More than an Ally
Part 1
Marianne checked her watch, wondering if there were going to be any more clients that afternoon. She had been busy since arriving four hours earlier, dealing with the usual Saturday queries: directing young women and some, far from young, towards what help was available. Today it had been more the case of greedy landlords and sexism in the workplace. She guessed that now Kalisha had joined the Saturday team at the Women’s Advice Centre, those women with sexual issues would prefer going to her. It was clear that some felt nowadays that Marianne looked a little too much like their mother for such conversations to be comfortable. Ironically it was only her fortieth birthday next week, but Marianne guessed that to many, anyone over twenty-five was deemed ‘old’.
Marianne glanced across the corridor. The door into Carmen’s office was open and as usual the woman gave her a broad smile that Marianne always found uplifting. She guessed the two of them could not be more unalike. They were of the same age, but little else was in common, only a desire to help out women worse off than themselves. Marianne was white and worked as a legal secretary. Though no solicitor, she knew a lot of the standard stuff around tenancies and workplace harassment. For some time after her divorce from David seven years earlier, Marianne had not known what to do with herself and had found this place both gave her new friends and a sense of purpose.
Carmen was black, from an Afro-Caribbean family that had established itself in the city back in the fifties. She had worked as a social worker, but had burned out three or four years back and now ran a catering business with two of her sisters. Like Marianne, she felt her knowledge of the ‘system’ could be put to good use. Unlike Marianne, Carmen was an unembarrassed lesbian; she seemed able to slip that fact into the first conversation she had with anybody. Marianne had no problem with that; in her weekday job she had to treat anyone, no matter what their gender or sexuality, race or religion, the same. Despite their differences, she liked Carmen it was true and guessed, in turn, that the woman welcomed the fact that a middle-aged white woman did not seem to judge her. In addition, Marianne had heard nothing about Carmen having a partner and tended to think of her as a lesbian ‘on paper’ more than ‘in the flesh’.
In style the two women were miles apart. At the Centre, Marianne wore what she generally dressed in for work, perhaps a slightly brighter colour of blouse and a knee-length, rather than calf-length, skirt; she would wear a little more jewellery, but it was still court shoes and her hair pinned up professionally. Carmen always, in Marianne’s mind, looked ‘sassy’. Her hair was dyed a walnut shade and had a style as if windswept to one side. Her ears held a number of silver rings and diamond studs; another sat on the side of her nose. She was Marianne’s height but whereas at times she felt herself insubstantial, only bulked out by the clothes she wore, Carmen had a substance about her. She filled her clothes like the sleeveless black top that showed off tendrily-floral tattoos and tight jeans she had on now; she generally wore biker boots or lace-up flat boots where Marianne had sleek shoes and a heel. Marianne guessed that if a woman came in looking for advice, at least on a Saturday afternoon, then she could pick from either end of a spectrum, and with Kalisha being mixed race, that widened the variety even more.
“Hello, Marianne.”
She looked up sharply realising she had been lost in her thoughts. It was Hilda, the oldest of the Saturday team who had apparently been one of the founding members back in the heyday of feminism but kept herself to working on the reception. In part, Marianne imagined, it was there she could indulge in her greatest pleasure which was simply chatting to people. Marianne was certain that, sometimes, that was precisely what some of the women who came here, were looking for.
“I’m sorry, but you know the rules—no-one’s allowed to sleep here.”
It was one of Hilda’s old jokes, but Marianne smiled just the same. Beyond she saw that Carmen already had her leather jacket on but was lingering in the corridor. Kalisha and Sam, the other weekend advisor soon joined her. It was not the first or third Saturday in the month, the day when they would head off down to the local pub to intimidate the dozy men in there or the wine bar to taste some serious wine, but the way the women were assembling suggested that they were intent on a drink. Of course, Marianne smiled to herself as her computer finally closed down, it was going to be in celebration of her birthday and she had to admit that Carmen was very good at remembering.
