It's a few hours before opening time at Duke's. Rita and I are going over plans for a 75th birthday party we're throwing a week Wednesday night. Sal Harper is one of our favorite regulars. A retired ACLU attorney, she's sassy, spirited, and needle-sharp, with a bottomless supply of stories about the city's queer history. Besides that, she's made herself Duke's unofficial mother hen, giving out advice and support to any of the stray kids that wander in looking for a glimmer of solace. Both of us know personally how powerful a sympathetic ear and words of understanding love can be, so we want her night to be top-flight special.

"I know it's $50 a bottle to us, Kis, but I ain't serving folks no swill!"

"After the second round nobody will know the difference, baby, so order enough for that and then switch it out. That 'swill' really isn't that bad if you're already a little toasty."

"Yeah, okay. That's down. What should we... "

I hold up a finger to listen to a voice mail.

"When you gonna stop with the heart 'o gold hooker shit?" she asks with a frowning glare.

"Shhh, listen," I answer and tick speaker/play.

My name is Constance. I believe that is all you need to know for now. I am a mature widow and would like to discuss something of an intimate nature with you. You seem to enjoy a laudable reputation in such matters. I hope this may be of interest to you. If so, you may call or text this number at any time. If not, please do me the courtesy of a 'no, thank you.' Good day.

I look at Rita with a grin. "And miss out on that?"

oOoOoOo

I'm meeting Mrs. Constance Baxter for lunch at the Dexter Club, as she expressed no interest in my office, preferring the comfort of her own stage. Founded in the age of snap-brim hats and ladies in white gloves, it still clings tight to the throat of rich societal privilege. Tooling up in my vintage Mercedes Opera coupe, I get a small nod of respect from the parking manager.

Despite having rummaged the more conservative side of my closet, I still get a few raised eyebrows as I am escorted in. Then again, enjoying a little private smile, I also get several discrete nods of recognition as I pass between the tables of elegant ladies enjoying their viper gossip luncheons.

"Thank you so much for joining me here."

She is in her early seventies, at a guess. Trim, tanned, and fit, she has not fiddled about with doctors trying to battle the march of time. Her face shows her years, but beautifully so, with wavy salt and pepper chestnut hair expertly cut and makeup subtly applied. Her embroidered silk blouse probably cost more than my whole outfit and her diamond ring easily ten times my car.

We enjoy a pleasant banter through lunch, both of us making mental notes of people mentioned and why. The room nearly empty, we're enjoying a second coffee when she passes judgement and decides it is time.

"Shall we get down to business then?" she asks, as our server leaves us.

"I admit, I am curious about what your needs might be."

"As I said, I am a widow. My husband passed early this year and I am alone now. I am also getting to an age when things should no longer be deferred. No, don't give me that look. Given my family tree, I'm being a realist. Now, to the point. I wish to enjoy a woman's sexual embrace."

"No offence, Constance, but it's really not that hard to do anymore. At any age."

"I am aware of that, but I have no interest in establishing a relationship first or taking a blind chance. Hence my call. I know for a fact that several of the women who dined around us today have enjoyed your company on various occasions. Your talents have been well vouched for. I also know you are safe, discrete, and can be trusted. I want the best sort of experience to carry into my dotage, which I believe you can provide. Money is not an issue. Will you assist me in my desire?"

I give it just a moment's pause for effect. "I will be happy to. We'll need to settle a few details, but that can wait, unless there is some urgency."

"There is not."

"I don't mean to pry, but may I ask what brought this about?"

"No. Suffice it to say I have my reasons."

oOoOoOo

Homework. It's the difference between working under silk sheets and street lamps. Degree in economics from Cal Berkeley, second in her class. Married quite soon after, no children. Husband made, admittedly with her brains, a packet in real estate, then died a few months after they retired from active business. Well connected socially, but always staying in the background, getting things done. Conservative in finance, but socially liberal. Not even a hint of scandal. White bread through and through.

