Felicianna tuned out. She knew the story. She surveyed Frances, her black business suit, the severe bun, the yes--yes, the friendly blue eyes. She was dangerous, that one.

  A few people introduced themselves, and then the guy next to Felicianna said his name was Chris. "I'm an accountant. This is my first time here. I'm trying to decide if I should, uh, if I should go into the counseling program here. I'm not sure about financing, so…"

  "Don't worry about the money, Chris," Frances said. "We'll discuss financing after the meeting. So glad you're here!"

  An expectant gaze for Felicianna.

  "I'm Anna," Felicianna said. "I own a store. I'm here to just, you know, I'm curious."

  "Curious about what?" a woman across Felicianna asked.

  Felicianna refused to tolerate this harpy brownnosing bullshit any longer. "I'm gay, and I am proud of it. This organization is a disgrace. I'm curious to see how you all put up with this shit and with that woman, that's what I'm curious about."

  A chorus of heated replies at once--no criticizing, Frances Dourne saved my life, get out of here, this is a safe place, blah blah blah.

  Frances rose from her chair. "Sam, will you take over?" Her friendliness was gone, her eyes steely. "Come with me, please, Anna."

  *****

  Frances's office was what Felicianna called a fat-cat office. Her furniture dripped money and included a love seat, art and pointless office toys such as a chrome Newton swing.

  "Why did you bring me here?" Felicianna asked.

  "So we could talk. Please have a seat." Frances selected the loveseat, and after a moment's hesitation, Felicianna joined her. She could reach out and rip off the hourglass necklace, if she so desired.

  "I have nothing to say," Felicianna remarked.

  Frances held up her hands. "All right. Answer this, then. What are your concerns? Why are you angry?"

  Felicianna gaped. Her nerve! "Are you serious?"

  Frances blinked, big pretend innocent blue eyes. "Let's try to avoid hostilities."

  "Who gave you that necklace?"

  "A friend." Smooth voice, smooth reply. Eyes still innocent.

  "Let me tell you about a friend of mine. His name was Trevor. He killed himself five years ago. Because of people like you!"

  "I'm sorry."

  "No, you're not. You don’t care about Trevor. You don’t care about people. This is not the office of a sorry person. What gives you the right to tell other people what to do? What gives you the right to cherry-pick the Bible?"

  "I present a choice, and--"

  "It's not a choice!"

  "GIC does not encourage or condone belitting and--"

  Felicianna rolled her eyes. "Spare me." She got to her feet. "Get back to your group. Your sheep need you."

  "Wait, Anna. You have valid points." Frances rubbed her forehead, suddenly looking weary. And old. "I'm sorry, Anna. I've hurt people, I know that. Please sit back down so we can--"

  "Baaaa. I hear them bleating for you."

  *****

  Felicianna sat outside for a few minutes, watching the clouds move across the GIC building. Rage swirled inside her. You better not be screwing that woman, Elena. Aiding her in her hypocrisy. Or you're no friend of mine.

  Chapter 21

  Frances got home at four o'clock. She changed into jeans and a T-shirt. She fixed a bowl of strawberries and took the time to enjoy each bite. The piano beckoned, and she pulled up the bench. She warmed up with easy versions of Fur Elise and Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Then she launched into Debussy's The Little Shepherd. One of her husband's favorite pieces, and one of hers too. She'd mastered it last year. The section marked plus mouvemente…poco animato had used to give her trouble. Now, Frances breezed through the section. Maybe she would play for the prostitute this evening. Frances had never played for anyone, save her teacher. First time for everything, right? Piano playing was like sex, in a way. Perhaps more one-sided. Because people watched you. You opened up your expressions, your body language. Sex with the prostitute was one-sided, so this piano playing would be no different.

  Frances kept thinking about the visit from Anna. Frances got these visits once in a while. She had wanted to tell Anna: "You're exactly right. I'm a monster. I'm gay. I admit it."

  Why hadn't she?

