Chapter 3

She stopped at the front of my car, while I took the last few steps to the driver's side door. Then I carefully pushed the key into the lock and looked over at her. Gayle was standing there with her arms folded tightly against her chest, her bosom hardly visible, and a broad smile on her face. But it wasn't merely a smile, a simple display of politeness, rather a grin expressing a genuine happiness within. And, when I saw it, I couldn't help but feel the same way. Warmth suddenly filled me, and my stomach fluttered at seeing her standing there like that. I blushed and looked down at the door and slowly pulled up on the handle. The door gently popped loose, and I stepped back to open it.

"Well... Thanks again for inviting me," I said softly, not quite sure what more to say, but feeling as though those few words weren't nearly enough. And, when I gazed over at her, I giggled, as she stood there still wearing that precious grin for me.

"Thanks for coming," she replied with a little wave of the hand.

I fidgeted with my keys, smiled nervously, and, as I stepped down into the car, Gayle spoke.

"Oh... Um... Hey."

I quickly poked my head out the door and tried to stand.

Gayle held out her hand, saying, "I was, uh..." Then she chuckled and glanced down at her feet, playfully kicking one foot, adding, "I was wondering if, uh... if you'd like to go to lunch maybe... sometime... no, uh... no big deal." And then she snarled her lip for emphasis, giving a wave of the hand for more effect. Just a routine departing question, was what she seemed to be implying.

My eyes darted to the steering wheel, as my brain tried to register this sudden and unexpected request. It was beginning to feel more like a date.

"I, uh... Yeah, yeah... Um... Sure, you know, yeah. That'd be fine. Sure. I'd like that."

Gayle's smile returned and she shrugged, leaning from one foot to the other and asking if any particular day would work best for me. My eyes roamed the interior of the car once more, as I tried to think and make sense of all that was happening before me. Then I noticed my hands beginning to tremble.

"Any... Any time would, uh..."

I cleared my throat and tried to speak again.

"Any time's ok... with me," I stammered. "I, uh... Did... Did you have a certain day that'd, uh... work for you?"

She brushed a hand over her forehead and looked off for a moment, as if in thought. Then she slowly shook her head.

"Um... No, not really. Would, uh... Would tomorrow be ok? Would that work?"

My head jittered up and down.

"Yeah, sure. That'd be fine. So... Should I call you?" I asked.

Then I looked around the dashboard for a pen and paper to write on. When I finally found something, I turned back to Gayle, ready to take down her work number, but found that she had stepped over to the door. I looked up and blinked, as she stood there in front of me with her arms still folded. I went to place the small scrap of paper I'd found on the door to write, but saw that my hands were now visibly shaking, so I quickly pulled them down to my lap, placing the pen and paper on my thigh. I glanced up and nodded, and she gave me a number I could reach her at during the day.

So it was settled. I'd call her in the morning to arrange meeting her for lunch. We then parted with a few more quick, uneasy goodbyes, and, as I pulled out, I watched as Gayle slowly trudged back inside, staring down at the sidewalk, her arms folded and wrapped tightly around her chest. And in that instant, I felt sorry for her. I could empathize with her, and it ached my heart that someone like her, so alive and wonderful, would have to return to a darkened, desolate room to be left alone. But what made a tear come to my eye was the knowledge that I was now doing the same thing, what I'd been doing for the last several years, and I did so passionately hate it.

When I arrived home, I checked myself in the rearview mirror, to ensure Rachel wouldn't see that I'd been crying, and then I slowly followed the sidewalk to the front door and stepped inside.

As I lay in bed, once again alone in my own dreary tomb, I rolled over, and my eyes landed on the phone sitting on the nightstand. I wanted to call her, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. In my heart, though, I knew if I did, she'd understand. So, instead, I turned away and faced the ceiling, wondering if Gayle was doing like me at that very moment, lying in bed wondering if there was any way out of this, if there was really any hope at all. Then I sighed and closed my eyes, drifting into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning, I awoke feeling hung over, weak and tired, and emotionally, if not physically, exhausted. Gayle's party had been a wakeup call for me. Something had to change in my life. What I was looking for, whatever it might be, wasn't going to come find me. I had to go get it myself. And, as I stood in the shower with my hands behind my back, letting the warm water splash over my body, long strands of wet hair dangling around my face like a curtain, I began thinking about Gayle, thinking about how this person whom I barely knew made me feel. There was just something about her, some unknown, intangible quality I couldn't quite define. My subconscious kept trying to regurgitate her being a lesbian, but I shook it out of my head.

