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The thing about chaos,
is that while it disturbs us,
it too, forces our hearts to roar
in a way we secretly find magnificent.
Christopher Poindexter
The elevator remained broken, but this evening Em raced up the stairs enjoying the strain as she took every other step. It was another trying day spent in meetings and paperwork and she was eager to stretch. Bursting onto the seventh-floor landing, she slowed, shook her muscles loose, and prepared for the potential mess which descended on her neat and tidy apartment. Yet she couldn’t help smiling. As much as the disorder disturbed her, she enjoyed having her niece around. Such bright-eyed innocence, especially when asking probing questions, was invigorating in a whole new way.
As she approached her door she heard voices laughing, teasing and protesting. She’d called when she’d left the precinct house, not expecting Francine to pick up, and didn’t reach anyone. As a result, she’d power-walked home. It sounded like Becky, Francine and whoever they’d drug home had been here for some time.
She opened the door—unlocked again—and entered, stopping in her tracks. “Susanna?”
Another of her part-time girlfriends, Susanna Phelps, sat beside Amanda on the couch as Francine poured more wine. Becky was on the floor, her chin in her hands as she listened attentively.
Susanna raised her glass, toasting Em. “Howdy, girlfriend. Congratulations on the new job.” Em guessed they’d already consumed a fair amount of wine.
“Yeah, Lucy told us to turn on ... what was the local news station again?” Francine asked Amanda.
“New York One”, she answered patiently.
“Yeah, we turned on Channel One, and there you were.”
“So, does this come with a big promotion?” Susanna asked.
Em grunted, closing the door and sliding the deadbolt. “No, this is as likely to tank my career as help me.” She turned and studied Susanna, cocking her head to the side. “How did you end up here?”
Susanna giggled. “Becky and Francine stopped by. We got to talking and they invited me home.”
Em waved her hands in front of her, trying to piece this together. “Wait, they stopped by where?”
“My apartment. They asked about your ‘crew’, so Lucy asked a few of the girls over, and they asked me back. We had a lot to talk about,” she finished with a giggle.
“It was a blast. They were wonderful!” Becky announced, twisting around and flashing a youthful smile.
Em rolled her eyes as she placed her grocery bag with a couple cheaper bottles of wine on a side table, struggling out of her coat. “I’m sure they were.” Francine had already gone through several of her more expensive bottles. “And how did you end up there, when you didn’t know her from Eve?”
Amanda held her hand up. “That was my fault. After you left, these two cornered Lucy and grilled her over frozen waffles. I stopped by to see if they needed anything, and the discussion ended up on where you spent your time.”
Francine put the nearly empty bottle of wine in her hand down and advanced on the newer ones. “Becky asked where lesbians hang out in the city.”
“I wanted to see a lesbian bar, but apparently no one goes to them,” Becky said, informing Em of a fact she’d long known.
Em shrugged. “No, women aren’t like men, they don’t run to bars to spend money. Instead, it’s easier to get together in people’s homes.”
“Manhattan used to have ten lesbian bars several years ago, not a lot, but all but three closed down,” Amanda explained. “The rest are like the Cubbyhole, mostly tourist attractions for out-of-towners. Since people don’t get upset about women touching, we don’t need protected spaces to get together like gay men do, and we don’t spend like them either.”
Em scratched her head, hanging her coat on the coatrack. “So wait, cultural lesson aside, why are you cornering my friends in their homes?”
Francine liberated the wine bottle from the side table. “Becky wanted to learn more about the New York lesbian lifestyle, while we both wanted to meet your friends.”
Em shot the group a glare. “Just how much did you tell them?”
“Aside from a few details from high school, we don’t know much,” Francine shouted over her shoulder as she took the wine bottle to the kitchen.
“Then how much did they tell you?”
“Nothing embarrassing,” Amanda assured her from the couch, where she grinned at Em’s discomfort. “All your secrets are safe.”
Becky swiveled, facing Em and flashing her an imploring smile. “They said some interesting things, though. Do you mind if I ask another question?”
Em cocked her head as Francine handed her a glass and poured the last of the bottle into it. “Another one about my sex life?”
“Yeah,” Becky answered, giggling.
Sighing, Em shrugged, crossing to a side chair where she sat and prepared for her niece’s inquiry. “Sure, go ahead. You already discussed my deepest, darkest secrets. I’m not sure there’s much more to tell. I’m really not that interesting.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Francine laughed.
“Me neither,” Amanda agreed. “You keep most of your details close to your chest, which explains why everyone’s so fascinated every time you reveal something.”
Ignoring the interruption, Becky continued, motioning towards the kitchen. “This morning, I asked Lucy the same thing I asked you yesterday, what kissing a girl was like.”
“She was nervous, but after coffee and some prodding, she opened up,” Francine said.
“Rather than describing what kissing any girl was like, her eyes got glassy and she described what kissing you felt like,” Becky continued.
“Is this inquiry leading to a question?” Em asked, smiling. Becky waved her hand, indicating it was coming.
“When we were talking at Samantha’s, I asked the same thing, expecting a different answer.”
“And?” Em prompted, knowing there was a pointed question hiding in this description.
