FAIRNESS
Lorelei was raised to believe in rigid ethical systems and the finality of death. What’s right’s right, was her mother’s battle cry, keeping further guidelines minimal. Lorelei found this challenging.
Twenty-nine and still drifty, she was working the front desk of a Belltown gallery. The Sunday shift was chump-change, but everything helped. Seattle Center was jammed and since Dan Savage praised them in The Stranger, the gallery was squirming with lesbians indifferent, snotty, or generous. Lorelei made bets with herself about the nature of each of her sisters, their finances and sex lives.
Then Hallie Warne strolled in. She was first-glance impressive—Armani tailored to fit her one-size-larger-than-all body, boots of gleaming Spanish leather, and her bright, black eyes radiating all kinds of energy.
“Stamp your parking slip?”
Hallie waved the offer aside. “I’m on the street.”
Lorelei wanted to swat that hand but warned the woman in the accommodating Armani the City was towing today.
“I could use the excitement.” A pretty redhead stood suspiciously close to her. “She’s got an answer for everything.”
Hallie shrugged her off, and studied Lorelei for a moment Lorelei found too long. “What do you do?” She had an easy presence. A slyness that educed camaraderie.
Lorelei ran her thumb on the ink pad and of course regretted it. “I’m a seamstress for theaters.”
A seamstress? Hallie’s eyes pulsated with the new.
“Honey,” the redhead whined. Hallie said something Lorelei couldn’t hear, then thrust her card into Lorelei’s hand, and walked off with her friend.
The subterfuge startled Lorelei who looked around for someone to share her insight that it took all kinds, and was relieved when her friend Fanny materialized, looking like a drill sergeant for the Israeli army. Fanny’s fiancé Sam was by her side, looking ready to do battle against the Amorites of Canaan, who like many in the Bible, disappointed the Almighty, much to their regret.
“Who was that?” Fanny leaned in for a peek at the card which Lorelei swiftly pocketed. She asked if Fanny and Sam wanted to grab a meal.
“We have plans.” Sam's chest expanded with the rightness of life.
“Later in the week I meant.” Shooing her friends into the crowd, Lorelei made a go at being the bustling, beaming type who wishes couples all the joy she herself knows, or would if she knew such joy. Fanny shot her a warm look.
A while later, Hallie Warne, Attorney-at-Law as her card proclaimed, returned. Her shirt was working its way out of her pants. She was the sort of big that reassured Lorelei, a big to sink into. “You were right—they towed the car. And it’s not mine. I borrowed it from a friend.” Hallie maintained eye contact. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
Lorelei’s cheeks may have flushed when Hallie asked for her number, but just like that she jotted it on the back of a receipt for cream rinse, super glue, and chamomile tea. The redhead returned, asking for directions to the ladies’ room.
Hallie shrugged the shrug of a thousand meanings.
When Lorelei’s shift was over, she beat it, busing to the U District, to polished, wood floors and carefully placed artisan rugs typical to the Northwest. In addition to being a seamstress she was a house sitter. She raced upstairs, flopped back on the house owner’s bed, and pulled Hallie’s card out of her pocket.
“Get a grip.” She grumbled to no one. “Get a full-time job and an apartment, join the dyke-knitting group.” She fumbled a skirt from a chair and expertly wielding a seam ripper, plucked out stitching on the hem.
~~~
That Monday there was a message on the antiquated machine. “Lorelei? Hallie. Give me a call.” She hadn’t given Hallie her cell.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Lorelei erased messages. Thursday evening she picked up as she was easing linguine into boiling water.
“Lorelei! How are you?”
Lorelei couldn’t decide.
“Well, tell me a little about yourself.” Hallie asked Lorelei her age. Twenty-nine.
“What about you?”
“I’m fifty. That’s not bad.”
“You’re a century half-full.”
Hallie snorted. “Age is all in the mind. Are you in a committed?”
“Nope.” She’d lived with a woman a few years, but didn’t want to go into it, knowing all unhappy relationships were too revealing. “And you? The redhead?”
“We play house.”
Lorelei asked how long and Hallie coughed, “Five years.”
“Are you kidding? Or lying? That’s a long time.” As such things go.
“Listen, I lie to Stella.” The redhead had a name. “I won’t lie to you.”
No grater. Lorelei sliced the Parmesan.
“There’s someone in my office. Call me tomorrow,” Hallie barked, and hung up. She had a lawyer’s voice, directive, if not commanding, offering a clear and simple exposition of the logical and right. Assuming responsibility for all directives, the voice enveloped Lorelei. But she didn’t call—the weekend went by and she forgot. The following Tuesday, Hallie phoned, again demanding to know how Lorelei’s day had gone, as if Lorelei were a key witness to her own life.