As Marianne had anticipated, she could do nothing to dissuade her colleagues for taking her for a drink; in fact Joy and Carolyn from the Wednesday evening team were already in place waiting for them. Marianne guessed that she could pick up a meal at the ‘Pearl Garden’ on the way home as she knew that, with a couple of white wines inside her, she would not feel like cooking.
“What are you having?” Hilda asked.
“Erm …” Marianne hesitated and then wondered if she was more tired than she had realised.
“She likes a spiced rum.” Carmen jumped in.
Marianne was a little embarrassed—when had she told Carmen that fact? It was a guilty secret of hers.
“Yes … but, well, I want to pace myself; a white wine will be great, Hilda, not one of those huge glasses either.”
Hilda smiled and nodded then went to comply. Marianne had no idea what state she would be in if every one of the women insisted on buying her a drink. She guessed she could always lose one or two among the glasses gathering on the table; she had done that before. It was early for evening drinks and as a result Hilda was back soon. Then Carmen took charge of proceedings.
“Now, before I start to forget my words, a toast to Marianne, a good … a great friend; a hard-working, caring woman, now about to embark on the best stage of her life.”
“Marianne.”
The women around her supped their drinks. Marianne just smiled warmly. She knew all the guff about ‘life begins at forty’ but to her it was if she was coming to the finishing line and she would be well down from first place. She had no husband just a rather sour ‘ex’ despite him having quickly got on with another woman. She had no children and though she was uncertain she would have wanted them, many marked her down for that ‘failure’. Her career had not advanced from when she had first gone to work. She had moved company a couple of times for slightly better pay and a shorter commute, but she had been with her current firm for almost ten years now.
“Presents, presents.” Hilda instructed.
Now Marianne was even more embarrassed but felt this was ungracious. Aside from what she was getting here, there had just been a CD from her sister and some money from her parents. Soon she had a strange assortment—a book of poetry, the latest bestselling chick-lit novel, some body scrub; two tickets to the upcoming photography exhibition at the city gallery, a box of mint chocolates and then a silver ring.
“I know you like silver. You should wear your collection a bit more.” Carmen said as she presented the final gift.
Was this something else she had told the black woman, no doubt at one of these drinking sessions? Until four or was it five or six years ago, she had delighted in having silver rings on all her fingers, bar, of course, her ring finger. She had left it bare after David’s departure. She liked Celtic and mystic designs and had even partnered them with necklaces and earrings. However, mumbles about ‘hippy-dippy’ and ‘New Age not being an element of the law’, especially once Mr. Rees had joined the company, encouraged Marianne to put them away. She guessed they were all dusty now; in the bottom of a drawer.
“Here, let me put it on.”
Carmen leant forward and slipped the ring on to Marianne’s left ring finger. It was lovely: intertwining bands of silver. She held it up to show the others and then felt conscious of where it sat. Marianne tried to pull it off; to transfer it to another finger, but she guessed, flushed by the alcohol, her finger was a little hot and flabby. It did not matter for now, she would sort it out when she got home. Given that she never wore rings to the Advice Centre, only the occasional necklace and a pair of ear studs, Marianne guessed Carmen could not complain if she never saw it again.
The evening passed quickly and Marianne felt glad that, while she could never imagine assembling this group of women as friends, this was in fact what they had become. Catching sight of the large clock behind the bar, Marianne knew she would have to get on if she was not going to have to take the night bus which would be full of loud, smelly, drunken men and women. She quietly excused herself against the backdrop of Joy eliciting opinions on some boy band she had never heard of and headed to the toilet; there was nothing worse than getting caught short on a bus. A small group of men blocked the door that led to the wooden floored corridor going to both sets of conveniences.
“Excuse me … gentlemen.” She added trying to make it light.
“Are you lezzies heading off then? Some serious drinkers need a seat.” One of the men scowled.
Automatically, Marianne glanced back and saw that the pub was busier than she had realised from their corner. For a moment she felt pushed to make an apology but stopped herself. Once she would have rolled over in front of implied threats and insults, but now she knew where that could lead.
