A place for us, p.4
A Place for Us, page 4
Lauren shrugged. “Right.” She trudged back to her desk and limply sorted through her backlog of work. She willed herself to stop thinking about Jo. But then she thought about her all the time.
On the weekend, Lauren returned to the pub where she’d met Jo.
Chris, the bartender, greeted her. “Hiya, Lauren, where’ve you been? We missed you the last couple of weeks.”
“New York, Boston, Martha’s Vineyard.”
“World traveler, you. How was it?” Chris finished wiping down the counter and leaned forward on her elbows.
“I had the best time with a woman I met here. An American.”
“Yeah, I remember her. Tall, slender, nice-looking. How could I forget? Lucky you.” She winked.
Lauren smiled. “Indeed.” She swirled the wine in her glass. She had to speak up over the Rolling Stones’ “Miss You” thrumming in the background. “We didn’t have enough time together, though. She’s gone back to the States.”
Chris threw her towel over her shoulder. “So, you going to stay in touch?”
“Yes, I hope so. We said we’d write and call. I’d really like to see her again. Soon.”
“I can understand that, luv. But does she have a gal at home?”
“Not anymore. They broke up a couple of weeks ago.”
“Ah.” Chris signaled to a woman waiting at the far end of the bar. “Be right there, luv,” she mouthed before turning back to Lauren. “It’s not a good idea to catch someone on the rebound. Be careful.” She sauntered off to tend to her customer.
Lauren had also heard that love affairs forged on the rebound rarely lasted. She should forget Jo and try to meet someone new. Someone local and available. She scanned the women in the pub but saw no one who interested her. Not even for a dance.
Two hours later, still on her own, Lauren headed back to her flat. She didn’t want to meet anyone new. She wanted Jo.
When she arrived home, Lauren flopped on the couch and calculated the time difference before calling Jo. No answer. Perhaps she was still in California. Did she have to work on the weekend too? Did she have a date? Lauren hung up and told herself to chill.
She tried calling Jo again on Sunday evening. This time, Jo picked up. She sounded delighted to hear from Lauren, and Jo’s low, sultry voice made her stomach quiver. After the initial conversation, Jo recounted how she had asked Rita Mae Brown out to dinner.
“I’m relieved she turned you down.” No way would Lauren want to compete with Rita Mae.
“I expected she would, but she didn’t even look at me.” Jo laughed.
“Of course, that would have made all the difference,” Lauren teased. “You’re so vain.”
“I am not.”
No, she really isn’t, although she has every right to be. The banter continued, until Lauren said, “I have something to ask you. You can say no and I will accept it, but I have to ask.”
“Ask away.”
“Can I come visit you in Washington?” Lauren sucked in her breath. Jo’s silence unnerved her, and her heart pounded. Static on the line interrupted the silence. Lauren still held her breath, dreading Jo’s refusal.
Finally, Jo said, “I think we can arrange that. When are you thinking?”
Lauren let out a long breath. “Soon? If my boss okays it. I’ve just taken leave, so it may be tricky.”
“I’ll return to California in a few weeks, so the sooner the better.” After a pause, she added, “It would be wonderful to see you again.”
A rush of warmth filled Lauren’s chest. “I’ll talk to my boss tomorrow.”
The following morning, Lauren approached her sour-faced superior in her office at the North London Council. In response to her knock, Lauren received a brusque, “Come in.”
Her boss did not look up from her paperwork.
Lauren cleared her throat. “Um, I know I just took some leave, but I would like another ten days off. Starting on Monday.”
The older woman looked up and gave her a withering look, making Lauren flush. Then, waving her hand dismissively, she said, “That’s ridiculous; you were just on holiday. You have several grant applications you’ve yet to deal with besides the backlog from your previous absence. So, no leave.” With the matter settled, her boss returned to her paperwork.
Lauren’s shoulders slumped as she slunk back to her desk. She sat drumming her fingers and swiveled from side to side in her office chair. For years, she had taken on extra work, completing her projects competently and on time. She’d worked through last summer instead of traveling and used no sick days. She deserved a little slack.
