I looked into my coffee cup, but no answers were there. “Yes,” I finally said.

Emma waited a moment more while I groped for some words to clarify. Yes, I’ve been in love. I am in love, but I’ve neither seen nor spoken to her in several months. Is that really love? All these thoughts jumbled through my head. I was too caught in a limbo of indecision—no, Cordelia’s decision, all out of my power—to know what to reveal.

Emma turned back to face her harpsichord, letting my answer satisfy for the moment. “What would you like to hear next?” she inquired.

“Some more Bach would be nice.”

She looked through some of her sheet music.

“‘Capriccio in B-flat Major,’” Emma announced. Then she turned to me for a moment. “You don’t know anyone who can waltz, do you? No, of course not, your generation hardly knows what a waltz is anymore.” Emma was talking so as not to dismiss me too quickly with music. “Herbert can, but I am somewhat reluctant to begin this gala evening as part of a male/female couple. It doesn’t quite set the right tone. Oh, yes, the capriccio.” She arranged herself and started to play.

I thought about volunteering myself. I could waltz. No, not really, I decided. A few years ago, my cousin Torbin had taught me. He was playing Ginger Rogers and needed someone to be his Fred Astaire. We had won first place, so I couldn’t have been that bad, but I had done little waltzing in the meantime.

Several of Emma’s friends joined us. When she finished the last piece, I thanked her for the concert. Then I left, avoiding the bustling kitchen. It was lunchtime, but I wasn’t hungry yet. I wandered around the lawn, checking the pond for any long, thin denizens, but found only a lone frog. I left him there. A few women were swimming; the pond would be crowded when people finished eating. The sun was warm and direct. I walked into the shade of the woods, the trees muffling the increasing noise from the swimming pond. I ambled through the forest, at times cutting between trails when I got tired of the paths.

Emma was right. In some ways I was an outsider, an observer, now wandering solitary in the woods rather than joining the gay laughter in the water.

I followed the stream that ran out from the pond down a gently sloping hill. There was a trail farther away, but I liked the trickle of the brook guiding me. The trees were decked in their rich spring green, the brown pine needles silent underfoot.

After the cloying suburbs where Aunt Greta and Uncle Claude lived, these bright, boundless woods had been a joy to hike in. When I had moved in with Emma, the limits of my life had changed dramatically, from a yard one couldn’t even run in, to a forest with no end in sight.

I spent the afternoon in the woods, occasionally coming close enough to see the house. Sometimes I stood absolutely still, waiting for a chance animal to come by. I caught sight of an opossum family, and, late in the afternoon, a doe. After I saw her, I turned back to the house.

The sun had dipped into warm rich amber summer tones, the transition time from afternoon to evening.

It was time for me to make myself presentable for the evening. If that was possible. In the upstairs hallway I ran into Emma. She was coming out of her room, dressed for the party. She looked, as she usually did, both striking and erudite, in a black silk outfit, her only jewelry a set of exquisite pearls.

“You look magnificent,” I said. “But you always do.”

She gave me a slight bow. “As do you,” she replied.

“Me?” I looked down at my well-worn sneakers. “I’m not even dressed yet.”

“You’ll look even better when you are. You’ve always had a…sort of animal glow to you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Me?” I repeated.

“Yes, you. I had to chase off the women with sticks that first summer you were here. Not always successfully. After that, I gave up.” She turned to go.

“Uh…Emma?” I called her back.

“Yes, dear?”

Now or never, Micky. “I can waltz.”

“You can? But can you lead?” she asked.

“My cousin Torbin, the drag star, taught me. Since he was in high heels, I had to wear the tux.”

Emma took a few steps back in my direction, looking me over. Then she started humming “The Blue Danube.” I bowed. She curtsied. Then I stepped to her, taking her left hand in mine and putting my other arm around her waist. She rested her hand lightly on my shoulder. For a panicked second my mind went blank. Then I remembered the steps, starting slowly, at first not in tempo with her singing, then I caught up. We must have made an incongruous pair, me in torn shorts and sweaty T-shirt, unsteady and awkward, Emma, cool and elegant in her flowing black silk, never missing a step.

