It is dark, the sun has gone away beyond my eyes, and there is a touch, a soft cool fingertip drawing a line from the bridge of my nose up to my hairline. A moan slips from my throat and I’m still in my dream, but the gnawing hunger and the shock of having another person in my space are real. It all comes rushing back in one image – the unfinished canvas, and I know that it is Shane touching me. Her finger disappears then retraces the same line up my forehead, and maybe it’s the remnant trippiness of the weed, but it is hypnotic. “Hmm.” I stretch and inhale deeply, turning my face toward her fingers. “How long was I asleep?” “I was going to ask you the same thing.” Her voice is sleep-softened and sweet. I feel her naked arm against my shoulder. She must be sitting on the floor beside my sofa. Her fingertips disappear and every inch of my skin screams for her touch. Sweet, exquisite *****. “Mmm. Well, what time is it now?” My eyes adjust to the darkness and I blink away the sleep. Big mistake. I can see her in the moonlight, just barely. “A little after eight.” “Oh, *****. We slept a long time.” My eyes adjust to the darkness and I blink away the sleep. Big mistake. I can see her in the moonlight, just barely. Lips and eyes and dark hair. “Yeah. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” “It’s good. I’m glad you did. It turned out well.” “I know. I peeked. I hope that’s okay. I know a lot of artists don’t want anyone to see an unfinished canvas. I-” “It’s fine. I don’t care who sees it now, as long as it isn’t me.” “Why?” “I’ll face it to the wall for a week and then pick it up from there. So I can get some objectivity. I couldn’t work on it now, because I just painted it.” “It’s really amazing,” she says sleepily. “I don’t look like that.” “Yes you do.” Beautiful, beautiful, jesus. Umm. “Hey, are you hungry? I’m ***** starving.” She laughs. “I know why, it smells like Cheech and Chong out here.” “Yeah.” “Wanna get some sushi? My treat.” “Oh, ***** yeah.” “Cool. There’s a good place up the street that delivers. Hey, Clea? I just wanted to tell you I’m really glad that you’re around. I’m really glad you came by.” Oh, god, what is the woman trying to do to me? “Me too.” “It’s cool that we can associate without my life being threatened.” She chuckles softly and that’s it. I’m gone. In that moment I’m in love with her. *****, ***** *****. “I find that that’s always a bonus. Did you really think he would kill you?” “I dunno. I’ve known enough people who wanted me dead that at the time I wasn’t about to be calling his bluff. Why, was I being paranoid?” I sigh. “Shane, I loved my dad. And I want to say yes. But I don’t know what he would have done.” I swallow. This topic of conversation is too close to home for me. I should get up, turn on some lights, order the food. But I just lay there, listening to her breathe. The dark is a buffer, and in it we can say things more safely. “It was so fucked.” she whispers. “Yeah. I dunno if I can talk about this tonight. I… I dunno.” “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay.” “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you back then.” “Don’t.” “It’s true.” “Shane…” “What?” “You didn’t hurt me. I was the one who was living in a fantasy world. None of that was your fault. You were a friend to me at a really pivotal time. You took my stupid ***** out for mini golf, and pizza, just beause you were so sweet. It wasn’t your fault I fell for you.” “Still, I feel… I wish I could explain to you how I felt. It was like these dominoes were falling, one after the other, and I was powerless to stop them. And none of them fell where I wanted them to go.” “Yeah.” “And after all that ***** went down I missed you.” “Me? Why?” “Because. You needed me. You looked up to me. I could talk to you the way I couldn’t talk to a lot of people. You had this fresh, curious outlook on things that was cool. It was nice to be needed for – well, nice to be needed.” “I don’t know what to say. I had no idea.” “Well, how could you have? I couldn’t tell you and even if I could I doubt you’d have listened.” “Probably not.” I feel the tears welling and I sniffle. God, why is this so fresh? It was a ***** decade ago. “Are you crying?” “Just a little. I don’t know why, but all of that feels so fresh to me sometimes.” “Maybe it’s because Cherie just died.” She whispers it and that’s sweet, but the sound of that name on her lips makes me