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“Dearest?”
It’s early, barely seven am, and Therese has already been up for a bit, playing her solitaire game while Carol dozes peacefully.
Carol’s splayed out on her stomach, a mess of long limbs and blonde hair. Eyes still heavy from sleep, she reaches up halfway to squeeze Therese’s leg. A quiet good morning, of sorts.
“I meant to ask you something yesterday.”
Happy hour last night had spun into, “one more drink,” which turned into Carol proving to their group of friends that she can, in fact, play the piano very well.
Which then turned into said group of friends being escorted out of the random piano bar by security.
Therese glances up from her phone, the screen reflecting off the glasses she despises but Carol loves so much. Therese secretly wears them a little more than necessary, especially because of this - Carol goes to kiss her good morning and bumps her nose into them, prompting another to make up for it.
“I love it when you call me that,” she replies, her finger pressing the save button. She quickly throws her phone off to the side, scooting so she’s folded into Carol’s outstretched arms.
And Carol loves it when Therese does this, directs her attention to focus completely on her.
“You like that, hm?” She runs her fingers through Therese’s soft head of hair, setting a mental reminder to tell her to cancel an upcoming salon appointment. Now that it’s grown out a bit, taking fistfuls seems to be Carol’s new favorite vice.
“Yeah,” Therese hums, “makes me feel like we’re having some sort of fashionable lesbian love affair in the ‘50s. You’d start your letters off with Dearest Therese, or something.”
“How romantic,” she laughs, a sharp and melodic noise that Therese will never tire of. “Imagine that.”
“Oh, I would love to imagine you as a repressed housewife who only needs a bit of coaxing from her young, inexperienced new friend.”
Carol playfully dances her fingertips along the edge of Therese’s skimpy lingerie that clothes her hip, the kind she wore years ago when she was young and quite impressionable herself. “And I’m just supposed to just let you seduce me in this little fantasy of yours?”
“Baby, you’d be doing all of the seducing. I’m so inexperienced, remember?”
“I don’t know about that last part,” she chuckles, but takes the bait anyway and lifts the old t-shirt Therese had stolen from her. It’s just too easy.
—
Put your red boots on
Baby, giddy up
Baby wants a dance,
Baby gets her way
—
It’s later in the morning, coffee mugs gripped in respective hands (black for Therese, extra sugar for Carol) when Therese sits up a little and asks, “What did you want to ask me earlier? Before -“
Carol’s heart aches at the way Therese’s hair is still messy from sleep. The domesticity punches her square in the chest and she’s filled with such sweet love that it hurts in all the best ways.
“Abby’s birthday is next month.” She allows that statement to settle for a moment, taking in the shadows of Therese’s sharp angles from the dim morning light. Rain taps the window to their bedroom, incessant and dreary. It makes her think of nothing but taking Therese in her arms again to listen to the weather pour down around them from the comfort of their bed.
Carol had loved Abby, but never like this.
What’s that saying? All roads lead to you?
“She’d like us to attend her twenty-fifth birthday party at the Met.”
Carol can see Therese trying to do the mental math in her head and tilts her head back in delight. “Twenty five is the new thirty seven, in case you missed the memo.”
“Okay, but Jesus, Carol, the Met? That’s insane, even for her.”
Carol raises her hand flippantly, like it’s every day your ex lover turned best friend hosts events at New York’s finest art museum.
Apparently, Abby’s wife whom she’d eloped out of nowhere six weeks ago is quite privy to the board of directors at the Met through some godfather she barely knows.
Over a decade prior, Carol had quite literally ran into Abby Gerhard at the 6th Ave subway stop on the way to her first day as a front desk assistant for an up and coming gallery. Turns out, Abby had interviewed for the same position and had been hired for night shift.
Sometimes, strangers turn into lovers, and even weirder, they turn into this: best friends that have a knack of meeting up every few weeks to catch up and drink too much bourbon, talk about their younger girlfriend and new wife. Carol relishes in her relationship with Abby, but respects Therese enough to give full disclosure of their conversations, like Abby’s new wife finding out that New York does, in fact, have rats. Even in the nice penthouse apartment building they’d moved into.
Presently, Carol had stolen Therese’s half drunk cup of coffee and is wrinkling her nose at the taste.
“You never like my coffee, I don’t know when you’ll learn,” Therese chastises, taking it back to cradle what’s left of the warmth.
“I like sharing things with you.”
“You like stealing from me,” she corrects, “and you’re actually very bad at sharing.”
“I share things!” Carol fake gasps, the back of her hand slapping her forehead in mock horror. “I could let you freeze to death at night, but I so graciously share the covers with you. You and your cold toes.”
The corners of Therese’s mouth twitch to betray her in a sly grin, because Carol is pretty bad at that too. But she’s so, so good at warming her up in other ways.
“So this party,” she starts, and Carol rolls her eyes.
“I RSVP’d us as maybe because I didn’t get a chance to talk to you, which Abby did not like. Hence why I was a bit distracted last night.”