"I'm not a lesbian," I replied softly. "And so what, if she is? That doesn't mean anything."

But my mind kept dwelling on it, kept going back to her curious smile and the way she acted when we were sitting alone in her living room or standing outside by my car. My mind was working feverishly to convince me that her motives weren't as amiable as I thought, but I knew the impetus for this notion was purely conjectural.

"You're jumping to conclusions," I mumbled, and turned to rinse my face.

And then my subconscious slipped a thought into the light where I could see it.

"She's pretty."

I stopped rinsing the shampoo from my hair and let my hands slowly drift down over my mouth. Then I turned from the spray and opened my eyes, brushing the water from them.

Did I just think that?

My subconscious presented me with a myriad of mental images, as proof of the assertion - her smile, her slender fingers and lean legs; her flowing brown hair and the way her body moved. And then I began thinking of the details, the things I couldn't see, the things hidden under her clothes. I closed my eyes, trying to make sense of these sudden bizarre thoughts. Not once had I ever looked at another woman and admired her sexuality. And the less I attempted to thwart these thoughts, the more emboldened my subconscious became and began sending a flurry of them racing to the forefront of my mind.

Standing there in the shower, I thought about Gayle and how she acted towards me. When we talked, it was as if we were connecting on an emotional and intellectual level. In short, trying to become friends. And I was genuinely interested in getting to know her, and there seemed no doubt in my mind she felt the same toward me. You can tell, when someone's faking it, when their motives are transparent. Sometimes it's overt and at others merely a gut feeling that something isn't right, but I didn't sense any duplicity in Gayle's words or actions. And what difference did it make, if she was attracted to me? Was it such an awful thing? In fact, if she were, I'd almost be forced to take it as a compliment. Over the last few years, several men had made passes at me, though I wasn't all that interested in following through. Sure, they were nice, and I was even friends with one of them, a colleague at the school where I taught, but nothing ever transpired from it. We remained friends and nothing more, and that friendship didn't seem to suffer for it. It's entirely possible to be attracted to someone, yet still maintain a purely platonic relationship with no ill effect.

As I stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel off the shelf, I found myself actually becoming flattered that Gayle would be attracted to me. I smiled and giggled at the thought, as I dried myself: another woman attracted to me, of all people. The possibility had never even crossed my mind, not once in my life.

I used the towel to wipe the steam away from the mirror, and, just before I started brushing my hair, I stood staring at my reflection. My wet hair hung limp around my face, stopping just above my eyes in front and below my neck in back. Red and long, my husband always like it that way. Many years before, when Rachel was very young, I came home one day from the salon with a new hairstyle, much shorter than I'd ever had it before. My husband took one look and gasped, making me promise never to cut it that short again. And that evening, as we lay in bed, he kissed me and held me close, saying I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever known.

It'd been a long time since someone had said that to me.

After dressing, I walked downstairs to breakfast. Rachel was sitting at the table, and we ate together. She was reading the newspaper, as usual, and asked a few questions about the dinner party at Gayle's, but otherwise it was just a routine morning.

When I arrived at school, I made my way quickly to my classroom. Today I was going to give my first period students a pop quiz, something I really disliked doing, but it was a way to keep them on their toes and ensure they did the required reading. It would also afford me a good fifteen minutes to make a call to Gayle.

The bell rang, and the last of the stragglers slowly made their way into the room, taking their seats. I announced there was going to be a quiz, and then came the obligatory groans of protest, but I apologized, saying it was for their own good, and promised to be holistic in my grading.

Once my students were fully occupied, I quietly excused myself and quickly made my way down to the teacher's lounge, not far from my room. As I opened the door, another teacher was walking out, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Mornin', Jess."

"Hey, Todd."

Then I dashed over to the phone, before anyone could walk in on me.

I pulled out the slip of paper with Gayle's phone number at work and dialed.

"Good morning. Physical therapy. How can I direct your call?"

"Um, yeah," I said softly, looking over my shoulder to make sure no one was walking into the lounge. "Is Gayle in yet? Gayle Martin."

"Yes, she is. Can I tell her who's calling, please?"

I sat down on the couch next to the phone and squirmed.

