"If you don’t like it, say so."

  "Look, Frances. Last night happened. It’s over with. I believe you. You got caught up in the moment. So, let’s move on. You won’t let it happen again."

  "Right."

  "Because then I’d have to drop you."

  A strained, wobbly smile. "Of course. Naturally."

  Elena opened the gift. It was an antique mantel clock.

  "It’s Italian," Frances explained. She went on, detailing various features of the clock. Elena loved it. Matched the olive globe on her desk perfectly.

  But.

  But.

  "You don’t like it," Frances said.

  "I love it. It’s a perfect match with a globe I have. I love antiques."

  "I’ll take it back. No problem."

  "I am trying to say that you do not need to bribe me."

  "I’m not."

  "You don’t need to be buying me anything." Elena held the clock to her chest. Damn, the thing was heavy. "Thank you. I will treasure it. No more, okay? No more gifts, please." I’m sorry I compounded your mistake. More like quadrupled it. Yes, she had kissed Frances back. Bless the woman for not mentioning the fact. "Come on. Dinner."

  *****

  "I saw you on TV this morning." Elena used a slotted spoon to drain the pasta shells. "New teen center in San Francisco."

  "It's a beautiful building."

  "So, you’re setting up two new organizations."

  "Yep. I signed the lease on a space a couple of weeks ago. The space is small, but it’s a start."

  "Mmm."

  "Hope to not be there for long," Frances said. "If we fundraise right, we can be in better digs by this time next year."

  "You have business plans for the organizations? Names?"

  "No names." Frances shrugged. "Possibly Rainbow Rights for the gay one. If you have ideas, let me know."

  "I will."

  "Yeah, I have rough draft business plans. I’ve…" Frances gave Elena a little smile.

  "What?"

  Frances shook her head. "I’ve had these rough draft plans for five years."

  Five years?

  Frances bit her lip. "Sucks it took Nathaniel’s death to kick-start my ass."

  "At least his--" No. Oh, no. Don’t dare say that.

  "At least his what?"

  "Nothing." Elena began the sauce and stirred the ricotta, the Parmesan cheese, egg yolks, the leaves, and the salt and pepper. She preheated the oven. "So, we should talk logistics. How do you want to handle coming out to your family? Do you want to do it in a public place, a restaurant or…?"

  "Of course not a public place. I promised you. No, we'll do it first thing Thanksgiving Day at my parents' house. Tell them and get it over with."

  "What do we say about me?"

  "We're friends. We met when you were planning a party for me. You’re Jan Kendall."

  "What exactly do you want me to do?"

  "What were you going to say earlier? Something like: ‘At least his death wasn’t for nothing?’ "

  Elena pulled on one of her bracelets. "Mmm. But I didn’t mean it."

  "I know," Frances whispered, but with an edge.

  Silence.

  Awkward. Tense. Elena drank from her wineglass. Frances drank from her own wineglass. Same bottle from last night.

  Elena met Frances’s eyes. Replayed Frances’s mouth on hers. I don’t deserve the clock. I hope my wine breath was not too bad last night.

  The client who had Lamar, the chocolate lab. The defense contractor CEO. His name was Theo Willoughby. The first client Elena had let kiss her on the mouth.

  Fact was, she let about half her clients kiss her on the mouth. Sure, she started with a no-kissing rule, but what better way to gain clients’ trust, to make them feel special, than to let them think she was breaking one of her rules for them? Special them.

  The kissing rule was such an easy one to discard.

  Theo was a sloppy, sloppy kisser. Like his lab must have been.

  Her best tipper, though. She had seen him for a full year. Was not sure why he had stopped coming. Just had. Gave her and Amanda no explanation. She Googled him once in a while. He was alive. Doing well. Raking in money at the same job.

  "You okay?" Frances asked.

  "Fine."

  Frances nodded briskly. "With my family," she said. "I don't know what I want you to do. Just be there. Be with me."

  Elena finished preparing the food and put their dinner in to bake. "Be about forty minutes. Do you have a script?"

  "Not for my family. I'll play it by ear."