“Was this before or after the piano bar?”
“Piano bar? Oh God, don’t tell me I did my whole ‘Chopin’ bit,” Carol groans, burying her face into an expensive pillow that Therese is still perplexed can only be used for decorative purposes.
The memory comes rushing back, as do several other less than savory moments from the night before. Once Carol had hit thirty, tequila no longer makes her dance on tables but instead turns her into a maniac that plays piano and makes her friends drunkenly waltz to composers who have been dead for 200+ years. She’s a bit miffed Therese is still blessed in her mid-20s and can handle her alcohol without any embarrassment.
Therese pries her head up, trying and failing miserably not to laugh. “At least you didn’t try to convince me to break into the shelter and steal all the cats again.”
“I stand by that one, darling. Owning cats is the only lesbian stereotype I have left to conquer.”
“You’re allergic.”
“Yes, but I fucking love pussy.”
“Put us down as a Yes to the party,” Therese says, taking Carol’s mug and setting it down next to hers. “And maybe you could show me how much you mean that.”
Carol grins, her hands already reaching towards pale thighs. “My pleasure, dearest.”
—
now that I'm grown
I'm scared of ghosts
memories feel like
weapons
—
If there’s one thing Therese hates more than shopping, it’s dress shopping. Carol had mentioned that morning that she should really get a head start on an outfit for Abby’s birthday, not too subtly telling her to get her ass in gear since the party was less than two weeks away now. Therese, on her day off, had roped her college best friend Dannie into coming with her for advice.
Browsing the clearance section at Nordstrom, Therese feels like a kid going through their grandmother's fancy closet to play dress up. Look, but don’t touch.
“Don’t you feel weird about this?” Dannie breaks her train of thought, looking about as uncomfortable as she does.
“Weird? Why would I feel like that?”
“Cause Carol’s like, an ultra wealthy owner of the biggest galleries in Manhattan and all her friends have multi million dollar penthouses and personal drivers?”
Therese knew what Carol did for work, and it was no secret that she's well off, given the skyline views from their own modest penthouse. She’s certainly not with her for the money, but - it had never been intimidating before, not until today.
“Her friends are nice,” she tries lamely.
“Her friends are loaded, you mean.”
“So what?”
“So, what kind of people have money to rent out the Met like it’s nothing?” Dannie is running his hands over dress tags, whistling low when he reads one that says, ‘$5,150.’ “How are you even affording this?”
Dannie is one of the few people who knows of Therese’s past, how she bounced from orphanage to orphanage until she settled near Manhattan over fifteen years ago. He knows a lot about it, but Carol knows more. That’s the one thing Therese has left, keeping her past close to her chest from everyone but those who matter. Humble beginnings are just one of the things she and Dannie share, and it’s been the foundation of their friendship for over six years.
“I have money,” Therese defends herself. She does have money saved from the last few months of work, mainly because Carol insists on paying when they go out. Therese should just be expected to show up and look pretty, is Carol’s favorite excuse for it.
“$1,500 worth?” He shoves another tag in her face.
“Okay,” Therese breathes out a laugh, “that’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” which earns her and Dannie nasty looks from the sales workers.
“Let’s go get Boba,” he finally suggests, and she is too delighted for the excuse to leave.
-
A few hours later, Therese returns home to a quiet house. She moves silently towards the bedroom, following the sound of running water.
“Therese?”
“Hi baby.” Stepping into the bathroom, Therese inhales the steam mingling with Carol’s shampoo and body wash, her favorite smell in the world. It can put her right to sleep in seconds, sending her into dreams that can't be better than reality.
“Hi, back.” Carol pokes her head out from behind the shower curtain. Her reply is so dreamy and low, like she’s been waiting on bated breath for Therese to return. A soldier’s wife perhaps, perched at the bay window to see him return from war. “Did you get a dress?”
Water droplets run slowly down the smooth skin of her neck, and Therese has never wanted to be something on a molecular level so badly.
She shakes her head no, shrugging a shoulder to say, what can you do?
Carol tsks in reply. “I would invite you in here with me, but I’m almost done. I ordered sushi, it’s on the counter.”
-
Therese finds her favorite veggie dumplings, three of her tuna rolls, and several other things Carol had probably just added to the cart without knowing what they were. Then, she finds the receipt stapled to the bag.
$118.
Jesus.
Therese never usually looks at the bill, not unless she coaxes it out of Carol’s tight grip and fights to leave money on the table. It’s just what they do. But things like this, $100 on one dinner, is something Therese could have never dreamt of spending when she was a teenager or even a young adult.
“What’s wrong?” Carol pads into the kitchen, leaning in to kiss Therese’s neck as she studies the bill. “Did they forget something?”
“No,” she releases the tension in her shoulders, immediately luxuriating in Carol’s presence. “It’s just a lot of food. Anyway, I missed you today.”
