"Wow."

  Elena realized Frances was looking at her. Looking at her. In the impaling, intense way a woman who loves another woman does. The gaze sent Elena's pulse spinning.

  "What happened?" Frances asked.

  "She kept her composure. She asked who the father was. I said 'Kevin Norwood.' She knew him because she went to a lot of the high school football games. I said Kevin had been down a few times. He knew about the baby.

  'Are you getting married?' she asked.

  "I laughed, said no, and before I knew what I was doing, I added: 'I'm gay, Ma. I slept with him to make sure. He wore a condom, but...' Big day for my mom, right? Her eighteen-year-old daughter, who had done no wrong until then, is ready to pop out a baby. And by the way, gay too. My being pregnant made my being gay almost nothing. So there was that. Bright side."

  A half-smile from Frances. "Maybe I should have tried coming out to my parents that way. When was Isaiah born? Two days later?"

  "A week later. She loved him. As much as I did. She helped a lot with him."

  "What was your son like?"

  "He liked knock-knock jokes and word play," Elena said. "He liked lots of things. But for some reason, he hated spiders. I don't mind spiders myself. That worked out well, I guess."

  "Ugh. Spiders. Help yourself to them, babe. Not my thing."

  "Do you shriek like a girl when you see a spider?"

  "Give me a little credit."

  "How much credit?"

  Frances separated her thumb and pointer finger. "Just a little. If a spider is ugly enough or big enough, I do react. What makes you shriek like a girl?"

  "Like I'm going to tell you."

  "True." Frances laid out her earrings and took off her hourglass necklace. She tapped the lamp on and turned the main light off.

  Elena checked the time. Ten p.m. Frances slid into bed, then back out. "I forgot something." She returned with an envelope. Thicker than usual. "In case I'm in a rush in the morning. This includes tonight. And tomorrow night. All your tips, too. This is everything. My last payment." Frances laid the envelope next to the clock and got back into bed.

  "I don't want it."

  "Take it. You earned it."

  "I told you no tips."

  "I'm stubborn."

  Elena did not know what to say. Half of her wanted to retort: Remember what you said yesterday about bowling? Guess what? Bowling sounds great. The other half cautioned her to avoid making promises she was not absolutely sure she could keep. She would leave the envelope at the penthouse in the morning. Simple enough.

  Frances crossed her arms behind her head. Looked at the ceiling.

  "What are you thinking?" Elena asked.

  "Thinking about you."

  "I'm right here." Elena's heart ached under her breast. Frances was so close Elena could feel her heat, yet so far that a chill lingered between them. "Are you going to miss me?"

  She saw a slight smile tug at Frances's lips. "Miss you?" Her voice was incredulous, telegraphing: Yes, very much.

  Screw it. "I'll go bowling with you. You said next Friday?"

  Frances turned to face her. Frances's eyes were luminous, like she was a creature of the night. "I don't know how to answer that. I don't know if you mean it. But I appreciate the sentiment."

  A cluster of words begged Elena for release. We could be together. We could figure out a way. We're good together. Wonderful together. It's a shame to walk away. We have to try at least. What a huge commitment, however. Once the words were out of her mouth, there was no taking them back. She would hurt Frances more if she spoke up and backpedaled than if she said nothing in the first place. And she was, perhaps, being presumptuous. Who said Frances wanted to go public with a woman who might be exposed as a former prostitute?

  Frances lifted her fingers to Elena's arm. Her touch was soft and gentle, but Elena could not relax. Frances moved her touch to Elena's cheek and then outlined Elena's lips.

  "The night I got the call about Marissa and you came here, you fell asleep. I didn't. I was wide awake, thinking about her but also--also I couldn’t take my eyes off you. That night scared me. One, I heard my daughter's voice for the first time in eleven years. I faced the very real possibility that I'm going to see her again at some point, though who knows when. And two, I had a woman who came to me right away and stayed with me and…I felt so lucky. How did I get so lucky? I told myself it was a fantasy. And that's all right. As long as we don't try to force the fantasy on the real world. The real world's ugly. Horrible. I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying, but I do love looking at you. That's how I want to spend tonight. We can talk about us at the HoJo tomorrow. Okay? Let's enjoy each other tonight."

  "Us," Elena said. "That would be nice."

  "Yes," Frances replied, sadness and longing in the one word. As if she knew it would not happen.

  "I’m a prostitute. Was. Does that bother you? Like if the truth came out and we were together and…"

  Frances touched her lips to Elena’s. "Hey. We’ll talk about us tomorrow night."

  Elena allowed the kiss to deepen. The contact was like fire, rousing a melting sweetness within Elena. A sweetness that contrasted with the fear in her heart, a fear that Frances would end their relationship tomorrow night. Frances would not say Elena’s name. Was too afraid to. Frances was perhaps not ready for a relationship, much less with a prostitute. Former prostitute. Whatever.