“It was funny, they each did the same thing. Instead of describing kissing any girl, they all described what kissing you was like. But none of them said the same thing. Lucy said you were forceful and commanding, another said you were cautious and timid, someone else said you were playful, telling jokes and teasing.”
Susanna blushed and raised her hand. “I said you were tender and slow, showering me with love.”
Em groaned, realizing where this was going. It was one of her best-kept secrets and why everyone put up with her playing the field. Still, even though she was pretty good about controlling conversations with suspects, she was interested just where this one might lead.
“So why do you kiss one girl differently than the others? I mean, isn’t a kiss just a kiss?”
“It is with most guys,” Francine offered. “Usually it’s demanding and impatient, and over way too soon.”
“You’d make a great detective. You zeroed in on my technique.” She took a sip preparing her response. “Kisses are typically the same for most people,” Em conceded. “But I simply give each girl what she’s looking for. If someone is feeling stressed, I take my time. If they’re lonely, I make them feel loved, not asking anything in return as I draw them out. With others, like Lucy, she wants someone who’s as physical and aggressive as she is. No, that’s not quite true. She likes someone to take the lead. She spends so much time being the tough New Yorker, she enjoys someone else taking over so she can appreciate being soft—which is nice in itself.”
Becky cocked her head, curious about the process. “So you kiss each woman depending on what they want? How the heck do you know when you first meet someone?”
Em fidgeted a moment, speaking slowly. “I draw them out. As they open up, I drill down, discovering what they want. Most people love talking about themselves, so it’s easy getting them to reveal their hidden desires. So when we finally kiss, I understand how to approach it. As you said, each girl searches for something different. Sometimes it’s not what their previous girlfriend did, some need reassurance and some a spark. The key is to relax them, and the best way to do that is to give them what they’re looking for.”
“So what is it you look for?” Francine asked. Susanna giggled, wondering it herself but afraid to ask. She didn’t want to admit she didn’t know after all this time.
Em scratched behind her ear. “Frankly, I’m not in it for myself. No, that’s not true. Instead I’m not into kissing for the romance or as a prelude to sex. I’m there to open up to someone. My job is stressful, and I don’t like dumping all my aggravations on any one person. So by keeping people happy, they’re more receptive afterwards while I yammer on about my work. I’m not even sure they listen, but at least they nod and say ‘uh huh’ at the appropriate times.”
Amanda leaned forward, motioning with her glass. “Wait. You said that yesterday too. What’s this business about juggling girlfriends? Is it about protecting yourself emotionally, sheltering potential girlfriends, or is it just an emotional high, seeing how many you can keep on the hook?”
Em sighed, the glass in her hand forgotten. She turned and addressed Amanda directly. “It’s a little of each, but mostly, it’s a reaction to how I observe others dealing with work stresses. Most cops marry someone, and instead of dumping everything on them, they run around. It’s always easier opening up when you first meet someone, but after they’ve heard it a few times, most get sick of it. Yet the need to deal with these issues doesn’t go away. People respond to it differently, many clam up rather than turning to others. My father died soon after I left, because he and my mother couldn’t discuss what it meant having a lesbian daughter. Secrets kill people, whether it’s holding them in, dumping them on a single person or hurting your spouse. I need the emotional relief of working through my issues, but understand I can only do it in small bits. So I balance it among several women.”
Francine waved her glass, again threatening to splash red wine on the leather couch, making Em flinch. “You realize, by refusing to get close to anyone, you’re setting yourself up to get hurt later.”
“I’m not worried. I’m a big girl and can take care of myself. Who I’m protecting are those around me. I give them everything they need, giving them my full attention, but in small doses. If not being in a committed relationship gets to be too much for them, they’re free to bail. Sure, it’ll hurt, but I’d rather suffer quietly than injure others by my actions. The girls in my social circle realize what they’re getting. I’m very open about it.”
“Still, I’m not sure I could live like that,” Francine insisted, taking another sip.
“You’re not exactly one to be calling the kettle black,” Em replied. “Was it better being utterly devoted to your husband? So committed you needed to slip out of the house in the dead of night to protect you and your daughter? Wouldn’t you have been better off being free to leave whenever you wanted?”
“That’s a little harsh,” Amanda said, setting her glass down.
Francine worked her glass with her fingers, staring at the swirling red liquid. “It’s not like Jeremy was always like that. It just grew worse over time.”
“The hell he wasn’t. My brother was a jerk since we were kids. But you were into bad boys and thought such devotion was romantic. Don’t forget, I warned you about him several times, but you insisted he loved you.”
Becky glanced at her mother as she answered. “Excuse me, could you not discuss my Dad while I’m sitting here?” Francine tipped her glass back, but found it empty, so turned and reached for the bottle. Realizing things might turn sour, Em decided to back out of the rat’s nest she’d dug her way into.
“Sorry, Becky. You’re right. That was out of line. Your father can be a kind man when he wants.”
“The heck with that,” she responded, still watching her mother. “He only pays attention to me when he needs something. But still, it’s upsetting listening to the two of you fight over him. I’m glad to be away, but I’d rather focus on new relationships than old.”