  Why was she waiting so long to come out? So what if she had moved up her coming out from Christmas to Thanksgiving? Why didn't she come out now? Why had she not come out two weeks ago?

  Maybe because deep down inside, she did not plan to come out.

  Frances played The Little Shepherd again. She would come out. She would.

  *****

  "Were you playing the piano?" Elena asked as she followed Frances into the penthouse.

  "Yep. Want me to show you how to play a simple song?"

  "Sure."

  "Okay. Sit."

  Elena sat, brushing her leg against Frances's. She let her hand rest on Frances's knee. She would do that with any client. But this isn't any client.

  Frances closed her own hand over Elena's. "I can't concentrate if…"

  "Right, of course." Elena withdrew her hand. Problem solved. Except their legs still touched.

  Hum hum hum. Not the piano, but Elena's pussy.

  "What do you know about pianos?" Frances asked.

  "They're black and white."

  Frances laughed. "This will be fun. Okay, I'm going to teach you how to play a piece called Chopsticks. It's the first piece most people learn. All music has the basic notes a through g. These are the white keys on the piano. The black keys are sharps and flats, like f-sharp or b-flat. You don't use the black keys for Chopsticks."

  "What's the difference between a sharp and flat?"

  "Sharps have a slightly higher pitch, flats slightly lower. If you're going this way, the black keys are flats. If you're moving this way, they're called sharps." Frances demonstrated.

  "I hear the difference."

  "You don't need to know any of this sharps and flats stuff for Chopsticks. Think of the keyboard as a number line. The white keys are whole numbers. One, two, three, four and so on. You can think of the black keys as halves." Frances grinned. "Should I shut up and show you how to play the thing?"

  "You can talk all you want. I like your voice." On impulse, Elena leaned over and kissed Frances's cheek. She let the kiss linger.

  "What was that for?"

  Elena shrugged and met Frances's gaze. "A thank-you. For teaching me. For your patience."

  "Patience?"

  "Mmm. I'm--I won't fake."

  Frances blinked then focused her gaze back to the piano. "Uh. Uh." She stared at the Bechstein Baby Grand as if it was an alien object. "Is that--are you--like I said, if you're going to fake, be honest. I won't take it personally. I'd rather do other things if you’re going to fake."

  "I'm not faking, Frances."

  "Why?"

  "You're paying me good money. You deserve your money’s worth." Elena winked. "Besides, I like you." The flirtatious wink and the I like you phrase, delivered with a sultry undertone, was how Elena let her clients know it was okay, it truly was okay, that they could kiss her.

  Frances licked her lips. Shook her head. "See how the black keys are bunched into twos and threes?"

  "Wow. I never noticed that."

  Frances held down a white key which was to the left of a group of three black keys. "This is f." She moved her finger to the key to its right. "This is g. I'll make a diagram."

  Frances drew in pencil. Her drawing showed a pattern of CDE with the pairings of the two black keys, and groups of FGAB with the three black keys.

  "Got it."

  Next, Frances pointed out octaves on the piano. "Chopsticks uses only one octave. Doesn't matter which one, but start with f and g. Watch." Frances moved her hands and fingers quickly, then said: "That was Chopsticks."

  "That was fast."

  Frances guided Elena's hands to f and g. "Six times each. Together, same pace. Then e and g six times in a row. Then…"

  *****

  Five minutes later, Elena had the piece down cold. She liked Chopsticks. Playful, energetic. "This is fun. Will you play something longer? What's your favorite?"

  "I was playing Debussy's The Little Shepherd when you arrived. It's a moderate-advanced song."

  "Play that."

  Frances closed her eyes and launched into the piece.

  Wow. She can play with her eyes closed? The song was elegant, but Elena did not pay much attention to the music. She did to the woman and to her fingers. Frances's fingers were long, slim and sensual. They would be good inside me. Frances did not have her glasses on, and Elena took in the featherlike lines around her eyes. Her high cheekbones, her full lips. The pleasure, the concentration in her profile.

