Torquere Press Sips and Shots Page 17

  Julian and Jade’s proud smiles didn’t temper the bitterness that came with the acknowledgment.

  “What are you gonna do?” Jade asked.

  “I’m thinking about a bistro. It’s time for another challenge, something to get my blood pumping again.”

  “Court, don’t you think you should mention this to Joanna?” Julian persisted.

  “Julian, she’s going to find out eventually. I’m opening it in Darien.”

  “You mean you have the place?” he asked.

  Courtney rolled her eyes. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I was going to invite everyone to the grand opening and throw this lavish affair, but now you’ve ruined it.”

  “I’ll take lavish, surprise or not,” Jade offered. “That’s so cool, Court.”

  “For some reason I would think you should be happier about this,” Julian observed.

  “Look, I said I was ready to move on. I’m going to have to get back to you on the being happy about it part. It wasn’t exactly in the plan to do it alone.”

  “I know a great caterer you can hire for the opening,” Julian said.

  “Jules, it’s a restaurant. We make food; therefore, the caterer is sort of redundant.”

  “Now that depends on the caterer,” Jade added with a nod.

  Courtney glared at her. “By the way, weren’t you supposed to be waiting for Joanna and me to split? I see you didn’t waste any time finding someone else.”

  “I’m not blind, Court. I know the real thing when I see it.”

  Courtney frowned. “You need an eye exam.” She caught Julian and Jade exchanging glances. Wallowing was never her style. “So anyway,” she said with a bright smile, “welcome to the latest chapter of my life.”

  Julian raised his water glass. “Here’s to Courtney’s latest chapter. And may there be a nice, juicy plot twist.”

  Courtney pondered that one as they all clinked their glasses.

  * * *

  Joanna decided to clock some “research” time with the Food Network. She reclined in Sam’s broken-in La-Z-Boy and observed the Barefoot Contessa prepare stuffed artichoke hors d’eourves for an intimate gathering of friends in the Hamptons. All the while, though, her mind replayed the thud of solitary footsteps along the dirt path during her morning jog in Cranbury Park.

  “We’ve decided to convert the garage into an in-law apartment,” Sam barked. His arms were folded expectantly over his belly.

  “Done with your elliptical workout already?” Joanna teased.

  “Don’t you have some place to be?” he replied.

  She slowly lifted herself up. “This is a comfortable chair, Sam, especially the section your ass caved in.”

  “Yo, Nance,” he called out. “You told me to inform you when Joanna’s presence was starting to piss me off. Consider yourself informed.”

  “Joanna, stop picking on my husband,” Nancy replied from the hall.

  Joanna shot him a menacing glare. “You’re lucky your wife’s home.”

  “Now she’s threatening me,” he shouted, nodding at Joanna with an imperious smile.

  “Jo, come out here and look at this new chintz valance,” Nancy requested from the living room.

  When Joanna saw Nancy pulling the silky valance from its package, she made a face. “Good luck trying to position that over the rod.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s gonna slide off right onto the floor. I know because Courtney and I easily made a dozen failed attempts before we finally stuffed ours back in the package and hauled it back to Neiman Marcus.”

  “Let’s just give it a try before you dump all over my idea.” Nancy took down the rod over her bay window as Joanna assisted at the other end. “We’re meeting the Kirschners for Japanese tonight in the city. Wanna come?”

  “No, thanks. I have plans,” Joanna replied.

  “With who?”

  “No one.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Really?” Joanna asked. “You’re just gonna accept that answer?”

  “Of course not. Who with? Did you finally call Marcia?”

  “No, but I will hitch a ride with you into the city.”

  Nancy lowered her half of the rod. “You’re going to Courtney’s club again, aren’t you?”

  Joanna shook her head. “I’m going to visit Crystal and Roz. You remember them from our Halloween parties.”

  “Yeah, don’t they live in the Village?”

  “So?”

  “Where Courtney’s club is?”

  “So what?”