So why this sudden burning desire to cross the street? I know appearances can fool, but she looks healthy enough for another decade or more. There's no family to thumb her nose at. There would be little shock value these days, even among her set, as I can well attest. I can't figure a blackmail angle that makes any sense. Putting someone in their place? But who? And how? Some sort of weird sorority promise suddenly surfacing from the long past? Her husband's dying wish--okay, that's a little odd, but who knows? I sure don't. At any rate, it's on for tonight. 8:30. Her place.

Just on time, I park in front of a very tasty Arts & Crafts bungalow set well back from the street. Past a low wrought-iron gate, a flagstone pathway winds through a carefully lit informal garden.

Constance opens the door at my first knock.

"This is a real beauty. 1920s?" I ask, tapping the river stone half-wall of the doorway.

"It is, isn't it. There are nine more winding up the canyon. They were built in 1923, when this was still far outside the city, if you can imagine. The developer was very successful in selling them to rich gentlemen who wanted a secluded, but snug place to entertain their mistresses. I've often wondered what sort of stories their walls could tell. We fell in love with it when we handled its sale for a family trust many years ago. But enough history. Please come in, dear."

The interior is just as handsome, with appropriate period furnishings and some top-notch plein air landscapes on the walls. The lights are dimmed just enough, with music at a perfect background level.

"Mmm, Marvin Gaye."

"It's what Franklin always played when we were feeling frisky," she answers with a giggle that pinks her cheeks.

"Works for me." I move closer and gently pull her to me, looking into her eyes. I feel her hands reach out and tentatively touch my hips as I lightly massage her back.

I bring my lips to just above hers. "So lovely to see you again, darling," I whisper. Our first kiss is warm and slow, our bodies swaying slightly, finding their fit. Her eyes are closed as I peck the corners of her mouth, then feather my tongue across, receiving a tiny whimper in reply, her fingertips pressing in at my waist. With our second kiss, her tongue meets mine without hesitation and we do a lingering, delicate minuet before I lean away to stare into her eyes again, my fingers tip-toeing down the backs of her arms.

"Goodness me, Kis," she breathes with a smile. "If that's just saying hello, I think I need a drink first. Wine? Something stronger? Franklin kept a well-stocked bar."

"A finger of whisky would do nicely."

"Have a seat then," gesturing to a deep red leather couch in front of the stone-work fireplace.

As I sit, my little brain goes tick, tock, tick. She has been notably terse about her wants for tonight. With Google as your friend, it can't be a lack of knowing what can go on. Lack of an actual appetite would make the whole night weird and pointless and she does not strike me as any sort of either. Maybe she just really wants me to work for my pay. Or maybe it's something else entirely. But time is up, missy, so we will play Discover Her Desire or, in other words, start walking and see where the road leads us.

The lights dim a touch more before she comes around and hands me my drink, setting her own on the end table. Going to the fireplace, she presses a button and a gas fire pops on, casting a golden glow. Very romantic. Taking a sip of her drink, she gives me a nice, long stare and I do the same.

She is wearing a muted floral silk blouse that I am tempted to stuff into my purse on the way out. I take a moment to admire her breasts, which are full and ride high on her chest. She either wears a very good bra or inherited some admirable genes. Her dark taupe slacks are loose-fitting and carefully cut, draping nicely over her narrow hips. Her makeup is a bare touch of shadow and a pale red lip gloss. I notice her wedding ring is absent, her only jewelry a simple link gold necklace.

For myself, I decided on simple and easily dealt with. A mid-thigh terra cotta pleated skirt that rocks my current state of tan and a narrow cut collarless buttercream blouse, open three buttons down and untucked.

Sitting close, she hands me her drink and I set both of them aside. When I turn back, she takes my head in her hands and kisses me forcefully. It is a kiss a man might desire, but not another woman. I take her shoulders and hold her away.

"Is that what you want, Constance? Sex? Or shall we make love instead?"

She looks down with a blush. I draw her head back up to kiss again, woman to woman. It is decidedly better this time. Building slowly, letting her find her way, I whisper encouragements as she explores my neck and nibbles my ear. When she leans back, I draw a finger down her throat and out, tracing the curve of her breast.