“It’s off-season at the Rep.” The theater. “When that’s the case, I file bench warrants.” At the Muni Building, a faded, blue, air filter with elevators.
“So you’re around warrant officers.”
“They wear handcuffs on their belts. I can’t get a conversation going about dressing period plays.”
Hallie said she wasn’t up for that, either. “But drive with me to Enumclaw on Sunday. We can talk about velvet capes.” To the question, “Why Enumclaw?” Hallie explained, “The jail. One of my clients is in for drugs.”
“Drugs?”
“He’s my client. I’m supposed to defend him.”
~~~
The next day, Lorelei watched a woman who’d been filing warrants for seventeen years sneak a Kit Kat from a desk drawer. She phoned. “You know, there are people who are open with their partners.”
“I’ll pick you up at noon.”
Secrets were like buried treasure in a movie, aching to be exposed. But a lawyer had to know that.
On Sunday Lorelei woke at seven. She was moving to a new housesitting job the next day. As she scrubbed the bathtub she decided she was being a fool and when her suitor or whatever Hallie was called, she announced, “I’m not driving to Enumclaw with you.”
Hallie’s voice fell into a shallow hole out of which it dug itself with dispatch. “So let’s chat.”
“Have you seen much of Harold Pinter?”
“He’s a client.”
“Ha ha.”
Hallie picked up Lorelei in her old Impala and drove to the Deluxe for hamburgers. Hallie was no organic Seattle lesbian. The age difference, Lorelei decided. While they waited for their burgers—Hallie’s rare, Lorelei’s garden—she slid an envelope across the table. “It’s an article I wrote. A rival lawyer, Dan Mills, gets published all over the place. He’s a man. Well, you figured that. I wrote this so I’d have something to show clients.”
“Am I supposed to read it?”
“It’s not court-mandated.” Her eyes darted to a booth filled with children who squirmed and parents who ignored them.
Lorelei studied the reprint. “Hey, here’s your picture.” She pointed to the small photo.
“Go on, cut it out. It’ll fit in your wallet.” Hallie tried to pat down her hair. “I received a degree in math,” she volunteered, sharing an oral version of her resume like this was a job application, or an application for attention. Or affection. “Then I got a law degree and next an advanced degree in law.
She snuck a look that wasn’t part of the conversational exchange. Lorelei’s face was expressive, but not a dead giveaway to the particular emotion at hand, more camouflage for emotion’s generic existence and her vulnerabilities―she was generically emotional and specifically vulnerable. Her auburn hair curled into ringlets in omni-damp Seattle. According to her mother, her eyes were elf-green. “Which could get you in trouble, kid.” Lorelei wasn’t sure if Hallie saw trouble, but there was something when the older woman looked at her, a small softening, a sense of delight.
“Do you have siblings?” Lorelei squirmed away delight, or tried to, or tried to try.
“Two older brothers, believe it or not. One died three months ago.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!”
Hallie folded her hands across her belly. “My other brother died a year ago.” She drummed her fingers. “I’m out of brothers.”
Lorelei pleated the reprint into a fan and used it to cool herself. She reckoned Hallie needed to fill a void. She said she was an only child, her father had passed, and her mom was in L.A. “Mom’s a little crazy.”
“It’s the husbands.”
Lorelei shrugged.
“Or Monsanto. These days, who knows. Would you like to go somewhere?” Hallie reached across the table. “I have the key to a friend’s apartment.” She squeezed Lorelei’s hand with evident glee, brothers forgotten. “It’s a nice hand.”
“What about Enumclaw?” Lorelie wondered if someone had mistaken her brain for a fern and misted it.
Hallie said her client would wait.
~~~
Lake Washington sparkled like many eyes boldly winking. “What do you think?” Hallie asked when they arrived at a bland, Bellevue edifice. She stuck a yellow Post-it on the door: Yefim, come back in 2 hours, Hallie. “Yefim’s a client.” Whose carpeting was sour orange. “He owes me.”
“Is he east Indian?” Lorelei pointed to a newspaper with lavish lettering.
“Iranian.” Hallie’s belly pushed against her. “Kiss me, Lorelei.” She stroked her neck. “Do you want to see the bedroom?”
Lorelei looked toward the front door.
“It’ll be good for you. It’s natural.” Hallie grimaced at her own argument. “Try this, it’s a natural law, an urge, it’s legal.” She shrugged. “We could watch TV. Have you dated since you split up with your ex? I understand if this is your first time out in a while.”
They undressed each other, slowly at first, with care, then quickly, with passion, kissing and touching, stroking. It wasn’t the best sex Lorelei ever had, but Hallie was eager and almost dear. When her breathing was easy, Lorelei set another pillow under her head. Hallie kissed the crook of her elbow.
“That feels good.”
“What? Where? Tell me.”