  Nancy smirked. “You may have come out of the closet in the eighties, but you still do denial better than anyone I know.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” Joanna said. She held up her end of the valance to determine which side was the front.

  “Me? You’re the one going to visit friends you haven’t seen in a year because they live near Courtney’s nightclub. That’s so Freudian.”

  “I’m going to visit friends I haven’t seen in a year because I haven’t seen them in a year. You don’t need to tie all this intrigue into it.”

  “Jo, it’s been four months. When are you going to face reality? Sure, you may not be in a tizzy fighting with Courtney all the time, but you’re not any happier. What exactly did leaving her solve?”

  “For one thing, I’m not getting tension headaches anymore,” Joanna snapped.

  “If it were me, I’d take Extra-strength Tylenol rather than walking out on someone I really care about. But then, this is classic you.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Come on, Jo. Ever since you were a kid, everything had to be done to the extreme. If you wanted to light a cigarette, you’d set the house on fire and then later say, ‘Gee, I could’ve struck a match, huh?’ You always do this.”

  Joanna could feel her ears burn. “Okay, first of all, I smoked for about ten minutes in high school. Secondly, what do you know about what I feel and experience? You were born with this laid back, ‘who gives a crap’ gene, which I have no idea where that came from. So don’t you stand there with your chintz window accents and your perfect life and perfect family and judge me.”

  “You really think I have a perfect family?” Nancy beamed with pride. “Because you know I could’ve killed Sam, Jr. when he called to tell me he went base jumping in Peru while he was on that archeological dig with the university…”

  “Yeah, it’s perfect,” Joanna said. She gazed out the bay window at the lush green lawn, the vibrant tulips lining both sides of the brick walkway.

  “Jo, you know I’m not saying this to hurt you. We sling honesty at each other. It’s just what we do. Besides, you’re still my kid sister, and I worry about you.”

  “Nance, I can take care of myself.”

  “I know that, but I think the walls you’ve built to protect yourself are closing in on you. Yeah, you had a lot of ups and downs with Courtney, more than with anyone else as I recall, but I loved you with her. You were radiant and spirited. You egged each other on in a good way.”

  “She made me feel like a jealous, controlling fool,” Joanna countered.

  “She made you? I don’t know, Jo. I saw a woman with energy and drive to take on the world. In the time you were together, your business flourished, you lost twenty pounds running with her, and you laughed all the time… until you starting expecting, well, whatever it is you’re expecting.”

  Joanna rubbed the silky fabric between her fingers.

  “Do you even know what you’re looking for?” Nancy asked. “Another Martha? Another ten years of indifference because it was easier?”

  “I’m not looking for easy. I just want balance. I want to be in a place where my emotions aren’t spiking off the chart all the time. You say I always go to the extreme, but that’s why it didn’t work with Courtney. I hated how much I love her.”

  The room fell silent. They looked at each other, still clutching their ends of the chintz. Joanna gul
ped air as Nancy’s smile affirmed the realization.

  “So we finally get to the bottom of it,” Nancy said warmly.

  Joanna plunked down in an antique wing back chair. “Oh my God, I’m one of those pathetic, emotionally retarded women afraid of her own feelings. When did this happen?”

  “My guess is the moment you realized you were truly in love.”

  “That wasn’t the answer I was looking for.”

  Nancy laughed and Joanna turned to the window to let the early afternoon sun warm her face.

  “Are you giving up on this valance because it’s too difficult?” Nancy asked.

  Joanna smiled and patted Nancy’s cheek. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  * * *

  Courtney stared absently at the dust and debris she’d swept into a pile in the empty square footage of her newest commercial lease. Her first solo accomplishment. This time next month, she’d be open and ready for the summer rush of weekenders, shoppers, and the New York Times’ food critic who could make or break her riskiest venture.

  She leaned against the glass display case left by the previous owner, a French baker whose legacy was the intoxicating scent of baked dough probably ingrained in the woodwork. Tomorrow the contractors would arrive to tear down the back wall and start the project of modernizing the kitchen to suit the tastes of the persnickety chef of a Nuevo Italian bistro.