  Tomorrow. Tomorrow we deal with it. Tonight we enjoy each other.

  Elena's body moved of its own accord. Her pussy searched out Frances's, found it, and moved with it.

  *****

  Frances awoke at six a.m., showered quickly, and put on the hourglass necklace.

  I have to go with her. Elena felt like Frances was getting ready for her own execution. Like she should be wearing prison orange. The deliberate slowness of her movements and the fog in Elena's brain from their kisses, their lovemaking, from the heady awareness of being in love, added to the drugging sensation.

  "Can I make you breakfast?" Elena asked. She had to do something besides lay in bed or follow Frances around like a chicken.

  "Like a last meal?" Frances laughed. "No, I’m going to eat a banana. Something light. Puking doesn’t make appetizing TV."

  I am not in love with you, Frances. Lust, yes. Very much so. Love? Hah. They were not in love. Lust and newness and adolescent stupidity, that's what this was.

  They were not in love, because if they were, Elena would go with her. Maybe not be at her side when she came out, because Frances was right, she needed to do it alone, but if Elena loved her, she would go to GIC with Frances, be with her before and after.

  "I’m leaving now," Frances said at seven a.m. "I want to be there early."

  Elena was still naked. Still in bed. Don’t go. Please.

  "I will see you tonight at HoJo for our party," Frances said. "Six o’clock?"

  "What are you doing after you come out?"

  Frances rubbed her nose. "Interviews. Damage control. I want to call the board of directors and every employee who works at headquarters individually. Fifty people, so that’ll take a while. "

  Frances didn’t need her.

  "Go back to sleep if you want. I’ll see you tonight." Frances kissed Elena on the cheek.

  "Give me five minutes. I'll go with you."

  A slight hesitation. Frances opening and closing her mouth several times. Almost saying yes. "No, sweetie. I'm doing this alone."

  "I'll go with you. I'll be there for you before and after. I can wait in your office or someplace like that. I don't care if I happen to get photographed or on TV."

  "Maybe you don't care right now, but you’d care later. Tonight. Tomorrow. Next week, next month. You'd care."

  She's right, and you know it. "Good luck, Frances."

  "Goodbye, sweetie."

  "My name is not sweetie," Elena muttered. My wallet. She got out of bed, found her pants from the night before. Got out her driver’s license. "Look. See. Believe me."

  Frances did not take the offering. She met Elena’s gaze with what seemed to be considerable will. Frances’s eyes were dark, simmering, passionate and fearful, very fearful. "I believe you."

  "Then say my name."

  "I--I--I can’t."

  "How many times did you ask for my name? Huh?"

  "You weren’t supposed to give it to me! Not your real name. No matter how many times I asked. This wasn’t supposed to happen!"

  "This what?"

  "This. Us."

  Elena put her license and wallet back. "I’m sorry I told you my name. I’m sorry I scared you off. That was not my intention. I thought you wanted my name."

  "I--I’m not--you didn’t--I have to go. Tonight, can we--we’ll talk. Okay? Please?"

  Elena forced a smile. "I’ll be there."

  Frances nodded. Brought her hand to the hourglass charm. "Thank you," she said. "For the necklace. For everything. We will talk tonight and figure out how to be together. Thank you, Elena."

  Chapter 30

  Frances got to GIC and decided the prostitute--no, Elena, Elena--was right. Hair down. Frances brushed her hair until it shone. Tomorrow morning, she would have to look into the faces of people she had helped over the years, people who had turned their lives over to her and come to work with her. She would have to look into their eyes and tell them that she was who they had worked so hard to avoid.

  What would happen to these "converted" people? Probably a few would choose to remain straight, to identify as straight. Be happy as straight, because they were straight, or straight enough. Many--most--probably would, after struggle and agony, pull a "Frances Dourne" and accept they were gay. Would live as gay. Ideally, be happy as gay.

  She heard a copier whirring and found Randy Germain in the copy room.

  Outreach and counseling.

  Could use you right about now, Randy.

  "Hey," he said. "Getting some work done. I left early Friday."

  "Glad you left early for a change. Let me help you." He made more copies, and she stacked and stapled them. They were self-assessment forms with reply choices along the lines of every day, every other day, once or twice a week.

  How often do you have lustful thoughts about your own sex?

  The opposite sex?

  That kind of self-assessment.

  "I’m holding a press conference at nine." She checked Mickey. In an hour.

  "About Marissa?"

  "Not directly." Frances stapled the last of the papers. She took a deep breath. "Randy, the thing is, I’m gay." She handed him her speech. She stepped away and pretended the papers needed arranging. After a minute, she latched back onto him.

