“AS A MATTER OF FACT,” Willy said, when I told her what Dr. Matthews had just said. “I already asked her about that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought it would only spook you. I’m sure what you saw was just a play of light and shadows, Kate.”
I stared at her. Those were almost the exact words Dr. Matthews had used.
“You should have told me you had asked her. You should have told me what she said,” I said and walked away.
This wasn’t like her. We didn’t hide things from each other for any reason. Small deceptions chip away at relationships, I thought. They’re like cancer cells spreading, growing, destroying, little mouths gobbling up the goodness.
I went outside again and sat on a lounge chair. The lights of a commercial jet making its way into Los Angeles slipped through the stars, the sound of its engines so far behind it that it seemed there was another jet right above us. I watched the light until it was gone. It was fantastic to think of people inside those lights, all of them preparing themselves for the impending landing, excited about their arrival and being greeted by family, loved ones, friends. Time and distance fell behind them with the plane’s exhaust. Those sitting at the windows and looking down probably had similar thoughts about the world below. It was just as fantastic to think of people within those tiny lights, families with their separate dramas. Maybe they were looking back at our house. What passenger in his or her wildest imaginings could come with our play on our stage?
“This is exactly what I was trying to avoid,” Willy said, coming up softly behind me. “You’re in one of those depressing moods.”
“Trust is more important than worrying about moods, Willy. What have I kept from you lately?”
“All right, I’m sorry,” she said.
She sat on the lounge, keeping her back to me.
“This whole thing has brought more tension to this house than I can tolerate,” she said.
“Tension? You seemed to be aboard every step of the way now. What tension?”
She turned to me.
“I know you’re nervous about it all. I would be and I can feel your anxiety, so don’t try to pretend it’s not there. Ironically, you’re now blaming me for not ignoring you, for being concerned and sensitive and trying to make things easier for you.”
She fixed her eyes on mine. I couldn’t help being drawn to the strength in her face. She made me feel safe. Maybe, that was always more important than actual love. With Willy beside me, part of my life, I did feel invulnerable, protected.
“Okay, I’m sorry I was such a femme,” I said, and she smiled.
We kissed softly. Her hands moved along my ribs and over my breasts. I moaned and sunk lower on the lounge. While she undressed me, I kept my eyes closed like some child told to do so in preparation for a surprise. Our sex was always a surprise and never tired or repetitious. Every kiss, every touch seemed different, new. It was as if we each discovered something previously unexplored, whether it be a tender spot under a breast or just below a navel.
“Too bad we don’t have semen tonight,” she whispered when I moaned with pleasure at her touch, at the way her lips drew a sensual line over my stomach, against my inner thighs. She leaned back to undress and then our two naked bodies entwined in passionate embraces, our lips bringing on orgasms that made us both gasp and cling to each other as if we were falling, only not down but up toward those stars, toward those planes and those people who looking out their windows saw the two of us floating by like two angels who had discovered how to transcend their own bodies and visit their very souls.
There are often times when making love to the one you love is infected with some dishonesty. It doesn’t matter if you are a lesbian, gay, or heterosexual. Sometime during that act of lovemaking, you will drift off or be suddenly driven by other images and thoughts. In my case and I suspected in Willy’s this particular night, this particular time, we both, even if just for a few fleeting seconds, conjured Dr. Matthews, thought of her lips, her eyes, her breasts, and especially those shapely legs. We used her to enjoy each other even more and the enjoyment we brought to each other made it possible to forgive each other for the distraction, the mental infidelity.
I saw this in the way Willy shifted her eyes guiltily away from mine and felt it in the way I turned from her as well. Neither of us said anything about it. It wasn’t necessary. It was as obvious as the stars that witnessed our passion and winked at each other. They knew. The heavens knew it all.
Laughing at ourselves afterward, we both leaped into the pool. It was just a little too cool, but we didn’t complain. Later, exhausted, we lay in bed talking until both our voices drifted away like smoke and our eyes closed. Sleep rolled over us with the lightness of fog until we were engulfed in our own dreams and finally let go of each other’s hands, both feeling as safe as possible.
Dr. Matthews called in the morning to confirm my appointment with Dr. Esther Aaron.
“She can see you today at three. Will that work?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Here’s the address,” she said, dictating it to me. “She’s a wonderful person besides being an excellent physician. Don’t worry about a thing. You’re in good hands now, Kate.”
“Thank you,” I said.
I told Willy and she decided she would come along.
“You sure?”
“I want to be part of this every step of the way,” she said. “When I commit to something, I commit.”
We went over to our warehouse to be sure the day’s work was going well and there would be no problems while we were away. I couldn’t help being distracted. I watched Willy closely and admired how focused she could be. She could compartmentalize her life much more efficiently than I could. Occasionally, she would look my way and smile.
“Relax, Kate,” she said when we left the plant and started toward Irvine. “I know enough about all this to know that if you are tense, it could have a negative effect.”
“I’m relaxed.”
“Yeah, like a coiled rattler,” she quipped.
All the way to the doctor’s office, we talked about our baby as if he or she was already school age. Willy was adamant about enrolling our child in a private school. She was very down on public education.