“We’re … I’m not.” Marianne stuttered, about to say that she was not a lesbian anyway, but realised that would undermine Carmen’s standing and probably that of Kalisha who she had a feeling was bisexual, if only sometimes. “Lesbians have as much right to a seat in here as anyone else, remember that.”
“Yeah.”
Marianne heard Carmen’s voice from behind her.
“So learn some manners. Now, please can I get through?”
“You don’t look like a lezza.” One of the men noted of Marianne, “Not like her.”
“And she’s black.” Another one added.
Carmen put her hands to her face in mock shock. “Really, wow, thanks for telling me. I’ve been going through today thinking I was a white breeder. Thanks for putting me right. Now, you must be the trio I was told were as pale as mayo with cocks smaller than their little finger. Ah, yes, clearly right.” She grinned broadly.
Carmen took Marianne’s hand and pushed through the door. In the corridor beyond she laughed and Marianne found herself chuckling along.
“I have a feeling that you want to be more than an ally.” Carmen said. “You’ve never wondered … you know … what it would be like to go with a woman?”
“Are you asking me … on a date?”
Marianne was a little put out by the woman’s expression and wondered what had made her so eager. She took her hand back and excused anything Carmen said as stemming from the drinks they had all had. She imagined that come the next morning Carmen would have forgotten all about it or would be as embarrassed as hell.
“Why not? You have nothing to lose; you might like it.”
“Perhaps, maybe ten years ago, but you know … at my age, well, experimentation is kind of in the past.”
Marianne found it an easy line to sell herself. She had not had a sexual encounter since David had left and it had been running dry even before then. Contemplating such a relationship at forty, felt to Marianne, too much like imagining her parents having sex, something guaranteed to make her shudder.
“Surely you don’t want someone like me; you want someone who’s hot, exciting, you know that kind of thing?”
“But she wouldn’t have your heart.” Carmen said gently, her eyes now fixed on Marianne’s.
Marianne gazed away up the corridor, feeling terribly hot. “You flatter me too much; I’m nothing special. I couldn’t match up to what you need, Carmen, let’s be realistic. You need an equal.”
Marianne felt a little proud at herself for turning her rejection away from simply going, ‘oh my God, but don’t you know I’m not a lesbian?’, to something which showed Carmen there were numerous better options out there and, indeed, that she should not sell herself short. Marianne walked away and headed into the toilet. She heard a couple of other women come in after her but could not tell if either was Carmen. Soon she was splashing water on her face and returning to the barroom. Carmen was back there with the others as if nothing untoward had happened.
Marianne picked up her jacket and Hilda handed over the fancy carrier bag containing all her presents. All the women insisted on kissing her cheek. She was self-conscious as Carmen delivered the last kiss, but felt a tingle given how smooth her lips were and from whatever scent she was wearing. As she made her way to the exit, Marianne was glad the heat of the pub concealed how embarrassed she was.
For a moment Marianne felt she was being hard on Carmen, but as she stepped into the cool evening air, she realised it was best to be upfront and not allow any misapprehensions to develop. She was not confident about sleeping with a man again, let alone considering a reorientation in her sexuality. Quickly she hurried to the Chinese takeaway, determined to get back to her flat as soon as she could.
Carmen’s gaze followed Marianne as she hurried past the pub windows and out of sight.
“Damn! I wish that woman was my lover.” Carmen said with a wry smile as she quoted a line from an old song she had heard.
“What would she think about that?” Kalisha asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, let’s say that someone granted you a wish or three wishes and then you wished Marianne was your lover and it came true, well, does she get a say in that change?”
Carmen laughed. “I guess I’d never thought of it like that. I guess I’d want her to be happy.”
“So you’d better wish instead that the woman wanted to be your lover.”
Carmen knew she was never going to get any wishes, but Kalisha had a point, it was never that complicated in fairy stories. She guessed that was because the men imagined a woman would simply love to be their princess without checking with her first.