The smile she receives in return is priceless, and Therese wishes she had her camera to add this one to her vault. She prays her memory will serve her well even when she’s old and senile.
“You‘re worried we’ll go broke?” It’s a silly tease, she knows, but something sinks in and settles low in her gut.
Carol notices her face fall. She always does this, sharp blue eyes sensing even the smallest of changes on Therese’s face. Therese equates it to being an open book, the kind only Carol can read and comprehend, like she’s been written just for her. An ancient script in a language no one else could ever decipher.
Carol captures her chin between nimble fingers, angling it up to place a hello on her lips. “I missed you today, too.”
Therese hands over the contents of the bag and swings her legs over the bar stool, patting the seat next to her. “Tell me about your day.”
Carol, now the owner of a string of art galleries throughout Midtown and Brooklyn, has a lot on her plate these days. Sometimes she just needs to decompress like this, to rest her feet in Therese’s lap at the end of the day or take the proffered sushi from her outstretched chopsticks.
Chewing thoughtfully before answering, she replies, “I met with this woman who has her work at Harge’s gallery but she isn’t happy with the clientele there anymore. I was thinking, with my empty exhibit, I could take a chance.”
Therese stops pouring soy sauce to look at her with big brown eyes, her face splitting into the widest smile. Harge would be Carol’s arch nemesis if this were a movie and not their real life with real life consequences. His expansion of art galleries had caused a rift several years ago around the same time Carol was using connections to open her own. Currently, the two walk a very thin line between professionalism and hatred.
“Baby, that’s amazing. Did she say she wants you to show her stuff? What kind of art does she do?” Therese is enamored by this news. She loves when people find Carol to be a safe haven for their most sacred work. She feels the same, albeit a little more intimately.
“I don’t know,” she sighs, pushing the bridge of her thick black glasses up her nose. “I don’t think I convinced her I’m the right fit. She does this incredible line work, but she’s also a young lesbian artist who could bring exactly what I’m looking for. I need new talent, fresh perspectives, you know?”
“I’m trying to picture Harge knowing what to do with her.”
“Lord, I can only imagine,” she tosses her hand back in unrestrained laughter, the most beautiful thing Therese believes ever existed.
“Either way, I think she’ll choose you. It’d be stupid not to.”
“You put too much faith in me, dear.”
“Maybe,” Therese shrugs, “or maybe I just think you’re really talented and hot.”
-
Therese is lounging, reading her book as Carol picks out her outfit for work tomorrow.
“Sweetheart? How does this work?” She holds up a black silk blouse with a pair of cream wide legged trousers.
Peeking over her page, she simply comments, “Sexy,” and takes the hit when Carol throws the hanger at her in mock annoyance.
“‘Sexy’ doesn’t pay the bills.”
Come to think of it, Therese doesn’t really pay many either.
“About that,” she starts, waiting for Carol to return from the walk in. “I want to start paying for rent.”
“No.”
The reply is so quick that it takes her a second to catch up.
“What? No?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“But I live here. I use the amenities. I don’t want to feel like I’m mooching off you.”
“Honey,” Carol leans over and takes the book from her, carefully keeping the page by setting it on the nightstand face down. “I’m a big girl. I don’t want your money. Save it, please. I’d prefer you buy yourself what you desire and stop worrying about it.”
“I’m not worried, I just want to feel like I contribute something.”
“Oh, you contribute plenty,” Carol grins, and Therese can tell exactly what she means. Her stomach clenches when a familiar palm slides under her tank top and begins wandering.
Breath hitching, she manages, “Not like that.”
“Is it really going to bother you?”
“Yes.”
“Fine,” she relents, “how’s $20 a month sound?”
“Carol,” she groans, “be serious.”
“I am serious, that $20 could go far.” Diving back into the closet, Carol shuts the door on that topic with finality. “By the way, why don’t you just use something of mine for Abby’s party? God knows I don’t wear half of it anymore.”
Therese had never really paid much attention to Carol’s clothing. Sure, she always looked incredible, delectable, even, but she's much more keen on removing the beautiful fabrics late at night and leaving them on the floor to deal with in the morning.
She walks into the closet so their conversation isn’t as muffled from where Carol is on the floor busy digging through a stack of sweaters nearly as tall as she is. Therese runs her hand over a rack of dresses and jumpsuits, stopping when she realizes ¾ of them still have tags. She looks over at her side of the closet, much more plain and refined.
“This is way too much, I can’t wear these.”
“Why not? I think I’d quite like to take one of them off you afterwards.”
- What’s that saying about like minded people?
Therese picks out a baby pink silk slip dress that hits mid calf and accentuates the neckline. She holds it up to her small frame and turns to Carol. “This still has the tags on it.”
“You don’t like it? I think that color looks beautiful on your skin, love.”
“It’s expensive.”
Carol cocks her head to the side, trying to understand the comment. “Is that an issue?”
Fidgeting with the hemline, Therese shakes her head no. “I don’t think I’m used to such nice things.”
