Painted Moon Part 12

She knew the last thoughts were unworthy of Leah, but then again, what did she know? And who was that woman at the gallery? Someone else Leah was using to get over Sharla?

So she had let Leah know she still wanted her. And Leah hadn't wanted her back. Fine. She sat up and wiped her face. She would bear it somehow. There were plenty of other women in San Francisco. She'd been around the G.o.dd.a.m.ned world. It would take more than Leah Beck to set her back.

She bathed her face and threw herself into making the bed with fresh sheets, doing laundry, walking to the grocery store, getting some bagels and cream cheese from the deli and a pint of extra dark chocolate ice cream. She told herself all through the day that she was doing fine and would manage without Leah in her life. Her mental cheerleader worked overtime.

At home again, she looked at the events calendar. There was a Motown dance put on by the career women's group the Sat.u.r.day after next. She had some stiff deadlines and demanding drawings to complete at work so a dance to look forward to would keep her going. And maybe she'd meet a woman to make her forget about Leah Beck, and maybe she'd go home with her.

Leah picked up her car from in front of Constance's house, knowing she should go in and apologize for leaving Connie to find her own way home last night. But speech was beyond her. Driving was almost more than she could manage.

At home she felt the echoes of the last time she had been in this kind of pain. Butch whined for food, and she automatically dished some out. Then she went into the bedroom, seized the bedspread, dragged it after her into the walk-in closet, turned off the light and shut the door. She crawled into the corner, wrapped herself in the blanket, and turned her face from the tiny crack of light framing the closet door.

She squeezed her eyes closed until there was no color. Just blackness to swamp her in misery. She was beyond tears, but not beyond pain. An image seared across her eyelids - Sharla, unconscious, slipping under the water. Orange stunned her mind's eye - the life jacket bobbed up, empty. She cried out and heard her voice disappear into the clothes over her head.

She was losing Sharla again. Waves of guilt wracked her lungs, mired her in a brackish green wasteland. She was in love with Jackie. She was certain. She loved Sharla - had loved Sharla.

Was it really in the past tense? Was that what was causing her such agony now? She had loved Sharla. Her mind posed unanswerable questions. If she had met Jackie while Sharla was alive, would she have loved her? If Sharla came back from the dead, who would she choose?

You don't have to choose, she told herself. You have loving Sharla to keep forever. All the memories, the pa.s.sion, the laughter. Waking to each day with such joy. But now it seemed as if she had to lose a little of Sharla to love Jackie without reservation.

Blue and silver danced in her mind's eye and her aching shoulder muscles relaxed. She concentrated on breathing deeply for a few minutes.

More at peace, she smiled in the darkness and drew a mental picture of Jackie as she had been that morning, the sheet draped around her back.

Her back tensed as Jackie's face went gray. The intriguing face turned away as she drew back at the mention of Sharla. She had hurt Jackie deeply. Even if Jackie didn't return her love with the same depth, they had shared an incredible night together. She wanted to take back the words, but it was over. She was sure that Jackie was done with her forever.

Leah had shown her how it could be between women and now Jackie was free to explore with her adventurous spirit and joyful openness to life. She had expected nothing from her encounter with Jackie and that was exactly what she had ended up with. So why wasn't she happy?

Blue and silver streaks mingled in the tears that finally came.

Jackie paid the admission fee and picked her way through the bar so she could be closer to the dance floor. "My Girl" was playing and the lights were dimmed as couples swayed together. When the song ended and the lights went up again, "Rockin' Robin" came on and Jackie looked around for anyone she knew.

"Hey, I hoped you would be here," someone said in her ear. She turned and grinned at Stella, a favorite dancing partner, who seized her hand and pulled her onto the floor. Stella was tall, round, large and a good leader, especially for a swing beat. Jackie threw herself into enjoying the music and the dancing - she could forget about, Leah.

"Go, girl," Stella called, handing Jackie in and out of two turns, a you go, I Go then into a sugar push. When the music ended they hugged and applauded. The D.J. put on "ABC" and Stella twirled her into a different swing step.

