Companion

I got Jessa's story when we got home, or a quick outline of it, she wanted me to learn the full story from the source on our date.

She has worked in the dress shop for almost 30 years — it's owned by a friend, Jessa manages it. She has two daughters and a son, the two who don't live in Vancouver live in Toronto, the son in finance, the daughter a nurse; Mary, also a nurse, is the only one of the three married; she has two young daughters. Her father, Jessa's husband died two years ago after a long illness.

"That's it?" I said with surprise. "That's all you know about her? Is that all she knows about me, the barest details?"

Maria grinned. "Nope. The you she's interested in is the you who flew me, a young, impressionable girl to Vancouver." She laughed at my shock and waved it away. "Oh, don't worry, I told her how I manipulated you; she totally understood it; we Filipino women are always manipulating our way through all kinds of things, all the time. She got only good things from me, that's why she wants to see you again."

Sex is supposed to be over between us but she still always come to my bed, she wouldn't have it any other way. I was trying to get to sleep but Jessa, wouldn't let me. It was the smile, gentle and kind and the eyes, intelligent and curious and her story, confused but adventuresome, like my own.

"She's pretty, isn't she?" Maria couldn't sleep either.

"I feel like I'm on one of those high dive springboard but I'm not looking for the courage to jump ... I know I'm going to jump, I'm thinking about what I'm going to do in the air, a somersault or a back flip. I think this is the way people feel when they're just about to come out."

"She's pretty, isn't she?" she asked again, teasing, probing. I didn't answer, I didn't have to, the woman is adorable. "I phoned Mary earlier, I couldn't wait. Her mum won't be sleeping right now, either. She's as excited as you are, more, I told her you're really wealthy, that you can really look after her."

I turned quickly and looked at her. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Why not, you want her, use everything you've got to get her ... that'll help. Who doesn't want security, who doesn't want nice things? You'd spend money on her ... you're spending lots of money on me."

"I'm investing in you ... giving you the opportunities you need."

"And she doesn't need them? Go after her, sweep her off her feet. She's perfect for you ..."

"Yes, so you've said."

"Nice body, too, really nice."

Yes, thanks, I had been thinking about that body all night — that's why I can't sleep. I had turned away wanting to shut out everything else and I did for awhile but I couldn't resist. "Do you think I have a chance?" My voice sounded as plaintive as a school girl's.

She laughed again, sat up, pulled at my hip so I lay flat on my back, then she lay down close to me and slipped her fingers between my legs. I grabbed her wrist to pull her hand away but she shook me off. "Do you want to get some sleep or not?"

I shouldn't have ... it was the touch and I had absolutely no resistance to it. I lay back and opened my legs.

It was there, it never used to be but it was these days, she knew how to find it and she knew how to make me concentrate. "She had an awful marriage. The way she dealt with it was to try to imagine herself in another happier relationship where she was respected and appreciated and where she could express herself. A long time ago she decided that relationship could only be with a woman ... I'm thinking a woman like you. She thinks she wants you; you can give her everything she wants and in return you can have her as your own. But she's never been with a woman, she isn't sure, not at all sure — you have to convince her."

My fingers were with her's at the end, and her tongue was in my mouth and she was mine, I knew she would be mine.

We were to meet for dinner on Wednesday night, just the two of us ... the date couldn't happen fast enough for me. I wanted desperately to believe she was perfect for me but I had no idea who that kind of a woman would be. She would probably have to be 'foreign,' a woman from another culture — I just couldn't see me with a woman who shared all my beliefs and values, that seemed irreconcilable to me — all my beliefs and values led me to a man I was miserable with. Thinking it through, being with a woman from a different culture attracted me because it might give us both permission to be different, in my case, at least, the excuse to be different.

I would need that. I won't be an easy person to be with. I'm too set in my ways, too serious, too averse to new things. Too old.

"You have a smile that positively glows." She does, it's so natural it immediately put me at ease. As I sat down across from her all the angst I was feeling just melted away.

"I've never felt more like smiling," she said.

She has a slightly crooked incisor one of those flaws that make pretty women prettier. We looked at each other for maybe a full minute.

"You're beautiful," she said.