“So what is it that’s so good about a white woman?”
“Of course, a nice fit, black woman would be good, but never say I am prejudiced.” Carmen protested.
“So it’s something about Marianne’s personality that you like in particular; that you go for, no matter her colour.”
“Now you put it that way, I would say ‘yes’.”
“Well, have you asked her out?”
“Yes, and she’s not into women; she used to be married … to a man.”
“How many lesbians have been with men before they discover their truth?”
“You’re right; but I don’t think she even looks at me in the way I look at her.”
“So that’s why you are falling back on wishes?”
“Yes, maybe them or maybe some force of nature—if my … desires are strong enough then I just trust they will change things.”
“Bend reality? Now that is pretty powerful.” Kalisha chuckled.
“It’d only have to happen once. I don’t sleep around; I’m at an age when I’m looking for a wife.”
“But knowing you—one who’s hot.”
Carmen smiled. “You know it.”
“But one who’s going to be … well, a companion; your rock, that kind of thing, the way you think Marianne would be.”
“I know she would be; I’ve known her quite a long time, you know; we’ve dealt with a lot of crap in that time.”
“Well, you can stick to your wishing and reality bending, but if I was you, I’d get online or to some club and start seeking out your woman otherwise, I worry your desires,” Kalisha drew out that word, “are going to be causing some eruptions round here.”
The two women dissolved into laughter.
This Saturday Marianne made sure to pack up early and have her coat on long before Hilda came to turn her out. Yet, Kalisha still came over to smiling.
“Coming for a drink?” The young woman asked.
Behind her, in her office, Carmen appeared to be waiting to hear Marianne’s response and that hardened her to follow the strategy she had planned to adopt. To Marianne it had come to seem best to cool relations between herself and Carmen without being rude. Perhaps, in time, Carmen would find someone suitable. Marianne felt sure from what she knew of the woman, that Carmen would be utterly loyal to her partner.
“No, I’m sorry; I’ve not been sleeping well.” That was not exactly a lie. “Maybe next time.”
“Oh, okay.” Kalisha sounded disappointed herself.
Marianne realised that she may have overlooked what this group might mean to the young woman; that she might not perceive them as fogies in the way Marianne anticipated. Then she wondered if it had been Kalisha who had prompted Carmen to ask her out. Maybe not having heard of Marianne’s travails with David, Kalisha thought she might be in the lesbian ‘market’. Marianne had to suppress a smile at thinking such a thing existed.
Soon Marianne had locked her door and was gone from her office. She hovered at the reception to see Hilda before she left then Centre entirely. Then a flash of red caught her eye. She looked through the fire door back to where the offices were. There was a woman in a fashionable tight-fitting biker style jacket in dark red leather over a mottled dark plum teeshirt. Beneath she wore skin-tight smooth leather trousers, perhaps even leggings given they had no pockets, of the same shade. Her outfit, from where Marianne could see, was finished off with red laced DM boots.
The woman was black, a caramel shade; her hair had a buzzcut and then had been dyed a dark wheat tone. She was the same height as Marianne, though her hips were fuller, her breasts too. The stranger walked with an air of confidence that Marianne could only admire. As the woman disappeared into Carmen’s office, Marianne wondered if her prayers had been answered and having been spurned by Marianne, Carmen had made a greater effort to find someone suitable. If asked to guess, then Marianne knew she would have plumped for the woman in red leather also being a lesbian.
Heartened a little by what she had seen, Marianne headed on home and had a pleasant evening thinking that, perhaps, she had perceived a greater problem than had actually been the case. She put it down to it being so long since anyone of either gender had asked her out. Perhaps, she reflected, she needed to be prepared for such things. While Marianne felt that she was passed the age for dating, let alone casual encounters, she knew from what she read that others her age, and older, clung to their youth and saw such activities as marking that out.