  I could kiss her. Right now. Not one of those stupid cheek kisses, but on the lips, long and tender, with their tongues meeting.

  I could fall in love with her, too.

  Temporarily.

  The situation would resolve itself.

  "I'm done," Frances said.

  How long was I staring? "You were lovely."

  "You look sad."

  "I'm not. I just…I just…"

  Frances gave a little smile. "I understand."

  Yes, you probably do. "Nice roses." Elena indicated the vase on a corner table.

  "I bought them two nights ago. Thought about giving them to you."

  "Why didn't you?"

  "Didn't feel right. No more gifts, like you said. We’re even with the clock and Marissa’s gift. I have something else for you, though. I wrote it today during a rather boring meeting. PowerPoint abuse."

  Frances reached into her pocket for two pieces of yellow stationery. Blue, graceful cursive greeted Elena.

  Hello:

  I know we shouldn't get too personal. I know we WON’T. You said something the first night we met, though. Something that has stayed with me. You said we are alike. We act for money. We act to escape. So, if you ever want to talk, if you ever need my help, I am here. Not that you need me. You have people to talk to, I’m sure, and a trash bin stuffed with letters and dead flowers from clients. Still, there are things you might not be able to tell people. Like you said--also the first night we met--your family and friends don’t know what you do.

  In summary: I'm here if you need me. You can call even after I stop coming to you. My phone number is (703) 555-4555.

  I want to ask you many questions. Some you are willing to answer, I hope. What it is like being in love. (I think I was in love with Violet. She's the friend my parents caught me kissing. She's why I went to camp. She's married now. To a man. Happily. I see it in her eyes every time we meet for lunch. I was in love with her a long time ago. Too long ago for me to remember what it was like.)

  I want to ask you what it is like to make love with someone you love, someone you truly care about, someone you're attracted to from the depths of your soul.

  If you will celebrate my coming out with me. I doubt anyone else will. I have this vision of us the night of my coming out. We’re back at the Howard Johnson room (the media would be staking out the penthouse building). We’re eating a sheet cake from Safeway and drinking punch. Big dreams.

  I wonder if I'll get a girlfriend. Never mind, I can answer that. It'll take time, but I will find someone. I'm scared that when I do, I won't know how to please her. She'll have years of experience. If you’re faking your sighs and moans and all your little noises and breaths, please don’t tell me. Ever. Not even if I ask you tomorrow or next week if you’re faking.

  I want to ask you to stay with me one night. You can pick which night. Not for sex. Just to be with me, sleep with me in my bed, so I'm not alone. Just for the touch. Just to hear you breathing. Just to not feel alone.

  I wonder why you have the no-kissing rule. Is it so you have a place on your body you only share with the one you love? Do you already have that special someone? I also wonder if you're afraid of catching a disease. The service is really good about testing you and us. Still, do you worry? I would like to be with you, without the condoms and the dental dams.

  I wonder why and how you became a call girl. If you like it. If you'd like me if I wasn't paying you. If maybe we could have become friends.

  I wonder other things too, but I won't ask any more. Just know I'm here if you want to talk. If you want, crumple this paper up. Pretend this letter never existed. Thank you for helping me.

  - F83

  "All right?"

  Startled, Elena glanced up. The letter had shaken her so much she had lost track of time. Of her surroundings.

  "I overstepped, didn't I?"

  Maybe Frances had, but her letter filled Elena with--with what? Excitement? Mush? Cheesiness? This was the sweetest letter Elena had received in her life. "You--no. You're very sweet. The letter is sweet. Thank you."

  Frances went to a window, and Elena wrestled with herself. What was the worst that could happen if she opened herself up, answered some of Frances’s questions?

  Remember, it's temporary.

  "Your letter has a lot of questions."

  "I'm new at this, what can I say."

  "A few of your questions--yeah, I can answer them."

  A broad, genuine grin. "Good. I’m glad."