Hand-me-downs had ruled her childhood. Goodwill had been her go-to for years, and even now, she loves to drag Carol into thrift stores so they can make fun of the donated handmade art and pick out shitty DVDs for date nights.
Now, she’s slowly trying to wrap her mind around this lifestyle. These nice things that surround her 24/7 serve as a stark contrast to what she’d been so accustomed to as a kid. It’s not Carol’s fault, of course, but sometimes it’s just so goddamn difficult to separate your past from present.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to wear one,” Carol says gently, then, “I’d much prefer if you wore nothing at all, but I don’t think Abby would like that very much.”
Therese puffs out a laugh. She feels strangely like crying, but she channels that emotion into picking out a halter jumpsuit with flared legs and a low cut back. “How’s this?”
Carol’s eyes sparkle at the thought of Therese in this, her hands reaching up to grasp for the fabric. “Oh my,” she mutters, “I don’t think so.”
“No?”
“No, we might not make it to the party if you put that on.”
Therese really rolls her eyes this time, shoving Carol backwards before getting down on the floor with her. They fill the walk-in closet with laughter and love, finding themselves in a mess of hangers and fabrics.
Moments later as Carol lies Therese down with only expensive clothes to protect her back from the hardwood floor, she finds that she doesn’t really fucking care how much they’d cost.
—
I wanna consecrate your body
Turn the water to wine
I know you're thinking about kissing too
—
“The limo will be here in five minutes, darling.” Carol brushes past her, cursing about losing an earring back.
“Limo?” Therese feels a wave of prickly heat pass over her. “I thought we were taking the subway.”
Carol smoothes her hands over the velvet detail on her immaculately fitted suit. “In these outfits? Honey, this morning I only very narrowly avoided an entire family of roaches coming off the tracks.”
Therese drops her head, shaking it off. The party is in an hour, and her palms feel sweaty like it’s their first date all over again. There is something so inexplicably off putting about this entire night. She feels like an outlier, a pitied addition to this group of extravagant people they’ll be spending the evening with.
“Besides,” Carol slides up behind her, “haven’t you always wanted to fuck me in the back of one?” Red lips find the pulse point of her throat that tilts immediately towards the touch.
Therese shivers. “Hey,” she captures Carol’s wrist and brings it up to place a kiss on each fingertip. “You look beautiful.”
Beautiful doesn’t quite cover it, but it’ll have to do.
“You, my dear, look ravishing.”
One last look in the hallway mirror and Therese contemplates leaving the lipstick kiss Carol had left for her. A mark, of some sort. Something that screamed she belonged to Carol and only her. Smiling to herself, Therese slips her hand into the one that always awaits.
They walk down the stairs hand in hand, waving to their neighbor and his French bulldog. The dog is obsessed with Carol, and honestly, Therese gets it. Even if she were a dog, she’d wish Carol was her owner too.
The limo that waits outside is chauffeured by a lovely gentleman who looks down at their held hands, smiles, and opens the door. Introducing himself as Rob, he tells them anything they need tonight will be theirs if they just ask.
Therese doesn’t even want to know how much he’ll be privy to this evening. She just hopes the back is sound proof.
Pulling up to the steps of the Met, the lights are bright, a carpet adorns the ground they walk, and there are photographers and reporters for various art magazines calling out Carol’s name.
Everyone wants to know who is filling the gallery exhibit she has available, but she breezes through their questions with coy replies, never once dropping Therese’s hand. In fact, she squeezes it three times in quick succession, showing she’s still present.
Abby’s birthday is held in the west wing, a giant room filled with dimmed party lights and disco strobes. The room is transformed into what can only be described as a high end nightclub. A balcony overlooks an exhibit lined with marble statues, each one more unique than the next. It’s intoxicating. Over the top.
Then, the loudest voice in the room is calling out Carol’s name and several dozen pairs of eyes land on her and Therese.
“Hi Abby,” Carol leans in for a hug and an over-exaggerated kiss on the cheek. “This is too much, even for you.” She hands over the $400 bottle of champagne she’d paid Therese to go pick up earlier. It almost felt criminal, buying something that ridiculously expensive.
“Hey, she almost rented out the Empire State Building but they capped her guest count at fifty,” Abby’s wife Charmaine chimes in, before she introduces herself to Therese and says hello to Carol again.
She’s very pretty, Therese thinks, but is also comforted by the long red hair tickling her forearm.
“It’s extravagant,” she allows herself to be pulled in for a similar greeting from Abby.
“I’m glad you could come,” Abby says, “because your little friend over here tried to tell me she wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Therese replies, and she means it. She would fight tooth and nail to be wherever Carol goes, especially tonight as she is the most stunning creature in the room. The city. The state.
But, Therese is also confident enough in her relationship to say that Abby throws really fucking great parties and would have come on her own.
Case in point, a woman who could be a Victoria’s Secret model drifts by in a skimpy butler suit with a tray of shots. Carol lifts two, hands one to Therese and winks before tossing it back.