Marianne walked into the bookshop. In recent years she had always bought books online, but the previous evening, pleased with how things with Carmen had been resolved, she thought it was time to do something different. The shop had a café and going there she imagined herself reading the latest bestseller over a coffee and then some handsome man wanting to sit across from her. She also recalled that it would soon be Carmen’s birthday and a hand-picked, written-in book seemed to be an ideal present. Yet, as she sat drinking her coffee and munching on those delicious Italian wafer biscuits, she wondered what she should get. Authors were not something they had discussed. She did guess that Carmen would not be into chick lit. However, she did not want anything too sombre. Caribbean writers and lesbian authors, Marianne was sure, would seem a little patronising.
From where she sat in the café area, Marianne gazed back into shelving, running her eyes along the categories shown at the top of each block; hoping for inspiration. Then the movement of a head focused her attention. She realised quickly that it was the woman she had seen the day before at the Advice Centre. Today she was in a ribbed black top and striking purple high-waisted leggings with a spiralling pattern running across them. Her leather jacket, a kind of aviator style today, and her ankle boots, were of a butterscotch shade, setting off the colour of her buzzcut. This was clearly a woman who felt no need to apologise that she was anywhere and doing what she wanted.
Marianne considered that, maybe, if she was a friend, or even a lover of Carmen, she too was looking for a suitable book as a gift. Marianne decided that it was a good idea to get to know this woman; if nothing else it would stop her speculating about who she was and what she meant to her colleague; her friend, Carmen. Marianne got up and headed in her direction. The woman had now tipped her cropped head sideways and was reading along the spines of books. As Marianne came closer she realised that she was in the lesbian fiction section; perhaps, she reflected, that should have been no surprise.
Marianne caught sight of the numerous silver rings on the black woman’s fingers. She was disconcerted to see that the one on the left ring finger matched the ring still stuck on hers since Carmen had put it there. Embarrassed, confidence fled from Marianne and rather than greet the woman, she detoured down the gay men’s fiction aisle which was fortunately empty. She tugged at the ring as she had done at various times over the past week to no avail. Then, she realised, she could use it to an advantage. Presumably seeing it, the black woman would believe she was married and would not think she was coming on to her.
With a little more confidence now, Marianne arced around the end of the aisle and back into where the lesbian fiction was held. Unfortunately, she saw immediately, the woman had moved on. Now as she walked past the shelves, Marianne felt foolish; as if she was stalking a woman she had only ever seen a couple of times at a distance. She slowed and idly eyeing the shelves wondered what to do; something, she hoped, that would not seem like she was a muddle-headed girl rather than a mature woman.
“Hi, Marianne.”
Marianne looked up sharply at the sound of the voice. It was Carmen, today dressed in a sleeveless black top with a sheen, under a black denim jacket. She had on jodhpur style jeans in indigo with pearl grey panels, disconcertingly leading the eye to between her thighs. She was buckled into thick-soled black shoes.
“Erm, Carmen—hello.”
Marianne responded weakly; feeling that being ‘caught’ among the lesbian fiction was going to set back her ‘cooling’ campaign. She hoped that she was not blushing and prayed that the woman who had drawn her in the first place would turn up to inadvertently rescue her.
“Yes … I know it’s your birthday soon … and I thought, well, a book.” Marianne laughed nervously. “In a bookshop.”
For a moment she was about to say that ‘well, I thought these were your kind of books’, but knew how patronising it would sound. “Is there anyone you particularly like?” Marianne asked instead.
“Audre Lorde, Helen Elaine, Alexis De Veaux, Penny Mickelbury …” Carmen looked to the ceiling and reeled off the authors.
“Sounds like a great selection.”
Marianne struggled to remember the names and was sure she had heard of one or two of them when a student. She had been quite the feminist back then, but, well, things had drifted when the demands and the compromises of work had intruded.
“Surprise me, Emmi …”
“Emmi?”
Carmen smiled and put a hand out to cup Marianne’s arm. “Kalisha called you that; didn’t you hear? It’s from our names on the wall at the Centre—M.E. Taylor. She wondered if you called yourself M.E.—Emmi; some women do.”