Instinctive I was about to protest but I didn't. "You make me feel beautiful."

"I thought this part was going to be hard ... awkward. It isn't going to be, is it?"

"Maria said meeting a new person is all about timing. I think she's right."

The woman seems to have two defaults: the radiant smile and a reserved, stoic look. "My one concern."

"Maria."

"Yes."

"I won't apologize and I won't explain." I saw hurt flicker in her eyes so I did both, sort of. "I had wound down so much I was barely living. She brought me back."

"She has demanded I go after you."

"Are you going to?"

"With just a tiny bit of encouragement."

"She says you'd be perfect for me."

She smiled first then she laughed. "That's funny, she said exactly the same thing to me ... BUT," she got suddenly serious, "you are apparently a bit of a wimp, if I don't take charge, take control things are going to fall apart before they even begin."

I grimaced.

"She chose this restaurant. Do you now why?"

She told me. It shocked me ... that I would be so impulsive but with absolutely no hesitation I said, "I'll go."

"Now?"

When I got up I bumped into the waiter. "We'll be back."

The place was right around the corner. We were expected; we didn't have to wait. The woman showed us what Maria had picked out for us; she had a wide selection if we wanted something different. We went with what Maria had chosen and were back in the restaurant within 20 minutes.

Maria looked past me when I came in, obviously confused that I was alone. She was about to explode into a torrent of questions but, uncharacteristically, she held her tongue and just watched me as I hung up my coat and walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. She was there in the doorway when I turned around, her face pure consternation. I said nothing, put the glass down and walked past her shaking my head as I did.

Now she exploded. "You tart. That just isn't fucking fair." She all but tackled me from behind. I was laughing as I fell on the couch, an evening of tension erupted in me. She was on top of me, punching me on the back. "That's awful. That's just awful."

"What?" I pushed at her. "Get off me, I'm so horny I'm about to ..."

"Where is she?"

"At home, pining for me I hope. She's coming over tomorrow ... you won't be here."

"Let me see it."

I turned my head and had a flicker of pain when she touched it.

"You went with my choice." An earring affixed to the top of my ear with the almost imperceptible female symbol dangling from a tiny chain.

"A little over the top but ya, it looks really cute on her."

"God, it gives you a whole different ... aura."

My skirt was so far up from the tackle she could see the tops of my stockings. She lifted it further and grinned. "The yellow ones, I knew you'd wear those."

When I pushed my skirt down she slapped at my hand. "Are you kidding? You're fucking hot."

"I'm also spoken for."

She slapped at my hand again. "Don't be an idiot. You finally find your sexuality and you're going to shut it down? Not on my watch." Her fingers went under the skirt. "You're wet, you never get wet."

"I'm in love, I never fall in love." I could immediately feel the chill. I grabbed her, put my arms around her, hugged her. "I should have said I seldom fall in love. I do love you. You've remade me ... you've made all this happen, I know that and I love you for it."

Her fingers went back between my legs. "She's just finding her sexuality too ... she's got to be lying on her bed now with her fingers in her." She jumped to her feet. "Come on." She pulled at my hand, she didn't give me time to think. "I may not have a chance to do this for awhile."

She took her clothes off as she hurried to the bedroom; she was naked when I got there.

"Maria."

"We'll talk after."

I sat down in the chair in the corner. "How should I feel if she was doing this? How should she feel about this?"

"What would have happened if you met her in Florida and not me?"

"Nothing, I know."

"Because you were asleep. You aren't now, but what about her? Does she need to be woken up? Can you do it? Lousy marriage for 30 years, bet she isn't in great emotional shape."

I didn't have to answer.

"And even if you can, do you really want just a boring relationship with each other? You've just come alive, so live; her too. Have fun, both of you. Find out what's inside you."

"I wonder how she'd feel about that."

"She agrees."

This shocked me. "You've talks to her about this?"

"Mary did ... now there's a woman who has a lot of fun with her sex life and that's what she wants for her mum, to have fun, have a great relationship but have fun — make up for lost time, there's no reason not to ... c'mere, you're taking too long."