For a moment we had it, a flow and sway, then I stumbled, couldn’t recover, and broke away with an embarrassed laugh.

“I’ll practice. I promise,” I said.

“You’ll be fine,” Emma replied with a smile. A brave smile, I thought.

I went into my room to change. And to practice. What have I gotten myself into, I wondered.

Chapter 4

My outfit for the evening was simple and functional. Black tuxedo pants, with my gray cowboy boots for footwear. They were the dressiest shoes I had. My top was a white dress shirt, left open at the throat. And dangling silver earrings for the androgynous look.

I had gone over and over my half-remembered waltz lessons. I twirled a couple of times with my cowboy boots on to get used to the feeling.

I was interrupted mid-spin by a loud knocking on my door.

“Micky, dear, open up, it’s me,” a voice called out. “You’d better not be decent, because I’ll never forgive you if you revert to decency.”

“Just the person I wanted…”

But I opened the door and was cut off by the onslaught of Torbin entering with several wig boxes, a makeup kit, and a number of garment bags. Andy was following him at a safe distance, a bemused smile on his face.

“Micky, dearest, darling, dyke cousin of mine,” Torbin greeted me as he deposited his load onto my bed. “You are a sight for sore eyes and your bed a boon for sore feet.” He flopped down on the one open spot left on my bed.

“Hi, Mick,” Andy said, giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Good to see you,” I said to him.

“Not to be outdone,” Torbin said, getting to his feet and giving me a huge bear hug and a sloppy kiss. “I am, as you can see, shanghaiing your room to change in. I couldn’t see driving out here in the afternoon heat stifling under a wig.”

“Not to mention eight-inch falsies,” I added.

“Not to mention,” Torbin commanded.

“But there’s a price, dear cousin Tor.”

“Yes? But be warned, I don’t know that many good-looking women. Not who are really women, that is.”

“I have to waltz tonight.”

“Poor girl. You have my condolences.”

“Don’t sit back down,” I caught him as he was about to reposition himself on my bed. “First, a few trips of the light fantastic,” I said, pulling him into my arms.

“See, Andy, it’s true. Even women, women who are gay, can’t keep their hands off me,” Torbin bantered.

“One-two-three, one-two-three,” I began, ignoring his blather. “And don’t worry, I’m a lesbian, I can keep my hands off the places that really matter.”

Andy took up the count, allowing us to concentrate on the placement of our feet.

After twenty minutes or so, Torbin announced me fit for a place on his dance card. “Somewhere near the bottom, late at night, you know,” he added.

“Thanks, Torbin,” I said, feinting a kick to his balls. “You don’t need them for what you do, anyway,” I added as he jumped back. Then I left him to his makeup and wigs, with Andy’s able assistance.

I had never ceased to be amazed at the coupling of Torbin and Andy, a flaming queen (Torbin’s self-description) and a computer nerd (Andy’s). But they had been together for close to five years now. They still had nominal separate addresses, but that was more as a means to separate Andy’s computer equipment from Torbin’s makeup. They only lived a block away from each other.

I ambled slowly down the stairs. The evening guests would be arriving around eight or fashionably thereafter. It was about six thirty now. I was looking forward to the evening, glad that Torbin and Andy were here.

I wandered into the backyard. The sun was still visible, a broken golden circle through the trees, shooting intense amber rays between the branches.

I heard someone call my name and turned to see Danny waving to me. She, Elly, Alex, and Joanne were sitting on a blanket, still in their bathing suits. They had a picnic supper spread out before them.

“Join us,” Danny called, making room for me between her and Alex on the blanket.

“Thanks,” I said as I edged myself next to their almost naked bodies.

Only Joanne wore a one-piece suit. I looked surreptitiously around at the bathing beauties surrounding me. Of all of us, Danny was the most pulchritudinous. The red top of her suit barely contained her shapely breasts, nipples half-erect.

Uh-oh, I thought, are my hormones raging or what? Not wanting Elly to catch me staring at Danny’s tits (never stare at an ex-lover’s tits when her current lover is watching), I glanced over at Alex. Danny had her beat in the curve department, but not by much. It was time to start staring at the cheese. All these women were taken.