  "What do you think your parents will do?"

  Frances laughed. "Kick me out. We'll be done in five minutes. We'll drive back and you can have your Thanksgiving."

  "They might surprise you."

  "They won't."

  "Maybe Nicholas will react well. Especially since you helped him with Nathaniel."

  "Maybe." Meaning no.

  Elena had never liked Nicholas Wellington, although his sister fascinated her. At least Frances said gays should be treated with compassion. As recently as one year ago, Frances had put forth her support for gays to visit their partners in the hospital. Nicholas Wellington opposed anything gay. If it looked and breathed like it was gay, and quacked like it was gay, it deserved to be shot.

  Frances reached for a blue folder on the kitchen table. "Read this. It’s a revision of my speech. Mostly at the end."

  This paper was fresh, crisp. Times New Roman font again.

  Good morning. I hope everyone's had a great weekend. I have called you here today to talk to you about something, something very important and dear to my heart.

  I've known joys in my life. Tragedies, too. I also have regrets, lots of them. Regrets that I haven't been true to myself. Regrets that I've tried to force my beliefs, beliefs I never truly possessed deep down inside, onto others. Every fiber of my being knows I have caused untold pain and suffering.

  I'm going to keep this speech short and sweet, because when you come down to it, I only have three words to say.

  I am gay.

  I'm gay, and there's nothing wrong with that.

  Effective immediately, I resign as president of Gay Is a Choice. I plan to develop a gay rights organization and an organization to track down missing children.

  To the people I have hurt, to the people I have caused to feel subhuman, I am sorry. Truly sorry, from the bottom of my heart.

  To the people who work at GIC, I am not abandoning you. I love you all.

  I want this to be an honest forum, so I'm opening the floor. If you have questions, please ask them. I will answer them as honestly as I can.

  One last thing. Daniel, please let me see Marissa. I admire you every day of my life. Know that, if nothing else. You absolutely did the right thing. I wake up every morning, and I think of our daughter. How lucky she is to have you as her dad. I fall asleep remembering you and her laughing together. She belongs with you. I know that. But please bring her back. I want to know her. I want her to know me. I’m her mother, and I’m a better person now. Please, Daniel. I will do everything in my power to make sure you're not prosecuted. I will take care of you both. Daniel, just get in touch. Contact me. Our landline number is the same. We’ll meet. No one has to know. I don’t want to take her from you. I just want to meet her and maybe, if you’re willing, get to know her.

  Elena swallowed. She felt the intense pain, the agony, of Frances’s words. No washing them away.

  "Well?" Frances asked.

  "The change is significant."

  "More effective?"

  "Will you let me know if he calls? If he gets in touch with you? Even if it’s a year later or…you’ll let me know if you get to see your daughter?"

  Frances gave her an odd, probing look. "Yes," Frances said. "I’ll let you know."

  "More effective, yes. What if people accuse you of coming out to get Marissa back?"

  "I'd say yes. Heck, yes, I am. But I'm also doing it to be true to myself. So, what do you think? Of the speech as a whole." Frances's voice was smooth, emotionless, completely unlike the churning angst of the words on the paper. "What do I need to add to the speech or subtract from it? What do I need to polish and smooth out?"

  "Nothing. It's to the point. It's from your heart. It's perfect."

  "Right. Okay. Well, uh…we have time to kill. Hair, clothes, shoes, whatever. What do I wear when I come out?"

  *****

  Frances’s closet was half the size of Elena’s old apartment. Bigger than Isaiah’s bedroom. Three colors stood out: gray, brown and black. Both for suits and shoes.

  "You should wear something with a little color," Elena suggested. "Have anything blue to match your eyes?"

  "A couple of shirts."

  Elena riffled through the suits and through librarian-type browns and greens. She found a dark-blue shirt. Too dark.

  "I’m thinking about getting a makeover the day before I come out. Haircut, chic clothes. Get red highlights. Be a new person inside and out."

  "But you won’t be a new person. You’ll just be gay. I think you’re fine simply sprucing up your usual appearance. You want people to recognize you. You want to look authentic, not contrived. Not like a caricature of yourself."