“So are we finished analyzing my private life?” Em asked, playing with the rim of her glass as she watched Francine wipe her mouth with a napkin and toss it to the floor. That single action triggered a minor ache in her neck.
“Not quite yet,” Amanda said, leaning forward on her elbows. “Could it be you just haven’t met the right person? It sounds like you’re doing what you did back in high school. Flitting from crappy girlfriend to someone of the wrong sex until you finally hit on someone who fits you. It seems to me, if you’re putting up this much resistance, you haven’t found someone who matches your personality. After all, when you meet the right person, things come together. I suspect you’re only inventing excuses about your cop friends to justify being unhappy.”
Em cocked her head, raising her brows. “Are you applying for the job?”
Amanda laughed. “Me? Absolutely not! I see how busy you are. I’m afraid I’d be another person you’d have to dance around. I’d rather you find someone who fits instead of adding fuel to the fires consuming your life.”
“She’s got a point,” Becky said. “Everyone at school talks about wanting this or that in a boyfriend, but as soon as they meet someone, all those requirements melt away as they’re swept along.”
Em sighed, but then leaned forward. “As I said, I’m a little defensive when it comes to relationships. Between watching my mother destroying my father through me, and observing the cops I work with destroying their spouses, I’m a bit gunshy. It’s not like I’m using everyone. I honestly love them all, but I’m a heady mix. It’s hard drinking much before it starts to sour. By switching it up, I keep it fresh. I’m able to focus exclusively on each person. I give them what they need, and I not only get the affection I desire, but I don’t stress anyone out. Ask Lucy or Susanna whether they’re tired of it yet? It isn’t that I don’t give myself completely to each, it’s that I don’t trust prolonged relationships. What I’m doing isn’t cheating anyone out of a relationship, instead I’m keeping it intense enough to burn through any doubts and hesitation. Trust me, women aren’t pushovers. They’d walk as soon as they felt used.”
“I’ll tell you, listening to you describe it in such graphic terms, I’m having my doubts,” Susanna said. “But she’s right. Despite my fears, she’s always intense, always there when you need her. She never questions your mood or desires. Although it’s not perfect, it’s better than the many committed relationships I’ve had in the past. What’s more, we’re all in this together. Since we each know each other, it’s not like anyone is going to upset the apple cart and run off with her. As much as she bitches about the stress, she’s got a point. I don’t mind listening to her bitch about work as long as it’s not incessant. Whenever I tire of it, she stops, and starts pressing me to open up about myself.”
She lowered her voice, leaning forward. “Besides, she is intense. After a single date, we’re each ready for some time to ourselves. She provides the encouragement we need to focus on work and ignore romance until the next time she calls.”
“OK, I think we’ve beaten this old horse to death, tell us about the new job,” Amanda suggested. “What does it involve? It sounds like you’re getting a lot of visibility.”
“That’s the point; I’m receiving all the attention. If something goes wrong, everyone’s going to blame me. But this is an ... unusual case. I can’t discuss it because it affects certain people, and I can’t compromise their confidentiality—at least not until it comes time to file charges. Then all bets are off.”
Susanna cast Em an odd look. “Really? That’s not like you at all. You’re always ready to complain about someone at the office, or your cases or reluctant witnesses. What’s different about this case?”
Em lifted her glass, staring at the reflection rather than drinking any. “That’s just it. This case has taken me away from my precinct house, so I’m free from all my normal annoyances. But the situation is such I can’t even discuss why it stresses me.” She smiled a crooked smile and lifted her glass. “So you get out of listening to me bitch tonight.” She punctuated the statement by drinking, tilting her glass back and draining it.
At that point, with Em unwilling to discuss her work life, the conversation switched to what Becky and Francine uncovered in the city and learned from Em’s girlfriends.
Em put her empty glass down on the side table. “Come on kid, you’re falling asleep and your mother is dragging. It’s time the two of you hit the hay.”
“Ah, do I hafta?” Becky protested.
“Hey, if you want to stay up all night, knock your socks off. But remember that tomorrow, when there’s a ton of things to do and you’re too tired for anything.”
Becky considered that as she surveyed the silent group watching them. Her mother was out of it. When she drank, she tended to nod off mid-sentence, so Becky knew it was best to get her in bed.
Amanda stood, her knees creaking as she did. “I’ll tell you what, it’s about time for me to leave too. If you head to bed now, we’ll visit the East Village tomorrow.”
Becky stretched, yawning. “Now that you mention it, sleep sounds like a good idea.”
Em turned to their other guest. “What about you Susanna? Want me to call you a cab, or are you hoofin’ it tonight?”
Susanna flicked her wrist at her sometimes girlfriend and batted her eyelashes. “Why, pray tell, I was hoping someone might sweep me off my feet and carry me into their chambers. After all, I’m as tired as everyone else, and it seems you’d make a better pillow than the ones on this hard wooden floor.”
Em smiled. She was afraid it would come to this when Susanna showed up, but at the same time, she was relieved. She didn’t want her walking home after drinking so much. She didn’t mind the company—especially if all they did was sleep. “Good, help me put these two to bed, and we can adjourn to the boudoir and commiserate together.”