wince. How can that be after all this time? “I think so.” And maybe it’s because you were my first love, one that was never resolved. “It’s incredibly lame though, because *****, it was ages ago and it’s not like I haven’t lived my life since then.” “I wish I could make it better.” I smile. “I’m cool, really. I’ve made peace with a lot of the past.” It’s just sometimes that the nostalgia of that horrible summer is sharp like a knife’s edge. “And it’s cool to have this closure to it with you. Not closure, because that implies we’re never gonna see each other again. But I think what you were trying to say is that it’s very… well not to sound too new-agey, but very healing to be able to talk with each other on good terms like this.” “Exactly what I wanted to say.” I know she’s sincere. It’s emphatic in her voice. We aren’t touching any more. But neither of us is making a move to get up. The darkness is too safe and still. “I will admit that you intrigue me. You’re such a different person that I have a hard time really getting it. It awes me how much you grew up since then. When I met you you seemed afraid of your own shadow, with no idea who you were, and now you’re this amazing and strong woman.” “Jesus, Shane.” “It’s how you seem.” “Thanks. I did this painting once. I – when I was nineteen I moved out of my parents’ house and never moved back. It was like taking off this cloak, this armor of everyone else’s expectations, and wandering out into the world… like a fetus on a city street. Best thing I ever did.” “I bet that went over well with your dad.” “Ah, he dealt.” She chuckles again. Jesus, I love her laugh. “He spent a lot of years trying to put pressure on me to be this or that. Mostly he just wanted me to talk to my mom. And I couldn’t-” “Jesus. I fucked that all up so royally.” “No you didn’t. It was a misunderstanding. I couldn’t let myself believe that he would really hurt you, let alone kill you, so I chose to take her explanation for rejecting you at face value. That was the reason I didn’t talk to her. She didn’t talk to me because she always believed I was sleeping with you and she couldn’t forgive me for that.” “*****.” “I’m sorry if that hurts you. She was a very insecure woman.” “No, I deserve that and more. It was true, I slept with everyone.” “But not with me.” “I’m sorry, Clea, I never meant-” “No, I didn’t mean it that way. That was your integrity. You could have had me so easily and you said no. As much as it hurt, god, I admired you for that.” She is quiet. For a second I wonder what she’s thinking. “I don’t know what to say.” “How about calling up for that sushi, cause I’m freakin’ hungry.” . The spell breaks; I get up and shuffle across the floor, flicking the lights on. She blinks, and I turn on my table lamps instead of the harsher overhead lights. I’m mostly relieved when I see that she’s gotten dressed. I hand her the file of take out menus that I keep on top of my fridge, and excuse myself. I hear her on the phone as I shut the bathroom door, lean on my hand and press my hot forehead against the wood. I breathe, once, twice, three times. I wet a washcloth, and press it to my face. Cooler, better. I put it down and stare at my reflection. I can still feel that line she traced up my forehead, as if her finger were dipped in acid. It burns like the dreams I was having. I brush out my hair until the knots are out. Then I can’t hide in here anymore, so I flush the toilet and go out. She is standing in front of my bookshelves, browsing. “Hey.” “Hey.” “Can I get you something to drink?” “Sure. Surprise me.” “Okay.” I pull a half-full bottle of zinfandel out of the fridge, pour it into two glasses. I walk across the room, reach out and hand her one. “Thanks.” Her eyes meet mine, and I know then that I can only delay the inevitable, not stop it. “This is my favorite book,” she says. “Which?” She silently pulls out Crying in Winter by Olivia Ross, holds it up so I can see the cover. “Really? Why?” I say it because I have a nagging feeling that she is lying to impress me. I should trust her better than that, but I have the feeling that she is putting on moves. She flips through it, so quickly the pages blur, as if she were reading the meaning from it, though I know she isn’t. “Because Clara has this amazing paradoxical fragility and strength thing going on. It’s very compelling.” I didn’t realize that I was testing her, until she passed with