“I’ve been meaning to ask if you’d take photos for us,” Abby asks Therese, “at the place where we met so we can show our future kids and shit, you know?”
Therese is taken aback that Abby had even thought to include her on the roster of photographers she definitely blew through. Normally, she does freelance jobs, things here and there for The New Yorker or the Times, but never anything this sweet. She’s thrilled for the opportunity. “Of course, just tell me when.”
Pleased, Abby grabs two more drinks off a tray and hands them over. “Thanks, Therese. Go play, you two, I need to go find my caterer.”
Turns out, the drinks are much stronger than they look, and about five sips into it Therese feels much looser than anticipated. Just loose enough to let Carol’s annoyingly convincing pout scheme its way into ‘one’ dance.
As she’s being led, Therese is hyper focused on the way Carol is lighting up this room, so much that she smacks right into her back when she stops short.
“Rachelle?”
“Oh my God, Ms. Aird?”
“Please, it’s Carol,” she waves, “I didn’t know you knew Abby?”
“You know what they say about lesbians in New York,” Rachelle laughs, “it’s a small circle.”
Therese squints through the haze of the drink she’d finished, trying to place where she knew of this woman.
“Darling, this is Rachelle, she’s the -“
“You were thinking of displaying at the gallery,” Therese finishes, “it’s so lovely to meet you.”
Now she remembers, Rachelle is the young artist Carol had desperately been trying to poach from Harge. Therese has to hand it to her, she is beyond interesting to look at. She’s wearing an intricate gold hair piece and her makeup is so immaculately done that Therese feels a shred of jealousy run through her. If her art is anything like her personal style, it’s no wonder Carol wants her.
The envy doesn’t pierce because she’s worried about Carol leaving her for someone like this, but because Therese has never looked like that and never will. She feels so - so plain. Especially in this room, with sophisticated people filling up every corner, adorned in outfits so extravagant that it’s almost nauseating.
“I’ve been thinking,” Rachelle leans in close to be heard over the music, “I’d like to set up another meeting this week to go over some things. I think we could do great work together.”
The way her hand lingers on Carol’s hip makes Therese feel sick. To anyone else, it’s a simple gesture, an indication of casual conversation. But once again, it’s Carol.
Carol, the one who looks so goddamn fuckable tonight that Therese knows exactly what the touch hopes for.
“Sure,” Carol sidesteps the embrace easily, “have your agent call me and we can certainly work something out. Enjoy the party, Rachelle, it was great to see you.”
The cut off is quick, leaving both Rachelle and Therese looking confused.
With that, she takes Therese’s hand again and leads her to the outskirts of the dance floor. Despite the song being an upbeat tempo, Carol pulls her close, chest to chest, so they can slow dance.
“Are you having fun?”
Carol’s voice is like silk in Therese’s ear, and she presses closer, hoping to form one soul. Wouldn’t that just be delightful, she thinks, to be so close that there’s no distinction between the two of them anymore. If she focuses hard enough, they could become like tree roots. So delicately intertwined that one can’t function without the other.
She’s wishing so deeply that they’re alone in their apartment instead, dancing to the records Carol had bought Therese to show her what ‘real’ music was. Nothing but them and the skyline reflecting in Therese’s eyes. What a fucking dream.
She just nods her head, resting her cheek on Carol’s warm shoulder. From her vantage point, she can count at least seven men looking at Carol and double that number of women, each one more wealthy looking than the last. Therese is used to all eyes falling on her, and she can never blame them for it. But tonight, it’s making her want to cry. There’s nothing that could have made her feel worthy enough to be around people of this caliber. Carol fits right in, and Therese, well -
Pulling away suddenly, the heat of being pressed against Carol’s chest is replaced by a sudden gush of ice in her veins. “I’ll be right back,” she stammers, hoping desperately the tears hold off. Crying now will just add another layer of embarrassment. She feels Carol reach for her, but she manages to slip away and find the nearest bathroom to have her breakdown in.
The emotion that has been poking at her like shards of glass seems to be heightened in this dim stall, the shame of being an outcast clouding all her rational senses.
Being with Carol feels like a blessing at all times. Therese is discovering, though, that having to share her outside their walls with these people whose hair appointments cost more than she makes in three months is an entirely different spectrum. Having to carry your meager belongings in a trash bag from place to place as a kid must have had a much more negative impact than she’d previously believed.
Until today, Therese had done such a lovely job of repressing her childhood that it had failed to rear its ugly head until now. There’s no avoiding it anymore, she accepts, blinking rapidly as the flimsy toilet paper fails to soak up her tears. She’s convinced herself that she has no meaning here, psyching herself up to go tell Carol she’s leaving when the door opens.
“’Chelle, I knew you weren’t kidding but holy shit.”
Rachelle and presumably her friend stumble into the well decorated bathroom, planting themselves at the sink to touch up makeup and gossip. Therese starts making promises to every single God that she’ll become a devout follower if one of them opens up a sinkhole for her to be swallowed into.