  "You sure you want me to stay with you one night? It’s going to cost a small fortune."

  "I can afford you." Frances paused. "Will you get in bed with me now? Just for a bit."

  "Of course."

  In the bedroom, Elena stripped naked, and Frances followed her lead. They got into bed, and Elena tried to relax. Go on the offensive.

  "You will get a girlfriend." Elena sealed kisses into Frances’s palms. "You will. Don't worry about your inexperience. If it's right, then it's right."

  "What's being in love like?"

  "Funny question. I’m not the one to ask. I haven’t been in love. I've had a few relationships. Some unrequited loves. But to be in love with someone who loves me back, too--I'm not sure. I don’t know."

  "You haven't been in love with someone who loves you back?"

  "No." Elena forced a laugh. "It happens."

  "Think you will one day?"

  "Yes. And you will, too."

  "You look sad again. I want to make you smile. I love your smile."

  Elena could not help but grin.

  "Ah. And I have just made you smile, so it's been a good evening."

  "For someone who's supposed to be new at this, you're good."

  Frances took her hand, kissed it all over, kissed the fingers individually. Kissed Elena's breasts, kissed her pussy. Nestled into her arms.

  Frances deserved more pleasure. Elena did, too. She had sacrificed herself for Isaiah, because he was her son, she was his mother. No doubt she had missed out on many, many kisses. Many lovemaking sessions. Was granting herself one small, temporary pleasure so wrong? "You can kiss me tonight. Just tonight, period. My coming-out gift to you. You can kiss me for ten minutes."

  Elena was not sure what reaction she had expected--something positive, at least. Not this. Frances stared at her. Horrified.

  "No," Frances said. "Not like this. Not because you’re feeling sorry for me after my pathetic letter."

  "I’m offering because it’s a good coming-out gift and because you understand it means nothing more than that."

  "I’m going to be bad."

  "Then I’ll help you. We have ten minutes. That’s plenty of time to get instruction in."

  "No."

  "One-time offer. You won't get it again. It's really just for tonight. Ten minutes." Elena was not sure who she was trying to persuade more, herself or Frances. They had a good thing going. A nice balance. Why ruin it?

  Elena could practically see Frances’s mind vacillate. Yes, no, yes, no, but…

  "Kiss me," Elena said. "Please."

  "You’ll regret it tomorrow."

  "It’s not like I’m telling you my name. Or my address or my fantasies. Sometimes, kissing is kissing. A gift is a gift. No different than a clock."

  Something shifted in Frances--a slight hardness appeared in her eyes, maybe. "Ten minutes," she said.

  Elena set her phone alarm for eleven minutes later. She brought her lips to one corner of Frances’s mouth, and then to the other corner. Frances was the one to join their lips, uncertainly. Enough for Elena to have a burning desire, an aching need, for a deeper connection. Enough for the pit of her stomach to swirl wildly.

  Elena cupped Frances's cheeks with her hands, savoring their kiss. Deepening their kiss.

  Elena's body roared to life.

  Yep.

  She had screwed up.

  What the hell had she been thinking? Okay, so Frances had worn down Elena's defenses with that sweet letter. But--

  Frances was hungry now. Her lips were hard, searching, and Elena responded, pushing her newfound anger from herself onto Frances, in a punishing kiss.

  Frances groaned and shuddered, her hips meeting Elena’s. Elena figured she might as well let everything go to the crapper since she was angry enough, was far in enough already.

  Years. Years since she’d had true sex. Not that this was true sex, but it would be the closest she’d get. She deserved it. Ten minutes. Ten nothing minutes. Back to the usual after. They would play Monopoly. Elena would insist.

  Yes, she knew Cindi had not meant this. This was not bending the rules. This was bidding the rules adieu, have a great trip, see ya soon! Drive safely!

  They did not need protection. Frances was the next thing to a nun. No one, other than Elena, had been inside Frances for three years. Elena did not allow penetration. She was squeaky clean.

  You can't become careless. Get the finger condoms.