Molly watched her pour a glass of wine and smiled at the sight. Ari had not bothered to button her pants or fasten her bra underneath her mostly open shirt. She was totally turned on. She went to the piano and played softly, watching Ari pull out vegetables from the fridge to make a salad.
“Dad, really, it’s okay. I’m fine either way. We don’t need to keep debating it. You’re not ready to visit, and I get it. Honestly, I’m probably not ready either.”
Hearing the strain in Ari’s voice, she glanced up. Ari deftly chopped carrots and tossed them into the bowl. Molly loved watching her in the kitchen. She was so graceful, each stretch an economy of movement, full of purpose.
“Look, Dad, if you want to come down, great. We’ll go out to dinner and you can meet some of my friends.” Suddenly her expression changed to exasperation. “No, Dad. Just because I’m a lesbian doesn’t mean I need to have sex every minute of my life. You can be here, and I won’t be missing out.”
Molly shook her head in disagreement and went to Ari, who placed an index finger over her mouth before she could protest.
“Seriously, Dad. Look, I have to go. So you’ll just have to decide. No, I don’t want anything for my car, and I would have no idea what to do with a metric tool set. I have to go now. ’Bye.”
Ari sighed and disconnected the call. She dropped the phone on the counter and pulled Molly into a sizzling kiss.
Molly jerked away, frowning. “Do we need to talk?”
“Nope, we’re not having a fight right now,” Ari said. She pushed her against the Formica. “I was just kidding about what I said. He’ll never agree to come, and then I will get the hot sex that I’m expecting on my birthday.”
Molly raised an eyebrow, glanced at Ari’s hair and pulled the clip out that secured the loose bun. The soft, dark strands fell against her incredible face and she smiled seductively. Molly slowly stripped Ari’s shirt and bra away from her shoulders. “What about right now? You owe me.”
Monday, October 16th
2:45 AM
After an hour inside the parked vehicle, she finally felt a slight chill and hugged herself. It wasn’t cold in Phoenix yet, fall never was, but without a jacket, the early morning made her shiver, and it reminded her of the horribly cold Vermont winters she endured as a kid. She tapped her shoes on the floorboard in a syncopated rhythm, attempting to alleviate her growing boredom. Music drifted through her brain, a random remnant of childhood and the Saturday nights when her mother would click on
The Lawrence Welk Show
, take her by the arm and twirl her around the regal living room, bypassing the expensive furniture and antiques. It was a regular event, and she had learned to waltz before she was twelve.
Even then her mother was old. She had not expected to have a daughter at thirty-seven, and when her husband’s midlife crisis left her with a pile of debt and a vacant garage where the Mercedes had once sat, both mother and daughter quickly found jobs, moved into a small house and developed an inseparable and fierce loyalty.
They had been dependent on each other for five years, until the daughter turned seventeen and the fighting began. Her mother was no longer her best friend, replaced by a twenty-seven-year-old woman, a fellow employee at the gardening center where the daughter worked. Her mother grew despondent over their lost relationship, constantly asking her to explain, but of course she could not discuss her aberrant sexual preference with her mother.
All became clear one day when her mother came home early from her job at the tailor shop. She had no idea how long her mother had actually been standing on the basement steps, watching her and her lover fiercely attack each other, seeking to give and receive physical pleasure. It wasn’t until they both cried out in pure ecstasy that her mother tore into the room, screaming and waving her fists at both of them. They separated hastily and the lover darted upstairs half-dressed. Her mother turned and tromped back up the basement steps, her hand wrapped around the arm rail for support, her feet barely able to move.
She remained on the couch, smoking a cigarette. She imagined the conversation that would follow—the consequences, the inevitable grounding and loss of privileges. When she finally dressed and ascended the basement steps, she found the door blocked. She pushed hard and found a large square box full of her possessions.
She flipped open the cardboard slats and her life careened down a steep ravine from which it would take years to chart a course of escape. Too numb to confront her mother, she’d picked up the box and walked out the door, relying on fate and the “kindness of strangers,” a line she adored from her favorite play,
A Streetcar Named Desire
. Conveniently her mother had thought to add a paperback version to the box. She was seventeen. She was on her own.
She tapped her feet again, unwilling to start the engine and draw attention to her vehicle. She didn’t want to be noticed, and she’d almost been discovered by Ari a few hours ago as she’d tried to leave a present for Jane on her pillow. She knew Jane kept her spare key under her front flowerpot, and she was terribly tempted to jump from her car, grab the key and run into the house, but she didn’t dare. It was nearly three o’ clock in the morning, and Jane was back in her own bed, sound asleep—once again leaving a lover without saying good-bye. She’d have to save her present for another day. She lifted the flower from the nearby seat and twirled the orchid gently between her fingertips, watching the petals blur into a wheel of white.
Monday, October 16th
8:45 AM
Metal doors slammed shut, and women hurriedly stuffed their belongings into their tote bags and rushed out of the YMCA locker room. Ari and Jane leisurely chatted while they changed, enjoying one of the benefits of self-employment. While other women scurried to beat the clock and answer to their bosses, they only answered to themselves. They also lived with an unpredictable housing market that could prevent them from seeing a paycheck for several months and health insurance premiums that were unbelievable.
“So what happened last night?” Ari asked.
Jane shrugged and rolled her stocking up her calf. “Nothing too incredible. Once Isabel finally got there, we ate and went back to her place.”
“Did you stay there the whole night?”
Jane grinned. “Well, most of it. I left around one.”
Ari watched Jane, noting her carefree attitude, which was surprising considering her previous anxiety over Isabel’s proposition.
“Izzie’s okay. She’s just lonely.”
“How did she react when you left?”
Jane looked at her and frowned. “I didn’t tell her. I just slipped out while she was sleeping.”