“I’ve been trying to find a way to get in her pants since we met,” Rachelle laughs, and the sound makes Therese’s skin crawl. “I played it chill the first time, but now I got my way in.”
“Okay, but who’s the mousy little thing she brought?” Rachelle’s friend sounds equally as snotty.
“I tried looking on Insta but she’s private. Who cares, nothing like that’s ever stopped me before. You know, I heard she actually used to fuck Abby.”
“Now I know you’re just fucking lying to me.”
It’s so flippant and demeaning. Reducing Carol down to her sex, to whom she used to have relationships with makes Therese want to guttural scream at the top of her lungs.
Liquid rage hits the point of no return and begins to boil over, anger and heat rising too rapidly to stop. Mustering up all the strength she can, hoping she doesn’t resemble a complete fucking mess, Therese bangs open the stall door and breezes past the abject horror painted on Rachelle’s face.
Quickly rinsing her hands, she turns before leaving and says, “Why don’t you send her a follow request Rachelle? I’ll be sure to let her know you were asking about me. It’s just too bad I’m the only one getting in her pants these days.”
It’s snippy. But God, it feels so fucking good.
‘Oh, shit.’
Therese finds Carol leaning up against the wall, blue eyes looking everywhere but at the man speaking to her. With a hasty excuse me, she slides up next to Therese and questions, “What’s the matter?”
“I’m going home.”
“What’s wrong? You feel sick?” She reaches to check Therese’s temperature, confused when her hand gets batted away.
“I just don’t want to be here, Carol.” It’s taking everything in Therese to keep her calm, but the pressure keeps rising in her throat. Alarm signals are going off in rapid fire.
“Okay,” Carol bristles, “let me tell Abby goodbye.”
“No, stay, I can find my own way home.”
“I’m not staying if you’re leaving. I go wherever you go.”
“Please, you deserve a nice night. Enjoy it.”
As they converse, Therese makes her move towards the exit so Carol has no choice but to follow on her heel.
Pushing the door open, the welcomed cool air hits Therese’s face like a wave. It’s such a beautiful evening. The moon hangs low in the sky, and she wishes for the first time that they weren’t living in New York. She misses starry nights, aches for it now like a little kid. If she tries hard enough, she can picture herself as a shooting star, the kind Carol is, lighting up the sky in a blaze of glory. Instead, she remembers bitterly, she’s more of a dull, dimly lit thing that barely makes a rift.
She keeps her pace, barely noticing that Carol falls in stride next to her. When cold fingers latch around her wrist in a firm stop, the tears begin falling.
“Oh Therese,” Carol sighs, “please talk to me.”
“I don’t belong here,” she cries, mascara blurring the angel inhabiting her vision.
Carol tugs her away from the middle of the sidewalk when a group of drunk college kids stumble past, only one of them turning to do a double take.
“I don’t know what you mean, darling.”
“There’s no reason for me to be with your friends, with all these people.” Therese seems almost petulant, like she can’t stand Carol not understanding her train of thought.
This leaves Carol dumbfounded. She takes these words in, mulls them over, and says, “I’m still not quite following.”
The street is silent for a moment as Therese studies the ground, her heel scraping on concrete. Shame fills her from head to toe, an out of body experience that makes her feel truly awful.
“I’m not cut out for this life,” she finally admits, avoiding eye contact at all costs. She can feel Carol’s eyes studying her face, but she’s managing not to fall into the trap. It’s weird, how she’d found a place for all of her physical baggage. Her clothes, photographs, books. She’d just forgotten the most important kind of baggage, the heavy weight that has sat square on her chest since childhood. Where was she supposed to put that? There’s no place for it here.
Carol opens her mouth to respond, but Therese continues, “And how could I have known that when all I do is say yes to everything you give me? I take and take and take, and I never even bat an eye. I don’t even recognize myself anymore.”
“So this is - about money?”
“No, Carol, it’s not just about money. It’s about all of this, tonight. All these fancy people in their fancy fucking clothes in the fancy fucking museum. I can never be like that.”
Another stab at it - “So you’re mad at me for knowing wealthy people?”
A bubble of incredulous laughter bursts from Therese’s mouth. “Who said anything about being mad? It makes me so fucking elated to feel like a social outcast every time we go somewhere nice together.”
“Stop it, Therese,” Carol says sharply, then fixes her tone to regain structure. “Is that really how you feel?”
Something akin to pain and shock adorns Carol’s expression, her arms folded tightly to her chest. Therese finally looks her in the eye, and the image looking back makes her begin crying again. Carol seems hurt. Not once has she ever looked at Therese like this.
Fucking hell.
Carol lights a cigarette she’s pulled from out of nowhere, hands trembling slightly as the lighter illuminates the soft edges of her face.
“Therese, I buy you nice things because you deserve them. I bring you to nice places when I want to share my life with you, to make you feel worthy of enjoying them. I thought you were okay with that.”