flying colors. “It is,” I smile. I hide behind my wine glass, take a long slow sip. But I can’t stop looking at her. Beautiful. Her eyes have green in them, and it catches a little golden in the light of the room. “Clea.” “Yeah?” She is looking at me with all that seriousness, all that in her eyes and if I didn’t know that it was stupid I would think her emotions are the same eddying swirling snowy mess as mine, thought and feeling and sensation, all shaken up in the palm of someone’s hand. “I really wanna kiss you.” I close my eyes and bite down on my lips. “I would too. But, I can’t.” I whisper. I open my eyes, and see her. Very serious. She smiles. “Okay,” she whispers. “Do you have a girlfriend?” “No.” “Boyfriend?” “Shane, I don’t have anyone, allright. That’s not it. How do I explain this…” I step just a bit closer to her, touch her face. I know it is cruel but I can’t help it. It’s probably my imagination but she seems fevered. “Look… I want to kiss you too, so much I can taste it. Every fiber of my body is screaming to touch you, to rip your clothes off and take you right here, but I can’t.” She turns her head from my hand, then back toward me. I pull my hand away. “I’m afraid that you’d break my heart.” “Oh,” she says, mouth open, unsure of how to respond to that. “I’m sorry.” “Okay. Um, can we talk about it?” I blink. It’s my turn to be blindsided. She wants to talk? She’s not going to go rushing out of here and write me off for good? I smile, surprised. “Um, yeah. Sure.” We sit down on the couch, a cushion’s distance between us, facing each other. I draw my legs up to my chest and hug them. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you.” A smile flickers across her face and disappears. “I know you want me. I’m not offended.” “You’re not?” “No. You and I haven’t known each other for ten years and there’s no reason you should trust me.” I smile, feeling so ridiculously sad. “Well, the fact that you didn’t just say ‘***** it’ and run out of here says a lot.” She looks sad, and I know I’ve insulted her. “That would be like saying you’re only worth something if I can ***** you. And I don’t think that.” I smile. Dangerous. Dangerous to think she could care for me above and beyond my body, or a moment’s release. “I don’t want to hurt you. And you’re right that we are virtually strangers. I’d really like to get to know you. God, that sounds cheesy, but like I said before…” “It’s not cheesy.” I smile sadly. Oh, this is torture. “Like you said before, what?” “Um… I forget.” I laugh stupidly, and she laughs too. “Okay.” “You have a lot of friends, right? Female friends?” “Yeah. My friends are great.” “And you’ve never fucked any of them?” “Not usually.” “So you have a very clear policy – never ***** a friend.” “Pretty much. It’s not always that cut and dried. I was in a relationship for about…three years with my friend Andrea.” “A monogamous relationship?” “Yeah.” “And you never cheated on my mother.” “No. No, actually, I didn’t.” “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I brought that up. I have to admit that it squicks me a little.” “Well, I bet it was really squickish to find out the girl you’ve been crushing on is doing your mother.” “You think?” I can’t help but laugh. When she smiles it’s like a hurt part inside me starts to heal. “As I recall, your words were ‘YOU ***** *****!’” I laugh. I can’t believe we’re sitting here laughing about this, ten years later. She smiles, a bit encouraged by my willingness to be open. “I spent a whole summer trying to figure out if you meant me or her.” She says. I can tell that the subject is still a little raw for her, too. It’s so great that we’re talking. It amazes me that we’re talking. My phone rings. “Hmm, you know, I actually don’t remember which one of you I was yelling at. That’s the beauty of same ***** relationships. One pronoun fits all.” I get up to get the phone and am delighted to hear her laugh. “I can’t believe we’re laughing about this.” “Me neither,” I say, meeting her eyes for a long second before tearing myself away to get the phone. “Hello?” “Clee, I just got the most interesting vibe from you.” It’s Jaz. “Is that so?” “Why do I have a feeling your rendezvous with the elusive Shane was today instead of tomorrow?” “I dunno, why?” “Because I just got this really strong Clea vibe. Are you emotional right now?” “Extremely.” “Is she there?” “Yeah.” “Did you do her?” “What is it with