Ready for Love Page 5

  “Does that mean you’re single or, since you’re working on it, somewhat involved?”

  “I’m single. What about you, Constance?”

  Constance looked away and Renee braced for a rejection, but when she met her gaze again, she smiled. “What a happy coincidence. I’m single too.”

  Renee sipped her wine and eyed Constance. She’d really been into their no-strings relationship—until she realized they were no longer just having sex. They were making love. She was in love with Constance. Acknowledging it had terrified her. And she’d immediately started her usual gentle ballet of withdrawal. Constance must have sensed it because she abruptly disappeared from America and Renee’s life the day following their fourth night of intense love making—without a word, no tears and no goodbyes, leaving Renee feeling empty, longing for something she didn’t want to name.

  Renee was intrigued. Was Constance flirting? Was she visiting? “So what have you been doing, where are you living these days?”

  “I relocated to New York City about six weeks ago. As to what I’m doing, I paint.”

  “Really? Lady Martindale is a house painter?”

  “You’re a sly one, Renee. I have a studio. I paint canvases. And people actually buy them.”

  Renee made a show of looking at the museum walls.

  Constance elbowed her. “I’m not as famous as your dad yet so you won’t find any of mine hanging here, I’m afraid. But if you go downtown a bit you might see some of my work at a Chelsea gallery.”

  Renee frowned. “How could I not know you painted? I didn’t even know you thought about painting.”

  Constance rolled her eyes. “As I recall, Renee, it wasn’t my hobbies that interested you.”

  Renee ran her fingers through her hair. “True. But I’m interested now.”

  Constance removed a postcard from the evening bag hanging on her shoulder and handed it to Renee. “I hope you’ll come to my opening at the Fine Gallery in two weeks.”

  Renee examined the postcard. “Awakening. Nice title. Nice painting. It looks bold and confident. There’s a feeling of openness and freedom.”

  “As smart as ever, I see. You got it immediately.” Constance touched her arm. “Come to the show and we’ll talk after.” She nodded at a young man waiting patiently nearby, held up a finger and mouthed, “One minute.”

  “Going younger and male these days, Lady Constance?”

  “Ha, ha. Not quite that desperate yet. I’m a guest of the embassy and he’s been assigned to escort me to meet the ambassador and other dignitaries. But you’re distracting me. I’d really love to see you again. Will you come to the exhibit?”

  “I’ll be there.” But it had been sixteen years and she wasn’t willing to wait another two weeks to see Constance. “Are you free for dinner tomorrow night? I’d like to see you again, if you’re willing to take a chance on me.”

  “Only if you promise not to break my heart again.”

  “As I said, Lady Constance, I’m working on it but I can’t promise.”

  “I would love to have dinner tomorrow.” Constance touched Renee’s cheek and stared into her eyes. “You may call me Constance.” Her lips brushed Renee’s. “This has my cell phone number on it.” She handed Renee a business card. “Call me tomorrow to make arrangements.”

  Renee studied the card. “You live—”

  Constance shook her head. “On the Upper West Side. That’s the address of my studio.”

  “We’re neighbors. I’m also an Upper West Sider.” She kissed Constance’s cheek. “I can’t wait to talk to you tomorrow.” She bowed slightly. “Lady Constance.” As Renee moved away, she glanced back hoping for another glimpse of Constance. She was surprised to see her still standing there, gazing at her. Their eyes locked. Constance smiled, a slow, sexy smile, and a thrill shot through Renee’s body. She grinned. Her libido wasn’t dead after all. Constance took the arm of her young escort and they turned away. Renee stared long after they were absorbed into the crowd.

  Later, in the car traveling across Central Park to her apartment, Renee mused about the evening. She’d flipped, almost instantaneously, from lonely and hopeless to excited about spending time with Constance. Was the universe toying with her? Or was it a coincidence that Constance had popped back into her life after all these years? Constance was as intriguing as ever, still playful and sexy and mysterious. And Renee was still attracted to her. For the first time in nearly a year her body was voting yes for sex. But while the thought of sex with Constance was tantalizing, she hoped there was the possibility of something more between them, the more that had frightened her all those years ago, the more she’d been wanting. So rather than go for the easy score, she’d work on freeing herself from Darcy while letting things unfold with Constance.