Several songs later Stella pushed her off the floor and led the way to the quietest corner of the club. Her lover, Bonnie, was talking to a woman Jackie had met once before. Stella dropped a breathless kiss on Bonnie's forehead and said, "Room for me?"

Bonnie pulled Stella onto the arm of her wheelchair and smiled a welcome at Jackie. "You're good for her - she never gets this much exercise."

Jackie fanned herself. "And vice versa." She nodded h.e.l.lo to Ina.

Ina returned the h.e.l.lo with a mischievous grin. "Can I get you a beer? Or would you like to dance?" She inclined her blond brush-cut toward the dance floor.

"Yes to both," Jackie said promptly. Stella had told her, with heavy maternal overtones, that Ina was a fast worker. Maybe that was just what she needed. "Dance first?"

Ina followed her back to the dance floor where the D.J. had segued to "Surfin' U.S.A." Jackie showed Ina how to do the swim and backstroke. Ina nuzzled her ears when they slow danced to "Dock of the Bay." Jackie controlled the urge to squirm, all at once uncertain about her course of action. Maybe another woman wasn't the way to forget Leah. Not this soon.

To Jackie's relief, the D.J. declared a line dance and the floor cleared for the Electric Slide.

"How do you know this one?" Ina studied Jackie's steps.

"'Soul Train." When I was a kid they were crazy for 'Soul Train' in Spain. You can do it, it's simple." Ina caught on quickly and when the song ended they left the floor with their arms around each other's waist.

The beer was cold and Jackie felt a little more bold. She munched popcorn while Ina flirted with her and then went back to the dance floor for a long, slow dance to "Me and Mrs. Jones."

Ina nuzzled her ears again and Jackie forced herself to relax. The kiss wasn't so bad-pleasant even - and Jackie again tried to persuade herself that she was doing the right thing. d.a.m.n you, Leah Beck, she thought.

They sat out a set and Jackie spent most of it talking to Bonnie who was a library of information about anything to do with lesbians in San Francisco. She knew all the books, all the plays, all the gossip, all the art. Ina joined in a couple of times, but said that politics and activism were not her forte, nor were books or theater. She liked to dance. Her gaze, flickering over Jackie's body, said there were other things she liked.

I won't have anything to talk to her about, Jackie thought. She and Leah hadn't had that much time for talk, but they hadn't found any topics they weren't both interested in. But tonight is just for s.e.x, she told herself. To get Leah out of her system. Ina clearly didn't expect anything else.

Even as she talked with Bonnie, Jackie puzzled over what to do. Just because her s.e.xuality had been turned inside out, did that mean her s.e.xual mores had as well? She hadn't been interested in casual s.e.x when she had been with men, so why should she be now? It was probably safe and her days of worrying about birth control were over. But probably safe wasn't good enough. And her self-image was the most precious thing she possessed. She was angry at Leah Beck, and Ina didn't have anything to do with it.

She sighed. Her self-image had undergone enough change. So even if her body was interested in going to bed with Ina - which it didn't seem to be - her mind was not. Unlike the situation with Leah, she could choose to be with Ina.

At the thought of Leah, her body p.r.i.c.kled and she felt lightheaded. Still ready for Leah's touch, but no other. The hurt was there, too.

"Are you feeling okay?" Bonnie gently shook her arm.

Jackie started, then looked at Ina. As good an excuse as any, she thought. "No, not really. I suddenly feel very weak."

"I can drive you home," Ina offered.

Jackie stood up shakily, cursing herself. Just thinking about going to bed with Leah left her drained. It wasn't fair. "No, I'll be fine. I had a really long week at work and not much sleep. I suppose it's catching up with me." She smiled to allay Bonnie's obvious concern. "I'd better go now."

Ina looked resigned and she was already eyeing the dance floor for another partner. Jackie made her goodbyes and walked to her car. The snapping wind cleared her mind and even as she drove away she kicked herself. So much for being seductive and seducible.

d.a.m.n you, Leah Beck, and the snowstorm you rode in on.