“Oh right, I see.” Marianne smiled trying to see the joke.
“Do you fancy a coffee?”
The question started up alarm bells for Marianne. This sounded too much like the question a man expecting sex would ask at the end of an evening. For a moment Marianne took it to mean that the woman she had seen in this aisle meant nothing much to Carmen beyond being a friend. Then at the other extreme she imagined that maybe Carmen intended to formally introduce the two. However, Marianne could not suppress her natural reaction which was to flee. She worried that all that she had done today had undermined any polite distance she had built up between her and Carmen.
“I’d not want to intrude.” Marianne said. “Anyway, I can’t let you see what I’ve got you, it’ll ruin the surprise.”
“Oh, okay.” Carmen seemed a little put out but offered no alternative.
“See you next Saturday.” Marianne smiled as she turned away and walked briskly
She hoped that she had not sounded rude. There was some consolation from the fact that whether the woman in butterscotch leather was a friend or more, Marianne felt that, she would not be seen to be abandoning Carmen; at least not leaving her on her own.
Arriving at the Advice Centre early, Marianne hoped that she would finally get to meet this new black woman. She felt foolish now for not simply walking up to her in the bookshop or going for a coffee with Carmen to find out about her. Partly, Marianne had realised, she felt guilty that she had become intrigued by the woman. She wondered if it stemmed from her hope that the newcomer would draw Carmen’s interest away from herself. She imagined, though, that there was also basic human curiosity about such a striking woman. Perhaps there was even jealousy that, though the same age as Marianne, the woman was clearly confident and sexy; she had the ‘sassiness’ Marianne had admired in Carmen. Marianne guessed she had no idea what she would do with that attribute even if she could acquire it, but she was certain it did no harm to the woman’s sex life.
Coming into the Centre reception, Marianne had a quick greeting for Hilda and then saw the tell-tale head of the woman she was seeking. In fact she appeared to be emerging from Marianne’s own office. Then she headed across into Carmen’s. She was dressed in an olive buttoned shirt, but sleeveless to show the arty tattoos running up her arm. Her trousers were of a darker shade and leather but this time more jean-like and less tight. The way she moved with the piece of paper grasped in both hands however, seemed to replicate Marianne’s gait or at least how she would have walked if she had been in dark green DMs rather than her smart navy blue court shoes.
Though Marianne conceded that there might be some traits in common between the two of them—the fact she was working here was one other—this woman was after all, black, with a buzzcut and in leathers. Even dressed like her, Marianne doubted that she would look the same. However, as she thought that, the curiosity, perhaps even a thrill, considering what it would be like to wear such clothes, flashed into Marianne’s mind.
“Marianne, are you alright?” Hilda asked.
Marianne realised that she had stopped with fingers grasping the door handle but had not moved on. “Just thought I’d forgotten something.” Marianne said vaguely and pulled the door open.
By the time she reached her office, Marianne found its door closed but not locked. She glanced across the corridor to where Carmen was already advising a young woman with a child in a pushchair. There appeared to be no trace of the other black woman. For a moment, Marianne wondered that she had imagined it all. However, there was little time to fret as soon the first clients, a couple of elderly women, were coming through to her.
Marianne was in two minds whether to go for what appeared to have become the usual drink with the team, the fortnightly rule apparently forgotten, or whether, once more, to cry off. Again this week she was in reception promptly at the end of her stint. Hilda was there packing up herself and Marianne thought it might be a useful opportunity to pin down who the black woman was. Marianne had not seen her since the first moments this morning. If Hilda had details of who she was, then Marianne knew, it would go some way to reassuring her about some things; would make up her mind about whether to visit the pub tonight.
“Hilda, can I ask about … about that woman using my office—sorry, I know lots of people use it—the office I am usually in, this morning. Do you know her?”
“Of course. You’ve not met her? Emmi—she’s Carmen’s wife. I think they go well together.” She said matter-of-factly.