What if she called in sick? Would her boss fire her when she did not receive the required medical certification in three days? It wasn’t like her to be so irresponsible. Her boss considered her a reliable and valuable employee. But despite warnings from her friends, she was eager to discover what could emerge from this affair with Jo. If she waited too long, Jo might find someone else.
That evening, after confirming with Jo, she called British Airways and booked a flight to Dulles Airport for the following Sunday. She’d be in DC when she’d call in sick to work on Monday. Her job might be gone when she got back. I hope the risk is worth it.
chapter nine
Washington DC
WHEN JO GOT THE CALL FROM LAUREN TO SAY SHE WAS arriving in DC on Sunday, she agreed without thinking it through. Several depositions and background research on the health effects of ethylene dibromide awaited her attention. Discovery boxes were still arriving with medical records, and she had yet to line up her medical experts. And she’d just resolved not to date women who held little prospect of a long-term relationship. Yet she’d agreed to a visit from just such a woman.
Am I an incurable hedonist? Probably. Perhaps she should relax and enjoy the time they had, with no expectations. She’d better hunker down even harder at work for the next two days. The late nights she’d been putting in at the office to avoid thinking about Sharon would not be possible, or desirable, while Lauren was visiting.
When Lauren strode through Passport Control and Arrivals at Dulles Airport on Sunday evening, Jo rushed forward to embrace her. She did not give the straight-woman, quick squeeze and pat on the back but held on tight, forgetting she was not out to clients who might see her.
Lauren bubbled over with chatter as they waited for her bags. When they got to the car, Jo pulled her in for a proper snog, as Lauren called it, until the windows fogged.
As they drove through Jo’s Logan Circle neighborhood, Lauren eyed the run-down Victorian homes, the graffiti on the equestrian statue, and the groups of young men on the street corners. Once they got to her gated community, Jo reached for the remote control to open the tall iron-barred gate.
Lauren’s eyes widened with astonishment. “Wow, this is bizarre.”
“The neighborhood is not that safe. Sadly, there is still much poverty and drug dealing, though it’s getting better. While I’m at work, you shouldn’t go out on foot. Take a taxi.”
Lauren shook her head. “I walk around London all the time and feel perfectly safe.”
“It’s different here. You’ll see.” The gates opened slowly, and they drove in.
Knowing Lauren would be tired from her trip and in need of a quick bite before bed, Jo had picked up a vegetarian pizza on her way to the airport. As they sat at the dining table munching their warmed pizza and sipping beers, Jo outlined possibilities for what Lauren might enjoy doing.
“Are you interested in the play, Evita? It’s at the National Theatre, and I can try to get tickets. While I’m at the office, you should definitely visit the Smithsonian museums.”
“I don’t care what we do, as long as I’m with you.”
Lauren’s smile made Jo shiver. She rose to clear their plates, biting her lip. For Lauren, I’m the primary attraction. She’d have to be careful not to raise their expectations—just enjoy a good time like she’d planned.
That night, they started with gentle kisses that soon caught fire. Despite Lauren’s long journey, she enthusiastically pursued making love, and Jo needed no persuasion.
The following morning, Jo stumbled out of bed but let Lauren sleep. As she drove to the office, she made plans. Tickets for Evita. Some dinners out. A party of lesbian professionals. The Smithsonian, the Mall, and the monuments.
Late morning, Jo called home. Lauren had already rummaged in her kitchen, taking inventory of the food. “You must not eat at home. Your refrigerator is mostly empty.”
That’s the problem. I need a home life with a partner to want to come home to eat. “Yeah, mostly I eat out,” she admitted.
“How about I make you dinner tonight?”
Was Lauren reading her mind? “That would be lovely. I should be home by six thirty. Don’t forget to take a taxi to the grocery store.” The anticipation of a home-cooked meal with an erotic dessert put a spring in Jo’s step as she sailed down the hall to her next meeting.
Jo arrived home on time. The aroma of onions, mushrooms, and herbs greeted her at the door. She found Lauren in the kitchen wearing her apron, a gift Jo had never worn. She encircled her arms around Lauren from the back and nuzzled her neck, planting kisses up to her ear.