13.

At the edge of her hearing, Leah knew the phone was ringing again. She continued to ignore it. Every ounce of energy she had was directed at finis.h.i.+ng the five canvases she was working on simultaneously.

Today was rubine red for depth and to give translucency to the creamy figure that would be painted over it. Her back was killing her but she remained bent over the first canvas, working laboriously with a wide tipped brush. Here would be a knee and the inner curve of thigh. The canvas immediately to the right already had the outline of the same shapely leg, but smaller. It was topped by round, voluptuous hips. Hips that looked as though they would move like a dancer's.

In the third canvas she used more red where eventually a breast would emerge, along with the arm, shoulder and stomach of the same woman. A woman she could paint a thousand times from memory now. A thick braid of hair dangled from the open curve of the body and there Leah intended to use braided blackened pewter tied with a ribbon of bronze.

In the fourth canvas, a long line dominated, taking shape as the swell of the same hips as before, the downward curve to the waist and a rising line of what would be ribs and the delicate curve of armpit leading to shoulder. Again the braid would figure prominently, coiling over the waist with the ribbon dangling and the braid itself loosened, suggesting a loss of composure and lack of restraint. This could easily be her favorite canvas - her favorite of what she would allow to be exhibited.

The fifth was hers and hers alone. Her heart was in every stroke. It would be all she ever had. Jackie's face, her eyes, her lips, slightly parted. "Jackie Saying Yes" was for Leah's comfort. The blue and gold of her eyes, the black lights in her hair, the sweet, pale pink of her lips.

The next day she worked in a bluish gray to outline the figures and a reddened gray to fill. She found that she had properly gauged the amount of rubine underneath, and in the right places the skin color took on a richer tone. The flesh looked transparent, which should, she thought, tempt the viewer to concentrate and try to see through the paint to the real woman.

Day after day she continued with new shades, each layer building the figure and suggesting where the body was the warmest. She spent days on the backgrounds alone, painting white on white until she really thought she would touch cotton sheeting when the paint dried.

It took nearly a week for her to produce an acceptable braid with the pewter strips. She left the incoming messages on the answering machine and only when she was done, the braids anch.o.r.ed into the canvases and the canvases coated with the last sealers did she feel she could rest. Butch sat meaningfully by her empty dish when Leah went into the kitchen. The answering machine blinked frantically.

She treated them both to steak and added a half bottle of wine for herself. She replayed the messages and found that Valentina had called five times with lengthy pleas for Leah to call her back. A telemarketer wanted her to refinance her home. Constance's messages went from "I'm not really speaking to you, but you have to call me this minute" to "If you don't call me, I'll sue." Maureen had called once about a fundraiser and Jackie had not called at all. Well, Leah had promised she would call her. She wondered what Jackie was doing, who Jackie had met.

When her appet.i.te was sated she treated Butch to a long, thorough brus.h.i.+ng followed by a walk to the riding school and along one of the trails. Butch was panting happily when they got back to the house and ran barking to the woman who clambered out of the T-bird at the sight of them.

"Didn't you get my messages? Do you have any idea what happens next Sunday?" Constance's agitation was such that she was standing on tiptoe. "The photographer from the Chronicle Sunday magazine is taking pictures for the magazine spread and you haven't even begun the installation!"

Leah froze and stared at Constance. "Oh my G.o.d. I completely forgot. I'm so sorry-"

"I've been trying to reach you for days! All you had to do was call. I don't care if you do have some new lover, this was really irresponsible of you -"

"I don't have a new lover. What gave you that -"

"I never let my feelings interfere with business, and it's really-"

"Will you stop for a minute," Leah demanded. "If we're going to yell at each other, we can at least do it in the house." She turned and led the way into the house, not waiting to see if Constance would follow. Her cheeks burned and she hoped none of her neighbors had been watching.

Constance's heels echoed in the hallway as she followed Leah to the kitchen. Leah offered Constance coffee and received a stony look in reply.