  She bent over to sweep the rubble into a dust pan. When she rose, Joanna was standing in front of her. Her hand went limp, and the contents spilled to the floor, erupting into a mushroom cloud.

  “Any chance I’m on the guest list for the grand opening?” Joanna said. After whirling around the room, her eyes landed on Courtney’s.

  “Uh, sure,” Courtney replied. “But you know you don’t need an invitation.”

  “Actually, judging by our last conversation, I was certain I’d earned a lifetime ban from all Courtney Wade properties.”

  Courtney smiled at Joanna’s keen perception of the former her. “Well, six months ago, you would’ve been right.”

  Joanna glanced around the empty space, and Courtney knew Joanna’s creative mind was envisioning the possibilities. Courtney may have the business instincts of Donald Trump, but her talent as a decorator was on par with the Donald’s style in hairdos.

  “So who dropped the quarter on me about this, Jade or Julian?”

  Joanna swung around and faced her. “Neither. For some strange reason I found myself at Tango again last Saturday night. Your merry serving wench, Lucy, was only too eager to spill the beans.”

  “She’s going right to the top of my list of people who need a slap.”

  Joanna shoved her hands in her pants pockets, her usual move in awkward situations. “This place is going to be amazing, Court.”

  The compliment sailed over Courtney’s head. “What were you doing at Tango?”

  Joanna sighed. “What do you think?”

  “Another booty call?”

  Joanna walked over and leaned against the display case. “No, Court, that’s not it.” She sounded impatient at first. “I was so sure leaving was the answer; at the time it really felt like the only solution. I just wanted the drama to stop. I wanted to feel I had some measure of control.” She paused, unsure how much to reveal. “Do you still hate me?”

  Courtney shook her head with a tentative smile and clutched the broom handle.

  “Look, I’m sorry to show up here and lay this on you,” Joanna said. “Obviously, your hands are full and for all I know, you’re probably involved with someone else now, too.”

  Courtney laughed. “Between all the drowning in my own sorrows and taking out business loans I don’t even know if I can repay, you think I’ve had time to get a new girlfriend?”

  “You were always a remarkably efficient multi-tasker.”

  Courtney rested the broom between herself and Joanna. “It’s different now. This is the first time in my adult life women and sex haven’t clouded my vision. The clarity is refreshing. I actually like the slower pace. It sounds corny but I’m enjoying the little things I never bothered to notice, the fuchsia blossoms on Rose-of-Sharon bushes, sparrows fluttering in the sand, the firm ground under my feet in Cranbury Park. We went running there all the time. If only we’d stopped, just once, and sat in the grass. Who knows?” She shrugged wistfully.

  “I wanted to, I really did, but I figured you think it was lame.”

  Courtney offered an ironic smile. “I probably would’ve. Anyway, one thing I know for sure. I’m gonna have to purge you from my system before I can let anyone else in.”

  Joanna released a cathartic breath. “Is there room in your system for another friend?”

  “Always.”

  Joanna motioned toward her. At first, a reserved embrace, but when Courtney felt the strength of Joanna’s arms wrapping over and under each shoulder, she gripped Joanna even tighter. When they finally disengaged, Courtney snatched a piece of loose leaf paper off the top of the display case.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing,” Courtney blurted. No, that wasn’t too obvious.

  “If it’s nothing, let me see it,” Joanna teased.

  Courtney quickly balled up the paper. “It’s just a piece of scrap.”

  “Then let me see it.”

  “What do you care about a piece scrap paper?”

  “Don’t make me wrestle you to this filthy floor.”

  “Fine, here.” She shoved the paper into Joanna’s chest.

  Joanna pulled open the crinkled edges. It was a sketch of the proposed front of the restaurant, Joanna’s.”

  “What’s this?” Joanna asked.

  Courtney outstretched her arms and glanced around. “This is Joanna’s.”