I glanced around, trying not to look at anything in particular, and happened to watch Elly brush a fallen leaf off her shoulder. She was slim, almost boyish, but her long black hair gave her an air of enticing androgyny. She and Alex were chatting, something about a pro-choice rally Alex had been at. Then Elly was talking about having to fight her way through right-to-lifers to get to work, her deep, almost black eyes flashing. No wonder Danny lusted after her, with eyes like that, I bet she was riveting when she… I stopped the thought by searching for the right cheese to go with my cracker. (Never try to imagine ex-lovers with their current lovers. Particularly when you’ve only got your hand for distraction.)

I looked across the blanket at Joanne. She had taken off her glasses and closed her eyes, letting the last rays of the sun warm her face. She seemed relaxed, almost into tiredness, with her perpetually observing eyes stilled for an instant. The sun sketched in the faint lines at the corners of her eyes, the small tracings from nose to lips. Lines of experience, never to go away. Lines of wisdom, I thought, somehow making her more attractive than any full breast or well-muscled thigh ever could. Her shoulders were too broad, her breasts too small for perfection, but I was beginning to realize it wasn’t mere flesh that made someone desirable.

I have slept with a lot of women. Some out of boredom, others because I wanted sex or they did. Sometimes just because I could. But only once because of pounding, insistent desire, the kind that distracts and consumes you, pulling at all corners of your life. I wondered if she would be here.

“Want some wine?” Danny interrupted my thoughts. Fortunately.

“No, no thanks. Maybe some club soda,” I answered. Alex poured me some.

“Wasn’t Cordelia supposed to be here for this picnic?” Danny asked.

“I thought so,” Alex answered. “But I haven’t spoken to her since earlier in the week.”

“She wasn’t definite when I talked to her on Thursday,” Elly said. “Something about possibly having to sub for someone on call tonight.”

“Too bad. Particularly since it had to be her who got us the invite to the thing,” Danny commented. “Since it wasn’t you,” she added with a nod at Alex.

“Nor was it Cordelia,” Joanne said. “Have you talked to her lately?” she asked me, her eyes open and watching again.

“No…I haven’t. Not in a while.”

“She probably heard that El Micko was here and didn’t want to risk any more Knight adventures,” Danny kidded.

But it was probably true, I thought, taking a long sip of the club soda. She had found out I would be here and wasn’t about to spend a weekend in the country avoiding messy and awkward meetings with me.

“But if it wasn’t Cordelia, then who was it?” Danny inquired. She was an excellent lawyer because she never missed things like that.

“Ask our resident private eye,” Joanne answered.

“It’s obvious,” I stated. “You’ve become such a well-known and lusted after woman, that there was no choice but to invite you. There were any number of women, and not a few men, who swore on stacks of Sappho’s poetry that they wouldn’t come this year unless they got a chance to view Danny Clayton in a bright red bikini. As a matter of fact,” I continued, “at this very moment there is a hot sun dance going on. Everyone’s hoping that it will be so hot tomorrow that you will be forced to take it all off.”

“Congratulations,” Danny said. “My bullshit meter has never had a higher reading. I happen to know there are very few women who would bother to cross a street to see me, let alone come all the way out here.”

“Enough to keep me worried,” Elly said loyally.

“Danno? How could you doubt me?” I faked chagrin.

“I know. I’ve got it figured out,” she bantered. “You met and seduced Emma Auerbach in one of your many bar forays. And to keep it quiet, she allows you to invite any riff-raff out here that you want.”

I nearly choked on my club soda.

“Oh, dear,” Danny said, her tone changed. “Did I accidentally hit the nail on the head?”

“No, I have never slept with Miss Auerbach,” I protested.

“Miss Auerbach?” Joanne observed.

“Emma,” I corrected. “I’ve never slept with Emma.”

“Don’t worry,” Alex comforted. “I call her Miss Auerbach, too. She’s always struck me as fiercely scholastic.”

I saw Rhett loping in my direction. Work was calling, for once, conveniently. “Michele, ma’am,” he called, slowing as he arrived. “Emma wants you.”

“Emma wants you?” Danny quizzed.

“That’s right,” Rhett said, ever helpful.

I got up. I would answer Danny’s leading questions later.

“Are you going anywhere near a phone?” Joanne asked.