“I’m sorry,” she sobs, “it’s not your fault. Dannie got in my head and now I just feel like I don’t belong in your circle.”
“My circle,” Carol raises a manicured eyebrow at that. “I wasn’t aware I had one of those. I know a lot of people.”
It’s crazy how she’s still standing here, even after Therese has just fucked up their relationship from all angles.
“I’m going to say this one time, and then I don’t want to speak of it again tonight,” she says calmly, then, “Are you listening to me, Therese?”
Her answer comes in the form of a small head nod.
“I could have all the goddamn money on this planet and I would give it all up to be with you. Every last dollar. And if it meant you’d be there next to me at night before I sleep, I’d never talk to a single one of these people ever again.” Carol forces Therese to look at her, as if disciplinary action is the only way to go. “If you had needed time adjusting to my lifestyle, I would have helped you. Understood it. You knew that.”
They must look like quite the spectacle to anyone who may happen to notice them, peering from behind closed curtains or walking on the opposite side of the street. Therese throws herself into Carol’s embrace, pressing a tear stained cheek to her suit jacket.
“I’m sorry,” she hiccups, “I just feel so out of place sometimes.”
“You belong here,” Carol lifts Therese’s hand and cups it over her heart, “and in here. Forever. Always. The rest means nothing to me.”
For the first time in a long time, the weight dislodges itself from Therese’s rib cage, little by little until it doesn’t hurt so much to breathe.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Carol cradles her head in capable hands. “I’m very sorry you had this issue, love. It was never my intention to hurt you like that.”
“It’s not you, I didn’t mean to make you think you can’t enjoy having nice things. I’m sorry, I love you. I love being with you every second of the day.”
“Your presence next to me is worth more than anything I could ever own. We’ll work on it, alright?”
Carol kisses her, finally, and the surrounding city noise falls into a low hum. The buildings could burn down beside their bodies and Therese would simply wonder why the heat went up.
It’ll always be like this, the two of them, in their own little slice of heaven.
“I’m sorry I ruined your night,” Therese drops her head on an inviting shoulder, clutching at everything she can get her hands on.
“Nothing is ruined when I’m with you,” then, “Can I show you something?”
—
Baby says,
She's dying to meet you
Take you off and make your blood hum
and tremble
—
Carol unlocks the door to her gallery in Midtown, prompting giggles from Therese who says it’s like they’re breaking into school after hours.
“I own the damn place, who’s going to catch me?” Her laugh rumbles through lips that Therese can’t stop kissing.
“I did bring you here for something,” she breaks apart, coaxing Therese to close her eyes. Dark lashes immediately fly shut, because anything Carol wants from her, Carol gets. “It was meant to be a surprise since I’m not finished setting it up yet.”
When Therese opens them again, the first thing she does is blink in confusion.
“Are these -“
Carol’s confirmation makes her head spin. “Your photographs.”
The three stark white walls that normally feature big named artists are now covered in photographs Therese had taken. Modeled portraits, landscapes, a series of Carol at her most vulnerable that Therese had shot to store in her memory forever.
“It’s a little self serving to have my own face in here, but they’re beautiful, love.” Carol gestures towards several other photos of strangers Therese had captured. “You bring out the best in people. The raw emotion, it’s mesmerizing.”
“Oh, Carol, I don’t know what to say.” Having her work displayed gives her the most fulfilled emotion. It’s exhilarating. She’d never had something like this before, had never even pictured what it could feel like. The tips of her fingers tingle in excitement. Finally, a place that is all hers.
“But what about Rachelle, I thought she was -“
“I think I’ll go a different direction with that,” Carol sounds indifferent. “She doesn’t quite fit in with what I want.”
Therese narrows her gaze until she relents, “Harge had the decency to give me a heads up that she didn’t really want to show here for the exposure. Something about an ulterior motive.”
“Ah,” Therese indulges in a bit of an ego boost that she’s the one Carol is with.
“Point is, you belong in my ‘circle’.”
Therese closes her eyes for the millionth time tonight as tears spring, clouding her vision. Then Carol is pressing lips to her cheek, salty tears tasted on the tip of her tongue.
“I love you,” she sighs when teeth nip at her throat, “I love you so much it hurts.”
“To Waterloo and back, baby.” Carol's words are getting breathy, Therese is delighted to realize.
The gallery being on the eighth floor of a high rise facing the Hudson is the best thing that could have happened to her as Carol pushes her back up against the floor to ceiling window. Therese has never wanted to send a gift basket to a realtor so badly in her life.
“Fuck.”
Then louder,
“Fuck.”
It has to be a dream, she thinks, when she gazes down at Carol on her knees, cheek nuzzling a warm thigh to coax it open. It certainly looks like one. Slowly, she lifts the dress Therese had chosen and has the gall to press careful fingers over her once and remove them just as quickly. She’s busy leaving open mouth kisses everywhere but there - her hip, stomach, the inside of her knee.