  “Oh, Court.” Joanna’s eyes welled.

  “So now you know.” Courtney threw her hands on her hips and posed like a prosecutor during closing arguments. “I’m not over you, Jo. I don’t care if I can’t have you. I refuse to get over you. Trying to fight it was paralyzing. I finally realized the only way to get on with my life is to live it still loving you.” She shrugged as if the decision was as simple as choosing what to cook for dinner.

  Joanna smiled and wiped her cheek with her shirt sleeve. “You think you’re the only one capable of having epiphanies?”

  “I don’t assume anything anymore,” Courtney replied with a playful grin.

  Joanna cupped Courtney’s face in her palms and kissed her tenderly. “I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered.

  “I missed you, too,” Courtney said, stroking the back of Joanna’s hair. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this rush, the quivering, the tingling, the dipping of her stomach whenever they touched. She closed her eyes and relished the sensation of Joanna’s tongue dancing with hers. She grabbed Joanna’s ass and squeezed, pulling her body into her own, and listened for the delicate whimper of desire it never failed to elicit.

  “Just so you know,” Joanna said breathlessly, “this is the booty call.”

  Black and White

  Shanna Germain

  It’s nearly ten o’clock, and I’m fucking lost. The directions the bride gave me are chicken-scratched on a note stuck to my steering wheel. I’m supposed to be shooting the preparation photos in five minutes. If I don’t figure out where I took a wrong turn, I’m going to miss the getting-ready shots.

  I pull over on the side of the road and flip the sticky note sideways. Maybe I’m reading the damn thing wrong. But, no, I seem to have followed every stupid turn and winding road. Having a beach wedding in August seems smart to me, unless nobody can find the damn place.

  I wonder if I didn’t get a little lost on purpose. Some subconscious thing. I hate shooting weddings. There are a million-trillion things to photograph in this world, and I like almost all of them more than weddings. I once shot a spider exhibit at the zoo, some rare creature that they were milking for venom. That spider may have had fangs and hairier legs than me in the middle
of the winter, but it was no scarier than some of these brides. Done up to the nines, baring their white teeth like they want to take a bite out of you just for being there, mouths all grimaced because they can’t breathe in those tight-tight dresses they’re stuffed into.

  But weddings are big money for me, so I put on my smiling face and I go and shoot their pictures. Today’s bride is white-white. That’s an odd thing to say, I know, and you might think I’m being prejudiced here. But, no. It’s all about how to take the best photo. Everybody’s skin is different and takes a different exposure. This bride, she’s likely to wash out into nothing but her blue eyes if I’m not careful. People as dark as me, we have the opposite problem. Become all dark shadowy blur. My favorite people to photograph are those in-between colors. Olive skin’s good. So is anything Middle-Eastern or Asian.

  But nothing will matter much if I can’t find the wedding. I’m about to pull out when a car pulls up next to me and stops. A window goes down.

  My breath stops somewhere between my lungs and my mouth. In the driver’s seat is a gorgeous woman. Skin dark and creamy as devil’s food cake, the warm brown curls of her hair cut close to her head and a tiny silver ball in each ear. She’s wearing a dark purple spaghetti-strap dress that shows off toned shoulders.

  But it’s her eyes that capture me, that make me ache to photograph her. Her eyes are this big, deep dark that remind me of deer I once photographed. It’s not the color that stops my breath, though. It’s the intensity of her gaze, the way she looks at me over the half-down window. I’d photograph her in black and white, using a donut flash to capture it.

  I’m suddenly sweating. My pale summer dress had seemed perfect this morning -- professional, but long and loose enough that I could move around easily -- but now it seems like a mistake. I wish I’d worn something that showed off my curves a little more, or a color that brought out the flecks of chocolate in my eyes. Even a little lipstick wouldn’t have hurt. I make a promise to myself to wear lipstick every day from now on, just in case.

  She says something. I force myself to stop gaping at her and to listen to the words that come from her shimmery lips.