I hesitated, not from doubt but the wonder. This is wrong, everything about it is wrong yet I am going to go, propelled by a hint of new-found sexual desire and confidence: I am a mature, responsible woman with a good job and lots of money; I can be resilient; I have every reason to be assertive. I stood up, she watched me with a grin as I obediently took off my clothes. And you know what? I was feeling good doing it. I've decided to be proud of my body — I've tried hard to keep it an approximation of what it was. And I don't fear sex any more, at least not with her.

I was down to my underwear when she said, "I'm going to stay in your life, you know that ... however I can." She beckoned me with a coy smile and a come-hither finger. I crawled on the bed up between her open legs and lightly rested on her, feeling her love, that's what it felt like.

I have learned the 'lesbian kiss' as she calls it, a prolonged, sensuous, tantalizing exchange with lots of tongue and spit and that feeling that starts slowly, exquisitely slowly and builds until the right moment when she finds my hand and guides my fingers down to her as her fingers go to me. It took us awhile to master this but it's what we do when we find the mood, left dormant for so long but now so vividly reawakened.

And it's never just over afterwards, that was the thing. It took so exquisitely long to get there that once we do get there we're never in a hurry to leave. She taught me by example: I kissed and bit and licked her body afterwards as she lightly and encouragingly pulled my hair. If love and sex can be combined it's in this long concentrated act that positively guarantees a long and peaceful sleep.

So I was well rested and in a great mood when she rang my bell at precisely 10 the next morning with Maria newly gone after making an uncharacteristically hearty breakfast.

Jessa is one of those perky people who can light up a room. It's not just her smile and the flashing of that crooked tooth, it's the aura she casts — positivity and good will and her seemingly habitual take-charge demeanour.

We hugged, an uncertain, confused but sincere hug, she looked around my place with excitement letting me know her place is decidedly more humble then we were on our way out.

It's my neighbourhood and I had a destination in mind for the walk so I led along the maze of trails to the river, moderating my stride because I am faster than her. How am I feeling? I was asking myself that question, monitoring myself because I was feeling so different. So exhilarated, but cautious too, I fought with myself to stay contained.

She's fit. Despite my pace she has all the breath she need to walk and talk and all the enthusiasm.

The earring. What it means to her. Is it like a ring? Yes, of course it is to her (and to me) but it is like an admission, too, that she is of an alternative mind, alternative to the way she has been living and thinking all those years until last night. What is it? It isn't one thing, it isn't even a host of things, it is a new-found attitude that she wants to consume her going forward, to direct her future; it is a freedom to be who she now wants to be.

Freedom. Concern stabbed at me early and steadily developed into fear. The earring to me has nothing to do with freedom and everything to do with a commitment to her. The little female symbol dangling from the tiny chain may have been a visual signal to others but to me it is all about her. But not to her, though, to her the earring isn't about me, it's all about her, her new attitude, her new outlook, her new freedom ... there has been no mention of its connection to me.

I quickened my pace as if to get away from her and her unrelenting enthusiasm ... enthusiasm for herself, enthusiasm for her new-found freedom ... the same enthusiasm I had awakened with: the flooding feeling that I was about to give myself to someone, that everything is just about to become right with the world, a new world that has always been my destiny. It is waning, like I knew it would.

I am thinking of her. She is thinking of her.

She is a talker, a self-centred, self-obsessed talker, apparently oblivious to her audience — you know, the one who at the very least implied that she wants to be her partner for life. That audience.

We reached my destination in about 45 minutes, a park bench overlooking a road that ran past the complex of ultra modern condos stacked on each other like so many glass and chrome legos.

It is eye-catching and I could see it caught her eye but the very reason I had brought her here barely registered now so I sat back and pretended to listen.

She kissed me on the way back, she pulled me off the track and kissed me and when she did I could feel her hand brush my breast. I don't know what I did, maybe sort of kissed her back but I can't make stuff up, certainly not emotionally. When I crawled on the bed last night I was going to a woman, Maria, I knew and loved ... in a complex kind of way but I was crawling to her in full emotional confidence. I had none standing there with this woman, none and I unwittingly communicated that and we were soon back on the trail and I dreaded reaching my place.