"Shall we move to your..."

"No. I want you here."

"Then let's get more comfortable." I stand and unbutton my blouse, then reach under my skirt and draw down my yellow lace panties. Taking them between my teeth, I sit into the corner and slide a leg along the back, giving her a nice flash beneath my skirt. I wiggle a come here with a finger and she crawls up between my legs with a giggle. She takes a long smiling sniff, then bites down on the silk and yanks it out of my mouth. Letting them fall, we kiss long and slow as I cup and squeeze her breasts, feeling her nipples standing proud.

"Take me now, my darling. Taste me. All of me. Make me yours," I whisper into her ear.

She backs down, touching, kissing, licking as she goes on her voyage of discovery. Her face hovering, I draw up my skirt. With a mewing groan, fingers squeezing my thighs, she tastes a woman for the first time. She is tentative and unsure to start, but grows in confidence with each touch of her lips and tongue. 

"Oh, there! Yes, little bites! God, that feels so good, baby! Suck harder! Give me what you love!"

I tangle my fingers in her hair, guiding her, moving and moaning like a climax is building. Not rushing, but taking my clues from her own quaking groans, I finally thrust and clench in my best theatrical fashion with a cuming cry. I have no idea or care if she believes me or not. My pleasure in this is unimportant. It is the act in her mind that counts. She rests her turned head on my mons, as I stroke her hair. I can feel her mouth move, hearing breathy, unintelligible whispers. After a few minutes, she looks up at me.

"Are you alright? Did I... "

"You did. And now it is my turn. But not here, Constance. I want you in your bed, naked in my arms, so I can give you the same pleasure you have given me. Will you let me?"

She slowly nods and stands. As I get up, I slip off my blouse and let my skirt fall to the floor. I move to her and slowly undress her. She stands very still, her eyes closed. 

"You are so beautiful," I whisper, holding her hands. "Take me to your bed, my love, and let me adore you."

oOoOoOo

We are laying close, trading smiles and kisses and soft touches, as she regains herself. Knowing this was not the occasion for fancy tricks, I had built her up at a steady, unrushed, this-is-a-girl's-first-time pace until she was ready for heaven. Her orgasm had been strong and genuine, leaving her gasping. Watching the contented calm in her face now, I quietly ask what I need to know for myself.

"So who is she?"

"Who is who?"

"The ghost you are trying to lay to rest tonight."

"You really are as good as they said," she whispers, staring into my eyes.

Pulling away, she straightens herself, covering her face with tented hands, taking a deep breath.

"Nicola Profecca. Econ major like me. We shared classes all four years. Normal girls-sticking-together friends until the last semester. She just couldn't get what she called the voodoo of predictive statistical analysis, so I offered to help her a couple nights a week. Turned out we were a natural pair—I called her Pro and she called me Con. Seemed so funny back then. I don't know when it struck her, but it wasn't very long at all before I started waking in my sleep, dreaming of her."

"But you didn't... "

"No. Not a word or action by either of us, but our eyes and hearts knew. It wasn't any reticence over what we felt. It would have been easy to succumb to the swirling social chaos around us, but we were both madly driven to excel, to prove ourselves. That always came first, so we just simmered, holding our breath. It was agony. Then the term was over, finals done. We met up that Friday when the grades were posted. She gave me a little map. I can still see her shaking hand."

"We have a little cabin at Tahoe. Will you come up for the weekend? To celebrate together?"

"Oh, God," Constance moans. "I said yes. I said yes and kissed her. In front of everybody. I never wanted someone so much in my whole life!"

I told her close and whisper in her ear, knowing it needs to come out, "Tell me, Con."