  Chapter Five

  Renee lowered herself into the hot seat, the chair she sat in during therapy. She’d had an erotic dream about Constance and considered talking about meeting her again but with limited time to accomplish her goal of freeing herself from Darcy, she chose to stick with the plan. “Should I continue?”

  Olivia waved a hand. “It’s your session.”

  It was more than twenty years ago but Renee had no trouble remembering.

  “I fell in love with Darcy on the curb outside our dorm the first day of our freshman year at college.

  “We were unpacking the limousine when the sound of Italian being spoken in a very sexy voice by someone in a nearby car brought me up short. The petite blonde standing on the curb caught my eye but the tall, dark-haired girl who backed out of the car and looked into my eyes, took my breath away. She handed a box to the blonde, offered her hand to an older woman getting out of the front seat, then, as if she felt my eyes still on her, looked up and smiled. Later, I imagined I saw cherubs floating above her, pointing their bows at me. A few arrows must have pierced my heart because I was smitten. Instantly.

  “I’d probably still be standing there gaping at her if my mom hadn’t elbowed me and told me to close my mouth and get a move on because she had a plane to catch.

  “I picked up the guitar my mom gave me when she started teaching me to play, grabbed the handle of my rolling suitcase and started walking. I glanced back at the beautiful dark-haired Italian speaking girl who’d captured my heart and felt a stab of disappointment. She was carrying things into the next dorm.

  “At the entrance to my dorm I asked for directions from a woman who seemed to be in charge. She looked me up and down. “This is a girl’s dorm. What dorm are you looking for?”

  “I told you not to wear a tie today.” My mom whispered in French. She was okay with me being a lesbian and she loved my boyish haircut and masculine clothing, but she worried about the reactions of Puritan Americans.

  I was already used to being mistaken for a boy. I smiled. “Sorry for the confusion, Madam, but I assure you I am a girl.” I took my mother’s hand. “And my mother is here to testify to that.”

  The woman blushed. “I am so sorry. Things are hectic today and I made an assumption.”

  I bowed slightly. “Many have made the same error.” I held out the letter with my dorm assignment. “I am Renee Rousseau and I’m assigned to room 212 with Ms. Darcy Silver.” The woman pointed. “Up those stairs.”

  The chauffeur Maman had hired, helped us carry my things up then went downstairs to wait in the limo to drive her to the airport. I selected a bed and we made it together. “I’ll unpack later or I’ll never find anything.” A crash in the hall interrupted Maman’s weepy list of things I needed to do to take care of myself.

  Giggles and the sound of something being dragged followed. When the beautiful dark-haired girl backed into the room pulling a huge carton, I gasped. She turned. Her eyes widened. “Is this two-twelve?”

  I shivered hearing that sexy voice up close. “Oui. I mean, yes.”

  She stuck her hand out. “Je suis, Darcy Silver.”

  I couldn’t speak. The poke from my mom started my motor. �
�I am Renee Rousseau.” I took her hand. “Very pleased to meet you, mademoiselle.” Our eyes locked and for a breathless few seconds neither of us spoke. Maman cleared her throat.

  Darcy broke the connection. “I’ve been practicing my French but your English is very good.”

  I blushed. “Um, you must meet my mother, Natalie.”

  “Bonjour Madam Rousseau.” Darcy turned toward the door. “My parents, William and Francesca Silver. And my sister, Candace, who is in the dorm next to this one.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Silver greeted me and Maman, but Mrs. Silver’s eyes jumped from Maman to me and back. I couldn’t tell whether she was reacting to my black mom or biracial butch me. She said something in Italian to Darcy. Darcy opened her mouth, but before she could speak, I responded in Italian and explained I was a girl and I’d chosen to wear boys clothing because I liked the style. Mrs. Silver looked stunned at my Italian but she nodded and smiled as if she got it. I left my mom and Mrs. Silver chatting in Italian and went with the two girls and their dad to bring in the rest of Darcy’s things.

  “Your mom doesn’t like the idea of you rooming with me?”

  “Wait.” Darcy grabbed my arm and pulled me aside. “She didn’t understand why I was rooming with a boy. After you explained she was fine.” She started moving us toward the stairs, then stopped. “And I like it a lot.”