She was mercifully quiet for the last 20 minutes of the walk, and quiet when we got inside, quiet and awkward. We were two strangers standing in my kitchen drinking water, two absolute strangers both wondering why the other was there. This was to be our coming out moment, I was going to reach for her, or she would be reaching for me. It would escalate quickly, we both desperately wanted to know. But we did know, at least I did. She is in it not for me, but for the freedom I offered her, but she is too old, to set in her ways to be a Maria, she is merely an opportunist and I would only ever be the means to her end.

She tried her smile, I didn't bother with mine. When I took her glass and turned away she got the message and said she'd be back tomorrow, same time and headed for the door. I felt relief.

When Maria came home filled with excitement I went to my room, shut myself away and wouldn't let her in.

Jessa arrived on time the next day if without the same emotional ebullience. I met her at the door in a ratty housecoat and indifference. I was hung-over, very hung-over, she could see that and made her excuses and was gone.

Maria came home at noon when I was just pouring my first drink (I have never allowed myself to drink before noon, it once was 6 o'clock).

She took it from me and poured it down the sink, took me into the bathroom and pushed me into the bathtub. She sat on the toilet smouldering as the water ran and I suffered in mortified silence. "You two need a chaperone, you acted like children."

You two? It wasn't just me? I looked at her for clarification. I didn't get it.

"Are you ashamed of yourself?"

Of myself? No, what did I do to be ashamed about? Of the way it turned out? Of the end of a fledgling romance? Was I ashamed? No. I was heartbroken ... and annoyed ... with myself and with her. Anyway, I wasn't feeling well — now wasn't the time to ask questions or seek answers.

"She called me after she left you this morning. I went to see her. She was a wreck. Do you know what she said?"

I shrugged, no but I could imagine.

"I'll tell you what she said but I'm going to tell you who she is first."

She started in on her history. She came to Canada as a young teenager, had to study hard, had no friends, was alone ... I knew the story and I told her so. "Ya, but you, rich little you, don't have any idea of her perspective. She brought up three kids in a lousy marriage with little money ..."

"I had a lousy marriage, too."

"I know you did but you could have escaped it, at any time you could have escaped it. You didn't. She couldn't ... you know, because of the kids, the no income and all the rest of it — her reality."

This isn't going anywhere. I made to get out of the tub. She pushed me back, roughly.

"What does she want do you think?"

"I don't know." And it occurred to me right then that I didn't care.

"Take a guess."

"Freedom, she was prattling on about her freedom."

"Freedom from what? Freedom for what? She doesn't have any freedom, she works in a store and she is going to work in that store until she can no longer stand. She has no relationships beyond family, she wasn't allowed to have them. So what did she mean when when she was talking about her freedom?"

"I have no idea."

"You have no idea because you're a spoiled rich, totally selfish, totally self-obsessed ..."

"Bitch, I get it."

"No, you don't get it, you don't get it because you don't care about others, you don't have to care about others, and you don't care about others because you can't relate — the only reason we get along is because I dropped everything and made it my mission to get along with you and I'm going to continue to make you my mission."

I remembered two nights ago, I remembered the love, not romantic love, the love of wanting to give myself to somebody.

"The Freedom she was talking about is you. You're her freedom. When she got that earring she was committing herself to you and she thought you were committing yourself to her."

"I was."

"I know, I told her that so she shows up this morning and you're drunk."

"Hung-over."

"And you were lousy yesterday, you made it clear to her you didn't want her."

"Because all she was talking about was her fucking freedom, it was all about her, her, her, she never once mentioned me."

"When she showed up yesterday she showed up as your want-to-be partner — you know, the girl with the fucking ring in her ear. The only reason she didn't go home with you after that dinner was because her daughter made her promise that she wouldn't. At our shopping spree, Jessa was pretty sure she wanted you ... in fact she was sure of it. At that dinner she was supposed to talk to you, get to know you better, do that earring thing if you would, then she was supposed to take time to decide about you ... not to fall for you, to think about you and decide on you — the you who could offer her everything she could possibly want. Two days ago when she knocked on your door she was a nervous wreck. It was the first day of the rest of her life, she didn't expect to ever go home ... and then you sent her home because little miss rich bitch didn't know what she was doing."