"I'm sorry, I should have called. I was working and without Sharla to keep me on a schedule I forgot about everything, including eating. You could have said why you were calling, you know." She wouldn't tell Constance she'd only just listened to the machine.

Constance stared at her shoes, two-toned leather heels that made her calves look even longer and more shapely. Leah wondered why she couldn't accept the pa.s.sing pleasure Constance had offered.

"I'm very sorry," she said again.

"Where is she?" Constance raised her head and stared unhappily across the kitchen at Leah.

"I have no idea. I'm not seeing her."

"I would have sworn she... well. I should have left a better message, I guess," Constance admitted. "I was going to drive over here a couple of days ago... I was jealous. And envious. I know I didn't offer you forever, but I wanted more than a day."

"I sorry I can't give you more."

There was a heavy silence, then Constance shook herself. "You were working? I hope you're going to tell me that the Painted Moon is done."

"They were done just a few days after you were here last. I've been working on something new for the last -" She glanced at the calendar - "good G.o.d, month. I'd like to add them to the show, but hung in a different area. They'll show everyone I really am back."

"I'll have to see them," Constance said. She smiled more like the Constance Leah knew best. "I'd love to see them."

Leah made a piffing sound and led the way to her workshop.

The canvases were arranged in a circle, gleaming from the still drying sealer. She stood aside and let Constance into their circle and waited for her reaction. They felt right to her, but Constance's opinion meant a lot.

Constance turned slowly. When she came to the last painting, the only one that was obviously Jackie, her fists clenched. She turned the full circle once more and then looked at Leah with a burning gaze.

"They are beautiful. like nothing you've done before," she said huskily. Then, vehemently, she said, "But I won't exhibit any of them. I advise you with all my heart and experience, never to show any of them publicly. Ever."

Leah's jaw dropped. "What? What do you mean?"

Constance blinked and shook her head slightly. "You really don't know, do you? You don't see it."

"See what? They're nudes. I won't show that one," Leah said, pointing at the one that featured Jackie's face. "But the others are-"

"Lesbian. They're lesbian."

"You're going to have to explain that," Leah said. "Everyone knows I'm a lesbian."

"Yes, but you've never put it in your work before."

"Who and what I am is in everything I do." Leah's voice rose.

"It was never explicit before. These are nudes, these are paintings by a woman in love with another woman." Constance's voice rose to match Leah's.

"You make that sound dirty. I've never hidden it. I won't start now."

"I can't show them. I don't want my gallery labeled and I won't let you be labeled either."

"But everyone knows!" Leah was almost shouting now.

"Being labeled in the art world is degrading. You know that as well as I do! A 'woman' artist, a 'black' artist, a 'homeless' artist - all less than just plain Artist. That's the way it is. The way it has always been."

"I can't believe this is you talking. You've exhibited the most daring artists in the country."

"But never in a ghetto context. If I let you show even one of these you won't be Lee Beck, American Artist, but Lee Beck, Lesbian Artist. No matter what you do after that, 'lesbian' will always be in the description."

Leah jabbed her finger at Constance. "Do you have any idea how h.o.m.ophobic you sound?"

"I'm a realist. Art should transcend labels-"

"What about illuminating labels?"

"Do you want to be another Mapplethorpe?"

"I would be in fine company if I were. And there's nothing explicit in these paintings. If you see explicit lesbian content, that's your eyes putting it there."

Constance drew in an angry breath. "Everyone's eyes will put it there. As you said, everyone knows you're a lesbian. If you weren't, these might pa.s.s as explorations of the female form, but since you are, they're -"

"An exploration of the female form -"

"A glorification of female love." Constance stamped her foot. "You just don't get it. You're going to lose your standing as a leader in American arts."

"You're just afraid the gallery will lose its standing. You just don't want your walls sullied with lesbian work. Only your sheets."

Constance was trembling with anger. "I have promoted dozens of gay men and lesbians in my gallery, like you."

"Don't wave your credentials at me! Obviously, you promoted the ones who were content to remain invisible." She gestured at the paintings. "I think this is the best work I've ever done. Are you telling me you won't exhibit it?"