"Uh, yeah, my name's Jess. Jessica. She's expecting my call."

"Ok, I'll let her know you're on hold. Just a moment, please."

But before I could thank her, that wretched music they always play came over the line. I glanced at the clock on the wall and grimaced.

"C'mon," I mumbled.

"Hey, Jess."

Startled by those sudden words, I shot upright and grinned.

"Gayle? Hey, uh... So, I, uh, don't have a lot of time here."

I glanced at the clock again, then to my watch.

"Ok," she said. "Yeah, a client just showed up here, so we better keep it short. Thought I'd grab the phone quick, when they told me it was you."

I held the phone to my ear with both hands and felt my face turning red.

"So, um..."

"Ya know, you have a really pretty phone voice," she said with a chuckle.

I giggled in reply, and she added, "Well, and off the phone, too. I'm just saying..."

"I don't have much time," I laughed. "I gave 'em a pop quiz a few minutes ago, and they're probably done by now."

Gayle laughed, saying, "Ugh. God, those sucked. Ok, what time? When and where?"

"I, uh..."

"Want me to come over and meet you?" she asked.

My arms began trembling.

"Yeah," I whispered. "Um... You know where, right?"

"Uh huh. What time?"

"Lemme think here," I said, closing my eyes and rubbing my fingers against my forehead.

"Hurry up," she laughed.

"I'm trying!" I exclaimed with a snicker. "You're making me nervous."

Gayle laughed again.

"Sorry," she said.

"Geesh... Um, would twelve-thirty be ok? I only have a little over an hour, but if we waited till tomorrow, I'd have..."

"No," she replied quickly. "Today's fine. So, ok then, I'll meet you at twelve-thirty. By the front doors?"

I nodded. "Yeah, that'd work."

"Ok," she said. "I'll see you in a few hours."

"All right," I whispered. "Bye."

"See ya then... Oh, and Jess?"

"Yeah?"

Gayle was quiet for a moment, and I glanced at the clock once more, but smiled.

"Thanks for calling," she said. "Kinda made my morning."

"You're too much," I giggled nervously, staring down at the floor. "See ya later."

As I walked back to my classroom, I had bells on my toes. I felt so good, in fact, that when I got back to the room and saw all the quizzes sitting on my desk, I told my students they were off the hook. I wasn't going to grade them, to which they sighed in relief.

From twelve to twelve-thirty, I had to sit in the hallway down near the cafeteria with another teacher, as we worked the hall monitor shift. No one was supposed to get by us without a written pass. Her name was Gloria and was on the verge of retiring, which I think many students wished she had opted for many years before. She could be nice enough, but she did have a tendency to be cranky and play favorites with the students. As a result, whenever one of them wanted to go to their locker during lunch, they invariably came to me, if I was sitting out there with her.

When Rachel was still in high school, she told me how Gloria had a nickname with the kids. They called her "The Gestapo", because, just as how in every movie set during World War Two there was always a Gestapo agent at a train station checking papers and passports, so too did Gloria with the same fervent demeanor.

"Pay-pahs, pleez," was how Rachel verbalized it, using an exaggerated German accent.

I, on the other hand, was referred to as "Mother Theresa", for the mercy I tended to hand out freely to everyone with even a mediocre sob story.

So, as I sat on one side of the hallway and Gloria the other, where she sat reading, I tried to wave the kids over to me, as they approached, partly to help them and partly to kill thirty minutes.

At twenty after twelve, a young girl from the main office came walking down the hall. I was talking to a student, when she stopped next to me.

"Mrs. Clarke, you have a visitor at the office."

I glanced at my watch.

"Already?" I mumbled, but with a broad smile.

Gloria looked up from her book.

"Yeah, go on," she said. "Only a few more minutes left."

"Thanks," I replied happily and jumped up from my chair.

As I made my way quickly to the office, I passed two boys walking toward Gloria. When they saw me leaving, they stopped in their tracks and frowned.

"Sorry," I whispered, as I zipped past them.

The main office was far on the other side of the building, so by the time I reached it, I was nearly sprinting and out of breath. But, when I turned the corner, there she was. Gayle was sitting on a bench in the hall with one leg crossed over the other, twirling her sunglasses in her hand. I came to a screeching halt, just as she turned to see what the commotion was. And, when she smiled at me, mine grew wider. Then she stood and picked up a plastic bag next to her, along with two large sodas in a cardboard holder.