“It’s hit and miss. Who the hell wants to go into teaching these days? You get the bottom five percent of the graduating classes and no one can blame them, considering what’s demanded of them and what they get paid for it.”
I knew she was reciting Janet Madison’s litany of complaints about her grade school teaching job.
“My public school education wasn’t that bad,” I dared say.
“Look where the hell you lived, the community, the wealth. They didn’t need a private school there. They paid teachers the best salaries around. You told me so yourself.”
“Yes, that’s true,” I admitted.
“It’s never too soon to think about these things,” she continued.
I couldn’t believe this conversation we were having. This was my partner, the one who had been fighting me about having a child and becoming parents?
“Are you the same person who slept with me a week ago,” I asked, “and thought my talk about having a baby was the babbling of an insane person?”
“Very funny. I told you, Kate, if I agree to do something, I agree all the way. With me it’s a solid yes or no, no maybe crap. We know too many people who have difficulty making up their minds about bowel movements, much less important life choice decisions.”
“How do you know about their bowel movements?”
“I know what I know,” she said.
She looked firm in the driver’s seat, her hands clenching the steering wheel as if she was about to jerk us off the road any moment if I dared disagree with a single syllable.
“Okay, let’s pick out the kid’s college tonight,” I said.
She looked at me and finally smiled.
“You’re a wiseass for a high femme,” she said. “I must be rubbing off on you.”
I laughed. Maybe she was. Maybe, we were truly becoming each other, although I couldn’t see all that much of me in her yet.
The doctor’s office was a surprise. Instead of it being in a medical office building, it was in the doctor’s house, a bilevel style. We’d soon discover that the lower floor had been converted into a small lobby, offices, and examination rooms. I thought we had made a mistake when we turned into the driveway and the parking lot.
“No mistake,” Willy said. “GPS navigator brought us to the address. What’s the big deal? Lawyers are doing the same thing these days, converting houses into offices. It makes them feel more at home or something, gives it some personality. Don’t you think?”
“Yes, I like it. I was just surprised, that’s all.”
We parked and got out. There was nothing different from other residences about the front door. I was again surprised that it was locked, however. We had to press the doorbell button. A voice asked us who we were and I identified myself. We heard the buzz and Willy opened the door.
“What is it, a bank, a jewelry store, or a doctor’s office?”
“Can’t be too careful these days, I guess. Doctor’s offices have drugs,” Willy said with a shrug. “Besides, people usually don’t have to get in quickly. They don’t go to their doctor’s offices in an emergency anymore. They go directly to the hospital or some immediate care center.”
We walked through what was a short entryway with its coat hanger rack, its limestone tiled floor, an antique bench and a small chandelier. The lobby was relatively small and looked as if it had been converted out of a small sitting room. There was just one simple painting above a tan leather sofa, a picture of what looked like an apple orchard and an inexpensive print at that. In front of the sofa was a table and on the floor, a dark gray oval rug. The floor itself looked like the original floor boards, a light oak. Another sofa faced this one.
On the far wall there was a glass window half open behind which sat the receptionist, a pleasant looking older woman with stark white, but neatly cut and styled hair. Her eyes looked as if they belonged in the head of a woman years younger because they were a vibrant blue, clear and full of energy. Except for some shallow web feet at the corners of those eyes, her face was soft, smooth. It made me think that perhaps her hair had turned prematurely gray. Why didn’t she have it colored back to her natural shade? I wondered. I could give her some good suggestions, I thought, and that included some improvements in her makeup as well.
“Good afternoon,” she said, handing out the usual form for new patients asking that the squares next to a slew of questions about previous illness, family history, allergies and the like be answered by checking yes or no.
“Thank you,” I said, and took it. I sat on the soft tan leather sofa below the one picture. Willy picked up a magazine and began to thumb through it even before she sat across from me.
I glanced up at the receptionist, who was staring at me with the most unusual smile of excitement and happiness. She made me feel as if I were some sort of celebrity at whom she couldn’t stop staring. I flashed a smile back, expecting her to turn back to whatever work she had, but she continued to gaze that way at me. I cleared my throat and shifted my eyes to Willy, signaling she should look at the receptionist, too. She did and then smiled and looked at her magazine again.
When you know someone is watching you so closely, it’s very difficult to simply ignore it. I tried, but I couldn’t help looking up at her once in a while. She hadn’t moved a muscle in her face. It was beginning to disturb me.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
Willy looked up sharply.
“Oh no, dear. I was simply admiring your earrings and your outfit. Very smart.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I have a great little boutique in Palm Springs. If you’re ever there, you should definitely stop in,” I said, stressing definitely and indirectly implying she needed to update her fashion.
Willy scowled at me.
I completed the form and gave it to the receptionist. She glanced at it and nodded as if she were the one who had to stamp approval.
“It’ll will only be a little while longer,” she said. “Dr. Aaron is just finishing up with another patient.”
I returned to the sofa.
“Relax,” Willy whispered. “You’re beginning to really make me nervous.”