“Yeah, like that.” It was as if they were both fifteen. “Why do you cheat?”
Hallie’s fingers dug into her arm. “She expects a real marriage-type deal, but hey, I'm already divorced. I came out late. I have two grown girls.”
Lorelei reflected that Hallie was an onion inside an onion inside an onion. “So it’s an open relationship?”
Hallie stood, hiding herself with her wrinkled shirt.
Lorelei tried to put Hallie in a compartment in her brain and affix the compartment’s latch, but Wednesday night, having dined with Fanny and Sam, she found herself alone in a house she didn’t belong to. Hallie was working late.
“Lorelei, my Lorelei! I tried to get hold of you! Some man said you were at a Helen Mertry’s. Did you move? Does everyone know your schedule?”
“That was Mark at my last gig, where you picked me up. Helen’s spending a week on Whidbey.”
“You know a lot of people.” Hallie lowered her voice. “I’ve been thinking about you.” Raised her voice. “If I didn’t live in Bellevue, we’d have people in common.”
Lorelei wasn’t so sure. The age difference, money, level of commitment to a vegetable-enriched life.
Hallie visited on Saturday. At first Lorelei felt stiff, like she’d been in a box for a week. But soon enough she felt human. Flesh is a good thing, she remembered. At the door they fell into each other’s arms. Hallie promised, “I’ll keep you on forever.”
“What?”
“I’m making a commitment to you.”
“To keep me as your lover?”
“As my friend, my special friend.” She squeaked on special.
Lorelei grabbed her from a hook. “I have places to go. Drop me off.” They climbed into the car, both flustered.
“You’re angry and you’re flattered.” Hallie shifted. “Montlake okay?” She sped onto the freeway, stopping at the bus stop beneath the overpass.
Lorelei looked around, panicked. “You can’t drop me off here. This is the freeway.” Gray and concrete. “Shit. This isn’t working. Just drive me to Bellevue and I’ll catch a bus back.”
“This. Is Montlake,” Hallie reasoned. Her stomach pressed on the steering wheel.
“No! This is the freeway!”
When a municipal bus pulled up, Hallie hit the gas. Of course there were no off-ramps on the 520 until the other side of the lake. Raindrops began to spray the windshield as they crossed the bridge.
“You don’t understand.” Lorelei felt raw. “This is where the panic sets in, being left.” Her cheeks were damp as she spiraled into the old emotional hole, the pit of abandonment left of the Void and right of the Abyss.
Hallie’s voice was even like a puddle. “I’ll drive you back, no problem, we miscommunicated, that’s all. Listen.” She flicked on the wipers. “You’ll find this interesting. After my brother’s funeral in Bellevue, I drove back to Seattle. That’s where we were raised. I live in Bellevue, but I drove to Seattle as if it were thirty years ago.”
~~~
The next time they met up Hallie asked, “Can you handle this?”
“No, but I like you. I wish I didn’t.”
Hallie looked sad. “These things aren’t assignable.”
They moved to the bed. “This is God’s gift.” Lorelei surprised herself. “This is something we can do for each other.”
Good friend Fanny was even-handed. “The heart is a muscle. It needs to be exercised.” She poured a second cup of tea. “Maybe Hallie’s where you’re at.”
“You love who you are?”
~~~
Then her mother ran interference with a letter: “Daughter: Don’t panic, but I’m having an operation. It’s a one-day procedure, nothing to worry about. I’ll be at Our Lady of Angels. You have a job? Your mother, Gladys.”
Lorelei told Hallie, “I’m leaving for L.A,” and specified the date. “That’s the cut-off point for us. This thing is wrong, immoral, hard on me, rotten for Stella, and not so good for you.”
“Nothing is perfect, Lorelei. Trust me, I’ve been with Stella ten years.”
“What?” She slapped her arm. “You said five years. You said you didn’t lie to me. You said you only lied to her.”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t go out with me. You’re an air fern.”
Lorelei pronounced Hallie a coward.
“You’re not the only one who has feelings. Just because I’m a lawyer and have a relationship, not a good one I grant but whatever, doesn’t mean I don’t wish my life hadn’t worked out differently. Why are you so hung up about this?” She emphasized this. “I lost two siblings in one year. Life’s too short to feel guilty. I just don’t feel guilt.”
L.A. had been swept clean by the Santa Anas. Gladys was tired but on the mend. She wasn’t going to die, not then, but eventually. Lorelei got wind of that one. “Mom,” she held Gladys’ hand. “When you go, I’ll be out of parents.”
“I’m touched.”
~~~
Her boss back at the warrant office snarled she’d be happier working with artists. “Cash in on your skills or craft or whatever the hell it is, why don’t you?” Lorelei felt compelled to do something and picked up the phone. “Stella?” She hung up on Hallie’s partner. Punched redial. “Sorry about that. I’m nervous.” She offered her name and asked if Hallie had mentioned her.