  He was sitting in a chair. He looked shell-shocked. Refused to meet her eyes.

  "Let’s talk, Randy."

  He grabbed her wrist. "Are you doing this to get Marissa back?"

  "I'm doing it because it's who I am."

  He let go. His disappointment was palpable and naked on his face. "Oh, Frances. Not you. You're stronger than this."

  Tears sprang to her eyes, and she wiped them away hastily.

  He sighed, a troubled sigh. "Who else is coming?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "A friend or your brother or…"

  "No one. I'm doing this alone."

  Randy rearranged the papers Frances had just rearranged. "I'm straight, and I don't approve of what you're doing. I truly believe being gay is a choice. But I'll stand with you. If you want."

  She tried to comprehend what she was hearing. "Why?"

  He grinned. "Like you say, people slip. We shouldn't kick them while they're down. You helped me when I was confused, and now I'll help you. I'll help get you back on the path of righteousness. I’ll absolutely stand with you."

  Nausea hit her. The hungry kind of nausea. She should have let the prostitute make her something substantial. Better than this taste of her own medicine. "Thank you, Randy. You’re certainly welcome to attend the conference. But I’m coming out alone."

  "Why? When you don’t have to."

  "This is my mess. I'll confess to it alone." Plus, she had not fathomed that anyone would be willing to stand with her. She was unprepared for that contingency.

  "You say people find strength in seeking help. Please accept my help, Frances."

  *****

  She began with a smile, ignoring the touch of claustrophobia from the lights and boom microphones. "Good morning. I hope everyone is having a great weekend. I have called you here today to talk to you about something, something very important and dear to my heart."

  A blur of microphones jammed the podium. Local stations, national stations, ABC, NBC, CNN, a haze of logos and affiliates. More stations than she had expected for a Sunday morning. Salivating at the prospect of the newest fallen angel. I need to eat after this. I really need to eat after this. Some faces were expectant, others rabid.

  Frances indicated Randy at the side of the room. She and Randy had reached a compromise. Randy had coordinated the arrival of the media, allowing Frances more time to gather herself. Then they walked in together, to the podium, and he had retreated to the side. "I’d like to introduce you to Randy Germain. He’s our outreach director. He does not agree with what I’m about to do. However, he still offered to stand with me, which makes his--" She looked into his serious face. Maybe she had helped some people find themselves. Maybe she had helped this man. "Thank you, Randy. Thank you." She turned back to the cameras.

  "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 want to keep this speech short and sweet. When you come down to it, I only have three words.

  "I am gay.

  "I am gay, and there is nothing wrong with me."

  A quiet roar in front of her.

  "I have lied and been deceitful, to myself, to my husband, to my daughter, to all of you, and I am truly sorry. Learning to accept myself and to love myself has been a years-long process, with countless detours and wrong turns."

  Some reporters called out questions. Frances ignored them.

  "The bottom line is, I am gay, and there's nothing wrong with that. Effective immediately, I resign as president of Gay Is a Choice. I am developing 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. I have no excuse for my actions. I am deeply ashamed for my behavior, and I will work every day for as long as I live to repent.

  "To the people who work at GIC, I am not abandoning you. I love you all. I will be here tomorrow morning. I hope you will be, too. Anyone who wishes to follow me to one, or both, of the new groups is very welcome to do so. Now, I want to be as open and honest as possible, so I’m opening the floor to questions. Please ask.

  "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. Okay. I’m done. Any questions?"

  The room erupted:

  When did you realize Are you seeing anyone Have you told your parents Would your daughter be proud of you on and on and on.

  Randy left the room, and for fifteen minutes, Frances answered each question as honestly as she could.

  I always knew I was gay. Just couldn’t face up to it.

  No, I’m not seeing anyone.

  Yes, I told my parents. They are not supportive.

  I hope my daughter will be proud of me.

  "One last question." Frances picked a reporter from CNN. He had asked vanilla questions thus far.

  "A rumor has been floating the past few years that you saw a prostitute. True?"

  Frances's heart jerked. She had not been aware of such a rumor. Lie. Tell the truth. Lie.

  She spoke again into the scramble of microphones. She would tell the truth. Partly because she was trying to be a better person. Partly because if she confessed to this other prostitute, maybe no one would find out about the new one. Plus, if she lied, who was to say the other prostitute would not come forward and expose her? She would lose all credibility.

  "Yes. I did three years ago, for a few months. I left the experience more demoralized than ever."

  "And you haven’t been to another?"

  "No, sir," she said. "I have not. I am done hiding."

  Chapter 31

  Elena watched the press conference with her mother.

  "She did good," Brenda said. "Really good."

  "She did great." Elena could not stop smiling. Emotions crowded her body: love, happiness, hope.