I shook my head at her and picked up a magazine. Just as I opened it, the door to the examination rooms opened and a girl who looked no more than sixteen at most came out, followed by a woman who was obviously her mother. There were enough resemblances. Both were strawberry blondes with prominent jawbones and similarly shaped mouths. Both had necks that were just long enough to attract attention to them.
The girl was obviously in the final trimester of her pregnancy and had been crying. She was just sucking in her tears when they stepped out. The look on her mother’s face told me this was not a happy doctor’s visit. The girl glanced at me and then hurried toward the front door. Her mother kept her head up, her eyes fixed on her.
“Not too difficult to figure out that story,” Willy quipped. “Probably a right-to-life family.”
The receptionist had moved from her desk to the still-opened door and stood there looking out at me, that smile still stuck on her face. She was shorter than I had realized, with wide hips and rather short, rolling pin arms. I thought there was something dwarfish about her. It was as if her body had run out of growth hormone just as it had begun to form her appendages.
“The doctor will see you now,” she said.
Willy and I rose and walked through the door. The receptionist led us to the first examination room on the right and turned, her smile finally gone. “There’s a gown inside hanging on the door. Please take off all your clothes,” she said, suddenly all business.
Willy glanced at me and we entered the room. The receptionist closed the door. The room was bare bones: an examination table, a chair, a small desk, an X-ray light and a cabinet for medical implements, bandages, and some antiseptic creams. The floor was the same oak as the floor in the lobby. There were no windows and nothing on the walls. Willy took the seat. She had brought her magazines with her and continued to read an article while I undressed and put on the gown.
“This is a pretty stark doctor’s office,” I said, “compared to the medical offices in Palm Springs.”
“You’re not in Palm Springs,” Willy said dryly.
“Looks thrown together to me.”
“We’ll recommend a decorator,” she said. “It’s not the doctor’s office that counts. It’s the doctor.”
“Right, but that receptionist is weird,” I said, slipping my arms into the sleeves of the gown.
“Don’t invite her to the insemination party,” Willy said, again not raising her eyes from the magazine.
“Very funny.”
The door opened, and Dr. Aaron entered with my form in hand and looked from Willy to me as if she was still unclear as to whom the patient was, even with me in the gown. She fixed her eyes on me for a moment before giving me a quick, perfunctory smile.
She was as pretty as Dr. Matthews, with a hairstyle so similar I wondered if I had missed the latest new fashion. Her complexion was rosy, a blush in her cheeks, and her lips were slightly orange. Her eyebrows were styled without any mascara. She was tall, too, with the slimness of her figure obvious even under her doctor’s gown.
“Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Aaron,” she said. “You’re Kate Dobson, and you’re Willy Radcliff,” she added, nodding at us both as though she had just assigned us parts in a play. “Dr. Matthews speaks very highly of your both.”
“She’s a quick study,” Willy said. “We’re terrific.”
Dr. Aaron smiled and turned to me. “Well, I see from this that you have an excellent health history, and I like the fact that you have no known allergies. So many of the women we see these days have developed allergies to this or that. It’s a wonder they can live outside of a plastic bubble.”
“That’s where we thought we were living,” Willy said.
Again, Dr. Aaron smiled at her. Then she looked at me more intently.
“I can see you’re somewhat nervous, Kate. Don’t be. We’re not going to put you through anything unusual. We’ll get your vital statistics, take some urine to determine your LH level, some blood for some routine screening and do a basic vaginal inspection.”
“Inspection?” Willy quipped.
“Examination,” Dr. Aaron corrected. She looked at me and tilted her head toward Willy. “Did you have to bring her along?”
I laughed and Willy’s mouth dropped open.
“Just kidding,” Dr. Aaron said, and began by taking my blood pressure. As she worked, she talked. “I think it’s wonderful that you two have decided to do this. If I may be frank…”
“Be anyone you like,” Willy said.
“Will you shut up?” I told her.
“As I was saying,” Dr. Aaron continued, “if I may be frank, the only criticism I have about gay couples is that they’re too into themselves. Nothing like a child to diminish that,” she said, glancing at Willy.
“That’s exactly what I told her, Doc,” Willy said. “If anyone needs to have her narcissism diminished, it’s Kate here.”
“You son of a…”
“Now, now,” Willy said. “Not in front of the doctor. She just told us how she heard we were perfect together.”
Dr. Aaron laughed. We were all suddenly like old friends.
“Something tells me you two are,” she said. “You’re perfect for what we are about to do.”
“We?” I said.
“See,” Willy pounced. “Narcissism uncovered!”
Dr. Aaron looked at me as if she believed what Willy was saying.
She smiled.
“What of it?” she said. “This modesty thing can be carried too far. Churches impose it on us to keep us subservient. A good dose of self-love helps build confidence.
“Besides,” she continued, smiling at me, “We high femmes enjoy vanity too much to think of it as a sin. Isn’t that right, Kate?”
I looked at Willy. Her jaw had come unhinged again.
She looked from Dr. Aaron to me.
High Femmes? We?
Finally, I thought, someone took her breath away.
And I don’t think I ever enjoyed that more.