Part 3 (1/2)

One of the boa constrictors called out, ”Marian! They've got brownies today.”

”After the cake last night I really couldn't. Could I?”

Liddy wanted to roll her eyes. Lesbians and chocolate-what a cliche.

There was an abrupt silence and Liddy could feel the traded glances behind her back. The brunette with the overprocessed high-lights whispered, ”That's her. You were standing right next to her and you didn't say anything?”

The woman named Marian said in a normal tone, ”Ellie, I'm quite sure she can hear every word you're saying.”

Liddy stiffened her back and slowly turned around. ”I may be new, but I'm not deaf.”

Marian, at least, was looking her in the eye. ”I'm sorry, I know what it's like. We were all new once.”

An older woman with wedge-cut gray hair chimed in, ”I'm the only native in the bunch.”

”Oh hush, Terry, even you ended up on Carrie's holistic love couch,” the brunette muttered. Her sharp brown gaze caught Liddy's for a moment and her smile grew conspiratorial. ”You'll know Carrie when you see her.”

Liddy didn't know whether to give vent to the indignation she felt at having her proclivities presumed, or to laugh, say something meaningless, and escape.

”It's okay,” Marian said. ”Ellie can't help herself.”

Liddy found a tight smile. ”Fortunately, I can.”

Marian chortled appreciatively. ”Good for you.” She turned to the brunette again. ”I have to get back to work, El. See you Friday night if not sooner.”

Liddy headed for the door as well, not wanting to be drawn into any conversation with Ellie. She wasn't in the mood for s.e.x. Maybe never again. She didn't need a girlfriend to be whole, and she didn't need s.e.x to feel alive, swear to freakin' G.o.d.

19.

She found herself following Marian down the wide Pedestrian Mall-what a creative name, she thought. The open-air mall was dotted with planters, benches and tables placed under broad, canopied trees. The smell of falafel and tahini sauce was evocative of home, and Liddy nearly got a pita just for comfort. But the coffee was refres.h.i.+ng enough.

The mall reached a dead end at a multistoried hotel, and, like Marian, she turned left, away from the fountain. She glanced longingly over her shoulder at the children running through the spray.

To have no worries . . . sometimes being a grownup sucked. Liddy followed Marian past a ma.s.sive play structure-deserted in the swelter of early afternoon-and around brightly painted construction barriers on South Linn. Marian turned into the large public library.

Was that where she worked? Marian the Librarian? Swear to freakin'

G.o.d, Liddy thought, this town is small.

It was a long walk to her rented house on North Dodge. Her cotton tank was a second skin by the end of the first block, but the iced mocha was wonderful going down. At least they took their coffee seriously.

The streets were shady and most of the yards brimmed with lush gardens, so as walks went, it didn't suck. What else would she do with her time?

Dating was out of the question. She was not interested in dating right now, and certainly not any of the predators at the coffeehouse.

It was annoying, being taken for granted. She'd been taken for granted by men before she'd realized she was a lesbian. Liking women did not make her see why she should stop being annoyed.

She was wearing an old top and even older cutoffs. Her hair looked like she'd slept on it wet, which she had. And still the looks, the overt curiosity.

Maybe she screamed ”s.e.xy” and ”d.y.k.e.” She'd been told often that she did, so often it felt like an accusation, not a compliment. But she didn't think she d.a.m.n well screamed ”available for the asking,”

too. Swear to freakin' G.o.d, b.o.o.bs made even lesbians stupid.

20.

She was halfway home when she realized she'd forgotten to look for a store that sold candles. Telegraph Avenue at home would have offered a half-dozen street vendors, but here she'd have to make a bigger effort, obviously. The furnished house had a funky smell of mice and mothb.a.l.l.s. Something with the aroma of the ocean would be relaxing and useful. It was a long, long way to the nearest tide.

The house smelled old and dead and she was not either of those things, even if she felt like it sometimes.

She stopped walking for a moment, letting the waves of anger subside. She'd thought miles and f.u.c.king miles of f.u.c.king cornfields would be far enough away from the past. Far enough away that she'd stop being mad and hurt and crushed. That she'd start feeling like she could smile and not cry.

She needed to destroy something but lacked a viable target. If Jerry Falwell had appeared in front of her right then she'd have cheerfully dismembered him and then beat his fascist cronies to death with his bones.

What are you doing in Iowa f.u.c.king City, Liddy? She pressed one hand over her eyes and took a long, steadying breath. To do a job, she reminded herself. If she did it well it could be a good future.

Swear to freakin' G.o.d, she was not going to be thirty and still wondering what she wanted to be when she grew up.

She trudged up the driveway of her temporary home. The living room of the house was Iowa City rental chic. What matched was broken while the ugliest furniture would survive the apocalypse, forever pristine. Rates were low for summer and the lease was up July 31 when students would flood the town again. By then Liddy hoped to be home in Berkeley, where she belonged, her laptop overflowing with notes and citations.

She snapped on the boombox. Groove Armada oozed over the tick of a single clock and the drone of traffic on the busy street outside. Oatmeal and bananas for dinner?

21.

She dialed up her voicemail out of habit and flinched at the sound of her mother's amplified voice.

”Daddy and I are just wondering how you are. Have you looked up my cousin Selma yet? Cedar Rapids is only thirty-five miles. You take the interstate-”

She punched ahead thirty seconds.

”Then you turn left onto Runnymede. Daddy can send you the map if you need it. Are you eating something more than oatmeal?

We love you, honey. Call when you get the chance.”

It was her first and only message since her arrival four days ago, so she saved it. She could listen again later and pretend she actually had a reason for voice mail.