“Probably,” I answered.

“Maybe you should call Cordelia and see what’s going on with her,” she said.

That was the last thing I wanted to do. “Well…I might be busy. But I can take you to one, if you want.”

“We have to go change,” Joanne replied.

“Well…” I let it hang, not wanting to argue, but not willing to lie and say I’d call her.

“If you get a chance,” Joanne let me off.

“Let’s go, Rhett,” I said and we started walking across the lawn at a fast clip.

But not fast enough to avoid hearing Danny say, “What the hell has Micky gotten herself involved in now? Not sleeping with her, my ass.”

I turned back to them, that quartet in the fading sunlight.

“It’s not like that. It’s not like that at all,” I shouted to Danny. Then I turned away, following Rhett.

The outside lights wouldn’t come on. It took me a few minutes of scrounging around in the work shed to find the right fuse, then all was bright. At least where the lights shone.

I took a slow walk around the yard, eyeing the woods for any desperate water moccasins aiming to make a last-ditch attempt on the swimming pond. But no, no reptilian terrorists tonight. Even the lone frog had gone home.

The sun was below the horizon, leaving pink mare’s tails in the sky. I walked into the gloaming of the trees, their trunks and branches cutting and striping the last tendrils of light across the forest floor. I was on the path closest to the stream, following it downhill, until the shadowed woods engulfed me.

I stood still, watching the shadows lengthen and merge, hoping to catch sight of the first of the nocturnal animals. But all I saw was a squirrel hastening up an oak tree. I looked at my watch. It was a few minutes before eight. The woods were now bereft of all but diffuse gray light, the path only a lighter shadow among the dark patches cast by the trees.

There’s a party tonight, Micky, no sense wandering about in the twilight. But I held still for a moment longer, feeling eyes watching me from somewhere in the darkening woods. Not a squirrel or a bird, but I didn’t know what it could be. I tried to pierce the deep gray to find the creature, but nothing moved, nothing stirred. I finally let it go.

I turned away from my unseeable creature, following the gray ribbon path back to the bright lights and bustle of the party. From the dim edge of the woods, the house looked shimmering and alive, light and warmth bursting from windows and doors. There’s definitely a party tonight, I told myself. I walked back across the lawn.

The dress code for this party was anything you wanted to wear, from tails to outlandish costumes to blue jeans. “Danny,” I called, seeing her and Elly. “I don’t believe it.”

“I couldn’t resist,” she said.

“And I couldn’t talk her out of it,” Elly added.

I walked over to them, looking Danny up and down. She had dressed herself as a plantation owner; three piece white suit, black string bow tie, very fake handlebar mustache, and a white straw gambler’s hat.

“It is, I must admit, mind-bendingly outrageous,” I commented.

“I thought about carrying a whip…” she started.

“But that was too much,” Elly finished for her. “Considering the likelihood of slave owners in my background,” she added.

I looked at Elly, her light beige skin a talisman of her ancestry. Some foremother of hers was raped; it was a horrifying certainty.

How many of us, I suddenly thought, remembering my own mother, pregnant at sixteen. How many of us are here through mischance, an unheard denial, force?

“The mustache was a bitch to put on,” Danny was saying, not noticing my distraction. “But so was getting that magnolia behind Elly’s ear.”

“I’ve always wanted to be a blues singer,” Elly explained. She was wearing an emerald green gown, her hair unadorned save for the magnolia and hanging long and full down below her shoulders. “Have you seen Alex and Joanne yet?” she asked me.

“No,” I replied.

“Just wait,” Danny said. Then she made a wiping-her-brow motion to indicate that they were hot.

“Come on,” Elly said, putting her arm through both mine and Danny’s. We strolled toward the house. A young woman, one of Melanie’s companions, was busy directing arriving cars to the parking area. The back porch was beginning to get crowded. For a moment I panicked, thinking of all the people who might be watching me dance with Emma. Just think of Emma and don’t worry about anyone else, I told myself.

Elly saw someone she had gone to high school with. She and Danny headed off in his direction and into a I-didn’t-know-you-were conversation. I roamed on, looking to see if Alex and Joanne were as hot as they were rumored to be.