“I don’t think so.” Stella’s voice was singsong.
Lorelei spilled the beans. The affair. There was a sharp intake of air, as if Stella’d been playing a childhood game where you hold your breath to no purpose.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know that I’m doing the right thing, but secrets aren’t good. Maybe I want revenge.”
“Revenge is good.” Kenny Rogers sang in the background, but not his big one about gambling. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
Lorelei hung up.
~~~
Hallie was brief. “How could you hurt her, damn it? You’re a home breaker! She’s a nice lady. We don’t hurt people, Lorelei.”
“I was living under a cloud. Home breaker? The aluminum pot is calling the pot aluminum. I don’t expect you to agree.”
“It’s not like you’re stating the exact time the sun rises. I don’t have to agree.”
“I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Good, because I don’t. Stella is shrieking and moping—she’s impossible. I’m angry with you.”
Lorelei suggested Hallie was also sad, although saying that made her feel naive.
~~~
After a period of sleeplessness, depression, and guilt, followed by insomnia, depression, and guilt, Lorelei met someone—Alana, a programmer, in a book club Fanny pushed her to join. Alana looked shiny, and reminded her of something Fanny said at her wedding, when Lorelei’d moaned it would never happen to her. “No honest woman would ever want me.”'
“Lorelei.” Fanny’d taken Lorelei’s face in her hands. “You shine. Who you are shines through.” Lorelei had felt a chill.
“What’s wrong with this Alana?” Gladys laughed when Lorelei phoned.
Alana was only six years older, kind, and given to long explanations of confounding computer languages. The day after she proposed, Lorelei phoned Hallie.
“Great! I’m happy for you.”
She asked how things were going.
“Status quo. I’m still with Stella.”
“What did you tell her, your brothers had died?” It sounded like she was shuffling papers.
“How about lunch?” The lawyer coughed. “We’ll celebrate.”
~~~
Seattle was enjoying one of its two-hour blue airmail envelopes of sunshine. Hallie looked older—it had been over a year—and somewhere in their bumbling and hazardous conversation she mentioned turning sixty. She’d lied about her age. “Sleep with me. One last time? Neither of us is married,” she explained, as if the law were all letter and no spirit.
Lorelei felt like Jell-O in a bowl, shaky and vulnerable to the whims of appetite.
When they checked into a motel, the sky had darkened. The mattress was hard and unyielding. Hallie held Lorelei’s arms down and grabbed at her underwear. Her eyes were small, with pinpoints of something shining, a tiny flashlight unable to illuminate a dark cave.
“Shit, Hallie, what are you doing?”
“Making love.” She grunted.
“This is love?”
“Do you like your girl?”
“Uh, yeah I like her.”
“What about me?”
“What about you?”
“We’re in bed, together, Lorelei. That should tell you something.”
“It tells me I can’t ever see you again.”
“It was just a thought. I don’t think Stella likes me. I think she just likes having someone around.”
Lorelei pushed Hallie away and leaned over for her blouse.
Hallie slapped her butt. “You’re looking better.”
“Jesus.” Lorelei slipped into the bathroom, rubbed a thin terry washcloth on her skin, peeked out and saw Hallie by the phone. “What’s happening?” she called out.
“Nothing, business, I’ll drop you off.”
They didn’t speak until they reached the bus stop.
“I like it when lesbians find love.” As Lorelei climbed out, Hallie kept her hands on the steering wheel. Saying no more she maneuvered left and onto the freeway.
Lorelei phoned Alana.
“Hi. Hang on a sec, a door flew open, jeeze.” She heard a slam. “I’m back.”
“Al, you don’t know everything about me.”
“No problem.”
She asked if her soon-to-be-wife wanted her to be honest.
“About the present, sure. The past, we can’t recoup it all. We’re going to be happy, I promise. I want you. I love you. I trust you. What else do we need? We have a perfect relationship.”
“Nothing is perfect,” Lorelei cautioned. “It can’t be done.”
“So don’t come home. By the way, you got a message, some Hallie person. I didn’t pick up. She wants to know why she hasn’t been invited over.” Lorelei froze. Clever Hallie. She prayed Alana wasn’t having second thoughts. “I mean it, come home.”
So Lorelei caught the #43 and was there in twenty minutes. Before she’d shut the door, Alana was taking her coat and advising her to sit and relax while she sautéed garlic and leeks. Lorelei plopped onto the couch, but felt left out, and joined in the slicing of peppers and tearing of romaine. She knew many of her actions were inconsistent with her early training, but what could she do? These things weren’t assignable. The past was over her shoulder. She looked back to verify that was the case.
####
reprinted from New Madrid. copyright, Sarah Sarai.
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