Lauren shivered. “Keep that up, and there’ll be no dinner.”
“Okay, I’ll do a quick change and be right back to be your sous chef.”
In the bedroom, Jo donned soft, worn blue jeans, a flannel shirt, and fuzzy socks. She kept on her earrings and light makeup. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. Lauren in her kitchen cooking dinner for her was better than any outing. I could get used to this.
Jo returned to find Lauren had everything under control. “The beef bourguignon has been cooking for four hours. Only one more hour to go. I just finished the panna cotta and put it in the freezer so it’ll set up more quickly. Let’s enjoy a glass of wine and I’ll tell you about my shopping trip.”
They sat together on the couch. Jo slung an arm around Lauren and turned her body toward her to listen, the pot simmering softly in the background.
“I left the compound on foot, not in a taxi, as you suggested,” Lauren began.
Jo’s eyes widened. “Not a good idea.”
“Yes, I know. So, I picked up the beef, vegetables, and herbs, but the liquor store was weird.” Lauren took a sip of her wine.
“How so?”
“Everything was locked up behind plastic. I pointed to the burgundy wine I needed, and the proprietor whispered to me to wait until everyone else had left the store. Then he hurriedly took it down and wrapped it for me, saying that if his customers knew I was buying an expensive wine, somebody might mug me.”
Jo tensed. “Sounds about right.” She regretted not emphasizing enough her warning to Lauren not to go out on foot.
“When I left the store, three guys started following me, but it didn’t worry me. Not until I sped up, and they sped up. And when I crossed the street, they crossed the street. They were talking and laughing all the while.”
“Oh, no.” Jo tightened her arm around her.
“Mind you, I was carrying grocery bags in both arms, a purse over my shoulder, and an umbrella.”
Lauren’s vulnerability alarmed Jo. “Holy shit! What did you do?”
“I came to a bus stop. Then I laid my bags on the bench, held out my umbrella, and said, ‘The first one of you who touches me gets this in the balls.’”
Jo’s breath caught. “Oh. My. God. They could’ve overpowered you.”
“I know. My heart was in my throat. But then one guy said, ‘Hey sister, you’re British! That’s cool,’ and they kept on walking.”
Jo let out her breath, set aside their wineglasses, and took Lauren in her arms. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Lauren has guts. She didn’t take shit from anyone and stood up for herself. Jo admired her chutzpa. She kissed Lauren, and a surge of desire sent blood rushing to her sensitive parts. But first, there was the hard-won dinner whose tantalizing, oniony aroma wafted from the kitchen.
“I’m fine. Let’s eat,” Lauren said, pulling Jo up from the couch.
When they sat down to dinner, Jo took her first bite of tender, savory beef bourguignon. This is the life.
chapter ten
JO’S SHOULDER PRESSED AGAINST LAUREN’S IN THE National Theatre. During the emotional singing of “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina,” Jo took her hand and held it under her coat. Warmth spread through Lauren’s chest with a light giddiness, a sensation she’d had often during the past week. Is this what it’s like to fall in love? A new experience for her. While Jo was at work, she daydreamed about waking up with her every morning. Could they ever live together? Would the passion continue? The improbability of ever living together threatened to spoil her mood, and she pushed it from her mind.
When the play finished and they were filing out of the theater, Jo said, “It’s a beautiful evening, not too cold. Let’s walk to the Mall and check out the monuments. They’re all lit up at night.”
“Sure, I’d love to. Is it safe?”
“Perfectly safe. The Mall is crawling with Capitol Police and National Park rangers, as well as quite a few tourists.”
Lauren put her arm through Jo’s and leaned against her as they walked. A gentle breeze rustled the fallen leaves and the soft hum of the city accompanied them, with an occasional plane rumbling overhead. The Capitol Building mirrored in the reflective pool was impressive, but the Washington Monument was too phallic for her taste. The warm, floaty feeling enveloped her as Lauren took in the sights.