A stunning blonde, in an evening gown that left nothing to the imagination and everything to chance, walked up to me. She eyed me boldly, looking first at my tits, then to my crotch.

“Later,” she said in a whiskey voice, then walked off.

Now, I thought, as she sauntered away. I wondered who she was. Probably someone I’d slept with a few years back. One of my many one-night stands.

I ambled toward the front porch, waving at Emma as she greeted her multitudes of guests. Men in dresses, women in pants, some in between, we were all here. Someone even came dressed as a priest. Or maybe he was a priest. You can never tell these days.

Out on the porch, I watched the steady stream of arriving headlights. Always the party of the season, this particular one promised to be special. Things were going to happen tonight.

Someone embraced me from behind, entwining her arms around my waist. It wasn’t the blonde, not tall enough. Two breasts were lodged beneath my shoulder blades.

“I have a question for you,” she said, her voice low.

“And I have an answer. Want to see if they fit together as well as we do?” I pressed my ass ever so subtly against her crotch. Tonight was a night for flirting. Outrageous flirting.

“All right,” she responded, to my voice and my movement. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” she said, resting her head against my shoulder.

“Do what?” I inquired.

“Flirt with you.”

My body felt taut, in need of touch. Eros was afield tonight. First the blonde, now this woman. Who was I to circumvent fate?

“Interested in doing more than just flirting?” I asked.

“Not with me standing here,” said a voice directly behind my mystery woman. A voice that I did recognize.

I turned around to face the two of them. (Never proposition a woman until you’re sure her lover isn’t standing behind you).

It was Alex, her arms still lightly around my waist. Behind her was Joanne.

“Should I go get a drink or something while you two arrange an assignation?” Joanne asked equitably enough, considering the scene.

“We’ll never know now, will we?” Alex sighed, letting go of me.

“Sorry, I didn’t know it was you,” I replied, more for Joanne’s benefit.

“Who did you think it was?” Alex asked.

“I don’t know. Somebody interesting,” I mumbled.

“Do you always proposition women you don’t know?” Alex inquired, laughing.

I was trying to figure out whether Joanne was upset or not. Her face, as usual, was impossible to read.

“Isn’t that the only kind of woman you do proposition?” Joanne said.

“Are you upset?” I countered, deciding the only way to find out was to question her directly.

“No, of course not,” Alex answered for her. “Joanne knows that I’m outrageous only when I’m vertical.”

“That probably wouldn’t stop Micky,” Joanne dryly remarked.

“But it will most assuredly slow me down.”

Joanne shook her head, then chuckled. She didn’t seem upset.

“Besides that,” Alex said. “What goes around, comes around.” Then she continued hurriedly, to cover up the connotation of that remark, “And I still have a question to ask you,” she said to me.

“Ask away,” I replied.

“I realize that it’s not likely. Cordelia said she would, but she’s not here. Joanne claims she can’t and most certainly won’t.”

“Yes?” I asked.

“I have never ever danced a real ballroom dance with another woman. Yerky men, yes. I admit it, I was a debutante. My mother insisted. Cordelia was there, too, she can tell you how much fun it was.” Alex rolled her eyes. “As you well know, I’ve since found better ways to come out.”

“Does she usually ask questions like this?” I asked Joanne.

“Sometimes she’s worse,” she answered.

“Okay, twenty-five words or less: a) Do you, perchance, know how to waltz? and b) Would you consider spinning about the dance floor with me, even though it will probably drive Joanne insane with jealousy?”

“Yes, I know how to waltz. And yes, despite Joanne, I would consider dancing with you.”

“Saved,” Alex interjected.

“But,” I continued, “I’m already spoken for.”

“Too bad,” Joanne commented.

“Darn,” Alex said. “Me, a wallflower. Cordelia will pay for this.”

“She probably had to work,” Joanne said.

“I hope not,” Alex bantered. “If she’s going to stand me up, I hope it’s because she’s having a mad, passionate affair. Not likely, knowing her. But it’s the only acceptable excuse.”

“Want a quick lesson?” I said to Joanne, not wanting to think about Cordelia having a passionate affair that didn’t include me.

“No, thanks,” she responded. “I know when I’m well off.”