“So she’s in on Saturday mornings?”
“Yes, that’s right. I thought she said she’d be in all day, but then …” Hilda looked confused. “I guess I got that wrong.”
“Has she been working here long?”
“Oh yes, four years, from the same time as when you started here.” Hilda trailed off. “She and Carmen … well, they met here. I guess they got married … a year or two ago.”
“Thanks, I’ll make sure I talk with her.”
Marianne was uncertain about this information. She guessed it was possible that this ‘Emmi’ had been working at the Centre; she knew very few of those who worked here during the week. Probably Hilda had forgotten that this woman had previously only come in on a Tuesday or whatever. At least Marianne knew her name but finding out that she had been Carmen’s wife for some time, was embarrassing. Had Carmen just been seeking ‘a bit on the side’ when she had suggested that she and Marianne should have a relationship? Was that why Emmi now came in on Saturdays, to keep an eye on her ‘wandering’ wife? Those thoughts, however, appeared alien to Marianne; they did not sound typical of Carmen. Yet, why had Carmen never mentioned this woman? She was open about so much else. On the other hand, she had never appeared to Marianne as a disloyal person; someone who would cheat.
Trying to reconcile these different aspects, Marianne decided that she must have misunderstood what had been said to her at the pub. Quickly she was reinterpreting it as Carmen simply trying to be helpful; suggesting that she try out lesbianism, but not meaning with her. Marianne sought to recapture what had been said, but given they had both been drinking at the time, she guessed one or other of them might have got it wrong. Marianne now felt embarrassed at how much fuss she had made about something which she had clearly misinterpreted. For a moment Marianne felt she should go for a drink with the others as some kind of compensation but then, feeling foolish all round, abandoned that thought.
“Are you coming for a drink?”
Marianne almost yelped as she heard Carmen’s voice behind her. She muttered an apology.
“Erm … yes, no, I don’t know.”
“Come on; come along, you know it’s always better when you’re there; everything’s better when you’re there.” The last bit was trailed off.
“What about Emmi?” Marianne asked defensively.
Carmen looked uncertain about that statement.
“Emmi—your wife?”
“In my dreams.” Carmen gave a nervous smile. “If that’s what … what you wanted.”
“I feel … well, would feel uncomfortable with a woman who … well, who would be unfaithful to her … her partner.”
“I understand; me and you agree on that, it’s for sure.”
Marianne now felt bewildered. On one hand Carmen appeared to be saying she was loyal to her wife but also was hinting that she still thought her and Marianne could make a go of things. Quickly Marianne realised that Hilda may have made a mistake; thinking back she had seemed confused about it all. Maybe this Emmi was actually someone else’s wife.
“Come along, you two.” Kalisha now steamed in. “Deciding on a drink does not need a meeting.”
Marianne let herself be carried along by the young woman and Sam as her supporter. In the pub, however, she sat away from Carmen. It was clear that the woman was interested in her and maybe thought that, in time, Marianne would come round, at least to experimenting, if not something more serious. Marianne told herself it was unfair to expect a woman to go against her nature; no-one could control who they fell in love with; let alone in lust with. She was uncertain about what role this Emmi played, but she had known Carmen long enough to know she would not be lying. Pretending not to have a wife, especially one as apparently hot to the lesbian community as the one she had seen, would be one huge lie. Marianne guessed that she had to trust to what felt right to her, but then again, she acknowledged that her skills in the dating game were terribly rusty. Furthermore she had had no idea about how it worked for lesbians, even back in her prime.
“I don’t want to make it a late one.” Marianne apologised.
“No worries.” Sam responded and stood to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek; Kalisha followed suit.
Carmen took her hand as she manoeuvred around the table. Her skin was smooth and warm and Marianne knew she liked its touch.
“Thanks for coming out tonight. I look forward to seeing more of ‘Emmi’ in the future.” Carmen smiled as if it was a poor joke.
“Yes, that would be really good. I look forward to seeing her too. Make sure that she comes along.”