"I got halfway there and it hit me as I sat eating a crap sandwich in a godforsaken rest stop. The enormity of it all. This wasn't about a few days of first girl love for either of us. This was a commitment to a whole life between us. I knew it in my heart and I was suddenly scared to death. You kids today can't understand what it was like then. It was hard enough just being a woman, but a queer woman? They still put lesbians in jail, sometimes worse, for God's sake. Even a hint, there would be no career and my family, who sacrificed so much, would be crushed. I truly loved her, but I was weak and it all caved in. The first and only time in my life I ran from anything. I turned around and went back to campus, packed up my stuff, and drove home. They mailed me my diploma. To my eternal shame, I never saw or spoke to her again."

"Then I met Franklin. He was a kind and gentle man. We married and enjoyed a good, if prosaic life. We worked well together and for the most part, we were very happy. The black memory of my betrayal was always there inside me, but I could keep it buried then and he never knew. When he died and I was alone again after so long, I could no longer push it down. It kept bubbling up, tormenting me. I couldn't sleep. I began hiding from life and the few friends I have left. I knew I had to do something."

"Did you ever try... "

"Yes. She died young, unmarried. Cancer."

"So I was your idea of an exorcism?"

"Yes, a symbolic consummation of what never was, but should have been. I hoped that in the firelight you would become her, the Nicola I so cruelly abandoned. I hoped that holding you, whispering my love to her, begging forgiveness, I could forgive myself and find some measure of peace.

I rock her in my arms until the tears stop, her eyes close, and slumber takes her. I have a little think, then let it take me, too. 

I wake early the next morning as I usually do. Constance is still sleeping soundly, as she had done all night. I slip quietly out and make my way home, knowing there is still a bit more work to be done.

oOoOoOo

"Hello Constance. It's Kis. Hope I'm not too early."

"Not at all, Kis. This is a pleasant surprise. How are you?"

"Busy as always and you?"

"Really quite well, thank you. Been sleeping better than I have in a long time. What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you'd go out with me tomorrow night."

"Out? On a date?"

"A party. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

"Hmmm. I'd have to miss my Jeopardy re-runs... kidding, dear, I'd love to."

"Excellent. Evening casual. I'll pick you up around 7:00."

I pull up in front of the club and two of Lucky Jimmy's crew scurry over to open our doors.

"So this is Duke's. I've heard about it," Constance says, pausing as Jimmy in his makeshift parking booth gives me a two heart tap and throws a sign. "It appears you are rather well known here."

"Sort of an unofficial silent partner," I answer, giving Big Bella a chuckle as she yanks open the door for us with an exaggerated bow of the head and sweeping arm in.

We move into the jumble of laughing, dancing people filling the bar. I catch Rita's eye and wag my finger around the room. She points to the back and I spot a table surrounded by wildly dressed kids, so we head there.

"What's up, Sal! Telling more war stories to the grandkids?"

"Hey, fuck you, Kis! How's ya, girl?"

"Fully fine. Got someone I want you to meet," I reply, as Marcia Ball's Like There's No Tomorrow starts bumping out from the jukebox.

"Okay then. Scatter little ones! Go show the old fogies how to dance!" she exclaims, waving at the circled crowd of worshippers.

"Sal, this is Constance Baxter, Cal '70. And this is our birthday girl, Sally Harper, Cal '69."

"When I wasn't tossing tear gas back at the cops!" she laughs. "Now screw this birthday shit. Sit down, hun, you and me gonna talk ancient history. And you," pointing sharp at my nose, "more champers and not the cheap stuff!"

I cross to the bar and flag Rita. When she comes over, I lean far in, grab her wide shoulders and give her a big kiss.

"What the hell that for?" she demands, giving me the narrow eye.

"Remember you asked when was I gonna stop working?"

"Yeah?"

I point over to the two of them, leaning in close, laughing, Sal's hand covering Con's on the table.

"Never fucking ever."

"You one crazy-ass woman, all I gotta say."

"Love you, Rita."

"Love you, too, Kis."

oOoOoOo

Epilogue

You are cordially invited to the marriage of

CONSTANCE BAXTER
and
SALLY HARPER

Duke's Free House
June the 10th
10:30 am
--
No gifts, just joy