  The blood rushed to my head and I knew I had a stupid grin on my face but I couldn’t help it. In the back of my mind, I wondered if Mrs. Silver’s second objection would have been to Darcy rooming with a black girl, but it didn’t come up then or any time after, and I forgot about it.

  When we returned, Maman said her goodbyes and I escorted her down to her limo. She pulled me close. “Call me whenever you want to talk, Renee. Take care of yourself.” She grinned. “And, don’t get into too much trouble with Mademoiselle Darcy.”

  “Merde, how did you know?”

  Maman hugged and kissed me again. “A mother knows these things, my dear.”

  I watched until the car disappeared from sight. I was sad to see my mother go, a little scared to be on my own so far from home, excited about getting to know Darcy, and feeling free for the first time in my life. I was sure I was a lesbian, but in reality, at eighteen, I’d never kissed anyone. Thinking I might come out soon made me light-headed. And, very, very anxious.

  By the time Darcy and I were alone in our room, I felt more comfortable in her presence but I couldn’t help peeking at her as we moved around each other, putting things away and talking about classes and ourselves. Every once in a while our eyes met. It seemed Darcy was also peeking at me.

  I floated through the next three weeks. I felt intoxicated most of the time, even though I wasn’t drinking. It was Darcy. Not only was she beautiful and sexy, she was intelligent and funny and warm. We spent all our free time together. We talked and discussed and challenged each other. We laughed and took long walks and long runs. We went to the gym, ate almost all meals together, and studied together.

  One night in our third week we were alone studying in our room. I was on my bed reading. I looked up and Darcy was staring at me with a look that caused a blast of heat to burst through my body. Everything tightened and tickled. I held her eyes while I tried to take in air. She seemed to float as she moved from her desk to sit next to me on the bed. She took my hand and I noticed her eyes were dark and her dark complexion was even darker. She gently touched my face. My body felt like liquid. I leaned in. She leaned in. We stared into each other’s eyes. The rasp of our breathing was the only sound. She kissed my eyes, my nose. Our lips touched. Such softness. I put a hand on her waist, pulled her closer. She put a hand on either side of my face. Her tongue brushed my lips. My lips parted of their own accord. Oh my God, I never knew kissing could be so erotic. After a long while, lack of oxygen forced us to separate.

  Darcy cleared her throat. “Well, I’m glad we got that out of the way.”

  “Are you upset?” I knew I’d die if she didn’t want to do it again.

  “No, I’ve never felt better. What about you?” She ran her finger down my arm.

  I gulped. “I can’t wait to do it again.”

  Darcy grinned and leaned in. We stretched out on the bed kissing and exchanging stories. I was thrilled to find out that she had kissed plenty of women but had never gone all the way. We were both virgins.

  For the next few days it was impossible to be near each other without touching and kissing. We were constantly ducking into empty classrooms, broom closets, and bathrooms. I felt as if I had a fever. My skin was on fire all the time. I couldn’t think about anything but Darcy. We went to class but I barely heard a word, and I got caught out a few times by questions directed at me. I usually answered in French, pretending I hadn’t understood.

  On the fourth night, we decided it was time. We locked the door to our room and undressed. I confessed I wasn’t sure of what to do. Darcy shot me a mysterious and very sexy look and said, “I have a lesbian sex manual.” We kissed, then kissed some more. We were both so turned on, so anxious to touch each other, that we began to explore, found the right spots and figured it out ourselves. Oh, what a night. Hot and sweaty, smelling of sex, giggling and awkward, we bumbled around bumping heads, trying to figure out how to arrange arms and legs. But we were both so turned on it didn’t take too long to figure out how to bring each other to orgasm. We didn’t get out of bed for two days, except to pay for food deliveries and relieve ourselves. We never did look at the manual.

  We were still in heat six months later. I don’t know whether it was because I was giving off a sexual vibe or because my self-confidence had soared, but suddenly no matter where I went, women were coming on to me, asking me out. I wanted them all. I wanted to be free to bed anyone I felt like whenever I felt like. Darcy was hurt. She didn’t understand. She thought I didn’t love her. I did love her, but I felt like I’d hardly lived. I wanted to experience life to the fullest. I insisted we could be lovers and still see other women.