you and that question?” “Bummer, you didn’t.” She sounds genuinely disappointed for me. “Why not?” “Jaz.” “Because you shot her down. Wow, you go ‘head, girl. I didn’t think you had it in you.” I smile. “Have I told you lately that you’re ***** annoying?” “Yeah. But you love me.” “I do. And on that note, I’m gonna-” “Just tell me one thing. Is everything ok? Generally speaking?” “Yes. Very.” “Okay. Goodbye.” And she hangs up before I can even say goodbye back. Shane raises an eyebrow at me when I come back to the sofa with the rest of the wine. I top us each off with the last of it. She raises her glass for me to pour the wine and I find something in the gesture to be sweetly yielding, which is stupid, because she’s just accepting more booze. “My best friend. She’s being a butthead.” “Yeah? I felt like I should maybe leave for a minute.” “Not a chance! You’re treating me to dinner, remember?” “You only want me for my money.” She sighs adorably. “I can’t believe we’re sitting here just joking around about this *****. Everything back then was so ***** serious.” “Me neither. It’s kinda…liberating, isn’t it?” “Oh, ***** yes! But… things are kind of serious now. It’s just that… we have broader range.” She smiles and rolls her eyes. “So tell me something about you that I don’t know.” I shrug, trying to think of something entertaining to tell her. “I have a boat. My favorite place in the world to be is out in the middle of nowhere, lying naked in the sun.” She smiles. “Thank you for that mental image.” “Hey, we’re even, Flaming June.” Her eyebrows wrinkle together in confusion. “It’s a painting. You may get a nice visual of me in the sun, but I was the one actually looking at you all afternoon.” She grins. She looks suddenly shy and it is the cutest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen. “Clea. You’re torturing me.” I stare at her, suddenly very serious. “Don’t talk to me about torture.” “I’m sorry.” “Never apologize for being so ***** gorgeous.” “Oh.” I realize she thought I meant something else. “So, it’s your turn. Tell me something about you I don’t know.” She blows her hair out of her face. “I’ve become addicted to Pilates.” “Seriously?” “Serious.” “Why?” “It’s addictive. I don’t know. It’s more meditative to me than Yoga because it’s more physical. There’s something purifying about just focusing on your muscles.” “Hmm.” I say, interested. “Your turn.” I don’t expect her to turn the tables. “My first love broke my heart.” Oh holy motherfuck. Why did I just say that? Why why why? But wait, she doesn’t know I’m talking about her. In fact, she seems to clearly think that I’m referring to someone else. “Aww. Ouch.” “Hey, rite of passage, I guess.” “I guess.” She takes a sip of wine and leans back, arms spread out over the top of my sofa. “I have a son,” she says. “You have a kid? Are you serious?” “Absolutely. Some friends of mine wanted a baby. I agreed to be the mom.” “Oh, wow. That’s great. Is he near here?” “They live in San Diego. I see them pretty often.” She has leaned to the side, and pulls a wallet from her back pocket. She flips it open, and shows me a photo of a little Shane-looking boy, about three, huge blue eyes, milky skin, dark hair. “Oh,” I say, putting my hand over my mouth. “Oh my god, he’s beautiful. He looks just like you!” “Everyone says that. It really pisses his dads off.” “Oh my god. I can’t picture you pregnant.” “Hey, I wasn’t always a drug-addled ***** addict.” I am shocked. “I never said that!” She shrugs, looking simultaneously sheepish and hurt. “That’s so totally not what I was thinking!” The doorbell rings, and I bite my tongue. “Food’s here,” she ambles boyishly off the couch, taking her wallet from my hand. Now I’m not gonna say a damn word. What I was thinking was how beautiful she must have looked pregnant. . We spread the sushi out over my kitchen table, sharing sauces. I open more wine and we start to eat, quietly. “I’m sorry,” she says. “The very thought of being pregnant makes me defensive. It was awful.” “Yeah? How so?” She pops a bit of fish into her mouth and rolls her eyes. I watch her as she eats, and there is lust, lust, lust, going round and round in my brain. She swallows. “Oh jeez. It sucked. I’ve never puked so much in my life. I was working for someone else at the time and every time I went to do a chemical process on someone’s hair I wound up running for the bathroom. The guy I worked for thought it