scar on the back of my hand. Or to be more precise, the real reason I have this G.o.d-forsaken scar on the back of my fist. But I'm not telling. If it eats a hole right though my guts, I won't tell.

Elizabeth seems to be thinking out loud. "I'm not saying there's anything wrong with being single. But there's nothing wrong with being social, either. Humans are social animals."

"I'm social," I protest. "I've got you and Tonya, and I get all the interaction at work I can handle."

"It's not the same."

"I'm not up to starting over. Anyway, who'd want an old workaholic has-been like me?"

49.

"You act like you're a hundred years old. You had one sweet beginning, and you're plenty young enough..."

"That first sweet beginning was followed by one h.e.l.l of a sour ending." I blink back tears. My sobs will come later in the evening, when only Jitterbug can hear.

"So you'll have another sweet beginning. I know how hard it must be on you to come home to this empty house every day. I miss her being here, too, but your life isn't over, Claire." Elizabeth gets up, ambles to the kitchen, and brings back a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

She sits with me on the sofa, and I shoot her a sideways look. "I've never even slept with anyone else. What if we weren't doing it right?"

"If you both liked it, you were doing it right." She unscrews the bottle cap and takes a sip of water.

"And there are so many crazy people out there. What if I end up with some psycho?"

"You've got more excuses than my kids when they get a bad grade." She's quiet for a moment. "So are you going to make a move on her tomorrow night?"

"Good G.o.d, no! I don't even know how to kiss anymore."

"Oh pooh, you never forget how to kiss." Elizabeth leans back and looks at me.

I do an exaggerated lip smack and stick my tongue out at her. "I think I have."

"Okay then. I've got an idea." She puts the cap back on the bottle and sits it on a sandstone coaster on the coffee table. "Kiss me and I'll tell you if you're okay."

I laugh out loud. "You're insane. That would be like kissing my sister."

"Come on, it's just me, for Christ's sake! And it's not like I've never kissed a girl before. In junior high, I gave my cheerleading squad kissing lessons."

I laugh even harder. "How could I measure up to a professional like you?"

Elizabeth grins and wets her lips. "When I first met Jared, he kissed like a baboon, but now he can kiss the silver off a dollar."

"I'm impressed, but I'm allergic to silver. Breaks me out something awful."

She ignores me. "Come on, I wouldn't do this for just anyone. Kiss me. I'll be honest."

"Bad idea," I say again, but she's sliding closer until our faces are nearly touching.

50.

"Purely scientific," Elizabeth whispers, her minty breath flowing over my lips. "Get the nervousness out of your system, and you'll be ready for the real thing with the Choppy's chick tomorrow."

"I told you, I won't be kissing Rebecca." I look at Jitterbug. "What do you think about your Aunt Elizabeth? Has she gone loony or what?"

Jitterbug gives me a quizzical look and licks her chops.

"See? Even Jitterbug agrees." She slides closer. "Pucker up before I have to use force."

"What's Jared going to say about this?"

"He won't care. It'll probably turn him on."

I want to ask what happens if it turns me on, but think better of it. I don't kid myself. Even before my relationship fell apart, I'd entertained a couple of whimsical daydreams about kissing Elizabeth. She's an enchanting woman inside and out, and I could easily be swept away by her sapphire eyes and honest charm, but I always think of something disgusting like maggots before I let my fantasy get too far. I can't have her as a lover, and there's nothing like s.e.xual tension to ruin a friendship, and where would I be without Elizabeth?

I look at her again. "I can't believe you're serious."

"As a heart attack." She motions for me to move closer as a smile skips at the corners of her mouth. "Come here and kiss me, you s.e.xy thing."

"Oh, good Lord!" I slide toward her and plant a smacky dry kiss half on her lips and half on her cheek, the same kind of kiss I lay on her children every time I get close enough. The kids used to love it, but now it embarra.s.ses them beyond belief. I do it a lot.

"That was pitiful." Elizabeth takes my shoulders and turns me to face her. "Close your eyes and pretend I'm some hot babe."

"You are a hot babe." I frown and close my eyes. "This is stupid."

"Think of it as a warm-up exercise. Now give me all you've got."

She leans toward me. Her breath hits my cheek. The powdery scent of her perfume drifts into me. When her lips touch mine, every cell within me swirls and swishes in a clumsy tango of mixed emotions. Out of sheer instinct, I open my mouth and meet her tongue, soft and warm.

Her lips are full and wet, sliding across mine with a relaxed caress. I kiss her from inside myself, a place deep but alive, and I'm lost, drifting through a desire I thought was gone long ago.

I move my hand to the back of her neck, running my fingers into her hair, and pull her to me, gliding my tongue into her mouth. She welcomes me with a light sigh and entices me to stay, tickling my lips with hers.