  "Good point."

  "Do you prefer pants or skirts?"

  "Pants."

  Elena surveyed a few more suits. No gems. Sameness after sameness.

  "My clothes are stuffy," Frances said.

  "Don't wear a suit jacket. Wearing a shirt will make you seem accessible."

  "Hair up or down?"

  "I’d say up. As you usually wear it."

  "So I should have my contacts in, too."

  "Probably." Elena shifted her focus to the shoes. Maybe she would discover a prize winner. "Are you going to stand at a podium?"

  "Yes. GIC has a conference room that doubles as a press room. That’s where I’ll do it."

  "At GIC? Wow. Okay. Look, I have a few blue shirts at home that will work. We’re about the same size. I’ll bring them next time. Pair one of my shirts with one your pants, and you’re set."

  "I appreciate it."

  Elena flashed a grin. "That’s what I’m here for. Do you have earrings?"

  "Some."

  Elena went through Frances’s jewelry until she found a pair of round blue topaz earrings adorned by white gold and four tiny diamonds. "This is perfect."

  "Daniel got them for me. Our first anniversary."

  "You okay wearing them?"

  Frances attempted a smile. "Maybe he’ll see them and remember the good times."

  "So you had good times."

  "As much as a gay man and a gay woman married to each other can."

  "Okay, forget these earrings. I have something at home that’ll work. Or do you want to look online now? Maybe have something brand-new for your big day?"

  "Can I wear the hourglass necklace?"

  "It’s your necklace."

  Frances fingered the charm. "Hmm."

  Elena stole a glance at her. Envisioned her with her hair up--maybe a few strands loose, to give her more humanity, more softening---the brilliant blue of her eyes, of her shirt, of her earrings. And the hourglass at the base of her throat.

  Elena should have let the kiss last. And last. She wanted to feel Frances around her again, lose herself in the wetness of her, her groans, the waves of her orgasm.

  "What are you thinking?" Frances asked.

  "You’re going to be stunning."

  A self-conscious smile. Light pink cheeks. "You think?"

  "I know."

  Frances breathed in a deep breath. Breathed out. "Sometimes I can’t believe I’m doing this."

  Elena almost reached for her. "And you’ll do it in style," she said instead.

  *****

  Frances checked Mickey on her wrist. Dinner was over, and she and the prostitute had two hours to kill. Two hours to fuck. Two hours to sit in awkward silence. Two hours to play cards.

  "I can cook, too," Frances said. "I know how. You’re not my mother’s daughter if you don’t learn how to cook. I just don’t see the point in cooking for myself."

  "Next dinner’s on you, then."

  Frances grinned. "Sounds good." Tomorrow night? was on the tip of her tongue, but she stopped herself. She needed to space out her meetings with the prostitute. Frances had bought a Nintendo Wii about a year ago. She had not bothered to take it out of its box. She had never played Wii, but people at work loved it. Maybe they could try that. Or watch a movie. Snuggle on the couch and--No.

  The prostitute had been going to come. Maybe she was going to fake and cut out early, but she had been on the route to orgasm. No mistaking the pulsating, the hardness and expansion, of her clit and the rocking of her hips. Her nails in Frances’s back.

  More awkward silence. Last night continued to slouch in the third chair at the table. Sex would help. Workmanlike, utilitarian sex, like the other prostitute gave. Would get rid of the discomfort, and the next time they met, it would be as if they never kissed.

  Frances summoned her courage. She ran her hands, one after the other, over her breasts. She was ready for another orgasm. One that didn't come from her own fingers or from a vibrator. Make me come. Again.

  She swore that hunger flared in the prostitute's eyes. Frances used her fingertips to graze one of her nipples. Despite the layers of her shirt and bra, the nipple responded. Her body responded. The prostitute did too--slightly parted lips. Frances quirked an eyebrow. All right? Make me come. As many times as you can before the two hours are up. Earn your keep.

  What Frances actually said--stammered--was: "Hey, uh, let’s play Scrabble."