Ari chose not to voice her disapproval, but she remembered the crooked patio latch and the sound she’d heard, and she suddenly felt uneasy. Jane had said that nothing was out of place, and she didn’t find another orchid, but Ari wondered if she’d interrupted the stalker when she stopped by.
“Jane, how late was Isabel?”
“Really late. Nearly an hour. She was courteous enough to call right after you cut me off, but she didn’t get to the restaurant until nearly eight.”
Ari thought about the time frame. If Isabel was the one at Jane’s condo, it would have taken her roughly twenty-five minutes to cross from Tempe where Jane lived to Central Phoenix and arrive at Vincent’s. “How did she act when she got there? Did she say why she was late?”
Jane cocked her head to one side. “You know, she was really out of breath. I thought she had been rushing. She just kept talking about this inconsiderate client who wouldn’t leave the shop.”
“Her shop’s open on
Sunday
?”
She shook her head, unable to answer. “I talked with Biz early this morning, and she’s checking out some other florists today.”
“Because they weren’t open on Sunday. I think Isabel lied to you, Jane.”
They grabbed their gym bags and headed for the parking lot. “I’ve got a huge day,” Jane said. “I’m meeting a new client for breakfast, Aspen for lunch and the manager of Hideaway after dinner. She and I are finalizing your birthday plans.
Ciao
!”
She kissed her on the cheek and sashayed off toward her Porsche, while every man and a few women ogled her as she passed. Ari realized that Jane was magnetic and totally oblivious to the effect. What she had not told Jane was that her anxiety was growing. After the incident at the condo, she was beginning to agree with Biz that the orchid-sender was a true stalker, someone who may wish to harm Jane for a past snub.
She dropped her gear into the hatch of the SUV and pulled out her PDA. A few taps on the screen revealed a low-key day with much paperwork and little interaction with clients, except for an introductory meeting late in the afternoon. While the slow market afforded her more time to work on Jane’s problem, she wished she had more clients. Fortunately, she was a saver, and she had quite a nest egg to get her through the rough economic times. She checked her cell phone, and a flashing envelope signaled a voice mail from Biz Stone. Would she be available to check out the florists with her? She couldn’t understand why Biz would need her help, but she calculated the paperwork would only take an hour before her meeting.
Biz answered on the second ring. “Stone,” she said simply.
“Hi, Biz. It’s Ari. I’m available to go with you, but I’m curious as to why you’ve asked me.”
Biz cleared her throat. “Hold on one sec,” she said. Ari heard muffled voices and the slamming of the door. “Sorry about that. I just think it would be helpful to have someone tag along who knows Jane really well and might notice if there’s a connection. Those flowers have to be coming from someplace, but if the stalker is growing them or ordering them online, then this is all a waste of time.”
“Why not ask Jane to join you?”
“Because I’d rather ask you.”
She was momentarily speechless as Biz’s blatant flirtation echoed in her ears.
A slight chuckle followed. “Look, if I ask Jane, it will turn into an all-day thing. I don’t have time to do the latté circuit, you know?”
She laughed. Biz was a professional, and Jane certainly wasn’t when it came to any activity outside of real estate. “Okay. Where shall we meet?”
“At your office? I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
She agreed and drove to work, thinking she could at least put her desk in order before she left. A call to Molly went straight to voice mail, and she gave up hope of ever having a lunch date with her until her big case was closed. She would not see her again until tomorrow night, as they tried to follow an agreed-upon schedule during the week. They had decided to be together on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with the understanding that the weekends were always spent in either Ari’s condo or Molly’s apartment. It was an arrangement that provided the distance Molly still needed, but the consistent structure conveyed a quiet commitment to monogamy that they both wanted.
By the time Biz appeared in her doorway, she was answering the last of her e-mail. “Hey,” Biz said with a smile.
Her stomach flip-flopped at the sight of Biz, dressed in a Green Day T-shirt and tight black jeans.
Biz looked around the office. “Nice digs. Are you ready?”
She nodded and followed Biz out to the Mustang. For a forty-year-old car, the inside was pristine, and the leather smelled sweet. “This is amazing. It’s a Shelby, right?”
Biz raised an eyebrow, evidently impressed. “Very good. It’s a nineteen-sixty-seven Shelby GT three-fifty.”
“Do you show it?” Ari asked, thinking that it was the most luxurious car she’d ever seen.
Biz smirked. “Nah. I don’t have time. I just fixed her up for me.”
She started the engine and they zipped out of the parking lot. The two shops were located at opposite ends of the metropolitan area, and they decided to go west to Surprise, a booming suburb in the far corner of the valley, before cutting back across the east to Mesa.
“So how long have you been a private detective?” Ari asked as they cruised down Northern Avenue.
Biz glanced at her and took a drag off her cigarette. She quickly blew the smoke through the open window and returned the cigarette outside as well. “Three years,” she said.
Ari waited for her to expand on the answer, and when she did not, Ari returned her gaze to the dashboard. Clearly Biz relied on few words, and years of real estate had taught her that some clients did not enjoy small talk. She had learned that at times it was wiser to honor the silence rather than fill it up with endless chatter.
Several minutes later, just as she had decided what she would make for dinner the following night when she saw Molly, Biz pointed to the side of the road. “Have you ever been there?”
She squinted toward a tiny black building that sat on the side of Grand Avenue. A neon tube light announced that it was Trixie’s Dive, and she realized it was the oldest gay bar in Phoenix. “No, I’ve just heard of it.”
“Great place,” Biz said. “I’ve spent more than a few evenings shooting pool and making friends.”
“So that makes you a regular?”
“Sort of. Your girlfriend spent quite a bit of time there, too.” Biz let the remark sit between them, not bothering to explain.