  We tried it for the last few months of our second semester. I was exhilarated. Darcy was depressed. We spent two lovely weeks at her parents’ house on Fire Island, and then I went home to Paris for the summer. We wrote and talked on the phone every day and Darcy came for a two-week visit in August. My parents were away for most of the two weeks so it was just the two of us. We walked. We talked. We made love. I thought Darcy had come around to my way of thinking about an open relationship, that we’d healed the wound. It wasn’t until the day before I arrived back at school for our sophomore year at the end of August that Darcy told me she couldn’t continue as before, that it was too painful for her, and she needed to separate from me. She’d made a unilateral decision that we shouldn’t room together and had arranged for both of us to have singles.

  I was stunned. I was heartbroken. I was angry. I was hurt. I loved Darcy. But I wasn’t ready for monogamy.

  We avoided each other for a few weeks. Then one night we were leaving the library at the same time and we ended up in Darcy’s room. Our lovemaking was tender and passionate. We both cried. The anger seemed to dissipate and we were together for a few weeks until I met someone I wanted to sleep with and Darcy broke away. That was our rhythm for that entire year. We’d each date other women but then we’d end up back together for a month or so, until my eye wandered again. Thinking back, it’s clear to me I was afraid to admit even to myself how deeply in love with Darcy I was.”

  Olivia tapped her fingers on the cup in her hands and seemed lost in thought.

  Renee glanced at her phone. Just a few more minutes. What was going on with Olivia?

  Olivia took a deep breath and focused on Renee. “As I said in our last session, because we have limited time to achieve your goal of freeing yourself from Darcy, I’m going to be more direct than I would ordinarily be with a client.”

  “Okay.”

  “Practically the first thing you said in our first session was that you are mixed race. And earlier in th
is session you brought up the racial issue again in relation to Darcy’s mother. How do you think being mixed race has influenced your life?”

  Renee laughed. “I hardly think about it.” She blinked, pushing away the image of Gina that flashed through her mind.

  “Yet you’ve brought it up in the two sessions we’ve had. I want you to think about how you feel about being biracial before our next session.”

  “Why?” Renee couldn’t keep the annoyance out of her voice.

  “Because it’s apparently important to you, and it likely has framed your self-image and how you place yourself in the world.” Olivia stood. “I’ll see you, Friday.”

  Chapter Six

  Renee hadn’t gotten much reading done last night after the gala because her thoughts kept going back to her twenty-four-year-old self in graduate school at Stanford. And to Constance.

  Constance was an undergraduate so they didn’t have any classes together, but Renee had noticed her walking around campus and thought she was one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. Normally she would have pursued Constance despite the group of male and female students always surrounding her, but she assumed Constance was straight. And, following her own rule to never get involved with straight women unless they initiated and pursued her, she looked but didn’t touch.

  One Saturday right before Renee left for a party, Darcy called, which she rarely did, and they chatted about this and that, but neither mentioned the elephant in the room, their relationship. Bits and pieces of the conversation, places where she could have asked Darcy to try again, played over and over in her mind. Distracted, she wandered aimlessly through the party. In the middle of the crowd of high-spirited graduate students, she felt lonely.

  Not ready to be alone but not wanting to socialize, she found a quiet corner, played her guitar and sang sad songs. As she succumbed to the music, the noise of the party faded and she sank into her pain. The sound of clapping pulled her back from her dark place. She blinked and lifted her gaze to find emerald eyes staring at her with an intensity that warmed her blood and tickled all her sensitive places. She locked onto those eyes, and forgetting her loneliness and her sadness and her pain, sang French love songs to the beautiful blond straight woman whose name she didn’t know. The woman was a rapt audience, and from time to time Renee looked up and their eyes locked for a few seconds. When she’d exhausted her repertoire and her voice, Renee played an intricate guitar solo that built to a dramatic crescendo then ended suddenly. There was a brief pause, then the small audience that had gathered began to clap. But it was the awed look on the blond woman’s face followed by her enthusiastic applause that made Renee smile. She took a bow then knelt to put her guitar in its case. When she turned back to introduce herself, the woman had disappeared. Had she misread the look in her eyes? Had she projected her need for connection onto the beautiful stranger? The possibility of sex with her was tantalizing. Desperate to know whether there was something there, Renee circulated through the rooms seeking the blonde connected to those eyes, asking people if they’d seen her. Finally she found someone who’d seen her leave with her group of friends. Feeling sad and lonely again but determined to track the blonde down in the morning, she said her goodbyes.