Squirming under the arousal that skyrockets through her frame, she pushes the offending garment down, grateful when Carol helps her kick it off. “Please,” she sighs, “please.”
A nonsensical noise drifts from her lips when Carol lifts a leg and places it on her shoulder.
Slipping her tongue over Therese, Carol doesn’t particularly think she’ll want to take her time. There will always be more nights like this, another chance to draw this pleasure out and make it last. But Therese looks so beautiful above her, pink flush blossoming across her chest. How could she not give her everything and more? Why drag it out?
Rocking in tune with the movements Therese’s hips make, Carol slips her fingers inside warm heat and sucks gently over her, lips working on muscle memory to elicit familiar sounds she loves so much.
Sometimes, Therese thinks she could simply die with Carol's mouth moving over her. Float blissfully into the afterlife with a wide smile plastered on her face.
Every nerve ending sizzles with white hot heat as trembling hands grip blonde waves. Therese uses all of her strength to draw in a deep breath, chanting Carol’s name like the most sacred scripture falling from her lips. Every church on this side of the river has never seen such a holy revelation, could never bring its congregation as close to Heaven as Therese is right now.
Blunt nails start lightly scratching at her thighs and Carol’s nose starts to brush over her and - it all accumulates into a burst of sheer bliss. Therese comes loudly on Carol’s face, her body rigid in pleasure.
When the overwhelming sensation fizzles its way to a low hum, the room is hazy and Therese fully believes she is hallucinating. Carol stares up at her dreamily, lips glistening wet. She looks so satisfied, like they shared the pleasure together.
“You’re so beautiful,” Therese swipes her thumb over Carol’s bottom lip, jolted when Carol sucks it into her mouth. “You’re so good.”
With an exhale, she slides down the window and pulls Carol into her lap. She begins whispering filthy plans in her ear as Carol takes no time grinding down atop her thigh. She kisses the lips that have just taken her to nirvana, tasting herself. It’s messy, wet, needy.
“Jesus, you’re about to make me come in my pants like I’m seventeen again.”
Therese’s hands are everywhere, unbuttoning Carol’s blouse, frantically shoving pieces off, pushing inside pants to get at her.
“Does that make me your cheerleader prom queen?”
Twinkling laughter fills the room as Carol quickly shucks her pants and resumes her spot in Therese’s lap. “I should have worn that dress instead.”
“Next time.”
It doesn’t take her long, not when Therese begins to fuck the living daylights out of her. The brunette takes advantage of the position, licking a line from the pulse point in Carol’s throat down to the curve of her chest. She slides the silk shirt off to the side and attaches her lips to a dusty pink nipple. Carol shudders out a sigh, splaying a palm against the foggy window frame for balance. The image of her handprint is burned in the back of Therese's mind, a reminder she'll never not notice the next time she's in this room.
Carol’s body is a work of art. A blank template of soft, smooth skin Therese uses as her canvas, marking the places that cause sinful sounds to fill the room.
Therese’s fingers are working in tandem with her thumb, stroking in all the right places like she’s a maestro commanding her orchestra. She pushes past the limits of being tame with her movements, wanting Carol to know how much this gift means to her, to make it so that Carol can’t even form the syllables of her name.
“Oh, God, Th-“
The pleasure extends up from the tips of her toes like tendrils of a vine until Carol comes with a strangled sigh, legs clamping around Therese’s wrist.
Therese is saying something about how exquisite she is, but Carol’s own heartbeat is pulsing so loudly in her ear she’s afraid it’s going to jump right from her chest and land in Therese’s palm. Fleetingly, she’s gleeful to remember her heart already has a spot there anyway. She bites down on the open space of a warm shoulder, fleetingly forgoing caution about leaving a bruise.
“Fucking Christ,” she moans, rocking one last time to remember the way Therese moves in her. It paints her insides with a warmth that feels like liquid gold, heavy and strong.
“My angel.”
—
Baby, there's no need to run
I'll love you well
I wanna settle down
—
They redress each other in synchronized harmony, treating the moment with such reverence. Little bits of love begin to expand outside the structured lines, like Therese fixing Carol’s lipstick or Carol smoothing a wrinkle out for her. The aftermath is always bittersweet, but there is that promise of forever. The promise of more nights like this.
And it’s worth it, especially when they return home to the space they share. The place they’ve made their own, with Therese’s photographs framed in the hallway and her toothbrush neatly set beside Carol’s. Her pajamas lie on the floor of her side of the bed, and her book sits on Carol’s nightstand for her to read now that she’s finished with it. It’s the silly little things like this that make dreams blend with reality, since there’s no way it’s this easy to be with someone.
It may take her some time to feel like she belongs in Carol’s outer social life, but Therese is most certain she belongs in this home. They’ll deconstruct the rest later, when it’s time.
What’s most important is the spot Therese has in Carol’s heart, the most sacred of all places.
They never did get to use that limo, though.