“My favorite historical figure is Abraham Lincoln,” Jo said as she urged Lauren toward the memorial along the elm-lined promenade. Its lighted Doric columns and the white marble of the imposing structure contrasted with the inky sky. They climbed the stairs holding hands and stood before the massive nineteen-foot statue of Lincoln. He grasped the sides of his chair with one hand clenched and the other relaxed, staring ahead with a pensive expression.
“As a child, Lincoln seemed a larger-than-life hero to me. As I learned about his life, I realized he was just a flawed man of his times who suffered from melancholia. That made his vision and determination even more impressive.” Jo turned and ran her fingers over the Gettysburg Address etched into the wall. “Once I could recite this by heart.”
Lauren smiled. “Try it, now.”
Jo stood with her back against the wall and delivered it flawlessly, without pause.
Lauren had a sudden urge to touch her. She drew Jo close and kissed her, her hands wandering until she found bare skin. Just as she was about to reach her breasts, footsteps and a woman’s voice startled her.
“Excuse me, what are you doing?”
Lauren jerked back to see a woman in a park ranger uniform staring at them with her eyes wide.
“Um . . . kissing?” Lauren’s neck flushed with embarrassment, as if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Well, almost. She hoped her British accent would alert the ranger they were tourists. She so didn’t want Jo to get in trouble.
The ranger frowned. “This is not the place for it. Go somewhere private.”
They hurried down the steps, giggling like teenagers.
Once they reached the car, Jo pulled Lauren into the back seat and locked the doors. Her body yielded to Jo’s insistent kisses as the windows fogged. Jo reached around and undid her bra while sliding her leg between Lauren’s thighs. She felt herself falling, unaware of her surroundings, only Jo’s hands, her mouth, and the weight of her body as she surrendered to desire.
Monday, after Jo went to work, Lauren took out the teapot covered in painted roses Jo had bought her because she said all Englishwomen must drink tea. She set the pot of tea to steep and flopped on the couch with a guidebook to plan her day. She would start with the Museum of Natural History, then find lunch nearby. Then, if she had time, she’d pop over to the Air and Space Museum.
She wondered if Jo preferred a stay-at-home partner. Or did she want a professional woman with a career of her own? She knew little about Jo’s previous girlfriends, other than Sharon. Only that Jo had had quite a few.
She stood, then sat, then stood again and paced. She’d put a lot on the line to come here. Her job for one. Her heart for another. Did Jo also want more than a fling and great sex? She rubbed her arms and reached for the teapot. She hoped so.
As Lauren approached the swinging door of the Museum of Natural History, she stumbled into a man exiting. “Oh, excuse me,” she said quickly as he pivoted aside with acrobatic grace.
“It was my fault, really. I was daydreaming and not looking,” he said in a posh British accent.
Lauren looked at his handsome features more closely. She lifted an eyebrow and cocked her head. “You’re Cary Grant!”
“That I am,” he said, smiling. “Enjoy your visit.” He turned and strode away, leaving Lauren open-mouthed.
Wow. What were the chances of literally running into Cary Grant? Perhaps as good as her chances of remaining in the US with Jo. Maybe it was a good omen.
Lauren was just finishing chopping vegetables and cutting up pork loin for a stir-fry when the front door opened, heralding Jo’s arrival. She put her briefcase down with a thud and hung up her coat, then she strode into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Lauren. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” Her mouth sought Lauren’s for a lingering kiss. “Wow, you taste like wine. Is there a bottle open?”
“Yes, let me pour.” Lauren turned the heat down on the stir-fry. “Come, let’s sit for a few minutes.”
When they settled on the couch, Jo said, “I’ve had a frustrating day. My prime expert witness reviewed the medical records and concluded there were no illnesses related to chemical exposure. My claimant’s sexual dysfunction had other causes, like depression, alcoholism, and a cheating wife.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? To have treatable causes?” Lauren took a sip of her wine and regarded Jo in her dark-blue business suit, white silk blouse, and scarf, the light catching one of her gold earrings. Jo crossed her long, shapely legs at the knee, one high heel dangling. She looked so feminine, yet she came on so butch in bed. The memory set butterflies loose in Lauren’s stomach.