  Chapter 15

  Brenda was reading The Washington Post when Elena got home. Elena touched a hand to her hair. Dry, but the touch was habit. Making sure her lies were behaving themselves. She carried a mini blow dryer in her briefcase. Had to shower sometimes after work to wash off the smell of sex, and she needed a blow dryer for these times she was not at the Four Seasons or another hotel. Her hair had been damp the night before, from the bubble bath. She’d blown dry her hair in the service car.

  Scrabble.

  Really, Frances.

  Elena should’ve yanked down the damn woman’s pants and gone down on her. Instead, she was an obedient little prostitute, with seven wooden tiles and the appropriate oooh, niiiice when Frances laid down a good word.

  Elena could’ve nudged Frances. Turned the shower on. Pulled Frances in with her, clothes be damned. Could’ve sucked on her nipples through her shirt, could’ve--stop.

  "Hey, Ma. Couldn't sleep?"

  "Acid reflux is acting up again. What's that?"

  Elena drew out the clock.

  Brenda's eyes widened in appreciation.

  "Where should we put it? Maybe where Isaiah's urn used to be. Matches the globe, don’t you think?"

  "You didn't get Kevin's message? He came for dinner. The urn's back."

  Elena almost dropped the clock. Not out of shock, but out of anger. Stuck with the damn urn again. Great. "I wanted the clock there," she said, hating the snappish shading of her tones.

  "Then put it there." Brenda's voice was reasonable. "Help me up. We'll figure out where to put the urn."

  I made a mistake. Elena should not have left Frances. What was the appeal of coming home to a wizened woman and a soulless condo? She could be in a large, warm bed now, with a beautiful, soft, responsive woman. But what the hell else was she supposed to do? The appointment was over.

  "Elena, dear? Fetch the Pepcid, will you?"

  *****

  Elena had a breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast with her mother, then took a hot shower. The water massaged her shoulders, and she imagined Frances was with her. Kissing her, her lips, her breasts, her pussy. Elena detached the shower head and let it get to work. Her orgasm was tremendous but only sharpened her desire. She got out of the shower and dried off. Enough.

  She checked her phone calendar to see what the day held so far. She had two appointments, one new. She already knew about D45 from one-thirty to two-thirty. The new one was F83 from eight to ten. Yay! Elena’s heart and stomach jumped.

  She inspected her closet and selected three blue businesslike shirts. One was deep blue, long-sleeved and collared. Another was more of a robin’s egg blue, short-sleeved, also collared. The third was twill, medium blue, with white collars that jumped out. Too much for Elena’s taste, but maybe Frances would like the shirt. Next, Elena went through her earrings. She had a pair of Japanese Kanji eternal blue. From Felicianna. Nope. She did not want Felicianna’s mojo anywhere near Frances. Elena picked out a few other pairs.

  *****

  "Hey," Elena said, approaching Felicianna at Antiques by Anna.

  "Hey."

  "How are you?"

  "Good. Good." Felicianna cracked a hesitant smile. "The armoire sold. Finally."

  Elena made small talk. Her neck and her mouth burned with memories of Frances from the Jacuzzi. Frances’s legs around her body. Frances’s screams. Moans. Her rocking. Her sweat.

  Was making Elena perpetually horny. If only she were a smidgen attracted to Felicianna, both their lives would be so much easier. They would be a boring, happy enough lesbian couple.

  "I'm going to look at the hourglasses," Elena said.

  "Why?"

  "Gift for a client."

  Felicianna turned keen green eyes on her. Elena wondered what her best friend saw. Maybe a lying flush to her cheeks? A guilty gaze?

  "You've met someone," Felicianna said. Not a question. A statement.

  "A client, I said."

  "You know where the hourglasses are."

  Elena sighed. Okay. The hourglasses. She tried to see the hourglasses through Frances's eyes. Frances would be pleased with any of them. Elena particularly liked an hourglass with five tiers, instead of the usual two. The sand was multicolored. Something about the hourglass was off, however. It would be good, wonderful, for Frances--but not perfect.