“If that’s what you want, I will, but she’s got to put in some of the effort too.”
“Yes, I understand that. She’s got a good role model in you, you know, Carmen; you’re very loyal, I know you won’t let her down.”
“Yes, that’s for certain; I hope she knows that.”
“You can’t keep telling her enough.”
“Okay, message received.”
Carmen was now standing, her hand resting once again on Marianne’s then she reached forward to kiss Marianne’s cheek. Marianne did like the feel of Carmen’s lips, they sent a quick thrill through her. The scent of the black woman mixed with the aroma of leather jacket was heady, so it was a little unsteady; a little unnerved, that Marianne stepped away. As she left the pub, however, she felt glad that she had got stuff out in the open.
As she walked from the pub, Marianne glanced back through the window and saw that, now, in fact, Emmi had joined the group of women; she was in the olive leathers from earlier in the day. She must have come in through one of the other doors as Marianne had cautiously picked her way through the male, and indeed female customers, who seemed to be oblivious to her trying to get by. She watched as Carmen and Emmi closed for a kiss, hoping that her statements were strengthening their relationship after what seemed like a bit of a wobble. Then, however, Marianne felt uncomfortable once more recognising that she was now being just a voyeur. With that concern, Marianne hurried on to find her bus.
On the ride home, Marianne had replayed the latest conversation with Carmen in her head. Once again, she wondered if it was her misunderstanding about what was going on or Carmen’s. Marianne tried to come to the conclusion that it was probably a bit of both. The only solution seemed to be to have a good heart-to-heart chat with the woman. It would probably help if they did that somewhere quiet without the distractions of others, not least their friends from the Centre. Feeling out of sorts as a result of her confusion over Carmen, Marianne drew a bath and filled it with bubbles. Once in she lounged for a while then moved slowly onto washing her hair.
As was usual, to wash off the shampoo, Marianne dipped her head beneath the bathwater. She came up and moved to wipe her hair from her face, but for the moment it seemed none had fallen forward this time. As she opened her eyes, her body, shiny with the bubble bath, stretched out in front of her. For a moment Marianne noted the sheen, but then realised that her skin was a different colour: a rich brown shade. She kept looking to make sure, noticing other differences, her taut but rounded hips, her mound smooth of pubic hair, her labia a chocolate shade. It seemed incredible. She looked to her breasts, two smooth-skinned caramel orbs, tipped with prominent dark berry shade nipples, haloed by large areolas.
Marianne jerked back against the end of the bath, closing her eyes tight and shaking her head. She worried that she was hallucinating again, this time far more intimately. She was not just seeing a phantom woman in the distance, but seeing her—well, no, seeing herself as she imagined the woman would look, when naked in the bath. Tentatively Marianne opened her eyes; aware of how fast her heart was beating. This time she was glad to see her pale white skin and the rather angular frame of her body; her small nipples with barely visible areolas around them.
All kinds of thoughts ran through Marianne’s mind as she pulled herself from the bath and wrapped herself in towels. She noticed now that her wet shoulder-length hair had strands stuck to her cheeks. Worries came into Marianne about her health. Yet, Doctor Hewlett had reassured her at her recent check-up that she was healthy in all aspects. She wondered then if it was psychological rather than physical. However, she would not accept the idea popping up that being celibate since David left, might be having an impact. After all, there were people like nuns who never had sex and they seemed alright.
Maybe balancing her job and the Advice Centre, Marianne conceded, was taking its toll. She could not give up her work and the volunteering, she felt too, was important. She guessed that in her time off she just had to make sure she slept well and kept up exercise. Marianne had often thought of joining a gym, but had been very self-conscious of her body alongside the tanned and buff women she guessed would be there. Furthermore, given the ‘incident’ with Carmen in the pub, she worried that, perhaps, at the age she had reached she might be hit on by more lesbians thinking her at least curious about going with them. Sure that, for the moment, tiredness was at the root of her problems, Marianne did not delay in heading to bed.