was drugs, and when I told him I was pregnant, he just laughed. He fired me, I came back with lab reports certifying that I wasn’t on drugs and was pregnant. Told him I’d sue his balls off if he didn’t hire me back. So he did. But the morning sickness never improved, and when I was four months, one of the dads, my friend Jake, was diagnosed with cancer. Then I got pre-ecclampsia, and had to spend the last two and a half months bedridden…” “Holy *****. You must have been in *****.” “I read a lot. And I wouldn’t change a thing.” “You don’t miss him, not being in the same city?” She dips a bit of sushi into her sauce, lean fingers agile on her chopsticks. “I do sometimes, but it was a well thought-out arrangement. I can see him any time I want. He calls me Mommy. He’s so ***** smart. But for the most part it’s good. We spend holidays together.” I grin. “I can totally see you as a mom.” It isn’t exactly true. It sounds shocking but when I think about it, her patient sweetness, her calmness, would make her a great mother. “What’s his name?” “Jake Junior. Jacob Shane Harrison.” I giggle. “He’s a Shane junior.” “Yep,” she smiles. “So,” I fix her with my confrontative stare. “Wanna tell me what was with the comment about being a ‘drug addled ***** addict?’” I stare right at her, not letting her blow it off. “Hey, I told you way back when that I had problems.” “Is that really what you are? If so it sounds like you have a really narrow conception of yourself.” “No, but I did have a little bit of each problem, to some degree.” “Wow. I can’t imagine being a ***** addict. Horny, yes…” She smiles. “Horny is definately a different ballgame.” I raise an eyebrow. It’s definately a game I’m playing right now. After we eat I clean off the kitchen counter. She stands there by the table, watching me, and I again feel like prey. She gathers up the paper containers to throw away. I turn around, and she is standing there, so close. “Sorry,” she darts away, trying to respect my space. It snaps. It just does. I can’t move away, or make a joke, or blow it off. I approach her, step a bit closer. Her eyes widen and she seems surprised, but happy to feel me invade her space. She has the most sensual lips of anyone I’ve ever seen. “Don’t make me regret this,” I whisper, and gently kiss her, closing my eyes, hand rising to touch her shoulder. She doesn’t move away, but doesn’t attack me either. I expected that the moment I kissed her she would be violently on me like white on rice, but she just stands there, opens her mouth, and it feels so sweet on mine. The gentleness with which she kisses me is ten times more potent than being thrown against the wall, which would be good too. I’m dizzy. My head is reeling. I’m falling. Then she pulls away, catching my eyes with hers, and she looks so unsure of herself in that instant that I could just love her forever. Then she pulls me close, roughly, lanky arms coming around me. She moans softly and kisses me again. I have never felt so ***** in my life. We kiss until I can barely breathe and she pulls away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.” “I kissed you,” I smile, not letting her take the blame. “Yes, you did.” She smiles at me, stroking hair back from my face. “Please tell me this hasn’t fucked things up.” I shake my head. Just my heart rate. Just my whole universe. Just the way the blood flows in my body, hangs heavily in the throbbing tingling warm spots. “It hasn’t fucked things up. But… I don’t know if I can do this right now. I need to focus on this exhibit. And I know that sounds like complete bullshit, but I can’t-” “Clea.” “What?” “Do you want me?” “Yes!” I’m agitated. It sounds desperate. “I mean really want it, to be with me, not just the *****?” “Yes.” “Then I’ll wait.” “I don’t share, Shane.” “I know. If you still want that, after the show, you let me know, okay?” “You’re serious.” I can’t ***** believe this. “Yeah. I am. I want you. And it has nothing to do with the ***** that went down back then, if that’s what you’re thinking. I want you.” She holds my eyes for a minute, smiles lovingly, and starts to pick up her dresses from where they hang over the kitchen chairs. She floats past me again, then kisses me gently. I yield, hold her for a second as if she might evanesce like vapor. “Good night, Clee.” Then, she is gone. I stand on the other side of the door, thought and feeling moving through me at the speed of light.